Warnings: Suicide attempt. Depression. Violence in further chapters. May be triggering.

Ships: Laurel Lance/Oliver Queen, Laurel Lance/Slade Wilson, Thea Queen/Roy Harper (more as it continues)

A/N (and reasoning/origins for story): This is probably going to be another long and slow one. XPosted on AAO.

It took a 3 year pause for me to star watching Arrow again (and of course there's only 2 seasons on Netflix in my area), but even if I could procrastinate watching more of the show - second season really annoyed and bugged me.

I was not a fan of Laurel the first time I watched show, and I still (the second time around) found her somewhat flaky and annoying in Season 1, but I was also more critical of other characters, and the way they let her spiral down in what was a logical reaction to numerous traumatic events..

The whole victim blaming thing of - Quentin's "There are people with actual problems in the therapy group" and Oliver's "You think you're the only one who has problems" were something that just stuck with me as an awful thing to say to someone you claim to love who is suffering. So I had to address the issue. And so the idea and the story came about.

IKYWT

Drowning

"And you are still blaming everybody, but yourself..."

Oliver's words reverberated in her skull. And every time she heard them, she got angrier. She grasped her bag tighter, the strap digging into her shoulder, and walked faster. She didn't even look to the sides as she crossed the street. God, she was so angry. Oliver's words were designed to hurt. And they did. They were designed to make her feel guilty... And she did. Didn't anyone get it?

She was guilty, because she couldn't just roll over and forgive. She was guilty, because bad things kept happening to her, and she was losing it. She was spiraling. And instead of helping – her family and friends judged her for it. So, yes, she felt guilty for not being perfect and light, and full of forgiveness. After everything, she was just full of pain. But more than that she felt anger.

Six years ago Oliver had cheated on her with her sister. They had died. Her parents divorced. Her father became a drunk. And through it all she couldn't mourn, because she was so angry at their betrayal, and she was drowning in guilt, because of that anger. Her mother left – seemingly forgetting that she still had a living daughter who needed her. And she couldn't fall apart through it all, because her father already was disintegrating at the seams. She had to help him. She had to save him. It was the only thing she could fix in her broken life.

And then she had found purpose in law, in justice and order. She studied hard. She worked hard. She became one of the youngest and best lawyers in Starling city. She rose from all her heartbreak like a phoenix. Except in truth she just buried her pain. As deep as she could, hoping it would never come out again. Her life became structured and predictable. Her battles – in court, ones that she could win. She had nothing to fight with against her own demons, so she pushed them aside – didn't dare sort through them.

And now... Oliver was back. Sarah was alive. They were even back together. So great for them. It choked Laurel how neither of them had ever thought to apologize for what they did to her. Sarah was her sister. And she betrayed her without giving it a second thought, and somehow – Laurel was the bad guy. Why should five years away erase everything? Why should Sarah be forgiven with no questions asked just because she returned? Why Sarah was so venerated, so incapable of being wrong that even when she was… It just didn't seem to count.

If it truly made them happy – Oliver and Sarah – to be together, Laurel knew that she could find it in herself to be happy for them, but she did need them to ask for forgiveness. Five years had gone by and she was stuck, she still hurt. Like she tried to understand them – she needed them to understand her. To respect her. To take into account that Laurel Lance did have feelings, and that she was hurt by what they did. Did she really mean so little to them that breaking her heart and tossing her aside was just another order of the day? That it didn't even occur to them that it would burn her inside out like an exploding sun?

Laurel stomped down on all the feelings that rose in her throat – that she was unloved, uncared for, insignificant, and unimportant. But all the supporting facts emerged nonetheless.

The only reason her mother had even contacted her in the first place was because of Sarah. Her father was a hypocrite. Oliver who claimed to be her friend... Was never really there for her. Oh, he paid for the drinks and the taxi, but most of the time - he just wasn't there. Laurel rather well remembered how he had handed her off to Thea when she had been drinking to her disbarment. Thea… She had gone out of her way to help Thea, and, no, she hadn't done it to get something in return, but funny how when she needed help all she got was a taxi ride home. And isn't showing up – the most important thing a friend can do? She had been at hospitals and Queen Mansion every time something happened. But perhaps she was just like another vase or wall decoration. Taken for granted that she'll be there – something that everyone was used to, but nobody really needed.

She swallowed tears and gritted her teeth against harsh breaths. She didn't want to have these thoughts. She wanted to push them aside like she had dealt with every disappointment, setback and hurt since Queen's Gambit was lost to the sea. But her mind was unhelpful – reminder after reminder emerged that supported the idea that… She just wasn't worth it. Worth anything. That she was broken.

Within two years, she had been kidnapped: multiple times; shot at, poisoned, been trapped in a collapsing building, lost probably the only true friend she had had and now: lost her job, her license, her family. The only thing she had left was her sanity. She stopped and rummaged in the bag for pills. She'd rather do without the sanity either. It hurt too much.

She was at the end of her rope. So she wasn't as strong as everyone wanted her to be. She hurt. She hurt so badly that she could hardly breathe, and the drink and the pills numbed it. She could exist if she could concentrate on one thing at a time and the pills helped. She was drowning. And what did her father tell her? What did Oliver tell her? That she was not the only one who had it bad. That she should pick herself up. Get over it.

