Disclaimer: The Usual, not mine
As anyone who has watched West Wing may know, I took some inspiration (and a whole line) from the "I'm an alcoholic scene" with Leo McGarry for some of the things Sara says in this first section.
I'd like to extend my heartfelt gratitude to the Lauriver Discord Server - always a great source of help when I'm stuck, support when I'm unsure if a section or phrasing is good, other great fiction to read, and ideas when I'm drawing a blank on something.
I'd like to say this series would probably still exist without you guys, but it would be significantly worse, so - and I never say this enough - thank you.
The Siege of Starling City
By Kylia
Chapter 7: The Hard Way
Just as police kill in the line of duty, so too do Superheroes. And... just as with police, sometimes a Superhero killing is an act less of an accident, of fighting to protect oneself and others with the only options available. Sometimes it's more ambiguous.
Sometimes it's just murder, though.
It's been said, and remains true, though less than it was a century ago, that police tend to close ranks and protect their own when it comes to so-called 'officer involved deaths'. But the same does not tend to hold true for Superheroes protecting their own in the same way. Supers tend to feel less institutional loyalty, even with superheroes that are deputized by or authorized by the same situation.
It is thus, almost paradoxically, easier to bring a Superhero who used excessive force, leading to a death, to justice, than it is a police officer.
-Excerpt from: "Supers on Trial: When Heroes Commit Murder." by Cassandra Cassowitz, Victor Achebe and Harold Nakamura. Published by HarperCollins, 2149.
The Foundry, Starling City
November 25th, 2013
"I'll kill him, and then I'll drag him to Nanda Parbat and the Lazarus Pit so I can kill him again," Laurel growled, pacing like a hungry tiger in a cage. It wasn't just her sister's stance, or tone that was setting Sara off, either.
It was her expression.
Sara had seen her sister angry before. A lot, as a teenager, when she'd messed with Laurel or her stuff, and gotten caught. Or when she'd come home from college, ranting about pigheaded or narrowminded professors and students.
The angriest she'd ever seen Laurel is when she'd nearly killed Vanch in March, after her kidnapping.
But this...
This was worse.
Laurel's face was one of pure, distilled rage.
And it was terrifying to see.
"Laurel, you can't-" Sara started, but Laurel cut her off.
"He came after you once, and now he's doing it again, and he thinks he can use me to get to you, both times! He hasn't learned his lesson! Nobody hurts my family!"
It's not that -
Hell, I wanted to kill him at first, when he kidnapped Laurel. What had changed things was seeing Laurel holding him, knife to his neck. Seeing how close her sister was to killing him. And what she learned later, about how Laurel had gotten so close to losing herself entirely, being a killer for the League...
That made that moment hit even harder.
Made this hit even harder.
"He's not worth becoming a killer again, over, Laurel!" Sara insisted, raising her voice over Laurel trying to interrupt her again.
"I'm already a killer, Sara!" Laurel spun, all but pinning her to the ground with her glare. "You don't stop being a killer just because you stop killing! So if I kill Vanch, that doesn't change anything! It's not as if not killing him has gotten me, or Starling City anywhere!" Laurel went on. "I didn't kill The Count and look where that's gotten the city!"
Sara didn't think Laurel really meant a word of it. She hoped she didn't. She's just... she's just angry. Protective. Not that Sara could blame her, but...
The fact that Laurel didn't kill, that Oliver had stopped killing... it made working with them much more acceptable, given how many laws and rules and principles she'd thought she'd once had she was breaking as it was.
"You don't stop being an alcoholic just because you stop drinking," Sara said softly, echoing something her dad had told her, when he'd pulled himself out of the bottle after crawling back in, when Laurel 'died' on the Gambit.
"What?" The seeming non-sequitur of it all somehow threw Laurel off just enough to have her stop ranting. But she was still...
I wish Ollie were here to help. But Oliver still had to stay with his mom, his sister. The case may have turned against the prosecution, but Oliver couldn't just duck out of the trial or leave his mom and sister alone right now.
"It's something Dad said to me once." Sara explained. "You said that even if you're stopped killing, you're still a killer." Sara grimaced, opening her hands halfway, spreading her arms a bit, palms upward. "I don't know if I agree with that logic, but... that's what you're saying. So fine. You're a killer. But do you really think that going back to killing isn't going to make the next kill after that easier? And the next kill after that?"
Sara pulled a hand down her face, trying to keep her voice level.
"Dad wants a drink. He always wants a drink. But the problem is, he doesn't just have a drink. He doesn't just want a drink. He wants ten. One drink probably wouldn't hurt dad, that much, if he could have just one. But he can't. Because he's an alcoholic."
"I'm not addicted to killing!" Laurel protested.
