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He knew this was something he should be doing. He probably needed to do it. But Oliver couldn’t help feeling strangely out of his own body ever since he’d left Susan’s apartment that night. He was fairly certain moving on wasn’t supposed to be like this. People always said moving on was never easy, but most people wouldn’t understand what he was trying to move on from. There were some days even he couldn’t examine it too closely. The tangled mess he’d made of his heart, his relationships.
Thea’s return to the city presented a welcome distraction, especially when his sister asked for his help one afternoon at the apartment she’d been staying in alone the last several months. It was strange all the same, walking down this hall and to the door he knew so well, only for the woman he knew to no longer expect to still not answer.
He still managed something like a smile when Thea pulled open the door instead. “Hey, thanks for coming.”
“No thanks needed. You said you needed help organizing?” The boxes sitting in the living room seemed to indicate as much. He ignored the distressed pang the empty shelves caused him. The albums and law books and old DVDs that should’ve been there were packed away already.
“Yeah, well, Quentin says he talked through a lot of the grief he’s feeling at the rehab center, and their recommendation was to get Laurel’s things… well, to go through what he was gonna keep or not. I offered to get her things here boxed up cause it’s— it’s a lot, you know?” Thea’s slight frame looked even smaller stood in the middle of a half-emptied room, and in the fading daylight of a February afternoon he could still make out a little redness in her eyes and on the tip of her nose. A tissue box sat on the coffee table behind her.
He put an arm around her in a one-armed hug. “I know. And I’m glad you called me.”
Thea wiped at her eyes with the back of a hand and nodded. “Well, I figured it was something to do since neither of us would have plans.”
“Plans?”
“You know, cause of the holiday.”
Oliver blinked. “Oh.” The holiday, because it was — suddenly the text Susan had sent earlier that day asking if he had time for dinner made a little too much sense too late. He had declined and said he’d already promised his sister his help. Well, at least it had been the truth.
That’s fine, it’ll probably be too busy , Susan had written back, and he had left it at that. That was the nice thing with Susan. Everything was simple. Straightforward. It was the sort of thing he ought to be looking for in a relationship at this point in his life, he thought.
“Well, what can I do?” Oliver asked Thea after the silence had stretched just a second too long.
“Right, well, I figured we’d leave the kitchen alone mostly. I mean, I still use the dishes and stuff, and they’re not really sentimental to Quentin.”
“Right.” The last thing Laurel had cared about was her kitchen. The old joke almost made him smile, but his lip just gave a brief wobble instead.
“If you wanna finish up in here, I can sort through her room.”
Oliver nodded, collecting himself. “Yeah, that would— that’s probably best.” Thea had been Laurel’s best friend by the end, there was no question of that. It was only right that she be the one to step into that space and sort through those things Laurel would’ve considered too private for a visitor’s eyes. A visitor was all Oliver had been to this home for years, no matter the memories both true and implanted, the latter of which he couldn’t seem to let go of when he still dreamed.
Thea retreated to the bedroom, and Oliver carefully took down the photos and other memorabilia from the mantle place, finding a box that was only half-full to put them in. In the hall closet, he found what had to be Sara’s old shark, and he found a sharpie to write her name on another box. Some of the photos of just the two sisters joined the stuffed animal in there.
Oliver was just starting to fold a plush blanket on the couch he dimly remembered had been a gift from his parents one Christmas in the mid-2000s when Thea’s voice called out, “Ollie?”
He paused and headed further into the apartment, hovering on the threshold between hall and bedroom. “Yeah, Speedy?”
His sister had the drawer of the bedside table pulled open, and she had seemingly reached in to pull out a stack of folded papers. Letters, it looked like. Thea sifted through a few without unfolding them, and she looked up with a nervous gulp. “Um, they all have your name.”
His breath stuttered in his chest for a moment as his sister held them out wordlessly. For a single moment, he seriously thought about telling her just to throw them out. He didn’t think he could face whatever was in those pages. But that was the coward’s way out, the way he had taken far too often with Laurel in life. She had deserved better. He had said as much to a her that hadn’t really been her. So he took them with a hand he couldn’t quite keep from shaking.
