Chapter Text
Oliver was gone.
It repeated in her mind over and over, leaving her numb. Felicity thought it must be a nightmare because it couldn’t be real. I didn’t feel real. But, then again, nothing felt real.
But it kept going. The nightmare. Felicity wouldn’t wake up no matter how many times she pinched herself.
When was she going to wake up? Please, let it just be a dream.
^^^^^^^^^^
Felicity was in her office at Palmer Industries when she received the text. Ray was going on and on about…something, while Felicity’s foggy mind contemplated whether she should actually attempt to listen or if she should—
Had the office always this gray? Why would anyone want to work in a place that was all steel gray and glass and more gray? It couldn’t be good for productivity. Not that Felicity’s productivity had a chance in hell at the moment. Maybe it wasn’t even really gray at all. Maybe this was just the grief talking. Maybe everything was gray now.
Wow, that was melodramatic.
Color was a really stupid thing to think about. Felicity needed to put her efforts into working or listening or breathing…
It chimed again.
Her phone.
“Felicity? Are you going to answer that?” Ray asked.
Felicity started, then shook her head to clear the cobwebs from her brain. She grabbed her phone out of reflex, not stopping to think about the fact that there really wasn’t anyone she wanted to hear from right then. That the only person she wanted to talk to wouldn’t be texting her ever again.
She choked down a sob and sucked in a long breath. The screen swam as Felicity looked down at the phone and she had to blink to make out the picture.
Lyla: I need your help. It’s Sara. Can you meet me?
That woke Felicity up from her daze. Baby Sara was possibly the only person she could see herself mobilizing for right then. She was out of her chair, texting a reply and muttering, “I’ve got to go,” before she had fully processed what she was doing.
“What? Where…?”
Ray kept talking, but Felicity wasn’t listening any more. Not that she actually had in the first place. Listening that is. But now she wasn’t even trying…not that she had been…gah, whatever. What did it even matter?
Felicity gave a stupid excuse, one that she’s certain made even less sense than usual and rushed out. It really was incredible that Ray hadn’t fired her yet. He probably should have.
Her phone chimed again.
Lyla wanted to meet her at the Jitters around the corner. It was an odd choice for her, but Felicity didn’t question it. Mindlessly typing in an affirmative response and dropping her phone into her bag, she made her way to the coffee shop at her usual brisk pace.
When Felicity arrived at the cafe she was surprised to see neither Lyla nor Sara. She glanced around and noticed the usual barista gesturing wildly for her to approach the pickup counter. That was odd too. Everything about this seemeed strange. Not right. But Felicity had always been more curious than cautious, so...
Plus, there was the fact that she was living her nightmare. That made odd...not so jarring.
“You’re Felicity, right?” Barista Boy asked with a bright smile. Was he naturally that happy or was he ODing on espresso? Usually, it was pleasant. Today it was grating. She just wanted to find out what was wrong with Sarah, fix it, and...
God, Felicity had no idea what she wanted after that.
Felicity noded slowly. She might have been weirded out if she weren’t so damn numb. Though, she picked up Lattes here at least 5 times a week, so they probably should remember her name.
Still, her brain may not be up to her usual sped, but something felt off.
Besides the, ya know, everything
“Your friend paid for your drink and said you’d be by to pick it up.”
“My friend?” Felicity asked, trying for nonchalant, which was easier than usual given her, well, numbness. She tipped her head to the side and reached for the Latte. No harm in picking it up, right? Though she would not be drinking from this cup. No siree.
Foggy. Grieving. Not brain dead.
“Yup,” the peppy college kid answered. “The pretty brunette lady you’re sometimes here with. The one who just had the baby.”
Felicity felt her shoulders relax and she sighed, actually managing a small, relieved smile. She was just being paranoid. That was good. No strange conspiracy here. Just coffee. She took a grateful sip of the Latte.
“Of course, did she take the baby to the bathroom?” Felicity asked, glancing toward the back of the cafe.
“Oh no, she didn’t have the baby today,” was the cheerful reply that had Felicity snapping her eyes back to kid. Would it be too weird if she spit out her (most likely drugged) coffee?
