"Roy," John sighed, sounding for all the world like an impatient adult reprimanding a small child. But there was no anger in his voice, just resignation. He knew this train of thought would only lead to more heartbreak and pain. He would not encourage the boy's …

Diggle did not get to finish the thought, because at that moment Felicity sprang up from the bed, Oliver's pillow still clutched to her chest as if it were a life-west, and began pacing up and down between the two men. After a while she mumbled a short "Yes!" then shook her head as if she was holding a silent conversation with herself. Finally she stopped, seemingly having reached a decision.

"He is right, Dig. We have to find him! We have to bring Oliver home!" She looked wide-eyed at the man sitting on the bed, her voice full of conviction, full of new purpose, as she said those words.

Diggle knew she was waiting for him to say something… anything… and he was loath to steal that hope away from her, but if he didn't stop her, stop THEM now, this would only lead to disaster. They had to accept that Oliver was dead, that he wouldn't come back… miraculously… a second time. Taking a deep breath, Diggle looked down at his hands, praying to find the right words to say.

"Felicity…" he began.

But the blond IT-girl had already turned away from him, too impatient to wait for an answer, striding with renewed energy to the bank of computers in the middle of the Foundry, all the while muttering to herself: "Why didn't I think of this? Where do I start? I've to… hm… Yes, yes. That might work."

Her fingers flitted this way and that and the computers and monitors in the Foundry awoke to new life under Felicity's magic touch. She kept walking from one screen to the next, her fingers ghosting over keyboards and pressing keys, entering code-words here and search phrases there.

Damnit! Diggle looked accusingly at Roy, his eyes clearly saying 'This is your fault! You did this! And now I have to fix it!' before standing up and following Felicity, leaving a perplexed Roy standing next to Oliver's bed.

"What?", asked Roy under his breath, bewildered at the silent non-conversation that had just taken place between him and the older man – well, it had been mostly Diggle 'speaking' – then he shrugged his shoulders and followed him.

When Diggle finally reached her, he stepped into blond whirlwind's way. "Felicity?" he said, laying a hand on her shoulder. She stopped what she was doing and looked up at him. "John?"

Taking a deep breath and then blowing it out slowly, he looked directly into her eyes. "Don't do this Felicity. Don't do this to yourself."

„Do what, John?"

Diggle sighed. „Do I really have to spell it out for you?"

She didn't say anything, just waited for him to continue.

So be it, John thought. Better do it now than picking up the pieces later. "He's dead, Felicity. He won't be coming back! You have to know that! You have to accept…"

At this she finally exploded. "Don't you think I know that?" Felicity hissed, throwing up her hands agitatedly. "Do you think me a fool, John." - "I know that he is dead! I know!"

"Then what…?" He asked bewildered.

Felicity blew out a deep breath, trying to calm herself. It wasn't Diggle's fault. He was just looking out for her. „His body, John. I want to bring home his body," she whispered sadly. "He belongs home, with us."

xoxoxo

Maseo gazed sadly through the bars into the dark cell. On a thin, dank mattress, pushed into the furthest corner of the room, a man lay, his eyes staring into nothingness - had been for two days now, since Ra's had raised his unconscious body from the pit, healed from his grievous wounds, and had born him to this place. Maseo knew, he should rejoice, because his friend lived. 'But is this really living?' he asked himself sadly.

For all intents and purposes, Oliver looked dead… if it hadn't been for the steady rise and fall of his chest. Sometimes he would blink. Or mutter. Sometimes a shudder would take hold of the man's whole body. But mostly he was just laying still. A living corpse, Maseo thought.

Maseo nodded to the two men guarding the cell, before sliding back the bolt and opening the door carefully. He entered the cell on silent feet, walking forward until had nearly reached the man, leaving maybe three or four feet to spare. Only then did he kneel and set down the bowl, pushing it forward another few inches with his hands. Better to be safe…

Last time… Maseo shuddered at the memory… hadn't been so pleasant. Bringing with him a bowl filled with oatmeal, Maseo had opened the cell's door, hoping Oliver would recognize or react to him in some way. He'd entered the cell and walked up to the silent form on the mattress, kneeling next to it. "I know you are in there somewhere, Oliver…. - You have to eat something… my friend," he had whispered, speaking the last two words hesitantly.

When no reaction had come, not even a blink of an eyes, he had set down the bowl with one hand, while touching Oliver's shoulder with the other. And at that point, everything had gone utterly, utterly wrong. He'd found himself staring at the ceiling of the cell, strong hands pressing down on his throat, nearly suffocating him. Oliver had knelt above him, staring at him with wild, uncomprehending eyes, his whole body wracked by shudders. - Then, as if some invisible strings had been cut, he'd tumbled back against the wall, crawling backwards until he could go no further, muttered and hissed barely audible words. "No… touch. Touch hurts. Don't touch. Don't know! Please… hurts… no… touch… no! Don't! …"

Maseo had not dared to move again, for fear of startling Oliver a second time. He'd also feared what the guards would do… to the man… if they witnessed this behavior. So he'd waited until the mutterings had ceased, before picking himself off the ground. Looking down at his friend, he'd found the man awake, but his eyes … they had been staring straight ahead … into nothingness.

And they still did…

Maseo shook himself from the memory and stood up. "I have to leave… - but I will come back tomorrow." It was a promise.