Hey everybody! Apologies for the delayed update, my brain dropped it creativity somewhere, probably down a drain hole. The point is, I didn't do much writing for awhile. But now I have finished this chapter and will start the next one tomorrow or Thursday, so the next update might be late, but remind me to write. Just 'cause having PM's make me feel special. ;D
I encourage you to give suggestions, critiques, ideas, etc. I love them all! And you all. :)
Thank you for the lovely reviews I've been getting.
So without further ado, I give you the third chapter you've been waiting for... (or as I like to call it, the introduction of an OC)
"Why does it hurt?" came the groan from the pile of blankets. The covers were wrapped around Sara Lance's small figure like a cocoon, making her seem like groundhog, buried in her warm home. Laurel stood at the window, holding the curtains open, letting the light in.
"Because it's light, and it's morning," Laurel said, turning to look at her younger sister, who was blearily peering out of the top of her blankets. A string of unsavory words rippled to the surface of her covers and she wiggled back down to hide her face again. Laurel sighed.
Her sister had never been one for getting out of bed early on Saturday's, when she was younger she'd sleep in and even now that she was an assassin she still acted like a moody teenager when it came to getting up. Surveying the bed and mountain of covers, Laurel gave a fond smile as memories of her sister being a grouchy teen ran through her brain.
Grabbing the corner of the top blanket, the lawyer gave a yank and they slid off, revealing just a sheet with Sara's pajama clad frame nestled underneath. Laurel shook her head and tickled the bottom of her sister's foot, making the woman pull her feet up with a yelp. "I don't want to get up!" Sara whined, "I want to sleep, you rotten sister!"
Laurel laughed and tugged on the sheet, but it was grasped in the firm fist of Sara and a complaining grunt followed an aimless kick. "I'm getting up, I'm getting up...but I won't like it," complained the blonde as she slowly pulled herself upright, running a hand through her mane of blonde wisps that were positioned in a halo around her head, making her look crazed.
Feeling awfully triumphant, Laurel turned and marched from the room, calling over her shoulder sweetly. "Don't worry, I'm happy enough for the both of us!" She made her way into her father's kitchen and began pulling out yogurts, assuming that her father had few good breakfast foods. She shuffled through the fridge some more and ended up getting three yogurts, a glass of orange juice, a full carton of milk and half a box of rice crisp cereal. She sighed.
"Dad's selection of breakfast mostly consists of coffee," said the half asleep voice of Sara as she trudged over to the table and dropped herself into a chair. She was dressed in shorts and a t-shirt, reminding Laurel of when she was still in school and wouldn't get dressed till five minutes before she had to go.
Placing a yogurt and the orange juice in front of her, Laurel took the seat opposite, having a yogurt for herself and a small glass of milk. "That doesn't surprise me, he usually gets breakfast on his way to work, he always has," she chuckled. It was surprisingly nice, being able to sit down with her sister and reminisce.
"So what brings you here so early?" Sara asked, looking over at the clock. It read 6:12, meaning that Laurel had come here before heading to work, which must have meant that she had something important to share.
Laurel finished peeling the lid off of her yogurt and throwing it aside before answering. "Felicity wants us to have a girls night out," she said absentmindedly, setting a spoon in the yogurt cup and sitting back.
Sara nodded a bit, taking a drink of juice. "And you had to come here before work to tell me that?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "What's really up, Laurel? Are you okay?"
Looking back at her sister, Laurel gave a shrug. "Nothing, I'm fine," she took a bite of yogurt, her facade of being okay was not working very well, something was eating at her and it wasn't the old milk, which she promptly dumped down the drain and rinsed her mouth.
"Come on," Sara said quietly, starting into her yogurt. "Something's up, what is it?" she watched her older sister carefully, feeling that warm pride in her as she realized just how much Laurel had accomplished in her life.
"It's just- it's..." Laurel stared at the tabletop as she lowered herself back down into it. "It's this whole thing with Oliver, where is he? What happened to him? Sometimes," she swallowed hard and glanced at her sister. She licked her lips and looked back down at the table. "Sometimes I think maybe he ran, maybe he was scared-"
"Laurel."
"-No, hear me out. Maybe he was so scared of what Slade Wilson will do to the ones he loves that he left, maybe he knew somehow that Slade would stop attacking the city if he was gone, what if," she really hoped she didn't sound crazy. "Oliver is in hiding for our protection. He was on the island with Slade, you say, so Ollie must know him really well. And Ollie's smart, he could have planned for this type of thing to happen," she finally stopped for breath.
Sara was watching her closely, seemingly concerned for her by the lowered eyebrows and wary look. "Laurel," she said softly, reaching out to place a hand on top of her sister's. "While I'm glad that you're trying to be optimistic, I've learned from experience that optimism just ends up disappointing. I don't want you to assume the worst, but I don't want you to get your hopes up, okay?"
A sigh and a nod showed Laurel's consent as she leaned back, defeated. Her crazy rant made her brain tired, she'd been overthinking. "You're right," she said, pulling her hand away and standing up. Her eyes shifted to the clock, which read 6:34 now. She had to be at work at 7:00 and it was at least a 18 minute drive.
Gathering her things, Laurel headed for the door, but stopped with her hand on the handle. "Sara," she said, looking over her shoulder to see her sister look up from her breakfast. A smile lingered on Laurel's lips. "Thanks."
"For what?"