“And she said to give you this.” Barista Boy produced what looked like a Jitters gift card in a sealed envelope with Felicity’s name scrawled across it. “Is it your birthday or something?”
“Or something,” Felicity muttered under her breath. “Thank you.”
Taking the envelope, she turned it over in her hands as she stepped away from the counter. It looked like Lyla’s hand writing. Taking a deep breath, Felicity opened it and found a Jitters card (surprise surprise) and…behind it a key card to the hotel down the street with a room number scrawled across the back in sharpie.
Felicity had her phone in hand and had hit speed dial for Oliver before she stopped to think. It wasn’t until she heard his voicemail message that she even realized what she had done.
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
She went from numb and distant to having her face drenched with tears in 2.8 seconds flat.
Somehow, Felicity managed to get out of that café without stumbling too badly or having a full-fledged panic attack.
The Latte went straight into the garbage bin by the door. By the end of the block, she had actually gotten herself together enough that she could dial Digg and find out why and if Lyla was asking Felicity to meet her at a hotel room. Though, her fingers shook at she did.
John answered the phone with a short, “Did you get the key?”
Felicity hadn’t been expecting that. The surprise, somhow, helped her steady herself. “Yes...?”
“Good. See you soon.”
And then he hung up on her.
John Diggle God damn hung up on her! This had better not be a way for Digg to pull her back into Oliver’s ill-fated crusade. The very crusade that got him ki—
Nope, not thinking about that.
Because, walking more quickly now, Felicity’s tears had dried up. The overwhelming grief and sense of loss was replaced with anger. It felt...kinda good actually. Definitely, the least sucky phase of grief so far. She had a lot of emotion to vent and, at the moment, John Diggle was do just fine.
^^^^^^^^^
By the time Felicity swiped herself into the hotel room, she had whipped herself into quite the lather. If she opened that door and Sara was nowhere to be seen, if they had used that little girl … Felicity swore to God there would be hell to pay!
She tried to slam the door open, but damn hotel room’s doors were so fracken quiet it held no satisfaction.
Inside were Digg and his ex-wife. No Sara. And they most certainly did not look like two people whose infant had just been kidnapped.
Immediately, Felicity went on the attack. “What the hell is this, John!? I told you I was done. Without Oliver, I’m done!”
And...crap, there came the tears again. All Felicity wanted to do is get a nice loud voice going, make her position crystal clear, but...all that came out was a cracked whimper. And those sobs...the frantic uncontrollable, overwhelming sobs weren't far behind. She could feel them welling up inside her chest. Frak it all.
Instead of letting John and Lyla have it, Felicity found herself covering her mouth with her hand, trying to push those sobs back down. She was not doing this. She hated losing control like this, especially in front of people. Besides she was angry. Oh why couldn't she just stay angry?
Squeezing her eyes shut, Felicity cleared her throat and tried one more time to do this without breaking into pieces. “Where is Sara? If she’s—”
John stopped her rant (or breakdown. Who knew which way she was going to go?) by striding forward and clutching her arms, his firm grasp and stead voice, somehow, grounding her, “Felicity, you need to sit down.”
Okay, maybe, that didn't ground her. Maybe, Digg's calm as frak tone and condescending demand helped in a completely different way. Rage filled Felicity again. Thank you, John Diggle. That was exactly what she was looking for.
Felicity lashed out, yanking out of his (rather strong) grasp, “I don’t want to sit down! You will tell me what’s the hell going on before I...”
Damn it! Why was her voice breaking again? Why couldn't she stay in control for one solitary second?
Plus, these mood swings were making Felicity dizzy. She felt like she was losing her mind, she really did. She had never thought she was the sort of person who so broke when the man they were in love with...
John easily captured Felicity’s arms again and lifted her onto the side of the bed. She hadn't even realized that she was falling. God, they hadn't even been together, they had barely kissed and she couldn't even imagine life without Oliver. She had survived Cooper's supposed death and she they had been together. How could this possibly feel worse? It wasn't fair. It just wasn't fair.
The fight drained out of her, leaving only sobs. Felicity had no control left. There was no holding it in.
