Chapter Text
Oliver scowled at the building in front of him, taking as long as he could to get out of the car in order to avoid what was sure to be an awkward meeting at best.
It had taken a few months before his mother accepted he was a different man than before the island. But after the most recent Queen Family Gala ended with him hyperventilating in the hallway after an old friend came up behind him to clap him on the back, Moira stopped pushing him to take a job at Queen Consolidated. She’d actually listened to him when he explained his hypervigilance and flashbacks, his discomfort with crowds.
He refused to see a psychiatrist or psychologist, offering no explanation but knowing it would be useless - he wasn’t about to speak to some stranger about everything he did while missing; His family still believed he had been on the island for all five years. Not to mention the numerous crimes he committed (and the fact that if he spoke about them, he’d inevitably have Argus or the Bratva - or both - kicking down his front door).
But Moira Queen had not earned her reputation by accepting defeat. She’d cornered him a week ago, handing him a card with a business address. “You won’t talk to a professional, but you need help Oliver. You barely go into public and the only people you see are myself and Thea. If you won’t accept the help of a human, perhaps another way will work.”
“What do you mean?”
She nodded to the card in his hand. “‘Smoak’s Professional Dogs and Trainers’ is a dog training facility. They specialize in training service dogs for individuals with PTSD. Thanks to a sizable donation from Queen Consolidated, you have an appointment next week to meet with the owner, discuss your needs, and meet some potential dogs. If all goes well, you’ll be matched with a dog and have daily training sessions with them for the next month.”
“Mom-“
Moira held up a hand. “Oliver, if things truly don’t work out, then that’s fine. But you will go and give it a shot.” Her eyes softened and she reached out, the corners of her mouth turning down at Oliver’s flinch, “Please. I don’t like to see you hurting and Mr. Diggle was the one to make the suggestion after you escaped him this past week - I’d feel better if you had someone with you, even if that someone is a canine.”
So Oliver had acquiesced and now a week later, found himself glaring up at the cheerful yellow and green sign that announced ‘Smoak’s’ dog training facility. Even if a service dog could help him - and he wasn’t sure about that - he still had to talk to a stranger about the problems he’d been having.
He wasn’t narcissistic, but he was also Oliver Queen, billionaire, back from the dead. So far, no one had been immune from the morbid curiosity surrounding his miraculous survival. He didn’t have high hopes for this dog trainer.
Sighing, he waved at John, who he’d asked to remain in the car, promising he wouldn’t sneak out the back. He cautiously opened the front door, flinching as a low chime echoed throughout the front area.
It took a moment for anyone to appear, and he noticed the dog first. It was a puppy, a golden retriever, with paws just a little too big for his body. He ran ahead, stopping at a gate to wag his tail at Oliver. Oliver found himself smiling despite his misgivings.
“Are you Oliver Queen?”
Oliver looked up and momentarily stopped breathing. Bright blue eyes watched him from behind black glasses. The young woman’s black jeans were covered in dog hair and her green polo had the business logo sewn into it and her blond hair was pulled up in a ponytail.
She was one of the most beautiful women Oliver had ever seen.
“Uh,” Oliver stuttered, remembering her question, “Yes, I’m Oliver Queen. I believe I have an appointment?”
She smiled brightly and Oliver swore he felt his heart skip a beat. “Hello, Oliver. I’m Felicity Smoak.”
“Smoak? As in-“ Oliver waved his hand to encompass the building. He had been expecting someone older; Felicity certainly did not look old enough to be the owner of a company.
But she nodded. “Yep, this is my business. If you’ll follow me to my office, we can get started.” She glanced down at the puppy who was now sitting at her side. “Beau, bleib.” She opened the gate and moved through, the puppy remaining in place. “Good boy!” She reached down and fed him a treat, brushing her hands free of crumbs as she gestured for Oliver to follow her through a side door.
The office was simple, a computer set up, a few empty dog beds, a large desk with two chairs set next to it. Felicity pointed toward the desk, “If you’ll sit down, I’ll get the paperwork we can go over quickly and we can talk about what you are looking for.”
Oliver sat down in the chair facing the door, running his hands along his thighs as his nerves returned. “Was that German you used with, what was his name, Beau?”
Felicity nodded, bring a small stack of papers over and taking the other chair. “Yes. We train our dogs using a different language for commands - it makes it more difficult for them to be distracted by other people who may try to get their attention in public. We most often use German, but occasionally we get requests for specific languages. And yes, his name was Beau. He is only four-months-old, so he’d usually be with one of our puppy raiser families, but they are on vacation this week.”
“‘Puppy raiser?’”
