My name is Oliver Queen. After five years on a hellish island, I have come home with only one goal: to save my city. But to do so, I can't be the killer I once was. To honour my friend's memory, I must be someone else. I must be something else.

I meant every word…

Those words have so small a weight to them now.

But he knew the moment he opened his eyes to the sight of his mother and sister on their knees before him that he was going to die.

…Because Slade was going to kill them. And in so doing kill any and all hope left inside Oliver's malnourished soul. There'd never been much there to begin with.

The first face he saw was his mother's. Crying and saying his name, like she couldn't say it enough. Like she knew too. And behind her Slade was mobile, moving slowly, almost bipedal. Taking his time. He was in no rush. He was in complete control. Which meant there was no chance at all of being found in time.

Of course there wasn't. Not with Slade.

It's over.

He'd thought it: he didn't deny it. The past five years had been leading to this moment. And Oliver literally couldn't find the strength to stand. With his injuries, whatever they were after the collision and the downward spiral of this hell he'd invited into his life and his family's by existing the way he did, every move was agony.

And none of it mattered.

You can beat me. Chain me. You can maim and defile all that I am. But please… god don't hurt the people that I love.

There weren't many left.

But Slade hadn't listened, hadn't considered, and Oliver hadn't expected him to. But in his darkest moments even a man like Oliver Queen who believed he deserved no contentment, no reward still fought, still tried to believe in happy endings. Even if he felt the furthest thing away from a deserving soul as one could get. He still tried-

Felicity would. She would make me.

His chest felt like it was on fire: tight and paralysed with the knowing. It wasn't working. His pleas as he tried to tap into whatever brotherly affection Slade once had for him and found nothing but a broken darkness that could never be washed, that would never fade away.

He was going to kill them. Thea, who he couldn't live in the world without. Mom… who despite all of her flaws loved him. Unconditionally. It was a rare pleasure he hadn't allowed himself to indulge in. And now never could again.

Slade wanted him to choose between them.

How could he?

It was an impossible choice, Slade knew this. It was how Slade believed Oliver was culpable. Because his past comrade and present nemesis also knew that he himself was the bad guy too. And bad guys didn't deserve to love. And to be loved. No matter what the situation. Slade lost the woman he adored.

He knew that Oliver wasn't in love with Sara.

It was why he hadn't taken her when they all knew he could have. Easily. Trained by assassins or not. The nightmares that this knowledge had given Oliver had almost made him push the woman away. Except this time she had left him. Her own darkness constantly pushing through to reduce Oliver to the past. It was the first time that Oliver had seen, briefly what others had seen.

What Felicity had seen.

Not a light exactly, more of a principle. A guiding distinction that had begun to separate him from the killers and monsters that roamed Starling. She had seen a hero. And he'd wanted to as well, so very badly. As much as he disagreed with her idea he'd wanted to become this noble example. To earn it. And he'd tried so hard. And as much as he wanted to deny it… Sara's guiding principal thwarted this. It was why he'd let her go. Because he saw in her what he'd been before John Diggle. Before Felicity Smoak. Before 'I never let a brother go out alone' and before 'if you're not leaving, I'm not leaving'.

Before 'you are not alone man'. Before 'you're a hero'. Before 'do whatever it takes' and 'yes, you can'.

He didn't want to return to being that man. So he'd let Sara walk away from him, though it meant being alone again. Something he'd tried hard to avoid this past year. It was almost a fate worse than death. Being completely isolated. But that was what Slade was offering.

"…No. Don't" Please.

The gun swept from mother to sister and back again.

And then his mother had stood to take his punishment, to make the choice for him, taking his crimes onto herself. In a way she was both saving him and damning him; locking him into an eternal struggle of self-disgust and honour. There was nothing he could do and he'd tried. The rope at his waist and triple tied around his wrists left him vulnerable but the heavy ache at his side that spoke of bruised ribs and torn muscles, the possible concussion to his forehead and the swelling in his knee made it impossible for him the kneel, never mind stand. But he would have. He would have kneeled. And begged. Cried. Offered his soul, anything to save them.

He allowed himself a brief moment to dream at how he could; all the different ways he could stop Slade, defeat Slade, kill Slade. It all just made him see into his own weakness.

It's all my fault.

Why had he let this man live?

"Mom? Mom, what are you doing?"

He could have shot him in the head before now, Mirakuru can't save a man from everything. Why hadn't he made damn sure that he'd killed him on that boat? Why did any of this have to happen?

It's all my fault. I did this. I did it. I have no one to blame but myself. But my family never deserved to-

For Felicity to suddenly appear and not Sara, not Diggle, hell, not even Roy? It was a forbidding joke. Beautiful but cruel. And stunning. Mesmerising. Impossible. Her moving out from within the greenery surrounding them caught him completely off guard.

