Her awesome new owner – once he got his head around it – had been pulled away for dinner; which actually suited her very well.

She remembered him attacking Moira that night with the storm outside and sleeping by the window.

Well, not on her watch.

First step: make a nest for Oliver, so he could sleep comfortably outside of his bed.

And yes, of course she knew he'd slept in worse places, but that wasn't the point. The point was that Oliver needed to learn he deserved comfort.

He deserved to be home. He deserved to rest. And he deserved not to suffer.

So, while the whole family was gathered downstairs for their likely rather short dinner, she snuck into other rooms, absconding with pillow after pillow and several duvets (boy was she happy not to be a chihuahua; quite apart from being a hairless rat. And while the sheer contrast with Oliver would've been hilarious, she definitely would not have been unable to help as much as she could now. Dragging the duvet along was easy at her current size).

Then she found the cupboard with sheets and blankets and while Oliver might not like an entire duvet on top of him, the thinner sheet or blanket might yet be acceptable.

At the end – well, she doesn't know if it works for humans as well as it does for dogs, but she figures having familiar smells nearby might help, a subconscious reminder that he's home. So, she grabs a shirt from Thea's laundry basket which smells like her and one from Moira's – one which smells only like her and not of Walter, that is and takes care to get as little of her own smell as she can over it, tucking it between the pillows and duvets on the floor.

The more interesting task, by far, was nudging things into place without pushing her teeth through the soft fabric entirely (only one pillow irrevocably ruined so far – yuck, feathers. So hard to get out of her mouth), and without leaving disgusting drool stains which would put anyone off sleeping in the nest.

But, without the beauty of having hands to manoeuvre, she was left pushing with her snout then pulling her head far enough back to see what was in front, and then trying again. Having her eyes on the side of her head is a real pain.

Still, she was rather proud of herself by the time Oliver returned – and she finished just in time, too; she could practically smell the stress dripping off him. And anger – a plethora of other smells, too, but those were the only ones she could reliably identify at this stage in her learning.

"What the-" Oliver startled, having clearly paused just a foot inside his room, staring at the pillow / duvet arrangement she'd made. Her tail is wagging extra hard at the sight of him – plus, she's kind of excited to see what he'll make of her little safe haven for him.

If she'd had thumbs, she might have made it an entire fort, but for now, this was perfect. He closes the door quickly.

"What did you do?" He asks her in a hissed whisper, as if worried someone would overhear and figure out just who had been running away with all the duvets and pillows.

She tilts her head.

"What is this?" He points at the nest she made for him and she looks between him and it, confused about what could be so difficult to understand.

It's a bed.

Duh.

Her children and grandchildren would have recognised a pillow-duvet-nest if they saw one. This one's maternal education was sadly lacking; although that may be the case for a lot of rich kids.

Oh well.

He'd get there. Eventually.

"Just- leave it. It's fine. I'll sort it out tomorrow," Oliver tells her softly, sighing, clearly realising he was waiting for an answer from a dog. Yeah, unlike Doug in Up, she has not yet figured out speech. Unfortunately.

She looks up at him curiously, still seated on the floor just between the nest and his bed, tail sweeping across the floor rhythmically.

Some day she may yet gain control over that darned thing, but it clearly won't be today.

Oliver pats her on the head, heaving another tired sigh, and disappears off into the bathroom.

Well, so far, it's clearly a mission failure, she notes with a huff.

And she's still not devised a plan for Moira. Obviously if Oliver has quiet dreams without nightmares, this whole planning won't be necessary, but she kind of doubts that this will be the case.

Oliver won't stand for her blocking the most obvious entry / exit of the room – the door – which is a shame as it would be the easiest way of barring his family from entering when he's in the throes of a nightmare. From what she'd read about soldiers back as a human, they liked escape strategies; although, to be fair, that may hold true for just about everybody. She certainly had never particularly liked confinement either.

Her current plan is just to block Moira physically from entering – maybe something better will occur to her later, but for now she needs to make sure Oliver eats more than the one apple he had before showering and drinks something. Only then will he be allowed to sleep.

The awesome thing? With this brilliant nose there's no more losing things.

Tracking things by scent, however, is a lot harder than it looks. The smell is strongest under the bed because she'd kept it there for hours. Sniffing along the ground, she finds the bag just as Oliver exits the bathroom. He's still dressed but presumably it's what he intends to sleep in; funny that a rich kid like him doesn't have a plethora of designated pyjamas – less funny, on the other hand, when she thinks he might not feel safe enough to not be in clothes he could fight, defend and possibly run around outside in.

They both appear to need some cheering up, she notes quietly. Still, excited by her success, she heads towards him, tail wagging proudly mid-air as she presents him with the bag.

