Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The multiverse ends on a Tuesday.

Nyssa doesn’t learn that fact until a man named J’onn J'onzz unlocks her memories and informs her that Oliver Queen and the Paragons were successful in saving all of humanity and restarting the universe. Multiverses and all-powerful cosmic beings with the ability to wipe out all existence are decidedly outside her area of expertise, so she decides not to dwell on the particulars. Especially not when she realizes the implications of this new world.

The excruciating headache and rush of new-to-her memories that follow J’onn J’onzz’s visit compel her to Star City, to stand in the doorway of Laurel Lance’s apartment, completely awestruck that Dinah Laurel Lance is indeed alive.

The memories she has of Laurel dying have remained the same, but she now recalls Thea taking advantage of their quest to destroy the Lazarus Pits by using one to resurrect her friend. She remembers restoring her soul with the help of a magician from Gotham. Remembers using the Lotus Elixir on not only Roy, but a newly revived Laurel.

As she stands there, staring at Laurel in amazement, Laurel looks surprised but genuinely happy to see her. She also seems to understand Nyssa’s shock before Nyssa even has the opportunity to say anything.

“Felicity and Diggle already gave me a rundown,” Laurel explains.

And because this – Laurel alive and not a doppelganger but really Laurel – still feels new to her, she can’t quite control the maelstrom of emotions washing over her. It’s been years since she’d last seen Laurel—since she’d attended her funeral. And yet, according to these new memories, also only two months since she was last in Star City and had dinner with her.

Laurel, once again, is understanding and patient with her. She smiles comfortingly and pulls Nyssa further into her apartment, then wraps her up in a hug that Nyssa didn’t know she desperately needed. She allows herself to cling to her, just a little.

—

After Oliver’s funeral, it doesn’t take long for Laurel to notice that Nyssa has yet to make any mention of leaving Star City.

“So are you gonna be joining your sister?” Laurels asks. “Help her and Thea with this League of Heroes thing?”

Nyssa shakes her head.

“That is no longer my path. I wish them luck in their endeavor, but I’ve found I no longer have any desire to be a member of any League, regardless of its mission statement.”

Truthfully, she has no idea what path she’s on anymore. She’s never had the luxury of a clean slate or deciding her own fate, never been free of any duties or obligations. All she’s sure of at the moment is that she wants to spend more time with her friend.

“I’ve elected to stay here for the time being. I prefer to be nearby, should I ever be needed.” There’s a teasing lilt to her voice when she adds: “I’ve learned the hard way that you Lances rarely stay out of trouble.”

That elicits a laugh from Laurel, who looks on at her fondly.

“You know I love having you here, but you don’t have to look out for us anymore.”

Nyssa fixes her with a stern look. “You were dead, Laurel. I failed to protect you once due to my absence; I will not allow that to happen again.”

“Nyssa, my death wasn’t on you,” Laurel tells her, voice firm but gentle.

She’s heard Laurel say this countless times, but it does very little to soothe her guilt. Not when she was the one responsible for Laurel’s training, not when she could have been there fighting with Laurel, and not when she destroyed what they’d all thought was the only thing that could have brought her back.

But now isn't the time to argue, so instead she says, “Nevertheless, I’d rather not take my chances on that.”

Laurel smiles affectionately at her. “Well, like I said, I love having you here.”

Laurel then looks as though she’s considering her next words carefully, tries to say them as casually as she can, “Sara also says she’s going to be staying for a while.”

To her credit, Nyssa doesn’t visibly react to the information, merely darts her eyes away and says, “I see.”

She’s fairly certain Laurel can see right through her anyway. Mercifully, Laurel doesn't elaborate or say anything else on the subject. She just grabs hold of Nyssa’s hand, gives it a comforting squeeze before pulling up Netflix and asking her what she wants for dinner.

—

Just as Laurel said, Sara does return to Star City. There is, however, a brief period where she returns to her ship, presumably to settle whatever affairs need to be settled on her end. During this time, Nyssa visits Laurel daily, not quite yet ready to be far from her. Laurel humors her overprotectiveness, even finds it a bit amusing, and Nyssa doesn’t have the heart to remind her yet again that up until the multiverse was reset, Laurel was gone. She’s not yet ready to explain to her that in Nyssa’s mind, the memories of her grief war with this new universe’s memories.

Laurel takes advantage of Nyssa's near constant presence and enlists her help in preparing for Sara’s arrival. During the day, they busy themselves with things like making sure the kitchen is fully stocked with groceries and Sara’s favorite snacks, clearing up space in the bathroom, and ensuring the guest bedroom is suitable accommodations for a long term stay. Their evenings are spent relaxing and enjoying each other's company.

“Are you still going to be nearby once Sara’s back?” Laurel asks one afternoon, as they both fit the bed in the guest room with fresh sheets.

“My plans have not changed,” she replies coolly.

The way Laurel pauses to consider her next words has always been an indicator to her that she likely won’t like whatever it is Laurel’s going to say next. She’s proven right when Laurel goes on to gently say: “You know she’s not coming alone, right?”

Which, yes, of course. Along with all the new memories of a resurrected Laurel comes the knowledge of Sara’s relationship—something previously unknown to her, but she supposes is not surprising. She was never naive enough to think that Sara would never love again, nor is she selfish enough to wish that she hadn’t. She can’t help the dull ache in her heart, however, whenever she dwells on the thought.

“I know, Laurel,” she answers quietly, then reiterates: “My plans have not changed.”

—

The first week of Sara’s return, Nyssa doesn't visit Laurel, but stays in touch via texts and phone calls.

On the eighth day of her self-imposed exile, she’s not entirely surprised to hear someone knocking on the door of her apartment. What does surprise her is that her visitor is not, in fact, Laurel, but Laurel’s husband.