"Listening, and not making me seem crazy," she pulled open the door and with one last look at Sara - who had a sad smile and gave a nod - she left her father's apartment, heading for work.
Keeping track of files was difficult work, leaving Laurel tired after work. She listened to the click of her heels down the sidewalk as she approached a corner, she looked around for a taxi of some sort, but the street was nearly empty. Typical. The result of Slade Wilson, there wasn't even a taxi to take her home, and her shoes were killing her.
She stopped once she reached the bench on the corner and she sat down, crossing her legs. She stared down at her suit pants, wishing the heat away. She could feel a dribble of sweat go down the back of her neck, she breathed heavily, feeling the humidity settle in.
With a screech, the StarBus pulled up in front of her. Someone had cleverly named it that because of the city name, but it reminded here of Starbucks, which she could kill for right now. She wasn't allowed to bring food items into work, but they had a coffee machine in the kitchenette. The coffee was terrible, it tasted like someone dragged a dirty sock through mud and then wrung it out to be drunk.
She got up from her bench and boarded the bus, still wishing she had some sort of drink, she felt parched and dried out. It wasn't a pleasant feeling but with the heat, she guessed it was one that she'd have to get used to very soon.
She grabbed onto the handle that was screwed into the ceiling and looked out the window, she sighed softly and longed for some cool wind on her.
Just then, as if God heard her prayer, a gust of cool air brushed her face. She looked in front of her and saw a man flapping some papers, it seemed like he was doing it for her, but in reality he was trying to shift everything he was holding to one hand so he could answer his phone. She gave a smirk, "Do you need some help?" she asked, leaning forwards so she could speak quietly.
A flashing grin appeared on his face and he looked at her. "I'm good, thanks," he said, finally finding a way to tuck his papers and folder under his arm, two pens in his teeth, the handle of his bag was around his neck, a water bottle in his right hand and his left hand fished the phone out of his pocket. He might as well have been an acrobatic juggler, being able to twist his arms around to move everything.
He was tall, not very tall, just taller than her. But everyone was taller than her, she guessed he was a little under 6 feet. His skin was chocolate brown and seemed to be bronze in places where the sun was brightest. His eyes were bright blue, so bright they were almost silver. He had short cropped black hair and a smirk that made her think he was hiding something.
She bit down on her lip as she realized she was staring, he began speaking quickly on the phone, something about a case and an interesting lead. She wasn't paying attention, not wanting to eavesdrop, until he said: "Detective Lance is with me on this one, so I don't believe you have a say. I'm looking into this, Warren, with or without your consent."
He hung up and did another juggle to put his phone back in his pocket.
Laurel pursed her lips, "Sorry I couldn't help but hear, did you say Lance?" she felt terribly rude, but curiously got the better of her.
Another smile appeared and he nodded. "Yes, I did."
She gave a tiny smile. "He's my dad," she sounded a bit too cheery, but hoped that it didn't bother him.
"Really?" he replied, "He's a good man," he talked like he was 60 years old, but he couldn't have been much older than her.
"Yes," she smiled, "Yes he is. I was just going to see him now," she added, not exactly sure why.
He allowed a grin to slither in and settle on his face. "So was I," somehow, those words gave her a warmth, it filled her and made her smile, much wider than she should have.
With a final note, the bus screeched to a halt and they lurched forwards a bit. The door slid open, showing them the front of the precinct, a rudimentary. They both stepped off, sharing a glance as he opened the door to the police station, allowing her some space to enter. She bowed her head in thanks as she walked in to the building, looking around and squinting slightly as she took in the lights. The near pristine world outside of the precinct had been turned to chaos when they entered.
People in uniforms bustled around, not looking anyone in the eye, seemingly afraid of engaging in a conversation. Laurel wasn't sure who they were afraid of more, Slade Wilson, or her father. Who was standing by his desk, hands on his hips like a politician and barking out orders to everyone. He had an air about him that wasn't there a few months ago, an aura that says "I'm in control, don't mess with me".
She shook her head and marched up to her father. "Dad," she purred, making him turn his frustration on her. Naturally it softened at the sight of her, but it was still there, doing a war dance in the back of his eyes.
"Hey sweetie," he said, the stress showing through his voice, awakening a pity inside her. He moved to his desk and leaned back against it, a sigh bursting out of his mouth like it'd been waiting there all day.
She gave him a bit of a smile, knowing that he was drama queen. "We on for lunch?"
He gave a subtle nod, turning to the papers on his desk and starting to shuffle through them. He immediately started to get distracted. She reached out a hand and grasped his wrist, "Dad, let's go eat."
Looping her arm through his, they spun around and she saw the man from the bus standing there speaking to Sergeant Lungren. "Who is he?" she asked her father.
"That's Remus Ladin, he's a detective sent over from Gotham, to help with the Quinn case," he gave a bit of a nonchalant shrug. His eyes studied her for a minute, taking in every out of place hair and makeup smear. He loved every inch, she was beautiful and reminded him of Dinah, his wife.
A slight nod lifted her chin, the light hit her face, enough for him to see that she had sloppily applied her eyeliner. She must have had a rough night, she often did these days. He wasn't sure what it was, but she seemed to have a resentment towards Oliver that went deeper than his disappearance. He still couldn't figure it out, and he called himself a detective.
She gave his arm a bit of a squeeze and they headed out. She cast one last glance over at her shoulder at Detective Ladin. He caught her gaze and gave a smooth grin, before swiftly spinning on his heel to answer the young officer behind him.