A/N: It's taken me far too long to finish this little thing, but I was so intrigued by the prospect of these two after League of Assassins. I hope someone out there enjoys.
Months pass before he hears from her again. Even then it's nothing concrete, nothing traceable… by the average person on the street. But he has Felicity, and Sara knows this.
(A tablet finds its way to his hands as Felicity makes her way out one evening, leaving him to study what it shows in peace. It tells him that Sara's close – but not too close, not close enough to alert her father – and that she's safe. That's all that really matters.)
He doesn't expect anything from her in the weeks that follow, which he knows from experience is the greatest thing he can offer. She will make her own way through the world as he will his, separate paths formed of a shared trauma.
Those paths will cross now and then, here and there. For days or hours, minutes even or mere glances. But neither will expect it or demand it.
Only… all creatures have needs. Even scared, damaged souls that have the belief that there is no reason to trust in anyone but themselves (and the experience to back it up).
When the light tapping at his bedroom door comes one evening he doesn't question it, doesn't worry about how she found her way into the Manor.
He simply opens the door to her and welcomes her into his arms.
#
Nothing's the same. Everything's different.
They've both changed and there's no coming back from it.
She doesn't taste like she used to. The sweetness of youth that he used to chase from her skin with his tongue is yet another victim of the past. Her body is firm in places it was soft, unyielding to his touch as he attempts to refamiliarise his hands.
Her scars paint a picture of her life, much as his do. She is beautiful despite them, a force of nature and a power that he cannot escape from despite his wish to. They are better without each other, they know how to exist without each other. Yet they are irreversibly anchored to one another and this moment, this night is the result.
He enters her with a dull grunt that is echoed in her throat but somehow still contained. To vocalise their wants and desires is something they have learnt not to do. They teach each other in sighs and touches, her nails digging into his back or his ass when his stroke is just right.
They're broken and their solace will not come in the form of each other.
It's not perfect. Hell, it's not even right.
But tonight is as good a night as any to try.
#
"Sara?"
She turns with all the guilt of someone carrying off one of his family heirlooms rather than an innocent party trying to sneak away from a potentially awkward situation, holding her boots to keep quiet.
"We can't do this again Ollie." She says, voice all but a whisper.
She looks so small in the darkness of his bedroom, shrouded in shadow and dappled with moonlight from the large window. She's a tiny creature but even the night can't hide her strength, the resolute set of her chin. There won't be any changing her mind.
Oliver sits up, swiping a hand roughly over his face. His stubble scratches his palm as he hunts for words to make it better. "I know this was a mistake, but-."
"But nothing, Ollie." Sara says. "This is the last thing we should have done."
She's right, of course. Now they know what they can have, they'll go forward knowing what they're missing.
He opens his mouth to say something, to apologise maybe, but she crosses to him before he can speak. She takes his chin in a grip that is deceptively gentle and leans in to press her lips to his. His eyes fall shut as the dull ache in his stomach grows to something more visceral at the realisation this is the first time they've kissed since he discovered the truth of the Canary.
"Thank you." She whispers without fully pulling back, the words brushing over his lips.
By the time he opens his eyes she's gone.