Tommy Merlyn now stands in her doorway, grinning genially at her, and the entire situation is so strange to her. Prior to Oliver’s sacrifice and the multiverse reset, she had never even met this man. But now she’s full of memories of this well-meaning man, who is Laurel’s husband, who loves Laurel so dearly, who grieved Laurel alongside her. This man who, at first, did not like her or approve of her training Laurel. Who later warmed up to her in a similar way that Laurel had. This man who she thinks of fondly, who she cared for in the wake of Laurel’s death, having known what it’s like to lose a Beloved. This man who she honestly can’t believe is the offspring of someone as vile as Malcolm Merlyn. A man who she has known for the past several years, but also only for the past several weeks.

“I know I’m not who you were expecting, but I brought food.” He holds up takeout bags, gives them a joyful shake.

She steps aside to allow him entry, then follows him as he makes his way to her kitchen and places the bags on the counter. She silently watches him unpack the Chinese takeout before asking: “Did Laurel send you?”

“Nope, this is an unsanctioned solo mission,” he responds playfully while handing her a carton of rice. “She does miss you. We both do, really.”

“I spoke to her last night.”

“And yet it still feels like you’re avoiding us.”

“I’m simply allowing her space to spend time with her sister.”

“Yeah, see, it’s also not like you to not want to see Sara,” he points out before digging into his orange chicken.

Once again, Nyssa is struck by the surrealness of the situation, that this man knows her well enough to know such a detail, or anything of her relationship with Sara at all. And that she’s able to recall an evening years ago when the two commiserated on loving and losing a Lance woman.

“I’m also allowing Sara the space to spend time with her sister. My presence is unnecessary at this point.”

“So it has nothing to do with the tall blonde Sara’s brought along who’s also staying with us?”

Nyssa levels him a cold glare. “I’m being respectful, Thomas, something you could endeavor toward.”

Tommy holds his hands up in surrender.

“I’m not trying to be a jerk. I’m just saying, my wife misses you. And I’d bet Sara does too. They’ve been struggling with Ollie’s death.”

His voice softens, and the revelation works to soften Nyssa as well. She’s reminded that Tommy also mourns the loss of his oldest friend, and that, yes, she does care about this man’s feelings. So she picks up her chopsticks and allows him to change the subject. He carries the conversation while she listens as intently as she can, and it’s not the worst way to spend her evening.

After Tommy has left, Nyssa does reach out to Laurel. They make plans to meet at Laurel’s favorite cafe, and when that day comes, Laurel hugs her tightly. They spend most of their time discussing Laurel’s work, the struggles of being the District Attorney full-time since she's retired as the Black Canary, and the show Laurel is trying to convince Nyssa to watch with her—the latest in her efforts to fill the gaps in Nyssa’s pop culture knowledge.

It’s all so normal, almost overwhelmingly so. Not even a year ago, Nyssa was effectively alone, tying up League-related loose ends, wondering what her next steps would be, and now she’s free of the League, truly free for the first time in her life, with friends who care about her beyond any titles she carries.

“You know, you don’t have to stay away,” Laurel eventually says. “We’re all adults. Even Tommy.”

She smiles briefly at the jest on Tommy’s behalf, recognizes it as Laurel’s attempt to dull the impact of her words.

“She’s been asking about you,” Laurel adds.

“Have you been enjoying your time together?” she asks, aware that Laurel can tell she’s trying to deflect. She doesn’t particularly want to think about Sara asking about her. She doesn’t want to think about how they’re both in the same city, at the same time, finally free of responsibilities that had previously kept them separated, but they haven’t seen or spoken to each other. Nyssa’s stayed away, and Sara hasn’t come looking for her.

“It’s been so nice having her here. I almost can’t believe it.” Laurel smiles so brightly, it’s infectious, but after a moment that smile dims. “It’s been hard, though, knowing what it cost for all of this to happen.”

It’s a thought Nyssa has also often struggled with in the wake of Oliver Queen’s death. She was given her memories from the previous multiverse because of her help during the Crisis, but trying to reconcile those memories with the present has been difficult. Knowing that she has Oliver Queen of all people to thank for the return of her friend, the reprieve of her loneliness, has also been challenging.

“Oliver sought to right a wrong, Laurel. You meant enough to him that he went to great lengths to make it happen. You have nothing to feel guilty for.”

Laurel seems to find some comfort in those words.

Later, before they part ways, Nyssa can’t help asking: “Your sister is happy?”

“I think she feels guiltier about Ollie than I do. She was with him when it happened.” Laurel then seems to get an idea, because she adds, “Maybe you could talk to her. You have a knack for knowing just what to say to her. She could use that right about now.”

There was a time, many years ago, when Sara would often tell her that she was remarkably good at soothing her worries and fears; it was a great source of pride for her then. It’s not something Nyssa’s ever discussed with Laurel, though, so she’s not entirely sure where the woman’s faith in her ability to speak to Sara is coming from.

Frowning slightly, she looks down at the table in front of her. Both Tommy and Laurel have now come to her with concern for Sara. She can’t help but wonder where it is that Sara’s current lover fits into this picture, and can't help the ugly thought of wondering if Sara’s lover is doing such an inadequate job of taking care of Sara that Laurel and Tommy have had to resort to asking her of all people for help.

"Have you discussed these concerns with Sara's lover?" She keeps her tone neutral as she looks back up at Laurel so she can gauge her reaction.

“Ava is... trying, in her own way,” Laurel responds carefully, but she doesn't miss Laurel's initial wince at her question. “But she didn’t know Oliver, you did.”

Laurel does have a point there. And because she’ll never say no to helping Sara, Nyssa bows her head in assent and tells Laurel she’ll see what she can do.

“She’s been going out for patrols on her own,” Laurel informs her, though Nyssa is already aware. She’s heard and read the reports of a blonde vigilante dressed in white patrolling the Glades.

