Chapter Text
There was an irritating fluttering coming from the darkest corner of the Foundry, and it was driving Oliver crazy. After ten minutes or so of having that noise echo around his base while he trained, doing some inverted crutches from the structural beams and heading up and down the salmon ladder several times, he couldn’t stand it anymore. Shrugging on a top and wiping his face free of sweat with a towel, he grabbed one of his combat knives and advanced towards that corner quietly, keeping on the balls of his feet.
“Oh, hello,” he murmured, frowning in befuddlement and astonishment at the sight of a small yet beautiful-looking bird of prey flapping frantically, trying to get off the ground but struggling due to a few broken feathers and a hurt wing. “How’d you get in here?” I’m pretty sure I patched all of those holes up.
The bird gave a chitter as he approached slowly, sounding alarmed and scared, so Oliver very carefully wrapped the towel around the small bird, pressing its wings to its body and lifting it up, making sure its feet were supported. Calming slightly, the bird gave another chirp and he couldn’t help but smile. This tiny bird didn’t seem at all afraid of him anymore, and he ran a finger down its feathers, marvelling at the softness of them. Huh. It wasn’t flinching at his touch either. It looked wild, but maybe there was some chance it was an escaped pet or something. Well… wherever the bird came from, he couldn’t let just throw it back out onto the street - it was obviously hurt. He would have to care for it.
“What’s that?” Diggle questioned on walking into the Foundry that evening to find the bird of prey nested in a towel in a small cardboard box on the counter next to Oliver. Said archer was researching sprained wings and broken feathers online, every so often glancing into the box to check on the rescue.
“She has wings, Dig,” Oliver deadpanned. “What exactly do you think she is?”
“No, I mean -” His bodyguard waved a hand. “Why is it here?”
“Found her at the back in the corner,” Oliver replied, turning back to his computer screen. “And yes, it’s a she. To be exact, she’s a female American Kestrel.”
Diggle raised an eyebrow. “A Kestrel? Aren’t kestrels meant to be bigger than that?” He squinted down into the box. “She’s tiny.”
Hey, don’t judge the bird. “She’s only young,” Oliver replied, somewhat defensively. So what if she’s small? You picking on her because she’s small, now? American Kestrels were meant to be anyway. She was perfect how she was.
“Whatever. I’ll take her to the vet or something.”
Diggle made to pick up the box, but then Oliver leapt up and shoved him away roughly, standing in a protective stance in front of the bird. The bodyguard backed off as the vigilante growled, clenching his fists and looking like he was about to murder him.
Quickly raising his hands, Diggle corrected swiftly, “Or not.”
“She’s staying here,” Oliver said, voice turning soft as he wheeled around and, pulling on his leather gloves, he gently coaxed the young kestrel into his hand so he could hold her a little closer. The kestrel chittered, basking herself in his body heat as he gazed down at her, marvelling at all the colours in her feathers, her intelligent eyes. “We’ll nurse her back to health.” And if that took months, then he was prepared to stick with her during that time.
“And when are we gonna have time to do that?” Diggle scoffed.
Oliver shot him a glare before turning back to gently running one finger down the kestrel’s back. His lips twitched upwards as a tremor seemed to run through her body and she shifted in his hand, wings spreading and tucking again, to get closer. She already trusted him. “We’ll take turns,” he ordered, his voice so incredibly soft that Diggle looked honestly startled at it. “Make sure she’s comfortable and healing. Teach her to fly again if she forgets.”
“You’re serious.”
Oliver turned suddenly icy cold, stone hard eyes on his partner. What, you think I’m joking? “Yes.”
Diggle just swallowed and blinked, giving a small shrug. “Okay, Oliver. Okay.”
I am such an idiot, Felicity cursed herself, hopping around trying to observe her injured wing. Such a fucking idiot. Should have known better. Did know better. I'm never saying ‘fuck you’ to logic again. She scowled at the sprained limb as much as she could with a beak, in bird form. Of course, she had to get stuck in her shifted bird form, just when she was investigating the vigilante’s top secret base in the basement of a steel factory. Of course, she had to get injured so she couldn’t escape by flying out of said factory.
Her father had been the one to pass on the shifter blood to her, her mother had told her, when she had first fully shifted into her American Kestrel form at the age of nine, her dead-beat dad not there to guide her through the terrifying process. Whilst he had been a bald eagle, her much smaller, sleeker form was more elegant, and defined her personality perfectly. She had learnt to master her wings by the age of nine, and when she had arrived at MIT she had searched online for any other bird shifters out there, who she could possibly enjoy her gift with, but of course, she found none. The ability to shift was passed down through very rare, secret bloodlines, and often shifters were killed if they were discovered.
