It was all over before dawn.

The battle, apparently years in the making, had seemed to rage endlessly one moment and then, in the blink of an eye, it was done. And hardly a word had been said, about any of it, leaving Laurel Lance little more than her imagination to fill in the blanks.

She and Sara sat together on salty wooden crates overlooking the harbour. Their father was currently going toe-to-toe with Nyssa al Ghul over his youngest daughter's safety and happiness while the latter's numerous assassins loaded the waiting ship. From that vantage point, the sisters could pretend the orange and red dancing on the water was the rising sun and not the many fires that still burned across the city. From street to sky, chaos left its mark, billowing ash and smoke making the unthinkable bloodshed and violence even harder to swallow.

Laurel knew, for tonight at least, they were safe. She knew there was a long road ahead for Starling City. She knew that Sara had to go. Holding her baby sister's hand as they waited for the inevitable, there was so much she wanted to know, wanted to ask. She wanted so badly to ask Sara where she'd be going and what she'd be doing, couldn't she stay? And so much more. Who was Shado? What had happened to her, Sara, and Ollie? What made Slade Wilson – Slade Wilson? Why couldn't Ollie take his eyes off Felicity . . . Smoak as he confronted Slade? Felicity Smoak. Laurel hadn't really even known her name before tonight. And now? Did she really hear what she thought she heard while in Slade's custody? How could Sara embrace the small bespectacled ubiquitous blonde as long and hard as she had Laurel herself? Her questions only grew more selfish from there.

Sara was looking up at her now, squeezing her hand. She raised a curious eyebrow at the crease between Laurel's brows, the orbs beneath dark and pleading.

"It's complicated." Sara would love to leave it at that. She let go of Laurel's hand.

"Sara?" There was shock in her voice that Laurel couldn't hide. "Big sister. Little sister," she gestured between them with her now free hand invoking their sacred bond. Sara's gaze averting to the bay and her deep war-prep inhale were all the answer she received. The sister part of Laurel was wounded but like always the lawyer part of her superseded finding another tactic.

"Do you know what I did when Slade told me about Ollie?" she started, knowing not to expect an answer from Sara. "What I'm good at. Research. Lots of research."

There was nothing notable in Sara's expression aside from subtle curiosity. Or was it amusement? "What did you find?"

Laurel decided it was amusement but she was grateful. At least Sara was looking at her again. In this moment, with the information that Laurel hadn't allowed herself to make full sense of on the tip of her tongue, she didn't want to be alone. Because what she had found was – "Her." It came out pointed, almost venomous. "I mean – that what Slade said was true. Ollie is . . . everything since he came back – it fit finally. But, there was her too. So much of her. She's with him. Everywhere. His office. His car. Charity events. Every paparazzi photo of him this past year. She's right there. She's . . . in his bar. And . . . . . . . under the bar. Tonight. She's with him." Laurel couldn't stop her voice from raising an octave and breaking. Something in her stomach, bile or maybe rapidly failing adrenaline, shifted, and an emotion nearing hysteria was creeping in on her. The one thing she had always known to be true about Ollie was now questionable.

"Yes." Sara's reply came finally, simply, and unapologetically.

Both familiar and foreign, the woman before Laurel had an ability to calm her with the same voice, the same eyes that she once used as an infuriating baby sister. And while Sara may have stopped her heart from racing, Laurel's mind was still reeling. "But why her? Who is she, Sara? I couldn't find any . . . anything."

Sara was almost smiling. Of course Laurel hadn't found anything. Felicity must have written a program to erase herself from all electronic records, just like she had done for Sara. Now, Laurel was pleading with her, confused and hurt from more than this evening's events. Secrets compounded over time to cause her sister's distress now and Sara realized how unfair it must seem but she struggled to find a satisfactory answer. Why Felicity Smoak?

"She's . . . " There were a lot of things Sara could say. Felicity was smart, funny, nonjudgmental, really really cute. Taking her sister's hand once more, she chose the thing she knew would surprise Laurel the most, would make the most impact. "She took a bullet for me."

"What?"

"And she thanked me for it." Sara's smile reached her eyes now. There was a light playing in them that Laurel sorely missed. It was clear; Sara had a real affection for Felicity Smoak as well. Even her father, the good detective, had looked as if he wanted to wrap Felicity Smoak in a fatherly hug earlier that night, but stopped himself. She had quietly trickled into the lives, the hearts, of everyone Laurel cared about while Laurel had wasted the better part of the past year at the bottom of one bottle or another, oblivious, blaming anyone but herself. She could feel some of that bubbling up again but it threatened to have a new target. Felicity Smoak was making her irrelevant.

"He's different with her," Sara wasn't done. She knew it was a never healing wound for Laurel that she was new to this other life they all lead but Sara only had so much time to make a case for her friend. Felicity stood with them. She wasn't an obstacle for Laurel to overcome whatever she may feel.

"I noticed," Laurel responded. And she had.

"He's different, Laurel," Sara persisted. Ollie was different from the boy they knew. Different from his island self. Different from her.

"I know." Laurel's voice had evened out but Sara wasn't as good at reading her as she used to be. She was really staring at her now trying to fit so many things into one look before she would have to leave again. Laurel seemed to pick up on some small piece. "Last year he was . . . "

"The Vigilante," Sara offered the kindest definition.

"After Tommy though . . . the Dollmaker, Sebastian Blood, Helena Bertinelli . . . he didn't. There was only one. He . . . he killed Count Vertigo. For her."

"Laur, I don't think it was like-"maybe Laurel had picked up a bigger piece than Sara thought.

She cut her off, her mind answering the questions while she still spoke with mild disbelief. "Slade Wilson took me, Sara. He was so sure. But Ollie stayed away. It wasn't until his blade was at her throat that Ollie showed up."

"Oliver."

"What?"

Sara realized now. "He's not really Ollie anymore. Oliver." The way Digg and Felicity said it with trust and conviction. It meant something. No abbreviation.

"Not with her," quietly, almost sarcastically. Laurel wasn't yet convinced.

"She's earned her place," Sara tried bluntness.

"So, she's with him?" Laurel tried again. The thing she most needed to know.

Sara looked out to the bay. One more reflected ball of fire was dancing its way from waves to sky now. "It's complicated."