remember all the words I said - t - olicity - 1/1 [b]
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.
[return.]
"How's the wine?"
Felicity grinned, laid out on top of him, their legs tangled, her chin balanced on his chest. "Dreamy."
Oliver's smile dipped and he reached for her, stroking her hair back. "None of it's real, is it?"
Her eyes fell to his chest and drew circles with her forefinger. "You are… How you feel is."
"But I don't get to have you like this… ever." He clenched his teeth, blinking back tears. "I lost you."
She raised her eyes then to meet his. "Yeah," she whispered. "You did."
A shuddering breath left his chest and he reached up to press a hand to his eyes. "I can't… Felicity, I can't."
"Shh…" She rubbed his chest and climbed up him, burying her face in his neck. "I've got you. It's okay."
He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed, pressing his face to her hair. "I need you back. I need you. Please…. Please…"
Nobody called him.
It was early morning and John was getting ready to take the car out to pick Oliver up from his house when a breaking news report cut across the television just as he was pulling his jacket on. He didn't give it much thought; there was always something going wrong and he was sure the radio would fill him in on the way, if not Felicity's many warning texts before they all met up at QC. He could just imagine her, tablet in hand, eager to tell them the latest problem as soon as the elevator doors opened.
Briefly, he considered the possibility that he wouldn't have to wait until they were at QC. She and Oliver were getting closer, maybe he'd finally done what he'd been hesitant to for too long. If those two didn't get their heads on straight and get together soon, John was going to have to say something. He didn't want romance getting in the way of things, but considering he was currently enjoying happiness with Lyla, he couldn't deny the same to his two friends, especially when it was so obvious that there was no one who made them happier than each other.
Oliver had been dancing around his feelings from the word Go. And, much as John hadn't been sure about bringing Felicity into the fold at first, she certainly showed just how valuable she was. Their team wouldn't be half as effective without her, and neither would they as people. She was their heart, and he didn't know how much one was missing until she stepped in as resident genius and surrogate sister, at least to him. He was pretty sure the position she stepped into in Oliver's life wasn't sisterly at all, not if the way Oliver looked at her was anything to go by. It wouldn't be the first life or death situation to lead to marriage, but he thought it might be one of the few to weather the storm and come out the victor in the end. Or, so he hoped. If any two people deserved happiness, it was them.
"Johnny," Lyla called.
"Yeah, Ly, I promise I'll get the milk," he assured, rolling his eyes as he moved toward the door.
"No. John, the news…"
He walked back to the kitchen to see the small television she had set up to watch while she cooked.
"Sources say that Oliver Queen arrived at the hospital late last night, severely wounded after being brutally attacked in the Glades. One other victim has been identified as Felicity Smoak, Mr. Queen's executive assistant at Queen Consolidated. Queen reportedly carried Miss Smoak to the hospital after she suffered a fatal gunshot wound to the stomach." The reporter pressed a hand to her ear and nodded. "I'm learning now that Oliver Queen has been deemed physically stable, but there has been concern about his mental state. Sources inside claim that Queen was visibly distraught over Miss Smoak's death and had to be heavily sedated in order for them to remove her and have doctors see to his condition… We'll have more for you as soon as we find anything out. I'm Leslie Gladrow-"
Lyla muted the television and turned to face him worriedly, but he stood, stock still, staring at the pictures that were still being shown. Felicity, smiling, with her hair drawn back in a ponytail.
A fatal gunshot wound to the stomach.
Fatal gunshot wound.
Fatal.
"John?" Lyla asked quietly.
He dragged a hand down his face and felt it shake as it stilled over his mouth. "I have to go," he choked out.
"John," she called after him, but he was already walking out, leaving the apartment as quickly as he could.
He went downstairs, digging his keys from his pocket, and climbed into his car.
