As much as he knows they need to get the hell away from the Bratva as soon as possible, Oliver can't in good conscience let Verdant take to the sky without thoroughly inspecting her first. He trusts Kaylee. Actually, his faith in her is surprising when he considers how briefly he's really known the young engineer. But Verdant is his and he's not about to be foolhardy with the lives of his crew.
Even under the influence of the Lazarus Pit, he's a better captain than that.
There's no denying that he's functioning on borrowed time, though. The waters are calm in his mind for the moment, but they're there. Little things make them ripple, like a rock skipping across a placid pond. Jayne says something that irks him or River babbles in a frustratingly nonsensical way or Felicity stretches to inspect something in the ship's wiring leaving his gaze lingering on the swell of her hips. Ripples grow then, spread throughout his mind and threaten to cause waves. How long he's got before the waters crest and pull him under in their riptide is anyone's guess, but it's coming.
He knows it.
"We're good," Oliver says into the comms after a final look-through over the rebuilt area and Felicity's nod of approval. "Get us out of here, Digg."
"With pleasure," Digg responds as the engines rumble to life.
Everything looks perfect. Everything seems normal, too, but neither Oliver nor Felicity release the breaths they're holding until the ship breaks atmosphere and they hear the pressurization and life support systems kick on. There's no hiss of air escaping the ship. No alarms sound. The ship's repairs, at any rate, seem to have gone according to plan.
If only he were as easy to fix as his ship.
"Maybe it will be better once we're away from the Bratva," Felicity says, as if reading his mind. "Put a little distance between you and the people making you go all 'grr.'"
She's trying to be helpful, but the comforting hand stroking down his upper arms really isn't doing anything to help keep the waters at bay. Quite the opposite, actually, which is something she clearly realizes as she lets out a soft "oh" after he slams his eyes shut and tries to ground himself.
"Oliver, are you already-"
"I'm fine," he cuts her off, shaking his head for a moment before opening his eyes and taking a steadying breath while he forces a smile that he doesn't feel.
The look on her face screams that he's not fooling anyone. Her lips are thinned and her eyebrows raised so that her brow furrows in little lines that are frankly adorable.
"Really," he protests, meaning it a little more this time around. "I'm not back to normal or anything, but I'm also not…"
He can't quite finish that dire thought, but she has no such qualms.
"Uncontrollably homicidal?" she offers.
He flinches, both at the words and the casual way she says them.
"It would be a bad idea to put me in a room with Nikita, but for now I think we're safe," he promises. "There's no one here that I have an urge to put an arrow in."
"Well, let me know when that changes, okay?" she asks, her hands resting against his pecs as she looks up at him. "We can manage this. I just need you to tell me what's going on."
When, she'd said. Not if. And with that one little word, he's painfully aware that for all her optimism, she's fully conscious of exactly how bad all of this really is. She doesn't even realize her own slip up. He's grateful for that, though. She'd be upset if she knew, would think she'd somehow let him down.
As if she could.
"I don't want you to worry about that," he tells her, touching her hair gently with tremendous self-awareness and restraint.
"I'm not worried," she clarifies, looking up at him and shaking her head with a little smile gracing her lips. "I just want to be ready. If it's still a problem… okay. We can deal with this. Together. I just need you to keep me in the loop. That's all."
"If I need your help, I'll let you know," he assures her.
It's true. He will. As a very last resort, but he's banking on not needing her help at this point. He won't keep doing this to her. He can't. Not if there's an alternative. Still… he's pretty sure she's going to object to his plan and he'd prefer to put off that particular argument until he has all of the pieces in place for what comes next.
"I know you hate this, Oliver," she tells him, sympathy shining in her bright blue eyes. "And because you hate it, I want to fix it, too. But it's not like I'm objecting here. You know that right? I mean, okay, I'm objecting a little to the whole murderous impulses thing, but the frequent sex thing is a very A+ excellent plan in my book."
