"When did I become so numb?

When did I lose myself?

All the words that leave my tongue

Feel like they came from someone else

I'm paralyzed. Where are my feelings?

I no longer feel things I know I should"

NF - 'Paralyzed'

.                            .                             .

"Lance says Michael's back in prison," Thea said casually without looking up from the small tube of primer she was studying. "He says that it's unlikely he'll get parole again, so the next time he'll be out is when his sentence is up."

Cali sniffed delicately at the sample tub of Mermaiden cream, humming in appreciation. It was expensive, of course, but money had no real weight to it these days - her savings account was flush with cash, and she had no reservations about spending it as she pleased.

Mermaiden smelled pretty. She needed some new skin cream - she'd left hers at the safe house. It was rather logical actually.

"That's nice," she said absently, in a belated response to whatever it was Thea was trying to tell her.

Thea sighed sharply and set the small tube back down, frowning at the Mermaiden cream that Cali kept in her hands as she wandered the shelves. "You're gonna drop all your money on that?"

"It's just money, Thea, and it'll hardly take all of it," Cali dismissed, utterly disinterested. "I told you that this trip was to replenish the things I needed given that I've moved into your home." Hm, this nail polish was a wonderful shade of burnt orange. It would look nice in Autumn when the brown of her hair started to darken in the weaker sunlight.

Building up an appearance was meticulous these days. People tended to ask annoying questions and hover around you like particularly irritating mosquitos if you dressed wrong, or looked particularly unkempt on any given day. If you dressed up sharply and kept some colour in your palette, people tended to leave you alone.

Thea, it seemed, didn't care if Cali's appearance was put-together or not, opting instead to press closer and stare at Cali's cheek as if waiting for Cali's attention to drift back to her. "You know, Oliver told me about this whole 'careless bitch' routine. I thought he was exaggerating, but you really are being fucking horrible, aren't you?"

Cali held up a different bottle of nail polish - this one a soft, baby yellow - and screwed up her nose. She looked terrible in pastel colours. "It's rude to call people names, Thea," she said, putting the yellow polish back and instead selecting a nice royal purple.

Thea scowled, huffing. "If this is some act to protect your feelings, you can drop it now. The 'mean cow' mask doesn't fit you. It's bad enough that you've come back out into the public without a guard - Blood made enough of a stir that you could literally get attacked on the street."

"Is it so strange to think that I might simply not care?" Cali checked the items she had in her hand and nodded to herself. That would do for today. She shifted around the small tables scattered about the place, meandering towards the counter.

Thea followed her like a lost puppy, her static-y energy buzzing around them both like a persistent fly. "Have you even noticed the guy that's been watching you from the corner of his eye ever since you walked in here?" She demanded in a sharp whisper. "God, would you just wake up? Michael is in prison, you don't need to be hiding yourself away from us anymore. Let us help you!"

Cali stepped up to the cashier with a brief, polite smile. He was a young thing, tall and willowy and soft around the edges. There was a faint white line slashing along the hollow of his throat. He was likely caught in the earthquake. Most people were, it seemed, and though many bore their scars with shame, this boy didn't seem to.

"Would you like a bag for these, Miss Merlyn?" The boy asked, tone going just a little too edged when he noticed where her attention was resting.

Cali dragged her eyes back up to his face, taking in his name tag along the way. "Yes, thank you, Tyson." And then, just because Thea was standing a little too close to her, she said, "Miss Queen seems to believe that I'm in danger by being out in the community. She believes that a lot of people are angry with my family and wish to take that out on me physically."

"Calissa!" Thea sounded as though she wanted to throttle her. "Seriously?!"

Tyson didn't shy away from them, instead tilting his head and taking the two of them in top to bottom as he expertly squirrelled away her purchases into a bag. "She's not wrong, Miss Merlyn," he said slowly, nose twitching in thought. "The quake hurt a lot of families. And I'm sorry, but your brother's death only affords you so much sympathy when everyone remembers your father more."

"Ah." Cali pursed her lips. "I must shed blood to atone for the sins of my father. How very...catholic of you."

Tyson's eyebrows furrow. "I'd be careful who's around when you say things like that, Miss Merlyn. Some people found religion after the quake, but a lot more people lost faith in their god once the death toll started rising. I know some who wouldn't take kindly to words like those - they'd think you were making a mockery."

Cali hummed again, considering, and then reached into her purse and pulled out fifty dollars, stuffing it into the tip jar sitting between them. "For your impeccable service," she told him when he glanced down at the offering. "And your wise words."

"I'm so sorry about her," Thea said to Tyson tightly as Cali gathered her things and turned to leave. "I don't- I'm just really sorry."

"Take care," Tyson told them both, his voice slightly strange, but Cali was already halfway out the door and didn't stop to look back.