"No, you're not." Sara agreed. "But-" Sara sighed. "You're not wrong. Not killing the Count is why the whole city is held hostage to Vertigo. And not killing Vanch... is why he can call and make vague, nonspecific threats." She bit her lip. "I... I won't deny that neither man really deserves to stay among the living, but... you haven't killed in over a year. Can you just... kill one person, or even two people, and stop there? You wanted the Black Canary to be a symbol of hope, a bright light for the Glades." Laurel started to open her mouth again, and Sara brandished a hand, nearly yelling the next words: "Let me finish!"
Somewhat to Sara's surprise, Laurel shut her mouth.
"Fine, you kill them. Because if they just get tossed in prison, then they'll probably come back, right? What about those thugs you break the limbs of every night, hurt them enough to leave them unable to commit crimes for a few months. A lot of them - they're just gonna go back to it when their arms heal. Some will get the message, and the rapists may not be able to physical do it after how you break their dicks in half, but most? It's what they do. And if they end up in prison, sure, maybe they're out of play for a few years, but I mean... have you seen the recidivism rates in this country?"
Sara laughed, hollowly. "I mean, yes, there's a lot of reasons why people repeat offend after prison, and god knows cops do our part to make that worse, as do cruel parole officers, biased assholes when it comes to hiring, an overly broad sex-offender registry and a million and one other problems." She waved a hand, "But where it comes back to you - there's good odds the mugger you're going to stop tomorrow, or the extortion thug you're doing to beat down next week will do it again. And sooner or later, they'll kill someone, right?"
"I'm not going to kill a random mugger," Laurel protested again, but without raising her voice.
"No, probably not. But -" Sara pinched the bridge of her nose. "I'm not saying you're addicted to killing but - what you said. You sounded exactly like dad." Sara took another slow breath. "You said that killing for the League nearly destroyed you. Fine, maybe you can be sure the people you kill now really deserve it. But..." Sara trailed off. "Vanch isn't worth it, Laurel. He's not worth - not on my account."
Laurel stared at her, and Sara met her gaze. They kept it up for almost a minute until her sister sagged, almost visibly deflating, leaning back against one of the pillars, a long breath escaping her lips.
"I can't let him hurt you."
"I'm touched you're willing to kill for me, I really am. Especially after all the crap I put you through when we were kids," Sara tried to add a joke at the end, but when Laurel didn't smile, she quickly moved on. Okay, that was dumb of me. "...I was ready to kill him too, you know." Sara admitted, softly. She'd implied as much to Oliver, or even said it, she couldn't remember, before they went to rescue her.
But she'd never admitted it to Laurel.
"I know... Oliver told me what you said," Laurel told her, and Sara bit her lower lip, looking away. It wasn't like she'd expected him to keep it secret - the two were joined not so much at the hip but at the brain, or so it felt like sometimes. At the very least, they really do embody that whole 'one soul, two bodies' thing.
"What stopped you?" Laurel asked, not hostile, just... trying to understand.
"It wasn't morality, or my principles as a cop," Sara admitted, quietly. "Seeing - seeing you, seeing how close you got to killing him. Right there, in cold blood..." She inhaled. "You know I became a cop to be close to you, more than to be close to dad, right?"
"...I..." Laurel flushed, but she nodded, slowly. "I suspected."
"Seeing you like that... it made me wonder how you'd have looked at me if I had killed him, if you hadn't been the one holding the knife..." Sara didn't want to say it, say that she'd been terrified of Laurel, of the woman that seemed to be wearing her sister's face in that moment.
And how I never want to scare Laurel like that.
"It's not like I would hate you for it," Laurel told her. "Even if... even if... everything," she gestured vaguely, "hadn't happened to make me who I am today... I couldn't hate you for doing that."
"And it's not like I would hate you for killing Vanch now," Sara confirmed. "But..." Sara exhaled, then, "Not to make this all about myself, but basically, I'd hate myself for being someone that drove you to kill again. You know as well as I do... killing someone... it changes you." Sara had killed as a cop, and as much as she'd tried to pretend otherwise, the first time she'd taken a life - the triad assassin that had attacked her and Laurel for investigating Somers...
She hadn't had to kill anyone since, but...
The thought of doing it...
It sat differently. Not just when she was angry. She'd taken a life.
And of course, like an idiot I didn't talk about it enough with a shrink until I've now reached the point where I can'ttalk about anything to a shrink without...
Doctor patient confidentiality only covered so much. And it's not like some therapists wouldn't break it anyway. The truth of the Arrow and Black Canary's identities... an intoxicating reason to break that. Or a desperate one.
"You haven't killed in a year, and if you started again now... do you think it wouldn't make you more like you used to be? Just a little?"
Laurel looked away, clearly not wanting to talk, not wanting to admit it verbally.
"Unless you've been sloppy, Vanch doesn't have anything. He can't have anything more than circumstantial evidence. There's whole factions on the internet that still insist you're the Black Canary and that Oliver is the Arrow. They have flame wars about it." Sara tried to stay away from those discussions when she saw them on social media, but Felicity apparently kept close track of them and had shown her a few snippets, usually from people eviscerating the idea of Oliver and Laurel being the two.
