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It was kind of inevitable that eventually Laurel would have to be told about Hunter as well, but it was still awkward and embarrassing as hell when it happened. Ben, Hunter’s trainer and old military handler, had warned Oliver that there would be social struggles – people wouldn’t believe Hunter was truly a service dog, and they wouldn’t believe that Oliver needed him. They would demand answers to very personal questions, discriminate against him and in some cases, Ben had warned, would refuse to allow admittance of the dog.
Oliver was walking along the street, heading towards a small Italian restaurant where he, Tommy and Laurel were having lunch together. It was a day after Oliver had told his best friend about Hunter and his job as the archer’s service dog, and Tommy had contacted him a few hours after that, suggesting they meet up so that he could tell Laurel, if he wanted to.
Oliver had been apprehensive at first – things hadn’t gone very well with Laurel at his welcome-back party, and he was pretty sure that his ex-girlfriend despised him. The comment she’d said about wanting him to rot in hell for a lot longer than five years had hurt. A lot. Especially as five years had gone beyond hell, enough so that he had PTSD, depression and anxiety to show for it. Worst thing was, he had absolutely no idea how she was going to react to Hunter. But Tommy replied back saying that Laurel was willing to attend, and they would table the tension for a few hours to try and reconnect, swearing that he’d provide the moral support needed for Oliver to inform his ex about his service dog. With Laurel’s approval via a reply to a hesitant text from Oliver, they had gone ahead and arranged it.
Hunter, every the obedient, quiet, amazing dog he was, trotted calmly at Oliver’s side on his leash, surveying the street and remaining inconspicuous, just like he had been trained to be. The media still didn’t know about Hunter, so the archer was trying to stay as under the radar as possible, which was why he was wearing a long coat, a baseball cap and sunglasses, and he’d asked Diggle to drop him off in a side street, asking him to meet back up with the archer at the Queen mansion later.
Reaching the correct restaurant, Oliver entered, taking off the cap and sunglasses, and was met by a man standing at a podium, controlling admittance. It wasn’t uncommon, so the archer took it in his stride, flashing a fake smile at the waiter.
“Hi,” he greeted him. “Merlyn party of three? The other two should’ve already arrived.” He was late by around fifteen minutes. But then again, he was always late, so Laurel and Tommy probably wouldn’t mind.
“They have, they’re at their table. Right this way,” the waiter said. He stepped out from behind the podium to lead Oliver to the table, but halted on seeing Hunter. “Dogs aren’t permitted in here.”
“He’s a service dog.”
The waiter stared at him disbelievingly and then scoffed, stating, “Really?”
Oliver felt something akin to fear arise in his throat. Ben had said there would be some people not willing to believe him, the archer reminded himself. He could handle this. It was within his rights to have Hunter accompany him. “Yes.”
The waiter shot him a dubious look. “No offence, Mr Queen, but I’ve never heard of you having a service dog before. And I read the tabloids a lot. So you’ll forgive me if I don’t believe you. As I said before, dogs aren’t allowed. I can’t permit you to enter the restaurant with it.”
“Him,” Oliver corrected, vehemence in his tone. “And I’m legally permitted to bring my service dog with me in here.” It was his human right to have Hunter accompany him. When the waiter didn’t speak, just staring at him in silence, the archer sighed. “Look, I have a licence.”
“Licences can be faked,” the waiter replied. “And we’ve had many people come into our restaurant before with dogs, claiming they’re service dogs but then they end up trashing the place, so I can’t let you in here.”
“But I have a licence,” Oliver tried again, but now he was starting to really panic, because they were attracting attention, people already seated in the restaurant turning to look at them. He fumbled for the official licence within his wallet and handed it over with a shaking hand. “Here.”
The man barely glanced at it, raising his voice as he announced, “Mr Queen, dogs are strictly not permitted in our restaurant, and if you keep insisting on bringing him in, I’m afraid I’ll have to forcefully ask you to leave. Or call the police.”
“What’s going on here?”
Oliver could have thanked heaven for Laurel striding up to them, obviously having overheard the waiter from where she and Tommy had been seated in their booth on the opposite side of the room. He connected gazes with his best friend for a moment; Tommy sat completely still, biting his lip, looking as if he wanted to intervene, but he was letting things take course. Oliver was trembling as Laurel approached and Hunter, sensing his distress, was pressing into his legs with a low rumble of concern.