Thea, to her credit, waited until they'd moved down the street and fallen out of step with the other foot traffic before reaching out and tugging Cali to a halt. "That was rude," she hissed scoldingly, and Cali noted idly that she very much resembled Moira when she got like this. "Not to mention reckless! What if that kid was one of the people who wanted to hurt you?!"

"He wasn't," Cali said plainly, letting her friend's anxiety roll off her back easily. "And I'm sorry if I was rude to him, but I tipped him well at least. He'll be able to eat tonight."

"What-What does that even-" Thea shook her head aggressively, her face contorted with frustration. "You know what? No. I'm not doing this with you right now. We're going home, where there's less chance of some random person jumping us. We've both been harassed in public before, and you're practically inviting it today. No more. We're going home."

"You're a very bossy person, do you know that?"

Thea's laugh was bitter. "Yeah, I got it from my mother. I grew up with her trying to wrangle Oliver into line, and it must've stuck."

"What would you do if I continued to go shopping?"

Thea threw her arms up. "Are you trying to get yourself killed?!"

Really, Cali thought, this was all getting a bit melodramatic. She just wanted to do some shopping - there was a tiny little second hand shop just down the road that had a really lovely looking cream jumper hanging by the door. "Critter, please. Felicity's already forced me to make that promise. I'm not doing anything to solicit an assault. If you feel unsafe, then by all means, please go back to the mansion."

"Don't call me that," Thea said hotly. "You don't get to call me that when you're being like this. It's not fair."

"I didn't realise that fairness was that important to you. Because if we're talking about things not being fair, then we should have the conversation about how you're lying to your mother about being on her side. I don't begrudge you for not forgiving her easily, but pretending to?"

Thea's face went crimson, and Cali watched the way her hands clenched into fists at her side. "She killed five hundred and three people. Sorry that I'm having a hard time seeing past that."

"She saved countless more," Cali pointed out mildly. "Her warning gave a lot of people time to get to safety."

Thea's stare got even more angry, even more hurt. "Tommy and Janet are counted as part of those five hundred and three people," she spat. "You're supposed to care about them. Have you already forgiven Moira for them, too? Huh? Because if you have, I've really got to wonder if they meant anything to you at all."

Realistically, Tommy's death could only be blamed on three people. Malcolm, for orchestrating the whole event. Laurel, for not getting out of the building with everyone else and instead choosing to try and rescue useless documents. And Tommy himself, for throwing himself into the destruction without a second thought about himself or Cali or the life he was leaving behind.

Sure, Moira made some terrible choices and Cali had little sympathy for her current situation. But she knew all about punishing yourself for your sins - knew that it was far more brutal than anyone else could ever do, and that it would never really stop.

So, no, it wasn't that she had forgiven Moira for her part in all of the tragedies that had befallen Cali and her family. It wasn't that Cali didn't want her to face the consequences of her actions.

But her brother and father and mother were dead. Thea still had the chance to talk to hers.

"Objectively speaking," she began, but Thea, evidently fed up with everything, shoved her roughly, forcing her back a step.

"No!" She shouted, drawing some wide eyed attention from the stragglers passing by them on the street. "I have had enough of your 'objectivity'! We were by your side for weeks while you self destructed, and hurt yourself, and do nothing but want to die and now that you've let Malcolm ruin you again, you come preaching to us about being objective?! No! I'm done! If you want to play this stupid fucking game with your dead dad, then do it, but I'm not being a part of it anymore."

"You-"

Thea's eyes were unexpectedly filled with tears, Cali realised with a start. "I've tried to stay by your side," Thea said, and her voice cracked right down the middle. "I have tried so hard to support you, because I know what it's like to lose your family. But I'm done pretending that the way you're acting, the way you're treating us, is okay. I'm just- I'm just done, Cali. I'm sorry, but I'm not doing it anymore."

And Cali wanted to care that one of her best friends was about to walk away from her. The queasy sensation in her stomach suggested that she was supposed to stop Thea from doing this, she was supposed to offer the right words, soothe the right hurts.

The Cali that had faced down Malcolm Merlyn and sent Oliver out to war would have known what to do. The Cali that Tommy had known and loved would have known what to say.

But she'd swallowed it all down that morning she'd consumed the contents of that vial.

So Cali said nothing at all as Thea scrubbed at her eyes, spun on her heel, and melted into the pedestrians that milled around them.

It seemed kind of like the end of something.

Very calmly, Cali tugged her phone out of her pocket and turned the screen on, navigating to her contacts and dialling the number she knew almost by heart. Oliver answered almost immediately, sounding strained. "Tell me you aren't out in the city without your body guards right now."

Cali examined one of her chipped nails. "In my defence, I wasn't entirely by myself until your sister broke up with me and walked off."

Oliver's sigh was so reminiscent of his sister that it was almost funny. "Call Parker," he instructed firmly, leaving very little room for argument. "Get back to the mansion. It's not safe in the city at the moment."