Felicity only really used her shifting ability when she really, really felt the need to, and stuck in the basement of a steel factory that also served the purpose of the Hood’s lair, the IT girl was only reminded why shifters were encouraged to head out into the wilderness to shift, and not remain in the city, where they could easily be injured or trapped. Just like she had just been, now, sporting a sprained wing, broken feathers and unable to get out of the vigilante’s freaking hermit cave.
The entrance door beeped, and Felicity fluttered nervously, unprepared to face a human in this form. She tried to stay out of sight, epically failing in that regard, but Oliver Queen, he’s the vigilante? I FUCKING CALLED IT, PEOPLE! was approaching her, looming above her. She let out a squeak of alarm, trying to flutter away.
She ended up in the corner of the room, trapped there as the human knelt down and gently scooped her up with his large, calloused hands in a towel. At first she panicked, but then Felicity settled slightly, her heart still beating a mile a minute but feeling more reassured by the fact that he was supporting her feet, not letting her fall. Felicity would have expected his touch to be rough and aggressive, but he was incredibly tender, recognising she was injured and couldn’t fly, brushing her fingers against her soft feathers in such a way that the kestrel shivered.
“Sorry, sorry,” the human apologised softly as he jolted her injured wing when sitting down in a chair.
Shit, that hurt! Stop touching my sprained wing, you dolt! Of course, he couldn’t understand her as a bird. She rolled her eyes. Oliver pulled out a cardboard box from underneath a counter, which was being used to store materials for making arrows with, emptying it and laying a towel at the bottom before gently dropping her inside.
“There we go. Safe. Let’s look up what kind of bird you are, shall we?”
At first, Felicity was alarmed by being contained in the box, but it was warm and the towel was soft, and seeing no way out, she nested into the cloth, tucking her wings in and waited, content with watching Oliver’s expression as he tapped away at a computer that looked so out of date, it made Felicity physically want to throw up. His face was all hard lines and tension, but there was a deeper kindness and compassion she could see within his stunningly blue eyes that, for some reason, caused Felicity to relax.
“What’s that?” came the booming voice of another human and Felicity startled, wings snapping and flapping twice to try and instinctively lift her into the air, and then she hissed as pain lanced through her hurt wing. Goddamn humans, always appearing out of nowhere and making her jump.
Oliver gave a sharp bark of laughter. “She has wings, Dig,” he pointed out. “What exactly do you think she is?”
Looking annoyed, the man, Diggle - oh, it’s his bodyguard! I remember him now! - snorted. “No, I mean, why is it here?”
“Found her at the back in the corner,” the vigilante replied, sounding focused on something else as he resumed typing on the keyboard, and without pausing, he continued, “And yes, it’s a she. To be exact, she’s a female American Kestrel.”
Felicity was honestly surprised for a moment. She hadn’t expected Oliver to find out her species so quickly, even looking it up online. There were lots of birds that fitted her description. She was momentarily impressed, until:
“A Kestrel?” Diggle chuckled, gazing down at her, looking somewhat amused. “Aren’t kestrels meant to be bigger than that? She’s tiny.”
Excuse me! she squawked in protest. That’s really rude! How would YOU like it if I said YOU were tiny? Not that you are tiny, that is, you’re huge, especially when I’m in bird form, but even when I’m human as well, you’re pretty big, and when I say big, I mean tall, not -
“She’s only young,” Oliver cut into her mental rambling, sounding a little bit irritated with his bodyguard.
Yes! Thank you, Oliver! Thank you for defending me! I’m young - wait… was that an insult? Are you trying to suggest that I am a BABY KESTREL, mister!? That is SO RUDE! Shifting side to side, she trilled furiously. I am twenty three years old!
Both of the humans ignored her, to her anger. But suddenly, Diggle reached forwards to pick up the box, his hands looking absolutely massive, like huge claws coming down to snap her her, from Felicity’s view, making her panic slightly. “Whatever. I’ll take her to the vet or something,” the human said dismissively.
Felicity was about to make another escape attempt, but then her view of the bodyguard was blocked when Oliver stepped in front of her protectively, stopping Diggle from getting to the box. Surprised, the kestrel buffed her chest out, shuffling on the blanket. She hadn’t seen that coming - that, being the vigilante coming to her defence.
“Or not.” Diggle said, backing off.
“She’s staying here,” Oliver demanded. Then, startling Felicity once again, his hands dipped down into the box and lifted her out. This time though, Felicity didn’t struggle, just sat in his hands as he supported her and brought her up to his chest, holding her there. Basking in the comforting, soothing heat that seemed to be coming from the vigilante’s chest, Felicity ruffled her feathers, for the first time feeling actually quite safe in a human’s hands. “We’ll nurse her back to health.”
Diggle sounded exasperated as he questioned, “And when are we gonna have time to do that?”
