Part 6

It was probably the first time in her life that Felicity prayed to God that her tiny mini would magically transform into something bulkier, heavier. Like, say, a tank. That would nice; the timing sublime even!

But almost getting battered off the road will do that to a girl.

Not the least in part to the fact that it had been Isabel Rochev behind the wheel of the black beamer. A BMW; of course. I knew she hated me. It went far beyond mere dislike when a woman deliberately tries to kill you dead (because when the car fumes cause an explosion in the toppled car, off the side of the road, that's when you're really dead - if I had an eye roll for every thought…) in the middle of nowhere.

She'd seen it as she'd stolen a peripheral glance; the manic look in those big brown eyes, eyes that could have been warm, would have been pretty, if they weren't blazing lasers of loathing through her. It had chilled Felicity. Had made her swallow and shake. Had made her feel so very fragile. So very not a match for Isabel Rochev or any beautiful woman driving god knows many tonnes of steel into her sub-standard car. She'd never been a receptacle for that kind of venom.

Isabel's smile of the victory she'd almost grasped had been what made Felicity remember the amazing driver that she is and that this was not the time to allow her insecurities, however baseless or true, to take over. A little footwork, some fancy coordination with hands and fingers made to rework computers and break through the unbreakable and all she suffered was a slap on the wrist.

Well… more like a dislocated shoulder. And if it isn't dislocated then why not? It hurt enough.

She wouldn't think, not for a moment, about the fact that Isabel might need medical attention. Couldn't grasp that Slade had deliberately used his knowledge of Oliver to, even after everything he'd already put him though, instil more pain. To twist the knife. Because the man couldn't possibly get enough. He eats pain, breathes it, and sleeps with it like a warm blanket…

Of course he did. What else did he have?

He didn't have his Shado.

She must have been beautiful too, must have been tough. Must have been able to take care of herself, because the few times that Oliver had spoken of the woman, he'd done so with such feeling, such subtle reverence and respect. Far from making her timid and whatever comparison her mind could have made, it just made her feel sad. That Oliver had lost yet another person he held dear, no matter the relationship. No matter the cost to keep it.

And who on the planet could honestly say that he deserved this? I mean, what could he have possibly done?

It didn't matter. It wasn't enough to condone murder.

Yet the amazing thing about Oliver, the thing she'd accepted but knew he'd never really see inside himself is that after all this, after the lies and the pain, after Slade and Malcom, after surviving… he'd still only be thinking about those around him, those closest to him; the people he loves and cares for. So detached from himself, his own self-worth was so incredibly wretched he now saw a scar as a thing that just 'happens'. As a mark deserved. As a reminder of failure.

It was why his phone call hadn't surprised her.

He'd needed a grasp on something tangible, at least until he could navigate through his thoughts without stepping on an emotional landmine. With how the night was shaping she was surprised he even had an emotional tether to cling to anymore.

And she wanted to be near him. Soon. Oliver meant 'safety'.

Not you're a-typical, freedom from harm safety. No. The 'safe' where she knew that no matter what happened she'd be with her family. With those she held most dear. Those she could breathe with and find relief with. And though it past all manner of social propriety, especially where Moira Queen was standing, she really just wanted him to hug her again.

She knew what it felt like now. And part of her wished she didn't because she'd already begun to crave it all over again. Those course hands, his surprisingly soft touch, the strength in his tenderness…

There was no safer place in the world than Oliver's arms.

But she didn't even have the right over those fantastic arms. Sara did. It was so sad that her first thought was to have another woman's man hold her close. Friends hug right? I've hugged Dig and that was nice… albeit his holding me didn't make me want to fall into him; it was gentle and spoke of all things kind. But not 'home'. Home. I'm the worst.

She blinked finding that she'd arrived at the mansion before they had. But she didn't get out, didn't look around for a sign of their approach, she simply turned off the engine and bowed her forehead against the steering wheel.

My heart's racing. She needed it to stop. It's been on red alert for a while now and the extra blood flow wasn't helping her deal with the pain in her shoulder, on her back or her stomach. Breathe. Just Breathe.