"If you're referring to Blood and his little fan club, I can assure you that I am quite safe."

"It's more to do with the deranged serial killer that's loose on the streets." There was a burst of static-like sounds that suggested he was moving rather quickly. He cursed. "Look, I wasn't supposed to tell anyone until the media finally caught on, but this guy is deranged, okay? He's already killed a handful of women, and Lance and I aren't catching up to him quickly enough to keep him from striking again. We don't even know how he's choosing his victims yet."

And, for some reason, it was that more than anything that forced Cali to stop and consider. Calculated risks she could abide by - like Blood and the public and goading a poor cashier - but something about the notion of some random psycho being the thing to bring her down was...demeaning, almost.

If she survived her father and a man-made disaster, and then she was taken out by some average human with a mental deficiency?

It would be a bit embarrassing really.

"Who's the serial killer?" She asked calmly, gathering her bags closer to her torso and beginning the trek back towards the mansion. "I doubt it's someone new or the media would be in a frenzy, police efforts or not."

Oliver's hesitation told her more than enough, but she still waited for him to answer, casting her eyes about and scanning the fluctuating streams of people in case someone made a grab for her. It wasn't that she really thought herself a target, but it was some buried instinct to be on guard.

Tommy was dead. Her father was gone. Apart from Oliver and his gang of rebels, there wasn't really anybody that would come for her if she disappeared.

"It's one of Lance's," Oliver said finally. "The Dollmaker."

"Oh."

Well, if there was going to be a serial killer on the loose, it might as well be the one that drove Quinten Lance to the brink.

Cali remembered that time clearly - remembered Laurel calling her in hysterics because she couldn't get him out of the bar, remembered seeing every face on the news and calling Lance right after except he would ignore every one of her calls, remembered dragging Tommy to his door almost every night and finding Laurel trembling in the kitchen, remembered sleepless nights wondering if there would be a call saying Quinten was dead.

Caring. It was so...inconvenient.

(There was a part of her, buried so deeply she couldn't quite feel it, that wailed in despair that the hits just kept on coming. That was terrified that Lance would fall off that edge that they'd kept him away from all that time ago.)

"How'd he get out of Iron Heights?" She asked, just to keep the conversation going, struck by some sudden inspiration to keep him talking to her. There'd been such distance between them - between her and everyone really - and she...

Well, she missed him. Despite everything, despite the contents of that vial and everything that had gone wrong between them. Despite him abandoning her to Blood. Despite her finding her feet without him. Despite it all, she missed him.

This 'having emotions' thing sucked.

"The quake cracked open Iron Heights," Oliver confessed in an exhale, and there was a click, like a door closing. "The authorities don't want to cause a panic, so they're keeping it under wraps as best they can for now. I guess the Hood might be a little busy for the foreseeable future."

"Hm." Cali glanced down the street before striding across the road, inclined to avoid the bustling bodies around her. She needed somewhere quiet and reasonably out of the way, easily accessible if she was going to get Parker to come collect her. "Well, maybe people would be less easy to kidnap and murder if they knew there was a reason to worry."

"You say that like I'm the one keeping the truth from them."

"You're literally the vigilante so that you can flounce around without having to abide by the rules. What's stopping you from making an announcement yourself?"

There was a pause, which Cali used to settle her things on a desolate bench just off the path and sit down heavily, huffing at the ache in her feet. The boots were too new to be comfortable for long periods of time.

"I don't want Lance to get in trouble," Oliver said unhappily. "He's already on thin ice at the department because of what he did for us during the quake. I don't want to make his situation any worse."

"The life of one versus the life of the many."

"Don't start this argument with me, Cali, I'm already shouldering the blame for the Glades."

"Well, Thea and I are both out on our own right now, so if we get murdered you can cop the blame for that too."

"That's cruel."

Yes. Yes it was. She knew that, objectively. But her feet hurt and Oliver's call had chewed up too much time. The little second hand shop would be closed now. The sky was bleeding into a blend of pinks and oranges as the sun died off for the day. She really just wanted to get back to the mansion, have a shower, and lay in bed watching her detective shows.

So cruelty was her best weapon. Because she found herself inexplicably drawn to his voice, to his presence. Even after the clusterfuck that had been Lance's reveal of her relationship with Michael a week ago, he'd still followed her to her room and he'd still made that effort to understand.

And if she was feeling things like she was apparently supposed to be, she knew that her anger at the way he'd left her at that party would already be fading simply because of every other time he'd made the hurt go away.

"Do you remember what it's like to laugh?" Oliver asked, so quietly that Cali wasn't sure if she was supposed to hear it or not. "Do you miss it?"

Soulless or not, she'd never really been able to deny this man anything, so she said, "No, I don't miss it. Because I do remember laughing, Ollie, but I also remember what it feels like to have your heart split right down the middle, and I know that you can't have one without the other. Eventually, the scales always balance."

