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Oliver didn’t look like he’d just changed in the back of a town car when he walked up behind her at the gala where she’d been anxiously awaiting his appearance. Apart from a slightly askew bow-tie, Oliver looked every bit the CEO billionaire of Queen Consolidated and not a green-hooded city hero.
It wasn’t until Isabel Rochev approached him, and then gasped that Felicity felt cold dread form in the pit of her stomach.
“Is that blood on your face?” she asked, startled and Felicity’s eyes went wide as she stared at Oliver.
He canted his head to the side and Felicity spotted the small speck of dried blood. His only outward tell was the slight tightening of his jaw.
Felicity reacted without thinking, her hands flying to his face, cupping it to keep him in place as her fingers brushed over the dried blood.
“Who taught you how to shave, Mister?” she teased, but her voice sounded odd even to her.
His stubble was rough under her fingers and she felt the muscles in his neck tightened before he relaxed against her ministrations, letting his eyes fall shut for the briefest of seconds.
The unexpected intimacy of the gesture had Felicity’s heart doing tiny summersaults. She wasn’t prepared for the emotions that swelled through her, warming her from her head to the tips of her toes.
Her thumb trailed down and caught the sharp edge of his jaw before following it down into the tender flesh beneath. His pulse jumped and her legs turned to jelly.
When his eyes opened a split-second later, Felicity froze. His guard had slipped with the feel of her hands on his skin, and she saw the slightest grimace pass like a shadow across his face.
He was hurt. That blood wasn’t someone else’s, it was his own.
Felicity fought the urge to run her hands over him, seeking out his injuries. He must have seen her sudden recognition because one of his hands caught hers where it still rested against his cheek and pulled it down between them, giving it a tight squeeze.
She knew he was trying to ease her fears but it didn’t work. Her mind flew through possible scenarios and outcomes always lingering on the worst ones. She had to remind herself that it couldn’t be that bad if he was still standing here in front of her.
It wasn’t until Oliver’s gaze slipped from hers and fell to someone behind them that she remembered Isabel. Reining in her emotions, she turned but couldn’t make herself drop Oliver’s hand just yet. Thankfully, he didn’t seem eager to do that either.
Isabel’s eyes wandered over them with one perfectly manicured eyebrow raised in question. Without a word being spoken, Felicity knew what the woman was thinking and it brought a blush to her cheeks.
Oliver spoke up then, and Felicity felt herself relax as he turned the conversation to business and the event.
After a few more strained pleasantries, he bid her a good evening and used his free hand to usher Felicity in front of him and away from the now scowling woman.
His fingers slipped from hers, but she stayed close to his side watching his every move - trying to figure out where he was injured and how badly. She knew, no matter how much she might want to, she couldn’t drag him away from the festivities and demand to know. He’d already been missed and another disappearance wouldn’t bode well for the face of the company.
As the evening passed, Felicity saw him flinch a few times when he raised his right hand in greeting, and when he turned sharply, he heard his sharp inhale.
Ribs. She guessed after the third time it happened. Cracked or broken, she couldn’t be sure which.
She knew he’d endured worse but she still didn’t like seeing him hurt. And cracked ribs didn’t explain the blood on his cheek; blood that she knew was his own from the look that had passed between them.
It wasn’t until halfway through the evening, when he stumbled into her as he made his way across the dance floor, that she got a better picture of just how bad he was hurt. One moment his hand had been on her lower back, guiding her through the crowd and the next he was slumping forward when an unsuspecting waiter bumped into his left shoulder.
Oliver’s soft grunt had her spinning on the spot and she had just enough time to brace her feet before she felt his weight against her. He managed to keep himself upright but his hands fell to her waist and she automatically grasped his arms to try and steady them both.
“Oliver,” she inhaled, concern flooding her as she searched the crowd frantically for Diggle, but couldn’t find him.
Without another misstep, Oliver pulled himself up and brought them into a dancing hold.
The muscles in his neck were taut as he began to move them to the beat of the music and she could tell he was in more pain than he would admit. As they danced, she moved a hairsbreadth closer, so she could lean up and whisper in his ear.
“Where?” It was a one word question, but she knew she didn’t need to say more.
Oliver let out a slow exhale that ghosted over her shoulder and his hand flexed at her waist.