“Felicity, look at me.”
Digg's words came to her through the fog and she realized he was crouching in front of her, cupping her face. Felicity tried to do as he said, but found herself shaking her head, instead. It wasn't as if she wanted to lose her mind. Tumbling down a vast black hole was not exactly fun.
“Felicity! Listen to me!” John hissed, louder this time. “They found Oliver.”
That...that Felicity heard.
John's words broke through the fog and Felicity froze. As in every single cell in her body turned to ice. The words reverberated through her head and around the room. But she was having a lot of trouble processing them. Believing them.
They found Oliver? They found him.
Once Felicity had remembered how to breathe, she managed to whisper the question that was making her head pound, “Like they found his body, found him? Or like Oliver’s alive, they found him?” She didn't want to ask, but she couldn't afford to hope, until she knew.
It took Digg too long to answer and Felicity felt herself start to shatter. It seemed she'd let herself hope after all. She wasn’t sure if she was going to be able to find all the pieces this time. Why wasn't she stronger than this?
Finally, John puffed out a breath and looked over at Lyla. “Alive. Barely, but…alive.”
Oh God.
Alive.
Oliver was alive.
Did she actually dare to believe it? But it was the first thing that had felt real since Malcolm Merlyn walked into the foundry with his vile words. Felicity felt like she could finally breathe again.
Digg looked over at his ex-wife, now girlfriend, and Felicity followed his gaze. Her heart was starting to speed up, her whole body tingling as the numbness left her. It felt like she was coming back to life as well. Felicity met Lyla’s eyes and sucked in a deep breath. She could see from the other woman's expression that the news wasn't great.
But Oliver was alive. Everything else was just details.
“Tell me,” Felicity demanded with a calm she did not feel as she pulled herself up tall and forced herself to meet and hold Lyla's gaze. She had this. Whatever it took.
Lyla’s eyes were soft with understanding, which made Felicity think she wasn't putting on as good a show as she thought she was. But, luckily, Lyla's tone was all ARGUS agent as she said, “Five days ago, a man was brought to a hidden ARGUS installation deep in Nepal. He had been stabbed clean through his upper abdomen and had appeared to have fallen from a significant distance.”
Felicity’s breath hissed and she closed her eyes, it fit Merlyn's story, but...it made her stomach churn. Swallowing, she motioned for Lyla to continue.
“He had severe hypothermia, which may have been the only thing keeping him alive. After they warmed him up and stabilized his vitals as best they could, he was rushed into surgery. It wasn’t until after he got out that they ran facial recognition software and found out it was Oliver. A friend called me directly to give me a heads up.”
Felicity let Lyla's words flow over her, sniffing, wiping her nose with the back of her hand and not even caring of how gross it was. “His condition?”
Again, there was that horrible pause. Couldn't Lyla’s just spit it out already? When she finally spoke, Lyla's voice dropped, became more sympathetic, kinder, “They tell me he’s holding on.”
Felicity huffed out a hysterical little laugh. Of course he was. “Oliver's a fighter.”
“Hey,” Digg whispered, drawing Felicity’s eyes back to his face. He smiled at her gently and wiped away a tear from her cheek. Somewhere between the words 'Oliver' and "alive' Felicity had completely stopped caring that they were there. “Oliver’s a survivor. Feel free to say I told you so. I can take it.”
Felicity smiled in the first time...since forever it seemed. How long had she lived thinking Oliver dead? Had it been only days? Hours? It felt like forever and...
It felt like was finally waking up from that nightmare she was so certain this whole catastrophe was. Because Felicity could handle a wounded Oliver. It wasn't the first time and, God help the, she was sure it wouldn't be the last. This time might be bad, but....she gave herself a moment to let the hope wash over her. With it she could feel herself becoming her again.
As long as Oliver Queen was out there, alive, even by a hair string, she could do this.
Felicity squared her shoulders and sprang to her feet. “When do we leave?”
“We aren’t going anywhere,” John told her with finality, standing as well.
And, yeah...no. That wasn't going to work for her.