He shakes his head in response, a thin heart-felt smile tugging at the edges of his lips in spite of the distasteful topic. She can make anything lighter, easier, just by being herself.
"I like that plan, too," he agrees, kissing the top of her head before pulling away and stepping back slightly to force a little distance between them. "I just would like to be present while that happens and with the way things are right now, I'm not."
She watches him for a moment, clearly soaking in his words, trying to absorb what he's feeling. It's hard for him to explain. He's present even when the waters are at their worst, but his control is completely absent. His will is gone. He'd like nothing more than to spend the next few hours tangled up in his own sheets with Felicity, but he wants to really be there. Anything else is a poor substitute.
"Okay," she agrees, nodding and purposefully maintaining the distance between them as she leans back against a nearby bulkhead. "You had a plan to fix this, right?"
It's less of a plan and more of a Hail Mary to the end zone, but he's not going to tell her that at this point. It's not like he's got much a backup plan if this fails and he'd prefer she not worry more than she already is.
"There's someone who owes me a favor," Oliver allows, "from back on Lian Yu."
"Is she ridiculously beautiful?" Felicity asks with a raised eyebrow. "Because I'm starting to wonder if some ship full of Miss Alliance pageant contestants crashed near you."
Her tone is dry and a little clipped. Even though she's kidding, he can't help but enjoy the idea that she's actually jealous.
"He is a little masculine for my taste, but I suppose he's alright," Oliver replies with obvious amusement shading his voice. "A bit rough around the edges for a Miss Alliance pageant, but he'd kill the talent competition so maybe that makes up for the scruff and the chain smoking."
Felicity pauses at that, looking like she's not completely certain how to process this information and rework the mental image she'd clearly already built up in her head.
"He's not smoking on this ship," she says finally. "Do you have any idea how much that could mess up my computers? Not to mention the air filtration system-"
"Honey, we don't have a choice," Oliver points out. "We need him."
"Why?" Felicity asks. "Does he have like magical superpowers over water or something?"
"Uhh…." Oliver responds, in a fantastic display of his inability to answer that question with anything that's both accurate and doesn't make him sound even more out of his mind than he actually is.
"He does not have magical superpowers over water," Felicity insists a moment later, incredulity reaching previously unseen levels.
"Not water, no," Oliver agrees.
"Oliver…" she replies with guarded hesitance.
"We've both seen things we can't explain, Felicity," Oliver points out. "After the particle accelerator overloaded in Central System's star, people came out of the woodwork with all kinds of abilities."
"That was science," she points out. "That was because of increased radiation in the solar winds after the explosion made solar flares go all wonky."
"Wonky is scientific?" Oliver questions, tilting his head in amusement as he watches her.
"I'm sure there's a very sciency word for what happened, but astrophysics isn't exactly my area of specialty," Felicity reminds him. "More to the point, though, if you knew this guy on Lian Yu, you knew him before the Central System explosion."
"Yes," Oliver agrees. "I saw a lot of things on Lian Yu that I can't explain, but that doesn't make them less real. John has… abilities. Magic. I don't know how to describe it. He's in tune with something. If anyone can help me, it's him."
She's skeptical. That's not a surprise, really. Felicity's first instinct will always be to look for facts. But, even without them, she'll trust him. So it's also not a surprise when she makes the choice to take everything he's saying at face value.
"Okay," she agrees. "We'll track him down and see what he can do. Where do we find this John…?"
"Constantine," Oliver finishes for her. "John Constantine. He's a bit of a drifter. My guess is we'll find him in the dingiest part of the inhabited 'verse."
"Charming," Felicity replies shaking her head. "So… back out to the rim then?"
"Most likely," Oliver agrees. "I've got a few channels I can go through to find him. For now, let's just put some distance between us and the Bratva."