“Do you need—”
“Let’s just keep working,” he said, tucking the letters away in his jacket’s inner pocket. If he stopped now, if he gave into the impulse to pore over the pages and soak up new words from her…
The letters were like a searing brand sat over his chest for the next few hours all the same. He couldn’t stop thinking about them. When had they been written? Why? Why hadn’t Laurel sent them? Was it truly respecting her wishes to read them if she had kept them to herself, or was it his right to read them as the intended recipient?
He still hadn’t decided as they taped up the final boxes. “Quentin said he’d come by tomorrow to pick them up,” Thea told him.
“Mm-hm.”
“Well, thanks.”
“Anytime.” He turned to go, but his sister’s voice stopped him.
“Have you found a new place yet?”
He could try and lie, but Thea would find out the truth. She’d been telling him to move out of the base for months now, but he just couldn’t be bothered to look at listings and open houses. Not when it would never feel like home. The only homes he had ever had were gone like the Manor or were barred to him like the loft Felicity still occupied. He supposed there was Susan’s place, now — but the thought of going back there with the weight of Laurel’s words in his pocket was abhorrent to him.
“I’ll be fine, Thea,” he said, a different kind of lie.
“Yes, you will, cause you’re gonna stay here. At least tonight,” she added before he could do more than look back at her sharply. “I have the space, and there’s new sheets on the bed.”
“Thea—” His voice came out slightly panicked, slightly strangled, not himself.
She held firm. “I don’t want you to be alone when you read those. You don’t have to read them to me, but you shouldn’t be alone.”
“Who says I’m reading them?”
She fixed him with a look that was purely their mother. Oliver scrubbed a hand down his face.
“I really don’t know if I will, Speedy.” How many times had his resolve crumbled before? How many ways had he disappointed his loved ones?
“Then I’m still gonna be there if you need me. Now let’s order some dinner,” his sister said, and she said no more about it the rest of the night.
Whatever smalltalk attempts they both made were brittle, and he retired early to bed. To Laurel’s bed. With her room stripped mostly bare and the fresh sheets cold to the touch, he could almost pretend he had never been here before as a lover. And yet a trace of the scent of her shampoo seemed to cling to the pillows all the same. Perhaps it was only imagined.
Having not brought a change of clothes, Oliver slept in his undershirt and boxers. Or tried to sleep. In reality, he laid on his side, staring at his jacket where he’d hung it on the back of a chair. Oliver was well-used to his ghosts and the messages they needed to give him by now, and Laurel had haunted him since April. Maybe it was time to let her rest.
He turned on her bedside lamp and retrieved the letters, opening the one on the bottom with paper only just starting to yellow.
Dear Ollie,
I’m tempted to just drop this in the door at the manor like you did to me, but who knows if you’ll ever get it? Thea says you left no forwarding address. Maybe you’re never coming home at all, not that I could blame you. Still, after we thought you were gone once before, I can’t believe we’ve seen the last of Oliver Queen. Maybe because you told me so. And I don’t know if I’m hoping or dreading to be right.
You don’t know it yet, but it’s over. I don’t doubt some part of you loves me, and I know the love I will always have for you, but it isn’t enough. Not enough for you to ever stay, and not enough to keep us from drawing others into this mess and losing them. And I can’t keep doing it.
Because I’m not the hero you think I am. I’m not saving the city without you. It’s getting worse — I’m getting worse. And it’s all I can do just to keep treading water.
I hope you find whatever peace you needed for yourself out there, and I hope you’ll forgive me for needing to find my own, too.
Love,
Laurel
Oliver’s eyes squeezed shut tightly, trying to will back the tears already threatening to rise as he set this first letter aside. He had wondered since that night in the hospital at the choice Laurel had made all those years ago when he’d returned after the Undertaking. How could he be the love of her life if she had felt their reunion had betrayed Tommy? But Tommy had been the excuse meant to protect her heart. That she had felt it necessary to protect it from him was his fault alone.
