Thea pressed her small palm to the window. It was all she could offer for a regretful goodbye as her breath hitched and the plane whipped down the runway - taking her with it. She felt all the eeriness hidden in the stretch of blackness before her and wondered how easy it would be to let go and allow the shadows to lap over her skin and suck what was left of the light from her body.

She didn't need the pulsing rhythm of the marker lights, that had lit the path so many times before, to know the plane was taking off. She could feel it leaving the ground. It was a feeling she had loved - weightlessness, freedom, and even trust, twisted into thirty seconds. A whirlwind of power, roaring and speed that pushed her into the sky. That innocent magic was lost now, replaced by a lonely detachedness that had settled in her chest as she was hurtled into flight.

Takeoff - she added it to the ever growing list of things he has ripped away from her.

Wishing this was a bad dream that would fade away when consciousness returned, Thea let her body sink into the soft white leather willing it to transform into Roy's arms pulling her into an embrace. But she didn't wake up - the distance between her and home only growing and the seat never turned into Roy - it remained the inanimate object it had always been.

The reflection etched in the window was someone she didn't know. Someone she didn't want to know. Each minute she remained angry at her mother, at Roy, at Oliver she could feel another sliver of the Thea she had been slipping away. And she couldn't let him do that - couldn't let him take that.

Thea had always been consistent, sure of herself, and despite what her letter to Roy said, she knew she was strong. Strength wasn't keeping people out, doubting, untrusting. Real strength was what allowed you to let people in, to trust and love no matter how many times you got hurt. Strength was opening up even after life taught you to do the opposite. Strength was living five years without her brother and father, not letting tragedy consume her - although sadness sometimes did. Strength was the selflessness of that pretty blonde, loving and trusting blindly to try and save her - Thea Queen, a girl she had never truly met before. Strength was the compassion in her eyes as she pulled Thea away from that proverbial edge. And thankful was now what Thea was. This woman risked her life assuring Thea knew the truth before she let herself be lost forever. Strength was the devotion and faith that had throbbed in her chest.

Tears were starting to pool now, threatening to leak out.

Thea used to be strong - resilient. But she got tired, and fighting demanded a lot. It was just easier to be weak. She couldn't pinpoint the moment, but eventually she ran out of reasons to exert the energy to be anything but. The boat sank and instead of swimming to shore she chose indifference; she would either be rescued or drown. At first she hadn't really cared the end result. And then she did. Her brother's blonde had screamed her name, forcing her eyes open seconds before she careened off the edge.

There had been a flood of relief as purpose and love found their way into her bloodstream again. That small glimmer of happiness dwindled and shortly after regret and disappointment - in herself this time - ripped through her. Forgiving her mother should have been something she actively worked towards. Trusting in her relationship with her father - believing that he had loved her - she had owed him that. She had owed herself that. Offering support to her brother who had spent five years alone on an island instead of demanding his time was the right thing to have done. And she hadn't done any of that. The Thea she had been would never have given up on her family. That Thea would have fought - would have stayed.

The girl she was now chose to run. Regret settled heavily on her shoulders, forcing that one tear to trickle down her cheek. There just wasn't enough room in her heart or behind her eyelids to hold in even one more drop of sadness.

"What are you thinking about?" Malcolm softly asked, pulling her from her thoughts.

Blinking rapidly, and wiping at the line of spilled mascara, Thea tried to push her thoughts and emotions deep inside. He didn't get to see her like this. He didn't get to see the real her at all. Felicity had been right, he didn't deserve her.

Malcolm sat across from her. Studying. Analyzing. His eyes, cold and calculating, made her feel sick, but she wasn't about to let him win. Her body was tingling with anger.

Slowly removing her stare from the window, Thea answered his gaze with a scowl. But before he had the chance to say anything else she stole her attention back, leaning into the window, watching her home fade into darkness. It wasn't until the quiet, broken city disappeared from view that Malcolm attempted to speak again.

"Thea, talk to me," he exasperatedly pled.