What…

Striding forwards carefully but purposefully she blotted out the darkness…

I…

And caused a black hole of a deeper despair to take its place.

Felicity?

Horror.

What is she…

Pain.

Everything seemed to slow. A nightmare to reside within forevermore.

What are you doing here? She was all he could see. WHAT IN THE HELL WAS SHE DOING HERE?! No. No, no, no. No, please. You cannot be here. Not here, in this place.

It was like magic, how she looked now, how she was, how she'd appeared just as he'd begun to fall again. Like always. He'd never questioned it. It was the cruellest, blackest kind. For her to be there- it would be the final curtain on everything. But the bleak set of his thoughts had a light surrounding them, one not by his making. Her blonde hair spilling out of her loose bobble which fell slowly, like camera work, to the ground. She wore cropped pants and a sweater. His.

Her eyes, bold and so blue, were wide and aimed at Slade. She was terrified.

The crossbow in her hands made him want to scream but it got caught in his throat. It had nothing to do with Felicity holding a weapon. It had everything to do with Felicity. And her intent to use it. For him.

Not for me.

Her eyes had caught his momentarily and something inside him broke free, something unused and unspoiled and unloved. It clawed itself to the surface but didn't force a sound from him.

The bolt slamming home in Slade's throat felt like it had been made for Oliver. He blinked, fascinated and dreamlike, feeling it in his bones. Like breaking but in the best way. The sheer relief that spun a knot of equal tautness to the despair he'd been suffering almost had him sobbing, like his mother who screamed. She'd pulled the trigger and suddenly he was back. Like this was just another mission.

His thoughts collided together as he shouted for his sister to get behind him. She knew how to use the crossbow. Felicity. She knew exactly what she was doing. It didn't shock him; it should have… but it didn't.

Her saving him didn't surprise him.

Felicity being heroic didn't amaze him because she always had been.

But to commit an act of violence on his behalf was something he couldn't reconcile with. He knew she hated hurting people, knew she viewed his own violent escapades with an unusual indifference that he'd once mistaken for 'see no evil, hear no evil' but had long since realised that her ability to compartmentalize was the key. Felicity understood that, most of the time, what was 'right' wasn't 'easy'. She was no coward.

There was a part of him that still refused to believe she was right there. He couldn't believe she'd come for them. Bold as brass, knowing that she had to have been, to use her words, 'all kinds of freaked out' by the idea of using that crossbow on someone. But still she had.

…And now his mother was still breathing.

But then Slade shot at her as he stumbled. The gun was aimed right at her and his heart crashed against his chest. No! "FELICITY!"

Then she'd ran at him. Towards Slade. What was in her head? What had she been thinking - and then he saw the second arrow in her grasp, wanted to protect her from the knowing this time as she sank it into Slade. Wanted just to take her and pull her into him. Keep her safe.

It was all he'd ever wanted.

When he saw Slade backhand her all bets were off. He'd jumped up, forgetting his injuries but only managed in falling sideways. His eyes, hurt and engaged followed her as she hit the ground and stayed there breathing deeply. Slade was already unconscious.

If he'd had the strength, Oliver would have chopped the monster's hand off. But Slade was a monster of Oliver's making. His retribution on Oliver was poetic justice. Oliver remained sitting.

"Felicity! Felicity, talk to me!"

Like she did at night. When he was scouting and hunting crime. That peace of mind; that he wasn't all by himself.

"I… I can't believe it worked." Her voice had shook, had sounded so small but he'd heard the words clearly.

"Felicity, I swear to God, LOOK AT ME!"

He just needed her to see him.

She jumped at his uncharacteristic shout and stared at him, breathing deeply. It was almost hypnotic; the rise and fall of her chest and the need for comfort, for reassurance had his own heart blindly following the rhythm. Though Slade had hit her she was alright. His mother and sister was alright. He was… well he getting to that place. For now the relief he felt was so powerful and he couldn't stop looking at Felicity, his partner and friend, who'd personally come to save them all.

She was… implausible. Remarkable no longer covered all that she was, is.

He took in her features, absent of make-up, and felt warm and afraid and strong and fragile all at once and it frightened him. Though he couldn't see his sister at his back he could feel her crying, silently, in relief and shock. He leaned back against her side offering what little he could as he took whatever stability Felicity's presence was offering back to him.

When he spoke he didn't sound like himself at all. "…Are you okay?"

"I am so done with being brave right now."

He just couldn't… there was nothing good here. How could she even… Shaking his head, the despair and anguish he'd been feeling overtook him in a way. "What… what the hell are you doing here?!"

