I started writing this over the summer, but with all the spoilers floating around I decided that I should finally finish it. So here's the first part. This should be a quick one, probably only two parts, but we'll see how it goes.

Anyway, hope you enjoy! Leave a review and let me know what you think, or stop by my tumblr: spaztronautwriter

Oliver Queen was drunk.

The brunette hanging off of his arm was more drunk, but he was very aware of how difficult it was to keep from tripping over his own two feet. Honestly, he thought it was pretty funny. His grin was wide as he and his date for the night—he wasn't so sure of her name—stumbled through the crowd.

The club—again he wasn't sure of the name, he'd been to three tonight—was still full of attractive people and he kept getting distracted by long legs and shiny dresses as he moved forward. But he'd already picked out his companion for the night. He was pretty sure she was a model. Not one of the Victoria Secret ones that people knew by name, but nothing to scoff at.

As they made their way to the exit, Oliver felt his phone vibrate in his pocket. He didn't bother reaching for it because he already knew who it was. He'd just left Tommy at the bar with a redhead who's... assets would certainly keep his friend distracted for awhile. It could be Laurel, he mused, but she'd have to be speaking to him to call. No, he knew it was his mother, and the thought cut through the happy buzz he was feeling.

His mother, who'd been bugging him for the last two weeks about needing to "grow up" and take on more responsibility, was the last thing he wanted to think about tonight, so he ignored the buzzing until it stopped and squeezed his date's ass, making her giggle. In return, she leaned into his ear, making delicious, breathy promises of things to come—pun intended. All thoughts of his mother dissolved and the warm feeling flowing through his veins returned to the forefront of his mind.

When they'd finally made it to the valet, Oliver told him it was the black Lamborghini and sighed when the man didn't immediately run off to fetch the car.

"Listen, I have the ticket, somewhere," he told the guy in the stupid looking red vest. He pulled a stack of cash from his pocket and pulled a bill from the top. "I'm sure this will speed things up."

Red Vest looked between him and the model and then down at the money in Oliver's hand, before he nodded and had the car brought around. He figured he'd make out with his date while waiting for the car, but his phone started ringing again before he'd gotten much further than a peck.

"Are you gonna answer that?" the brunette giggled, reaching into his pants pocket. "Here, let me get it for you."

Her barely concealed groping wasn't enough to distract him once she handed him the phone, his mother's picture lighting up the screen. Steeling himself, he swiped the screen and answered the call.

"Oliver." His mother was talking before he'd even brought the phone to his ear. "I know that you're out with Tommy, but I need you to come home. I told you there was a board meeting tomorrow I wanted you to sit in on and I would rather you not be hungover while attending."

"Mom," Oliver practically whined. "It's eleven o'clock on a Saturday."

"It's Wednesday, Oliver." His mother's disappointed sigh killed his buzz a little, but he refused to let her sober him completely. He was having a good time.

"Whatever," he told her. "I'm not drinking anymore tonight, okay? Just have a car sent to... What's your address?" he asked the brunette, who was now officially looking bored by his conversation. She didn't answer right away, so he turned back to his phone call. "Call me in the morning and I'll get a car myself, alright?"

"Oliver..." There was that sigh again.

"I'll be at the stupid board thing, Mom," he snapped. "What more do you want from me?"

When she didn't reply right away, he knew it had been the wrong thing to say. He hung up the phone quickly, shoving it back in his pocket and putting the whole thing out of his head. Hopefully, the stupid feeling in his chest, the one he always got when he disappointed his parents, would fade and leave him to his pleasant buzz and even pleasanter companion.

The humming of an expensive engine caught his attention and he looked up to see his Lamborghini rounding the corner. He grabbed the keys from the valet as soon as the guy pulled up in his car.

"Sir," the man said taking a long look at Oliver, "maybe we should call you a cab."

Oliver ignored him, getting behind the wheel and winking at his date. She giggled and gracefully folded herself into the passenger seat, her long, tan legs popping against the dark leather seats. Oliver reached over, sliding a hand over her knee, and hit the gas, speeding away from the club.

His mind shut out all thoughts of his mother and her disappointment and the board thing he was being forced to attend. Right now, tonight, the only problem he had to worry about was whether or not his date liked to give head.

He'd barely made it out of downtown before he found out how wrong he was.

•••

One minute he's cruising along—music up, top down, his fingers ghosting up a soft thigh—the next, he's jerking the wheel, terror nearly overwhelming him as the screech of metal drowns out everything.

