Okay, all I know this update has been a long time in coming. First I had to write Felicity's Fury and Oliver's Green Notebook, because the idea refused to shut up and leave me alone. No excuses but my world has been beyond crazy the last few weeks at home, and then I had to survive this year's two hell weeks at work. Darn REAL LIFE is killing me.
Regardless, I hope you enjoy this chapter for it has been very long in the works and will finally answer some questions I know a lot of you have had. Many thanks to all that people that take the time to review and special thanks to the ones that helped shape some of the ideas for this chapter. (You'll know who you are as you read. I would have personally given you a shout out but didn't figure you wanted to wait another week for this update, though I would love to edit it another week or two but I will post it and hope the mistakes are not glaring.)
Now, I'll be quiet and tell my story but as always thanks for the read!
#####OQ#####
"Felicity, good to see you. Have a seat and give me just a second and let me finish up this note."
Riley typed away at the laptop on his desk as he grinned up at her.
She sat in the chair across from Riley, as the man shut the lid to the laptop and smiled up at her, with the words, "How would you like to play chess today?"
"What makes you think I play chess?" She said softly, giving a sight wave of her hand, realizing that Riley was trying to put her at ease.
He smiled and said, "I thought maybe your father taught you how to play chess."
"My father hardly stuck around long enough to teach me anything."
"Your mother then?"
Clearing his desk, he unfolded a wooden chess board and dumped the chess pieces on his desk.
"Trust me my mother's an airhead. She doesn't even know how the pieces move."
"But I know you play."
"Okay, Anna must have told you."
He nodded and said, "You're right."
"I learned to play chess in school, learned against a computer. And you? Did your dad teach you to play?'
"No, my dad died in a car wreck when I was young. I learned from Warren, Mae's husband. And I played a lot in the Army. Lots of time in the sand during down time, and I'm not half bad if I do say so myself."
"Warren, of course, I remember hearing you were friends with their son."
Lifting his right eye brow, he said, "I was. Mae always blamed her gray hair on the two of us. But, regardless, I'm hoping for some real completion here. Does Oliver play chess?"
A small laugh escaped her before she said, "We've never discussed it. But I would bet he does."
"As competitive as he is I would guess he would."
"I noted you to be competitive too. What if I'm more than competition? Can you handle that?"
Picking up two pawns, he closed his hands around pieces and asked, "Oh, don't worry, I can handle it. I've lost games before. Okay, your choice, left or right hand?"
"Left."
Opening his left hand, he showed her the white pawn, and she had a problem suppressing her smile.
Leaning forward, she began to setup the board. First she placed the white king and queen together, then the bishops, the knights, and finally the rooks on the very end of the board.
Riley finished setting up his row of pawns, just after she'd lined up her pawns.
"White leads," he said with a wave of his large hand.
"Strange that even in a game that's century's old, white's still gets to go first."
She moved the pawn in front of her queen up one spot, and thought how strange this was, sitting here with a therapist, almost talking about Oliver Queen.
He moved the pawn in front of his bishop one spot, with the words, "Prejudice's been around a long time, Felicity."
"Too long."
"I agree and believe me everyone bleeds the same color red. Yet, in chess at least they tried to balance it for which piece is the most powerful? Who can move any direction?"
"The queen. But she is the only female piece on the board." She said quietly.
"Yeah, the lone woman has the most power. Gives you pause doesn't it? Now how have you been sleeping?"
He moved the pawn in front of his knight two spots, and she reached and slid her queen down the white row like a bishop until she ran out of board, and gave him a slight smile with the words, "You're correct the queen has the most power and that would be check mate. Game over. Rematch?"
Wide eyed, he blinked several times before he grinned and reached out and lay his king down on its side. Giving a sharp nod of his head, he said, "Okay, I can see that my chess skills are not a challenge at all. And, as loser, I'll put the game away."
"You're sure you don't want a rematch?"
"Felicity, you just beat me in like three moves, I'll concede to the master. At least you've played this game before unlike when Oliver crushed me at darts. I think I need to choose a game of chance. Yahtzee, maybe?"
"Can't say I care for Yahtzee since it's pretty much a game of luck, and as someone raised in Vegas, can't say I care for games of chance."
Pushing the chess pieces off the board, he flipped the wooden board over and began replacing the pieces inside the box as he said, "But at least at Yahtzee, I might have a chance at winning."
She grinned at him until he ask, "And again how are you sleeping? Is the new blood pressure dose helping with Oliver's nightmares or is he still waking you up every night?"
It felt strange talking about this with Riley. She frowned as she realized she felt the need to protect Oliver and talking about him waking her up every night seemed almost a betrayal.
"I see that look on your face. Listen, you're not divulging his secrets by talking about this."
She wanted to say, but you don't know the secrets I know but she didn't. Instead, she said, "Didn't you mention playing Yahtzee? It's been years since I've played. Well, to tell the truth I don't think I've ever played. I'm pretty sure I've always had better things to do."
Laughing, he said, "You make playing Yahtzee sound about as exciting as watching paint dry or watching grass grow. Okay, maybe next time, but for now you're avoiding my question, and I'm calling you on it."
"Oliver is hard to talk about, Riley."
"I'm aware that you find it hard to talk about him, but you need to remember why you're here. Remember that you and I have talked about the fact you need to have goals and expectations from these sessions and if you don't tell me the truth, how can you expect me to help you or Oliver?"
"It just seems too personal to talk about things like that to other people."
"I'm not asking about your sex life, Felicity, just how often Oliver has nightmares. And let me remind you that my professional ethics forbid me from revealing whatever you share with me. You need to feel free to tell me anything." He grinned and added, "Come on, spill. Be honest. I don't judge. I'm here to listen. I can help make your life better. Remember, I'm the one without legs , think about what I've seen."
She nodded but managed to hold her tongue. Honestly, she didn't know what to say that wouldn't pull her down the rabbit hole and her turn into Alice, since she could quickly say the wrong thing and reveal too much of their lives, way too much of their lives.
Yet, as Riley looked at her in expectation, she said quietly, "Oliver doesn't like to talk about his nightmares."
"Of course, he doesn't since it brings all the trauma back. Remember if you don't want to answer a question, you can simply say I don't want to answer that question," and he looked pointy at her, "But understand, I know how to use the internet too, Felicity. And I appreciate that Oliver's a very multi-layered man and I've looked his name up. And trust me if you type Oliver Queen into a search box, you get back some interesting results."