Yeah, that’s right! Felicity huffed smugly, as Oliver shot the bodyguard a glower. The big, bad vigilante’s on my side. The lone finger returned, stroking down her back, and the sensation of human contact, safe human contact that wasn’t an attempt to hurt her, made Felicity arch into the touch, shifting in his hand to get closer as she readjusted her wings, another shiver running down her spine.
“We’ll take turns. Make sure she’s comfortable and healing. Teach her to fly again if she forgets.”
“You’re serious.”
“Yes.”
Haha, take that, Mr Bodyguard! I’m sticking around, you can’t get rid of me that easily!
“Okay, Oliver… okay…”
The vigilante rolled his eyes above her and turned away, keeping his movements slow enough that Felicity didn’t startle. She appreciated it - in her bird form, she was always more skittish, wanting to take flight at the lightest of scary noises, but she knew that if she tried to do that now, with her sprained wing and snapped feathers, she would only end up - well, splat.
“I’ll do most of the work,” he said. “You’ll just have to look after her when I go out in the field. Besides, she’s a sweetheart anyway.”
Oh, maybe with you, mister, but if that bodyguard of yours comes anywhere near me with those freakishly large hands, my beak will be drawing blood, I’m warning you now. I am not afraid to peck the shit out of people.
“Huh. I don’t think she likes you,” Oliver observed, and Felicity frowned and glanced up at him. He was gazing down at her amusedly. “Her feathers are all bristly.”
“Isn’t that reassuring,” Diggle muttered. “I’m gonna head out and bring back some takeout, you want anything?”
“I’m fine, but could you stop by a store and pick up some food for her, please?”
“Jesus, I’m Oliver Queen’s bodyguard and he wants me to go out and buy freaking birdseed for his pet vulture.”
EXCUSE ME? Felicity shrieked, her one good wing flapping frantically now. She was aware Oliver was trying to keep a careful hold of her, making sure not to drop her, but she was so angry at his bodyguard that she didn’t even care that the vigilante’s fingers were digging into her sides a little too hard. First off, I do not eat fucking BIRDSEED! I AM A BIRD OF PREY, I EAT MEAT. And secondly, I am NOT a VULTURE! How would YOU like to be called a vulture, huh?! Yeah, it’s not nice when you’re the one being insulted, is it, big arms? Wait - would that be an insult or a compliment?
“I think you made her angry.”
Diggle scowled back at them both as he climbed the stairs. “She’s a bird, she can’t understand anything we’re saying.”
“It said online that her wild diet consists of small rodents and insects, so maybe go to the pet store two blocks down from Merlyn Global and see if you can pick anything up there.”
“I can’t believe I’m going to buy frozen mice and dead grasshoppers for Oliver Queen,” Diggle grumbled under his breath. He vanished through the door immediately after that, so Felicity finally dropped her furious stance, huffing. Oliver’s bodyguard was mean.
As soon as the door clicked shut, however, Oliver moved over to the countertop containing his computer set-up, drawing up a chair with one hand as the other cradled her, before he set Felicity down. “Dig thinks you can’t understand me. Oh, but I think you can,” he murmured, smiling at her as he began researching again online about sprained wings. “You’re a pretty intelligent girl, aren’t you?”
Well, I don’t like to brag, but -
“And I bet you know it as well.”
Hey! She nipped at his hand with her beak, hard enough to make him draw back with a quiet hiss of pain but not enough to break skin. Don’t be cheeky.
“You’re cheeky.” Oh, I’m the cheeky one, mister? “You’ll fit right in here. Dig particularly enjoys calling me out on my shit, I imagine you would do the same. I can get stubborn sometimes.” He paused for a second, reading whatever was on screen. Felicity attempted to hop sideways so she could look too. He was scrolling down a vet’s website on sprained wings. “Okay, this says to keep you in a warm, contained space with some water. The torn ligaments causing the sprain will heal by themselves, so you’re just not allowed to fly for a while. I should wrap your wing, make sure you can’t move it. We’ll have to get some medicine for pain management as well.” He glanced down at her with narrowed eyes. “Your broken feathers, however…” He clicked onto a new page. “Since none of the feather shafts are broken, we just have to wait for your next moult to replace the damaged features. It says here birds your size moult twice or three times a year… and who knows when your next one will be?”
Felicity did. She had moulted in late October to come into her thicker winter feathers, but since they were having an unusually warm winter in Starling, she was probably due to come into her spring and summer feathers earlier, in a fortnight’s time. And whilst a normal bird her size would take around two months to fully moult, due to her accelerated shifter healing rate, her moult would be over in only two weeks. In a month’s time, her wing would be better and her new feathers would come in - she would be up in the air again.
