In his long and storied dealings with the law, Roy Harper has met a lot of cops and lawyers. So, when he meets Quentin and Laurel Lance, he places them in the large mental file of 'do-gooders who you shouldn't piss off unless you want to be prosecuted'. Laurel Lance gets bumped into a slightly higher regard after he hears more about her. She runs a defense agency, sometimes almost pro bono, and takes on cases that others won't; she fights for the little guy. And, the fact that she got Thea out of community service cements his goodwill—anybody who helps Thea is good in his book.

So when Tommy Merlyn dies in the earthquake, he actually feels sorry for her. Roy can't even imagine how terrible it would have been if Thea had died (doesn't want to imagine it, either). Laurel Lance and he are connected in that they know the same people—he knows her through osmosis. He's heard stories about her; how Laurel Lance was Oliver's coolest girlfriend because she made time for eleven-year-old Thea and braided her hair. A part of his mental image of her is as Thea saw her, back then- sunshine gold and tinted with childhood adulation and nostalgia.

Roy finally makes his own portrait of Laurel Lance when he sees her at the precinct. Seeing her standing at the end of the hallway, pantsuit and heels with her arms crossed in exasperation, sends a flashbulb image that sparks in his brain. For the first time, he feels like he actually knows Laurel Lance. He can see the cracks in her, where holding her spine iron-straight has made her foundation brittle. The warm, confident lawyer that she presents herself as isn't a lie, but it conceals the deadly structural flaws that are caving her in from the inside.

She clicks over to him and launches her sermon on the evils of the Arrow, and it's obvious that she's got some personal grudge against the vigilante. She's just another in a long line of authority figures that Roy has become adept at not listening to. But, she is the first one in quite some time that has legitimate concern for his wellbeing in her voice. He's not sure why she cares, because she probably knows him as 'Thea's no-good criminal boyfriend'. Still, it's nice to know that someone gives a damn.

He's vaguely aware of her, after that. Roy hears from Thea that Laurel and her father had been kidnapped, and that Laurel has developed substance abuse problems. While he sympathizes, Roy's far too busy dealing with Mirakuru induced rages and hallucinations to give it any serious thought. Plus, funnily enough, being comatose and crazy aren't good for long-term memory. For all Roy knows, he could have talked to Laurel Lance often and not remember it.

When Roy's cured and he begins working with Oliver in earnest, Laurel starts showing up more often. She'll swing by with case files and criminal bios, chat with Felicity, check up on news about Sara. She's more confident now, more comfortable in her own skin. Before, her rapid switch from defender to prosecutor seemed like a coping mechanism—she channeled her hurt into her career, being on the offensive so she wouldn't have to think or feel. (Roy's an expert at this; it's old hat to him. Recognizing it in others isn't difficult.) At last, she seems to have settled; she's a prosecutor because she believes in justice, because she wants to help her city. For those six months, things are good. (As good as they can be without Thea, anyway.)

And then Sara dies, and it rips his world apart. Fragments of memories shift into horrible clarity during the night as he relives the sick sound of arrows whistling through the air and embedding themselves in her chest—thwock, thwock, thwock. The nightmare repeats luridly, night after night after night; he barely sleeps. Sometimes, he avoids rest altogether. When he's not dreaming about Sara, it's the shriek of metal in his ears and unending furious rage as he almost beats a man to death with his bare hands. There's one particularly disturbing dream that starts off happy, with he and Thea eating dinner together—he reaches over the table to hold her hand, and feels the crack of bones beneath his palm as he accidentally applies too much superhuman force. (She screams in agony, and he wakes up.)

But, what might be worse, is thinking of Laurel. He imagines the betrayal, the anger on her face when she finds out. She flies into a fury: hits him, how could you, gouges his heart out (he's not sure that he'd stop her).

He almost hopes that there's residual Mirakuru in his system, because if not, then he's going crazy (all on his own, this time).

Eventually, things progress to the point where he has to confront it; the sleep deprivation is starting to affect him too much to function. Laurel deserves to know. When they tell her, he hunches in on himself, waiting for a fist or an accusation. But there's… nothing. She doesn't blow-up, or attack him; Laurel just accepts it. He doesn't understand—he's almost disappointed.

After he realizes that he didn't kill Sara, he goes to Laurel's apartment immediately. Explanations jitter on the tip of his tongue as he waits for her to answer the door, but whatever he'd planned to say disappears when she's suddenly there. "I didn't kill Sara," he blurts out.

Laurel, standing with one hand still on the door, blinks. "Oh- Hi, Roy-Good."

She pauses, regaining composure. "That's really good. I'm glad. Would you-?" She steps back and beckons him inside.

He steps over the threshold, into her home, and Laurel closes the door behind him. He takes in the details with a thief's quick eye: warm reds and oranges, light wood, candles on the mantel and wine glasses on the coffee table. Roy pointedly stops looking when he sees a picture of the Lances, the Queens and the Merlyns together at one of Moira's famous holiday parties—half of the people in the photo are dead.

