Laurel had been to Iron Heights once before—a field trip in middle school that she only had vague memories of. Why the best private school in Washington thought a prison was a perfectly acceptable establishment for a field trip was a bit beyond her. Still, she was grateful for it now because it allowed her to vaguely remember some of the particulars about the compound without having to rely on Barbara to feed her intel. The more she could focus on the fight to come, the better.
The prison riot had already started when she arrived, the chaos crescendoing into full swing. Men and women were brawling throughout the building, taking advantage of the situation to settle old scores, establishing their positions in the hierarchy, or reveling in the pandemonium. Laurel didn't hesitate; she took out her staff and carved a path through the chaos as she searched for Peter Declan. Hopefully, he was still alive; once he was secure and the Brodeur's fixer was taken care of, she could take care of the rest of the prisoners.
Barbara gave her the optimized path to Declan's cell, and Laurel pulled out her grappling hook to swing over the crowd to arrive there faster. When she got there, the poor man was cowering in the corner with another prisoner, who was remarkably calm under pressure. Declan's companion only blinked in brief surprise when he saw her, before clearing his throat at her questioning expression. "Been in prison for close to fifteen years. This is an old hat for me," had been his explanation.
"Thank you, Mr…?"
"Henry Allen."
"Mr. Allen," Laurel finished. She scanned the cell, directing her attention toward the entrance, where the riot was still raging. "Has anyone tried to come in here recently? I have it on good authority that this riot was orchestrated as cover to murder Mr. Declan."
Peter paled. Henry grimaced, and if he was telling the truth about how long he'd been in jail, Laurel imagined this wasn't the first time something like this had happened while he was here. He probably survived this long by keeping his head down, and if he knew Declan for any appreciable amount of time, had advised the other man to do the same. Too bad it hadn't worked.
"Brodeur?" Declan asked.
"Brodeur," Laurel confirmed.
With that settled, Laurel advised both men to stay in the cell and not to open it for any reason. She closed and locked the door behind her, and then scanned the area, warding off the occasional attacker. Lying in wait, until the predator revealed himself, so she could strike him down.
Eventually, the culprit emerged. A tall, gray-haired nondescript man, leading a pack of convicts. They didn't even try to hide what they were doing (another indictment of the corrupt establishment) as they made a direct beeline for her—or, to be more exact, for Peter Declan's cell. Laurel drew her quarterstaff and didn't bother asking questions.
The first one tried to shiv her with what looked like a sharpened toothbrush. Laurel slammed the body of her staff into his wrist and knocked him out with a sharp elbow to the head, before ducking down a clumsy swing from one of his friends and sweeping his legs. She stomped on his sternum and kicked him in the head to knock him out, before going after the rest.
Eventually, it was just the fixer and her. The man had a gun (of course he had a gun) and fired a few shots at her. They were dodged easily, and Laurel quickly disarmed him, before grabbing him by the lapels of his shirt and slamming him back-first into the nearest wall. The man grunted and glowered down at her, while Laurel shoved the butt of her weapon into his neck.
"Brodeur?" she asked knowingly.
"I'm not telling you shit," the man snarled.
She smiled. "You don't need to. All you need to do is tell the police. Flip on your boss, clear Peter Declan's name and you'll never have to see or speak to me ever again."
He barked a laugh. "And just why would I do that?"
"Oh, I was hoping you'd say that."
And with that, Laurel leaned forward and let out a little cry.
"I brought Big Belly Burger!" Laurel proudly announced as she stepped over the threshold over her family, bearing greasy, fried joy.
Sara, who had been typing up a report at the dining room table (and what a strange turn of events that was), let out a ragged cheer and gestured to her with grabby hands. Laurel thoughtfully propped up one of the bags next to her sister's computer, before propping up another one next to her father, who was reading through case files right across from Sara. Dinah was bustling in the kitchen, making a virgin drink that she swore went with just about anything, and Laurel tried too hard not to think about why there was no more alcohol in the house.
Once all the food was set out, one of them turned on the television for some running background noise. The first channel that appeared was the local news, where one Susan Williams was delivering the latest update to the Declan Case. Ennis Ankov, bodyguard of Jason Brodeur, had just been arrested for breaking into Iron Heights and instigating a prison riot, for the sole purpose of murdering Peter Declan without suspicion. He had already confessed to doing the same with Camille Declan, and there were plans to have her husband released by the end of the week.