—

The next evening finds Nyssa in her League armor, at the Star City clocktower. She had a hunch this would be Sara's base of operations for her recent vigilante activity, as it was all those years ago. The knife that she easily dodges upon entrance tells her that said hunch was correct.

“I’ve had better greetings,” she finds herself saying to Sara, who stands across the room from her.

“Nyssa,” Sara says, surprised.

“Sara,” she nods in greeting, lowering her veil from her face.

“Did Laurel talk to you?” Sara’s initial surprise has quickly worn off.

“And Thomas.”

“I still can’t wrap my head around that one,” Sara chuckles to herself. “You and Tommy Merlyn are friends.”

“Your sister loves him and so I tolerate him.”

Sara grins like she knows better—probably because she does. “Laurel says he’s gotten you to watch football with him.”

“While I doubt I will ever understand the appeal of American football, it is rather amusing to watch him react to it.”

Sara laughs and the sound is just as treacherous to her heart as it's always been. Still has the ability to stop her in her tracks, even for the briefest of moments. Still makes her ache with want to hear it again and again.

She steps further into the room, taking her time in looking Sara over and is grateful that Sara allows her to. To her surprise, Sara is not dressed for any type of patrol or combat, but for comfort instead. She now sits cross-legged on one end of a sofa located at the edge of the loft, a laptop in front of her.

Nyssa looks away to glance around the loft.

“It’s different from when I was last here,” Sara notes.

When Nyssa had first sought out the clocktower, grief-ridden and seeking any reminders at all of her Beloved, she’d found it in ruins—a casualty of Slade Wilson’s war on Oliver Queen, so she’d been told. Standing in the loft now, she knows it’s come a long way, even from when she last saw it, because in a moment of weakness she’d purchased the building and paid for renovations to be made. She knows parts of the room are furnished – rugs, the sofa Sara sits on, various light fixtures, a few tables, working wifi. Just as she knows the rest of the loft bears evidence of unfinished renovations – scaffolding, paint cans, piles of lumber.

“There is no longer a gaping hole in the wall,” Nyssa nods in the direction of the now intact clockface.

“A little makeover to the loft, too.” Sara looks at her curiously. “You’ve been here before?”

She grins. "It does make for a good vantage point. That does not seem to be what you’re currently using it for. You’ve made yourself comfortable here.”

Her eyes briefly dart over to the pillow and blanket she’s spotted on the opposite end of the couch where Sara currently sits.

Sara only looks momentarily embarrassed before saying, “It’s quiet here.”

“And how long have you been sleeping here?”

“Just last night.” Her voice is quiet now, small.

Nyssa ventures even further into the room, closing the distance between the two of them. She sets her weapons down on the nearest tabletop and works on removing her gauntlets.

“You came dressed for a fight,” Sara notes, voice back to normal.

“I was not sure if you would be patrolling. You’ve been rather busy lately.”

“It gives me something to do.” Sara shrugs. “And punching stuff helps.”

Once Nyssa’s finished removing the more uncomfortable parts of her outfit, Sara pats a space on the couch beside her, beckoning Nyssa over to her. She shucks the laptop off to the side to make room for her. Nyssa takes a seat beside her, but places a respectable amount of distance between.

“I know Laurel’s worried,” Sara begins, saving her the trouble of trying to find a way to broach the subject. She turns herself so she can face Nyssa, her back to the arm of the couch, still sitting cross-legged.

“Should she be?”

“I’ve been a little testy,” Sara admits, “But I’m just working through some things.”

“So I’ve been told. Since you’ve begun ‘working through things,’ your father informs me crime rates have declined. An impressive feat, considering from what I understand, crime wasn’t that high to begin with.”

There is a small look of surprise on Sara’s face. “You talk to my dad.”

“Occasionally.”

Sara's smile widens.

“So you’re BFFs with my sister, you watch football with her husband, you talk shop with my dad, you’re friends with Thea, and you were actually friendly with Oliver,” Sara lists each of these things off on her fingers, not bothering to keep the sheer shock and glee out of her voice.

“Is it so hard to believe I’ve made friends?” she feigns offense, the corner of her lips tugging up into a small smile.

“No, Nyssa,” Sara’s response is immediate and sincere. “You’re pretty much the coolest person in any room you walk into. It’s just…"

She trails off for a moment and studies Nyssa silently. It's been long enough that the feeling of being under Sara's scrutiny is somehow both new and familiar.

"When you first stepped foot in Star City," Sara continues, "You didn’t care about any of those people. You’ve grown.”

The last part is said so softly, so fondly, Nyssa has to force herself to look away, suddenly bashful then subsequently annoyed with her own reaction.

Sara continues to throw her off guard by next saying, “Thank you.”

Nyssa’s attention returns to the woman next to her, brows furrowed in confusion.

Sara continues, “For everything you’ve done for Laurel. For checking in on my dad. I’ve never had the opportunity to thank you for being good to my family.”

Nyssa can’t help but scoff at that. “There is no need to thank me. When I first came to this city, my behavior was abhorrent.”

The heat of shame that runs through her whenever she thinks back on her first voyage to Star City is nothing new to her. And although it’s not the first time she’s apologized to Sara for it, she feels the need to do so now more than ever—now that she has a better understanding of just how toxic her upbringing was, how much it leached into every relationship she’s had. Her own self-reflection coupled with the time she’s spent with Laurel has been enlightening, to say the least.

“I’ve had much to atone for. I wronged you and your family; looking after them in your absence was the least I could do.”

Sara looks at her thoughtfully. “You’ve apologized for that before.”

“I’ve been informed that holding oneself accountable for one’s actions is an important step toward forgiveness.”

Sara reaches out to touch her arm, looking and sounding every bit sincere when she says, “I forgave you a long time ago.”

“Perhaps, then, forgiveness for myself.”

