"Daddy," Ellie whimpers, and it takes everything inside Oliver to stay right where he is… especially as Slade lets out a, "Shh," and starts rocking his daughter, his hand patting her little leg in a mockingly soothing motion.
The most vicious swell of violence he's ever felt in his life rips through him. It's so primal, so etched into his sense of being that it blurs his vision and sends a surge of furious protectiveness through his veins like he's never experienced before.
She's so tiny, so miniscule in his arms; her cheeks are splotchy with fear, her eyes wet with unshed tears. Her little arms are curled into her chest, her back stiff. She knows this is a bad man, but she doesn't know what to do.
His insides revolt, urging him to do something, but he doesn't move, he can't, because he doesn't know what Slade will do. And he's well aware of what the other man could do.
Every single instinct is screaming at him to get Ellie away from Slade, but he doesn't know how. One wrong move and he could lose everything, a life he barely let himself dream about much less actually believe he could have.
That thought alone almost has him moving again, but he stays right where he is.
Never in his life has he had so much to lose.
It's terrifying.
"Daddy," Slade repeats, a cold grin on his face. "And here I thought I knew everything about you, Oliver." His eyes slide over to Felicity, and another streak of ice-cold terror has him trembling as Slade takes her in. "I'm learning so many interesting things."
How? How did he know where to find them?
Felicity's squeezing his hand so hard that he's surprised his bones aren't breaking, or that he's not snapping hers with the severity of his answering grip. He should let her go, he knows this, get all of Slade's attention on him, but the thought of doing that makes him freeze even more, almost like letting go of her will be the last thing they'll ever do.
"Ellie, sweetie, look at me," Felicity says in a quiet tone that shakes with fear and determination. Ellie's eyes switch to Felicity and the quiet terror on his daughter's face is a knife slicing through his chest. "You're being such a big, brave girl. It's going to be okay. Do you understand? Just keep looking at me. Don't look at him, just at me."
The little girl's watery blue eyes widen at her mother's words and she nods the little bit that Slade's grip allows her as her gaze locks with Felicity's. The complete and total trust shining through her obvious fear is another knife to his chest.
Ellie's so brave, so incredibly brave, and she believes every word out of her mother's mouth.
It's not really a promise Felicity can keep, but Oliver knows exactly what she's doing: she wants to grant their daughter as much peace and security as she can, because she's just as panicked and uncertain as he is. But even if Slade snaps their three-year-old's neck in front of them, she wants it to happen while Ellie stares back at her with the knowledge that everything's going to be okay, no matter what.
Oliver's going to be sick. Bile rises up in the back of his throat, chalky with a terror he's never felt before, but he pushes it back down, forcing himself to let go of Felicity's hand. If she can be brave for Ellie, he surely can too.
"She's three years old, Slade," Oliver says, his voice low and measured despite the frenzy inside - It's the only thought in his mind at the moment other than "don't" and "please, god, let this be a nightmare" and "take me instead."
"Yes, she is," Slade asks with a sickening amount of amusement in his voice as he looks down at her, one of his hands moving to the back of Ellie's neck.
Horror twists Oliver's insides - he's not Deathstroke here, he's Slade Wilson, the same unassuming businessman who contributed to Moira Queen's campaign and toured the Queen Manor… his hand is bare, and so large, engulfing her throat…
A tiny whimper slips out, and Oliver inhales sharply, gritting his teeth to keep himself still. He can see her lips are trembling before she pinches her mouth in a thin, white line.
"Darling little thing," Slade continues. "Not sure if she has your eyes or her mother's. But then again…" He looks back to Oliver, who meets his gaze head-on. "My vision isn't quite what it used to be."
He chuckles darkly, his grip on her little neck tightening. Ellie lets out another frightened noise that Felicity immediately answers with a soft hushing sound and it takes every single ounce of willpower Oliver has to keep his focus locked on Slade instead of his daughter.
This is how he helps her, keeping Slade's attention on him.
"You're threatening a toddler, Slade," Oliver points out. "An innocent child. What would Shado think about that?"
"You don't get to talk to me about Shado!" Slade roars, his eye widening with a manic rage that translates into Ellie, who starts full-on sobbing, her eyes never leaving Felicity.
"Oliver," Felicity says, her voice shaking with nervous fear, but he can't even spare her a glance.
"No," Oliver counters, shaking his head head slowly. He narrows his eyes at Slade, glaring at him as he says, "You don't get to talk to me about Shado." He tries to ignore the little breath that Felicity sucks down in wild anticipation as fury floods the other man's face, echoing the wild rush of adrenaline in Oliver's system as he continues, "She didn't choose you, Slade, and you weren't the one who had to watch her executed right in front of you."
