Felicity is suddenly somehow a part of his mission. He hadn't planned on involving her yet but getting hit by a bullet from his mother's gun gives him no choice.

Oliver knew he was in deep shit from the steady flow of warm blood. He'd been hurt before and knew the distant feeling of his body going into shock. His breaths were coming fast and deep, a sign of his failing circulation.

Getting into Felicity's car he almost blacked out, the screaming pain the only thing keeping him conscious, not letting him escape that easily.

Felicity looked scared and he was afraid she'd take him to the hospital instead to the foundry and Diggle's help. It would all be destroyed if she hadn't done as he's counted on.

Turned out he'd done his research well.


Finding out Oliver was the green hooded vigilante was a surprise, but it was overshadowed by the sight of blood and Oliver's pale clammy face. She immediately trusted him, even if he'd obviously been lying to her. Ridiculous lies, she knew he'd been bluffing her, but there was something that made her believe in him despite his deception.

Oliver was too heavy and she knew she needed help. She did try, his blood sticking to her blouse, as she managed to get him out of the backseat and inside the factory door, before he lost consciousness.

Her hands shook when she tried to enter the code to the door Oliver had told her to use. When John Diggle pointed his gun at her she didn't flinch, her need to get Oliver help, to save him, her first priority. She knew he didn't have much time.

Diggle jumped into action, his considerable strength fueled by adrenaline, enough to get Oliver's unconscious form down the stairs and onto the narrow gurney.


John reverted back to his training as soon as he saw Oliver's bleeding unconscious body lying on the floor of the old factory. His brain and hands still primed on taking care of airway, breathing, circulation. The wound was in a very dangerous place, large blood vessels and nerves passing through the area. Finding a vein not collapsed from blood loss was difficult and he's out of practice when it comes to inserting IV's. He finally found one, hanging up bags of blood along with saline to replenish what was lost.

Oliver hardly responded to the treatment. Digging out the bullet must've hurt, but the bliss of unconsciousness was as good as any anesthesia. Felicity helped and caught on to one of Oliver's arms when he came to for a few seconds, trying to push them away from him.

"Shhh… you're okay. Relax!" John tried soothing him. The look on Oliver's face and his big blue eyes were radiating pain. Memories from previous torture were probably welling up from unseen depths with Oliver's defenses down. Always so in control of his emotions, John felt like he needed to protect Oliver from this.

Thankfully Felicity kept her head on straight under pressure when the defibrillator malfunctioned. She was instrumental in saving Oliver's life in the end. Her innocence was almost painful to watch, as she stared at Oliver, in awe of his hidden identity.


Felicity hadn't seen a gunshot wound before, and she was pretty sure no one was supposed to be up on their feet only a few hours after the bullet was removed, by an amateur surgeon no less.
Oliver looked tired, his eyes shadowed, his complexion ashen, the uncovered wound dark and angry below his collarbone.

Diggle had wanted him to lie down and rest but Oliver demanded to be disconnected from the IV's and wires monitoring his vitals. When Oliver moved to sit John had no choice but to help him. Felicity watched as Oliver staggered up on his feet, seeming more relaxed and at ease when he was vertical and not lying down on his back anymore.

She remembers Diggle's words about how he'd been through worse, when she has enough presence of mind to notice the scars on Oliver's body.

It makes her wonder what he went through all those years he was gone.


Oliver spent the night in the foundry. He didn't have the energy to go home until morning, the fact that his mother had shot him weighing heavily on him. Playing the part of concerned son was difficult. His whole body ached as the painkillers Diggle had pushed him into taking was leaving his system. Opiates always made his demons resurface so nightmares had interrupted his sleep.

His head was swimming as he scaled the stairs to escape to his room, John's words about how he couldn't even protect himself from his mother on repeat in his head.

Oliver couldn't believe his mother was a part of what was wrong with his city. Feeling exposed and fragile he didn't feel like staying in the house but he had no choice, his energy was fading fast, blood loss had that effect on him.

Diggle stopped by his room late that night to check on Oliver, making sure he was healing properly, that his wound wasn't showing any signs of infection. That he wasn't planning on going out to hunt the rich and wealthy.

"Did you talk to Felicity?" Oliver asked as John removed the bandage.

"Yeah, she's okay. Felicity is tougher then she looks Oliver."

Closing his eyes, as John checked his stitches and put a padded bandage over the wound, Oliver felt reality slip for a second. For a moment he was back on the island, an arrow stuck through his shoulder.

"….Oliver… hey…you with me?" John sounded worried.

Oliver was unsure of how long he'd zoned out. The phantom pain in his right shoulder shifted over on his left side where the bullet had pierced him, not an arrow.

"Huh, sorry….I should try to get some sleep," he said, not looking directly at Diggle as they both knew what had just happened. Oliver didn't know how to meet the look of sympathy that he knew would be on Johns face.

"Yeah, you could sure use some," John smiled at Oliver, his eyes scanning Oliver, gauging him.

"I'm fine." Oliver needed space to lick his wounds.

"Yeah, you're okay."

The look John gave Oliver as he left the room was not filled sympathy, as he'd feared, but an understanding of what was looming under the surface of Oliver's carefully crafted armor.