"Well that's one way to put it."
"Yes, it is."
Frowning, she added, "Okay, I rather not answer that question. But you're right, my goal here is to put Oliver's butt in this chair not mine. And you're right I have expectations. Major expectations, I want, no, I need to learn how to help him learn to live again, need to understand him better, do whatever it takes to make us better and stronger, and do whatever it takes to keep us together."
"Yet, you don't want to talk to me about him." Riley sighed and added, "Okay, I'll guess that he wakes you up a lot, probably every night. Question, do you have a night light in the bedroom or a nearby bathroom?"
"No to the light and yes to the bathroom, why?"
She hadn't seen that question coming and she frowned.
"A nightlight will help ground him back to reality faster when he wakes up from a nightmare. It will make the room seem more familiar, safer, bring him back to now and reality faster. It can help him feel safe especially if you induce the light with the words, 'We're safe. When you look at this know we're safe. He'll remember the words when he comes back to reality in the middle of the night."
"Do you have a nightlight, Riley?"
He froze and gave her a half grin, with the words, "I've noted you like to turn my words back on me, and yes, Anna has a blue nightlight, Felicity, and maybe you should have one too."
"Of course," she made air quotes with her fingers, "Anna has a nightlight, not you? But blue why blue?"
He didn't meet her eyes as he said, "According to the research I've read our brain's frontal lobes respond to the blue light and supposedly the blue light improves the memory and a person's organizational skills."
"I could use some of that myself. Does it work for you?"
"I'm not sure if it truly works or not, but I admit I sleep better with it on, which means we leave it on."
"Placebo effect, maybe?"
"Maybe? You know it's nice to work with someone with a college education. I can almost see the wheels turning. And oh, yeah, maybe it's the placebo effect but I don't care."
"If it works it works?"
He waved his hand at her, with the words, "Exactly. Whatever helps keep the dreams at bay I'm for, and Anna is too, because both of us sleep better. And we need rest, Felicity. The body needs rest, and Oliver needs to sleep more than he does."
"I understand that. And I like talking to you too. I find you to be quite bright."
"I'll take that as a compliment, even if it feels like you almost insulted me. And I'm glad you like talking to me, but all I know is that some people claim the light helps calm the dreams. I personally, need to calm my dreams. Feel free to look it up, since I know you will."
And she gave a small grin, knowing she would indeed look it up.
"Regardless, therapists have used blue light therapy for PTSD for years with mixed results and the super store sells them. Go buy one and try it in the bedroom first and if either of you have problems with insomnia, move it into the hall or into the bathroom."
"Alright, I'll try the nightlight if it will help him sleep more." She couldn't stop the words, "He needs to sleep more."
"Good, now remember if he wants to talk about what happened to him, don't judge him, just listen. Keep in mind that his PTSD came from him being helpless during some time in his life, not from being weak."
Narrowing her eyes, she assured him, "Oliver isn't weak and never has been, at least not in years. And he doesn't talk about what happened to him."
"Most people with PTSD don't talk about what happened to them and you shouldn't press him to talk about it if it's hard for him. And I sure you're right about him not being weak but understand that but sometime in his life he had no control of his situation and that does things to people's minds. He's trapped in his mind, Felicity, and probably a lot of times his mind's on replay."
"That's a good way to put it."
She thought of how many years she's thought the same thing about him, that he found himself unable to get rid of what ever controlled his thoughts in his head, that at times he'd slipped back into the past in his head and wasn't living in the present. And she wondered exactly how many times he'd been helpless and knew the answer had to be more than once.
"And you have to understand that he's never dealt with his trauma, and he doesn't know how to deal with it. But, don't think you can MAKE him talk about his trauma. The worst thing you can do is demand he face his trauma. Some therapists believe you should make the person talk about the trauma over and over but I don't. I think it's too much for a person's brain. If a person won't and can't talk about the trauma and you try to desensitize them by forcing them to relive the trauma over and over, then what you're really doing is re-traumatize the person. I understand that Oliver just can't talk about it. Now, are you taking care of yourself, Felicity?"
"Huh?" Her head snapped up as Riley had smoothly just moved the ball back into her court.
"Yes, you, Felicity. You need to take better care of yourself too. Living with someone with PTSD is exhausting. You need to remember that when you get stressed you need to take a girl's day out with friends, with Anna maybe."
"I went to lunch with her yesterday."
"That's good but you also need to do whatever you enjoy, what makes you happy. If doing your nails helps you cope, then do your nails, if you like to read, then read, or if you like to write, then write but do something to take care of you, everyone copes in their own way."
"I'm coping fine, Riley, remember this is about Oliver."
"No, it's about both of you. Now for your homework."
"Homework? You never mentioned homework?"
"Felicity, it takes more than an hour a week to work on changing your life. Unfortunately, I don't have magic power to sprinkle over my patients to change their lives."
"Darn just when I was hoping for pixie dust. Do I need to take notes?"
Riley grinned then said, "Nothing that hard for now. What I want you to do is find one good thing about your day each and every day. We as humans seem hard wired to concentrate on the bad things, and it takes five to ten positive events to offset one negative event. If you to take a little time every day to think happy thoughts it makes a person happier. And you need to understand that living with Oliver makes it hard not to get PTSD yourself from his trauma."
"He's not that bad." She said quietly, as she thought, Riley had no idea of the trauma, the drama that followed Oliver around, and she didn't think she had PTSD, abandonment issues maybe but not PTSD.
"Believe me that holding a relationship together some days seems almost impossible for some couples. Even Anna and I have hard days and not a day passes that I'm not thankful for her patience with me, and I know Oliver is more that thankful for you too. He loves you, Felicity, deeply and it shows. And perhaps you could get him to think about finding a good thing about his day too, maybe give you something to discuss during your evening meal or before bed."
"I can do that but believe me, Riley, I'm doing alright, and truthfully things are calmer right now in our lives than they have been in years. Oliver's enjoying his coaching job, and he's slowly getting to know his players. And as a couple, I think we are in the best place we've even been."
His phone sounded and she said, "Guess that's it until next week."
"No, that's Anna texting me, and yeah, no pressure intended here but Anna wanted me to ask you when you're finally going to invite us for dinner? We've never been to your house, and I hear Oliver's an excellent cook."
