Disclaimer: I do not own nor make any profit off of Arrow. It belongs to The CW, DC Comics, etc.

A/N: Set sometime after Episode 2x09 (Three Ghosts) because I want Barry out of the picture. For the villain's 'reason/motivation', I tried to be a simple and straightforward as possible.

To the reviewer dhh - Are we on the same page here?

First: Oliver did not (I repeat: did not) make any choice regarding Laurel. He did not choose her at all, in any way, shape or form. Diggle was the one who found out that Laurel had been saved. As Oliver said in the previous chapter, it was a "lucky coincidence" and "she didn't deserve to die". Not because I had some foolish plan to put her and Oliver together in spite of everything Felicity went through, but because Laurel is a human being and she did not deserve to be a casualty of Slade's vengeance. I did not "have Oliver choose Laurel in his own ways". Oliver's immediate choice here was to follow Slade's trail and find FELICITY. That was the point.

Second: Who said Laurel was unharmed? I never told her side of this story (because obviously my focus was on Felicity and Oliver). All I wrote about Laurel's side of things was that she had been saved by her father and Adam Donner (a situation which Oliver had NOTHING to do with, I might add.) I never once said Laurel hadn't been hurt.

Third: As for Felicity dying, I'm not sure why you assumed this as a fact of my story, because all I wrote was that she "blacked out", not that she died. There is a significant difference between those two things.

You don't have to like my stories or my writing; different people have different tastes. But you also don't have to rip apart the idea of the story just because it's not your style. If there had been any constructive criticism in your review, I would have accepted it and not said a word to you. Bad grammar? Tell me. Mispelled word? Let me know. Horrible flow? Drop me a line. Not a fan of the particular plot? Find another story to read.

Look for something you do enjoy and when you find it, praise away. If you lift up the authors who write the kind of stories you love, that will more than likely encourage them to write more. And I can't imagine why you wouldn't want that.

Now, on to the final part of this story.

Chapter 4: Warmth

When Felicity woke, once again she had no idea where she was. Panic settled over her with the memory of gray stone, a cold floor, her wrists aching, mocking laughter, a bell chiming her death, a camera recording her suffering… She could still see silver glinting off of a steel blade, and the look of maniacal satisfaction in dark brown eyes as that blade sliced into her skin.

Her panic and fear on overload, Felicity screamed shrilly into the darkness, trying to throw herself up and away from the hot, heavy, suffocating covers only to gasp in sudden pain and fall onto her aching back again. Everything caused more burning torment to wash through her, and Felicity's screams turned to sobs.

A door flew open beyond the scope of her vision, more memories of slammed doors and creaking hinges clouding her fraught mind, and another wild, shrill scream escaped her throat.

Someone called to her, voices overwhelmed her mind, but she could make no sense of them. She didn't want to. They would only mock, and torture, and destroy.

"Felicity!"

Oliver's voice finally penetrated the fog of fear and confusion like the clearest whistle. Felicity focused all in one abrupt second upon him, blindly reaching out towards the blur that was Oliver Queen. Her sobs, tearless but very real, deafened her with their volume and intensity.

"Hey!" he called to her, immediately grasping her shaking hands in one of his. "You're safe. You're with me. I'm right here. I'm not leaving."

Something shifted in her mind, ever so subtly. Felicity knew he was telling the truth, even lost so far in the depths of her fright. She gripped his hand like a lifeline, watching mindlessly as the skin turned mottled red and white beneath her grip. Oliver didn't even flinch, moving up onto the bed and sliding down beside her. With his other hand, he offered up her spare glasses and awkwardly yet carefully slipped them on with his free hand.

The covers began to move while Oliver's hands remained occupied, and Felicity nervously twitched a glance over his shoulder to see the reason.

Moira Queen stood beside the bed, pulling the covers back up around them. The older woman's eyes were clouded with deep emotion Felicity felt far too distracted to label.

Diggle stood not far beyond the Queen matriarch, face grim and eyes disturbingly angry. The expression reminded Felicity more of Oliver when he wore the hood, not of Diggle the soldier, who was typically the calm reasoner of their trio.

Thea and Roy also took up a stance with Raisa, the housekeeper, the three of them much closer to the door and the former two much less comfortable with the scene they were witnessing. Roy held Thea closely, murmuring in her ear, but his keen, disturbed eyes darted constantly to the bed.

While the IT expert wondered what had occurred to bring these people together in this room, and who knew what details — now that Oliver's relationship with Slade may have been exposed — she could not truly focus on anything with that much detail unless it was a possible threat. Every sound, every vibration, struck her as an imminent attack. Her body twitched and jerked at strange moments, as though someone was sticking her with a cattle prod, and her pains magnified with every single jerk.

"It's okay, Felicity," Oliver murmured warmly, intimately as she once again shot wary eyes across Moira, Thea, Roy, and Raisa. "No one is going to hurt you. We all care about you."

"Yes, sweetheart," Moira whispered low, obviously taking care to be gentle and quiet. "We just want to help Oliver take care of you."

Felicity wasn't sure why, but the forceful mother's sincere words struck her as safe. She had barely known the woman on any interpersonal level until the past several weeks, and that mainly through business talks with Oliver and his mother. All she knew was that Moira shared her son's ability to make Felicity feel at ease when she was troubled.

"Okay," Felicity finally was able to whisper, albeit with a wobble in her voice. Warm, kind smiles from mother and son were her reward for trusting them.

"Just try to rest, okay?" Oliver suggested, brushing blond locks back from Felicity's forehead. "You don't have to fall asleep, just try to relax as much as possible. I'll be by your side the whole time."