"Of course, there's the people who think Tommy is the Arrow, the ones who think the Black Canary is an alien who doesn't need a sonic device to scream, the ones that think you're both robots from the future... Felicity keeps a whole database of the people the internet thinks are you two. Last she told me, the leading choices were..." Sara furrowed her brow. "Chris Hemsworth and Brie Larson."
Laurel snorted. "Hemsworth has nothing on Oliver." Laurel's expression went from amused to pensive for a long moment.
"So... what, just let Vanch spin his wheels?"
"Until he tries a new plan. I don't know if he was planning to kidnap me, or kill me, or offer me a timeshare in Boca Raton. But he's bluffing, or at least trying to make a pair sound like a full house." Sara shrugged. If he tries to come after you in public, I mean, there's security, there's cops... yeah, he wants you dead, but so does every criminal on the West Coast."
"But every criminal on the West Coast doesn't know who I am." Laurel pointed out. "You don't think Vanch would try something?"
"I don't know what he's up to, but given how you guys don't even have a small security team on your penthouse, just the building's security, and you don't even have one personal security guard... I figure he's had his chance."
It was a guess, but Vanch was a man with poor impulse control when it came to something he really wanted. He was a petulant manchild who probably hadn't ever been refused dessert as a child.
If he wanted to kill
"More practically, remember what you told me about his plans? Yeah, he wanted to kill me for revenge, but he also wanted to make a name for himself in the underworld, absorb the Bertinelli organization and the Triad." Sara reminded her.
"So he can't exactly kill Laurel Lance or Oliver Queen. He needs the cred of killing the Arrow, the Black Canary as they are, not a sniper bullet killing the Arrow during his day job from a distance." Laurel nodded. "I see your point."
"Maybe I'm wrong - you two could stand to take your security more seriously, publicly." Sara suggested, since, really, it was downright reckless of them. Oliver at least had Dig around, and yeah, he was probably the bigger target as the CEO of the famous family than Laurel the charity director - serial killers their dad put away notwithstanding - but still.
Still. Laurel really should have a goddamn bodyguard. If she was at an event, and there were cameras...
Laurel made a face, grimacing at the thought. "No thank you. We'd have to ditch them all the time, like Ollie did for Dig at first."
"We vet for one we can trust enough to-"
"No," Laurel repeated, and Sara rolled her eyes.
"Fine," she gave up that line of attack for now. Maybe she could try Ollie, get him to convince Laurel to take her safety more seriously.
Take advantage of that one soul thing. She smiled a little at the thought.
"I'll have to run an independent investigation into Vanch, figure out where he's hiding, what he's planning." Sara couldn't bring the cops in directly. Sure, he only had circumstantial at best, but the less the police even considered the idea, the better. It wouldn't kill them if he tried to go public with his evidence, but it would be better to not let him.
Laurel opened her mouth, closed it, then tried again, "I hate that there's no way I can talk you out of that."
Sara laughed, "Relax. If I do get in over my head, I can just call my big sister in to break his arms and legs." She stuck out her tongue at Laurel, who at least managed a smile over it.
Starling City Courthouse, Starling City
November 26th, 2013
Despite the efforts of the SCPD, Felicity, Oliver and herself, the Count location, and the way he'd managed to dose so much of the city, was still eluding everyone. And so here she was, ready to hear the Jury's verdict. They'd taken less than six hours to agree on a verdict.
That could be very good, or very bad.
They were seated right behind Moira's table, Laurel at the end of the row, Oliver next to her, Thea next to him. Oliver had a hand on Thea's shoulder, trying to reassure her... he was doing a good job of putting on a show, for her, for the camera, but Laurel could see it. The way he held his shoulders tighter, the slightest clench to his jaw...
Laurel reached for his free hand, holding it tight. Oliver turned to her, meeting her eyes a moment, before he returned his gaze to the jury, gathering back in their seats.
Victor Quinn - and there's a hack of a lawyer if I ever saw one, way to fail to disprove the old saw about government work being for people who can't get jobs anywhere else - was an idiot. He lost the jury, and hard, yesterday.
Just like the Police had lost Vanch, and Sara too. There was no trail on him. His girlfriend hadn't escaped custody with him, and none of his old haunts, none of his old goons... he'd gone completely to ground. It was hard to say he actually had any goons at all. No crimes that had his hallmark, from what Sara had said. No bodies that seemed like his work.
"Has the jury reached a unanimous verdict?" The judge asked, accepting a piece of paper from the Bailiff.
"It has, your honor," the forwoman of the jury nodded.
"Then read it out," the judge added, folding the paper back up, and setting it down with what seemed like disdain.
The Judge hadn't once been on Moira's side, and his impartiality had very much been in question, as far as Laurel was concerned. So that could mean...
"On the charge of Conspiracy in the first degree, we the members of the jury find the Defendant, Moira Queen... not guilty." The forwoman said, eliciting gasps from the crowd, murmurs - the Judge banged his gavel and demanded order.
