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Leaning against the bathroom door, he scrubbed his face with his hands as his brain scrambled to understand.

What was wrong with him?

The last thing he remembered, he'd been drinking shots in the bar, though he had vague memories of being in a bathroom in a restaurant. And maybe of eating a few French fries.

The ride home back to the hotel was a total blank.

It reminded him of his youth, the days when he'd never left a party with his memory intact.

But that had been years ago. And he'd not done that for years, not since he had found his focus, but he had been drinking shots.

Now, he wondered if he driven the car.

Had he driven the car?

Had he driven her back to the motel?

The thought that he had scared him.

He seriously hoped he'd not, since she'd been in the car too.

Of that he was sure.

Never would he have put her in danger like that but now he wasn't so sure.

Using quick movements, he jerked his shirt off. Freezing, he looked in the mirror. His tattoo stood out blood red and there were dark lines branching out of it.

Maybe, he should call John Constantine? He bit his bottom lip as he stared at the tattoo.

It's nothing, the voice in his head, assured him.

Look how many times have you lost time before?

This isn't the first time your mind has wandered.

Admit it.

You know you get wrapped up in your own head, wrapped up in your past sometimes.

How many times has the past overpowered you and you've lost time?

He realized he didn't know.

Putting on a clean t-shirt, he donned sweats. Grabbing his bag and pocketing his phone, he unlocked the bathroom door and swept past her with the words, "I'm going to work out."

Closing her eyes, she bit her lip as he walked by her.

He tried not to look at her but still he looked, unable to help himself.

And she had to asked as she frowned up at him, with her hands on her hips.

"You're not tired?"

Heavens, he missed this.

This connection between them.

This exchange of words between them.

"No. You?"

"Exhausted."

She leaned in and her scent attacked him, and hell it became hard to breathe.

Yes, he could smell her from the instant she entered the room and always could.

But up close, she truly slayed him, made it hard for him to breathe as he inhaled her scent.

Yet, he still noted the strain on her face, and he stilled his eager hand, refused to allow himself to reach and his hand twitched, and he knew she saw it when she sighed and frowned at him.

"Then go to bed. I'll only be a little while."

Again he told himself not to reach as his stomach tightened, ached as memories of happier days assaulted him, but he lost the good fight, as he couldn't stop his hand from reaching and quickly touching her face.

And for an instant, she leaned into his hand, and he savored her touch before he made himself pull away.

"You'll stay in the building?" She urged, yet, he heard desperation in her voice.

It warmed him that she sounded like she still worried about him.

Maybe, she did still care.

The thought made his almost high.

Swallowing hard, he gentled his voice and said, "Yeah."

"Promise me?"

"Who has the car keys?"

"I do."

Well that answered that question since he truly hadn't know.

Awesome to know that he'd not driven the car back.

"Well, then keep them."

But the voice in his head urged him to demand she give him the car keys, demanded that he drive back and find Peter, demanded he kill the man that DARED touch what was clearly his, and he rolled his shoulders in a attempt to ease the tension in them.

"Oliver?"

Her hand caught his, effectively stopping him in his tracks as she pulled him toward her and unable to help himself he stopped.

Turning, he looked down at her and their eyes connected, as she said urgently, "Promise me that you'll stay in the hotel, that you won't leave the hotel. I want your word."

Again, her concerned eyes connected with his, and he tried to tell her, tried to communicate with her that he loved her desperately, missed her urgently, and needed her in order to be happy.

Yes, he tried to tell her that he would never be happy without her in his life.

Please, give him another chance.

He wouldn't squander it.

He promised, with everything inside him,

But he couldn't say the words, couldn't take the chance, since he knew she didn't want his heartfelt words, and saying them, baring what tiny part was left of his soul, would only make things harder between them.

And he didn't need that.

So, he kept silent because he needed to keep her around him. It was crumbs but crumbs were better than nothing.

Yet, his hand lingered in her hand, savored the awesome contact, until her touch hurt his heart so much, he pulled carefully away from her.

"I promise. I'll stay in the building. So, get some rest, Felicity."

Turning, he walked away.

Closing the door quietly, he hurried to the fitness center, then he pushed himself into exhaustion, since there was no way in hell he was getting into the queen size bed with her right now.