And she thought, right no pressure?
But she said, "He's an amazing cook, something I'm well, just not good at, in fact, I bet I could burn water, in fact, I have. I burned up the pot and smoked up the house. Hmm but that's a story for another day."
She frowned remembering that she'd been trying to make mac and cheese but had gotten caught up in her tablet, and the next thing she knew Oliver had been yelling about her trying to burn the house down.
Riley gave a small laugh before he ask, "But Oliver enjoys cooking?"
"He takes it almost to an art form, which is a good thing, or we'd be starving or eating takeout every meal."
"Felicity, did you ever think that cooking appeals to Oliver because it's something that he can control every aspect of?"
She mulled that thought over and frowned, realizing Riley could be right. Oliver sought control in entirely everything and cooking he could totally control.
"I've never really thought about his cooking in those terms, but yes, he's an awesome cook. What do you excel at Riley?"
"Not chess or darts it seems. Regardless, Anna wants me to bug you about dinner. And, yes, I know Oliver will be far from thrilled."
"Now, you're the one avoiding the question." She gave him a slight smile before she added, "How about not this Saturday but next, which will give him over a week to adjust to the idea? He's not going to like you two coming. I'll have to work him up to it."
Riley smiled a tiny smile and his phone sounded again. "That's time, but Felicity, as homework, I also want you to think about your childhood between now and next week's visit. I think you may have some issues with your father and mother that you should work through yourself."
The color drained from her face as she frowned deeply. Standing, she gave a wave before she turned and left the room with the words, "I'll think about it. See you next week."
Heading to work at the hospital, she refused to think about her father or her mother, and instead worked in the comfort of the system. She wrote some code and put out a couple of cyber fires, but the Clark's pending dinner invitation bothered her. Knowing that Oliver would be unhappy when she told him, she decided to take the easy way out and text him.
"Dinner with the Clarks Saturday after next. Our treat. Our house. What do u want 2 cook?"
His text pinged, almost instantly.
"U can't b serious?"
"I am. Ur turn to cook. Anna's my friend u know? Please!" She hit the send button.
No answer came back and she frowned but refused to rise to the bait, knowing he didn't want them to come, knowing she'd put him between the rock and the hard place. And knowing that she'd just made him feel guilty, she let him stew for a while.
A little later, she texted. "I love u. And u can do this. It could be fun."
And even an hour later, he still hadn't returned her text. Clearly, he planned to ignore her. "Okay," she said to her phone, "you just do that, Oliver."
But before she knew it the day had passed. Heading to the car after work, her phone buzzed, and she looked down to see John's face. A large smile lit her face as she accepted the call.
"Hey, John. What's up? Everything alright?"
"Believe it or not it is, and I'm sitting in deadlock traffic headed home to Lyla and Sara. And since I find myself with more than a few minutes free, I thought I'd talk to you. How are things going for you?"
"If you mean, Oliver, he's truly starting to settle in. The coaching job's good for him. He's still not gotten his blood pressure exactly under control but the doctor keeps trying."
"That's good but no I'm asking about how you are, not Oliver, you. How are you feeling? Your lungs good?"
"Seriously, John, are you still mad at Oliver? It's been months now."
"It has been a while, but it's you that didn't answer the question, Felicity. How are you feeling?"
"I'm well, John. I only have to hit the inhaler once in a while, and believe it or not, I'm currently going to counseling."
"I'd heard that you were going to see a guy named Riley Clark."
"From who, John?"
"Okay, I'm busted. Oliver told me."
"Awe, you're talking to him again aren't you? That's awesome. I'm really glad."
"It's no big deal. He needed to talk about something, and I've been his sounding board for so long, I understand him calling me."
"And you're there for him. I'm proud of you, John."
"Stop, I've just talked to him a few times. Don't blow this out of proportion. It's not like we kissed and made up."
"Right, you just wanted to kill him a few months ago, and now you're talking to him about my counselor Riley Clark, which I know that me going to counseling is freaking him out, since it's freaking me out too. I mean I can't just talk to the man about the last three years of my life. And the last thing I want to do is mention Ra's, the League of Assassins or the Lazarus pit. Oh, and maybe I should add that by the way, I'm sleeping with the Arrow, aka the Hood, and living with the man who spent the last five years in hell but won't talk about it how he learned Russian, where he learned to fight fly a plane or where he got most of his scars. And who knows what else he's got locked up in that brain of his? Good heavens, John, I'd end up locked up in a padded room myself."
John barked a laugh. "That's one way to put things. I could see where this could be dangerous territory for you. Then why are you going?"
"I want Oliver to get help dealing with his PSTD. If we're going to stay together, if we're going to make this work, he has to get better and like most things in my life, I'm trying to solve the puzzle."
"And Oliver's the puzzle right?" John asked quietly.
She smiled before she said, "Yeah, okay, he is and since you're talking to him again, I want you to talk to him about going and seeing Riley. He does a new treatment where Oliver wouldn't have to talk about what happened to him and the therapy helps his brain process the event. He has real issues, John."
The man seriously snickered before he said, "Really, you think Oliver has issues? Now that's too funny."
"His PTSD is hardly funny sometimes. Try living with him."
"Alright, I'll talk to him the next time he calls. But Felicity do you honesty expect him to cook dinner for the Clark's?"
"Now you're totally busted. He's called you today to complain that I volunteered him to cook next Saturday night didn't he?"
Silence filled the moment before he said quietly, "Alright, yeah, he did. He doesn't like Riley Clark, Felicity and the man makes him nervous. He's only acting like he likes this Riley guy to please you."
"I know that John but that's because he doesn't want to go to counseling. And the two of them are a lot alike. I think Riley reminds him of himself too much. But regardless, he truthfully needs to learn to deal with this PTSD and to go to therapy."
"Yeah, maybe when pigs fly. You don't seem to get that man, Riley Clark, rubs him the wrong way. Hey traffic's moving now. I'm going to get off here. You need to think about it. You're pushing him again and you know if you push him too hard he'll run. Now I love you."
"Love you too, John. But you be sure to tell him I expect something mouthwatering on Saturday, something that truly impresses the Clark's. And I know he knows how."
John laughed as he ended the call.