The sky had melted into purples and blues, the last kiss of the sun barely visible on the horizon, when Oliver let out a whisper that might have been 'I love you' and clicked off the call.

A text from him followed a few moments later. 'Call Parker. Come home. Pending another murder, I'm keeping a low profile tonight - you should watch Titanic with me so I understand your edgy metaphors.'

It was something she might have laughed at, before everything. It was endearing, the way he could switch between having the weight of the world piled on top of him and being 17 years old again and as carefree as a child. The tug in her sternum demanded that she feed that kernel of fondness, demanded that she break that glass wall the vial had helped to construct around her heart to protect it.

But she couldn't. Not when she still dreamed about Tommy.

Not when that phantom pain from that bond between them snapping haunted every second breath. Sometimes, it got so bad, she was convinced she was never going to be able to breathe ever again, just like her brother.

So she thumbed out a response - 'I'm tired, sorry.' - and opened Parker's contact to call for a ride. There was nobody left on the streets now, so he should be able to find her easily.

Her finger had just hit the 'call' button when someone set a heavy hand on her shoulder.

"I must say," the Dollmaker said with a twisted grin, "you have such lovely skin."

.                             .                              .

To Tommy's eternal dismay, Oliver had never been the one to get overly jumpy during horror movies.

It was something about the fakeness of it all - the reliance on cheap jumpscares to capitalise off the body's natural adrenaline production during suspension situations. There was nothing natural about Oliver's nerves or reactions during those peaceful years before the island. He was usually too doped up to notice anything, let alone react to some blood-covered demon on the screen that wasn't even real.

Once he'd come back after those five years, he'd never really found anything scary at all. He'd seen hell, had tangoed in the pits, and he'd come out the other side in one piece.

But this building.... This building was creepy.

For a moment, he allowed himself to feel annoyed at Lance for dragging him out here. It wasn't that he'd been looking forward to a night of rest - he'd gone through more than enough to know that he wouldn't have relaxed enough for it to have any effect on him at all - but the potential to coax Cali into spending the night by his side had been so tempting.

And then Lance had called. So Oliver had gone.

The doll and old telephone that he and Lance happened upon in the only illuminated room in the place was also creepy. So much so that Oliver didn't put up a fight when Lance spouted some bullshit that he stayed back to preserve the legality of the find.

The phone started ringing almost as soon as they stepped foot inside. It echoed ominously in the otherwise desolate room. Chills broke out across the back of Oliver's neck. Something wasn't right here. Something was just slightly off - outside of the obvious horror-movie-esque set up of the place.

Lance crept over to the phone, picking it up with a hand that was only barely shaking. He didn't have to say a word.

The voice that started speaking was loud enough for Oliver to hear it as well. "Detective," Barton Mathis, Dollmaker, greeted slickly. "It's been too long."

Oliver hit the button to wake up the line between himself and the others. "Felicity, I need a trace."

"You sick son of a bitch," Lance rasped, voice ragged.

"Sick?" Mathis sounded amused, and Oliver took a step forward, unsure if he was trying to hear a little more clearly or keep Lance from lashing out and destroying the scene. "I've never felt better! Fresh air agrees with me."

Lance inhaled jaggedly. "Yeah, well don't get too used to it. I caught you before. It's just a matter of time before I do it again."

"Fair enough. In the meantime, however, I have some girls who'd like to say hello."

An unfamiliar squeal, muffled by something that can only be a strip of cloth, made Oliver's blood run cold, and he eyed the tension rippling across Lance's shoulder warily. This could go very, very wrong. If they weren't careful, Mathis would cross that line and drag Lance with him, and every tenuous thing that was built up inside Quinten would go toppling down.

"She's a little inarticulate," Mathis admitted darkly. "But I'm afraid our other companion refuses to express the same...sentiments, so this one will have to do."

Lance seemed to be about one more second away from tearing in half as more sobs filtered through the call. "She's done nothing to you," he snarled. "Please don't hurt her. Just let her go."

Mathis clicked his tongue and Lance fell silent again, hand clenching around the phone. "Ah, Detective," he crooned. "This is where the fun starts. You see, you have a choice! I did mention that I had two guests with me, yes? I'm feeling particularly generous, so I'm willing to let one of them go, and I won't have harmed a hair on their head. But I'm afraid that you'll be the one to make that choice."

He couldn't. There was no-

God, Oliver had never wanted to put an arrow through someone as much as he wanted to put an arrow through Barton Mathis. Because all of them knew that making this choice would fracture Quinten Lance in a way that would be...would be unfixable. Whatever body the police found, it would darken Lance's shadow for the rest of his life.

And that poor second girl, the one that would be saved. Lance would look at her and see the blood on his hands. Would look at her and wonder what it might've been if he'd saved the other one. There was no way out of this where blame was invisible.

Whatever happened, it was going to hurt.