When it stops, when the world stops spinning and he can breathe again, he looks around. The brunette next to him is saying something, no, yelling. She's screaming and there's a small, bloody scratch on her forehead. She's screaming at him, but he can't hear her. He knows that should worry him. It doesn't.

He blinks once, twice. There's steam coming up from something in the road ahead. A tangled red thing. The street lights blink green, then yellow. There aren't any cars.

He feels like everything is happening around him, but not to him. Like he's underwater, or in a snow globe. Thea always liked snow globes. He'd thought they were stupid, all you did was shake them and watch the snow fall. No fun in that.

He's watching the steam rise from the clump of metal in the middle of the intersection and thinking about snow globes when the world rushes back to him.

•••

"Oh my god, you killed them!"

He could barely hear his date over the blaring of a horn, but she just kept screaming variations of the same thing. You killed them, you killed them. That's what brought Oliver back to himself. You killed them.

Finally, after seconds or minutes, he wasn't sure, he recognized the steaming, screeching hunk of metal in the middle of the road. A car. He'd hit a car. A red Mini Cooper from the looks of it. And he didn't see any movement inside.

His neck was stiff and his knee hurt, but he reached for the door. It was jammed, but with a little force he managed to get out. He didn't look at his Lamborghini. He didn't care. He couldn't tear his eyes from the wreck in front of him.

Somehow he could hear glass crunching under his shoes even over the blaring horn. The sounds, separately, were nothing out of the ordinary, but together they made his stomach clench in fear.

He'd hit someone. Someone in a tiny red car.

The car in question was still right side up, but the entire passenger side was crushed. Oliver breathed a quick sigh of relief that no one seemed to be in the passenger seat. For one brief moment, he let himself hope. Let himself hope that it wasn't as bad as it looked. Then he looked at the driver's side.

He'd obviously hit the car on the right side while it was in the intersection. But the real damage was done when the car rammed into the median on the driver's side. Oliver's stomach heaved once when he saw the small figure of a woman folded over the steering wheel, but then he was moving, swallowing down his fear and his bile.

Rounding the car, he realized he'd never be able to get the door open, so instead he reached in, feeling for a pulse. Almost all of the glass from the window was lying on the asphalt by his feet, so nothing stopped him from brushing his fingers along the woman's neck. Her heart beat steadily against his finger tips.

"Call an ambulance!" he yelled to his date. He glanced up to see she was out of the totaled Lamborghini, standing next to the wreckage in her short sequined dress.

"I'm sorry, Ollie." She gave him a helpless shrug before she turned, picking her way through the glass and debris in her high heels, leaving him and the unconscious girl alone.

He stared after her for a moment, not quite believing she'd just left him. He didn't even know why—surely he was the one who would get into trouble for this, not her. But she was gone, and Oliver quickly pulled his phone from his pocket, dialing 911.

Once he knew help was on the way, he looked back at the injured woman. Her head was still resting on the steering wheel, the horn still blaring. He wanted to move her, to sit her back more comfortably in her seat, but he didn't know if she had a neck injury. He was pretty sure that he shouldn't move her in case she did. Instead, he brushed the remaining glass from the window, careful not to let any fall into the car, then he reached in and took her hand. He knelt in the glass and twisted hunks of metal and cement, holding her hand and whispering what he hoped were words of comfort, trying to ignore the loudness of the horn and the fear and guilt that had lodged in his chest.

"You're gonna be okay," he told her. "Everything's going to be alright. The ambulance is on its way. I won't leave until they're here. I won't leave you."

He rested his head against the demolished side of her car and closed his eyes, small splinters of glass biting into his forehead and knees.

"I won't leave you," he whispered. "You're gonna be okay. I won't leave."

•••

Two ambulances showed up, along with a lot of police cars.

The paramedics pulled him away from the car so they could get to the woman trapped and unconscious inside, but he still refused to leave. He made the paramedics assess and treat his wounds onsite, refusing to leave until he saw them put her into an ambulance.

The police had only asked a few questions at the accident, but he knew as soon as they got to the hospital he'd more than likely be arrested. Especially because this wasn't his first DUI. His dad had gotten him out of the others, but he wasn't sure if his mom would do the same. He wasn't sure if he deserved to get out of this one.

So he was surprised when his mother was at the hospital waiting for him. Someone on the police force must have called her as soon as they realized Oliver Queen had been involved in an accident.