The waiter shot her a false apologetic look. “So sorry for the disturbance, Miss. I’ll bring you over some free drinks in a moment.”
“I don’t want free drinks,” Laurel said, appearing irritated. “This man is my friend, and I would like to know what is going on.”
“Nothing, Miss,” the waiter replied to her. “Just a small legal matter.”
“Sure doesn’t look and sound like nothing,” Laurel responded shortly. “And if it’s a legal matter, then you’ll be glad I’m here. Laurel Lance, I work at CNRI, a law firm. So what seems to be the problem here, gentlemen?”
“Mr Queen is attempting to bring a dog into our premises when dogs are not permitted,” the waiter told her calmly. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to contact the manager, because if he doesn’t remove the dog from this building within the next few minutes, I’ll have to call the police.”
“Wait a second,” Laurel said, anger in her voice. Her tone stopped the waiter in his tracks. She turned to the archer. “Oliver, why are you trying to bring a dog into the restaurant?” she questioned him in a gentle tone.
“He’s my service dog,” he told her shakily.
She went still, before repeating in an even softer voice, “Your service dog?”
“Yes.”
Laurel’s face twitched, but she had no other reaction. Oliver shrank back slightly. She was probably keeping all of her thoughts to herself, but he could tell that she was not indifferent to this new information. He knew she wouldn’t make a scene in public, but he had to admit he expected a slight outburst. The archer was pleasantly surprised when Laurel gave him a small nod, her expression hardening into one of support, before she turned back to the waiter, straightening her back determinedly.
“Do you have a licence for him, Oliver?” she asked calmly.
“Y-Yes.” Oliver picked up the dog licence from where the waiter had placed it down on the podium, passing it over to her.
Laurel looked down at it for a moment before raising her head to the waiter. “Alright. So you stopped his entry and questioned Mr Queen about his service dog. Once Mr Queen presented a valid, Starling City Department of Health issued licence for his service dog, why did you not permit his entrance?”
The waiter shot Oliver a scorning look. “If Mr Queen had a service dog, the media would know about it. And therefore, I would know about it.”
“Maybe Mr Queen doesn’t want it broadcasted city wide that he medically requires a service dog,” Laurel responded, her voice scarily calm. “As soon as he presented you with his official licence, you should have permitted him entry. Mr Queen has the right to be accompanied by his service dog anywhere the general public is allowed. By refusing him and his service dog entrance into your restaurant due to not believing this canine is actually a service dog, you have just discriminated against him, and violated the ADA, and therefore, his human rights.” The waiter now looked chastised and guilty, but Laurel pressed on. “If Mr Queen so wished, he could file a lawsuit against this restaurant.”
Now realising how detrimentally wrong his actions were, the waiter began apologising profusely, offering Oliver free drinks and a free meal if he wanted, cordially requesting his forgiveness. Oliver was too shaken up to actually respond, and too pissed with the guy to reply or accept any of his offers, so Laurel just sent the waiter away with a disdainful, spurning look and guided Oliver over to her and Tommy’s booth.
He caught Laurel’s wrist gently as they were walking, pulling her back as he remembered her angry and hurtful words from their encounters before. He didn’t want to end up having a panic attack in public. “Truce?” he asked quietly. “For – for today?”
She set him with impassive expression. “Yeah. Truce, Oliver. For today.” He exhaled in relief. “Come on, Tommy’s waiting for us.”
His best friend rose as soon as they got close. “Hey, everything okay?” he asked worriedly. “Why was that guy being such a douche?” He now looked more intrigued and confused than worried.
“I’m so sorry,” Oliver told Laurel quietly as he slid into his seat, Hunter immediately setting his head in his lap to try and calm him down, and the archer stroked his neck, attempting to lower his heart rate. “That really isn’t how I wanted you to find out.”
“Oliver, it’s alright,” Laurel reassured him softly.
“It’s really not,” he sighed. “I wanted to tell you myself.”
“Well, I was going to end up finding out today either way,” she replied, lips quirking in a small smile.
Oliver laughed nervously. “Um, you’re … okay with this?”
