"Yes, I know exactly how many times you've been taken," Oliver snapped. "Because every time you were, I went out of my mind, Laurel. I couldn't sleep, I could barely eat. It was my fault and if you hadn't come out of things safely, it would have been me that let you down! I'm distant because if people get too close to me, they end up hurt!" He was breathless now, face red, eyes angry, but also pleading. Did she not see that?
He turned, one hand rising to his head. He'd let too much slip already. He'd as good as told her that he was the Vigilante, though he could hope she wouldn't take his declaration as anything more than the ravings of a control freak. He took several long breaths, trying to reign in his emotions.
His voice was quiet when he did speak again, though he couldn't bring himself to turn and look at her. "Tommy was my fault. Not yours. I should have been there. I should have gotten there. I should have stopped Malcolm Merlyn." But he hadn't. And he didn't get there in time to save his closest friend.