Author's note:

I had to split this up into two chapters – this is the first part. It serves as an establishing chapter (and is still pretty long). Things really pick up in the next one. Writing a multi-chapter story is always nerve-wracking for me, but I think I have a good sense of where this is going. Hard times ahead, but it will work out in the end! Thanks for taking the time to read :)

The Games We Play, the People We Lose

The road to hell is paved with good intentions ~Proverb

Chapter Two

No one can accuse him of having insincere intentions.

But what use are good intentions when there is no follow-through? When they result in everything going to hell?

He's lucky if he gets a solid four hours a night.

He usually makes do with three – doesn't mind it, actually.

It's easier, in a way.

The things he sees, through eyes wide open, pale in comparison to the images that haunt him – plague his thoughts – when he happens to fall asleep.

The guilt with which he is constantly ridden manifests itself into dreams of the worst kind. Dreams so vivid, he wakes up, night after night in a pool of sweat, incessantly rubbing at his blood-soaked hands.

Sometimes, he is reliving a scene where he's forced to choose who he'll save – where rescuing both is never an option, because he must pick only one. In the end, he doesn't ever have enough time. He's simply left falling, only to wake up in anguish, contemplating his past actions and his inaction.

His inaction is the heaviest burden and he wears it like a mantle. It's what really eats away at him. Because it was fear and cowardice and self-preservation that led to his indecision – to his failure to commit.

Sometimes he just won't go to bed, to avoid the hassle of nightmares altogether. Tonight however, he can't sleep.

As exhausted as he is, there's something gnawing at his insides. He's unable to describe it. It unsettles him because it's different. It's not just the sensations of residual remorse and self-reproach, but a feeling that everything is about to be turned on its head.

Boy, he needs a drink. Something strong, something bitter that will burn.

Either that, or somebody to take his mind off of all this – a leggy blonde or a tall brunette, someone who will just smile a pretty smile and say even less.

But, even sex is only a temporary outlet. Besides, he regrets it almost immediately, every time. He tries to avoid it altogether and he's successful for the most part, but Oliver isn't a saint. He's a man.

If anything, he's a sinner.

In hindsight, it will be a good thing – that he's already awake – will help him move that much faster.

He's on push-up ninety-three when his phone goes off.

"Speedy? Everything okay?"

He checks his watch. It reads 3:07 am.

"Ollie, I didn't know if I should call. But then…she…oh God," she fumbles in between sobs to find the words.

"Thea, are you alright? Tell me," he prompts with an immediate urgency.

"What's wrong Thea? Thea? Where's Roy?"

Oliver hears shuffling and a soothing voice in the background.

"Hey, hey, come 'ere. I thought we decided not to call…yet."

He recognizes it as Roy's.

"He needs to know."

"shh…'ts okay, gimme the phone, I'll talk to him."

What is going on?

He looks over to his computer set-up, there is no incessant beeping, no blaring red light – all should be quiet on the Starling city front.

Should be, but clearly isn't.

"Hello," Roy's voice is scratchy through the line.

"What the hell is going on Roy?"

At the sound of his voice, Roy can't help but shudder. Oliver's own hair stands on end.

"Why is my sister crying?"

"Oliver, Thea's fine. She just thought you'd want to know...jeez man, I'm sorry…something's happened," he lets out uneasily.

Roy inhales deeply before continuing. He knows that nothing can prepare Oliver for his next words.

"It's Felicity. She was in an accident. They're saying it's serious."

He sees black before his vision starts to blur. Somewhere along the line, as Roy is mumbling words like "still alive" and "wait," Oliver disconnects the call.

-/-

For forty-five seconds, he doesn't know what to do. He can't move, his feet firmly rooted to the ground.

The computer pings, drawing his attention to Diggle's face at the bottom right corner of the screen. Oliver walks over and accepts the invitation.

"John, what happened?" he attempts to regulate the tremor of his words.

"It was a car accident. A hit and run."

He continues, "Just after one this morning. She was alone."

"Oliver it's bad," John goes on, answering his friend's unasked question.

"I booked you the next flight out, forwarding the itinerary now. It's not direct, but it's the only one that'll get you hear before noon."

His phone goes off, notifying him of a new email.

He doesn't have much time; his flight leaves in an hour.

-/-

He steps off the plane and almost doesn't recognize his surroundings. Turns out John was serious about the airport's attempt to completely 'revamp'. The welcome sign is printed in a light blue – meant to comfort and soothe – it immediately unsettles his insides, however.

He's only been back once.

In the four years of his absence, Oliver has been back only once.

Three years ago – that feel almost like thirty.

Six hours after she was born. All rosy cheeks and chubby little limbs. Ten elegant fingers. Ten stubby toes.

There was no other word for it, she was beautiful.

Up until three years ago, Oliver's heart had belonged to only one woman. A woman who was superior to him in every possible way – a woman whose light soothed his tattered soul.

But as he stood there watching through the glass – he couldn't help it – the little blue-eyed baby girl took his breath, and his heart away.

-Begin Flashback-

He recognizes her almost immediately.

She has her mother's eyes – perfectly round, wide and a calming shade of blue.

As he's standing outside the nursery – once again looking from the outside in – Oliver realizes he gave up more than even he bargained for.

He gave up a family.

His family.

Their family.

It's then that he notices the white label at the base of her little portable hospital crib. The pink calligraphy outlining the little girl's name.

