Work Text:
While it isn’t a prequel, this story does interlink with Broken – I suggest you read that one first to get the message of this one.
“We’re home,” he breathed softly into my ear, his lips placing the most delicate of kissing atop my head.
“Mmm,” was all I managed, the effects of the pain killers I was on still fogging my mind and clouding my thoughts.
I felt my body rise up as he plucked me like a sleeping child into his arms.
“Where we going?” I mumbled – aware I was not making grammatical sense at this stage.
“Sssh, I’m going to take you to bed,” Oliver spoke endearingly, his taunt biceps pushing against me as he held me, floppy, in his arms.
“I like the sound of that.” I sounded drunk.
I patted my hand against the scruff of his face and pushing my index finger into his cheek playfully – it never ceased to amaze me how soft it was considering his ‘in and out’ bathroom habits in the morning.
“Fe-li-ci-ty you need to rest,” he spoke smoothly, drawing out the syllables in my name a smile brimming across his face.
“But I wuv you,” Seriously, I sounded like Muttley the Dog – these oxycodone were really doing a number on me. If I started seeing Goth-Felicity we were going to have some words.
Oliver chuckled enchantingly as he took each step upstairs with ease.
He lay me down gently on the bed, rolling me slightly so I was on my right side and gently propping a body pillow between my legs.
“Thank you,” I mumbled, my eyes drawing open then falling closed.
He knelt down beside the bed, his hand stroking stray hairs from my face, a soft kiss on the bridge of my nose made me smile. A gentle hand graze across my face made me sigh. As I was lulled into a sense of peace, a reality came flooding back.
Flashback
The surgeon was going over the procedure for the operation – my stomach was fluttering up my chest I had the highest hopes.
“Any heart issues in your family?” – Simple question.
“Nope,” was my reply.
“Any allergies?”
"Just nuts, I found that out when I had some pot-uh-brownies.”
I had smiled sheepishly.
“Any recreational drug use in the last 6 months?”
I had feverishly shook my head – especially give my last slip. Oliver had been beside me, smiling – I think he was enjoying my embarrassment a little too much.
“Any chance you could be pregnant?”
His words hit me instantly, it felt like I sat there with my mouth aghast for hours.
“Nope,” Oliver piped up – completely unaware of the feeling I had welling up inside me.
I’m sorry, your baby died.
All I could hear were those words echoing over and over in my head. The words Dr Clarke had spoken to me and that I had not uttered to a single person afterwards.
Any chance you could be pregnant?
“No,” I reiterated Oliver’s answer, willing myself to hold back the ball of tears I felt brewing behind my eyes.
I’m sorry, there was nothing we could do
I snapped myself back to the moment, lying on the bed, Oliver crouched down beside me. He had noticed my body stiffen and my eyes widen at the memory I’d just relived.
"Are you okay?” he questioned, sincere worry ever present in his words.
I’m so sorry Oliver.
“Yes, fine,” I quipped back, more tartly than I intended.
“Are you in pain?” he whispered, leaning in to match his eye-line with mine.
He was so kind, so gentle, so thoughtful and so open to me it seemed – and here I was keeping something from him – something he had every right to know.
I couldn’t catch it, the tear escaped my eye and fell down my face in its own stand against my plea to not cry.
He looked at me, concern written over his brow – he must have felt like I did when we came back from Central City and I knew there was something bothering him, but he shrugged it off.
“Hey, it’ll be ok, I promise,” his words were sweet, but they did little to stifle the tears I felt marching down my face – the revolt of my emotions had most definitely started.
“I’m just tired,” I spoke – a half truth.
I didn’t know why I was keeping it from him. In the hospital I had reasons – he had villains to fight, he had focus he needed to keep – I couldn’t let him feel what I was feeling. That sudden unexplained loss for something which, if I was honest, I barely knew – but that loss had taken something irreplaceable from me.
He still had the same fight ahead of him, Darhk was still a foreboding presence in our lives – hanging over us all like a storm cloud threatening to break open at any moment. So maybe it was this knowledge that kept me from sharing with him the pain that was aching in my soul. No, there was something else, there was another reason I was keeping it locked up. How do you disappoint someone you love with something you barely understand?
It was only 8 weeks – but I had allowed myself to imagine the life change it would represent.
“Alright, rest up,” he sighed planting a tender kiss above my brow and switching the light off beside me.
My eyes closed with a heavy lid and a heavier heart.
It was pitch black when my eyes pricked open – I don’t know what woke me, it was like an electric current coursing through my arms. I swear for a moment I felt my legs, but it was probably just a dream.
I stayed still gauging my surroundings, I was home, I was safe – I had been having reoccurring flashes of the night I got shot, just moments, feelings – smells. I hadn’t shared these with anyone, they were silly right? Memories that just danced around my head baiting me to cower at them. No, I needed to be strong – he needed me to be strong.
A soft touch against my skin brought me back to the moment. In the stillness of the night Oliver was laying beside me probably even more awake than I was. We’d spent many nights sharing a bed now, I felt like I knew a part of him I hadn’t before.
He liked to lay in the darkness, his breathing soft – constant. I don’t know what he thought about – I don’t think he knew I noticed it – I felt in my heart it was the way he coped with the figurative scars he carried around.
The first night we shared a bed all night in the motel on the interstate he was restless, he would move around and his breathing was panicked. He’d sat up in bed awoken by a noise I didn’t hear.
“Are you okay?” I had questioned, concerned by the look on his face – fear.
He had looked down at me, surprised by my presence almost. His face had softened as he cupped my head into his hands.
“I am now,” he sighed, his strong arms wrapping their full weight around me.
We made love again after that, for the second time that night.
As our time away lengthened his sleep became more peaceful. On the patio in Thailand as he ran his fingers through my hair he had told me that he slept like Oliver – before the Island – when he slept next to me.
Sometimes he would still wake, but now it was quiet, calm – to be honest I felt like he would often just be checking to see I was still there.
Tonight it was that, as his fingers glided across the curve of my shoulder I knew he was just reminding himself I was still here.
He drew the outline of the scar on my shoulder blade – a sensation I had grown accustomed to – I could feel the heat from his body as he scooted in closer and ever so delicately kissed the base of my neck.
“It will be ok,” I heard him whisper – I’m not sure if it was for his benefit or mine.
Even in the darkness my eyes moved down to the bedside table, inside it, hidden under a book, in a white box with a green ribbon was the baseball shirt I had so excitedly picked out. The one I didn’t want to keep – but the one I couldn’t get rid of.
I’m sorry, there was nothing we could do
I’m sorry, you won’t be able to walk again
I’m sorry, your baby died
I’m sorry.
I’m so sorry Oliver.
Tell him.
No, not yet. I wasn’t ready yet.
Soon.
I’m sorry.