Oliver was standing outside of the tenement building, staring up at into its black windows when the smash of glass caught his attention. There, on the top floor, several panes shattered and catapulted towards the pavement. His head snapped in the direction of the sound. It was the only movement they'd seen or heard in the entire building in days. That had to be where Felicity was. He counted the windows. Five over from the left, two windows per apartment. Third apartment, fifteenth floor.
Digging his phone from his pocket, Oliver called Diggle.
"Oliver, where the hell are you?" Diggle's voice said in his ear.
"Top floor, third apartment facing the street. Hurry." Oliver hung up, knowing John would immediately understand his message. He couldn't wait for backup, though. He had to get Felicity out now.
Kicking in the rotted front door to the tenement, Oliver barreled for the stairwell. The interior of the building was decrepit, smelling of decay and mold—like years of neglect. His feet crunched over the debris from the past lives of the building. Water dripped somewhere in the bowels of the building. Slamming the metal fire door to the stairwell open, he bounded up the steps. That window breaking hadn't been an accident. They were the result of some kind of struggle, which meant Felicity was in imminent danger. The sound of the struggle may even cover his approach if he was lucky, but he wasn't going to waste time on stealth. Not when Felicity's life hung in the balance. The noise he made would make no difference now.
Thirty flights later, Oliver emerged at the far side of the building from the apartment he was looking for. He squinted into the gloomy corridor trying to discern any flicker of movement. In the shadows, he saw two figures barrel out of a room down the hall and sprint away from him. He assumed it had to be Tommy and Malcolm. Both were several inches taller than Felicity and Malcolm had had a head start. Oliver hadn't expected to beat Malcolm here.
He briefly considered chasing them. The Arrow would have sprinted to the right, headed them off before the reached the stairwell at the other corner of the building. He may have thrown on the hood and green jacket, but he wore no mask tonight. Felicity's life was of greater importance than any questions or anger he may have needed resolved in that moment. No, tonight he was Oliver Queen.
He bounded down the dingy hallway, counting the doors until he could see the end of the corridor. There: third from the end. The door stood ajar.
"Felicity! I'm here! Where are you?!" Oliver called as he entered the apartment.
He heard a faint rustle and the tinkle of shifting broken glass. As he rounded the corner he saw her. There, lying under the broken window, limbs pushed out at odd angles, sunlight pouring onto her twisted body, was Felicity.
"Oliver," she croaked, unable to open her eyes or move towards him. "Oliver, please." She whispered. She tried to shift her arm to reach towards him but she couldn't feel her fingers.
In a second, Oliver was crouched over her. "Felicity, it's me. You're safe now. Please stay awake, Felicity. Listen to my voice. Just stay with me."
Oliver was frantic, he checked her pulse on her neck, noticing the handprint shaped bruises forming around her larynx. It was thready and weak, but her heart beat was there. His eyes moved down the rest of her body taking in her injuries. Her legs were scabbed and bruised and he could tell at least one of her arms was broken. It was swollen and varying shades of purple and green. He lifted her shirt and nearly vomited. There on her stomach were the same precise incisions he'd seen carved into her on the screen in the lair, except these were open and oozing blood. One bled with the same rhythm as her pulse. Several patches of skin were spongy and discolored, dark veins flowing away from the infected areas.
He'd known they'd be there, but the incisions extended up farther until they were only six inches from her shoulder. Her chest was bruised and caved slightly. He was horrified when he felt her breathing. It was shallow and one lung expanded while the other collapsed, like she was breathing in reverse. It reminded him of a fish taken from the water, unable to draw breath. Something was horribly wrong. Felicity's breathing came in stuttering, rasping bursts, like she was able to push air out, but not take any in.
"Oh God, please Felicity. Hold on. The others are coming. We're going to get you out of here." Oliver felt his face twist with agony, unable to contain the pain bubbling up inside.
Felicity tried to open her eyes, but only one opened, the other having swollen shut. She looked at him and smiled even though it caused every nerve in her face to flare with pain.
"I knew you'd save me, Oliver." She whispered, struggling to hold the image of his face in her vision. "I knew you'd come for me." Her eye fluttered shut and her breathing stuttered.
"Felicity! No! Please, God. Stay with me, Felicity. You can't leave me here without you. I love you for God's sake!" Oliver sobbed, lowering his head to her chest. She couldn't leave him here like this. Not in this place. Only days before, if he had just told her how much he loved her, how he'd always loved her, they could have had time. But instead, it was going to end here, on a dirty floor, strewn with broken glass and her blood.
