Thank you, MISSYriver. You've done a most wonderful job on this one.
FELICITY
It doesn't happen as they show it in the movies.
She never sees the out of control truck hurtling towards them. Time doesn't slow down and her whole life doesn't flash before her eyes.
She never sees it coming.
One second, she is singing along to a tune on the radio to some 80's trash ballad and laughing at William as he groans in embarrassment. Next thing she knows, their car is lifted off the ground from a side impact and flying through the air, the crunching metal and breaking glass deafening to her ears.
Then, a second of crystal clear awareness as something slices across her cheek with searing hot pain, followed by a thunderous crash. She hears a high-pitched shriek and realizes in bewilderment the sound is leaving her very own throat.
And after, absolute silence.
For a moment, nothing moves and everything is still. Her vision blurs, her glasses askew and splattered with a substance she doesn't dare look too closely at.
Blood rushes to her head while her seatbelt painfully digs into her shoulder and chest. Only then does she realize the car is flipped on its roof and she's hanging upside down.
She is disoriented, has a hard time catching her breath.
And then it all comes back with horrifying clarity.
Her right arm flails, blindly fumbling at her side, at the spot where William should be. She tries to call his name, but only a weak croak leaves her mouth, followed by a pained sob.
Finally, her fingers catch on something, the sleeve of his hoodie. His arm is limp, hanging down into the rubble that is the ground above them.
"Will," she whimpers. "William?!"
He doesn't respond and maybe it's the crash, maybe it's her fear, she feels the unfortunate urge to vomit as bile rises in her throat. She tries to turn her head to the side and look at him, but she has trouble moving her neck without searing pain firing through her skull.
Everything is upside down and her head spins with vertigo.
There are footsteps scurrying outside, people crying, shouting, tires screeching to a halt, horns honking.
It's a pandemonium and yet, inside what is left of their car, it is eerily silent.
Felicity squints, her glasses useless as they hang down from one ear and she tries to see through what's left of their front window. Two pairs of heavy, military boots quickly approach. That's when it hits her. What had happened, where they are.
What still might happen.
She whimpers again, knowing they are sitting ducks. Whoever had them run off the road has also ordered their henchmen to finish the job.
She sends a silent plea to Oliver to forgive her for being so foolish. For stubbornly ignoring his warnings, brushing off his concern. She selfishly refused to leave when he asked her. As it is, he obviously had very good reasons to want her out of the picture. Weren't she only as stubborn as him in her will to stay.
The two pairs of boots stop in front of her field of vision. Two dark figures drop their large frames to the ground to peek at the two figures hanging from the car's seats by their seatbelts. Her hand closes over whatever she can reach of William and Felicity is momentarily glad he isn't conscious for this.
"Miss Smoak?" Comes a concerned male voice she doesn't recognize. "Hang in there." Not so funny while the world is upside down. "Help is on the way. We will try to get you out. Are you hurt? Can you move?"
No shots, too many questions, but one thing – at least – is clear.
These are not Diaz's henchmen here to kill them but their security detail. The large muscular shadows that follow them around twenty-four hours a day and thank you, John.
"Ma'am," the agent urges. "The ambulance is already on the way. Don't move your head. Where are you hurt?"
She closes her eyes, the light hitting her eyes too much to bare further. The strain of trying to focus her eyes on a world out of its axes causes heavy pounding in her head. Everything hurts, but she has a hard time pinpointing exactly what her injuries are.
"William," she whispers. "Please, help William."
There is commotion outside, but it all mingles together into a blur. A panicked cry, "I swear, I didn't see her. Are they okay?!"
"Sir, you need to step back."
"What have I done?! Oh my God, there's a child, there's an injured kid inside!" The panic in the gathering voices spreads fear through Felicity's heart. Her eyes blur with tears.
Not like this, God, not like this.
"William, honey," she whimpers, her voice drowned out by the oncoming sirens.
She is clenching the sleeve of his hoodie. Pulling his arm toward her desperately to get to him, to hold him, make sure he is alive, that he is okay.
She wishes he would answer her, she needs to let him know she is here. She won't leave his side. She fights the haze of sleepiness, needing to be fully present and aware for William's sake.
Felicity knows no matter what happens, the images and sounds of today will haunt her for the rest of her life.
Paramedics and firefighters rush around the scene. Flashlights are pointed into the interior of the car and burn her eyes. Orders are shouted and the crews work as a team, securing the car.
A man in fire turnouts and a helmet crawls inside, pulling away glass and debris. His brown eyes meet Felicity. "Lady, we are going to get you out of here. I need you to hold still, without moving your head. Can you tell me your name?"
She swallowed her fear and nausea, "Fe-Felicity."
"Good Felicity, what's your son's name?"
"William," she utters in a small voice.
Felicity watches the firefighter visibly examine her and then look toward William. His gloved hand reached out for him. The man looks back at Felicity.