Oliver left her sitting on the counter as he crossed the room, picking up a reasonably deep tray and lining it with the towels from the box. He set it down next to Felicity expectantly. If she were in human form, she would have raised her eyebrows, but instead she just hopped into the tray and let him carry her over to a counter in the corner. She realised why instantly - hot water pipes ran upwards at this point, radiating a comfortably amount of heat. As the kestrel settled, Oliver brought over a bowl of cool water, setting it down next to the tray.
“There,” he said, sounding satisfied. “Warm place to stay, and water. Diggle will be back with some food soon, if you’re hungry.”
Hell yeah, she was hungry. She hadn’t eaten since yesterday, skipping out on breakfast and lunch in favour of tracking the Hood to his lair. Chirping, Felicity spread her good wing, frowning when Oliver tutted in response, his finger pushing it back in.
“You’re not meant to move much,” he said gently. “The website said to put you in a travel cage or box, but I know you’d hate that. You can’t go around flapping about or try and fly whilst you’re injured, okay? Let me go and grab some bandages, and I’ll wrap that wing for you.”
Felicity wanted to roll her eyes. Oliver returned and quickly wrapped a bandage in a figure eight sort of shape around her sprained wing to bind it to her body, making sure she couldn’t move it. It was pretty annoying, even though Felicity knew it would help her heal.
“I’ve gotta do some work now, so just stay here and rest, alright?” The vigilante tenderly stroked down her back again, lips quirking up in a way that made Felicity think that he didn’t allow himself to smile often. “You’ll get better soon.”
As he walked off, back towards the computer setup, Felicity ruffled her feathers happily and began constructing a small nest out of the towels, dragging them into place with her talons. As soon as it was made, she drank a little water and settled into it snugly, enjoying the warmth. Yeah, this wasn’t so bad. Of course, she was worried about the fact that she was going to essentially disappear from existence for a few weeks - god, her job, what about her job?! She’d be fired for sure - but this really wasn’t the worst place to stay and recover. She couldn’t shift back, but she knew that Oliver would at least care for her when she was in her bird form, and wouldn’t let her starve or get hurt again.
Yeah, this really wasn’t so bad.
Oliver absolutely hated to admit it, but the little American Kestrel had somehow managed to worm her way into his heart within a week. She had a fiery personality, having quite a temper, especially with Diggle, but also acting quite sassy with the archer himself as well. It was endearing how she tried to stand up to his bodyguard, screeching at him when Diggle tried to feed her and snapping her beak when he changed her towels. His bodyguard, however, was more pissed at the fact that the kestrel seemed to absolutely adore Oliver. It amused the vigilante to no end that the kestrel had no qualms whatsoever with Oliver handling her, but threw a bloody fit whenever Diggle tried to.
A week into her recovery, Oliver found himself talking to her when they were alone in the Foundry. As he crafted his arrows and researched targets, the vigilante just talked, sometimes about the most random of things, the words coming out of his mouth openly and easily, unlike when he spoke to other human beings. He didn’t feel like he had to hide the darkness inside of him with the bird, and ended up spewing a lot of stuff about his emotions about the island and his return, ranting about his family and the pressures of readapting to society. Kestrels were, it turned out, very good listeners.
Humming to himself, Oliver descended down the stairs to the lair in the early afternoon, planning on moulding some new arrowheads, when a loud happy chirp jerked him out of his musings. A grin appearing on his face, he crossed the room to greet the kestrel, who was fluttering both her wings, but remaining in her tray, at his approach.
You excited to see me? I’m excited to see you too.
Oliver no longer needed his leather gloves to hold her; she never dug her talons in, and he always held her carefully so he never got scratched. She chirped again, preening her feathers - she had torn the bandage off her wing yesterday night, refusing to have her wing bound any longer. Flapping her good wing as she hopped up onto his wrist, her intense falcon eyes blinked at him.
Smiling, he murmured softly, “Hello, my little соколица.” Oliver had never named her, but calling her by what kind of animal she was in Russian was good enough for him. He wasn’t very imaginative. Taking a hold of her sprained wing gently, he muttered, “This seems to be a lot better. We’re just waiting for your moult now. Then you’ll be able to fly again.”
And then she would be gone. Oliver tried to keep his expression indifferent as he raised his hand so that she could hop on up to sit on his shoulder, like she had been doing for the last two days now, whenever he was researching targets. The archer had grown fond of the kestrel, and to be honest, he hated the idea of her leaving. He knew that she wasn’t a pet, she was a wild bird of prey and she needed to be out in the open, flying free, but a selfish part of him wanted to keep her all to himself.
Oliver was half an hour into looking up a guy called Roger Matthews, who was embezzling money from a local leukaemia charity, when the entrance door hissed and clunking sounded on the stairs, signifying they had a visitor. The kestrel began screeching angrily in his ear, making Oliver grin. She always knew how to give Diggle a warm welcome.
“You know, someday, I’m gonna pluck that chicken of yours,” Diggle grumbled, coming up behind him. “She hates me.”