Oliver snorts, kneeling down to pat her on the head.

"You're really forceful on this feeding me thing, don't you?" She lets out a low bark. Amazing! Good job on volume control, she tells herself.

"Shush," he quickly tells her, eyes nervously switching between her and the door. "I can't really help Thea hide you if you give the game away."

With a low whine, pouting at her own faux-pas – she knows better than this – she lies down on the floor, peering up at him with wide eyes, her paws over her snout. A symbolic gesture, she could still make noise, but she hoped the message was clear enough. And that actually puppy-dog-eyes would work on Oliver.

He caved less than half a second in, almost physically crumbling and stiffness dissipating as he reaches for her, patting and stroking her, reassuring her in a soft voice what a good dog she is.

Good god, how did this man ever make it as the Green Arrow? Yeah, yeah, he's super-badass, scary killer with kickass martial arts skills.

On the other hand, the man is so soft. He has no resistance to cute wide-eyed children or dogs.

As in none, whatsoever. He caved in an instant. Even her own children were made of sterner stuff than this, she is sure.

Whatever else Moira had done, she thinks the woman definitely raised her son right in this, at least. That a man, one who has experienced nothing but pain, bloodshed, and torture for five years would look at an animal, still, one who upset him and went against his plans, and still succumbed and adjusted his plans, soothing the pet instead of ranting (or lashing out physically) – yeah. He's a good man. But dear god, no wonder – Felicity is definitely the disciplinarian in that household.

God, she needs him to have Mia and William around him – the man would melt and soften and be all-around gooey and more at peace surrounded by children and toddlers of all sizes. Especially his own ones. Now she just needs to introduce him to Felicity and get him to be that way around her – her ovaries would melt seeing this large forceful hunk of a man just be all soft and sweet.

Yes.

This was a great new plan – she liked it already. Her daughter certainly never had been able to resist a man who was genuinely kind and good with children. That was, in fact, the kind of man she ended up marrying.

"Oliver?"

There's a knock on the door and Moira's voice behind the door. She leaps up, getting between Oliver and the door, lowering herself into a fighting position, teeth bared in an automatic snarl in defence of Oliver, but keeping her voice tightly leashed. For once, her tail is on her side – instead of wagging it's stiff as a board.

"Hide," Oliver tells her quickly in a near-silent whisper, wide-eyed, obviously still searching for a good spot to shove her into, seemingly ignoring her aggressive behaviour. Before he can get to his wardrobe, the door starts to open and he flinches, turning back to face his mother, trying to physically hide her behind his larger body, obviously not expecting her to understand and comply.

Having her own orders – and being quite capable, given that she's an actual person – she finds the closest, most convenient and, possibly, also most obvious hiding place. In her defence, why would you have floor-length curtains if not to allow a dog to hide themselves behind it.

"Have you seen a dog?"

"A dog?" Oliver asks quickly, covering the distance between the wardrobe and his mother, towel-drying his hair. "I didn't know we have got a dog now."

"We don't," Moira confirms, frowning, gaze sweeping across the room and snagging on the pillow-duvet-nest she'd painstakingly built.

"Oliver? What is this?" His mother asks, scanning the bed only to find that those, two, are intermixed with the others on the floor.

"The bed's too soft," he says quietly after a small pause.

"I suppose it has been five years. Would you like a new mattress? I'm sure we can get one from the other rooms. I apologise, I didn't realise it had gotten damaged or sagged."

Oliver shakes his head.

"No- mum. You don't get it. The mattress is not broken or damaged – it's just too soft."

"I don't- do you want a firmer mattress? I'm sure we can get someone to deliver-"

"Mom. I spent five years on an island. Sleeping on the ground. There were no mattresses. I- Just. I need time to adjust. Bedding on the floor is the closest first step I could figure."

Wow. So, he did, kind of, figure out why there was a nest there. Mostly. Good enough.

"Oh, of course. Whatever makes you most comfortable," his mother easily acquiesces but her sharp nose can easily smell the sadness on the woman.

Then Moira blinks rapidly, her eyes landing on the brown paper bag, half-opened on the floor, a mandarin and apple peeking out.

"Oliver?" She questions, walking across to the bag with quick, sure steps, ignoring her son's outstretched arm trying to stop her.

"I know you cut dinner short – but if you want Raisa to make you something, you just need to say."

There's genuine concern in her voice, at least, which, she guesses, is something.

"No- Mum- I… This is, this is just fine," he tells Moira hesitantly.

"Why is this all wet?" His mother looks half-disgusted and half-curious at the large wet spot she'd left by carrying the bag with her mouth.