"Hilton's got the case, now," Quentin sighed from the other side of the table. "The original detective's been fired and arrested for corruption. They're looking for a replacement already."
"Happy it's not you?" Dinah asked knowingly.
"Elated, honey."
It was all nice and domestic. From where she was sitting next to Sara, Laurel allowed herself a small, discreet smile.
A Few Days Later
If there was one thing Laurel would never get used to, it was the paparazzi.
Which was an odd thing to say, because, in retrospect, they had always been a minor, background presence in her life. Her mother was from a branch of the Gotham City Drakes, prominent enough that there had been a small scandal when she married Laurel and Sara's father. When Laurel was born and her grandparents realized Quentin and Dinah were a done deal, they cut her family out of the will. Her mother never regretted it, and Laurel never bothered looking her mother's parents up or seeking them out when she was in Gotham. They were nothing to her.
But they were something to Gotham. A few of the paps from there had invaded the carefully private and low-key domestic life the young couple had built for themselves to take pictures of them when Laurel had been born so they could splatter it all over the tabloids. They started up again when Sara was born, and one of Laurel's earliest memories was Quentin threatening to arrest a particularly determined columnist for going through their mail (a federal offense). It was one of the first things that endeared her to the idea of becoming a cop (and then, after Quentin put a nix on that, a lawyer).
Gotham paparazzi were gone by the time Laurel was five, only for the Starling edition to enter her life when started attending Berlanti Prep in the same year as Oliver Queen and Tommy Merlyn, the scions of the two richest families in the city. Though, to be honest, it wasn't just them—Berlanti Prep hosted the children of numerous famous businessmen, politicians, and celebrities. Ollie and Tommy just happened to be the newest to join the student body.
It was irritating. On the bright side, they got after-school media training every week, which was helpful when Laurel started dating Oliver. And, well—here and now, when she had become a minor celebrity in her own right.
"Miss Lance, Miss Lance! Can you tell us how you felt when you saw Robert Queen die?"
"Laurel, are you and Oliver Queen back together?"
"Can you comment on the rumors that you're dating Tommy Merlyn?"
On and on it went, and Laurel, side by side with her family, ignored them all with deft practice as she exited the courthouse. Her resurrection hearing had just finished, and she had just gone through the harrowing job of describing some of the worst days of her life for the third time this week. The first time had been with her own family, the Queens, and Tommy. The second time had been Monday with poor Sam Hackett, who had to learn his father had been killed by Robert Queen so Laurel could live. The man had raged and screamed, and while he hadn't blamed Laurel in the end, he understandably didn't want to see her ever again. Most likely, he was planning to move out of the city soon to escape the storm of publicity, and she couldn't blame him for it. Under different circumstances, she might've done the same thing.
"Vultures, all of them," her father groused once all four of them were safely ensconced in his police cruiser. "One of these days, I'm going to arrest a few for my own peace of mind."
"Quentin," Dinah admonished with a sigh.
"Let's just head to the precinct, Dad," Laurel consoled him from behind, Sara nodding beside her. "I want to see everyone."
Quentin grunted but didn't argue. Instead, he turned on the engine of the car. The sound immediately caused the reporters and cameramen to back off to avoid being run over. The detective pulled out of the parking lot as quickly as he could and left them all in the dust, and once the crowd was completely out of sight, the tension in the vehicle dropped immediately.
"So you're seeing Ollie today, right?" Sara asked, trying to fill in the silence.
Laurel nodded. "We're heading to this restaurant, Table Salt. We decided that before we tried anything again, we needed to have an honest talk. Just the two of us."
"Do you want to try for something again?"
A pause. "I do. But we've both changed. And we just want to make sure there's still a chance."
It was a candid statement. Sara reached over, and squeezed her hand.
When they arrived at the precinct, there was a crowd of people waiting to greet them—or more specifically, to greet Laurel. At the front of the crowd was Lieutenant Franklin Pike, another close friend of her father's and the current head of the MCU. He greeted Laurel with a big hug and promised her she was welcome to visit the precinct anytime she wanted.
After him was Hilton, and then several of her father's friends and coworkers, many of whom had met her over the years before the Gambit. She got more hugs and well-wishes, offers for meals and outings that she wasn't entirely sure were sincere. At least until she saw another unexpected face: McKenna Hall.