She even considered reaching for phone and calling Sara again. Calling Oliver, just to hear his voice sooth away all the crap and bad feelings but no matter how hard she tried she couldn't get her fingers to move. White noise filled her ears and she tried to swallow. She was having a panic attack.

I thought I'd been brave. This isn't brave.

She was still in the car.

They hadn't been quiet on their approach. Practically swerving, Dig had pulled no stops in his effort to keep up with his friend. But Felicity had kept a fast pace, speeding away from them and the only conclusion they could manage was that adrenaline was forcing her hands. Diggle kept it above 90 but couldn't push like Oliver wanted him too; not with his mother and sister practically vibrating with fear in the back. It hadn't helped his mental state.

He didn't want to be where he was; he wanted in her car. Just wanted to make her feel safe, even if he was, in his opinion, the last option to ever be considered for safety. But she'd said that. She'd said she was safe with him. And if there was one thing he was going to do right tonight, one thing to make it all worth it, was to at least make sure that Felicity Smoak – the stubborn brave-heart, the light in the darkest places, Felicity Smoak, his girl Wednesday - was secure. That was all.

Secure with him. And when she was safe, he too would be. He couldn't explain that, didn't want to try. It didn't matter. For once it had to easy, had to be alright to just act on how he felt. Just this once. Could he have that? Was that alright?

After stepping down, carefully, from the van he'd limped as fast as he could around the front. Just to see her.

But now he was standing outside and she was still. In. The. Car.

His blue eyes – wide, focused and close to frantic - stared.

Get out of the car.

He willed her too. She'd never kept him waiting before; not with work, not with anything. And if she kept him waiting now, if she didn't get out, then it was because she couldn't get out.

She couldn't get out.

A sound escaped him; it was quiet, something he didn't recognise, but he saw Felicity through the front window of her car, head against the wheel and that was all the push he needed. Forgetting his leg he almost sprinted to the door closest to his blonde haired IT girl.

"Oliver!"

"Ollie!"

He didn't turn.

Shaking fingers grasped the handle but it wouldn't move; there was a large dent on this side. "Dig; take them into the house." His eyes momentarily hit John's as he reached his target and they had a moment of silent communication. "I'll be there in a minute." I just… I need to do this. Please. Let me do something right. Let me make this better.

If he was a fearful man, a man who believed in God and all his works he'd have thanked the elusive figure for granting him a best friend like John Diggle, who only nodded, lips pressed together, eyes shooting to and fro, from him to Felicity, and knew he wanted to help too. But wouldn't. Just this once. Unless Oliver fell over - because as much as he'd like it to be true, his endurance for physical injury wasn't endless. "Sure man. I'll pour you a scotch." And roll out the med kit.

It wasn't hard to ignore the odd mixture of curiosity and judgement on his mother's face but it was surprising, catching the understanding that his sister offered. In the van she'd been stunned by his actions and he was so afraid that she'd fear him. When she quieted it fed this worry. But all he saw now was her weary eyes that flickered towards Felicity, screened by her little car, before Dig ushered the two women up the steps to their mansion.

Then his hands were against the car window as he bent and peered anxiously through towards the front seat, his agitated breath fogging up the glass.

"Felicity?"

His chest physically hurt when she showed no proof that she'd heard. His eyes travelled, feeling everything as he took in her slumped form and the white ridge of the knuckles of her hands against the wheel. She was having her freak out, but he could just glimpse the blood over her shoulder, she can't stay in there. "Felicity!"

There was a visible jerk but she didn't lift her head. "Oliver?"

Quiet. Muffled by the barrier, but so sure. "Hey." He swallowed at how he sounded. Broken yet uplifted. How is that even possible? "Are you okay?" Stupid question. She must have thought so too because she didn't answer. "Can you open the door please?"

"Can't." Slowly, her head left the safety of her arms and he got a good look at her. At the slight swelling of her cheek, the scrape above her brow…

I fucking hate you Slade Wilson. For this, I will hate you. "What do you mean?"

