It's not supposed to be like this.

She's too vibrant, too full of life, to be so pale, and so still. Her eyes are closed, but he's sure that even if they were open, there wouldn't be the trace of her usual spark in those blue orbs. Her lips aren't quirked up in a smile and their cherry red color rubbed off long ago- probably during his attempts at CPR, he realizes belatedly. For a brief moment, he has the bizarre notion that he's been keeping vigil at her bedside wearing her Very Berry Super Cherry, and wonders what the nurses and doctors must think of him. That train of thought is shut down quickly, though-it's exactly the kind of thing she would find hilarious. The echo of her laugh hurts to remember.

He shakes his head violently, shifts in his seat, his grey eyes fixed on her broken body. Again, he notes that it's not supposed to be like this. She's supposed to be cracking jokes, and smiling and generally making fun of him for thinking he can save the world all on his own. But there she is- on the brink of death, and all because of him.

The monitors beep steadily, and it might be comforting to know that she's still alive, but there's still that paralyzing fear that at any moment those beeps are going to become frantic, that doctors and nurses will pull him out of here, away from her, and he can't let that happen. She's his to protect, and he's not going to leave her side.

Not again.

Aside from the fear, he can feel one other thing eating at his insides; guilt. He's told her countless times that she can trust him, that he'll keep her safe. How can he ever promise her that again? He was a second too slow, a moment behind the bullet, and then she was bleeding, hurting, dying.

He never wants to feel her heartbeat stop under his palm again.

He knows it's his fault. He's the reason she got involved in his line of work, he was the reason that his enemies were looking for a way to hurt him through her. He's the reason that she's here in a hospital, when she should be safe at home, watching Doctor Who, or playing with HTML coding; whatever Felicity does in her time off. He smiles bitterly as he realizes that he'd never bothered to find out. He's seen her almost 24/7 over the past year and a half, and yet he can't even pretend to know her.

How can he claim to love her if he doesn't even know her?

His gaze settles on her face. She should look peaceful in sleep, but her face is pinched in pain. He wants to do something to help ease her suffering, but then she twitches. His heart leaps to his throat.

The monitor at her bedside goes haywire. He jerks up, already tense. His eyes dart to the flat line and he feels his heart stop too.

It's not supposed to be like this.