remember all the words I said - t - olicity - 1/1 [a]
title: if terror falls upon your bed, and sleep no longer comes (remember all the words I said)
category: arrow
genre: tragedy/romance
ship: felicity/oliver, john diggle, thea queen, moira queen
rating: pg-13
music: be still by the fray
warning: Suicidal Themes, aftermath of Major Character Death
word count: 5,729
summary: [sequel to: "be still"] Felicity's death leaves a fractured Oliver in its wake; this is the aftermath.
previous: be still and know that I'm with you (be still and know that I am here)
if terror falls upon your bed, and sleep no longer comes (remember all the words I said)
-1/1-
When darkness comes upon you
And covers you with fear and shame
Be still and know that I'm with you
And I will say your name
He dreamt of her.
Of her smile and her laugh and that stubborn way she set her chin when she disagreed with him. He dreamt of pink lipstick and blue fingernails and dyed blonde hair. He dreamt of her hand reaching for his and her fingers tapping at keyboards. Of the way she said his name and how she stood up, hands on her hips, ready to argue with him until he admitted defeat. He dreamt of blue eyes and the catch in her throat when he walked back into the foundry injured. Of her hands fluttering to his face and her arms around his neck as she hugged him.
He dreamt of those last moments; of her fingertips scrubbing down his cheek and her hand pressed to his neck.
He dreamt of her and he woke three times, confused and scared and drugged out of his mind, screaming her name as he struggled to get off the hospital bed. They sedated him twice before finally using the restraints, telling him it was for his own safety, that he had stitches and they didn't want him to pull them, again.
He saw her when he closed his eyes and wished he never had to open them.
She was sitting on a couch in his den, a glass of red wine balanced on her knee, her head cradled in her hand as she smiled at him.
"You look happy," she said, studying his face.
"I am. I'm with you."
She laughed under her breath. "Since when do I make you smile like that?"
He shuffled across the couch, closer to her, so she was nearly pressed to his side. "Since always." He reached for her glass and plucked it from her fingers, placing it on the table before he took her hand and held it in his. He rubbed his thumb over and around her knuckles. "I didn't get to say a lot of things…"
"You didn't have to."
He frowned, staring at her hand in his a moment. "I should have."
She shook her head. "I knew."
He raised his head to meet her soft, knowing gaze. "Felicity…"
She detangled their fingers and reached for his face, her hand pressing lightly against his cheek. "Do you remember your promises?"
He covered her hand and held it close, nuzzling into her touch. "I promised to keep you safe."
"Oliver… What happened to happy stories, huh? And letting Digg help you?"
His brow knotted tightly. "I could stay here… with you." He squeezed her hand as his shook. "I'm happy here. I'm happy with you."
She rubbed her thumb under his eye as a tear slipped free. "No more running away."
He let out a shuddering breath and stared at her. "Please don't go. Don't leave me."
She leaned forward, until their foreheads were pressed together. "I'll never leave you." She kissed him softly, a pass of her lips over his. "I'm yours."
"You're mine," he breathed against her lips.
She whispered, "Always."
He stared into her eyes and promised, "Always."
His eyes were dry when he peeled them open. His vision blurry as he stared at the ceiling, watching each square slowly become clear. He blinked, a stinging behind his lids, and took stock of his body. There was a dull ache in his side; the painkillers were wearing off. His body felt heavy, weighed down; his ankles and wrists were strapped tight. He'd torn one of the restraints off the last time he woke up; apparently they replaced it.
There was a beeping, steady and irritating, just to the left of him; a heart monitor not unlike the one they had in the foundry.
Noise, voices, distant and foggy at first, until slowly they began to leak through the haze.
"Are the restraints necessary?"
"Mrs. Queen, I'm not sure you understand… We're recommending that you put Oliver under psych evaluation."
"I understand that he was wounded, and that being attacked like that could be traumatizing, but-"
"Mr. Queen carried a young woman in with him. A… Felicity Smoak? She had already… She didn't survive."
"Oh God…" Her voice muffled, as if her hand was pressed to her mouth.
