#####OQ#####

Thrusting his hand in his pocket, Oliver fingered her hair tie and it helped calmed him as he paced the hall outside her room. His gut burned.

How had he let himself lose control? He knew better and now wasn't the time to act like an idiot with Felicity sick. His hands fisted, and he ached to hit something hard, to work his muscles until he found numb again.

His chest heaved as only his promise to her kept his still bandaged hands from punching the wall behind him.

Mae frowned at him and shook her gray head as she walked out of Felicity's room. "You need to get control of yourself right now young man."

Emotions threatened to overpower him and he pressed his teeth together to stop the scream that wanted to rip out of his throat.

Instead he nodded. "You're right. I'm better now. The question is how is she?"

His tone sounded desperate, but it took all he had in him not to buckle under the strain. For years, he'd survived by shutting off his emotions, walling them off, no one could hurt him if he kept numb and didn't feel. But Felicity had broken the dam, with her smiles and her love, his walls had tumbled down, and he couldn't attempt to rebuild them with Felicity sick. The woman had crept into his heart and forced him to feel such happiness and now such pain.

"She's better than you are right now." Mae twisted her wedding ring. "She's had a breathing treatment. But you're going to have to do a better job of holding it together. This is going to get a lot worse before it gets better. And if you panic, she will too. Don't make me throw you out of her room."

"Don't be sure you could." He couldn't keep the dark edge out of his voice.

She raised an eyebrow at him, and he felt like a small child caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

Looking at the wall behind Mae's shoulder, he sighed and admitted, "Alright, I lost it in there. Normally, I never panic, but the last few months have been hard on me." He scrubbed his face with his hands before adding, "I don't know what's wrong with me? I'll do better. I promise. I just need to know how to help her when she can't breathe."

"Stop beating yourself up, Oliver. You're both under a lot of stress right now and staying calm is the first step. Call for the nurse then get Felicity to focus on her breathing. Sit her up. She needs to inhale slowly through her nose and push out through her mouth, like she's trying to whistle. Help her slow down and think. If both of you panic, she could die. You need to keep a clear head since you won't be fighting to breathe. Do you understand me?"

"Yes, I understand, and I won't let it happen again."

"Good, I'll have the respiratory therapist talk to both of you and run through some practice sessions. But you have to calm down or you're never going to survive this."

"You'd be surprised what I can survive."

"I'm sure that's true, but for now you need to throttle back, which means for the next six hours you're banned from her room."

"Banned? You can't do that." His voice cracked.

"I can and I have. You're past exhausted. Go home, Oliver."

"I'm not exhausted."

"You are." Her voice softened and she patted his forearm. "Honestly, when's the last time you slept? How many days has it been now?"

He looked away from her, his heart pounding, as he shrugged. "I'm fine. I'll catch a nap in a little while, when she's asleep."

Mae shook her head. "You're not fine. You look like hell. Now I want you to go home, sleep, eat and take a shower. Not necessary in that order. Dr's orders."

"No. I need to stay here with her."

"You need to go home. Look, I gave her something to help her rest and her fever's still low grade. She's holding on pretty well." Mae reached and patted his arm and he allowed her touch. "Go home, she won't even know you're gone. I'll have them call your cell, if something happens."

"But?"

"But nothing. You're banned." She waved her pointer finger at him, her tone flat and harsh. "You've had enough. Come back in six hours. No sooner. Go. Now. Rest. Eat. Shower."

"But?"

"Argue and I'll make it eight hours, maybe ten. Now go! I've got things to do. Trust me I'll keep her safe. GO!"

He felt like his mother had sent him to his room, as Mae waved him away. He watched her turn and walk away, leaving him no choice but to leave.

On the way to the parking lot, Thea texted him, and he finally called his sister and explained. And for the first time, he didn't lie and tell her everything was fine, when his life wasn't fine at all.

No, not at all.

#####OQ#####

Thea made him feel better.

She insisted Felicity drowning was NOT his fault. His sister encouraged him to not blame himself, and even if he didn't believe her, he still felt better because she'd said the words.