There's no way they'd find her innocent of that if they didn't also... right? Laurel tightened her grip on Ollie's hand.
"On the charge of 318 counts of Murder in the first degree, we the members of the jury find the defendant, Moira Queen..."
Time seemed to stretch and slow, and as if to ruin the moment, Laurel heard the sound of a text on her phone, vibrating. Laurel ignored it. Was the forwoman literally holding things up? She couldn't -
"Not guilty."
The response was again, gasps, of horror, or surprise, Moira let out a strangled sound that could have been a laugh, shock and happiness warring on her face, her every move. She hugged Jean, then around the banister, towards her children. Laurel let go of Oliver's hand, and watched Moira hug her children tight, murmuring something in their ears as she held them both, tears in her eyes. The judge was demanding order, as several people seemed ready to lunge themselves at Moira, held back by the police, the bailiffs, or... by other attendees.
Laurel looked around - not everyone was angry. Some... some looked... at least accepting of the ruling, even satisfied. Like they thought justice had been done.
Laurel's phone buzzed again, and biting her lip to stop from making any sound of annoyance, she pulled it out of her pocket. Felicity.
'I know you're busy with the trial but when it's done Dig and I figured out how he got sick.
A lead. Laurel almost could have kissed her phone. More good news.
'Time sensitive?' she quickly tapped out, back. This was not the time for her or Oliver to go haring off after the Count, but if he was about to do something else, if they needed to deal with it now...
'Don't know.'
Laurel looked at Moira, still clutching to her children, at Oliver returning the hug, perhaps not as tightly, but...
'Tonight. Call if emergency.' Laurel texted back, slipping the phone back in her pocket.
She saw Moira finally pull back from the embrace, and walked by them.
"Laurel," Moira said, softly. "Thank you." She wasn't crying anymore, but there was still more emotion on her face than Laurel was used to seeing on her. Faster than Laurel imagined, Moira had pulled her in for a hug - not as close, or tight as the one for her children, of course, but a genuine embrace nonetheless. Laurel stiffened at the sudden movement, hands on her back, almost reacting...
Badly.
But then she returned the hug, pulling back when she did a moment or two later.
"Thank you for always being there for my son, and my daughter." Moira said, meeting her eyes.
"I couldn't do anything less than that," Laurel told her, softly. "Congratulations." Moira nodded, and Jean came back from speaking to one of the Balifs.
"We have permission to go out the back, the driver is bringing the car around now," The lawyer explained.
"The press will be all over the front," Oliver agreed, quietly. "I'll go," he said quickly. "You and Thea can go out the back, I'll draw their attention." Oliver looked to Laurel, the silent 'keep them safe' not needing to be said.
"Oliver-" Moira started, but Oliver shook his head.
"You know the paparazzi and the press vultures will know you're going out the back if you don't show up out the front. If I go out, make it seem like you're still in the courtroom, the courthouse, that'll buy time."
"He's right," Laurel agreed. But it wasn't the press that worried Oliver, or her.
Only some people had accepted the verdict.
All it took was one desperate, angry person with a gun. And the city was full of those.
Moira nodded, and as Jean and Oliver headed out to fend off the press vultures, Laurel went first, leading Thea and Moira out the back.
Starling City Municipal Works Parking Garage
November 26th, 2013
If Felicity and Diggle's theory was right - and given the data, it fit - then the Count had somehow managed to suborn the flu vaccine program, or at least one of the mobile trucks. As Oliver pushed open the now unlocked door, he made a mental note to figure out how.
A bribe, probably. Corruption in Starling City wasn't actually endemic, but there were still enough public servants up and down the hierarchy willing to take money to look the other way, give favors, access...
But still. Did they know they were giving the Count access for his drug? Did the Count double-cross them?
There were several parked vaccination vans, the city-wide mobile flu vaccine program a pretty significant effort, funded in part by a grant from the CDC. Starling was part of a testbed for a nationwide mobile vaccination program.
"Which van?" Oliver asked Felicity over the comms.
"According to the official plans, the route was served by van number four," Felicity answered. Then, "oh crap."
"What?" Laurel asked - the two split up, approaching the correct van from opposite ends. Oliver pulled an arrow from his quiver, ready to notch and fire the moment something went wrong. He wouldn't just leave this truck unguarded. But on the other hand, for the ruse to work...
"Van four is due to go back out on a new circuit tomorrow." Felicity explained. "...and it's going to go through the Glades."
"Got it," Oliver murmured. "Are you picking up anyone else on the cameras?"
"Nope, seems like the Count really did just leave his drug stash lying around where anyone could get at it."
"If he actually left the drugs in here," Laurel pointed out. "If he could get access to one truck, he could get access to them all. So..."
Oliver followed her logic, nodding. "We may have to check them all." If they could get a sample of his new Vertigo, they could try to get an antidote worked up, maybe even figure out where his lab was. Even a vial with a bit of residue..