"He's alive but unconscious. We are going to get him out first. It is going to be loud and you will not be comfortable but we will get you both out of here. My name is Steve and I'm going to be right here."
A board is pushed into the car, along with another firefighter. Room is now tight with the collapsed roof and dashboard. They extract William from the seatbelt, controlling his fall from the seat. Just at that moment, William comes through with a horrifying wail of pain that makes Felicity's hair stand on end.
"Careful, careful," somebody warns, "open fracture to the right arm." Felicity shudders and her nausea returns. Steve is back with another board and another firefighter. He keeps her calm, focused on him when they release her seatbelt. She lets out a cry as her body falls forward into a pair of hands and they pull her from the wreckage, shards of broken glass crunching and breaking underfoot. The next thing she knows, she is put on a stretcher at the back of an ambulance.
Looking down at herself, the odd thing she notices first is that she has only one shoe. Also, she hurts absolutely everywhere.
But William, God, she needs to know that Will is okay.
A shadow appears over her. "Miss Smoak?" It's the A.R.G.U.S. agent again, thank God. She nearly cries in relief.
"William," she commands, trying to keep her voice steady. A blurry figure takes the agent's spot overhead wearing blue gloves and pointing a light into her eyes.
"Miss Smoak, he's the other ambulance. My colleague is with him and won't leave his side."
The paramedic is asking her questions, but her mind is only on William and gripped by the fear that they might still be in danger.
"Attack?" she quietly inquires the agent, her vision blurry without her glasses, her head swimming.
"No. We secured the area, it looks like a genuine accident."
Her head pounds and she has a hard time concentrating, eyes falling shut without her own volition.
"Felicity," the paramedic's urgent voice rouses her and okay, she may have dozed off for a second there. She squints up, looking for the A.R.G.U.S. agent to ask about William, but the man is gone. It sends her heart racing.
"Felicity, do you know where you are?" The paramedic brings her attention back to him. She doesn't respond and the man says something to somebody off her side, a murmured conversation passing between them.
"William," she murmurs. "My- boy, is he okay?" she asks dazedly, chest heaving with painful breaths, brain scrambling for coherent thoughts.
The car. She was driving Will to school. They had fun. She was singing. He was pretending to be mortified but secretly enjoying it, laughing despite himself.
She loved it. Loved making Will laugh. No small accomplishment these days. He is such a great kid. He deserves to laugh, even if it's at her own expense.
"Your son has an open fracture to his right arm and we need to get him to a hospital for a complete check-up, he is alert and we are giving him something for his pain."
He is alert, he's in pain but he is alive. Oh God, she hasn't killed her husband's son. The boy who he had left in her care, with trust.
Oh, God.
It slowly starts to trickle deep down into her bones, the realization of what happened, how close they came to dying. A painful sob leaves her throat even as a collar is slipped around her neck, her mind still focused on William.
She's anxious to see him, to get a glimpse of him to make absolutely sure, with her own two eyes, that he is okay, but they load her up into a different ambulance and she doesn't have the energy to protest.
They try to talk her down, murmur assurances, "He is in the ambulance behind us. Try to slow down your breathing, stay awake. Your son needs you to be okay too." Her heart does a flip because he is. He is her son. Somewhere along the way, William has become more than a sweet boy with Oliver's eyes and his mother's gentle heart. A boy she swore to herself she would raise as her own. He'd become an integral part of her life and Felicity knows with absolute certainty, that if anything ever happened to him, nothing in this world would ever be okay again.
She cries quietly, tears sliding down her cheeks into her hair as she tries to gulp down her sobs and focus on something productive instead. She catalogs her body, taking stock of her possible injuries.
She is pretty banged up. Her chest, shoulder, and neck throb from the seatbelt and impact. Her hip is on fire, pain radiating down to her knee. She feels the sting of tiny cuts on her face and hands from the glass shattering. Her head is cloudy, her fingers tingle and her teeth chatter. She has seen the signs of shock and a concussion before. Felicity just hopes nothing is broken. She forces her mind to slow down her breathing. The paramedic cleans away the glass and blood from her face.
Once inside the ER the doctors run multiple tests, check her vitals, do MRIs and take x-rays. She is patient with the repetitive questions and slips in her own questions about William.
She should call somebody. She wants Oliver to be here, but that's not happening. But she needs somebody here.
As if on cue, materializing right in front of her like she conjured him up by mere wishful thinking, John Diggle is barging through the door, fear and worry written all across his face.
"Oh, God, Felicity," he gasps, "You nearly gave me a heart attack."
His mere presence and the sheer intensity of his large frame halts the movement of all the people currently present in the room. A male nurse gets up the courage and walks up to John, "Sir, you can't be in here." But John sidesteps him and is in three quick steps right at Felicity's side.
Before she knows it, she sobbing into his shirt.
"Willam," She manages through her sobs, "his arm is broken," another sob. "I need to know he is okay, John," she finally gets out, already pushing Diggle away from her.
