Author's note: I wanted to thank all of you for the amazing reviews! Know that I read each and every one of them, and try to respond to as many as I can. You guys are the best and I can't thank you enough for your support :)

**This chapter contains strong, graphic violence, as well as themes of torture and sadism.**

Reader discretion is strongly advised.


Felicity's head felt heavy. She shook it, trying to clear out some of the cobwebs. She'd lost track of time after the last time the Count had come to taunt and torture her. She tried to sleep, to hold onto the last bit of strength she could, knowing she'd need it when Oliver came for her.

He would come. She knew he would come for her, like he always did. The only question was when, and she had to be ready to move the second she saw his face. Or, his hood... She wasn't sure which Oliver he'd be when he found her, but it didn't matter.

She loved all of them.

The billionaire playboy, the gorgeous CEO of a billion dollar company, The Vigilante, The Hood, The Arrow, or just plain Oliver Queen. He was the man of her dreams. He was the other half of her, the piece that made her feel whole.

And, he would come for her.

Her shoulders ached from being drawn tight, her hands still secured behind her. Her back and hips burned from being stuck in the upright position on a solid metal chair for however many days she'd been there. She knew the skin beneath her bindings was cracked, bleeding and raw, because she felt it every time she moved even the slightest bit.

Her throat was dry, The Count having abandoned his water deal when she'd refused to utter a single word. He'd instead opted for an IV drip to keep her alive. She'd struggled at first, but had given up when she realized she'd need to be alive when Oliver came for her.

There were things she didn't know, anymore. She didn't know what day it was or how long she'd been in that dark hole. She didn't know the last time she'd eaten or the last time she'd heard anyone's voice, besides the Count. She didn't know if she could walk or if she could run with how badly her hip ached. She didn't know if her legs worked at all, anymore.

But, there were two things she did know.

She knew she loved Oliver with every fiber of her being.

And, she knew that he would come for her.

Her eyes slid closed, her chin falling to rest against her chest. She smelled the coppery tang of blood, reminding her that she had two deep cuts, one on and one just beside, her left breast. They were a present from The Count, when he'd promised to cut out her heart and mail it to Oliver, the last piece he'd send to him. The memory made the acid in her belly churn as a blend of fear and pain tightened around her heart.

She knew that if she ever made it out of this, her body would be littered with scars. The thought didn't bother her as much as it probably should have. She would just be grateful to be alive, she promised herself. She would be thankful to be breathing, to still be a part of the world she'd grown to love. She would see her scars as the reminder that she was stronger than she'd ever thought possible.

Besides, Oliver wouldn't judge her for her scars. He would love her just the same. She tried not to think about it for too long, because the longer she let the thoughts swirl in her mind the more worried she became that she was lying to herself.

Felicity didn't so much as flinch when the door swung open, clattering loudly against the wall. Bright light flooded into the room and she was forced to shut her eyes, but remained otherwise motionless. She heard the door click shut and all light left the room, save for the glowing strip beneath the door.

She heard the Count's familiar footfalls as he came to stand in front of her. He grabbed her ponytail, jerking her head back so that she was forced to look up at him, though she could only make out the vague outline of his head and shoulders. He bent down, his lips brushing over hers. Her stomach turned, revolted, but there was nothing in it for her to throw up. Instead, her throat burned with bile as she gagged.

"Good evening, Miss Smoak." he spoke, his breath hot and suffocating on her face.

She didn't have to bite back words, the snark gone out of her hours, maybe days, ago. Instead she remained silent, waiting for the blow she knew would come. He always hit her when she refused to play along with his twisted games.

He let her head drop, lolling uselessly against her chest once more.

"You used to be so much fun." he told her, his tone soft but threatening. "What can we do about that? How might we bring back a bit of that fire?"

Felicity closed her eyes, tears forming behind her lids. She listened to him moving around behind her, straining to try and make out what he was doing before he could actually do it. She heard the hiss before she smelled the heavy scent of gas. Then came the unmistakable click of a friction lighter as the room was cast in a glowing light. A light she was familiar with, having spent many nights by candlelight or the warmth of a fireplace.