“Our dogs live with local families for the first nine months of their lives,” Felicity explained as she began to sort through the papers in front of her, setting things into two piles, gesturing with one hand and occasionally glancing up at him. “The families raise the puppy, socialize them, teach them most of their basic and advanced obedience and begin their public access training. They also are able to identify anything that might make that particular dog unfit for service work, so we here at Smoak Professionals can concentrate on dogs who are fit for work.”
“So you handle the specific service dog training, right? My mother mentioned a month-long training period?”
“Yes.” She flashed him a quick smile and he smiled back automatically. “When someone is matched with a dog, we work to help them become a strong team. We’ll train around this compound, at their home, in public. Make sure the dog and the handler know how to handle themselves in as many situations as we can predict.”
Oliver nodded, head spinning with all the details. Felicity spoke so passionately, eyes lighting up at the obvious pride she took in her work.
Oliver could listen to her speak all day.
Felicity finished sorting the papers, setting her hand down on one. “Alright, so. We have a lot of your basic information already, and we already ran a background check, so we just need to determine what you need and what we could help with.”
Like a cold bucket of water, the reality of the situation came back to Oliver, yanking him out of one of the few conversations he’d actually enjoyed since his return. “You spoke with my mother?”
“Yes, but only for basic information - name, age, energy level, living situation. Or rather, she provided the information and refused to take no for an answer.” Felicity looked up at Oliver with a grin, which faded when she saw his pale appearance. “Oliver, the only information I have are things that anyone could Google. I made it clear that anything more had to come from the person experiencing it - that being you.”
Oliver nodded, relaxing minutely. “I’m assuming this was the same conversation where my mother made a large enough donation to allow me to skip what I’m sure must be a long waiting list?”
Felicity shrugged, “There is a long waiting list, but we do make exceptions for unusual cases. In any case, the donation will allow us to expand our business, hire more trainers and increase our breeding partnerships - in short, our waiting list will rapidly diminish as we are able to increase the number of dogs we are training at any one time and will lower the overall out-of-pocket costs for our clients.” She smiled widely at Oliver, eyes sparkling, “Stop worrying Oliver.”
He smirked, feeling better despite his misgivings. “I’ll do my best.”
“Good. Now, let’s get to work. Can you tell me what issues you have been having lately - you don’t need to give me any information you don’t wish to share, I just need to know that our service dogs are right for you.”
Swallowing around a sudden lump in his throat, Oliver began to rub his thumb and forefinger together, trying to concentrate on the movement instead of the topic of conversation. “Umm. In general, high anxiety, hypervigilance, an extreme startle response, panic attacks, flashbacks, nightmares. I can’t stand crowds, or being around people in general.”
Quickly scribbling down notes on one of the sheets, without looking up, she asked “Do you have any specific triggers you could name for me? Things that cause a flashback or a spike in anxiety?”
“Crowds, like I said. Thunderstorms. People coming up behind me. Loud noises, like bangs. Open water, boats. Umm,” Oliver struggled to think of more concrete examples, but there were some things that he couldn’t share with Felicity, and some days it seemed like anything could set him off. “I’m not sure what else. I’m just having a lot of trouble... adjusting to a busy city.” His mouth twisted in a grimace, “My mother calls me a hermit.”
Felicity nodded, looking back up, some hair falling out of her ponytail, framing her face and momentarily distracting him. “Makes sense.” He jerked his eyes back to hers, silently cursing himself. “Our dogs definitely can assist with some of that. It sounds like one of the big things you need is a feeling of safety?”
Oliver hesitated for a moment, eyes flickering around the room. It felt like Felicity’s eyes could see straight to his heart. “Yes. In summary.”
“Excellent - I believe we can help with that.” She handed over a sheet of paper. “These are the tasks that our dogs are trained to perform - if you are matched with a dog, we can tweak certain tasks or add ones if needed. But as we focus primarily on psychiatric service dogs, we cover a lot of the basics.”
Reading over the list quickly, Oliver noted several tasks that could definitely help him. Things like creating a barrier between himself and others, watching his back to prevent him from being surprised, providing comfort and pressure during and after flashbacks. He still wasn’t entirely sold on the idea, but he was beginning to see the possibilities. And if it allowed him to be alone without having to escape a former special ops soldier, “Looks good.”
“Alright. Usually we’d have a conversation about your ability to care for a dog, but given your economic position, and the high level of physical activity your mother mentioned, I don’t doubt that you have the capability. Do you believe that you’re capable of caring for a dog?”
“I do.” Whether or not a dog could stand to be near him after everything he’d done remained to be seen. Animals had a way of sensing the darkness in someone’s soul.
“Wonderful.” Felicity grabbed a small bag of treats, handing it to him. She then stood up and held out her hand towards the door. “We’ll discuss more about the training program we have set up and see about matching you with a dog. But in the meantime, shall we go meet the pups?”
Oliver nodded before he knew what he was doing - he had a feeling he would do whatever Felicity asked him to and oddly, that thought didn’t scare him.