#####OQ#####
His head snapped back from the force of the man's punch. Jumbled, his mind became unsure as he didn't know real from fantasy. Unable to stop the dream, he felt the water drag him down, drag him under the cold depths. The water everywhere, he fought the chains on his wrists, and he realized he couldn't find her no matter how hard he swam, no matter how many times he dove and his heart wanted to explode as he breathed hard and fast.
Over and over, he dove beneath the murky water but no matter how many times he dove, he found only darkness.
His head broke the surface.
Gasping air, he dove again and again, but no matter how hard he swam, no matter how deep he dove, he couldn't find her and his brain refused to accept that she'd drowned and that he found himself alone.
His heart raced and he screamed her name, over and over, his brain on replay.
"Felicity! Where are you? Answer me! Felicity! Please! Answer me."
Bolting straight up in the bed, he came back gasping and fighting the covers, drowning in sweat.
The darkness lay heavy in the room, and the blue nightlight glowed like a beacon, from the bathroom to his left. Blinking, his heart racing, his mind started to clear as he realized Felicity'd reached and patted his chest lightly, with the words, "Shh, it's only a dream. I'm right here. Feel me. Smell me, I'm here. Right here. Beside you. Try to find real, Oliver. Look at the light."
Blinking, he stared at the small blue light coming from the bathroom and his breathing slowed somewhat. Slowly, his mind cleared, and he remembered she'd installed the blue nightlight today, and he still hadn't gotten used to it.
"We're safe," she'd said as she'd plugged it in this evening before bed. Winking at him, she said, "I want you to remember when you look at it that we're safe here, you and me safe here together."
Rubbing his eyes, he stared at that small blue light remembering she'd claimed she'd need the small light since she'd got lost sometimes in the night, and the light would make it easier on her.
And, she'd smiled her wonderful bright smile at him.
But now as he awoke from the dream's rush, as he woke from the nightmare's grasp, he looked at the light and wondered if she'd bought it for him, if she'd bought it to help ground him as she called it.
"Go back to sleep, Felicity. I'm okay."
"No, you're not. I can hear it in your voice. Come here, Oliver."
Reaching for her, he moved closer, breathing in her scent. But the dreams haunted him, ran like a river through his head, and he almost feared touching her as he fought to find real, fought to find now.
"Can I touch you?"
She asked as she reached out, and his reflexes caught her hand with the words, "No. Not yet. Wait. Give me a little bit of time. I'll recover in a minute and be okay. Wait."
He breathed in and out and tried to find his center, and she thankfully listened and gave him some space.
"Better?" She questioned, in a quiet voice.
"Yeah. I'm almost okay now."
"Good, touch me, Oliver, find now with me," she said softly, as her hand linked her fingers with his fingers, and she placed his hand on her warm breast.
He realized her nipple tighten, realized he caressed her warm, soft breast as her breast molded to his hand, while her heart beat softly beneath his hand, connecting them.
And pure pleasure washed over him as beneath his large hand, her nipple grew hard beneath his touch, while her heart sped up and he exhaled sharply.
Swallowing thickly, he leaned down and his lips moved, finding the beating pulse on her neck. And he couldn't stop himself or himself back as he softly sucked her skin.
"Right there, Oliver. Yes, kiss me right there."
And she sighed, and said, "Yes, touch me. I love it when you touch me, when you kiss me, and when you make me your focus. You turned me on, Oliver. Yes, please, make love with me, not to me but with me."
She pulled him down, guided his head to her neck, her breasts, as she gave a sweet pleasurable sound, and gave her sounds that totally disrupted his thought process, as his mouth met her silky skin.
Unexpectedly, his need inflamed him, desire clawed him with sharp nails and became past intense. His hands roughly stripped his soft t-shirt from her body, and he refrained from ripping her panties crudely from her body.
Unable to help himself, he whispered in her ear, "I ache to see you naked beneath me. Yes, I need you totally naked beneath me, right now. I'm almost out of control right now, Felicity. I have to make sure you're here, not gone, here with me, now. I'm sorry but I need to know that now is NOW."
"Oh, yeah, I'm right here with you. Feel me. Feel my hands on you," she reassured him as her hands drug him closer and together they flew rapidly, flew hard into the light and exploded.
#####OQ######
A while later, cautiously, when he knew she'd slept hard enough, when he knew she wouldn't wake up, he climbed from their bed.
And again for too many nights, he kicked the soccer ball until almost dawn. Returning, dripping sweat, he showered, cleared the message from her tablet and quietly, on soundless feet, returned her tablet to her bedside. Silently, he returned to her bed, he'd set his alarm for a little over an hour later and tried to rest, totally exhausted, and past spent.
But sleep eluded him, his brain focusing on, thinking about his team. Today, he needed to touch base with Phil, needed to figure out if Phil needed to go to rehab or if he could try to resume his life. Probably needed to go and see Warren and bring him up to speed. And he still needed a goalie and needed do something to help the three players that'd attacked him catch up on learning to play soccer. He'd punished them long enough to make an impression. And there might be some hope still for Malone. The list in his head continued to grow. He wanted to meet David's father face to face and size the man up. He should stop by and check on how Tyler and Mindy were holding up.
Opening his eyes, he eyed the blue nightlight as he tried to slow him brain by thinking about her making slow changes to their lives.
She'd taken his caffeine away after three now, and they'd discussed that she didn't want him to run or exercise in the evenings, though she'd encouraged him to walk the beach with her in the twilight. He needed to learn to wind down, to relax more, and yes, he did find walking with her hand in hand relaxing but that didn't stop the dreams.
She'd taken his screens away and even agreed that even she could benefit from no screen time thirty minutes before bed, since she'd learned and told him that computer screens and other things like her tablet admitted a light that keeps the brain awake, so they need to kill the screens at least thirty minutes before bedtime to sleep better.
Yes, she'd become intent on helping him sleep better.
And the more she saw Riley, the more she threw new terminology at him, as she tried to explain to him what went on inside his head.
With quiet words, she'd told him that if he wanted to talk about the bad things that had happened that she wouldn't judge him, that she would just listen but they could learn to live with his PTSD, that he needed to understand that she would live with anything that had happened to him because she loved the now him.
He mulled that thought over and over. The fact that she loved the now him, as he fell into an exhausted sleep, knowing he could sleep, knowing he could rest an hour because he'd set the alarm, and he wouldn't enter REM and dream.
Heavens knew he hated dreaming, and he buried his nose in her neck and breathed her scent in and it calmed him.
