To Be a Bird of Prey

Origins

III. The City Down Below

Chapter Three

It was true what they said.

Don't do today what you can leave for tomorrow.

Otherwise, you end up in a back alley, almost at the crack of dawn, with Laurel Lance pointing a gun at your back.

Helena turned to the barrel slowly, hands up in surrender for Laurel's benefit.

"You're a hard woman to find," Laurel told her, both hands on the gun, one finger hovering near the trigger. Helena looked her over; she'd changed since they last time they'd met. It was in the eyes, she supposed; the tiredness there.

"That's the idea," Helena quipped, lowering her arms back at her sides. "Are you here to bring me in, Laurel?" she asked. "Because it won't be that easy."

"Even if I did, I get the feeling your friend in black would show up to save you," Laurel said. "Like she did The Arrow."

Helena narrowed her eyes; this wasn't about her. It was about Sara.

"You're obviously part of her little circle now," Laurel went on. "I want you to take me to her."

Not a chance.

She could get out of this very easily, Helena thought. But Sara wouldn't forgive her if she put as much as a scratch on her big sister.

"I don't want to hurt you, Laurel," she warned, "but I will if you don't get out of my way."

Laurel only aimed the gun higher, right at her head. "I want to talk to her."

"So you can point that gun at her?"

"I just want to talk," she maintained.

Helena had some trouble believing that. "Why?"

Laurel seemed to hesitate, losing her focus for a moment; Helena moved her hand to her crossbow.

Eventually, Laurel said, "Something happened to me that I can't explain. But your friend, I think she could have some answers for me."

"She won't."

"I'll decide that," Laurel retorted, taking a step closer. "Now take me to her."

Helena shook her head. "Can't do that."

"Then call her!" Laurel demanded. "Get her here. I don't care how you do it, but I'm not letting you leave until I see her."

She could just pull that gun out of her hands, whip it against her skull, and be done with this. But Sara would kill her for it. And Sara would also want to help. If she saw her sister this desperate for some kind of answer, she would jump leaps and bounds over the city just to get to her.

"Fine," Helena agreed. "I'll call her."

She reached for her phone slowly, to show Laurel she meant no harm, then dialed.

"Put her on speaker."

She did.

Not a second later, Sara's voice came crackling through it, a little distorted, but Helena still saw Laurel's brow furrow slightly at the sound of it as she prompted, "Helena?"

"Hey, Birdie," Helena said.

"What's wrong? Are you in trouble?"

"Not so much trouble, as a one-woman ambush."

"An ambu – what woman?"

"Laurel Lance."

The name, as she knew it would, was met with a long, deafening silence.

Helena watched Laurel as it stretched, the way her face seemed frozen in a frown, and wondered how she would feel if she were in Laurel's place, if she heard Michael's voice after all these years; if she would recognize it. Probably not.

"What – what does she want?" Sara eventually asked.

"To talk to you," Helena told her. "She thinks you have some answers for her."

Hoping that Sara would say no, that she would steer clear, was futile.

And sure enough, a moment later, she agreed. "I'll meet with her."

"Alright," Helena said. "Be here in ten."

Laurel didn't speak as she hung up then placed the phone back in her pocket, just kept staring at the spot where she'd held it.

"She just agreed," she muttered – mostly to herself, Helena supposed.

"Well, you're getting what you wanted," Helena commented dryly. "Perk up."

It almost seemed to have startled Laurel. She whipped her eyes to Helena, then to the gun she still had raised; she lowered it the next moment.

"I just…didn't think it would be that easy," she said.

Helena left her alone with her thoughts, let the minutes tick by, until she could hear Sara's bike in the distance. Laurel heard it, too, turning to it.

She jumped when Helena grabbed her arm.

"You called, she came," she told her, low but clear, "because she wants to help. There's no agenda, not for her. So I hope you're not trying to pull any tricks here either."

Laurel frowned, then seemed to come to some kind of realization. "You're protecting her."

Helena released her, pulling her mouth into a sweet smile. "She's my partner," she said simply, looking past her and down the alley.

Sara was coming towards them, quick then slower, more unsteady, and Helena bit back a sigh. She just nodded instead, and leapt up the nearest wall; family matters stayed in the family. Sara had respected that, for her, helping her deal with her family the way she saw fit. The least she could do was extend the same courtesy.

She only far enough away to keep out of sight – because yes, she was protecting her partner – then called their little eye in the sky. "Tell me you've found a bird's eye view of this place."

Laurel barely noticed Helena disappear from behind her, eyes locked on the woman in black.

She'd never seen her from this close up, for this long. The black leather, the almost straw-like blonde hair, the way she walked; they were all that of a stranger.

"Hello, Laurel."

But that voice…

She swore she knew that voice.

