A one-shot set mid-S3, when all I could do was yell at my TV, "TELL HIM, LAUREL!"
Of course, she did confess pretty soon after and it didn't go anything like this. But it might have.
I always loved Laurel's relationship with her father, and I'm not looking forward to seeing him mourn her...
Detective Lance sank into his leather recliner, a rocks glass filled with tonic in his hand. The house was quiet around him, just like it always was these days. As usual, it felt too big for just him, but he wasn't willing to give up the home where his girls had grown up, fighting tooth and nail but loving each other just as passionately. Once, he'd spent a lot of time in that chair thinking there was nothing he wouldn't give for a few minutes of peace and quiet. Like most people, he hadn't been careful what he wished for.
He'd seen a lot tonight, had a lot of things to process. The Arrow was back, for one. Brick was gone. The way was paved for law and order once again. You should know that wasn't your daughter.
He had scoffed, trying to calm the fear that had risen with her words, but Sin had only been telling him what his instincts had been trying to for the last several days. As she spoke, Lance knew she was right. He had seen what he wanted to see; he had been a father and not a cop. The Canary was back, but Sara wasn't.
Which begged the question, why did someone want him to think that she was?
But he knew the answer to that, too. Bruises and scrapes with stories that didn't add up. Shadowed eyes and murmured excuses. A simmering anger and deep sadness he had been afraid to explore. He hadn't been entirely wrong—it was his daughter in that suit. Laurel.
He took a sip of the tonic water. He'd never really liked it when he drank, but now it was the closest thing to the alcohol he wouldn't touch again. Necessary for nights like tonight.
When he heard a key in the lock, there was only one person it could be. Weighed down by the night's revelations, he didn't get up to welcome her.
Soft footsteps behind him, and then, "Dad."
Laurel sank onto the sofa that was perpendicular to his chair, twisting a strand of hair in a nervous gesture. "I wanted to check on you after what happened tonight."
He looked up from the glass he'd been staring into, directly into her brown eyes. One of the many characteristics—visible and not—that they shared. "Sweetheart, I think you might be the one with a story to tell me about tonight."
He caught the moment of shock crossing her face before the preservation instinct kicked in to wipe it away. Microexpressions get 'em every time. "Dad, I—"
He set down his glass, held up a hand. "No. No more lies, Laurel. I'm your father. I know it's you wearin' your sister's gear, out there on the streets. What I don't know is why, and I want you to tell me." He sighed, too weary of heart and body to keep up the stern tone. "The truth. Please," he whispered.
Laurel took a deep breath, closed her eyes. When she opened them again, they held so much pain that she didn't need to say a word. He reached for her hand on instinct, wanting to ease the hurt even as he knew there was nothing he could do. That same instinct drove him to say it first, so she didn't have to. "Sara . . . we lost her again." It wasn't a question.
Laurel broke, his proud, beautiful girl going to pieces in front of him. "Dad, I wanted to tell you. I did. But I was so afraid of losing you, too."
"How long?" he asked.
"Three months," she whispered. "Dad, I'm sorry, I know I was wrong, I should never have kept it from you, but you were sick and once I started lying I couldn't stop. You were so happy, thinking that Sara was out there somewhere. I couldn't be the one to take that from you." She let out a bitter laugh and swiped at her tears. "Not when I would have given anything to be able to believe it myself."
For a moment he clung to hope. "Laurel, are you sure? We've thought she was gone before, she's been lost before. Maybe this time…"
But Laurel was already shaking her head. "I saw it, Dad. I saw her. I had just been with her and suddenly she was falling and she was gone, someone shot her with three arrows and there was nothing we could do to save her. We buried her in her grave." Laurel grabbed his tonic water from the table between them and gulped it down, as if she could wash the words away with it, and his heart plummeted. It was true. His baby girl, with her bright smile and her giant, battle-scarred heart…she was gone for good this time.
"All I could think about was revenge, at first, and I still want it. The person who killed her will pay, Dad," and a shiver went down his spine at the steel in her voice, lady justice with her shining sword.
"I didn't plan to be the Canary. I know I'm not Sara, will never be Sara, but someone needed to protect Starling while the Arrow was away…and it made me feel closer to her."
"And when were you plannin' on tellin' me any of this," he asked, as softly as he could, almost successful at keeping the anger and hurt out of his voice.
"When you weren't taking heart medicine anymore? When I could tell you that the person responsible for Sara's death had gotten the punishment he deserves? I don't know. I think part of me just didn't want it to be real. But when I used that recording of Sara's voice, so you could talk to her…it felt so wrong. I knew I had crossed a line, that I couldn't continue keeping you in the dark." Laurel's voice dropped to a whisper. "That's why I came over. I didn't know if I could do it, but I was planning to try again. To tell you the truth."
Lance's chest felt tight, but it wasn't anything pills could fix. Sara was gone, and Laurel had lied to him about it, and now she was putting herself in danger. But that was Laurel: Headstrong and protective, fierce. And capable of lying to herself. Just like he was. How could he blame her for that?
Laurel broke the silence. "I know you can't forgive me, at least not tonight, but Dad, just tell me you're OK. Your heart, I mean. Do you need your pills?"
"Listen to me, sweetheart: I can't say I'm not angry at you for lyin' to me. You shouldn't have done it. I'm your father, you need to come to me if you're hurting, not hide it."
Laurel closed her eyes and exhaled sharply. "OK. I'll try. I'll really try."
"And you know I don't like the idea of you out there fightin' on the streets. I didn't like . . . Sara," and his voice only just hitched on the word, "doin' it either. But I know," he continued, as Laurel looked like she might protest, "I know, that I can't stop ya. So I'm just gonna ask that you deal me in. I can help you, Laurel. You, the red one, the green one, now that he's back from the Bahamas. Felicity." He huffed a half smile. "You know, Team Arrow. If you're in, I'm in."
"Dad, I—"
He held up a hand. "Now I'm not askin' for a suit of my own or an all-access pass to the Batcave or whatever you're callin' it. I just want you to let me know when there's somethin' I can do to help. Anything, Laurel."
Her eyes welled up again. "OK, Dad. I promise."
He opened his arms and she moved into them, sitting half on his lap in the oversized chair. He kissed the top of the head that rested on his shoulder, which was suspiciously damp. "Sara…that extra time with her was a gift, Laurel. It's not fair that we didn't have more, and I hope that guy pays for what he did to her."
"He will," came Laurel's muffled voice.