She let out a bitter laugh and sunk lower into her seat. "What I'm thinking about, hmm..." She tapped her index finger thoughtfully against her lips before sourly replying. "I'm thinking of all the daddy-daughter things we can do, how much I missed you, how happy I am that you're back in my life. Is that what you want me to say?!"

They're not yet at cruising altitude, and she lets her eyes follow the lanes of highway traffic below. She wills herself to do anything but look back at Malcolm, but after a deep breath, she meets his eyes. It's the first time she feels how cold they actually are.

Chills shoot down her spine. Refusing to let the shudder wracking through her body visibly manifest itself she clenches her teeth together.

"I'm not asking you to lie to me Thea - I'd never ask you I do that."

She audibly gags. "Wow. I'll have to remember to nominate you for father of the year when we land. Remind me, won't you?" She admonished with an eye roll.

"Thea...," he takes a deep breath as if all he's doing is deciding where to start.

"No. Don't. Don't waste either of our time." Her voice is steadily rising. "You think all it takes is the right words and you can brush this aside? We can start fresh? Is that what you tried to do with the Glades? Shouldn't you know by now it's a flawed way of mind?"

She takes a few deep breaths and holds up her hand when Malcolm goes to speak again.

"Do you want to know what I'm really thinking about? I'm making a mental list of things you've taken from me - or at least the things you've tried to take." She starts shaking her head with a disbelieving grimace pulling her lips.

"Disregarding you being the mastermind of the Undertaking - which, to be fair, was all I thought you were guilty of when I agreed to come with you - you tried to take my future and my past. You attempted to strip away the parts of me that mean the most, that make me a Queen. But now..." The last words were hushed but a wave of light crossed her eyes and she continued on.

"You were responsible for the Gambit weren't you? You're the reason my father is dead? That I lost my brother - five years physically but in all likelihood forever emotionally. Those five years stole the brother I knew. You stole the relationship I had with him, because it will never be the same. My mother. You turned my mother into a monster when you forced her to surrender her morals to keep Oliver and me safe. And what about Tommy? My closest friend, my second brother, he is dead because of your spitefulness. Because you needed to level the Glades-"

"Tommy isn't dead because of me," the man across from her boomed, cutting her off mid sentence. "He's dead because Laurel wouldn't leave, because he went in to save her, because the vigilante was too late. "

"You do realize that applying your own reasoning, you killed your own wife. You are responsible because you didn't answer your phone. It wasn't because of the man who inflicted the wound - the blame falls on you because you failed to save her? Guess the Glades didn't deserve to be destroyed after all," she bit.

Anger flushed across his face, but the practiced self control would not let him aim any of that frustration at her.

"You took the four closest people in my life and you think there's anything in this world that you can say or do to make it better - to make me forgive you?"

A long minute passed, her focus back on the blipping light on the wing's tip, before she offered an answer to her own question. "You'd be wrong."

Sara and the assassins had quietly left, leaving just the four of them on the pier. After stabilizing and sedating Felicity, Digg had pulled out his phone and started making arrangements. He was going to lean on A.R.G.U.S. one more time tonight; they didn't owe it to him or Lyla, they owed it to the unconscious blond curled up in Oliver's chest - both literally and figuratively. If it hadn't been for her, Amanda would be responsible for the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people. People unlucky enough to be in Starling City at the wrong time. It didn't matter how cold and detached Amanda may be – innocent blood always stained. Whether the drone was for the greater good would have been irrelevant, signing the death sentence for innocent people would have haunted every corner of her existence. She'd never be able to wash it out.

"Waller."

"It's John Diggle. You need to get me a Medevac chopper. Smoak is severely injured. I've stabilized her for now but she's going to need a hell of a lot more than a band aid - and fast. She'll bleed out waiting in the ER of Starling General."

Waller didn't answer. "You owe her this Amanda," Digg managed to squeeze through clenched teeth. She saved a city tonight. You can make the phone call to save her life."

