Pre-Author's Note: I am so sorry this is late, everyone. I forgot to edit last week's chapter because of the long weekend (my job gave me both Thursday and Friday off work).

When the Lances pulled up to their family home (a sight that filled Laurel with a nostalgic ache that proved hard to dislodge), they found the area free of the various paparazzi and reporters that had been congregating around the Queen Estate's gates. A police cruiser was sitting in the driveway, and leaning against the front render was another familiar face: Detective Lucas Hilton, her father's longtime police partner, and a close family friend. He perked up when he saw their vehicle pull into view, and when Laurel stepped out, his smile bloomed into a full-blown grin.

"Laurel," he breathed out, pulling her into a hug. "It's so good to see you."

"It's good to see you too, Uncle Luke," Laurel replied as she hugged back, instinctively slipping into the childhood nickname with nary a thought. "How have you been?"

Hilton pulled away and shrugged. "Same old, same old: keeping your dad out of trouble."

Laurel giggled, ignoring the mock-offended sound her father let out behind her. The detective patted her on the shoulder. "You should visit the precinct sometime soon," he suggested. "Pike and a few others would love to see you again."

"I will," she promised.

Satisfied, Hilton turned to her father. The men exchanged a few words and a one-armed hug, followed by Hilton giving a short greeting to Dinah and Sara. That settled, he pulled into his cruiser and left, finally leaving the Lances by themselves.

The rest of the family guided Laurel into the house, with Dinah giving her own set of keys, copies to replace those she had taken with her on the Gambit. Laurel took off her shoes and placed them in the old shoe rack, before looking around. Some of the furniture had been rearranged, and there were a few new decorations, but for the most part, the house looked almost the same as it had when she left all those years ago.

She didn't know how to feel about that. She did know how she felt about the additional pictures added to the wall, including one of Sara's undergrad graduation. The ever-present vise around her heart tightened, and Laurel determinedly refused to look at the rest of the pictures. She could torture herself with all she missed later.

Instead, she focused on the practicalities. Quentin and Sara had some last-minute work they needed to finish when they both returned from leave, so Dinah took her upstairs and brought her to her room. "It exactly as you left it," she explained. "We didn't have the heart to change a thing."

Looking around, Laurel concluded that her mother was telling the truth. The room had been tidied up a bit so there was no dust and things were a little more organized, but other than that, it was the same as it had been in Laurel's vague memories. Textbooks, dog-eared LSAT study guides, posters of boy bands, TV shows, and movies, all things she hadn't thought about in a long time, if only because she hadn't had the luxury to. She would have to do some redecorating soon, if only so she wouldn't feel so out of place.

The only thing that stood out as new were the stacks of clothes for her on the bed, neatly folded for her perusal. Shirts, pants, sweaters, jackets, underwear—it was practically an entirely new wardrobe. Laurel turned to her mother questioningly, and the older woman cleared her throat. "We realized a lot of your old clothing might not fit, so your sister and I asked for your new measurements from the hospital and went shopping. We can donate your old clothes later, and if there's anything you don't like from the new ones, we can return it."

"This couldn't be cheap," Laurel mused, picking up a pajama shirt, her fingers slowly thrumming the material between them.

"Don't worry," her mother assured her. "Moira paid for most of it. I offered to pay her back with some of the money from my old trust fund, but she refused, saying that she had more than enough money to spare. Consider it a gift."

Laurel smiled. "I'll need to thank her when I see her again. And thank you as well, Mom—you and Sara. This couldn't have been easy."

Dinah patted her on the shoulder. "Think nothing of it, dear. We were more than happy to do it."

She planted a chaste kiss on Laurel's cheek. "Now why don't you get some rest? It's been a long day."

"I will," Laurel promised.

Satisfied, Dinah departed with some short instructions about the bathroom she shared with Sara—they had also bought Laurel some new toiletries as well, including a toothbrush. It wasn't long before Laurel was left alone inside her own room, and she let out a sigh as she gave it another once over.

"Well," she said, almost exhaustingly. "I'm home."

Back in the Queen Mansion, a worn Moira Queen was nursing a drink in her home office. The night had been a whirlwind of emotions, as the high of Laurel's return had been combined with the low of learning what Robert's last moments had been. Thea and Oliver had decided to spend the rest of the night before the former had to go to bed watching an old movie together, to help them keep their minds off their father. Moira had briefly joined them but had bowed out early under the excuse of work. In a way, it was true.

The last thing she wanted to do tonight was make this call, but she dreaded the consequences if she didn't. So with great reluctance and more than a little procrastination, Moira took out her cell phone and dialed Malcolm's number.

The man picked up right before the dial tone, and for a brief moment, Moira wondered if it was one of his stupidly petty power plays. "Hello, Moira," Malcolm greeted her calmly. "How was dinner?"

"She doesn't know anything," Moira said, biting back a cutting remark and getting straight to the point. "So I'm calling off the kidnapping and the interrogation. There's no longer any need."