Felicity sprang to her feet as well, her loud voice coming easily this time. “Oh no! I’m not staying behind. I—”
“Relax, Felicity,” Digg assured, placing his hand back on her shoulder. “We,” he motioned to himself and Lyla, “can’t go anywhere. This city is falling apart. But we sure as hell aren’t leaving Oliver in the hands of Amanda Waller either.” He said the last part with disgust. Felicity could empathize there.
“We need to get someone from Oliver’s team there as soon as possible,” Lyla continued, scooping up a bundle from the other bed and handing it to Felicity.
Felicity took the bundle and...it was just nondescript pile of clothing topped with a box of brown hair color, a set of passports, and what looked suspiciously like her prescription contacts.
Oh.
Okay, then.
“Ok, wow, so, um...I’m going.” Which, of course, Felicity was going. She was being left behind over her cold dead body, but she had kinda expected to have to put up more of a fight. “And...I’m going, um, undercover as a soccer mom?” Because the pile she was holding...so not her clothing.
And now that she thought about it, she’d never gone undercover without Oliver and Digg right there as back up. The idea was rather intimidating.
Lyla chuckled, which was so incredibly reassuring. “Something like that.”
Diggle crossed his impossibly big arms. “We’re under the belief that Ra’s Al Gul thinks Oliver is as dead as the rest of us assumed. It would be best Ra’s doesn’t find out otherwise until Oliver is back to full strength.”
Felicity nodded. John’s assumption that Oliver would soon be “back to full strength” made something she hadn't even realized was still there untighten in her chest. God, this was happening.
“We don’t want anyone tracking either you or Oliver until you’re back in Starling, safe and sound,” Lyla finished for John and really they sounded like they were still married as frak.
But more importantly...“I’m not really secret agent material,” Felicity confessed, clutching the (ugly) bundle to her chest.
Lyla smiled, again, with that soft, gentle, comforting-the-widow smile, which...yeah, where had that thought come from? Lyle squeezed her hand and Felicity shook that...odd idea free. “You’ll do fine, Felicity. I have a trusted agent to escort you to Nepal. You’re just a concerned young wife escorting her daredevil husband back from a climbing exposition gone wrong. It won't be too much on a stretch. Mostly just be yourself.”
Felicity almost choked. Or laughed. Seriously? A 'concerning young wife’ and her 'daredevil' husband. “Yeah…myself,” she muttered under her breath, strating to feel dizzy again.
Digg smiled a little too knowingly before squeezing her shoulder and bringing her eyes back to his. “Felicity, you need to be prepared. This isn't going to be a three day trip. Oliver can't come back until he's back in fighting form. It's going to take weeks or more for him to recover, if—”
“Don't say if!” Felicity hissed. She was prepared to take all the time they needed, but ifs...those she couldn't handle.
“When,” John quickly revised. “When he is ready to come home.”
Felicity didn't think Digg sounded completely convinced and Felicity really needed his to be completely convinced. Lyla must have sensed things going off the rails and quickly broke in, “John will have to take over as the Arrow. When Oliver gets home, it can't be at the same time the Arrow returns.”
“But Digg’s terrible with the bow,” Felicity protested before she could help herself, then bit her lip....hard...just to keep herself from going off on a diatribe about John and Roy's safety. Because with everything that happened she was feeling ultra protective. But what Lyla said made a lot of sense.
And really, all Felicity wanted to do is agree to anything that got her to Oliver's bedside as soon as possible.
“Well, the Arrow may have a couple glocks hidden in his leather for a while.” John gave Felicity a small smile. “You worry about bringing Oliver back and let me worry about there still being a Starling City left when you do. I'm feeling amazingly more motivated and a whole lot less distracted.”
Felicity felt a smile stretch out and take over her face. That was exactly what she had needed to hear. “Okay, let's get to this.”
Picking up the home hair dye kit, Felicity took a closer look and shuddering. “My hair dresser is going to kill me.”
^^^^^^^^^
Twenty-eight hours. Actually, twenty-eight hours and thirty-four minutes if she was going to be precise. That's how long it took for Felicity to get from Starling City to the hidden ARGUS medical facility hidden in the Himalayas. That's how long it took for Felicity to slowly lose her mind.