“She just got the wrong impression of you when you first met,” Oliver threw back. You were rude to her, what else do you expect? “Take a look at this guy. I’m thinking I can maybe take down two or three of the smaller targets on the list, that aren’t as big of threats as the others - this guy being my first pick.”
Diggle read over the information, saying, “Yeah, you can take him down. Two million stolen yearly, from a leukaemia charity? He’s fair game, man.”
Oliver only then noticed the pet store bag his bodyguard was carrying. “You brought her a snack.” You pretend you’re not fond of her, but then you go and guy her special treats? You liar, Dig.
“Yeah, well, didn’t want her pecking my fingers off when I feed her later.” Diggle fished out the container full of frozen mice, grimacing as he handed it over.
As Oliver used a pair of tongs to pick out one of the mice, placing it on a piece of kitchen roll taken from the small kitchen area Diggle had set up, he reeled back in surprise when the kestrel jumped into the air and fluttered down to the counter, immediately attacking the mouse and scarfing it down, before looking back up at him innocently.
Oh my god.
“Did she - just -?”
“Yeah,” Oliver said, dumbfounded. “She just flew. Well, fluttered. She won’t be able to fly properly until her new feathers have moulted in.”
“The sooner she’s able to fly again, the sooner we can get her out of here,” Diggle said, drawing up his own chair. Don’t say that. Please don’t say that. Oliver must have made a face at that, because his bodyguard narrowed his eyes at him. “Why do you look like that?”
“Like what?” Oliver turned back to the screen, swallowing.
“You just looked all - all sad and broody. You’re not…” Diggle trailed off, before exclaiming in mock horror, “Oh god, the great terrifying Oliver Queen can’t have got attached to a little kestrel, could he?”
“Shut up,” Oliver scowled.
“You have. Oh, this is hilarious.” Diggle looked like this was the most entertaining thing he had heard all week. “You’ve got yourself a pet.”
Oliver grumbled. “She’s not a pet.” She’s a magnificent bird of prey, she’s nothing like a pet. He quickly changed the subject, “Hey, did you go to Queen Consolidated like I asked you to?”
“Yeah, I couldn’t find Felicity Smoak anywhere,” Diggle shook his head. Oliver frowned, his attention half split between Diggle’s confused face and the kestrel, who had just began fluttering her wings crazily. “I asked around, apparently she hasn’t been into work all week. Maybe she took a vacation or something.”
“That’s odd,” Oliver muttered. “I would’ve thought she’d inform the company if she was going away.” Strange. Felicity didn’t seem like the kind of person to spontaneously take leave, without giving a notice. She was sweet, even Oliver had to admit she was cute, and it was weird that she had randomly vanished. “Huh. I’ll look into it later.” Reaching out for the madly jumping around bird, he questioned, “You okay? What’s got into you?”
“Maybe she’s hungry,” Dig suggested.
“No, that’s not it.” Oliver frowned. She was still hopping around, minutely flapping her wings, as if trying to get their attention. What is she trying to tell me? Is something wrong? “She’s never done this before.”
He would have questioned her behaviour more, if the computer hadn’t beeped, alerting him to information that one of the people of the List was being taken to court by Laurel. Thinking that she was tired, the vigilante carried the kestrel back over to her tray to allow her to rest, before starting to look into the man Laurel was pursuing.
He was so focused on the computer screen he didn’t notice the faint blurriness of the air surrounding the kestrel as, for one, brief, fleeting second, the bird of prey’s form flickered into that of a human being, before the kestrel collapsed into her nest in exhaustion.
Three weeks. Three weeks, Felicity had been stuck in her shifted kestrel form, and whilst before she hadn’t thought it so bad… now, she hated it. At first she had revelled at the opportunity to observe the vigilante at work, learning about his motives and operation, beginning to understand his mission and why he did what he did, why he used the tactics and methods he did, whilst before she didn’t. But then, the confinement got to her. She hated being cramped up inside, unable to fly or move around without Oliver or Diggle’s help, unable to communicate or talk to anybody. She had been practically screaming at the pair of humans when they had mentioned her being missing, but they had ignored her. She tried not to let that get to her personally, and failed. Because Felicity was a bird, she was unimportant. Utterly horrified when Diggle had called her Oliver’s pet, the IT girl tried to distance herself from Oliver as her moult began.
Her feathers always fell out symmetrically, her pin feathers coming in very quickly, making sure she didn’t have any bald patches throughout her wings as her old, worn and damaged feathers fell out. Her primary wing feathers fell out first, all of her inner ones quickly falling and growing in. Then her secondary flight feathers and tail feathers started being lost and replaced, followed by her contour feathers. Throughout the moult, even Felicity couldn’t deny she became a little moody and quiet. She nipped Oliver’s fingers when he tried to stroke her, refusing to let Diggle near her but no longer squawking when he came near, often screeching swear words at them both. She could tell her change in behaviour worried Oliver immensely, concerning Diggle too, but she couldn’t help it. Moulting was incredibly stressful.