He's deadly calm, the words hanging heavily in the air, the words that have been a living thing between him and Slade for years. Well, no more.
Oliver grits his teeth.
"So please," he says darkly, "tell me how it is that you have the right to break into my home and threaten my daughter's life because I somehow wronged you."
"You chose Sara over her," Slade accuses, letting go of Ellie's neck to point in his direction, his voice rising. "You took everything from me. I loved her and you threw her away like she was nothing." He points at his chest, the sudden movement making Ellie whimper. "Well, she wasn't nothing to me!"
"I chose her and Sara over myself!" Oliver snaps. "You weren't there. Fyres told me to choose and I charged the gun instead. I never picked Sara over Shado, I could never make that choice. I tried to give up my life for both of them, but Fyres wouldn't let me! I wanted it to be me, I didn't want anyone else to die because of me."
A strangled noise of pain at his words draws Oliver's gaze ever-so-briefly to his mother who stands a few paces behind Slade, still holding the counter for support. He wouldn't have understood before - he couldn't have - how much his willingness to sacrifice his own life would affect his mother. He gets it now, amazingly. The thought of anything happening to Ellie… he thinks he might burn the world to the ground to keep that from happening.
He thinks he wouldn't even regret it.
"I don't believe you," Slade tells him, his voice harsh, rooted in self-righteous rage. "You'd say anything right now to save your little whelp. But you forget, I know you, kid. You aren't that selfless."
"You have no idea what you're talking about," Felicity bites out in a near-growl that has an unexpected surge of pride and affection washing through Oliver.
"You…" Slade says, turning his gaze towards her, cocking his head with disdain. "You I almost feel sorry for. You got sucked in by a pretty face like so many before you." His voice hardens with animus. "But he brings death everywhere he goes, and it won't be long before it touches you." He gives her a jagged smile that has ice settling in the pit of Oliver's stomach. "And your precious little Ellie."
There's no swaying him… there never was.
Oliver knows this, has known it, since well before Ellie even came into their lives. He wonders if his one-time friend didn't die after all, if the mirakuru resurrected only vengeance and a twisted sense of logic purely driven by hate. Even if they could get the cure, could use it on him, the man he once knew is gone. There's nothing left of the one-time companion who saved his life countless times, who he called a friend, a brother…
That man died on the Amazo just as surely as Shado died by Fyres' gun.
"He's damned you, Felicity," Slade continues, drawing her name out, making it sound like it's covered in acid. Oliver feels her stiffening with her own rage next to him. "And he damned your child before she was even born."
The words are cutting, and Oliver feels them deep in his bones.
It's exactly what Slade wants. He wants to throw him off his game, to play on the insecurities he confided in him on the island, and for a split second, it works. Oliver feels the gnawing pit of doubt and fear appear in his chest, the quiet voice whispering, "What if…", the worry that maybe he is the danger, something both Felicity and Ellie should be running from…
But in the next instant, it's gone.
Oliver isn't sure how he knows, but he does: he hasn't damned them, and he won't. If anything, everything since last night has shown him that embracing that light instead of running from it ensures their safety more than anything in the entire world. Maybe it's the strength he feels radiating off Felicity, or waking up and seeing his daughter's joyful smile, or hearing her happy giggles this morning, he's not sure, but whatever it is convinces him.
He doesn't damn them.
The instant he recognizes it, his chest loosens, something clicking into place deep inside him.
"I'm pretty sure the only one who's damned here is you," Felicity says, her fortitude ringing through the kitchen, grounding him. "And that has nothing to do with Oliver."
Slade's attention is on her. As much as that fact brings a fresh surge of protectiveness rushing through Oliver's blood, he's also aware enough to recognize it for the opportunity it is. It's not much - Slade is undoubtedly highly aware of Oliver's every move - but it's something. It's an edge, a split second's advantage that Oliver can't let go to waste, not with Ellie in his grip, her life hanging in the balance.
Slade smirks. "I thought Oliver had a thing for stronger women." He narrows his eyes, like he's seeing Felicity in a new light. "I can see the appeal now."
Oliver doesn't have to beat Slade, he just has to save Ellie, wrench her from his iron grip.
It seems far more doable than defeating the mirakuru-powered madman unarmed.
At least he hopes it is.
Oliver charges, a violent, adrenaline-fueled rush that barrels into Slade full force, a vicious shout falling from his throat. It's enough to send him stumbling back two steps and - more importantly - it's enough to make him drop Ellie.
But that's the extent of his impact.