The drive to the hospital was a blur. There were news reporters all camped outside, eager to get a shot of a recognizable face. John bypassed them all and walked into the hospital, making his way to the front desk. He rattled off a reason he would be there, barely hearing his own words, and asked for the room number. After offering his identification, he was allowed through and pointed in the right direction. He slowed down when he found Thea in a chair in the hall, her legs pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them, and her chin balanced on her knees. Her eyes were ringed red and tear tracks could still be seen on her cheeks.
"Miss. Queen," he said, looking down at her.
It wouldn't be the first time the news got it wrong and his chest felt heavy with the uncertainty of the situation.
She glanced up at him before wiping a hand over her cheek to swipe a fallen tear.
"Is he…?"
"He's alive," she said hollowly.
He could hear the 'but' hanging in the air and restrained from barking at her. He needed answers, but this girl, this family, didn't know him or his role in Oliver's life. He was just a driver, staff, someone who blended into the background until needed. He never felt that more than in that moment.
"They had to sedate him three, maybe four times… They brought him into surgery, but he woke up." Thea smiled sarcastically. "He woke up screaming for her and tried to fight them off…" She shook her head, letting out a little hiccup of a broken laugh. "That's all he ever does. He wakes up and he begs them to tell him where she is and then they have to tell him all over again. They have to tell him she's gone and he can't take it." Her shoulders started shaking. "I talked to him and he finally remembered, but… he wants to give up."
John's eyes fell shut as the truth hit him abruptly in the chest. "She's gone," he said, his voice thick.
Her head lifted abruptly, eyes wide. "I… I'm sorry. I didn't… You knew her, too. Of course you did."
His hands shook as he raised them to his face, pressing his fingers into his eyes to stave off the tears. "The news… It said she was shot." He looked down at her, restless and uncomfortable with the loss of control.
Thea nodded hesitantly. "Yeah, they… They were in the Glades, on their way to Verdant, I think. The police found her car; it hit a light pole or something. They think they were ambushed, that Oliver fought back but there were too many. They shot her, and they stabbed him, and then I… I don't know." She shrugged helplessly. "They ran, I guess. And he… He carried her. He carried her all the way to the hospital, but… She died. She died in his arms and he… He still brought her here and they tried to help him but they were scared of him. They said he was…" She swallowed thickly. "He was wild and they weren't sure what he'd do, so they sedated him and they took her away."
John squeezed his fingers tightly into his palms, his knuckles protesting the pressure. "But he's he woken up? He'd lucid now?"
"He's woken up four times since he got out of surgery, mom talked to him before I did. The first two times it was… violent. They restrained him. They had to." She leaned back in her chair and wiped her face, sniffling. "The doctor wants to put him on psych watch."
A muscle ticked in his jaw. "They should," he said.
Her brow furrowed as she looked up at him. "Did she matter that much?" she wondered, her voice cracking.
He met her gaze steadily, but before he could answer, the click-clack of heels interrupted, and Moira Queen's voice interrupted. "You," she said, her voice dripping with accusation. "Where were you?"
He turned to face her, his head held high. "Mrs. Queen, I-"
"You were hired to be his driver. He specifically picked you for the job, and I thought, with your background as a bodyguard, that this would keep him safe. But exactly when you were supposed to be doing your job, you were where? Nowhere to be found!"
John gritted his teeth and met her cutting eyes, even as her words hammered into his chest with more truth than he could take. "With all due respect, Mrs. Queen, I'm not here in a professional capacity."
Her brows hiked. "Excuse me?"
"If you want to fire me, you can. But I'm not here to beg you to reconsider. I'm here because a very…" His voice caught. "A very good friend of mine died… and I know what she meant to your son."
Moira lifted her chin, her brow furrowed. She glanced away momentarily, at the door that led to Oliver's room, and then she asked, very softly, "What was she to him?"
John took a moment to reply, but said with all certainty, "Everything."
Moira's face fell, her eyes worried. "I wasn't aware that he was… seeing her, in that capacity."