Firelight.

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, tears slipping down her cheeks. She thought maybe she whimpered, but she couldn't be sure.

"Yes." The Count sounded pleased, even a bit aroused. "This will do quite nicely."

He stepped back around, stopping in front of her. She struggled to lift her head, to see what he was doing so she could prepare for whatever was coming. She blinked rapidly, clearing her vision as much as she could without her glasses. The light thrown from the blowtorch turned blue as he adjusted the flame. It cast his face in eerie shadow, making him appear more threatening than she'd thought possible. In the gloved hand that wasn't holding the torch, he held a long metal rod with a point on one end, like a fireplace poker.

Felicity could feel the blood drain from her face, her fists clenching behind her.

He lowered the rod into the flame and watched her while she watched the metal turn orange with heat. He grinned, his eyes dancing with delight, when she started struggling against her bindings. The rope dug into her already rubbed raw, torn flesh, but she couldn't feel it. All she could feel was the heavy dread that wrapped around her lungs, the mind numbing terror that enveloped her body.

He advanced on her, holding the rod out, just barely touching her skin. The heat thrown from the metal was intense, her skin blistering at once. She fought the urge to cry out, knowing it would only serve to excite him further.

Seeing the determined set of her jaw, the Count sneered, his restraint falling away. "You will scream for me." he snarled.

Felicity had the time it took to blink to prepare herself before he rested the tip of the poker against the flesh of her pelvis, right above her panty line. She bit her tongue so hard that she tasted blood, forcing the scream to stay in her lungs.

He lifted the hot metal, admiring his handy work. Her stomach churned, the smell of burning flesh making her gag again.

Before she could recompose herself, he was dropping the rod again, this time on the opposite side but still over her hip. When the pain reached down to the bone, she realized he was cauterizing the wound he'd left when he'd stabbed her and the blade had glanced off of her pelvis. The scream of agony tore from her chest, her finger nails digging into her palms as she fought to stay conscious.

He pushed the hot metal, forcing it under her skin. She felt the room tilt under her and heard a new scream rip its way up her throat a second before everything faded away and all she knew was oblivion.


Oliver dropped into a crouch with his back against the south side of the roof, his bow ready and his body coiled in preparation for the oncoming fight.

"I'm in position." Diggle's hushed voice came over the comm-link. "I've got eyes on two armed guards at the front entrance."

Roy's report came next. "I've got two at the back. Also armed."

"There are four up here, same deal." Oliver informed them in a hushed tone. "Thea?"

"I've got seven bodies inside the building." She relayed from the Foundry. "Two on the ground, three on the third, and two in the middle. There are two other signatures with the two on the second floor, but they're a lot smaller. I can't tell what they are, beyond the fact that they're a much higher temperature than the others."

"Does this seem excessive to anyone else?" Roy whispered, but Oliver ignored him.

Oliver weighed their options carefully, considering the best plan of attack. Four guards on the roof meant that the Count was expecting Oliver would come, one way or the other. He knew that Oliver would seek revenge and he'd prepared for the inevitable. By the relaxed stance of the guards, they were unprepared for him tonight and his team still had the element of surprise in their favor.

After a quick calculation, Oliver conveyed his plan.

"We're going to have to storm them. On my count." Oliver spoke as quietly as he could while still making sure he would be heard. "One of those heat signatures belongs to Felicity, so be sure of who you're taking out."

Roy cleared his throat softly. "I know that we have this whole 'let's not kill if we can avoid it' team motto and everything-"

"That doesn't apply here, kid." Diggle cut him off.

"Just checking."

Oliver took a deep breath and counted down. "3... 2... 1."

And then, all hell broke loose.

Oliver stood and let the first arrow fly. It found its mark, sinking into the chest of the guard closest to his position. The sound of gunshots pierced the night, close by. Oliver could hear loud, angry voices carrying up from the ground.

