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."

Chapter Text

The first postcard Nyssa sends to Laurel is from the Grand Canyon. She does it on a whim, picking one out as she's browsing one of the gift shops. She's not quite yet ready to properly speak to Laurel, but she doesn't want to cut off communication entirely. She doesn't want her friend to worry any more than she already does. She thinks the Grand Canyon is as good a place as any to start her journey, even if some might say a tad cliche. When she watches the sunset and the way the light spills color across the canyon, she reaffirms that of all the sights Laurel and Sara’s country has to offer, this one might be the most worthwhile.

The next postcard is from Yosemite. Then Chesapeake Bay, Chicago, Boston, and so many other major cities, parks, and landmarks, before she’s exhausted the list of places she’s always wanted to visit in the United States. Once she's satisfied with her tour of the US, she makes her way over to Europe.

The first and only postcard she sends to Sara is from Rome.

She can't help but remember how much Sara had enjoyed Italy when they were last there. She’s committed to memory the look of sheer awe and wonder on Sara’s face as they stood in the Colosseum, how she stared up at the Sistine Chapel, the taste of wine on her lips as they sat overlooking a vineyard. They had spent time in Venice and Milan, as well, but that assignment in Rome had been their first since she had taken Sara as her Beloved. The freedom to act on their feelings was still new. It had also been one of the few League assignments they’d ever received where they had an abundance of downtime, and Sara had previously had few opportunities to play the role of tourist.

Rome held memories precious to her. So when she goes to send Laurel her postcard, she's overtaken by a sense of nostalgia and missing Sara, and her resolve crumbles as she sends one off for Sara as well.

—

In Budapest, she meets with her sister. What first surprises her is that Talia's accompanied by Bruce Wayne. What surprises her even more is the discovery that this man is apparently Talia's lover. Nyssa saves her commentary for later, after she's settled in at their villa, and Bruce has left them to catch up.

“Last I recall, you were not terribly fond of bats,” Nyssa remarks, an eyebrow raised.

Talia isn't fazed. “I’m sure you are familiar with the old adage that there is a fine line between love and hate.”

“Indeed,” Nyssa can’t help but chuckle lightly.

She enjoys mornings with Talia the most. They're both still early risers, a result of years' worth of following League schedule and training regimen. Their mornings usually begin with enjoying a light, mostly silent breakfast together, before they retire to the garden to meditate. Some mornings, Bruce Wayne joins them. He's a man of few words, and perhaps because of this, Nyssa finds she doesn't mind his presence as much as she thought she would.

They also take up sparring and training together, and Nyssa relishes an opportunity to train without having to hold herself back. Talia is just as competitive as Nyssa remembers her to be, and it stokes her own competitiveness. More often than not, Bruce joins them for these training sessions as well, once again a quiet observer.

One morning, she finds Talia and Bruce already sparring in the large backyard, and it's Nyssa's turn to be the silent observer. She's heard tales of Bruce Wayne's combat prowess, from both Talia and her father, his skills apparently commendable enough to have garnered the attention of the former Ra's al Ghul. Watching him fight against her sister, she can see why. When she trains with him later, she's mildly surprised to find herself outmatched.

"He's rather impressive, isn't he?" Talia gleams with pride, but under the surface is a warmth and affection Nyssa has rarely ever associated with her sister.

"It would seem he is a man of legend for a reason," Nyssa agrees.

The companionable silence that follows allows her to reflect on her stay with her sister. She studies Talia intently, notes how relaxed she appears now, how unguarded she's appeared throughout her stay. She can't recall when she last saw Talia this way.

"You seem content," Nyssa notes.

Talia takes a moment before she responds. They've spent the late afternoon sitting at the table on the back patio, Talia nursing a cup of tea and watching Bruce train on his own, while Nyssa pages through one of the historical texts she'd found in the study.

"It's not the life I thought I'd lead," Talia says eventually, her gaze returning to Nyssa. "But it has surprised me in the best ways."

It's her turn now to be studied, as Talia's gaze lingers on her. She is curious what her sister sees now when she looks at her.

"I've been enjoying our time together," Talia says.

This has been the most uninterrupted time she's spent with her sister since she was a child. It's also the longest they've ever spent together without their father's presence looming over them. As a child, her father would teasingly call her Talia's shadow; she was prone to sticking close to her sister's side, intent on spending as much time with her as she could before Talia was sent away on another assignment. Talia was older, and wiser, and most importantly, the only other person who understood what it meant to be a child of the Demon.

She would learn many years later the true depths of her father's teasing; his words were not the affectionate observation of a father happy to see his daughters bonding. He had meant them to be a slight—that she could not compare to Talia, that she allowed herself to be so open and obvious with her "weakness," the name he put to any sign of love or devotion from Nyssa to anything other than him or the League.

She would also come to realize how often their father had played them against each other, encouraged their competitiveness, intentionally sowed dissent between them. And then one day, Talia left, and she was the sole focus of her father's attention.

So all things considered, this tentative relationship they've been building has been going surprisingly well. She's relished the opportunity to spend time with her sister without their father's shadow looming over them. She’s enjoyed the time they've spent together, and has appreciated the opportunity to reminisce on the few good childhood memories she has. It's not all been smooth-sailing; there are still quite a few things they fundamentally don't agree on. But what was once an insurmountable chasm between them, doesn't feel as impossible as it had years prior. For once, Nyssa dares to hope.

It's not the undying love she’s witnessed between the Lance sisters, nor the fierce protectiveness she had seen with the Queen siblings. But whatever she and Talia are, it is uniquely theirs, and she’s grateful they’re finding a way to work through the years of hurt they’ve caused each other.

"I've enjoyed our time together," Talia repeats, before Nyssa's had the opportunity to agree or voice any of her thoughts, "So I hope you don't take it the wrong way when I ask you why you've decided now is the time for a visit and a globetrotting adventure."

It’s in the favor of their budding relationship that Nyssa decides to be vulnerable.

“Father rarely took us traveling for the mere pleasure of it." She begins with a truth, but not the sole purpose for her travels. "I no longer have roots tying me to one place, so I thought I ought to give it a try."

She pauses to collect her courage, because even though she wants to be vulnerable with her sister, it's still rather new for her.

"Staying in Star City proved to be difficult,” she admits quietly.

“It is unlike you to run from hardship,” Talia notes, her gaze calm and steady, her tone betraying nothing of her emotions.

There's no malice behind her words, but Nyssa feels shame regardless.

"I'm not running," she protests—weakly, if Talia's knowing look is anything to go by. "I'm trying to heal."

“Your Beloved released you,” Talia surmises.

“It was I who released her, many years ago.” At Talia’s look of surprise, Nyssa elaborates, “I refused to drag her back into League business. She was not meant for our world.”

"But the League is no more."

"She was not meant for me." Nyssa's voice is as small as she feels in that moment. She doesn't look at Talia when she says it, instead glancing off to the side.

"And so you pine."

"I do not want to pine," she snaps, immediately feeling silly for it, but there's something about Talia's frankness that still annoys her after all these years.

Talia is quiet for several long moments, leaving Nyssa to wonder if she's shared too much, been too vulnerable.

While she waits on Talia, she tries to busy herself with focusing on her surroundings. She notices for the first time that they're alone now, the sounds of Bruce's training replaced with the stillness of summer. The air is cooler now that the sun has begun to set. When she finally glances back over at Talia, she finds her sister already staring back at her with a sharp gaze.

"You've always possessed an innate ability to love deeply, regardless of our father's attempts to snuff out that side of you." Her voice is steady, firm but gentle, and Nyssa is struck by the statement, the way Talia delivers it in her matter-of-fact manner that she's perfected over time.

"When I was younger, I thought you foolish." Nyssa can't even be offended—there have been plenty of times over the years that her feelings have made of a fool of her.

"But now..." Talia continues, trailing off with a hint of a smile on her face, "I dare say I admire you."

Nyssa doesn't hide the look of surprise she's sure is on her face. In that moment, she feels she's once again the child from her memories, seeking her older sister's approval, preening at her praise and acknowledgment.

"You love so very deeply and completely. You're passionate and loyal to those you deem worthy of it. You've found strength in the emotions you feel. There is a light inside you, dear sister; something I've not felt in myself for quite some time. Something I don't think I've ever seen mirrored in myself, really."

These are undoubtedly the kindest words Talia's ever said to her.

"I hope you will believe me when I tell you, that you are all of these things with or without your Beloved by your side. She may have been the first to show you, but Nyssa, that light has been in you from the beginning. Why else do you think our father was so hard on you?"

To say she's overwhelmed would be an understatement. Talia either recognizes this or is embarrassed by her display of affection – perhaps both – because she's quick to excuse herself after that.

Nyssa sits in silence for a long time after Talia leaves. She can't help but wonder what possessed her sister to speak so highly and kindly of her—wonders if being in love has softened her to some degree, or if this is a result of Thea Queen’s influence, or perhaps an amalgamation of all these things plus her sister's own journey toward enlightenment. It all sounded very much like something Laurel would possibly say to her, like the words of wisdom an older sibling would bestow upon their younger sibling. It's given her much to reflect on, and not for the first time this visit, Nyssa marvels at how far she and Talia have come.

She can admit that she's spent much of her life defining herself by her relationships—her ties to the League, to her father, and to Sara. She's still not sure who she is without those bonds. She's no longer Heir to the Demon, or Ra's al Ghul, or even really Nyssa Raatko, the name of a mother she'd never known or met.

Now, she is just Nyssa, and she thinks it's past time she truly discovers who that is.

—

She stays with Talia for a little while longer before eventually moving on. She returns to places she once visited while on League assignment, wishes to experience everything through new eyes. With no deadlines looming, no lives to take, no risks to weigh, or men whose lives are in her hands. She finds it much simpler. It’s nice in many ways.

But it’s also lonely.

On a warm night in a small village off the coast of Greece, she finds the strength to finally call Laurel.

The phone rings only once before Laurel picks up the call.

“You sure took your damn time,” Laurel scolds as a greeting, and Nyssa can’t help the laugh that bubbles up from her throat.

“Lovely to hear from you as well, Laurel,” she says it jokingly, but the statement rings true nonetheless.

“So your last postcard was from Budapest. Thea told me you visited your sister there. How'd that go?”

She's still getting used to the fact that Thea and Talia have managed to forge a strange work friendship.

“Complicated,” Nyssa admits. “But we’ve made progress. She even introduced me to her boyfriend.”

“Talia with a boyfriend, now there’s something. Maybe it’ll mellow her out.”

“One can only hope.”

Hearing Laurel laugh on the other end of the line is nice, comforting. It’s the warm hug Nyssa has been needing these past few days in particular, as it’s the most homesick she’s felt since leaving Star City. She’ll be damned if she reveals that to Laurel, though, not after so adamantly insisting that Star City was not her home.

“Thomas is well, I hope?” she asks.

“He’s good. He's gonna hate that he missed this. You should call him when you get a chance, he’d like that.”

“I would like that,” Nyssa says, and finds that means it. She has to agree with Sara, her friendship with Tommy Merlyn certainly is strange.

“I’m really glad you called," Laurel says warmly, "I wanna hear all about your adventures. Where are you now?”

Nyssa proceeds to tell Laurel all about the past few days in Greece, and Berlin before that. Eventually, she describes in detail her time spent with her sister, wanting Laurel's insight on Talia's words.

"You sound confused," Laurel observes once Nyssa's finished recounting everything.

"My sister has not said a kind word to me in probably well over a decade, Laurel."

"Well, it sounds like your sister loves you, but instead of just saying that, she gave you a lovely speech about how wonderful you are. Which, now that I think about it, is very on brand for you al Ghul women," she mumbles the last part mostly to herself, before pressing on more seriously: "She's also right, Nyssa. I know you feel lost right now, but that peace you're searching for, I don't think you're gonna find it in any one place or any one person—that has to come from you."

—

For about a month, her focus and efforts are spent on trying to track down her late mother's village. The truth is, she knows it's an an impossible task. Her father had provided her so little information about her mother throughout her life, and forbidden anyone from speaking of her at all. Despite knowing all this, something still compels her to at least try.

Her latest efforts have brought her to a small village in Jordan. The people there aren't accustomed to outside visitors, but she does her best to blend in, and having Arabic as her first language certainly helps in that regard. She takes her time there, tries to pitch in with help where she can. It doesn't take her long to learn that no one in this village has ever heard of a woman named Amina, but she's in no hurry to leave.

She's taken in by a single mother, Badriya, the village's baker, who allows her to sleep on a cot in a spare room. Most mornings, she helps Badriya in the store, and learns how to make bread and whatever else the woman is willing to teach her. Badriya's son is fascinated by her – because she's someone new and her stories are exciting, according to Badriya – and soon enough, he's recruited a few other children to join him for Nyssa's stories.

"You are not in a hurry to return home?" Badriya asks her one night, over the dinner she had helped make.

Briefly, Nyssa's mind flashes to mornings waking up to a face full of blonde hair, a laugh that wakes up her entire body; but then shifts to Laurel's kind eyes, Tommy's silly triumphant grin whenever he gets her to laugh.

"I suppose, I'm taking the long way back," she muses.

—

In Brazil, she finds part-time work at a small bookstore in one of the more vibrant neighborhoods of Rio de Janeiro. It's something to pass the time, and gives her a bit of the routine and structure she's been craving. It also gives her an opportunity to both work on her Portuguese and people watch. Something to do during the day as she waits to patrol the more crime-ridden neighborhoods at night.

The bookstore owner is an older woman who doesn't ask her many questions, doesn't speak much at all, really, but at the end of most shifts, she always sends Nyssa away with plenty of food. There are two other people who work in the shop with her, and for a while, it's nice. The simplicity of it all is a novelty to her, and her co-workers provide a welcome change to the solitude she'd grown used to. The man she works with reminds her of Felicity in his ability to ramble at great speed and length, while the woman is quieter, more prone to reading at the front counter.

She spends most of her evenings on patrol, as she's found vigilantism agrees with her, provides her an outlet for her restlessness and helps keep her skills sharp. It feels good, too, to make a small difference, even in one person's life. It reminds her of what she thought the League had stood for—a way to curb evil, but instead of replacing evil with death, she uses death as a last resort.

About three weeks in, Nyssa receives a message from Laurel asking her to call. It's nothing out of the ordinary, so she doesn't think much of it. Since the first call in Greece, she had gotten into the habit of calling her friend every so often, and if she didn't, Laurel has been good at reminding her.

The call follows their usual flow of conversation, until they reach a lull, in which Nyssa can tell Laurel's prepping herself for what she wants to say next.

"Do you think you'll stay there?"

The thought has crossed her mind, of trying to settle and make a life here. But for as much as she's been enjoying her stay, it still doesn't feel quite right. She thinks she might be closer to her answer of where she belongs. She's just not sure if she's ready to tell Laurel yet.

"Only for a little while longer."

"Would it be totally selfish of me to ask you to visit for the holidays? Thanksgiving is a couple weeks away, but if you can't make that, then try for after? I'm not trying to rush your soul-searching journey, but it would be really nice to see you again. Plus there's something I want to talk to you about, but I really want to do it in person."

"Is everything all right?" she asks immediately, her grip tightening on her phone.

Laurel's just as quick to assure her, "Everything's fine, I promise. It's just a conversation that would be better had face-to-face."

Something she's learned over the years of friendship with Laurel is that, in a similar fashion to Sara but for wholly different reasons, it's hard to deny Laurel's requests. So when the call ends, she knows that sooner rather than later, she'll be back in Star City.

What Sara's learning as she acclimates to the new status quo, is that there are ripple effects to the changes Ollie made to their world. There are the obvious changes: Laurel alive, her dad alive, and even a new addition to her family in the form of a brother-in-law. These are life-changing alterations, big, bold and in your face. They're changes she can wants to take in stride, because they mean her family is alive, safe and intact.

Having Laurel alive and well means so much to her, beyond anything she could ever effectively express or articulate. It's everything she's wanted since the moment she learned of Laurel's death. It's nothing short of a miracle.

Before she'd left with Rip and the other Legends the first time, she thought she'd have plenty of time with her sister—Sara was alive again and no longer bound to the League, free to come and go as she pleased. All that remained was for her to truly find herself, and in the meantime, her family would be there to anchor her, to be a safe place to land between all the noise and chaos. She never anticipated coming home to Laurel's tombstone.

It's the cruelest twist of fate that every time she thinks she has her family back, they're ripped away from each other. Even now, there's a part of her that isn't completely convinced this won't all go away again. The only comfort she has is knowing that Ollie did this, and if anyone was gonna make it stick, it'd be him.

She's immediately at her sister's side the moment she realizes Laurel's alive. She's grateful that apparently Felicity and Dig had already gotten to her, so she doesn't have to explain anything when she tearfully launches herself into Laurel's arms. She stays with Laurel that night. Kicks Tommy out of his bed so she can share with her sister, like they did when they were kids. She barely gets any sleep, too busy watching the rise and fall of her sister's chest, proof that Laurel's breathing. That she's alive. She can't shake the fear that if she falls asleep, she'll wake up back on the Waverider, and that all of this will have just been a dream.

The decision to leave the Waverider is difficult, but inevitable once she's learned that Laurel is alive. On the one hand, the Legends have become a second family to her, and she's really come into her own as their Captain. But on the other hand, there's no way she's going to tempt fate this time around. She refuses to pass on this precious opportunity to once again be with her father and sister, refuses to waste Oliver's sacrifice.

Which brings her to the other glaringly obvious alteration to this new world, one that she's having an especially difficult time navigating—Ollie’s gone.

It's going to take a while for that to really sink in; even as she and the other heroes pay tribute to him in the S.T.A.R. labs hangar, even as she collects Ollie's daughter from the future so they can all gather for his memorial in Star City, even as she silently holds a grieving Felicity. She and Oliver had both defied death and the odds for so long, a part of her had come to see Oliver as invincible.

But now here she is, in their city, with another chance to be with her loved ones, and Ollie is dead. He won’t get to watch his children grow up, won’t get to enjoy a normal life with the woman he loves, won’t get to be with his family, but she gets to be here with hers.

Sara's no stranger to grief. She's no stranger to survivor's guilt either. But she is so very tired of mourning loved ones. So very tired of death.

She'll forever be grateful to Oliver for what he's done for her. And she thinks she'll forever struggle with what it cost. But in his dying moments, he'd asked two things of her and Barry: to watch over his family, and to keep going.

So that's exactly what she's gonna do.

—

Something Sara's unprepared for, and what can really throw her for a loop, are the less obvious ripple effects. The ones that are subtle, that she doesn't always realize right away are alterations from BC (and yeah, there's definitely a voice in her head that sounds suspiciously like Nate that coins that Before Crisis abbreviation).

The one that's tripping her up at the moment, is learning that Laurel's resurrection didn't change only her life; it's also had a profound impact on Nyssa. It means that Laurel and Nyssa’s friendship was able to evolve into something that meant not only was Nyssa an active and constant part of her sister's life, but she was also no longer a distant memory Sara could push away or ignore. It also means that when she'd wanted to, she could ask about Nyssa and receive an honest, informed answer. It ultimately means Nyssa was never really all that far from her, something of a fixture in her sister's life.

Sure, there's comfort in knowing Laurel's had someone as loyal and protective as Nyssa in her life; just as there's comfort in knowing Nyssa's had someone as compassionate as her sister to be a true friend to her, and that Nyssa hasn't been completely alone in the world. But this knowledge also reignites the guilt she's felt before at having left Nyssa behind. She can't help thinking there wasn't ever really any closure there, was there? Nyssa had sent her away, and she'd kept her distance, to the point where she'd convinced herself she was doing the right thing by moving on, convinced herself that she couldn't have this new life and be with Nyssa. And now that clean break was gone. She couldn't just ignore the Nyssa shaped hole in her memories.

What's probably the most concerning to her, is that all of this means that after all these years, and even while happily with someone else, the sliver of doubt in the back of her mind that she always kept pushed down is a little louder than before. Just a little more insistent in wondering what another chance with Nyssa would be like, and contemplate the what-ifs that would resurface as a result.

So when she sees Nyssa at Oliver's funeral, and she's introduced as "my Beloved" to Nyssa's sister, a part of her falters. She pushes it down, because they're at a funeral and it's so not the time for her to be juggling relationship woes. But then it happens again, sitting on a couch in her old clocktower while Nyssa wipes away her tears and comforts her in that steady and sure voice of hers.

She knows she should be focusing on fixing things with Ava. So she pushes that traitorous voice down as deep as it can go. She does want Nyssa in her life, and that means figuring out a way to just be friends.

—

She's gotten into the routine of having lunch with her sister on the weekdays. It's a little trickier to navigate now that she has an honest-to-goodness job, but they make it work. Sometimes, their father even joins them.

This afternoon, it's just her and Laurel, and they're trying out the new food truck parked outside Laurel's office building. Once they've claimed a bench to themselves and dug into their food, Sara asks something that she's been wondering ever since her return: "Do you ever miss being the Black Canary?"

"Sometimes," Laurel nods, chewing her food thoughtfully. Then, knowingly: "You missing the Waverider?"

“Is it weird that the superhero stuff is easier, in a way?" she asks by way of answer. "There’s a clear goal, a purpose; you know what you’re supposed to do. There's a mission, there's plans, there's a resolution."

When she glances at Laurel, her sister is watching her intently, eyes patient, encouraging her to continue.

"But here," she waves around them, "Doing civilian adult life, trying to figure out what I want to do, how I’m gonna do it. I think that's the hard part."

She stares down at the hot dog in her hand, then admits with a chuckle, "I don't know what I'm doing."

"I don't think any of us really know what we're doing. We're all kind of making it up as we go along."

"I dunno, you seem like you've got a lot figured out," she says as she looks back up at Laurel. "Career, purpose, husband."

It's been this way their whole lives, really. As far back as Sara can remember, Laurel's always been the one who's had her shit together—the drive, the ambition, the boyfriend, the five-to-ten-year plan. When they were younger, it was something that bothered her, being in her sister's shadow. It's not quite how she feels now; she knows what she's accomplished. She conquered her bloodlust, she wielded the Spear of Destiny without being corrupted by its power, she was captain of a time ship with a crew that looked to her to lead, to have the answers. But sometimes, there are moments when she still feels like Laurel's little sister.

The smile Laurel gives her is full of love and admiration as she lists off the very accomplishments Sara had just been thinking of and then some. Sara can tell she means every word she says, can feel how proud Laurel is of her, and in that moment she knows that at the very least, their relationship is good, solid. It feels like proof of how far they've come and how much they've both grown individually and together.

"And you know, if you're worried about the partner thing, it wasn't easy for me and Tommy. I messed that up in the beginning, and we both had to work to get here. If it's what you want, you and Ava will work it out."

The words are supposed to be comforting, but they dredge up emotions Sara was hoping to avoid in this particular conversation. Laurel must notice something's off about her expression, because she looks concerned, abandoning her food completely.

"If you ever want to talk about whatever's been going on, you can."

Sara does, she really does. But she's not sure where to even begin.

She wants to explain to Laurel that in the immediate aftermath of the Crisis, when she'd returned to the Waverider, everything had gone to hell. She wants to explain the stupid documentary, how she'd had to mourn Ollie's loss in front of a camera crew. How despite all of that, afterward, she'd thought she and Ava were making progress only for the rug to be ripped out from under her.

The film crew had left behind seemingly random, unfinished footage, and Sara's curiosity had gotten the better of her. She'd come to regret it once she got to the footage of one of her girlfriend's confessionals.

The words had kept ringing in her ears long after she'd turned the video off. No matter how many times she'd replayed the footage, the words Ava read off the condolence card were no less biting; there was no follow-up line to soften the blow, no revelation of it being a misguided attempt at humor. The words didn't change. It wasn't like Ava to be cruel, but the confession had struck a nerve.

She remembers feeling helpless in that moment, remembers the way her chest tightened, her still raw grief mixing with a surge of anger. Remembers wondering if that's how Ava really felt about her history with Oliver.

She'd always known her girlfriend to be prone to jealousy, and she'd thought they'd been through enough together to trust each other deeply. But the words in that card? The way she diminished what Oliver meant to her? The complete lack of compassion and understanding from someone who's supposed to love her? And then the clincher: the reminder of her past mistakes – the tangled, complicated history she had with Oliver and her sister – and having that thrown in her face. She couldn't imagine what would possess Ava to bring that up at a time like that—she still can't, no matter how many times Ava's apologized or tried to explain it.

Even now, she can still recall the way the anxiety had sat heavy in her body. The hurt from Ollie's death was amplified by the disconnect she felt between herself and her girlfriend. She'd felt torn between understanding and anger. She knows how hard grief is to navigate, knows how hard it is to think of something to say in the moment. But in that moment, she couldn't help how hurt she felt.

The fallout after she'd confronted Ava had been ugly. She didn't know how to move past the hurt, and wasn't really afforded the time to dwell on it once she'd learned about her dad and Laurel.

Grieving the loss of her oldest friend is something that, to begin with, she barely feels equipped to deal with. And now she feels like she's grieving a different kind of loss—that image she had of Ava, supportive and earnestly wanting to be the person who's there for her, feels shattered. She doesn't know how to even begin to pick up those pieces.

So when Laurel asks her to open up, she knows she's gonna need more than the lunch hour just to provide the setup. Who knows how much longer to explain how every time she thinks she and Ava have made a step forward, something happens to make her take a step back.

But instead of saying any of that, she takes a bite out of her hot dog, and just says: "Maybe next time."

—

"Next time" turns out to be a few weeks later. Sara and Ava have already moved into a place of their own at this point, but Sara still finds herself at Laurel and Tommy's when boredom strikes. This particular evening, they're huddled on Laurel's couch, watching a cheesy rom-com, laughing and talking about nothing in particular. But when Laurel casually asks her how everything is going, it feels like everything bursts from Sara all at once.

She tells Laurel everything. Once she's done talking, she can tell Laurel's concerned, and possibly trying to temper down her own anger.

"Have you two talked about it?"

"We have, but every time it comes up, it's like we're speaking different languages. I don't know how to get us back on the same page." She pauses, then adds guiltily, "I woke up to a whole new world. So much is different. I feel different."

The guilt she's felt since waking up after the Crisis has weighed heavy on her. She feels it in multitudes. The survivor's guilt of being here without Oliver. The guilt for what she thinks is the poor role she's played in her sister's life. Guilt over leaving her crew; over leaving Nyssa behind all those years ago and staying away; over how far removed she now feels from Ava, and how uncertain she feels in trying to navigate a way back.

"I don't feel seen anymore," she confesses quietly.

Laurel takes Sara's hand in hers, and the contact is warm and soft, comforting and grounding.

"Sara," she says her name affectionately, with comfort dripping off the edges of her voice. She brings a hand up to cup her cheek, brushes against the curve of it. Her voice is steady and sure when she says, "You've been through so much. It's okay for you to feel different now. It's okay for you to need or want something different now. You deserve to feel seen."

Her sister's words are comforting, something she's needed to hear. But the guilt doesn't subside.

—

Living in Star City again isn't all turbulence and struggle. She experiences more good than bad, and she's found plenty to do to keep herself occupied and chase away any doubts of being there.

Being able to spend time with Felicity is decidedly in the "good" column. She's loved having Felicity in her life again, and watching baby Mia grow from week-to-week, month-to-month, while getting to know William, has felt like a privilege.

Laurel and Felicity have taken to organizing game nights for them as something to look forward to at the end of a long work week. A good number of Felicity's games are strategy games, some she recalls playing with Ray and Nate whenever they'd rope her into their own board game nights. William joins them at times, and it's been interesting learning how his mind works, catching glimpses of both Ollie and Felicity in his thought process and mannerisms.

Her first visit to Central City is a breath of fresh air; introducing Ava to her mom goes over well, and there’s the added bonus of visiting Ray and Jax. Their dinner with Ray and Nora is the most normal her relationship with Ava has felt in a long time. Seeing Jax again after so many years leaves her emotional in the best way; they fall back into their regular banter, and it feels like no time has passed at all.

It becomes a monthly event, making the trip to Central City to see her former crew members, with or without Ava joining her. Due to their uniquely shared experience, they're able to confide in each other in a way they can't with anyone else. They'll discuss the initial strangeness of being back in their time, of trying to figure out their next steps in life, of adjusting to civilian life. How much they miss their friends, and sometimes, the adventure. Ray also still makes the trip to Star City every other week to attend trivia night with her at their favorite bar. It means the world to her, to still be able to have her former crew members in her life in some way.

What comes as no surprise to her is how easily she's been able to reconnect with Nyssa; what does surprise her is how much it's made being back in Star City worthwhile. Sometimes, though she won't openly admit it to anyone, the highlight of her week is the time she spends with Nyssa in the clocktower, or patrolling the streets of the Glades.

Sometimes, this thing with Nyssa is light and easy, and leaves Sara hopeful. Leaves her thinking that she can build a friendship with Nyssa and still be happy with her girlfriend.

And then sometimes, she's reminded of how confusing it is for her to even be in the same room as Nyssa, let alone be close to this woman who loved her, and mourned her, and set her free not once but twice. There are moments when she feels 23 again, and this woman is her whole world; moments when she's 30 again and uttering the words: “I think about going back to her all the time.”

It's not until after a particularly bad disagreement with Ava, one that happens in front of Laurel and involves Nyssa being mentioned, that Sara first realizes how naive she's been. Realizes that none of what she's been doing with Ava or Nyssa is sustainable.