Oliver put a hand on the sliding door of the van. "Ready." He murmured over the comms.
"Me too. Now." At the same time, they opened the van from two ends - Oliver from the side, Laurel from the driver door.
The inside of the van was empty of people, and looked for all the world like a normal mobile clinic van, nothing out of the ordinary. Carefully, Oliver stepped up inside the van. There were drawers and a closed cabinet up top...
"The van wasn't hotwired, so he definitely as a key," Laurel murmured, not over the comms, now that they were practically next to eachother. She crouched down, "No bombs under the front seats."
But if he was going to leave a trap for them - which was possible, since apparently this was all about killing them, thanks to whoever the Count's mysterious benefactor was...
The Count wouldn't want to kill himself while he's -
Oliver turned his head up and to the left, to the back, top corner of the van.
A camera, small, probably wifi-connected, was right there. Oliver was already turning, back towards the exit as the Count's voice echoed through the van.
"I was wondering when you'd notice. Goodbye, Arrow. It' Blast off!" He didn't 'count down' so much as speed the numbers out, but by the time he actually said blast off, Laurel and Oliver were both diving out of the van, dropping into a roll as the van exploded, the flames flying upwards and somewhat to the sides, the shrapnel flying - Oliver felt smaller pieces pelt him, grunting a little as he managed to get underneath one of the other vans, the explosion not enough to set any of the other vehicles on fire -
There was a sharp pain in his leg as he rolled flat onto his back under the other van, and Oliver looked down, a long, sharp piece of metal in his leg at a diagonal. Oliver reached down, gloved hand checking it, very carefully - the fire alarms had already gone off, water raining down on the inside of the garage.
There was a sound in his ear, Oliver blinked, barely able to process it...
Shit. Oliver knew his hearing would recover, but now he couldn't hear the comms.
"Can't hear," Oliver said, knowing he was probably shouting, but he didn't need Felicity or Diggle shouting in his ear while he checked his leg -
It didn't seem very deep in, the diagonal angle keeping it from going too far, hitting anything vital... he couldn't pull it out here.
Carefully, he pulled himself out from under the truck, the water raining onto him, eyes scanning for -
Laurel.
She was walking, hand pressed to her side, blood seeping -
Oliver rushed towards her, ignoring his leg-
"I'm - flesh -" Laurel shouted, as he got close, her voice muted, but less so. The sound in his ears got loud, from the comms, but he couldn't make out distinct words. But given that there had just been an explosion - "-need - go," Laurel shouted, both of them now soaked, at least the blood dripping from Laurel's side would be washed away -
Oliver nodded, and they moved for the exit. The Count had laid a trap for them, but they weren't dead, and even these injuries weren't enough to stop them.
He was going to be stopped.
Laurel and Oliver's Apartment, Starling City
November 27th, 2022
Oliver was sleeping.
Was.
For a moment, as he woke, arms around Laurel's waist, her back against his chest, he wasn't sure why he was awake. Not a nightmare... he'd had less, the last few months, and -
Laurel stirred in his arms, turning around, her eyes as wide open as his, just as awake. She might have even have woken before him.
But then they both stiffened. The front door was opening.
Slowly, a quiet creak.
Oliver didn't keep a bow in the apartment, but neither of them were defenseless. He locked eyes with Laurel a moment, and they both nodded, almost simultaneously. She was thinking exactly as he was. Oliver pulled his arms away from her as he rolled quietly over onto his stomach, closer to the edge of the bed, Laurel doing the same, and Oliver pulled a knife from under the bed, Laurel doing the same.
A gun would have been even less conspicuous as a self-defense item to keep in the house, but guns made you sloppy.
Oliver let himself 'fall' to the floor, landing on all fours easily, quietly, a light thump on the wood, unlikely to be heard by your average would-be robber or attacker.
Possibilities ran through his head. Vanch? Maybe... he knew Laurel was the Black Canary, even if he couldn't have solid proof. He had to know who the Arrow was too then, or guess. Guess one, guess the other.
Admittedly a weak point for our anonymity.
But it could just be a thief, thinking he could rob one of the richest men in the city. Even with the hits following the Undertaking, Oliver had a lot of money... technically. (So much of it was now invested in Queen Consolidated). But the would-be burglar was going to be disappointed because there wasn't much worth stealing here. Even the TV system they barely used wasn't that fancy or valuable, and neither of them had copious amounts of valuables. Some of Laurel's dresses and earrings she wore to charity events maybe, but even that probably wouldn't be what someone stealing from a Queen expected.
Or it could be revenge. His mother had gotten off, and so many people were sure that she deserved the death penalty. The security at Queen Manor was much more than what they had here...
Oliver and Laurel stayed low, crouched, as they made their way to the bedroom door, hearing footsteps in the rest of the penthouse. Someone was making an effort to be quiet, not draw attention.
No.
Multiple someones. At least three.
Not good.