She'd offered to come, to be with him, but he'd refused.

No, he didn't want her here with him. He didn't want her or anyone to see him out of control, or realize how lost he'd become without Felicity.

So he drove back to the rental, and he did what Mae ordered.

He stood at the sink and ate part of a sandwich and an apple. The rest he wrapped in plastic wrap and put back in the fridge. Grabbing the orange juice, he poured a glass and wondered if she'd drank out of the carton already.

Shaking his head, with a slight smile, he lifted his glass. "To Felicity's spit." And he drank the juice.

Maybe they could buy two cartons?

Hmm.

A his and hers kind of thing.

A slow smile lit his lips.

Stripping, he stepped into a quick very hot shower.

But it didn't help as he cleaned his body, the ice still encased his chest.

Dressing in boxers, he fell into bed that smelled like her and his heart ached. Pulling her pillow into his arms, he breathed her scent in, closed his eyes, and told his brain to stop thinking.

Tired, exhausted, almost dead on his feet, he had to recharge.

And he shut his eyes, surrendering to the darkness.

#####OQ#####

Strong hands forced him under the frigid water, trapping him.

His right eye swelled shut, he could barely see the men who pulled him from the water. But he fought against his chains, his wrists slick with blood, his arms bound behind his back.

Yet, he couldn't escape his tormentors or his chains.

The men pushed his head under again, held him, and he struggled, fought, not to inhale.

Someone punched him hard in the kidney, and he sucked cold water in, swallowing hard and choking.

Jerking him out of the water, a large man slapped him over and over. Blind, he gagged water.

He vomited water, choking. Wrenching over and over, he choked on the water.

"Tell me. Now."

"I don't know." He screamed.

But, if he could get loose, he'll kill them all.

He inhaled as the hard hands plunged him under the cold water again.

The hands held him under for long enough to almost kill him.

When he became desperate for air, they dragged him out of the water again.

He couldn't take much more, but he couldn't make them stop, either.

They plunged his head under again and again. Fighting them, he panicked, drowning again.

In misery, lungs burning, chest screaming in pain, his head pounded from the carbon dioxide building up in his blood stream. Drowning, panic engulfing him, he inhaled against his will and sucked the water into his throat and his heart roared in his ears.

They pulled him out and he gasped air and puked water.

"Tell me where he is?"

The torture continued, long past the time when he would have broken and told them everything but he didn't know what they wanted. "Stop, please, no more. I don't know. I'd tell you if I knew."

But they didn't stop, and he couldn't make them until everything went black.

He came back puking water, gagging, retching, sick from swallowing the water as they revived him again, hit him with the defibrillator. "Hit him again."

"He's awake."

"I know. Hit him again."

He screamed as his chest exploded in pain. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think as the men rolled him over and drug him across the floor to plunge him back into the water.

No, his mind screamed, as he fought his body to not inhale the water, to not breath in and swallow the cold water. The pain in his chest, in his head, intensified.

"Ready to talk now." The hands jerked him out of the water.

"Let me die. Damn you kill me or I'll kill you all."

But the men gave him no mercy and he struggled not to breath.

Sweating buckets, he jerked awake fighting the covers. Screaming, gagging, and fighting the hard hands, he couldn't find now.

For an instant, he lay trapped in the past. He felt the men's strong hands, saw the dark, felt the pain, as they drowned him and revived him over and over again.

Reality disappeared and only his panic remained.

Stop screaming.

He covered his ears with his hands.

You have to stop screaming.

Get control.

NOW.

Shaking, heart pounding, chest aching from the memory, he gasped in the dark room. Nauseated, he jumped from the bed, barely making the toilet before everything in his stomach came rushing up, and he retched like in his dream.

Finally, the sickness over, he arose from his knees and rinsed his mouth. With hands that had a slight tremor, he brushed his teeth and washed his face. But he turned away from the mirror. He'd known this memory waited to torment him, so he'd avoided sleep, except for cat naps, since he'd let her drown.

Guilt ate him making his stomach clinch.

He cradled his head in his hands.