"I won't choose," Lance said firmly, tone blisteringly furious. "You let them both go - they've done nothing to you!"

"And allow them to wither away in a mediocre and invisible life?" Mathis hummed. "No. No, no, no. They both deserve so much better. But I can deal with only one doll, Detective. Can you deal with only one body?"

Oliver hit his comms button. "Felicity," he hissed. "We need a location now."

"I'm working on it!" She hissed back. "Give me a second."

'We don't have a second,' Oliver thought, keeping his eyes on the back of Lance's head.

"If you want, Detective, I can help you choose," Mathis purred smugly. "There's something to be said for rescuing a damsel in distress."

"Don't you-"

"You see, only one of my pretty girls seems to be afraid. You can save the wailing one, if you'd like. She seems quite desperate to live. And I'll keep my silent beauty, my ice queen. She's going to make such an exquisite puppet."

A murmur, a burst of static, and then Felicity's voice erupted across the comm-line, frantic and terrified. "Oh my god," she shrieked in his ear, and he fought his wince. "Oh my god, Oliver, you have to stop this. Don't let Lance choose! Oh my god!"

Oliver hit the button a little too hard and grunted at the impact from his own hand. "What?" He snapped back, trying to make sense of her jumbled words. "Just tell me what's going on!"

"Parker just called John!" She all but screamed at him, and Oliver's blood turned to ice before she could finish spelling out what they already knew. "Cali's one of those girls!"

Everything around him kind of tilted, went a little out of focus. "Are you sure?" He demanded, and the sudden raise to his volume made Lance glance back at him, questioning.

Frantic fingers battered a keyboard loud enough for the sound to translate through his earpiece, and then Felicity's voice came back over the comms. "Parker answered a call from her phone, he recorded the whole thing. Mathis has her, Oliver, he's got her there with him!"

Lance's eyes were wide, manic, pleading with Oliver as he fought to keep control of the conversation. "Let me talk to them," Lance said - begged - with a desperation that just had to claw at the pride he kept hidden in his chest. "Let me talk to them, please."

Oliver shook his head. If Lance heard Cali's voice, if he figured out the game that Mathis was playing, this entire situation would go supernova. The fallout would be catastrophic. "Detective-"

"Detective," Mathis said disapprovingly, his tone still sickly sweet. "That's not part of the rules here. I don't want your choice to be tempered by... favouritism, as it were."

And-

Oliver can see the pieces start to click into place in Lance's head. He can watch that face contort into a semblance of understanding as he collects the clues that Mathis has let slip during the call. He won't introduce the girls because Lance would recognise one of them, would suddenly understand the ultimatum completely. And if he was worried about the fun ending early, that meant that whoever it was would be Lance's first choice in any situation.

Lance squeezed his eyes shut, resolve starting to splinter. "Please-"

"Tick, tock, Detective. I need an answer or I get to keep both girls to play with."

Oliver opened up the line again. "Can I make it time?" He asked Felicity desperately. "Is there anything we can do to stop this?"

If Cali died here, and he could've stopped it, he would-

Well.

He couldn't bear to watch another tombstone be engraved with 'Merlyn'. He couldn't bear to keep losing people he loved.

"Five seconds," Mathis said lightly, and Lance startled, using his free hand to scrub at his face. "Four. Three. They really are quite stunning, Detective. I'll make sure they look their best for you when you find them. Two. O-"

"Let the silent one go!" Lance exploded finally, snapping his eyes open to try and gauge Oliver's reaction. He must've figured it out, must've put enough of the puzzle together to get a rough understanding of the outline. Tears were building in his eyes, though, and within a heartbeat, they were plummeting down his cheeks. "Let her go. God, you bastard!"

Mathis was silent for a moment, and Oliver strained to pick up any kind of sound that he could from the phone, but there was nothing. Nothing, and then a gasp and a thud and Mathis came back onto the line. "Interesting choice," he said. "But that's alright, you've done well. You'll find your prize waiting for you at the precinct in one hour. But don't worry, I'll turn the other one into something special."

"Felicity," Oliver urged, heart in his throat.

"He's blocking the trace!" She fired back.

Lance's tears fell faster, and it was almost as those Oliver could see the fissure cracks tracing every crevice of his face. "Now, pay attention, Detective," Mathis cooed. "What comes next is really quite exquisite. - the sound of an oesophagus slowly hardening. Like a symphony."

The sobs of the girl grew louder, and Lance fell into the table as some of his strength gave out in sheer horror. "Barton, don't do it. I am begging you! Is that what you want?! I'm begging you, please, stop!"

With one final, haunting cry, the girl fell silent. Sick anticipation clouded the room around them. Lance had gone unnervingly still - Oliver could taste bile at the back of his throat. Even Felicity had fallen quiet.

They knew what had happened. They knew that Lance's begging hadn't done anything.

That girl was dead.

