The base Bruce had outfitted for her was an abandoned clocktower in one of the more derelict sections of the Glades, unimaginatively nicknamed "The Clocktower" (as expected of a man who allowed his eight-year-old ward to name his own secret base the "Bat-Cave"). Dressed as the Black Canary for the first time in six months, Laurel parked her new motorcycle in the underground garage of the newly-appropriated building and used the attached elevator to ascend to the hollowed-out turret clock.
When the elevator chimed open, she found herself at the top of the tower, retrofitted with all the best technology and equipment in the world, courtesy of Wayne Enterprises. Barbara was waiting inside, along with another familiar face: Selina Kyle, her stand-in as BC for the past several months. The older woman was dressed in regular old workout clothes, with that ever-present Cheshire grin.
"Birdie, welcome back," she greeted Laurel with a nod. Laurel nodded back, then turned to Barbara with a scowl.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
Barbara was sanguine. "About what? Your ex-boyfriend, sister, and best friend opening up a charity foundation in your memory and naming it after you? Or me showing up in Starling as its newest resident to act as your tech support?"
"Both!"
The other woman shrugged. "The foundation thing didn't happen until you were back on Lian Yu, and we determined it would be less suspicious if your reaction was genuine," she explained.
Laurel gnashed her teeth. Ah yes, the ever-present Bat-pragmatism, and she hated to admit the logic was sound. If she had been told beforehand and had time to process it, it would've been hard to act surprised when it was time to see it in person. She would've been grateful and touched, not completely overwhelmed with emotion like earlier today.
"Fine, okay, method acting or whatever. What about you being here in Starling?"
She shrugged again. "Things are quiet back in Gotham now that the Joker is gone, and with Jay gelling with Bruce as the new Robin, Dick and I have decided it's time to spread our wings a bit."
"Wait, what?" Laurel blinked. "Dick's here too?"
"Nah. He's a stone's throw away in Bludhaven, setting up shop as a beat cop and their new resident vigilante," Babara explained, waving it off. "I considered moving over there with him, but with this whole Tempest conspiracy going on in Starling I figured you'd need me more and decided to move here instead."
Huh. "So he offered to let you move in with him?" suddenly asked Laurel, whose agitation gave way to knowing amusement. She glanced over at Selina, who was observing them with a certain casualness only a world-class thief who doubled as the part-time lover of the greatest vigilante in the world could maintain. There was a smirk on her face that held all the answers Laurel sought, and it only made her grin wider.
Barbara blushed, knowing she had been had. "We're dating," she admitted. "Have been for the last five months or so."
Laurel's grin gave way to a genuine smile. "Good. I'm happy for you both." She had watched them dance around each other for as long as she knew them, and she was glad they had finally taken the plunge.
"Yeah, well, expect me to take a few nights off for date night then. And also expect Dick to drop in occasionally. You know how he is—a real social butterfly."
They chatted for a bit more until Selina interjected and reminded them that she was eastward-bound for Gotham after tonight and wanted a decent spar before she left. Laurel took her up on the offer, knowing she needed some tuning up herself after six months on an island by herself. Barbara directed them to the sparring area, leaving them to it while she dialed in on some reports.
And just like that, Laurel never felt more at home.
"We've taken down a few Listers while you were on Lian Yu," was what Barbara started with when the other two women were done sparring and Selina had escaped from the Clocktower. "I'll pull them up on the screen for you."
Laurel looked up as a series of images and names populated the auxiliary flat-screen mounted on the side of the base. Adam Hunt, Justin Claybourne, James Midas… these were pretty big names, the kind Laurel had heard of (in less-than-glowing terms) long before she ever stepped foot on the Gambit. "You guys did good work."
"Selina will be happy to hear that. She had the time of her life robbing Hunt blind, even if she couldn't keep any of the money. And Claybourne was… ugh."
"That bad?"
"He's currently fighting off a terrorist charge for weaponized tuberculosis," the information broker deadpanned, and Laurel whistled. "I'm really hoping he's the worst on the List, but knowing our luck…"
She trailed off, but Laurel got the picture. "Who's next, then?"
Barbara replaced the pictures with new images. "Jason Brodeur. Peter Declan, the widower of one his employees, Camille Declan, was charged with her murder a few years ago and is up for execution soon. However, he swears he didn't do it. Says that Brodeur arranged to have her killed because she was going to blow the whistle on him."
"What for?"
"Dumping toxic waste in the Glades."
Laurel hissed. Not quite weaponized tuberculosis, but pretty close. "How'd she get caught?"
"She reported to her supervisor, Matt Istook, about the toxic waste the day she died. However, Istook testified at Declan's trial that he never met Camille that day."
Perjury. Of course. "He lied."
Barbara turned to her and nodded.
"I'll hit up Istook first," Laurel decided, putting her domino mask back on. She had taken it off for her spar with Selina, but now she was back on the clock. "Maybe he might have some kind of proof we can use to clear Declan's name. We'll take it to a news outlet or just post it to the Internet anonymously and arrange for it to go viral. That should be enough to at least delay the execution until we can nail Brodeur."