After a small sigh Amanda acquiesced.

"We're on Pier 6. Easily enough room to land. But listen, we don't need any of your men. Lyla can pilot. I can handle the paramedic duties."

Waller didn't answer. "This is the only solution. Too many of us need to get on that chopper. No one is staying behind." He looks back to where Olivet is sitting, "It's really not even an option."

Waller hangs up and all he can do is hope that's a good sign. He walks back over and takes a seat next to Roy. "Chopper's on its way."

Both men nod. After a couple of minutes, Oliver's voice cuts through the silence. "I want to go to Catema," Oliver softly states - never lifting his eyes from Felicity's still form. "With Starling's hospital a mess, the overflow into Central City can't be much better."

"Good point," Diggle agrees. "The extra 30 minutes of air time will be worth avoiding the mobs sure to be found in both cities' hospitals."

The quiet settles comfortably between them before it is again disturbed. Diggle is back on his feet, stopping in front of Oliver before quietly speaking. "You need to go change. Let me hold her for a minute. You have a suit in the trunk. Sweatpants are in the bag in the front seat. Take your pick, but something comfortable might be easier on that leg." With a look of displeasure, Diggle motions to the long, discolored gash sliced through Oliver's calf.

Diggle doesn't bother to wait for Oliver's response; mostly because it's not really a suggestion. Oliver knows he can't stroll into a hospital, whether it be by front door or helipad, as the Arrow without some kind of legal backlash. And he can't change while his arms are wrapped around Felicity. Oliver takes one regretful sigh, regains his feet and slowly lowers Felicity into Diggle's waiting arms. Oliver's slow, careful movements are endearing and when he leans down to place a kiss on her forhead before he walks away, Diggle swore a trace of a smile curled her painted lips.

On the painful jog to the car Oliver's attention was pulled to his chest. At first he thought that the chilling sensation where he had pulled her to his front was just because the warm body that had been against it was gone. But when the area only got colder, he looked down and saw just how much blood had soaked through his shirt. He quickly ripped it from his body and removed his leather pants almost as fast, ignoring the screaming throb when he tore the leather down his right leg. Sweatpants now on he was running back to Felicity.

Oliver was still pulling his second arm through his long sleeve tee when he stopped in front of Digg.

"That was fast."

In response Oliver threw his bloodied shirt at Diggle and reclaimed Felicity from his arms. "She's bleeding faster than we think."

Diggle looks at the size of the blood stain and cringes. We'll have more supplies on the chopper. We'll be able to staunch the bleeding more effectively then. Oliver nods wordlessly and brushes away the wisp of blonde that had fallen across Felicity's lips. His hand lingered on her cheek and his eyes on her lips. My God was she beautiful.

Her cheeks were pale especially next to her vibrant lips, but the calmness on her face made her look as if she had fallen peacefully asleep in her bed. The arrow and crimson puddle spreading across her shirt were what suggested something was wrong. Here face was soft. There wasn't any pain or fear there. The few times he had ever seen the emotion grip her features, it had never been fear for herself. It had been times that she thought she lost him or was going to lose him. Despite the original bitterness in her voice as he relayed the trap the clock maker had caught him in, her worry soon outweighed any other emotion. There had been that scared, pleading look in her eyes when Oliver had told her that he was going to surrender to Slade. Even when the Count was pressing himself against her, threatening her safety - even then the trepidation on her face was for him.

Fear hadn't been there at the mansion though. She trusted him enough not to be afraid. Her willingness to believe in him had warmed parts of his heart that he thought he had lost, but leaving her as bait had doused him in ice water. Failing her wasn't an option.

She flinched in his arms, drawing his attention back to her face. The hoodie was big enough that unzipped, he was able to wrap it around her body, careful to stay away from the arrow. Dig had been able to safely cut most of the shaft off to make holding and carrying her less awkward and dangerous. He hung his head again, feeling her quiet breaths against his ear. He didn't deserve her light in his life. And she didn't deserve his darkness.