He took one gasping, stuttering breath to calm himself so he could listen to the sounds of her chest. In his right ear, he heard a rasping, gurgling sound accompanied by a slow pat-pat, pat-pat, that was so quiet he struggled to hear it even in the silence of the tenement. She was breathing, but barely. Her heart sounded like it was several floors below, its faint flutter all that tied Felicity's broken body to life, to him.
Moments later, he heard the crashing of footsteps and Digg and Roy barreled down the hallway and into the room. Both men froze at the sight that assaulted them in the apartment.
There was blood everywhere. So much blood that you couldn't believe it had come from one person, dead or alive. The mattress seemed the point of origin with a blood pool staining the center that was at least three feet in diameter. Rubberized chains hung from the head and foot of the bed, skin and blood clumped to the loops meant for her hands. A table lay smashed beside it, surgical tools scattered from the drawer. A scalpel, dirty with grey matter, was flung into a pool of light streaming in from the smashed window. And then there was Felicity, crumpled beneath the shattered window, a blood pool slowly seeping onto the linoleum, and Oliver clinging to her limp body.
"NO!" Diggle screamed, slamming to his knees. "No!"
It was this sound that snapped Oliver to attention. He had never heard John so distraught. The sound that had come from him was that of an animal, wild and full of untold pain and torment. That single word taught Oliver more about John Diggle than their years of friendship ever had—about the kind of love John was capable of. As he turned, Oliver saw Diggle and Roy for the first time.
Roy's face was stark white, dressed as Arsenal. Under his hood, his eyes were wide with shock and terror, and the rest of his body shook where he stood. Diggle was crumpling to the floor, staring at Felicity.
"She can't be. SHE CAN'T BE." Diggle was almost keening with sorrow like Oliver had never heard.
"John, she's alive, but barely. We have to get her out of here. We have to get her to the hospital." Oliver took command.
The moment Oliver said Felicity was still breathing, John shot forward, extracting a blanket from under his arm. In this proximity, he could hear the faint gurgling in her chest that was all the tethered her to life. It sounded like the death rattle. As tenderly as if he were handling his daughter Sarah, Diggle wrapped Felicity in the wool.
"Give your gear to Roy, Oliver."
At first Oliver was confused, but he realized John was trying to preserve the Arrow's anonymity. He quickly shrugged from the hood and jacket and handed them to Roy who was still pale and speechless.
"Take this back to the lair then meet us at the hospital." Turning to Diggle, he said, "How are we getting to the hospital?"
"Laurel called her father. He's going to escort us. Now move!"
Oliver scooped Felicity into his arms and sprinted for the stairwell. He was thankful for his impeccable balance as he took the stairs three at a time, bursting onto the sidewalk to find Diggle's car parked on the street next to Detective Lance's unmarked cruiser.
"Oliver Queen! What the hell—" Lance began.
"Detective, we have to get to the hospital. Let's go!" Oliver shouted not pausing as he bolted for Diggle's car and slid into the back seat with Felicity.
As the detective caught sight of Felicity's bruised and swollen face, he hastened to comply with Oliver's demand. He had expected the Arrow, not Oliver Queen, but at the moment, all he cared about was Felicity.
Lance slammed his car into gear and smashed the switch for his lights and sirens. Praying Oliver's bodyguard could keep up, Lance's thoughts glued themselves to Felicity. Had she even been breathing? The only way he had even recognized her was by the flash of bright, blonde hair, and even that was clotted with dirt and blood. Her face was almost unrecognizable under the swelling and gore. Even her throat had looked crushed. Quentin Lance was not a religious man, but in that moment he looked to the sky ahead.
"If you're up there, you're a real son of a bitch, you know that? She's one of the good ones, dammit! You better make sure she gets through this, or else I'm coming for ya'. I don't know how, but I'll find a way," Lance rambled. Then, to himself, "Then I'm going to kill the bastard that did this to her."
The image of her broken body flashed through his mind again, and he gunned it and reached frantically for his radio.
"Control, control: This is Detective Lance. I need you to clear a path for me from Peach Street in the Glades to Starling General. Escorting a black Chrysler, license Alpha Echo Charlie 1991, carrying victim of assault. Patient critical."
"This is control: Information received. We have two units heading to you now to join the escort. Traffic has been informed."
Detective Lance slammed the radio back into his receiver and pushed hard on the gas.
"Felicity, please. Just hang on, honey. We're gonna take care of you," Lance whispered, tears gathering in his eyes. They needed a miracle for this girl, and if there were ever someone who deserved a miracle, it was Felicity. The women she'd help start new lives, the criminals she'd helped put behind bars, the life she had lived. All of these added up to the extraordinary human being cradled in Oliver Queen's lap in the car behind, struggling to breathe through her crushed windpipe.
It was late in the afternoon, and Detective Quentin Lance prayed the streets would be clear.