“Shoulder,” he murmured, his head almost resting against her own. “New triad member...He wore metal claws on his hands. Got me on my left shoulder…”
Worry crawled it’s way north in her chest and she broke proper dance form to trail her hand up his arm and over to his shoulder. Thankful for the crowd of people, she slipped her fingers just inside the lapels of his suit jacket.
The warm slickness that met her fingers made her eyes widen and she knew she’d gasped because Oliver’s hands flexed where they now both lay against her hips.
“I’ll be fine,” he grit out, but his breathing was more shallow and his voice thick.
“Oliver, you need to let Digg look at that,” she replied, swallowing against the lump in her throat as she felt more of his weight fall against her.
“I will. But I can’t disappear again, right now,” he mumbled, “I have to stay for another thirty minutes at least.”
“You’re not going to be standing upright in another thirty minutes,” she hissed, the blood beneath her fingers a sign that he’d lost more than he realized.
“So we’ll keep dancing,” he murmured, and she could hear the slight smile in his voice, and she fought the uptick in her own lips.
“Oliver…” she whined softly, letting him hear the fear in her voice.
Pushing himself back, he drew in a deep breath before trailing one of his hands to cover hers where it rested under his jacket. “I’ll be okay.”
When she pulled her hand away and began to move it towards his jaw, her eyes widened. Red stickiness covered her fingers and the tears pushed against the back of her eyes. She clenched her teeth together, refusing to let them fall as Oliver grasped her hand in mid air and covered it with his own to hide them.
He leaned forward again, his lips coasting over her hairline. “You almost put us right back where we started.”
Felicity couldn’t help the small smile that his words pulled from her despite the serious circumstances that surrounded them. Letting her head fall forward, she froze when that movement put her skin directly in contact with his mouth.
Sparks of heat trailed through her and she shuddered, her body reacting despite her command to the contrary.
Briefly, she wondered how they looked, pressed so closely together on the dance floor - his hand on her waist, the other holding her hand tightly against his chest. But as she felt his body lean more heavily into hers, she found she didn’t care. He needed her right there where she was and no amount of possible gossip or rumors would move her. And people were definitely going to talk. She knew that despite her hope that they would get lost in the various couples on the dance floor.
“So let them talk,” he murmured, his voice reverberating against her forehead as she realized she’d said the last part out loud.
“You’ve lost too much blood if you’re saying things like that,” she replied, teasingly, pressing lightly on his good shoulder.
He said nothing, but she felt his head shake and she smiled.
Twenty minutes later, Oliver slumped into the backseat of the town car.
“Diggle, drive!” Felicity almost shouted, panic setting in as Oliver’s head lolled back.
“‘Liscity,” he slurred, his voice heavy and thick. “I’ll be fine.”
“You better be,” she teased through her tears. “I didn’t just hold you up dancing for a half an hour for nothing. I expect a proper dance next time, Mister.”
“You got it,” he breathed before he let his eyes fall shut, his hand finding hers on the seat and holding on tight.
Getting him out of the car and into the basement called back memories of the night she’d learned his secret - her suspicions being confirmed that he was, in fact, the vigilante. Now, as she and Diggle helped him limp towards the door, she couldn’t help the sense of deja vu she felt or the tightening in her chest.
She punched in the code while Diggle helped him through the back door. The club was in full swing and the loud, pounding music drowned out Oliver’s cry of pain as his shoulder hit the edge of the door.
By the time they got him to the medical bay area, Felicity was gently pulling his jacket from his shoulders, her eyes widening and heart clenching at the amount of blood seeping through his shirt.
Diggle swore under his breath and pinned Oliver with a hard glare.
Her trembling fingers fumbled with the bow-tie before undoing it and beginning to unbutton his shirt, really hoping that one of these times she would do this without him being in dire need of medical attention.
Diggle’s chuckle caused her fingers to fall as she cut her eyes to the man beside her and then to Oliver who was staring at her with darkening eyes as his breath continued to come in hard pants. Pushing away the embarrassment, she shook her head and pulled her gaze away from Oliver’s, heat coiling low in her belly at the look simmering in his cobalt eyes.
“Shouldn’t you guys be used to that by now,” she mumbled, refocusing herself when she caught sight of the blood stain that continued to grow on Oliver’s shirt.
As Diggle peeled back the fabric, Oliver inhaled sharply, the dried blood sticking to the edges of the wound. His eyes slammed shut and Felicity’s hand found his and squeezed as his nostrils flared.