He nocked another arrow, drew his bowstring, and released, just as the other three guards fired their own weapons. Oliver rolled to the side, leaping back to his feet when he heard the second guard go down. One of the remaining two guards leveled his gun at him, but Oliver's reflexes were quicker. Another arrow sliced through the air, finding itself a home in the guy's throat. He went down with a gurgle, clutching at his neck in a useless attempt to staunch the flow of blood.

Oliver caught a blur of movement as the last guard swung out with his fist. He hadn't expected him to be so close and caught the edge of the guy's fist on his chin. As he bent away from the blow, Oliver brought a leg up, twisting his body so the guard caught a kick to the throat. The man dropped, his hands flying to his collapsed airway.

Oliver moved quickly, sidestepping the guard as he fell to the ground.

He heard Thea's voice in his ear. "Two guards are headed your way, Ollie. The other is making a beeline for the second floor."

"I'll get him." Roy announced, having already taken out the guards at the back.

Oliver kicked in the access door, firing an arrow at the man just reaching the bottom of the stairs. The guy yelled but collapsed a second later, air hissing from the hole that tore through his lung. Oliver braced a hand against each wall of the stairwell and lifted his body, just missing a shot meant to take out his knee.

The light in the brewery on this floor was very dim, only coming in from the streetlights outside and from the flood lights along the ceiling. Thankfully, Oliver had excellent vision, even in complete darkness. He swung his legs back and then pushed off, sending himself through the air. His feet connected with the face of the solid man, built like Digg, at the bottom, the last guard in that part of the brewery. The big guy wrapped his arms around Oliver's legs, swinging him and throwing him against the wall. Oliver fell to the ground, his head throbbing. The guard cocked a leg back to deliver a blow to Oliver's ribs, but he pushed himself up and pivoted on his hip, sweeping the guy's leg out from under him. The brick wall of a man went down, hard. Oliver sprang to his feet, nocked an arrow, and released. The arrow buried itself in the man's chest, near his heart, but it didn't keep him down. The guy was quick, lifting his legs and flipping himself to his feet with a roar. Oliver cursed and swung out with his bow. He connected with his jaw, just as the guard's hand clenched around his neck. His bow clattered to the floor when the guard lifted him by his throat, his feet leaving the ground. Oliver felt his air supply cut off just as the twang of an arrow being released cut through the air.

The guy's eyes bulged, his fist tightening around Oliver's throat before releasing as he fell to the floor, dead. A red arrow stood proudly in the back of his skull.

Oliver lifted his eyes to see Roy, who nodded, his red hood not able to hide the satisfaction written on his features.

"Digg's securing the ground." he informed Oliver, before turning on his heel and heading for the stairs.

Oliver tore off after him, overtaking him at the landing and leaping down the stairs, not bothering to so much as touch them. He landed in a silent crouch at the base of the staircase, his head snapping up as a horrific scream ricocheted through the hallway. Every muscle in his body locked, his lungs seizing as icy cold fingers closed around his heart.

He knew that scream.

Roy landed beside him, raising his bow to flank his green counterpart. Oliver was already moving down the corridor, his bow raised in defense.

"What are we walking into, Thea?" His voice was quiet, but Roy heard the tremor.

"There are four signatures in the room fifty paces ahead of you, on the west side. Two are bodies and two are the weird ones that I mentioned before." she informed them.

"One of them is Felicity." Oliver whispered. "Digg, where are you?"

"Coming up the north stairwell." Came his gruff response. "Ground is secured."

Oliver and Roy came to a stop outside of the room Thea had indicated. Oliver pressed his back into the wall on one side of the door, while Roy stood slightly away from the wall on the other side. Oliver nodded, indicating to Roy he was ready as another scream, the kind that tore your soul apart, echoed through the building.