"Oh my God, McKenna!" Laurel exclaimed, pulling the other woman into her arms. "What are you doing here? You're a cop now?"
"Detective, actually," McKenna explained with a laugh. "I'm in Vice, cracking down on drug dealers."
Laurel was impressed. "Important work. If that's the case, what are you doing down here at the MCU?"
"Other than to see you? I'm digging up information on a new wannabe drug lord we're tracking down. There's a new designer drug going around the party scene called Vertigo, and we're trying to get it off the streets."
Now the blonde was frowning. A new designer drug? That didn't bode well. She'd have to pass this information to Babs and see what the hacker could dig up. If Vice couldn't track down whoever was behind this, maybe they could.
"Laurel, honey," and there was her father, interjecting himself into the conversation. He looked serious. "I'm sorry, but it looks like I won't be able to take you to Table Salt. We just got a call—homicide of a young woman, and I've been tapped to take on the investigation."
"Don't worry, Dad," Laurel told him once the momentary shock passed. "I can take the bus to the restaurant. You go do your job."
Quentin smiled, then pressed a kiss to her cheek and gave her a quick "Love you," before joining up with Hilton and heading out. Laurel allowed herself a brief moment to compose herself before turning back to McKenna, who was smiling at her knowingly. "I'm happy for you, Laurel."
Laurel smiled back. "Thanks, McKenna."
With Sara and Dinah opting to head home, Laurel alone headed over to Table Salt for her meeting with Ollie. The entire trip, she was nervous; her mind recalled that unpromising encounter with Oliver last week, the sadness and guilt in his eyes when he told her there were things he needed to tell her. Try as she might, she couldn't keep it out of her head. What was wrong? What did Oliver want her to know that was so bad?
When she arrived, she was told that Oliver was already in the restaurant, in a private booth for both of them. The hostess guided her to the booth and handed her a menu before she was seated. Oliver saw her from the other side and perked up. "Laurel," he said, happy but with a hint of bittersweetness.
"Ollie," Laurel greeted back, trying not to sound too nervous.
They talked and perused the menu while waiting for their waitress, who came with bread and water. After giving their orders to her, a brief silence fell over the booth. Laurel cleared her throat. "Ollie?"
He swallowed. "Before we even think about restarting our relationship, I need to be honest with you, Laurel. Before the Gambit, I lied to you a lot. I kept things from you that you should've known, the kind of things that would've… caused you to break up with me."
Laurel froze. What…?
"That's why I'm telling you now," he continued, desperately. "You deserve to know and deserve to cast your own judgment on me. And for what it's worth, Laurel, I am sorry."
With that, Oliver launched into one of the most painful stories Laurel had ever heard in her entire life. He had prefaced it by revealing that he had intended to cheat on her while she was in China because he didn't want to tell her that he wasn't ready to move in with her yet. And the reason why he hadn't been ready, the real reason, wasn't just because of immaturity and selfishness (though that had been a part of it), but because he hadn't felt worthy of her.
Because it wouldn't have been the first time he had cheated on her.
"I slept with Samantha Clayton while we were both drunk at some college party," he shamefully admitted. "And… she got pregnant."
Her breath hitched. "So you have a kid? A daughter or a son?"
"No. She miscarried."
A stab of pain and empathy entered her heart. Despite the swirl of sadness and anger Laurel was feeling, there was no pleasure in learning that the pregnancy hadn't come to full-term, that Oliver had lost his chance at being a father. It was clear the incident still hurt him even now.
"Ollie…"
"I don't deserve you, Laurel," Oliver said, resigned. "I never have. If you don't want anything to do with me anymore, I don't blame you at all. But if you do, somehow, find it in yourself to forgive me and take me back, then I'll promise you this—I will never lie to you ever again."
It was that last statement that caused Laurel to stiffen. The entire world stopped, cleared out at a singular point. I will never lie to you ever again.
She had every reason in the world to doubt that promise. But she didn't. She knew Oliver in her bones and knew this was a promise he had every intention of keeping. If Laurel forgave him (an if) and took him back (a bigger if), he would do everything in his power to tell her the truth, no matter how painful it was.
The problem was her. Because Laurel was the one who could no longer tell him the truth.