Oliver's thoughts were scattered by the quiet voice of Roy.

"He's not dead." It was the first time Roy had spoken a word since he had dropped the blonde to Oliver's chest.

And all of a sudden the pieces where slamming themselves together. He had never thought to ask before. Felicity was hurt. All his focus went to righting that problem - how her life came to be threatened hadn't been a focus yet. He had just assumed that it had been some sort of Dark Archer copy cat, but that wasn't the case. It was Merlyn himself. Oliver assumed, in her anger, Thea had easily been coerced to go with him. Merlyn had taken Thea and he was responsible for what happened to Felicity.

How exactly did two men from his past - both of whom he believed died at his hands - come back and try to take Felicity from him?

Oliver's eyes met Roy's. Patient, softer than expected, hopeless. They mirrored one another's.

Roy started again. "We got there in time – well obviously," he hastily motioned towards the small body in Oliver's arms before looking away. But Thea's gone and Felicity's hurt – and I couldn't save either of them. I watched Thea leave and didn't even see the arrow hit Felicity..."

The distinct sounds of a propeller were approaching and Roy let the buzz fill the air instead of his words.

The helicopter touched down lightly and Lyla's small frame was throwing the door open. Gently, methodically the guys load Felicity onto the stretcher and into the helicopter.

The pain was gone. But whatever had taken it away had taken most of everything else too. Her eyelids were too heavy to even peek through and she lacked any capacity to move on her own. She remembered lying in Oliver's lap when she was pulled under, and because it was his voice she heard when sound occasionally broke through her fog, she suspected that's where she still was. But she couldn't lift her hand and place it over his chest or tilt her head far enough back to see him, no matter how much she wished she could - no matter how much she craved to comfort him. She couldn't reach him with her voice either. Despite her propensity to ramble and her surplus of verbal gaffes, she couldn't form a sentence, much less part her lips to utter the words.

She wanted to burrow her body against his to assure herself he hadn't left. She guessed that he had wrapped his sweatshirt around her when something was tucked under her hip and the smell of him became exponentially stronger. The hoodie kept the wind from biting, but the one thing she was beginning to feel acutely, was cold - bitterly cold.

It was the first time she had let fear sneak in between her breaths. And immediately memories, past nightmares, filled her drug induced haze.

An eleven year old version of herself walked through the snow with her cousins. It was the first Hanukkah after her Uncle Tim died and her mother thought it would be nice to spend the holidays with her other brother, Joe, his wife, Beth, and their three children. Maura was 15, Ben - 14, and Shannon - 6.

Apparently there was a limit on how many games of Romey a 15 year old would actually play. Maura's had been eight. So when she complained and whined for an hour, her parents were easily persuaded into letting them go ice skating at the lake down the street.

Felicity didn't have ice skates but she layered three long tees, two pairs of pants, put on her warmest wool socks and went with Maura and Ben anyway. She didn't want to stay with Shannon and the adults - she wanted to spend more time with the cousins she barely knew.

After a ten minute walk, the three reached the huge rocks that lined the lake's edge. Felicity, despite being an avid hockey fan even at 11, had never skated before and she watched as her cousins laced up their skates. She remembered thinking how large of a project such a seemingly simple task was, but that wasn't going to stop her from begging her mother for a pair. She'd get them - her mother would buy her anything if it didn't have microchips, circuit boards and wasn't a computer.

"Felicity, you can go out with just your shoes," Maura interrupted her one-sided musings. Her filter hadn't yet broken; everything she thought didn't always come stumbling out of her mouth. "The ice looks pretty smooth so you can probably slide around on your boots."