“Oliver, the SCDH don’t allow any random person to be assigned a service dog,” Laurel said with a thin smile. “If you have one, there’s a very good reason for it.” She paused then asked lightly, “Does he help?”
The archer exhaled heavily in relief, admitting, “Yeah, a lot.” He glanced down at Hunter, who still had his head in his lap, huffing. “More than anybody will really ever know.”
“That’s great,” Laurel said honestly. “What’s his name?” she questioned, trying to lean sideways to get a glimpse of the dog under the table.
Oliver couldn’t help but smile. The service dog’s ears went back on his skull and he sniffed at Laurel’s legs carefully, just like he had done with Tommy and Malcolm when introduced to them. This time, however, he seemed almost not interested in Laurel, just ducking back down to scratch at an inch using his canines and then settling down with his chin resting on Oliver’s knees again.
“Hunter,” Oliver responded. “He’s a German Shepherd husky mix. Ex-military.”
“He’s very handsome,” she smiled.
Oliver made a mock expression of horror, clamping his hands over Hunter’s ears. The husky mix shot him a weird look, and the archer could feel his ears flicking irritatedly under his fingers, but his service dog didn’t seem to mind, even beginning to gnaw gently on his fingers. “Don’t say that in front of him. Don’t want to inflate his ego. He knows perfectly well how good looking he is.”
“Got a lot of girls chasing after him, does he?” she hummed, amused.
“Walter and Thea dote over him,” the archer rolled his eyes.
“I mean, I would as well,” Laurel grinned. “He’s very quiet.”
Oliver shrugged. “He’s meant to be. He’s a service dog.”
Seeing how Tommy had stayed mostly quiet during their exchange, Laurel turned to him with a raised eyebrow, asking dryly, “I presume you already knew about Hunter, considering you’ve managed to keep your mouth shut for more than thirty seconds.”
“Yeah,” Tommy nodded with a lopsided smirk. “Met him yesterday. God, Laurel, you should have seen how he reacted to my dad, it was awesome.” He stretched his fingers out and tried to get Hunter to switch his attention over to him, but the service dog just sighed and licked his fingers once before going back to Oliver, snuffling his knees. “Oliver’s still your favourite person then, huh?”
Laurel placed her elbows on the table and propped her head on one of her hands, asking curiously, “How’d he react to Malcolm?”
His best friend started laughing. “Oh, he hates my dad. With a vengeance.”
“Really?”
“Oh yeah. Growling at him and everything. Bodily put himself in between him, and Oliver and I. Doesn’t trust him one bit.” He shook his head, glancing under the table again to tell the dog seriously, “Can’t blame you, buddy, I’m not very fond of him either.” Hunter quickly turned his head to nibble at his fingers once again. Hopefully, his best friend bit his lip, with his neck tilted at an awkward angle. “Can I stroke him, Oliver? Please? I just want to bury my hands in his fur and snuggle up to him as much as possible.”
“Sorry, man. He’s on duty at the moment.”
“So, no,” Laurel translated for Tommy.
“So I’m not allowed to stroke him when he’s on duty?” Tommy whined. “But you’re stroking him!”
“He’s calming me down,” Oliver informed him. “Nothing makes you panic more than a dickhead trying to chuck you out of a restaurant because he doesn’t believe that your service dog is actually your service dog, ya know?” Hunter gave a soft whine underneath the table, not loud enough to draw any attention from anybody else, but Oliver could hear him, and he rubbed the dog’s ears fondly.
“I’m talking to the manager about that,” Laurel said, sounding displeased. “I hope that waiter gets fired.”
“Laurel!” Tommy hissed. “He’s literally right there!” The waiter was in fact passing by with a tray full of drinks, and he turned around quickly at the tone of Tommy’s voice with a wide-eyed expression. Oliver shrunk back in his seat and buried both his hands in Hunter’s fur for solidarity.
“Good, I hope he hears us,” she replied, still irritated. “He was incredibly rude to Oliver and he deserves to lose his job if that’s how he treats customers.” She turned to Oliver. “If you want to file a lawsuit, I call dibs on being your witness.”
“No fair, I wanted to be his witness!” Tommy pouted.
The archer shook his head. “I don’t want to file a lawsuit.”
“Damn,” Laurel sighed, disappointed. “I wish you would. We could light this entire place on fire if you did.”