Roy stepped away from the wall, bent one knee, and brought his heel up to kick in the heavy door. It exploded inward, clattering loudly against the wall and dangling from one hinge. Oliver launched himself into the room, bow aimed at chest level. The only light in the room came from the dimly lit hallway. There were no windows in this room, or if there were, they were blacked out. Roy came into the room, his bow raised. Oliver heard the shots before his eyes had completed a scan of the room. He and Roy dove out of the way and the bullets buried themselves in the wall where their heads had been just a second before.

Oliver caught a flash of movement from the direction of the gunshots, his vision adjusting to the eerie, stifling darkness. Not recognizing the shape as one of his own, he aimed, ready to release an arrow into the shadow.

He froze, his eyes narrowing against a sudden, blinding flash of light. It illuminated the room, giving Oliver his first washed-out glimpse of the psychopath he had come to kill. His heart seized as he noted the sight of the Count with a gun pressed to a head of blonde hair. He couldn't see her face because her head was hanging forward, her ponytail obscuring it, but he knew it was Felicity.

The light died down a little and Oliver realized it was a flare. He could just make out the shape of Felicity's body, sitting in a chair with the Count standing behind her. Quickly analyzing the scene, Oliver swept his eyes over the room, scanning for surprises. His gaze landed on the long metal table along the wall and he noticed the blowtorch. His stomach clenched as his eyes fell upon a fire poker, glowing orange like an ember, beside it.

Oliver's blood was boiling, seething anger wrapping itself around him.

"So glad that you could join us." the Count greeted, his tone anything but pleased, as he threw the flare to the ground between himself and the archers.

Oliver didn't speak, only lifted his bow higher, leveling it with his adversary's head. Roy mimicked his stance, his bow finding the same target.

"You have a new sidekick, I see!" the Count noted Roy's presence. "I suppose I did leave you one short. Though, that one isn't as pretty as this one."

He dragged Felicity's head back by her hair, and Oliver could see that she was unconscious. Her head rolled back, only stopping when it rested against the man behind her.

"Beggars can't be choosers, can they, Oliver?" the Count sang. "Who would want to associate, much less work for, a failure like you? I mean, this one right here," He emphasized his point by shaking Felicity by her hair, "is supposed to be the most important person in the world to you, and yet, you let me take her. She's been here for days, Oliver. For days! I know that you can't see them, but she's got plenty of scars to prove it. Of course, the ones you can see aren't nearly as bad as the ones that you can't."

Roy surged forward, his bow drawn as tightly as his fingers would allow. Oliver's arm shot out to stop his advancement, his eyes never leaving the gun pressed against Felicity's temple. "He's got a gun to her head, Roy." Oliver reminded him, the order to stand down clear.

Roy's steps stalled and The Count tutted cheekily from his position. "Eager one, isn't he?"

"There's only one way this ends." Oliver snarled.

"With arrows sticking out of your fucking head." Roy bit out, his jaw clenching so hard Oliver would have sworn he heard his teeth crack.

The Count cackled, then jerked Felicity's head to one side. "None of this matters, as I'm afraid you're too late, Oliver. She's already mine." His eyes never leaving Oliver's face, he dipped his head so that his mouth grazed the side of her neck.

Oliver saw red, rage bleeding into his vision at the implication of the Count's words, as he heard Diggle come up behind them.

Everything happened so fast, Oliver wouldn't have a chance to think about the course of events until days later.

Diggle fired a shot into the wall above the Counts head, giving Oliver an opening. The deranged madman drew back to return fire and Oliver launched himself across the room. He collided with the Count, tackling him to the floor. The gun went off but Oliver didn't hear it. He reared back and swung his fist down, connecting solidly with the Count's jaw.

Later, Oliver wouldn't be able to recall how many times he'd punched him. He wouldn't remember his knuckles stinging from where the Count's teeth dug into them. He wouldn't remember Diggle trying, and failing, to drag him away from the bloody body, or when Roy shot behind him to cut the ropes that, he would later learn, had been holding Felicity to the chair in the center of that room. He wouldn't remember Roy pulling the IV from her arm, or putting his fingers to her throat in search of a pulse.