"He's woken up three times, once while he was still in surgery, and he physically tried to fight off everyone around him. They've repeatedly had to sedate him and when they try to calm him down, he doesn't listen. He… hasn't said anything but her name. My concern is that, after everything that happened on the island, this may have been… one trauma too much."
"What are you saying?"
"I'm saying Oliver may have suffered a mental break. We won't know for certain until he's awake and lucid, but… I would highly recommend you seriously consider you consent to having him put on psych watch…" The doctor sighed. "May I ask what type of relationship he had with Miss Smoak?"
"I… She was his assistant. His friend, I think. I don't… They seemed close, but he didn't share any personal details."
"Mr. Queen was listed as her emergency contact. I'm afraid the only family she has that we know of is a sister in South Africa. We can't seem to get in contact with her."
"I can talk to someone at Queen Consolidated, see if there's anything in her records," Moira offered.
"That would be helpful, thank you."
"Of course." There was a pause then, before, "Doctor, what… what condition was he in when he arrived?"
"He suffered severe blood loss due to a stab wound on his right side, there were contusions on his fists from what we assume were in defense of his life earlier in the night."
"And… mentally? What… state was he in?"
The doctor cleared his throat. "The head nurse in the emergency room said that he was hostile and refused to allow them to take Miss Smoak or see to his injuries. They were concerned both for their safety and his, and made the decision to sedate him… He struggled when they took Miss Smoak from him. He was very… emotional and distraught. When they told him they were going to help him, he told them it was too late."
Moira let out a shuddering breath.
"Mrs. Queen?"
"It is not too late," she told him emotionally.
"I only want you to be prepared."
"For what? Exactly."
There was a pause before he answered, "Your son may not come back from this."
"They told me that once before, doctor. I didn't believe it then and I won't believe it now."
"I understand that. I also understand that no one is certain what happened on that island except for Mr. Queen. But we do know what happened here. Mr. Queen and a person he cared for deeply were attacked in the Glades, he was severely injured and from what the police have informed me, he carried her from where they were attacked all the way to this hospital. At some point during that journey, she died in his arms, and he continued to walk with her until he was here. Now, I don't know what the relationship between them was, but I do know that your son fought off one of our strongest sedatives four times and the only thing he wanted, the only person he wanted to see, was a woman who is currently in our morgue…" He sighed. "I can't tell you what to do, I can only advise that you take precautions. The restraints will stay on until the staff here are certain that he is not a danger to them or himself. When he is no longer deemed that, and he is healthy enough to return home, you will have to decide if his mental health needs to be assessed."
"I understand… Thank you."
"Of course. If you have any other questions, please don't hesitate."
A few seconds of silence passed before footsteps could be heard walking away, and then the door creaked as his mother stepped into the room. She moved toward the bed and Oliver closed his eyes so she wouldn't see he was awake. She moved closer to him, resting a hand on his, and squeezed. He heard her breath hitch as she inhaled, and then her hand was on his cheek, stroking a thumb around his eye.
"You're going to be okay," she told him softly. "Do you hear me, Oliver? You are going to be okay."
He didn't open his eyes. He didn't lean into her touch. He didn't squeeze her hand.
He waited until she stopped, until she let him go, and took a seat in the chair beside his bed.
He listened to the beeping in the background, his steady heartbeat filling every dark corner of the room, a terrible reminder that he lived. And he started counting: one… two… three… He thought of when they met, of how her babbling had caught him so completely off-guard that he'd had no choice but to smile. He thought of how that still happened when she was trying to get control of her brain-to-mouth filter. Tears swam in his eyes and he sucked in a breath, holding it at the back of his throat as he fought against the flood of memories, of all the little things she'd said and tried to take back.
One, two, three.
"Oliver?"
He stared at the ceiling, his face turning red with the pressure of holding his breath and fighting against the memory of her, angrily telling him that she didn't want to be his executive assistant; that she liked spending her nights with him, but it wasn't what she'd been trained for.
"Oliver, you have to breathe," his mother ordered him, her hand on his chest. "Breathe."
But he didn't, he gritted his teeth and he stared at the ceiling, a vein throbbing in his forehead, tears leaking out the corners of his eyes, and listened to her voice in his head.