#####OQ#####
Felicity jerked awake to find him lightly snoring, his nose in her neck. Heart pounding, she'd been fighting the water in the dream and had been losing, with the tide pulling her under. Cautiously, she managed to unwrap from his body without waking him. Padding on bare feet, she went to the bathroom, and coming back to the bed, she stretched and yawned, looking at him, trying to forget the dream. His body honed and handsome, and he made her smile for his body inspired her.
Glancing toward the bathroom, she thought about turning the night light off but she left it on. Anything to help him sleep better for she knew he needed to sleep more.
Riley had explained in their first session people who had PTSD normally had terrible nightmares, and Oliver probably had horrible dreams that stole his rest, and Riley'd explained that when Oliver slept, he let his guard down, which allowed the bad memories to surface, and that it wasn't his fault that he couldn't sleep for long stretches at a time.
And she knew she'd made mistakes in their relationship, a lot of mistakes. She'd pushed him too hard more than once trying to force him to talk when he hadn't been ready and had stepped into his personal space more than once. Now she understood that maybe sometimes she'd pushed him too hard, but never had she feared he would hurt her, for she couldn't imagine Oliver ever hurting her on purpose.
The light barely broke the dawn outside their window, and she grabbed his phone to check the time. Watching, the time flipped to 5:55 a.m., and she noted he'd set the alarm for 6:02 a.m.
Such an odd time to pick to wake up but that's Oliver. Yes, he liked to be different.
Swiping the screen, she decided he looked much too content, much too calm to get up in seven minutes, and she knew how much he needed to sleep, and as she eyed him, she realized he'd started dropping weight again. It didn't matter if he didn't talk about losing weight, and even though he constantly seemed to be eating lately, the weight continued to fall off him. She'd noted that she'd seen him drink protein drinks this week, yet, she could swear the weight kept dropping off him anyway.
Her finger hovered, and she bit her lip in indecision, but she tapped the screen and shut his alarm off. Silently, she replaced his phone on the nightstand.
Climbing back in the bed with him, she snuggled up to his hard, warm back, as she eyed the large scar, and she realized the mark did indeed look like a H, and she wondered how that man, that animal had dared to do that to another human, had dared to mark him. And she found herself hoping he'd killed the monster that hurt him that badly as she fell back to sleep, as she pulling him tightly against her body, her hand gently stroking his H.
#####OQ#####
Hereon says strip your shirt off," Ivan told him, reaching to prod him in the shoulder with the unlit taser.
Reacting, he caught the man's taser and diverted the blow, with the sharp words, "Does he want me to throw the fight too?"
"Shut up, Oliver."
"Make me."
And Ivan eyed him but didn't make a move in his direction.
So he ask,"Truly how beat up does he want me? It'd be nice to know what I need to do here."
"You need to take your shirt off and do what you're told. But we both know you suck at that, don't we?"
He shrugged, ignoring Ivan's words as he added, "You didn't answer the question. Do I throw the fight or win?" He gave a wave of his right hand before he added. "I just need to know what to do here?"
"You've got a real attitude lately, Oliver. Just take off your shirt and stop giving me a hard time."
And he thought, as he narrowed his eyes at the man, oh I haven't even begun to give you a hard time. You wait.
The bell rang and as he watched two men drag the last fight's loser away, while the winner, bled freely as he raised his arms in victory.
"You're up next and I don't care if you win or lose, I just know I can't wait to replace you. Now last chance you take it off now or you'll never have a shirt again, and you just think you're cold all the time as it is."
His stomach clinched as the darkness raged inside him. His chest tightened and his hands fisted, as the hate raged through him, knowing Ivan would do it. The man would take his shirt and teach him to live in the cold without it, just as he'd taken his shoes. And Hedeon fully intended to make this fight harder for him. Yes, the man wanted to show off his mark, wanted to display the large still healing H on his back.
Hedeon wanted the crowd to know the man owned him, wanted the crowd to know that he belonged to the man, that he'd marked him as nothing but property. Reaching inward, he welcomed the darkness inside him, reached for the very blackness within him, knowing what he planned, knowing exactly how he would do it, not just for him but for Mike.
With a vicious jerk, he pulled the t-shirt over his head and slung it to the bench he sat on, but he forced himself to reach and snatch the shirt up and he folded the dirty t-shirt with meticulous lines. Reaching down, he removed his filthy socks and folded his socks carefully in half and laid them beside his shirt.
The floor icy, bitter cold, he stood on bare feet and schooled his face.
Focus, he told himself. FOCUS, his mind screamed, as he ignored the cold floor and the small loss of warm from his thin t-shirt. Cold hardly bothered him now, it had become nothing, like hunger, cold equaled normal. His brain engaged, became single purposed as he walked toward the ring.
Climbing into the ring with careful movements, he noted Hedeon sat at his normal table at ringside and like throwing a switch, he shut the world off. The crowd disappeared from his mind, the low murmur of people talking, cheering, whistling, the cigarette smoke that hung heavy in the warehouse's air, and instead he focused on the large man across from him in the ring.
Almost in slow motion, he heard the bell ring, and he ruthlessly attacked his opponent, knocking him to the ground.
The man punched his chest wound, and he almost crumbed, but he reached for the darkness within him, and with a roar, grabbed the man's hand, twisting hard until he heard bone snap with a satisfying POP. Following up for the kill, he slammed the man's head hard against the mat, leaving him momentary dazed.
Rolling away from the man in a rush, he danced toward the edge of the ring, as he saluted Hedeon just as he jumped up, not hesitating for an instant, as he jumped to the top rope. Using all that practice, all that time spent in the cage strengthening his legs, he balanced himself on the rope with his bare feet and jumped, no doubt looking graceful, as he mightily leap a good four feet straight onto Hedeon's body, straight into his lap.
Eyes wide, screaming, cursing, Hedeon's face contorted, twisted, as he landed hard on top of the man. With a large splintering noise, he felt the chair give way under both of them, dropping them hard with a jar to the solid concrete floor. In mere instants, both of them collapsed into a heap on the floor, with him coming out on top and fighting Hedeon's frantic hands.
He'd replayed this moment in his mind almost repeatedly, for the last month, planning every detail, planning everything that could happen, planning everything that could go wrong, especially as he'd hung those hours in the darkness with Bach playing on repeat in the background.