If this letter had been meant to be the end, he could only guess as to what the others would hold. Oliver collected himself and reached for the next folded page on the pile.
Ollie,
This is a practice run. There’s no way I’m telling you all this. But if AA’s taught me anything, it’s that it helps to just let the words out somewhere. But dad goes to AA, too, so talking about this there is out.
Part of the program involves apologizing to the people you’ve hurt, and I know I’ve hurt you in a lot of ways. So here goes.
I’m sorry I couldn’t accept the truth about my addiction you tried to warn me about, and the things I said because I wasn’t ready. They weren’t fair, and if I could take them back, I would.
I’m sorry for what I did at your mother’s trial. Who knew all it would’ve taken to get out of it was just lifting my dad’s prescription and a simple police raid? I’m also sorry that, relieved as I am she was acquitted, some part of me still doesn’t understand how it was possible. But I’ll keep that part to myself, because your family’s happiness is more important than my beyond-defunct professional reputation.
I’m mostly sorry for how I handled dinner the other night, and how I’ve always handled you and Sara. Mainly by trying to shove myself in the middle. I’m sorry I couldn’t see what was really going on back then between you two, and how much simpler all our lives would’ve been if I’d realized it was Sara you loved. It’s always Sara.
That sounds bitter. I’m still working on it. The two people I love most in the world have finally found their way back together, and I’m sorry to say it kills me inside. But I’m working on that, too.
I’m sorry I tried to make you love me instead. I’m not someone easy to love, as I’m learning through this program. I’m sorry I couldn’t really be that person you thought you loved all those years. I’m glad you’ve found her, now, and I’m glad it’s Sara. Seeing you both happy makes each day a little easier.
All my best,
Laurel
He felt a strange mix of emotions while reading this letter. Laurel’s frank words in wake of her recovery had often been disarming, and at one or two points he’d almost found something like a laugh reading her remarks. But it had been sobered by the reality of what his and Sara’s ill-fated attempt at rekindling a selfish affair had really done to her sister. And all for just a few short weeks of a relationship Sara had rejected in the end. How could he have ever thought that worth sacrificing Laurel’s devotion?
What had Laurel even thought when he and Sara had fallen through? Perhaps the next letter would tell him.
Oliver,
I wish I’d known you and Felicity were leaving before you announced it. Maybe I actually would have given you this one.
I don’t know why I’m writing it. Maybe because this time really does feel like goodbye. You’ve finally found that happiness you’ve been chasing our whole lives, and it’s time to leave what didn’t bring you happiness behind. I get it. You’d think I’d learn to do the same, but Lances are stubborn and rarely happy.
I don’t think I’ll ever be happy with some of the choices you made this year. Even the ones I can understand.
You’re so determined to make yourself this monster to fight the other monsters in this world. To do the unthinkable and the thankless. To punish yourself for things you did you had no control over. You’re so convinced you couldn’t possibly be better than that. And you nearly convinced me in that dungeon, but it’ll never be that easy, Ollie. You told me to never doubt.
And I’ll tell you something else you once said: you’re the hero. Even if you need to rest. Even if you need to stop. That will always be true. And finally, I’m ready to be that hero in your stead.
Be well and be safe, and let yourself be loved. I’m sure Felicity would agree you are deserving of it. Thea and I will always welcome you home.
Love always,
Laurel
He had to use the blanket to wipe at the tears that had returned with this letter. This was Laurel as he remembered her last: self-assured, enduringly kind, and able to read him far better than he’d ever appreciated. He had been running away with Felicity in part because he felt he had finally crossed a line too far with his friends and family pretending to be Al Sah-him and that he could never make up for it. Had Laurel actually had the chance to deliver him this before he’d driven past the city limits, how would he have received it? Would it have changed his mind? Would he have read between the lines that the love Laurel professed was the same as it had once been? He had never been deserving of her love, and maybe that was why he had never been able to accept it.
There was only one more folded page, only it was heavier than the others, and when he opened it a smaller envelope fell out. Confused, Oliver set it aside for the moment in favor of the page with his name on it.