Ellie shrieks as she drops, landing with a thud and a wail that's an awful mixture of fear and pain from the impact. Felicity scrambles forward toward the girl with outstretched arms, scooping her up and scurrying backwards as fast as she can, out of Slade's immediate reach. And Slade… Slade laughs as Oliver throws everything he has into fighting against the beast of a man.
Oliver has never hit so hard in his life. He has never been so determined, so driven. Never.
But it's nowhere near enough.
The mirakuru that simultaneously powers and poisons Slade gives him a kind of power that Oliver can never hope to match, and soon it's too much. His desperation to save his family is no match for the dangerous rage in the other man's every move as Slade's fist lands on his jaw with an audible crack, wrenching Oliver's head to the side with so much force it feels like his muscles are tearing.
"Shado didn't get to have a family, you took that away from her!" he growls, his fists colliding in a bruising series of punches to his kidneys and ribs. "You don't get to have one either."
The hits come fast and hard, barely giving Oliver a chance to breathe much less react, but his words slice through him like a serrated blade. He tries to say, "Run," to Felicity, but Slade's already moving, landing a bone-crunching kick to his knee…
And then Slade's iron grip wraps around his neck.
"Oliver!"
Felicity's panicked voice pierces the air as Slade lifts him off the ground, fingers wrapped in a deadly hold around his windpipe, slowly crushing it, forcing the air out of him.
Oliver wants to tell her to run, to take Ellie and go while they can, but his voice is too strangled to work. Air slips down his throat like it's being sucked down through a straw and it's not enough; his lungs scream for more, his voicebox nearly collapsing under Slade's violent grip.
He doesn't know what will happen if Slade kills him... when Slade kills him.
Will Ellie continue on, an anomaly in the timeline, a girl with a father who never was? Or will she fade away like she never existed in the first place?
That hurts more than anything Slade could ever do to him, and he desperately hopes for the former. For Felicity's sake. For Ellie's own sake. But even if she disappears like a mirage, too perfect to be real, he won't regret this. He won't regret giving up his own life to spare her the pain of a death at Slade Wilson's hands.
It will be worth it.
Felicity isn't in his field of vision, but he doesn't have to see her to know she's moving about, looking for a weapon, an edge, anything to help save him. She's a fighter, this woman who should have one day been his wife. Sometimes with words or with strings of code. She never stops, never gives in. She has the fiercest, most loyal heart he's ever known, and while she's not trained to fight physically, she will, because she thinks she needs to, because it's what's right. And, god, if he'd ever thought he'd be able to shrug off his feelings for her as some kind of a crush, it was vibrantly clear now how impossible that was always going to be.
He loves her.
Fiercely, completely, because this is who she is - a woman with a sense of justice that outstrips even his own, a woman who can make him smile at the thought of her even as he's being choked to the brink of death. She's his match, and he knows it. He only wishes that he'd had the time to tell her that, that he'd had the time to show her.
If there's one thing he'll regret, it's that.
"I'm going to kill you, Oliver," Slade tells him with a chilling calm that rattles Oliver to his bones. "And they're going to watch you die. And then I'm going to kill them. Because I can. Because they'll die knowing that you failed them, that you weren't half the man they thought you were."
No.
Oliver's lungs burn and his eyes water as he grapples helplessly against Slade's tightening hands. Somewhere in the background he thinks he hears Ellie sobbing. He can hear Felicity shouting something, but it's all quickly fading, his strangled bids for air and the rush of his own blood slipping to the forefront.
He digs his fingernails into Slade's hands, drawing blood that coats his own fingers, but it doesn't even make the man flinch. Oliver tries to push off Slade's abdomen with his feet, tries to wrench himself away, but he's like a ragdoll; all his efforts are futile.
Slade's right, Oliver realizes with sudden, tremendous terror. This is how he dies… staring into the eyes of a madman he once called a friend. Maybe it was always going to end this way. He'd long ago accepted that his death would be a brutal one, but lately - in the last day, anyhow - he'd thought maybe…
But it doesn't matter. He's going to die. Here. Now. And worse than that, so is his family…
And there's nothing he can do about it.
Oliver opens his mouth in a silent scream, desperation flooding him as he fights even harder with the little energy he has left.
If he can just tell them to run, tell Felicity to go, to get out, get away...
But with every second that passes, more black spots dance in his vision and Felicity and Ellie slowly fall further and further away until he's in another place entirely… until it's just him and Slade. Nothing else exists. Not his mother's kitchen or his daughter's tears or Felicity's screams. They might be on Lian Yu or somewhere in the Glades or anywhere at all.