And Felicity only looked at him.

What that made him feel made his eyes slam shut, made him shake, gave him the choice to rest and sleep.

Love. It asked nothing in return.

Oh… so that's what that feels like.

He opened his eyes again and just took her in. All of her.

Thank you. She was in his head and in his heart. Imprinted on the back of his eyelids. He'd literally never be able to close his eyes again without seeing… her. Just her. A reminder.

But he could have easily lost her too just now, along with his mother and sister.

She freed his mother of her shackles and decided to forego Thea's seeing as how his sister had run straight into her mother's arms, to hide from the world for just a short while. Oliver knew that urge very well. He felt it now as Felicity came to him. He hadn't moved, had only watched her progress. There were too many emotions and words and things swimming inside for him to speak right away.

When she caught him her eyes flickered away, reaching towards his torso where the black rope was tied expertly. Her yoga pants brushed that soft place between her knees and calves and he saw dirt there, encased against her skin where'd she'd fallen. Her right cheek was inflamed.

"Felicity."

He saw her sharp intake of breath and didn't care how he sounded. He'd always liked saying her name. Four syllables. A mixture of middle-English, Anglo-French and Latin. Meaning 'happiness'.

It stroked off his tongue.

He needed her to look at him. To say something. So that he could tell her how stupid she'd been. How she could have died, how he wasn't worth it, how she'd scared him to death. He needed her to cut him loose so that he could… do something… and thank her. He'd never tried with her before. To touch her, hug her. He touched her all the time; there'd never been any effort involved. She'd hugged him but he'd never initiated it. It had always felt too… intimate an act. He was fond of Felicity but if he could ever be truly honest with himself he'd admit that his affection was… different.

Much different from what he was used to. It wasn't the same as how he felt about anyone else.

With his mother the love was eternal. Now that they were making their way back to each other he could feel their bond strengthen. Thea… what was there to say? She was his baby sister and he'd cherished each and every moment with her. It had been easy playing the fool with Tommy but when his true self had been revealed, the relaxed back slaps and hugs turned awkward, strained. And Diggle was the truest friend and partner, his loyal comrade who he knew would forever have his back. With Roy he'd seen the chance for redemption for both himself and the young man who had been so eager to join their vigilante quest.

His connection with Sara, his love and idealism for Laurel, his brief 'use and abuse' tryst with Isabel, his need for companionship with McKenna, his attraction and deep yearning for an open relationship with Helena, the comfort he'd shared with Shado (he wasn't ready to re-live his happenings in Russia)…

Felicity gave him the space to be himself. Because he always had been with her. From the beginning he hadn't managed to put up the usual barriers and shields that his cover identity demanded of him. He'd stumbled through 'my coffee shop is in a rough neighbourhood'. Each time he'd come to see her and ask for her assistance she'd given him a look, telling him she knew he was full of crap. And acquiesced to his requests anyway. It was a trust that just popped out of nowhere. Like they'd already known each other for years and had spilled their darkest secrets to each other.

He'd never felt the need to shadow himself from her.

It was an attractive quality.

But right now, feeling the low throb of relief and quiet horror at living through this trauma, she was an island he desperately wanted to grasp onto. How had she known they'd be there? Her computers in the Foundry? Why hadn't she brought Dig with her? How could she even be here? Why did she have the right to look so beautiful… and full of light… and completely untainted when he was all but crucified by the spectres of his past? It wrecked him and stabilised him all at once. And he wondered if she would allow him to…

It was a ridiculous thought and he felt ashamed by how tempted he was to just sink into her, to breathe her in deeply, to maybe nourish himself with some light for a change. But it was still there, that feeling. And so was she.

Looking so hesitant, the concern in her eyes rocked him but he hadn't been able to look away from her. "Is it alright if I untie you?" The space between his brows creased. As if he'd say no…

So stupid.

He wondered how he looked to her then. His set jaw line, the strained scope of his eyes, his lips thinned from the stress of it all. He was angry. Understandable, but…

Her fingers reached for him, brushing so lightly against his chest he was surprised that he actually felt it through his clothes. But he did. And he must have still been affected by adrenaline because it felt like a live wire touching an open socket. His muscles jumped.

He'd never felt so vulnerable. Like the smallest touch would cause him to shatter.

I started today in bed with Sara, content to just lie there for a while and dream about what would never happen, even though I lied to myself that it could. Then Roy had woken and everything changed. Sara left, showing a side of herself to me I couldn't accept. I told her we could work on it but we both knew I was kidding myself.

I just didn't want to be alone again.

I get in the car with my mom and Thea and my world tumbles sideways, threatens to turn to ashes.

