Underwear

Oh god, she did not want anyone to see her naked! Laurel barely had time to mentally prepare herself before she **** herself to run.

She reached down, grabbing her underwear in one hand without slowing, easily picking up the loose garments. God, it might almost be worth outing her identity and going for the rest of the costume sans mask.

But by the time she thought that, it was too late; she'd already sprinted to the elevator that led out of the cave.

The door sealed behind her and mentally she carried on the countdown. There were only seconds, but the elevator should be safe.

It started moving. Panting, Laurel fumbled with her bra and panties; it didn't matter what the alternatives had been, she was left with these now, she couldn't slip up and forget to put them on.

She didn't hear an explosion. Then again she knew soundproofing was one of the myriad properties of the bunker; it wouldn't do for anyone to overhear vigilante business. She wasn't trapped in the elevator, that was all that mattered.

Hands shaking, Laurel pulled her black panties up her legs. It was hard not to wish she'd opted to wear something else that day; it was far from the most revealing pair she owned, but it was still tight enough that it outlined far more of her body than she wanted people to see, to say nothing of how starkly the black underwear stood out.

And, matching in shade, was her bra. She fumbled slightly, still shaking from nerves, as she slipped that too on. She flushed, untangling the straps, and had only just fastened it when the elevator stopped.

The door slid open; immediately Laurel crouched, trying to shrink out of view.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, she'd almost forgotten, caught up in panic. Ollie was running for mayor, and as such the building over the Arrow's cave had been repurposed to serve as campaign headquarters; Laurel squeaked crawling out of the elevator and to the desk, doing her utmost to keep down and out of view.

Glass walls, open floor plan... All kinds of things that politicians could use for approachability, rather less conducive to helping her maintain her modesty.

Laurel stayed crouching where she was, behind the desk. If she moved to the side, or sat up, or anything, part of her would come into view of the campaign office around her.

Oh god. She swallowed; maybe she really should have gone the other way.

She shifted, looking down at herself, and she felt her cheeks suddenly burn at the reminder of how little clothing she'd managed to bring out with her. She didn't want to be seen like this!

Nervously, Laurel shifted, bare legs rubbing against the carpet. She bit her lip; after a moment she poked her head out around the side of the desk, glancing to see how busy the office was.

Then, flushed, hastily drew her head back. Too busy was the answer.

Ok, and... maybe the phone? She was pretty sure there would be a phone on the desk, it was after all where Ollie sat when he was working as a mayoral candidate. If she could call him, or Thea, or, well, anyone, she could get help.

Assuming they weren't busy. Which, she realised with a sinking feeling, was worryingly likely.

Someone had planted a bomb in the Bunker; if things had escalated to that extent, it was more than likely the vigilantes and police would be busy. Which, Laurel reflected, summed up a worryingly huge percentage of her social circle.

Laurel inhaled, desperately trying to steady her breathing, and clutching her knees to her chest. How was she meant to get out of this?!