Oliver made a few quick gestures, suggesting they split up once outside the bedroom-
Someone stumbled, nearly tripping from the sound of it, loud enough to wake them if they had still been asleep, if they'd been anything but the heaviest of sleepers-
"No, no, no, you absolutely pathetic boor!" A familiar voice snarled, hissing low, but lough enough for them to hear.
The Count. How-
Why-
He knows.
"Sorry-" The quiet attempt at an apology was cut off by the sound of the speaker being punched in the gut, ot what sounded like it, the oof as the wind was knocked out of him telltale.
"Sorry doesn't cut it when they know we're here, you idiot!" The Count snapped, then he raised his voice. "I suppose there's no more playing games... Arrow and Black Canary."
Well, that settles that.
How? Vanch? Some clue?
Right now, it didn't matter. Right now, they had three criminals, probably armed with guns. Oliver and Laurel had a knife each, and no armor.
"You, down that hall," The Count ordered, and footsteps started from the living room, down the hall that ended in the bedroom. Oliver pulled back from the door, making a few gestures at Laurel, getting his plan across when she nodded, pulling back a pace as well.
Against an enemy with a gun and you didn't have one, a good plan usuall plan was to get in close and prevent them from firing too much. But right now... less than ideal.
Wait for this one...
"You know, when my new... associate Cyvus Vanch told me the real identities of you two, I almost didn't believe him," The Count remarked, loving the sound of his own voice, showboating. "But then I remembered that meeting with Oliver Queen I had. Just after midnight. And within less than 24 hours, the Black Canary was taking down my entire operation. Really does put a lot of things into perspective."
The one coming down the hall, walking slowly, kicked open the door. He'd look in, not seeing them.
"They're not in here!" He called out to the Count. "...empty bedroom." He'd be looking in, not seeing them, still a bit further from the doorframe...
"Well, go in and see where they might have gone, do i have to think of everything myself!?" The Count demanded, and his goon moved slowly into the room, gun in his hands, showing at least some degree of care with looking around but not low enough yet -
Oliver grabbed his arm, pulling the goon towards him, arm around his neck before he could do more than make a single shout of surprise. With a knife pointed at his stomach, he didn't struggle much, and Oliver dropped the man, letting the pressure on his windpipe release as he was unconscious within seconds.
"Harlton? Harlton?" When there was no reply, the count continued: "Well, I'm going to guess you found them then." Two sets of footsteps, coming towards the bedroom -
Then bullets, piercing through the walls. Oliver dove for the ground, rolling towards the underside of the bed, Laurel taking cover inside the closet as the Count decided to try to kill them without seeing them.
The stream of bullets ended quickly, and the sound of guns reloading.
"Odds are they're not dead yet, so let's take a closer look, shall we?" The Count ordered, and the other goon made an affirmative noise. "You first." The goon said nothing, but started walking. Oliver could hear a hesitation in his step, the pace just a little too slow-
But not enough. They reached the bedroom, and found only the unconscious Harelton.
"Well, where oh where could they be hiding?" The Count grinned. He frowned, and Oliver watched his feet turn, he seemed to be looking at Harlton. "Even here, you still won't kill." The Count tsked. "Well, I can't really have this sort of weakness in my organization, so..." There was a single gunshot, and blood pooling quickly on the floor.
The other goon stepped back, "You - oh, fuck this. You're not paying me enough for -" The man started to turn, run, but the Count shot him too.
"Oh dear, good help is so hard to find, isn't it?" The Count grumbled. "Well, well, which do I do? Under the bed, or in the closet. If I try to go for one, the other one of you will come out. Very clever." The Count chuckled. "Of course, one of you could be through that door into what I'm assuming is the bathroom."
"Do you ever stop loving the sound of your own voice?" Oliver snapped, rolling out from under the bed, pulling his attention away from the closet, a little. It sounded like the Count had a pistol, rather than something faster firing. Oliver didn't stand up entirely, but enough for the Count to see him there. The Count leveled the pistol at him, then chuckled.
"Ah, yes, distract me so your girlfriend can come at me from behind. I think not." the Count stepped back, flicking his gun back and forth between Oliver and the closet, quicker than Oliver would have thought he could. But with his free hand, he pulled a grenade out of his pocket.
"Now, the real question is which one of you dies quickly..." He gestured with the grenade. "And which one of you I get to take my time with?"
"You really think this ends well for you?" Laurel asked, stepping partially out of the closet, partially in cover, low, not presenting as much of a target, knife in hand. "There's no scenario that ends with you getting out of this with your life. Vanch sent you here to die."