One would have thought with modern technology, especially given that ARGUS was supposedly three years ahead of state of the art, they could have gotten there is less than a day.
After the initial rush to get Felicity’s hair dyed and her alias intact, it's been nothing but waiting. Waiting for the plane to LAX. Waiting for the connecting flight. Sitting, waiting during the 16 hour flight to Nepal and the arduous drive through an endless sea of rock and snow.
All Felicity wanted was to do something and all she was allowed to do was nothing.
They even took her damn phone. Who the hell goes to an airport without a devise? Felicity sat next to a two year old tapping away on a tablet in the LAX airport, for God’s sake.
Tech withdrawal, boredom and paralyzing anxiety were a dangerous combination. It left all of Felicity’s restless energy channeled into tumbling, racing thoughts.
What if Felicity was too late? What if Oliver woke up and she wasn't there and he didn’t know where he was and he was scared. Not that Oliver was easily scared. So maybe it was a silly fear. But maybe he would be. Scared that is. Oliver has been through a lot of trauma, maybe waking up injured in a strange place would set off some PTSD flashback thingy.
Or what if Amanda Waller found Oliver first and moved him to another top secret location and didn't let her see him and… Felicity had no idea why Amanda Waller would do such a thing but John and Lyla seemed to think Waller was a threat and she did kinda give Felicity the creeps so maybe it wasn't so farfetched. And 28 fracking hours, goddamn it.
But really those worries were the good worries. Those were the ones that temporarily kept Felicity from her incapacitating dread that Oliver would be gone by the time she got there. Not gone like kidnapped by Amanda Waller gone. Like gone gone. Like, oh God, dead, gone.
Lyla had made it clear that Oliver's condition was critical, his injuries worse than anything they had dealt with before. But, of course, there weren't any details. Details could possibly rain in Felicity’s overactive imagination, keep her from running through all her knowledge of anatomy and imagining the organs that could have been sliced open. Kept her from closing her eyes and seeing that horrible sword that now sat in the foundry ripping through the man she loved.
People died post-surgery all the time. Just because Oliver made it to surgery didn't mean he would make it home. This was the real world. There were post-op infections, cardiac arrest, and blood clots.
Not to mention the fall. Felicity couldn’t forget about the fall. Merlyn said they found the sword on the top of a ravine. A ravine so deep that a body would be unrecoverable.
What if there was permanent brain damage or a spinal cord injury. Oliver could be paralyzed. What if he never walked again? He wouldn't be able to stand that. And what if he never woke up at all? What if after all he's been through and survived, Oliver slipped away all alone on a horrible frozen mountain in the middle of nowhere surrounded by strangers.
Three, two, one. Nope, not enough. Ten, nine… Oh the hell with it. One hundred, ninety-nine….
Felicity took deep breathes and focused on her counting. She'd gone from 100 to 1 innumerable times in the last day and from 1,000 to 1 twice.
If only she had been able to go home and get her benzos. Maybe she could have even gotten more than an hour of sleep on that endless, tortuous flight. But Felicity hadn't been allowed to bring anything of her own with her. No phone. No tablet. Not even some confidence boosting lipstick. Nothing.
No wonder she was going insane.
While waiting for her hair dye to set, Felicity had been allowed two calls. One to Ray, telling him the dead “friend” wasn't so dead after all and she had to fly out to take care of him. The weirdest part was it was totally the truth. Of course, they left out the part about fights to the death and secret assassins and hidden government installations. Felicity ended the phone call quickly before she started to babble nonsense and screwed it all up.
Her mother was told she was on a business trip and out of the country, unreachable for the time being. And that was that. Felicity’s phone was turned over to Lyla who would answer her texts and keep anyone from being suspicious. Felicity was off the grid. Her one tether to sanity on a good day, gone.
And today was not a good day.
Well, it could be. A good day, that was. Felicity could walk into Oliver's hospital room and he could open his eyes and smile at her and tell her he was fine. That would be the best day. Maybe he could even say he was glad she came or that he loved her and that his near death experience was enough to convince him that….