"The door's stuck. I tried to get it open but…" Her voice wobbled and she swallowed, her right hand coming up to smooth over forehead, like she had a headache, which she probably did. "My shoulder's killing me. I keep shaking and I don't know why."

"Adrenaline." His voice was barely a murmur, almost a caress. "It happens. It's normal." Open the door.

Her head shook, blonde hair spilling everywhere like a golden cascade. "I'm sorry; I'm trying not to be a full blown mental case here, but when I stopped the car…" She took a deep breath, shuddering and he realised how hard she was trying not to cry. "All of a sudden the silence got to me and I couldn't-God I was supposed to keep it together; you don't need this right now!"

But he was already moving, his head speaking a 'don't' and a 'never'. "No, no, Felicity…" Licking his lips, he pushed himself further forwards until his nose almost touched the pane, "no." His hands left streaks of sweat where they dragged down with him. "I can't even tell you how amazing I think you are."

A beautiful but painful little noise whimpered past her gullet. "No… I'm not. I was supposed to be Sara." She closed her eyes, licking her lips. "But I'm not. I'm not her and I'm not Laurel." Her breath caught. "I'm not Shado."

Her voice was the quietest of wails, like a child's; a child who'd learned to hide behind walls of intelligence, behind glasses she didn't really need, a child who didn't think she'd ever be good enough. But he heard it, those words she considered shameful - I was scared. The genuine smile that it wrought was impossible to stop and he tried with everything he had to control the raw ache behind his eyes. He loved it; the sheer honesty, Felicity's painful truth that she was just throwing at him because she trusted him.

She trusted him. He already knew that but it felt… different somehow. Heady.

Would they mind, his family, if he just crawled into her car and stayed there for the rest of the night?

"…Then I'm grateful."

He watched her blink, confused and surprised. She still managed not to cry though she had good reason; his mother and sister had been crying for the past half hour. And he wondered how she saw him then, crouched outside her car. He knew how he looked at her and it wasn't the way he looked at anyone else; knew it was tender and held no judgement, no disappointment. That was impossible. Because she was his grace. She was the reason he could smile the way he was smiling, a real smile.

"If you were Sara or Laurel or even Shado… I would have lost my mother tonight. I would have lost my baby sister.

Utterly disarming in how she looked; her mouth open like he remembered her from two years ago, with that red pen. Her eyes filling with so much meaning, so much gratitude, like she couldn't believe he held her to such esteem. Like he'd been waiting for, her eyes filled but she still didn't start crying. She just folded in on herself, nodding for him, okay – I'm okay and you're okay and you made me feel safe again – but she needed a minute.

Didn't matter. He'd seen her upset before, had caused her tears a few times. Ignoring it wasn't optional.

Pulling himself up, feeling all the marks of the day on his body he hobbled to the other side of the car. Bracing against the roof as he opened the door and bent, carefully sliding halfway inside, lips pressed together and forehead furrowed against the wave of pain he felt in his side. He felt her hand on his arm again and wondered, for the fiftieth time that year, why her touch made him tingle and burn.

He caught her watching him, pulling herself together and smiling slightly. "Sorry."

He shook his head. "It's nothing." Leaning towards her, legs planted strategically to carry her weight if needed, he lifted a hand for her to take. "Come on." I need you out of this car.

She nodded, moving and immediately wincing.

His insides immediately contracted. "Shoulder?"

"And back." She gasped as she lifted herself of her seat, climbing out, with a hand against the dashboard. "I'll live."

His latched onto her arm as she hit the next seat, before slipping down as he balanced towards her, trailing underneath her armpit, until his arm was wrapped around her. "I've got you." Her side hit into his he tugged her towards him with a grunt that sounded a little too desperate to ignore.

In one smooth motion she was out of the car.

"Oof!" Feet hitting pavement, her legs seemed to turn to jelly and she wobbled but he didn't let her go far.

Chests heaving with the effort involved and with her back touching the car, he moved the arm he'd braced on top of it and pressed into her, using his thighs to keep her straight. Like this he was very easily able to snake his arms around hers and hold her tight against him.

And just like that, the world was put to rights. Everything fell into pace.