"Fresh from the shower, mom," he tells her without pause, gesturing to the towel still in his hands, not even hesitating with his lie.

"Oh, yes, of course. But are you sure? I'm sure Raisa could get you something more substantial than this, Oliver," she eyes the fresh food with disdain – obviously her new owner sees the same thing because he drops the hand with the towel, taking the bag off his mother.

"What do you think I ate for the last five years, Mom?" He asks, his smell vacillating between anger and sorrow.

Moira blinks. "I- I don't know. I assumed that-"

"This," he says, pointedly lifting the bag.

"But you're home now, son," she tells him, her hand clasped around his upper arm.

"I am. But that doesn't mean I can just go and start eating rich and heavy foods without expecting any consequences," he disputes and his mother's mouth snaps shut, eyes shimmering and lips trembling.

"Oh- Oliver," her voice is soft and teary as she pulls him in for a hug – she honestly does smell like sorrow; the smell was very familiar from how often Thea had spent her time with her at the gravestone.

"I'm so sorry. I didn't even-" The woman looks regal even when she wipes the tears off her cheeks. "We'll get a Doctor's opinion. And a nutritionist. We'll get you your own personal chef, if needed. Don't you worry, son, leave it with me. I'll take care of everything."

With a kiss pressed to Oliver's cheeks, Moira turns on her heel, clearly glad there's something she can deal with to help him. She wonders if that smell is determination. Certainty. Resolve. It's like sadness and anger, no more switching but both all at once into a new smell. Interesting.

"Thanks, mom."

"Of course, darling. Anything for you." His mother reassures him earnestly.

"Oh, and if you do see a dog – or if you happen to be hiding one for your sister," Moira raises an eyebrow in her son's direction, looking nothing but amused and obviously having surmised just how quickly he caved to Thea's demands, "at least take it to the vet and make sure it's clean and vaccinated. Then we'll see what our options are."

"So, no more calling animal control on Thea's hypothetical pet dog?" her new owner queries curiously, a small grin on his lips.

"Not until we've had a talk," she confirms.

Oliver tilts his head, but seems to think she's being truthful because he gives a low whistle. She peeks her head out from behind the curtains, ears tilted forward. She's nearly certain he means to call her forward, but there's no reason to not be cautious.

"Well, what's her name?"

"What happened to being allergic?" He asks back and Moira laughs.

"Oh, Oliver. Neither you nor Tommy wanted the responsibility of looking after a dog. You wanted all the benefits – until you showed me that you were ready to take care of it, you were not getting one. And neither was Tommy. I had no intentions of having guests at the mansion stepping into dog poo or getting peed on or have a dog snarling at them."

"Huh," Oliver says – and he smells like freshness, then. Surprise? Is that how her brain identifies the smell for surprise? "I just thought you didn't like dogs."

"Of course, you did, darling," Moira rolls her eyes, smiling in that soft, indulgent way parents do when their children start to realise just how much has gone on behind the scenes.

"Well," he recoups quickly, "this is Thea's dog. Chica."

She tries for a growl but it comes out as a sort of chuffing sound instead. Joining Oliver, she plants herself down right in front of him, ears alert but not growling or snarling at the woman – a real feat. Moira reaches down to let her sniff her hand – which could possibly prove to be quite useful in future, so she does, trying to memorise her scent. However, when the woman reaches out to pet her, she still doesn't growl but she does lean back into Oliver, out of arms reach, evading Moira's touch at every turn until the woman looks bemused.

"What's wrong?" Oliver asks her in a whisper, reaching out and easily patting her. Her tail wags slightly at the affection and his stress always leaks away whenever he does.

"Sorry, Mom. I don't know. She did something like this earlier with Thea. I can only assume she was trained as a sort of, I don't know, caretaking dog? She's the one who brought me the food. And created that pillow-duvet thing on the floor. And she managed to turn on the taps in the bath and she knows how to open doors. So I figured she's a caretaker? Maybe for someone who isn't as mobile? I don't know."

"If she is, Oliver, then she needs to be returned to her owner. Someone could be needing her."

"Yeah, I know," he breathes out heavily. "Thea's already pretty attached."

"Thea, huh?" His mother asks, amused, shaking her head – and yeah, Oliver's still bent over, petting her, so fair enough. She's making progress in getting him to become her owner at long last. "We'll look into it tomorrow. For now, make sure you eat something and for heaven's sake, please make sure that dog gets some food, too. I will not have anyone say we starved that thing under our roof."

With that last parting remark – which she's actually very grateful for, because her stomach has been bothering her for a few days now – Moira leaves, pressing a final kiss to Oliver's hairline beforehand.


Notes: Felicity's probably another two chapters away. What do you think so far? Please review :)