Warning Oliver is dreaming again.
#####OQ#####
Thea settled into the chair beside Oliver's hospital bed, before she said, "I knew he had problems when he came back, but I never knew he was so messed up."
Felicity plugged her tablet into the charger and placed it on the window sill. "He hides it well, wears a mask. Normally his self control's like iron. But something about his time at the league changed something in him."
"Once when he first came back from the dead, I walked in on him and saw his chest. He has a lot of scars. And he was angry that I saw them, that I knew."
"He thinks he's damaged because of his scars. And there are more on his back. More than one, Thea. A lot more than one."
"What really happened to him while he was on that island? Please don't keep things from me. I'm grown up. I can take it."
"I know that you are but I, honestly, don't know, except he wasn't always on the island. I know he was in China and then in Russia for some time. But mainly, he refuses to talk about what happened. I get a hint here and there. But he's a mystery for sure."
"But what caused his PTSD? He came back from the island, so intense, and I can see now that he had PTSD. And yes, I looked it up on my phone and he act like the examples they listed."
"Again I don't know. I do know whatever those people did to him, haunts him when he sleeps. And I know he doesn't sleep enough. Thea, you wouldn't believe how little sleep he survives on."
"Come to think about it, I've heard him have nightmares once or twice."
"He's been tortured more than once. People have hurt him, and I mean really hurt him."
"How could they do that? Why would they do that?"
"I don't know but the world can be a cruel place. You of all people should know that."
"Touche. Yeah, Ra's running me through with a sword to blackmail my brother is a bit of an example, huh? It wouldn't be too far of a stretch that the league tortured him, look at how dark he became during his Al Sah-him days."
She checked the charge on her tablet and picked up her phone to check the time. "How true. And he refuses to talk about his time there, but he's been worse since his time with the league. I think some days that they woke the demons inside him, though since I have only slept with him the last six months, I truly don't know if he was like this before the league. But my money would be on yes," as she made air quotes with her fingers before she said, "since he's changed."
"Changed?"
"Yes, darker, moodier and angry, though he hides it."
"Oliver moody? Angry? Never." Thea waved her hand dramatically dismissing her words.
And they both laughed. And so their conversation went for a couple hours, as he slept peacefully on,and she enjoyed talking to the woman who was Thea.
A new nurse arrived and hung a new bag.
"Is that another dose." Thea looked concerned as she checked her watch. "So soon?"
"Mae wants him to stay down, and with this drug, even if he does dream then he won't remember it." The nurse became to check his blood pressure.
"What?" Her heart sped up, her brain working. "You mean he can still dream?" She almost stuttered.
"Yes, but he won't remember it. He could be somewhat conscious and dream, but he won't know it tomorrow. But Mae doesn't want him to dream, which is why she has ordered him another dose around two, so I'll be back."
Oh, frack, she thought.
"Why the look?" Asked Thea after the nurse left.
"Oliver didn't want to sleep here because he didn't want to wake up screaming. He doesn't want his team to know."
"To know what?"
"How bad his PTSD is. Thea, your brother doesn't have nightmares, he has night terrors. The kind where he's fighting for his life. The kind where you had better not touch him or he'll hurt you. And I think, he's had these dreams almost constantly ever since I met him."
Thea looked at her and said, "I knew he had nightmares, but I didn't know they were that bad. Felicity, I'm so glad you love him. He needs someone you know? His life's been hard. And lately he's been happy and that's because of you. I'm thankful you love him. He needs you, Felicity. "
"And I need him, and I'm glad he loves me too."
"So when are you two getting married? What kind of wedding do you want?" Thea's smile was so real.
"I'd elope, so my mother wouldn't be there, but Oliver wants a real wedding. He wants you there, Thea. He wants John there. And I can't deprive him of what he wants. So what do you think? I'm open to ideas."
Thea's smile brightened the room and they began to talk wedding plans until the night became late.