It doesn't really matter because the world around them melts away and all he can see is Slade's one eye staring at him with cruel, firm intent…
For a split second, even that fades, melting into darkness, a sea of nothingness… until he sees something. It's so quick, almost too quick, but there's enough for him to catch the glint of sunlight, the warmth of a summer breeze drifting over his skin… he tastes salt in the air, hears the crash of waves somewhere close… and laughter.
Happiness.
Felicity's face appears with a wide, beautiful grin… and then Ellie's adorable giggles where she's chasing seagulls… and a little boy.
And just as quickly as he sees it, it's gone…
… because he's falling.
Reality slams back into him as he lands on something cold and hard. Fresh air floods his lungs, making him cough as a roar of pain swamps his ears…
Slade's pain.
It's Slade, Oliver registers belatedly, blinking his watery eyes until his vision clears enough to see - he's on the floor, fighting to breathe and when he looks up, he sees the hilt of a kitchen knife buried in Slade's only remaining eye.
For an ugly second, the only thing Oliver hears is Slade's anguished, rage-filled screams slicing through the air as he lurches away from him, his arms swinging out.
It doesn't make sense. Oliver can't wrap his mind around it, that he's alive... that his family might live…
Oliver stumbles to his feet, blinking the white pinpricks out of his vision, expecting to see Felicity, but it's not her and he could not be more surprised in this moment if he tried.
"You stay the hell away from my family, you son of a bitch," Moira Queen demands, fierce and aloof like she hadn't just slammed a knife through a man's eye.
"Mom?" Oliver asks in bewilderment, his voice bruised and thin.
"Daddy! I want my daddy!" Ellie sobs behind them and Oliver's turning to them before he can stop himself. "Momma, let me go!"
"Ellie, no," Oliver rasps, ignoring the tearing in his vocal cords, lifting a hand to ward them off as Slade's shaking hand finds the knife hilt. Blinded or not, Slade Wilson is definitely still a threat. "Felicity, get her out of here!"
He knows she'd insist on being at his side - it's one of the things he loves the most about her - but Ellie's safety is the only thing that matters. He has no doubt they're both on the same page about that, a notion reinforced by the swift, soft padding of Felicity's bare feet against the wood floor and Ellie's increasingly distant cries for him.
"I'm going to kill you," Slade growls, ripping the knife from his eye socket, leaving behind a gorey hole in his face. "And I'm going to enjoy it." His head turns where Felicity's taken off. His grin is garish, his teeth coated in the blood leaking down his face. "And then it's their turn."
The promise in his voice is chilling, and it takes everything in Oliver to not throw himself at the madman, but he stops himself. They'd fought enough in the dark on Lian Yu that he is more than aware that Slade doesn't need to see to win in combat. His senses are well-honed, and the mirakuru only enhances them, but he is unfamiliar territory to him and the pain has to be taking off some of the edge he'd normally have.
Regardless, there's no time to waste and Slade is far from defeated.
Quietly and quickly, razor-sharp fear and adrenaline smothering his pain, Oliver slips around Slade and grabs his mother's arm to pull her behind him.
Slade lunges at them - aimless, broad, powerful strokes that would be deadly if he landed one. Taking Slade out means executing what would be lethal force on anyone else and Oliver knows that, but he can't do that barehanded - if he lets himself think too much about it, he's barely able to stand past the stabbing pain in his knee and the stinging ache in the delicate tissue of his throat. He looks around the room, but he doesn't see much in the way of weapons...
Until he spies Digg's unmoving form near the end of the island.
Instinct takes over as he ducks Slade's next swing, pushing him back in one move before dragging his mother by the arm over toward Digg.
"Oliver, what..." she starts, looking slightly more frazzled than he'd registered at first - her hands are shaking, her hair lacking its usual impeccable styling, and there's blood staining her fingers, but he doesn't let himself think about that for the moment. His mother has had plenty of blood on her hands before. This time, at least, it's warranted.
He makes a quiet hushing noise to cut her off, but it's too late. She's drawn Slade's attention and the man lets out a savage roar as he shifts his attention towards them, moving to attack.
Moira lets out a shaky noise in alarm. She grabs Oliver's arm in a death grip as she whispers, "Oliver…" but he can't do anything, not yet. Oliver looks for the sidearm that Digg always carries on him, pushing his unconscious friend's body out of the way…
There.
Slade is barreling toward Moira when Oliver turns, gun in hand, and empties the entire clip into his nemesis.
The shots are loud, and they echo the sound of the bullets ripping into his body as he stutters to a stop, a surprised look crossing his sightless face. The silence that follows is deafening, and for a long second, there's nothing but the wet sound of Slade moving his jaw, trying to speak, but all that comes out is a rivulet of blood.
