Chipped Blocks
An Olicity Flash Fic Story
Flash Fic Prompt #42: One Question
Chapter Fourteen
Mia was still unconscious – in part, because Oliver needed a moment to center himself, but he also knew the absolute hell she was about to experience, and even one more minute of peace was a gift to both of them.
Arms folded over his chest and ankles crossed before him, Oliver leaned back against a medical table, the cold steel below the cotton of his t-shirt grounding him. It was a reminder of everything he still needed to do before Mia woke up... or, well, before he woke Mia up. The base he made of his basement needed to be stripped of anything that could possibly pose a danger to Mia or anyone else there to help her. He needed to stock the space with supplies: with clean, utilitarian clothes that, again, couldn't be used in self-harm; in gatorade and orange juice, in water and bland and gentle foods. There were phone calls and arrangements to make, and Oliver still had to figure out what exactly he was going to say to Connor and Thea, to Raisa and Roy whose help he needed, yet he couldn't reveal to them too much while asking for it.
But, just like waking Mia could wait a few more minutes, so, too, could Oliver's preparations. As he stood there... just watching the tiny, broken teenager, Oliver made note of several details. Previously, when first confronted with Mia's rage towards her mother, he'd been caught off guard and too upset on Felicity's behalf to really observe Mia for herself. But now Oliver felt like he was actually seeing her and not just Felicity's little girl.
Oh, there was no denying the fact that Felicity and Mia were related. They shared the same facial structure, the same delicate frame, the same eyes. Even with Mia's lids closed over that particular shade of blue – Felicity blue, Oliver could at least remember that much about the sixteen year old from that morning's scene at the Smoak women's apartment. While Mia was even smaller than Felicity – not an easy feat... and something Oliver guessed was a result of her sustained drug use, the other differences in their physical appearances seemed deliberate – like Mia was forcing the issue. What Oliver didn't know was whether those differences were necessary for the young girl because she wanted to be different than her mother or if it was more than that – if it was a need to establish her own identity.
If it was the latter, that was something Oliver could understand and relate with even. He liked Felicity. He, well, he more than liked Felicity, but, even caring for her the way he was really starting to, Oliver knew her shadow would not be a pleasant one to stand behind. She was just so... bright, so full of life, and that level of accomplishment – whether as a CEO (like his own father) or even, as some idiots would say, just a technology teacher like Felicity – could feel like an impossible standard to live up to.
He'd only known Mia for a couple of hours, but Oliver could already tell that she pulled around with her a weighty inferiority complex, born from her issues stemming from her father's death and the addiction spiral her anger towards her parents had set her upon. Add to that the fact that she blamed her mother, her only living parent, for her dad's death and the typical teenage angst – that drive to be different, to stand out, to be special, and it was no wonder Mia's hair was shorn so short she sported just a fine, brunette fuzz on top of her head, that her clothes were loose and plain, that her skin and features pale with the effects of her sickness and her absolute refusal to do anything to make herself look even more like her mother.
A part of Oliver was surprised that Mia hadn't gone in the opposite direction – instead of trying to wipe away their similarities that she hadn't attempted to cover them up with black, hidden them behind a darkness that was the exact opposite of Felicity. Briefly, he considered the idea that maybe Felicity, in her youth, had gone through her own dark period – a goth faze. After all, in her explanation of her past with Mia's father, she had hinted towards her own former anger, but the idea of Felicity as a goth was simply ludicrous, and maybe Oliver was giving Mia too much credit. In her drug-addled state, who knew why she had done the things she had to her appearance. Perhaps her shaved head was the result of hallucinations, and her sallow pallor due to the fact that her addiction had driven away all other desires, interests, and hobbies but that need to plunge a needle between her fingers and feel the rush of oblivion only heroin could...
"Oh, hell no."
Although he had been expecting him, Diggle's entrance was... less than conventional for the security expert. Still not standing from where he was leaning against the steel table, Oliver twisted his head towards the basement's entrance, his brow furrowing as he observed the other man. "Digg," he questioned his guard's emphatic declaration, his tone; he questioned the obvious cocktail of frustration and annoyance.