Thea yawned and stretched. "I done for. I'm going to the motel. Sure you don't want to come and get some rest too?"
"Na, I promised him I'd stay, so I will."
Thea hugged her before she left and then Felicity curled up on the bench that turned into a small cot. One of the nurses had found her sheets, a blanket and a pillow, and exhausted she finally managed to find sleep with her hand on his hand.
#####OQ#####
He stared at the chains and shackles laying on the dirty floor beside the bench he sat on in a large smokey warehouse where men had set up the ring.
After almost killing Hedeon and attempting escape twice now, none of his guards trusted him anymore. Not that he blamed them, for like an wild animal, he constantly thought about escaping, about finding a way out of his situation.
Now his guards always moved him in chains, carefully, since they weren't going to give him another chance at escape.
And they had proved it to him more than once, he glanced over his shoulder and eyed Luke, who lifted his chin at him clearly daring him.
But he knew ff he resisted, one or more of his six guards would taser him, and he would be hanging from the ceiling again, screaming under Hedeon's knife, who wouldn't stop until he finally screamed.
It was a stupid power struggle since he always lost and screamed but dening the man gave him something to focus on, and maybe someday Hedeon would slip and he'd die.
And he'd be in the ground instead of back in the cage.
A place he never want to go.
Yes, he'd tried resisting already, and all it had earned him was a good beating, another round under Hedeon's knife and more time in the cage.
Even now he'd barely healed from that round.
He didn't need another.
Which left him no choice but to fight like his life depended on it, because it did.
He'd lost count in the last few weeks of the fights Hedeon had arranged for him. So far he'd won, though a couple of times he'd almost lost and his body had taken more than one beating. Bruises covered his body and his kidneys were sore. His hands hurt the most though, for this was bare knuckle fighting, and he had no protection for his hands.
None at all. He flexed his aching hands.
They were painful and stiff.
His knuckles bruised and busted up from hitting the bone in men's faces making his hands hurt just to close them, hurt to use them, let alone to punch someone.
He swore to himself if he ever got out of this situation he would wear gloves whenever he fought.
Taking great gulps of air, he pumped himself up before he got into the ring, before he had to fight.
Cold and tired, this was his second fight tonight but losing this fight wasn't an option.
No, he couldn't afford to lose.
His chest still a raging hurting ache that reminded him with every beat of his heart, a nasty throb that made him aware his life equaled pain. It just depended on how sharp the dragon's claws were today.
And today them were damn sharp.
His back barely healed now still ached bitterly, so, no matter what, he couldn't lose and be back under Hedeon's blade opening up his aching wounds up again.
"You're up, Oliver. Get up nice and easy now." Luke ordered him.
He stood as they surrounded him and as a group they walked over to ring side.
Watching the other man remove his shirt, he toyed with the idea of pulling his own shirt off and baring his own chest. He hated fight with his shirt on. Yet, he knew if he did that, his opponent would go straight for his chest wound, would target his injury.
No way, that the man wouldn't go right for the bandage on his chest, and would effectively use his injury to cripple him, to take him out.
He targeted other men's injuries. If he found a weakness in a man, he quickly used it against him.
Favor a leg or limp and he took out the man's leg.
Hold back that punch and he would target the man's arm or shoulder.
Dance away and he viciously attacked, for he knew the man really didn't want to fight. And he always finished his opponents quickly.
He did what had to be done because he didn't have a choice.
And no, this wasn't fair fighting. No, this was dirty, cut throat, kill you, to the death fighting. Killing in this ring happened. He'd already done it, and there were no rules to be broken here.
Just last week he'd snapped his opponent's neck. He had not intended the death blow and had not wanted to kill the man.
But, he'd killed, again.
The animal in him controlled and the human part of him disappeared when he stepped into the ring.
And a couple good shots to his chest and this fight would be over, and Hedeon would cut him again. He could tell as Hedeon watched him while he trained, and he played with his knife, and he could tell the man was aching to have another go at him.