"I don't necessarily agree with her execution," Laurel says, after Ava's exited their apartment to get some air. "But it seems like she's scared of losing you."

"Nyssa and I are just friends."

There's a look of skepticism that briefly flashes over Laurel's face, blink and you'll miss it, almost like she can't help the reaction. It's a testament to how well Sara knows her sister that she's even able to catch it. It makes her feel defensive, the crushing guilt rearing its ugly head once more.

“Nyssa’s easy to confide in," she begins, "She always has been, from the moment I met her. She’s never judged me—not after I told her about the awful things I did before I met her, or my time on the island, or Ollie and what I did to you. Not after I cried after my first League assignment, or when I’d miss home. She’s just… it’s easy to do.”

She can tell it's new to Laurel, hearing Sara's side of her relationship with Nyssa. She can see it in the way Laurel unconsciously leans in to listen as Sara speaks, the slightest look of surprise in her eyes. Sara had always been less forthcoming about their relationship than she assumes Nyssa has been.

“Nyssa is a good listener," Laurel hums in agreement. "I wouldn't know about the never judging part though, I’m pretty sure that’s reserved only for you.”

Laurel says it jokingly, but it's probably true. Her expression turns serious after. She looks at Sara like she knows something Sara doesn't. She can't say she likes being on the receiving end of it.

"Honey," she begins carefully, and Sara can already tell she's not gonna like this, because in that moment Laurel's seeing right through her. "I think you really need to think about what you're doing here."

The words stay with her long after Laurel's left, and long after Ava returns and they both apologize to each other. She wants to ask Laurel if it's really so bad to want both women in her life, to think that they can all find a way to coexist happily, and even if things aren't the same, she's not ready to let Ava go and admit to another failed relationship.

—

After Thea and Roy's wedding, she feels a bit of hope that she's turned a corner. The weeks leading up to it, she's made her best efforts so far to try and move past the hurt and disconnect with Ava. She owes it to what they had, and how happy she knows they used to be, and maybe could still be.

But whatever plans she had, and progress that's been made, come to a screeching halt when Laurel drops a bomb on her.

She had come over to watch baseball with Tommy and her sister. Tommy's just gotten up to grab them more snacks, when her sister turns in the seat next to her and unceremoniously announces: "Nyssa's leaving."

Sara doesn't really understand at first, just blinks questioningly at Laurel.

"She's leaving Star City," Laurel clarifies, trying to keep her voice even. "She told me and Tommy at brunch yesterday."

Once she's really registered the words, Sara immediately balks at the idea. Nyssa's the one who stays, she doesn't leave.

But the longer she stares at Laurel, the more the words sink in.

All she can think to say is: "Why?"

Laurel stares back at her, looking conflicted – maybe even a little frustrated – and like she doesn’t want to say too much.

A sense of dread starts to kick in.

"Things were good though," Sara insists, not entirely sure if she's trying to convince herself or her sister.

Her mind is already replaying all her recent interactions with Nyssa. She really had thought, despite whatever else was going on in her life, that things with Nyssa were good. She thought there would be more time to figure everything out.

Something breaks in her when Nyssa leaves. It leaves her feeling like she's made a mess of things. Like she should have known better, like there's no way she and Nyssa could ever be just friends, no matter how much they will it. The conclusion to all of this was inevitable; the answer to her confusion had been staring her in the face all along, but she was too stubborn to see it. And now, she might be too late.

She cancels on game night that week, for the first time since she's been back. Laurel's worried about her enough to show up unannounced, letting herself into the apartment.

She can hear her sister stop short when she sees Sara hunched over her dining table. She's spent the past however many minutes glued to this chair, staring intensely at the flowers Ava has brought home.

Laurel quietly takes a seat beside her, and when she notices where Sara's attention is, she nods toward the flowers. "Those are pretty."

Sara does her best to discreetly wipe the tears from her eyes. She hums absently in agreement, still staring ahead, but she can feel the intensity of her sister's gaze on her. She can only imagine how she looks: eyes red and puffy from crying, fatigue probably written all over her face. If Laurel wasn't worried enough before, she's sure to be now.

“You've been crying," Laurel notes softly, now that she’s gotten a good look at her. She reaches out to brush a finger across her cheek.

"You know, I never used to have a favorite flower." Sara looks directly at her now. "I kinda figured, flowers are flowers, they're all beautiful."

"What changed?" Laurel takes the non sequitur in stride, keeps brushing her hand comfortingly over Sara's cheeks, her hair.

Sara gives a small, watery smile as she recounts a memory—a favorite that she's revisited countless times throughout the years.

"Nyssa was the first person to ever get me flowers." She shakes her head a bit, chuckling to herself. "They were these pretty little blue ones that grew not too far from Nanda Parbat. I don't know what they're called, or if they even grow anywhere else. But they were really beautiful."

"Are you saying the Heir to the Demon picked you flowers?" Laurel jokes quietly, like she doesn't already know, better than anyone besides Sara, that Nyssa was much more than her title, her mask. Like she doesn't already know and love the woman who cared for her grieving husband and father, who loves her sister so deeply and unconditionally.

Laurel and Sara share a look of knowing and understanding before Sara continues, "After that, I noticed she only ever gave me blue flowers."

Sara finally turns to look at Laurel, a sad smile still on her face. "When I finally asked her why one day, she said she wanted them to match my eyes."

With this newfound information, Laurel glances back at the flowers in the vase, like she's noticing the deep red hue of the petals for the first time. Sara can see the gears turning in Laurel's head as she processes it all.

Laurel turns back to her sister, her hand falling from her face to instead clasp Sara's hands.

Under the weight of the silence and Laurel's questioning eyes, Sara feels the dam on her emotions break. And because this talk is long overdue, she finds that once she starts, she can't stop her thoughts from tumbling out, like unspooling yarn.

"I used to think that Ava was it, that she was my one shot at being happy, at something real. And I was happy. Ava was just what I needed at that time. Sometimes I feel like I'm being unfair; she's apologized and she's trying, and maybe we could move past it eventually."

"But Laurel," she exhales shakily, because she might as well get to the crux of all this, of what she's been repressing, of what's been apparent for quite some time now, but she's chosen to ignore: "Nyssa's been here. Nyssa's been here, with you, and dad, and freakin' Tommy Merlyn. And I still feel that pull to her. And when she looks at me, she still sees straight through to my soul. It doesn't-"

She cuts herself off, searches for the words she wants to say, is surprised she hasn't run out of them at this point.

"No one has ever looked at me like that. No one." She says it fiercely, quietly, maybe a little desperately.

Laurel looks stunned at the confession, at everything's she's heard, and Sara can't blame her, she's pretty stunned at herself.

"So yeah, I've been crying. Because I miss Nyssa, and I'm going to break Ava's heart."

Chapter Text

The next time Nyssa steps foot in Star City, it's the evening before Thanksgiving. She's more than relieved to finally exit the bustling airport, cursing herself for flying the day before a holiday.

Breathing in fresh air, she comes to an abrupt stop when she spots Tommy leaning against his car, hands in his coat pockets. There's a grin on his face once he sees her. Still surprised, she raises an eyebrow in question, as if to ask how or why he's there.

“Felicity,” he responds with a shrug, as if that's answer enough. “Laurel would’ve joined me, but she fell asleep. Thanksgiving prep took its toll."

Tommy steps forward, grin still in place, all boyish charm and looking so happy to see her that Nyssa tilts her head in mild amusement.

"Can I give you a hug?"

"If you must."

It's not the first time Tommy Merlyn has hugged her; she appreciates that he has always asked before doing so, and respects whenever she's declined. She'll admit to no one that the hugs aren't altogether terrible—maybe even nice, especially now after a long flight.

When he pulls away, he squeezes her arms, holding her out before him as he looks her in the eyes. "It's really good to see you, Nyssa."

She hadn't planned on having anyone pick her up from the airport, but this has been a pleasant surprise. Tommy's easygoing nature acts as a soothing balm to the jetlag and slight anxiety that simmers within her at being back in Star City.

On the drive to her apartment, she rests her head against the passenger window. Watches the city lights go by as Tommy fills her in on tomorrow's menu and itinerary.

"You're going to be there, right?" he asks, once he's parked in front of Nyssa's building. "Because Laurel will find you and drag you there if you're not. You know she will."

Once he's satisfied with Nyssa's assurances, he wishes her a good night and drives off.

Her apartment is just as she left it. Something about that—about how this space has sat empty and untouched all this time, devoid of warmth or life—amplifies her weariness.

She's even more grateful now that Tommy met her at the airport. Grateful that his warmth, charm, and genuine excitement at seeing her was her first point of contact, and not the stillness of this apartment.

Stepping further into the apartment, she hopes that her nerves will allow her to sleep properly. She wants to make sure she's well rested—as excited as she is to see Laurel again, she's just as nervous to see Sara. For as much as she thinks she'll be okay, and as much as she's been able to think fondly on Sara lately without the pinprick of heartache that once followed, she won't truly know until Sara's in front of her.

—

When she arrives at Quentin's doorstep, she lingers momentarily on the front porch. Dinner rolls in one hand, she shifts nervously as she tries to steady her breathing. She focuses on the fact that she is looking forward to seeing the Lances again, Sara included.

When she finally rings the doorbell, it's Tommy who answers and ushers her into the house. The smell of food wafting from the kitchen washes over her as she shakes off her coat. Tommy has taken the rolls to the kitchen, and she's still in the living room hanging up her coat when Laurel rushes toward her. She's wrapped in a bone crushing hug before she knows it, unable to help the laugh that escapes her at her friend's enthusiasm.

"You're actually here," Laurel says in wonder once she's pulled away.

"I told you I would be," Nyssa confirms, then in mock-seriousness, "I would never pass on an opportunity to sample your father's cooking."

"I see how it is," Laurel laughs, shaking her head at her. "Well, you're early for dinner."

"I thought I could be of use in some way."

More to the point, she wanted a task to distract her from her nerves.

"Tommy's on pie duty, Dad's working on sides, and Sara's playing prep cook," she rattles off before giving her an appraising look. "I'm sure we can find something for you to do, though."

"And your duties are...?"

"Coordinating," Laurel says matter-of-factly.

"You've been forbidden from cooking, haven't you?" Nyssa teases knowingly.

"She's already burned the cranberry sauce once," a familiar voice confirms.

When she looks over, Sara's leaning a shoulder against the doorjamb. When they lock eyes, the jolt that runs through her is familiar. She can register the sisters banter with each other, but for a moment, the sound is almost muffled as her senses hone in on Sara, on how lovely she looks, dressed plainly in a pair of sweatpants and a tank top.

"That was Tommy's fault," Laurel claims.

"Oh, sure," Sara's eyes leave her to roll in Laurel's direction. "Blame your husband."

"I can and I will."

Laurel brings up a hand to pat Nyssa's arm before wordlessly returning to the kitchen, leaving Nyssa alone with Sara for the first time in six months.

Sara's attention is solely on her now, a small, almost shy smile forming on her face.

"Hi," Sara says softly.

Nyssa smiles in return. She can't help it. Seeing Sara again is like a breath of fresh air. Whatever nervousness she had upon coming here, slowly begins to dissipate.

"Hello," she responds, somewhat amused at the simplicity of their greetings and the circumstances they've found themselves in.

Sara stares at her for a moment longer, eyes roving over her.

"Welcome home," she says, "I'm glad you're here."

The slight emphasis on the word "home" isn't lost on Nyssa. She watches Sara push herself off the doorframe to stand up straighter. She begins to move back toward the kitchen, beckoning Nyssa to follow.

"Let's see what Laurel's got planned for you."

When she enters the kitchen, Quentin looks both happy and relieved to see her.

"Finally! Someone who knows what they're doing."

Of the company present, she's deemed the second-most proficient in culinary skills, and is tasked with helping Quentin finish the sides. It puts her opposite the kitchen island from Sara, who's returned to her station to continue chopping and peeling ingredients. She's content to listen to the bustle around her, can feel Sara's eyes on her more often than not, confirms it whenever she glances over at her and is met with piercing blue eyes staring right back at her unabashedly. And while Nyssa's heart does still flutter whenever Sara throws a smile her way, it doesn't hurt the way it would have six months ago.

Being here, in the Lance family home, looking at Sara and hearing Laurel and Tommy banter in the distant background, it feels so much like home. Like almost exactly what Nyssa has been missing the entire time she's been away.

As dinner time approaches, she joins Laurel in the dining room to help set the table. Laurel informs her to make space for Felicity and her children, who are hoping to join them later.

"They're pulling a double Thanksgiving this year. The Queens always eat earlier than we do, so she and the kids should be here at some point."

Nyssa nods along, and once the table is set, she takes in the seating arrangement and can't help but notice a glaring absence—Sara's girlfriend has been notably missing from today's preparations, and there doesn't appear to be a seat set for her. If Nyssa thinks on it, she can't recall anyone mentioning Ava at all.

"No one else will be joining?" she asks, trying to keep her tone casual and conversational, while she watches Laurel's expression carefully from the corner of her eyes.

"That's it," Laurel confirms, her face and tone betraying nothing, save for the flicker of an unreadable expression.

Nyssa allows her confusion to show, brows furrowing as she glances back at the kitchen to where Sara is, before landing back on Laurel. Then it's Laurel's turn to study her carefully, meeting her head on and waiting patiently for Nyssa to ask.

Nyssa's voice is low and hesitant when she does: "Ms. Sharpe won't be joining us?"

Laurel steps closer to Nyssa, reaches out to gently touch her shoulder, her eyes softening when she says, "Sara and Ava broke up a while ago. About a month after you left."

The revelation comes as a complete shock to her, her mind reeling. She can't help but think of when she had last seen the two together, how happy they had seemed. She feels her chest tighten with a flurry of emotions—relief for herself, sadness for Sara, and the faintest glimmer of traitorous hope that she quickly stifles.

At dinner, she can't help but study Sara more carefully. She notes the way Sara's shoulders will sag briefly when she thinks everyone else is preoccupied; the way her smile doesn't always reach her eyes; how she and her sister will briefly exchange looks, Laurel's eyes encouraging and full of empathy.

The topic of discussion eventually falls on her and her travels. She's not sure where to begin, so she tells them of her journey through the Middle East, the villages she would stay in, the hospitality she experienced while she learned how to bake bread and tend to the fields.

They all listen intently, and by the time she's run out of words, the doorbell rings and Felicity joins them, children in tow. Nyssa's happy to pass the attention off to the new arrivals, as everyone now busies themselves with Felicity's company, cooing over Mia, and asking William about his studies.

Nyssa is all too content to sit and observe; allows her mind to wander and muse on this holiday dedicated to gratitude and acknowledging that which one is grateful for. When Nyssa was in the League, and even in the years after, she never thought she could experience warmth like this. Never imagined that this is what her life would become—gathered around a table, stuffing herself with food, and surrounded by people she loves and who love her in return. She can't help but recall Talia's words: It's not the life I thought I'd lead. But it has surprised me in the best ways.

Her gaze lands on Sara and Laurel, the two sisters seated across from each other and engaged in a conversation that has Laurel almost bent over with laughter. Nyssa knows she has the two of them to thank for this life. In that moment, her heart is so full of gratitude and affection, she's not quite sure what to do with it.

With a tilt of her head, Sara catches her eyes.

The wide, mischievous grin on her face from her conversation with Laurel now shifting to something softer, warm, and unguarded. And because Sara has always been so good at reading her, Nyssa recognizes the knowing look in her eyes, like Sara can see how affected she is. They share a look of understanding, feeling the weight of the moment, and Nyssa thinks maybe her mind is playing tricks on her, because there's a familiar tenderness behind Sara's eyes—past the bittersweet smile, something akin to adoration.

Nyssa chalks it up to a trick of the light or wishful thinking, and forces herself to look away.

—

The knowledge of Sara's breakup upends most of her previous ideas of what this visit would entail. Thanksgiving dinner has her reconsidering what was initially supposed to only be a visit. Does she even want to leave now that the source of her heartache is no more? And besides the Sara of it all, it's become increasingly more difficult for her to deny how at home she feels with the Lances, how much she feels like she does belong with them in Star City. There's also the matter of the news Laurel alluded to in their phone call; it remains unclear if said "news" was the breakup or something else entirely.

A few days after Thanksgiving dinner, she joins Laurel at Felicity's home. She uses the opportunity to hand out the souvenirs she'd picked up during her travels, and while everyone is distracted by gifts, she distracts herself with Mia, marveling at how much she's grown since Nyssa last saw her.

When Felicity mentions the clocktower, it piques her interest, and draws her back into their conversation.

"You should see it now," Laurel says to her, "Felicity's decked it out with some of the tech that used to be in the Bunker."

"I'm still officially retired," Felicity explains, "But Sara's still out there fighting."

"By herself?" Nyssa questions.

She knows Sara's more than capable of handling herself, and once upon a time, she didn't worry as much about Sara putting herself in the path of danger. But historically speaking, Lances tend to die in this city, and Nyssa would feel better knowing Sara has backup.

"Not exactly..." Felicity trails off as she exchanges a look with Laurel.

"There's another vigilante who works with her sometimes," Laurel eventually says but doesn't elaborate. Nyssa isn't sure why the two are behaving so strangely about it but decides to let the matter go for the moment, finding the answer satisfactory enough.

She questions Laurel about it later, on the ride home.

"Is there reason to worry about the vigilante who works with Sara?" Nyssa asks seriously. "Are they not capable?"

Laurel's hands grip the steering wheel just a bit tighter than before.

"Oh, she's capable alright. But she's volatile," Laurel says, then sighs, "She respects Sara, though."

Nyssa can tell there's more to it than that. "But you still worry."

"Not for Sara. She can handle Huntress," Laurel briefly glances over at her, tries to look reassuring.

"It's just that Huntress is different from Team Arrow," Laurel continues, "She's not above killing if she thinks the situation calls for it."

Nyssa can see now why Laurel and Felicity seem so hesitant about this Huntress.

"You do not like her," Nyssa guesses.

"It's not that. Her father was a mob boss, one of the nastiest ones. On top of that, she's the sole survivor of her family's assassination, so it's no wonder she's… lost and angry."

"She seeks vengeance?"

"Penance, I think," Laurel responds thoughtfully, "She's not the easiest person to talk to, but she's not all bad."

Nyssa can't help but chuckle at this. She's very familiar with how much Laurel takes to so-called underdogs.

"You do like to see the best in people," Nyssa allows her affection to come through in her tone, smiling softly at her friend.

Laurel turns to her then, a confident grin in place as she looks at Nyssa fondly. "I have a pretty good track record of being right about them."

—

Nyssa still spends her early mornings meditating; it's the one consistent routine she'd kept throughout her travels abroad. She's begun to also incorporate morning walks into said routine; she frequents the park close to her apartment, book in hand and claiming one of the park benches as her own.

On one such morning, she receives a visitor in the form of a paw sneaking up from beneath the slats of her bench, swatting at her open snack bag of dried fruits. Before she can even really check for the cat, it darts away, a streak of black and orange disappearing into the nearest bush.

She takes treats with her on her next visit, on the off chance that she sees the cat again. Before she knows it, she's spent two mornings in a row trying to coax the cat to eat her offerings.

The cat looks young, with a signature black and orange tortoiseshell coat pattern, and is thin enough that Nyssa takes great care to always provide food. When the cat finally allows Nyssa to touch it, she gives in to the impulse to scoop the feline into her arms and take it back to her apartment.

One vet visit and an expensive trip to the pet store later, Nyssa is the dubious owner of this cat. And though she's only had said cat for a short while, it is nice to no longer be alone in her apartment.

When Nyssa finally allows herself to reach out to Sara, she's grateful for the cat as an icebreaker. She sends a picture of the cat lounging on her armchair, along with the message, The internet and your sister inform me that I have the so-called "Cat Distribution System" to thank for this, and waits for a reply.

The response is almost immediate: a string of emojis Nyssa can't even begin to decipher, and then, When do I get to meet them???

When Sara does show up at her apartment, she's pleasantly surprised to see her curious cat has come to greet their visitor.

"You really did get a cat." Sara sounds and looks so excited, that Nyssa can't help but laugh at the display.

"I believe she was a stray. I've been trying to put more weight on her."

"I've always pictured you as a cat person," Sara says fondly. "Guess I was right."

Sara bends down to offer a hand out to the cat. Her movements are slow as she carefully pets her with gentle strokes of the back of her fingers.

"What's her name?"

"I've taken to calling her Mish-Mish."

"I can't say she really looks like an apricot," Sara chuckles.

"No, but she's rather sweet in her own way. One of the villages I stayed in had a stray they called Mish-Mish, who would often steal food from me. That happens to be how I met this little one. I suppose the name stuck."

They're quiet for a moment, Sara focused on the cat, and Nyssa content to watch her.

"Does this mean you're here for good?" Sara glances up at her from the floor, a careful amount of hope in her voice and expression.

"I'm not sure yet," Nyssa murmurs, regretfully, watching Sara's face fall before she turns back to the cat.

"I'll be here through the holidays, at least," she offers as a consolation. That much, at least, she has decided.

"Ollie's one-year is coming up," Sara says casually, changing the topic as she straightens up from the floor.

Sara shoves her hands in her back pockets and stands with a nonchalance that doesn't quite seem authentic, the anxious shuffle of her feet giving her away. Nyssa can read the underlying sadness.

"We're all gonna go to the cemetery to pay our respects."

"I would like to join you, if that's alright," Nyssa asks solemnly, for the sake of wanting to provide moral support, but also because a part of her actually does want to go.

"Because you and Ollie were friends," Sara teases with a grin, trying to keep the mood light.

Nyssa plays along, responds with a sigh, "Must you put words in my mouth?"

"I'll get you to admit it one day."

A comfortable silence falls over them as she watches Sara begin to look curiously around the apartment, like she's slowly taking everything in this time. When she glances at Nyssa, she can tell they’re both acutely aware of the last time they stood in this place.

"I didn't really get to appreciate it last time, but this is a really nice place," Sara comments, moving toward the bookshelf that lines the far wall.

She stops in front of it, scanning the rows of books and skimming the titles on the spines. Nyssa follows but stops short of standing shoulder-to-shoulder. She watches silently as Sara, her movements slow and deliberate, brings a hand up to pass along the spines of the books.

Her hand freezes on one of the worn hardcovers. Nyssa doesn't need to ask, she can see the spark of recognition in Sara's eyes when she turns to look at Nyssa.

"These are from our–" Sara cuts herself off, then tries again, "From Nanda Parbat."

She doesn't miss the way Sara stops herself from saying "our room," perhaps thinking it too intimate to directly reference something that was once theirs.

"Yes," Nyssa confirms with a slight nod of her head. "They are."

She watches closely as Sara processes the confirmation. She wonders if Sara is also now thinking of the afternoons they'd spent tucked away in their quarters—Nyssa curled up with a book in her designated reading chair, while Sara sat opposite of her. The nostalgia sinks in further as she recalls the number of times she'd be nose-deep in a book, only to look up and catch Sara watching her. She can remember the way her stomach would swoop at the unbridled love on her Beloved's face.

More often than not, Sara would read with her. Sometimes, Nyssa would read out loud to her as they lounged on a chaise, Sara’s head on her shoulder or in her lap, Nyssa’s fingers carding through her hair.

Sara would often tell her how much she loved the sound of her voice—sometimes lazily, dreamily; other times completely lucid, eyes burning into hers in a way that made her put the book aside.

After learning how much Sara enjoyed reading with her, Nyssa had taken to bringing back books from her travels that she thought Sara would like, making space for Sara’s own collection on one of the many shelves. Sara hadn’t taken any of them with her when she’d left, but Nyssa never had the heart to get rid of them, and when the time came for her to leave, she didn't have the heart to leave the little collection behind.

Nyssa's brought back to the present by the movement of Sara turning back to the shelf. Nyssa tracks her eyes darting over to where Sara's shelf sits, and Sara's expression softens immeasurably once she finds it just as she left it.

"Those are mine," Sara's voice is so soft, it's almost as if she's speaking to herself rather than Nyssa. There's a hint of disbelief when she says, "You kept them."

Nyssa takes a small step toward her. "I couldn't bring myself to leave them behind. Perhaps, a part of me had hoped to return them to you one day."

Sara pulls out one of the books in question, a wistful smile on her face as she turns it over in her hands before leafing through its pages.

"It always drove you crazy when I wrote in these," Sara says as she traces over the notes in the margins, the smile on her face widening.

"Yes, well, not all of us are as willing to deface a book as you are," Nyssa retorts affectionately, as if she hasn't spent hours before poring over those notes, clinging to one of the last remnants she had of Sara.

"It's kind of like a time capsule," Sara's voice is quieter now, more nostalgic.

When she looks up at Nyssa, there's a softness and vulnerability there that Nyssa's unprepared for.

"Thank you," Sara says sincerely.

"You're most welcome." Nyssa smiles warmly, unsure of what else to do in the face of all this emotion, unsure of what she's allowed to do.

"They are yours," she goes on to say, a tilt of her head in the shelf's direction.

"I think," Sara begins, and Nyssa watches her turn to place the book carefully back in place, watches her take in a shaky breath to calm herself before looking back at Nyssa. "I think, I'd like to keep them with you, if that's okay."

"Of course," she nods, and regards her curiously, trying to decipher the storm of emotions behind Sara's eyes, the weight of Sara's words.

Before she can draw any conclusions, the moment passes, and a grin is back on Sara's face.

"Can you tell me more about Brazil? Laurel says you really liked it there."

—

Unlike the day of Oliver's memorial service, the weather is agreeable when Nyssa accompanies the Lances on their visit to Oliver’s grave. It's brisk without being too cold, with no rain or need for umbrellas. She places herself in the background, stands off to the side at a bit of a distance, and watches as everyone takes their turn leaving flowers and saying a few words to the headstone.

She places her own flowers there, once the somber group has decided to break away and begin their exit. She hears someone suggest reconvening at one of the diners they all frequent, and takes that as her cue to take her leave, reluctant to impose any further. It's Quentin who calls out and stops her in her tracks.

“You’re practically family now, Nyssa, so shut it and come eat greasy American food with us.” Quentin effectively silences her before she can even begin her protests, corralling her back over to the group with a firm but gentle hand between her shoulders.

She's taken aback by Quentin's words, unable to say anything as she swallows past the lump in her throat. She's heard the sentiment from Laurel and Tommy, but to hear it from Quentin, of all people, feels substantial. The feeling from Thanksgiving dinner returns tenfold—belonging, family, connection.

When she looks to Laurel for reassurance, she's already smiling back at her and nodding in agreement. When she chances a look at Sara, she finds Sara already staring back, the look on her face pensive but otherwise unreadable.

The next day finds her having breakfast with Laurel and Tommy at her apartment. Laurel shows her pictures from Mia's first birthday, and Nyssa can’t help but notice the soft look in Tommy’s eyes as he watches his wife coo over baby pictures.

After they leave, Nyssa decides to pay Quentin a quick visit, something she has yet to do since her return. Quentin looks genuinely happy to see her and pulls out his tea set for her. Of all the Lance family members, he’s the only one who really shares her enthusiasm for tea; something he once merely indulged her in, but now seems to genuinely enjoy.

It takes Nyssa most of the visit to work up the courage to quietly thank him for the day before.

Quentin looks at her for a long moment, his gaze sharp but kind, and Nyssa subconsciously sits up straighter under the scrutiny.

"You're different, y'know," he begins quietly, in that gruff manner that is characteristic of him, "from when I first met you. You've changed. For the better. I know my girls have something to do with that, but ultimately, that comes down to you. So as far as I'm concerned, you keep looking out for my girls, and I'll keep looking out for you."

He lets Nyssa sit with those words as he pours her more tea, as if his acknowledgment is something pedestrian and not something Nyssa's sought after all these years. He has the decency not to comment on her watery eyes, or how she has to work her jaw a few times to keep her tears from spilling over. She's all too familiar with the power of a father's love, and there's indeed something powerful about acknowledgment from a father, even if it's not her own.

—

When she visits the Lance-Merlyn residence the next evening, she follows Laurel into the kitchen where she's apparently been cooking, and exaggerates a double-take.

“Is it wise to be doing this unsupervised?”

“Ha ha,” Laurel says sarcastically, looking up from whatever concoction she’s stirring. “I’m following the recipe and nothing’s on fire.”

“So far.”

The comment earns her a sliced carrot to the head, one which she could have easily dodged if she’d chosen to, but she finds the childish behavior amusing and allows Laurel the small victory.

Eventually, Laurel finishes and they retire to the living room to wait for Tommy to come home.

"So this is overdue, but we've been busy," Laurel begins once they've settled on the couch. "Part of why I asked you to come home is because I missed you, but also because I wanted to tell you this in person."

Laurel leans over to slide a folder across the coffee table to her. She gives it a tap and smiles encouragingly, watching Nyssa carefully as Nyssa leans forward to open it.

When Nyssa sees the contents of what’s inside, she's dumbfounded for a moment. She holds up what is unmistakably an ultrasound photo, studies it carefully before looking at Laurel for confirmation. 

“I’m pregnant," she confirms, her voice small but full of joy.

Nyssa is overjoyed to say the least, especially when she sees how happy Laurel looks. A broad smile breaks across her face as she pulls her friend into a hug, and though she’s not normally the one to initiate, it's certainly a good time to make an exception.