But he didn't receive an answer. Instead, as he pounded down the stairs, John spewed a continuous litany of denials. Denials of what, Oliver had no idea. "No. No, no, no, no, no. Nuh uh. I don't think so. Absolutely not. NO."
"Are you finished?"
Rounding on him with wide, disbelieving eyes, Digg countered, "are you out of your ever-loving mind?"
Quickly, Oliver went over everything he had done, said, and even thought since the last time he and Diggle had touched base, trying to figure out what had set the older man off. But he came up blank. While Digg would probably have something to say about Oliver starting a real relationship with Felicity, if he had a problem with it, he should have said something before they spent the last week searching for her missing kid. Because, whether they were friends in the traditional sense or not, John knew him well, so he knew that taking such a step with a woman was not something Oliver would do lightly, especially not now with Connor in his already complicated life. Plus, for as often as Oliver and John had saved each other's lives, they weren't partners in Oliver's mission. They worked together. In fact, John worked for him, and John was also the first one to remind Oliver of that distinction when something they did came too close to Digg's personal life, to his family. Those aspects of Diggle's life were clearly separated, so Oliver's should be as well.
Having digested his thoughts in a matter of seconds, Oliver narrowed his gaze in the other man's direction. "Excuse me?"
"You have pulled a lot of crazy stunts over the years, Oliver, but I draw the line at this." Still not grasping what John was so fired up about, Oliver raised his brows, silently instructing his guard to spit it out already. In response, Digg gestured towards the basement. More specifically, he pointed towards Mia. "I will not be party to kidnapping a teenage girl."
While he had been prepared to explain his decision to help Mia in this way to Roy and Raisa whom he needed to help take shifts in watching over Felicity's daughter while she detoxed, Oliver had hoped Diggle would get what he was trying to do without the words. Sighing – because he'd only been awake for a few hours, but he was already exhausted; because they hadn't even really started with Mia, and already Oliver was doubting whether or not he could actually do this – if he could help this troubled girl; because, if John didn't get it and support him, then how the hell was he supposed to convince someone who didn't know the truth about his background that he was capable of changing a child's life; because all he really wanted to do was drive back to Felicity's apartment, crawl into bed beside her, and never leave again, but the possibility of that faded further and further away with every moment that passed, and Oliver lifted his right hand to his nose to pinch the bridge. As he exhaled, he defended himself. "Felicity knows where her daughter is, Digg. I didn't kidnap Mia."
"She knows where her daughter is. Really?"
The sarcasm wasn't hard to miss and neither was the meaning behind it. "Of course she doesn't know that," Oliver snapped, glaring at the other man. Finally pushing away from the medical table, he started pacing. The otherwise generous width of the underground room was broken up by numerous stations containing their supplies throughout the sterile, cold space. "I'm not an idiot."
"Eh," Diggle hedged.
Oliver ignored him. "Look, if you don't want to help, fine. Leave. But I thought that, if there was anyone who would understand why I have to do this, it'd be you."
"I can see why you'd want to," Digg allowed. "She's an innocent who needs saving. That's what you do. Plus, it doesn't hurt that you're already halfway in love with her mother."
While Oliver chose to ignore Digg's attempt to talk about his feelings, he did address the doubt they could have been hinting towards. "This isn't about trying to impress Felicity."
"I know that, Oliver. You're not that kind of man anymore, and, frankly, this might surprise you, but I think Felicity... and even Mia, too... are good for you. They'll make you a better, smarter fighter, because they'll give you something worth coming home to... just like with Connor. But this," John gestured towards the still unconscious teenager, "is a disaster waiting to happen."
They could go back and forth on this for hours, but Oliver decided to cut straight to the point. "Rehab won't work, Digg. Mia's already been there more times than Felicity could afford, and, after every single trip, she relapsed willingly. Happily. I'm not saying that I know what I'm doing exactly. That's why I need your help... and Roy's and Raisa's, but I have to try." Ceasing his pacing, he moved so that he could stand by his guard, the two of them solemnly looking at a frail, still Mia. "She's angry, Diggle – so angry that she's not-so-slowly killing herself, because she has no place to put her anger." With an ironic twist of his lips, he asked, "sound familiar?"
