Oliver Queen is of the past. He is forgotten. I am al Sahim.

When he saw the woman in the strange deserted warehouse defying Sarab, refusing the search, it was as though the world slowed down and simultaneously caught fire. She seemed to glow against her drab surroundings, and if he didn't know better, he would have said that the ghost of Oliver Queen was controlling his actions. But he did know better. There was no Oliver Queen. It was Sahim's error that caused the death of his brothers, and he would have to dole out the punishment, to this woman, who he'd just realised he loved beyond all reason. Was it possible to fall in love at first sight? He would not have thought so, before that night.

"You are new to our ways, Sahim," R'as al Ghul said, as he and his brothers prepared to bring the woman to their hiding place. "You must be asking yourself why she is the one that must be punished, when the other discharged the weapons."

"I would not presume to question our traditions, Master," Sahim answered, though in truth he could not stop his inner protests, that his brave phoenix must take the place of another, the true guilty party.

"Lyla Michaels is a mother, Sahim." R'as Al Ghul sounded almost indulgent as he continued. "In truth, your error was in abducting her in the first place, but you were not to know."

Sahim seemed to remember that the Daughter of the Demon had herself abducted a mother in her quest to retrieve Taer as Safer, her Beloved, but he felt strangely reticent at mentioning this to his master. It was the first doubt he had felt ever since he was reborn into this new life, and though he felt its pressure, he was able to sweep it aside.

"There is an alternative to death, for a woman, Sahim."

"I have been told this, master. But the woman must ask for the choice – I may not reveal it to her."

He tried to keep the inquiry out of his voice as he spoke, and R'as al Ghul showed no sign of having heard anything. Or he chose to ignore it.

"If she cannot ask, then you must give her death, my son."

His tone indicating that the conversation was over, he walked away, leaving Sahim with the bitter knowledge that he could save her, if only she could read his mind.

As she knelt at his feet, later that night, trying to be brave, trying to guess what he wanted so badly to tell her, Sahim felt despair wash over him. It was hopeless. Each man kills the thing he loves, he thought. He paused for a moment to wonder where the strange thought had come from, but it changed nothing. He tightened his hands on his sword and brought it up for the killing stroke, and when she saw, she closed her eyes. And he froze. He could not, would not do this thing. He threw the sword down, startling her, and in her eyes he saw her surprise to still be alive. Minutes later he saw that surprise turn to rage when she understood what she would have to do to survive, and he found himself covering her mouth to stop her from sealing her fate in anger – all leniency would be suspended if she gave great insult to the Demon's Head. He could feel the contempt emanating from his master when she made her choice, and this was the second time he doubted his lord. Sahim himself felt no contempt for someone who would choose life over death. He had seen death, had caused it many times, and there was no nobility in it. He would have been happier if he hadn't known that even though her life would be spared, her body would not, and from that day onwards, she would hate him for the rest of her life, even as he would love her for the rest of his. He tried to speak harshly to her as he dragged her out of R'as al Ghul's presence, but wasn't sure who he was trying to convince – whether it was her, his lord, or himself.

Or the others. He felt eyes upon him constantly, watching his actions, his behaviour, waiting for him to make a false step. Not everyone in the League believed he was truly one of them, and if he fell, then it stood to reason they would do what he could not. Even his hesitation to kill her, his failure to have her searched, had already raised suspicions among his brothers. He could not be sure that they really believed he would go through with it, and for all of the next day, he lived in terror of being summoned to find her lifeless body, to find that his brothers had exacted their vengeance in his place.

At midnight on the next day, Sahim entered her bedroom without making a sound. She was sitting on her bed and shrank back when she became aware of his presence. He could see dread in her face, and he took off the mask and the cowl, in an attempt to reassure her, and sat down next to her. She was shaking, and would not meet his eyes.

"I need . . . I need to . . ." Her voice was shaking as badly as the rest of her, and his admiration for her only increased as she forced her body to obey her.

"I won't just lie there and let you do this," she continued, and her voice was stronger now. He nodded, even as he felt his heart break.