That girl was dead, but Cali might still not be.

If Lance had chosen right, Cali was still alive.

The only thing it had cost was an innocent life.

Oliver was going to throw up.

"It's for the world to enjoy," Mathis assured them silkily, and something clattered on his end of the call. "After all, everyone loves a pretty doll."

The line disconnected.

Lance collapsed to his knees.

It was done.

It was over.

God.

.                             .                              .

She was pretty sure she'd screamed herself hoarse the minute one of the officers had touched her. It hadn't even been a conscious reaction - she'd startled herself almost as badly as she'd startled the poor young man who'd just been trying to wrap a blanket around her shoulders. She'd been trembling, she knew that, and her mouth was red and raw from where she'd had that tube forced halfway down her throat.

He'd been surprised that she hadn't been afraid, she remembered that. It was one of the few lucid memories that she had, the rest being a hazy blur as a result of the sedative he'd used to get her there, and then getting her out.

(She wasn't sure she was supposed to remember any of it, actually, but thankfully her father had also been deranged and turned her into a freak with a higher tolerance for strange drugs.)

But Cali had met his eyes, a blank slate who knew her chances were slim, and he'd been surprised.

Unnerved, maybe. Excited.

But he hadn't killed her. He'd had Lance on speaker phone just for her benefit, but she hadn't watched him have the conversation. She'd watched the girl strapped down opposite her, watched her wriggle and wail and panic, and she'd waited for everything to end.

Maybe that's what saved her. Not fighting.

She'd watched every single nanosecond of that sweet girl choking to death. She'd heard the crackle and squeeze of the polymer in her throat harden up, heard it coat her lungs and block her airways. She'd seized towards the end, her eyes rolling around and around, and the Dollmaker had held her hand and whispered sweet nothings as though that might soothe her passing.

She'd used that vial to keep away those inconvenient, messy emotions, had used it to build a wall around her still-raw wounds. It had been a gamble, a show of faith in Malcolm to know how to circumvent that strange ability to resist chemicals, but it had been necessary.

But seeing that girl die, watching her murderer hold her hand-

There were cracks, now, in that glass wall. Sprinkles of glass on the ground. She'd almost thrown up when the Dollmaker had swept her hair to the side to slip her another sedative. That wasn't-wasn't nothing. The way she pissed herself the minute she woke up on the steps of the stations wasn't nothing. The way she couldn't stand to be touched by someone who was trying to help wasn't nothing.

She'd looked into the Dollmaker's eyes without fear. Had watched him murder someone without shedding a single tear. But it was now, the minute she was safe, that the glass wall splintered.

How selfish of her. How despicable. How very...Merlyn.

There was a quiet knock on the door, and the same officer who'd given her the blanket and ushered her into the room peeped nervously around the door. "Miss Merlyn," he said softly, like he was afraid to spook her again. "Officer Lance has arrived. He wants to see you."

Wanted to see who he chose, who he saved. Would he regret it? Did he wish that she'd died, just like her brother and her father and her mother had died? She could only imagine what he must be feeling. She wouldn't be able to feel it herself, or take it away from him. She wouldn't be able to pull the poison from his veins like she'd always managed to do for Oliver.

She had that glass wall now, and no matter how battered and unstable it was, it did its job.

"I'm going to bring him in," the officer said with a small reassuring smile. "He won't touch you. I know that talking is hard for you right now, so if you need him to leave, I need you to knock three times on that table in front of you, is that okay?"

It was a nice table, made of sanded and varnished pine. It was clearly handmade, and tempered by love. Her hands weren't steady but she could knock. She nodded once at that kind officer, and he obligingly ducked out of the room for a moment, returning shortly after with a familiar haggard face in tow.

"Oh my god," Lance said brokenly, and sagged into the chair opposite her. His eyes were still red from crying, and there was blood smeared onto his knuckles like he'd punched something repeatedly. "God, I mean, they told me that you were here and that Mathis had you, but... Fuck. God, kid, he really did a number on you."

The Dollmaker had done a number on both of them, actually, but Cali's voice was still failing her and every breath hurt, so she stayed quiet and focused on picking at the corner of her blanket. She didn't want to be here anymore, nice as everyone was being. She wanted to go home, to the mansion, where she knew that Oliver would protect her, keep her safe from the Dollmaker.

She didn't trust anyone else. Not herself. Not the police. All of this could've been avoided if she'd just stayed with Thea-

Oh, God, what if it had been Thea that had been taken?! It had only been a matter of minutes between them separating and going their own ways. If Mathis had found Thea, if he'd strapped her to that chair and killed someone in front of her-

Objectively, Cali was going to hurl.

"Listen, kid, I know that now isn't the time but I wanted to talk about Michael," Lance said tiredly. "You never should have had to go through it again, and now you've been kidnapped- I-" He hung his head and chuckled bitterly. "Have you ever considered just packing your things and getting the hell out of town?"

