A big thank you to everyone who has stuck with this story - everyone who has read, commented or followed. I'm sorry this update took so long. Life kind of happened. I suppose if anything good came out of the five feet of snow in my yard, all the time off from work gave me time to write (when I wasn't wielding a shovel and digging out, of course.)

After the last chapter, I struggled making a decision on the direction I wanted to take. Hopefully it all works out. Let me know what you think. Any thought, comment, or criticism is greatly appreciated.

Thanks again,

Chelsea

*Quick Note: Anything in italics is some form of a dream

It was midnight, yet she still wasn't tired. She had showered, unpacked, unsuccessfully tossed around in bed but she still couldn't sleep. The exhaustion she had felt earlier had evaporated. The weariness that had riddled her body and mind was gone now. All that was left over was a suffocating regret. Everything that had consumed her before had been because she let it. The anger, the pain of betrayal, the hate - her family didn't deserve that. Roy didn't deserve that. They were never quite who she thought they were, because sometimes hanging onto ideals is more convenient than reality. She saw only what she chose to. It was her own fault that she was disillusioned - when you place everyone so high, failing to recognize their flaws, there's only one direction for them to go. What she expected from her family was impossible.

Moira Queen was far from flawless. No one can wear so many faces, be so many people, and only stay true to one of those personalities. They all meld together at some point, and Moira had been acting for an awfully long time. Eventually she became all of them. There was a piece of her that was forever a mother, the woman who loved unconditionally, but somewhere along the line she forgot that there was a whole lot more to mothering than kissing boo-boos. She was the professional, the strong, decisive woman that ran a fortune 500 company, but she let that world reap her humanity. She was the woman who buried her husband and son, the broken mother and wife whose losses consumed her; she never really came to peace with the fact that they were gone forever. Thea had known all her mother's sides but she chose the rose colored glasses over the truth.

And Oliver? How had she ever expected - rather demanded - him to be the brother she remembered. The words coming out of her mouth may have been claiming that she understood, and to a degree she did, but she wanted Ollie back. She had seen the scars. She knew he hadn't been alone on that island - emotionally, yes, but physically, he was trapped with an unimaginable evil. He had tried to tell her on that first night. "Cold." He was communicating so much more than the climate of Lian Yu. She knew she had no right to demand the impossible. Yet she did.

Even Roy. She had left, abandoned him. She was the biggest hypocrite; she had been as cold and cruel as the world she despised. Everyone deserves a chance to explain. Sometimes things just aren't what they appear. She expected ideals even if she knew it would be fake - that he'd just be playing the part. What was wrong with her? All along she should have been questioning herself, not condemning everyone around her.

And now here she was in Malcolm Merlyn's house. In her late brother's bed (who so happened to be her other brother's partner in crime, and her friend). How fucked up was she? The therapy she needed certainly equated to years.

A soft knock on the door roused Oliver from the mindless bliss that was sleep. His head was resting low on Felicity's abdomen, their fingers loosely laced together.

Disentangling himself from her, Oliver was still trying to shake thoughts of her becoming a more permanent pillow when Diggle's head peaked through the curtain.

"Hey. How's she doing?" Diggle softly inquired.

Running a hand over his face, Oliver responded just as quietly. "As good as can be expected, I suppose. She still hasn't woken up."

Diggle nodded, knowing that with the amount of pain killers currently coursing through her system, she may not reach any sort of conscious state anytime soon.

"You look like hell, man."

"Did I already mention how glad I am to see you too?" Oliver snidely responded.

Diggle let Oliver's remark go. "Here," Diggle said, laying a hotel key card and a coffee on the small table next to Felicity's bed. "At risk of sounding like a mother... Go shower. Eat. Get some rest. I'll stay with Felicity and if she so much as flutters an eyelash or the doctors give us any more updates, I'll call you."

Oliver was quiet for a moment - watching the blips of felicity's heart monitor while weighing his options. "I don't know if I'm really ready to let her out of my sight again yet."

"That is certainly going to pose a problem when you return to your everyday routines," Dig huffed. "Or are you just going to continue creeping? Posted up outside the front door of her condo or sitting on the rooftop across from her fire escape. All, of course, for her benefit - for her safety."

Leaving his elbows on his knees, Oliver slowly turned his head towards Diggle, who was standing off to his right, slightly behind him. "And what's that supposed to mean Diggle?" Oliver quietly bit back.

"Your ability to play stupid never fails to surprise me, Oliver. You'd think I'd be used to it by now," Diggle angrily whispered. Trying to tamp down on his anger, Diggle paused before he finally continued on. "When are you going to stop playing this game? When -"

"It's too dangerous Diggle!" Oliver cut him off.