Laurel wanted to. She'd cut out her own heart if it would stop the pain. Except she was human. She just didn't function that way. Somehow knowing that other people had it worse didn't make her feel better. She was falling apart and doing her utmost to seem fine. She hardly slept, because of nightmares. She got scared of loud noises, of passing cars – she had anxiety attacks. She didn't eat. All her clothes hung off of her as if she was a toothpick. But worst of all... If she didn't take the pills – then she felt as if a black monster would devour her. Her grief, guilt and pain. It filled her being until she could see only black.

Laurel wanted to hate them. The mother who didn't care. The father who blamed her for her depression and addiction as if she had chosen to fall apart. The sister who broke her heart. The friend who was never much of a friend at all. She couldn't.

She loved her mother even though Sarah would always be the favorite daughter. She loved her father even though he had let her down when she needed him most. She had pulled him out of bars for years and he wrote her off for one DUI. She loved her sister no matter the pain it gave her to love someone who didn't care about her in return. She loved Oliver. Even though he lied and cheated, and hurt her. Even though he disappeared when she needed him when Tommy died, and even though he tore into her for not caring enough about his problems when her daily challenge was to breathe normally. She loved Oliver even though his hypocrisy tore her apart. The king of bad behavior – man whose petty crimes were paid off, who showed up drunk at the opening of a science institute in his own father's honor; the man who was consistently missing when he was needed the most and evaded responsibility as if it was the plague. She loved them all.

But she just couldn't deal with the pain of it anymore. Somehow she had ended up at a bridge. The sky was pitch black. The darkest part of the night. She must have been walking for hours. She didn't feel the pain of the high heels she was wearing. She didn't feel the cold. She did feel tears on her cheeks. She was so tired of crying. She was tired of trembling hands, of breath catching in her chest – wrapping around her throat and choking her. She was tired of being scared, of being a victim. And she didn't want to deal with any of it anymore. Laurel just wasn't as strong as people pretended she was. She couldn't win against her family, friends and her own demons. It was just too many battles to fight, and she had no more strength left.

She climbed over the railing and took a deep breath. The night was dark. The waters beneath were black. The lighting on the bridge was eerie. Her parents would be okay. Oliver would be okay. They had Sarah now. And Sarah had never much cared for Laurel. Or she would never have done what she did. But it was okay now. It was all water under the bridge… Laurel laughed involuntary at the thought.

The straps of her handbag where heavy on her wrist. The rings on her fingers cut into them, because she was gripping the railing so hard it turned her knuckles white. Her coat was like a cape in the soft wind. She was leaning forward, balancing precariously with her high heels on the small ledge. She took a deep breath. Looked at the empty darkness in the sky and smiled.

It felt like forever since she had smiled. It was liberating. It reminded her that the roar inside her chest cavity can be quietened. It promised her peace. Her mind was clear. Her heart beat steadily and calmly. She felt empty and like nothing in the world could hurt her anymore – that's what the pills did for her. And when all the thoughts quietened in her mind, she let go.

Except she didn't fall. She hardly moved. Someone held her by her wrists and a deep voice spoke behind her, "Now, you don't want to be doing that, love."

"Let me go," she asked, calmly, quietly. She could still feel it. That moment of calm that had finally, finally filled her being with peace that she hadn't felt in forever. Didn't she deserve some respite? Even the worst of criminals are granted their mercies. Where was Laurel's? All she needed was to be let go.

But the stranger didn't abide her wishes. Strong and fast, he moved his hands from her wrists and grasped her by her waist, and pulled her back. She was back on the sidewalk faster than she could comprehend.

"What kind of a monster would it make me if I let a pretty girl jump to her death?" he asked, his voice gruff and accent foreign, his one good eye sparkling with something like humor.

"I don't need a hero," she said tiredly. Her body and mind still numb – both from what she had just attempted and the drugs still in her system.

"I'm not a hero, love," the man laughed.

"I don't need a savior either," Laurel elaborated. She just wanted to collapse. Her body felt insubstantial – she felt like if she would fall her bones would rattle, with a low, hollow sound. Pain like cancer had eaten through her body and left just a carcass.

"But you do need a ride home, I'd guess," the man proposed.

"I need to be left alone," Laurel was not going back to her apartment. She couldn't. Whether anybody was there or not anymore… If there was – she was not ready for another confrontation. She had no more things to say to any of them. And if there was nobody – then she didn't want to face the choice of either soldiering through to another day or… doing this in a place where her body would be found. No. She wanted the river to carry her to the ocean. For her body to be lost forever. She wanted to drown like she had been drowning for the past six years.

"Look, love," the man said. "I'm not leaving you, and you don't seem the type to budge either. So how about we resolve this in a civilized manner?"

Laurel cocked an eyebrow.

"Coffee. We'll talk. Let's see who's more stubborn about getting what they want," he offered. A faint smirk twisted his lips.

"I could just wait for you to leave," Laurel replied, air like a dead thing in her lungs.

"Yeah, but that would take a long time. And sooner or later people will start to wonder. Cops might come. I don't think you're looking for that kind of audience."

She took a shallow breath, her lips pressed together so tightly that lipstick hardly hid how pale they were. "Fine. One coffee."

He offered her his elbow, "Slade Wilson."

She exhaled. What did it matter anyhow? "Laurel Lance."