"Um, uh…hi," she found her own, stepping closer to the woman; the latter ducked her head when she came too close.

"Helena said you wanted to talk to me," the woman spoke again. "That I would have answers for you."

"Yes, that's…that's what I wanted." The gun was still in her hand, still loaded, and she almost forgot she had it. She'd meant to approach this woman like she would a witness on the stand, be aggressive and direct until the answers came, with a gun to aid the process; she'd thought that would be the only way.

But the woman, she was…different.

She almost reminded of The Arrow, of the way he'd behaved around her.

"I, uh – I was taken, by a man, a while back," she said. "Me and…another woman."

"I know."

"You do? Okay. Um, well, something happened – I made something happen, and...I can't explain it." She swallowed. "But then I saw Starling National, after that robbery, and I remembered that…you did the same thing I did. With the glass. You shattered all of it…like I did."

The woman said nothing for a moment, before she reached for something at her belt; she held it out in palm of her hand. "I use this," she explained. "It's a sonic device."

"I know, but I don't have anything like that," Laure said, coming closer still. "I thought maybe…you used it to channel…something? Or…you knew someone who could…do this sort of thing without it?"

The woman shook her head. "I don't," she told her. "I'm sorry."

Laurel looked down, staring at that little device, and felt a lump rising in her throat.

She'd known it was a long shot; but it was the only thing she had. And now, there were tears burning her eyes.

She lifted her head, and found that the woman had done the same, that she was watching her from behind her mask; with piercing, bright blue eyes.

She swore she knew those eyes, too.

She stumbled back, turned away from – this woman, this stranger, she was a stranger, not –

"I can help you," she heard her call out after her. "I – I have friends, are they're good at…figuring things out, we can help you. We can help you find out what happened."

Run, she thought. She had to run. She had to get away from here.

"No, I'm – I'm sorry, I should…I should go," she tripped over her words just as she tripped away from –

"Laurel, it's me."

And suddenly there wasn't enough air in her lungs.

No, it wasn't –

It couldn't –

She still turned back, though it was hard to breathe, and her eyes were burning with tears, to see her come closer, and her hand rise to take off the mask.

"It's me, Laurel, it's Sara."

Sara.

Died on the boat.

Died on the island.

Didn't die at all.

She stood there – she stood right there.

Alive, and breathing, and in a stranger's clothes, and looking at her with wet eyes, and she just –

She just came back.

"Laurel – "

She didn't even think. She just raised the gun. "Stay away!"

Sar – no, the woman, stopped, swayed on the spot like she'd been hit; like she was about to cry.

Her dead sister was crying in front of her.

And she just ran.

"Rooftop, south side."

"Yeah, I see her," Helena said.

She disconnected the call with Felicity, crossing the space to where Sara sat on the ledge, head bowed and limply holding her mask and wig in her hands.

Helena didn't think there was much she could say, not after she'd just had her sister point a gun at her, so she just walked over and waited for Sara to talk.

When she did, it was a with a hollow, "My sister hates me."

And that was why she should have steered clear.

Still, Helena knelt in front of her, and put her hands over hers.

Sara sniffled. "I knew she did," she added. "I just…I guess I just wasn't ready to see it."

Helena sighed. "Go home," she said.

"No – " Sara shook her head. "Laurel, she's upset, I have to – "

"I'll make sure she's okay," Helena cut her off. "You need to go home."

"I'm not really home." Sara finally looked up, eyes brimmed with red. "And my family doesn't need me," she whispered. "You were right."

Helena closed her eyes. "Doesn't matter," she let the words out with a rush of air. "You need to get to the tower." After a moment, she added, "Felicity's still there."

It didn't cheer her up this time.

Cheerless little bird, she thought. "Okay," she muttered, lifting her hands to Sara's hair. She rolled it into a loose bun before reaching for the wig, pulling it in place as gently as she could; Sara barely moved.

"You can't be out here," Helena said and picked up the mask next, bringing it to Sara's face, then carefully pushing her fingers along the edges to make it stick. "There," she concluded. "Now go. I'll take care of Laurel."

Sara nodded, getting to her feet. Helena watched her until she jumped off to the next building, then the next one; she lingered for a moment longer, taking a deep breath, before she went off after Laurel.

She tailed her from the 24/7 liquor store to her apartment, going for the window when she went for the building door.

She was well inside the living room when Laurel came in.

Laurel took one look at her, tensed like she was about to fight, then simply deflated; Helena noticed her eyes were just as red as Sara's had been.

"Did she send you here?" Laurel practically spat at her, throwing her keys and missing the bowl on the counter, before she shut the door with her foot.

"I volunteered," Helena said. "To make sure you don't do anything stupid, like drink all of" – she nodded towards the paper bag in Laurel's hands – "that."