"He wasn't." He shook his head. "Felicity was... She was special. Oliver trusted her. He… was in love with her, but I don't think he ever told her that."
Moira sighed, her eyes falling closed. "I think he did… It was just too late." When she looked back up at him, her ire had fled. "I apologize for what I said earlier. I was… I am very worried about my son."
He nodded, clasping his hands in front of him, dredging up what little professionalism he had left in him. "Would it… be possible for me to see him?" he asked.
She nodded slowly. "He might not wake up. He's been…. They've had to keep him sedated; he comes and goes. He hasn't been… coping well."
"I told him about the psych watch, mom," Thea piped up then. "He thinks it's a good idea."
Moira looked up at him sharply, her question clear.
John shifted his feet, sighing, before he looked between them. "Oliver has been struggling with things that happened on the island… Felicity helped him with that. She… anchored him." He shook his head. "I'm not sure how he'll handle her death, especially if he blames himself for it, and… he will."
"What you're suggesting is that you think my son might… hurt himself," Moira struggled to say, a hand reaching for her throat as her worry threatened to choke her.
"I'm saying the love of his life died in his arms… and I'm not sure he can recover from that."
A breath whooshed out of her at the finality of his voice and she turned to look at Thea, her brow furrowed.
"Mom…" Thea's voice was strained, her expression tight.
"Thank you, Mr. Diggle," Moira said, dismissing him as she moved to her daughter.
He nodded at her before moving toward the door leading into Oliver's room. He pushed it open and stepped inside, pausing as he set eyes on the broken man who seemed too large for the bed he laid in. A heart monitor was hooked up to him, his ankles and wrists restrained to the bed, a blue, hospital-issue blanket pulled up to his shoulders. He was pale with dark rings under his eyes, and, despite being asleep, looked more exhausted than John could ever remembered seeing him.
John reached for the clipboard with Oliver's most recent medical information on the front and read through it. Contusions on his knuckles consistent with a fight, a knife wound on his right side, five inches deep, severe blood loss… He read through what was done, what he was given to knock him out, and how often it had been administered in order to keep him sedated. How he broke through his restraints the first time…
"The juicy parts are a few pages in, when they get into what happened on the island," Oliver's gruff voice interrupted the quiet.
He looked up to find a tired Oliver staring at him, his eyes at half-mast, still a little hazy both from pain meds and the sedatives.
Oliver raised his arms to showcase the wrist restraints and smiled sardonically. "I bet you always thought we were headed here."
"In the beginning, maybe."
He let out a sarcastic, bitter laugh. "You were always honest, Digg." He grinned, pointing at him. "I liked that about you."
"You don't have to put on the act, Oliver. There's no one around to see it," he told him quietly.
"What act?" His lips curled up at the corners, his hands spread open, palms up. "This is Oliver Queen, in all his broken glory… This is what tragedy looks like, Digg." His head fell back for a moment, his eyes roaming away from him. "You warned me. When I first brought her in. I didn't listen… I told you I could protect her."
"You did. You saved her, Oliver, repeatedly."
His teeth were clenched as he sucked in a breath. "Not this time… Not when it counted."
John moved toward him, shaking his head. "What happened?"
"What always happens… They wanted revenge on Oliver Queen, so they took it. They ran us off the road and dragged us out of the car. They shot her and left her to die in the street. So I carried her. I carried her, but she couldn't hold on." He looked up and met John's eyes as tears spilled down his cheeks. "She made me promise she'd be a happy story." Spittle flew from his lips as she choked on his words. "She made me promise we'd help each other." He shook his head. "And I lied… I lied, because there is no happy story if she dies." He sat forward, pulling at the restraints on his wrist. "The story is over. This, all of this, it's just a nightmare. It's just one more spin in purgatory before I die, one more fight I lost, one more person to add to the tally."
John shook his head, but he couldn't speak, not with the way his throat tightened.