"Brodeur might try to kill Declan to silence him if that happens," Barbara mused. "You know, so the prosecution will have one less witness."
"If tries that, then we'll just nail him for that too," declared the vigilante as she turned to leave. "And that's if I don't stop him first."
The Following Day
"I do not want to be the detective handling this case."
Laurel popped up her head from her breakfast (plain old eggs and toast this time) to spot her father grimacing at the television screen. A hidden fission of pleasure ran through her body as she watched the local news rave about the report she had taken from Istook's office and had dutifully handed to Barbara to post on every major social media site on the Internet. A bit overboard, but it had worked.
Just then, a groaning Sara traipsed down the stairs, trying to rub the sleep out of her eyes. "What's going on?" she asked, elongating the last word with another yawn.
"Peter Declan might be innocent," Dinah explained, also riveted by the news.
That woke up Laurel's little sister. "Seriously?" She rushed to the couch, where the news was playing.
"Somebody found a compliance report written by Camille Declan before she was killed and anonymously posted it to the Internet. It's in the process of being officially verified, but analysis thus far it looks legit. If that's true…" Quentin winced. "Well, I'm glad I wasn't in charge of that investigation."
Laurel had a feeling the reason why her father hadn't been in charge of that particular investigation was because Brodeur called in a favor with Nudocerdo. Either that or sheer dumb luck managed to land him a detective who was on the take. Regardless, it was a bad look for the department and somebody was going to be raked over the coals for it. Laurel would pity them if their incompetence or corruption or whatever the hell it was hadn't almost gotten an innocent man killed.
They watched the news for a little bit longer, at least until Dinah decided that this was too stressful for a simple breakfast and asked for her husband to turn it off. Quentin obeyed with a grunt, audibly noting that he'd get all the nitty gritty details when he headed over to the precinct anyway.
"So, Laurel, what are you doing today?" Sara asked her as the meal began to die down. Nobody was available to hang out with Laurel today—Oliver and Sara were both catching up on their work for their upcoming return to grad school, while Tommy was volunteering at the Foundation.
"I'm going back down to the Glades," Laurel explained, noting how her father's frown deepened at those words. "I'm heading to the Foundation to visit Tommy and attend one of the workshops there so I can get started on my resume. Then I'm going to visit the gym Rene mentioned yesterday. I want to meet with the owner to consult him on what certifications I'll need to become a self-defense instructor, and, if I like the gym well enough, enroll myself in a membership once I have a job."
Quentin grunted again. "You're going to be spending a lot of time in the Glades," he observed. "Don't forget my warning."
If she hadn't been shipwrecked five years ago and believed dead, Laurel might've rolled her eyes. "I won't, Dad," she promised. "I'll be careful."
Tommy was in the middle of something when Laurel arrived at the Foundation but perked up when he saw her and greeted her with a smile. "Laurel! What are you doing here? I didn't expect another visit so soon."
"There's a resume workshop in about half an hour that I plan on attending," Laurel explained. "I want to start applying as soon as possible, and with everyone busy, I thought I might as well start today. Considering I won't be able to submit it anywhere until I'm formally resurrected by the courts, I'll have plenty of time to tweak it into something respectable."
Her friend nodded along, though there was a strange expression beginning to form that Laurel wasn't sure she liked. "Tommy?"
"How about this: instead of job-hunting at random charities, why don't you just work here at the Foundation?"
And there it was. "A bit morbid, don't you think?" Laurel pointed out, crossing her arms. "Working at a charity foundation created to honor my memory and named after me because all my loved ones thought I died in a tragic accident?"
Tommy waved her off. "We founded this place because we knew this was the kind of stuff you would've wanted to do. And now that you're here, alive and well—it only makes sense to do it with us, right?"
Now she had seen everything—Tommy Merlyn making actual sense, something Laurel only recognized because she was seriously contemplating the offer. On paper, the Foundation was the perfect choice: it was located in the Glades, near the Clocktower, she'd be working with Tommy and Thea regularly and Oliver and Sara less regularly, and it was the kind of work she wanted to be doing.
Still… "Is there even an open position for someone with my skillset?" Laurel asked, crossing her arms. She had been a history major with a minor in political science, perfect for law school but not much else outside of academia and politics.
"Actually, there is. We're looking for a Policy and Advocacy Coordinator—someone to help research laws, draft policies, organize events, keep track of the records, and more. I'm pretty sure that's right up your alley, Laurel."
Laurel blinked. It was, in fact, up her alley. Being a cop's daughter, she knew the law pretty well even without having attended law school, and her minor would help her form policies for the Foundation easily. "What are the hours?"
"Part-time. You'll have more than enough free time to study up for those self-defense certifications, whatever they are."
And that was the deciding factor. A part-time job was exactly what Laurel needed, to strike that ideal work-life balance with being a vigilante. It was everything she wanted, and Laurel was suspicious about how such a wonderful opportunity fell into her lap like this. But knowing Tommy, he'd never admit to it.
"Fine, but only if I go through the normal hiring process," Laurel insisted, pinning Tommy with a glare. "I'm serious, Merlyn—no favoritism whatsoever. If someone else applies and they turn out to be more qualified, they get the job. No exceptions."