And he couldn't let that happen.
But that didn't mean he wasn't an animal caught in a cage, and he couldn't even chew his foot off to escape.
Because he would if he could. He would do whatever was needed to be done to escape this situation.
He had started to become hyper aware of his situation at all times, looking for a way out. He'd even pondered throwing a fight and hoping that one of his opponents would kill him.
But, he feared Hedeon would have the useless referee stop the fight, and then he would not just be beat up, no, he would be back under Hedeon's knife. For he was sure that the man wasn't done playing with him, toying with him, cutting him.
So he embraced the animal and his pain, his rage, his black fury that was so intense he really didn't care anymore.
As the weeks had passed, he lost even the hope of escape. He had no hope of escape, no hope for a future, and all he possessed was the pain, the living, raging, and all consuming pain that reminded him with every breath, that his life was crap.
Pain was all he knew now, so he embrace his pain, pulled it close to him, embraced the constant pain that was his life. He had begun to feed from it, need it, and he pushed himself hard to train and reached for it. The pain was all he had now.
Yes, he had become an animal. He was ruthless, heartless, possessing no mercy when he fought because losing wasn't an option.
Eyeing the man he was about to fight, he watched the shirtless man climb into the ring.
Again he toyed with the idea of taking off his shirt, since he knew keeping his shirt on, added to the danger of losing the fight.
His shirt was a way to hold on to him, to keep him from putting enough distance between him and his opponent to use his legs effectively. But to have the man he fought target his chest or his back, no, he had to leave his shirt on.
His opponent, a large bald man wore the tattoo of the Russian Mafia on his chest and an idea hit him.
Climbing into the ring, he raised his up fists up, ignoring the pain in both of his hands. He danced around the large man and avoided his clumsy punches, as he said, "My name's Oliver Queen. I want you to remember my name."
And then he slapped the man hard in the face, open handed, his own hand stinging from the blow.
The man shook the slap off, with the words, "Why would I want to do that? You're just another guy's ass I'm going to kick."
The man lunged toward him, as he sidestepped, and he thumped the man on the back of his head as he past by.
The crowd laughed and yelled.
The man turned rapidly for one so big and he motioned him toward him. "Come on. Oliver Queen. You need to remember my name because it's going to save your life." And he jumped and kicked the man in the face, blooding his lip.
The man spit blood on the mat and growled the words, "Sure of yourself, aren't you, kid? I'm going to beat you down."
"Oliver Queen, remember my name." He sidestepped the man's punch again and jumped up and kicked him in the chest, pushing him hard into the ropes.
The man shook it off, roared and attacked him.
Blocking his punch with his forearm, he punched him in the stomach and then grabbed the man's head and brought his knee up to smash his face, his nose breaking.
The man went down, and he grabbed him in a choke hold, with his left forearm, while using the other hand to pull the man's right arm behind his back at a sharp angle, a very painful angle, as he hissed in the man's ear, "Take a message for me, and I'll let you live."
"What?" The man said with a gasp.
"Do you want to live?"
Pressing harder on the man's throat, he knew he was choking him, restricting his air flow, as the man croaked out the word, "Yes."
"Find Anatoly Knyazev and tell him that Oliver Queen is ready to be a Captain. Give him my message. Tell him where you saw me. Tell him to come for me."
"What did you say?"
"I am Bratva. We are brothers. My name is Oliver Queen. Anatoly Knyazev will understand. What is my name?" He pulled harder on his arm, almost popping his elbow from its socket and making the man scream.
"Oliver Queen."
"Again and trust me, I will find you some day and either thank you or kill you slowly. My name?"
"Oliver Queen."
The man screamed louder, as he pulled his arm at a sharp painful angle, before he said, "Who do you tell my name to?"
"Anatoly Knyazev."
"Swear you will tell him my name."