He'd let her drown. He'd let her suck the water in. She knew what breathing in the water felt like now.

He scrubbed his face with his hands, sick to his stomach again as relief flooded his mind that at least Felicity hadn't witnessed this nightmare, she hadn't heard him lose total control.

How could he explain his panic to her? As man who didn't panic, he couldn't accept that lately he couldn't control his emotions or his nightmares.

And Felicity would want him to talk about his dreams, would wanted him to get help. She worried about his dreams and wanted to help him work through them. But how could he tell her about what they had done to him? How could he tell her that those men had broken him? And how could he tell her he'd learned from his tormentors and used the same torture on others?

He couldn't share that darkness with her.

How could he tell her about the monster inside?

How could he tell her that he'd tortured other men with water?

Lately he'd entertained thoughts about asking her to marry him. But how could he even think about marrying her with such darkness inside him? Was her drowning and now her suffering his penance for all the terrible things he'd done?

No, he couldn't believe that.

But what if it was true?

He fisted his hands to stop them from shaking.

The ache to hit something became so strong, it almost overpowered him. The urge to rip the room apart, to beat the walls, and break the mirrors filled him.

Wrapping his arms around himself, he held on. "You promised not to beat your hands up again. You promised Felicity, and I will keep my promise."

But his words didn't stop the ache or push back his dark thoughts.

Terror, the panic of his thoughts, Felicity's illness, him letting her drown and the dream rushed through his mind.

It had to stop. He had to stop thinking or go insane.

All the horror he'd buried laid simmering under the surface now, haunting him, tormenting him.

Panting, he cradled his head in his hands, trying to find some semblance of control, as memories of some of his darkest days flooded his mind.

Turning, he walked back to the bedroom and retrieved her hair tie from his pants.

Returning to the bathroom, he sat Indian style on the cold, hard bathroom floor and shut his eyes.

He embraced the discomfort of the floor. Frankly, he reached for it. He needed the discomfort right now, and in truth, he craved it. Straightening his back, he pushed his panic back and thought about his breathing.

Concentrating, he breathed in through his nose and out through his nose. He thought only of breathing, and he didn't think about the things he'd done to survive or what others had done to him.

Blank, he thought, my mind is blank, a clean slate.

Don't think about Felicity being sick away.

Don't think about her dying and leaving me alone away.

Don't think about me letting her drown.

Concentrate on your breathing.

In through your nose and out through mouth.

You need to calm down or you'll go mad.

Tilting his head down, he lay his hands, palms up, on his knees. He rolled the hair tie between his fingers slowly, and he thought about the sound of his breathing, only the sound. Rolling the hair tie, he thought of his breathing and only his breathing.

Tatsu had taught him this. She'd taught him how to relax, how to clear his mind, and how to calm himself. She'd understood even all those years ago that he needed the calm that the darkness overloaded his brain sometimes.

Much later, stiff and cold and back in control, he felt calm enough to arise from the floor. The terror, the panic now gone, he checked the time and found he still had hours before he could return to the hospital.

He checked his phone and there were no calls.

She must be sleeping.

Dressing in shorts, he ran the beach and thought about his breathing, as he ran until he couldn't think, let alone breathe, then he pushed harder and ran harder.

Finally, dripping sweat, he returned to their rental.

Exhaustion setting in, he set his alarm for two hours, showered and fell into bed to sleep, before he returned to the hospital, hoping he wouldn't dream before the alarm sounded.

#####OQ####

Morning light streamed into the window when the nurse woke Felicity yet again. "You do realize no one lets a person sleep here?"

"Sorry, but it's time to check your vials." A nurse named Becky stuck a thermometer into her mouth.

Thankfully it beeped quickly.

"Why won't you people won't let me rest? You're always checking something, giving me something or waking me up."

Becky grinned. "It's my job and you're in Critical Care, so we monitor you closely. Speaking of which, your respiratory therapist should be here soon."

Felicity groaned. "Great! Why not add them to my list of people who torture me every few hours day and night, trying to make me feel better. And people come to hospitals to get better. What a joke. Who knew sucking in a little salt water could cause this much trouble?"