“This is deeper than it looks. It’s going to need stitches.” Diggle said gravely and Felicity jumped into action, dropping Oliver’s hand and reaching around to pull the shirt tail from his pants before helping Diggle remove the garment completely.
She and Diggle worked like a well-oiled machine. Felicity eased Oliver down onto the metal surface, cradling his head with her hand until she found his suit jacket and balled it up so he could have something soft underneath it. Diggle grabbed the suture kit and began to clean the wound - four jagged lines that looked like those from a claw ran for at least three inches over Oliver’s collarbone.
When Diggle offered an anesthetic, Oliver shook his head stubbornly and Felicity rolled her eyes.
Even after working along side them for so long, she still had to pull her eyes away when Diggle slid the needle into Oliver’s skin. Unconsciously, her hands found Oliver’s and laced her fingers through his, surprised when he responded by tightening his grip with each drag and pull of the needle.
Her thumb ran in soothing circles across the back of his hand and she focused on the way his muscles played across his stomach with each deep breath.
“All done,” Digg stated after what seemed like an hour but was more like twenty minutes.
Felicity glanced up to see four stitches on each jagged cut, the flesh around them puckered and red.
She watched as Diggle covered the injury with gauze and tape before she finally allowed herself to look at Oliver’s face.
His eyes were closed and a flare of panic erupted within her until they fluttered open and focused on her.
A small smile cracked his lips. “Told you I’d be fine,” he murmured hoarsely and she wanted to smack him but refrained, glaring at him before letting her eyes trail down his body, checking for any other injury.
The mottled bruises forming on his side caused her alarm as she remembered how much pain he’d been in whenever he’d turned sharply earlier in the evening.
“Your ribs...broken?” she asked, hesitantly, her free hand leaving his to trail along the purple marks.
He pulled in a sharp breath and her hand flew back as she realized what she was doing.
“Not broken,” he replied through gritted teeth. “Just bruised...one might be cracked.”
Her brow furrowed in concern and it was his turn to squeeze her hand. “Hey, I’m fine.”
“But you weren’t!” she finally exploded, anger simmering up from where she’d pushed it all night. “You were seriously hurt, Oliver, and you didn’t tell either of us.”
Felicity fought the overwhelming emotions, refusing to let herself cry, but needing him to understand her concern.
“We’re a team, Oliver!” she added, her voice shaking as she glanced to Diggle who seemed to agree with her sentiment. “You can’t keep things like that from us. I know you had to get to the gala but we would have found a way for Digg to help you so you weren’t almost passing out in my arms.”
A tear rolled down her cheek and she wiped it away with the back of her hand as she backed away from the table. She pulled in a deep breath to try to get her emotions under control and only turned back towards Oliver when she heard a low groan.
He’d pulled himself up into a sitting position, much to the annoyance of Diggle, and was looking at her apologetically. She knew if she didn’t move closer, he’d try and get up so she took two steps towards him.
“You’re right,” he agreed, and she stared at him in surprise. “I should have said something.”
“Now, I’m worried you hit your head,” she whispered, swallowing past the lump in her throat and trying for teasing. “Because normally you’d argue with me a little more.”
His mouth crooked up into a half smile. “I thought I’d try another way,” he mumbled and Felicity was sure her heart skipped a beat at the look in his eyes.
It never failed to make her whole world stop for the briefest of seconds when he spoke of that - the meaning not lost on either of them.
Letting out a shaking breath, she closed the rest of the gap between them and smoothed down and edge of his bandage that had started to pop up.
Her fingers left a smudge of red on the white gauze and she glanced down to find her fingers still stained red with his blood. Her eyes widened and another wave of panic was about to set in when Diggle pressed a warm washcloth over her hands.
Without a word, Oliver took the rag and slowly began to clean off her shaking fingers. When he was done, he pulled them towards his chest and she found herself moving with them until her head was laying on his good shoulder. A ragged breath escaped her lips as his arms wound around her back and held her tight.
“Thank you,” he murmured against her hair and she just nodded, knowing the words encompassed so much more than caring for his wounds.
“A real dance, Oliver,” she muttered, trying to lighten the mood, and she was rewarded with the rumble of his chest.
“You have my word,” he replied softly and she caught Diggle’s knowing smile as he headed toward the training area, giving them a moment to themselves.