"I had her blood on my hands." He curled his fingers in until they bit into his palms. "I had her blood all over me. She died. She died. I begged her not to go… I held her in that street and three people -three- drove by and not one helped me." He shook his head. "I tried to save those people. I fought for them." He stabbed a hand toward the door, aimlessly gesturing at the Glades itself. "She helped me try to save them and they killed her." He bared his teeth in a snarl. "They took her from me."
"She wouldn't want this, Oliver."
"I know what she wants." He nodded, a tear trailing down his cheek and trembling on his chin. "She wants me to make it through this, but I won't. I can't." He shook his head, physically shaking with his grief and rage. "I am done. With all of it. Do you understand? I'm done!"
"Oliver-"
"If I pick that bow up again, it'll be to kill every single person that touched one hair on her head. Every single person who drove past us while I carried her, broken and bleeding, begging for someone to stop."
John ground his teeth together and shook his head faintly. "That's not what she stood for."
He laughed then, void of any semblance of joy. "She was the only good thing holding me together. And now I'll be exactly what Tommy always knew I was. A killer." He fell back toward the bed, his face red with exertion and fury. A few seconds passed with nothing but his heavy breathing and then he focused on John again and his anger fled him. "They took her, Digg… They took her away from me, and now I have nothing."
He shook his head, blinking back his own tears. "I'm sorry… I wasn't there, and I'm sorry."
Oliver tipped his head, his brow furrowed, and then he smiled faintly. "She didn't blame you. She understood." His eyes fell to his lap. "She always understood."
"Yeah," John choked out. "Yeah, she did."
"I want you to promise me something," he said quietly.
John raised an eyebrow in askance.
"Keep them safe."
John stood a little taller then. "You're going to be around to do that yourself."
He smiled up at him. "We both know where this is headed."
"Oliver…" John shook his head. "I won't clean up your mess."
"Yeah, you will." He nodded knowingly. "You'll stop me before I get too out of control, and I'll let you. You'll bury me beside her because that's what I want. I want to be beside her. And when I'm gone, you'll wear the hood and you'll save the city. Because you're my friend, and a hero, and you're the only one left."
John's throat burned hollow as he turned away, unable to argue. He walked to the window and stared out at the Glades, a stab of anger swelling in his chest.
"Do you think she'll hate me?" Oliver wondered quietly as he rested his head against the pillows, sinking into them as his eyes began to close.
He walked back toward the hospital bed. "No…" John's voice cracked and it took him a second to get it back. "No, she could never hate you."
Tiredly, he smiled. "I loved her, Digg… I love her so much."
"I know." John watched as he slipped away. "I know you did."
John took a seat beside the bed and got comfortable.
Whatever happened, he would see it to the end, no matter how gruesome it got, no matter how much Oliver spiraled, and he would. He would tear the Glades apart, piece by piece, and find every single person that hurt her. He would destroy them unrepentantly, leaving bodies in his wake. And then he would limp home and crawl into his bed; he would ignore his mother's pleas to snap out of it, his sister's hand constantly trying to drag him back from the edge. He would run, full throttle, until his revenge was reached, and when it was all done, he would finally lay down arms and have his peace.
John was always sure it would end in blood and death, but he had hoped it wouldn't be them.
Hope died on a Tuesday night in the Glades; he wondered what her last words were.
{end.}
author's note: I've had this written for ages, but I was never really sure I was happy with it. I'm sure part of it has to do with how much I don't like writing sequels to certain stories because I feel like it takes away from their impact, but I did want to explore Oliver's grief more. I had a few different versions I was going to explore, one of which involved Oliver being under psych watch and never really talking, seeming to be catatonic for the most part. But this happened instead and I'm still not sure how I feel about it, but it's out there and it's done. So I hope you liked it in some way, or that it at least drew some kind of emotional response.
Thank you all for reading! Please, leave a review; they're my lifeblood.