Nyssa looks away, fidgets with her hands, uncharacteristically nervous in that moment as she tries not to focus on how this is the first time Sara’s touched her in years. She’s once again annoyed by the woman’s ability to apparently reduce her to a blushing teen.

“Yeah, that’s the hard part,” Sara acknowledges.

Nyssa knows she speaks from experience, knows that Sara has spent the better part of a decade warring with the darkness inside her. She can only hope that she’s found peace over the years.

The silence that falls over them is comfortable. Once more, Sara regards her silently, and Nyssa takes the opportunity to study Sara as well. The years have been good to her. She looks older, more mature—tired as well, but less burdened than when they last saw each other. And still so beautiful. More beautiful than anything her mind has conjured up over the years, and Nyssa drinks her in, wants to commit this Sara to memory.

It's Sara who breaks the silence: "I've been wondering when I was gonna see you."

There's so much she could say to that, but she reminds herself that she came here for a reason. Whatever spell she felt had been over them now broken as she tries to redirect the conversation.

“Does anyone know that you've been here? Your sister? Your Beloved?”

The hand on her arm falls away.

“You don’t have to call her that,” Sara’s quick to say.

An unreadable expression clouds Sara’s expression as she glances away—that any of Sara’s expressions can be unreadable to her now is a sad reminder of their time apart. She tries not to dwell on it.

“Is that not what she is?” she questions instead, tone neutral, eyes fixed on Sara.

Sara is silent for long enough that she knows she won’t be receiving an answer.

“They know I’m here,” Sara responds flatly to her initial question, absently studying a corner of the room.

She seems to be struggling with what she wants to say next.

“We’ve been arguing,” Sara finally grumbles. “Ava and I.”

The admission is certainly not what Nyssa had been expecting. She allows herself to frown for the briefest of moments before she schools her face into a more neutral expression.

“I gather that is unusual for the two of you?”

“It’s not… unheard of.” Sara stares down at her lap and sighs. “It’s not usually this bad though.”

While she had been expecting to partake in some form of grief counseling upon meeting up with Sara, she hadn’t anticipated relationship counseling as well.

“I don’t believe I’m the best person for relationship advice, Sara,” she says wryly, but not unkindly.

“You’re probably the best person to ask about being in a relationship with me, though. And you’re kind of the last ex standing.” She laughs humorlessly, then shakes her head at herself. When she looks back up at Nyssa, she can see the regret on her face.

“Sorry, this is probably weird.”

It certainly is, Nyssa thinks, but she doesn’t want to make her feel any worse than she probably already does.

“Laurel has not provided any sisterly advice on the matter?”

“Laurel thinks it’s grief.”

“Is there anything going on to lead you to believe otherwise?”

Sara merely shrugs in response, looking down and picking at the fabric of the couch in front of her. Nyssa is once again at a loss for what to say. She is no stranger to arguing with Sara. Their arguments had often stemmed from a place of fear – of losing each other, of losing themselves – and love, their relationship a lifeline during their time in the League, but also a source of conflict with their duties. They could both be rather stubborn, but she found very early on, even before their relationship turned romantic, that she hated disappointing Sara.

“You never did like discussing your feelings.” She makes sure to frame it as a fond statement. It had been difficult at times to talk to Sara, but she often appreciated the challenge, appreciated the privilege of being the only person at the time who Sara would confide in.

“I thought I’d gotten better about it, but I guess some things don’t change,” Sara says plainly.

Nyssa hums thoughtfully before responding, “You’re hurting, and judging yourself rather unfairly as a result. You’ve grown as well, Sara. Allow yourself some grace. You’ve accomplished much in your time away, not only in heroic achievements, but in personal ones as well.”

Sara’s self-loathing is, sadly, not anything new to her. It was present from the day they first met, and despite her best efforts, she could never completely chase that feeling away from her Beloved.

In her earnestness to be heard and rid Sara of the shame that has settled on her features, she scoots a bit closer so she can gently take hold of Sara’s hand, and ducks her head to try and catch her eyes.

“You are lighter than I’ve ever seen you, habibti.” She can’t help letting slip the term of endearment.

The smile she’s rewarded with makes the momentary lapse in restraint worth it.

And though what she says next does pain her to admit, this isn’t about her, and she must give credit where it’s due.

“I would venture to guess that your Ava also plays a part in that.”

What she’s said clearly has an effect on Sara, whose eyes begin to wet with unshed tears. She squeezes Nyssa’s hand.

“You know,” she begins, voice thick with emotion. “Before the multiverse basically ended, I was so sure that I was happy.”

As Sara pauses for a moment, Nyssa gives the hand in hers an encouraging squeeze, can’t help that her thumb brushes softly over the top of it. She is content to allow her the time to collect her thoughts, would be perfectly happy to just sit holding Sara’s hand until the other woman decides to let go.

“It’s not really that I doubt that now. It’s just… God, Nyssa, I miss him.” The pain in her voice tugs on Nyssa’s heart. “Ollie gave me back my father and my sister and he’s not even here for me to thank him. What do you do when someone hands you a gift like that?”

Sara’s tears fall freely now. The part of her that can’t stand to see Sara cry overrides any other part of her brain as she reaches out to wipe those tears away.

“Oliver Queen and I had our differences,” Nyssa begins carefully as she gently cradles Sara’s face in her hands, resisting the urge to lean their foreheads together as they normally would have in moments like this. “But he was an honorable man, who cared greatly for you and your happiness. You honor him by living your life and chasing that happiness. And in the meantime, continue to carry your love for him; pass that love on to his daughter and his family, as he lives on in those who love him.”

Sara stares at her for a long moment, her expression a mixture of gratefulness, awe, and sorrow. She briefly leans into one of the hands cupping her cheek before her mouth quirks into a small smile.

“You’re still pretty good with your words.”

