The Way We Talk

Perfect (Little Talks #21)

Prompt:  "Are you drunk?"

When Laurel enters into her apartment that night, she expects to put on some soft music and enjoy a good book.  The issues she's been having with her mother and father have been taxing, but they've been nothing compared to working out her problems with Sara.  Thankfully, that's all behind her now; they've reconciled, and she thinks it might be for the better.  Their relationship has seemed to evolve since then.

Despite that, she's still very surprised when she opens her front door to see Sara sitting in her living area, on the red sofa.  She looks terrible honestly; she's been out in the torrential rain and her clothes are wet, her hair falls in tangled waves, and the look on her face is tired, disillusioned, and horribly upset.  In her hand is a once-full bottle of vodka that she must have brought with her, as it's not really Laurel's style.  It looks as though it's almost empty, though, the drinking completely unlike Sara.

"Are you drunk?" Laurel asks her sister, surprised enough to let her first thoughts fly out of her mouth.  Then, she winces before thinking about the situation and trying again.  "And how did you get in here?  The door was locked."  She asks knowing she won't get a full answer, but she's long since wanting to know where her sister's new skill set comes from.  Picking locks is now a specialty of hers, and if Sara wasn't her sister, it would probably bother Laurel more than it already does.

Sara laughs as if something she's said is funny, but sobers quickly—from the laughter, at least, but she still seems more than a little drunk.  "The answers are 'not yet' and 'the fire escape,' in that order."  She takes another long pull from the bottle before adding, "I didn't think you'd mind."

"No, of course not," Laurel says honestly.  "You know you're always welcome here."  She drops her things on the nearest table and sits down next to her obviously distraught sister.  "So," she says with a partial smile, "do you want to talk about whatever has you so upset, or do you just want to sit here and drink your liver into early cirrhosis?"

"I know you think about Oliver a lot," Sara admits, "but do you ever drink about him?"  She chuckles at her own poor joke, showing she's far closer to drunk than she previously indicated.  Finally, she adds, "What I mean is, when you drank, did you ever waste a bottle, just for him?"

Laurel chuckles at that.  "Oh, of course," she agrees.  "You know as well as I do that there's a lot of history there—history that we'd sometimes rather forget."  She frowns.  "But that's not important.  I thought you and Oliver were happy."

Sara sighs.  "We were, but we broke up.  It's a long story, and I don't want to burden you with my problems."  She doesn't say anything more, instead choosing to stare out at the city below.  After a long moment, she finally adds, "With the issues with Mom and Dad and the job search, I think you have enough on your plate."

Laurel's having a difficult time putting it all together; she thought the two were happy, and she is over her initial shock about the relationship.  She tries very hard to broach the topic carefully.  "You're my sister, Sara—you can talk to me about anything.  You've been there for me thought all my problems, and now it's time for me to help you."  She thinks on it a little longer before she dares ask the question bluntly:  "Wait, did Oliver break up with you?"

Sara shakes her head, eyes glistening with what looks suspiciously like unshed tears.  "No," she answers quietly.  "I broke up with him."

Laurel doesn't quite get the picture her sister is painting.  "Wait," she says, throwing a hand up, "if you're upset about this, then why did you leave him?  Isn't that generally the other way around?"

Sara laughs again, but the sound is humorless.  "Because he's Oliver," is her elaborate explanation, "and things are never that simple with him—you know that."  She finally looks at Laurel.  "He's in love with someone else."  Before Laurel can even jump to any wrong conclusions, Sara's already countering them.  "He's either too stubborn or too afraid to admit it, though.  But I see no reason to prolong the inevitable.  He loves her, not me, and I'm okay with that."

Before Laurel can ask, Sara continues, "It's funny, but we've both been everything to Oliver at one point or another.  When he was Oliver Queen, irresponsible billionaire, you were precisely what he needed.  You were focused, driven, and so determined.  I think Ollie needed to see success like yours in action.  He and I botched that for you, and I'm sorry about that, but so did the boat's sinking.  And, on the island, I was the person he needed.  We were both damaged and cynical, and we took comfort in the fact that we knew each other before everything became so absolutely hellish.

"But Ollie's not the same guy he was before, and he's not on the island anymore.  He's responsible, willing to make a difference—unafraid to do what he thinks is right.  And neither of us are the girl that he needs for the man he's become.  We're still clinging to Ollie because he's so familiar, but we should remember that he's not what we need anymore, either."

Laurel can't help her curiosity, or the question that flies out of her mouth.  Oliver said he'd loved her half his life, and she reciprocated that thought; she still can't fathom the idea of him loving someone else.  "Who's the girl, then?"  When Sara doesn't immediately answer, she says, "Please tell me she's at least someone good."

Sara laughs, and this time the mirth is genuine.  "Felicity Smoak," she says, drawing the name out.  At Laurel's blank expression, she adds, "You know, blonde?  Glasses?  Adorably awkward?"

Laurel balks at the description when she puts the name to a face.  "You mean his secretary," she replies, her tone scathing.  It hurts her that such a woman could be the object of his affection these days.

Sara points a finger at her, eyes narrowing in warning.  "Executive assistant," she corrects sharply.  "And you better not be doing that thing where you tear her down.  She's honest, loyal to a fault, and she's exactly the woman he needs now."  She takes another pull from the vodka bottle, this one shorter than the last.  "He's not ready for her yet, but, when he is, I'm not going to stand in her way."