Felicity felt her head nod, but when she didn't move Maura threw her a look of condescension and a snide comment. "Or you can just stand there," she sarcastically shot Felicity's direction. "I should have known you were too young to come with us. Your mother should never have let you out of the house; I came out here to have fun, not babysit. "

Felicity felt her breaths getting shorter and tighter as she held back a sob. What had she done to make Maura so agitated? But it wasn't the first time Felicity had been picked on, and being the nerd she was, she knew it wouldn't be the last. So she did the only thing she could think of. She answered the challenge. Pushing her glasses back up her nose with the green knitted mittens her grandmother had specifically made for her trip to New Hampshire, she met Maura's eyes with a coolness of her own.

"Stop being a bitch, Mau. Felicity can do whatever she wants. How the hell does her decision to either stand on the rocks or the ice affect you anyway? You know, sometimes I think you're just as horrible of a person as the friends you constantly complain about. You might even be worse."

Felicity offered Ben an appreciative smile, but she had already made up her mind. By meeting Maura's piercing gaze she had taken on the dare, and she wasn't backing out. She felt the loss of traction as one boot found ice and then the other.

A minute later and twenty yards from shore, Felicity learned what cracking ice sounded like.

Ben had yelled something, but the voice in her head was berating her too loudly for his words to get through. She never cared what people thought or said. Why did she choose today to start? Peering back over her shoulder she saw an annoyed Maura shaking her black curls, before returning to her skates.

Another thirty seconds later, Felicity had a clearer understanding of the words 'ice cold.' The frozen sheet below her feet shattered and she plummeted into freezing blackness. Her boots had slipped when the ice splintered, angling her body just far enough so that the back of her head slammed against the last bit of ice that had been thick enough to support her weight. The shock of the enveloping frigid water would have sufficiently disoriented, but when paired with the mild concussion she would later find out she sustained, all direction was lost. This must be hell; it wasn't fire, it was ice.

As she tried to push the panic away and find the hole she had fallen through, hands grabbed her coat. In her winter clothes, layer upon layer soaked through with water, she knew she was dead weight. If she wanted to make it out alive, she needed to focus. Kicking her feet, she tried to help propel herself, trusting the hands to pull her in the right direction.

A full minute after the initial splash, she found out how much she had missed oxygen, gasping and gulping as if she couldn't get enough. Maura still hadn't moved from her rock, but Ben's chocolate brown eyes were inches from hers - soothing and supporting.

He was lying on his front, hands fisted into the shoulders of her coat. His lips were moving, but it wasn't until his second attempt that Felicity placated herself enough to hear. "Felicity, calm down. You're going to be okay but you need to breath and listen to me. You can't hyperventilate. Try and lay yourself as flat as you can, and kick; think of it like you're going to swim up onto the ice."

Two minutes later Ben pulled her the rest of the way. He slid her towards the edge of the lake, leaving a slick trail as water drained from her clothing and pooled on the opposite side of the ice than it had previously been. When he deemed the ice thick enough, he lifted her shaking body into his arms. Without the slightest glance at his sister, Ben carried the shivering Felicity home.

Her traumatic recollection was broken, however. Something had made it through her fog again and she could feel her body being hoisted. She felt arms other than Oliver's wrap around her and lay her down. Fingers were still wrapped around hers though, and those she knew were Oliver's.

Her senses were starting to return. Still lacking motor abilities, her hearing and consciousness of feeling were sharpening. Without the magic of the sedative and without the stream of heat Oliver provided, the cold that had seized her earlier only bore deeper; it was beginning to send tremors through her body. The pain was back. The throb - the separate heartbeat that pounded in her shoulder was pattering again, but she couldn't open her mouth to cry out.

A needle slipped out of her arm and a minute later hands were pushing on her shoulder again. She thought the strangled noise that had echoed in her ears had left her throat, but when the hand that hers was currently resting in squeezed gently, all doubt was removed.

His whispered voice was next to her ear. "Felicity, stay with us, okay? We're on our way to the hospital, but Digg needs to try to slow the bleeding again. Just hold on. Please. Hold onto me tight."

How many different ways could he utter that sentence without it ever being in the context she hoped it to be?

The fog settled over her again, dully masking the pain. But she was still holding on, even if it was only because Oliver had asked her to.