Oh, yes, Ivan had been right.
He'd planned this, even before Mike had died, even more after he'd killed Mike to end his suffering, and he'd counted on Hedeon pulling his knife.
Yes, he wanted him to reach for the weapon, ached for Hedeon to pull his blade, and he backed his grip off, giving the man time to reach, allowing him to reach.
"Damn you, I'll cut you bad for this."
The man fought him, and Hedeon's strength surprised him, as they fought, and he managed to get his knife out.
"Not this time. Remember Mike? My promise." He spat the words.
No, this time he didn't hesitate.
Using his brute strength, his complete black rage, he watched the fear grow in Hedeon's eyes, as he forcefully turned the man's knife hand and savagely turned that hated knife, that wicked sharp blade, the one that had cut him repeatedly, the one Hedeon had made him ask nicely for, and he plunged it straight into Hedeon's chest, straight into his evil heart.
Then for good measure, as he watched the disbelief, the panic grow in the man gray eyes, he twisted then pulled the knife from Hedeon's heart and grabbing his hair, he savagely stabbed right below the ear, just under the jaw line as Slade had taught him, severing the man's carotid artery with the words, "I'll see you in HELL. Wait on me."
The man's blood spat hot on his cold skin as he sharply pulled the knife out, wishing he could have let him linger but knowing he'd no time left to prolong the man's death if he wanted to escape.
But time slowed, as the man's last ten micro-seconds ticked away before his eyes, as the man's brain quickly began to die from lack of fresh blood flow. Oh, yes, he watched, no, he relished the life leaving the monster's gray eyes, and his hate burnt deep, dark, and intense enough that it consumed him.
But no time existed to think about Hedeon now. He slammed Hedeon's lifeless body to the concrete, as the room exploded in wild motion. The crowd had realized he'd just jumped from the top rope of the ring and killed his handler in a matter of seconds and they were scattering like a flock of birds.
He wished he had more time for his hate, and even knowing he didn't, he still plunged the man's knife back in his chest one more time.
Ice formed a hard crust inside him. Completely emotionless now and covered in Hedeon's spattered blood, he jumped lightly to his feet, like a large cat, sleek and deadly.
Flipping the scarred wooden table, he dumped Hedeon and the other's man's drinks, shattering glass and liquid on the concrete floor. Using his bare foot and his weight, he snapped a table leg off.
Instinct served him well as he twisted on his bare foot in time to side step a large man rushing toward him.
Wasting no motion, he reached and snapped another wooden table leg off with a loud crack that echoed in the large room, and he grimaced as he stepped on the glass and cut his left foot badly, but he shut the pain off and moved.
Holding the two table legs, he waved them in the air, as he yelled, "I am Bratva. Who is Bratva here? Help a brother. I ask for safe passage to Anatoly Knyazev."
Turning quickly, Hedeon's friend, an older man who normally sat with Hedeon during most of the fights, had finally gathered his wits and managed to pull a pistol, but before he could get off a shot, Oliver lashed out with the table leg and knocked the gun from the man's hand, no doubt breaking his wrist, as he shoved the man roughly away from him. The older man hit the concrete hard, with a grunt and a dull thud, as he lay prone on the floor.
Stuffing the table leg under his arm, he scooped the gun up off the concrete. Shoving the pistol into the waistband of his pants, he retrieved the table leg in time to turn as another man rushed toward him.
Hooking the back of the man's leg, he dropped the dark headed man hard to the ground and finished him off by clubbing him in the head.
Spinning on his bloody heal, he knocked the taser out of his first guard's Gleb's hand before he could use it on him, before the man could put him down. Gleb screamed and cradled his hand but Oliver took no pity as he quickly finished him with the other table leg and scooped up his taser.
In a rush, men attacked him from the left and between the table leg and the taser their bodies swiftly littered the concrete, joining the growing number of bodies lying prone on the floor.
He'd expected this, everything but the gun, though the gun, a plain perk, would help aid his escape. Everything else, he'd planned down to the last detail. Kill Hedeon, and fight his way out. Oh, and yes, he'd expected the rush of men, expected the fight, expected using the table legs for weapons, expected taking the tasers from the guards and expected the fight, the rush of men.
Now, his eyes calmly scanned the crowd hunting Luke, the man with the dart gun, the one man who had a real chance of putting him down from a distance.
He spotted Luke advancing, his dart gun drawn. Again he put the table leg under his arm and wasting no time, he pulled the pistol, and with no hesitation, he shot the dart gun, blowing it to pieces along with the man's hand. Luke screamed only for an instant before he shot Luke right between the eyes. Turning, he didn't even bother to watch the dead man fall as he moved toward the door, clearing a path as he went.
And he, yelled again, "Who is Bratva here? I'm looking for Bratva. Help a brother. I'm Bratva. And I need help. I ask only for safe passage to Anatoly Knyazev. "
The room had erupted into screaming people, rich people who wanted a little sport, wanted to watch the blood and gore from a safe distance, and who now found the world gone wild, insane, and the blood and gore way too close to them for comfort. The crowd rushed running people over, as people ran shouting and screaming out of the building.
But some men still moved toward him.
Three of his guards stood between him and the door, and he motioned them with his hands. "Come on," he shouted. "Hedeon's dead. And if you want to join him, I'll kill you too. I'll end this once and for all."
Ten men lay on the ground now, at least two of them dead, maybe more, but he no longer worried about them. The standing men were his real problem, the true threat.
His other guards backed off from him. Yes, each of them took a careful step back because they knew he'd do his best to kill them as he trained the lone gun on them, moving one to the other as he wished his back hugged the wall, knowing the danger still grave and made worse by him standing in the middle of the huge room.
The room continued in motion, wild eyed people screamed, rushing over each other, stepping on each other, as they streamed out the doors. And he thought, you shoot one and the rest of them will kill themselves trying to get away.
"Oliver." Ivan walked toward him, his voice deceivingly soft, his left hand now palm up, as he handed his taser off to the man walking beside him, making a large show of giving his taser up and then raising his other hand palm up.
"Stop," he growled the word.
But the man took a step in his direction.
"Remember what I promised you?" He demanded as he thought that this man, this monster, who'd bought him for Hedeon to carve on, who'd thrown him chained into a trunk, who'd enjoyed watching him suffer in this hell and who'd just lately taunted him with water while he hung dying of dehydration. Yes, his hands tightened on his weapons as he wished he could draw out this man's death as his finger tightened on the trigger.