"It's okay Felicity, I already did. Dinah and Curtis are with him right now."
The tight knot finally eases in Felicity's stomach and she is finally able to breathe a little more freely. "He is pretty banged up and has a nasty fracture of his arm but otherwise okay. They are preparing him for surgery as we speak."
Her heart drops again. "Surgery!?" she squeaks, gripping John's shirt in both of her hands.
"To reset the bone. He might need a pin in his arm. The Doctor will know more once he is in surgery," John says, calmly running his large palms over her shoulders in a soothing, gentle manner. If she closed her eyes, she can almost believe those hands are Oliver's.
"I need to see him," she murmurs. She gazes at John, squinting her eyes slightly. The absence of her glasses makes the feeling of vulnerability intensify tenfold.
In unison, they both turn their heads to the doctor, who's stopped what he was doing and has been waits patiently until they finished their exchange.
"I need to see my son."
She signs the stack of papers releasing her against medical advice. The doctor makes John promise to bring her back at the first sign of any significant complications. Luckily, nothing is broken. But the bruising on her chest and left side would take weeks to heal. They wrap her hands in gauze and the small cut over her eye is sealed with glue and bandaged. There's the promise of colorful bruises on half her body. She is given pain medication, ice, and encouraged to make a follow-up appointment with her primary doctor.
With John's help, Felicity finally walks out of the ER. Her left leg throbs and her knee threatens to buckle but nothing will keep her from being the first face William sees when he wakes up.
She walks with a slight limp, something more feeling a little off about her legs than the bruising from the impact. Nothing is broken, but she suspects she probably pinched a nerve somewhere along her spine, one leg tingling hot and her other oddly numb, but that's not her main concern right now.
By the time she hobbles into William's room, he is already alert, talking to Dinah and Curtis.
He looks so out of place in the big hospital bed, so small and fragile, it causes Felicity's throat to close up at the sight of him. Gulping down her tears at not getting to him sooner, she refuses to feel anything but gratefulness that he is alive, that they both are. Her eyes quickly roam over William's body looking for all of his injuries, which proves to be a bit of a challenge, since everything is blurred due to the absence of her glasses.
Unlike hers, his face didn't take the brunt of the impact. There is a small abrasion on his cheek and a small purple hematoma above his right eye, but in all honesty, he had looked far worse after the fight with the bully at school.
His arm is in a cast from wrist to shoulder and fixed to his chest. For a moment, Felicity has to take a steadying breath when her ears ring with the echo of his blood-curdling shriek when they pulled him out of the wreckage.
"Hey, buddy." She offers gently as she fully walks into his line of vision. She forces a smile that pulls at the butterfly band-aids covering a gash across her cheek.
She can hear the shocked inhales from Dinah and Curtis and in that moment, she knows her injuries and appearance are worse than she thought. Right now, though, she only has eyes for William and the huge, loopy smile he is giving her in return.
"Felicity, hey! Look, my arm's broken. I've never broken a bone before! How cool is that?"
Her eyebrows rise, a questioning look directed at Dinah who envelopes her in a hug, whispering in her ear, "He's on the good stuff."
Well, no shit. William is grinning at her through glassy eyes, looking more like he is on the receiving end of a wisdom tooth removal instead of a horrible car crash and Felicity is glad for small favors.
She shares a short, stiff hug with Curtis, gritting her teeth through the pain. Her aching body is starting to protest to her every movement, but Felicity steps to William's bed. Forcing her body to fight the pain, she envelopes the boy in a warm hug, pressing her mouth to the crown of his head.
Tears cloud her eyes. She almost lost him today and it would have broken more than one person.
She breathes him in, basking in how effortlessly William snuggles against her side like he belongs there. She will take it, will take anything the sweet boy has to offer in return.
The rest of the afternoon is a blur of nurses and doctor consultations. William's doctor explains the surgery, treatment plan and has her signing medical documents. Her stomach churns each time she scribbles down her signature.
Oliver should be here for this. She shouldn't be making these important decisions on her own, definitely not hours after nearly being killed in a stupid car crash.
The doctor wants to keep William overnight to monitor him for signs of complications from the surgery, but he should be good to go home the next day.
William falls asleep quickly, finally getting some proper rest after the horror of a day. She sits stiffly on the side of his bed, running her fingers through his hair. He looks more like a young boy instead of the budding teenager he's slowly started to become in the recent months.
John assures her that despite all the odds, the accident was not a targeted attack on William's and her's life. A.R.G.U.S. has vetted the guy who ran into them with his SUV. A downtown accountant simply running a red light while he was on his phone arguing with his girlfriend.
Just a fortuity. Nothing more.
Felicity briefly wonders what she did in her previous life to be able to attract so much bad karma in this one. She is glad she still has some lucky bargaining chips left for William and her to walk away from this in one piece.
God, she is tired. Bone-deep tired.
