Laurel didn't want to choose either option—getting a hotel room or staying outside. But when Jack Kadere reached out and looked like he was about to drag her inside, she bit her lip and followed him through the lobby doors.
Checking in didn't take long. Room. Key. Payment. No names, no fuss.
Jack held Laurel by the arm as they walked to the elevator, ignoring the sideways glances from the hotel staff. She was clearly reluctant, her steps slow and heavy, but she said nothing.
Once inside the room, Jack let the door swing shut behind them with a quiet click. Laurel, visibly tense, turned around—only to freeze as Jack pulled a camera out of his bag and pointed it at her.
Her face instantly turned pale.
"Take them off," Jack said simply.
Laurel's jaw tightened. She looked at Jack with a mixture of fury and fear, then—after a long, painful silence—began to undress.
She didn't fight back.
It wasn't death she feared. It was the idea that Jack might go after her family if she disobeyed.
Piece by piece, she stripped down until she stood fully exposed. Jack set the camera on a nearby table, adjusted its angle, then walked over and pulled a tape measure from his bag.
"What... are you doing?" Laurel asked, barely above a whisper.
"Taking your measurements," Jack replied as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "I'm going to make you a suit. Tactical gear. Something functional."
As he worked, he casually added, "You know, your build's actually better than my girlfriend's."
"You have a girlfriend?" Laurel scoffed bitterly. "I guess villains get lonely too."
Jack smirked. "You'll meet her eventually."
He finished measuring and returned the camera and tape to his bag, then sat on the edge of the bed. "You've got decent proportions, but your physical conditioning? Average at best. That needs to change. Strength, endurance, reflexes—you'll need it all if you want to go up against your real enemies."
"Like you?" Laurel asked, arms wrapped tightly around herself.
"No," Jack said flatly. "Like the one behind the 'Queen's Gambit' accident that ruined your sister's life. He's got his claws deep in Starling City. If he finds out who you really are, you won't stand a chance. His network is everywhere—and his combat skills? Let's just say you wouldn't last five seconds with him in your current state."
Laurel stared, processing his words.
Jack leaned back. "So we're starting with the basics. I'll provide the tools. You handle the grind. Training. Discipline. Small fry first. Eventually, we work up to him."
Laurel looked at him, confused. "Why? Why are you doing this for me? Do you… know Sarah?"
"Sarah?" Jack shook his head. "Never met her."
"Then why do you care about what happened to her? Why drag me into this?"
Because you're meant to become Black Canary, Jack thought to himself. Because when the Legends of Tomorrow finally show up, I want to be right in the middle of it. And someone has to get Felicity on her path, too.
Instead, he just smirked. "Curious? Too bad. You don't get answers yet. What you do get—is training. You know how to do basic calisthenics, right? Start."
"Now? Like this?" Laurel reached for her clothes.
"Nope. Just like that. At least this way, I won't be bored."
He swiped the pile of clothes before she could grab them, tossed them onto the bed behind him, and reclined with his hands behind his head.
"Showtime," he said, nodding toward the empty space in front of him.
Laurel's face flushed with fury. She glared at him, fists clenched. But she didn't move.
Jack just smiled.
Then he raised a finger, and with a sharp crack, a spark of electricity jumped from his fingertip and zapped her.
"Ah!" Laurel gasped, stumbling back in shock.
"Motivation," Jack said calmly, finger still crackling with charge. "Trust me, it works better than a whistle."
Grimacing, Laurel finally gave in and began to move—awkward, reluctant push-ups followed by shaky sit-ups.
It was humiliating. At first, she couldn't even look at him. But as time passed, she realized something strange.
Jack wasn't leering. He wasn't even watching her with that kind of gaze. His gaze, when it landed on her, was more like that of a coach. Focused. Clinical. Relentless.
Whenever she faltered or slowed, he'd casually raise that finger again. The threat of another jolt was enough.
Eventually, her thoughts cleared. Her shame faded. Laurel focused on the only thing that mattered now—getting stronger.
Whatever Jack's motives were, strength was the one thing she desperately needed.
Justice was great in theory—but power? Power protected people.
Without even realizing it, she had trained straight through the morning.
When Jack finally spoke again, telling her she could stop, it felt like being released from a nightmare.
She collapsed like a rag doll on the floor, too sore to care about pride or modesty.
Jack nudged her with his foot. "That's enough. Shower up and get dressed. We're heading out."
"Just… five more minutes," Laurel groaned.
Jack smirked. "As the saying goes—everything's difficult at the beginning, then difficult in the middle, and somehow even more difficult at the end. Since it's always hard, why bother resting?"
She didn't move.
Jack didn't argue. He simply raised his finger again.
Zzzzt!
"Alright, alright!" Laurel shouted, scrambling to her feet and sprinting to the bathroom like her life depended on it.
Minutes later, she emerged freshly showered, dressed, and still slightly wobbly.
As they stepped out of the room, the door next to theirs opened. A middle-aged man walked out, caught sight of Laurel's flushed face and shaky legs, then glanced at Jack—calm, composed, and smug.
He gave Jack a knowing thumbs-up. "Respect."
Jack returned the gesture with a modest grin. "Nothing special."