title: be still and know that I'm with you (be still and know that I am here)
category: arrow
genre: tragedy/romance
ship: felicity/oliver
rating: pg-13
music: be still by the fray
warning: you'll need tissues – major character death ahead
word count: 3,782
summary: "Don't add me to your list of regrets… Make me a happy story, Oliver."

be still and know that I'm with you (be still and know that I am here)
-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

It all went wrong on the way to Verdant.

Digg had an emergency with Lyla, he couldn't pick them up from QC, but Felicity had her car.

"What, you think you're too cool for my mini, Mr. Queen?" she teased as he stood outside the passenger side door.

He frowned. "It's called a mini for a reason. I'm not completely sure I'll fit."

"You fit just fine with a bullet wound."

"That was across the whole back seat, and it was more than a little cramped."

"Well, tough beans," she said, pushing the button to unlock the doors. "Digg needs some personal time and he deserves it." She pulled her door open and slipped in. "Besides," she added as he opened his side and climbed in, "we've only got a few things to do at the foundry and then we can head home." She paused. "Uh, to our separate homes, in different parts of the city. I—I wasn't inviting myself over, or you to my place. Although, if you wanted to come over, I wouldn't say no. I've got a bottle of red that needs drinking and a DVR full of shows you've probably never heard of but will definitely knock your socks off."

His lips twitched in that helpless smile she always pulled out of him. "I have a wine cellar."

She tipped her head, brow raised. "Is that an invitation?"

He smiled widely then. "If I make it home in one piece without becoming crippled from you undersized car, yes, it's an invitation."

She grinned and turned to plug her key into the ignition. "Accepted."

He chuckled under his breath, watching her profile as she went through all the steps before pulling her car out and heading for the parkade exit.

The drive toward Verdant was filled with bickering over radio stations; Felicity had set preferences and Oliver… didn't like them. So he fiddled, and she slapped his hands, which didn't stop him in the least.

"This music is terrible."

"It's not my fault you have no taste."

"I own a club!"

"That your much cooler sister runs," she scoffed.

"I resent that," he muttered.

"Fine, she's cooler in the usual sense, but you have your…" She waved a hand at him vaguely, "whatever that makes you cool in a different way."

"My 'whatever'?" he repeated, amused.

She sighed, exasperated. "Do you want me to spell it out?"

"I wouldn't mind."

Felicity rolled her eyes. "I'm not going to stroke your ego. You do enough stroking on your own." She backtracked. "Oh my god, that's not what I meant. I have no comment on your stroking."

He bit the inside of his lip.

"Don't laugh at me!" she ordered, pointing in his direction.

He shook his head.

"Oliver!"

"I'm not laughing," he promised, holding his hands up.

"You are too. In that inside way you do."

His brow quirked. "Inside way?"

"Yes, where you don't feel like laughing suits you, so you hide it… But I can see it happening."

His face softened then and he stared at her gently. "You always do."

"Do what?"

He smiled faintly. "See me."

She turned to look at him and smiled lightly. "Well, you're not hard to look at."

He laughed aloud then, ducking his head a little, and when he looked up, she didn't look awkward, she looked proud.

They settled on a radio station and he leaned back in his seat, just listening to her sing under her breath, the passing street lamps lighting up her face, giving her a pretty glow. He crossed his arms over his chest and was content to just watch her and melt into the comfort that came with having her at his side. It was nice, having some time together without the weight of some enemy or another waiting in the wings. He looked forward to cracking open a bottle of wine and enjoying it with her. A tipsy Felicity was something for the history books.

He'd be lying if he said he didn't want a night just to themselves. They were on a precipice, one that they were both well aware of, and that he was holding them back from finally tipping over. He knew that. It wasn't that he didn't want to leap off the edge with her hand held tight in his, it was that part of him already had, and his heart was just waiting for the rest of him to catch up. And when he did, he knew, there was no coming back. It was two feet in and final. What scared him was that it didn't actually scare him. With everyone else, everyone before her, he'd always pulled back, always panicked. But he knew that as soon as he stopped holding back, that was it. She was it. Honestly, she already was, and he hadn't even hit the gas pedal. So maybe it was time to stop fooling himself. Maybe it was time to take that leap.

The Glades were dangerous on the best of days; as soon as they left the city, he could feel the shift in the air, the shadows seeming darker, the buildings looming over them. It was no surprise that the people that lived there still hadn't forgiven him for his mother's part in the destruction and death of their home and loved ones. He couldn't even blame them for it. What he hadn't expected was that they would recognize Felicity's car; that they'd recognize her from the club and from press releases, standing loyally at his side from the moment he returned to Starling City.