She talks to William's nurse about getting her bath wipes and Dinah rushes to the apartment to get a change of clothes for them and grab her spare glasses after Felicity blows off any attempts of her going home to rest. She can't leave William here alone. Her nerve endings are still tingling with adrenaline, William's agonizes screams echo in her head on a loop.
Her eyes wander to the clock hanging on the wall and she nearly takes a double take. It's past five pm, the day gone by in a flash.
Five pm. So she's missed her visit.
A random thought, one that pops into her mind without a point of origin. It's there for a moment before the meaning finally registers to Felicity's. Her hand shoots to her mouth in shock, because Oh, God, she was supposed to see Oliver at Slabside today. She should be sitting with him right this very moment.
She never made it, never dropped William off at school, but Oliver doesn't know. He has no idea what happened.
She wishes again he was here. That she could be the one to tell him. Having his lawyer contact the prison is the last way she wants him to find out. But there are no other options. He absolutely needs to know what happened to them, why she didn't show up. He better not try to break out.
Felicity knows her husband well enough to know he must be going crazy with worry by now, has probably tried to call her cell phone as well as their home number countless times by now.
And damn, her phone. Where is her phone?
She needs her phone. And her glasses.
But first, she needs to let her husband know his son almost didn't make it home tonight.
And it's all wrong, all kinds of wrong. Tears are already falling when she turns back to Diggle, who looks alarmed. He has stayed close by throughout the day, and she is thankful for that, she really is, but-
"John, I need to borrow your phone."
"Felicity?"
Her eyes open, yet for a moment, she doesn't move, and the gentle tugging at her hand intensifies.
"Felicity?!"
Her body shoots upright, a groan of pain leaving her lips as her body protest the sudden movement. She tenderly stretches her stiff and aching muscles.
The room is dark, only a small light on at William's bedside illuminating his bed. His eyes are open, filled with tears, his good hand squeezing her fingers tightly.
"William, hey," she whispers, willing her foggy mind to shake off the remnants of sleep.
"Are you okay?" He says softly, concern written over his face. The drugs must have worn off by now. For his sake, she wishes their effects would last a little while longer.
"Yeah, Will. I'm good," she assures him.
"You don't look so good."
She barks out a slightly hysterical laugh before it morphs into a hiss, sharp pain shooting through her jaw.
"Thank you, William. You certainly know how to make a girl feel special."
William, at least, has the decency to look sheepish. He gives her a tiny smile.
He's right, she looks like hell. Her face is a mess, the airbag and shards of glass having caused most of the damage. She caught a glimpse of herself it in the mirror while she cleaned up earlier and shuddered. She's had a fair share of injuries in the past couple of years, but the way her face got smashed today is a whole new level even for the team Arrow standards.
Truth to be told, her face looks exactly like her body feels. Like a truck ran over her. She aches absolutely everywhere. But they are alive and going to be okay.
They stay silent for a moment, Felicity gazing at William. She runs her fingers through his hair. This amazing, brave boy. His eyes fall shut and he doesn't move away from her touch. Felicity's heart swells at how much this boy trusts her.
"I was so scared." William whispers, his eyes full of tears when they fix on her again and her heart breaks a little for him.
"I was scared too," she admits.
"Was it an accident?" he asks quietly. She can hear the fear in his trembling voice. There is so much he has seen in his young life.
"Yes, William. Just a stupid accident." She assures him. He nods back at her. It seems to put his mind at ease.
"Does dad know?"
"Yes," she affirms before hesitating. "Well, I certainly hope he does. I asked Jean to let the prison know. I haven't talked to him yet. I guess we can never know for sure."
William's brow furrows. They both feel uneasy thinking about Oliver finding out like this, not being able to see for himself his family is safe.
"John and Jean are driving to Slabside as soon as they can to talk to him in person," she offers and William leaves out a breath.
"Good."
So remarkable, this boy. The level of care and compassion at the frail age of twelve often steals Felicity's breath away.
"Will you stay?" William asks hopefully in a small voice. "I mean. I know you should probably go home and rest." He adds quickly, his eyes falling to the sheets, cheeks slightly staining crimson.
He is sweet and his concern is more than a little touching. But there is no way in hell she is going home tonight. Battered and bruised, her body may have other ideas that involve a hot bubble bath and stretch out between her sinfully soft sheets. Yet her heart knows there is nowhere else she wants to be.
"Of course, I'll stay. I'm not leaving until you do."
The boy smiles sweetly at her from underneath his lashes. He squeezes her hand even tighter, and her heart surges in her chest, the back of her eyes burning.
"I am glad you are okay, Felicity," he whispers even as his eyes fall shut again and she lets him sleep. She will be his Overwatch for the night.
OLIVER
Oliver paces the room in excited anticipation. It is ten to three on a Thursday. Any minute now a guard will show his head into gen-pop and call up his name. It visiting day. Today his wife is visiting, breaking the monotonous dullness of his imprisonment. The one bright spot until Thursday rolls around once again and he gets a ray of sunshine warming his face in the form of Felicity's smile.