No, Oliver wouldn't remember any of it.

The first thing he would remember would be the cracks and pops beneath his fingers when he broke the Count's neck.

He heard Roy shouting to him as though he were underwater. He turned in the direction of his voice, having the distinct feeling that he was moving in slow motion, trying to hear over the suffocating heaviness in his head. Oliver's eyes fell on the limp form, crumpled and mostly naked, who was cradled in Roy's lap. His gaze was drawn to the puddle of thick, coagulating blood around the chair she'd been tied to. His stomach dropped, his own blood roaring in his ears.

"You guys need to get the hell out of there!" Thea yelled, her voice ringing through the comms. "The police are less than five minutes away."

"We're going." Diggle informed her, bending to lift Felicity.

Oliver blocked him, instead, shrugging out of his hooded jacket and wrapping it around her. He lifted her, tucking her against his chest, and took off for the back exit. Roy beat him to it, pushing the door open for Oliver to carry her through and down a flight of stairs, to the waiting car. They could already hear the sirens approaching, fast. Diggle opened the door and helped Oliver maneuver Felicity into the backseat.

Roy jumped in behind them, and in the next moment Digg was driving them at breakneck speed toward the hospital. Normally, they would have taken her to the Foundry but Oliver knew she needed an emergency room. Her pulse was weak and thready, her breathing shallow. He didn't think she'd survive the night if they didn't get her to an actual hospital.

Roy changed out of his red leather and into street clothes. "Give her to me so you can change." He held out his arms, motioning for Oliver to hand her over.

Reluctantly, Oliver shifted Felicity into Roy's arms before swapping out his own leather, as well. Once he was dressed in jeans and a white button-up, he removed his hood from around her, swallowing hard against the bile in his throat at the sight of her so broken. Wrapping her in the suit jacket he'd brought as a change of clothes, he took her back into his lap, running a hand over her face.

She was clammy, her skin cold but slicked with sweat. Every time the car passed under a streetlight, Oliver found a new bruise or cut on the patches of skin peeking out around his jacket. They passed under yet another light and he discovered that most of her body was covered in blood. So much so that he couldn't tell what the extent of her injuries were. With each light his gut clenched and the rage threatened to overwhelm him again.

"I've got you, baby." he whispered to her, praying that somehow she'd hear him and know that she was safe, know that he had her and everything was going to be alright. "I'm right here. You're going to be okay, you just have to keep fighting. Don't give up on me, Felicity. I love you, damn it! Please, don't give up."

"How the hell are we going to explain this?" Roy unknowingly interrupted, realizing they had to come up with a story for when the police arrived at the hospital. Which, given her condition, wouldn't take long. With the amount of blood in the that room, they'd have no trouble connecting Felicity to the scene, in any case.

"We tell them that the Arrow rescued her. He obviously couldn't bring her to the hospital himself, so he brought her to me, knowing that I'd get her medical attention." Oliver replied thickly, making it up as he went along.

"We're here." John informed them a few minutes later as he threw the car in park and leapt from the driver's seat.

Roy was opening the door before Digg even made it around the car. Oliver slid across the seat, lifting Felicity as he went. He ignored the other men as they offered to take her, managing to unfold them from the backseat himself. In the the soft light of the darkened parking lot, he saw Roy and Diggle pale, getting their first real glimpse of the shape she was in. Without a word, Oliver was running through the doors of the hospital's emergency entrance. He was bellowing for a doctor, for anyone, to come and help her.

A nurse came out from behind the counter, yelling to another nurse to fetch a gurney. "What happened?" she asked urgently, taking in Oliver with his precious cargo, both of them covered in blood.

"She-" His voice broke and he knew there were tears swimming in his eyes. "She needs help."

The nurse didn't press him further, instead motioning for him to deposit her onto the gurney that was being wheeled toward them. Reluctant to let her go, he hesitated before gently laying her onto it and watching as she was surrounded by nurses and doctors. He didn't hear what they were saying, but he could see in their faces that the situation was as dire as he'd guessed.

