silence settled over the bunker like a blanket, tucking them into a somewhat uncomfortable sense of familiarity. oliver queen was a man possessed with so much instinctive impulsivity that it became reckless abandonment. she wanted to be mad at him, but she couldn't. how could she be mad at someone who did exactly what she would've done ? they knew what they were walking into - multiple armed assailants, at least one hostage, + a warehouse that'd been partially cleared by the SCPD. they even had a plan. not a very good one, but it sure as hell was better than essentially pulling a leeroy jenkins ( which, admittedly, she only knew about because of winn ) + running in without backup.
she knew the second he decided he wasn't waiting. it was subtle + undoubtedly unconscious - something that most everyone would miss even if they knew what to look for. but oliver was her favorite book; she knew him cover to cover. the way his jaw set when he was too focused ... the way he let out a quiet breath through his nose when he was genuinely happy ... the way his hand hovered ( almost like he was asking for permission ) before he went to touch her. he couldn't hide from her so when his shoulders settled, when he took that one controlled breath in, when he didn't look at her before he moved ? that was the exact moment he decided his safety wasn't part of the equation anymore + reacted before she could stop him. it was stupid, HE WAS STUPID, but it worked. a mother went home to her children, SCPD was able to make three arrests, + he ended his night stuck in the bunker with her + a still weeping bullet wound to the shoulder.
ruby stained paper towels piled up on either side of his chair, painting a scene that was more bleak than reality. the bullet had lodged near the surface, making removal easy - most of what lay on the floor around her came after it was out. blood welled to the surface when the tension from the makeshift plug was gone, but her hand was already in position to take over the pressure. he'd live. he'd have a new scar to add to his ever growing collection, but he'd survive + that forced her to release the breath she'd inadvertently trapped in her throat.
forceps clattered against the metal tray as she set them down, pushing herself back far enough to make room for her to stand. no stitches, not yet anyway. gunshot wounds were dirty + they weren't in the most sterile of environments - closing it could trap bacteria. it was an infection risk + it wasn't one she was willing to take. not with him. she'd pressure dress + secure with a wrap tight enough to slightly restrict his range of motion until they got home. it wasn't hospital sterile ( she wasn't even going to try ) but it was better than the bunker. gauze + wrap in hand she turned to face him, gaze settling with a quiet kind of focus that lingered a beat too long.
@oliverjonas tried to tell her ... ❛ stop looking at me like that. ❜
she doesn't immediately reply, opting instead to raise her brows + cock her head to the side. an answer within a non-answer - her specialty. toe of her boot hooked beneath the seat of her chair, pulling it back in front of him before reclaiming her spot. ❛ i'll trade you. ❜ head nodded in the direction of the stained rag she left him with; bloodied gauze for fresh. something to hold in place while she unraveled the medical tape from the roll. silence had once again claimed the space between them except this time it felt ... unnecessary. like the weight of whatever had been hanging over them had disappeared + they could breathe again.
❛ hey ollie ? ❜ she said, rising to her feet + kicking her chair back for the second time that evening. quickly bridging their distance she rested her fingers against his collarbone, briefly meeting his gaze before moving them to raise his arm. not too high but enough that she could comfortably maneuver the wrap into place before continuing. ❛ you think you could maybe stop almost dying around me ? i'm starting to take it personally. ❜