"Oh, sweetheart!" she cooed as they wheeled him into the emergency room.

He glanced past her, looking for the girl from the accident. He didn't see her, but he took that as a good thing. They already had her in the emergency room, they were already helping her.

"I'm okay, Mom," he said, looking back at her. She cupped his face in her hands, her intense blue eyes searching his, checking him over for injuries. He pulled her hands away, reassuring her. "Really, I'm fine."

She took a step back, nodding as the paramedics wheeled him over to an empty area. He wasn't injured, not badly anyway, so a nurse told him a doctor would be over shortly.

"I need to go talk to the hospital staff," his mother said quietly, glancing around for someone in charge. "I've already called the lawyers." She looked back at him seriously. "If anyone tries to take your blood, you call for me."

Oliver blinked, then blinked again. "Mom..."

"Paying off police and doctors is one thing, Oliver, but if they have evidence that you were under the influence and this goes to trial..." She sighed that disappointed sigh again and suddenly Oliver felt like he might cry. His mother saw the look in his eyes and took it for fear. "Don't worry, sweetheart," she said, running her fingers through his hair. "I'll take care of everything."

But the thing was, he wasn't sure he wanted her to.

•••

After the accident, after his mother paid off a few hospital employees and a few Starling City police officers and the paramedics who'd worked on him at the scene, everything pretty much went back to normal for Oliver.

He'd missed the board meeting the next day, but everyone was very understanding since he'd been in an accident. Rumors had gotten out that he was drunk, but there was no evidence to prove it and the gossip sites dropped it once the Queen family checkbook got involved.

All in all, Oliver had gotten off scot-free. He was, once again, the luckiest guy in the world. The woman he'd hit, however, had not been so lucky.

Felicity Smoak.

His mother had told him her name two days after the accident. He'd camped out in his family's mansion, recuperating and lying low from the press and paparazzi, but his mother told him she was going to the hospital to meet with Felicity and her family.

Felicity.

He tried to look her up while he was stuck inside. She didn't have any social media, not even a Facebook. It was like she didn't even exist. Part of him thought it would be easier if she didn't. The bigger part of him couldn't believe what a scumbag he was for even thinking that. That was the part of him that remembered the beat of her pulse under his fingertips and the way her blonde hair had hidden her face from him as she'd unconsciously slumped against the steering wheel. The warm feeling of her hand in his as he kneeled beside her, praying he wasn't lying when he said everything would be alright.

When his mother came home from the hospital that day he could tell she'd been crying. She wouldn't speak to him at first, even when he asked what had happened. Finally, after composing herself, she sat him down and explained the extent of Felicity's injuries, the extent of what he'd done.

Oliver may have been the luckiest guy in the world, but that made Felicity the unluckiest girl. She'd not only suffered scrapes and whiplash and a concussion, same as him, but she'd had a slight brain bleed, which, his mother assured him, had been treated quickly and she'd make a full recovery.

"That's great, right?" Oliver said, feeling relief wash over him for the first time since the accident. "She'll be okay."

Moira hesitated and Oliver felt his calm slipping away.

"Oliver," she began. "Felicity's head trauma wasn't the most severe injury she sustained." She glanced at him and he wasn't sure what she saw, but her hand found his and gave it a tight squeeze. "When her car hit the median, a piece of the doorframe pierced her lower back. It paralyzed her from the waist down."

Oliver shook his head, thinking back to the wreck. He didn't remember anything piercing her back, but he hadn't looked that hard. He'd been underwater, in a snow globe, worrying about whether or not he'd killed someone. He'd never stopped to think beyond his own experience. That girl, Felicity, had been impaled by a piece of her car and he'd just sat next to her, telling her it would be alright.

"I'm taking care of it," Moira assured him, "but, sweetheart, you need to know, she isn't expected to walk again."

"What do you mean, you're taking care of it?" It was the only thing he could ask. His mind refused to think about the other part of what she said.

"I've discussed things with Felicity and her mother. They were... kind enough to speak with me. We're paying all of her medical bills and for her to have the best doctors, but even so, the probability of her ever walking—"

Oliver left then. Just stood up and walked away. His mother calling for him, yelling for him to come back, drown out by the sudden rush of blood in his ears. It was an annoying buzz that he followed to his father's old liquor cabinet, grabbing a bottle of whiskey, before heading up to his room to drown out the rest of his mother's words in peace.