Nyssa smiles at that, can't tamper down the swell of pride she feels. She allows herself to savor the moment for a second longer – the warmth of Sara's cheeks, the storm of emotions behind her baby blue eyes – before she reluctantly returns her hands to her lap.

“Following your death," she clears her throat, tries to keep her voice steady, "I found that, more so than my quest for vengeance, the moments in which I felt closest to you were the ones I shared with your sister, remembering you. I’m always here to listen if you ever want to talk about him.”

Sara looks overwhelmed as she glances away. Nyssa studies her profile, and can see how tired and vulnerable Sara allows herself to look in that moment, the way her frame sags as she brings her knees up to her chest and circles her arms around her legs.

Nyssa can see Sara is drained and decides her work is done for the evening. She grabs the blanket from the end of the couch and slowly, carefully, so as not to startle or disturb her, drapes it over Sara’s shoulders, the way she would once upon a time when Sara needed the extra sense of security and her own arms weren't an option. Once the blanket has settled, Sara catches her eyes.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

She’s not quite prepared for the way Sara’s looking at her. Or how it reminds her of quiet, gentle mornings where Sara would simply stare at her, drink her in, and leave Nyssa feeling like in all her miserable existence, she at least got this one thing right.

She speaks with only conviction when she whispers back: “Anytime.”

—

After that night, it becomes an unspoken routine for Nyssa to meet Sara at the clocktower once or twice a week. She's normally summoned by a simple text from Sara—a clock emoji that Nyssa rolls her eyes at fondly every time.

Some nights they patrol the city together, and it’s reminiscent of their League missions together. Working in tandem, gathering intel and recon, eliminating threats—non-lethally this time around. They fight together as well as they always have, and for Nyssa it’s nice to know that this is one thing at least that hasn’t changed about them.

Other nights, Sara elects to stay in. Nyssa will still meet her at the clocktower loft, but Sara will have the floor clear for sparring, or she’ll be at one of the desks reviewing loft renovations, or sometimes she’s in the same position Nyssa found her in that first time—sat on the couch, trying to tune out the rest of the world.

On the nights they stay in, Sara regales her with tales of her travel through time. The stories are ridiculous and outlandish, but in those moments Sara comes alive in a way Nyssa has rarely ever seen. It reminds her of the way Sara would look whenever she shared stories of her family.

Sometimes Nyssa shares her own stories, especially any that feature Laurel or Thea, since Sara seems to draw the most amusement from those tales. But mostly, Nyssa is content to listen and watch Sara as she speaks about whatever comes to mind, content to reacquaint herself with the sound and cadence of her Beloved's voice, to have her laugh ringing in her ears.

One evening finds them discussing further renovations to the clocktower. Sara stares at her knowingly before asking: “When were you gonna tell me you own this building?”

“I own a number of buildings in this city,” she deflects.

“Oh, of course you do. Forgot I was talking to Ra’s al Ghul here.”

She has always found it funny how much amusement Sara finds in her wealthy status. As the Heir to the Demon, her father made sure she financially wanted for nothing, and in turn she had done her best to pamper Sara whenever the opportunity presented itself. As the Demon’s Head, the great wealth her father amassed over his extended lifetime became hers. When she disbanded the League, she vowed to make sure all that wealth was put to good use. Her apartment building indeed was not the only real estate she owned in Star City, and she’s also acted as Laurel’s and Quentin’s benefactor in their past initiatives to improve the city.

“The title of Ra’s al Ghul no longer exists,” she deflects again.

“I heard. Badass move, by the way.” Sara grins winsomely at her, and she can't help but be distracted by it for a moment. “Still, you were the last one. And I never got the chance to call you by the title.”

That Sara sounds somewhat sad about that is surprising and confusing to her.

“You would have wanted to?” She doesn’t bother keeping the skepticism out of her voice.

“Maybe once or twice,” Sara shrugs, then quietly: “I used to wonder what kind of Ra’s you’d be.”

There’s a strong part of Nyssa that’s curious, that wants to ask her to elaborate. Sara’s estimation of her has always meant more to her than almost anyone else’s—over time even surpassing her father’s. The part of her that's afraid of what Sara's answer would be is what stops her from asking.

Nyssa herself had spent a great amount of time wondering what kind of Ra’s al Ghul she would be. There were moments in her relationship with Sara where she would share those ideas with her, would share her fears, her hopes, her dreams. Would naively hope that Sara would be by her side when the moment came.

“Do you ever regret giving it all up?” Sara asks, breaking her away from her thoughts.

It’s a valid question. There was a point in her life where she wanted nothing more than to wield the title and control the League. Before meeting Sara, she viewed the role as her birthright, her destiny. What other purpose could she possibly have? But once she’d let Sara into her life and her heart, the prospect of becoming the Demon’s Head became something else—a step toward freedom, for both her and her Beloved. She’d thought, naively, that becoming Ra’s would allow her to build a better life with Sara, perhaps one that would not leave her Beloved’s soul in tatters.

“I do not,” Nyssa replies resolutely. “My father lost sight of what the League was meant to be. And I lost any amount of affection or sense of loyalty to the League when your killer was appointed its leader."

“Death does not weigh on me in the same manner that it does on you, but it is a heavy burden nonetheless. The more time I spent here with your sister and friends, the more attractive a life outside the League began to look. I’m happy to let my father’s legacy die with me.”

She finds herself so lost in voicing her thoughts, she doesn't notice that Sara's made her way over to sit beside her.

"Hey," Sara says softly, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. The way she smiles at her is nothing short of brilliant. "I'm really proud of you."

The words undo her. When was the last time someone other than Laurel said they were proud of her? And to hear the words from Sara of all people—Nyssa has to blink away the tears she feels forming. When she focuses back on Sara, the woman is still smiling back at her, a knowing look in her eyes, like she knows the weight of those words and what they mean to her.

