Still Oliver Queen surges from the ground with alarmingly ferocious speed and the growl of a mad dying animal only to stare at her with dark, desperate, swimming, far away eyes in a face of streaked blood and sea gaunt skin. The trick of a second, of only gazes meeting, before Oliver Queen is falling back to the sand like someone invisible had pinioned him back to the bloody ground.
"No, no, no," Sara's on her knees without remembering crossing those last few feet. Bloody sand getting on her skin, and the white of her skirt. Not battle-ready out here joy riding. Not ready for this. "Hey." Her hands are on his shoulders and she's trying to get him back flat, even while struggling with the impossible urge to hug him, touch his face, his hands, his cheeks, and the knowledge she probably shouldn't touch him. "You stay with me."
She can't tell where he's hurt yet, but there's so much blood and that much blood doesn't come from nowhere. None of her tools are with her for this either, but she can't bear the thought of him dying here. Again. Somehow alive long enough to die in front of her this time. Not just swallowed in the crack of that ship that still broke apart in rare nightmares of it.
He couldn't have come here, just to die. She wouldn't let him. Even if a man alive on Paradise Island was all but a death sentence waiting.
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Oliver Queen sank with The Gambit.
Still Oliver Queen surges from the ground with alarmingly ferocious speed and the growl of a mad dying animal only to stare at her with dark, desperate, swimming, far away eyes in a face of streaked blood and sea gaunt skin. The trick of a second, of only gazes meeting, before Oliver Queen is falling back to the sand like someone invisible had pinioned him back to the bloody ground.
"No, no, no," Sara's on her knees without remembering crossing those last few feet. Bloody sand getting on her skin, and the white of her skirt. Not battle-ready out here joy riding. Not ready for this. "Hey." Her hands are on his shoulders and she's trying to get him back flat, even while struggling with the impossible urge to hug him, touch his face, his hands, his cheeks, and the knowledge she probably shouldn't touch him. "You stay with me."
She can't tell where he's hurt yet, but there's so much blood and that much blood doesn't come from nowhere. None of her tools are with her for this either, but she can't bear the thought of him dying here. Again. Somehow alive long enough to die in front of her this time. Not just swallowed in the crack of that ship that still broke apart in rare nightmares of it.
He couldn't have come here, just to die. She wouldn't let him.
Even if a man alive on Paradise Island was all but a death sentence waiting.