"I did consider that, but given what he would like to do to your sister, Miss Lance, I'm fairly certain he's quite genuine in his desire to see you dead." The Count made a great show of considering something, even as he kept his gun trained on them both, as much as he could. Oliver was inching slightly towards the foot of the bed, to vault around it and tackle him -
But Laurel acted first, lunging at him, darting out of the closet, hitting first one arm, then the other with the pommel of the knife, hitting his wrist in just the right spot to make him drop the still not live grenade - he fired the gun, but Laurel was too close for him to aim, and she dropped him to the ground with a sweeping kick to the legs. The Count landed on his ass, but he fired again, Laurel barely avoiding it. Oliver moved closer as the Count pushed himself to his feet, back to the wall, gun aimed at both of them, or trying to -
"This would be so much easier if you would both just die already!" He snarled, firing again, trying to aim for Oliver, but Oliver managed to dodge, the Count's aim sloppy and distracted, the drug dealer desperate and frustrated at his repeated failures to kill them. Oliver tossed the knife at the Count's hand, but the Count managed to move his arm away just in time - the blade embedded itself into the wall.
Shit.
Laurel lunged, grabbing the count by the throat, blade and hilt of the knife pressed against his neck, her other hand pushing his hand up as a bullet hit the ceiling, and then she squeezed his wrist, forcing the gun to clatter to the ground.
"Ah, now here's the moment of truth, isn't it, Black Canary," the Count grinned, Laurel's blade to his neck. He tried to grab at her wrist with his free hand, but Laurel pressed harder with the knife, nearly breaking skin.
"You have me at your mercy, but you know if I get handed over to the police... well, there'll be some awkward questions for you both."
"I'm pretty sure your testimony won't count for much." Laurel countered, "I think I'm covered with the SCPD."
"Ah yes, the detective sister. She knows all about you. Almost a shame she'll be too dead to help you." He grinned, the way his lips curled, teeth set, smarmy and sickening. "Another shame is that I won't be there to watch Cyvus deal with her. I was so wondering what her begging would sound like. He really hates her, you know."
"Shut up!" Laurel snarled, pressing harder, drawing blood.
"Or what? You won't kill me, you're even more willing to deny yourself the pleasure of murder than him," The Count laughed, almost maniacal. "Let me go, and I'll tell Vanch to spare your sister. I'm sure he can find all sorts of ways to punish her without killing her. She'll make all sorts of interesting sounds while he's at it too." The way the Count licked his lips made it clear what he had in mind.
Before Oliver could stop himself, he was on the Count, grabbing his other hand, which had been trying to pull a switchblade from his pocket, and pinned his other arm to the wall. Oliver grabbed his knife from the wood, pulling it out and pressing it to the Count's stomach.
"You seem so eager for one of us to kill you, I'm willing to oblige," Oliver ground out. "You said a benefactor helped you set up your operation. Who?!"
The Count laughed, "Oh, you'll see soon enough. He hates you both, you know. Oh so very much." He laughed again, even more mad and manic than before.
"Who!? Vanch!?" It would explain what Vanch had been doing, working behind the scenes, using the Count as a catspaw.
"Oh, no, no. Cyvus Vanch is hardly the mastermind here. He's just a fellow traveler. But as I said, he was oh so very eager to pay a visit to Detective Sara Lance. Went on and on about the ways he'd make her rue the day she ever arrested him. Very detail-oriented sort of man, when it comes to revenge." The Count turned his gaze back to Laurel.
"I wonder, will she cry out your name, begging for help as he-" The Count's words were cut off again. Oliver pulled back in shock as Laurel pulled her knife from the Count's neck, and drove it into his stomach, pushing upwards, blood spurting out around the blade. Laurel pulled the knife back, stabbed him again snarling almost incoherently in Arabic - Oliver could pick out the words 'not my sister' and 'monster', the knife coming out, goung in a third time, the stomach wounds bleeding, covering Laurel's hand in blood. Oliver pulled her back, one hand on her shoulder, the other around her waist.
"Laurel, Laurel, Laurel," Oliver murmured her name in her ear, the hand on her shoulder going to her hair, running through it as he pulled her back - Laurel didn't even struggle, bloody knife dropping from her hand to the ground, the Count's body slid to the ground, unconscious from bloodloss and likely dead in minutes if not sooner. Laurel knew how to kill someone with a blade, any blade, organs had to have been punctured, enough blood loss would do it anyway -
"I killed - I killed-" Laurel started, starting to hyperventilate. "I didn't mean - I-"
"Laurel, it's okay, you're not - you're not a monster. You're not a murderer." He told her, truthfully, in every way that mattered, what Laurel had just done was hardly murder. And it couldn't make her a monster, make her like the woman she'd been in the League. "You're not tayir 'aswad anymore."
Laurel's breathing wasn't slowing, at least not much, but she seemed to regain more focus, more purchase on -
"Sara. I need to call- I need to -" Laurel pulled out of his grip, going to the bedside table on her side of the bed. "I need to warn her- she -" She tried to dial, but her bloody hand was slick, the phone slipping out of her grip, clattering to the floor, and Oliver picked it up, quickly, speed dialing Sara with number two.
"I'm calling her. We'll warn her." OIiver told her, murmuring in her ear.
Sara's Apartment, Starling City
November 27th, 2013
Sara groaned as she heard something ring. She turned over onto her side, pulling a pillow atop her head.