“You will make an excellent mother, Laurel,” Nyssa says resolutely.

“And you're going to make a pretty good aunt.”

—

The next time Nyssa sees Sara, it's also her first time visiting the clocktower since her return.

She finds Sara waiting for her at the entrance to the stairwell that leads up to the loft, leaning casually against the wall. Sara smiles upon seeing her, standing up straighter.

"Security's gotten an upgrade or two since you were last here," Sara states, as she leads them over to the door.

What was once a simple padlocked door is now fitted with a sleek, high-tech keypad. After pressing a few buttons on the keypad, Sara reaches back and gestures for Nyssa's hand, surprising her when Sara grabs hold of her by the wrist.

The grip is gentle; she could easily reclaim her hand if she wanted to. Instead, she allows Sara to, however unnecessarily, guide her thumb to press on a space on the lock's keypad. Lets her hold it there until they hear a beep and she finally releases her wrist.

"Go ahead and do that four more times." Sara's voice is soft, close to her ear, and Nyssa's hyper-aware of how close she's gotten in that moment.

Throat suddenly dry, Nyssa does as she's told, tries to ignore the hint of a smirk she catches on Sara's face from her peripheral. The keypad gives a resounding chirp upon completion, and Sara is grinning once again.

"It's a biometric lock," she explains, still standing closer than usual, "And now you have access."

Sara's gaze lingers on her for a moment longer, before she finally steps away and motions for Nyssa to enter the stairwell.

The loft looks different, but familiar from when Nyssa last saw it. Gone are any lingering signs of renovation. Half of the space has retained the coziness she'd grown used to, while the other half serves as a space-efficient setup of computer monitors and weapons.

She lets Sara walk her through a tour, listening carefully while taking everything in and making mental notes. She notes the look of pride on Sara's face and the excitement in her voice as she introduces and explains everything.

"This is impressive," Nyssa admits, once Sara's finished and looking at her expectantly.

"Felicity kind of has a thing for designing vigilante hideouts," Sara chuckles. "We've got this idea to turn one of the rooms downstairs into a dedicated training area. We figured, since you still technically own this building, it shouldn't be a problem."

Nyssa had made sure to keep the floor below clear of tenants in an effort to prevent anyone from unknowingly stumbling upon the loft, but she's now glad for the unintended results of that. When she'd first purchased the building, she never imagined or intended for it to be used as anything other than a sentimental reminder of the woman she loves; she certainly never thought it would become a base for vigilante operations. She can't help feeling a sense of pride for being able to provide something like this for Sara, however coincidental the circumstances may be.

"It does make sense to expand beyond this space since the real estate for it already exists. No one rents out the floor below this loft."

"I know. Good foresight on your part."

"I can't say I ever envisioned this," Nyssa admits, taking another glance around the loft.

"What did you envision?" Sara asks curiously, "I mean, why did you buy this building in the first place."

Nyssa goes still for a moment, her gaze focusing on one of the workbenches. It's a question Sara has never asked before, and Nyssa had thought maybe she never would. When she glances back at her, Sara's gaze is searching, curiosity behind her eyes, but something else as well, something unreadable. She thinks Sara has to have already guessed why, and now Nyssa's left to wonder why Sara wants it said out loud.

"You ask a question you already know the answer to," Nyssa responds carefully.

Sara's expression saddens, something like regret flashing in her eyes as she frowns.

"I'm sorry you had to mourn me," Sara says quietly, and Nyssa isn't sure if she's ready for what this conversation may entail.

"Sara–"

"Please, let me. I'm overdue on apologizing to you," Sara cuts her off, voice soft but firm, her eyes pleading.

Because Nyssa has never been one to deny her anything if she can help it, she closes her mouth and nods, braces herself for whatever is next.

"I'm sorry you had to mourn me for a whole year," Sara says once more, "And when I came back, I just took off."

Nyssa is about to protest, but Sara beats her to it: "I know, you told me to leave. But then I stayed gone, and I'm sorry for that."

Nyssa swallows thickly. She had made her peace with this a long time ago—had never thought she'd actually have this conversation with Sara.

"You did what was best for you," she says after a moment, "I could never fault you for that, not after everything you've been through. And look where it got you now."

Nyssa smiles encouragingly, wanting to chase the frown away from Sara's face and relieve the tension there.

"I'm still sorry I've hurt you."

"I appreciate that, but you've apologized enough," Nyssa says, keeping her voice light, and then more sincerely, "It was a long time ago, Sara, and you're here now. That's enough for me."

Something in Sara's expression changes, once again unreadable, and she looks away.

"Have you taken up crossbows?" Nyssa switches gears after a moment, anxious to change the subject. She gestures to one of the workbenches where two crossbows of varying sizes rest on top.

Confused for a moment, Sara follows Nyssa's eyeline and snorts upon recognition, features lightening as they leave their previous conversation behind. "Archery still isn't really my thing. Those would be Huntress's. We work together sometimes."

Nyssa steps closer to the workbench, idly gliding a hand across the table's surface as she eyes the weaponry.

"So Laurel informs me."

"Of course she did," Sara huffs, rolling her eyes, but with no real annoyance in her voice. "Huntress is good at what she does. She just needs a little reining in sometimes."

Nyssa stands still, a finger tapping against the table as she studies Sara for a moment. "Do you trust her?"

Sara shrugs. "It's complicated. She wants to do good, to make a difference, and I want to make sure she's not dropping bodies to do it."

It's not quite the reassurance Nyssa is looking for. Sara must notice, because she takes a step toward her.

"Hey," Sara says softly, tone shifting to quiet confidence, "If I can captain the Legends, I can handle an ex-mob princess."

The reminder leaves Nyssa feeling sheepish for a moment; Sara has battled interdimensional threats and preserved the timeline, all while shouldering the burden of being her team's captain. It makes her worry seem unnecessary, but even so, she knows she would feel better if Sara was out there with someone Sara actually trusts.

She concedes anyway: "Point taken."

"You know you're always welcome to join me."

The invitation staves off some of her worry. Helping Sara with her patrols again is something she's been wanting to do, but she'd been unsure how to ask, or if her presence would be welcome.

"I will take you up on that."

The responding smile from Sara is infectious. She then steps away from Nyssa to fall back on the couch and makes a show of getting herself comfortable.

"Alright," she sighs, voice playful when she asks, "What else has Laurel filled you in on?"

She pats the seat beside her, motioning for Nyssa to join her. "What else made it onto the Laurel Lance report?"

Amused by Sara's antics, Nyssa remains standing but hums thoughtfully as she plays along.

"Laurel is thorough, as you know," she begins in a mock-serious tone, and Sara nods along, equally as serious. "First and foremost, I've been informed that Mia has learned the word 'no.'"

"Big development," Sara nods again, and then laughs a bit at her friend's expense when she says sarcastically, "Felicity's loving it."

"Second, your sister is with child." Her tone is lighter now, the smile on her face warm and genuine.

Sara beams back at her, barely contained excitement in her voice when she says, "I'm pretty excited about that one."

Nyssa hesitates on saying her next point. Sara looks so happy for her sister at that moment, that Nyssa thinks she's going to leave it at that. One heavy conversation for the day has been plenty enough.

"Hmm, your face did a thing," Sara points out, eyebrows knitting together in a way Nyssa thinks is supposed to mimic her expression.

In an attempt to stall, Nyssa protests, "I believe you're exaggerating."

"Right, sorry, your expressions are very subtle," Sara laughs, joking lightheartedly, before somewhat smugly claiming, "I'm just good at reading them."

Nyssa huffs in mild annoyance, because yes, Sara still has a gift for being able to read her so well. Either that, or Nyssa's never figured out how to stop allowing herself to be an open book to her. It's probably a combination of the two.

Sara then leans further back into the couch, bringing an arm up to rest along the back of it.

"Go on," she encourages, "What else has my sister told you?"

Nyssa takes in a breath, and finally takes a seat beside her. She responds as delicately as she can, "I'm told you are no longer in a relationship."

Sara hangs her head and groans. "Of course she told you."

"Don't be too hard on her. I inquired once I noticed Ms. Sharpe's absence from Thanksgiving."

Sara's eyes return to Nyssa's, and there's a flash of worry in them that Nyssa wasn't expecting.

"How much has she told you about it?" Sara asks carefully.

"Only that it occurred a month after I left."

Sara's eyes narrow at her, but Nyssa isn't sure what it is she's trying to discern, or what she's hoping to find.

"You don't have to tell me anything," Nyssa assures her, "I only wanted to tell you that I'm sorry you're hurting."

Sara smiles sadly at that, unspoken gratitude in her eyes as she relaxes a bit.

"You so owe me more travel stories now," Sara says lightly, "Laurel's been feeding you all this info while I've been in the dark over here."

"My stories are yours," she replies easily, smiling softly.

The mention of her travels serves as a reminder for her secondary objective of the day.

"I did get you something," Nyssa announces as she reaches into her coat pocket, "while I was in Istanbul."

Sara's face lights up when Nyssa extracts a cloth pouch from her pocket. She carefully retrieves the gift from inside, then meets Sara's curious gaze as she presents the two bracelets to her, holding them out in her open hand.

The bracelets are simple, but handmade: each a silver chain, and each with a single glass bead at the center made to resemble the evil eye. One a dark blue, while the other light blue.

Sara looks surprised, but after a moment, takes them from her delicately. Her fingers brush against her palm when she does, and Nyssa has to suppress a shudder.

"The nazar," Nyssa taps one of the eye beads as she explains, "is meant to ward off negative energy, from the evil eye and its intentions. You have a knack for getting into trouble; perhaps these may offer the slightest bit of help in keeping you from harm's way."

Nyssa smiles fondly at her, studying Sara's reaction. Sara is quiet as she turns the bracelets over, studying them.

"They're beautiful," she says quietly, her smile warm and genuine when she looks up at Nyssa.

"But why two? Is this your way of saying I need double protection?" There's a playful lilt to Sara's voice that makes Nyssa grin in return.

"There was a deal," she deadpans, throwing in a shrug for good measure.

It earns her a boisterous laugh from Sara, the kind that she knows she'll never get tired of hearing, that she chased and yearned to hear throughout their relationship.

"I also thought that if you wanted to give one to someone who you want to protect, now you can."

She can't help but feel a bit shy as she explains; even more so as Sara's expression softens.

"That's thoughtful," Sara says, and then more fondly, "You're always so thoughtful."

There's a moment of silence between them as Sara finally secures one of the bracelets to her wrist. She's opted for the darker one, and holds up her arm to inspect it and show it off to Nyssa.

"Thank you for thinking of me," Sara says sincerely, eyes locked on her, and she can't help feeling shy once more.

"Always," she responds quietly, and the weight of the word settles between them.

On a slow night of patrol, Sara decides to call it early and head back to the clocktower. When she walks into the loft, Helena is already there, packing up for the evening.

"Not much activity tonight," Helena reports without looking up, midway through stowing away her weapons.

"Same here," she responds, "But quiet can be nice sometimes."

After quickly changing back into her civilian clothes, Sara's halfway through tying her hair up when the light of the loft glints off the bracelet on her wrist. She pauses for a moment to touch it, runs a finger over the dark blue bead. The bracelet has been a nice reminder of Nyssa, and every time she's caught herself subconsciously fiddling with it, she replays how soft and lovely Nyssa looked when she gave it to her.

Laurel's already caught her smiling to herself a few times now, but she can't find it in herself to feel any type of embarrassment about it. Not when the gift serves as a reminder that Nyssa had thought of her enough to bring her back something.

Tonight, the bracelet serves as a reminder that she still hasn't updated Helena on a potential new visitor to the clocktower. When she finally puts her hair up, she sees that Helena's also back in her regular clothes and downing a bottle of water.

"So just a heads up," she starts, waiting until she has Helena's attention before continuing, "I've given someone else access to the loft."

Helena lifts a questioning eyebrow in response. "Who else could possibly need it? We’ve already got IT Barbie and Courtroom Canary."

Sara doesn't miss the way Helena rolls her eyes upon mentioning Laurel—"Courtroom Canary" is one of the milder nicknames Helena's adopted for her. She can never quite figure out whether Laurel and Helena hate each other or not. Helena has a tendency of never calling Laurel by her name – sometimes in jest, and sometimes in annoyance – and Laurel almost always wears a tight-lipped expression on her face whenever Helena is mentioned.

Sara’s the only one out of the three of them who remembers what Helena was like Before Crisis. She's glad this new Helena is different; she's still driven by rage and vengeance, but there’s good underneath all that bluster. Thankfully, in this timeline of events, Helena never tried killing her sister, but they've always butted heads. Laurel doesn’t approve of Helena’s vendetta against the mobs, or her use of lethal force, but she also firmly believes in the power of redemption and second chances. Sara, on the other hand, sees somewhat of a kindred spirit in Helena, who often reminds her of her younger self, before she realized killing and vengeance wasn't the way to go.

"A friend of mine's back in town," Sara says eventually, focusing back on the matter at hand. She tries to think of the best way to describe Nyssa without having to share too many details, or delve into their shared history. She and Helena get along okay, and have a foundation of mutual respect, but she refrains from sharing anything too personal with her and vice versa. She settles for, "She was helping me before she left, before you and I teamed up. She's good; she's one of the people who trained me."

The last bit of information seems to grab Helena's attention, curiosity on her features when she asks, "Another League of Assassins member?"

If only Helena knew.

"Technically, yeah." She decides to breeze past it, not yet ready to reveal Nyssa wasn't just any former member, but the Heir to the Demon turned Ra's al Ghul herself.

“And you trust her?” She can’t fault Helena for the disbelief in her voice. What little Sara’s mentioned of the League and her time in it hasn’t been the most flattering.

“With my life,” she responds immediately. With way more than that, really, but Helena doesn’t need to know all that. "So if you see a tall, gorgeous brunette here, don't shoot. It won't end well for you."

"Gorgeous?" Helena questions, clearly amused, and Sara simply smirks in return and shrugs.

"Objectively speaking."

"Right," Helena says, dragging out the word. "I’m sensing a story there. We'll circle back to it later. In the meantime, I'm starving."

Helena tosses her empty bottle into the trash before slinging her duffle bag over her shoulder.

"I promise I won't shoot the hot assassin.” She tags on a mock salute at the end, and begins her departure, throwing over her shoulder, “Later, Lance.”

Sara shakes her head in amusement, before making her way over to the small drinks cabinet she keeps stocked in the corner. Despite it being a slow night, she's still wired, and knows she won't be able to sleep for a while.

Even though it's late, and she works the next morning, she pours herself a drink and makes herself comfortable on the couch. She's been having trouble sleeping lately, alternating between sleeping at her apartment and the very couch she's sitting on.

The nightmares are nothing new. Lately, the Vanishing Point's been a reoccurring feature in her dreams; twisted flashbacks of her time spent there with the rest of the Paragons, a chain of events where Oliver never helps them escape, and they're infinitely marooned outside of space and time. Waking up from those particular nightmares always leaves her feeling especially disoriented. She'd grown used to having Ava there to comfort her, most times her presence alone was enough to calm her and help steady her breathing.

The heartache from their breakup comes and goes in waves. It's been a slowgoing process, but it hurts a little less as times goes on. It's the worst on nights when she's bone tired, dreading the idea of returning to an empty apartment, an empty bed.

Then there's the Nyssa of it all.

Her chest tightens as she takes another sip of her drink, letting the burn of it distract her for a moment.

It's almost funny how she spent so long suppressing and burying her feelings for Nyssa, convinced that chapter of her life was over. But then all it took was less than a few months in Nyssa's presence for that all to unravel. It was one thing to miss what they had, what Nyssa had been for her during the darkest times of her life. It's another thing entirely to witness how much Nyssa's changed and grown since then—to fall for a Nyssa who wears freedom oh so well, who's slotted herself right into Sara's life in Star City, as if she was meant to be there all along.

It makes her think back on the amount of times she used to wonder what Nyssa would have been like if she hadn't been raised in the League; if they had met under better circumstances. In the League, Nyssa had been an anchor. A quiet, resilient strength, a pillar to lean on; someone who loved the darkness in her, but also cherished the light.

She tried putting it into words once, when Laurel had asked.

"It wasn't all bad," Sara had told her. "Nyssa had her issues, but she wasn't really the problem. She loved me in a way that I’d never been loved before. It was intense, and overwhelming at times, and I wasn’t ready for it.”

Nyssa knows all the bad parts. She knows the broken girl. Knows the girl who was so starved for affection, the girl who hated herself only to become the hardened woman who hated herself even more. She held that woman’s heart in her hands, guarded it as best as she knew how. She breathed life and love into the shell that was Taer al-Asfar. Never in any way that tried to fix her, but in a way that said, “I am here. I see you, all of you, and I love you.” It was the knowledge that this fierce, steadfast warrior of a woman—who was everything she felt she wasn’t—saw something in her worth loving. Saw her worth loving so deeply and absolutely.

Her phone buzzing in her pocket jostles her from her musings. She sets her now-empty glass off to the side as she checks her texts, opening the latest one from her sister.

Lunch @ Simone's tomorrow? Dad's buying

Laurel would definitely tell her she's overthinking. Her answer to everything whenever the topic is brought up, is to just talk to Nyssa, like the grown adults they are. It is sound advice, it's just also a lot easier said than done.

This thing with Nyssa, delicate and wonderful as it is, feels new in some ways, but also familiar, like the continuation of something unfinished. The part of her that knows what she wants and is determined to get it, thinks they could make it work this time around. She's just not sure how to convince Nyssa of that, and it's made her hesitant to broach the subject, made her want to take her time to get it right. 

—

Mia Queen is, by all accounts, a happy child, and this is Sara's first time witnessing that Nyssa's just as enamored with the baby as the rest of them are. Sara’s not sure how exactly the baby ended up in Nyssa’s lap, but Nyssa’s taken it in stride. She watches on as Nyssa sits cross-legged on Felicity's living room floor and gently bounces Mia on her lap. There’s giggling and happy squeals, and the display is so completely heart melting that Sara doesn’t even try to stop herself from outright staring.

“She’s really good with her,” Laurel observes from the spot beside her at the kitchen island.

She’s suddenly aware that the others in the room are also watching Nyssa, who seems distracted enough by Mia to either not notice or not care—probably the latter, if Sara had to guess. The rest of them are in the kitchen, helping in varying degrees with baking Christmas cookies.

“Mia loves her,” Felicity supplies, as she finishes rummaging through her drawers for a spatula. “Especially when Nyssa reads to her. I’m thinking it’s the accent? Something about her accent is soothing, right?"

“You say soothing, I say sexy,” Thea chimes in casually from where she's standing, mixing cookie dough. The remark earns her a side eye from Laurel and a blank look from Felicity. "What? Nyssa's hot, this isn't news."

Something like jealousy spikes through Sara, hot and unbidden, and it's a little ridiculous, because it’s Thea of all people. She reminds herself that she doesn’t have any right to be jealous in the first place, especially not of someone stating the obvious.

"She's always been good with kids," Sara says quietly, in an effort to steer the conversation back on topic and away from Nyssa's attractiveness. "The village children loved her. She always brought them sweets."

“See, it’s stuff like that, and that,” Felicity uses the spatula to point out to her living room where Nyssa and Mia are, “That make me think she's secretly just a big softie.”

"A softie who can kill a man in ten seconds," Thea jokes.

At that moment, the timer on the oven goes off, signaling the first batch of cookies are done. Nyssa turns her head toward the sound, and when she locks eyes with Sara, she smiles—something soft and almost shy, and Sara's noticed she's been doing a lot of that lately.

"When you're done with the heart-eyes, you wanna actually help with the rest of the cookies?" Laurel teases her, voice close and low enough that no one else hears her.

When she finally looks away from Nyssa, it's to cut her sister a playful glare.

"Taste-testing is helping," she argues, but gets up anyway to assist Felicity.

When she finally joins Nyssa in the living room, plate of fresh cookies in hand, she catches the tail end of whatever story Nyssa's reading to Mia.

"You've got a fan." Sara grins as she takes a seat beside them. "Can't say I blame her. I always liked it when you read to me, too. You never used the funny voices, though. You’ve been holding out on me."

“If you wanted funny voices, you need only to have asked.”

"I'll keep that in mind for future reference," she responds, a playful glint in her eyes.

Nyssa gives her a curious look, with just the slightest tilt of her head. Before either of them can say anything else, Mia reaches out her tiny hands in the direction of the cookies.

"Sorry, kid, these aren't for you," Sara says as she she holds the plate further away. "Your mom's got a smoothie for you, though."

The denial makes Mia fussy, arms flapping indignantly. Nyssa tries to soothe her with a gentle bounce of her lap, and soft, calm words in the baby's ear, but the damage is done. Felicity's timing is impeccable when she swoops in to reclaim her daughter and retreat to the kitchen.

"I'm off to a great start trying to make sure this Mia doesn't grow up to hate me."

"Mia from the future didn't like you?"

"Not at first," she confirms. "You trained her, by the way."

Nyssa looks momentarily stunned by the revelation, eyes widening as she glances from Sara over to where Felicity sits with Mia in the kitchen.

"Future Felicity made sure of it," Sara adds.

"That is... unexpected, that Felicity would entrust me with her daughter's training. I'm honored."

"You've always been a good teacher," Sara says softly, smiling warmly at her.

After a moment, confusion sets in on Nyssa's face. "I fail to see the connection between my training her and her hostility toward you."

"Oh yeah, apparently at some point, you told her something about me that she didn't like," Sara chuckles.

Nyssa looks even more confused.

"I can't fathom a reality where I would have anything unkind to say about you." Nyssa looks and sounds so serious that Sara can't help but find it endearing.

"I don't really think you would," Sara reassures her, "My guess is you were kind of her hero and she idolized you. If she found out I broke your heart, I can see why she wouldn't like me at first."

The last part is said more quietly than the rest, more self-deprecatingly. The look Nyssa gives her is intense, makes her swallow uncertainly as she pushes on.

She takes a cookie from the plate in her hands and gives it to Nyssa.

"Gingerbread man," Sara presents, "He ain't pretty, but he's tasty. Eat the arms and legs first, it's funnier that way."

In demonstration, Sara takes a bite into the leg of a cookie of her own. Nyssa laughs loudly when she notices the expression of sheer horror Sara's drawn in icing on the gingerbread man's face. It's the kind of genuine, unguarded laugh Sara rarely ever heard, only ever in private, and that always left her with a sense of accomplishment and a high she'd ride for the rest of the day. To hear it now, in Felicity's living room with their friends close by, fills her with warmth and leaves her utterly captivated.

Once the laughter subsides, Nyssa notices her staring; there's a question in her eyes as she stares back, but Sara wants to sit in the moment for a little while longer.

Eventually, she clears her throat.

"I know you prefer the peanut butter cookies, but Laurel's hogging them right now. I'll let you try to convince her to part ways with one."

—

Vanishing Point nightmares aside, her dreams about Laurel are the most frequent, and arguably the worst. Dreams like waking up in a world where Laurel never came back; like Laurel dying, Sara frozen and rooted to the spot, helpless to watch it happen; like coming home to her father telling her that Laurel's dead and it's all her fault.

The latest instance of this happens on a night when she's at Laurel and Tommy's. She had come over earlier in the evening for dinner, and stayed late enough that Laurel had insisted she crash in the guest room.

Waking up in a cold sweat is never fun. Her heart is racing and it takes her a moment to recognize that she's not in her room. Anxiety high, she gets up with the intention of going to the kitchen for some water, only to course correct when she sees her sister sitting in the living room, drinking a glass of water.

She lingers in the shadows for a moment. The physical reminder that her sister is alive helps calm her nerves a bit.

"You're up late," Sara keeps her voice low as she approaches her, partly not to wake Tommy, and partly to keep from startling Laurel.

Laurel is startled all the same, body jumping and a gasp escaping her.

"You and your assassin stealth, I swear," Laurel hisses, muttering under her breath, "Make a little more noise next time."

Sara gives her a sheepish grin before settling beside her.

"Why aren't you asleep?" Laurel asks once she's calm again.

"Nightmare," she admits quietly, "Why aren't you?"

"Heartburn and my back's killing me."

Laurel sets her glass down on the coffee table, a hand subconsciously falling to cradle her stomach protectively. Laurel's pregnancy has only just started to show, with the slightest hint of baby bump.

"Was it the Vanishing Point again?" Laurel asks her as she settles deeper into the couch.

She hesitates for a moment. Laurel knows she dreams about her sometimes; she's mentioned it once before, but only once. She hates to worry her.

She opts for the truth this time. "It was about you, actually. About the day I found out you..."

She trails off, and the knowing, sympathetic look in Laurel's eyes lets her know that Laurel knows exactly what she means. Laurel wordlessly holds out her arms to her, motioning for her to fall into them.

Sara lets her sister hold her.

"I'm here, Sara," she says, voice soft and comforting, "I'm not going anywhere."

Sara's not sure exactly how long they sit like that, but she's in no hurry to move away, and it seems neither is Laurel.

"I don't want you to feel obligated to be here, Sara." Laurel's voice is quiet, nervous like she's sharing a secret. "You've more than earned the right to live your life the way you want live it, to the fullest. "

Sara pulls away, brows furrowing in confusion as she stares hard at her sister.

"Where's this coming from?"

"I just don't want you to feel like you have to be here because you're scared of losing me. I've got Tommy this time around. I love you being here, but it should be because you want to be, not because you feel like you have to be."

"Hey," Sara reaches out to grasp her sister's arm, then says resolutely and with as much conviction as she can, "Between my time with the League, and me dying, and you dying, we lost so much time together. I want to be here with you and dad. It's one of the only things I'm 100% sure on right now."

She's relieved when some of the tension leaves Laurel's face.

"And you're having a baby," she allows the awe to shine through her voice, because she still can't believe her sister is going to be a mother. "I don't want to miss out on that. I'm not here out of obligation, Laurel, I promise."

"And when the wanderlust strikes?"

"Then I'll figure it out," she shrugs, because that's a problem for Future Sara. "But being here, the stability, it's all been enlightening."

She pulls her sister into her arms for a hug. "The Legends are always gonna be my family, too. But right now, I promise I'm right where I want to be. I have plenty worth staying for."

She holds Laurel tightly, feeling the rest of the tension slowly leave her body.

"Nyssa being one of those things?" There's a teasing lilt to Laurel's voice, and Sara can't see it, but she just knows Laurel's smirking.

Sara doesn't say anything, just groans and playfully shoves her away.

"You really should just-"

"Talk to her. I know."

Laurel studies her intently for a moment, in a way that makes her twitchy and want to look away.

"Do you honestly think Nyssa would deny you both another chance to be together?"

Laurel says it like the idea is absurd, but Sara feels insecurity gnaw at her just the same.

"Maybe? I don't know, I wouldn't blame her if she's decided to get over me for good. That's why she left, isn't it?"

"She came back though."

"Because of you," Sara says stubbornly.

"You think she's staying because of me, too?" Laurel replies, just as stubborn. "Why do you think she hasn't left yet?"

"Because traveling during the holidays sucks?"

"Sara," she sighs, exasperated at this point, "You're being an idiot."

Sara can't help but pout at that.

"It's too late for this," she grumbles.

"I'm just saying," Laurel insists softly, "Trust my big sister wisdom. Talk to her."

Chapter Text

"I can't believe I've allowed you to fool me into this," Nyssa grumbles, glaring out at the ice rink.

The skating rink is vibrant, alive with the sounds of Christmas music, children's laughter, and the faint scrape of blades along ice. Nyssa watches the steady stream of skaters pass by until a familiar burst of laughter draws her attention. Her gaze shifts back to Sara, who stands a few paces away with a triumphant smirk on her face.

"Did I fool you?" Sara questions, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Pretty sure you followed me here willingly."

"I was not aware this is what you had in mind." Nyssa gestures toward the ice, glaring at it once more, as if it's to blame for her current predicament. That only draws more laughter from Sara.

Admittedly, it wasn't difficult for Sara to coax her into venturing downtown for the Christmas festival. Nyssa enjoyed getting swept up in the festivities, trailing after Sara as they wandered from stall to stall, admiring the lights and decorations while indulging in street food and hot chocolate. She'd been perfectly content to follow Sara's lead, so when Sara had gently tugged her toward another part of the park, she hadn't given it a second thought. By the time she realized what was happening, Sara had already rented them skates and laced hers up with practiced ease. It wasn’t until Sara stood before her, offering a pair of skates and a grin, that Nyssa fully grasped what she’d been roped into.

And so, Nyssa now finds herself sitting on a cold bench, glaring down at a pair of skates sitting beside her feet. Arms crossed, she looks up skeptically at Sara, who remains completely unbothered. With an easy smile, Sara gestures toward Nyssa's own boots still on her feet.

"Go on," Sara prompts, voice hovering between amused encouragement and gentle command.

With an exaggerated sigh, she reluctantly begins the process of swapping her shoes for the unfamiliar footwear. Before she can begin the tedious process of lacing them up, Sara wordlessly kneels before her to take over, ignoring Nyssa's look of question.

"Relax," Sara says patiently, grin firmly in place, fingers deftly tightening and adjusting the laces. "I have a hunch you'll pick this up in no time. Or has Nyssa, former Heir to the Demon, finally met her match in a pair of ice skates?"

"I know what you're doing," she counters, eyes narrowing. "You're appealing to my competitive nature."