"So, how did you figure this out, exactly?" Laurel asks.

"Oliver—he helped me sort through some things," he says lamely.

Like a true lawyer, Laurel hones in on the vague hesitancy and discomfort. " 'Sort through some things'?"

Roy winces. Looks like he's going to have to tell her. "Yeah," he says, "I got my signals crossed. Sara's death reminded me of something else and my brain just made the association."

"You having memories of killing my sister isn't just making an association, Roy," she says, eyebrows raised incredulously. "There's more to it than that."

"Yeah, uh, well…" Moment of truth, he better just get it over with. "Turns out that I killed someone, a cop, when I was on Mirakuru and after I totally lost it. I, uh, stabbed him with an arrow, and my memory is so full of holes that Sara was similar enough to jostle some loose—just not the right ones."

Laurel's expression shifts into one that he can't entirely parse, but she's clearly scrutinizing him and Roy fidgets in discomfort. He just confessed a murder to a district attorney, and a cop's daughter to boot, and he knows that he looks like shit with bags under his eyes and sunken cheeks.

"It's kind of a relief, actually." Oh, god, that sounds horrible. "Not that killing anyone is a good thing! But, I mean, it's better than having killed Sara. I would have hated doing that to you." Jesus, he was rambling more than Felicity.

Roy draws in a breath to make excuses for a retreat, but finds himself unable to say anything when he sees Laurel. Her face is contorted with grief, a film of tears on her eyes and before he can process what's happening she's closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

For a moment, he freezes, before feeling a rush of guilt and hugging her back. He shouldn't have let anyone tell Laurel before they had all of the information; he's upset her for nothing.

"I'm sorry," he says. "I'm sorry that I brought this up and then didn't give you any answers."

"It's alright," she murmurs. "It's good that you did. At least we know now."

"And I'm sorry that you had to go through that," she continues. "Killing someone feels terrible, even when they don't give you any other choice. Even when they deserve it."

Oh, yeah. The serial killer. Roy had forgotten that Laurel's killed someone too.

"It's not your fault, you know."

"Mmhmm."

She must have heard the disbelief in his voice. "No, I'm serious. I think that you have a pretty solid insanity defense."

He laughs at that, a little too hysterically for his own taste. It feels wrong to joke about this, but it's also very comforting. Roy may not believe her, but it's nice to know that she doesn't hate him, and that she has faith in him. Idly, he wonders if this is what having an older sister feels like.

Sniffling, Laurel steps back. She wipes away a few stray tears with the back of her hand. "Sorry, I didn't mean to cry on you."

"Don't worry about it. I was the one who opened that can of worms," he says nonchalantly. Roy's pretty sure that he needed a hug too, but he's going to salvage some of his dignity by not saying so.

"Thank you for coming to tell me in person."

"Hallmark doesn't make cards for things like this, yet."

This time it's her turn to laugh at the black humor.

They pause for a few moments, before Roy says, "Well, I think I have to get going."

Laurel nods, and opens the door for him. As Roy leaves, he feels a nagging suspicion picking at his brain. He turns around, and catches Laurel just as she's closing the door. "Laurel?"

"Yes?" She stills, hand on the doorframe.

Roy thinks for a moment, trying to find the best words to describe the strange sensation that he has. "My false memory, it felt so real. Even now that I know that I didn't do it, I still feel like what I remembered is the right scenario. I don't know; maybe my mind made some kind of intuitive jump." He thinks of Sara and her sad, hurt expression as she fell.

"I'm certain that she knew whoever killed her."

Laurel nods. "Unfortunately, I wouldn't be surprised. I was within earshot, and Sara didn't call for help. Added to the fact that the arrows were centered in her chest, like she was facing her attacker head on, not even trying to dodge…"

"…Which Sara would never do, because she's too well trained for that," Roy finishes.

"Exactly," Laurel says with a hint of satisfaction. "We'll have to keep it in mind."

"Be careful, Laurel."

She smiles. "You too, Roy. Take care of yourself: go get some sleep."

He waves; she closes the door. He goes home, and sleep isn't easy, but it's better with Laurel's reassurances replaying in his mind.

When Laurel emerges in Canary black weeks later, Roy can't say that he's surprised. And, while he has his initial reservations, Roy can't really disapprove of anyone recklessly taking on a mask. (He did the same thing, after all. It would be hypocritical.) Plus, despite her inexperience, he and Laurel work well together. When they fight, they watch out for each other; when they strategize, they collaborate plans where he's the distraction that lets her slip in unnoticed. They find a rhythm, a partnership, because they have a memory of a hug and support to build from. Neither of them is Oliver Queen, but between the two of them they're tenacious, dedicated and stubborn by half—they make it be enough.

They have a city to save, after all.

AN: Oh, wow you guys! I am so excited to know that people are reading and enjoying this. Y'all are my lifeblood and my motivation to get things written on time!