Green Hoods, Fiery Hair, and Russian Lullabies || Oliver Q.

Chapter Three

She's woken up by the booming sound of the worsening storm, a particularly loud crash of thunder sending her tumbling out of bed and onto her feet, the knife she'd stashed beneath her pillow a few hours previous clutched tightly in her right hand. She's instantly alert, her eyes darting around the room in search of a threat only to relax when none reveal themselves. A whimper from her left catches her attention, and her head snaps sharply to take in Oliver curled up fetally beneath the large window that's somehow come unlatched, the wind surging into the room and lashing violently against the curtains. Anastasia slips the blade back beneath her pillow and then dashes over to Oliver's side, freezing halfway when the door to his room slams open.

She twirls on the balls of her feet in a move so graceful that it's a dead giveaway to her ballet background before shifting so she's blocking as much of Oliver's vulnerable form with her own body as possible, only to relax at the sight of Moira Queen and Walter Steele standing in the doorway with worried looks on their faces. "Stay back!" She calls warningly over the howling of the wind, her face illuminated briefly- and almost eerily- by a bright flash of lightning. She turns and closes the distance between her and her lover in a few quick strides, dropping to her knees at his shoulder. It's always risky to wake Oliver, but it's especially so when he's in the midst of a nightmare.

Ana huffs in annoyance when she sees Moira kneel down at his other side, frustrated that the blonde woman had ignored her advice- despite the fact that Ana's been helping Oliver through this for years- and therefore putting herself in danger. It's very likely that Oliver will lash out, and Anastasia is much more capable of dealing with it and coming out unscathed than Moira Queen. "Oliver." She puts a hand on his shoulder and shakes it gently. "Oliver! Ты в безопасности, Оливер. Ты дома и в безопасности." (You're safe, Oliver. You're home and you're safe) She shakes him by the shoulder one last time, and then she's being roughly flipped onto her back faster than she can blink, Oliver hovering threateningly over her with his hands around her throat. She waits for only half a second, and when awareness doesn't break through the clouds of his nightmares in his eyes, she throws her legs up to wrap tightly around his waist, using them to toss his weight to the right and off of her torso. He grunts as his back slams against the floor, Anastasia rolling with him so she's now straddling his hips before pressing her forearm against his throat to keep him down. "Оливер, это Анастасия, ты в безопасности! You're safe! Come back to me. You're safe." (Oliver, it's Anastasia, you're safe!)

She watches the blue of his eyes clear and his breathing slow as she talks, the tension melting from his muscles one at a time. They stare at each other for a long moment, green tethering blue to reality, before Moira's hand comes to rest on Oliver's shoulder, causing him to startle and his eyes to grow a bit wild again.

"Oliver?" The sound of his mother's voice
seems to be enough for him to realize that this new touch isn't a threat. The last of the tension disappears and his breathing finally normalizes, so Anastasia pulls her arm away slowly, cautiously releasing him but still ready to put him down if she needs to.

"I'm sorry." He breathes, his eyes dark with guilt.

"You have no reason to be sorry, Oliver. Вы выжили, и теперь мы спасем ваш город." (You survived, and now we will save your city) She climbs off of him and holds a hand out for him to grasp, helping him to his feet.

"Oliver," Moira's voice cuts through the dark, reminding the couple of their audience. She's pissed at the Russian woman still holding her son's hand, more pissed than she should be seeing as she's just managed to pull him from the grasp of his PTSD. If Malcolm was here he'd be telling her that this hatred stems from her resentment of Isabel Rochev, and the memory of Robert's dalliance with the Russian whore. But what the problem really is, is the fact that Oliver is throwing his future away on a gold digger. They might have needed each other to get through the island, but they're not on the island anymore. They're back in the real world, and the man in this room might be wearing his face, but he isn't acting like her son. It's all too much, and she hates feeling like she's gotten him back just for him to slip from between her fingers and into the grasp of Anastasia Alexeyevna. "Are you okay?" She pushes to her feet and walks his way, reaching out to put a gentle hand on his shoulder blade.