"I swear it."
"And this is something to remember me by."
Then he dislocated the man's arm with a loud pop, as the man howled, but he released him just before he killed him, and said his name, with the words, "Remember me," just before he stopped choking him to death, giving him a sharp blow to the head and dropping him lifeless to the mat.
Rising from the mat, the useless referee, held his arm up, proclaiming him the winner. Giving the crowd a good show, he raised both arms, jumping up and down, but he was aware that Hedeon wasn't smiling.
The match over, he chugged water and then sat back down on the bench, hoping the fighting was over, as the adrenaline faded and the fatigue set in.
"Drink up. You're scheduled for the next fight," said Luke.
"No, I can't be. I've already fought two." He was past tired.
After the rush came the exhaustion. Another fight would be too dangerous for him. His stomach bottomed out, as he knew he was about to possibly get beat up, that he could lose if Hereon put him back in the ring again.
"Sucks to be you, but you either get back in the ring or you know."
Sighing deeply, he stood.
For, yes, he knew if he didn't get in the ring, they would taser him, and Hedeon would punish him, cut him again. At least if he fought, he had somewhat of a chance to avoid the knife.
He drug his feet, as he walked back to the ring. Taking deep breaths, he tried to pump himself back up.
Forcing himself, he climbed into the ring. He circled the large man, trying to buy time, trying to find his strength, for he was so tired, and panic was making his heart race.
He needed more time to recover.
But the large man wasn't going to give him more time. No, he didn't wait. Instead he attacked him. He rushed him and drove him back against the ropes, knocking the wind out of him with several blows to his chest. Grabbing his shirt, he use it to pull him against his chest, so he could punch him in his back on the left side.
It was as if this man knew what Hedeon did to his people.
But his painful H was on the right side, thanks to the tattoo that Slade had put on his back to honor Shado and to shame him.
Someday, he promised himself he would have it removed, but he had to survive this fight first. He tried to throw the man away from him, but this man was really strong and was using his shirt against him, holding on to him.
Kneeing the man in the balls, he wrenched away, as he spun on his heel and punched the man hard in the kidneys, then in the nose, making his blood fly.
He couldn't afford to draw this fight out, for he needed it over now.
The man roared and he managed to toss him away from him. He tried to catch his breath, as exhaustion hovered and weakness threatened. Stumping, he caught himself and the crowded roared.
The man rolled across the mat, then stood and backed off a little but then put his fists back up and motioned for him to come closer.
"Come on fight me. And why don't you take your shirt off?" The man questioned, as he just barely managed to block the man's punch.
He was scarcely holding on here, as the man said, "You hiding something under that shirt, boy? Hedeon said you had a couple of knife wounds. And I'm going to find them. Your winning streak is over. I'm taking you down."
Pure rage swept through him. Hedeon was setting him up to lose. His blood pumped in his ears. The roar of the crowd went away.
Dancing out of range, he couldn't help from falling back, as the man abruptly rushed him, pushing him backwards into the ropes.
The man punched his chest, and he had a hold on his shirt, pulling him to him, as he pinned him between his body and the ropes.
Arms from outside the ring grabbed him, trapping him against the ropes, holding him, ensnaring his arms with what felt like bands of steel.
From out of the blue, the man in the ring, punched him right where his chest wound was, and he saw white light. He screamed out and almost crumbled from the intense pain of the man's fist slamming against his still healing chest wound.
Again, and again the man punched him in the chest and his friend, who held him, punched him repeatedly, this time on the right side of his back, right on the center of his H mark.
Between the two of them, the pain that coursed through him was blinding, seething.
And, his rage was like a wild beast.
Hedeon was playing dirty.
How dare Hedeon tell his opponent how to best him? How dare they double team him and then use his injuries to put him down?
Roaring, he broke free of the man's arms. But the man outside the ring, grabbed him again, ripping his shirt, as he tried to twist away from the two of them. But both men used his shirt to haul him back, to jerk him back to them.