“Thanks for the offer, but I’m fine,” he chuckled. “Now, what are we having? I’m fancying some kind of pasta, but I think we all know I’m a pizza guy.”
“I’m getting a meat lover’s pizza just so that I feed your adorable service dog under the table.”
Hunter perked up and Laurel failed to stifle a giggle when the dog’s head popped up between Tommy’s legs, nose twitching as he sniffed curiously. Oliver rolled his eyes – he had no idea how Hunter even knew they were talking about him since they hadn’t mentioned his name. The dog always seemed to know when food was being discussed.
“Tommy, if you feed him human food, he’ll get fat.”
“So what?”
“That’s not good.”
“I don’t think Hunter would mind.”
“He doesn’t know what to mind about, he’s a dog. He’d literally eat anything.”
“Precisely. Everything. Including pizza.”
Their drinks and food were delivered at a lightning fast pace – Oliver swore he’d never received such amazing service at a restaurant. The archer could tell that a lot of the other people being served – or, in actuality, waiting for their food – were shooting them suspicious looks. Some people who had been there longer than the three of them had were still waiting for their drinks by the time their main courses were delivered. People were trying to catch a glimpse of Hunter as well, who remained curled up at Oliver’s feet underneath the table, making no noise and fuss, only occasionally sitting up to nose at Oliver’s knees when he got a little nervous or stressed out.
When their massive shared ice-cream sundae arrived only four minutes after they had ordered, Laurel got angry, pushing her spoon away. “You do realise they’re trying to bribe us, right?” she demanded. “They just don’t want Oliver to file a human rights lawsuit against them.” She shook her head, rising to her feet. “I won’t stand for this. I’m talking to the manager.”
“No, Laurel –“ Oliver tried, heart rate spiking at the thought of a confrontation and drawing unnecessary attention to them. “Please don’t –“
“They seriously disrespected your human rights, Oliver, and as a lawyer I cannot just sit back and watch these waiters bribe you to forget about it just so they can avoid the media attention of –“
Tommy seemed to have finally caught on to Oliver’s expression, cutting her off with a quiet, yet sharp, “Laurel.”
She finally looked up at Oliver and immediately deflated at the sight of him. The archer knew that he was shaking, his hands trembling in his lap with his breaths coming short and shallow, nervous at the thought of people staring, people eavesdropping and overhearing and gawping. Hunter was pressing into his legs comfortingly, a low rumble erupting from the pup’s throat as his wet nose nuzzled into Oliver’s stomach. His hands threading through Hunter’s soft fur, Oliver angled his eyes downwards so that Laurel and Tommy couldn’t make eye contact with him.
“I’m sorry, Oliver,” Laurel said softly. “Of course, I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. If you really don’t want me to talk to the manager, then I won’t. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“People are staring,” he mumbled.
Even without looking, the archer could tell. The strangers’ eyes were like knives biting into his skin, their gazes harsh and cold and calculating, feeling just like those on the island; they wanted information, wanted to listen in and know what was going on, what he was thinking, how he was reacting, but that was personal, and they had no right to know any of that.
“Do you want to leave?” Tommy questioned, all humour gone from his voice, sounding sombre, yet sensitive. “Because you say the word, and we will walk out of here.”
“I –“ His voice was caught in his throat. He finally looked up at them. He despised the pity he saw there. “I don’t want to draw any unnecessary attention. People are probably already tweeting about us being here, and then the paparazzi will come, and I really don’t think I’d be able to cope with that right now –“ He took a shuddering breath. “Sorry. I told myself that I wouldn’t work myself into an anxiety episode today. Guess I failed. I just don’t like the attention.”
Laurel raised her hand and motioned to the nearest waiter for the cheque. “Then I think it would be better if we left. Everybody’s already looking over because of how much faster our service was than theirs. People are nosy like that.”
Tommy snuck his hand out for a spoon, slowly pulling the sundae towards him. “Then I should probably finish this ice cream…”
Oliver’s hand snapped out and grabbed the other end of the spoon, and as the archer’s eyes met Tommy’s, wide with alarm and shock, he managed a smirk and a, “Not a chance.”