He misses her.
He misses William too. His son is not allowed to visit, so the only contact he has with his son is by their evening calls. He wishes he could hug him tight, that kind of hug that makes William squirm in embarrassment. He tells Oliver that he's not a little boy anymore and grown-up don't get hugs like that. It always brings a smile to Oliver's face. He'd tousle his hair and share a secretive grin with his wife over the top of William's head as he grumbled, trying to push his old man away.
Five more minutes.
He can't wait. Yet what are five more minutes in a sea of nothingness?
Oliver walks to his cell's wall, his eyes roaming the small collection of photos he has of his family. He feels especially anxious to see her today.
Last week, Oliver's faced his own reality and it finally clicked for him. Everything Felicity does, how much she cares. How her sometimes nearly cold demeanor when talking to him was all but a façade to protect her soul from more heartache. This place, the lack of privacy and frustration of not being able to hold a single intimate conversation getting to the both of them. The torture of never being able to touch.
And yet, Felicity fought her way up to the fucking Warden, protecting his back even when she couldn't watch over him in person.
God, he wishes he could have been a fly on the wall. Watch his petite yet scarily fierce wife talk to the most respected and feared man in this institution. It was priceless knowing the Warden didn't stand a chance.
Even now, it makes Oliver smile with pride. That's his wife.
People tend to underestimate her, think of her as weak, yet they have no idea what she is capable of, how fierce of a fighter she is. A lioness.
He might be getting mushy but he is high with giddy anticipation of finally seeing her after a whole week of having to do without. He is not used to that anymore, to having to restrict himself in his access to her, mind and body and soul.
It took him by absolute surprise, the withdrawal he had to go through once he got here. The prison cell doors clicking behind him and placing a wall between her and his heart. The twitch in his fingers whenever he thought about her. He could swear he felt her phantom touch in the middle of the night. He would instinctively reach out to pull her body closer only to grasp empty air.
Five minutes after three.
Felicity is usually early, even with a three and a half hour drive. With processing through security checkpoints, it always surprises him, but she manages to make it every week.
He's practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, barely able to contain his excitement. His eyes take in the picture of the three of them along with their friends at their wedding reception.
Oliver can't wait to tell his wife he's been playing well with others and he hasn't gotten into any serious fights. He's even made a few friends. For once, his face isn't covered in cuts or bruises. He's sure Felicity will appreciate it.
Look at that. Oliver Queen playing nice.
He doesn't care his excitement makes him feel like when he was six and trying to impress his mom by making it through a four-course business dinner without leaving any food stains on his crisp white shirt.
His health is the only thing he can give her. And for the first time, he has something to offer his wife in return for her support.
The attacks on him didn't stop, not completely, but he is being smarter and the guards are monitoring Oliver more closely now. They step in at any hint of an outnumbered conflict between him and the other inmates. Slowly, the inmates signaling him out are backing off. The word has spread around that guards are no longer turning a blind eye to the fighting involving Oliver Queen. The enemies realize it's not worth the fight with him only to end up with a week in the SHU. Without a doubt, Oliver knows it's his wife's doing, which makes him even more curious about what has transpired in her talk with the Warden.
He doesn't know what to say to that. How to express his gratitude. The turmoil of feelings raving inside his chest whenever he thinks about all the ways she takes care of him has him often choked up.
He hopes that somewhere on those other Earths, the other versions of himself have managed to find her. Hopefully before the disaster of life he has lived. He wants some universal equilibrium where he is actually the good guy, the husband who goes to regular, boring work each morning. The man who bakes souffles and gets her a puppy for their first anniversary.
Oliver made a lot of mistakes in his life but the one good thing will always be marrying this Earth's Felicity. The one thing he has yet to accomplish is to be worth of that gift.
She is coming in a few minutes, though, and Oliver has a plan. He will be the one to carry them through the conversation this time, the one to offer support and comfort. Because until the beatings receded a week ago, he didn't even realize how miserable and self-pitying he was. How little he offered in return when all Felicity was bringing him was light.
This life here, the misery of living inside a prison, that's of his own making. But that doesn't mean he has to be completely worthless to his family in the meantime. They can still talk. He can still be her friend, offer his support.
It's one of the foundations their relationship is based upon and it took him nearly two months to get his head out of his ass to realize that.
Thanks to her, again.
A throat clears in the doorway to his cell and Oliver turns, expecting a guard summoning him, but it's Renley.
"Hey Oliver, I am gonna do some push-ups. You able to watch my back?" he asks timidly. After a week of spending many hours with Oliver, the kid still looks at him like he is his priest, not a fellow inmate.
Oliver smiles, shakes his head. "Sorry, buddy, my wife's visiting today. Should be any minute now."
Renley's face brightens. "Oh, good for you! Say all the best to your lady," he winks and disappears, leaving Oliver alone again.
He could be out there, mingling. Making more possible allies. The call will come through gen-pop either way. But he just doesn't feel like socializing right now, his fingers tingling with nervous energy.