—

From what Laurel tells her, there’s been marginal improvement in Sara’s overall demeanor. According to Laurel, Sara has been more open with her sister and “less broody,” as she puts it. Nyssa is glad to hear it.

“I think she’s here for good,” Laurel informs her one afternoon over tea and coffee. She can hear the sheer joy in Laurel’s voice, see it written all over her face.

“I’m sure that is a relief to you and your father,” she responds, taking a light sip of her tea.

“It’s kind of strange to think of Sara settling down, but she’s pretty serious about it.”

Nyssa has to agree, the thought of Sara settling down is strange and rather bittersweet.

After that, the topic moves on to something unrelated to Sara, but Nyssa finds that only half her attention is on whatever it is Laurel says.

—

As April comes to a close, she learns that now that Sara's father has stepped down as mayor, Sara has begun working for the new one. A job as head of security, with the new mayor being one of the previous Team Arrow members. The knowledge further cements the fact that Sara is truly here to stay.

It also means sometimes their evenings together now include discussions of Sara's reservations over having a full-time job that doesn't include time travel.

"Last time I tried this whole 'normal job' thing, I was working retail and trying not to literally kill my boss," Sara informs her one evening while they're sitting on a rooftop. "The bar's low, but so far it's been a hell of a lot better than that."

This evening, they're working on hunting down a shipment of stolen military grade firearms. They've been staking out this particular group of arms dealers for nearly an hour or so, waiting on them to lead them back to their base of operations, and this is one of the occasions where Sara's taken to chatting to pass the time.

"If you ever feel like working a 9 to 5, lemme know. I can put in a good word with the boss." Sara grins, twirling one of her knives absentmindedly as they wait.

"I haven't really given any thought to a civilian job."

"Yeah? Plan on living the rich heiress life indefinitely?" Sara bumps her shoulder into hers and laughs good-naturedly.

Well, she could probably survive off her family's assets indefinitely. When she says as much to Sara, it earns her another lighthearted laugh.

Their discussion doesn't really go any further than that once Nyssa spots movement from the back entrance of the building they're monitoring.

She lightly taps Sara's elbow and says, "Mask on, 'asfura."

She's been making a concentrated effort to stave off her inclination to use something more intimate when referring to Sara—"Beloved," "habibti," and her other usual terms of endearment are off the table, and she's not sure if using Sara's former League name would be welcome. So she's settled for "little bird," and is glad Sara doesn't seem to mind it—it even earns her a smile most times, and tonight isn't any different.

What Sara does mind, however, is being forced to use a mask once more for her vigilante alter ego. Not for the first time and most likely not for the last, she grumbles as she fixes it onto her face. Nyssa can't help but find the display of grumpiness adorable; she pulls up her own veil, grateful to have something to hide the fond smile that spreads across her face.

—

Work on the clocktower loft has also been coming along smoothly. It's begun to look perfectly hospitable, even cozy by some standards.

At one point, Sara brings Laurel along to one of their nights in.

"Laurel insisted on joining," Sara explains as she makes her way to her self-designated spot on the couch.

"You two spend so much time here, I wanted to see what all the fuss is about." Laurel looks around and nods approvingly. "Plus, I never get to hang out with the two of you together."

"There isn't anything stopping you from arranging that," Nyssa points out from her workbench. While waiting, she's kept herself busy tinkering with making improvements to her bow.

Laurel plops down on the couch beside Sara and begins removing her boots.

“Yeah well, where Sara goes, Ava follows. And Ava’s not a fan,” Laurel declares, and receives an elbow to the ribs and glare from Sara for it.

That's news to her. When she glances at Sara, the woman is already staring back at her, looking apologetic.

“Of me?” she asks.

“Of how much time I’ve been spending with you,” Sara clarifies.

Nyssa's hands still from where they're waxing her bow strings. She wonders if this is it—if this is the moment Sara pulls away from her again. It's been almost too easy to forget, wrapped up in the familiarity of their crimefighting tandem and the comfort and safety of this loft, that Sara goes home to someone else, that someone might object to the time they spend together.

“She doesn’t get it,” Sara adds, a hint of frustration in her voice. Nyssa doesn’t really know what that means. Glancing at Laurel doesn't help either, because Laurel just looks annoyed.

"'Doesn't get it'?" she echoes, looking at Sara expectantly, hoping she'll elaborate.

"Doesn't get us being friends."

"More like doesn't like you being friends," Laurel's quick to mutter under her breath.

"Friends" catches her off guard for a moment. It's the first time either of them have put a name to what they've been doing. It's an apt description, even if a part of her wants to rebel against it. She reminds herself that they were friends once, had started out that way. And she can admit that sometimes she gets lost in the depths of what she feels for Sara that she overlooks another key facet of their relationship—by all accounts, Sara had not only been her lover, but her best friend. The past few months have served as a reminder of how much she's missed that companionship.

"You're not helping," Sara says sternly to her sister. "Especially not when you antagonize Ava."

"I do not 'antagonize.' I just call her out when she's wrong, especially about my friend."

The anxiety she's now feeling doesn't allow her to appreciate Laurel defending her. Before the two siblings can continue bickering, she clears her throat a little to interrupt.

“Would it help if she joined us on patrols?" She hopes she doesn’t sound as strained as she feels suggesting it. It's not something she wants, but neither is causing waves in Sara's relationship.

Sara stares hard at her with that unreadable expression Nyssa's come to associate with most questions related to Sara's girlfriend. Laurel looks at her as if she’s grown a second head.

"That's not necessary," Sara replies after a beat.

The relief she feels is immediate.

She ignores the bewildered look Laurel's sending her in favor of returning to work on her bow.