"Five more minutes," She groaned out as she realized it was her phone, ringing. They must have had a lead on the Count, the Captain must be calling all hands on deck-
Sara grabbed the phone, pressing answer even as she blinked and saw that it was Laurel calling.
"Laurel?" Sara hated how tired she still sounded, throat dry and voice weak. "What are you-"
"Sara? Are you okay? Are you- is anyone else there, did someone attack you?" Oliver demanded. His tone was almost completely flat, dead, emotionless, which could only mean something -
It wasn't quite as good as cup of coffee, but it had adrenaline pumping as she swung her legs out of bed, still on the phone, standing up.
"Oliver, what happened, is Laurel - is she - are you?" Sara heard what sounded like someone nearly hyperventilating in the background - was that - was that her sister?
"The Count attacked us, in our apartment. He said Vanch told him who we were." Oliver explained. "He implied - he implied-" Oliver paused, then started again. "He said that Vanch said he was coming for you, tonight."
"If he was in here, he didn't do anything, I've been asleep for the last -" she looked at the clock on her beside table even as she was pulling clothes on, "three and a half hours. Where is the Count? Did he get away, did you knock him out?"
"He's dead," Oliver answered. "Laurel - Laurel," his voice nearly broken. "She lost control and killed him."
Sara rocked back on her heels, legs nearly giving way under her, catching onto the dresser to keep herself standing.
"She - stay there. I'm on my way." Sara choked out. "Do you think anyone called 911?"
"There were shots fired, there's a good chance," Oliver answered.
"Fuck, fuck, okay just - it was self-defense, home defense, right. Just tell the police that if they get there before you, fuck fuck, fuck. I'm on my way." Sara hung up, needing both hands free to pull her shirt on and button it, cursing repeatedly as her fingers, moving frantically, missed a button, she had to go back.
Her phone buzzed again, and Sara saw a text. She ignored it, finishing with her shirt, then snatched it up as she moved to where she'd careless tossed her shoes when she'd gotten home not five hours ago.
The text was from an unfamiliar number, a video file. Without even pressing play, it started, as soon as she opened her text app.
It only too Sara a moment see what it was.
It was video, shot from a sophisticated camera, but through a window. A window into Oliver and Laurel's bedroom. Oliver Laurel were there, both dressed for sleep, both holding knives, and someone else was there too.
The Count. Cecil Adams, in the flesh. He was holding a gun, pointing it back and forth at them, something else in his other hand. The Camera was capturing more detail than she'd have expected from whatever distance it was, but -
Then Laurel attacked him, shots were fired, and almost too quickly, Laurel had him pinned to the wall, gun dropping from his hand, knife at his throat. Oliver joined in, pinning the other hand-
The talked, or at least the Count looked like he was laughing, he said something, laughing again, pauses like conversation. She couldn't see Laurel or Oliver's faces, and then-
The knife, Laurel's knife, into the Count's stomach. Once. Twice. Three times. Oliver pulling her back, away from the Count as the video file ended, and her phone started to ring. Another number she didn't recognize.
But she didn't need to.
"Vanch." Sara snarled the name. "I'm going to track you down, and I am going to-"
"What? Join your sister in going down for murder one?" Vanch chuckled. "I'm shaking in my boots. Maybe that video doesn't convince the police your sister is the Black Canary - though look at how she moves there. But at the very least... That doesn't look like self-defense to me."
"You-" Sara snarled, unable to even - she couldn't even find the words. "You set this up just for -"
"Just for video evidence that I can use to blackmail you with? Why yes, yes I did. The Count was a slimy little weasel, nobody will miss him. A sacrifice of a pawn for a much better prize: You."
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"As long as you do what I say, this video stays with me, secure. Nobody has to know. Refuse any of my very reasonable requests, or send the police, or your sister or her boyfriend after me, and this video goes to the DA's office, every captain in the SCPD, the FBI and any other agency I can think of. Plus, everyone who ever had any grudge against the Black Canary. I hear China White and Danny Brickwell would love to have a piece of her. Possibly literally, in the case of Brick. I hear rumors he picks his teeth with the bones of people he's killed."
Sara felt her chest tighten, her throat clench, vision blurred - head light, she almost swayed, feeling like she was having some sort of attack or -
"Now, like I said, listen to my very reasonable requests, and we'll get along just fine. Like I said, I have no intention of hurting you, or even kidnapping you."
:"What do you want?!" Sara demanded, trying not to scream into the phone, or just scream more generally.
"The same thing I wanted before. A meeting. Just you and me. You said no, so we tried the hard way. Would you like to find out what the harder way is, or shall we have a meeting?"
"Where and when," Sara demanded, the slimy, sleezey 'I'm so charming but not really because I'm a disgusting, monstrous sociopathic creep' energy coming off of Vanch was so strong she wanted to drop her phone in a vat of boiling bleach.
"Wharf 17. Three days. Midnight. See you then!"