Dryly, the other man remarked, "vaguely," though they both knew the comparison was anything but ambiguous. "So, what? You're going to help her detox and then put a bowl of water in a front of her?"
There were moments... ones like this one where Digg could be so flip... when Oliver regretted sharing even the smallest details of his past with the other man. "Learning a skill, learning to trust herself and her body, physically training to become mentally stronger can help her stay sober, John. I know it."
"And after you've molded her into a warrior, Oliver, what then," the security expert pushed him. "After she figures out the truth about you... and she will, because what other conclusion will she be able to draw after she sees your scars, after you train her in martial arts, after you teach her to use a bow, how will this girl ever go back to the world outside of this basement? How will you? Because she'll either turn you in... if she's smart, or you'll constantly be looking over your shoulder in doubt, waiting for the other shoe to drop, and this will cause you to make a mistake, and then we'll both be in trouble. Or worse. Because, once Mia knows the truth, it's only a matter of time before your sister, and Connor, and Roy, and Raisa, and then Felicity learn it, too."
While Digg wouldn't believe him, in the fleeting moments that Oliver considered the potential consequences of his actions before he asked Felicity if she trusted him, he had considered these outcomes of his offer to help Mia get clean. Quite frankly, there was a part of him that didn't care if his secret came out. His exhaustion was more than just physical and mental. He was almost forty years old, and, selfishly, Oliver wanted to get to know his son without the threat of the truth looming over them; he wanted to date Felicity and maybe make a life with her without having to worry that, in doing so, he'd be selfishly damning her to suffer the repercussions of his actions. But more than this desire for change in his life was the overwhelming truth that this was just something that he had to do. There was no other choice to make.
Speaking slowly and softly, he tried to express this to Diggle. "I knew that Walter was suspicious of my mother all those years ago after I first returned home. I knew that he was secretly having her investigated, that their marriage was falling apart, and I knew that he wasn't safe, but I didn't say anything. I kept quiet to protect my secret, and he was kidnapped. I stayed quiet, and he eventually was killed... just like 504 other people were killed, because I decided it was better to save them in secret on my own versus risk revealing myself in order to ask for help."
"Oliver, you have to know that Tommy and Laurel died because of Malcolm, not you."
"And Sara died on that god-forsaken island because of Malcolm, too, right, and not because I was too much of a coward to tell her sister that I didn't want to move in together? And my mother died in prison because of Malcolm as well and not because I knew it would be too much of a coincidence if the Hood rescued Moira Queen from jail?"
"You've made mistakes." Chuckling lowly, John tried and failed to add some levity to their conversation. "We both know that I'm the first person to tell you when you're wrong. But you've changed, Oliver. You're better than you were when you first came back, and you're helping this city without taking lives."
Walking away and walking towards where Mia was handcuffed to an army cot, Oliver offered up one more thing for Digg to consider. "Maybe not killing isn't enough for me anymore; maybe, for once, I need to help someone save themselves."
And, with that, Oliver found the pressure points he would need to bring the addicted teenager back to consciousness. With a startled gasp, Mia Smoak woke up.
A/N: As a child of an alcoholic, I do not have any illusions about the struggle that is recovery and sobriety. This story is by no means meant to be an accurate portrayal of what that process would be like for a heroin addict. While I do think a lot of what Oliver has planned for Mia would be healthy and good for her (and there's more that has not yet been revealed in this latest chapter), I'm not a drug counselor. What I know about heroin addiction comes from the media - both fictional and non-fictional accounts - and from reading. This certainly does not an expert make. However, what I do feel that I have the authority to write about is what it is like to emotionally live with an addict, and I have witnessed first hand what it is like for an addict to live with themselves. That - the feelings these characters have for each other - is the truth of this story, their relationships what are important. So, please, keep this in mind while reading this fic. Thanks!