With her constant, careful preening and cleaning of the new feathers as they came in, the moult finished like she expected it to, within two weeks. By the month mark of Felicity being trapped in bird form, her wing was healed, and her feathers were replaced. She was ready to fly again. But every time she tried to get into the air, she struggled. It was instinct-guided, Felicity knew, but after a month of being grounded, she needed to get back into it. And she refused to transform back into human form until she was certain she could fly again without any problems.
Oliver found her a day after her moult was finished on the Foundry floor, frustratedly trying to get back into the air after a failed attempt of jumping off the counter had resulted in her half-crashing into the floor. He watched her struggle silently for a moment, which only made Felicity even more angry.
Don’t just fucking stand there watching me suffer, at least HELP ME, you idiot! I want to fly again, you said you would help me get back into the air and you’re doing absolutely nothing!
“Don’t do that, you’ll hurt yourself, little соколица,” Oliver finally stepped in, picking her up off the floor when Felicity slapped her wings into the floor repeatedly, not able to hop up high enough to get enough lift. He carried her over to the salmon ladder, something that for a month Felicity had been awarded a front row seat of watching him do, deliciously shirtless. He placed her on the pole, currently about five rungs high. He went to the other side of the room, holding his arm out as he said encouragingly, “Okay, come on. You can do it.”
Of course I can do it, I just don’t want to end up as a pancake on the ground!
“Don’t be scared, I know you can do it.”
I am NOT scared, I’m just a little apprehensive after all of my failed attempts so far, okay?!
Felicity ruffled her wings with a huff. With a sharp inhale, spreading her wings to full span, she hopped off the rung and angled her wings out just enough so that she could seamlessly glide through the air at a reasonable speed to land on Oliver’s outstretched arm, flapping to steady herself as she landed.
“See? That was great!”
Yeah, that was great, but gliding was very different from flying. She turned around, wings half span as she cautiously eyed the salmon ladder pole, now appearing quite far away and high. Shaking herself, Felicity dove off Oliver’s arms, equations flying through her head as she calculated the correct angle to gain enough speed to gain the lift she needed to reach the pole. Giving a few flaps, within a few seconds she landed on the pole.
Huh. Guess flying was a little easier when you had somebody to help out. Ten minutes later, with some encouragement from the vigilante, she was flying circles around the Foundry, using the small air currents that flowed throughout the basement to practice hovering before diving shortly and circling again.
Diggle arrived just as she completed her fifty seventh circuit of the Foundry, perching ceremoniously on Oliver’s shoulder. “She’s flying again,” he said, sounding impressed. Felicity bobbed her tail feathers and head as she fluttered into the air briefly to move to Oliver’s other shoulder smugly, just showing off to the bodyguard. “And to think, I didn’t think she could get more vain.”
Aw, I love you too, Felicity hissed sarcastically, wings shifting in and out again, which made Oliver chuckle.
“Yep. She still has some confidence issues with actually flying upwards, rather than hovering and gliding, so I think we should keep her around and train her outside until she’s flying without any hesitance.” Felicity trilled slightly in annoyance at Oliver’s statement, although she internally knew that he was correct.
Diggle, however, narrowed his eyes and shot the vigilante a pointed look as he began sorting through his personal firearms drawer. “Man, I see what you’re doing.”
“What?” When Diggle didn’t respond, Oliver repeated again, this time more demandingly, “What?” He moved forwards towards his bodyguard, making Felicity squawk as she almost lost balance, but quickly righted herself on his shoulder with several flaps and the adjusting of her tail feathers. “Don’t go silent on me, Dig.”
“You want to keep her around,” Diggle said. “Don’t deny it.”
“We’ve already had this conversation, Diggle.”
“Yes, twice, and you’ve changed the subject both times to avoid my question, which is this: you don’t want to release her back into the wild, do you?”
Felicity’s heart beat surged within her tiny chest, and she made an uneasy noise as she shifted. Was that true? Was Oliver thinking about keeping her - as a pet? As an ally? God, she didn’t think she could live down here in this basement for the rest of her life as a bird.
“I know we have to.”
“That was not an answer to my question, Oliver.”
“You know the answer!” Oliver snapped, rage suddenly seeming to explode out of him as his face contorted angrily. Never had Felicity seem him act like this, and she was reminded why so many people around the city feared the archer. He advanced on Diggle furiously, every moment intimidating and threatening, rising above the other man. The kestrel shrank back on his shoulder. “I don’t feel like I have to hide who I am around her, I can be myself and not be afraid of her reaction! She listens to what I have to say and confess with absolutely no judgement, unlike every other fucking person in this city! No, I don’t want her to leave, is that the answer you want to hear? I don’t want her leave, because I know that when she does, I’ll be alone again! And I’m fucking sick and tired of being alone, Diggle!”