It slides down his chin, dripping to the floor...
And then he falls.
It suddenly hits him how lucky they are that he wasn't wearing his armor. He'd gotten cocky, assumed taking Oliver at home where his family was in the most danger would be enough, that it'd be easy… and maybe it would have been, if it'd just been Oliver, or just Ellie and Felicity…
The ghost of the gunshots ring in his ears as he stares at Slade's body.
He's not breathing, he's not moving…
It's done.
They're safe.
His family is safe.
"Oh thank god," Moira breathes, grabbing Oliver's arm, turning him to face her. She rests a hand on Oliver's cheek to gain his attention. "Oliver, are you-"
"I'm fine, I'm fine." He eyes the large gash on her forehead. It's already stopped bleeding, but it's left a thick stream of blood caked in her hair and across her face. He winces as he reaches for her. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, don't worry about me," Moira says dismissively, her eyes on his throat. "I wasn't the one who almost died."
"I'm okay," Oliver assures her, his voice hoarse and uneven. "Thanks to you."
"I'm your mother, Oliver," she reminds him, affection heavy in her voice. "I'd do anything to protect you."
He believes her, with every ounce of his being. Oliver grins, an incredulous smile of amazement that she can still somehow make him feel like he's ten years old, and awe at the strength she wields.
Moira returns it, all maternal tenderness before she takes a deep breath, turning back to Slade. He follows her gaze.
"Now," she says, her tone regaining the cool manner that's usually reserved for a boardroom. "I'll make a call, to have this… problem cleaned up." She pats his arm. "You go check on Ellie and Felicity."
It's the only thing he wants to do - what he needs to do. He can still hear Ellie's cries for him, Felicity's frantic whispers as she tries to calm their daughter… but they aren't out of the clear yet.
"He's not dead," he informs her before the rest of her words register. Oliver starts, turning abruptly to stare at her. "You have someone who can take care of a body?"
She completely brushes off his concern with a, "Never mind that," before asking, "What do you mean he's not dead?" She laughs, and the sound comes out uncharacteristically nervous. "Oliver, no one could survive that."
"Yeah, well," Oliver says, "there's more to him than meets the eye."
He leans down to check Digg's pulse, breathing a sigh of relief when he finds it, strong and steady. As Moira asks, "Meaning what exactly?" his eye catches Raisa's arm on the other side of the kitchen island.
"Raisa," he breathes, instantly moving to check on her. Moira follows with a shocked, "Oh," as Oliver shifts her just enough to see if she's breathing… she is, and her pulse is present. Oliver breathes a sigh of relief.
"She's alright?" Moira inquires.
Oliver nods, unable to ignore the fact that Ellie and Felicity are somewhere in the mansion. The urge to find them is becoming almost unbearable, and seeing Raisa and Digg on the floor isn't helping a damn bit.
"Yeah," he replies, focusing on assessing the damage. "I think he just knocked her out. Maybe broke her arm." He moves back towards Diggle. "And don't worry about Slade, I know someone who will be more than happy to take him off our hands."
"Oliver… darling…" Moira starts hesitantly, clearly trying to figure out how best to word what she's going to say next. "You're a wonderful man and clearly committed to doing the right thing. I respect that and I love you for it… but we really do need to kill him."
He blinks up at her from Digg's side.
"It's not cruelty," Moira assures him, misreading his look. "It's practicality. That man is going to want you and your daughter dead by his hand as long as he breathes. We need to end him. For good. For Ellie's sake."
There is no doubt at all that his mother is twisted in her logic, but she's also not exactly wrong. Oliver decides very quickly not to think too hard about what that says about him. Instead, he focuses on the impossibility of her suggestion.
"I've tried," Oliver tells her. "There's this… let's call it a drug. It keeps him alive, no matter what injury he sustains." He pauses, his eyes sliding to Slade. "I don't know how to kill him, not without reversing its effects."
"Then how do we do that?" Moira asks.
"I'm not sure yet," Oliver answers. "But I think I might have some friends who can help. First, though… we need to contain him."
With that, he pulls Digg's phone out of his pocket and punches a few buttons, never taking his eyes off of Slade's unmoving form. The phone rings twice before the line connects and a familiar voice greets him.
"Johnny, I've got a meeting in five minutes," Lyla says, her tone hurried. "What's up?"
"Sorry, Lyla," he replies. "It's Oliver."
The sudden lack of noise from her end of the line is incredibly telling. She's stopped walking, stopped breathing for a moment. Oliver hadn't been aware that Digg was still seeing his ex-wife, but he'd have known based on her reaction to his unexpected call even if Ellie hadn't tipped them off.
