Oliver groaned and with his left hand reached out to grab the pillow on the other side of the bed. He needed it. He needed it desperately to smother himself with it and put himself out of this misery. A part of his mind registered that the other side of the bed was suspiciously empty, but he honestly didn't have the brain power right now to think about it.
Not when his head threatened to explode any second. Hell, even the sound of his own breathing caused massive throbbing. It was very, very bad morning.
To be honest Oliver couldn't remember when was the last time he suffered like this. Not even his college days, as short as they were, resulted with such a hangover, and he partied almost every evening with his fraternity brothers.
It was official.
He was far too old for wild parties.
He was also married, and his wife was usually asleep on the other side of the bed when he woke up. So either he slept later than usual, or she didn't even sleep next to him that night. And considering he could smell the alcohol on himself, and sort of remember a few things that happened when he finally came home, Oliver wouldn't be surprised if Felicity chose to stay in a guest bedroom last night. He wouldn't want to sleep next to himself when he smelt like a mixture of sweat and booze.
He slowly turned towards the bedside table, and away from the damn window, and squinted at the clock that was placed there. But he couldn't see it properly because in front of it stood a tall glass of water, and next to it were two aspirins. But he wasn't sure a whole bottle would help him right now.
Still he needed them, and after almost knocking the glass on the floor, he managed to sit and down both pills at the same time. Now for a shower, and spending the entire tube of toothpaste for brushing his teeth, and he just might feel human again. Maybe.
The tile was freezing cold, but Oliver didn't mind. Quite the opposite. The coldness felt really great, so he was leaning on the wall the entire time the hot water was pouring on him. It was also waking him up, and with the pills working on fixing the killer headache, by the time he was done he finally felt more like himself.
Blue eyes landed on the pile of clothes on the lowered toilet seat and he frowned. He was certain that wasn't there when he got in, only piece of clothes inside should be the boxers he woke up in, and were now lying on the tiled floor where he dropped them before getting in the shower. With a groan he reached and grabbed them, and then threw them into the laundry basket in the corner. The simple move didn't cause nausea, but he was still far from recovered from the evening of partying.
The sound of the bedroom doors opening got him to hurry up and finally put some clothes on, before he exited the steamed up bathroom. When he did he saw Felicity was standing next to a chest of drawers and moving something that clinked, but he couldn't see what it was since she was blocking it from view.
But the smell. The smell revealed it was something delicious.
"Felicity..." he muttered his wife's name, only for her to turn and smile at him widely. Once she did he realized she had a wooden platter there, one covered with delicious looking breakfast food and a glass of a healthy green shake he preferred to orange juice every morning.
"Go back to bed Oliver. " she said, and only then did he noticed the sheets and linen were changed. She worked fast and efficiently, and now the room no longer smelt like a distillery.
He wanted to go down and have breakfast with her at the table, but one look from his wife and he complied. And with a smile she placed the platter over his lap, before sitting on her side of the bed and facing him. Their dog, a small French bulldog, somehow managed to bet up and was now observing him suspiciously from the foot of the bed. That was very odd, because usually his boy would be right next to him when he was eating and whining for a piece of bacon.
"This is a last time I went on a party that Tommy organized. Next time I want you to simply hit me over the head with a iron, it would probably hurt less." Oliver instructed her before taking a bite of a delicious mushroom omelet.
But Felicity only smiled, "Since you and Tommy only have one sister I don't expect another stag party like this one. It was okay for everyone to let loose for once, even you, so stop making that face. I'm just glad everyone arrived home safely."
A groan escaped Oliver's lips, "Arrived- yes. But I'm pretty sure once in the house something happened. I just can't remember what that was."
"Oh, you tripped over... air... and fell on the sidetable by the front door. You know, the one with our holiday photo and a vase we got from your mother on it ... yeah, all three things are now broken." Oliver felt mortified by that, but she was still talking, "Then Code ran up to you, to welcome you home, and you threw up on him."
The dog tilted his head upon hearing his name, and his master groaned. It was just getting better and better. He said her name, hoping she would say that's it.
It wasn't.
He noticed it when she reached out and scratched the puppy's head. A dark mark around her wrist. A bruise, "What happened? Did I do that?"
"What?" Felicity asked, before following his gaze and noticing what he was looking at, "Yeah, it's not so bad Oliver. Quite the opposite."
"Not bad?" he was starting to freak out, "Felicity, I bruised you. Did I grab you? What happened? And why are you so nice to me after... everything?"
"Because after you landed face first on the bed, and somehow managed to turn on your back, I got out of bed to help you out of your jeans and sweater. That was when you grabbed my wrist tightly and..."
"Felicity..." he whispered her name sadly, ashamed by his actions.
But she ignored him and, with a small smile, continued, "...and informed me, and I quote "Do not touch me. I'm a happily married man." So yeah. Not that bad."