Diggle tried to interject, shock visible on his face as he quietly said, “Oliver -” but the vigilante cut through him, carrying on furiously.
“I know we have to release her back into the wild! I know she’s not a pet, that she needs to fly free and she can’t be cooped up here all day long or kept on a leash! So yes, I’m being selfish and trying to delay her release as long as possible, because I know that once she’s gone, I’ll never see her again, and I don’t know how I’m going be to able to cope without her now I know what my life’s like with her in it, Diggle!”
The vigilante reached up with his arm, urging Felicity to stand on it. Still stunned silent by his words, Felicity hopped onto it quietly, not protesting when he placed her down on the counter and left, hands rubbing his face and tremors shaking his shoulders. Both she and Diggle stared after Oliver as he vanished into one of the darker parts of the Foundry, where he usually worked out. The kestrel didn’t really know how to react to that - she knew that she and Oliver had been building an honest, true friendship, but she had not expected by any count for the vigilante to become so emotionally attached to her bird form. He would miss her, was essentially what he was admitting. He had just admitted to wanting keep Felicity around in her bird form, because once she was gone, he would miss her.
“Everything was fine until you turned up here,” Diggle sighed, looking down at her. “You just had to get trapped in this basement of all the basements in the city, didn’t you?” Felicity ruffled her feathers angrily, preparing herself to begin pecking again, when the bodyguard smiled. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, kinda have to admit I’ve grown attached to you myself, but that boy’s gonna be a complete mess once you’re gone.” He looked back over to where Oliver had disappeared. “I get upset and sad thinking about him sometimes. Oliver barely trusts anybody and he doesn’t properly know how to process positive emotions anymore, not after being forced to dissociate all his negative ones after his five years of hell. You taught him that it was okay to have positive emotions again. You taught him that it was alright to feel happy.” He shook his head. “He doesn’t often feel happy anymore. I think, once you leave, he won’t again for a long time.”
The bodyguard departed soon after that, and Felicity was left with a hole where her heart was meant to be and a severe guilt complex about the thought of how one day, some day soon, she would have to leave Oliver, and how by doing that, she was going to be the cause of his emotional devastation.
Today was the day they were going to release the kestrel back into the wild, and Oliver was struggling to keep back his tears and maintain his impassive impression. He and Diggle had driven out to the forest only a mile or so north of the limits of the city, the kestrel safely tucked away in a towel-lined cardboard box, that rested on Oliver’s lap. The softly-playing radio had hardly distracted Oliver from the small confused and distressed chirps of the bird, his heart clenching in his chest every few seconds.
Diggle pulled the sedan up next to a small clearing surrounded by trees, saying, “This looks to be a good spot.” No, you’re just choosing this spot because you want to get rid of the kestrel as soon as possible. Oliver must have made a face, because the bodyguard’s voice softened as he continued, “It has to be done, Oliver.”
He stepped wordlessly out of the car, carefully holding the cardboard box to his chest. But before slamming the door shut, his fixed his eyes on his bodyguard, for the first time ever letting his emotions become visible, which made Diggle visibly blanch. “I know,” he said softly. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.
As soon as the archer reached the middle of the clearing, he set down the box and opened it up. The kestrel immediately burst out, her wings a flurry of feathers and almost taking Oliver’s head off in the process. Screeching, she landed on the archer’s shoulder, obviously unhappy at the confinement, but she nipped his ear apologetically.
“Time for you to go home,” Oliver said, attempting to sound bright. “Off you go. Look, we’re in the forest. You can fly home now.” Now please just fly away so this doesn’t get any harder than it already is.
The kestrel chirped, feathers ruffling and she took off Oliver’s shoulder with a few powerful wing beats, swooping over the tops of the trees out of sight. Tears pricking his eyes at how swiftly the kestrel seemed to have flown off, forgetting about any connection they ever had, the vigilante picked up the empty box and began trudging miserably back towards the car.
A loud falcon call caused him to whip around again, nearly falling back in shock as the kestrel dived down back towards him, taking up perch on his shoulder again. The impact of her landing after such a gain in momentum from the dive could have pushed any weaker man over, but Oliver stayed on his feet.
“No, you have to go,” Oliver ordered, holding his wrist up for her to hop onto. “You’re all healed up now, little соколица, it’s time for you go to back home, into the wild.” She blinked at him, confused. Oliver bit his lip. She didn’t understand. She understood practically everything he said, but she couldn’t understand this simple thing. “You need to leave,” he said forcefully. “Fly off back into the forest. Live out your wild kestrel life there, hunting mice in fields.”