"Is it working?" Sara's smirk is devious—downright dangerous, even, in how utterly disarming it is.

Not one to back down from a challenge, she glares back at Sara, but the edge is dulled and lacking its usual bite. Sara notices and softens.

"Do you trust me?" Her voice is quieter now, hands steady as as she finishes tying the skates.

It's a seemingly innocent question. But the unexpected weight of it settles over Nyssa all the same. She doesn't trust her voice to remain steady, so she simply nods instead.

"Then trust me when I say, you'll be fine. You might even have fun."

The playfulness returns, but there’s also a certainty beneath her words—as if she already knows the outcome. It's the kind of certainty born from experience, from someone who knows this dance all too well, who's gone through it enough times to know: despite Nyssa's initial reluctance to embrace the unfamiliar, Sara's always been gifted at predicting what she'll enjoy.

Once Sara straightens, she dusts off her knees before offering a gloved hand to Nyssa. "Ready to go?"

"Not at all," she sighs, taking Sara's hand anyway, steeling herself for what's to come.

It is, perhaps, the least graceful she's ever appeared. Her initial unsteady wobble, coupled with the intense concentration etched on her face, must look completely ridiculous. She's grateful no one else she knows is here to witness the clumsy spectacle—least of all her sister or father.

But after a moment, a lifetime of League training in balance and coordination kick in. She manages to glide, albeit stiffly, alongside Sara. Sara’s hand has remained firmly clasped around hers, and though Nyssa no longer needs the support, she makes no effort to pull away.

"See," Sara remarks, smiling brightly, "Not so bad, right?"

"It is not my first time," she admits. "Talia trained in figure skating when she was young and hoped to teach me. I did not care for it, and when my father deemed it a waste of time, I was all too happy to abandon it."

"Let me guess, you fell a lot?" Sara asks knowingly, amusement dancing in her eyes.

"I lost count of how many times. It was rather humiliating."

"How old were you?"

"Six."

Sara snorts, letting out a soft chuckle, and nodding as though that makes perfect sense.

"I can totally picture six-year-old Nyssa being upset she wasn't instantly good at something." Then, teasingly and with a squeeze of Nyssa's hand, "Good thing you've grown out of that, huh?"

"You're mocking me," she huffs, trying for seriousness but unable to suppress the faint smile tugging at her lips.

"I would never," Sara gasps dramatically. "I'm simply making an observation based on experience and hard-earned data, just like you taught me."

"And what data is that, pray tell?"

"Well," Sara begins, clearly enjoying herself, "Let's start with almost every card game I've ever tried to teach you."

"Your card games have nonsensical rules and require almost no skill whatsoever."

"How about computers?" Sara adds, undeterred and ignoring Nyssa's remark, "Or better yet, smartphones. Teaching you how to use one of those was definitely not fun."

Nyssa bites back her grin of amusement.

"Yes, yes," she concedes with a wave of her hand, "I believe you've made your point, Beloved."

The word slips out so naturally, so effortlessly, that it takes her a moment to even realize what she's said.

When she does, she freezes for a moment, eyes immediately finding Sara's to search her face for a reaction. She braces herself for any awkwardness or discomfort, already formulating an apology if necessary.

Instead, Sara's teasing grin softens. Her expression melts into something tender and achingly familiar, the sight of which causes Nyssa's chest to tighten, unable to look away.

Sara's thumb sweeps over the back of her hand, grounding her; a reminder that neither of them have yet to let go of the other's hand. A small smile forms at the corner of Sara's lips, unspoken acceptance in her eyes.

Nyssa's shoulders relax as she exhales any remaining tension.

They're quiet for a while after that, gliding side-by-side along the ice. There's something oddly calming about the movements and rhythm of it all, the smooth push and pull of skating feels almost meditative.

Despite her initial protests and hesitation, she finds Sara was right. Again.

She is enjoying herself. She's already bracing herself for an evening full of Sara's gloating.

Whether that enjoyment has anything to do with the fact that Sara hasn’t let go of her hand the entire time—well, that has no bearing on it at all. An inconsequential detail, she tells herself.

Eventually, Sara breaks the silence, her voice warm with nostalgia: "When we were kids, my parents would take me and Laurel here every winter. Sometimes Ollie and Tommy, too. The boys were awful at it. Ollie spent more time on his ass than he did on his skates."

Sara laughs as she recalls the memory. Nyssa joins her, amused by the mental image of a young Oliver Queen flailing on ice skates.

"It's hard to imagine someone with Oliver's agility being clumsy, but it's an entertaining image nonetheless."

"Half the time I think he was trying to impress Laurel," Sara chuckles. "It didn't work, either. Laurel was always better at it and made sure he knew it."

There's a comfortable pause that follows before Sara continues: "I wanted to keep the tradition alive. Laurel's pregnant now, so she couldn't join. And Mia's still way too young for Felicity to skate with. So it's just me and you this time."

For a moment, Nyssa's caught off guard. She's touched at the idea of being included in something that's clearly dear and personal to Sara, something tied to her family. It's unexpected, and though she feels a flicker of warmth spread through her chest, she tempers it down quickly, unwilling to let her hopes stray too far.

"So I am your last resort?" Nyssa jokes lightly, feigning offense but without any stock behind her words.

Abruptly, Sara stops and turns to face her.

"Never." Sara's tone is serious, voice steady, as her eyes pierce into Nyssa's, willing her to understand the meaning and weight behind them. "I need you to know that I've never thought of you that way. And I never will."

Nyssa falters slightly, speechless for a moment at Sara's unexpected intensity. She glances away, down at their joined hands.

A couple skates around them, and she's suddenly aware once more of their surroundings. Standing in the skating rink, the space feels too big for the vulnerability that Sara's showing her.

But then, with a gentle squeeze of her hand, her attention is redirected back to Sara's steady gaze.

"I was always going to drag you out here, with or without them," Sara's tone is lighter now, playfulness creeping back in. Nyssa thinks it's for her benefit, a reprieve to keep her from spiraling. Out here in the open, where Nyssa feels exposed, the banter is easier to lean into.

"You are rather persistent," she responds, unable to help the fondness in her voice.

Sara grins confidently. "It's one of my more charming qualities."

"Charming is one word for it," she quips dryly.

"Are you implying it isn't?" Sara challenges, eyebrow raised, voice still playful.

And, well, Sara's got her there. Judging from the gleam in her eye, Sara knows it, too.

Nyssa tilts her head, considering her options before she settles on the age old tactic of diverting attention.

"Do you have any plans to demonstrate just how well you skate? It’s a rare occasion where your skill surpasses mine. Don’t hold back on my account."

"'Rare occasion'? Really?" Sara laughs, shaking her head. "I'll let that one go for now. If you're giving me permission to show off, then who am I to turn that down."

Reluctantly, Nyssa drops Sara's hand to allow her to skate away.

Settling against the edge of the skating rink, she watches Sara glide across the ice with effortless grace. Her movements are fluid and precise, exuding an easy confidence. Nyssa finds herself captivated, her eyes tracking every sweep and turn. On the ice, Sara is no longer the hardened warrior or steadfast captain—simply a woman who's utterly free, lost in the pure, unguarded joy of doing something she loves. Her skill is undeniable, but it’s the sheer delight radiating from her that steals Nyssa’s breath, leaving her staring in quiet awe.

When Sara returns, cheeks flushed an enrapturing shade of pink, she looks at Nyssa expectantly. Grinning and breathless, she asks, "Well?"

Nyssa regards her for a moment, words catching in her throat. She's caught between playful evasion and raw honesty. Sara's boldness since Nyssa's return hasn't gone unnoticed. It's been disarming, but Nyssa hasn't dared to meet her with the same openness—not because she doesn't want to, but because her fears have kept her guarded.

How does she tell Sara that she's breathtaking? That watching her, so bright and unrestrained, skating across the ice as if the world itself isn’t heavy on her shoulders, stirs something deep within her? How vulnerable can she allow herself to be?

Nyssa settles for a small allowance—as dangerous as vulnerability feels, Sara deserves more from her than constant deflection.

"You've always been most impressive," she says finally, softly, and with a sincerity that she hopes conveys even a fraction of what she feels.

—

They skate one final lap together before returning to the benches to remove their skates.

As Nyssa focuses on untying her laces, Sara clears her throat beside her.

"Hey, Nyssa?"

"Yes?" she replies automatically, glancing over. Sara's expression has shifted from the carefree playfulness she's displayed throughout the day, replaced by a quiet seriousness that catches her attention.

Sara looks uncharacteristically nervous as she continues, "Laurel, Tommy, and I are gonna be heading to Central City for a couple days to visit my mom. I have some friends who live there, too, and I'm going to be dropping off their presents."

Sara pauses, glancing at Nyssa with a bit of hesitance. Nyssa can sense she's working her way up to something, and offers a reassuring smile, hoping to ease her nerves.

"Would you like to come with us? I thought... maybe you could meet Ray and Jax?" Her words trail off uncertainly.

Nyssa blinks, the shy request catching her off guard—Sara's always had a knack for that. The significance of the invitation doesn't escape her, but she's confused as to the why.

And as she tries to wrap her mind around the request, she realizes her silence has stretched on too long. Long enough that Sara looks more unsure than ever. Sara's hopeful expression falters, and she buries the flash of disappointment under a practiced mask of neutrality.

"Obviously, you don't have to," Sara begins to backtrack, "There's no pressure."

Nyssa finally finds her voice, confusion lacing her words when she asks, "You want me to meet your friends?"

When Sara nods, she asks, "Why?"

Sara exhales, and glances away for a moment, as if to collect her thoughts. When she meets Nyssa's gaze again, there's something raw and vulnerable behind her eyes.

"You're part of my life now." Her voice is quiet but steady. "And Ray and Jax are like family."

Nyssa's once again struck by the significance of the request. Sara's words are deceptively simple, but feel like an invitation to something greater. Since her return, their time together has been cautious, measured. But this feels different, like a deliberate step toward folding Nyssa back into Sara's life.

There's a whisper of a doubt that tells her she's not ready for this, for what Sara might be offering. But beyond that, there's the longing Nyssa's never been able to rid herself of—that deep, unshakable yearning to belong again. To belong in Sara's life, by her side.

Then there's a part of her that fears she's reading too much into this. But as she meets Sara's steady gaze, sees the tentative hope behind her eyes, she knows this moment matters.

So she answers with the only response she was ever truly going to give: "I would be honored to accompany you."

Whatever lingering doubts she has are pushed aside when Sara breaks into a bright smile. The sight of it tugs at Nyssa's chest.

"Really?"

"It's important to you," Nyssa replies, voice steady and sincere.

Relief washes over Sara's face and the earlier tension begins to melt away.

"I admit, I am rather curious to meet some of your former crew members, especially after hearing your stories."

"I think you'll like them," Sara replies excitedly, her earlier nerves all but forgotten. "Ray's basically a golden retriever, and Jax was kind of like a little brother when he was on the Waverider."

—

The evening before their trip to Central City, Nyssa's nerves begin to fray.

In her bedroom, Nyssa methodically folds a sweater, placing it in her travel bag alongside the rest of her carefully packed items. Soulful, bluesy music softly carries from the living room through the open bedroom door, courtesy of one of Sara's many playlists she'd put on after commandeering the speaker.

"So to no one's surprise, Laurel and Tommy are excited you're going to be joining us," Sara calls out from the living room. "They're gonna take mom's guest room, but you and I can share the basement. Make sure you pack an extra sweater, it gets pretty cold down there this time of year..."

Whatever else Sara says after that fades into the background. Nyssa's hands freeze in the middle of folding a pair of pants, as she processes the confirmation that Sara intends for them all to stay with her mother.

Taking a deep breath, she steels herself for the impending conversation.

Stepping into the living room, she's greeted by the sight of Sara sprawled out on her couch. Mish-Mish rests comfortably on her chest, purring contentedly as Sara absently scratches behind the cat's ears.

The scene is enough to make Nyssa linger in the doorway, her heart constricting at the sight.

Sara looks so at ease—on her couch, with her cat, in her space. Looking as if she belongs there. It's enough to cause Nyssa's resolve to waver, to consider saying nothing and avoid disturbing the tranquility of the moment.

When Sara looks up and meets her eyes, her smile brightens, easy and warm. Nyssa savors it, knowing it won't last much longer.

"I think it would be best if I made my own arrangements for accommodations," she states quietly, voice carefully measured and neutral.

Sara's smile falters. She sits up abruptly, displacing Mish-Mish who leaps away with an indignant chirp.

"You don't have to do that," Sara says, brows furrowing in confusion. "My mom has enough space for all of us."

"It would be better for all involved," she insists, avoiding Sara's gaze.

She can feel the weight of Sara's eyes on her, no doubt studying her every detail. Despite knowing that, she can't bring herself to ease the tension in her body.

"You're nervous about seeing my mom," Sara says after a moment, the realization dawning on her.

Nyssa exhales slowly, eyes finding their way back to Sara's.

"The last time I saw your mother, we did not part on the best terms."

Sara tilts her head curiously. "Was that at Laurel's funeral?"

"No," she hesitates, then reveals in a clipped tone, "I visited her once after that. To apologize for my past behavior."

Sara blinks, clearly taken aback by the information. "You did?"

"I did," she confirms, voice quieter now.

"When?"

"Years ago. You were with the Legends at that time."

She braces herself for the inevitable question, the one she's dreading the most. Not one to disappoint, Sara asks: "What happened?"

The distance between them suddenly feels like a chasm. She doesn't want to continue this conversation from across the room. She crosses over to the couch with deliberate, measured steps, and perches on the armrest, neatly folding her hands in her lap.

"She listened to what I had to say," Nyssa explains calmly, "which was more than I had expected—or deserved. I bore no illusions that she would forgive me."

"Then why did you do it?" Sara asks, her voice a mixture of confusion and curiosity.

"Accountability, Sara. I hurt your mother. I hurt her daughters. I had to hold myself accountable for those actions, for the hurt I caused."

A myriad of emotions flash across Sara's face—sympathy, curiosity, and something Nyssa can't quite place. Sara is quiet for a while. Her gaze searching, eyes flitting across Nyssa's face, a crease of concentration in her brow.

The only sound is the hum of music still playing from the speaker, which Nyssa tries in vain to focus on as a way to calm her nerves. She waits for Sara to finish studying her, to finish processing and reach whatever conclusion she's forming. Under the weight of Sara's scrutiny, she resists the urge to shift, clenching her hands in her lap instead. She feels exposed, and vulnerability still feels foreign to her, a skill she has yet to fully cultivate. Sara has always had a way of peeling back her layers, leaving her raw and exposed in a way no one else has ever been able to accomplish.

The silence stretches on until eventually, Sara softens, her expression melting into something gentler, warmer.

"That must've taken a lot," Sara says at last, quietly but brimming with something Nyssa dares to hope is pride.

Nyssa's chest tightens at the words, both at the affirmation they hold and the tone in which they're delivered. Like Sara not only knows exactly what it meant for her to face Dinah, but also how difficult it is for her to discuss it now.

This has always been the dangerous thing about Sara—her uncanny ability to truly see her. Not the mask she wears, or the facade she's perfected over decades of necessity, but the real her. The woman beneath it all, who is flawed and desperate to be understood and so earnest in her feelings.

Sara's empathy has always unraveled her in a way that's terrifying. It's also what has made it so impossible to ever truly walk away from her.

Trying to maintain her composure, Nyssa tilts her head in acknowledgment of Sara's words.

Sara smiles and moves toward her on the couch, crossing the space between them until she's able to cover Nyssa's hand in a reassuring gesture.

"You're not that same person anymore." Sara's voice is firm but gentle, an intensity behind it that wills Nyssa into believing her. "You're not the person who did all those things. And I think my mom's going to see that, too."

Wishing she could mirror Sara's confidence, she offers Sara a faint smile, but doubt still lingers in her eyes. "We shall see."

"Either way," Sara says with quiet conviction, "you won't be alone this time."

—

Once the plane levels off, their pilot's voice crackles through the intercom to announce their expected flight time. To Nyssa's left, Sara sighs heavily and rests her head against the window with a soft thud.

"I used to go anywhere in the blink of an eye," Sara grumbles, eyes closed.

Nyssa tilts her head, turning her attention to Sara and studying her profile.

"You miss it," she observes, referring to the Waverider.

"I’d be lying if I said I didn’t." A small smile tugs at the corner of Sara's mouth, and her eyes flutter open to meet Nyssa's.

"And yet, you choose to stay?" She keeps her tone neutral, but can't help the curiosity that underscores it.

Sara pauses, her gaze shifting to the seat in front of her where Laurel and Tommy sit, heads close together in quiet conversation. She takes a moment, as though gathering her thoughts, her fingers fidgeting with her seatbelt.

"Whenever I do start to miss it, something happens that reminds me why I'm staying," Sara says, shifting in her seat to face Nyssa as best as she can in the cramped space.

"Laurel will show up at my apartment to tell me about her day—a case she's working on, or some dumb thing Tommy said." As if on cue, Laurel's quiet laughter drifts back to them, and Sara smiles faintly at the sound.

"Or my dad will hug me," Sara continues, voice softer now, more reflective. "That bonecrushing hug he likes to give me, like he can’t believe I’m real."

"Or you..." she trails off, her eyes meeting Nyssa's. She hesitates for a moment, swallowing thickly before continuing, "You'll just… look at me like... well, like you always do. Even when you're pretending to be annoyed with me."

The air between them shifts. Sara holds her gaze for only a second longer before glancing away. Sara’s tone shifts again as she moves quickly past the admission, giving Nyssa little chance to linger on it. Still, the faint flush on Sara's cheeks betrays her.

"I'm tired, Nyssa." There's an unmistakable weariness in Sara's voice that tugs at Nyssa's heart.

"I love my team. I love being a hero. But I’m tired of losing people I love and not being there when it matters. I’m tired of missing out on time with my father and sister."

Nyssa feels a pang of understanding. She can relate on some level—knows what it’s like to leave Star City only to return to attend a funeral, to one less Lance in the world.

“Besides," Sara's somber expression clears as she brightens slightly. "Laurel’s gonna be popping out a kid soon, and I think I’m gonna make a pretty badass aunt. I've gotta be around for that."

Nyssa smiles affectionately, matching Sara's enthusiasm. She’s also been anticipating being an “aunt” to Laurel and Tommy’s child, and Sara's excitement is contagious.

“I have no doubt you will be their favorite aunt,” Nyssa teases.

“There’s some stiff competition, but I’m not above bribery.”

—

Central City is larger and brighter than Star City. The streets are cleaner, the air feels lighter, and there's a constant thrum of life and energy that serves as a sharp contrast to Star City's darker more rugged charm.

The neighborhood where Sara's mother lives is quiet and cozy, far enough removed from downtown and the metropolitan bustle. It's the kind of place that feels worlds away from anything Nyssa had grown up with. Streets lined with trees, neatly trimmed lawns, and twinkling holiday decorations on many of the houses they pass by, all make for a stark contrast to the cold and austere candlelit halls of Nanda Parbat's League stronghold.

Dinah's home is a simple two-story house tucked away at the end of the street, modest and unremarkable, but in a way that Nyssa finds the simplicity charming.

When they pull into the driveway and pile out of the rental car, Nyssa allows herself a moment to take in the features of the house, noting the glowing reindeer in the lawn and the plotted plants that line the porch. Sara and Laurel begin to make their way to the front door, but Nyssa opts to linger near the back of the car with Tommy.

The two take turns unloading the bags, and Nyssa's grateful for a task to occupy herself with as she tries to ease her nerves.

"You kind of look like you're gearing up for battle," Tommy teases lightly, breaking the silence once the sisters are out of range.

When Nyssa glances over at him, behind that ever-present Tommy Merlyn grin is a look of understanding.

"This is... unfamiliar territory," she admits, grip tightening on the strap of the duffle bag she's slung over her shoulder.

"I’ve been in your shoes before, trying to figure out how to win Dinah over," Tommy says knowingly. "Laurel’s mom is no joke."

"If you're trying to reassure me, you're off to a great start," she quips dryly.

"You've got both her daughters in your corner," he continues, unfazed, "which is more than I had when I was trying to win her over,"

He then adds, almost as an afterthought, "Also helps that you don't have the playboy reputation haunting you. Dinah’s gonna love you compared to the guy Laurel dragged into behaving like a functioning adult."

"Yes, because being a former assassin is surely a more endearing quality." Her tone is still dry, adding a quirked brow for emphasis.

Tommy pauses dramatically, brows furrowing as if in deep thought. "No, that's still better than trust fund kid with bad decision-making skills."

She knows Tommy's making jokes at his own expense to ease her nerves, but she tuts anyway, shaking her head. "That's rather reductive."

It earns her a genuine smile, one without the usual teasing edge, and for a moment, Tommy even looks touched.

"You've got me in your corner, too," he says, tone shifting to something more sincere. "For whatever that's gonna be worth in this situation."

This time, it's Nyssa who's touched. She feels a wave of gratitude wash over her. Tommy's humor and supportiveness may not have completely dispelled her unease, but she'll admit the unfamiliar territory ahead feels just a bit less daunting than before.

"Thank you, Thomas," she says sincerely.

Tommy grins, lightheartedness returning, and slams the trunk shut after removing the final piece of luggage.

"Anytime," he replies easily. "We should get going before we're left out here to freeze."

They both glance in the direction of the front door, now open and revealing Dinah. They watch as the sisters embrace their mother, and with one final shared look of understanding between each other, Nyssa follows Tommy up the driveway to meet them.

—

Greeting Dinah goes about as well as Nyssa could hope for—polite but tense.

Once they're all ushered into the house, Nyssa purposely lingers at the back, setting the luggage down near the doorway. She watches as Dinah once again embraces her daughters. Tommy follows, setting his bags aside to free his hands before stepping forward to wrap Dinah in a warm hug that draws laughter from her.

It's not the first time Nyssa has felt like an outsider looking in, but it's been a while since she's felt that way in the presence of Sara, Laurel, and Tommy. It smarts more than she cares to admit.

From the corner of her eye, she catches movement. Sara shifts, breaking away from the others to subtly drift closer to her. There's a brush of their shoulders together, light enough it could almost be accidental.

"You doing okay?" Sara's careful to keep her voice low enough that it doesn't carry over to the others.

Nyssa's posture straightens. "I will be."

"You will," Sara agrees, voice resolute as she shoots her a reassuring smile.

Dinah's gaze lands on her before she or Sara can say anything else. Nyssa's suddenly very aware of how quiet it becomes once Dinah steps toward her.

"Nyssa." Dinah's tone is pleasant enough, wrapped in formality. "Welcome."

"Thank you, Professor Lance," she replies evenly, meeting Dinah’s gaze. "I appreciate you having me."

"Of course," Dinah replies with a polite smile, just on the edge of being stilted.

There's a beat of silence that follows, in which Nyssa resists the urge to glance over at Sara for reassurance. Instead, her eyes find Laurel, standing just over Dinah's shoulder. The smile Laurel gives her is warm, a look of understanding on her face.

When Nyssa’s gaze shifts back to Dinah, she can’t shake the feeling of being appraised. Dinah's scrutiny feels different than Quentin's. Quentin's initial hostility toward her had been unfiltered, his disapproval barely contained. Dinah's poker face is much better, her gaze sharper and heavier.

"Well, I hope you all had a smooth trip," Dinah says, finally looking away from Nyssa and stepping back to address everyone. "I'll let you all get settled. I'm sure you're all hungry, so dinner should be ready soon."

When Dinah turns to give her attention to Laurel and Tommy, Nyssa allows herself the smallest exhale. Beside her, Sara lightly bumps their shoulders together.

"That could've gone way worse," Sara murmurs, voice low and close to her ear.

She glances at Sara, one eyebrow arching delicately. "Your standards for success are remarkably low."

Sara merely grins, unbothered. "Hey, it went better than Dad."

"I suppose that is one way to look at it." Nyssa smiles wryly.

"You're doing great," Sara says lightly, but sincerely. "Now come on. I'll give you the grand tour later. Let's go put our stuff downstairs."

Nyssa moves to grab her bag, but Sara is quicker. She reaches for it without hesitation, swatting away Nyssa’s hand.

"I got it," Sara insists, carrying both of their bags with ease.

"I'm quite capable of carrying my own belongings."

"And you carried mine in here," Sara counters smoothly. "I'm just as capable of being a gentleman."

Before Nyssa can protest any further, Sara moves further into the house, motioning for Nyssa to follow her.

Chapter Text

The basement is nothing like Nyssa expected. Fully finished, the style and decor are a marked departure from the polished, homey feel of the first floor, and clearly lacking Dinah's touch.

"Welcome to Jeff's man cave," Sara announces, voice tinged with playful sarcasm. "Or as my mom likes to call it, the 'family basement,' since she made Jeff put a bed down here for when we visit."

Sara strides further into the room, passing a dark leather couch on her way to the bed tucked against the far wall. Nyssa follows, her steps slower. She comes to a stop beside the room's centerpiece: a well-loved pool table, its worn felt a testament to years of use.

"And where is Jeff?" she asks, not out of any real desire to meet Dinah's partner, but as a means to divert attention away from the way her gaze lingers on the bed longer than necessary.

"Away at some work conference," Sara replies, dropping their bags beside the neatly made bed. "He's supposed to be back in time for Christmas."

When Sara turns to look at her, Nyssa has finally looked away from the bed, eyes falling inadvertently on the pool table.

"Well, I certainly wasn't expecting this," she remarks, a hint of amusement in her voice as she trails her fingers along the felt.

"I've gotta kick your ass at pool before we leave." Sara smirks, moving to lean against the pool table with her arms crossed casually. Her bravado wanes as she continues, "We'll have to go upstairs for the bathroom, but otherwise... it's not too bad down here, right?"

"It will suffice. We've certainly slept in worse places," she replies offhandedly, glancing at Sara with a faint smile.

"Like that shack in Maldives." Sara shudders dramatically.

"It had a certain charm to it," she counters lightly, easily slipping into the familiar rhythm of an old debate.

"It was held together by hopes and dreams," Sara deadpans, "and I woke up covered in bug bites."

"A fact you would not let me forget for the entire duration of our mission," Nyssa retorts, just as amused as every other time they've had this argument and making no effort to hide it. She can still recall the extent of Sara’s grumpiness that day; it had taken the promise of a full afternoon of uninterrupted spa and beach time for Nyssa to get back into her good graces.

"I still don't get why we didn't just stay in a fancy resort," Sara grumbles.

"The reason escapes me now, but I'm sure it was a good one," she replies smoothly, her smile widening as Sara scoffs and shakes her head affectionately.

"You would say that."

The anxiousness Nyssa had been carrying throughout the day begins to slip away as she takes in Sara's easy smile. Her apprehension over seeing Sara's mother again, and now the medley of emotions dredged up by the prospect of sharing a bed with Sara—all of it fades into the background the longer she stares.

It’s a reminder of how much has changed for the better. Sara smiles so much more often now, more easily, without the shadow of the League inevitably creeping in to snatch it away. In the past, this particular brand of Sara’s smiles had been fleeting, something Nyssa had taken painstaking care in learning to coax out of her. Sara now offers that light freely, carrying the weight of her worries with a steady, quiet confidence.

This Sara is softer in ways that Nyssa is still learning to recognize and appreciate. Softer in ways that remind her what little has changed for her when it comes to Sara. That Sara can still make her feel like she's caught in the path of a sunbeam.

She holds Sara's gaze for a beat longer, until her thoughts begin to feel too loud—when Sara's eyes begin to soften into something tender and dangerous. So Nyssa glances away, grasping for a distraction.

"You were awfully confident earlier about beating me at this." She tilts her head at the pool table, a playful challenge behind her words.

"Yeah," Sara laughs. "Because you’ve never beaten me."

"I plan on correcting that," she replies with more confidence than she actually feels.

"Let me shower first, and then you’re on." Amusement dances in Sara’s eyes as she pushes off from the table, already moving toward her bag.

"Hey," she calls over her shoulder, smirking. "See if you can get Tommy to join us. He can’t resist a good bet, so I might as well make some money off this."

—

By the time Dinah calls them for dinner, Sara is $20 richer thanks to Tommy's ill-fated confidence, and the smell of roasted chicken and herbs has permeated through the floor from the kitchen upstairs.

Despite Nyssa's best efforts, Sara maintains her perfect record against her in pool. The games were close but ultimately ended in Sara's favor, and then Sara had set her sights on Tommy and his wallet. Nyssa had been all too content to step back and watch the two bicker like siblings. It had been amusing enough to keep her spirits lifted, but standing in the dining room doorway now, Nyssa hesitates. She watches everyone file in, maneuvering and claiming seats with practiced ease.

Sara purposely brushes past her, snagging her hand along the way to tug her in the direction of the free chairs across from Laurel and Tommy. Once they're seated, Sara lets go, but not before encouragingly squeezing her hand.

Tommy has already begun to dig in, piling food onto Laurel's plate before doing the same with his.

"Well, this is nice," Laurel says warmly, glancing around the table.

"It's not often I have such a full table," Dinah agrees with a smile. She then cuts a pointed look toward Laurel, but without any bite says, “Certainly not as often as I'd like."

"I know, I know." Laurel rolls her eyes fondly. "We should visit more."

As conversation picks up around her, Nyssa eats quietly while she observes. The dynamic between mother and daughters is new to her, having only ever witnessed the Lance sisters with their father. She's drawn to their interactions, and how Dinah's love and care differs from Quentin's, gentler but no less fierce.