"How bad?" Lyla asks, businesslike and focused.
"He's okay. Well, he will be okay," Oliver clarifies. "He's unconscious at the moment, but that's not why I'm calling…"
"Johnny's unconscious and there's another reason you're calling me?"
He can perfectly imagine the way her well-manicured eyebrows are undoubtedly raising in disbelief, and he knows he's stretching her patience.
"What has John told you about Slade Wilson?" Oliver questions.
"... Enough to know he should be a higher priority than Waller's making him," Lyla answers after a moment. "Why?"
"Think you could contain him?" Oliver asks.
Lyla's reply is immediate. "Do you have him?"
"If he were a normal person, he'd be dead on my mother's kitchen floor at the moment," Oliver tells her. "Instead, he's got a full clip in his chest and lost his other eye. He's down for the count, but he's still breathing."
"I'll be there in ten minutes," Lyla says, hanging up the phone before Oliver has a chance to respond.
Oliver sighs, half in relief and half out of anxiety.
He has no idea how long they've got until Slade wakes up. He has to stay here. But, god does he want to go find Felicity and Ellie. With the immediate danger out of the way, he craves their presence, the solid reassurance that they're fine. It itches under his skin and makes his muscles twitch.
"Good news?" Moira asks, pulling him back.
"Yeah," Oliver agrees, standing back up, setting the phone on the counter. "Lyla… Digg's Lyla. She's got the resources to keep Slade under lock and key. She's on her way."
"And how precisely will she do that?" Moira asks, looking anything but convinced. "Oliver, I'm certain she has the best of intentions, but if Slade Wilson can survive everything he's just endured, I can't imagine how anyone would be able to keep him imprisoned."
"Not every government agency has a name you'd recognize, mom," Oliver tells her with a heavy look. "Believe me, Lyla and her organization can handle this."
"You had better hope you're right," Moira replies gravely. "Because everything you have ever cared about rides on that man never getting free."
"Do you have a better idea?" Oliver asks her, watching her expectantly. "Because this is all I have."
Moira would look entirely composed and demure if there weren't blood drying beneath her nails. But Oliver sees it. He knows better.
"Surely there are some injuries no one could heal from," she suggests. "Regardless of whatever influences they're under."
"What exactly are you proposing?" Oliver asks, very much disliking the turn their conversation has taken, remembering vividly her comment about calling someone to clean up their 'problem.' The incredulity of that statement is fading away, leaving room for the reality of it: his mother has someone on speed dial who makes bodies disappear.
The implications of that are unsettling.
"Simply that," Moira replies, "if perhaps parts of him were… buried separately, there would be no way for him to survive."
Oliver blinks.
"Mom…" He closes his eyes, shaking his head. "This is by far the strangest conversation I've ever had. And that's taking into account that yesterday I told you I have a daughter who's time travelled from the future."
"Now isn't the time to be squeamish," Moira chastises, nonchalantly brushing dust off of his shoulder and he raises his eyebrows. Squeamish? "And it's not the time to trust other people to take care of our problems for us. Why don't you leave this to me. Call this… Lyla back, tell her you don't need her help, then go upstairs to your family. Leave Mr. Wilson in my hands."
She's serious. She's one hundred percent serious.
He's too tired to say anything but, "No, mom. I'm not going to go upstairs while you chop Slade into pieces, but thank you for offering."
"Oliver..." she begins, but is cut off by a groan.
Luckily for all of them, it's Diggle waking up and not the other unconscious man on the kitchen floor.
"Careful, John. Take it slow," Oliver says as his friend tries to sit up and nearly falls back down.
"Oh man," Diggle says, blinking into awareness. He winces, his hand flying to the back of his head. "What the hell happened?"
"Slade happened," Oliver replies.
The words startle Diggle enough that he's fully present in an instant. His eyes fly around the room, his shoulders stiff and ready for anything as he asks, "What happened? Is Ellie…?"
Just hearing his daughter's name makes Oliver's chest ache and he nods quickly. "She's okay, she's okay. Everything's okay now. Everybody's okay. Well…" He nods towards the bloodied body. "Except for Slade."
"Damn, Oliver," Diggle breaths as he takes in Slade's prone form. "Good work. It's about time we took him down." He grips Oliver's hand, letting his friend pull him to his feet. "We were due a win."
"Actually…" Oliver says, glancing at Moira. "My mother beat him."
Oliver's pretty sure that Diggle finds it more likely he's suffering from a concussion than that he heard him correctly, based on the way he freezes and his eyes dart between Oliver and Moira.
"That's…" Diggle starts, looking like he has no clue how to finish any semblance of a thought, "... very impressive, Mrs. Queen. How exactly did you manage that?"