- Lee | Fina
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.
[return.]
"How's the wine?"
Felicity grinned, laid out on top of him, their legs tangled, her chin balanced on his chest. "Dreamy."
Oliver's smile dipped and he reached for her, stroking her hair back. "None of it's real, is it?"
Her eyes fell to his chest and drew circles with her forefinger. "You are… How you feel is."
"But I don't get to have you like this… ever." He clenched his teeth, blinking back tears. "I lost you."
She raised her eyes then to meet his. "Yeah," she whispered. "You did."
A shuddering breath left his chest and he reached up to press a hand to his eyes. "I can't… Felicity, I can't."
"Shh…" She rubbed his chest and climbed up him, burying her face in his neck. "I've got you. It's okay."
He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed, pressing his face to her hair. "I need you back. I need you. Please…. Please…"
Nobody called him.
It was early morning and John was getting ready to take the car out to pick Oliver up from his house when a breaking news report cut across the television just as he was pulling his jacket on. He didn't give it much thought; there was always something going wrong and he was sure the radio would fill him in on the way, if not Felicity's many warning texts before they all met up at QC. He could just imagine her, tablet in hand, eager to tell them the latest problem as soon as the elevator doors opened.
Briefly, he considered the possibility that he wouldn't have to wait until they were at QC. She and Oliver were getting closer, maybe he'd finally done what he'd been hesitant to for too long. If those two didn't get their heads on straight and get together soon, John was going to have to say something. He didn't want romance getting in the way of things, but considering he was currently enjoying happiness with Lyla, he couldn't deny the same to his two friends, especially when it was so obvious that there was no one who made them happier than each other.
Oliver had been dancing around his feelings from the word Go. And, much as John hadn't been sure about bringing Felicity into the fold at first, she certainly showed just how valuable she was. Their team wouldn't be half as effective without her, and neither would they as people. She was their heart, and he didn't know how much one was missing until she stepped in as resident genius and surrogate sister, at least to him. He was pretty sure the position she stepped into in Oliver's life wasn't sisterly at all, not if the way Oliver looked at her was anything to go by. It wouldn't be the first life or death situation to lead to marriage, but he thought it might be one of the few to weather the storm and come out the victor in the end. Or, so he hoped. If any two people deserved happiness, it was them.
"Johnny," Lyla called.
"Yeah, Ly, I promise I'll get the milk," he assured, rolling his eyes as he moved toward the door.
"No. John, the news…"
He walked back to the kitchen to see the small television she had set up to watch while she cooked.
"Sources say that Oliver Queen arrived at the hospital late last night, severely wounded after being brutally attacked in the Glades. One other victim has been identified as Felicity Smoak, Mr. Queen's executive assistant at Queen Consolidated. Queen reportedly carried Miss Smoak to the hospital after she suffered a fatal gunshot wound to the stomach." The reporter pressed a hand to her ear and nodded. "I'm learning now that Oliver Queen has been deemed physically stable, but there has been concern about his mental state. Sources inside claim that Queen was visibly distraught over Miss Smoak's death and had to be heavily sedated in order for them to remove her and have doctors see to his condition… We'll have more for you as soon as we find anything out. I'm Leslie Gladrow-"
Lyla muted the television and turned to face him worriedly, but he stood, stock still, staring at the pictures that were still being shown. Felicity, smiling, with her hair drawn back in a ponytail.
A fatal gunshot wound to the stomach.
Fatal gunshot wound.
Fatal.
"John?" Lyla asked quietly.
He dragged a hand down his face and felt it shake as it stilled over his mouth. "I have to go," he choked out.
"John," she called after him, but he was already walking out, leaving the apartment as quickly as he could.
He went downstairs, digging his keys from his pocket, and climbed into his car.