The two of them were giving him a real beating. He was barely holding on, as he screamed and tried to fight back, but he was losing.
Adrenaline pumping through his veins now, he cried out in pure rage, as he reached and grabbed the man from behind him by his hair and an arm, and from somewhere, he found the strength to flip the man deftly over his shoulder, throwing the man solidly into the ring at the other man, and of course, his shirt ripped smooth off him, baring his chest.
Both men tumbled to the ring's mat in a flailing of arms and legs. The smaller man was the first to get up, and he barely caught the man's foot before it connected with the bandage on his chest.
Pulling the man's foot and twisting, he jerked him off his feet and then spun the entire man's body and dropped him to the mat, stomping him hard between the legs, effectively leaving him to groan, clutching himself on the mat.
Now the other man jumped on his back, punching his sore flesh, and the pain exploded, sliced through him.
Furious, ice cold rage flowing through his veins, he jumped up and fell backwards, slamming the man onto the mat with his body, as he felt the air rush out of both his and the other man's lungs.
Elbowing the man in the gut, he flipped over. He couldn't breathe but hands clenched, he attacked the man, who was fighting back.
Wrestling him back to the mat, with a roar, he sat on the man's chest, as he hit him again and again.
Blood flew like rain, his bloody hands feeding his black rage, until other hands pulled him off, and two men, no three, maybe four drug him away and hollered his name.
And he was fighting them too. Managing to get his arm free, he succeeded in dropping the man on his left.
The sting of a needle in his neck, brought pure panic, for he knew what was going to happen next, so he was still fighting them, when he fell into the darkness.
#####OQ#####
He was chained when he opened his eyes, and even though he was chained, he was thankful the dart had just put him down, that at least he could move and it wasn't curare this time.
He gave small thanks that he could at least open his eyes, that he could at least move somewhat, even if he was hanging from the ceiling by his wrists and his legs were chained too, he was thankful it wasn't curare and he wasn't in the dark, while this happened.
Someone slapped him, and he knew that someone was Hedeon because the man couldn't hit very hard.
The cold crept into his skin and his shirt was gone.
He tested the chains but they were tight.
Tight and strong, they limited his movements. Hedeon intended to stop him from ending his life, stop him from leaning into the blade.
"There you are. Awake now? You disappointed me again tonight, Oliver." Hedeon fingered his blade. "What did I tell you I was going to do to you if you disappointed me?"
His hand reached to rip the bandage from his chest. He clamped his teeth together, as Hedeon's blade lashed out, slowly cutting his chest.
He almost screamed, but he suppressed it, barely, as he screamed the words, "No, I won. Damn you, I WON. You cheated me, and I still won. You don't get to cut me!"
"But, I do."
He grabbed him by his hair, pulling hard, as he looked him in the eyes. "You were supposed to lose, Oliver. Why do you think I told your opponent where to hit you in the chest, in the back? I bet against you. Your job was to lose."
Releasing his head, Hedeon made him grit his teeth again, as the man used his knife and slowly opened up his chest. Making him growl, the man re-cut the barely healed spot on his chest, and he could smell the now familiar copper scent, could feel his blood running down his bare stomach.
His spit flew, as he screamed and fought the chains. "You bet against me!"
"I did."
Another cut and he breathed through it.
"Dam you to hell. You set me up to lose. You told them right where to hit me. I'm going to kill you. I swear it."
"So you keep saying. And once again that animal that's in you came out, and I had to put you down."
"You're the animal."
"Well, I'll admit I underestimated you. I never thought you would win, not against the two of them, on your third fight of the night. I admit you're strong. And I had a lot of money riding against you. You've won every time, so do you know what the odds where if you lost?"
"You did this so you could cut me." The understanding flooded his brain. "You wanted me to lose, so you could cut me."