#####OQ#####

After little after 2:00 a.m., totally exhausted, his body pushed way past the point of wanting to collapse, he scanned his keycard and carefully opened the door, trying to be completely soundless, trying not to wake her.

Stomach aching, chest tight, he stood there in the darkness and watched her sleep. She must have gotten cold since she'd returned those red covers to the bed and now her wild blonde hair contrasted sharply against the dark covers.

Shutting his eyes, he wished he could turn loving her off. On silence feet, he entered the bathroom and stripped off his clothes. Showering quickly to wash off the sweat, he toweled off then noted his tattoo looked worse.

He stripped off his shirt,and looked at the tattoo in the bathroom mirror. The tattoo was inflamed with puffy red lines now surrounding it and in places, the lines had turned purple, not unlike a bruise. Gingerly, he touched it and found his skin hot and painful.

Reaching for his phone off the vanity countertop, he swiped the screen. Engaging the camera app, he hesitated then managed to snap a picture of his side and then thumbed his way through his contacts until he found the name John Constantine. His hand shook as he tried to attach the picture as he thought, should he really bother John?

This is nothing, a voice in his head said. His thumb hovered over the delete button.

Turn the phone off, his mind told him. It will be fine tomorrow. It's late. Just turn the phone off.

Shutting his eyes, he fought himself.

Turn the phone off.

No, press send, he told himself.

Turn the phone OFF.

Sweating, he looked at her asleep in the bed and then forced himself to move his thumbs.

Every letter was agony, but he forced himself.

Just one word, he typed out.

Just the single word, "HELP."

His fingers ached to erase the word, wanted to power the phone down but he fought the urge.

Struggling against himself, he fought to hit the send button, but he finally managed it, though he was breathing like he'd ran a race and had to brace himself against the vanity to do it.

Still breathing hard, his side paining him, hurting him, he exited the bathroom and again stood and stared at her sleeping form.

You want her? His mind whispered.

Yes, he thought.

Then you can have her, his mind whispered. I'll give her to you.

Forever.

You can have her forever.

Just lie down and hold her, and everything will be fine, his mind told him.

Rest. It's time for you to rest.

Lay down and hold her.

She's yours.

He thought about putting his t-shirt back on, but he needed her skin against his skin as he lay down beside her.

Promising himself, that he wouldn't touch her, wouldn't ruin what little bit they had left of their relationship. He'd just lie close enough he could savor her scent, inhale her sweet scent.

And he laid down, slid between the sheets, not touching her and not holding her close, but he still lay still close enough to feel the heat coming off her body.

His chest truly ached as he lay there and drifted in that place between being awake and being asleep, more content than he'd felt in a long time.

Heavens, he'd missed her. Oh, how did he deal with not having her?

He still didn't know.

And he was barely holding on.

Yet, what was bad that this was the best night he'd known in a long time as he drifted away.

Heavens, that was sad.

But then when wasn't what he felt about her really sad?

No, maybe feeling sad was better than not feeling at all?

Maybe?

And a small smile filled his face as he lay close but not close enough to touch her.

Yet, he smelled her.

So what if he couldn't turn loving her off?

However, a small piece of him was glad to be here beside her as he fell into sleep, even though he mourned the fact he couldn't touch her, yet, he was glad to be close enough he could pull her close.

He wouldn't but he could.

At least he had that much, and he drifted away into sleep.

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Reviews? I look forward to you making my day by talking to me. And as always thanks for the read.

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Extra note:

I know I need to update this story but November is Nano month, so currently this story is on the back burner but don't worry I will update it.

However, I've signed up to write a new story of 50,000 words in a month.

Yeah, I guess I like insanity.

Gives me something to do.

Sorry, just like the damn show, there's no Olicity. (Sorry about that.) John Diggle will cameo and there is a reference to Felicity helping out.

Besides that this story is my own creation, and I own all rights to my story.

So, I am working this month on a totally new story that I'd thought I'd share with my readers. The name of the story is "Gem Fire," and I think it's going to be a great ride.

Hope you will come over and check it out.
I think it's going to be intense.

Summary:

Betty Joe Taylor could really sing. After marrying her childhood sweetheart, Joel Phillips, she became a breakout artist named Gem Fire since she was a Gem and her world was on fire.
Yet life as a superstar is hard. Joel's changed, and when the opportunity to escape his abuse presents itself, she jumps at the chance. But can she really stay dead? Now that's the question.