The drive to the hospital was a blur. There were news reporters all camped outside, eager to get a shot of a recognizable face. John bypassed them all and walked into the hospital, making his way to the front desk. He rattled off a reason he would be there, barely hearing his own words, and asked for the room number. After offering his identification, he was allowed through and pointed in the right direction. He slowed down when he found Thea in a chair in the hall, her legs pulled up to her chest, arms wrapped around them, and her chin balanced on her knees. Her eyes were ringed red and tear tracks could still be seen on her cheeks.
"Miss. Queen," he said, looking down at her.
It wouldn't be the first time the news got it wrong and his chest felt heavy with the uncertainty of the situation.
She glanced up at him before wiping a hand over her cheek to swipe a fallen tear.
"Is he…?"
"He's alive," she said hollowly.
He could hear the 'but' hanging in the air and restrained from barking at her. He needed answers, but this girl, this family, didn't know him or his role in Oliver's life. He was just a driver, staff, someone who blended into the background until needed. He never felt that more than in that moment.
"They had to sedate him three, maybe four times… They brought him into surgery, but he woke up." Thea smiled sarcastically. "He woke up screaming for her and tried to fight them off…" She shook her head, letting out a little hiccup of a broken laugh. "That's all he ever does. He wakes up and he begs them to tell him where she is and then they have to tell him all over again. They have to tell him she's gone and he can't take it." Her shoulders started shaking. "I talked to him and he finally remembered, but… he wants to give up."
John's eyes fell shut as the truth hit him abruptly in the chest. "She's gone," he said, his voice thick.
Her head lifted abruptly, eyes wide. "I… I'm sorry. I didn't… You knew her, too. Of course you did."
His hands shook as he raised them to his face, pressing his fingers into his eyes to stave off the tears. "The news… It said she was shot." He looked down at her, restless and uncomfortable with the loss of control.
Thea nodded hesitantly. "Yeah, they… They were in the Glades, on their way to Verdant, I think. The police found her car; it hit a light pole or something. They think they were ambushed, that Oliver fought back but there were too many. They shot her, and they stabbed him, and then I… I don't know." She shrugged helplessly. "They ran, I guess. And he… He carried her. He carried her all the way to the hospital, but… She died. She died in his arms and he… He still brought her here and they tried to help him but they were scared of him. They said he was…" She swallowed thickly. "He was wild and they weren't sure what he'd do, so they sedated him and they took her away."
John squeezed his fingers tightly into his palms, his knuckles protesting the pressure. "But he's he woken up? He'd lucid now?"
"He's woken up four times since he got out of surgery, mom talked to him before I did. The first two times it was… violent. They restrained him. They had to." She leaned back in her chair and wiped her face, sniffling. "The doctor wants to put him on psych watch."
A muscle ticked in his jaw. "They should," he said.
Her brow furrowed as she looked up at him. "Did she matter that much?" she wondered, her voice cracking.
He met her gaze steadily, but before he could answer, the click-clack of heels interrupted, and Moira Queen's voice interrupted. "You," she said, her voice dripping with accusation. "Where were you?"
He turned to face her, his head held high. "Mrs. Queen, I-"
"You were hired to be his driver. He specifically picked you for the job, and I thought, with your background as a bodyguard, that this would keep him safe. But exactly when you were supposed to be doing your job, you were where? Nowhere to be found!"
John gritted his teeth and met her cutting eyes, even as her words hammered into his chest with more truth than he could take. "With all due respect, Mrs. Queen, I'm not here in a professional capacity."
Her brows hiked. "Excuse me?"
"If you want to fire me, you can. But I'm not here to beg you to reconsider. I'm here because a very…" His voice caught. "A very good friend of mine died… and I know what she meant to your son."
Moira lifted her chin, her brow furrowed. She glanced away momentarily, at the door that led to Oliver's room, and then she asked, very softly, "What was she to him?"
John took a moment to reply, but said with all certainty, "Everything."
Moira's face fell, her eyes worried. "I wasn't aware that he was… seeing her, in that capacity."
