#lovethroughthemiles

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“I need your help.”

Laurel looked over at her visitor. She’d just been stabbed by Damien Darhk. She felt awful. Standing above her bed was someone she didn’t know, but she felt like she’d seen his face before. A slight wave of panic hit her. Was he here to finish the job Darhk started?

“W-Who are you?”

“Name’s Mick. I’m a friend of Sara’s. And I need you to come help me find her.”

“Find her?” Laurel sat up in her hospital bed, wincing at the feel of her stitches pulling. She was so weak, that just this movement had a sheen of sweat forming on her brow. “What do you mean?”

“I ain’t got long. The window is small. Let me spell it out for you. You’re supposed to die today. I’m changing that so that you can help me save Sara.”

Laurel was confused. But she remembered everything Sara told her. So all Laurel could do was nod. Mick looked relieved, as if he’d been expecting her to fight him. But this was Sara. She needed to help him. It wasn’t until he had her loaded in a wheelchair that she noticed a body laying on the floor. And when she saw her face staring back at her she fought the urge to pass out.

“Put this on,” he said, handing her a wig with red hair. “I gotta sneak you out.”

“Who… Who is that?” asked Laurel.

“Not you. Not no one. A clone. A dead clone. Something I borrowed and modified from Toronto.”

“I… Toronto?”

“Just put on the wig and I’ll tell you everything once we get the hell outta here.”

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“So where to we start?” asked Laurel. They were on a ship that he said used to be his a long time ago. It was all so foreign to her. He brought her up to date on everything. He left nothing out. Was quite blunt, actually. She was supposed to be dead. Now, she was a ghost. A ghost who needed to go find her sister.

“Mount Vesuvius, 70 A.D.”

“Pompeii?” asked Laurel.

“It’s where I last saw your sister alive. Time is already fragile there. One bad mistake and we’re fucked.”

“Got it,” said Laurel, crossing her arms over her chest. She had on a suit, similar to her Black Canary one but slightly different. More cloth and less leather. She had to admit she could move around in it a lot better. Mick had told her there was still light armor plating in it, to protect her if she were to get injured. That thought had her hand going back to her still tender stomach despite the healing of the ship’s A.I.

“Strap in,” ordered Mick and Laurel followed his orders. She’d put two and two together on who he was. He admitted to her that things happened where he wasn’t the same person. Things that still haunted him. Things he didn’t want to talk about. But he knew his stuff here. So she took her seat, strapped in, and within seconds they were gone.

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“They’re coming for me… For us. I feel it.” 

“I feel it, too, Assassin.”