"That's a very good idea," Felicity agrees. "Is there anything we need to do in the meantime? Or are we just aimlessly moving to anywhere not controlled by the Russian mob. Or, actually… the Italian mob either. I'd prefer to avoid them, too."
And oh wow the thought of the Italian mob actually sends Oliver stumbling backwards as he tries to keep control. If Nikita makes him murderous, the thought of the Bertinellis makes him want to lay waste to whole planets just to get his hands around Helena's neck.
It makes sense. Or it will when he thinks about it with a clearer head. After all, she's the one who gave him the wound that the pit waters healed. It makes sense they would demand her blood in return.
"Oliver?" Felicity's voice is far away, but it breaks through the haze that's quite suddenly clouded his vision. "Talk to me. What's going on?"
"I'm okay," he tells her, blinking back the rage, pushing the waters back down. "I wasn't expecting that yet. I've got it under control."
"Are you sure?" she asks.
There's worry in her voice, but it's worry for him and that will never not throw him. She's not scared for herself or for the crew, but she's deeply concerned about his well-being.
"Yes," he confirms. "I'm sure. The pull isn't that strong yet. Just the mention of… but she's not here. So maybe distance does help some."
"Good," she murmurs, but the look of concern doesn't fade from her eyes.
"I'm okay," he says again, forcing more certainty into his voice for her benefit. "Away from the Bratva and… the others… That's good, but an actual destination would be better. I'm going to send a few waves, see if I can't track John down. Then I'll check in with Ally, see if she knows where she wants to head. Maybe we can drop her off somewhere while we wait for John."
"Alright," she agrees, looking a little more placated. "I'm going to go move my things into our room."
Somewhat surprisingly, those words calm down the waters even further. There's something about her further entwining her life with his that mollifies the demands of the Lazarus Pit, buries any current far beneath the surface. It's an affirmation that she's going nowhere, that she's his. And it's this, more than anything else, that makes him wonder if Digg wasn't right. For all of Sara's talk about the shards of damaged souls carving out a home in his mind, he can't imagine why any of the men healed by the Lazarus Pit would have any particularly interest in Felicity officially moving in with him. Digg's theory about eroding control and reducing him to base impulses, though… that fits. Disturbingly well. Oliver's not sure he likes what that says about him.
"Mind if I rearrange some things?" she asks, pulling him back to the here and now, grounding him with her presence.
"You can do anything you want to our room," he advises, wholly meaning it and savoring the way the words 'our room' taste on his tongue.
"It's possible you'll regret that when you remember the size of my shoe collection," she points out with humor lighting up her eyes.
"I doubt it," he counters, eyes skimming down her body.
Her never-ending collection of heels had drawn his attention right from the very beginning. The way they pull his eyes to her legs, her ass… yeah even before he was ready to admit his attraction to her, he'd been able to acknowledge that he loved what her shoes did for her body. And now that they're a reality, now that she's moving into his room, he can't help the mental image that forms of her in nothing but one of those pairs of heels. He can't help but think about the way she'd dig one of them into his lower back while he-
"We'll see about that," she interrupts teasingly as she leans in and kisses him softly on the cheek.
He breathes in her scent, holds on to the feel of her petal-soft lips on his cheek, and stifles a moan. Distance between him and the Bratva had been an excellent idea. And if he's going to drag out his control as long as possible, a little distance between him and Felicity isn't the worst idea in the world at the moment either.
"We will," he agrees with a strained voice.
"Oliver, if you need me-"
"I know where you'll be," he reminds her, sidestepping her entire point and ignoring the fact that he has no intentions whatsoever of finding her and using her to control himself unless there's literally no other option left.
"Okay," she says, sounding unsure again.
Because she reads him entirely too well.
He squeezes her hand and steps back, a list of things designed to keep him busy - some of them necessary and some of them not - compiling in his mind. It's a small ship and he doesn't know how long he can hold out, but he's determined to test himself, to push those limits and cling to his rational mind as long as he can.