"Well? Aren't you going to say anything?" She seemed impatient now, to get it over with.

"You may resist me," he said, watching her closely.

"But I cannot let you speak, or scream."

She opened her mouth to argue the point, and he went to whisper in her ear, moving so quickly that she gasped in shock.

"There are others here," he murmured. "It would be unwise to draw their attention before it is done."

Her eyes widened, and she seemed to understand. It was time. He got up to turn off the lights, and got on the bed again, this time to push her down. He tried to follow his own advice to her, to pretend she was willing, but found himself unable to maintain his arousal when she went limp under him, her eyes staring at nothing as she waited for him to finish.

Afterwards, he sat with his head in his hands, unable to stir. She had not moved from where he had left her, and he wished he could comfort her in some way. Instead, he had to make things worse. What he had done was not enough to persuade his brothers that she had been violated. So, with every action he cemented her hatred for him. He bound her arms, hit her in the face, tore her clothing. With each action he felt he debased himself further, while raising her esteem in his eyes. She bore his inflicted indignities with such grace and fortitude. When his brothers raked her form with their eyes he wanted to kill them, and knew he would, eventually. And this was the third time he doubted his master.

Back in Nanda Parbat, when R'as al Ghul told him he was to marry his daughter, Sahim doubted his lord for a fourth time. He knew very well that Nyssa, Daughter of the Demon, was not interested in the love of men. Why would he force this unwilling union on his child? When he heard talk of children, Sahim felt a strange blurring in his head – even though he was an assassin now, Heir to the Demon, he knew what century they were living in, and that women could conceive without a man, and could marry other women. He opened his mouth to raise the issue with his lord, and closed it again. He had happened to catch Nyssa's eye, and along with the horror and disgust, he had glimpsed terror – if she, the beloved daughter, dared not speak, who was he to do so?

When finally he was told of the Alpha/Omega virus, and his part in bringing the city to destruction, his final doubt in R'as al Ghul shattered the calm which had smothered his actions and thoughts ever since his induction into the league. He was careful to show nothing on his face. But he would not do this thing. Where was the honour in the death of innocents? How could Al Saher be accused of breaking the code when he caused the death of hundreds, when he, Sahim, was being sent to kill even more people? Why had he let the woman live, if he was only going to bring her a slower and more painful death?

Sahim nodded and smiled, pretending to agree to everything that was asked of him, and prepared to leave for Starling City on his mission of death. He knew that before he left he would have to convince Nyssa to deal with her father, because he could not. He wavered daily between his image of R'as al Ghul as his beloved master, his father, and the reality of a man who craved power and condoned rape and mass murder. Even though he would have denied it to anyone who asked, he was starting to feel as though he had no control over his actions, at least those related to his lord. The sole thought of causing harm to R'as al Ghul gave him physical pain, and a wave of dizziness and nausea that threatened to expose his true feelings. He had never felt so out of control of his actions, even when he had been dosed with Vertigo. And that thought alone troubled him. Because Al Sahim had never been dosed with Vertigo.

At their last meal together, Sahim waited for the right moment to speak to the man who considered himself his father-in-law.

"I wish to spend some time with my wife before I leave, my lord."

R'as al Ghul's face was immediately wreathed in smiles, just as Nyssa glared at him. He tried to signal her with his eyes, but she refused to meet them. Still, he could talk with her once they were alone – they would surely be left alone to consummate their union, wouldn't they?

Nyssa walked into the room before him, and as soon as he turned to shut the door, she attacked. She'd gotten another knife from somewhere, but he managed to fight her off easily, and soon had her pinned down on their bed. That in itself was surprising. Added to his own inability to think as clearly as he liked, it was downright suspicious. She struggled some more, trying to kick him in the groin, and he wanted to tell her not to worry, he doubted he'd feel arousal ever again, not after what he'd inflicted on the one shining star in this universe of dung. There – his mind had wandered again.