Watching Laurel and Sara with their mother offers new insight to the women she respects and admires so deeply. Over time, it had become clear to her which traits they had inherited from their father—their sense of justice, their resilience, their stubbornness. Sitting at Dinah's table, she's piecing together the bits of Sara and Laurel that reflect their mother—their warmth, Laurel's poise, Sara's sharp wit.

For Nyssa, the concept of a mother's love is just that—a concept. She's never had a real frame of reference for what motherhood and maternal love are supposed to look like, has only recently gotten a vague sense of it from observing Felicity with her children.

She's fascinated by the ways Dinah embodies motherhood. The way Dinah looks at her daughters with open affection, teasing them one moment and sighing in fond exasperation the next. The way she listens with undivided attention and focus when either of them speaks, as though every word matters. There are even moments when that warmth is directed towards Tommy.

A brief pang tugs in her chest—something like a distant echo of a feeling she thought long buried. She vaguely recognizes it for what it is: longing. A quiet reminder of something missing. She thinks, not for the first time, how curious it is to miss someone she's never met.

Before her thoughts can fully run away from her, she feels the faintest nudge against her foot. The touch is light, but enough to break her out of her introspection. Instinctively, she looks over at Sara only to find she's already watching her, soft and searching.

Nyssa tilts her head slightly in question.

Sara's brow arches in unspoken concern.

Nyssa lets out a quiet exhale. She gives the tiniest nod that says I'm fine, and while it's not a lie, it's not entirely the truth either. She summons the calm, composed, stoic exterior she's mastered over the years—she knows it won't fool Sara, but her concern is more so in not drawing attention to herself from the others.

Sara holds her gaze for a moment, but appears to come to an understanding. She offers a small, reassuring smile, and for a moment, Nyssa is actually grateful for Sara's ability to read her so well.

"Nyssa," Dinah calls, pulling her attention away from Sara. "I'm told you've been traveling."

Nyssa straightens in her chair. The question has caught her off guard—she hadn't expected Dinah to directly address her at all. Dinah's tone is polite, perhaps even genuine in its interest, and Nyssa decides to accept it for the attempt at inclusion that it might be.

"Yes. Not that long ago, actually."

"Nyssa spent some time in Greece," Laurel interjects. "One of Mom's specialties is Greek history."

The last part is said to her, as though Laurel isn't already aware that Nyssa knows this detail. She shoots a small, grateful smile at Laurel's obvious attempt at creating common ground between Nyssa and her mother.

"What parts of Greece?" Dinah asks, leaning forward slightly in interest.

"The mainland, mostly, but a little bit of everywhere."

For several moments, the conversation flows with surprising ease. Dinah's interest feels genuine as she asks Nyssa about the sights, the culture, and occasionally tests her knowledge of Greek history. And this—engaging a professor in an academic exchange on the finer points of history and culture—this is something Nyssa has no trouble maneuvering. Far better than trying to navigate the intricacies of conversing with someone she's wronged—especially when that someone is the mother of her Beloved.

At one point, she steals a quick glance at Sara to find her watching the exchange with open fondness, smiling contently. It stirs something deep within her, but the moment passes just as quickly as it came, Dinah's question about Delphi directing her attention back to the conversation at hand.

Dinah eventually steers the conversation to more personal matters. "You decided to go back to Star City. Is that where you call home these days?"

It's a seemingly innocent question, but everyone at the table knows there’s more to it than that.

Nyssa hesitates.

She feels all eyes on her, knows that Laurel and Sara are especially invested in whatever her response will be.

She knows that her time in Star City has become less and less something transient, and more of a slow acclimation to the truth—she's never felt more at home than when she's with Laurel and Sara.

What she's managed to build for herself in Star City has grown beyond just Sara. Sara will always feel like home, regardless of any time or distance between them. But her pull to Star City is no longer only about Sara.

It's about Laurel, who has continuously offered her support and friendship while making space for Nyssa in her life. Who, once she had caught a glimpse of the real Nyssa, has always believed in her, even when Nyssa barely believed in herself.

It's about Tommy, who continuously surprises her with his charm and easygoing nature. Who, once he'd finally accepted Nyssa into the fold, would go out of his way to make sure she felt normal, like she belonged.

It's even about Felicity and her children. What started as an uneasy alliance between herself and Oliver's widow, has evolved into something amiable, with potential to grow. In large part due to how much Mia and William have taken to her—a connection that came surprisingly naturally.

It's about family—built by choice, out of love, and not by duty or obligation.

She can't imagine being anywhere else now that Laurel and Tommy are starting a family of their own. Can't imagine not watching their children grow and being part of their lives.

And, well, running doesn't suit Nyssa. It never has. Whatever is happening between her and Sara, whatever it leads to, she knows now that she will eventually have to face it head on.

”Is that where you call home?”

Quietly, as though voicing a desire she isn't sure she's allowed to have: "I would like it to be."

In the moment of silence that follows, Nyssa's heartbeat pounds loudly in her ears. She allows herself to take a steadying breath.

Her eyes find Laurel's first—she wears her emotions openly, bright eyes and a proud smile.

"Well, that's probably the best news I've heard all week," Laurel says, sincerity shining through her voice. Beside her, Tommy sports a matching grin.

"I wasn't worried," he claims, leaning back in his seat triumphantly. "I knew you'd come around."

From the corner of her eye, Dinah looks quietly contemplative, as though she's judging the sincerity of Nyssa's words.

She saves Sara for last, knowing whatever she sees there could undo her.

Sara is quiet, unusually so, her hands resting still on the table. Her expression is soft, calm, but it’s her eyes that draw Nyssa in and hold her captive—alight with a flurry of emotions, more than she can fully parse in that moment. The relief and elation are unmistakable, but something deeper, more ardent simmers just below the surface. Something she's not ready to put a name to.

She knows this is the affirmation Sara had been hoping for when she’d first asked Nyssa about staying—back in Nyssa’s apartment, trying to mask her disappointment at Nyssa's uncertainty.

Whatever thoughts are running through Sara's mind in this moment, it's clear she isn't ready to unpack them here at the table, not with so many eyes on them.

Sara’s voice is soft when she finally speaks, “Guess you’re stuck with us now.”

There’s a teasing lilt to her voice that draws a smile from Nyssa. "I suppose I am."

—

Sara volunteers them for cleanup duty after dinner. Nyssa presumes it's an excuse to allow them a private moment. Her assumption eventually proves correct.

The laughter and voices of the others fade as they retire to the living room, leaving just the two of them in the kitchen. Sara pauses halfway through rinsing the dishes they’ve gathered, shutting off the water abruptly.

She feels the weight of Sara's eyes on her, and glances up from her task of carefully arranging items into the dishwasher. She finds Sara watching her, expression unguarded.

"You're really going to stay?" Sara asks, voice low and vulnerable. "That isn't something you were just saying in the moment?"

Nyssa straightens slowly and takes a moment to study Sara—the careful hope in her eyes, the way she absently twists the dish towel in her hands.

"When have I ever been one to say something I don't mean?" she replies gently.

Sara's grip on the towel loosens slightly.

"Then can you say it again?" Sara asks, her tone almost shy. "I'd like to hear it."

Nyssa takes a step closer and rests a hand lightly on Sara's forearm, compelled to offer some form of comfort in the face of Sara's vulnerability.

"Yes," she says with quiet resolve. "I'm going to stay."

The smile that breaks across Sara's face is brilliant, radiant—whatever other words Nyssa can't recall in that moment because she's rendered completely awestruck.

Sara ducks her head, a soft laugh escaping her. There's a faint flush on her cheeks.

Nyssa is still frozen in awe. She didn't think she could still have this effect on Sara. That she could still make Sara smile like that, still make her look that happy.

The realization is exhilarating, but terrifying. Terrifying, because now she wonders how she went so long without seeing her like this. Terrifying, because she feels the distance she has so carefully crafted beginning to crumble.

When she refocuses on Sara, she can tell that Sara’s trying to compose herself. To temper the flood of emotion, but the joy radiates off of her.

"Okay," Sara says at last, more so to herself. When she looks back at Nyssa, she nods.

"That's good. That's great, I'm–" Sara pauses, breath catching in her throat as she struggles to find her words. "I'm really glad."

Nyssa's hand is still on Sara's arm, thumb brushing absently against the fabric of her sleeve. It's rare to see Sara at a loss for words, and she's struck with the urge to ease the weight of the moment off Sara's shoulders.

"Someone must ensure you don't get yourself into too much trouble," Nyssa says softly, a hint of teasing in her voice.

"That's usually my job." Sara gestures toward herself, tone wry. "Captain and all."

Nyssa tilts her head slightly. "And who keeps the captain in line?"

It's meant as a jest, but Sara hesitates. It's brief, barely a pause, a flicker of something unreadable.

Then, just as quickly, she recovers: "Gideon."

Nyssa huffs a quiet laugh. "I believe I can do better than a disembodied voice trapped inside your ship."

"She's a sophisticated AI from the future." Sara laughs is warm and unrestrained, her head shaking in amusement. Nyssa can't help but smile in return.

With a sigh, Sara glances at the pile of remaining dishes.

"We should probably finish these," she says, "Before someone comes looking for us."

Nyssa squeezes Sara's arm before finally letting go. Neither of them is in any hurry to move, lingering in the moment for a bit longer. Eventually, they return to their earlier tasks, finishing the rest of cleanup in companionable silence.

—

"Do you still sleep on the right side?" Sara asks casually, gesturing to the bed.

Nyssa freezes, hands deep in the overnight bag she's been rummaging through for sleepwear.

Fresh from the bathroom, Sara's dressed in a simple shirt and pajama pants dotted with little penguins wearing Santa hats. The sight hits her with an unexpected force—not for the penguins themselves, but for how they remind her of another pair of pajamas from years ago.

For a moment, she's back in a safehouse in Madrid: Sara sprawled across the bed in the ridiculous shark pajamas she sometimes wore—a playful assertion of her individuality, a quiet rebellion against the scrutinizing eye of the League. It wouldn't be until later that Nyssa realizes the pants were just as much Sara's way of coaxing her into indulging in a bit of her irreverent silliness.

As she wonders briefly whatever happened to those pajamas, more of that memory ekes out before she can stamp it down:
"Sharks are cool, Nyssa. Keep giving me grief and I'll get you a matching pair."
"I'm not quite sure the punishment fits the crime, Beloved."
"I think you could pull them off."

She pushes the memory away before it can unravel further—before she recalls exactly how Sara proved her point about "pulling things off," and before the blush it would undoubtedly bring to her cheeks.

Forcing herself back to the present, she realizes belatedly that she's been staring. Sara's question about the bed hangs in the air between them, still unanswered.

"You remember that?" She can't mask her surprise.

Sara looks up from fluffing her pillow.

"Of course I do." Sara shrugs, as if the answer is obvious, as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

Nyssa clears her throat. She gathers what she needs for the bathroom, eager for a reprieve from the sudden flood of memories.

"Yes," she replies, finally answering Sara's initial question. She keeps her tone carefully neutral. "I still prefer the right."

In the bathroom, she takes her time going through her nighttime routine, using it as a means to keep herself composed. It’s one thing to have known ahead of time that they would be sharing a bed—it’s another thing entirely in practice.

By the time she returns, Sara is perched on the left side of the bed, one leg tucked underneath her while the other dangles off the side. She would appear relaxed if not for the telltale fidgeting of her hands. She glances up at Nyssa's return, offering a hesitant smile.

"I guess I should have asked this before," Sara begins sheepishly. "Do you want me to take the couch? I don't mind."

Of course Sara would manage to pinpoint the source of her anxiety. Their years together have no doubt provided Sara a catalogue of her tells—Nyssa's stiff posture, her fleeting hesitations, all adding up to one obvious conclusion.

Her shoulders tense at the suggestion. There's something about the idea of making either of them sleep on the couch that feels even worse.

"It will be fine." The words come out steadier than she feels. They're just as much an assurance to herself as they are to Sara. She moves to the right side of the bed to pull back the covers. "Let's just get some sleep."

For a moment, Sara looks as though she's going to argue. Instead she simply nods before rising to turn off the lights.

As Nyssa slips under the covers, a faint click of the switch plunges the room into darkness. Facing away from Sara's side, she feels Sara ease into bed, the space beside her dipping slightly. The bed is big enough to fit them both comfortably, but the space feels all at once too small and too vast.

"Goodnight, Nyssa," Sara whispers.

She closes her eyes, willing herself to relax. "Goodnight, Sara."

—

Hours later, Nyssa has yet to find sleep, her thoughts refusing to settle.

She shifts restlessly onto her back and stares up at the ceiling. The house creaks around her, the furnace drones to life intermittently, but most deafening is Sara's breathing beside her.

Rhythmic inhales and exhales, punctuated by faint sighs. The sound had once been so familiar to her, so comforting. Something that once she'd grown accustomed to, had taken her ages to learn to sleep without. Now it serves as a reminder of everything she's lost, everything she's too afraid to hope for again. Sara lies close enough to touch but might as well be miles away, separated by uncertainty and unspoken words.

She's unsure how much time passes before Sara stirs beside her, the rustle of the sheets amplified in the stillness of the room.

"You're awake." Sara's voice is low, still hoarse with sleep.

Nyssa doesn't respond right away, letting the silence stretch. Her throat feels tight as she debates how much to disclose.

"Is it the bed?"

"The bed is fine," Nyssa replies, voice clipped.

Silence again. She feels Sara shift closer, and she tenses at the movement before finally glancing over. In the darkness, she can just make out Sara's furrowed brows, her lips pressed together in concern.

"I can still take the couch,” Sara offers softly.

Nyssa exhales sharply, her frustration bubbling over before she can contain it. “I don't want you to take the couch."

"And I don't want you to be uncomfortable," Sara fires back, calm but firm.

"I'm not uncomfortable, Sara," she snaps, her whisper sharper than intended, and she immediately feels guilty for it. Her fingers clench around the blanket.

Sara remains quiet, watching her patiently, unfazed by her outburst. It only proves to make it more difficult for her to articulate her emotions.

Avoiding Sara's gaze, she looks back at the ceiling. Her frustration is mostly with herself and the circumstances, but part of it does lie with Sara. With how composed and unaffected she appears. Nyssa knows better than to believe that, but she can't help wondering if this weighs on Sara the way it does on her.

She swallows thickly, takes a steadying breath. Her voice loses its edge as she leans into honesty.

"I'm... overwhelmed. The last bed we shared was ours."

The admission cuts through the silence. The darkness of the room feels more stifling than ever; the memories and emotions an almost unbearable weight sitting on her chest.

For a long moment, neither of them speaks.

She wonders if Sara even heard her. Her gaze finally leaves the ceiling to check. Sara's eyes are still on her, full of quiet understanding. Nyssa can make out the way her throat works as she swallows, the slight tremor in her exhale.

"I get it," Sara says gently. "This is a lot. For me, too."

Sara reaches out slowly, as if she's afraid of spooking her. Nyssa allows Sara to take her hand, to carefully unwrap her fingers from their grip on the blanket.

There's a brief hesitation, a flicker of uncertainty, before Sara asks, "Is it too much?"

Nyssa closes her eyes for a moment at the vulnerability in Sara's voice, the slight edge of insecurity.

"I don't know," she answers honestly, opening her eyes to once again meet Sara's.

Sara nods slowly, a bittersweet smile on her face. Her thumb sweeps absently over Nyssa's knuckles, a gentle motion that she'd find soothing under different circumstances.

"You seem so calm about all of this." Nyssa keeps her words careful and precise, devoid of judgment.

Sara’s hand slips from hers with a sigh. The mattress dips as she pushes herself upright against the headboard. After a beat of hesitation, Nyssa follows suit. The new position allows her to better read Sara's expression.

"I'm not calm," Sara admits, briefly looking down, her fingers picking at the comforter. "I've been trying to figure all of this out since you left."

When Sara looks back up, Nyssa finally sees the cracks in Sara's facade—the vulnerability behind her eyes, the way they search Nyssa's own, the tension in her shoulders and the careful way she holds herself.

"I've had six months to think about what it all means, what I want it to mean." Sara hesitates. "What I want to say to you when you're ready to hear it."

Nyssa inhales sharpy. Her jaw tightens. The irony of the role reversal is not lost on her. She was once the one who was so sure of them. Until death, and fate, and paths diverged. Until she looked Sara in the eyes and let her go, never imagining it would be the last time she saw her.

And now Sara is sitting beside her, dangling possibility in front of her. Trying to reignite a hope Nyssa had long extinguished.

"I spent those same months trying to learn how to let you go." Again.

There's no bitterness to her words, only quiet resignation. Sara looks away, lips pressing into a thin line, a single shallow nod to herself. She doesn't say anything. Nyssa doesn't expect her to.

Nyssa had spent that time learning how to be someone who could exist in Sara's world peacefully, without drowning. She hadn't anticipated returning to Star City to find Sara unattached—to learn that Sara had missed her. For Sara to look at her in a way that is familiar yet new.

She hasn't had a chance to recalibrate to this new status quo. The emotional whiplash proves too much, too soon.

"Sara..." she begins, but her voice falters.

She knows there are a million things that have been left unsaid between them. She doesn't even know where to begin without unraveling everything. She thought she had made her peace with it, had let those wounds scar over. She's wholly unprepared for Sara to now pick at those scabs.

She breathes deeply, shoulders sagging. The day's journey and events all finally catching up with her. She knows that this conversation deserves more than she can give in that moment.

Sara starts to reach for her. Her hand hovers for a second before ultimately dropping to the space between them, fingers curling into the sheets instead. The hesitation in the aborted gesture tightens the knot in Nyssa's chest. She suppresses her own instinct to offer Sara comfort.

"Not tonight," Sara states softly. There's something apologetic about her expression.

"We don't have to figure this all out right now. But when we get back to Star City, we should talk. About this. About us."

Something in Sara's cautiously hopeful expression, the delicate way she's handled her all night, breaks through the last of Nyssa's defenses. She's been here before, countless nights in their past. Back when she was still learning how to share pieces of herself—to trust that Sara would catch her each time she took that leap.

"Okay." The word comes easier than expected, and with it, some of the tension releases from her shoulders.

She's rewarded with a smile, warm and reassuring. It makes Nyssa want to reach for her, to bridge the divide between them, so she does. She covers Sara's hand that rests between them, and Sara visibly relaxes at the touch.

"Okay," Sara echoes, curling her hand around Nyssa's.

Once they've settled back down on the bed, their hands drifting apart, the carefully measured space between them feels less daunting. There's a faint glimmer of relief—like the knot in her chest has loosened, even if only slightly. And when sleep finally claims her, the last thing she sees is Sara watching her, gaze soft and steady.

—

"Nyssa."

The whisper comes from somewhere above her.

"Nyssa." The whisper is more insistent this time, accompanied by a gentle nudge against her shoulder.

Finally pulled from the edges of sleep, she cracks open an eye to find Sara's face hovering over her.

"It snowed," Sara says, smiling widely and still whispering.

"You act as if you've never seen snow before," Nyssa grumbles, voice still rough with sleep but lacking any real annoyance.

Before she can press her face back into her pillow, Sara has the audacity to poke her in the forehead. A sound of indignation escapes her, but Sara is undeterred.

"No grumbles," Sara scolds lightly. "It doesn't snow like this in Star City. So wake up and humor me, please."

Resigning herself to her fate, Nyssa releases a long-suffering sigh. She sits up and drags a hand through her hair. The room is still dim, faint light filtering in through the small basement window, but Sara is already dressed for the cold, bundled up in layers.

"Good morning," Sara greets, a lopsided grin in place. "Now brush your teeth and get dressed."

For a moment, Nyssa simply watches her. As the morning haze of sleep begins to clear, she notices Sara's smile doesn't quite reach her eyes, is almost tentative in nature.

Banter seems easiest to fall back on, something to steer them away from the remnants of last night and ease whatever reservations Sara may have at the moment.

"Have you considered that it is far too early for you to be this bossy?"

Something clicks for Sara, as if she's been given express permission to drag Nyssa into whatever she has planned. Sara's expression turns bright-eyed, leaning fully into her enthusiasm and practically vibrating with barely contained energy. Any traces of last night's heaviness replaced with unguarded joy.

"Nope." Sara's grin is unwavering. "And don't act like you don't already get up this early anyway."

"To meditate and go through my forms."

"We can do all that after." Sara waves a hand dismissively, then puts on her best Captain voice, "Consider this an exercise in spontaneity. Now up and at 'em. Adventure awaits."

Twenty minutes later, she's following Sara into the backyard, boots sinking into the fresh snow. The backyard has transformed overnight, blanketed in pristine white, untouched and glittering under the morning light. Sara immediately moves toward the center of the yard, all the while informing Nyssa of the differences between Central City's snow and the occasionally dustings Star City receives.

She barely registers the words, her focus instead drifting to Sara herself—the sight of her wrapped in a scarf, cheeks pink from the cold, and snowflakes clinging to her hair.

She considers apologizing for last night—for her sharp words, for letting her emotions get the better of her. In the light of day, she can see how she'd allowed herself to fall back on old habits.

But as she watches Sara speak, she hesitates. Animatedly gesturing with her gloved hands, there's a lightness in her that leaves Nyssa reluctant to break whatever spell the morning has cast over them.

The more she reflects, the more deliberate this venture feels, like Sara's way of providing them a gentle reset from last night's heaviness. Over time, she had come to recognize a pattern in Sara's "exercises in spontaneity"—they were rarely ever just for herself. Sara had long since learned that Nyssa coped better when put to action, with no time to dwell on her own thoughts for too long. And sure enough, she had coaxed Nyssa out of bed this morning with an infectious excitement that left no room for brooding. Sara had once again disarmed her, rather effortlessly.

If this is Sara's way of nudging them forward, Nyssa intends to meet her halfway.

Her first snowball lands squarely between Sara's shoulders.

Sara whirls around, mouth agape. "You did not just do that."

"I'm humoring you," Nyssa replies, aiming for an air of innocence, but unable to hide the mischievous glint in her eye. "As you requested."

It's an echo of Sara's earlier words, but also an olive branch—her own deliberate moment of levity; her acknowledgment of what Sara's doing; her own offer of an apology.

Something in Sara's expression shifts. There's a flash of recognition behind her eyes, like she can hear everything Nyssa isn't saying. A slow grin spreads across her face before she crouches to scoop up her own snowball.

"I hope you understand what you've gotten yourself into," Sara warns, voice grave but eyes gleaming with amusement.

Their combat training turns the ensuing fight into more of a dance than an all-out assault. They fall into familiar patterns that echo their sparring sessions, trading their weapons for snow. Snow flies between them, but the hits land few and far between as they dodge and weave. Laughter rings throughout the yard.

It's ridiculous and childish in a way she only ever allows herself to be with Sara. But perhaps that’s exactly what they both need this morning.

As their battle begins to wind down, one of Sara's throws catches Nyssa off balance. She loses her footing on a patch of ice, and lands in the snow with about as much dignity as she can muster. She can't help but laugh breathlessly from her spot on the ground.

Sara's own laugh grows louder as she approaches, until she's peering over Nyssa with a triumphant smirk.

"Getting rusty there?"

Before Nyssa can even respond, Sara extends a hand to help her up. As she does, her sleeve slides back just enough for Nyssa to catch a glimpse of familiar blue beads on her wrist. For the briefest moment, her breath catches and a warmth fills her chest despite the cold seeping into her clothes. This is her first time seeing Sara wear the bracelet since she had gifted it to her.

She stays silent, choosing to tuck that information away for another time. For now, she takes Sara’s hand. As she glances up, a dangerous smile tugs at her lips. Sara’s eyes narrow in suspicion, but before she can react, Nyssa gives a sharp tug.

With a startled yelp, Sara topples forward, landing beside her in the snow.

"Really?" Sara groans, but she's already laughing as she sits up, brushing snow from her jacket.

"You've pulled that move before," Sara accuses, trying and failing to look stern.

"Many times," Nyssa agrees, grinning wide. "And yet, you fell for it every time."

Sara hums thoughtfully. She stares for a moment, before her expression slightly softens.

"Or maybe I just let you."

Nyssa props herself up on her elbows, arching a brow. "You 'let' me?"

Sara shrugs, a small smile tugging at her lips. "You’d always look so pleased with yourself afterward. It was worth falling on my face just to see it."

It’s a lighthearted response, but Nyssa can hear the sincerity behind it. Sara seems ready to move past it, as she pushes herself to her feet and offers her hand again.

Before Nyssa can accept, the kitchen doors slide open, reminding them that a world still exists beyond this moment.

Laurel steps onto the snow-covered patio, tugging her thick shawl tighter around her as she approaches, a steaming mug in her hands.

"Tommy's gonna be sad he missed this," Laurel says, clearly amused. "You two are actually out here acting like kids. I've been watching from the kitchen for the past ten minutes."

Sara catches Nyssa's eye, grinning. "Busted."

"Everyone else is still asleep, but if you two are done, I made coffee." Laurel glances at Nyssa with a knowing look. "You're too particular about your tea for me to even attempt making it."

Laurel tries to sound exasperated, but is unable to hide the fondness in her voice.

Sara helps Nyssa to her feet, both of them brushing snow from their clothes.

"I simply prefer it to be made properly," Nyssa replies.

"There's a whole method, Laurel.” Sara nods sagely, then begins to list off each point on her fingers. "Timing. Temperature. Discipline–"

"Right," Laurel interrupts with a snort. "I didn’t know tea brewing was part of League training."

Sara tilts her head as if in thought. "More like part of Nyssa training."

"If you're both quite finished," Nyssa interrupts, arms crossed for warmth. "I would very much like to relocate somewhere warm."

Laurel rolls her eyes but gestures toward the house. "Come on, before you freeze out here. I’m not dealing with either of you getting sick."

Before following Laurel, Nyssa shares one last look with Sara. They linger, reluctant to leave the simplicity they found in the snow and return to reality.

Sara steps ahead first. When she turns to hold out a hand, Nyssa hesitates for a beat. But then she takes it, wondering if this is a way forward for them.

—

When Nyssa enters the kitchen, shower-warm and hair still damp, Sara and Laurel look up from their conversation.

The sisters exchange one last knowing glance, before Sara steps forward and wordlessly presses a steaming mug into Nyssa's hands. It's a simple gesture, but the thoughtfulness behind it leaves her momentarily speechless. She manages only a soft "thank you" before Sara slips past her, disappearing down the hall for her turn in the shower.

Ignoring Laurel's pointed stare, she takes a slow sip of the tea. It's not quite how she would make it—Dinah's kitchen lacks the proper equipment and ingredients. But it's surprisingly good.

It's clear that Sara put thought into making it, that she knew what to substitute in order to create something she knew Nyssa would drink. That despite all her teasing during Nyssa's lectures about tea brewing, Sara had been listening and observing.

"Did she get it right?" Laurel's voice cuts through her thoughts—Nyssa had almost forgotten she's there.

"Yes." She sets the drink down with care before sliding into the chair across from Laurel. In the distance, the shower turns on, the sound filling the amiable silence between them.

"So," Laurel drawls, smirking as she leans back in her seat, "a snowball fight? I never thought I'd see the day."

"Your sister is persistent," Nyssa replies nonchalantly. Laurel doesn't need to know that, while it had been Sara's idea to go outside, Nyssa was the one who instigated the fight.

"Oh, I'm sure it was torture for you." Laurel's eyes gleam with amusement. "You didn't look like you were having fun at all."

Nyssa levels her with a flat look, but Laurel continues on, grinning.

"Aren't you supposed to be a League-trained negotiator? What did Sara do, say 'please' and you folded?"

Nyssa huffs and glares. That is, more or less, how Sara got her outside, but she refuses to give Laurel the satisfaction of admitting it. Her silence, however, is all the confirmation Laurel needs.

"You really don’t know how to say no to her," Laurel chuckles, shaking her head.

It's a teasing, light remark—one that normally wouldn't affect her. But after last night – after hesitating in a way she rarely ever used to with Sara – the words land differently, pressing heavy against her chest. A sharp contrast from the lightness she'd felt not that long ago in the snow.

Her hands curl around the mug and she focuses on the warmth beneath her fingertips. She's quiet long enough that Laurel's smirk fades, as if sensing the shift in Nyssa's demeanor.

The truth is, Laurel's right on some level. She's not accustomed to denying Sara what she wants, even when it hurts her.

"I want her to be happy," Nyssa says quietly, staring down at the tea.

When she looks up, Laurel's expression is pensive, head tilted in contemplation. All traces of teasing gone.

"She looks happy to me," Laurel says, and then, after a beat, "And so do you."

Nyssa exhales softly. She wants to believe that. But history tells a different story.

Laurel's expression shifts, as if she's weighing her next words carefully. Nyssa recognizes that look—it's the one Laurel gives right before she cuts to the heart of the matter.

"Sara’s happiness doesn’t have to come at the expense of your own, you know."

Nyssa stills. She fixes her gaze somewhere over Laurel's shoulder, away from the weight of her stare.

Over the years, Laurel's learned when to tread carefully with her and when to strike with precision befitting a prosecutor. The words are said without judgment, but they hit their mark nonetheless.

Laurel has said this to her before—not so directly, but in the way Laurel's questioned her over the years, the way they've discussed her unwavering devotion.