"I'll find you in a bit," he tells her.
And with that she gives him a small smile and heads off, touching her fingers to his until the last possible second.
He still isn't sure what he did to deserve her in his life. But he's grateful, so grateful that she's here. With him. Brightening his life in every possible way.
Lingering on thoughts of her are mostly counterproductive at the moment, though, so he tries to focus on other things. Between crash landing on an unfortunately occupied moon and then spending far too long as a guest of the Russian mob on their main planet, he hasn't actually captained his own ship in a month. There's no shortage of things to do.
His first priority is reaching out to find John, though. It has to be. He's pinning a whole lot of hope on the mystically attuned detective and if they can't track him down or - worse - he can't help, Oliver doesn't have a great Plan B. That's more than a little terrifying.
Unsurprisingly, none of the waves he sends out over the next hour or so yield immediate results. John's a shifty character, hard to pin down, but this is very much up his alley and honestly Oliver wouldn't have been surprised if John had somehow tracked him down even without being contacted. He seems to have a sixth sense about these things.
But for now, it's a waiting game. And time, it seems, is one of the few things Oliver isn't sure he has.
Checking in with Digg takes less time than Oliver might have expected. Verdant's flying smoothly and Anatoly's men seem to have done as good a job as the mobster had claimed they would. It's clear Digg's happy to be back behind the controls. Wash hangs out nearby, playing co-pilot even though it's not really necessary. Digg seems to get it though, the need to feel the controls beneath his fingertips, to watch the starscape pass them by as they hurtle through space. Oliver gets it too, honestly. He misses the feel of a bowstring between his fingertips with a bone-deep ache that makes him rub his fingertips together.
He adds a trip to the gym to his mental 'to do' list. Target practice and some time on the salmon ladder probably isn't the worst idea he's had all day, both because it's been entirely too long and because working himself to the point of exhaustion is as good a plan for damming back the waters as he's had so far.
Seeing Ally is next on his agenda, but her newly created room is actually right near the gym, so he heads that direction. The two former storerooms that they'd converted into living quarters are both just off the workout area. Neither has its own bathroom, but there's one off of the gym that will suffice. He knows Ally took one of the rooms. Thea took the other. He tells himself this is merely because she needed a place to sleep and not directly related to the fact that Roy is sharing a room with the shepherd.
Denial regarding his baby sister's sex life seems like a really good plan.
Especially at the moment.
"Oliver!"
It's Ally's voice, blessedly breaking through his thoughts about Thea and Roy. Honestly, if he hadn't expected to see her, he might not have recognized her immediately. She's smiling, her whole body at ease as she stands in the doorway of her makeshift room. There's a lightness about her that makes her seem younger, freer. The difference is striking.
"How are you settling in?" he asks in greeting, stuffing his hands in his pockets and returning her smile in a more muted way.
"Quite well," she assures him, sounding as happy as he's ever heard.
"I know it's smaller than you're used to," he acknowledges, nodding toward the doorway and thinking back to the size of the storage room.
"It is perfect, Oliver," she counters immediately. "It is my own space. That is all I have ever wanted."
"I'm glad," he tells her.
And he is.
His history with her might be relatively complicated, but he's always liked Ally and wanting better for her than what she's had so far is instinctive. His genuine dislike of Sasha doesn't hurt that feeling either.
"I owe you a great debt that I can never repay," she tells him. "You've changed my entire life. You've saved my life."
"You're changing your life, Ally. I just gave you a ride," Oliver counters.
"We both know this is understating things," she says, levelling him with a knowing look. "I have no doubt that Sasha and Anatoly did not wish to let me go."
Oliver licks his lips and dips his head in agreement. He still thinks she's not giving herself enough credit. She might have fought quietly to change her own life, but she had fought. It can't have been an easy thing to leave everything behind, to cut ties with everything and everyone she's ever known. But she'd done it. And, truth be told, he respects her tremendously for it. More than he'd have thought possible years ago.