Ok. Stop. Felicity needed to stop. That line of thinking was as dangerous to her sanity as imagining the worst. Because that scenario just wasn't going to happen. She'd be lucky if Oliver woke up at all.
Today. She'd be lucky if he woke up at all today. Because he was going to wake up. Eventually.
100, 99, 98—
“Felicity, you can get out of the truck now.”
She shook herself at the sound of Agent Thomson’s voice. “Oh yes, right,” Felicity stammered, internally blaming exhausted delirium for her brainlessness. She couldn't remember the last time she had a good night’s rest. Certainly not since Oliver left. Maybe not since she met him.
Felicity scrambled out of the oversized truck. She must have missed arriving. Maybe because she was expecting an actual building and not just a large steel door buried under a wall of rock and snow. Oliver wasn't in a hospital he was in a goddamn cave. Wonderful.
“It’s homier than it looks,” the agent joked, taking her elbow so she didn’t slip on the ice. Thomson seemed to be a kind man, a good traveling companion, if quiet. Not too much older than Oliver. And why did Felicity compare everyone to Oliver? She was so far gone.
Thomson punched in a code with way too many numbers and the doors opened to a set of guards who checked their credentials. The chrome hallway that Felicity was led down wasn't what she would describe as “homey” but it was a whole lot more high tech than she’d feared upon seeing it was carved out of a mountain.
“Breathe, Felicity.”
It took her a minute to realize she hadn't said that to herself and she attempted to return Thomson’s reassuring smile as she hurried to match his long strides through the winding maze of hallways.
“Are you supposed to be calling me ‘Felicity’?” she asked anxiously. “Aren't I ‘Hannah Green’ wife to ‘William Green’?” Oh God, wife. “Idiot adventurer who tumbled down a mountain on a joy climb. Who came up the name ‘Green’ anyway?”
Down the hall, double-doors labeled “Medical Bay” loomed and Felicity heartrate and thoughts doubled in speed.
“Isn’t ‘Green’ a little on the nose?” Felicity continued only half hearing what she was babbling about what with her blood roaring in her ears. “I mean with Oliver…” Oh crap, Thompson didn't know about the Arrow, did he? “I mean, that Oliver loves the color green. He named his club ‘Verdant’, didn’t he? Not that most people even know that verdant is a shade of green. It’s really not that common a word.”
She was so far gone now that her hands had joined the flurry of words, whipping around like some sort of frightened bird. Not even counting was going to stop her now.
“Felicity,” Thompson interrupted. He paused before opening the huge double doors of the Medical Bay. “It's going to be ok. And Hannah and William Green are just for Customs. Everyone here at ARGUS knows who he, and you, are.”
She clamped her mouth shut. The pounding in Felicity’s ears was getting louder and she started to worry she might pass out. Maybe she should have eaten something.
“Here we are.”
Before Felicity knew what was happening another door opened and she was ushered inside. Everything stopped as her eyes quickly found the figure on the bed. She gasped, one hand covering her mouth and the other clutching her middle as the tears starting to flow again.
“Oh God. Oliver.”
She barely heard Thompson mumbling something about giving her a minute and shutting the door behind him as he left.
Oliver had never looked so still. So ghostly pale. Not even the time his heart stopped on that cold metal table in the foundry.
Felicity’s eyes immediately found the monitors, stumbling closer as she did. The steady rhythm of the heart monitor was reassuring, but the machines… God, the machines. They chilled her blood. Oliver, the most alive person she ever met, with a tube down his throat, tape covering half his face.
Then there was the unnatural clikity clack of the ventilator. The rise and fall of his chest would be so much more reassuring if Felicity didn’t know that machine was breathing for him.
Her hands fluttered as they reached for him, needing to feel that he was really alive, but worried about what she’d find, that he’d be cold and…. Three, two, one, breathe. Felicity’s fingers found his arm but jerked back when all she felt was tape and tubes. She fumbled, eyes blurring as she tried to find a way to hold his hand and not disturb his IVs.
Oliver’s left forearm was casted, elevated and secured from the ceiling with long cloth bandages and pulleys. His left knee was similarly secured and in a brace from mid-thigh to mid-calf.