Tommy held up his hand in surrender. "Hearing it loud and clear, Laurel. Neither myself nor Ollie or Sara will do anything to buck the process in your favor."
She glowered at him a little bit longer just to make sure he was sincere, before nodding in satisfaction. "Good. Now where is the workshop taking place? I brought one of my old college resumes as a starting point, and my old professors sent my parents recommendation letters before I touched down in Starling."
"At the computer lab. Here, I'll take you there."
Two hours of a resume workshop and an impromptu lunch in the soup kitchen later, Laurel took the bus again, this time to Wildcat Gym. The building was in good shape for something located in the Glades, and there were a lot of people inside, more than Laurel initially assumed there would be. She asked around for Ted Grant, and a young man in red pointed out an average-sized Hispanic man, who seemed to be a few years older than her.
"Ted Grant?"
Ted turned to her. "That's me. And you are…?"
"Laurel Lance," Laurel introduced herself. "I was told you're the owner of this gym."
"I am," Ted confirmed. "Laurel Lance… you're that girl who was shipwrecked with that billionaire a few years ago. The one that they named the Foundation after. What are you doing here?"
"Well, a lot of reasons. First, I'm looking for a place in the Glades to work out. I plan to get a job at one of the charity organizations down here and one of the patrons at the Foundation recommended your gym. Second," and here, she fished out a poster, "I was wondering if I could take you up on your offer."
It was a spur-of-the-moment thing, taking the poster. But once she thought it over, Laurel realized that it wasn't something she could really pass up. Boxing lessons might seem redundant for someone with her skillset but Laurel loved learning new martial arts. Not to mention, it would give her a regular sparring partner again. Babs couldn't spar often and Dick was in Bludhaven. This seemed like the perfect compromise.
"Is there a reason you want to learn boxing?" he asked her.
"When I was on the island, there were some people stranded there with me," Laurel explained. "They taught me a few things to help me survive, and I want to keep practicing them. I figure boxing will help with that, especially since I'm interested in becoming a self-defense instructor in the future. That's one of the reasons why I sought you out—I was told you were certified, and I'd like your advice."
The gym owner observed for a long moment. "Mind having a short spar with me?"
Surprised by the offer, Laurel slowly nodded. She set down her bag and took off her jacket before joining Ted in one of the nearby rings, ignoring how some of the other gym patrons were stopping what they were doing to watch. They each took a stance, and at Ted's nod, started exchanging blows and holds. Laurel did her best not to show off too much, not wanting to tip anyone off, but when Ted nearly got her in the jaw, she instinctively retaliated. Three seconds later, she had him knocked down and pinned to the canvas.
"Whoa," Ted breathed out, eyes wide.
"Oh my God!" Laurel exclaimed, quickly letting go and helping him get to his feet. "I'm so sorry about that. It was all instinct."
"Good instincts," Ted lightly corrected. "You're good, really good. Are you sure you need boxing lessons?"
The young woman rubbed the back of her head sheepishly. "I enjoy learning new stuff and I want to be active."
"Okay then. If you're up to it, then I'll take you on. We'll waive the fee for the first month just to make sure you're committed."
Laurel beamed.
Her visit at Wildcat's concluded with hashing out the logistics of her boxing lessons (something that wouldn't be finalized until Laurel got a job) and discussing what certifications Laurel would need to become a self-defense instructor. Ted had suggested she aim for a RAD-Systems certification first, and had given her a website to look up to see what was required of her. He even offered to write a letter of recommendation for her.
She was on cloud nine by the time she left. The day had gone better than she'd originally hoped. Not only did Laurel have a potential job lined up, she had found a new sparring partner and a new teacher. It was more than she had been hoping for when she woke up this morning.
Maybe that's why the world decided it was time to screw up her day.
Ring! Ring!
Laurel quickly darted into the nearest alleyway and took out her phone—her vigilante phone, as she wasn't supposed to have an actual phone until she went out to the store tomorrow with her mother. She accepted the call, her demeanor turning serious. "What is it, Oracle?"
"Head down to Iron Heights, Canary," Barbara's voice filtered through the speaker. "Brodeur's made his move. He's sent his fixer to take out to Declan. Chatter says he plans to use a prison riot to cover it up."
The vigilante scowled. "Not if I can help it," she quietly declared, before hanging up. A prison riot, only three days after arriving in the city. It was never by halves, was it?
But that was fine. It was time for Starling to see what the Black Canary was really capable of.
Yes, it's the same Clocktower Sara appropriated in canon. Here it was made into a proper base because Laurel obviously can't use the Foundry for her base. Since the place was abandoned, Bruce bought the place through a shell company and discreetly had it outfitted to have everything Laurel would need. As for how he did this without Malcolm noticing, Malcolm doesn't strike me as the type to pay attention to what happens in the Glades as it doesn't mess with his plans. Plus the residents of the Glades are the type not to talk for fear of bringing trouble on their own heads, a common thing in a dangerous neighborhood.
Next Chapter: Iron Heights.