"He wasn't." He shook his head. "Felicity was... She was special. Oliver trusted her. He… was in love with her, but I don't think he ever told her that."
Moira sighed, her eyes falling closed. "I think he did… It was just too late." When she looked back up at him, her ire had fled. "I apologize for what I said earlier. I was… I am very worried about my son."
He nodded, clasping his hands in front of him, dredging up what little professionalism he had left in him. "Would it… be possible for me to see him?" he asked.
She nodded slowly. "He might not wake up. He's been…. They've had to keep him sedated; he comes and goes. He hasn't been… coping well."
"I told him about the psych watch, mom," Thea piped up then. "He thinks it's a good idea."
Moira looked up at him sharply, her question clear.
John shifted his feet, sighing, before he looked between them. "Oliver has been struggling with things that happened on the island… Felicity helped him with that. She… anchored him." He shook his head. "I'm not sure how he'll handle her death, especially if he blames himself for it, and… he will."
"What you're suggesting is that you think my son might… hurt himself," Moira struggled to say, a hand reaching for her throat as her worry threatened to choke her.
"I'm saying the love of his life died in his arms… and I'm not sure he can recover from that."
A breath whooshed out of her at the finality of his voice and she turned to look at Thea, her brow furrowed.
"Mom…" Thea's voice was strained, her expression tight.
"Thank you, Mr. Diggle," Moira said, dismissing him as she moved to her daughter.
He nodded at her before moving toward the door leading into Oliver's room. He pushed it open and stepped inside, pausing as he set eyes on the broken man who seemed too large for the bed he laid in. A heart monitor was hooked up to him, his ankles and wrists restrained to the bed, a blue, hospital-issue blanket pulled up to his shoulders. He was pale with dark rings under his eyes, and, despite being asleep, looked more exhausted than John could ever remembered seeing him.
John reached for the clipboard with Oliver's most recent medical information on the front and read through it. Contusions on his knuckles consistent with a fight, a knife wound on his right side, five inches deep, severe blood loss… He read through what was done, what he was given to knock him out, and how often it had been administered in order to keep him sedated. How he broke through his restraints the first time…
"The juicy parts are a few pages in, when they get into what happened on the island," Oliver's gruff voice interrupted the quiet.
He looked up to find a tired Oliver staring at him, his eyes at half-mast, still a little hazy both from pain meds and the sedatives.
Oliver raised his arms to showcase the wrist restraints and smiled sardonically. "I bet you always thought we were headed here."
"In the beginning, maybe."
He let out a sarcastic, bitter laugh. "You were always honest, Digg." He grinned, pointing at him. "I liked that about you."
"You don't have to put on the act, Oliver. There's no one around to see it," he told him quietly.
"What act?" His lips curled up at the corners, his hands spread open, palms up. "This is Oliver Queen, in all his broken glory… This is what tragedy looks like, Digg." His head fell back for a moment, his eyes roaming away from him. "You warned me. When I first brought her in. I didn't listen… I told you I could protect her."
"You did. You saved her, Oliver, repeatedly."
His teeth were clenched as he sucked in a breath. "Not this time… Not when it counted."
John moved toward him, shaking his head. "What happened?"
"What always happens… They wanted revenge on Oliver Queen, so they took it. They ran us off the road and dragged us out of the car. They shot her and left her to die in the street. So I carried her. I carried her, but she couldn't hold on." He looked up and met John's eyes as tears spilled down his cheeks. "She made me promise she'd be a happy story." Spittle flew from his lips as she choked on his words. "She made me promise we'd help each other." He shook his head. "And I lied… I lied, because there is no happy story if she dies." He sat forward, pulling at the restraints on his wrist. "The story is over. This, all of this, it's just a nightmare. It's just one more spin in purgatory before I die, one more fight I lost, one more person to add to the tally."
John shook his head, but he couldn't speak, not with the way his throat tightened.