Laurel let out a bitter chuckle. "Well, you can go," she dismissed. "I don't want you here. Or her."

"This wasn't how she wanted to tell you she was alive, you know," Helena told her.

Laurel whirled around at that, eyes flashing with anger. "Then how did she want to?" she demanded. "When? Because it looks to me like she's been right here for a while."

"I don't know," Helena said, "but I doubt any of her when's and how's included having you point a gun at her."

The jab seemed to have gotten to Laurel because she flinched, then reached for her gun and tossed it on the couch like it was on fire. She had her back to her now, but Helena still heard her take a deep, wet breath, and sniffle.

"You know, you're right," Helena told her. "About Sara having been here for a while. And she's been here because she said her family needed her – that you did. And tonight, she told me I was right when I said you didn't." She shrugged. "Maybe you don't. But she does need you."

Laurel turned at that, eyes heavy with tears. "Really?" she challenged. "Because I've been right here the entire time. She's the one who – I mean, where was she? When Mom left, when she was looking all over the world for her, when Dad started drinking, when The Undertaking happened, when I lost Tommy, when I almost died because she didn't– where the hell was she!"

The bottles shattered right in her hand.

And the glass on the coffee table.

And the picture frames on the dresser.

Drops of red – wine, Helena assumed – dripped down from the tattered bag she still held, but for all the yelling she was doing a moment ago, Laurel was really quiet now, staring at the broken pieces on the ground.

Well.

Her bird song definitely packed a bigger punch than her little sister's.

Maybe that was because it came from inside of her.

"Well," Helena broke the silence, "there's something I've never seen before."

Laurel sobbed.

She brought a hand to cover her mouth so the sounds came out muffled instead, but they still filled the place, and the tears still ran down her cheeks.

There was nothing Helena could do about that.

So she walked over to the knocked-over broken picture frames instead, and picked up the one that had drawn her attention; Quentin Lance, a little blonde girl, and a black bird in a gilded cage.

"Sara's the one who should tell you everything," she said, "but…this is her, right?"

The question seemed to have distracted Laurel from her misery, if only for a second, because her crying stopped, and her head jerked in nodding.

"Yeah, I thought so," Helena smiled. "You know, around here, people call her the woman in black but, where she was…she chose to be called The Canary. And I'm thinking" – she tapped her finger against the picture – "it's because of this."

"The Canary?" Laurel echoed, low and rough.

"Why do you think I call her 'birdie'?"

Laurel smiled at that, just the tiniest bit.

"When I first met her," Helena went on, "she told me she'd chosen it because it held a lot of meaning for her." She chuckled, handing the frame over for Laurel to hold. "Should've figured it was about her family."

Of course, it wiped the smile right off Laurel's face; she stared down at the picture with a frown now, but when Helena spoke again, she clutched it to her chest.

"She never forgot you," Helena said. "That's one of the first things she told me, too. That she never let herself forget her family. And from the looks of it, you haven't let yourself forget her either. And, uh, your little problem there" – she gestured to her throat – "isn't going away either, and I'm pretty sure there's no one out there who's more willing to help you figure it out than Sara. So…think about it."

Laurel gave her an odd sort of look. "Since when do you…care? About – any of this?"

"I care about Sara," Helena said. "And she cares about you, so…" She shrugged.

Laurel had nothing further to say after that.

There, Helena thought. Her work here was done.

But before she left…

Laurel didn't object – didn't move an inch, really – when Helena rummaged through her kitchen. "I'll take this," she informed, holding up the baking soda she'd found, "since you're the one who interrupted my groceries shopping." She went back to the window. "And when you're done being angry with your sister," she added when she was halfway out, "you know where to find me."

Vigilantes huddling in corners in the dark needed their space.

Well, Oliver did. And she never really gave it to him. But still. She should just stay here on her couch and chew her nails, and leave Sara alone.

And she was terrible at that.

"You wanna talk about it?"

"Not really," Sara still answered, just loud enough to be heard.

She had her back propped against the wall just below the broken clock face – they really needed to get that fixed – with a gust of wind blowing her hair out every once in a while

"Look, I know this has to be terrible," Felicity tried again, stepping closer. "I mean, first time you talk to your sister in what, six years, and she points a gun at you – "

"She hates me," Sara cut in, looking up. "And I knew she did – how could she not? She has so many reasons to. But I guess I still…" She shrugged. "I guess part of me always hoped that…she would be happy to see me."

Felicity sighed, crossing the tower all the way, and lowering herself to the floor next to Sara.

"I still don't think she hates you," she said. "And that's not a platitude, I'm not just saying it 'cause I think it might make you feel better," she added before Sara could accuse her of doing exactly that, "but I really don't think she hates you. She's definitely angry, but…she doesn't hate you."