When someone darted in front of the car, Felicity instinctively turned the wheel and, as quick as she braked, it still barrelled into a light pole. Her car was small, not built for that kind of impact, and it was rendered immediately useless, smoke billowing out from beneath the hood. Oliver hissed, his knee pressed uncomfortably under the dashboard, but pushed it aside as he reached for her. She had a hand to her head, having hit it against the window.

"Felicity?" he asked, his voice frantic, demanding.

"I'm fine," she promised as he pushed her hair out of the way to see her properly, his chest squeezed tight with worry.

Despite her assurances, he undid his seatbelt to get closer, to see for himself, but he didn't get far.

They were overrun in seconds, the doors on either side yanked open. People in ski masks reached inside and grabbed them, slicing her seatbelt from around her and dragging them out into the damp, dirty street like criminals about to be executed for their mistakes. Oliver could fight, he didn't need his bow or his leathers for that, but Felicity wasn't as well trained. He could hear her yelp in surprise, and it grabbed his attention, pulling it away from the four attackers he was fending off. He could see her, out of the corner of his eyes as he ducked arms and legs, lead pipes and slashing knives. She was pushing back, hitting whoever she could, trying to get free of their grip, using what little she'd learned from him and Digg to help herself escape. But there were too many, grabbing and hitting back.

When the gun went off, he felt ice grip his heart. He also felt a cold sting as a knife plunged home on his side.

From the way the band of thugs went still, he assumed most of them had only planned to hurt him, and definitely not to kill anyone. But there was Felicity, lying on the ground, bleeding out of a hole in her stomach. They formed a ring to stare down at the aftermath of their hate, but as soon as Oliver broke through and knelt beside her, they scattered, running away from the scene of the crime.

Emergency calls in the Glades went unanswered; it was too dangerous.

He couldn't call anyway. One of their attackers had stolen his phone and another had taken Felicity's purse as they ran.

Oliver let them go, distantly promising himself he'd find them later. He tore off his jacket and balled it up, pressing it to her stomach. She cried out at the pressure and shook her head. She glanced up at him but quickly looked him over, her face pinched with worry. Her hand found his side, carefully edging her fingers around the bloody tear in his shirt. "Oliver, you're hurt."

"I'm fine," he dismissed.

He slid his arms under her and scooped her up against his chest as he stood, wincing as the cut in his side stretched and blood dribbled down.

She bit her lip as another cry threatened to escape and looped an arm around his neck, gripping the shoulder of his shirt.

"Hold on tight," he told her and then nodded down at the jacket on her stomach. "Keep pressure on it."

She nodded, swallowing thickly as she stared up at him.

"It's okay." He started walking after he took a moment to assess where they were. They were closer to the hospital than Verdant and, since he wasn't in his leathers, he wouldn't have to answer any unnecessary questions. He started toward the hospital, cutting through an alley to the main road, where he hoped someone would see them and stop. He wanted to yell for help, but considering they were in this predicament due to a mob that hated him, he feared he wouldn't find anyone that would look past who he was to help her.

The streets were empty. Shadows played over walls dressed in graffiti screaming his failure. Overturned trashcans and litter covered the ground. Skeletons of cars stripped for parts and a few huddled homeless people using cardboard boxes or tarp tents for cover lined either side of the road. He walked down the center, staring ahead, moving as fast as he could with her in his arms and the protest of his side. One of his legs was dragging, but he pushed it forward, ignoring the pain and focusing solely on her. He didn't want to jar her, she was in enough pain; he was already worried she'd go into shock any second.

"Talk to me," he told her.

"About what?"

"Anything." He shook his head. "Computers, your childhood, tell me about your family. You told me you had a sister. Tell me about her."

She stared up at him searchingly, but nodded. "Her name's Jessica. She's older than me. Married, two kids. She met her husband when she was working as an au pair in South Africa. He- He's an amazing man." She smiled wryly. "She always told me she didn't want to get married. She wanted to travel and never settle down but then she met him. She met him and everything made sense." Her voice grew thick with emotion. "I haven't seen her in two years, but she sends me pictures, every month, of her and her family. I miss her."

"We'll visit. We'll take the jet and you can introduce us." He nodded determinedly. "The kids. What are the kids' names?"

"Dominick is the boy. He's eight. I call him Nicky. And Jacoline, she's six."

"What about her? Do you call her Jackie?"

She shook her head and let out a laugh. "No, she hates when you shorten her name. She's very serious for her age…" She winced a little and blew out a shaky breath. "I hated nicknames growing up. 'Liss and Flea and 'Lissy… They never felt like they fit."