Right now, she was playing the part of a poor, traumatized woman who had spent five years on a deserted island, and it was a lie. She was lying to him, lying to everyone—about what she had really been doing those five years, about being the Black Canary, hell even about Robert's death. She hadn't told them about the List after all, had she? Even though his family had the right to know that there might be more behind his death than a simple accident.
Oliver was right. They couldn't restart their relationship if there were secrets between them. And that went both ways.
"Thank you for telling me all this, Ollie," Laurel choked out. "I'm not ready to forgive you yet, even though I think I probably will. But as to whether or not we get together again… I need time to process everything before I make that kind of decision."
Her ex-boyfriend nodded, a lump in his throat.
"But…" and here, his head shot up, "…I stand by what I said the other night, Ollie. You're always going to be important to me. You're always going to be my best friend."
Oliver's face brightened immediately, and he looked like he was about to cry. Laurel swallowed down her guilt and smiled back.
The food came and went, as they dipped into lighter topics. Laurel told Oliver what she had been up to these past couple of days, from her college resume to Wildcat's to her resurrection hearing to heading to the precinct and finding out that party guru McKenna Hall had become a detective for Vice of all things. They both shared raised eyebrows at that.
Oliver, in turn, told her about grad school and his part-time work at both the Foundation and QC and then asked her if she was still okay with attending the groundbreaking ceremony for the Applied Sciences Center at the end of this week, the building that's to be named after Robert. "I wouldn't miss it for the world," Laurel assured him.
It's while they're waiting for dessert that they touch on a heavier topic again. Not as heavy as earlier, but something… big.
"You and Sara kissed?" Laurel blinked.
"Yeah," Oliver confirmed, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. "It was at Tommy's twenty-fourth birthday party, three years after the Gambit. She and I spent a lot of time together planning the party, and for a minute we thought we had something, so… a kiss. You're not mad, are you?"
"I was dead, Ollie," Laurel bluntly stated, ignoring his flinch. "As far as both of you knew, I was dead. You both had the right to move on. If it had been right after the Gambit, maybe I would've been mad, but it was years after. Neither of you were doing anything wrong. And besides, it looks like nothing came of it anyway."
"You're right," Oliver sighed. "It took only one kiss for us to realize it wasn't going to work. I was still hung up on you, and I didn't want to risk treating her like some… replacement. And she told me that trying anything with me felt like it was betraying you. So nothing happened after that. I went back to focusing on school and Thea, and she eventually started dating someone she met at med school."
"Oh?" Laurel perked up—Sara hadn't mentioned that to her yet. "Who?"
Oliver stiffened, then grimaced. "I think that's something Sara should tell you."
And there was that ominous feeling again. "Ollie—"
"It's nothing bad," he quickly rushed out. "I promise you, Laurel. It's nothing bad. It's just—it's something you need to hear from her, not me."
Well. That was… something. She no longer felt so afraid, just confused. "Okay," she said slowly. "I'll ask her when I get home."
The statement sent a wave of relief through Oliver, and Laurel wondered what she was missing.
Apologies for the sudden delays in posting. I've been distracted by a bunch of stuff lately and have put fan fiction on the wayside. As an apology, I'm posting this chapter early, will post another chapter on Friday, before resuming the weekly schedule on Sunday.
Back to the story, here's the reason why Laurel and Oliver don't get back together immediately. They want total honesty between each other, and that means Oliver has to admit his biggest mistake to Laurel. While Laurel needs time to process this, this is not the only issue. The biggest reason why they're not getting together yet is because Laurel can't return the favor and be honest and transparent with Oliver like he wants to be with her.
I'm not going to lie; this is partly because Bruce was her mentor. Laurel is well aware of Bruce's messy love life and how the secrecy around his identity as Batman has screwed up every relationship he has. There's a reason why his two most prominent love interests are Catwoman and Talia al Ghul, two women who are heavily involved in his life as Batman far more than his life as Bruce Wayne. Understandably, Laurel wants to avoid that, and as disappointed and angry as she is at Oliver right now, she knows he deserves better than what she can give him right now.
As for why Oliver didn't tell Laurel about Sara and Alex, it's because he has matured. Enough to recognize that he shouldn't be the one to tell Laurel her sister is bisexual. That's something that needs to come from Sara herself.
Next Chapter: The Triad.