The part of her that's morbidly curious about this woman who's captured Sara's heart does wonder why Sara has yet to involve her girlfriend in any of what they've been doing. The more selfish part of her is glad that Sara hasn't; there's something nice about the clocktower being a space just for them. But even then, Nyssa can't help but wonder why it is that Sara's kept the two of them from meeting, especially if it's apparently been causing issues at home.

"You should talk to Felicity about some more tech upgrades to this place." It's Laurel's attempt to lighten the mood and perhaps offer an olive branch to her sister.

Sara seizes the opportunity, and the two of them dive into a discussion about their ideas for the loft. It's new to Nyssa, having the Lance sisters chatter in the background while she works, where once it would have just been Laurel, or Laurel and Tommy.

She finds the harmony and cadence of their voices together comforting. Eventually, she abandons maintenance on her bow in favor of simply watching these two women who mean the world to her; they're lively and vibrant and happy, and in that moment, her heart is so full.

She pushes down the voice that tells her this feeling won't last.

—

Thea and Roy’s wedding is a small, intimate affair.

In her travels with the couple on their mission to destroy the Lazarus Pits, Nyssa witnessed firsthand the love they had for each other. She was there when Roy briefly died, had witnessed Thea’s grief and refusal to let her Beloved go. She’s also come to call Thea a friend, so when she congratulates the couple on their union, she means every word of what she says.

She’s currently grateful to Thea for not seating her at the same table as the Lances for this occasion. It is a cruel twist of fate that even though her Beloved is accompanied by her lover, Nyssa has been unable to keep her eyes off her for very long. The dress Sara’s elected to wear is also doing Nyssa no favors. Because of this, she has been witness all evening to the glimpse of happiness that Sara’s spoken of. When Sara dances and laughs with her lover, that happiness is clearly written all over face. The sight is all at once breathtaking and heart shattering.

She’s never been more grateful to Tommy for trying to distract her. He stops by her table often, plops himself down in the seat next to her whenever it’s vacant. It takes him a few attempts, but he even manages to get her to dance with him.

When she returns to her seat afterward, she finds Laurel there and sits beside her.

“So for your second ever non-League wedding, how’s this one rank?” Laurel asks playfully.

Nyssa simply shakes her head at her, amused, but confirms, “Your wedding was rather lovely. This one has been charming, as well.”

Laurel smiles warmly and nods in agreement. “Yeah, they deserve it after everything they’ve been through.”

They both watch the happy couple, swaying in the middle of the dancefloor, looking every bit young and in love as one should on their wedding day. From the corner of her eye, she can see from the look on Laurel's face that she's probably thinking back to her own wedding day. Nyssa fights to keep her eyes from following the now familiar path to where Sara sits, fights to keep away the bitterness that's stubbornly creeping its way into her thoughts.

When Laurel takes her hand and grounds her back to reality, she's grateful.

“Thank you for indulging my husband’s antics.”

“It is I who should be thanking him,” Nyssa corrects softly, and from the look of understanding on Laurel’s face, she knows she doesn’t have to elaborate. She won’t have to explain how Tommy snapped her out of the downward spiral she had found herself in. Won’t have to explain how wonderful it is to see Sara so happy, but how miserable it is that she’s not the cause of that happiness. Won't have to explain how much she hates that she can't let go of that anguish and just be happy for Sara, without any added baggage.

“You’re doing great,” Laurel says quietly, but firmly, giving Nyssa’s hand one more squeeze before letting go. She certainly doesn’t feel that way, but appreciates Laurel saying so anyway.

When Laurel eventually leaves her, she finds her attention drawn back to where it always goes. She watches another woman live the life she wishes she had. Tries but fails to drown out the voice in her head that reminds her that happiness was never meant for her. And she knows, in that moment, that she's not strong enough to keep doing this.

—

“I believe it’s time for me to move on from Star City for the time being,” Nyssa announces to Laurel and Tommy over brunch one day, not long after the wedding.

Tommy frowns at his pancakes and Laurel levels her with a probing look, like she's gearing up to give a deposition.

“I’ve remained in Star City for the sake of keeping an eye on you two and Quentin. With Sara here now, that hardly seems necessary anymore.”

“Star City’s big enough for all of us, you know,” Laurel says. Leave it to her to cut right to the chase.

Nyssa thinks it certainly doesn’t feel big enough. The more time she spends with Sara, the harder it is to remember all the reasons they’ve stayed apart. Thea and Roy’s wedding served as a stark reminder of why it would be best for her to keep Sara at arm’s length.

“That does not change the fact that my time residing here has come to an end.”

“But hasn’t this become your home too?” Laurel argues.

“The League was my home, Laurel.”

“Oh, don’t give me that line.”

She doesn’t fault Laurel for the frustration and rolling her eyes at the statement. She sees it for the obvious deflection it is. But she can hardly say your sister was my home and I haven't known another since, now can she?

“Laurel,” she pleads, “Your sister deserves the opportunity to build a life here, free of my shadow lingering about.”

When Laurel goes to argue some more, she quietly cuts her off:

“And I deserve the opportunity to finally move on as well.”

The look on both Laurel and Tommy’s faces is enough for her to glance away. She has never cared for being on the receiving end of Laurel’s pity. Normally it would offend her, but she chooses to overlook it.

“They still fight, you know,” Laurel breaks the silence, seemingly switching tactics.

“Laurel,” Tommy chides her softly.

“No, listen, I’ve butted out of this long enough. Ava’s fine, but she’s not you, Nyssa.”

She supposes she should find it sweet that Laurel never gave up hope of Sara coming back to her. But Nyssa knows better, and she’s never shared Laurel’s optimism for anything, not even where her sister is concerned.

“Perhaps it is a good thing that I am not Ava. It seems that is what your sister has needed." She looks back at Laurel now. "She’s happy, Laurel.”

It's Tommy who asks: "You really think leaving is going to help you?"

"No." She answers honestly, and then with a sad smile: "But I don't think staying will help either. Honestly, I don't know how to stop loving her. But don't you think it's time that I really try?"