And wasn't that the point of leaving Star City in the first place? To find a way to untangle her sense of happiness from Sara? To find a version of herself who wasn't bound to her devotion?

"It's not that simple," Nyssa murmurs, grip tightening imperceptibly on her mug.

"It rarely ever is with you two."

Laurel lets the words settle between them. For a moment, neither of them speaks. Then, Laurel leans forward slightly, eyes searching Nyssa's.

"Nyssa, what do you want?" she asks, voice steady but gentle. "Not what you think is best, or right. What do you want?"

Nyssa shoots her a mildly annoyed look—they both already know the answer to that.

"I know." She holds up a hand placatingly. "But just say it anyway."

Nyssa sighs, voice quiet: "It has always been Sara. That has never changed."

"Then what's stopping you?"

Fear. Doubt. The unshakable weight of them.

Nyssa looks away, jaw tightening. "It is not simply a matter of happiness, Laurel. I've never doubted your sister's ability to make me happy. I spent years chasing her light."

She hesitates, her lips pressing into a thin line. She struggles with her next words, with how much of her soul to bare. Laurel waits patiently.

"What I doubt is her ability to stay," she admits, voice small. And then, even softer, "And my ability to hold her attention."

She lets out a slow breath, her gaze fixed on the tea as if the words might sting less if she doesn’t meet Laurel’s eyes. "I have walked this path with Sara before, and each time, it has ended in heartbreak."

She's come to accept that there will always be a part of her that longs for Sara. But being faced with the possibility of trying again feels very much like standing on a precipice and being asked to leap into the unknown below.

And for all her training, for all her strength and resolve, Nyssa al Ghul has never been very good at falling—she goes down in a blaze, a falling comet careening toward the ground.

"I'm not sure I can survive losing her again," she confesses, so quietly, as if she's saying it to herself.

When she finally meets Laurel's gaze, Laurel's watching her carefully, free of judgment. She doesn't rush to fill the silence, or offer empty assurances.

"You're scared," Laurel states, not unkindly. "I get that. But I don't think you're the only who is."

Laurel leans forward, "I'm willing to bet Sara's terrified of screwing this up, of losing you all over again."

The words sink in slowly. Sara's behavior the night before, the careful way she handled Nyssa this morning, all point to truth in Laurel's observation.

Nyssa studies Laurel for a long moment. She's always valued Laurel's insight as her friend. It's not until recently that she's needed Laurel's insight as Sara's sister as well. And now that Laurel has reminded her of Sara's part in all this, Nyssa finds herself needing to hear from her friend rather than Sara's sister.

"What would you say to me if she were not your sister?"

"I would say that you should go after what you want," Laurel responds without hesitation, voice steady and full of conviction. "That you deserve to be happy—whether that's with my sister or not."

Laurel reaches across the table, palm up, and Nyssa trades the grounding effects of her mug for Laurel's hand. Laurel's grip is warm and gentle, the kind of reassurance she's come to expect from her friend.

"And the only thing standing in your way now is fear," Laurel says softly, a hint of a challenge in her eyes. As if daring Nyssa to be brave.

Before either of them can say anything more, the sound of the shower shuts off in the distance. They both know they have only a few moments before Sara returns.

"Give it some thought. But don't think too hard," Laurel smiles knowingly, voice lighter but no less sincere. And then, softly, "Whatever happens, I'm here."

Laurel has given her plenty to consider. The words "thank you" don't escape her lips, but when Laurel squeezes her hand once more, Nyssa squeezes back, and she knows Laurel understands.

The conversation sits with her for the rest of the morning, filling the silent moments she shares with Sara. Sara’s quiet words in the dark, the morning in the snow, Sara’s silent acts of thoughtfulness—Nyssa sees them now for what they are. Small moments of bravery in between the fear.

What she had failed to mention to Laurel—between the two of them, Sara was always the braver one.

Chapter Text

By the time the afternoon settles in, Nyssa welcomes the chance for solitude. The morning's conversations have left her restless, her thoughts too loud. When she suggests to Laurel that Sara might appreciate some sister time, it's as much for her own benefit as theirs.

The house feels different without Sara by her side—quieter, less familiar.

With no real destination in mind, Nyssa drifts toward the framed photographs lining the first-floor hallway. The first to catch her eyes is an image of Laurel and Sara as children, sporting matching grins. She has seen so very few childhood photos of the sisters—of Sara. The only reason she's seen any at all is because of Laurel.

But here, laid out before her, is an entire wall of memories. So she takes her time with each one, lingering on any involving the sisters, mesmerized by their carefree, youthful joy—frozen in time and untouched by the weight of what's to come.

The longer she stands there, the more she feels a familiar ache—she never had this. No record of her childhood, her innocence, before her father began forging her into a weapon—if such a girl had ever existed at all.

She's unsure how much time passes before she hears footsteps that aren't Sara's.

"She was a handful at that age." Dinah's voice is warm with nostalgia.

Nyssa knew she would eventually have to face Dinah alone, but she hadn’t expected it to happen here, in the midst of Lance family memories, feeling a bit more exposed than she'd like.

Dinah smiles softly, focusing on a picture of a younger Sara, holding her father's hand, dressed for what appears to be a baseball game.

The corner of Nyssa's lips tug into a faint smile. "I can imagine."

"She was always full of energy. No fear," Dinah chuckles. "She liked to climb trees that were too tall for her, and always ran ahead of us. Headfirst into everything—it drove her father crazy."

She can picture it perfectly. A younger, lighter Sara. Vibrant and wild and free.

Nyssa has spent years wondering what Sara was like before they met, before the island and the darkness that touched her.

She knows she has caught glimpses of that girl before, during the stolen moments in between.

In moments where they could pretend, at least for a little while, they were nothing more than two lovers traveling the world together. When Sara would feel particularly playful, bold enough to steal a kiss in the halls of Nanda Parbat, just to see what she could get away with. Would challenge Nyssa to rooftop races, leap off cliffs into the waters below, drag her into whatever mischief she had planned.

"That sounds familiar," Nyssa murmurs, soft and distant.

When Dinah finally looks at her with careful consideration, Nyssa busies herself with studying the picture of Sara with her father.

"I'm told you had an... unconventional childhood."

When she meets Dinah’s gaze, it’s the softest expression Dinah has given her yet. Nyssa can only imagine what Sara and Laurel have told her.

"My father saw very little use for sentimentality." She speaks with a neutrality she's perfected over the years.

Dinah’s brows furrow together in a way that reminds her too much of Laurel, that same blend of compassion and quiet anger on someone else’s behalf.

Nyssa never knows what to say when her childhood is called into question. It wasn't until she met Sara, heard stories about her childhood—of birthday parties, family vacations, a mother's soothing touch over scraped knees—that Nyssa began to understand just how different her life had been.

"That must have been difficult," Dinah eventually says.

"It was what I knew."

The silence stretches between them, but for once, it isn't tense. And when Dinah studies her this time, there's less judgment behind her eyes.

"Sara never really talks about her time in the League," Dinah says carefully. "But Laurel tells me you trained Sara?"

"I did," she responds, just as carefully, unsure the direction this conversation is going.

Dinah says nothing for a moment, then laughs softly. "So you've trained both my daughters."

Nyssa allows herself a small smile in return, and for a moment, the air between them feels lighter. But then Dinah's smile fades, her face clouding over.

"What was she like?" Dinah asks, curious and searching.

Nyssa takes her time forming an answer. She's not sure how much to reveal—there are pieces of Sara that aren't hers to share.

"She was determined," she says at last. "Resilient, headstrong. A quick learner.

She pauses, the faintest smile on her face. "She was kind."

She doesn't tell Dinah that it was months before she learned anything real about Sara—before Sara would even let her. That the girl she rescued was so close to death, she had already welcomed it. That, for some inexplicable reason, Sara had trusted her from the very beginning.

So she mentions the parts of Sara she knew were there all along, that would eventually resurface. She doesn't mention the war between Sara’s light and her reckless disregard for her own life, the one that made Nyssa train her twice as hard just to keep her alive.

There is a reason Sara hasn't spoken to her mother about the League, and Nyssa will honor that. But she can offer some reassurance, even if it is the sanitized version. Something that holds true regardless of any circumstances.

"She missed you. Even when she did not say it. It was always there."

Dinah swallows hard, looking away for a moment. When she speaks again, her voice is thick with emotion. "Thank you."

There's a sincerity to Dinah's voice that Nyssa doesn't know what to do with. She only nods, dipping her chin in acknowledgment.

After a moment, there's a shift in Dinah's expression, something heavier, more serious. "I know both my daughters care for you deeply."

Nyssa straightens, her response immediate: "I care for them as well."

"I'm beginning to see that," Dinah admits. "Laurel's been especially vocal in your defense over the years."

That shouldn't surprise her. From the moment they became friends, Laurel has always been her greatest defender. She still isn't sure she'll ever get used to it.

"And Sara..." Dinah trails off, a small bittersweet smile forming. "Sara has a habit of following her heart, no matter what."

Nyssa doesn't react outwardly, but the words ring true—something she knows better than most.

"There's still plenty I don't understand about you, Nyssa.” Dinah turns to face her fully now, all sense of pretense gone. There's an intensity to her gaze that makes Nyssa instinctively straighten.

"But I'm willing to learn what it is about you that has both my girls so enamored."

It's not quite acceptance—not yet.

But it's something. And it's more than she'd been expecting.

She knows what she wants to say. What she needs Dinah to understand.

She squares her shoulders, voice measured and unwavering. "I have spent my life trying to be someone worthy of Sara's love. Someone worthy of Laurel's respect and trust."

She holds Dinah's gaze. Then, with quiet conviction: "To ensure their faith in me is never misplaced. I would sooner die than see either of them disappointed in me again."

Neither of them speak. Dinah studies her carefully and Nyssa meets her head on. Slowly, the appraising look gives way to something that looks almost like understanding.

The creak of a floorboard breaks the moment. Nyssa immediately turns to find Sara leaning against the doorway, arms crossed and assessing the situation as she glances between her mother and Nyssa. Laurel isn't far behind, looking on with barely concealed interest.

"There you are. Everything good?" Sara asks, her voice light but her eyes darting between the two of them.

Dinah recovers first, smoothing her hands down her sides before offering her daughter a smile. "We were just talking."

Sara glances back at Nyssa expectantly, searching for any hint of that being untrue. And while Nyssa's touched by the unnecessary protectiveness, she's happy to leave the heaviness of her conversation with Dinah behind.

"Your mother finds it amusing that I've managed to train both her daughters."

Laurel grins immediately, stepping forward to declare, "I'm pretty sure I was the better student."

Sara scoffs. "I trained for years."

"And yet, I'm still willing to bet I was the better listener." Laurel playfully hip-checks Sara, who rolls her eyes in response.

Laurel winks at Nyssa, all mirth and mischief. "It also probably helped that I didn't have the hots for my teacher."

"You better not have!" Sara splutters, pushing off the doorway to level her sister a glare, even as she struggles to hold back a smile.

Nyssa smirks while Dinah shakes her head at their antics.

"Laurel was the less distractable student," Nyssa muses.

Sara's attention immediately shifts to her, an eyebrow raised for good measure. "I think maybe you ought to take some responsibility for being so distracting."

"I have no idea what you mean," Nyssa says primly, but the grin forming on her face says otherwise.

"You know," Laurel cuts in, before the challenge in Sara's eyes takes over. "We could probably get mom to bring out the photo albums. She's got enough material to fill ten hallways, at least."

"Oh," Dinah's eyes brighten, and she's already moving to the living room with purpose. "I know exactly which ones to get."

Sara groans in protest. "Or we could not?"

Laurel glances at Nyssa with a warm smile and knowing look on her face, and an unspoken understanding passes between them.

"Nyssa will want to see them," Laurel confirms, softly but firmly.

Sara looks between the two, her gaze softening when she lands on Nyssa. Whatever she sees there melts away her resistance.

"Alright," Sara relents, a smile at the corner of her lips. "Be prepared for so many bad fashion choices."

"Don't worry," Laurel interjects, grinning as she comes to stand on the other side of Nyssa. "I'll make sure Nyssa sees the bangs you were rocking in high school."

"I hope you appreciate just how much I'm sacrificing for this," Sara says to Nyssa in a mock-serious tone, her expression an exaggerated graveness.

Sara means the pictures—of course she does. But Nyssa hears something more behind those words, even if that hadn't been Sara's intention—something deeper, more vulnerable. That Sara is willingly sharing these parts of her.

A quiet laugh escapes her, a flurry of emotions welling up inside her.

"I do," she replies, voice laced with gratitude that has Sara melting into a smile.

When Sara leaves her sister and Tommy bickering in the kitchen, Nyssa's exactly where she left her: settled on the living room couch, slowly paging through a different photo album. Not the one Laurel had gleefully plopped into her lap, and for that, Sara's relieved. At least they've finally moved on from the bathtub photos.

Sara lingers in the doorway. There's a softness to Nyssa in this moment—intently studying pieces of Sara's childhood, handling them like they're something sacred and precious—that Sara can't look away from. She almost doesn't want to interrupt.

"You look happy," Nyssa says without looking up, her voice inviting.

Sara crosses the room to stand over the album spread open on the coffee table. The picture Nyssa has been tracing over captures a version of herself at six years old, hanging upside down from the playground monkey bars.

"I was." She smiles, a wistful note to her voice.

She sinks into the seat beside Nyssa, sitting shoulder to shoulder but not quite touching.

"I think I was six here?" She taps a finger to the photo. "I fell flat on my face right after Mom took this. Lost a tooth and everything."

She grins as she remembers. "Mom freaked out. Laurel was weirdly calm for an eight-year-old."

When she meets Nyssa's eyes, there's a thoughtful look on her face. Something caught between fondness and melancholy.

"I wish I had known you then." The words slip out quietly, almost tentative. Nyssa ducks her head immediately, as if she hadn't meant to say that out loud.

Sara's thought the same thing about Nyssa more times than she can count—in the quiet of dawn, watching Nyssa sleep beside her, all traces of the Heir to the Demon gone. She'd wonder about the girl Nyssa had been before her father sunk his claws into her. If she had always been alone; if anyone had cherished her the way she deserved.

But those thoughts feel a little too heavy for now. And she's still figuring out how to tread these waters again.

So she smiles and gently nudges their shoulders together. "I would have gotten you into so much trouble."

Nyssa tilts her head, considering, a soft laugh escaping her as she offers a smile of her own. It's a lovely sight, an even lovelier sound.

"And I would have gotten you out of it."

Sara barks out a laugh because of course she would have—Sara can't imagine it any other way.

The silence that follows is comfortable. Nyssa's attention returns to the photo album, the page crackling softly as she turns it with care. But there's a stiffness to her posture now, one that Sara recognizes—she's trying not to think too hard about something.

Sara shifts on the couch, angling herself toward Nyssa, warmth radiating where their bodies almost touch. She can pinpoint the exact moment the thought crosses Nyssa's mind—the barely perceptible tightening of her jaw, the slight change in her breathing.

"I never had any photos of myself as a child," Nyssa admits quietly, then tilts her head with a rueful smile. "Though I suspect you already knew that."

"Ra's didn't seem like the type." Sara can't keep the bitterness out of her words. Jaw clenching, she tries to keep the storm of fury she's always reserved for Nyssa's father at bay.

When she speaks again, her voice is softer, losing its earlier edge. "I've always wondered what you were like before..."

Nyssa had never been forthcoming with details about her childhood, especially unprompted. And Sara had never pushed, opting to fill in the missing context on her own through observation.

"I don't remember much of my childhood before I began my training." Nyssa leans back, fingers slipping from the edge of the photo album as she settles into the couch. Eyes distant as she stares straight ahead. "Only fragments. Most of the stories I know come from Talia."

"Not your father?" she grits out.

"No. Only when it served to teach me a lesson."

That white-hot spike of anger returns, flaring up before she even has a chance to tamper it down. She has to look away for a second, eyes landing on one her mother's wall paintings.

What pains her isn't just what Nyssa says, but the way she says it—composed as ever, detached and matter-of-fact.

It's a struggle, but Nyssa deserves more than her rage, even if it's directed at the shadow of her father. With a steadying exhale through her nose, she unfurls her fists. Forces her body to unwind as she redirects her focus.

"What has Talia told you?"

A slow smile makes its way to Nyssa's face. "That I was stubborn."

Sara smiles—that tracks.

"That I would often pick her fruit from the gardens," Nyssa continues, voice lighter now. "What little I remember is mostly my attempts to impress her."

There's a quiet fondness to Nyssa's voice that Sara isn't used to hearing in moments like this.

She tries to picture a little Nyssa, carefully gathering figs and apricots to proudly present to her sister, seeking approval and beaming whenever it was granted. There's something familiar in the image that tugs at her; something she knows all too well from years of trailing after her own sister.

"I've wondered why you never told me about her before."

Nyssa's gaze drops to her lap, her smile fading as she folds her hands neatly together.

"We were not on good terms when she left. And I knew, even then, that she would not return."

When she looks back at Sara, there's none of the careful detachment she usually maintains when talking about her father.

"I had mourned her long before you came into my life."

Nyssa's voice is honest and raw, offering Sara a glimpse of the girl she had been, the one abandoned by her sister.

And suddenly, she sees Nyssa's relationship with Laurel in a new light.

Even though they're the same age, sometimes it doesn't feel that way. Sometimes, it seems like Nyssa lets Laurel fill the role of older sister, guiding and steadying her in ways that Nyssa never allows most people. And Laurel has stepped into that role without hesitation, offering Nyssa something she never had before, making space for her in their family.

Sara's heart swells with gratitude for her sister. For the way she cared for Nyssa when no one else did. And then pride for Nyssa, for allowing herself to accept what Laurel's offered her.

Sara's phone buzzes in her pocket. She plans to ignore it, except Nyssa is close enough to feel the vibration, glancing down and then back up at Sara with a look of silent permission.

"It's Ray," Sara mutters once she's fished the device out of her pocket. "Confirming drinks with Jax tonight."

She sets the phone aside, her attention drawn back to Nyssa, who has already returned to the album. Sara follows her gaze, wondering which memory has captured her attention this time.

The page is full of snapshots of her past—some she can recall as though they happened yesterday, while others she had forgotten until now. Leaning forward, Sara gently pulls the album into her lap.

There's a series of photos of her with Laurel. Her favorite among them is one of her at ten years old: a piggyback ride gone wrong, Laurel buckling under the failed attempt to carry her, both of them mid-laugh before they collapse into a heap.

Sara lets out a quiet laugh, gently nudging Nyssa's elbow as she points to the picture in question. "Laurel swore she could carry me."

"And you allowed her to?"

Sara shakes her head. "I told her she couldn't. But you know how Laurel gets when you tell her she can't do something."

"Much like another Lance I know." Nyssa's smile is affectionate.

Sara laughs, not even attempting to deny it. "Family trait. I'd say you fit right in."

She gives Nyssa a pointed look, barely fighting back her own grin.

"It is a quality that has served us both well," Nyssa replies, "In most instances."

Sara's attention shifts to a nearby picture of her father proudly hoisting a young Laurel onto his shoulders. Then the last one on the page, a full family photo of them at a fair—all smiles, carnival lights, and cotton candy in hand.

They're all evidence of what she ached for while she was on the Amazo, on the island, in the League. She had told Oliver once that the girl she was before boarding the Gambit—the girl in these photographs—died on that island.

She remembers how desperately he wanted to prove her wrong.

For a long time, she hadn't been able to think of that girl without mourning her.

Fingers brush against her hand—featherlight, but enough to send a shiver down her spine and pull her from her thoughts.

"Do you want to know what I see when I look at these?" Nyssa's voice is so soft, drawing Sara in.

"I see the same girl who laughed in the face of my father that first day in the League."

There's a familiar smile on Nyssa's face—the same one that always accompanies that particular story. The one Nyssa lingers on a beat too long, as if savoring the memory.

"She was never lost, Sara." There's a certainty to her voice, an intensity that leaves no room for doubt, willing Sara to believe her.

"The girl in these pictures—you held onto her with both hands, refusing to let go. I saw her every day."

Sara's breath catches. And for a moment, the room feels smaller, the world narrowing down to just the two of them.

She doesn't trust her voice in that moment, doesn't know what to even say.

What do you say to someone who sees straight through to your core? Who cracks you open to sift through every fractured piece of you just so they can hold each one up and say "this is beautiful."

And while Sara struggles against the tide of emotions, Nyssa patiently watches her. There's nothing pressing in her gaze. Only that silent, piercing clarity that has always stripped Sara bare. A gaze of bone-deep understanding—one she has tried to live without. Tried to forget. Tried to replace.

Tried to convince herself she had found in someone else until Nyssa walked back into her life and she was reminded of the difference—until she could no longer ignore its absence.

Her fingers tighten around the edge of the album. She almost aches with the urge to reach out to Nyssa.

Even then, Nyssa seems to understand. She covers Sara's hand with her own, the weight of it warm and gentle.

From the kitchen, a sudden clatter of dishes causes them both to flinch, Nyssa's hand leaving hers.

It's a sharp reminder they're not alone. The rest of the world filters back in, bringing with it the distant murmurs of her mother and sister discussing lunch preparations.

"Our childhoods were very different." Nyssa's voice is low, contemplative. There's a distant look in her eyes as she continues matter-of-factly, "My father was not a good man. I know you hate him. In many ways, so do I."

Nyssa exhales softly, the corner of her mouth twitching—not quite a smile, but something humorless and fleeting.

"But he was all I had. The only constant."

The words land like a blow to the gut. No trace of bitterness in them, only quiet acceptance.

Sara wants to tell her that her father designed it that way. That he made sure she would believe that.

But her words catch in her throat as her anger gives way to guilt. She's always known, on some level, what their relationship had meant to Nyssa. That it was a lifeline; the only real thing that was wholly hers.

And then Sara had left, too, adding herself to the list of people who abandoned her.

She had been so young, reckless with Nyssa's heart and aching for home. Nyssa had promised her forever, but she hadn't been able to do the same. For all her pride in being "Beloved," sometimes she couldn't shake the gnawing feeling of inadequacy and unworthiness.

Sometimes, Beloved had felt more like a shackle than a vow, and Sara would burn in shame at the thought. She'd felt like a shell of a person, unable to carry the weight of being someone's everything, before she had even figured out who she was on her own.

She hadn't been ready for any of it. Not then.

Not for a long time.

And it was why, when Nyssa finally let her go, she had stayed away. And now...

Now she realizes how easy it's been to forget Nyssa wasn't that much older than her when they met. That behind all that training, and poise, and composure was someone just as young. Just as lost. Learning to love and live outside her father's influence.

It had been so easy to let herself believe that Nyssa was unshakable. Sara had been drowning in grief and guilt, and Nyssa helped keep her head above water, offered her something sturdy to rely on. And Sara had needed that.

Until she didn't.

Until the weight of Nyssa's certainty became too much.

Because no matter how much she'd wanted to, she hadn't known how to return that kind of devotion. Hadn't known how to exist outside of survival mode.

"I didn't know how to stay," Sara croaks, the words clawing out of her.

Nyssa freezes. Then nods, as if she's known this all along, as if she's already made peace with it. "I didn't know how to let you go."

Sara wants to say more, to find a way to voice her thoughts and realizations. But Nyssa's shoulders are still tense, like she has more to say.

"I didn't understand then." Nyssa's hand finds hers again. "Or perhaps I did, but did not want to accept it. But I do now."

Sara leans in slightly, watching as Nyssa takes her time trying to find the right words. Whatever she's about to say, Sara can tell it matters.

"What we had..." Nyssa trails off for a moment. Her head tilts as she catches Sara's eyes. "It wasn't sustainable. And the future I had imagined for us, it wasn't fair to you. I didn't understand what I was asking of you, what it would cost—not until much later."

The knot in Sara's chest tightens. She had often felt caught between loving Nyssa and the burden of what that love demanded—the blood on her hands and the aching pull of home. But then, she had been the one who was only ever half there, half searching for a way out, never fully able to give what Nyssa deserved.

None of it had been fair. For either of them.

"You deserved more than that, too," Sara says, quiet but sure. "We both did. We were so young."

She thinks of 22-year-old Sara, reckless and determined, convincing Nyssa to take a chance on her. Back then, Nyssa's hesitation was due to her inexperience and her father's influence. But this time, her fears are based on the very real memories of Sara leaving, again and again. And this time, Sara has to convince her that it will be different.

"This is almost like starting over," she muses out loud. "Except now you know exactly what you're risking."

Nyssa doesn't say anything for a moment. Her eyes search Sara's until a smile spreads across her face, like she's about to let Sara in on a secret.

"I knew," Nyssa says, soft but certain. "Even then."

Sara's breath catches, and she's hanging onto whatever Nyssa says next.

"From the moment I realized I loved you, I knew it would either save me or destroy me."

A beat passes between them, Nyssa's eyes never wavering from Sara's.

"I chose you anyway."

Sara's vision blurs at the edges as she blinks back tears. The words echo in her head: I chose you anyway.

There's so much she wants to say—too much, her heart pounding like it's trying to burst out of her chest.

Slowly, she threads their fingers together. Tries not to let her tears spill at how they still fit as perfectly as they always have. Nyssa doesn't pull away—she gently squeezes Sara's hand, and Sara squeezes back.

She bites back the main question that sits heavy on her tongue:

And now? Would you choose me again?

—

After lunch, Dinah announces she needs help wrapping gifts and running errands. Laurel eagerly volunteers herself and Tommy for shopping duties, and before Sara can so much as blink, she's dragging Nyssa along with them.

"You've hogged her enough," Laurel teases lightly.

Sara doesn't fight her on it. After everything she's come to realize about Laurel and Nyssa's friendship, she doesn't have the heart to push back.

She simply follows them to the entryway, hovering as Nyssa methodically layers up against the cold. The ritual is familiar, reminding her of winters in Nanda Parbat. Of Nyssa burrowing into whatever warmth she could find while stubbornly denying she was cold.

"You sure you wanna go with them?"

"I don't believe Laurel has given me a choice." Nyssa fastens the last button of her coat with practiced precision, then looks up, eyes softening. "You should spend time with your mother."

Sara can't really argue—she has been caught up in Nyssa's presence, in making sure she feels at home.

Then, without really thinking, she's moving instinctively to adjust Nyssa's scarf. Her fingers on autopilot as she tucks the ends more securely beneath the coat—something she’s done a hundred times before.

Nyssa stands motionless, watching her curiously.

It isn't until Sara's smoothing over the front of Nyssa's coat that her actions catch up with her—how effortlessly she's slipped back into fussing over her, how natural this quiet intimacy still feels.

When she meets Nyssa's gaze, she's suddenly hyperaware of just how little space there is between them.

Once upon a time, this would have been the moment either of them closed that distance—a kiss to the cheek, the corner of the mouth, the forehead. A tender gesture before they parted ways.

Nyssa's breath hitches, and Sara thinks maybe she's remembering, too.

For a second, Nyssa's eyes drop to Sara's lips. Sara struggles to remain still, her heart thundering in her ears.

But just as quickly, Nyssa shifts back, just the slightest bit. Her touch is gentle and deliberate as she guides Sara's hands from the scarf, thumbs brushing softly against her skin.

"Your sister is waiting." Nyssa's voice is soft, almost wistful.

The spell broken, Sara exhales. They both take a step away from each other as Nyssa tugs on her gloves.

Tommy passes them, keys jingling.

"Don't worry," he says with a knowing grin as he comes to a stop beside Laurel. "We'll make sure she stays warm."

Laurel rolls her eyes at him, but shoots Sara a small, encouraging smile. "We won't be long."

Cold air rushes in as the door swings open. Nyssa barely suppresses a shudder, and Sara has to resist the urge to reach for her again.

"I'll see you soon." Nyssa's smile is soft. She lingers a beat longer, giving Sara one last unreadable look before falling into step behind Laurel and Tommy.

Sara watches them go, lingering in the entryway as the door clicks shut behind them.

After the morning they've shared, it feels strange to watch Nyssa go.

She misses her already.

"Sara, sweetie, these gifts aren't going to wrap themselves."

Her mother's voice rings from the living room, pulling her out of her thoughts.

Shaking her head, Sara laughs quietly. "Yeah, yeah, I’m coming."

—

Holiday music plays softly as Sara sits on the floor, abandoned gift-wrapping replaced by hot chocolate that's still too hot to drink. Across from her, surrounded by neatly wrapped presents, her mother alternates between wrapping gifts and stealing quiet glances at Sara—pensive in a way Sara recognizes from being a teen, bracing herself for a Serious Talk.

Dinah sighs, smoothing a hand over her finished product before setting it aside.

"You know," her mother finally says, eyes on the next box, "when you told me you were bringing her, I wasn't sure what to expect."

Sara doesn't need to ask to know who she's referring to. She responds carefully, "I figured."

Dinah presses her lips into a thin line, as if turning something over in her mind. With a final snip of her scissors, she sighs and looks up at Sara.

"Did you know she came to see me, years ago?"

"She told me before we came here." Sara wants to stay neutral, to keep her defensiveness over Nyssa out of it. But– "She said it didn't go well."

Her mother sees through her. "You've always been defensive of her."

Sara says nothing. Just waits, slightly swirling her mug to watch the marshmallows drift and scatter. There's an uneasiness that settles in her stomach, a familiar sense of dread not unlike the feeling she gets before a mission goes sideways.