Exhausted, but thoroughly unwilling to sleep, Felicity nodded slightly at the idea, careful not to send anymore jolts through her aching, hurting body than she had to.

Moira shooed the others from the room quietly, although Digg didn't seem prepared to leave at all. It was only when John caught Oliver's eye that the former soldier finally agreed to leave. He cast a look of apology and protectiveness to Felicity as he turned to go, and she tried her hardest to return some form of forgiveness and understanding to him. Whatever he was going through after her ordeal, it was a very dark place and she didn't want him to linger in it.

In the wake of the door closing behind Diggle and Moira, Oliver shuffled so that he could put his arm beneath Felicity's neck. The slight movement renewed Felicity's awareness of her ribs. Unable to stop herself, the IT expert reached down tentatively to feel the beginning of the bandaging around her ribs and stomach.

"I thought we lost you," Oliver informed her in a soft, grief-stricken voice. Instantly, Felicity's eyes darted to his drawn face. "You blacked out… Then your heart stopped for a moment when we arrived at Verdant… I thought for sure you—"

He stopped point blank, swallowing hard against the pain of his memory. Closing his blue eyes for a long moment, he took deep breaths to settle himself.

"You've been asleep for hours," he finally went on, and Felicity could see the wall against his feelings was only partially re-erected. "There was nothing to quell my anxiety. Diggle was… I've never seen him like that. Usually it's me, but…"

Shaking his head, Oliver couldn't seem to find the words for what he had experienced with John that night and what Felicity had seen in the bodyguard's eyes just minutes ago.

Yet even the little bit Oliver had spoken so far steadied Felicity's mind to an impossible degree, and she felt a sort of calmness settling over her. It was the same feeling she had experienced when she knew Oliver had come to save her.

"Talk," she said simply, hating the neediness in her voice but unable to prevent its release. "Please?"

Oliver smiled with deep sadness, tenderly stroking Felicity's forehead as he complied. "Why don't I tell you about when I was little? I've got lots of ridiculous antics to tell you about. And I had even worse cover stories than I do now."

"Please," was all she could think to say, once again gripping his fingers for dear life.

By some miracle, despite all her fear and anxiety and constant pain, Felicity fell asleep to the sound of Oliver's voice, telling her stories of the childhood he had all but lost in the wake of his painful regeneration on Lian Yu.

Days passed in this fashion, Oliver bringing meals and helping her eat what little she could safely stomach, checking her wounds, brushing her hair with his fingers, comforting her after the night terrors woke her up with screams, and sitting with her to tell lovely stories of his youth. There were more than enough stories to fill almost every free moment in the first several days of her convalescence at the Queen mansion. The only interruptions were when Moira helped her with bathing; she was the one person Felicity could stand to lay a hand on her, outside of Oliver and John.

When Oliver began the story of his reckless fourteenth birthday one night, Felicity started to wonder if he would have many more truly good memories to tell. By his own admission, Oliver had become a holy terror once puberty left him free and clear — a cute, flirty, audacious boy who never had any limits or discipline. And he had slowly grown into a fresh-faced young man with even less limits and a much larger allowance. Those years began the personality which Oliver equally loathed and was renowned for.

However, even when Oliver's stories became more callous and stupid than funny and charming, Felicity absorbed it all with an appreciation of the man she had fallen in love with. The ways in which he had changed and was willing to open up to her about things he had previously repressed.

One long month passed in a semi-comfortable bubble in her guest room at Queen mansion, but while Felicity loved the safety she felt in Oliver's home and in his arms, she also felt extremely weak for not pushing herself to get up. To stop screaming at unexpected touches from anyone aside from Oliver, John, and Moira. To stop burrowing into the covers and hiding from the world whenever Oliver left her side for a brief moment. To start caring what had happened in the isolated month since Slade Wilson took her prisoner. To remember just how strong she was and live like it.

It all came to a boiling point when Oliver had to attend a board meeting at Queen Consolidated. It was one of those sink or swim meetings Felicity rationally understood Oliver could not miss.

None of that rational understanding kept her from sobbing, crying, and shaking during the four hours Oliver was gone. She missed him and his warm, steady embrace. She was afraid without him as her protector against all the terrifying shadows in her mind.

He came home like the devil was on his heels, bursting into the room and throwing his suit jacket aside as he sprinted to Felicity, wrapping her up into her arms so tightly she couldn't see outside of them.

"Thank you," she quietly told him hours later, squeezing his hand with utmost gratitude.

A long silence overcame them, and Felicity worried he was upset with her for being so emotional and clingy.

"I should have found you sooner," Oliver finally whispered, voice cracking under the weight of his guilt. Felicity's heart ached for him. "But you see… I didn't have my IT girl manning the computers… for me."

Overriding the last two words was a shaking sob Oliver could not hold in. Giving in to his feelings with honest, open grief, the hero buried his face in the pillow beside Felicity's head, his stubble brushing against her smooth cheek while he cried freely. From the sound of his cries, it must have been the first time he had truly, fully released his emotions over what occurred with Slade.

Her own tears dried up, Felicity just held onto the wonderful man who had supported her for a solid month without ceasing.

"I love you," she said plainly, completely unashamed, but more importantly — filled with the conviction that she would never let another day go by without telling Oliver how she felt. She could have died at Slade's hands. And the reason she hadn't… was the man in her arms.

"I love you, too," Oliver whispered, gulping back the last of his tears in an effort to be heard as he pulled back to look her in the eye.

"Help me be strong again?" Felicity begged softly, grasping his dress shirt with desperate fingers.

Oliver smiled gently.

"Always."

-The End-