"Everyone has their vulnerabilities, Mr. Diggle," she says, affecting her typical Queen Family Matriarch air. "Sometimes all you have to do is know precisely where to strike."
Diggle nods, blinking as he tries to wrap his head around that before raising both eyebrows and looking toward Oliver.
"Man, don't take this the wrong way, but your mom is terrifying. Promise me never to introduce her to Waller."
And wow, does that thought short-circuit Oliver's brain for a moment.
"Speaking of," he says, "Lyla's on her way to pick him up."
Diggle's eyes narrow warily. "Is ARGUS really the best place for him?"
"Thank you, Mr. Diggle," Moira says with a pointed look at Oliver.
"Mom…" Oliver says, raising a hand in her direction. "Don't start."
"You really want him in Waller's hands?" Diggle questions, giving Oliver a knowing glance. "I'm not sure I'm comfortable with her holding the leash of a madman with superhuman powers, and it's not even my family he's targeting."
"I want him dead," Oliver says baldly. "If he's going to come after Ellie… if she's going to have to live with the threat of him hanging over her head her whole life…" He clenches his jaw, the very idea of it sending a surge of acid clawing up his throat. "I want him dead, John. But first… we need to find a cure for the mirakuru. He's not going to die otherwise."
"Yeah," Diggle breathes, his eyes switching back to Slade.
Oliver takes a deep breath. "And maybe…"
Diggle sighs, knowing exactly where he's going.
"Maybe if this crap is out of his system he'll go back to the way he was before," he says. "Maybe he won't be crazy. Maybe he won't hate you."
Oliver stares at Diggle, imploring him to understand where he's coming from. "I owe it to the friend I knew to try."
Diggle might get it, but his mother surely won't.
"Oliver," she sighs. "Your sentimentality is utterly mind-boggling."
He's saved from having to defend his position further by the distinctive sound of a helicopter settling down on their back lawn. Lyla. It's ARGUS, and for the first time since Oliver entered the kitchen to find Ellie in Slade's arms, he exhales in genuine relief.
They're safe.
Lyla's barely through the door to the kitchen before Oliver's focus redirects to the two women upstairs.
"Glad to see you're awake," Lyla says to Digg, eyes flickering over his form in equal parts appraisement and appreciation.
"Missed too much of the fight as it was," Diggle tells her. "I sure as hell wasn't gonna miss him being locked up for good."
Lyla reads between the lines like it's something she trained to do. And, considering her employer, maybe she is.
"I've got this, Johnny," she assures him. "We're going to stick him somewhere he'll never see the light of day again. I promise you that."
"Good," Diggle says. "I'm gonna hold you to that."
"You do that," Lyla replies with a wry grin.
With Slade effectively no longer a threat and no longer his responsibility, Oliver can't make himself stay in the room any longer, not with Felicity and Ellie worried about him upstairs… not when the last time he saw Ellie's little face it was filled with terror and covered in tears… not when the last time he heard Felicity, she was screaming his name with a desperate kind of primal fear.
"Lyla, thank you," Oliver says, and she nods in his direction, crossing the room to attach some sort of device around Slade's neck. "I need to go check on Ellie and Felicity."
"Who's Ellie?" Lyla asks.
"It's a long story," Diggle replies. "I'll fill you in later."
Whatever Lyla says in response, Oliver doesn't hear, and he doesn't care.
He jogs out of the kitchen in search of his girls.
They're in the house, he knows that much. The garage is off the kitchen and they wouldn't have been able to get to it without Slade seeing, and the basement is highly unlikely unless Felicity started opening every single door downstairs looking for it, which he knows she wouldn't do. Her priority would've been to get Ellie to safety, first and foremost, and anyone's natural instinct would have been to run to familiar ground.
They're not in his room or Thea's, or the half dozen guest rooms he tries. He starts opening and closing doors with more force than necessary, calling Felicity's name, followed by Ellie's, his rough voice echoing down the hall, getting nothing in return.
Where are they?
The mansion is huge, and it's full of tiny crevices and hiding spots… Felicity wouldn't leave the grounds, would she? Did she run out the front door? No, she doesn't have her car, and running barefoot down the graveled driveway to the street that's a easily twenty mile stretch to Starling City isn't feasible. She'd know that.
Oliver scours the entire second floor before moving up to the smaller third floor, wondering if he'd been too quick to assume Felicity would go upstairs. Maybe she knew familiar ground was exactly where Slade would check, and the second floor would be his first stop, so she'd done the exact opposite, heading down instead of up…
He's opening one of the dusty storage rooms near the attic, ready to give up and check downstairs when he hears it…
A tiny whimper, followed by an even softer hushing noise.