"Have you had any thoughts about what you might like to do now?" he asks her.
"Too many," she says, shaking her head with a quiet laugh. "The universe is so much larger than it was for me yesterday. I wish to do everything all at once."
Her excitement is infectious and he finds himself smiling wider along with her.
"Well… when you figure out where you'd like to start, just let me know," Oliver tells her.
"Actually," Alina says, looking ever-so-slightly nervous, "I have something of an idea. I do not know if it is feasible, but… Inara believes possibly the Academy might accept me."
"To train as a companion?" Oliver asks in surprise.
"Is this silly?" she asks, sounding both anxious and hopeful about his judgement.
"Not at all," he tells her immediately. "If that's what you want, I think you should go for it. Inara is a fantastic contact."
"It would mean education," she stresses, her voice taking on a dreamy quality at the idea. "I could travel the 'verse, choose my own clients, control my own life. I think this idea appeals to me very much. If you believe it is something I could do."
"You can do anything you put your mind to, Ally," he assures her. "I think you'd make a fantastic companion."
She beams at this, gaze darting down to stare at the ground demurely as her cheeks color with delight. It surprises him how much weight his opinion really has with her, but it's evident that it does. He's a little amazed that even the smallest bit of encouragement and approval means so much. Maybe he shouldn't be, though. He wonders when the last time was that someone told her they believed in her. He wonders if anyone ever has.
"Thank you, Oliver," she says quietly, talking more to her toes than to him.
"It's the truth," he tells her.
"All the same," she begins, "there is no-"
Her voice is cut off abruptly by the sound of laughter as a nearby door opens.
Rationally, he'd known Thea was staying in the nearby room. Also rationally, had he thought about it, he'd had ample evidence that she was sleeping with Roy. But there's absolutely nothing rational about his reaction to seeing his baby sister wearing nothing but her boyfriend's shirt and touching the purse-snatcher-turned-protege with intimate familiarity.
Had Oliver been fully in control over his own reactions to things, he likely would have cringed and grit his teeth as he made thinly-veiled threats toward Roy and told Thea to go put on some clothes.
But he's not in control.
Not even close.
Later, he won't remember exactly what happened next. It will all be a blur of unbridled anger and darkly primal impulses. Even in the moment, he's not entirely certain of what's going on. But what he is aware of is precisely how satisfying it is to close his fingers around Roy's neck and squeeze.
The noise around him is dull and distant. None of it registers. His focus is solely on the way the windpipe beneath his grip caves inward as he presses down and lifts the man up. Fingers grapple at his hands and someone tugs on his elbow, but all of it to no avail. His vision, blurred and edged in red, sees no further than his whitened fingernails clenching the man's throat.
He wants to hear the man's gurgling last gasp of breath. He wants to feel his windpipe give way entirely, shatter under his tightening grip. He needs it, even if he's not entirely sure why.
It's the only thought in his mind.
Right up until pain throbs intensely in his shoulder.
Whatever jars him - causes that sudden, intense pain shooting down his arm and across his back - is enough to send him sideways a few steps and drop Roy to the ground. The younger man sucks down air in desperate wheezing gulps punctuated by violent coughing. And, before Oliver can take a step back toward him, Thea steps between them with Sara's bo at the ready in her hands.
Thea's grip is strong but her hands are trembling and her eyes are wide with a level of fear and determination he's never seen in her before. And he put it there. It's his fault that she's scared. That will never be okay with him and it's enough for him to break through the surface and hold onto his sense of self. For now. For a moment.
She's scared. His baby sister is scared of him.
That realization hits him harder than the blow she'd landed with the staff and he stumbles back a little further as he blinks in dim awareness.
"This isn't you," Thea is saying, her words finally registering in his mind, even if her voice quavers as she speaks. "Ollie, you don't want to hurt Roy. He's your friend."