Dear Ollie,
Happy birthday. At least, I’m telling myself I’ll give you this on your birthday so that I’ll actually do it.
The other day, dad reminded me of something I’d completely forgotten about, and I don’t remember if I told you about it when I did it. When we were still in college, I wrote myself a letter and left it in his safe deposit box, to open it ten years later. And I thought it’d make a good gift.
His vision blurred briefly at the knowledge this letter could only be from shortly before Laurel’s death, and that she hadn’t lived to see the birthday she was mentioning so casually.
Oliver turned back to the smaller envelope, which had already been opened once by the looks of it. The front of it was addressed to Mrs. Laurel Lance-Queen . His heart gave a lurch as he recalled the Dominator’s dream world and her standing there in a wedding dress. Licking his lips, he pulled out a sheet of lined notebook paper and started to read.
Dear Laurel,
I can’t wait to be the me reading this ten years from now! Done with school, moved out of my parents’, and living the life of my dreams. I don’t know for sure yet if that’s as a lawyer, but if it is then I’m sure you’ve risen to DA or started some kind of firm dedicated to civil rights. Even if you didn’t decide to be a lawyer, I’ll be happy as long as you’re doing something that helps people.
What I do know is, whatever I’m doing, it’s with Ollie. I don’t care what dad says, and don’t you have let him convince you, either! Ollie’s different from any of the other boys I’ve tried dating. No matter how much he tries to hide it, he cares about Starling, too. We could do so much together, and I’m never happier than when I’m with him.
Ollie’s probably supposed to inherit his family’s mansion, but I hope we spent at least a little time living on our own somewhere first so we can start our family our way. I’m hoping we waited a little bit, but at the same time I’m so excited to be a mom. And an aunt, assuming Sara ever settles down…
Can ten years later just get here already? Seriously, lucky you!
Yours truly,
Laurel
If this had been intended as his birthday present, Oliver wondered what precisely he had done to make her angry with him — reading twenty year-old Laurel’s dreams for a future that had never happened had been like a punch to the gut with every line. He glanced back over at the page Laurel had folded this letter inside of and realized there was still more writing in it.
Kind of embarrassing, I know. But hopefully we can laugh a little about it. And the reason I’m giving this to you is because you could use a laugh right now — and maybe some hope.
I know things aren’t going well with Felicity right now, but look at how much things can change in a decade. Look how much dreams really do come true, too.
I may not have clinched the top spot (yet), but my time at both CNRI and the DA’s office have let me help so many people. And I’ve helped even more with you, even if in a more direct-approach sort of way than I was probably imagining for us.
Far from dad convincing me, I think he’s the one who’s finally been convinced you’re not the bad boy you pretended to be. And while we never quite made a home together you and I — that was kind of a sticking point with you, wasn’t it? — I have the family I have today with you. My dad, Sara, Thea, John, and Felicity.
It’s not what I thought it would be. But it’s real.
I can’t say what the future holds, clearly. I can only say that life’s what you make of it, I guess. And so far, we’ve made pretty good ones, all things considered.
You’re going to find this hard, but don’t give up. Not if Felicity’s your dream. Even if it doesn’t turn out exactly like you planned, you’ll find happiness. I promise.
Always and forever,
Laurel
Oliver had to quickly set all the papers aside. He didn’t want to risk any of the ink being smudged and lost to his tears. Like the previous letter, Laurel’s love had not been stated, but it was felt in every word.
Not for the first time, he asked himself how he could have been so blind, and what had happened if he had not been. Because if there was anything at all Laurel had gotten wrong in these pages, it was Oliver’s dream. Just as he had wasted years chasing false dreams.
Always and forever , she had written. Could he have ever gotten it right if they’d truly had forever? Or would he still be asking himself the same questions ten years on?
For now, he fell into an uneasy rest, curled around the letters and a dream he knew he'd never managed to fully move on from and never would. The kind of love that didn't die, like Laurel's valentines that reached beyond the grave.