She wanted him to stop asking her questions. She couldn't answer them, and frustration would inevitably snap the last string holding him together. She didn't want to be responsible for putting him back together again while she was like this. Once she had her feet underneath again, maybe she could offer a cool shoulder for him to cry on, but not now.

Lance shook himself, clearing his throat. "Anyway," he said, abruptly brusque and all-business. "They've located the other body now, so we're gonna get you to the hospital, okay? I want to make sure that bastard hasn't done anything too bad to you."

The thing was, right, that Cali knew exactly what was about to happen.

Lance was going to take her down to his car, where she would be shut in with him while he drove her to the hospital. He would then stay by her side through every test and awkward question, would try to fill in her silences, and then he would likely want to stay with her if she was admitted. He would be there when she burned through the medication given to her by the nice nurses and he would have questions she couldn't answer. It was then extremely likely that Laurel would join them, to make sure her father was okay and by extension Cali, and then Lance would end up wanting her to stay with him until the Dollmaker was stopped.

It would be suffocating. She wouldn't be free - she'd be forced to live through every single aftershock of the situation, because Lance had just played an active part in a girl's death and there was no way that he'd be able to work through that without some kind of spiral.

Cali had her own spiral waiting for her beyond that glass wall. There was no feasible way that she could carry Lance's on her shoulders as well.

She didn't want to go with him.

She wanted Oliver.

So she lifted one weak hand and dropped it on the table, twisting to rap her knuckles on the wood three times.

Lance barely had time to say her name before the door was swinging open and the sweet officer from before was stepping into the room, his face set into a purposefully neutral expression. "Sorry, Officer Lance, but it's time to go. Boss has some questions about what went down. You understand, right?"

Lance's face darkened with annoyance, and he kept his back turned on the other man. His lip curled as he said, "I'm not answering anything until I've taken Cali to the hospital. She might have her father's last name, but she deserves to be treated like a human being, Officer Reuben." He all but spat the name.

Officer Reuben didn't shy away from the nastiness, keeping his shoulder squared and his tone measured and even. "I'm sorry, Officer Lance, but orders are orders. There's someone coming for Miss Merlyn, and the boss has authorised me to accompany her to the hospital to ensure her safety. You're to report to his office now."

"Damn it!" Lance seethed, smacking a hand on the table hard enough that Cali jerked backwards with wide eyes. He didn't seem to notice her, but Reuben's posture changed into something far more anticipatory. "May as well suspend me without pay, then, because I'm not leaving her."

Realistically - objectively - things were probably going to happen like this:

Lance would get himself either suspended or fired and still end up escorting her to the hospital. The walls around her would slowly shrink and shrink until she was living in the same little box that Michael had built for her after the quake. She would stay at Lance's apartment with him, he would throw a wrecking ball through her fragile defences, and then they would both destroy themselves with bad dreams and guilt.

Smothered by love until it killed her. She'd expected it to be the way she was going to die, but she'd never expected it to come from Lance. She'd always thought it would be Oliver.

But then Reuben was settling his hand on the taser strapped to him, stepping forward. "Officer Lance, I'm going to have to ask you for the last time to vacate the room. I don't care what you do outside of it, but this situation has become very unstable and you are making it significantly worse by resisting."

She could pinpoint the exact moment Lance considered it - grabbing her and making a break for it. She could see him size up his fellow officer, count the exits, calculate the route they'd need to take to get away without anyone being able to grab them. She knew that Reuben had taken note of the pause as well, his deft fingers starting to slip the taser out of his holder, but then-

Lance's focus settled on her again, taking in the distressed lines she was sure were carving up her face, the way she was clutching the blanket so tightly she couldn't feel her fingers, the way she kept her desperate gaze fixed on Reuben only like he was the only hope that she had.

He sighed. The fight left him. Without it, he just looked shattered and old and tired. "Alright, kid," he surrendered. "Alright. I'm sorry. I'm going now, okay? And if I know you, then it'll be Queen coming to get you. You tell him to keep me informed. Mathis is my problem, and I'm so sorry that you got caught up like this."

Cali didn't dare look away from Officer Reuben as Lance dragged himself back up onto his feet and shuffled out the door, taking all of that oppressive misery and regret with him.

Reuben considered her gently, cocking his head as he clipped his taser back into place and settled his hands back in his pockets. "Are you okay?" He asked quietly. "Mister Queen is almost here. Is there anything else I can do for you before he gets here?"

Cali shook her head mutely, and couldn't even muster a 'thank you' for him as he turned and left her to gather herself in the empty room.

.                             .                              .

Slowly, oh so slowly, her eyelids peeled open and she looked wildly around the room, only coming to a stop when she locked onto Oliver's face. Her mouth opened, and before Oliver could warn her, she gave a small cry instead of bringing to life whatever words she wanted to say.