The bill came and although Tommy insisted on paying, they worked out a three-way split. They left the payment in cash, deciding it would be better if any paparazzi came sniffing around later on. The waiter who had offended Oliver tried to apologise again, but Oliver just brushed past him, although he noticed Hunter had bared his teeth slightly and bumped into his legs on the way out of the doors. Laurel’s car was parked a few streets away, and they offered him a lift back to the Queen mansion, since Diggle was meeting him back there. Considering how they were worried about the paparazzi arriving, they decided to walk the long way, around a nearby park that was relatively empty.
“When are you going public?” Tommy asked abruptly, after several minutes of companionable silence as they walked together. “About Hunter?”
Laurel shot him a warning look, but Oliver just shook his head, clenching his fist around the service dog’s leash as he replied, “I’m not sure. Mom and Walter have probably got a plan concerning which media get what coverage, but I don’t really want to reveal anything until I’m legally a living human being again.” He gritted his teeth. “I hope the people back in that restaurant don’t end up outing me on Twitter. Maybe meeting somewhere public was a bad idea.”
“They don’t have anything,” Laurel dismissed. “That waiter will be too embarrassed to say anything and if he does speak to any reporters, we’ll know it was him and we can expose what happened back there. And nobody else in the restaurant knows that Hunter’s your service dog for sure, all they have is speculation. You could be dog sitting for a friend for all they know.”
“Mom and Walter will be mad if any pictures end up online, though,” he muttered. “I wasn’t meant to draw any attention to us.”
Changing the subject, Laurel questioned, “When’s the court case to legally bring you back to life?”
“Next week,” Oliver answered with a grimace.
“Not looking forward to it?”
He sighed, thumb rubbing at his forefinger on his right hand anxiously. “They’re going to ask about the Gambit. And the island.”
Tommy aimed a sympathetic look at him. “Not ready to really talk about it yet?”
“Would you be?” he shot back. When Tommy looked affronted by his tone, he heaved another sigh, anxious tick increasing as he itched to grab for an arrow that he knew wasn’t there. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to snap. No, I don’t want to talk about it. It was… a rough five years.”
They all lapsed into silence again, Laurel and Tommy falling back from his side slightly to walk behind him. Usually, having people walk near him where they were out of his sight line unsettled the archer, setting him on edge, but Hunter was trotting so close to Oliver’s legs that he felt more relaxed. Within the park, as they were passing by, Oliver could see two dogs running around and chasing tennis balls that were being thrown for them. A pang of sympathy and guilt hit him when he realised that he’d probably never be able to go to a normal dog park with Hunter; letting the pup go off duty whilst Oliver was in a public place was too risky. He had no idea how he would react if the paps cornered him in the middle of a dog park.
“Hey, Oliver.” He turned to see Tommy crouching to scoop up an abandoned tennis ball from the bushes lining the path, a gleeful expression on his face.
The archer worried his bottom lip, shooting his best friend an apologetic look. “Sorry, buddy, he can’t play whilst on duty.”
“Why don’t we head into the park for ten minutes to let him off duty, then?” Tommy questioned.
“That sounds like a great idea,” Laurel agreed, lighting up.
Oliver peered around the area concernedly, searching for any people hiding with cameras or microphones. “I’m not sure…” He allowed his eyes to sweep across the path and the park, before he turned to survey the street, shifting anxiously on the balls of his feet. Hunter sat in front of him, tilting his head sideways with a whine.
“You know we’d never let the paps prey on you, right?” Tommy asked quietly. “Even if they did turn up in the next five minutes… we’d be here. We wouldn’t let them near you.”
“And I’m certain Hunter wouldn’t,” Laurel added.
“It’s a little busy,” Oliver murmured.
“There are two dogs with their owners in there,” Tommy observed. “They won’t bother us.” Catching sight of the archer’s expression, his friend sobered and reached out to hesitantly place a hand on his shoulder. “Oliver, I promise we’ll leave immediately if the paps turn up.”
Swallowing, the archer peered down at his service dog. Hunter was now resting on his haunches, looking up at his master with his head cocked sideways. His blue eyes were blinking up at Oliver, one of his ears twitching, a hopeful look on his handsome face. Every few seconds, his eyes would flit over to where Tommy was, holding the tennis ball, and he gave a soft whimper. Oliver sighed, running a hand through his hair; Hunter was never needy, and he never threw a fuss about how he couldn’t be treated like a normal dog. It wouldn’t do any harm if they went to the park for a few minutes, right? If they left before the paparazzi turned up, it would be okay, wouldn’t it?