"It's all dangerous, Oliver! You're a fool," Diggle said in disbelief. "Do you think it really matters whether she is 'just' your EA or your IT girl? Oliver Queen's enemies already know that he values his beautiful, intelligent blond far above anybody else. And the Arrow's enemies? They know the risks you are willing to take for her. No one cares - with maybe just the exception of you - what title you assign her. All they need to know is that both sides of you are willing to do anything to protect her. She's your weakness no matter how you try to spin it. You will come for her no matter the cost; and that simple fact will always put her in danger. It doesn't matter what you call her, she will always be a means to get to you."

They both let the silence fill in around them before Oliver threaded his fingers through his hair in agitation. "You just don't understand."

Dig let out a fake laugh, "You're right, what would I know about trying to protect my loved ones? How would I know about near death experiences or how that danger makes you fear getting close to anyone ever again - never wanting to put anyone else at risk because of you. But it doesn't work that way Oliver. You will always need people in your life, and there will always be people refusing to leave you behind, try as you might to push them away. Holding her at arms length isn't keeping her safer - and it sure as hell isn't helping you sleep better at night."

It wasn't until Oliver started shaking his head in rebuttal that Diggle lost it. He took a page out of Felicity's book and used his loud voice (who were they kidding? They weren't going to wake her up no matter how loud they yelled).

"Tell me. When are you going to tell her the truth? What's it going to take for you to admit that that performance last night was anything but - that it might be the most honest thing that has come out of your mouth since returning from the island? What's the price for that admission? Your life? Hers? Well, you were both at risk of losing your lives last night! What gives you the right to decide whether the 'what-ifs' are worth living with?"

After a deep breath, Diggle's anger seeped from his words and was replaced with sadness. "I'll leave you alone," Diggle said heading towards the door. He paused with his hand pressed to the frame. "But, think about it Oliver. For the first time, it was you that almost lost her last night... and you almost shattered. She almost loses you on a regular basis. Every night she shows up at the foundry, she knows there is a risk you might not come back. She risks her heart every day, Oliver. At some point the risks of being together must outweigh the pain of being apart... You guys are already together every waking hour. If you don't think she's safer being with you at night too - sharing your bed, then you're delusional."

The door quietly clicked closed and Oliver was back to staring at the heart monitor, even more frustrated than when Diggle arrived. He picked up the coffee his friend - who was quickly escalating to personal shrink - had brought for him. Even if this one was a little cold, it was good enough that they actually advertised their brand on the side of the cup - better than the sludge from last night.

He peered at the hotel card and frowned. Maybe he'd take Diggle up on the shower idea. There was a sporting goods store across the street from the hospital and next to the hotel where he could stop to grab clothes that weren't bloodied, torn or dirty. He was clinging to the hope that a shower and some sleep would help with the sickening feeling that was growing in his stomach.

The power to open her eyes or mouth might still have alluded her, but she felt otherwise mostly awake. There was a steady ache in her shoulder; she couldn't imagine the throb it would be without whatever they had hooked up to her iv. But the pain from her shoulder was the least of her concerns at the moment.

Slowly emerging from the haze her mind had been lost in, Felicity had heard their voices. Actual words had still yet to sink through, but she would know those voices anywhere. Could she have smiled, she would have. At first she wondered if she were trapped in another dream, but as her senses sharpened, she could finally discern actual sentences. Oliver and Diggle were somewhere to her left talking about... well, her, apparently.

Fighting to try and reach out to them, she succeeded only in twitching her right hand. She continued in her attempt to pull away from the oblivion that was trying to reclaim her. She wanted to hear them. To see them. To talk to them. It didn't take long for her to relinquish the fight. "What's the price for that," she heard an angry Diggle ask. Instead of an answer from Oliver, she heard a continued argument from Diggle. Oliver wasn't going to change. This dance was going to continue indefinitely. Sadness washed over her, and she let go of the small piece of consciousness she was clinging to so the sedatives could reclaim her, take her far away from that hotel room. Why was it that the only lie he ever managed to sneak by her was a statement she longed to believe, that she hoped had been true? It had all been a lie.

Of course it had been an act. Slade had the right girl the whole time. Felicity knew this story all too well. Laurel - It would always be Gorgeous Laurel.

Oliver didn't remember the ride down the elevator or the curious eyes that followed him through the lobby. His mind was sifting through various thoughts and images of Felicity - some of them real, some of them concocted by his wishful imagination, and others still made purely from his fear.