And then Felicity saves my life and I'm too injured, too tired, too weak and too bound to ground by Slade's skill with rope to move.

If Slade had seen just how much she–

His responding shudder was violent and it made the woman in question look up from the rope she'd almost completely cut him free from. He felt her eyes flickering over him but his were still laser focused on hers. "You're cold. I-I almost done" She hurried to finish with gusto.

The words just started.

"You shouldn't have come here."

"What?" She didn't look up again, too busy concentrating.

He must have looked a sight; he'd been crying and now he was angry, cold and tired. The muscles in his neck rigid, his cheeks tight. "You. Shouldn't. Have. Come." The glare wasn't intentional but he was feeling so much and she just defied every rule in existence.

The rough quality to his tone made her pause, as if she sensed the danger and finally looked at him again. The knot of anxiety in his chest shot up for some reason and breathing became increasingly difficult. "I…" She began, shaking her head. "I know, but I couldn't just sit there! And now the situation is- I mean, if there was even the slightest chance-"

Anger and worry forced him into her personal space. "What if it hadn't worked Felicity?!" He really couldn't help the way he sounded. As if he were breaking.

She didn't lean away from him. "It did work!"

"But what if it HADN'T?!"

"Then I'd be dead!" She yelled in his face and the words stopped him cold. "And so would you! And your sister and your mother!" Not necessarily… "And Dig would have been crushed! But I'm not and you aren't and everything is fine!" Amazed and in pain his wide eyed gaze hadn't left her. His mouth was open, taking in shallow breaths. She'd silenced him. Then I'd be dead! She couldn't just say that-And so would you! How could he have lived with himself if…"You would have died anyway! I was not going to let that happen!" Her voice thickened with tears and he swallowed. "You're my friend Oliver. My partner." It was whispered, like a prayer.

"I'd bet my life on my partner."

And that was it. That was all he could take. His chest felt like it was about to explode.

The bonds surrounding him fell to the ground when she finished and he fell forwards, hands bracing against the ground. He couldn't feel the relief of being set free, not yet. "Whoa, easy." He felt her hands on his shoulders, prepared to help lift him if he needed it. Her proximity just made it easier for him.

He grimaced at the flare of pain down his side but pushed upwards regardless and moved. He really needed to.

Knees, strong against the ground, very much ignoring the pain in his right leg, he slid into her, into her arms that were so much stronger than they appeared. Desperate for her to be against him, to feel her living, breathing form against his and remind him that they were alright, that they were alive was too strong a compulsion to deny. He couldn't be steady or tender. His left arm quickly found its way under the one she'd used to grab onto his shoulder, the shaking fingers of his hand grasping the back of her neck before winding into her hair and clutching the strands like a lifeline. He closed his eyes and pressed his face into her neck, breathing in.

"Oliver?" Her voice soft and concerned.

He understood. He'd never done this before.

His other arm circled quickly around her back, covering the entirety of her waistline and pressing her other arm into his chest, beneath his suit coat. He tightened his grip, pulling her close as he was able, feeling every inch of her and the pain in his chest burst into flame. He gasped, feeling his breath hot against her skin, the pure relief and undeniable closeness consuming him for a moment. And then the frustrated terror, the anxiety, the sick feeling of worthlessness… one by one they melted away. As if she were sucking out all the crap.

His muscles relaxed, his breathing levelled out... And he heard her whisper.

"…Oh."

Eyes still closed, nose brushing against the softest of skin at her throat he exhaled. "It's been a really bad day." His voice broke at the end and he felt tears breach his tear ducts before he could stop them. His fingers clasped like iron bars onto her, scrunching up his face in attempt to not let them show. Or be felt.

He failed.

And found he didn't feel mortified. Or ashamed.

…Her fingers reached the skin of his neck and stroked the hair there, her touch soothing and gentle, making him shiver and relax. He felt rather than saw her smile. "Understatement." She said; disbelief and wry humour colouring her tone. She sounded like she was on the verge of tears herself. "It's okay." She sniffed and he felt her other arm move underneath his jacket… and slowly tread her hand in circles at the small of his back, pressing him further into her as if she'd sense his need for contact. It was warming. Necessary. "It's over now. You're safe."

Hey, shh, shh… it's alright. You're safe.

Oh, you were shot.

Hey.

It's nothing.

Instinctively they both began to rock together, side to side. Slowly. Only slightly. It was so God damn comforting. Like pure sun light. It took him several minutes of this comfort, this healing for his throat to form the right words.

"Thank you. Thank you Felicity."

This time she sounded unravelled and he barely caught her words. "You're welcome."

It had been a long day for her too.