"Well, now you know. Your blood pressure's down and your fever's up a little this morning. Mae won't be pleased."

"That makes two of us."

Beck grinned. "Are you in pain?"

"My chest hurts but the worst part is I'm tired."

Becky nodded. "Your lungs are struggling to keep up, so it's normal to have exhaustion stemmed from a lack of oxygen. Keep your oxygen on. It will help."

Her nurse typed into her computer on wheels. "Now where's your handsome man this morning?" "I'll not sure, but could you hand me my phone?" She pointed to the window sill.

Coughing, she clutched her chest.

Damn, her chest hurt. She hadn't hide the huge bruise on her chest from Oliver. She didn't' want him to see where he'd done CPR, but the bruise hurt when she coughed, and her lungs, hurt too.

"Sure, though I'm betting he'll be back. You're very lucky to have someone who loves you like that." The nurse handed her the phone and went back to inputting info into her computer on wheels.

"Why would you say he loves me?"

Okay, she couldn't help fishing for information, and yes, the thought that other people could see he loved her thrilled her.

She smiled. "Well that's a new one. Why would they call him that?"

What an upgrade, she thought, from the Arrow to Superman, not that she'd share that name with him. The man had an ego the size of this state already.

"First your guy's totally ripped according to the Wayne."

"Wayne?"

"He's one of the EMT's who brought you in. And gossip says your man's got a lot of scars and everyone thinks the guy must be Special Forces or something?"

Now Becky fished for information, but she had years of practice keeping Oliver's secrets.

"Or something. Yeah, you're right. He's in great shape."

Felicity could see his wonderful body in her mind, and she smiled until she coughed again and spit gunk, yuck, gunk, into a tissue.

"Second, gossip says he pulled you out of a riptide. A RIPTIDE, and he did CPR on you for like forever. Longer than anyone can, with chest compressions."

"That's special.?"

"Yeah! Do you know how hard that is? How strong he must be? Do you know how fast you get tired doing chest compressions? "

"No."

"Well let me tell you. He did chest compressions and he fought the riptide too. WOW? That's beyond awesome."

"I didn't know."

But it didn't surprise her, for Oliver kept his body strong.

And God knew she loved watching him work out.

Who needed TV when Oliver worked out shirtless?

"And he's barely left the building since you came in. I'd love to have a man love me like that. But you have new meds. Can you turn over? Hip shot. Little prick."

"Ouch, frack, that fracking hurt. Now I know what a pin cushion feels like. Do people still use those? I don't think I've ever seen one in person."

"Around here, yes. Around here people still make quilts. They show them in the fair, give them as wedding gifts and at baby showers. Through sorry about the shot. Mae's orders. New antibiotic. Now try to stay sitting up. It'll help you breathe better, and the therapist will be in soon."

She coughed again, harder this time. She grabbed her phone and connected to the wireless.

The terrible internet finally connected.

Well, kind of.

Finally, the page loaded, and she read about her illness, read the clear signs that her lungs had inflamed and would soon fail her.

Her time had run out, as she sat and thought about what she needed to do.

Swiping her phone to open it, she tapped John's name and removed the oxygen mask as she put the phone to her face.

"Oliver," John growled the word.

"No, Felicity, so be nicer."

She coughed and spit in the tissue that lived in her hand.

How she hated her lungs filling up with the gunk thing.

"Felicity," his voice softened. "Good to hear your voice. How are you?"

"Better than you would think, considering I died a couple of days ago. But I'm sick, John, and Oliver's struggling. I need your help."

"Anything for you, Felicity."

"I need you to help Oliver."

He cut her off.

"Anything but that."

"Oliver needs your help now."

"Not happening."

"Well you can't blame a girl for trying, though it's nice to hear your voice. I miss you. You know I love you, John."

"Felicity, I have to ask. Did he let you drown? Tell me the truth."

"How can you even ask that? No, John, of course not. I got in the riptide and should have floated."

"Are you sure."

Yes, I panicked and fought the tide. Don't you dare blame him. It wasn't his fault. But he's blaming himself, and I'm worried about him."