"No?" He looked down at her curiously.

"No…" She shook her head. "No, I like how you say my name… You make it sound special."

"It is special… You're special."

She smiled, but she was looking tired, her eyes beginning to droop.

He hurried his steps, but the hospital seemed so far away. Too far away.

They'd been walking for a while now, but what few cars had gone by hadn't paused at his screaming for help, zooming past with music blaring, tires squealing, and smoke billowing out of their tailpipes. Nobody ever stopped. They just passed him by as he continued down the long, winding road, carrying her every step of the way.

A few minutes passed before she spoke again. "Ol-Oliver…" Her teeth were chattering, and her fingers tugged at his shirt. "I can- can't feel m-my toes…"

He swallowed thickly, his hand squeezing her arm. His touch was cold, the night air whipped around them so hard he could feel it biting into his skin. His fingers were like ice, but she didn't flinch. He stared down at her, her head pressed to his chest. Her hand was sticky with blood, his jacket soaked through already.

"It's okay," he choked out. "They're there."

She blinked sluggishly. "All ten?"

He smiled, sucking in a shaky breath through his teeth. "Yeah." He stretched his hand up, his arm braced under her back, and curled his fingers into her hairline, thumb stroking over her temple. "You've got all your fingers, too…"

She smiled faintly. "I need those."

"Yeah. You're going to need them for a long time." He stared at her searchingly. "So you need to stay with me, okay? Just keep your eyes on me, Felicity."

"Wouldn't want 'em anywhere else," she murmured, shaking her head faintly.

He lifted his head, his neck drawn tight as he looked every which way, searching for a car, for John, for help.

"It's okay."

He closed his eyes at her fateful words, tears sliding out the corners. "It's not."

"Shh…" She slid a hand around to his face, her thumb stroking beneath his eye, catching a warm tear. "My life, my choice… remember?"

He looked down at her, so pale, so small, her glasses askew and her hair a mess. "I brought you into this… I did this."

Her lips curled up faintly. "My guilty hero… taking on everything, even when it's not his to take."

His brow furrowed. "Felicity…"

"Promise me," she whispered.

He swallowed tightly. "Anything."

"Don't add me to your list of regrets…" Her eyes welled up with tears. "Make me a happy story, Oliver."

He shook his head and held her tighter, staring down into her eyes. "You won't be a story. You're going to be here, with me, okay? We're going to go home and drink a very expensive bottle of wine and I'm going to kiss you. I'm going to kiss you and tell you I love you, that I've loved you for a long time, and that I'm sorry, I'm so sorry it took this long to tell you…" He shook his head, his words tripping over his shaky breath. "And you're going to laugh and tell me I've had enough to drink. But I'll mean it, I'll mean every word, and you'll tell me you love me too, because you do. You love me despite e-everything… And we'll make it work. The public stuff and the secret stuff and everything. It'll all work."

She smiled, tears spilling down her cheeks. "I'd like that."

"You're going to live through this. You're strong." His fingers squeezed around her hair desperately. "You're the strongest person I know."

"High praise," she murmured. "I've seen Digg without a shirt on."

He couldn't muster the energy to force out a laugh, instead looking ahead as they kept walking, the street lamps getting fewer and farther between.

"Can you promise me something else?" she wondered. Her fingers had slipped down and were lightly scrubbing over his cheek, back and forth.

He hummed, his throat tight.

"Let him help you."

He looked down at her, his brow furrowed.

"Don't run, okay?" She let out a whoosh of breath, squirming as if it was getting harder to breathe. "Let… Let him help you." She let go of the jacket and reached up, her hand settling on his neck. "You have to help him, too." Her lips trembled. "My boys…" Tears tipped over the edges and spilled down her cheeks. "You were mine, and I was yours."

"I'll always be yours. Always." His knees shook, his voice quivering with the intensity of his vow. "And you're always going to be mine."

"Your good story."

"My best story," he breathed, his voice cracking.

She smiled tremulously. "That's enough." Her fingers slowed down, going still against his cheek and limp on his neck. She breathed in deep, her brow furrowed in confusion, and blinked a few times. "Oliver."

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

He felt those words into the pit of his stomach. "Felicity."

She smiled faintly and turned her face to press against his chest. "So special."

"Felicity?"

She didn't answer.

He shook her, but she didn't stir.

His fingers slid down to search her neck, but found no pulse there.

"Felicity," he said, louder this time, demanding.

But she didn't glare at him like she usually did, she didn't frown or point at him or say his name in the same way to counter his ire. She just laid there, still and quiet in his arms.

