Chapter Five: Walls Kept Tumbling Down

Author's Notes: Another short little update, this one from Felicity's perspective. Chapter title comes from Bastille's "Pompeii". Let me know what you think. :)

She'd been hearing her mother's voice nonstop for what felt like an eternity. Laughing, crying, talking, yelling, screaming, begging, pleading, apologizing . . . people said that Felicity talked a lot but if they spent just two minutes with Donna they'd know where she got it from. Donna would talk about the baby or what gossip she'd heard from nurses or even about some cute doctor she'd seen in the hallway. Occasionally she'd hear a doctor or a nurse explaining things to her even though she wasn't awake or even talking to her mother.

None of that ever brought her out of this endless state of sleep, though. None of it seemed to register in her mind. It was like she was stuck, trapped in this stage of nothingness. Had it been a day? A week? A year? She didn't even know. Time ceased to have meaning, blending together like the thoughts in her head.

Until she heard a different voice . . .

This one was distorted – male, from what she could tell but it was altered by some sort of tech. But the tech couldn't hide the emotion she heard in the voice – desperation, fear, anxiety, worry . . .

With just the words "get away from her" she was spooked out of this endless nightmare. Something was wrong, something was making it hard for her to breathe. She couldn't much feel her body yet but she knew that there was something stifling her. She felt her limbs twitch, however stiff and sore, and when she let out a painful moan her unused vocal cords rejected her. More than that, it was like something was muffling her ability to open her mouth. Then in a moment she felt a rush of air breeze over her face and whatever was holding her back from breathing was gone. She gasped – soundless – as she fought to regain her breath.

She could hear the signs of a struggle, something violent in the room around her. The sounds of blows being delivered and bodies crashing to the floor. A high pitched squeal – but not from a person or animal.

Her eyes flew open, adjusting to the dark room as they landed on another pair of eyes – these ones masked, hidden by strips of cloth. The Arrow, the vigilante she'd seen on the news and heard about since she'd moved to town. But she didn't need him to remove the mask to know who it was . . . she'd know those eyes anywhere.

The pain, the loss . . . it was the man who'd locked eyes with her in the hospital room right before she'd been taken to the delivery room. The man who uselessly stood in front of a vending machine just to make sure she was okay but still allowed her to have her space. The man she'd watched crumble from down the hall as her own knees gave out on her. The man the nurses had been gossiping about. The man in the green hooded sweatshirt she was pretty sure was watching her in the cafeteria before he disappeared in a flash of green.

Oliver Queen.

"Are you okay?" His voice was still distorted (apparently that hadn't just been her subconscious) as he walked toward her. He probably didn't know that she knew who he was. She flinched, still confused from just waking up. "H-Hey . . . I'm not going to hurt you." He stopped, holding out his hand.

Little did he know that somehow she already knew that.

A small grunt of pain broke their eye contact and she found her gaze on the heap of body on the floor across the room. In the harsh light from the doorway, she squinted her eyes and let out a gasp.

"He's not going to hurt you anymore, Miss Smoak." The Arrow – Oliver – stepped toward her again. Inside a part of her was freaked out that he knew her name but the other part was relieved and slightly flattered that he didn't call her Mrs. Palmer. Then she realized that he probably knew all about her – he was a vigilante; he was probably investigating the crap that her hu—that Ray was involved with.

Which, by the way . . . "I . . . he . . ." Her voice was still so rough. Oliver picked up the cup of water from the table beside her bed and helped her take a few drinks. She cleared her throat, suddenly wondering why the nurses hadn't come running from all the noise. "I k-know him . . ." She whispered.

"You know the man who attacked you?" Oliver said. She nodded. "He works for Ray Palmer or Grant Wilson, doesn't he?" She was right – he was looking into it.

"Wilson." She told him. Did Oliver think she was involved? And why would her dead husband's business partner send someone to kill her? Oh god . . .

"Hey, your mom and your son are safe. It's okay. He's a strong boy, maybe he'll even be a hero one day." Oliver smirked.

She breathed a sigh of relief . . . "Son? I have a son?" He nodded. Voices and footsteps sounded from the hall. He glanced at her and then at the door. "It's okay, go."

He let out a breath. "I'll keep you safe. Don't trust the cops – I don't know who else is involved. If you have any questions or need to contact me only go through Detective Lance – he's the only one you can trust. Okay?" She nodded. She turned toward the door as the voices and steps got louder. When she turned back to Oliver, he was gone – the window was open and a breeze wafted in.

When the nurses came in, she told them she woke up and only saw the dead man on the floor. By the look on their faces, the green arrow in his chest gave away who did it. Not that they'd ever find him.

The cops came to question her but she refused to talk to anyone but Detective Lance. She told him what happened and who was there when she woke up – though she left out that she knew who the Arrow was. He told her that there was a lot they didn't know yet and there hadn't been any sightings of the mixed up crew her husband had been involved with. He also said that the Arrow was doing everything in his power to figure this out and he'd keep her and her family safe.

She didn't get to meet her son or see her mother for several hours – the doctors wanted to run tests and make sure she was okay (both from the coma she'd apparently been in for weeks and the attack). The tests all seemed to be good – or so they told her. They even said she might get to go home soon.

By the time her mother and a nurse wheeled the little cart in, she was beyond drained. She never realized how exhausting a coma could be. That didn't stop her from wanting to hold her son, though. She ignored the pain in her muscles and let the nurse help her sit up. Her mother sat at her side as the nurse lowered her little boy into her weak arms.

He was the picture of perfection . . . the small tuft of light brown hair, the squishy little nose. Her mother said he looked just like Felicity when she was a baby (which relieved her to no end). He was a squirmy little guy and it didn't take long for Donna to have to help her weak arms hold him but it didn't matter.

The nurse asked her about a name and she faltered for a moment. She'd looked at some before she'd been brought to the hospital and at the time none had stuck out. She'd been too undecided and preoccupied with just getting him out of her. But now . . .

She remembered Oliver's words when he'd told her she had a son . . .

"His name is Finley, but maybe just Finn for short . . ." She told them. She remembered reading that the name represented energy and power and was an Irish hero's name. And a middle name . . . hmm . . . Finn was a gift out of all the darkness she'd had to overcome . . . "Finley Jonas Smoak."

"Oh sweetie, that's adorable." Donna gushed. The nurse smiled, telling them she'd get the form for the certificate when Felicity was ready.

She held on tight to Finn for as long as her body and the nurse allowed her to. He was warm and he snuggled in her arms like he knew he was safe and loved and belonged there. She couldn't wait to take him home and have him all to herself.

As the nurse wheeled him away, she curled up in her mother's arms. The happiness from the baby started to wear off and she began to think about what had happened earlier –

Someone had tried to kill her. And not just anyone – someone who was employed by the company she now owned and by the man who was her so-called husband's business partner. She didn't know what they'd been up to. She knew it was something illegal and possibly dangerous but she'd never really thought they'd come after her.

They weren't safe – her mother or Finn or her. Sooner or later Grant Wilson would send someone after her and her family again . . . and next time Oliver might be too late.

As the tears fell down her face and she clung to her mother like a child, she knew she had to do everything she could to protect her family. She couldn't just sit around and wait for the Arrow to save her. She looked to the table beside her bed where Detective Lance's card lay next to the lamp.

She would contact the Arrow herself – she'd help Oliver Queen bring down the men who'd probably not only killed her "husband" but also threaten her family now. She'd do whatever she could to keep Finn safe.

To be continued . . .

Author's Note: So . . . what do we think of the baby's name?