A soft sound left her before he felt her nuzzle into his shirt, arms and hands pressing against his chest and all of it feeling so natural when it shouldn't, couldn't… but did. There was a long moment of silence until a breathless sound left her; a soft laugh that crinkled the space around his eyes.

"You read my mind."

A loud, deep exhale left him at how she was sinking into the comfort he was offering and it fluttered her hair. "It's my superpower." He murmured.

"Never knew you had a super power." Deft, cold fingers burrowed their way underneath his damp jacket.

"Newly developed." God, it was so comforting, once again, holding her and being held by her. "Are you okay?"

"Getting there. This is helping. Didn't realise you were so good at giving hugs." Her words were filled with tired laughter.

Shrugging was too much effort and it would mean moving, even a little, away from the peace. "No one ever told me I was."

"That's… surprising."

"Hm." The hum, so low and quiet, and the words that followed quieter still - he could barely hear them. "We need to…" A jolt echoed through him at the shot of regret he felt upon just thinking his next words. "We need to get inside Felicity. Get you patched up." It would mean moving… and explaining. Talking. Pain.

"Mm…" She sounded ridiculously content and a big part of him just wanted to fall with her to the ground and sleep. "But that would mean moving."

Her vocalising his own thoughts just made a huff of surprise laughter leave him and he winced as it pulled at his side.

And then she was moving. "Okay, it looks like we both need a little patching up." She twisted in his hold until he dropped an arm and one of hers grazed under one of his. "Which is so weird; I'm not used to being the injured one."

"I'm so sorry…"

She shook her head. "No." And simply looked at him. "No."

Head resting against the ball of his shoulder she looked up into his eyes and he saw everything; her tiredness, her compassion, her goodness, her light. Her love. It was all there. My life, my choice. He couldn't fight against that, the natural steel of her soul that wasn't cold at all; simply unyielding.

Taking whatever strength she was offering, he sucked in as deep an exhale as bruised ribs would allow. "Okay."

Those pretty blue eyes practically lit the dark places inside him. The side of her mouth lifted and it was as soft as rainfall. "Now let's help each other."

"Sounds like a plan."

Leaning against the other, what should have been a hobble became more of a lazy stroll. Felicity walked against the side of his body that wasn't aching, so he could pretty much let himself feel each step she took without gritting his teeth against a throb of agony. In turn he managed to latch an arm across her shoulders and tug her upright, to keep her body aligned with his; it would easier on her back if she wasn't leaning forwards so much.

They reached the steps and together began to climb, staring forwards.

"You okay?" He asked, not looking at her yet.

"Yeah. I'm a little warm actually. Which is also weird; I was freezing before."

He frowned, something about her words striking memories he couldn't quite summon, when the front door opened soundlessly and Diggle peered out at them. Pistol in hand; his face was a stern mix of focused will and gentle concern and he let loose a deep breath when he saw the two of them already there. Oliver winced when he realised the man had probably been wondering where they'd gotten to.

Dig holstered his gun. "How you both doing?" He asked, good naturedly shaking his head at Felicity who stumbled on the last stair and would have gone flying if it weren't for Oliver. Hand now further down her side, his face brushed into her loose hair and stilled momentarily when he felt the continuous tremble of her skin under his hoodie that she wore. His fingers pressed in as Dig continued. "Crossbow? Reckless endangerment?" Said with dry humour, Oliver still caught the flicker of brown that Felicity didn't notice as the man took in the blood on her, the arm securely wrapped around her, the expression on the vigilante's face... "You're as bad as he is."

And she scoffed – of course she did – but her eyes slightly unfocused as they crossed over the threshold. "No one is as bad as he is."

A sound of divergence escaped him, a grumble of displeasure in lieu of the steadily rising concern churning in his gut as he took her in, side on, and she chuckled like he'd wanted her too. It was followed by a cough though, more of a wheeze, her cheeks a little pink and he could see a light sheen gathering across her forehead.

His eyes caught Dig's.

We need to take a look at her.

It was unbearable. Why is it so warm?