“We can leave as soon as the reporters turn up?” he checked, wanting to confirm one more time.
“Of course,” Laurel nodded.
“Then let’s go.” Exhaling, he knelt down and ruffled Hunter’s ears, telling him, “You’re off duty, buddy.” Immediately, the service dog jumped to his paws and slipped into a playful crouch, tail wagging furiously as he panted. Unclipping him from his leash, Oliver laughed when the pup began dancing around excitedly. “What’s Tommy got in his hand, bud?”
With a gleeful expression on his face, Tommy opened the park gate and waved the tennis ball around in Hunter’s face, before lobbing it a good twenty metres onto the grass. Hunter dashed after it, tail streaking out behind him, whipping past both Laurel and Oliver with an ecstatic yip. Following his best friend into the park, he waited until Laurel fell in step beside him before he began chasing Hunter for the ball, ever aware that the husky mix was not going to give it back to anybody but his master. Chuckling when Hunter barrelled into him with force, he wrestled with the pup on the ground for a few minutes, trying to grab the tennis ball from his mouth, but Hunter gave little playful snarls and kicked him in the stomach with his paws so he couldn’t get a firm grasp on him, and eventually Oliver had to give up, sitting up with a laugh.
Hunter pranced a few metres away, triumphant expression on his face as he chewed the ball in his mouth, ears pricked. Oliver lunged out to cuff his nose and the dog snorted, running away and looping behind Tommy and Laurel where they were standing before returning. The brilliants smiles on his friends’ faces that Oliver caught a glimpse of sent his heart soaring, distracting him for a few seconds so that he only noticed that Hunter had dropped the ball at his feet when the dog whined, batting his foot impatiently.
“Alright buddy, I got you covered.” He threw the ball again across the park, and Hunter bounced around happily before he ran after it. Getting to his feet, he brushed himself down, brow furrowing when his friends’ stares didn’t waver from him. “You two just gonna stand here and watch or are you gonna come play with us?”
“I think we’re fine watching, thanks,” Tommy responded, that grin on his face from before only widening.
Oliver frowned. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“Like what?”
“I dunno, it’s just, you’re looking at me weirdly.”
“Sorry, I just –“ Tommy shook his head, grinning.
“We haven’t seen you smile properly since you’ve been back,” Laurel filled in for him, arms folded across her chest but her elbow brushing up against Tommy’s arm as she smiled.
“Oh.” He hadn’t realised that he had been so miserable around his friends. It was before he had Hunter, really, so his PTSD, depression and anxiety had been affecting him fully, and he remembered he hadn’t felt particularly grounded at the time, his mind slipping back to the island in flashbacks.
“You just seem…” Laurel trailed off, humming.
“Happy,” Tommy finished for her with a small chuckle. “With Hunter. You seem really, really happy.”
“He makes me happy,” Oliver replied, turning to quickly throw the ball for the service dog again. But this time, Hunter didn’t race after it, instead rubbing his furry head up against Oliver’s legs and then jumping up onto him, pushing him down to the ground again so he could smother him with puppy kisses, licking all over his face. “AH! Hunter, get off, you big puppy! Go and get your ball.” With one last lick, the service dog went bounding off again.
“I can understand why,” Laurel laughed softly. “I’m… really happy that you’re happy, Oliver.”
He swallowed. Considering the bad vibes that had been exchanged between them in every encounter they’d had with each other since his return, the fact that Laurel was saying that was… a change. She blamed him for Sara’s death, and he blamed himself for it as well, and she’d promised to call a truce for the afternoon, but now it seemed… it seemed as if was calling a truce permanently. “Yeah?”
“Yeah,” she smiled.
“It’s good to feel happy,” he responded truthfully. “I honestly didn’t think that I ever would again. I think with Hunter though, he can teach me how to be happy. Properly happy.”
“Well, you can be now,” Tommy agreed, striding over to offer Oliver a hand. The archer got his feet and patted his best friend on the shoulder. “Thank god for Hunter, huh?”
Oliver’s lips twitched as he echoed the sentiment. “Thank god for Hunter.”