He never realized how long a week is.
Thirty minutes after three, worry starts to creep into his mind. An hour passes before he asks the nicest of his block guards if his wife had arrived and what was taking so long. Unfortunately, the man knows nothing.
For anyone else, Oliver wouldn't think twice at an hour delay. But not his wife. She was never late unless something or someone stopped her.
Anything could have happened to her to be an hour late. She might have problems with her car or there could be a traffic on the highway. Maybe she needed to change her plans last minute due to work and couldn't make it.
Yet it's so unlike her. They cherish all the time they can have together, as limited as it is. All visitors have to leave by 5.30 pm, so she always makes a point to be punctual. In her own words; she isn't spending seven hours in the car with her calves cramping up only to be jipped on time with him.
By half-past four, he is doing push-ups in his cell to get rid of the nervous energy.
By five, with a sinking heart he finally admits to himself she isn't coming.
She must have a good reason. Any reason from her will be good enough for him, he just needs to know she's okay. But the churning in his stomach finally propels him. He quickly makes his way to a small row of phones situated at the other end of gen-pop.
It's early evening, inmates are out talking, playing cards, hustling or exercising. Occupying all working phones.
His eyes nervously cut to the clock on the wall. At half past six, it's dinner call and then it's over. Headcount at seven and then the doors of the cells close for the night. That's still an hour and a half though, and if he's lucky, he will get his hands on a phone within thirty minutes.
Shortly before six, he exhales, his fists unclenching. The guy on the phone in front of him finally sends off his last round of smacking kisses to his Mamacita and Oliver greedily grabs the receiver, punching in the familiar number.
He dials the loft first, a number he knows by heart. It rings and rings, but nobody picks up. Next, he tries her cell phone. Even more surprisingly, this call goes directly to voicemail. Now, he is officially concerned.
His mind racing, he searches his mind for another number to call, but these two are those he uses the most.
"Hey, man! If your old lady's not home and out screwing some new guy, bad luck. Let the rest of us still call ours, okay?"
The murderous look Oliver gives the man behind him in line makes him take a few steps back. His hands shoot up in a placating manner.
"Whatever man, just trying to call my sister, it's her birthday," he explains.
Oliver doesn't have time to engage. He wants to call Diggle but he doesn't know his new number. A monthly occurrence as a result of A.R.G.U.S.'s security measures ironically, it was Felicity who was supposed to bring him Dig's new number today.
Fuck.
He could try Raisa, Rene, Curtis or Dinah, but he doesn't know their numbers by heart. If he runs back to his cell to retrieve them, it will be too late to get back in the line for the phones to be able to get a hold of one until dinner call. He runs his hand nervously through his hair, contemplating whether to risk giving up the phone now and try his luck with the other numbers. That's when he hears his name called from the guard's station.
"Queen! Get your ass over here."
His chest loosens somewhat and he lets the receiver fall, not bothering to properly hang it up as he bolts to the guard's station.
"Yes, sir. Queen here."
"The Warden wants a word with you," the guard says in a bored voice, pulling out the shackles, and Oliver's heart drops.
"The Warden?" he asks suspiciously. There is never a good reason for the Warden of Slabside to want to see an inmate personally.
"Why?"
The guard offers the cuffs, waiting impatiently for Oliver to slip them on, shrugging. "Don't know, don't care. My business is to get you there."
Oliver's eyes cut to the clock on the wall again. It's almost dinner time, the call will come any minute. He has no idea what the Warden wants, but it can't be good and his mind instantly races to his wife, her absence at visitation, and he nearly doubles with worry.
Because Diaz is still on the loose and he can't get a hold of anybody and God, Felicity and William are all he has left.
He nearly doesn't make the walk on his own two feet, his knees shaking underneath him. He knows something has happened.
The elevator ride and subsequent walk once at the administrative level is a relatively short one, yet somehow it feels like an eternity. A heavy feeling of dread fills Oliver's gut, making him wonder if he's walking his own personal green mile here.
The guard escorting him walks into the office, nodding shortly to the secretary before stopping short in front of the Warden's personal office door.
"Queen's here," he tells the middle-aged woman behind the desk and she nods, announcing Oliver's presence through the intercom and then the door opens and he's pushed inside.
Oliver has personally seen the Warden on just two occasions so far, both times from afar and in passing. From close up, Warden Henderson is a tall man with a heavy build, his salt-and-pepper hair buzzed close to his head, military style.
He is sitting behind his desk, but he instantly rises to meet Oliver, an unmistakable sign of respect, which nearly sends Oliver to his knees, because there is no reason for the Warden to offer any respect to Oliver other than when delivering bad news.
"Mr. Queen, we haven't met. Warden Henderson," the Warden says. He doesn't offer his hand. Oliver's own are cuffed in front of him, linked by a chain with his shackled feet. What he sees in the hardened man's eyes is compassion, a foreign concept in a place like this. Oliver's world shatters around him.
