*Warning* This story deals with mental illness and more specifically depression. This goes a little further than simply 'angst'.
I would also like to preface this by explaining that this is my interpretation of depression, and anyone who's ever struggled with it knows that it's impossible to explain. Depression is a whirlwind of contradictions; it's feeling too much and nothing at all. It's panicking over frivolous things and not reacting to your own life. I find that writing about it is the only way to actually explain what's going on inside my head.
I'm always a little weary of posting something like this. Because inevitably I'll get some hate, likely from people who know nothing of mental illness. There will be complaints with the way it was resolved/handled. It'll be too dark or not dark enough.
But for me, this is a fairly accurate depiction. It is in no way the whole struggle, but a snapshot and that 'aha' moment that is so impossible to withstand but so important for recovery.
So without further ado (and no more justification for something I believe is right), here is the next 'Stay the night' one-shot.
Felicity wrapped the blanket more tightly around her shoulders as she settled in for another long night. Her blue eyes were alert and fixed on the sleeping form in her bed. His breathing was steady and his face relaxed but still her heart beat too quickly and the too familiar thrum of panic rushed through her veins.
It had been eleven days since Oliver Queen had come back from the dead. Officially anyway. He'd been a little vague on the actual time he'd been dead for and how he'd been resurrected.
It had been a day like any other. Or like every day since she'd found an arrow on her work desk and a piece of paper that contained four words. Four words that changed her world forevermore and tilted all that was real on its head. Oliver Queen is dead. Every day after that was a blur of faces and grey. Whole conversations had been held without her input and left her memory as soon as they ended. No tears had been shed. She'd simply shut down. Her team was dealing with their loss and had wanted to be with her. But Felicity wanted nothing. Or perhaps more honestly, there was only one thing, one person that she wanted. But he was dead.
So she went about her life. She woke up in the morning and showered, though the once comforting scent of her shampoo didn't register anymore. As she got ready for work she unconsciously opted for more neutral colors. She wore no makeup. Her hair remained down so she could hide behind it when she needed some privacy. The coffee she had once craved had no taste. The faces that swam in and out of her world were blurred and indistinct.
Simply put: Felicity survived. She existed.
She was existing on the day that Oliver Queen walked into her office, ignoring her EA's proclamation that she was busy. She made no move as he marched into his old office and came to a stop before her desk. She watched as his eyes did a cursory check of his surroundings, of her. She noted the way that they narrowed in concern as they touched upon her grey shirt and black pants. She blinked as he opened his mouth and said her name. Or maybe he hadn't, because as she stared up at him she didn't hear anything over the roar in her ears. Her eyes closed just before she slumped in her chair.
When she'd come to, it had been Oliver's irritated order for her EA to "get the hell out of this office" that brought her world crashing down around her. He was dead. He was supposed to be dead. Nyssa would have been thorough. Her murmured "how?" wasn't how Oliver had expected their reunion to happen, she would see it in his eyes, but nothing else came to mind.
He hadn't given her much insight into the "how" of it all. He'd been back for eleven days and he had never been far from her side.
Yet as she watched him sleep in her bed for the eleventh time she still couldn't accept that he was really there. She'd been so careful not to touch him. So careful not to make eye contact. But Oliver knew her, knew her better than he knew himself. So here he slept, in her bed, where she could keep watch over him. He knew that despite the fact that she hadn't said a word to him since "how" that she needed him near.
Felicity inhaled deeply as a jagged streak flash through her chest. She had prayed that she'd see him again. And here he was. But what if he wasn't?
She knew she wasn't okay. She knew that her mind was sick, that the apathy was a symptom of something far more dangerous. She knew that losing him had broken something inside of her that she was afraid to confront. Felicity knew that everyone had expected her to jump for joy and cry and laugh and throw herself into his arms. But she hadn't. Felicity was supposed to be the light in their darkness. But Oliver had become hers. And she had fractured. She now fully understood why Oliver had pushed her away after their almost-date. She knew the horror of losing him. And she simply couldn't allow herself the pain of it again.
Her jaw clenched as she fought a war within herself. He was alive. If she just reached out and touched him, she'd know it. If she just allowed herself to leave the apathy then she could be happy again. But what if she touched him and he was a cruel figment of her fractured mind? What if she couldn't be happy again? What if the numbness was permanent?
Oliver rolled over in his sleep and burrowed his ear into her pillow. She watched in fascination as he breathed out her name. But it wasn't her name that did it, it wasn't the fact that he was dreaming of her. It was the way he wrinkled his nose up so innocently, too innocently to be a dream, that broke the dams.
Felicity folded in on herself as the tears cascaded down her cheeks and a sob ripped itself through her body. Despite her turmoil she knew that Oliver had woken up. He lay perfectly still as he watched her break into a million pieces, with the exception of the fingers that were bunched tightly in her sheets to keep him from reaching for her.
Felicity gripped her knees tightly to her chest and screamed against the pain that coursed through her. She was overwhelmed by the grief that was thrust upon her and she wondered if it was possible to die from this kind of pain. The tears soaked her shirt and irritated her skin as her body raged against her for refusing to feel for so long. Three months of pent up everything tore her apart, leaving everything she knew and everything she had been, lying jagged in pieces around her.
She cried for minutes, hours perhaps and Oliver Queen cried with her. His eyes never left her even as they too blurred and reddened. He never moved from his place despite the physical pain it must have caused him to not reach for her and take the pain away.
The light in her room softened as the sun began to rise. Her throat ached and so did her skin. The tears had dried up and only her breathing remained unsteady. Her gaze remained on Oliver even as she wiped at her face and sniffled into her hands.
She was scared. Terrified. The last several hours had been agony and she didn't ever want to feel like that again. And Oliver Queen was no average guy. He wouldn't work 9-5 and come home to her safely each night. He fought criminals and got hurt so often.
She didn't think she'd survive losing him again.
He moved from his stomach and sat up on her bed, cross-legged across from her. His eyes carried the understanding that he knew what she was going through. That he knew the struggle she was facing. But he made no move and spoke no words to assure her or convince her. He simply waited.
In the silence, the sunlight began to change her surroundings. The harsh darkness and greys gave way to yellows and pinks. As the darkness receded and color surrounded her, she unfolded her body and took a deep breath. Oliver too, inhaled deeply and waited. Felicity rose to unsteady feet and placed one knee and then the other on her mattress. Only inches separated their body but Oliver was patient as she slowly found her courage. One hand lifted and reached toward his cheek. Her fingertips brushed against his stubble and pulled back quickly. She closed her eyes and exhaled. A tear escaped as both hands moved upwards to cup his face. A gasp escaped as he leaned into her touch and her eyes popped open. Oliver's eyes were so focused and the love in them fell upon her.
"Oliver." She breathed out on a prayer.
His control snapped and he pulled her into his lap, crushing her against his chest. Her face pressed against his neck and she could feel his pulse against her cheek. She mumbled words against his throat and his hands moved comfortingly along her back. It was only when she heard him mumbling against her hair that she realized he'd lost her too.
The Felicity he'd said goodbye to wasn't the one he'd come back to. He loved her and he'd probably held onto that as he fought his way back to her. She apologized as her lips brushed against his shoulder. He pulled her chin up and kissed her into silence. She felt their tears mingle as his lips brushed against hers.
Felicity would never be the same. And neither would he. But she had a feeling that they'd adjust. They'd face their new reality head on. And they'd do it together.
As they lay together, the sunlight chased away the shadows and Felicity once again saw her world in color.
Try not to be too harsh. Thanks for reading. Happy New Years.