Day Four

She woke to a darkened room, the thunder from the storm raging outside so loud that it rattled the windows above the bed. She rolled toward Oliver, seeking the warmth that radiated from his large body, only to find his side of the bed empty. Sitting up quickly, she reached for her glasses on the end table and slid from beneath the covers, her feet hitting the jarringly cold hardwood floor.

She stumbled from the room, heading for the living room. She knew that he had trouble sleeping, that nightmares still plagued him every now and then, but he hadn't had one since they'd started spending their nights together. At least, if he had, none of them seemed to have been bad enough to drive him from their bed. She fell asleep in his arms and woke the same way every time. If he'd had a nightmare, it must've been bad.

"Oliver?" she called, stepping into the front room, her eyes finally adjusting to the darkness.

When he didn't respond, her heart thumped painfully in her chest. She cast a glance around the room, shivering, and caught sight of the backdoor standing wide open. The floor was soaked and she slid as she stumbled out onto the porch.

Lightening lit up the sky in the distance and for a moment she was captivated by the tumultuous waves crashing against the shore. Oliver was nowhere in sight.

"Oliver!"

She cleared the porch, her feet immediately sinking into the wet sand, as she ran towards the water.

"Oliver!" she cried again, her heart galloping, "Oliver!"

Tears stung her eyes as the wind whipped her hair across her face. A series of images flashed through her mind, each one more terrifying than the last as she tried to determine what she should do. If he'd had a nightmare, if he was having some kind of night terror, could that have driven him straight into the water? And if he was out there, could he survive?

"Oh god…" she gasped, her legs wanting desperately to give out on her.

"Felicity?"

She whirled around, heart in her throat, at the sound of his voice. He was jogging toward her, his bare chest dripping, hair sopping wet. She took in his running shorts and sneakers as he drew closer. She felt as if she was going to be sick.

"What are you doing out here?" he asked when he finally reached her, "Its pouring."

She stared at him incredulously. Before she could stop herself, she reached out and her open palm collided with his cheek. He froze, as did she, and they simply stood staring at one another as the storm raged on around them. Lightning cracked, closer this time, and she flinched. He reached for her, catching her just as she turned to run back to the cabin. Hauling her into his wet chest, she knew that she was breaking. Tears escaped and a sob broke past her lips. She felt him press a kiss to the top of her head as his arms closed around her. Her body shook.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, "I'm sorry. I didn't think that you'd wake up. I'm sorry."

She shoved at him, her hands slipping against his slick skin, and stumbled back. She turned and stomped her way across the beach back to the cabin. She didn't look over her shoulder to confirm that he was following her, she didn't need to. He was smart enough to know that his apology wasn't going to cut it. He had scared her, terrified her really, and she was sure that her fear was evident on her face. She clambered through the door in record time, freezing and out of breath. Hair was plastered to her forehead, her soaked-through t-shirt clinging to her every curve and she whipped it over her head, the wet cotton hitting the floor with a hard slap.

The door clicked shut behind her, cutting off the sound of the violent wind that shook the tree limbs.

"You weren't there," she gasped, her chest rising and falling as she struggled to catch her breath, "I woke up and you weren't – I couldn't find you. You can do that to me, Oliver!"

She whirled on him, lashing out again, her fists connecting weakly with his chest. He made no move to stop her and she was thankful for that. He couldn't possibly understand how frightened she'd been. There were still things that she hadn't told him. It wasn't his fault that he didn't know but his ignorance of her past didn't excuse the fact that he'd vanished on her in the middle of the night.

"Felicity."

She heard him, heard the plea in his voice, but she couldn't stop the tears that leaked from her eyes.

"Felicity. Stop, please. You're going to hurt yourself."

She sagged against him, every muscle in her body weak and exhausted. The fact that she was standing, her damp skin exposed and covered in gooseflesh, in just her now soaked sleep shorts didn't register with her. What did was the fact that Oliver, whose body produced heat like a furnace, was shaking from the cold. Or, she wondered, was he frightened by her reaction?

"Shh," he murmured, "I'm sorry. I'm here."

He held her to his chest, lifting her from her feet and cradling her in his arms as he took them both down the hall to the bathroom. He set her on the sink, stepping away and turning on the faucet in the small bathtub. She sat in silence as she waited for him. She watched as he checked the temperature, running his fingers under the spout, before pushing down the stopper. He added a handful of lavender bath salts that sat on the back of the toilet. She knew that they'd belonged to Mae Rose, she certainly hadn't bought them, but she was glad that Oliver had realized that they were there. When there was a sufficient amount of water in the tub, he kicked off his sneakers and socks before stripping out of his wet running shorts. Standing naked before her, he guided her until she was on her feet, kneeling to peel her shorts and underwear from her body. He stepped into the tub, sinking down into the water and holding her hand until she stepped in in front of him. She settled between his legs which were bent slightly, his knees pressed against the tile on one side and the tub on the other. It wasn't an ideal sized bathroom for them to be bathing together but she wouldn't point that out. She wasn't going to argue. With her back to his chest, he rested his chin on the top of her head.

"I didn't think you'd wake up," he began, "You sleep like the dead. You've never woken up before. "

She trailed her fingers through the water in front of her.

"I didn't realize that you were still having nightmares. At least I – I guess I didn't realize that they were so bad that they forced you out of bed. What are they about?"

She felt him shrug but he didn't answer. For a long time, silence filled the small space. The only sounds that she could hear came from the storm that continued to rage outside. Oliver's arms circled her shoulders, his forearms resting over her chest, and she set her chin on them.

"They're usually about you. About… about losing you. They've been less frequent the last couple of months but sometimes they still – they still work their way into my head and I can't shake them."

She was surprised by his honesty. He'd made an effort since their relationship had changed, since whatever was happening between them had shifted, to be more open with her but his nightmares were still his and had always been a point of contention.

She confessed, "When my dad left, he disappeared in the middle of the night. He'd put me in bed, kissed me goodnight, and when I woke up the next morning, he was gone. I didn't get to say goodbye."

He took a sharp breath, the expansion of his chest lifting her where she was settled against him. She had told him that her father had left but she hadn't been able to go into detail. She had never told anyone about the way he'd gone, how he had simply disappeared into the night to never come back. A man she had spent her whole life admiring, loving, being one hundred percent devoted to, and he'd walked out of her life and left her with a mother who had never truly wanted her.

"What was he like?" Oliver asked gently.

She shrugged, "When I was a little girl, he was – he was everything to me. I wanted to be with him all the time. He was a doctor and before I started school, he'd take me to his office with him a couple of days a week. I think now that even then I knew my mother did want me. But my dad…"

He pressed his lips to the back of her head and she sighed, leaning back fully into him, her head falling against his shoulder.

"We make quite the pair, don't we? With all of our emotional trauma? I- I'm sorry that I freaked out about, you know –"

He hugged her tighter to his chest, turning until their cheeks were pressed together, his stubble abrading her chin and throat. His warm lips skimmed her jaw.

"You don't have to apologize, Felicity. I understand. There are some things that are going to stay with you, things that are going to make fall apart when you least expect it. I should be apologizing. I should've realized that leaving you alone like that –"

She shook her head before squirming in his arms until she could press her face to the crook of his neck.

"Promise me something?" she murmured.

"Anything."

"If you need to get away, if you need to go for a run or you need to beat up the dummies at the lair, just tell me. Wake me up, leave me a note, something, because waking up without you … not knowing where you are, if scares the hell out of me."

He kissed her hair, "I will. I will, I promise."