'Warm' didn't cover it. Hot. Feverish. Burning her from the inside out.

Did all sword wounds do this?

"I've got her man."

But she only knew because the words were spoken close her ear. The arm lightly closed around her form felt reluctant to leave but a feminine voice, a sound quiet and light and all things 'young' pulled him away. Oliver.

Attentiveness to reason her surroundings was suddenly something she was incapable of.

She felt herself being lowered to someplace cushioned. "Here we go." Dig again.

It was scaring her. Just a minute before everything had been crystal clear. Oliver's voice, his words, the comforting weight of his arm across her shoulder's… and then they started on the stairs to the mansion and she went from freezing to sweltering. Her field of vision turned blurry. Cloudy. Ugh. Like the one time I had a pot brownie, except I blew up like a melon and started to asphyxiate. Peanuts do kill.

"No Oliver, you need to get that checked out."

Thankfully her hearing still worked perfectly.

"No, I'm alright." She could tell how far away he was from those three words - too far.

Keep it together Felicity.

"Oliver." Moira. "You're bleeding. Please let us call the family doctor; he could be here within the hour." Felicity felt like chuckling. Good luck with that: I have a better chance of winning 'Miss State' than you do of getting Oliver to see a doctor, never mind making him staying still long enough for an examination.

"No mom, we can't. There'll be too many questions." She heard him take a deep breath and could vision those lovely shoulders of his – shoulders that curled around you when they hugged you, the spheroidal joints of which her hands fit perfectly around, and made you feel safe – rising and falling. "Besides this isn't anything I'm not used to. I've had worse."

There was a moment where no sound interrupted the descending swirl of Felicity's thoughts – thoughts and flashes that were filled with Slade's sword, Oliver, soft words, promises, fear and hope – before Moira spoke.

"I-I know." What does she know? "But-"

"Trust me mum; Dig's got this."

"I have extensive military training Ma'am and have had thorough experience with medical procedures in the field. As you well discovered when you hired me."

"…I see."

"And Oliver's pretty adept at looking after himself."

"As I've discovered."

"…Right."

The hidden conversation in that dialogue was so obvious Felicity grimaced.

Moira let out a quiet sigh. "Alright – then let Mr Diggle look at you." Mr Diggle. She couldn't even summon up the energy to smile at that one.

"No. Not yet."

"Oliver-"

"Felicity first."

"I'll go get the med kit…"

And just like that the rush of warmth before the usual blush explodes across her face started in her chest, except dusty pink didn't bloom over her extremities. Unnatural in the way it made her shake, it forced her heart to beat faster.

"We can't ring the police can we?"

"Doesn't matter; they wouldn't be able to do anything…"

Their voices melded together for a while as Felicity concentrated on taking breaths. She figured if she moved even an inch she'd fall sideways or something equally as embarrassing. Truthfully, she felt as if she'd been drugged, which she hadn't. Maybe it was blood loss or shock – did shock make you see everything in colourful streaks?

Understandably it took her a moment to realise there was a hand slowly rubbing her upper left arm.

"Hey Felicity? Are you okay?" Thea? "Felicity?" There was movement in her peripheral before a female shape stepped before her, blurred hands reaching out for the hoodie she wore. "What is that?" What's what? "Is that… Ollie? Ollie did she get hit in the stomach too?"

…What?

There was a brush of air and suddenly a larger form, one wearing dark colours stepped fully into her line of sight. Oliver's hand went immediately to the back of her skull before his fingers trailed down to rub across the back of her neck. That's reeeeeally nice….

"You're too warm." He murmured. His hand pulled round slightly to press his palm against the side of her neck, checking her pulse and an involuntary whine left her – she was in two minds; he'd stopped the simple pleasure of his caress but the palm of his hand felt like a concentrated dose of 'Oliver' that she didn't want to lose – unfortunately the whine sounded less pathetic but more… aching. Like she was in pain. Am I in pain?

Whatever it was she felt him still before his fingers pressed harder into her skin. If was even remotely coherent eight now my eyes would be rolling into the back of my head.

"Oliver, look at her stomach."