"How can you be certain? You haven't seen the girl in five years, and before she left, she was planning on becoming a lawyer. Everyone knows lying is part of the job description."

"Because before she and her family left, she gathered us in the living room to tell us how Robert died so we didn't have to hear it from the press coverage of her resurrection hearing. Nothing in what she said indicates he told her anything."

"Oh?" Malcolm asked, sounding almost sympathetic. "I see. Could you explain what happened?" There was a curiosity, almost a yearning in his voice, but Moira could hear the accusation beneath it. She bit the inside of her cheek. Patience, patience.

"He made it to the life raft with Laurel and his bodyguard Dave Hackett," Moira explained, almost grinding her teeth, "but once it became clear that there were only enough supplies for one of them to survive, he killed Hackett and himself so she could live. According to Laurel, the only thing he told her before he died was to survive and to tell us, his family, that he loved us."

"I see. At least it was dignified," Malcolm complimented, sounding genuinely pained. Moira was dangerously close to drawing blood from her lip.

Then there was a pause, one where she could practically hear Malcolm narrow his eyes. "And again—how are you sure she isn't lying?"

"Because she was in tears while telling us! I don't know how much more I can give you, Malcolm—I can't read minds, and have no intention of traumatizing Laurel further. She's been through enough," insisted Moira, clutching her phone so hard she might very well break it. "Besides, even if that poor girl did know something, what could she do? She was stuck on an island for five years trying to survive and is now trying to relearn how to be a part of civilization again. She has no resources or connections, no money whatsoever. She's not a threat."

He fell silent at those words, and momentarily Moira feared she had overstepped. But then, "You're right," he said begrudgingly. "Even if she does know something, there's nothing she can do about it. We'll leave her alone and revisit her situation later if it becomes a concern."

The Queen Matriarch exhaled deeply at those words. Laurel was safe. She wouldn't have to break Oliver's heart a second time.

"We've got bigger concerns," Malcolm continued, "The Black Canary has hit another one of our associates."

Now it was Moira's turn to go quiet. The Black Canary—a name frequently buoyed about at Tempest meetings in recent months. Ever since the vigilante had debuted on national television a year and a half ago, she had been taking the country by storm. For a whole year, she seemed to pop up in a random city every other week, taking down many of their local criminals. Her targets were indiscriminate, and no one was spared: common muggers, mafia enforcers, and even corrupt one-percenters, not unlike those Tempest once blackmailed using the List.

Her crusade had been inspiring, if not a bit disturbing. While the results were undeniable, they were achieved through subverting the law and putting violent, near-crippling beatdowns on her enemies. Entire hospital wings were filled with her victims, their last stop right before they went to jail.

When she appeared in Starling six months ago, they had expected much the same, so Malcolm had originally ordered her left alone. They would wait her out and let her take out some of the refuse before letting go on her merry way to wherever her next target was. A sound plan, one that had promptly gone to crap when a whole month passed and the Black Canary had failed to do what she had done so many times before and leave.

For whatever reason, she seemed to think that this particular city needed more of her attention than the rest of them did. She had stuck around, mostly around the Glades, taking it to gangs, organized crime, and even the occasional white-collar criminal, many of whom were on the List. It wasn't a complete wash, as it turned out many of them were trying to branch out into the more affluent parts of the city (necessitating a reminder from Malcolm's enforcer that this was something they weren't allowed to do). But still, it was a… concern.

"The longer she operates, the higher the likelihood one of those fools will let something slip about Tempest, the Undertaking, or both. And a righteous, close-minded woman like her is unlikely to agree with our ideology," Malcolm monologued, words methodical and dark.

Moira swallowed. "So what do you suggest? We find some way to remove her from the playing board?"

A pause. "Not yet," the man decided. "If we make an attempt and it fails, she might become suspicious. We leave her alone for now, so she's not causing any real damage to our plans. But if she proves to be a threat…"

The words hung in the air, but the implication was clear. If the Black Canary became a real threat to the Undertaking, Malcolm would deal with her as he had with so many before and send his associate. And whatever the end result, it wouldn't be pretty.

"Very well," Moira finally said. "If that is what you believe is best, then I will support your decision. Is there anything else you wish to discuss?"

"No. You?"

"Just one thing. Laurel gave me the location of where she buried Robert's remains, and I plan on sending someone to collect them so we can have a proper funeral for him. Since you were his 'best friend', you'll have to make an appearance at the ceremony."

"Just give me the date, and I'll clear my schedule," Malcolm replied flippantly. "If that is all, then we can end this call. I have work to do."

"Goodbye, Malcolm," Moira droned.

He didn't bother responding. The call cut off, and Moira sighed in relief. She loosened her grip on her phone and set it down on her desk, before picking up her glass of wine and taking a sip. God, she was going to need a shower after this.

Moira hadn't been lying when she said she didn't blame Laurel for Robert's death. She already had someone to blame. But he was far too powerful a man to bring to any sort of justice, so she would have to continue the same existence she had lived these past five years—under his thumb.