Felicity’s fingers tightened on his. She didn’t even dare to hold his whole hand, though it was blessedly warm and dry and Oliver-like. Though not really Oliver-like since his hand stayed limp and lifeless. Sniffing, she carefully reached out with her right hand to rest over his heart, right below the Bratva tattoo. She didn’t trust the monitors. She had to feel his heartbeat for herself.
There it was. Thump thump. Thump thump.
The tension drained out of Felicity’s shoulders. Oliver was alive. Thank her God or his or whoever. He was alive. Everything else they could get through.
“Well, hello there,” came an overly cheerful, British accent from the door. Felicity jumped, removing her hand from Oliver’s chest like a kid caught with her hand in the cookie jar.
“I just, I’m sorry, I mean—”
The man in the long white coat ignored Felicity’s babbling (thank God) and went on talking like she had said nothing. “You must be our miracle man’s family. I’m Dr. Singh.” He held out his hand with a smile.
Felicity took it and nodded, trying not to feel like a fraud, considering for the first time if it was fair that she was the one there. Perhaps this was Thea’s right, but selfish or not Felicity wasn’t going anywhere.
“Your young man has caused quite a stir here. Remarkable. Remarkable. That he even survived to get to us is a marvel. He’s a lucky man and strong as an ox. He really shouldn’t be alive.”
The doctor was beaming, but all Felicity could manage was a semi- hysterical whimper as she squeezed Oliver’s fingers harder and choked down bile.
“You’ll want a rundown of his condition, of course.”
Felicity wasn’t sure she wanted that at all, but managed an, “umm hmm,” and a small nod.
Dr. Singh rocked back on his heels and rubbed his hands together in excitement. “Well, it seems your young man was impaled by a very sharp object, clean through his abdomen.”
“A sword,” Felicity supplied shakily, closing her eyes against the image of the weapon covered in dried blood on her workstation back home.
“Yes, yes, just so. But this is the extraordinary thing,” he lifted Oliver’s sheet showing her his bandaged ribs, “the sword slipped under his 9th rib and managed to not so much as nick his liver. If it had, he would surely have bled out, cold or no. We did have to take out a small piece of his colon and part of his small intestine. If it weren’t for his hypothermia, which I must say was incredible he survived on its own, he most likely would have been septic by the time we got him.”
“Septic?” Felicity asked, swallowing hard.
“A blood infection. Very bad. Yes, very, very bad.”
Felicity nodded. Oliver was remarkable. She smiled to herself, remembering him saying those words to her what seemed a lifetime ago. “Do you know who brought him here?”
Dr. Singh shook his head. “No idea. Though, they must have at least had ARGUS connections. We aren’t exactly easy to find. Who knows how long it took to get Oliver here. He was dragged on a makeshift pallet and left at the front door. Your young man had a guardian angel, it seems.”
“It seems so,” Felicity echoed, looking down at Oliver and putting that piece information aside to work through later.
“Oliver also has a fractured ulna, which we have set, and a dislocated knee cap with a torn ligament. But again, it is astounding that he didn’t break every bone in his body. There is evidence that he fell a good distance, but he has only scrapes and contusions to show for it.”
Felicity gazed down at Oliver. “He does have nine lives,” she murmured, pushing short sweaty hair off of his forehead. How many of the nine were left? Two? Three?
“So no evidence of brain or spinal damage?” she made herself ask.
“Not according to the MRIs and we have him hooked up to an EEG.” Dr. Singh pointed to another monitor showing slow moving, erratic waves. “It measures brain current. No abnormalities. Of course, we won’t know for certain until he wakes up.”
Keeping her eyes on Oliver, Felicity asked the question whose answer she had been dreading. “Why isn’t he awake?” Her voice cracked at the end. It had been 9 days since Oliver left Starling. That was a long time to be unconscious.
“Oh, that’s our doing.” The doctor smiled. “Medically induced coma to facilitate healing and all that. It’s just about time for us to turn down the sedation and see if he can breathe on his own.” He reached out and touched Felicity’s hand, giving her a warm smile. “We thought we’d wait until he had a friendly face to wake up to. Bolster that will to live.”