"Oh god," he whispers, relief flooding his chest as he dives for the closed bathroom door. When he opens it - when he sees them - it drives home exactly how terrifying all of this has truly been.
They're huddled in an antique bathtub, Ellie curled up on Felicity's lap, crying softly into the fabric of her shirt as Felicity holds a gun aimed steadily at the doorway. It's ancient; it probably doesn't even have bullets and almost certainly wouldn't shoot - he's almost positive it was his grandfather's once upon a time, and that it used to be on display in his mother's office - but none of that matters.
The sharp squeak of Felicity's feet on the porcelain tub sounds as she pushes herself back, shielding Ellie, ready to do anything…
The instant she registers it's him at the door, Felicity gasps. Her hand sags, the heavy gun falling from trembling fingers, landing on the floor with a thud.
"Oliver," she sobs, her face crinkling in relief, joy and fear.
If it's anything like the fear he'd felt downstairs, he can only imagine what hers is: fear that she wasn't going to see him again, that he was dead, that her last minutes were going to be filled with her daughter crying into her chest, both of them just waiting, waiting to be found, for god knows what to happen…
"Felicity," he whispers as she scrambles to her feet, Ellie still in her arms.
Oliver launches himself towards the tub, catching her just as she reaches for him. He hauls them up into his arms, not feeling his bruised throat, or what might be a broken rib, or his sore jaw...
He only feels them, and it's the best damn feeling in the entire world.
"Oh god, Oliver," Felicity says, desperation lacing her words, tears staining her cheeks. She pushes her face into his chest, inhaling, breathing him in and he does the same, pressing a hard kiss to the top of her head. She pulls him closer, shaking her head - she's trembling - as she whispers, "Oh god, I thought I wasn't… that you… I wasn't sure if I was going to see you again. And Ellie…"
"Felicity," he rasps, hugging her tighter, making Ellie yelp. He instantly releases them, looking down at his girls. "You're okay, you're okay."
"Oh, Oliver," Felicity whispers, her lip quivering as her eyes rove over him. He can only imagine the damage on his throat, much less where he'd taken a few solid hits to the face. She reaches up with her free hand, her fingers hovering over him. "Are you…?"
"I'm okay," he replies, nodding.
"And Slade?" she asks. "He's...?"
"He's gone," Oliver confirms and she lets out a shuddery sigh of relief. "And… you? You're okay, nothing…?"
"We're okay," she says, looking down at Ellie, who's been uncharacteristically silent. Felicity inhales deeply as she hoists their daughter up a little bit. Her voice is thick with tears, but it's strong as she says, "We have one brave little girl here. She was keeping me calm."
"Hey, honey," Oliver says, leaning down so he's level with her. He wants to ask her if she's okay, but he knows it's a stupid question, one he doesn't want to hear her answer anyway. Instead he smiles, meeting her gaze. "Hi, sweetie."
"Hi, daddy." Ellie's voice is small, tears shimmering in her eyes. They don't fall though as she takes in Oliver's injuries. He wants to hide them, to tell her he's fine… but he doesn't, because they both know he'd be lying.
"Is the bad man gone?" she finally asks.
Oliver's heart breaks, that that's the first thing she asks, that she knows exactly what she's asking him. A quiet sniffle from Felicity tells him she feels the exact same way, and while something deep inside him twists at the thought that this is the life he's given his daughter, there's something else too… something more.
Pride.
Elizabeth 'Ellie' Queen is only halfway to being four years old and already she's ranked among the bravest people he's ever met. This is the life he gives her, because this is who he is, who Felicity is… but they raise a little girl who is more than capable of handling it.
And that heals his heart just as quickly.
"Yeah, baby," Oliver replies, his voice cracking. "He's gone."
Ellie nods, her eyes dropping to his mottled throat. "Are you okay?"
He smiles, his eyes slipping shut, nodding shortly before saying, "I will be. I promise."
"Okay," Ellie says, believing him, and before he can blink, she's launching herself out of Felicity's arms and into his.
He doesn't care how badly he's hurt, or that her arms wrapping around his neck make his eyes water and his lungs seize… he doesn't care, because his daughter is in his arms, and she's okay, and that's all that matters.
Oliver hugs her, cradling her close, turning his face into little neck, taking a deep breath.
Home.
"C'mere," Oliver whispers, wrapping his arm around Felicity, pulling her into his embrace. She smiles as she holds both of them, her eyes shiny with tears. He returns it, his own tears blurring his vision as he presses a kiss to her forehead before leaning down to kiss her lips properly.
He's home.