Chapter Text
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Oliver Queen had never seen himself as the type to get a pet - he just wasn't into the whole slobbering dog and clawing kitten or the forever reproducing rabbit. Even before he had been shipwrecked and stranded on Lian Yu, the idea of having something to take care of had never been very appealing to him (although, if he were being honest it was because he could barely take care of himself when it mattered). Ollie Queen didn't like the concept of responsibility. Of course, one might argue that he get some fish as you really only had to make sure they were regularly fed. However, he had been debating with himself - and cleaning that tank? He had no time for that - especially when there were lines upon lines of (hot!) women waiting on every corner to roll over in the sheets with him. He didn't need a dog to get exercise, the sex he had on a regular basis was enough to make his staminca skyrocket, innuendo most definitely intended.
But that was Ollie.
Oliver - Oliver didn't want a pet for more practical reasons. For one, he was so severely out of touch with the basic concept of touch. Touch was an important factor when maintaining a firm relationship with your pet, and the sad fact that he would probably end up judo flipping someone if they were to touch him without his acknowledgment wouldn't fare well when his cat decided to sprawl over his face while he slept. There was also the more rudimentary idea that Oliver was the freaking vigilante.
When he was out in the day running Queen Consolidated and then scaling buildings in the Glades at night, when would he have the time for a pet? And one may argue that - Oliver, you can just take your huge sixty - five pound golden retriever out for a run everytime you need to some recon!
Which might seem sensible until Oliver Queen shows up the next day with the same exact dog running circles around the dog parks.
And besides, he still doesn't want fish (for another lifetime at least - the island really did ruin something as basic as a food group for him). And rabbits haven't changed much in the fact that they're able to replicate faster than the blonde billionare can fire one of his custom made arrows. And he really doesn't have the patience to take care of the spawn and the furry tails - and the hopping.
Oliver shivers just thinking about it. No, no. Rabbits won't do. Their tendency to hop all over the place is an uncomfortable thought for him. Their eyes are too souless and emotionless for his liking - a murder could have been committed right in front of them, and they would just continue chewing on their carrots.
So rabbits aside, he manages to thorougly surprise himself while he's on patrol; he can hear the light scratching from a dank and dark alleyway, the only thing illuminating it in the slightest is the flickering streelight overhead. Still - it's enough that with his trained eye, Oliver can pinpoint that the sound is coming from an overturned cardboard box that's frayed where the rain has already soaked through.
When the box moves minisculely to the left, Oliver crouches carefully besides it, bow ready in hand. He pushed it over and nearly falls flat on his ass when a calico kitten flies straight at him - claws and fangs bared like it's been gearing up for a fight for quite some time. And thank god for kevlar - because the cat's sharp claws rake straight down the leathers on his arm, and the kevlar is the only thing stopping it from tearing through his skin.
"Whoa", Oliver mutters mainly to himself as he balances himself. The creature is sopping wet - and dirty; and it's shivering so noticabely that he think that it's going to get hypothermia. The kitten meows pitifully when it really stops fighting to get a good look at him. And then it kind of... mellows out and blinks up at him, it's head tilting to the side, almost as if to ask; Well? What now, you big lug?
He really has no idea how the cat manages to pull off a sarcastic expression when it looks drowned and just so tiny for all the attitude it's radiating. Oliver crouches down patiently as it slowly inches it's way to his cupped hands. He would scoop it up but he doesn't want to scare it. Once it's in his hands, he tucks it into the little breast pocket that's adorning his black inside shirt underneath the suit. The kitten can poke it's head out the top of his neckline if it really wants to, but the blonde doubts that it will - if the way it's shivering even when it's pressed up against his furnace of a body is any indication.
The vigilante changes course for the Foundry instead of continuing with patrol. It's been relatively quiet and besides, he needs to get the devil's spawn wiggling around in his pocket to a warmer location. What if the news anchor saw him now? The big bad Arrow was nursing a witch's pet back to health - what a standup guy.
"You're going to cost me my reputation", Oliver whispers to the cat as it continues to squirm - occasionally hooking it's claws in a little too deep making him wince.
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Oliver doesn't even bother to change out of his suit when he begins to run the water in the skin, pulling the chain to clog the drain. He makes the water warm and places his generic shampoo (he can't have the thugs on the street noticing his smell after all) on the marble sink. The blue eyed man gently prys the kitten from where it's been resting in his shirt and he knows he's in for it when the calico hasn't even opened it's eyes when he's placed it in the water. He winces when a loud hiss erupts from the abnormally cute creature and it flails helplessly in the running water.
"Don't hiss", He finds himself reprimanding. "You're super dirty - and super cold. We don't want you catching hypothermia, do we?" And as if the kitten understands him and what hypothermia is, it tones down it's snarls. Oliver peels off his leather gloves and unzips his jacket so he can roll up his sleeves. Pouring a generous amount of the clear substance in his hand, he lathers the kitten's fur gently and watches as it preens in his hands.