He was startled by a hand touching his shoulder. He tore his eyes away from the retreating swarm of scrubs and white coats, finding the nurse staring up at him. "What's her name?" She peered up at him, her eyes soft.

"Felicity." he breathed, her name a prayer. "Felicity Smoak."

"Sir, do you need medical attention?" she inquired, glancing down at his arms and white shirt, stained with blood.

"It's not mine." he croaked, staring down at his hands.

"Are you her next of kin?" she asked gently.

"Yes." He responded automatically, knowing that he was listed as her emergency contact in her medical file. It had been a safety precaution when they'd added each other, but he was thankful for their foresight.

The nurse nodded sympathetically, her eyes shifting to Diggle and Roy who had come up to flank him. Realizing that Oliver was in no shape to hear her clearly, she spoke to Diggle. "There's a private waiting room around the corner, where you can wait for a doctor to come and speak with him. There's a bathroom he can use to clean up, right off of it." She pointed them in the right direction.

Oliver didn't realize they had moved until he found himself staring at his reflection in the mirror of the bathroom. He saw himself as though he were looking at a stranger. His eyes raked over his arms and shirt, caked with red. The entire front of his body, from throat to hip, was drenched in blood.

Felicity's blood.

His eyes were wild, none of his ever present walls or shields in place. Forcing his mind to focus, he turned the faucet on, making the water as hot as he could manage. Even that wasn't hot enough. No water in the world would ever be hot enough to burn away the feel of her blood covering his skin. Struggling against the fear and fury warring in his chest, he managed to get a large amount of the blood off. There were still smears of it around his throat but he didn't have the energy to keep scrubbing.

Stumbling out of the bathroom, he found Digg beside the door, arms crossed over his chest. Roy was pacing the length of the room, his cellphone pressed to his ear. Oliver made his way to a chair against the far wall, directly across from the door. Sinking into the chair, he trained his eyes on the door, willing a doctor to step through it and tell him that Felicity was fine. He wanted the doctor to say that none of the blood was hers either and she was just exhausted. He wanted to hear that she was perfectly fine, she just needed to rest and he could see her. He knew that there was no way those were the words he'd hear but a selfish, hopeful, delusional part of him wanted to believe.

Without thinking about it, he dragged his arrowhead out from beneath his shirt, worrying it with his fingers.

Roy stepped into his field of vision, taking a single step back when Oliver leveled him with a dangerous glare. "Thea's on her way." He informed him. "She said that the hospital already alerted the police and Detective Lance will be here any minute."

Oliver nodded, his eyes never leaving the door. He heard rather than saw Digg settle into a chair two down from his.

Ten minutes later, he saw a shadow cross in front of the door and shot to his feet, his heart in his throat. When Lance stepped into the room, Oliver sighed with frustration and fell back into his chair, covertly tucking the arrowhead under his collar.

"You want to explain to me what the hell is going on?" Lance demanded as he came to a stop in front of Oliver.

"Detective." Digg stood, motioning for Lance to shift his position so that he was no longer blocking the door. "He's waiting for the doctors, now."

Lance rolled his eyes but stepped closer to where Digg indicated. "Spill, Queen." he ordered, not even flinching when Oliver looked at him darkly, his eyes narrowing before they slid back to the door.

Resigned, Oliver attempted a believable story. "You knew that the Arrow and Felicity were connected. Friends, even. You should have known he'd get involved when she was presumed dead." Lance nodded, confirming that he had indeed assumed as much. "Obviously, he found her. I guess he couldn't risk his identity being found out by bringing her here himself, so he called me. He knows that she and I are close, and he trusted me to make sure she'd get the help she needed."

"Did he tell you anything?" Lance asked. "Where he found her? Who had her?"

"No." Oliver shook his head. "He just said he found her and that she was alive. He told me to meet him, that she needed to get to a hospital as soon as possible."