"Easy, Oliver. You need to calm down, and we'll walk out of here together. The police will be here soon. You don't want to end up in prison in this country. You think Hedeon's prison was bad, you just don't know. Now let's talk about this. I can still clean this up." He swept a hand toward Hedeon's dead body. "I can fix this. We can work this out together. I'll help you. We can fix this together."
"No WE can't." He shook his head as he added, "This is over. I warned you. I promised you."
"I can make this worth your while. We could make lots of money with way you fight. I'll make you rich. Think of the money."
He aimed the pistol straight at Ivan's head. "I've been rich. NO. I'm walking out of here and this is over. I'm not going anywhere with you. But, I'll put you in hell with him, and believe me I'd like that. Now I'll give you more than you ever gave me. I'll give you one chance to walk away, my debt's paid in full, and I'd say that you're now unemployed, and unless you want to die with him, and you'll all walk away from me right now. And I mean RIGHT NOW."
Someone moved behind him and with no hesitation, he spun on his bloody heal and shot the man in his head, twisting back in time to see Ivan lunge for him.
Smoothly, he squeezed the trigger.
Ivan's body jerk back as the bullet entered right between his eyes in a clean head shot that took the back of the man's skull off and splattered his gray brain matter across the room.
He had just thought they had screamed before that. More people screamed and ran, breaking for the exits. The room had now emptied in a matter of minutes. And he hoped there were still three shots left in the clip for he had no time to check as he trained the gun on Peter, who held his unlit taser up.
Time froze as the two remaining guards stopped dead in their tracks.
These men knew him. They were his guards, and he'd already kicked their butts more than once. And they'd watched him try to kill Hedeon before, had watched him almost die repeatedly, and now had watched him make good on his promises and finally kill Hedeon in mere seconds and then take Luke and Ivan and several others out for good measure.
"Easy, Oliver. You're not worth it. I'm out of here. You're on your own," Peter said as he slowly took a step backward, as he held his hands up and turned and walked away.
"Yeah, like you said, my boss is dead." The man walked backward a few steps then he also turned and left him standing there holding a broken table leg and a gun with hopefully three bullets, his heart pounding like a drum, with no idea of what to do with himself and his sudden freedom.
Yet, still his brain engaged. Move, he told himself, for the police would soon show up and he wouldn't stay free since he'd just murdered not just one man, a powerful man, in front of a lot of witnesses, but several others. He needed to disappear and quickly and right now.
Lowering his weapon, he tried to breath, to calm down. But then a small group of men now approached him with the words, "You look for Bratva?"
His hand jerked up, and he pointed his weapon, but a large bearded man simply pulled his shirt slowly down to show him a tattoo, "I'm Bratva. But you aren't for you don't bare the mark."
"Trust me I'm Bratva. Take me to Anatoly Knyazev, he'll vouch for me."
Several of the men laughed.
A large man beside the bearded man grinned and showed him his missing front teeth, with the words, "If you're not Bratva, Anatoly will do more than vouch for you. You'll be taking a dirt nap for a long time."
His friends laughed at the small joke.
"I'll take my chances."
"Then we're brothers. Come, I'll take you to Anatoly Knyazev. Perhaps you're worth something to him? Maybe he'll pay well for you?"
"Perhaps? But cross me and I'll kill you all."
The man laughed heartedly with the words, "You do that. Now, do you have a coat or shoes? The snow is heavy on the ground."
"No, but my shirt and socks are over there."
"We should go. Get his things." The bearded man ordered the man with the missing teeth. "We need to find you shoes, yah?"
The man frowned but he moved and returned quickly to throw his shirt and his dirty socks at him. Catching them, he stuffed the filthy socks in his pocket then said, "Give me a minute."
Returning to Hedeon's body, he breathed in the copper scent of blood, and for the first time in months, it wasn't his. For an instant, he considered taking the hated knife from the man's chest with him but the blade's handle seemed too unique, and would instantly tie him to the murder. So, instead using his shirt to cover his prints, he found the man's wallet and took the only the cash in it. He'd earned every damn dime of the strange looking currency, had paid for it with his actual blood.
Wiping the knife's handle, he gave one last vicious twist before he stood and spit on the dead man. Moving, he found Luke and Ivan's cash, knowing they no longer needed money. With no wasted movement, he pulled Luke's blood stained boots off and peeled his socks off too.
Sitting on the cold floor, he silently jerked a large piece of glass from his left foot before he wrapped the dead man's sock tightly around his bleeding foot and stuffed his foot into an almost too big boot, lacing it tightly before pulling the other sock on and donning the other boot.
Jumping lightly to his feet, he stood tall, ignoring his throbbing foot, as he eyed the men hard, and the older man gave him a sharp nod. As he left the warehouse, hopefully left hell behind him, he kept the table legs, the taser, and the gun and he walked away in a dead man's pair of boots, leaving Hedeon and the others lifeless on the floor behind him, and for the first time in what seemed forever he might have a chance. But he'd cold bloodedly murdered at least four men in front of countless witnesses, making him a wanted man, and now to survive he needed to find Anatoly Knyazev and swiftly.
Outside the snow fell in large wet flakes, and he hugged his weapons close to him, as he followed the four men across the wet, snowy ground, thankful to be wearing shoes for the first time in months, even if he taken them from a dead man.
He forced himself to slide into the middle of the back seat of a dark sedan. He tasted the danger as it lay heavy and copper tasting in his mouth, and he found it hard to breathe as two large men climbed in on each side of him. As soon as he settled against the cold leather seat he began to shiver almost uncontrollably as his heart pounded wildly.
"Vlad, give him your coat," ordered the gray headed man after he climbed into the driver's seat.
The large man beside him peeled off his warm coat and placed it on his shoulders, but he still shook, and his teeth wanted to chatter, making him clinch his teeth tightly. The gray headed man cranked the engine, and he sat in silence as he watched the snow fall onto the dark road through the headlights, knowing his future unclear. His hand lay heavy on the pistol and his finger rested on the trigger.
The man beside him shifted and he became past hyper aware. The engine hummed, the heater motor blew, the man beside him gave a small cough, and the man to his right in front inhaled sharply.