"Enough," he hissed into her ear. "I needed to speak in private, and thought to use this as an excuse."

"Excuse?" she spat at him.

"You need no excuse! I know what you did to poor Felicity," she raged. "I should kill you for that alone."

"You will not speak her name ever again." His fury was as incandescent as his words were cold. "It was your foolhardy plan that brought this upon her."

She was taken aback, and looked at him closely.

"She is still your Beloved. But you are not Oliver Queen."

"I am al Sahim, as you well know," he said tiredly.

How often would he have to repeat this? But she was right, the woman, whose given name he was not fit to pronounce, was his Beloved, his Ankaa, his phoenix.

"You must listen to me-"

She interrupted him again.

"If you do not intend to take me by force, you must at least pretend to do so!"

"Are we being watched?"

He could hardly believe this. Where was the great honour of the assassins he had been told about so often? Since when was it honourable to peep at keyholes?

"Of course we are being watched, you dolt," she whispered.

"It will not surprise my single-minded father if I let myself be mastered by such a strong man," she continued, her words dripping with sarcasm.

"But if I feel your manhood stirring, I will geld you," she warned.

He rolled his eyes, just as she pretended to give in. They did some actions with a view of fooling the person watching, glad that with their layers of robes and all the hangings in the way, they only had to move rhythmically for a while, though their conversation would have immediately dispelled this charade.

"I think we are being drugged," he whispered, as he pretended to thrust.

"Do you not find yourself losing fights too easily?"

She thought about this, in between feigned gasps and theatrically angry insults.

"You bested me on the rooftop in Starling City," she countered.

"As you told me, that was the place where your Beloved died," he answered. She nodded, her eyes saddened.

"You must find out what is affecting you, and remove it. And," he said, speeding up his movements, "you must kill your father." He finished off with a long groan, hoping to convince their watchers of his passion.

"Don't you think I've tried," she hissed angrily.

"A frontal attack on the Demon's Head?" he countered.

"Now who's the dolt? That is not how you defeat him. The knife in the back, poison in the cup, trap him far from the pit; have you no guile?"

She opened her mouth to answer him, the fury clear in her face, then seemed to change her mind.

"I have had these thoughts," she said slowly. "Though only in Starling City." Her expression changed, and her voice suddenly increased in volume.

"You got what you wanted, you pig! Now get off me!"

She pushed him off her violently, and it was not a moment too soon, as R'as al Ghul burst into the room. Nyssa made a show of pulling her skirts down and glaring at her father, and Sahim pretended to adjust his trousers. Any father would have killed him for his offence, even the fathers of Starling City, soft and unused to violence. R'as al Ghul simply clapped him on the shoulder.

"Well done, my son. Now it is time to bring death to the city."

Sahim had never hated anyone more than he hated R'as al Ghul at that moment. And yet, he could not kill him. Why could he not? There was the problem of the assassins, of course, and Sarab, ever watchful. But he thought he could take Sarab, and he was the heir – the other assassins would treat it like an early ascension, and would accept him. But there was more to it than that. Even the thought of running his lord through made bile rise in his throat. He needed to get out of Nanda Parbat. Perhaps in the city he would be able to think more clearly.

He walked out without a backward glance, one thought floating around in his head: Nyssa would have to . . . step up her game. He paused, walking up to the plane. Whose phrase was that? What did it mean? He shook off the stray thought and climbed up into the cockpit. Now was not the time for the ghosts of his past life to distract him. He would have to keep his wits about him if he wanted to prevent the death of millions of innocents.

On the plane to Starling City, he informed his brethren that he would abstain from food and drink until they arrived at their destination, to keep a clear head. Privately he wondered if it would help with this strange feeling he kept getting, of being adrift in time. The flight was long, and gave him too much time to worry about his next move, but finally they had arrived, and he directed the different groups of assassins to their various destinations. R'as al Ghul had insisted that they should be infected to spread contagion more widely. Unfortunately for his erstwhile lord, Sahim had not infected his brothers, nor had he told them about that part of the plan. So he still had the entire vial in his possession. Not that he was alone – and the assassins chosen to accompany him were the same ones R'as al Ghul had assigned to watch him that night.

