Home: An Arrow Fanfic

Chapter 8

Oliver surfaced feeling groggy and disorientated. Every inch of his body felt as though it had been run over by a bus. He tried opening his eyes, but his lids felt heavy and uncooperative. Trying again, they cracked open, taking a few seconds to adjust.

He was lying on the medical bed in the foundry. It was quiet, the lights dimmed. His head was throbbing mildly, a reminder of the hit he'd taken when he'd fallen to the ground.

He got away. I failed - again.

Oliver tried to piece everything together through the fog that still clouded his memory. He felt anger and no small measure of defeat at being bested a second time. How do I stop him if he has no weaknesses? Since coming back from the island he'd never gone up against anyone he couldn't conquer. The thought that this foe may always have the upper hand didn't sit well with him. However, he was grateful that no one had died – himself included.

His senses returning to normal, he became aware of something soft and warm resting against his right hand. Moving his head slightly he saw Felicity. She was sitting beside his bed, her body bent at the waist, her arms resting on the bed. Her face was turned toward him, her cheek resting on his hand. She was fast asleep.

Her cheeks rosy and her hair in a pleasant state of disarray, she looked so peaceful. Taking in the sight of her, his eyes roamed over her puckered lips, devoid of any lipstick; her mouth slightly ajar, the warmth of her breath blowing over his wrist as she slept.

She'd never looked more adorable.

Watching her sleep, his complicated feelings for her stirring in his chest, almost made him forget his vow to avoid any kind of personal relationship. But he knew he couldn't. He'd only end up hurting her and she deserved far better than a man who lived half of his life in the shadows. If he ever went down, he refused to take her with him.

Felicity…

When her head lifted and her eyes popped open he realised that he'd said her name out loud. Embarrassed, he was glad that she couldn't see his face clearly in the dimly lit room.

"Oliver?" She sprang up and leaned over him, her hands running over his face, her eyes searching his. Her touch was gentle and feather light.

"I'm here," he said softly, watching her face flood with relief.

She sagged against the bed. "How are you feeling?" Her hands were now running down his arm, leaving a trail of sensation in their wake. They came to rest at his hand, his fingers curling around hers to hold them captive.

"Thank you, Felicity."

Her eyes devoured his face, registering his sincerity. She'd never been so happy to see anyone as she was to see him awake and well. He'd been out for more than three hours while she'd kept a vigil at his bedside, unable to tear herself away. She must have fallen asleep because all she remembered was watching his face one moment and then hearing him call her name the next.

"It wasn't all me. Dig was the real lifesaver," she said, her face burning beneath his intense scrutiny. "If I'd been alone you would most likely be in a body bag right now."

He laughed and then grimaced. She felt a pang as she watched him flinch. He had to be in a considerable amount of pain. "I don't believe that. You have an impeccable bedside manner."

She was acutely aware of their joined hands, fingers entwined as tightly as a lovers knot. It felt right - as though her hand belonged in his, as though his was specifically designed to fit hers. She knew the notion was fanciful. A man like Oliver, charming and sophisticated, his beauty undeniable, his appeal irrefutable, could have his pick of willing women. With so much variety, he wouldn't choose an IT nerd who thought Roberto Cavalli was a soccer player.