"Tell me, are they alive?" he wheezes, his breath hitching in his lungs. "Tell me. Are my wife and son okay?"
The Warden gives him a funny look, cocking his head. "I don't know how you-"
"Are they okay!?" Oliver forcefully pleads and demands at the same time, absolutely terrified and careless in the lack of respect he is showing the Warden. The man must see the devastation written all over his face because he ignores Oliver's manner and goes right for it.
"I just received a call from your lawyer. She informed me your wife and son have been in a car accident earlier today. Their car was involved in a rollover." Oliver's heart stops, skipping a few beats. "They are both apparently out of any danger, but your son needed surgery for a broken arm. Both should be fine. I called you in because I thought you'd want to know."
Oliver's heart restarts a pounding rhythm in his chest. His head spins and he doesn't know how he is still standing.
"They are gonna be okay." The man repeats and there must be something on Oliver's face that alarms him because the Warden gives him a concerned look. "I just wanted to tell you personally. I am sorry. Your wife seems like a nice lady."
That night, he doesn't close his eyes, lying in his cell, terrified as all the worst-case scenarios seize his mind. His suspicion goes instantly to Diaz, but he doesn't have enough information to go on.
The Warden said they were okay, but that was six hours ago, and God knows what happened in the meantime. Are they still safe? Are they hunted? Are they scared? Did John and Lyla take them under A.R.G.U.S.'s protection? He certainly hopes so. But again, he doesn't know.
And the not knowing, the impotence of not being able to do shit about it, is killing him.
Being locked up here while they are out, unprotected and hurt and exposed. In unknown danger. What the hell was he thinking? Exposing his family like that and then leaving them to their own devices to fend for themselves?
He never felt more self-disgust in his life.
It's the not-knowing. It kills him over and over throughout the night.
The first headcount is at six. By seven, the cells open for another count and then breakfast and later they are all ushered like cattle to the yard for exercise. The row of phones mocks him as they walk by. For a moment, he considers it, breaking away and just darting for the receiver. The guards would be on him before the call would even go through and he knows it's his despair talking.
He needs to talk to someone, needs to know his family is alright from somebody he can trust. The inability to do anything is killing him. The images his mind conjured up during the night play on a loop behind his eyelids. It doesn't help that he has a reference image to go hand in hand with his imagination; Felicity's bloodied body broken and limp on a pavement, showered in shards of glass as she bleeds out in his arms. Only this time, next to her is William too, and Oliver is nowhere to be found because he got his ass thrown into prison in a grand self-sacrificing gesture.
By noon, he is stir-crazy, his forehead pressed against the chain link fence. Today, other inmates leave him in peace. They can see the murderous look he is wearing, the tight set of his shoulders, his jaw locked. His patience is non-existent. A loose cannon ready to explode in the face of the first person to as much as look at him wrong.
He lets the Warden's words – a man he didn't even know personally until yesterday – wash over him in another attempt to calm his jagged nerves, "They are going to be okay," "Your wife seems like a nice lady."
He seemed genuine in his concern and that makes it somehow worse. Because Oliver doesn't know. The Warden said a car accident, but his son and wife are at risk of so much worse. Many of his enemies are still running loose around the city without him there to stop them or at least offer protection to the people closest to him.
And then there is still Diaz, free and on the loose. He was weak. He should have insisted Felicity and William go to protective custody. He should never have been so selfish as to allow them to stay in Star City in the first place, so vulnerable and exposed.
He trusts Lyla and Diggle, but for some things, you just can't plan, as seen by yesterday's events and God, he just needs to know they are okay. Just please, let them be okay.
By one in the afternoon, he is ready to jump out of his skin and break out of this place before hitching the first ride back to Star City. Only cold logic stops him, the image of his wife rolling her eyes at him in his mind's eye stopping him from proceeding in the utter lunacy. "Oliver, it's almost a four-hour drive and you will be allowed to get your hands on a phone in less than two. I know you are worried but have a little faith. Also, do the math."
He can't help but smile at that before his face contorts into a grimace because he is obviously going crazy.
Okay. He takes a deep breath. Okay. He can hold out for one more hour.
In the end, he doesn't need to wait that long. Ten minutes later, he is fetched from the yard by a pair of guards and led towards visitations, dread and hope mixing in the pit of his stomach. When he spots Jean and John sitting on the other side of the door, he doesn't know whether to be elated or disappointed.
"Oliver," Jean says in greeting, but it's Diggle who cuts right to the chase.
"They are both fine, man. A little worse for wear but completely fine and safe."
His body sinks into the chair opposite them, his cuffs rattling along with his nerves. He didn't even give the guard the chance to free his hands, so eager to talk to John, but now he rises his linked hands to CO Jenkins, one of the young, nicer officers in a silent plea. Once free, he runs his hands over his face, rubbing it raw, feeling moisture on his cheeks and allowing a single sob to leave his heavy chest. He allows himself this one moment of weakness before he pulls himself together, needing answers.