He can't look at Thea. Not with her wearing Roy's shirt. And he can't look at Roy, who is both a reminder that Thea is wearing nothing but a shirt and a very vivid piece of evidence to what he'd nearly done. He looks instead to the side. Ally's there. Poor, sad, powerless Ally. She's on the comm in the corner, looking at him with something like terror as she whispers to someone - probably Digg - and he can't stand that he's done this. To any of them. To Thea or Roy or Ally.
To himself.
Obviously, he'd had less time than he'd thought. He'd had less control than he'd thought. And Roy had very nearly paid the ultimate price for his miscalculation.
"Call Simon," he grits out, falling back further until his back meets a wall and blanketing his face with his hands as the reality of everything washes over him. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."
"It's not your fault," Thea says slowly, still wisely keeping her distance. "Ollie, we know this wasn't you. Roy knows that. And so do I."
Oliver manages to glance up and spy Roy nodding, even though he can't breathe, and he lets out a low pained moan of shame as the unquenchable desire to kill his friend surges in him again. He bats it back, tamps it down, slides down the wall and buries his head in his knees.
"Simon," he says again. "Tell Simon it's time."
Sara and Zoe barrel through the door as he's speaking, both of them fully at the ready for battle. A surge of relief wells up in him even as the waters in his veins scream for blood.
"Simon, get Simon," Oliver repeats, curling in on himself.
"He is coming," Alina says from the other side of the room. "Roy needs him."
"Get Felicity for Oliver," Sara orders, putting herself between Oliver and where Thea has knelt to Roy's side.
"No," Oliver protests firmly, shaking his head as he looks up at Sara.
"I know you aren't thrilled about this, but if she can rein you in…" Sara points out, her voice trailing off at the end.
"I ain't likin' a single thing about this," Zoe bites out sharply, adjusting her hold on her gun. "But I like us alive a whole lot better than dead."
"Don't bring Felicity. Just get Simon," Oliver implores.
"Ollie, I don't know what your plan is, but they're both already on their way," Sara levels with him.
He's ever-so-barely hanging on to his sense of self. He's not sure he could at all if Felicity was nearby. It's bad enough that Thea's all over Roy, touching his neck and leaning over him in the stupid, worthless boy's shirt.
No, he likes Roy. He even likes Roy for Thea. But his thoughts aren't his own right now and that's beyond terrifying. He needs to be in control. Or, if he's not, he needs to not let whatever is going on inside him go unchecked.
If he can't win, he's not going to let the waters win either.
He opens his mouth to ask Sara if she has handcuffs, manacles, something to bind him, keep everyone safe from what he might do to them. Especially if Felicity shows up first. But Simon practically runs into the room and Oliver breathes out a sigh of relief at the sight of the doctor.
"I need you to do it," Oliver says immediately.
Simon stops in his tracks, looks from Roy with a fast-darkening bruise on his throat to Oliver curled up against the wall. He's weighing options, assessing risks. Oliver can practically see the wheels in the young doctor's mind turning as he runs through the problems at hand.
"You understand the risks?" Simon asks, wariness obvious in both his tone and his stance.
"What risks?" Sara questions sharply.
"I do," Oliver nods, ignoring Sara. "We don't have a choice anymore, doctor. I'm a threat to my own crew. I can't let that stand."
"Ollie, what the hell are you planning?" Sara demands.
The edge of panic in her voice is enough to pull Thea's attention, but Oliver can't look at his sister. She'll be worried and insist this is all too dangerous and maybe she'll be right, but that doesn't mean they have a choice.
"Simon's going to put me under," Oliver admits. "Just until we find Constantine and figure out how to fix this."
"Then why is he so worried about risks?" Thea challenges, folding her arms in front of herself uncomfortably.
He can't not look at her then, his baby sister. The fear on her face only redoubles his commitment to doing this. He'd do anything to save her from pain, especially from himself.
