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.
Not that she thought him a snob. He wasn't. It was just the way of the world. The rich and beautiful stuck together and she, a normal girl, would always be on the outside looking in. But despite all that, she couldn't help it. She'd tried to remain courteous, friendly and professional and the truth was that she'd failed miserably. Somewhere between him scaling that wall at Sean Grayson's house and him collapsing in Diggle's arms, she'd given up trying to. She could no more deny loving Oliver Queen than she could deny her lungs air to breathe. A road that she was sure would be paved with the embarrassment of unrequited love, but one she would happily travel if it meant she got to spend more time with him.
Finally admitting the truth made her feel shy and awkward. "M-maybe I missed my…uh…calling. Perhaps I should be a nurse, you know? Then again, I tend to panic in certain situations. I mean…blood makes me want to heave…not that I heaved looking at your blood. You have nice blood…red and gooey…" She cringed as her words trailed off. Nice blood?
Oliver stifled a laugh. She knew it hurt. "I'm glad you like it." Then, "What time is it?"
She checked. "Just past 4am."
"You've been here all this time?"
Uncomfortable, she nodded. "I couldn't exactly leave you here by yourself."
He looked around as if suddenly remembering something. "Where's Dig? He should have sent you home."
Felicity frowned. "He had to drive your mother to an event. You think I could have gone home and played a round of Dungeons and Dragons knowing you were lying here unconscious? Possibly seriously injured?" She sounded incredulous. "I-I may not be your personal chauffeur-cum-back-up-Arrow-person, but that doesn't mean I don't care." She tugged at her hand, hurt that he'd wanted her gone.
He held on firmly, refusing to let go. "Hey," he said softly, "that's not what I meant. If anything happened to me, I would want Dig to keep you safe. At home, you'd have not been involved in any fallout."
"Oh," she said, embarrassed that she'd jumped to conclusions.
"Oliver! You're awake! Another hour and I would have been forced to take you to a hospital." With Diggle's arrival the intimate spell between them was broken. Felicity withdrew her fingers from his, their loss leaving a void, but not before Diggle got an eyeful.
Oliver felt her withdrawal more keenly than he ought to. She'd been offended at the suggestion that she flee to safety while his life hung in the balance. Her concern touched him. If he was honest with himself, he was glad she'd been there.
Oliver sat up gingerly, wincing as he moved. "Thanks Dig. You're always patching me up."
"Hey, what's a vigilante without his clean-up crew?" he joked.
Testing his arm he lifted it slightly, relieved that there was no damage other than a superficial wound. "Everything okay at home?"
Felicity brought a blanket and covered his shoulders with it. Its warmth was immediate and much needed. He looked over his shoulder at her, his eyes conveying his gratitude as he grasped the ends and pulled it up high against his neck.
"Okay. I dropped your mother back home a few minutes ago. She asked about you."
"I hope your story telling is better than Oliver's," Felicity quipped from behind him.
Diggle cracked a smile. "Much."
"Could you track him?" Oliver needed to know if they had any idea who The Archer was or where he went.
Felicity came around the bed and stood beside Diggle. "Only as far the next street. He took out the cameras and disappeared."
"Oliver, what happened in there?" He knew the question was coming.
Slowly climbing off the bed, he ran a hand over his bandaged rib cage. "When I arrived he was about to kill Grayson. My appearance distracted him enough to put a stop to the execution. We fought and he got away."
"I'm just glad you're okay. If the Police didn't arrive when they did…"
"I could be in the City morgue right now," Oliver finished sombrely.
"But you're not. And neither are the Grayson's. That's a win in my book." Diggle was always the optimist.
Oliver looked at him, frustration evident in his body language. "He's better than I am. Much better than I am." He shook his head when Diggle started to speak. "I'm being realistic about the facts, Dig. He's stronger, he's faster."
"Maybe. But a lot of that is also in here." He pointed a finger at his head.
Oliver knew he was right. The Archer did have a psychological edge.
"We'll get him."
"Yes, we will." Determination braced Oliver's words.
Felicity had been standing silent, listening to them. "Any idea if he was planning on framing you again?"
Oliver shrugged. "Possibly. It makes sense that he would. I wasn't looking out for that though."
"Right. Too busy trying to arrow him." She made a throat slitting gesture.
Oliver knew it was her attempt to lighten the mood. He smiled. "Something like that. Although I think he had more success than I did."
Diggle turned off the medical equipment. "Time to get you home, Oliver."
"I doubt I'll be able to get any sleep with the residual adrenalin in my system."
"So not the point. Drink some hot milk if you have to."
Oliver glared at Diggle.
"If you want to be ready to beat Hawkeye 2.0, then you need to regain your strength."
Oliver's gaze swung from Diggle to Felicity, his head cocked to the side, eyes narrowed. "Where do you come up with this stuff?"
Felicity grinned, "I'm blonde. But not that blonde. Genius, remember?"
Diggle grabbed his coat and keys. "Get ready and I'll meet you both out front."
Felicity watched as Oliver walked slowly to her side, the blanket draped around him like a cloak. Her eyes widened when he didn't maintain his usual personal-space barrier. He stepped up close. Very close. She froze in place as he bent slightly, leaning down until his mouth aligned with her ear. She shivered involuntarily. "You're remarkable." He waited a heartbeat before pulling back, his eyes holding hers captive, searching, before following Diggle out. It took her a moment to register what he'd said before her cheeks flamed with colour. Confused, she grabbed her bag and walked after him.