"You're always worried about him. That's your job not mine. Alright, what can I do to help you, Felicity?"

"You can help me by not being mean to him. Oliver can't handle your anger right now. He's too busy beating himself up. He doesn't need your help."

"Felicity, I've every right to be angry with him. More than right. He broke my trust. He kidnapped my wife. He left my baby Sara alone. My baby girl, alone. How could he do that?"

"I don't know."

"How could he trust Merlyn more than you or me. Merlyn! And now you want me to help him through letting you drown? Do you not get what you are asking here?"

"He didn't let me drown, John."

"Are you sure?"

Yes, I drown myself. I had an accident. Hold on." She coughed and spit and used the oxygen mask for a second or two, then jerked it off. "I agree Oliver has made some bad choices lately. I'm angry at him too, but, John, he's is in a lot of pain right now. We both know his coping skills suck, and he's blaming himself for my accident. And he's suffering, punishing himself. I know he's punishing himself."

"Yes, Oliver's blaming himself for LETTING you drown, and I agreed with him. I told him that he is man with OCD about keeping you safe, and he let you drown. NO, he didn't keep you safe. And no, you wouldn't be sick right now if he would have done his damn job."

"Oh, John, how could you say that to him? How could you do that? You know what that would do to him. Wait. . ." She coughed and gasped in pain. After she recovered she ask, "Did you know he hurt himself, punched something, repeatedly, I'm sure. He admitted to me that he beat his hands up. I have never known him to hurt his hands on purpose. His hands could make the difference in living and dying, and we both know that. How could he hurt his hands?" She coughed again, repeatedly and then spit into a tissue. Talking took a lot out of her. She needed to put the oxygen back on. Eyeing the machine, she watched her oxygen count fall into the low nineties.

"Hey, hey, Felicity. Answer me! Are you okay?" The worry came through in his voice.

"No, John, I'm not. I'm tired. I'm sick. My lungs are failing. I'm not getting enough oxygen. I sucked something in with that sea water and my lungs are infected. Hear me. My lungs are failing. The Dr. told me a little while ago that if I don't improve soon, she's going to knock me out and put me on a ventilator to help me breathe."

"How can you be so calm about this?"

"Trust me I don't want to be, but if I fall apart, Oliver will totally lose it. John, you should have seen him yesterday when I had a breathing attack. You wouldn't have recognized him. He doesn't have it together anymore. He's standing on the edge of a breakdown."

"What Al Sah-Him has emotions now?"

"Don't call him that. And yes, he's lost it. I don't know who panicked more. Here I am not able to breathe, but I think Oliver panicked more. And it only took three nurses to throw him out of the room."

"Oliver panicked and let them throw him out?"

"He left like a lamb going to the slaughter. That's why, wait." Again with the coughing thing and the spitting gunk into a tissue.

"Damn you sound bad."

"I am bad. I'm drowning in my own fluid and yes, having excessive body fluids sucks."

"You're really sick aren't you?"

"Yeah, I am, and that's why if I go on the ventilator it will be hard on Oliver. I don't know what he might do. He'll need you, need someone for support. I won't be awake to help him cope. Please, John, don't keep shutting him out. You know you're hurting him."

Nothing but silence answered her on the other end. She coughed again and groaned.

"I love you. But I have to go. It's too hard to talk. I can't breathe. I need the oxygen. And remember, I don't regret anything. Both you and him have made my life good, better than I ever thought it could be. But could you please be his friend, be my friend. I could use your help here."

"I'm still mad at him, but I'll try for you, Felicity. I love you too. Get well, please."

"I'm trying and thanks, and please think about what I said." And she hung up on him and replaced the oxygen mask, gasping as she tried to breathe like they'd taught her, in through her nose and out her mouth, and she tried not to panic which was harder than she thought it would be.

I will survive this, she thought. I will not leave him alone. I have waited too long to have him. I will live. I WILL LIVE. But she was very tired. Unable to stand it anymore, she gave up and took a nap.

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As always thanks for the read and any review.