And I will stop in five, four, three…
His vision began to blur and his chest ached, but he pressed his head back against the pillow and fought against the desperation to inhale.
"Oliver," his mother shouted, her eyes glazed with tears as she forced him to look at her, to see how worried she was. "Breathe, please… Please!?"
He stared at her, some distant part of his mind recognizing her, while a much more fractured part just wanted her to go away, to leave him alone.
And then something passed over her face, her eyes narrowing, and she shook her head. "Do you want Felicity, Oliver?"
He blinked at her, his brow furrowed.
"I'll get her for you. I'll bring her to you. Just… Just breathe." Moira nodded at him encouragingly. "You have to breathe."
Oliver looked past her shoulder, confused and hazy. Felicity. He wanted Felicity. He needed her. Slowly, his teeth unclenched and he inhaled, hiccupping, coughing when air finally pulled into his lungs. But he breathed, he inhaled and exhaled, and turned his head up to stare at the ceiling.
"Felicity…" he murmured.
"That's right," his mother said quietly, stroking his cheek.
His eyes were heavy; they began to close and he struggled for a moment.
"It's okay," Moira whispered. "Go to sleep."
"Felicity."
"Shh…" She stroked her fingers back through his hair.
He drifted off, the world going black once more.
"I wouldn't recommend doing that again…"
Oliver opened his eyes to find himself back in the den, his head resting in her lap.
Felicity stroked her fingers through his hair, looking down at him, a brow raised. "You really scared her."
"I'm sure I've scared her a lot. Habit of mine." He leaned into her touch, her nails lightly scratching his scalp. "I missed you."
"You can't hold your breath until you pass out so you can see me… That's bordering on Bella Swan behaviour, you know?"
His brow furrowed. "Why do I know that?"
"Twilight. I made you watch it, remember?"
He frowned. "That shitty vampire movie?"
She rolled her eyes, smiling. "Yes, that one. But don't try to change the subject." She rubbed his forehead with her thumb. "You scared your mom…"
He sighed, turning his head so his face was pressed close to her stomach. "I don't want to go back."
"You can't stay here." She shook her head. "Oliver, look at me."
He turned his eyes up, looking lost and sad. "Please, don't make me go."
"A few more minutes," she allowed.
He reached for her other hand and brought it up to his mouth, kissing the pad of every finger as he kept it close, bringing her palm up to his cheek as he gazed up at her.
"I love you."
She smiled. "I know."
It would be hours before he woke again, and this time the pressure on his hand was different. Smaller, softer, and somehow stronger than any other.
Thea.
He blinked his eyes a few times before he turned his head to see her. Roy was in the background, asleep on a couch against a wall, his red hood pulled up over his head.
"Ollie?" she asked, standing from her chair. She reached for him, a hand on his shoulder. "Ollie, can you hear me?"
He stared up at her, her eyes ringed red and tear tracks still wet on her cheeks. He moved to lift his arm, but found it still restrained to the bed.
Without hesitation, she undid the buckle and loosened the strap for him, releasing his arm, taking his hand in hers and lifting it up to her face.
"It's Thea," she told him, searching his face. "Speedy."
He rubbed a thumb over her cheek, wiping away a tear, and frowned.
"I… I heard about Felicity. I'm so sorry…" She blinked back tears. "I know… I know how much she mattered to you."
Make me a happy story, Oliver.
He felt a stab to his heart and his expression tightened, his brow furrowed. "Thea," he murmured.
"I'm here, I'm here," she told him, squeezing his hand.
He shook his head. "She's gone," he breathed. "Felicity's gone."
"I know." Her breath hitched as a tear fell down her cheek. "I'm sorry."
"I need her." His teeth clenched as he sucked in a pained breath. "I can't... do this without her."
A sob bubbled out of her throat. "Please don't say that. Please." She crumpled, dropping her head to his chest, hugging him, her arm looped around his shoulder. "Don't leave me, Ollie. Not again. Please…"
He cupped her head with his hand, his fingers threaded in her hair, but he didn't say anything. He stared at the ceiling, feeling her shake against him, struggling with her tears. He held her for what felt like minutes or hours, until he faded back out, and wondered if she would ever forgive him.
[continue.]