He's sitting in the stands of an ice rink. He can feel the smile form on his lips as he watches the free for all that is youth hockey. There are twenty tiny humans, fully padded in equipment that looks like it shouldn't even come in their size, gallivanting (because really, have you ever seen six year olds play hockey?) on the stretch of ice in front of them. There's a girl on the blue team struggling to push her oversized helmet further back on her head while simultaneously trying not to drop her stick through the very large gloves on her hands. One of her other blue team mates is clinging to the boards at center ice because staying vertical is proving to be a bit of a challenge. And there's the boy on the green team who keeps trying to kick the puck, because the skates, ice and sticks still aren't enough to convince him he's not playing soccer.

Oliver's eyes are pulled to the other side of the ice where the green team's goalie, who hasn't even had the chance to make a save (mostly because the puck has seen a whole 3 seconds in his zone) is beginning to get bored. So far he's shuffled back and forth across his goal crease making snow with his skates (he has no clue why he's doing it, but it's what he sees the goalies in the NHL do, so naturally, logic necessitates he do it too); he has clumsily removed his helmet and gloves, while the puck is still in play of course, to have a sip of water; and now it looks as if a gravitational pull is bringing him closer and closer to center ice. Apparently he is having an internal debate as to whether he should consider abandoning his net and playing as a forward. Oliver can't help the small chuckle that escapes him.

By the time the little goalie has made it beyond center ice the horn to end the period goes off and both teams begin the long battle of stumbling their way to the appropriate benches. Oliver's still smiling at the spectacle when the green goalie turns towards his bench. The relatively simple action baffles Oliver; the back of his jersey reads 'Queen.' They didn't put names on the jerseys when he and Tommy played. And still more confusing, he was a center - not a goalie. He's staring at the jersey when the parents dispersed through out the stands start clapping. A dainty pair of hands shift into his line of sight.

He knows those hands, the only difference now is his grandmother's diamond sitting on her finger.

He shakes the daydream from his mind, only to let the headache of reality take its place. With his eyes still closed, Oliver lets his chin fall to his chest as his left palm finds the tile of the shower wall for support. He needs to stop thinking like this. He can't be with her - no matter what Diggle or his heart say - can he?

A whole hour passes, just watching water cascade from his body and down the drain. Not one minute of those sixty are spent thinking about anything or anyone but Felicity. Toweling himself dry and changing into the sweatpants and thermal he purchased next door, Oliver takes a huge breath and sits on the edge of the king sized bed. He doesn't bother closing the curtains - it's still raining and bleak outside anyway. There's no threat of sunshine making its way to him.

After a low groan, he drags his hand down his tired face and reaches across the bed for the cell phone he had thrown there before jumping in the shower. 22% battery life. Awesome. There are no new alerts, just a reminder that it is 9:42 am and he has still to really sleep (sporadic dozing isn't enough to sustain a body or mind of any use).

He shoots Diggle and Roy a quick text.

Oliver: Going to pass out for a bit. Call me if anything changes with Felicity or at 2:30. Whatever happens first. If my phone dies please call the room. Thanks.

He doesn't remember falls asleep, but he must have.

He's back in the same rink. The green team is still playing blue, but the little green goalie from before isn't in net this time. The game continues much like the last one. Number 33 is still adjusting her helmet. 47 is still clinging to the boards, but this green goalie is taller than the last. He seems to be taking goaltending far more seriously - no water breaks, no loss of concentration, and certainly no meandering. What six year old can manage that? It certainly wouldn't be his son. Just the thought of the word drops the smile from his lips and threatens to tear apart his chest.

He might have chased away his last dream because the thought of the life he could have with Felicity only suffocated him with disappointment, but somehow he knows that this dream is going to crush him differently than the first. But it will crush him none the less.

The horn went off. This time when the green goalie's jersey became discernable it reads 'O'Neil.' The applause started, and he tilted his head in confusion. Her hands came into view again but it wasn't his grandmother's ring she's wearing. This time it is a gaudy diamond surrounded by rubies. This time there is another pair of hands on the other side of Felicity's. Oliver's eyes shoot open when one of those hands reaches out and wraps around Felicity's.

What the fuck was wrong with him? Was he Scrooge - Did Diggle curse him? Was he going to be visited by three different versions of his future? Just the thought of another dream of Felicity had him limping to the mini fridge, praying to any god that would listen, find some form of alcohol in it.

There wasn't. Bah-Humbug.

He climbed back into bed. He needed to fall asleep thinking of anything but Felicity. Sports. Not hockey, though. No, he'd have better luck thinking about the burning pain spreading through his leg.

He knew. His distraction plan failed miserably.

Sure enough, he was back in his spot on the bleachers. This time though, there was yet another green goalie. Oliver swallowed thickly; he had a horrible feeling twisting mercilessly in his chest. Again, the game played out as before. This goalie was more like the first one, though. He wandered around his net, had all the parents laughing as he dove across his crease pretending to make unbelievable saves; and then right before the horn he took off his mask to smile and wave at everyone in the stands. This goalie's jersey read 'Merlyn.' This is exactly the son Tommy would have had, Oliver smiled to himself. The warmth starts to fade though, thinking of Tommy and Felicity together.