"Her…"

She saw him crouch down and tried so hard to point out that his knee needed healing but the energy involved seemed like too much to ask for.

His fingers only briefly touch the material of the hoodie - worryingly she didn't feel a thing there – before he stopped. "You're bleeding." Oh… His voice hurt her. Don't be upset. "Felicity why are…"

But he was looking at her and she… couldn't really see him. I need to say something. Just his blurred outline. Her thoughts were chasing sleep but something deep down told her she could let herself dream right now. Not yet.

"Felicity?"

And then his hands – God, those hands, perfect hands – were against her face, moulded to her cheeks and he'd come closer, rocking forwards on his shins. She wished she could see his eyes but again; hazy.

"Felicity. Look at me." Aren't I already? His palms gently forced her face to align directly with his. "Felicity! What happened?" His voice though direct and focused was also tender and so, so aching. "What did he do?" I forgot… Slade. Slade…

"…He… punched me." Finally. Words.

But did he just punch me?

Because being punched didn't make someone feverish, didn't make it so that your stomach numbed but the rest of you burned. It didn't make your words die.

"He punched you? When you went to get your phone?" She tried to nod against his hold but barely managed any movement at all.

All she could concentrate on were the harsh breaths suddenly beating against her face. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Oliver.

Never in a million years did Felicity think Oliver could sound like that with her: as if he were breaking and she was the only person who could put him back together. Except she was breaking too and that meant he could fall down again, could shatter into pieces that he would later label as 'villain', 'monster', 'poison' and 'hopeless'.

She could hear him, as if his thoughts were hers. You didn't tell me. And though painful, they filled a hole inside she didn't know was open. Why didn't you tell me? Why didn't you let me come with you? You stopped me from shooting him but I would gladly sacrifice my sanity to stop him from hurting you. Instead you saved me. And look where it's gotten you? What am I supposed to do about that? How am I supposed to react? Tell me.

But again, she was so tired, too tired to explain anything. And the heat didn't burn any longer, didn't make her warmer. She couldn't feel it – the pain had numbed it. It was everywhere now and was pulling her under. Fighting it was futile because this wasn't normal, it wasn't her body's way of saying 'sleep'. There was something inside her now… and there was no escaping it.

And suddenly she realised exactly what was wrong with her.

No. It wasn't fair. Oliver. Wasn't fair to Oliver. She didn't care what happened to her, not anymore, because as long as she was with her family it didn't matter. The problem, what she did care about was knowing just how Oliver was going to react. If I had it in me to hate another person, I would hate Slade Wilson. You son of a bitch.

He hadn't punched her. Slade had cut her again. And he'd infected her, nicking her skin with the arrow she'd stabbed him with which would have held the tiniest trace amount of his own blood.

With every ounce of will she possessed she managed to look him in the eye, her breaths uneven, her body trembling and her fingers brushed tentatively across his chin.

"Don't freak out."

And with that her arm dropped with a slap against her thigh and her body fell forwards. The last sensation to feel was the press of Oliver beating heart against her own.

I'm sorry…

Don't freak out.

"Dig!"

She'd fallen against him, everything in her just letting go – her consciousness, her words, her body loosing whatever it was that made them 'Felicity'.

A streak of pure and unadulterated fear spliced up his spine.

His hands still grasping her face, thumbs tracing the hidden levels in her skin and all he could do was stare at her, open mouthed and terrified.

Don't freak out.

Her pulse had skyrocketed and she was so pale.

"Ollie-"

The panic in Thea's voice made him move and pulled Felicity towards him, roughly forcing her face under his chin as an arm pushed against her back, against her wounds, hoping the jostle would jolt her to consciousness… but it didn't. It didn't.

Why had she - why wasn't she moving? What – why - I don't understand.

Twisting so fast he was surprised that his head didn't snap right off his neck his eyes searched frantically. His mother was there staring at him and he absently wondered what on earth she could see in him that would make his mother so perturbed and so upset. "Dig." It was all he could say, forcing the name out of his gullet like he'd swallowed glass.