The darkness inside him grew, and he fought fight the chains that gave no quarter. "No matter what happened you were going to cut me."
He screamed and fought the chains.
"You're the smart one sometimes. And you're right the holiday's are coming, and you can take a hiatus from the fights. So, yes, if you lost I got to cut you, and if you won, you cost me a lot of money, which you did by the way. So that means you and I are going to spend a lot of time together since you are deeper in debt to me after tonight."
And the man moved to his back and the pain rushed through him as the blade slowly re-cut the H, and he couldn't stop himself, he screamed.
"Now ask for it, Oliver. And ask nicely."
#####OQ#####
"Come on, Oliver, stay with me. Just let me get the IV in. You need a transfusion."
"No, IV this time. I don't want a transfusion." He fought Mike's hands, but weak he was losing.
"Don't make me tie you up. Stop fighting me. You're bleeding out here."
"That's the plan. Let me. He cheated me. I won the fight and he still cut me. LET ME DIE." He shoved the hands away.
"I told you he'd cheat, now be still. Your chest's a mess."
"Just tie him up. He's not going to listen. He never does, and I'm tired of fighting him," Ivan said.
"No, don't tie me up." He pushed them away." Just punch me. Someone knock me out before you stitch me."
"Oliver, help me here. I don't have much time to get you stitched up and get some blood in you."
"Why Mike? Why?" But he already knew and his heart slammed against his aching chest. "How many days? How many days in the cage? I'm not going back in the cage. I'm not."
He couldn't breathe. His stomach bottomed out. He fought them now, and they held him down.
Mike grabbed his chin and looked him in the eyes. "I don't know, but if you don't help me here you won't live to find out. I've got to stitch your chest, get some blood in you, and I don't have much time."
"NO!"
"Hold him down."
"No, don't close my chest up." Again he tried to push their hands away.
"Let me die, damn you all. I hate all of you for doing this to me. Just stop helping me." The hands held him now, tying him to the bed, and too many hands were touching him, and the sharp sting of the needle pulled his bleeding flesh back together again.
The dragon returned roaring fire into the wound on his chest.
"Shit, Oliver."
Blissfully, Mike gave him an uppercut and knocked him out.
But when he woke up he knew, and he swallowed hard to control his emotions, trying to hold on to his sanity, as he lay on the wire on his side in the small cage in the dark.
He not just in the cage, but in his mind snapped as he hoped to die. Blackness engulf him, as he kicked the walls of the cage, welcoming the pain that raged through him, embracing the pain, needing the pain, as he screamed out his rage, his black fury.
And, he just kept kicking, no matter how much it hurt. He was going to use the cage to make him stronger, to make his legs stronger, to be stronger. Hedeon was dead the next time he put him in the ring. He was going to snap his neck or die trying.
Yes, the next time they let him out one of them was dying.
#####OQ#####
Felicity jerked awake, as the nurse opened the door and said, "Oliver? What's going on with you? The tech just called and said your heart's racing off the charts. And you shouldn't even be awake. Didn't you get your 2 a.m. dose?"
The woman headed toward the bed, but Felicity stood and got between her and him. "No he didn't, and I don't think he's awake. Don't try to touch him."
He moved, thrashing about and kicking the covers.
"Move, he's trying to pull his IV out. I need to stop him."
"Let him. Don't touch him."
He suddenly sat straight up in the bed. Gasping, in a smooth motion, he yanked the IV out of his arm and slung it to the floor, while his hand moved to touch his chest and then he looked at his hand. As she watched, she had the distinct feeling he looked for blood, that he saw blood, his blood on his hand.
"Oliver, it's not real. You're not there. Listen to my voice. You're in the hospital."
"I need to put that IV back in."
"You need to give me a minute and let me talk to him, first. Give him a minute to wake up. I don't think he's really here."
But the nurse moved toward him, so she got between him and the woman. "No, don't try to touch him. Just stay back. I don't think he is really awake."