Dinah resumes her task of meticulously folding the wrapping paper, taking more care than necessary when creasing each edge. Sara knows this habit well—she's stalling.

"I used to think it was because you felt like you owed her. Like maybe it was some kind of Stockholm Syndrome."

The words hit like a slap to the face. Of all the things Sara had braced herself for, this had never even crossed her mind.

She sets her mug down with deliberate care, heat rising in her chest as her temper flares. There's something profoundly unfair about Nyssa—the woman who taught her Arabic with infinite patience, who held her through nightmares, who touched her with a reverence no one before or after has ever matched—being reduced to her darkest moment.

And whose fault is that?

It's not the first time she's wondered if things would be different had she shared more about Nyssa. But sharing more about Nyssa meant sharing more about the League—about things Sara once thought she'd never be ready to speak out loud to either of her parents.

Tension coils in Sara's chest as she meets her mother head on. "Do you still think that?"

Dinah hesitates, hands pausing over the gift she's wrapping. "Now that I've seen the way she is with you? The way you are with her? No, I don't think that anymore."

A reluctant concession—it's something, but Sara doesn't miss the hesitation. The way her mother sounds like she's piecing together a puzzle that still doesn’t quite fit.

Sara has to look away for a moment, debating her next words. Her mother seems genuinely curious, like she's trying to understand.

After everything she's been through—death, resurrection, captaining a timeship—Sara's tired of keeping parts of herself hidden. Those carefully constructed barriers once protected her, but now they just feel exhausting.

"You don't know what it was like in the League, for either of us. And that's on me. I never gave you the chance to understand."

That gets her mother's attention. Dinah stops what she's doing and sits perfectly still, as though any movement might scare Sara away from whatever she's about to share.

Sara's not sure where to even begin, or how to properly convey the years' worth of history she and Nyssa have together. What Nyssa meant to her then, what she means to her now.

"Sometimes–" Sara's voice wobbles, and she snaps her mouth shut.

She's never admitted this to anyone. And even though it was a lifetime ago, even though she's made her peace with that broken girl and knows it's time to share these pieces of herself—it doesn't make the words any easier to say.

"Sometimes, the only bit of humanity I thought I had left was when I was loving her."

The second of silence that follows is deafening.

Something shifts in her mother's expression—not pity, but a mother's recognition of her child's pain. She takes Sara's hand, the warm weight of it welcome.

"Oh, honey," Dinah whispers, the heartbreak evident in her voice and enough to have Sara blinking against the burning sensation behind her eyes. With a sharp breath, she lets go of her mother's hand to swipe away tears.

"When Nyssa rescued me…" Her fingers find the evil eye bracelet on her wrist, rotating it absently, the bead smooth under her touch. "I was already broken. I couldn't face you and Dad after everything I'd done."

Her mother's gaze drops briefly to Sara's wrist. Dinah's eyes narrow slightly in curiosity, but she says nothing.

"I chose to join the League, Mom," Sara says firmly. "No one forced me, least of all Nyssa."

Her mother shifts back, taking in Sara's words. She looks away from Sara for a moment, a myriad of emotions flickering across her face as she processes these revelations.

Dinah considers her next words carefully before saying, "She did try to force you to stay."

The reminder stings. She knows better than anyone how deeply those actions haunt Nyssa—how she's never forgiven herself. Sara leans forward, undeterred and willing her mother to really hear her.

"She made a mistake—a terrible one. Because her sick fuck of a father put her in an impossible situation." She shakes her head, nails digging briefly into her knees. "She shouldn't be defined by it when she’s spent years trying to make up for it. Especially when I've already forgiven her."

Sara's voice drops, quiet but firm. "Even Dad respects her now. Do you really think Dad would give her the time of day if she hadn't earned it?"

Her mother's sigh is heavy, tone placating as she rubs her temple. "I'm just trying to understand, honey."

The familiar phrase makes Sara want to laugh and cry at the same time. How many times has she heard those exact words, in that exact tone? Her mother's go-to response whenever Sara veered off the expected path. Only this time, there's no guidance counselor's report to discuss, no teenage rebellion to weather.

Maybe that's why her next words spill out in a rush before she can stop them.

"If Nyssa isn't worthy of forgiveness, then how can I be?"

Dinah flinches, caught off guard by the outburst.

"I'm no better than her, Mom." She tries and fails to keep her voice from breaking. Because that’s part of it, isn't it? The way her own crimes are mirrored in Nyssa's. "The choices I've made, the blood on my hands. But the people I love have forgiven me for them."

She takes a breath, trying to keep her voice steady, trying to collect herself, to keep her emotions from welling up behind her eyes.

"I'm asking you to extend that same grace to the person who stood by me and loved me through the darkest years of my life."

For a long moment, Dinah says nothing. The surprise on her face eventually giving way to something unreadable. When she finally looks away, her eyes land on Sara's abandoned mug.

"Your cocoa's gone cold," Dinah mutters, reaching for the mug.

Sara lets her go—she could also use a breather.

She watches her disappear into the kitchen, suddenly feeling lighter. She runs a hand through her hair, almost disbelieving she just said those things out loud—the Sara from years ago certainly wouldn't have.

She can't remember the last time she was this honest with her mother—not since before the Gambit, maybe.

As Sara waits, "Jingle Bell Rock" plays in the background for the nth time that day. The bright melody clashes with the sound of the microwave, grating on her already frayed nerves. She tries to focus instead on the steady snowfall outside, and wonders how much longer the others will be.

The microwave's shrill beep cuts through the music. Her mother returns, setting the mug on the table within Sara's reach. She hesitates before sitting beside Sara—close, but not crowding.

Dinah exhales, long and slow, and Sara can hear the parental weariness behind it.

"What you said," Dinah begins, soft and apologetic. "About forgiveness... I never thought of it that way. That by judging her, I might be..."

Dinah's unable to finish the thought. For a long moment, she just looks at Sara—really looks at her, like she's seeing her daughter in a whole new light.

"This has been difficult for me," Dinah admits. "All I've ever wanted was to protect you and your sister. And I feel like I've failed you enough already."

Her mother's vulnerability tugs at Sara's heart. She can only imagine how much both her parents blamed themselves for every awful thing that's happened to their children.

"I'm trying to see past my first impression of her," Dinah continues. "I can see that she's important to you."

The words on their own should be a comfort, but the phrasing has Sara bracing herself for the "but" she knows is coming.

"But that doesn't mean I stop worrying about you. About how intense your connection is, or whether that's healthy for either of you."

"It's different now," Sara says quietly, fidgeting with her bracelet once more. "We both have more than just each other."

"Nyssa rebuilt her entire life after the League." Sara can't hide the pride and admiration that color her voice. "She's forged her own identity outside her father and his legacy."

Sara smiles—not only for how far Nyssa's come, but herself, too.

"And I did the same with the Legends. I became someone people could rely on, who could make hard choices without losing myself."

With that same smile, she holds her mother's gaze, voice steady and sure. "This isn't about holding onto the past or trying to recreate what we had before. It's about discovering who we are to each other now, as the people we've become."

Dinah studies Sara's face, the quiet confidence she's projecting. Something shifts in her mother's expression—acceptance or resignation, Sara can't quite tell.

"You sound different when you talk about her," Dinah says thoughtfully. "You never spoke about Ava this way."

The mention doesn't sting the way it once did. Sara isn't surprised by it, either—she's been anticipating this comparison from the moment their conversation began.

"You seemed happy," Dinah adds, more curious than accusatory. "You were building a life with her."

They fall into the familiar rhythm of folding and taping, Sara welcoming the distraction as she gathers her thoughts.

"I was happy," Sara agrees. "Ava was important to me, too. Loving her helped me get here, and I wanted it to work, but..."

"But?" Dinah prompts gently.

Sara searches for the right words, focusing on the gift in her hands. She's only ever tried explaining this to Laurel, but even then, the words felt inadequate.

"I had to make a choice."

It's a simple way to put it, but that's what it boiled down to. Ava had helped her heal in ways she'll always be grateful for. But the distance between them had started before Nyssa re-entered her life—a gap that kept widening despite her best efforts.

"I probably could have lived a good life with Ava, been happy enough. But I realized she was never going to know me the way Nyssa does." Her voice is low as she takes the wrapped package and adds it to their "done" pile. "And the longer Nyssa was around, the harder it became to ignore."

When Sara looks directly at her mother, she's met with unwavering love that's always made her feel safe.

"I realized I need to be known, not just loved." That understanding—what it meant for her and Ava—still aches even now.

"And I tried, Mom." Her voice cracks on the word. "But I don't know how to have Nyssa in my life and not want her. I'd always wonder if I settled."

Her mother softens immediately. The judgment Sara feared never materializes. Instead, she's met with understanding.

"You're still in love with her," Dinah says softly. Not a question, but a gentle recognition of truth.

She knew it, of course. She's known it for a long time—since Laurel told her Nyssa was leaving, maybe even before that. But hearing it spoken so plainly does something to her.

Sara doesn't deny it—she can't.

Because yes, she never stopped loving Nyssa—that ember survived buried beneath layers of time and distance.

But this is different, too. She's fallen in love all over again—not with a memory, or the girl she once knew, but with the woman Nyssa has become.

"Oh, Sara," Dinah whispers, and for a moment, neither of them moves, Sara's truth hanging between them.

And then, Dinah wraps an arm around Sara, tucking her daughter against her side like she used to when Sara was little—back when so many of Sara's problems could be solved with a mother's hug.

Sara leans into the warmth, the comfort almost instant. Her mother rests her chin lightly on Sara's head, voice softer now.

"You've always been brave, sweetheart. You and your sister, you never fail to amaze me."

Sara closes her eyes, overwhelmed by the pride in her mother's voice.

"You've always been my wild one." Sara can practically hear the bittersweet smile. It's a sentiment she's heard all her life, to varying degrees of affection, from exasperation to fondness to pride. One that used to make her bristle; another label that set her apart from Laurel.

"The one who'd forge her own path no matter what," Dinah continues softly, "It used to worry me so much. I thought that meant you were reckless, that you didn't think things through."

Another sentiment Sara's familiar with—one she knows she's proven right countless times before.

"Now I wonder if maybe, on some level, you always knew. That what I wrote off as recklessness was actually courage. And the woman you've become now, she knows what she's doing, what she's risking, and does it anyway."

The words touch a part of Sara that she thought she'd outgrown, that still craves her mother's approval.

"You've been through so much, more than I can ever imagine." Dinah's voice wavers slightly, but she presses on, "And the most remarkable thing of all? You've kept your heart intact."

Sara doesn't even realize she's crying until she feels the warmth of tears on her cheeks. She swipes at them, but it's useless. Her mother pulls her tighter, pressing a kiss to her hair.

"If Nyssa had a part in that, then I'm starting to understand why she means so much to you. I can't pretend I don't still have questions or concerns. But I promise, I'll give her a real chance."

Sara doesn't trust herself to speak. Her gratitude feels too big for words, so she simply reaches for her mother's hand, clasping it tightly in her own. Dinah squeezes back, pulling away just enough to meet her eyes.

"And Sara?" Dinah gently brushes away a strand of hair where it clings to Sara's damp cheek. The gesture is so comfortingly maternal that, for a moment, Sara feels like a child again. "I'm so proud of you."

There's something about a mother's love, a mother's acceptance, that hits differently. That fills cracks she didn't even know were there in the first place.

"Thank you," she finally manages, barely above a whisper.

They stay like that for a while, Sara allowing herself to be held. Finally, she pulls away, using the ends of her sleeves to dab at her face.

Her mother's attention drifts to Sara's wrist, fingers lightly brushing against her bracelet. Sara suddenly feels self-conscious.

"This is new." A seemingly innocent observation, but there's a hint of recognition in her mother's voice. "For protection, isn't it?"

Sara's fingers instinctively curl around the bracelet, a small smile forming at the corners of her mouth.

"Yeah," Sara confirms, warmth spreading through her chest at the memory of Nyssa presenting the bracelets to her. "Nyssa gave it to me."

She doesn't mention the second bracelet, the one Sara knew, from the moment Nyssa explained it to her, that she wants to give Nyssa.

When Sara looks up, Dinah looks thoughtful, as if a realization is slowly taking shape in her mind.

"She told me a little about what you were like in the League," her mother says after a while. "That's what we were talking about in the hallway. I could tell there was a lot she wasn't saying. A lot she was sparing me from hearing. She was trying to be kind."

The thought of Nyssa trying to shield Sara's mother from the harsher truths of her time in the League touches her deeply.

"That sounds like her." Sara smiles, fingers absently tracing the bracelet's blue bead.

Headlights sweep across the living room as a car pulls into the driveway. Sara glances toward the window, something in her chest lightening at the thought of seeing Nyssa again after everything she's just shared with her mother.

"Perfect timing." Her mother smiles knowingly, giving her one last squeeze before releasing her. "Go on. I think we could all use some hot chocolate now."

Chapter Text

The Central City Mall is Nyssa's first experience with a shopping mall. If she has any say in the matter, it will also be her last.

Bright lights. Overlapping voices. Movement in every direction, the holiday shopping rush in full swing. It's a full-on sensory assault, causing her League-trained senses to snap to attention. Almost without thinking, she begins cataloging exit points and assessing potential threats.

"You look like you're planning an extraction mission," Tommy remarks, clearly amused as they navigate through the sea of shoppers.

"Force of habit," she mutters.

Before she can glare too long at a group of teenagers blocking their path, Laurel loops an arm through hers and redirects them smoothly.

"Relax," Laurel chuckles, tugging her toward the food court entrance. "The threats here are only to your dignity, not your life."

As if on cue, a child streaks past them, shrieking at a pitch that causes her to wince. Laurel, of course, laughs at her expense.

Moving deeper into the food court, Nyssa realizes too late that she's made a tactical error.

"I agreed to shopping. Not..." Nyssa gestures vaguely at the food counters, "this."

"This," Laurel mirrors her gesture, "is an essential part of the mall-going experience. You can't skip it."

Laurel takes Nyssa's cultural acclimation far too seriously sometimes, as if it were a personal mission. Nyssa has long since stopped resisting, though that doesn't mean she has to stop judging.

"You're making that face," Tommy chimes in, clearly entertained. "The one where you're judging American cuisine."

"Because it deserves judgment."

Before Nyssa can object any further, Laurel sends Tommy for food, but not before promising to have a salad with her pizza in response to his unspoken concern.

"I have eaten pizza before," Nyssa points out dryly.

"But this is food court pizza," Laurel counters, as if that somehow changes everything. She eases herself into the nearest chair with a sigh, visibly relieved to be off her feet.

Nyssa remains standing, arms folded, gaze sweeping the food court like a sentry at her post. Her posture shifts subtly when a group of rowdy teenagers moves too close to their table.

The glint in Laurel's eyes suggests she knows exactly what Nyssa is doing, and finds her vigilance more endearing than intimidating.

Tommy returns moments later carrying a tray. He drops easily into the seat beside his wife and, without comment, slides a plate across the table, eyes twinkling as he gestures for Nyssa to join them.

With a resigned sigh, Nyssa settles across from them. She eyes the slice of pizza with suspicion as she settles into her chair.

"This is more grease than pizza."

"Just try it," Laurel insists, grinning. "When have I ever steered you wrong?"

"Would you like me to answer honestly?"

Tommy snorts. "I would."

Laurel rolls her eyes and takes a bite of her own slice.

Nyssa lifts the pizza, takes a bite, and chews thoughtfully. It tastes about the same as every other pizza she's sampled in this country—overprocessed and entirely unremarkable.

She says as much when she meets Laurel's expectant gaze.

Tommy bursts out laughing. Laurel follows, nudging Nyssa's foot under the table. And despite herself, Nyssa smiles.

There's something about the simplicity of this moment that Nyssa wants to hold onto. It's a much needed reprieve from the heaviness of the past two days. Soon, she knows she will have to untangle her conversation with Sara—the unspoken question she could sense Sara held back from asking.

But not yet. For now, she takes another bite of greasy pizza, and enjoys the banter and good company.

For the next hour, they methodically work through both Laurel's and Dinah's shopping lists, weaving through crowded stores with strategic precision. Nyssa notices the slight drag in Laurel’s steps, the way her hand drifts now and then to the small of her back. Tommy adjusts their pace without a word, his movements instinctive. When Laurel offhandedly mentions being thirsty, both Nyssa and Tommy immediately scan their surroundings for the nearest beverage option.

"Stay here," Nyssa instructs, guiding Laurel to a nearby bench. "I'll get you water."

"I think I saw a juice place on the directory," Tommy adds, eyes already scouting ahead. "Or maybe something ginger for the nausea?"

Laurel looks between them, smiling with amusement. "Great, there's two of you."

Nyssa pauses mid-step, looking at Laurel with mild confusion.

"The way you two are tag-teaming this," Laurel explains, laughter in her voice as she looks between them with unguarded affection. "It's like you've been practicing."

A few stops later, they arrive at a department store, where Laurel declares her need for a bathroom break. She leaves them with the task of procuring a gift for Jeff's brother, as noted on her mother's list.

That is how Tommy and Nyssa find themselves alone by a display of cologne, positioned with a clear view of the hallway leading to the restrooms.

"You've been quiet," Tommy observes after a moment. "More than usual, I mean."

Nyssa glances over at him, considering how much to say. "I have much to think about."

Tommy nods, idly looking through the bottles of cologne. "Sara?"

"Among other things," she admits, finding it easier to speak when they're both looking ahead rather than at each other.

Tommy places the bottle down and turns to face her fully. "Can I ask you something?"

She inclines her head, waiting.

He hesitates for a brief moment before asking: "Do you think I'll be a good father?"

The question catches her off guard, almost as much as the vulnerability beneath it. She turns to give him her full attention.

"My dad wasn't exactly..."

"You fear you will be like him," she finishes softly.

"Something like that," he admits, toying with one of the display signs. "I mean, you get it, right?"

"I do. It is a fear I have carried as well."

"You carry it well. Most people would never guess what weighs on you."

"Years of training," she replies, voice wry. She shifts her weight slightly, facing ahead once more.

There's always been something about Tommy—his honesty, his openness—that makes it easier to share fears with him. Perhaps it has something to do with this shared understanding between them: two people struggling in the shadow of a monstrous father.

"My father was ruthless, capable of great cruelty," she continues quietly. "There were times I wondered if such qualities were inherited. If I was destined to become as he was—someone who would sacrifice anything or anyone to serve their vision. After all, if the strategic mind and discipline I value came from him, then surely his cruelty lives in me as well. I've already seen glimpses of it."

The last words are softer still—more confession than statement. When she looks back at Tommy, he's watching her with quiet, unwavering attention.

"But I've come to understand that we are more than just our fathers' children," she says with certainty. "That legacy is a choice. Each day, I choose to be different. To nurture qualities that are mine alone."

For a moment, he studies her silently. His gaze thoughtful as he absorbs her words. Slowly, the tension drains from his shoulders.

"You know..." He smiles, warm and genuine, accompanied by a huff of laughter. "I'm really glad my kid's gonna have you around."

The statement is so quintessentially Tommy—disarmingly sincere, landing with more weight than he likely realizes. It's this quality that had first endeared him to her all those years ago, so different from what she'd known in the League.

For a moment, she's speechless. Waves of affection and gratitude washing over her.

"You will be an excellent father, Thomas," she finally says with steady conviction. "I have seen how you love, how you protect. It is, in every way, different from how our fathers loved."

She pauses, then adds, "Besides, you will not be navigating parenthood alone."

A small, genuine smile forms on her lips.

"You have Laurel. And she is arguably the best of all of us."

"She is pretty amazing," Tommy agrees, his expression softening at the mention of his wife. "Thanks, Nyssa."

Silence settles between them, comfortable and understanding. Tommy returns to browsing through the bottles.

"Sorry that took so long," Laurel's voice breaks the moment as she approaches them. "The line was ridiculous, then I got distracted by the baby clothes."

Laurel stops, glancing between them. "Did I interrupt something?"

"Just comparing notes on supervillain dads," Tommy says lightly, grabbing one of the colognes he'd been perusing. He casts Nyssa a fleeting look of gratitude.

Laurel doesn't push, simply reaches for Tommy's hand. "We're almost done. Last stop's the bookstore."

But when Laurel meets Nyssa's gaze, there's something unspoken in it—something soft and grateful.

Once their shopping mission is finally complete, they begin the slow trek toward the mall exit. Nyssa trails a few paces behind the couple, observing them. Watching as Tommy leans in to whisper something that makes Laurel's face brighten with laughter, their fingers intertwined, Tommy's thumb absently brushing over Laurel's knuckles.

An ache settles deep in her chest as she watches them.

Her thoughts, inevitably, drift to Sara.

The memory resurfaces, unbidden, of watching Sara walk away for the last time. The hollow cavern in her chest as she sat in that dungeon beneath what was once her home. She had retreated like a wounded animal back into the only identity left to her. Heir to the Demon—a hollow legacy, armor against the pain of abandonment. A cold comfort after having felt the warmth of Sara's world, with Sara's people.

The words she had spoken to Tommy now echo back to her: Legacy is a choice. The choices she's made have led to this moment—following a woman who had seen Nyssa clearly enough to challenge her to be more than her father's weapon. Following a family that have decided she belongs with them, that have claimed her as part of their child's future. People who have shown her that if she should fall, she would not fall alone.

Her thoughts circle back, as they have all afternoon, to the unspoken question in Sara's eyes: Would you choose me again?

Despite the complexity of their circumstances, despite the years and distance between them, despite everything they've both become in each other's absence, the answer itself is simple.

Her heart has only ever known one answer.

"Nyssa?" Laurel's stopped a few steps ahead, studying Nyssa with that knowing look she's mastered over the years. "You okay?"

"Yes," she answers, and means it.

Laurel doesn't press further, simply offers a warm smile, offering her hand as Nyssa catches up to them.

Outside, the sky has darkened, snow drifting down in slow spirals. Nyssa feels lighter than she did when they first arrived.

Tommy's done something that earns him an affectionate swat from Laurel, her laughter ringing bright through the air. Nyssa watches him brush snow from Laurel's hair and press a kiss to her temple before leaving to retrieve the car. This time, the sight evokes something other than envy or longing—something like anticipation.

Sara is waiting. And Nyssa thinks, perhaps, she's ready to face whatever comes next.

—

The Central City night air nips at Nyssa's cheeks as she and Sara walk side-by-side down the sidewalk. Holiday crowds have thinned with the late hour, leaving only the occasional passerby—bundled against the cold, lost in conversation or glowing phone screens.

Beside her, Sara carries herself with an easy, unhurried confidence, hands tucked into her coat pockets, shoulders relaxed and seemingly unbothered by the chill. Nyssa matches her pace, though there's tension to her posture she struggles to disguise.

She's faced warlords and assassins without flinching. Yet something about meeting Sara's friends that has her feeling oddly exposed.

Every so often, she catches herself watching Sara from the corner of her eye—a habit she's never broken. Perhaps never will. Streetlights and holiday displays bathe Sara's profile in shifting shades of red and green, softening her into something almost ethereal. For a moment, Nyssa forgets her apprehension.

They slow as they near the building on the corner of the street. Nyssa's running through possible social scenarios when Sara halts just outside of the bar, catching her gently by the crook of her elbow before they step any further.

"Hey, it's okay if you're nervous," Sara says, voice warm and gentle. "But there's no need to be. You were Ra's al Ghul once. You've faced scarier people than Ray and Jax."

Nyssa ignores the reflex to deny her nervousness outright.

"I've not had much success with favorable first impressions," she admits instead. "Particularly not with those you care for."

Sara's parents. Her sister. Her friends. It had taken time for them to warm to her—some longer than others. And now, she's about to meet part of Sara's chosen family—the ones who helped shape her into the woman she is today, who stood by her when Nyssa could not.

For that alone, Nyssa wants to connect with them.

Sara considers her for a moment, a smile slowly forming as she lifts a shoulder to shrug. "You made a good first impression on me."

"I had just rescued you from certain death. Provided you with food and shelter. Your standards were rather low at the time."

"I meant after," Sara chuckles. Then quiets, smile softening. "I've always liked you, Nyssa."

The words are simple, certain, offered without hesitation. They land with quiet force, the warmth of them spreading through her chest.

"And okay, maybe first impressions with my family were rocky," Sara concedes. "But look at you now."

"That took considerable time."

"And now you're practically family. You've won over every Lance you've met."

Nyssa arches a brow at that.

"Almost every Lance you've met," Sara amends. "But my mom will come around too, just like everyone else did. I'm telling you, Ray and Jax will be easy by comparison. You're already halfway there with Ray anyway. He still talks about how impressive you were when you helped stop your father's bioweapon in Star City."

She remembers Ray Palmer: a man whose intellect seemed to rival Felicity's, who had thrown himself in with their lot with admirable courage. She hadn't considered, however, that he would remember her—let alone favorably.

"They'll like you," Sara insists, soft and sure. Her hand glides slowly up Nyssa's arm in a comforting gesture that lingers. "It's hard not to."

Nyssa shakes her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. "I believe you may be biased."

"Oh, definitely," Sara agrees easily, flashing a grin. "But that doesn't mean I'm wrong."

Before Nyssa can refute the claim, Sara steps ahead to hold the door open for her, the sounds of the bar spilling out into the quiet night air. As Nyssa steps through, she feels a light touch at the small of her back—a brief, guiding pressure from Sara that steadies more than it directs.

Nyssa's gaze briefly sweeps over the establishment. The bar isn't as loud and raucous as ones Sara had dragged her to in the past. The atmosphere is subdued and comfortable, the lighting soft, and background noise at a level that allowed for conversation rather than prevented it.

Sara spots Ray and Jax almost immediately, though it's hard not to. Ray, seated at a booth in the back corner, waves so enthusiastically that he nearly topples his glass. The man beside him catches it just in time—Jax, she presumes.

Ray is even livelier than Nyssa remembers, and exactly as Sara described: earnest, exuberant, greeting her as if they were already old friends. She's caught off guard by how easily he embraces her presence.

"Dr. Palmer," she greets, with a polite incline of her head.

"Oh, please. It's just Ray," he insists, beaming. "It's really great to see you again! Under better circumstances, too."

Compared to Ray's exuberance, Jax seems more reserved. His expression is calm, his handshake firm.

"So, you're Nyssa," he says, eyes glinting with something that makes Nyssa curious as to what exactly Sara has shared about her. "Heard a lot about you. You can call me Jax."

With greetings exchanged, they slide into the booth. Ray wastes no time, immediately turning to Jax and launching into a recounting of the last time he and Nyssa saw each other.

"Nyssa was pretty impressive," Ray says. "Like, scary, but in a cool way."

She's not entirely sure how to respond to that—whether to thank him or correct him. From the corner of her eye, she catches Sara smirking, clearly trying to hold back laughter.

"Oh!" Ray's eyes brighten suddenly. "If you ever want any upgrades to your armor, I have so many ideas."

Jax chuckles, taking a slow sip of his drink. "From what Sara's told me, Ray's not that far off."

Jax leans back against the booth, arms crossed, the beginnings of an easy smirk on his lips. He's been watching her—not with judgment, but with what feels like curiosity.

Nyssa arches a brow, curiosity taking hold. "And what has Sara told you about me?"

Jax's responding grin is all mischief.

"Okay, nope." Sara shakes her head, reaching for a menu. "We're not doing this before I get a drink in front of me."

Once Ray and Sara head to the bar, Jax's gaze turns more serious. He rolls his now-empty beer bottle between his palms as he studies her.

"You know, it's weird finally meeting you," he says after a moment, his tone casual but eyes assessing. "When I first met Sara, she kept her past locked down tight. And whenever the League came up, it wasn't exactly... flattering."

"I would imagine not," she replies evenly.

He nods slowly. "At first, I thought it was all trauma for her—something she got away from. She never said there was someone who mattered to her back then."

It shouldn't surprise her. How could Sara disentangle memories of Nyssa from the League? From her father? But to be reduced to a nameless footnote in a past defined only by pain—it stings in ways she hadn't anticipated.

"That changed one night," he continues, gentler now. "Rough mission. Found her drinking alone in the Captain's office. She started talking about this woman who taught her how to survive when she'd given up on herself. Who used to help her carry the weight."

She doesn't respond immediately, simply allows the words to sink in as she stares down at her hands on the table.

So Sara had remembered her. Spoken of her. Not in anger or bitterness, but in a moment where Sara missed her.

Nyssa doesn't know what to do with the information. There's pride, yes. But also guilt, the burden of knowing that Sara needed her and she wasn't there.

She glances at the bar where Ray and Sara wait for their order, Sara's head thrown back in laughter.

"She gives me too much credit," Nyssa murmurs.

Jax doesn't argue. He leans forward slightly, voice lowering. "She used to have nightmares back when she first joined."

Nyssa is familiar with Sara's nightmares, remembers them all too well. She'd wondered often in those early days of separation how Sara was managing them without her.

"One night it was real bad. Found her in the engine room, just sitting there, staring at nothing. Wouldn't talk about it, but she let me sit with her. I'd seen that look before—my cousin came back from Afghanistan the same way."

Nyssa's heart constricts. She knows that look, too—has seen it on Sara's face post-mission, accompanied by trembling hands Nyssa would hold steady between her own. On nights when Sara would wake with a violent start, scream trapped in her throat. The image forms all too clearly now: Sara alone, seeking comfort in the noise of machines. Grief rises fresh within her chest, familiar and bitter.