He made his move as soon as all three of them walked into the abandoned warehouse they had chosen as their safe house. He stabbed the oldest in the back to disorient him and broke his neck. The other did not even fight when Sahim punched him, spinning him around and putting his knife to his throat.

"Do you know why you must die?"

Sahim wasn't sure why he was asking this, only that he wanted to somehow justify his action.

The man nodded, as much as he could with Sahim's dagger at his throat.

"We laid eyes on her, your Beloved. It was without honour, what was done."

Sahim closed his eyes in pain – the reminder of that night still had power to hurt him. He drew his dagger across the man's throat without another word, thinking, I will join you soon, brothers. He had no intention of surviving this night. But he still had to dispose of the virus in some way that would not do more harm than good. He broke into a home to procure some water, unwilling to trust anything he had been given in Nanda Parbat, and his mind kept getting clearer. He knew what he had to do now.

Approaching Thea Queen's apartment, he caught a glimpse of a shadowy figure on the rooftop – Al Saher, guarding his only remaining child, no doubt. He let himself be seen, knowing that any other greeting would get him an arrow in the gut.

"Oliver?"

Sahim sighed. There was a time when Saher was sharper.

"No," he answered. "But I have come to surrender to you and the friends of Oliver Queen."

"Haven't you come to carry out the extermination?" So, Saher was not completely dulled by life in the city.

"Find me a way to destroy a virus – I need to see it done. I will not entrust it to anyone else." Sahim spoke quickly, not wanting to give Saher any time to twist his words.

"I will give you the locations of my brethren once I know how to ensure the virus is gone."

Saher smiled. Sahim had to control himself – he wanted so badly to put an arrow in that smug bastard's face. Once again, stray thoughts were interfering with his focus on his task.

"Well, I'm sure Felicity will have a few ideas."

Saher's voice was knowing, and for a second Sahim was convinced that he knew. He let the second pass, and breathed deeply. Why should she have confided in Saher, a man she hated and despised? This was just his way, and Sahim would not be fooled.

"Speak to her, and relay her instructions to me," Sahim answered. Saher acknowledged this and a few seconds later, she was on the line. Even though she was speaking to Saher, he could hear her beloved voice and it was a balm to his spirits.

"She says she will only tell you if you swear that no innocents will be killed." Sahim noticed that she did not ask to speak to him directly, and even though he understood, it caused him pain nevertheless.

"I swear," he answered. He received the instructions, and directions to the laboratory which had an instrument called an autoclave, which would dispose of the type of virus he was handling. An hour later he had broken in with her assistance, had imprisoned the staff which was still there so late at night, and had dragged one man, who'd said he was a chemical engineer, to the autoclave to operate it for him.

"I don't understand," the man said, shaking. They were standing in the antechamber of the room containing the apparatus, and once he realised that Sahim would not kill him, he was reluctant to co-operate. "What do you have that's so dangerous?"

"It is a virus with no known cure, which is transmitted through the air," Sahim answered, and the man's face went grey. He immediately put on protective clothing, and held his hand out for the vial. Sahim watched through glass walls as he entered the adjoining room, opened the vial and threw it in the autoclave. As the machinery operated, obliterating the virus, the room itself was filled with steam and ultraviolet light, to catch any remnants which might have escaped containment. The threat was gone. He felt some measure of relief, mixed with disappointment. He had expected to die in this city.

When he walked out of the laboratory to see himself surrounded by men with firearms, all pointed at him, his heart sang. Pulling out his sword, he prepared to charge them, joyful that he would meet his death that day, after all.

"Ollie, no! You promised you wouldn't kill him!"

His head snapped to the side at the sound of a girl's voice, and with a dawning horror he recognized the diminutive figure struggling against her father and John Diggle. Thea. Oliver's sister. There was a sudden blurring in his vision, and she became a tiny figure with her hair in bunches, and then a baby in his mother's arms. No, it was Oliver Queen's mother that he saw. He shook his head, and she was once again a grown woman, crying for her brother.