Again, John beats him to it. "Not Diaz, nor any kind of attack." Oliver opens his mouth, skeptical, ready to argue, but John vehemently shakes his head. "No Oliver. I know what you are thinking, but just no. An accident is all it was, an idiot on the phone who didn't pay enough attention and ran a red light. An accountant with two small kids at home, social security number and ID checks out. It was an accident," he repeats, leaving the words to hang in the air and sink in, but his eyes are open and unyielding holding Oliver's. Thank God that John – bless his heart – knows him so well, for this is exactly what Oliver needed.
A choking sound leaves him, half sob and half a gulp of breath, a fish out of water, because now that the adrenaline is wearing off, the jitters of panic and anxiety are slowly creeping up his spine, a sickening feeling finding residence in the pit of his stomach. Oliver knows he won't be able to shake the feeling for days.
He never could deal with bad news well, never could stand still and wait out a storm. Always had to do something. Whether beat up a bunch of Miracuru soldiers or Dhark's ghosts, but his hands are chained now. This situation right here, sitting on his ass and waiting for news while leaving others to take care of what is most precious to him, it's pure agony.
"How are they? Tell me what happened," he forces through gritted teeth, forcing the light-headedness to subside, squeezing his eyes shut to not see the dark spots dance in front of his vision.
So close to losing it. To losing them.
"Felicity was driving William to school. An asshole in an SUV rammed them from the side at full speed, causing the car to flip on its roof. My guys from Felicity's security detail were in a car right behind them, so they were there in a matter of seconds. The emergency vehicles got to the scene within five minutes. Cut them out from their seatbelts." Oliver's stomach gives an involuntary lurch. "Both are black and blue but all things considered, still incredibly lucky.
"William has an open fracture to his ulna below his elbow. He was taken into surgery and had his arm reset. He's wearing a cast now. He is being released," John gives his watch a quick glance at his watch, "as we speak."
Oliver really has a hard time concentrating on not emptying the contents of his stomach right there to the feet of his best friend and lawyer.
When he doesn't speak, John reaches out to pat Oliver's hand, a quick touch of reassurance before the guard notices. "They are going to be fine, man. I swear to you." Seeing the slightly sickened look on Oliver's face, his features gentle. "Nearly gave me a heart attack, too."
"Felicity?" he presses, because though he got detailed information about his son's condition, there was so little said about his wife.
"Fine. Her left side took most of the damage. She has a few cuts, a lot of bruising and abrasions. She has one helluva shiner, but nothing that won't heal over time. She has a mild concussion but nothing is broken. You know our girl, she is a tough cookie, that one. Went full protective mamma bear in the hospital with William," Diggle adds, offering Oliver an amused, knowing smile. "She hasn't left his side since signing herself out."
At that mental image, Oliver barks out a laugh that ends on a sob, because of course, of course Felicity would do that, and Oliver uses both his hands to wipe his eyes and cheeks dry.
"Call her, man," Diggle says. "Tonight, your usual time, she'll be waiting." John's words shouldn't surprise him, but they do.
"She lost her phone in the crash but she already re-routed her number. I'm supposed to let you know they'll both be waiting. Also, in Felicity's own words, don't you dare do anything stupid." John says with a smirk, a knowing twinkle in his eyes and this time, Oliver's bark of laughter is genuine.
"A stupid accident, Oliver. Nothing more."
He tries to play by the rules and wait until five pm their usual time to call. He only manages until half past three when the cell doors officially open to gen-pop for the afternoon. Still, an achievement, he thinks as he waits for the call to go through, considering he was ready to break out of this place just a few hours ago.
She picks up on the second ring as if she was awaiting his call, and who is he kidding, of course she was.
"Hey, baby," she greets and he has to lean heavily against the concrete wall to not slide down at the wave of relief that washes over him at the sound of her voice.
He nearly mewls, his throat clogged. He can't find his voice after that, but it doesn't matter, his wife knows him anyway. She carries the conversation, shares as much as she can to appease his mind that's still on edge. He can hear the amusement in her voice when she finally calls William over. Oliver lets his son's voice wash over him like a balm as he enthusiastically tells him about his cast. How he and Felicity spent the past two hours drawing pictures and writing silly notes all over it.
They are too upbeat, too cheery, no doubt playing it up for him, wanting to calm him, take away his worry. It works though, the love that surges inside his chest for them being almost too much.
He tells his son he is proud of him. Instructs him to take it easy though, and to watch out for Felicity. Then he tells his wife the same.
They are a well-played duo by now, they both answering in kind. He was never more grateful for the fact that they have each other.
"I love you guys. So much."
"We love you too, Oliver."
"Yeah, dad, don't worry about us."
His heart surges, the longing so sharp it's a stabbing pain in his chest. He barely made it two months without them.
He honestly can't imagine a lifetime.
A/N: Would love to hear your thoughts.