The parents are clapping, but it's not Felicity's hands he sees. Rather, both Tommy's and Laurel's hands fill his peripheral vision.

Maybe this dream wasn't so bad. Though somewhat depressing, it was kind of nice to think of the children Tommy and Laurel would have had. But when Tommy's hand reaches out and claps him on the shoulder, his mind is assaulted with images. He felt like someone pierced his heart with the dullest knife they could find - instead of the wound being quick and clean it was slow and jagged.

He flashes back to the night of the Undertaking. His call to Felicity, before his comm cut off, was worrisome. He sounded as if he were on the verge of unconsciousness as he told Her that he had taken down Malcolm. Her face doesn't fill with happiness or relief. It's snow white and distraught.

Diggle informed Felicity that he was on his way to Oliver, but just pacing the foundry - waiting - wasn't enough for Felicity. She wanted to do more. That's when she remembered. Laurel. CNRI. Stubbornness. She was in her mini within 30 seconds navigating the streets, the task easier than she had expected.

Oliver hadn't gone to CNRI that night, Felicity had. Dig had taken Oliver back to the foundry and had started to patch his broken body up when they had gotten the call.

Whereas Tommy had beaten Oliver, in this version, Felicity had beaten Tommy. By four minutes to be exact. She had been the one impaled through the chest and pinned by the support beam. She was the one that was now gone.

She didn't go alone, Tommy and Laurel stayed with her, but It broke Oliver to pieces. He wasn't there. He had never gotten the chance to tell her that he loved her. Hell, he didn't even get to say goodbye.

He'd spend the rest of his life blaming himself.

This time, Oliver didn't awaken abruptly, sitting up trying to catch his breath. This time he barely opened his eyes, his shallow breaths holding in all the anger, sadness, and regret that were threatening to escape his throat.

He wished he were Scrooge. At least old Ebeneezer knew, not only what he wanted, but also what was right. For him, the answer to both problems was the same. But for Oliver, what he wanted and what was right might be two very different things.

This time when Oliver fell back asleep it was into a thoughtless void.

Felicity's eyes fluttered open. She was still extremely drowsy and groggy, but unlike her other breaks from unconsciousness, this time she felt that she could actually keep her eyes open. She quickly took in her surroundings and slowly rolled onto her side. She let a small smile sneak onto her face. Roy was stretched out, hands laced together behind his head, on one of the two visitor chairs, fast asleep. Felicity only got to observe him for a few minutes before his eyes flew open. She smiled.

"Hey sleeping beauty," he said with a voice rough with sleep.

"Speak for yourself," she said. "I wish I could look half as good as you when I sleep. Not that I watch you sleep or have some creepy attraction to you. I mean you're attractive, but just... this is me stopping before I make things any worse."

"I'm so glad to see you awake, even happier that the first thing out of your mouth was a ramble," Roy laughed. "As for my attractiveness, well let's just say that if we were ever to take a public vote, I would totally win 'Hottest Team Arrow Member'."

"Pfff," said Diggle from the doorway, Lyla tucked under his arm. "Roy, you'd be lucky if you didn't come in dead last. As for first, that trophy already has my name on it." It was Lyla's turn to snort.

"You're all crazy," Lyla laughed from her spot at Diggle's side. "My money's on Felicity. Have you seen that girl in a pencil skirt," Lyla goaded.

"You're right, Lyla. I would totally win. Have you seen the tiny pool of voters who could partake in this poll. Sara - vote for me, for obvious reasons. That sounded horrible didn't it? Nyssa - vote for me. Lyla, who already threw her support behind me. Then there's you guys, who are apparently voting for yourselves. I would soooo win. Better be a good prize." The small smile Diggle offered her triggered something like reality in her mind.

She remembered Oliver. She thought back to what he had said to Diggle. The art of it didn't matter; it came down to one thing. He was still running. He would forever be breaking her heart.

Roy pulled her from her thoughts. "I'm going to go call Oliver," he held up his phone and headed to the door.

"No," Felicity said much louder and vehemently than she had intended. "Please don't. Just - can you just get me a tablet." Roy couldn't hide the confused expression that settled on his face. He peered back at Diggle, but Diggle looked just as confused as him. Lyla reached into her bag, eyebrows knitted, as she handed Felicity her own Argus tablet.

Observing all the concerned faces, she gave them the only explanation she was capable of at the moment.

"Thea," Felicity whispered. The light and joking atmosphere had evaporated. Her whole body ached - inside and out. "I just want to find Thea."