And even in the low light she could see that his eyes were wild, that he wasn't here.
"You're in the hospital, Oliver. You're not there. Listen to me. You need to try to breathe deeper. Smell me, Oliver. I'm right here."
The door came flying open, and in ran another nurse, with the words, "Tech called again and said his heart rate is way too fast. He's worried he's going to arrest."
Felicity said, "Just hold it right there. You too, back away from him. Don't try to touch him. He's dreaming."
Yes, he wasn't here, she was sure of it, he was where ever the horror was in his mind. But he needed to wake up, so looking around, she grabbed her pillow and threw it at him, as she hollered his name.
He fought the pillow for an instant, then inhaled deeply and slung the pillow back at her forcing her to duck and the nurses to scatter.
"Felicity?"
"Right here. You're in the hospital. Look around."
He was shaking his head as he said, "I'm groggy, can't wake up."
"Can I touch you?"
"No, give me a minute." He scrubbed his face with his hands.
She waited then ask, "Now?"
"Yeah."
And she went to him, and he enfolded her in his arms. "You're okay. You're awake now. And as normal, you're so sweaty."
"I need to put the IV back in. And you missed your dose."
"No IV. I'm done, and no more drugs."
"But Oliver, Mae said." The nurse made an ugly face.
"And I said, no more. Call Mae and tell on me if you want, but you are not putting that IV back in my arm." His voice was pure Arrow, or more like the Hood.
"Thank you ladies, but I'm sure it will be alright for a few hours. Could you give us a few minutes?" she asked the nurses. "He's fine now."
"I mean it, Felicity. No more sedation, not again, probably not ever."
"Okay, Oliver. We'll just lay here a little while and try to rest."
#####OQ#####
Hours later, he paced. "Felicity, I want released and I wanted released now. I took that stupid small white blood pressure pill Mae handed me over five hours ago."
"Inanimate objects can't be stupid. And how are you feeling?"
He felt like crap but he'd never admit it. "I'm . . . doing okay. No side effects. I want released."
"Good choice, you know I hate that word."
"I've done the stress test. Why's Mae holding me here?"
And he felt exhausted but no way would he admit it. He just wanted to go home.
"You're cranky, Oliver." Felicity looked up from her tablet.
"Damn right, I'm cranky. Enough is enough, Mae had better release me and soon."
"I'm going to get coffee. Forget I said that since you can't have any. Thea just texted to say she'll be back soon. Maybe, she'll cheer you up." And she quit the room, as he frowned after her.
Felicity still hadn't returned when there was a knock on the door.
"Yes." He growled the word.
"Oliver Queen?"
Oliver turned from the window and took in the large stocky man who opened the door and stood in the entryway in pair of shorts that showed his two prosthetic legs, one started below the knee and the other disappeared under his shorts.
The man had lost both legs but still stood before him upright.
Walking toward him in battered tennis shoes, he looked at the man's face, taking in the jagged scar that ran across his left cheek, as he noted a piece of his left ear was also missing.
"Hi, I'm Riley Clark." He offered his hand. "Mae asked me to stop by and meet you. She thought you and I might hit it off."
Shocked, as the man walked easily toward him, he still managed to stick out his hand, surprised to find the man had a firm grip.
He succeeded in getting the words out, "Of course she did."
"I know this is awkward, Oliver. Can I call you, Oliver? I realize it takes a little time to get used to my legs, to the scar on my face. Believe me it took me some time. Years really and I'm still struggling some days."
"IED? And yes, you can call me Oliver."
"Landmine in Afghanistan."
"How long ago?"
"Almost ten years. But you're right it's still an IED. And I'm just lucky that IED's have really advanced prosthetic limb development, or I would still be in a wheel chair. Over 1,800 soldiers have lost a limb to an IED in the last ten years."
"I didn't know that."