"Because I have no idea how the Lazarus Pit waters work," Simon tells them. "Medically speaking they shouldn't. And with them in his system, I have no idea how they'll react with the medications I'd need to give him to put him under."
"Could it kill him?" Sara demands.
"It could do absolutely anything," Simon informs her. "But yes, that's certainly one possibility."
"Then you can't!" Thea insists, arms falling away from her midsection as she takes a few steps toward Oliver.
He holds a hand up toward her to tell her to stop and takes a steadying breath as he looks back up at her.
"I have to," Oliver implores, begging her with his eyes to understand. "If I can't be in control of myself, I'm not going to let the Lazarus Pit be in control either. I refuse to be the weapon it uses to hurt you."
Her face crumbles at that and he knows that the logic of what he's saying is sinking in.
"I can't lose you too, Ollie," she says quietly, sounding very much like the twelve year old he'd left behind years ago and it breaks his heart.
"You won't," he promises. "I'm stronger than this. Find John Constantine. He can fix all of this. I know he can."
"Constantine," Thea nods, taking a steadying breath. "Okay. If this is what you think you have to do-"
"It is," Oliver insists.
"Okay," Thea echoes.
He was going to do this with or without her blessing, but he's glad to have it. He's well aware that he has no chance of the same thing happening with Felicity.
"We need to do this now," Oliver says, looking up at Simon.
"Here?" the doctor asks in surprise.
"I don't trust myself," Oliver tells him with gravity. "And neither should you. We need to do this here. Right now. Before Felicity gets here."
"Because she's going to be pissed and insist on helping you another way?" Sara asks.
Clearly he hadn't convinced her nearly as well as he had Thea.
"Because I have no idea what I'll do when she walks through that door," Oliver corrects.
And it's true. His control is thin and her very presence is likely to strip it away entirely.
While Sara seems wary of accepting this idea, Simon clearly doesn't. That's not surprising, though. As much as the doctor has always been cordial to him, he's well aware that even on his best days he makes the man nervous. In light of that fact, it doesn't surprise Oliver at all when the doctor reaches into the bag he brought and pulls out a syringe.
"Call Digg," Sara instructs Alina. "Zoe and I will have a tough time carrying him ourselves."
The relief Oliver feels as the needle in Simon's hand pierces his vein and the cool bite of some kind of medicine flows into him is all encompassing. He won't hurt anyone else. He won't let the waters use him to victimize the people he loves. It might not be control over his body, but at least he's taking control of his fate.
"What's going on?"
It's Felicity's voice and the steady clap of her heels quickly approaching him. But the surge of desperate need that he expects falls short of overwhelming him. He still feels it, but it doesn't take control over his muscles and grab at her greedily. He's quickly fading, too, feeling hazy and only partially present as the drugs Simon injected him with do their work.
"Keeping you safe," he manages, blinking up at her as his muscles sag against the wall.
"What did you do?" Felicity demands, looking at Simon with fire in her eyes as she touches Oliver's cheek.
"What he asked me to," Simon informs her and her eyes dart back to Oliver's face.
"S'okay," Oliver slurs as he assures her, trying to lift his hand to touch her but failing. "Just gonna sleep while you find John. It'll be okay."
"Why would you do this?" Felicity begs him.
"Don't want to hurt anybody," he tells her.
"But I can help you. Why wouldn't you just come to me?" she asks.
She looks hurt by this and he wants to reassure her, but he's fading fast. His eyelids are so heavy and his limbs a dead weight.
"Not about you," he manages. "'Bout me. Taking control of myself. Love you. Don't wanna use you."
She's saying something, her beautiful voice frantic and worried. And he loves her for it all the more, even if he can't make out the words themselves anymore. It's all so far away and the effort to stay a part of the waking world is entirely too much. So, with the lingering feel of Felicity's fingers stroking his face and echoes of her voice running through his mind, Oliver fades away.
He only hopes he eventually wakes just as easily.