She remembers it like it was yesterday. The wet ground. The driving rain. Holding Sara's hand while blood soaked through her fingers. But it wasn't yesterday. It was...another life. A life that, Laurel sees now, she lived in incredible naiveté. In that life, she had thought that justice could be dealt by law and order, by courts and jails and police officers. In that life, there was no League of Assassins, no super human soldiers bent on revenge, and nobody came back from the dead. In that life, she thought she was strong and capable. She knows better now. Sara's death replays in her head more often than she'd care to admit, even if it's now a much less frequent vision than it was before. Sara fought for her, Sara died for her, she will never forget it.

In the earliest days after it happened, once the feeling of shocked numbness began to subside, Laurel couldn't help but relive the scene and look for some way, for any way, she could have changed things. What if she'd run left instead of right? Should she have yelled louder, or just stayed quiet? She thought about it over and over and, in the end, came to only one conclusion: if she'd been stronger, if she could have fought harder, maybe she and Sara could have won.

So she resolved to make herself stronger.

It was easier than she would have thought to find a place where she could go, where she could sequester herself away and focus on making herself into a warrior. And for nearly two years, that's what she did. There was not a minute of the day when she wasn't training to become stronger, faster, more agile, more deadly. And for all that Laurel knew it wouldn't change the past, it made her feel like she was accomplishing something Sara would be proud of. She would continue Sara's work to protect their city. And with each criminal the Canary took down, Sara would be avenged, honoured, and remembered.

It's on her second night out that he finds her. She's not surprised. News of a masked blond taking out muggers and thugs was bound to draw his attention. And, if she is completely honest with herself, she had wanted it to.

She's just finished taking out a would-be carjacker when she sees him. He's in full Arrow gear, bow in hand, face half covered by his iconic hood. He is the picture of intimidation. But she stands her ground.

"Who are you?" he demands, his voice rough and angry in a way she knows has nothing to do with the voice modulator he uses.

"I'm the Canary," she answers with as much fierceness and authority she can muster.

He doesn't seem to like that answer. He stalks towards her, rage apparent in every step. He stops only an arms reach away. "I'm only going to ask one more time," he says, his voice lower but no less demanding, "and then I'm going to find out for myself. Who are you?"

She hesitates for a moment, her eyes narrowing as he stares her down, before she reaches up and pushes the mask up to her forehead. She sees him start, but only for a second, before his deadly glare returns and he is grabbing her by arm and pulling her along.

"What are you doing?" she demands, using her free hand to pull her mask back into place.

"We need to talk," is his angry reply.

She toys with the idea of pulling away from him, wonders if she could. It's what she's been training for, and part of her is anxious to show him how much she's learned, how much she's changed. But he's right, they need to talk. So she follows him. He's facing away from her, his voice mumbling something she can't quite hear. She knows he has partners, two men, she saw them when Sara died. Maybe he's communicating with them. His words are clearly not meant for her.

When he lets go of her arm they're at his motorcycle. He looks back over his shoulder and says "Get on." It's not a suggestion. She climbs on and they're speeding away, moving so fast her heart rate accelerates. The bike dodges and weaves through the streets and alleyways of the Glades. Laurel tries to learn their trail, but they're moving too fast for her to really get her bearings, and she thinks that might be the point. They don't slow down until they're coasting down a small ramp into a dark garage. Oliver shuts off the bike and climbs off in one smooth movement. He heads through a lighted doorway without a word or backwards glace. After a beat, she follows.

The space she enters is open and industrial. It's so brightly lit compared to the dark city streets that it takes her eyes a minute to adjust. Oliver's bow clatters against a metal table as he sets it down. He pushes off his hood and mask as he turns to face her.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" he growls out, voice raised. Laurel's ire rises to meet his own.

"I'm carrying on Sara's legacy," she retorts, pulling off her wig and mask, voice just as loud.

He looks incredulous. "Do you think this is some kind of game? That you can just sub-in?" he shouts, taking a step closer. "Do you have ANY idea how dangerous it is?"

Her voice becomes fiercer. "Sara is DEAD Ollie," she yells. "I think that gives me all the understanding I need."

"You are NOT doing this," he tells her angrily.

"Like HELL I'm not!" she rages back.

"Ok, maybe we should take a breath here," says a new voice, its calmness a stark contrast to her and Oliver's angry tones. Laurel looks past Oliver for the first time and only then notices they have an audience. There are three of them, two men and a woman. The man who spoke is coming towards them, hands open in a gesture of surrender. Laurel recognizes him in the recesses of her memory as Oliver's...something. Driver, maybe.

"I'm not changing my mind," Oliver bites out to both of them.

"I'm not asking your permission," she snaps back.

His eyes are steely and she can tell he's about to shout again when she sees a small hand land on his elbow and hears a soft "Oliver." He whips his head around to face the woman and Laurel's attention turns to her as well. She doesn't say anything else, she just looks at him, and Laurel watches as his face softens somewhat and his rigid posture relaxes. The interaction surprises her but she's grateful for the decline in tension all the same. What surprises her most, however, is the woman herself. She had no trouble recognizing the blond ponytail, glasses and brightly coloured lips of Oliver's secretary, but she's surprised to see her here, with Oliver's vigilante persona.

"Take a minute, okay?" the blond says to him softly, and Laurel sees him close his eyes and exhale before giving an almost imperceptible nod of his head and stalking away.

"Laurel?" she hears, and her head snaps back to the man that first approached them. He leans against the metal table, arms crossed in front of his chest. "Why don't you start from the beginning?" he says.

So she tells them. She tells them where she's been, how she's lived the last two years of her life with a singular purpose, to be the hero Sara was. She tells them that ever since Sara had died for her, died protecting her, that this was the only way life made sense again. And even though Oliver has walked away from her, she knows he can hear every word. So she tells him that, like it or not, she will be the Canary. She tells him that she didn't come back to Starling to join his team, but to protect the city that she came from, that Sara fought for.

He's quiet as she speaks her piece and, for a moment, she thinks she may have gotten through to him. But as he walks towards her, the hard line of his jaw and the fierceness on his face tell her otherwise.

"No," is all he says in a voice so low and certain that it makes her blood boil with rage. She wants to hit him, both to show him what she's made of and to vent some of her frustration, but he's already walking past her. So she stands there, seething, as she notices the other three exchange looks. It's the blond that walks over to her and gives her a sympathetic look. "We'll talk to him," she says and Laurel, understanding the olive branch, nods in return. "Digg will show you out," she says, looking between Laurel and Oliver's driver, before she walks away.

It's not until she's out on the rooftops, racing over the city, giving her muscles the excursion they now crave, that she's centered again. The confrontation with Oliver had thrown her. She meant what she said, she is the Canary now, whether Oliver Queen likes it or not. Still, part of her, she has to admit, is disappointed. She hadn't been expecting his outright rejection. But it didn't matter. Standing on a ledge, high above the streets, she knew. This was her life now, there was no going back.