Leaning cautiously forward, he uttered the dark words to the old man driving, "If you cross me, I want you to know that I'll blow your spine out first."
"Then I'll wreck the car and maybe, you'll die too." His voice came out dark and harsh.
"Didn't you notice? I think today is as good of day to die as any. But don't worry I'll drag each of you to hell with me."
As he watched, the man visibility swallowed hard and paled.
"You're an enforcer? No?"
"I'm a man that you shouldn't cross. Yes. Now swear to me on your family's lives, from the youngest to the oldest that you're taking me to Anatoly Knyazev."
The man's hands trembled slightly on the steering wheel. "You don't know who you are making an enemy of here."
"Neither do you. Now give me your word or I swear I'll find them all, every last one of them. First, I'll blow your spine out, and afterwards, I'll kill everyone in this car and then your family."
"Sure of yourself aren't you?" The man, with the missing teeth, turned in his seat, a hand gun now pointed, pressed against his temple.
"I'm sure enough that I'll wipe every trace of your family from the face of this earth if you cross me. Now you tell your friend to put the gun away and you swear on your family's lives."
A small tic twitched in the man's face as he tightened his jaw and said, "Yegor, put your gun away. I'll swear it."
"On your family's lives?"
"I swear on my family's lives I will take you to Anatoly Knyazev."
The man slowly removed the pistol from his temple.
"Good. Now, stop the car."
"Stop the car?"
"Yes, and everyone but you gets out. Don't hesitate, just pull over." He pulled the trigger on the taser and the blue flame lit the inside of the car up.
The older man pulled the car over in front of a bar's flashing sign and the air in the car became heavy and hard to breathe.
And the men beside him kept silent, but he could feel their stress, feel their reluctance as the car rolled to stop, and he held the gun in one hand and the lit taser in the other.
"Tell them to get out, and I'll let them live." His words came out harsh.
The gray haired man barked, "Get out. Call Mark, he'll come and pick you up."
All three men hesitated but finally the first one slowly opened the door and climbed out into the cold and slammed his door, and each of them followed suit.
When the last one got out, he barked the word, "Drive."
"You can't stay awake forever." The man's tone came out bitter.
"No, but you'd be surprised what I can endure, what I've survived. Now take me to Anatoly Knyazev or pay the penalty for I'm a man of my word."
Something crashed and he jerked straight up. Bolting awake, he rolled right off the bed. His hands fisted, already in a fight stance, as he breathed hard, gasping as he realized the sun shone brightly and the night had disappeared.
With quick steps, he crossed the room, jerking the door open. Felicity stood barefooted in a simple t-shirt and soft pj pants, standing in the middle of the kitchen with shards of pottery broken around her on the floor.
"Sorry, I woke you." And she smiled brightly at him and shrugged with the words, "Oops, bad me, I dropped my coffee cup.
He scrubbed his face with his hands. "Okay, don't move. I'll put my shoes on and sweep it up."
"I can do it. I'm hardly helpless."
"No, stay put. I'd hate to have to put stitches in your feet. And you wouldn't like it without Dig's aspirins."
She smothered her grin. "Okay, I'll be still."
Moving, he skirted the wreckage as he reached for his tennis shoes in the basket by the door, then putting them on, he moved and swept her up in his arms.
"What are you doing?" She asked as her arms encircled her neck, while she grinned.
"I'm still keeping you safe. That's my job you know." He carried her into the living room and placed her on the couch but didn't release her.
And she turned her face toward him and slowly kissed his cheek before she said, "Yes, I know. And I love you for it."
"You stay here and I'll sweep up the mess."
"Okay," she said softly, "Then maybe you can make breakfast?"
Her eyes caught his as he said, with a wink of his right eye. "I can do that. You working today?"
"I don't have to. Why?"
"I wondered if you wanted to go to the beach and fly a kite. I brought a large one the other day, and I've been wanting to try it out."
"You know how to fly a kite?"
"Yeah, it's been years but I do. Do you?"
"Never tried."
"Then maybe it's time. I'll teach you. It will be fun. We could have a picnic later. Stop and get some fried chicken maybe?"
He watched her catch her bottom lip with her teeth before she said, "Okay, but I don't want to go swimming." She hesitated and his chest tightened as she added, "I'm still not you know?"
"What? Comfortable with the water?" He'd noted she'd avoided the water since her accident, but he'd never pushed her about it.
She gave a small shrug with the words, "Drowning hurts and it's an experience that I never want to repeat. Let's say it's off my bucket list for like forever."
"I'm very okay with not you not ever getting back in the water, ever, though I'm never against the swim suit."
"You're a guy, of course, you like the suit, but Oliver, I dream about it sometimes." Her voice had lowered, became almost small.
He wanted to tell her that he did too that he dreamed he couldn't find her, about how it panicked him, about waking and expecting to find her gone and him alone, but instead he said, "I understand. Now, let's go fly a kite, eat some food, and walk the beach together."
"Then, yeah, okay, let's go to the beach and fly a kite. I could use a happy day."
His smile beamed at her as he reached and touched her arm, touching to be sure she was real as he said, "Me too. Now, why don't you get dressed and I'll clean up and make breakfast. And then we'll go and fly that kite and make a day of it."
"Oliver, you know you and I just made happy plans for a normal day? It's weird but in a good weird, strange way."
"Okay, I like that. And happy is good. I truly like happy, Felicity. Thank you for sharing it with me."
"I do too. Yes, happy looks good on us." And she gave him a quick kiss then headed toward the bedroom throwing her words, "You've got goofy grin today."
"Maybe I do." Smiling, he turned to go sweep up the coffee cup mess, and his grin remained as he got dressed, started breakfast and thought about how later he would do something he hadn't done in forever. He would dig out his green notebook, his journal, and he would write about this happy moment in his, in their, strange normal lives.
Yes, for once, instead of the bad, the horror, the terrible, he would write about being happy for who knew how long happy would last?
But for right now happy is real, he thought, yes, for today, for now happy is real. And he found himself humming under his breath as he embraced the day.
#####OQ#####
Okay, what did you think? For now you know how Oliver planned his escape and killed his tormentors. I hope I tricked you and none of you saw it coming. And I hope you enjoyed this finale.
Hope to hear from you since I write for reviews. And as always my readers thanks for the read.
But now I ask a question. Do we move on to Oliver's Bravta past, continue on with the soccer players story or finish this story up?