"Come on, man! Don't make her watch her brother die!"

John Diggle seemed remarkably forgiving of someone who had sworn vengeance when Sahim had kidnapped his wife. But he was right. Even though he no longer felt like Thea's brother, he had done enough harm to these people. There would be ways to find his death later on.

He changed his hold on the sword to show that he was putting it down, and laid it carefully at his feet.

"Oliver Queen! You are under arrest for the crimes of terrorism, abduction, murder, treason . . . "

The list of crimes went on, but Sahim stopped paying attention after hearing the accusation of treason, which surely of all his crimes carried the death penalty.

"Get down! Down on the ground! Put your hands out! Do it now!"

The words were shouted at him from all directions, and he complied, not resisting when one man knelt on his back, and his companions bound him. He was hustled past Thea Queen into a waiting van, and he was chained securely to its floor.

He was less sanguine when they arrived at their destination, a large building with the sign ARGUS on the front. But he was given no opportunity to resist – dragged from room to room, ordered to undress and put on shapeless clothing with no pockets, divested of all his weapons. The only time he balked was when the people in charge wanted him to submit to what they termed a cavity check. But he submitted, eventually, after he was told they could simply render him unconscious for this search. He would rather be in full possession of his faculties when liberties such as these would be taken with his body.

Eventually he was ushered to a room with a table, and chained to it by the wrists. A friendly looking older man of colour sat opposite him, and immediately protested.

"Is this really necessary," he asked, waving at the handcuffs. "Does Oliver really have to be cuffed to the table?"

Did they think he was a halfwit, to be fooled by such obvious subterfuge?

"My name is Sahim," he said coldly. "And this façade of gentleness does not fool me." The man was not dismayed.

"You see right through us, don't you? I apologise for this clumsy attempt to trick you. It won't happen again."

Sahim had first decided to be silent, but they had already managed to trick him into speaking, so he would ask a question.

"Why am I here? Am I not to be arrested?"

"Your family wants you back, Sahim. They want Oliver Queen to come back to them."

Sahim nodded. He had thought as much. But resurrecting Oliver Queen would take more than a conversation, he was sure. One thought reassured him – to bring back Oliver Queen would mean Sahim's death. So he would die after all. After what he had done, the thought only brought him joy.

And so it started – the days blurred into each other as he exchanged the interrogation room for a cell with a cot, a chair, a sink and a toilet. The lights were never fully extinguished, and he was never allowed more than a shallow sleep before he was woken up, either by a blaring noise or by someone shouting in his ear. He explored the confines of his cell, and his boredom caused him to start an exercise routine, which was greatly improved once he found that in the ceiling above there were bars which were strong enough to hold his weight. He was starting to get flashes of memory of his previous life, and in one of them he let himself drop to break a bar to which he was chained. But this one seemed of stronger construction than that. Whatever drugs had been in his system were being slowly expelled from his body, and his thinking alternated between clear and foggy.

His conversations with the man who he learned was a counsellor never became more than that – conversations. Occasionally a woman would enter to ask him about the virus, and whether he was sure that it had been fully destroyed. He would answer to the best of his ability, no longer feeling he owed anything to R'as al Ghul. Except he could not let go of the man himself, whose figure loomed large in his head. Whenever he was asked a direct question about him, his lips froze and he could no longer say anything. Even though his identity as Sahim was being chipped away, he still could not see himself killing the man he hated now, above all others. In an effort to restore him to his former self, he was shown messages from Thea Queen, and John Diggle, but never from her. He found he could not even bring himself to ask after her – even her name was stuck in his throat. He had no right to say it, after what he had done.