"Don't talk," he said tightly, tightening his hold on her hand. "Jesus, Cali, don't talk. They did surgery on your throat."

Another gurgled gasp, and crystalline tears welled up and spilled down her cheeks.

Oliver swore under his breath as he reached for the call button and pressed it with his spare hand, before leaning forward to press his lips to Cali's forehead. "It's okay," he breathed into her skin, his own eyes burning. "It's okay, I've got you. It's gonna be okay, guppy, I promise."

As the nurses flooded in and Cali trembled in his arms, Oliver looked up, closed his eyes, and prayed.

.                             .                              .

He thought he'd seen her in every shade of broken down.

He'd seen her wreathed in bruises, painted with blood. He'd seen her with dust smudging the skin of her cheek. He'd seen her fresh out of the shower with her guard still down, or half drowned in the waves at the beach. He'd seen her smothered in makeup and a purple dress, on the way to meet a man she hated. He'd seen her asleep and radiant, asleep and frightened. He'd seen her angry, and happy, and calm, and loving. He'd seen her afraid. He'd seen her cry. He'd seen her look soft, and he'd seen her look jagged and blistered.

He'd seen her this past week look distant. Look uncaring and cold. He'd seen her take steps away from them when they came near her. He'd seen her pull faces when they bothered her with unfavourable emotions.

But this....

God, he'd never seen her like this.

"She's not visibly injured," the young police officer at his side said reassuringly, watching Oliver watch Cali on the other side of the one-sided mirror. "I'm almost certain that she was drugged, and she's been through a damn good scare, but the only real treatment she's gonna need is for up here." He tapped the side of his head, and huffed. "Mathis is a real cruel bastard for this."

Oliver could barely find his voice. "Has Lance seen her?" He asked, sounding faint and faraway even to his own ears.

The officer shifted his weight uncomfortably, letting out a heavy breath as he considered his next words. "Yes, Officer Lance has been in to talk to her, but his presence seemed disruptive. Miss Merlyn grew agitated-"

"Cali," Oliver interrupted. "She hates being called Miss Merlyn."

The officer nodded and didn't question him. "Of course. Cali grew agitated when Office Lance explained that he would like to take her to the hospital. Because of her current state, we aren't entirely sure whether her reluctance is related to the hospital, or to Office Lance."

Oliver knew the answer to that unasked question - not because he doubted Lance's character, but because Cali had never had a particular aversion to hospitals and had never put up a fight whenever she'd had to be taken to one.

"I'm sorry, I didn't get your name," he said to the young officer, wrestling his musings back into submission. He needed to be present and focused if he was going to successfully navigate the minefield that was currently Calissa Merlyn.

The officer's lips twisted up, and the friendliness made him seem even younger. "Nick Reuben, sir. I'm reasonably new to the force."

That was underselling it - he exuded so much youth it made Oliver's teeth hurt. But he was sweet, and he seemed to genuinely care about what Cali needed, so Oliver forced his hackles to settle. "Well, Officer Reuben," he said kindly, offering his hand for a shake. "I believe I owe you my gratitude for looking after her for me. Would you be able to talk to my driver about your assessment of Cali while I see if she's ready to go to the hospital?"

Maybe it was a bit mean of him to send Reuben to John, but Oliver knew that his friend could ask the right questions to figure out where they were supposed to go from here. Felicity was already standing by to sneak copies of Cali's medical records onto her systems to see if it could help them track down the Dollmaker.

Officer Reuben took a long moment to assess Oliver, head-to-toe, before leading him around to the door and letting him in.

They'd done well turning the interrogation room into something a little easier to swallow for a traumatised girl. The lights were low and warm, and the threatening chill had been chased away by a small, portable heater they'd set up in the corner. Thick blankets lined the chair that Cali sat on, and another blanket draped over her shoulders like a cape, the thick fluff tickling her cheek. A jug of cold water sat to her right, an untouched glass lingering beside it. A plate of small, neat sandwiches appeared to be untouched on the table.

"Hey, guppy," Oliver murmured, risking the venture forward and dropping into a crouch at Cali's side, careful not to touch. His senses were still on high alert - Nick Reuben hadn't moved from the doorway yet. "Hey. Cali, you with me?"

No noise came from that unusually fragile body, but Cali's fingers twitched in their grip on the blanket and she raised her head, dull brown eyes finding Oliver's face. He could read the exhaustion there, tied around some kind of dawning realisation that this was the breaking point. This was where things started to fall apart around them. This was the catalyst.

"Only you would end up getting kidnapped by a deranged serial killer," he teased.

And it must have been something about that - something those words or the way he said them - but that last barrier clouding her eyes gave away, and her expression crumpled.

"Cali," Oliver said, tenderly.

With a voice like shards of glass, Cali rasped, "The fucking vial was supposed to work."

Oliver laughed a little wildly right as she burst into tears.