"Yeah, I guess with so many of us needing them that it was time for better artificial limbs. These work pretty well and these legs work a lot better than my first set or any of my other sets. I'm up to running three miles a day now."
"You can run?"
"Took me a while, but yes, I can on blades. I hear you're also a runner. Maybe we could run together one day in the near future?"
He didn't know what to say other than nod his head and agree.
"Oliver, I was wondering if you wanted to have lunch together, get to know each other. And I always feel like I'm in AA when I say this, but I'm a blunt man, so here goes. Hi, I'm Riley Clark, and I have Chronic PTSD."
"You have," he forced himself to say the letters, "PTSD?" For there was no way the word chronic was coming out of his mouth.
"Well, of course, I do. I got my legs blown off. It didn't make for a fun experience. Sorry, I told you I was blunt, but that's the way I cope with my situation. Well anyway, Mae called me and just asked me to drop by and meet you. Be the welcome wagon, kind of thing, since you are new in town."
"Well, thanks for the welcome. Sure let's get together and have lunch someday soon." Like that was going to happen, he thought, not that the man didn't seem alright, but he wasn't one for making new friends.
"Awesome and then maybe, after you get to know me better, you might consider coming and visiting me at the office."
"The office?"
"Oh, yeah, I guess I should tell you that Mae has referred you and a Miss Felicity Smoak to my office."
"Your office?"
"Mae hasn't spoken to you about this yet? Has she?"
"No. What exactly do you do?" His temper at Mae and high handedness surfaced as his gut tightened.
"I'm a therapist. And most of my patients have Chronic PTSD. After I lost my legs, I went back to school and got my degree. I wanted to help control my nightmares, control my flashbacks, and have a better quality of life."
The panic crept in as his stomach dropped and his chest tightened. Distrust and the feeling he was being set up filled him, but he still ask, "Did you?"
"Yes, and I found that I'm good at helping people like me, probably because I understand what my patients go through every day and every night. And I can help them cope with their symptoms, give them more control, help them stay in their relationships. PTSD is hard on relationships."
His skin felt too tight, and he forced himself to smile and nod, so he didn't look like an idiot. Reaching into his pocket, he touched her hair tie, knowing he worried Felicity would wake up one day and see the real him and leave him alone.
"Plus, I understand that it's hard to talk about our problems and experiences. I know I don't want to retell losing my legs. So I work with a therapy that is called eye movement desensitization and reprocessing, EMDR if you like, where the patient doesn't have to talk about what happened to them, doesn't have to talk about the events that caused their PTSD."
"They don't have to talk about what happened to them? I thought that was what all therapists wanted to do was talk." He was clarifying not considering, he told himself.
"Only if they want to talk do we talk about their experiences. But sometimes what happened is too painful for the patient to put into words. Now, are you free, say next Tuesday, for lunch?"
"I'll have to check my schedule and get back to you."
He knew darn good and well he was free, but he also wasn't ready for this. Mae wasn't playing fair here.
Digging in his pocket, Riley came up with a card and handed it to him with the words, "Think if over and give me a call."
Then Riley lifted a hand, gave a wave and started to walk away, and he couldn't stop himself from asking, "Do your patients get better?"
He turned and looked him in the eye and said, "Some of them do. But those patients are like me learning to use these legs. I had to have real courage. The wheelchair was easier than the legs. But most people tend to do what is easier."
"Yes, they do."
"So, I had to commit to treatment, had to want to be better, even when it hurt, and I had to be willing to try and take that hard first step. I also had to be willing to fall down a few times too, for I didn't learn to walk overnight."
He shook his head. "And I think a lot of my patients look me and think well at least I still have my legs. And, yeah, I'm blunt. Call me, Oliver. No pressure, just lunch."
Then, Riley quit the room, leaving him wondering if he had the courage to try to get better, because, yes, he still had his legs.
Damn, Mae, didn't play fair at all.
No, not at all.
#####OQ#####
And as always, thanks for the read.