"Where did you meet him?"

Diggle stepped in. "On the corner of Pearl and Lochlan. He gave us Felicity and then he was gone."

Lance glanced at the bodyguard, his face giving off hints of disbelief though he didn't voice it. His eyes slid back to Oliver, who was still staring at the closed door. "All that hers?" He motioned to the blood that covered Oliver's clothes and neck.

Oliver nodded, but didn't look up.

Just then, the door swung open and Oliver was on his feet, his stomach clenching painfully.

"Ollie!" Thea ran to him, stopping short at the sight of him, his clothes still soaked in blood. Her eyes widened in horror but she made herself ask, "Any news?"

"Not yet." he relayed, shaking his head.

She sat in the seat beside his and lifted a bag. "I brought you a change of clothes. Roy said you needed them."

"Thanks." Oliver took the bag but made no move to leave.

"Look, I've got to hang around so I can speak with her doctor." Lance explained, his tone apologetic.

Oliver nodded his consent, though he knew it didn't matter one way or the other.

Roy came to sit beside Thea, letting her pillow her head on his shoulder. Diggle began pacing one side of the room, careful to stay out of Oliver's line of sight to the door. Detective Lance sat in a chair in the corner, furthest away from where they were seated.

Oliver lost track of time and everything else, as his eyes bored into the door of the waiting room, willing it to open. He blocked out his sister's sniffling and Roy's softly spoken words of comfort. He blocked out Digg's shadow, passing by him with each of his laps around the room. He blocked out the occasional crackle of static and garbled words from Detective Lance's police radio.

His vision was tunneled, only seeing the door.

Oliver found himself making promises to no one, vowing things he never thought he'd vow. He swore if the universe let Felicity come back to him, he'd never let her go again. He promised that if she could just wake up, he would spend everyday of the rest of his life showing her how much he loved her. He vowed that he would stop hiding behind his own fears, stop finding reasons to keep her just out of reach, and finally let himself love her the way she deserved.

Thinking that she was dead was the worst feeling Oliver had ever encountered. Thinking that she was gone, that he had lost her forever, had been the single most devastating blow ever delivered. He'd felt like part of him had died right along with her. His heart had continued beating but it served no further purpose. He had never felt more broken in his life than he had when he'd thought it was Felicity laying on that slab in the morgue.

More than an hour later, Oliver caught the shadow pass the door a second before it moved inward. He was on his feet and frozen in place as soon as his brain registered the white coat. The doctor glanced around the room, her brown eyes finding the one amongst them who was covered in blood.

"I'm Dr. Blanchard." The petite woman introduced herself, making her way toward Oliver. "I'm the resident surgeon here. Are you here for Miss Smoak?"

He took her offered hand, shaking it limply. He was too afraid of why Felicity might need a surgeon to muster the strength to do it properly. "Yes." he confirmed, fear making his voice shake. "I'm Oliver Queen."

Dr. Blanchard clearly knew the name, her face registering her recognition. "I have authorization to release medical information to you." she informed him, purposefully letting her eyes slide over the rest of the people in the room.

"They're family." Oliver assured her. "Can I see her?" He asked the first question that popped into his head.

"Unfortunately, no." The doctor began, Oliver hanging onto her every word. "She's being prepped for emergency surgery. She suffered a great deal of blunt force trauma to her abdomen, which resulted in internal bleeding. Her left cheekbone is fractured, but not broken. It'll heal on its own, over time. There's a fair amount of swelling on her brain, but we're confident that will take care of itself without assistance from us. She has multiple lacerations and contusions, many of which require sutures. There are also a few burns that need to be seen to, but they'll have to wait until after surgery."

Oliver felt the room around him tilt precariously. He was steadied by Thea slipping her arm through his and taking some of his weight. "Will she-" His voice broke and he had to take a deep breath before he could continue. "She's going to be okay, though. She'll be okay."