The Next Day

Laurel ambled down the stairs in her new pajamas, her hair mussed up and bags under her eyes, yawning. She walked into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Near the stove watching her was a smiling Quentin, already dressed and with an apron on. "When you're done, I've got breakfast for you: your favorite chocolate chip pancakes."

"Oh," Laurel blinked, turning to him. "How much?"

"Not a lot. Sara and Dr. Lamb told me that you might not be able to handle a lot of processed sugar anymore. But two pancakes and a bit of whipped cream and syrup shouldn't hurt."

She smiled. "Thanks, Dad."

Dinah and Sara joined them not long after that, and for the first time in five years, the Lances were having a family meal together. Laurel tried to focus on her sweet, sweet pancakes, but years of situational awareness training made it impossible for her not to notice how every member of her family looked up from their own food every two minutes to stare at her. Sara looked ready to burst into tears, and Laurel tried not to show how uncomfortable that made her. It's not that she didn't feel the same way, it was just that she had the training to keep it under control.

"So, what are you doing today?" Quentin asked casually.

"Tommy texted me," Sara revealed. "He and Ollie are going to pick Laurel and me up for a day out on town at ten."

Dinah suddenly hissed. "We need to get you a phone as soon as possible," she realized, her words directed toward Laurel. "And put you on the family plan. Do you think we can get your old number?"

Her husband grunted. "Only if it isn't already reassigned to someone else. If it is, she'll have to get a new one."

Laurel flinched. She did not mention she already had a phone, even if it was only for "work"-related purposes. "Okay. Should we schedule an appointment at the store?"

"I'll put it on my to-do list today. We can go on Saturday when I don't have classes."

That's how Laurel learned her parents still had work for the rest of the week. They couldn't afford to take more time off—money was a little tight because Sara was still in med school and this country was for-profit as it came, and while they were grateful Laurel was back, that didn't change the reality that money was only going to get tighter. Every cent counted.

At least they would be able to attend her resurrection hearing. Both them and Sara, who had managed to every day up to the hearing off. She would have to go back to med school right after, though.

"After I'm resurrected, I'm going to study up to retake the driver's license exam and start searching for a job," was what Laurel told them when they asked her what she was going to do once she had fully settled back in.

The table quieted down a bit. "So I guess you're not going to law school anymore," Quentin grunted, sounding sad but resigned. It seemed that they had been expecting this conclusion, even if they hadn't wanted to hear it.

"Are you sure, honey?" Dinah asked her eldest daughter. "If this is about the money—"

Laurel shook her head, cutting her mother off. "It's not about the money. I wanted to be a lawyer because I wanted to help people. And I've had five years to think about how I would do that when I came home. And now that I'm here, I've realized that I don't want to wait and attend school for three years to start doing that. I want to do that now."

Her family exchanged looks. "Alright, Laurel, if that's what you want," Quentin decided, speaking for all of them. "Do you have any idea what you want to do?"

"I was thinking of going into charity work, or becoming a self-defense instructor."

Everyone blinked at her when she mentioned the latter occupation. "Self-defense?" Sara asked, sounding confused.

"I still remember the things I learned from the lessons you got for us Dad and some friends on the island taught me a few things of their own so I could protect myself in case something happened," Laurel explained, trying to sound as vague as possible. "They're gone now, but the lessons stuck. It only feels right that I pass that knowledge on, so others can use it to protect themselves."

And just like that, their expressions shuttered and softened. No doubt, they had taken the hint that there were people on the island that she had befriended and lost. Laurel hated manipulating them like that, but if that were what it took to keep them from probing too much, she'd take it. It wasn't like hating herself was a new thing, after all.

"If that's the case, then you really do need to come with Tommy, Ollie, and me today," declared her little sister once the awkward moment had passed. "There's somewhere we need to bring you and show you. I think you're going to like it."

Their parents nodded in agreement, and Laurel frowned, perplexed, before shrugging. "Alright. Then could you help me pick out my outfit, Sara? I don't know what's in style anymore."

Sara immediately perked up. "I've got just the thing," she said, a terrifying glint in her eyes.

Laurel wondered if she should start fearing for her life.

Instead, she returned to her chocolate chip pancakes.

Here is the next chapter. We get a look at how Laurel is adjusting, and of course, Malcolm is as creepy and dickish as ever.

As for the changes, there is no kidnapping this time around, because Laurel told the Queens about the truth of Robert's death and made her trauma much more obvious than Oliver did at the beginning in canon. In addition, Moira feels extra guilty about Laurel being on the Gambit since she legitimately had nothing to do with the situation that led to its sinking (even Oliver was at least Robert and Moira's son, so he was tangentially involved, no matter how distantly), so she decided not to go through with it and told Malcolm to back off. Plus, as she pointed out, Laurel (by herself) is not a threat. She's (allegedly) been stranded on an island for the last five years and is from a middle class family. She has no money and connections, so even if she did know the truth, there would be nothing she'd be able to do about it. At least, as far as they are aware...

Next Chapter: Laurel goes around Starling.