Laurel looks so conflicted and concerned, and under better circumstances she'd take a moment to admire how compassionate her friend can be. At the moment, though, all it does is unnerve her.

"Is that really what you want?" Laurel asks.

Not at all.

She's loved Sara for the better part of a decade—longer, even. Allowed it to completely entrench her soul, allowed it to become as much a part of her as any other facet of her being, as second nature as breathing.

When Sara was away on her timeship – so far and out of reach and more of a concept than anything – it was easy for that love to sit dormant. She wasn't confronted with it on a regular basis, so it sat lightly and gently in the depths of her soul; an old friend for her to call on. Having Sara now actively in her life – something tangible and real and not just a memory or an image in her head – is almost unbearably overwhelming when coupled with the fact that her Beloved now calls someone else home.

So, does she really want to stop loving Sara? The more tactical part of herself would argue that it's not a matter of want anymore, but of survival. Of knowing when it's time to cut your losses. A tactical retreat—whatever way she can frame it to help her feel less like the coward she perceives herself to be.

—

For the next week, Nyssa finalizes her preparations for her impending travels. She keeps any conversations with Laurel short and shallow, and responds sparingly to any of Tommy’s thinly veiled attempts at small talk. She recognizes her behavior may be childish, but knows she can’t handle either one of them trying to talk her out of this.

When she hears knocking on her door one afternoon, she has every intention of ignoring it, but the knocking only grows louder and more insistent. Before she can truly entertain the idea of slipping away via her balcony, the person on the other side of the door calls out to her.

“Nyssa al Ghul, if you’re in there and ignoring me this is not going to end well for you.”

Sara sounds indignant. Nyssa curses Laurel, assuming she is the reason Sara even knows where her apartment is. When she opens the door, she barely has time to register Sara, as the whirlwind of a woman breezes past her into the apartment.

When she closes the door and faces her, Sara is standing in the middle of her living room, giving the place a cursory glance.

“This is a nice place,” Sara comments, then looks back at her. “Shame you’re leaving it.”

Nyssa wasn’t quite ready to have this conversation just yet, but it’s unavoidable now.

“I own the building,” is what she finds herself saying, uselessly, maybe hoping to stall, maybe hoping that Sara will crack another rich heiress joke and distill some of the tension.

“Laurel told me you were leaving. That was a week ago.” Indignant Sara makes a reappearance as she takes a step toward her. “What the hell, Nyssa?”

Nyssa raises an eyebrow at her tone, refuses to look or act chastised. “I would have told you eventually, when I was ready to say my goodbyes.”

Sara looks like she has a thousand things she wants to say, but isn’t sure where to start. And because Nyssa doesn’t like being scolded, and even less so upsetting Sara, she quickly adds, “I will visit again.”

Sara shakes her head. “I thought you liked it here?”

“I do,” Nyssa nods.

“Your friends are here,” Sara adds.

“They are,” she agrees.

“Then why are you leaving?” Sara asks, exasperated and confused.

“I am no longer needed here.”

“Says who?” Sara challenges. Nyssa sighs, which only seems to spur Sara on. “Do I not get any say in this?”

Nyssa narrows her eyes at her, but before she can say anything, Sara is already apologizing.

“Sorry, that wasn’t fair.” Sara deflates, the earlier indignation leaving her.

Nyssa eyes her carefully before asking: “What ‘say’ would that be?”

Sara goes still, stares at her intensely as she considers her next words.

“I don’t want you out of my life, Nyssa.”

If Nyssa feels a bit of her resolve shaken, she does her best not to show it.

“I’m not leaving your life, Sara, merely your city.”

“You’re leaving because of me,” Sara states, the words bursting out of her as if they’re what she’s wanted to say all along.

“I’m leaving because I don’t belong here. I’ve always been but a visitor. Now I wish to find somewhere I belong.” It sounds rehearsed, even to her, and she already knows it won’t be enough to convince Sara to let it go.

“But why can’t that be here?”

For all of Sara’s insistence and reluctance to back down, and for all her vulnerability and desperation in this moment, Nyssa needs her to understand, and she thinks Sara needs to hear her say it.

“The woman you are with,” she begins, taking a step toward her. Immediately, Sara begins shaking her head, but Nyssa presses on despite the protest. “The woman you are with, you love her. You plan on building a life with her. You are happy with her. You’ve said so yourself, and I’ve seen it with my own eyes.”

Nyssa takes a moment to swallow down her emotions, trying to rein them in. “And it is all I ever wanted for you, Sara, and I am truly happy for you. But it is rather devastating for me.”

The final admission is a broken whisper, a weakness she had never wished to verbalize to anyone, let alone to Sara of all people. She can see the immediate effect it has on Sara, the pain behind her eyes, the fight leaving her body.

"Don't be sorry, Beloved," she says, knowing the apology is coming.

Sara smiles brokenly at her, a humorless, wet laugh escaping her.

"You can't do that. You can't call me that for the first time since Ollie's funeral and then leave."

"Sara–"

"I know you said not to be sorry, but I am. I keep hurting you."

"Beloved, no," she says emphatically, then closes the distance between them and reaches for Sara's hands. "This is because of me. I do want to be in your life, Sara, but I need to figure out how to do that on my own, away from here."

She knows there's still so much left unsaid between them. For as much time and effort they poured into reconnecting and relearning each other, they've both avoided or danced around the topic of them. She's not sure now if it would have mattered. When Sara pulls her into her arms, she goes willingly, folds herself into Sara and allows her to hold her close. It feels a lot like being back in a dungeon in Nanda Parbat and wishing Sara farewell for good.

"You'll come back?" The words are muffled, Sara's face pressed against her collarbone.

And because she's never been good at denying Sara what she wants, she promises: "You'll see me again."