And so it went on, with days surely becoming weeks, until one night Sahim went to sleep and Oliver Queen woke up. He had been allowed to sleep longer than usual, and was dreaming. He dreamt that he killed Diggle and his horror only increased as he dreamt of Felicity. He woke with a start, his eyes flying open in the half-light of his cell. What had he done? Was it all a nightmare? Which part was real? He was sure that he'd seen and heard Diggle long after he remembered killing him. But what about Felicity? What he'd dreamt of was too real to be a vision. What had he done to Felicity? Everything else was covered in a foggy haze, and every time he tried to work something out, a sharp stabbing pain in his head made him want to stop. Slowly, the more recent events started coming back – destroying the Alpha/Omega virus, watching his baby sister shoot him in the arm, (and that was a mindfuck and a half) marrying Nyssa . . . he had to stop before he really went crazy. His cell was provided with a sink and running water and he took advantage of that, splashing his face and trying to fit his head under the faucet.

The electronic lock on his cell opened with a thud, and one of his guards came in, making a quip about showers which Oliver didn't really listen to. The guard seemed to be used to this, though, and Oliver held his hands out for the cuffs. As he walked along the corridor to the interrogation room, more and more started to come back. He was at ARGUS, they were deprogramming him – seriously, he'd been that far gone? If his nightmare about Felicity was real (and it couldn't be, it couldn't, there was no way), then he'd been so far down the rabbit hole he didn't think he could ever find his way back.

"So, Oliver, are you feeling different today?"

The man in front of him was the same one he'd been talking to for weeks – a cynical part of him wondered if they'd chosen him because he seemed to fall for a father figure with boring regularity.

"I don't know what you mean."

He answered mildly, and the counsellor stopped his incessant note taking to stare at him, open-mouthed.

"Tell me, what's your name?"

"I'm Oliver Queen," he answered simply.

"Would it surprise you to find out that's not how you've been answering this question for the time you've been here?"

Oliver looked away. Then he had been under, completely. Unless ARGUS were pulling a con on him, and why would they do that? What would be the point? He decided to try his luck.

"Can I go home? Or am I going to jail?"

The man shook his head, still projecting a friendly vibe. It occurred to Oliver that he didn't even know this man's name, but he wasn't interested enough to ask.

"Oliver, we need to keep you for a few days more, to make sure you're fully recovered," the therapist said. Was he a therapist? Or a really good ARGUS agent, specialised in making people trust him?

"Let's go through some things . . ." he continued, and Oliver groaned internally, though he was careful not to show anything on his face. More questions which he couldn't answer, probably about the virus. ARGUS hadn't changed. Although at least this time they weren't waterboarding him to get answers. What he really wanted was to ask what he had done, what was real and what wasn't, and he didn't trust ARGUS to tell him the truth. If they even knew the whole of it. He had a sudden flash of himself threatening to cut someone's throat, and that couldn't have been Felicity, could it? What had he done?

He answered distractedly when he was asked his full name, date of birth, parents' names, parents' dates of birth, and on and on, until the therapist was satisfied. He started gathering his papers and preparing to leave with an air about him of a man whose task has been accomplished.

"Wait," Oliver said. "My sister, my friends," (Felicity, his mind said) "I need to know if they're ok, if I hurt them . . ."

The therapist brought out a tablet and, while saying that Oliver had already seen all this, he started playing clips – Thea, reminding him who he was, begging him to come back, Diggle, saying that nothing was his fault, come back to us, man, but no Felicity. At the end of one clip he caught a few seconds that were abruptly cut off, of Felicity saying that she couldn't do it, and her heels rapidly clicking away. He was hit by a flashback so strong that it nauseated him, of Felicity's voice saying: "I won't just lie here and let you do this," and he knew, he knew everything. His world was in pieces around him, and he was the one who'd destroyed it. He heard nothing of what the therapist said next. He got up when urged to get up, he went where he was led, he held his hands out to be uncuffed, and he sat on his cot, all without saying another word.