"The thing is," she went on, "it's hard being angry with someone who's not there." She swallowed. "I mean, they did this terrible thing to you and then they were gone, and you've got all that anger inside of you, but then you also have to grieve, and you can't do that because you're angry, but you can't really be angry either because…they're gone. So when she saw you tonight, when you weren't gone anymore…I'm guessing it was the first time she could just feel angry."

Sara didn't say anything for a while, until she asked, "Is that experience talking?"

"Sort of," Felicity admitted. "My dad, he…left when I was a kid. Left me and my mom. And I don't know where he is, he could be dead. I mean, I could find out pretty easily, but I'm just never able to, and – okay, we're not talking about my issues right now, so the point is" – she turned her head to the side, to look at Sara – "I kind of get what Laurel's been feeling, all these years. It's not the same, but…I think the principle applies. And I haven't seen my dad in like, twenty years, but when or if I did…I think all I could be is angry, too."

Sara nodded slowly. "Yeah," she whispered.

"Which isn't to say you don't get to be angry and upset, too," Felicity told her. "She did, you know, pull a gun on you. And you've been waiting all this time to see her – somehow, I don't think this was how you envisioned it, or wanted it to go, but I think, if you give her a day or two, she will be happy to see you."

Sara kept her eyes on her for a long time, with a few more tears pooling at the corners. Eventually, she just said, "Thank you."

Felicity gave her a little smile, then shrugged it off. "What are girlfriends for?"

Oh, there she went again.

"And by that I mean girl friend," she quickly added, "separately, as in a friend that is a girl, not – " She sighed. "You know what, you should just get used to this."

Sara laughed.

It was choppy and kind of scratchy, but she was laughing, letting her head fall back against the wall.

But then Helena was coming out through the hatch, and Sara's laughter died away in two seconds flat.

"How is she?" the question was out of her mouth even quicker.

"Not that great," was Helena's reply. She took a moment to raise an eyebrow at them, where they were huddled together on the floor, and if Felicity wasn't mistaken, she also threw a funny kind of look in there, just for Sara. But it went away as quickly as it had come. "She's got a drinking problem, from the looks of it," she said next, discarding pieces of leather as she went – and a pack of baking soda; Felicity refrained from asking where she'd gotten that.

"And that's not even her biggest problem," Helena went on, "because the booze she picked up on the way home? She blew it right out of her own hand. With her voice."

"I was right," Felicity let out, turning to Sara. "She did break all the glass at QC with all the…screaming."

"I've never seen anything like it," Helena said. "I'd say it's impossible, but…"

"There are more impossible things," Sara muttered.

"Yeah," Helena agreed, walking up to them before she lowered herself on the ground, too, on Sara's other side. "Like that guy who's been running around Central City."

"Yeah, but he got his powers from the STAR Labs particle accelerator explosion."

Both heads turned to her.

Felicity pursed her lips. "Did I mention that I know him?"

"Is there like a secret vigilante club that sits around campfires on Wednesdays or…?" Helena wondered, just as Sara asked, "Any chance it affected Laurel, too?"

"No." Felicity shook her head. "I mean, the – okay, this is like semi-confidential stuff, but the effects were contained to Central City. All the meta-humans – "

"Meta-humans?"

"That's what we're – they're calling them," Felicity said. "And by 'they', I mean the Central City guys. You know, the…guy who's been running and vigilante-ing there. And his people. He calls himself The Flash, actually. Anyway. Only the people within the blast radius were affected. The blast was contained to Central City, and I know for a fact that Laurel was right here in Starling when the accelerator blew."

"So it's something else," Sara concluded.

"Has to be. Although…"

"Although – what?"

"Although," Felicity grinned, "if anyone is ever going to figure out where Laurel's abilities are coming from, it's The Flash and his team. I make one call, and we'll have a full molecular breakdown of Laurel's DNA super quick – in a flash, as it were."

Sara didn't seem to be in much of a joking mood; Helena did crack a smile, though.

"So, when she comes to you," Helena told Sara, "we actually have a good offer to make her."

Whipping her head towards Helena, Sara quietly echoed, "When she comes to me?"

Helena nodded. "Give her a little time," she said. "But she'll be back in that alley waiting for us – for you, in a day or two."

Sara let out a shaky breath, closing her eyes as her head bobbed up and down in a nod; Felicity reached out to squeeze her had.

"Well…when she does," Sara said, squeezing back, "I need to make sure I'm not making empty promises."

"I'll get on it," Felicity promised. "Well, in the morning," she amended. "Or…later in the morning." She sighed. "'Cause right now, I'm so tired, I could sleep for a week."

Helena snorted. "Couch's all yours."