His knees finally gave out and he slipped to the ground, cradling her in his lap. Her head lolled against his arm and he used her to chin to fix it. He brushed her hair back from her face, his thumb rubbing over the curve of her cheek, even as he shook her again, desperate for her to look up at him. But her eyes remained open and unseeing.

"No," he told her. "Please. Please."

His hand found her heart and waited, resting there, searching for the hammer beneath, but there was nothing. He gritted his teeth, swallowing back a scream in his throat, and he bent his face, burying it against hers, their cheeks pressed together, his scratchy against her soft. He hugged her tight, rocking forward and backward as he clutched her to him. When he inhaled deeply, it caught in his throat and he let it out on an inhuman roar, echoing through the fallen city around him, cracking the night that draped around them. It splintered in his chest, where his heart lay broken, echoing there in the hollowness.

Seconds or minutes passed, time slipping from his understanding, and he drew back to look at her. Her hair was woven around his fingers as he stroked her face, bending to kiss her forehead and her cheeks and her stubborn chin. He pushed her glasses up to close her eyes and kissed each lid and down to the tip of her nose. He let out a shuddering, broken cry against her lips and whispered her name, filled with all the meaning a name could possess, all the ways that made her special, all the love he had left. "Felicity."

Minutes passed like that, as he cried with his forehead pressed tight to hers, desperately holding onto her.

But the cold air would dry his tears and some fractured, distant part of him was so worried the chill would drown out her warmth. So he stood from the empty street and he picked her up. He walked and he walked until the hospital was in sight, all bright lights and empty promises. He carried her, his faithful friend, his loyal love, and he silently walked through the emergency entrance, stoic and void. He stood there, with her bloody body draped in his arms, watching with a sort of catatonic detachment as people moved all around, distracted and busy. Scrubs and clipboards, antiseptic on the air, rubber soled shoes on linoleum.

And then they saw him, and they saw her, and they hurried forward to answer the cry for help that went ignored for too long.

They stared at the man in front of them, a dark, cold, emptiness that sunk into the shadows of his once handsome face. He looked feral, unpredictable, and they paused before they reached him. There was dried blood on his neck from where her hand had lain, and his shirt was soaked through both on his side and from where her stomach was pressed.

One of the orderlies moved forward to take Felicity but Oliver's sharp eyes cut toward him and he stopped.

"Sir, we need to check her injuries," a nurse's voice told him. "How long ago was she hurt?"

He didn't answer right away, but when he did, it was heavy with loss. "Too long."

They exchanged looks, uncertain how to progress from there.

"Sir, have you been injured?"

The orderly moved forward again, reaching for Felicity. There was another coming from the other side. Oliver cut down the first one with a dark, warning glare. "Don't touch her."

"We have to examine you, sir. We can call someone. The police are already on the way. You can tell them what happened and who did this."

His eyes cut toward the woman talking to him, standing out of reach, watching him warily, but putting on a confident show.

"Three cars passed us," he said hollowly. His face darkened and he yelled, "Three cars! Not one stopped. No one cared."

"I'm sorry." She held her hands up in a placating gesture. "I'm sorry you lost her. But you need to let us help you."

He laughed then, a callous, angry laugh. "You're too late." His face fell, a tear slipping down his cheek. "It's too late."

Her eyes cut to the left and a tiny, almost imperceptible nod occurred. There was a blur of something before suddenly he felt a prick in his arm. He looked down to see a needle sunk through his shirt and into his bicep. It flooded through him quickly and his knees went weak. He sunk to the floor, careful not to let her go, not to let her fall. His arms still cradled her to his chest and he looked down at her, looking so peaceful, like she'd simply fallen asleep. His hand was sluggish as he brushed it over her cheek.

The nurse moved forward and put a hand on his shoulder as he started to slip away, but he fought it, shaking his head, desperate to keep his eyes on Felicity.

"Just close your eyes," the nurse told him. "You'll be all right."

The orderly slipped Felicity out of his arms and he fell back against someone else. He watched through blurry eyes as they carried Felicity away, far out of reach. He stretched a heavy arm out, his fingers desperately searching and never finding hers. His lips moved, calling her name, pleading for her to come back.

He closed his eyes, the sedative finally stealing him away.

But they were wrong.

He was never all right again.

{end.}

Author's Note: For real, I cried writing this, A LOT. But I like that sort of thing, it's very cleansing for me. So I hope you... felt what I was trying to do here. I don't want to say 'enjoy' because who really enjoys it when one of their favorite characters dies? But, there it is.

Please do let me know what you think. I love hearing from you and reviews really do feed the muse.

Thank you for reading!

- Lee | Fina