The more time passed, the more he remembered – the things he'd done as Al Sahim were unforgivable. Added to everything he'd done before that, and his mind couldn't take it. All the people he'd killed, all the deaths he'd caused, all culminating with what he'd done to Felicity. Everything came together: Sara, Shado, his mother, his father, countless others – they'd died because of him. And he'd still allowed himself to be used as a weapon, even with Slade Wilson as a cautionary tale. And then Felicity. He could still see her, under him, crying. Lying on her bed, like a marionette with cut strings. He wanted to scream, and beat his head bloody against the cinderblock walls, but he did none of those things, just lay down and waited, as the memories played on a continuous loop in his head, as his hands tightened convulsively on his bedsheet, twisting it into a makeshift rope.

The lights never went out in his cell. They just dimmed at around midnight. When he heard the muted commotion signalling a shift change, he got up, grabbed his sheet, and the chair, dragging it under the bars he'd been using to exercise with. It was a matter of seconds to get on it, loop the sheet over the bars, and back around his neck into a noose. As he kicked the chair away, his last conscious thoughts were of his parents, dead for him. His city, his friends, abandoned. Felicity, destroyed.

Diggle is the only one who gets to see the video and only when he insists, after noticing the characteristic bruising round Oliver's neck. He manages sell it to Thea with a story about fighting in the exercise yard (as though ARGUS had such a thing), while Felicity never even asks about it. But Diggle knows. He's seen it before.

In the movies, security video is always grainy, black and white. Diggle thinks it must be a purely aesthetic choice, because webcams, nanny cams, everything's high quality video nowadays. The only thing missing is the sound. He starts watching a half hour before the 'incident', as Waller was calling it, and marvels that no-one manning the security feed notices how Oliver is twisting the bedsheet into a rope. At around midnight, the lights dim slightly, and Oliver springs into action, drags a chair into the middle of the room, gets on it, and throws the sheet up above his head, looping it around his neck and tying it off. He doesn't even hesitate before kicking the chair away, and Diggle watches the digital counter ticking away the seconds as Oliver's feet kick a few times, before relaxing. The bile rises in his throat, just as the lights in the cell start flicking with purpose, and guards burst in, one of them putting his arms around Oliver's legs and lifting his body, to ease the pressure on his neck. They're yelling something, and Diggle can lip-read "Cut him down!", as well as various expletives. They manage to cut through the sheet, and lay Oliver down on the ground. One of the guards feels for a pulse, and seems satisfied. Another guard comes in with a gurney, and they all load Oliver on it before wheeling him out. Diggle knows what happens next – Oliver wakes up in four-point restraints, under suicide watch. He is himself again, according to Waller and the therapist. Though Diggle thinks he can't really trust the therapist, not when he started talking about post-hypnotic suggestion causing the suicide attempt. The Oliver in the video was in his right mind – waited for hours, chose the right time, and used the materials in his cell. If Oliver is really under post-hypnotic suggestion, it's all about R'as al Ghul – Oliver never even tried to fight R'as after becoming al Sahim, even when he was planning to destroy the killer virus.

Once they take him out of suicide watch, Waller says that Oliver asks for only one thing: transport to Lian Yu. And a facility to make a goodbye video for his sister and his friends. In the video it just looks like Oliver needs some time away to clear his head. Diggle knows better, but doesn't want to destroy Thea's hopes. Felicity just watches the video without changing expression. Something happened between them, but in a way Diggle doesn't even want to know what it is. If Oliver thinks it's unforgivable, and Felicity agrees, then he, Diggle, doesn't want to know.

He waits a month, watching Thea's face get sadder, watching Felicity going through the motions with nothing behind her eyes, and then decides to make his move. He isn't sure whether he persuades Felicity or whether she lets herself be persuaded. All he knows is that she finally agrees, and asks for two weeks' grace to persuade Oliver to come back. He allows himself the hopeful thought that maybe it will be enough to fix whatever had been broken between them. He'll gladly postpone his own reckoning with Oliver to restore the old Felicity to them.

He has a moment of doubt after the helicopter takes off and he leaves Felicity on her own in Purgatory, but he has a glimpse of a tall figure with a quiver strapped to his back approaching the beach, and he feels reassured. They would fix this. They always do.