|
|
Post by Oliver Queen on Jan 5, 2014 18:33:26 GMT -6
Oliver had just finished getting Sarah settled into his home. With his mother in prison and Thea spending most every night at Roy's, it was safe to keep Sarah there until she figured out her next move. He hoped she would make herself known to her family, but it was not his decision to make. He knew what it felt like to die. To no longer be the person you once were. It was why, he -- more than anyone -- understood where Sarah was coming from, even if he disagreed with her decision. When he was sure she was asleep, he asked Diggle to check in on her in a bit because Oliver had someone else he needed to check on. Laurel. Quentin had asked him to talk to her as a friend, and he knew that the fact that he was coming to Oliver meant that he was extremely concerned about his daughter.
Oliver had tried to talk to Laurel, though she grew upset with the idea of him and her father passing judgment which . . . he truly was not trying to do. And he wanted her to understand that. Just because they were not together, did not mean he suddenly stopped caring about her. He did. Deeply and emphatically. She had been through so much and with his nights as the Hood, he hadn't been there for her as much as he wished he could have. It was for her own protection, but times like these was where he wished he had done, and could do, more. After Tommy's death . . . well, both he and Laurel were still mourning yet handling that grief in very different ways.
Their last conversation had been in a public setting and he hoped that going to her apartment would give them the required privacy to talk . . . really talk. So with that thought in mind, he walked down the hallway, knowing it was late but had a feeling she would still be awake. He raised his hand, knocking on the door a couple of times, hoping she would answer and not reject his company.
Location: Laurel's Apartment
Time of Day: Night
Timeline: Season 2
Tag: Laurel Lance
|
|
|
|
Post by laurel on Jan 5, 2014 20:28:38 GMT -6
In the weeks after Tommy's death, Laurel had kept to herself, mostly. She felt completely responsible, and nothing anyone else said would change her mind on that. Her father could insist all he wanted, he could blame the Hood, Oliver could claim to understand her pain, but no one knew. No one else understood the guilt, except for maybe her mother.
Laurel threw herself into her work, almost literally, spending late nights in her office until she fell asleep, waking with sticky notes on her face, or drool on her files. If she kept busy, the thoughts and the pain stayed at bay. In the quiet of the night, when she found herself alone, that's when the terrors came out. Nightmares of Tommy's dead body, blood everywhere, Laurel's face under the hood... she couldn't take it. So on nights when there was no paperwork, when Kate insisted she take a break, and Laurel found herself alone, she was quick to lose herself in the bottom of a bottle.
Wine tonight. Reruns of Friends on tv, a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, her dark hair falling limp around her face and shoulders. Warm tears smudged the make up from the day, and left her dark eyes blood shot, but after her second glass, they stopped, or she stopped caring. Laurel'd just filled her cup with a third round of the ruby liquid when a knock came to the door. Scowling, she briefly contemplated ignoring it, rolling over and burying herself under the blanket, but... it could be her father. Or Thea.
Oliver was the last person she expected.
Pulling the door back, she offered him a sloppy smile and sighed. "Oliver Queen. Fancy meeting you here. Y'know, I can't remember the last time you stopped by. You must be so damn busy with that... that nightclub of yours. That pretty blonde secretary. Your new best friend, Diggle. Busy, busy, busy." The patronizing tone was almost scolding, though she continued to smile, head tipped, eyes glassy. |
|
|
|
Post by Oliver Queen on Jan 5, 2014 20:43:22 GMT -6
He was relieved to see that she had opened the door, but her words were far from desirable to hear. Yet . . . they were expected. He knew he hadn't been here for her and, apart from that, he could tell that she had been drinking. A lot. This was not Laurel. She hadn't been acting as herself lately and Oliver could offer several explanations as to why. It was not easy to lose two people you cared about. Her words far from discouraged him to leave though. How could he just walk away from her when she was in such a state? It caused his heart to ache to see how much she had suffered and all she had lost. She was a strong woman though, and knew she could pull through this. Even if it was with a little support and reminders from those who cared about her a great deal.
"Laurel," he said in a soft voice, unsure as to whether it was meant as a greeting, or acknowledgement of some sort. He didn't comment on her words about his work at the nightclub, Felicity, or Diggle. Instead, he wanted to focus on her. "I wanted to see how you were," he told her, in the same soft and calm voice. "May I come in?" He asked, not wanting to impose his presence, but also unwilling to leave if she said no right away. He would find a way to convince her because . . . she shouldn't be alone. Not in this state. Not with clear signs of intoxication. All he could be grateful for was that she was home, and not driving -- as her father informed him that she'd been charged with a DUI recently. "Please," he added, hoping she would let him. Hoping she would allow him to help her.
|
|
|
|
Post by laurel on Jan 8, 2014 15:37:12 GMT -6
Laurel's face deadpanned as she stared back at Oliver. Why was he so god damn calm all of the time? How was he not grieving? How did he remain so strong? Strong, and unfeeling. She could feel the anger bubbling inside of her stomach, egged on by the alcohol she'd sucked down, and slowly, a scowl darkened her features. "No," she answered, pushing off of the door frame, with just the slightest bit of effort and reached for the door handle. "Go away, Ollie. I don't need anything."
Stumbling back a few steps, Laurel shoved the door, letting it slam against the frame. The sound was satisfying, telling Oliver off was even better, but the smile didn't come. Instead, hot tears stung her eyes, and she wiped angrily, unable to move any further away. Under the door, she could still see the shadow of his feet, and the lump in her throat only swelled. |
|
|
|
Post by Oliver Queen on Jan 8, 2014 19:31:18 GMT -6
Oliver watched and listened as she answered his question with a blunt no, claimed she didn't need anything, and then slammed the door shut. He just stood there, aware that she was demanding space. But at the same time, he knew her. And knew that right now, she needed support, even if she was unable to admit it. He waited for a few moments, awaiting a click but when he did not hear it come, knew she had not locked the door. So with that thought, he opened it, taking a few steps inside, but not closing it behind him.
"Laurel, you can't keep doing this," he told her. Pushing everyone away. Keeping company only with wine. It was not a path she should go down on. Not when her career was flourishing and her ambition was enabling her to do so, just as it always did.Oliver saw the wine on her table before averting his gaze from it and back to her. "I can leave," he said, about to present her with options. "Or I can stay, as a friend." Nothing less than that. "Before you decide, just remember that you don't have to go through this alone." He was still standing near the door, a few steps inside, waiting to see if she would push him out or close the door behind him. The choice was hers.
|
|
