I had such a great response to my post 2x13 Dig-based drabble that I had to follow it up. This is a bit of foundation work for what's coming next. Wanted to set the stage a bit and create the connection between Felicity and Dig. Let me know what you think!

It wasn't the first time he had put her into bed with tearstains on her face, and camped out in her living room like a sentry.

The first time was the night of the earthquake. The night he saw both just how strong, and just how delicate his blonde friend and partner was.

By the time he had made it back to the foundry, she was in pretty bad shape. Physically, she was okay. Mentally, that was another story. It had broke his heart seeing her curled up in the corner with her tablet, shaking as she waited for someone to come. Later, she told him she had tried to get out, but couldn't get the door to open from the inside. So she had secured what she could, packed medical supplies in case they needed them, and then she had waited.

I knew you guys would come.

The strength in her voice hadn't matched her trembling exterior, and Dig knew that this earthquake had damaged more than the structure of the club itself.

It had damaged her.

The nightmares were fierce. He remembered running into her room, sidearm drawn, ready to take out the threat, only to see her thrashing in her covers, screaming at the top of her lungs.

He never told her what she screamed. Who she begged to save her in those moments of terror.

She didn't talk about the dreams at first. By day, she was Felicity Smoak, IT extraordinaire, spending every waking moment looking for Oliver and renovating the lair. She had laser focus. No one who passed her on the street would know she had become a walking commercial for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.

But Dig knew. He saw it that night. And he watched it rear its ugly head repeatedly over the first few months of Oliver's absence.

He stayed close by, realizing quickly that Felicity had no one to look out for her. No one to check on her and make sure she was eating. So he did that. No one to sit by her and hold her hand through her panic attacks. So he did that. No one to make sure Felicity knew that she wasn't alone and that the walls around her, figurative or literal, were not going to crash in on her at any given moment. So he did that.

He had watched soldiers, his brothers-in-arms, walk through the night terrors, the flashbacks, the mood swings – all the day-in and day-out hell that was PTSD. He had faced it himself.

But nothing could have prepared him for watching those same demons torment the bravest, most selfless, determined, and full of life woman he had ever known. Dig had shed more than a few tears watching her scream in fear and hide under her own dining room table when he accidentally knocked over her broom. Or the day he had been forced to give her a sedative to calm her down when she had gone back to the foundry for the first time without him. He would never forget the fear that had gripped his heart, seeing her lying in the corner, gasping for air into lungs that were already overtaxed, covering her head from the debris falling in her mind's eye.

That was the night he had pushed her to talk. To tell him just what had happened that night. And she did. That and so much more. She told him a bit about her family, enough to understand that the terror she had felt waiting for them to come for her was amplified beyond what he could understand himself. She showed him how deep her strength went, how deeply ingrained her loyalty was.

That was the night he told her he would always – always – be there for her. As her friend and as a brother.

He had stayed awake all night on her couch, just as he was doing now, sidearm nearby and eyes straying to her door, ready to give his life to keep her safe.

They had walked into the foundry together – as a unit, as a family – two months after the quake. She had trembled for a moment before releasing his arm and stepping forward into the wreckage. Moments later, she turned to him and began discussing the plans for the renovation. He couldn't stop the relieved smile from spreading across his face.

She was back. Stronger than before.

With a heavy sigh, he shut his eyes, knowing she was going to need all the support he could give tomorrow. He was there the first time she walked back in there, and he would be right there this time too.