Dr. Blanchard's eyes softened. "We're going to do everything that we can, Mr. Queen. She's in critical condition, but we're hopeful. The next twelve hours are going to be the deciding factor. Go home, get some rest. We'll call you if anything changes."

"Dr. Blanchard?" Oliver called, as she made to leave. He walked to where she stood, lowering his head to speak without being overheard. He had to swallow several times to clear away the knot in his throat before he could ask the question he was terrified to hear the answer to. "I'm assuming a pelvic exam was administered?"

The doctor's face conveyed her sympathy, hearing the plea behind his words. "There are no signs of sexual assault, Mr. Queen." she assured him.

Oliver released the breath he hadn't known he was holding as relief washed through him. "Thank you." He wasn't sure if he was talking to Dr. Blanchard or the universe in general.

With an understanding smile, the doctor turned and nodded to Detective Lance, who followed her from the room.

"She's right, Oliver." Diggle said, squeezing Oliver's shoulder. "Go home. Take a shower and get a change of clothes. I'd tell you to sleep but we both know that's never going to happen."

"I can't leave." he argued. "I can't leave her here alone."

"I'll stay with her. I'll call in extra bodies if it makes you feel better." John promised.

"No." Oliver squared his shoulders and spoke with finality. "I've got the clothes Thea brought, that's good enough for now."

Diggle watched, feeling helpless, as Oliver shut himself in the small bathroom. He'd never seen that look on his friend's face, not in all the years he'd known him. Oliver was always careful to keep his emotions concealed, never wanting people to see what was really going on inside him. But now, he looked defeated. When Dr. Blanchard was listing off Felicity's injuries, Oliver had looked like a little boy, his eyes wide with fear, glistening with the moisture Digg knew he'd hate being seen.

Oliver emerged from the bathroom free of blood, in a dark blue cable-knit sweater and khakis. He looked marginally less uncomfortable but the shadow of Felicity's condition still clung to him like a cloak. He felt all six eyes in the room follow him as he sank back into the chair he'd been occupying. He knew they were trying to be supportive, that they just wanted to be there for him, but he was beginning to feel suffocated. His fear for Felicity was strangling him as it was, and the constant feel of eyes on him made him feel like he was a caged animal.

Blocking out the rest of the room, he let his head fall back against the wall and his eyes droop closed. Crossing his arms over his chest and legs at the ankles, he took deep breaths, trying to remind himself that Felicity was alive. He tried to let himself feel relief that she was still among the living, her heart was still beating. He tried to convince himself that she was going to pull through this and come back to him. In theory, all of those things were true. Letting himself believe them, however, was an entirely different matter.

He could feel the crash coming, the one that always came after the adrenaline wore off. Tonight, his adrenaline had shot through the roof. His body had vibrated with it, every nerve buzzing with the intensity of its onset.

And then, he'd seen her.

He'd seen her tied to that chair, her head hanging limply, her body pushed past the point of breaking, and a gun to her temple. He knew how that felt and the knowledge that she had experienced it made his skin crawl. The idea of her being tortured at the hands of a man that Oliver had thought he'd killed made fury bubble in his chest and guilt snake around his heart.

He'd been tortured, on more than one occasion, was familiar with the damage it could do to ones psyche. He was well acquainted with toll it took on your soul, with the darkness it marked you with. He didn't know how bad her physical scars would be, but he feared the psychological ones much more. He'd been off the island for almost eight years, and he still woke up from time to time covered in sweat, in the grips of reliving his trauma in the form of night terrors.

Of all the things he wanted for his tiny blonde hurricane that was not something he'd wished for. Now, he wanted nothing more than to take it all away.

The only relief he found came from the knowledge that, this time, the Count was dead. Really, and truly, dead. Oliver had snapped his neck and felt the life drain out of him. He didn't know how he'd survived three arrows to the chest and a fall from twenty-odd floors up, but he knew that this time there was no coming back. There was no third chance, no resurrection, no last minute save.

Count Vertigo was irrevocably, irreversibly, undoubtedly dead.