Thea was already with him as she sped to the door way, looking beyond it before calling back over her shoulder to Oliver. "He's coming!" She turned away again. "Diggle!"

"JOHN!"

It just ripped out of him, echoing throughout the house. It hurt his throat and made him realise that, yes, a person could make horror and devastation a sound. His mother jumped, almost tripping out of her dolce heels but Thea didn't – she just looked close to desperate tears and moved aside as footsteps thundering down the hall could be heard.

"JOHN!"

He knew his friend was already there but he couldn't stop the shout, couldn't stop the way he'd begun to rock, as if the lulling rhythm would sooth Felicity regardless of whether she were unconscious. It was ridiculous but he did it anyway.

And then Dig was there, eyes wide and alarmed. "What is it, what happened?"

Oliver immediately rose, taking Felicity with him. "Something's wrong with her," he said to him as his hand gently cupped her skull and tried to move Felicity's pale face into view, to show Diggle the problem. "Her pulse is too fast, she's too hot and her stomach's bleeding." He spoke so quickly. "She just fell unconscious and I had trouble getting her to focus before she did."

Already at their sides Dig nodded, hands on and waved the med kit. "Where can we put her?" His hands moved in such a way that made Oliver think he was going to reach for her.

Straightaway he lowered himself, ignoring his mother's plea for him to be careful and swiftly placing a hand underneath Felicity's thighs and an arm across her back before lifting her.

She was light.

Soft. Real. Perfect.

And she smelt like his hoodie, like him. What is this? He pulled her into him, fingers curving her shoulder towards his and looked at Dig. Who grit his teeth. And levelled a disproving glance before it quickly vanished into acceptance. Oliver knew his knee would suffer for this but only another man would understand why. Why he lifted her when he didn't have to. So he didn't say a word.

"We can go to my old room."

He didn't notice the climb there, didn't pay attention to how long it took, which was forever and also only a second. Dig was already several paces ahead and was acquainting himself thoroughly with his altogether more affective medical equipment in his personal bathroom by the time Oliver entered.

When he finally set her down he did so carefully, slowly. At first he sat her on the edge of his mattress, his good knee place beside her before lowering her back until she rested against the duvet.

Then he was out of his jacket and tie, his shirt sleeves rolled up with practised fingers as his eyes sought and stayed fixed against the red spot of the stomach of the grey hoodie. He didn't think, couldn't, didn't want to. It would have to wait; he couldn't lose it right now…

Dig ran back in and paused at the sight of Oliver's left hand under the hoodie, holding her with a knee between her thighs for balance. Cradling her form with his fingers splayed against her spine and coating them with her drying blood without a care, he gradually pulled the zip down her front and let it fall back… over her breasts (thank you sports bra) and down her arms. His hands helped there, gently brushing the material down and all the while Oliver's face was pressed against her own where Dig couldn't see him.

It wasn't any kind of a shock.

Diggle just felt for the image. The sight of a man who loved a woman in a way he'd never loved another. And as such had no freaking clue that he actually did love her like that at all.

At least he hadn't before…

But seeing Oliver push his cheek into hers, take a breath and sigh, see his head pull back slightly so that his eyes could look into her face and then close as his nose nudged, in what Diggle had to describe as very lovingly, into smooth skin he had to wonder.

"Dig."

He almost jumped, as if in guilt, at the low tone but moved forwards anyway, placing the supplies beside her as Oliver lowered her prone form back down. But-

"Dig."

Dig blinked at Oliver, frowning at the time. It sounded almost apprehensive.

Oliver's hands weren't touching Felicity's face but they were beside her on the bed, braced against the mattress. He hadn't moved his knee yet. "Open her eyes."

His tone brooked no argument so Diggle moved forwards and, practiced but so very softly – I'm going to take care of you – Dig pressed the tips of his fingers over her lids brought them up-

"Fuck!" He swore and moved back, too horrified to care. "God damn it." How? His eyes blazed into the man before him.

But Oliver stayed just where he was. He didn't move. Didn't speak. He just stared down into the closed eyes.

…and watched the single drop of blood roll from the corner of one eye and down her cheek.