Author's Notes: Prompt from releaseurinhibitions on Tumblr: "Daddy, why do you have green paint on your face?"
Title from the Lindsey Stirling/Lzzy Hale song of the same name.
"Daddy, why do you have green paint on your face?"
Automatically, his hands go to his face, and sure enough, there's a little grease paint left alongside the exhaustion in his eyes. He rolls it on his fingertips as his stomach does the same; it's because of that mantle, because of that mission, that his son was put in danger tonight.
From the other side of the hospital bed, just as she did for Connor tonight, Felicity saves him. "Don't worry about it, bud," she says in that soothing, healing voice, one that should feel wrong in a world of cutting, broken glass but that both Queen boys cling to nonetheless. She runs a hand over his head, centering both herself and Oliver in the knowledge that the boy's okay.
This boy he almost lost tonight, so soon after he'd learned of his existence in the first place.
Oliver's hands still shake by his side as he tries to slow down his heart rate and his breathing, watching Felicity calm his son, this child that she too has grown to love. She pulls out Connor's gaming system from her bag and despite his ordeal, the little boy smiles, eventually jabbering on about which level he's close to completing, leaning ever closer to Felicity until he puts his head on her shoulder and his eyes begin to droop.
She doesn't hesitate, and unbearably gently, slides him over in the hospital bed he'll be sleeping in tonight just for observation, and then pulls herself onto the mattress. Oliver hears the clatter of her shoes on the floor as she toes them off, and she maneuvers herself against the pillows, pulling Connor safely and closely against her side. She reaches down and covers both of them with the blanket, pressing a light kiss against his forehead.
(He's still too shaken to breathe in their connection as he normally does. She'd been almost as shocked as Oliver when Connor's mother showed up at his door, but she'd never once looked at either of them differently. Instead, she'd pulled out her tablet, downloaded some game, and proceeded to sit with Connor on the couch for hours while Oliver and his one-time love interest hashed everything out.
Connor had, of course, fallen in love with Felicity from the word go.
Like father, like son.)
She holds out a hand to Oliver, and it's mostly on instinct that he moves, coming to sit in the seat she's just vacated. She laces their fingers together, and he leans forward, resting his forehead against hers.
"He's okay, Oliver," she whispers fiercely. "You got to him in time, and he's okay."
He shakes his head vehemently, nausea sliding through him, circling and coiling around his failures. "You found him in time."
"Look at me." She tugs on his hand. "Look at me."
He raises his eyes to hers, and her expression softens. She cups and caresses his cheek. "You saved him, Oliver. You saved all of us."
(The doubts have never pierced him this sharply before, but oh, how he wants her to make him believe.)
He doesn't find words for a long time after that, nor does he find sleep. Instead, he watches as two of the most important people in his life rest, their hands linked and his on top of them, wondering how he'll ever get over the fact that despite his intent and efforts and training, he'll never truly be able to keep them safe.