The kestrel didn’t move, her wings just spreading to half span before tucking again. An irrational anger boiled inside of Oliver, although he knew it was wrong, that it was just his frustration at the prospect of her having to leave but not wanting to and trying to stay with him, despite the fact that was really what he wanted. He began shaking his arm, trying to make her fly off in a panic so he could leg it back to the sedan, but she just squawked furiously, wings flapping to steady herself and slapping him in the face several times over.
“Don’t you understand?” Oliver practically shouted. “You can’t stay with me anymore! You have to leave, okay? Fly away and go and live your life in the wild like you were meant to! Forget all about me and Dig and the Foundry and fly away!” JUST GO AWAY, PLEASE, THIS IS ALREADY HARD ENOUGH!
Tilting her head, the bird just tittered softly, making it sound like a sad noise, which only made Oliver want to sob. He shook his arm more violently, finally forcing her to dive off and fly upwards before the kestrel caught a warm upwards air current only a few metres away from him and hovered. It took a tremendous effort for Oliver to wheel around and stride back to the car, leaving her hovering there, her falcon eyes staring into his back. This was the right thing to do. It wasn’t healthy for a wild bird of prey to live in a basement, and it wasn’t right for Oliver to keep her there. She had to go back into the wild, where she belonged.
“Oliver, duck!” Diggle shouted, startling him.
He did so instinctively, and that was when he realised that the kestrel had just tried to swoop down onto his shoulder again. Having ducked, Oliver had taken away her landing platform and she had been forced to swoop upwards again, but it seemed she was gliding along an air current to try and attempt another landing on his shoulder.
The archer burst into a sprint, throwing himself in the sedan and yelling frustratedly, “Drive!”, only glancing up from where he placed his head in his hands until they were a safe distance away from the forest, heading back towards the city.
Oliver gazed out of the window, up into the sky. The kestrel was gone. She hadn’t followed them. He allowed the first sob to escape his chest, coming out silently as he covered his face with barely trembling hands once again.
“Oliver,” Diggle said quietly.
“Shut up,” his voice came out, muffled and angry and upset. Yes, I’m getting tearful over a kestrel, you gonna judge me for that now as well as the hundreds of other things you judge me for? “Let’s just get back to the Foundry, okay? We need to prepare for taking on Stephen Talbot tonight and figure out how we’re going to break into his company’s building if we want to erase the plans for those new nuclear explosive devices.” Mission. Focus on the mission. If he focused on the mission, he would think less about the kestrel.
“... Look, I understand if you’re upset -”
NO, YOU DON’T. “I will jump out of this car right now whilst it’s moving if you don’t shut up, Dig.”
“... Noted.” The hesitance in Diggle’s voice was evident, but he still shot Oliver worried and understanding glances, which only angered the vigilante more.
Oliver twisted his body away from his bodyguard so he was curled up slightly on the seat, staring forcefully out of the window. The view of the countryside and forest passing by rapidly, thinning down as they got further and further towards the city, made him dizzy, so he closed his eyes and just swallowed. He felt like his entire chest was caving in, his heart being crushed by his ribs. The pain he felt there, however, was not physical, and he knew that. It was emotional. It took a lot for the archer to admit that the devastation and pain he was feeling was emotional, and due to the fact that the kestrel was now gone. Due to the fact that he thought that he would never see the beautiful bird again, and never be able to connect to anybody that deeply again.
Oliver was sitting in a car with his bodyguard, but he had never felt so alone.
When they got back to the Foundry, Oliver didn’t speak. He suited up, desperately trying to ignore the concerned gaze Diggle had set on him, before checking the computers for Stephen Talbot’s location and building security. Alone, he established a plan of action, writing down rough notes on a pad of paper for Diggle before he grabbed his bow and headed out.
That night, when Talbot stood directly between the Hood and the nuclear explosive devices that the corrupt businessman had developed to sell to a terrorist group, Oliver shot him with two arrows to the chest before kicking him down and delivering a harsh punch to the throat.
Tablot died in a pool of his own blood whilst the Hood dismantled the devices and locked the nuclear capsules in a lead lined containment device, waiting for the police to arrive and cart them away.
Oliver couldn’t read the emotions flitting over Diggle’s face when he returned to the Foundry that night, crimson splattered over green leather and his face shadowed by the hood.
“You have something you want to say to me, Dig?” the archer asked gruffly. Go ahead, say it. It can’t be anything worse than what I’ve been thinking about myself lately.
Diggle shook his head, saying quietly, “Nothing that you’d want to hear.”
Oliver would have cried himself to sleep that night if he hadn’t felt so numb, the shock of the thought of being alone again, suffering in the darkness with no light to guide him or drag him out, drowning out all other emotions. The kestrel was gone, and she wasn’t coming back.