"I had her blood on my hands." He curled his fingers in until they bit into his palms. "I had her blood all over me. She died. She died. I begged her not to go… I held her in that street and three people -three- drove by and not one helped me." He shook his head. "I tried to save those people. I fought for them." He stabbed a hand toward the door, aimlessly gesturing at the Glades itself. "She helped me try to save them and they killed her." He bared his teeth in a snarl. "They took her from me."
"She wouldn't want this, Oliver."
"I know what she wants." He nodded, a tear trailing down his cheek and trembling on his chin. "She wants me to make it through this, but I won't. I can't." He shook his head, physically shaking with his grief and rage. "I am done. With all of it. Do you understand? I'm done!"
"Oliver-"
"If I pick that bow up again, it'll be to kill every single person that touched one hair on her head. Every single person who drove past us while I carried her, broken and bleeding, begging for someone to stop."
John ground his teeth together and shook his head faintly. "That's not what she stood for."
He laughed then, void of any semblance of joy. "She was the only good thing holding me together. And now I'll be exactly what Tommy always knew I was. A killer." He fell back toward the bed, his face red with exertion and fury. A few seconds passed with nothing but his heavy breathing and then he focused on John again and his anger fled him. "They took her, Digg… They took her away from me, and now I have nothing."
He shook his head, blinking back his own tears. "I'm sorry… I wasn't there, and I'm sorry."
Oliver tipped his head, his brow furrowed, and then he smiled faintly. "She didn't blame you. She understood." His eyes fell to his lap. "She always understood."
"Yeah," John choked out. "Yeah, she did."
"I want you to promise me something," he said quietly.
John raised an eyebrow in askance.
"Keep them safe."
John stood a little taller then. "You're going to be around to do that yourself."
He smiled up at him. "We both know where this is headed."
"Oliver…" John shook his head. "I won't clean up your mess."
"Yeah, you will." He nodded knowingly. "You'll stop me before I get too out of control, and I'll let you. You'll bury me beside her because that's what I want. I want to be beside her. And when I'm gone, you'll wear the hood and you'll save the city. Because you're my friend, and a hero, and you're the only one left."
John's throat burned hollow as he turned away, unable to argue. He walked to the window and stared out at the Glades, a stab of anger swelling in his chest.
"Do you think she'll hate me?" Oliver wondered quietly as he rested his head against the pillows, sinking into them as his eyes began to close.
He walked back toward the hospital bed. "No…" John's voice cracked and it took him a second to get it back. "No, she could never hate you."
Tiredly, he smiled. "I loved her, Digg… I love her so much."
"I know." John watched as he slipped away. "I know you did."
John took a seat beside the bed and got comfortable.
Whatever happened, he would see it to the end, no matter how gruesome it got, no matter how much Oliver spiraled, and he would. He would tear the Glades apart, piece by piece, and find every single person that hurt her. He would destroy them unrepentantly, leaving bodies in his wake. And then he would limp home and crawl into his bed; he would ignore his mother's pleas to snap out of it, his sister's hand constantly trying to drag him back from the edge. He would run, full throttle, until his revenge was reached, and when it was all done, he would finally lay down arms and have his peace.
John was always sure it would end in blood and death, but he had hoped it wouldn't be them.
Hope died on a Tuesday night in the Glades; he wondered what her last words were.
{end.}
author's note: I've had this written for ages, but I was never really sure I was happy with it. I'm sure part of it has to do with how much I don't like writing sequels to certain stories because I feel like it takes away from their impact, but I did want to explore Oliver's grief more. I had a few different versions I was going to explore, one of which involved Oliver being under psych watch and never really talking, seeming to be catatonic for the most part. But this happened instead and I'm still not sure how I feel about it, but it's out there and it's done. So I hope you liked it in some way, or that it at least drew some kind of emotional response.
Thank you all for reading! Please, leave a review; they're my lifeblood.
- Lee | Fina