He would never admit it but he smiles so widely when it purrs in content that he knows that his teeth were showing - and he can't remember the last time that's happened. The blonde massages the shampoo into the animal's fur and then washes it out, letting it soak in the warm water for a few moments before he's wrapping it in a fuzzy towel. The towel swallows the small creature so completely that Oliver thinks that his stone cold heart might just start to thump painfully from how adorable this whole experience has been.
But that's when he notices it. There's a gold collar wrapped around it's neck (he didn't even know that they made collars so small), and he can just make out the two words engraved into the gold. It reads; Felicity Smoak, and Oliver hmphs when he sees it.
"Felicity, huh? That's a long name for something so small". The calico makes a half - assed attempt to swipe at him, and not for the first time, Oliver wonders if this cat can understand what he's saying. Maybe he's just losing his marbles - there's no way this cat can understand what he's saying.
"I don't speak meow, and you don't speak English", Oliver mutters to himself in reassurance. And then he realizes how insanely absurd he sounds - he's literally confirming with himself that this feline species cannot communicate with him. The calico licks his hand playfully, and he turns to look at it. There's a glint in it's eyes and for someone reason - he can't stop the feeling that this kitten would be calling him a dumbass if it could speak.
Huffing at his own stupidity, the Queen heir bundles the kitten into his arms and strips the rest of his suit, quickly changing into a pair of sweatpants and a white t - shirt. "Are you hungry?" He asks it, wondering if he has anything that would be considered appropiate for feline consumption down here.
And as expected, the cat doesn't respond, only looks at him with a penetrating gaze - and really, something so small doesn't have the right to be so judgmental. He can see it silently telling him off for every bad choice he's ever made. "Oh stop looking at me like that", Oliver snaps. "You've only known me for an hour. You can't already have an opinion on me". The calico tilts it's head at him questioningly - and Oliver is internally doing the same thing at himself.
If Diggle and Roy could see him now, they'd be shipping him off to the nearest mental ward. Rustling through the cabinents, he finds a bowl and a canned tuna. The Queen heir fills the bowl with water and places the tuna in front of Felicity, watching as it hungrily laps at the water and then scarfs down the fish. It's good to know that there's someone in the Foundry that can truly appreciate seafood. Oliver could go a lifetime without it and it would still be too soon.
As the creature eats, Oliver tells Felicity about himself. "I'm Oliver Queen. I know it's weird that you can't speak to me but I'm telling you about myself - but I'd like to believe that if I could understand your series of hisses and meows, you'd be introducing yourself as well. As you know, I'm kind of a big deal around Starling. You see, I'm the Arrow and I hunt down criminals", He says as he strokes between Felicity's ears. "I know it doesn't seem like it sometimes but I do have emotions. Tomorrow, you're going to meet my partners; Diggle and Roy. Roy is a bit of a hard ass", Oliver warns her. "He's super stubborn and he always wears that one red hoodie, and he's got a criminal record - but then again, who doesn't?"
Felicity stares at him through large eyes as he looks at her. "Well I guess you don't", He says playfully. "Diggle is like my brother. He's ex - military you know. You'll like him".
Maybe his inner turmoil was apparent on his face, or maybe cats really did have some sort of sixth sense. Oliver didn’t stop the calico though, when it nuzzled up to his hand, and licked the barest strip of his wrist.
“I brought Digg in, and there are times when I regret it. He has a high sense of morality, you know. I don’t. And I think that sometimes we operate in such a gray area that it chips away at him”. Oliver shakes his head bitterly. “He is a soldier though, and he was taught that he should never leave a man behind. He’s stuck to that mantra, or else I would have let him go ages ago. I’m not a good guy, Felicity”. When the cat only stares at him, Oliver sighs. “Since you’re gonna be hanging with me, thought you should know”.
Felicity stretches her throat languidly and stretches out over Oliver’s legs, and he can feel her soft fur brushing over him. Huffing as she arches into his hand for another round of massages, he picks up her up gently and carries her to his cot.
“You’re spoilt”, Oliver grumbles. “I should buy you a cat bed”. As if mocking him, Felicity only sinks her claws into his pillow, and curls her tail around herself like she’s settling in for the night. Her brown, black, and stark white fur brushed against his cheek when he too, laid his head on the pillow.
Oliver pulled the makeshift covers that had been stitched for him by Raisa over his long form, and turned on his left to face the calico. With the faint hum of his archaic computers filling the background noise, he nestled in. And he could have swore that as he closed his eyes and sleep overtook him, the calico in front of him winked.
And maybe - maybe it was just his imagination, maybe it was just a trick of the light - but her eyes turned a startling bright blue. And then it was gone.
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