Felicity smiled back. Maybe Dr. Singh wasn’t just a wakado more interested in medical abnormalities than actual people.
“Can we do it now?” Felicity asked, eager to see Oliver awake.
“Yes, indeed, my dear.” Dr. Singh hurried out of the room, leaving Felicity no more than a few minutes with Oliver to gather her thoughts before a middle-aged nurse came bustling in, followed by the doctor and what looked to be a tech.
There was a flurry of button pushing and dial turning. “You need to step back,” the nurse told her brusquely, pushing Felicity away so she could get to Oliver’s IV site and start to slowly peal the tape away from the tube in his mouth.
Felicity watched warily, trying to maintain a balance between staying out of their way and being as close to Oliver as possible. Her eyes darted back and forth between the medical staff and his face, looking for any signs of Oliver being Oliver again.
She didn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t Oliver’s whole body jerking, followed by God awful choking and gaging.
“Oliver!” Felicity cried, rushing toward him.
“Get back!” the nurse said more harshly this time, elbowing Felicity out of the way. Then the nurse’s gloved hands wrapped around the tube and pulled.
Felicity stumbled back, losing contact and pressing both hands to her mouth to keep both protests and sobs inside.
“Nothing to worry about,” Dr. Singh reassured with a smile from the foot of the bed. “This is an excellent sign that he’s ready to breathe on his own. His body is merely trying to expel the tube.”
Oliver’s body seemed to want to expel the tube quite violently. The nurse couldn’t pull it out fast enough. As soon as it was free, the tech suctioned his mouth and a nasal cannula was placed over his face. Thankfully the horrible coughing stopped and, even more thankfully, Oliver’s chest continued to rise and fall rhythmically.
“Excellent,” Dr. Singh proclaimed. “His vitals look good. Remarkable young man.”
While the nurse was busy cleaning Oliver up, Felicity risked her wrath by approaching Oliver again and taking his hand, watching expectantly as his eyelashes fluttered and his face relaxed.
“Then why isn’t he waking up?” Felicity whispered.
“Oh, it will probably take his body a small while to work through all the sedation. The important thing is that he’s breathing well on his own. Right now, your Oliver is just sleeping.” He gestured to the EEG monitor. “And you, my dear, need to rest as well.”
Great. More waiting.
“Arnold,” Dr. Singh turned to the technician. “Can you get…Felicity, your name is Felicity, is it not?”
She nodded.
“Can you get Felicity something to eat?”
“No, that’s not necessary,” Felicity murmured, eyes glued to Oliver’s face now that the commotion had died down. He did look better.
Felicity felt a hand on her shoulder and turned to see Dr. Singh smiling at her kindly. “You need to keep up your strength, young lady. You know, Oliver woke very briefly after he arrived, before we intubated him. He only said one word. Do you know what that was?”
Felicity gulped. She certainly knew what it sounded like, but hope hadn’t been her friend lately. So, instead, she shook her head.
Dr. Singh smiled knowingly. “I think you do. How do you think I knew your name? Eat, my dear. Then rest. This boy has a powerful will to live. I’d like to maintain that.”
All Felicity could do is stare after the doctor as he left. Finally, the nurse pulled a chair up right next to Oliver’s bed and pressed her into it.
“You heard the doctor,” the nurse announced placing a blanket and a boxed lunch on Felicity’s lap. “Eat. Rest. He needs you healthy.”
Felicity thought that this nurse, Beatrice, the tag said, must be very good at her job.
Beatrice turned down the lights as she left, closing the door behind her. This left Felicity and Oliver alone with just the bright lights over Oliver’s bed, illuminating his monitors.
He murmured something in his sleep and rolled his head towards her. Tears pricked her eyes and Felicity squeezed his hand. By some miracle, Oliver squeezed back.
He was going to be ok.
“Oh Oliver.”
He didn’t respond except for a slight twitch of his fingers, but that was ok. It was all going to be ok. The relief and love that flooded her was overwhelming.
Felicity brought Oliver’s hand to her face and cried.