"After that, she'd come find me in the engine room sometimes. I'd work, she'd watch. Never talked about the nightmares, but..." He trails off with a shrug.

"You provided sanctuary," Nyssa supplies, both in gratitude and recognition.

"We all did for each other," he agrees, smiling. "That's what family does."

Then, with a directness that surprises her, "But you were there first, weren't you? Before any of us."

Before Nyssa can respond, Jax leans back, casual once again as Sara and Ray approach with drinks in hand. He gives her one last look—something like acknowledgment, like an understanding has been made between them.

The conversation picks up around her. Nyssa lets it wash over her, retreating into the familiar and comforting rhythm of quiet observation. She's content to listen as stories of past missions and wild adventures unfold. She recognizes some tales from Sara's own recountings, but hearing them now from the perspective of her former crewmates adds new depths.

At one point, during Ray's animated storytelling, Nyssa glances over to find Sara watching her instead of Ray, studying her with that focused interest Nyssa remembers from years before. Sara's eyes soften when they meet hers, a small smile playing on her lips. Nyssa realizes then that while she's been measuring Sara's changes, Sara is perhaps doing the same with her.

There's a common thread through all the stories she's heard this evening—something besides the alarming frequency in which their missions descended into chaos. Sara's leadership, her instincts. Her ability to rally her team even in the most impossible situations.

It's evident in the way they speak about her that she's earned their respect and loyalty. But more than that—they love her.

Nyssa witnesses their bond firsthand. How easily Sara moves between Ray's boundless energy and Jax's steadier, grounded demeanor, with a tailored approach to handling each of them. The way she humors Ray's tangents with patient amusement. The way she trades knowing looks and dry quips with Jax.

This is Captain Lance beside her—composed, open, and confident. A natural leader who moves between friendship and command with ease.

Bittersweet realization settles in first: this is a version of Sara she could never have known. A side that could only have flourished far from the League's reach.

What follows is something deeper: a surge of pride. This woman is a far cry from the girl Nyssa plucked out of the sea. She had always thought Sara extraordinary—the potential had always been there, buried beneath the blood and pain. But never quite like this. Never fully realized.

It only reaffirms what Nyssa has always known. She was right to let Sara go.

And yet, the certainty of that truth only sharpens the dissonance within her. If Sara required freedom from the League to become this version of herself, then perhaps she required freedom from Nyssa as well.

And yet... Sara has made deliberate, unmistakable efforts reintegrating Nyssa into her life. The invitation to Central City to meet her chosen family, her mother; including Nyssa in traditions, in patrols, in pieces of a life she had built without her.

Nyssa examines her own transformation with a critical eye. Has she evolved enough in Sara's absence? What does Sara see now when she looks at her?

The woman she was—Heir to the Demon—could never have been a suitable match for Captain Lance. But the woman she is now—someone who makes her own choices, who builds rather than destroys—could she be worthy of standing beside this Sara as an equal?

She swallows against the sudden tightness in her throat, the doubts she can't quite silence.

Sara turns to find her watching, and before Nyssa can school her expression, Sara's brows furrow slightly. "You okay?"

She recovers quickly. "I am merely observing, Captain."

"We're using titles now?" Sara asks, amused.

"It suits you," Nyssa admits. More tender than teasing, heavier than she intended. "This... suits you."

Sara's smile fades just slightly. She studies her closely, like she's trying to decipher something. Nyssa isn't sure what has betrayed her this time—perhaps her voice, her expression? Her eyes, most likely—Sara always said they gave her away.

Before Sara can press further, Ray calls for her across the table.

Sara hesitates, just for a beat. A look passes behind her eyes that suggests they'll revisit this later. With a final glance, she faces Ray, slipping seamlessly back into the role of friend and captain.

As the evening unfolds, she surprises herself by enjoying Ray's unrelenting energy—it's oddly endearing. Jax's dry wit earns more than one genuine smile from her, too. Sara glances over every now and then, sometimes accompanied with a soft touch, or their knees brushing against each other under the table. Small moments that feel intentional, grounding.

When they finally exit the bar hours later, the temperature has dropped even further. They say their goodbyes with promises to meet again sooner than later. Ray sees her off with the same enthusiasm as when they'd first arrived, while Jax offers a simple nod that somehow speaks volumes.

She and Sara walk back toward the car, breaths visible in the cold air. When Nyssa shivers, Sara instinctively shifts closer, shoulders brushing together now with each step. Nyssa adjusts her stride without thinking, just to maintain the contact.

"Thank you," Nyssa says softly, breaking the comfortable silence.

Sara glances at her with a tilt of her head, eyebrow raised in question.

"For sharing them with me."

Sara smiles, her entire expression softening. "Thank you for coming. I know this wasn't easy."

The warmth she experiences in that moment could be from any number of things—lingering heat from the bar, the proximity to Sara. Or perhaps, it's Sara's acknowledgment. The quiet understanding of being seen, of knowing what this cost Nyssa.

They don't speak again, but there's no need. There will be time for talking later. For now, they walk the last stretch to the car in comfortable silence, steps in sync. A lightness between them that feels at once new and familiar.

—

The interior of the rental car provides a quiet contrast to the noise and energy of the bar, an extension of the comfortable silence between Nyssa and Sara. Nyssa watches the city pass by her window, still processing the evening: Ray's enthusiasm, Jax's quiet perceptiveness, but most of all—Sara. A version of Sara that Nyssa had glimpsed but never fully witnessed until tonight.

At a stoplight, Sara places her phone in Nyssa's lap, tone casual when she says, "You can put music on if you want. The passcode's eleven-fifteen."

Nyssa pauses for only a moment. She smiles to herself, tapping in the numbers—November 15, Laurel's birthday. Of course it would be.

The screen unlocks to reveal a photo of Sara, Laurel, and their father together—taken somewhat recently, if she had to guess.

"Fair warning," Sara adds, eyes still on the road. "My playlists are kind of a mess."

Nyssa finds herself smiling slightly as she scrolls through the options. "Cardio & Regrets," "Punching Things," "Time Bureau Approved." She pauses when she comes across one simply labeled with a heart emoji.

She glances up to find Sara watching her from the corner of her eye, having noticed exactly which playlist has caught her attention. They hold each other's gaze briefly before Sara returns her focus to the road, but that fleeting moment carries weight—a flash of something vulnerable in Sara's expression that she quickly tries to mask.

"Like I said, total disaster. I should really let Felicity organize them."

"I'm relieved to see your taste has evolved beyond those dreadful American pop songs you insisted on playing," Nyssa says, keeping her tone light as she notices playlists for blues and classical music.

Sara laughs, that full-bodied sound that never fails to coax an involuntary smile from her. "Don't act like you didn't enjoy them, too."

"I tolerated them," she corrects, "for your benefit."

"Right," Sara drags out the word, a playful challenge in her voice. "Because it was just 'tolerance' when you smuggled in that iPod."

Sara's laugh fades into memory—her voice singing in their quarters, head bobbing slightly to whatever song played through her earbuds, one extended toward Nyssa in silent invitation to share.

But then it darkens, replaced by another: her father's voice, low and exacting.

"You believe I am unaware of the contraband you harbor for the girl?" her father had asked her, not looking up from the ancient text he was studying. They were alone in his chambers, Nyssa standing at attention, her heart racing despite years of training to control such reactions.

"As my Heir, you are afforded certain... allowances," he had continued. "But do not mistake my permissiveness for ignorance or approval."

Nyssa had remained silent, neither confirming nor denying, knowing better than to lie outright.

"Music itself is not without value. It captures the heights of human expression, the mathematics of emotion. I have studied it across many centuries."

He'd looked up then, eyes finding hers with unsettling precision. "But for her, these melodies are not mere appreciation. They are tethers."

"She has chosen the League," Nyssa had replied.

A smile had curved her father's lips, not reaching his eyes. "For now."

Two simple words that had slid between her ribs like a blade.

"She reaches for these connections because they anchor her to a world she has not truly abandoned." His voice had softened with what might have passed for compassion from anyone else. "When those tethers pull tight enough, she will follow them home."

"You do not know her as I do," Nyssa had replied in rare defiance.

"No," he'd conceded. "But I know the human heart. And hers was never meant to belong here."

A pause as his gaze turned almost pitying. "Or to you."

The memory dissolves as the movement of the car pulls her back to the present. The hollow ache beneath her sternum has dulled over the years but never truly disappeared. In many ways, her father had been right—about Sara reaching for connections outside the League, about Sara never belonging in that life. For many years, she had believed he was right about that last part, too. But now...

Now she thinks of ice-skating, of snowball fights, of the way Sara has been looking at her—not only during this trip, but ever since Thanksgiving. And she wonders if perhaps her father was wrong after all.

She returns to scrolling through Sara's playlists, eventually settling on one labeled "Night Drives." Soft, mellow music fills the car. They ride the rest of the way in silence—Sara tapping her fingers in time with the rhythm, while Nyssa leans back, watching the night blur past them as she gathers her thoughts.

The last notes of a song fade just as Sara pulls into Dinah's driveway. In the sudden silence, their eyes meet briefly—an unspoken recognition that the bubble of privacy the car has provided is about to burst. The questions that have hovered between them all evening remain unanswered, but as Sara turns off the engine, Nyssa senses they won't remain so for much longer.

—

The house is silent when they return, the hour late enough that everyone else has gone to bed. Nyssa and Sara move through the darkened house with all the practiced grace of those trained in stealth and combat.

In the basement, they fall into a routine that feels strangely familiar despite how recently they've reestablished this rhythm. The comfortable silence, the way they navigate each other's space without colliding—it all reminds her of countless nights returning to their quarters in Nanda Parbat.

Nyssa begins methodically shedding her winter layers, hanging her coat and scarf neatly on a hook by the stairs. Sara kicks off her boots with considerably less ceremony, leaving them askew near the steps.

Nyssa perches on the edge of the bed to remove her own boots.

"Your friends," she says, breaking the silence. "I found them quite charming."

"Yeah?" Sara smiles, shedding her own coat and tossing it over the back of the couch. "I had a feeling you would."

"Ray is rather endearing in his own way. Uniquely earnest, but genuine."

"Told you. Golden retriever in human form."

"And Jax..." Nyssa trails off, her conversation with him still lingering in her mind. "He's remarkably perceptive—more than I anticipated."

"Yeah, Jax has always been good at seeing right through people's bullshit." Sara leans casually against the back of the couch, arms crossed loosely. "When I first met him, he was just this kid, you know? But he grew up fast on the Waverider."

Nyssa aligns her boots at the foot of the bed, trying to buy herself some time. With her hands now idle, she folds them in her lap. The thoughts that have been circling since the bar are finally catching up to her, demanding voice. The conclusions she'd drawn at the bar feel heavier now, more resonant in the quiet of the basement.

"They are certainly different than I expected," Nyssa says after a moment, without judgment—tinged only with a small sense of wonder. "Not the sort of people I would have imagined you traveling with. Leading."

Sara moves with deliberate slowness, giving space for Nyssa to find her voice. When Sara finally sits beside her, Nyssa draws in a quiet breath, bracing herself.

"Watching you with them tonight, it solidified something I have long suspected."

She meets Sara's eyes, finding patience and curiosity there. The words lodge in her throat momentarily—not from uncertainty, but from the weight of their truth.

"You needed to leave." The words finally escape Nyssa, steadier than she'd expected. "Not only the League, but... me as well."

Sara stills, her shoulders tensing and a flicker of something vulnerable behind her eyes. A fault in her composure. "Nyssa—"

"I do not say this to make you feel guilty," Nyssa interrupts gently, wanting to clarify. "I say this because I've wondered, over the years, if I made the right choice in letting you go."

Nyssa takes a careful breath. She had rehearsed this moment in her mind, but it doesn't make what she has to say any easier.

"You've flourished," Nyssa breathes, the word carrying an array of colors—pride, sorrow, and undeniable awe all woven together. "More than I ever could have anticipated. The Sara Lance I saw tonight—confident, respected, beloved by these people who have seen the best and worst of you—she would not exist if you had stayed in the League. Stayed with me."

It is this final admission that costs her, an ache that begins in her chest but seems to spread everywhere.

Sara's eyes widen, her throat working visibly. But Nyssa isn't finished.

"Despite the personal cost, I can't regret letting you go."

The admission seems to rock Sara, who looks away. There's a clench to her jaw as she stares at the basement floor, silence stretching. Nyssa counts Sara's breaths—one, two, three—a habit from their shared past when she would monitor Sara's distress by her breathing.

"You're right about the League," Sara says at last. When her gaze returns to Nyssa, there's an openness there Nyssa hadn't been expecting. "But not about you. I never needed to escape you, Nyssa. It was never about that. I was running from myself—from my demons."

Nyssa is momentarily stunned by the fierce certainty behind Sara's words, the challenge to a belief Nyssa has held for years.

"I know this trip... it's been a lot," Sara says softly once the silence has stretched too long. "Seeing my mom again, Ray and Jax, dredging up old stuff. That wasn't my intention when I invited you. I just—I wanted you here."

"I knew what I was agreeing to." A half-truth; she had anticipated discomfort, but not this profound unraveling.

"That makes one of us." Sara's laugh his self-deprecating, but enough to break some of the tension.

"It has been enlightening," Nyssa admits. "And given me much to consider."

Even with full knowledge of what she was getting into, the trip has been more than she expected. But each experience has added another layer to her understanding, not just of Sara, but of herself and what she truly wants.

The emotional toll of the past few days finally catches up to her physical body. Her shoulders slump slightly, the exhaustion of the past few days manifesting in a weariness of the soul, born from navigating complex emotional landscapes and confronting ghosts from the past.

"I am tired, Beloved."

The endearment slips out naturally, and Nyssa has given up on fighting the instinct to invoke it.

Sara freezes. Eyes widening as she exhales Nyssa's name in both statement and question.

"There is no longer need to pretend that you are anything less than what you have always been to me," Nyssa explains, quiet but sure. "Regardless of where we go from here."

Sara's expression softens completely. She reaches out with deliberate tenderness to cup Nyssa's cheek. Nyssa leans into it instinctively. Her eyes flutter closed for a moment, overwhelmed by the simple intimacy of the gesture.

When she opens her eyes again, Sara is looking at her with such open vulnerability that Nyssa's breath hitches.

"Hey," Sara murmurs, her voice low and soothing. There's a small smile as her thumb brushes softly just beneath Nyssa's cheekbone. Then, with quiet acknowledgment: "It's okay. You've been carrying a lot."

And it is moments like this that are always staggering to her—to be seen so completely, understood without explanation.

"I think we've unpacked enough today," Sara says softly, letting her hand drop slowly. Then, with a small, understanding smile: "Star City, right?"

Star City. Where everything unspoken between them waits. Where the past and present will finally have to be reconciled, and something new might take shape for their future.

The thought sends a flutter of anticipation through her, and for once, it overrides the fear. For the first time in years, Nyssa allows herself to hope without reservation or guilt.

"Yes," Nyssa agrees, meeting Sara's gaze steadily. "In Star City."

One more sleep away.

In the morning, Dinah will make them breakfast before they leave for the airport. But for now, Nyssa and Sara move through the quiet rituals of settling in for the night. The anticipation of what's to come hovering around them.

When Nyssa settles beneath the blankets, she does so with a lightness she hasn't felt in years.

Sara wakes with a jolt, heart racing, the last tendrils of a dream slipping away before she can fully grasp them.

Beside her, Nyssa sleeps soundly, her breathing deep and even. Sara watches her for a moment, allows herself the luxury, finding the steady rise and fall of her chest reassuring. Nyssa's face is different in sleep—the guardedness gone, the sharp edges softened.

Beloved.

One word. But it's enough to knock the air right out of her lungs when Nyssa said it. Not as an accident, but a deliberate choice.

She's spent months missing it—years, if she's being honest with herself. A secret she's kept to herself because how can she even begin to unpack the meaning behind that word? How it wasn't just a pet name, but an identity. A designation that was hers alone.

I am tired, Beloved. Said like it was the most natural thing in the world, like no time had passed at all. Like Sara had never left, like they'd never hurt each other.

Sleep won't come again. Not right now. Not with her body thrumming with restless energy, and her thoughts branching off in a dozen directions. Not with Despite the personal cost, I can't regret letting you go also rattling around in her skull.

Nyssa always had to be so goddamned noble.

What Sara hadn't said: I've spent years wondering about parallel timelines where I stayed, where we found a way to build something together outside the League. That in some ways, I've been trying to find my way back to you ever since I left.

She slips out of bed carefully, every movement calculated and silent, years of training coming naturally even half-asleep. The digital clock on the nightstand reads 2:17 AM. Sara navigates the stairs in darkness, a faint glow from the kitchen visible through the bottom of the door.

Stepping into the kitchen, she's met with the image of Laurel standing at the counter, crafting together what appears to be a sandwich.

"Can't sleep either?" Sara asks softly.

Laurel startles slightly, turning to face her.

"Baby's hungry," she says, one hand resting on her barely-there bump.

Sara steals a look at the monstrosity taking shape on the plate in front of her sister: bread slathered with peanut butter, topped with pickle slices, and—

"Are those Hot Cheetos?" She can't hide her disgust. "Why's there so much peanut butter?"

"Don't judge me," Laurel warns, sprinkling on more Cheetos. "Your niece or nephew has specific demands."

Sara holds up her hands in mock surrender, moving to sit at the kitchen island. "Far be it from me to interfere with the miracle of life."

Laurel takes the stool across from her, sandwich in hand. As she takes a bite, Sara grimaces, earning her a glare from her sister.

"Is this," Laurel gestures between them after swallowing, "gonna be our thing now? After midnight talks?"

Sara smiles, remembering their conversation back home. "I'm good with that. There are worse traditions to have."

She watches Laurel eat, taking her in properly. There's a softness to her features that has nothing to do with pregnancy—she's just happy. It's been there since Sara came back, radiating from her in waves.

"Tommy's been good?" Sara asks. "Living up to the doting husband and father-to-be standard?"

Laurel's face lights up in a way that answers the question before she even speaks. "He's been amazing. Annoyingly so, sometimes. He's reading pregnancy books, taking notes, has opinions on prenatal vitamins."

Sara laughs, picturing it. "Sounds about right."

"He's terrified," Laurel admits, setting down her half-eaten sandwich. "Not that he'd say it out loud, but I can tell. He gets this look sometimes... But he's trying so hard. It's sweet."

"And how about you?" Sara asks knowingly. "You also terrified?"

Laurel sighs, leaning back slightly in her seat. "I just... what if I'm terrible at being a mom?"

"Laurel—"

"I keep thinking about Mom and Dad. How they tried their best, but still..." She hesitates. "Still made mistakes. Big ones."

Sara reaches across to take her sister's hand. "Hey. You're going to be an amazing mother."

"You don't know that."

"I do," Sara insists, squeezing Laurel's hand. "Because I know you. Because I've seen how you take care of everyone around you. How you've always taken care of me."

Laurel smiles weakly. "That's different than taking care of a baby."

"True. Less resurrection drama with babies, usually." That earns her a small laugh. "But seriously, I've never met anyone with a bigger heart than yours. That kid is so damn lucky, Laurel."

"I'm scared of losing myself," Laurel confesses after a moment. "Of becoming just 'mom' and nothing else."

Sara knows a thing or two about identity struggles. When she left the Waverider, she'd wondered if she was giving up something essential—if "Captain Lance" would fade away, leaving her anchorless again.

But maybe that's not how identity works. She's never been just one thing—she's been Sara, Taer al-Asfar, Sister, Daughter, Captain, Assassin... and Beloved. All of those identities layered together, none diminishing the rest.

"Not possible," Sara responds firmly. "You're Dinah Laurel Lance. The Black Canary. Star City's kick-ass DA. One-half of the legendary Lance sisters. And yeah, soon you'll be a mom too. But it'll just be one more amazing thing you are, not the only thing."

Laurel's eyes are damp, but her smile is genuine now. “‘Legendary Lance sisters’?”

“I’m workshopping it.”

"Well, it needs work," Laurel laughs.

Sara grins as Laurel returns to her sandwich, a peaceful contentment radiating from her. There's something almost surreal about sitting here in their mother's kitchen in the middle of the night, talking about Laurel's pregnancy and impending motherhood.

The familiar wave hits her—fierce gratitude mixed with lingering disbelief and guilt. Laurel is alive because Oliver is gone. And this moment? This simple, ordinary moment should have been impossible. For years, moments like this existed only in dreams and regrets, in the hollow spaces grief had carved out.

Her throat tightens, and she looks away quickly, blinking against the sudden burn in her eyes.

"Sara?" Laurel's voice turns gentle, concerned.

Sara forces a smile, meeting her sister's gaze. "I'm good. Just tired."

But Laurel sees through her, as she always has. Her expression softens with understanding.

"You look at me sometimes like I might disappear if you look away," Laurel says quietly. "Nyssa does it too. You're at least subtler about it."

Sara swallows hard against the lump in her throat. "Is it that obvious?"

"Only to someone who knows you." Laurel reaches across the counter, taking Sara's hand. "I'm right here, Sara. I'm not going anywhere."

"I know," Sara whispers. "I know that. It's just... I just really love you."

Laurel's smile is warm, her eyes shining with unshed tears of her own. "I love you too."

Their silence now feels sacred, heavy with shared understanding. After a moment, Laurel's expression shifts to something lighter, mischievous.

"So," she begins, "you and Nyssa have seemed pretty cozy lately."

Sara shakes her head in exaggerated disbelief. "And we're back to this."

"How did you even manage to get out of bed without waking Nyssa?" Laurel asks.

Sara shrugs. "Assassin."

"And Nyssa was basically Queen of the Assassins. I know she's a light sleeper."

Sara smiles slyly. "Maybe she's just comfortable enough to actually sleep deeply around me."

The truth is, she's pretty sure Nyssa was awake the moment Sara's breathing changed.

"Come on," Laurel persists, nudging Sara's arm. "Give me something. Did you talk?"

"We talked," Sara confirms reluctantly.

"And?"

Sara considers how much to share. How to condense the intensity of what happened in the basement into something bite-sized and casual.

"And... we’re going to talk more back home."

Laurel raises an eyebrow, clearly expecting more.

How can she explain that hearing Nyssa say There is no longer need to pretend that you are anything less than what you have always been to me had made her want to cry and laugh at the same time? That when Nyssa had called her Beloved again, it broke something open inside her chest? That even during her relationship with Ava, in her most private thoughts, a part of her had still answered to that name, had still belonged to Nyssa?

"That's all you're getting."

"Fine," Laurel sighs dramatically. "Be that way. But when you two finally figure it out—"

"Let me guess," Sara interrupts, "you'll say 'I told you so'?"

"Repeatedly," Laurel confirms with a grin. "For years."

Sara can't help but smile back. If the cost of having her sister alive is enduring a lifetime of Laurel's smugness about her love life, it's a price she'll gladly pay.

Laurel yawns then, the lateness of the hour finally catching up to her. "I should probably try to sleep again."

"Yeah," Sara agrees, though she's not sure sleep will come any easier now.

They clean up the kitchen, and before they part ways, Laurel pulls Sara into a tight hug.

"I'm really glad you're home, Sar-bear," she whispers.

The childhood nickname catches her off guard, but a warmth settles over her. Sara holds on a moment longer than necessary, smiling into her hair, memorizing the feel of her sister in her arms—solid and real and alive. She makes a silent promise to Oliver that she'll never take this for granted.

"Me too," Sara says. And means it with every fiber of her being.

—

The first thing Sara registers as she slowly drifts back to consciousness is warmth.

It takes her a moment to realize she's somehow migrated across the bed during the night. Body betraying her, just like yesterday. Except unlike last time, she isn't the first to wake and correct herself.

Nyssa's already awake. Her dark eyes are calm, watching Sara with that steady gaze that always made her feel like she was the only thing worth looking at in the entire world.

For a brief moment, Sara forgets herself. Forgets all the years between them, all the reasons they've been careful with each other. She thinks about how easy it would be to tuck herself into that space below Nyssa's chin that she always loved—that perfect hollow where she used to press her face, breathing in the scent that was uniquely Nyssa.

But then reality catches up fast—where they are, the heavy conversation last night, the need to exercise patience.

She makes to push herself away, to give Nyssa back some personal space, but Nyssa's hand comes up to rest lightly on her hip.

Sara's eyes widen, the hand keeping her in place. It's not forceful—she could easily move if she wanted to.

Sara stays, and Nyssa's hand travels up, slowly and deliberately, to her face. To smooth back Sara's sleep-mussed hair in a gesture that hits Sara with a wave of déjà vu so strong it almost hurts.

It's Nyssa who breaks the silence first.

"Sabah al-khayr." Nyssa whispers good morning, the Arabic washing over Sara like a balm, comforting and nostalgic.

"Sabah al-noor," Sara responds, the traditional reply coming back to her despite years of disuse. She knows her pronunciation is off, the once-fluid words clumsy on her tongue.

She's close enough to feel Nyssa's huff of laughter.

"You've neglected your Arabic," Nyssa murmurs, but there's a fondness in her voice.

"I haven't had many opportunities for it."

Not entirely true. Sara hadn't just stopped speaking Arabic—she'd deliberately packed it away, along with all the other reminders of Nyssa and the League. Too painful to keep close, too precious to discard completely.

Nyssa hums in acknowledgment, fingers still playing with a strand of Sara's hair. "We'll have to work on that."

Sara feels a surge of affection, a flutter in her belly. "We"—said so casually, but charged with implication, with possibility. Not a promise, but not nothing, either. It hits different after their conversation last night.

In the low light of the basement, Sara allows herself to stare openly at Nyssa, her eyes tracing over her features. It hits her then—this is their last morning sharing a bed, at least for now. Their last morning waking up together like this.

Back in Star City, they'll go back to their separate spaces, separate lives. While she's hopeful there will be more mornings like this in their future, she knows there's a possibility this is it. Their last.

Sara wonders if she should be worried by how quickly she's gotten used to this, how easily she's slipped back into the comfort of Nyssa's presence beside her, but it feels right. Like muscle memory. Like coming home.

Soon they'll have to get up, have breakfast, and head to the airport to fly back to Star City. Back to her life there, to whatever comes next for them.

But for now, Sara lets herself have this. Lets herself simply exist here in Nyssa's space.

"Did you sleep well?" Nyssa asks, her hand finally stilling against Sara's cheek. There's something knowing in her tone.

"You felt me leave," Sara surmises.

"I always feel you leave," Nyssa replies.

A flicker of something crosses Nyssa's face—almost apologetic, as if she hadn't intended the double meaning but realizes it the moment the words leave her lips. Intentional or not, something about the simple way Nyssa says it makes Sara's chest tighten.

"Ran into Laurel in the kitchen," Sara says, steering away from the sudden weight of the moment. "Making a pregnancy monstrosity of a sandwich."

Nyssa tilts her head slightly. "I assume peanut butter was involved."

"Pickles and Hot Cheetos, too."

Nyssa's nose wrinkles in disgust, and Sara melts, finding it impossibly endearing.

"She called me Sar-bear," Sara's voice almost a whisper, not sure why she's sharing this particular detail.

"Sar-bear?" Nyssa questions, a hint of amusement behind her voice.

"Old nickname. From before." Before everything. Before the Gambit. Before she died. Before she became someone else.

Nyssa's smile is soft and warm, and Sara can practically see her mentally tucking away the piece of information for future reference.

"Don't you dare," Sara warns, but there's no heat behind it.

"I've no idea what you mean," Nyssa replies with rare playfulness.

They fall back into comfortable silence. Sara's once again acutely aware of how close they still are. Just inches apart. She can't stop her mind from wandering to other mornings spent like this. Mornings that were rare and sacred, marked with languid kisses and the way they'd move together like time didn't exist outside their room.

A door opens upstairs, followed by the muffled sound of voices. Reality check.

"We should get up," Sara says, though she makes no actual effort to move.

"We should," Nyssa agrees, equally motionless.

Neither of them pulls away immediately. There's this unspoken thing between them—an acknowledgment that this moment, this bubble of quiet intimacy, matters.

Finally, it's Nyssa who moves first, her hand falling away from Sara's face as she shifts back. "Your mother will be expecting us for breakfast."

Sara nods, immediately missing Nyssa's touch.

As they go through the motions of preparing for the day, Sara can't help stealing glances at Nyssa. She likes to think she's being subtle, but Nyssa's always had a way of knowing when Sara's eyes were on her.

The way Nyssa moves is still hypnotic, still graceful. But there's a lightness to her now, an ease in the tension of her shoulders, and a quiet confidence that comes with freedom.

Their suitcases stand ready by the stairs. Their time in Central City is coming to an end.

"You ready?" Sara asks.

Sara thinks about the conversation waiting for them in Star City. The one they've been circling for days—months, really. Maybe years. She thinks about Laurel and her late-night kitchen wisdom. About her mother's cautious acceptance. About Ray and Jax, and how they embraced Nyssa without hesitation.

She thinks about how this thing between them feels both familiar and completely new. How it scares her less than it probably should.

"Yes," Nyssa replies, gaze steady and deliberately locked on hers. "I think I am."

She carefully takes Nyssa's hand in hers. There's a flutter in her chest—something dangerously close to hope.

For the first time, Sara allows herself to believe that maybe they've both changed enough—grown enough—that this time could be different. That maybe this time, they can choose each other without losing themselves.