And that's when Oliver feels himself coming apart – his tough exterior shattering to pieces on the polished hospital floor.

Years ago – they had both been under the influence of something pilfered from the Queen wine cellar – he let it slip that the first time he remembered truly experiencing loss was when his grandmother had passed.

"I was 8 and she had meant the world. She had been my favourite person in the world – shown me so much love and affection.''

Felicity had taken his hand and began rubbing soothing circles with her thumb, said eyes meeting his. Oliver never wanted to let go.

"Her name was Alison...Alison Queen."

-End Flashback-

It's a shade past 11:30 as he makes his way through the terminal – moving towards the street exit – when a hand lands on his shoulder.

Oliver relaxes at the familiarity of the contact, the comfort of its weight.

"John," he says before turning.

"Didn't think I was going to leave you to your own devices, did you?"

He raises an eyebrow before adding good-naturedly, "I am your black driver after all."

Oliver smiles genuinely and extends his hand.

But John's having none of that. He pulls the younger man into a hug.

"It's been too long brother. Too long."

The words are muffled by the leather of his jacket, but Oliver has no trouble hearing them.

-/-

Once in the car, Diggle immediately gives him a quick overview of Felicity's condition.

"She's stable but critical; she's scheduled for surgery in a bit."

To which Oliver says nothing.

"The doctors are optimistic."

He looks over at his younger friend who continues to look out the passenger window, the prominent vein at his temple pulsing.

And then, completely ignoring Oliver's protestations, John doesn't drive to the hospital, but heads home instead.

Neither of them brings up Palmar, avoiding him altogether, but only delaying the inevitable.

The Diggle house is strangely empty and quiet – with Lya at work and Sarah at school – but it's still the same. Still emanates a sense of home. John shows him to the guestroom. He points in the direction of the bathroom, "Go take a shower, freshen up and then we can head out."

"Oh and I've already laid out your towels on the rack," he adds.

Oliver simply nods and then goes to say something, but John silences him with a reciprocated nod and a squeeze of his shoulder.

-/-

Starling City Memorial is busy for a Wednesday afternoon. Everyone is moving about with purpose, patients and staff alike. For some reason, Oliver feels Diggle and himself stick out almost instantly.

He waits off to the side as Diggle speaks to the nurse, inquiring about Felicity's condition.

"Mr. Diggle, she was taken into surgery just over an hour ago. The procedure will be another 5 or 6 hours."

The same nurse then shows them to a waiting area with big monitors on the wall.

"This is her, here." She's pointing to an 8-digit code, next to which, red letters are flashing: IN PROCEDURE.

"When it's done, the red will turn to green and it will say: POST-OP," she continues, watching both men intently.

"Then, shortly after, someone should be in to speak with the family."

John places a kind hand at her elbow, "Thank you Carrie, it's much appreciated."

The two men forgo the family waiting room – which already contains a few people – and turn the corner to find a row of chairs against the wall.

Time passes and nothing happens. They sit in silence, lost in their respective thoughts. John occasionally checks the screen in the waiting room – no change. Later, he takes a call. He comes back and says that he needs to step out for a few minutes. Oliver looks up and nods.

(He's been doing that a lot lately.)

Something's been troubling him since he found out, eating away at him.

Why was she alone? Walking around in the middle of the night?

Of all people, Ray Palmar should have known better than to let her go off alone.

The streets of Starling – regardless of evening patrols – were no place for a young woman to be travelling alone, so late in the night.

Oliver makes his way to the doorway of the waiting area and sneaks a glance at the monitor – still red. He hears voices, but doesn't see anyone. He begins walking back to his seat, when the little girl's voice gets louder.

"Daddy, when's mommy coming home? Huh daddy, when? I miss her."

"I know sweetheart, I miss her too. But the doctors here are looking after mommy. They're going to make her good as new, so we can take her home," comes the father's reply. His voice is tired and weary.

"Really daddy, so we can take her home?" came an excited squeal.

"Yeah, munchkin, so we can take her home."

They're silent for a moment and then the child speaks.

"Daddy, mommy provlly misses her comfuters lots, right daddy?"

Oliver can't help the small smile that escapes his lips.

"Not as much as she's missing you," the man answers with what must be a tickle because the child bursts into giggles.

"And you too daddy, mommy wuvs you too. She tol' me."

"Sweetheart, how about some ice cream while we wait, we'll go to the park?"

"Yay! Ice cream!"

Oliver hears footsteps racing to the door.

"Hey, wait for daddy, no running if you want ice cream," her father lets out as he gathers their things.

But the little girl's out of the room and almost runs into Diggle, who is making his way back down the corridor.

"Uncle John!" she yells and runs into his open arms.

And then it hits Oliver.

(It may have even hit him earlier, but denial is a powerful monster.)

"Alison, baby, what are you doing without your dad?"

(Seeing – hearing – is believing.)

John's eyes meet Oliver's over her dirty blonde ponytail.

Oliver is thankful that he's right at the corner because in the next ten seconds Ray Palmar walks out of the room and makes his way to where his daughter is nestled in John's arms.

Oliver turns the corner and begins walking.

Until the voices become whispers.

He keeps walking, taking rights and making lefts.

Until he can no longer hear them.

But that's when they become the voices in his head.

He ends up in the men's room, dry heaving in the sink.

TBC

Yay! You made it! Thanks for reading. Any thoughts?