Obviously, I don't own anything recognizable.
Rated M for language and suggestive themes.
When Sin, in a bout of typical teenage obnoxiousness, had suggested that she might not go to college, there had been a brief, if pointless, argument. Sara had known Sin was simply antagonizing her, but she couldn't help going into overbearing parent mode. Against which Sin had argued that Sara never finished college. In response, Sara had said, "Yeah, I also spent a year as a castaway, six as an assassin, and one dead; none of which are things I want for you." And that had been the end of that.
But, as much as Sara had expected this, it was still so, so weird to attend Orientation Weekend as a parent.
At the moment, she was at a parents' brunch with the dean of Arts & Sciences, trying very hard not to fidget. The dean—Sara had temporarily forgotten his name—was making some overly sympathetic introduction about trusting the school to take care of their children, but she'd stopped listening, distracted by the empty seat on her right. Honestly, she felt all kinds of inadequate being on a college campus, and she needed her wife for moral support, but Tim had been fussy, so Nyssa, insisting that they shouldn't both be late, had promised to meet her at the brunch.
As a result, Sara was alone and not happy about it. She absently shredded an orange peel, slightly frustrated that the meager fruit selection was really her only option. Surrounded by danishes and scones and various other chocolatey pastry items that had no right to masquerade as breakfast food, it should have been the perfect opportunity to indulge without Nyssa's usual look of disapproval. But she was seven months off giving birth, and her abs, which used to be her favorite feature, were still much too squishy for her liking. With clothes on, she was back to cutting an impressive figure, but clothes off brought a lot of insecurities. Sure, the attention Nyssa paid to her pregnancy and postpartum body was in many ways more worshipful than it had been before, but usually Sara had to fight the urge to keep her shirt on and turn off all the lights during sex. Which—dammit, sex did not happen nearly enough. As insecure as she was about her body, she still had needs.
A glance at her watch showed that it'd been fifteen minutes. Where was her wife? The mousy haired woman on Sara's left initiated conversation.
"So, are you here for a sibling?" she asked. "I wish my kids would get along that well,"
"Nope. Daughter. But that's an understandable mistake," Sara said, giving her the benefit of the doubt and smiling politely.
"Oh, you look so young," the woman remarked, sounding incredulous.
"I am," agreed Sara bluntly, wanting to move on from the subject.
No dice. The lady stirred a packet of artificial sweetener into her coffee and proceeded. "There was a boy in my son's class who was a product of teen pregnancy. His parents didn't bother to encourage him to go to college. They simply didn't see it as a priority. It's sad, really."
The Canary felt her ears getting red. "I went to college." Which was true, and she would have graduated, if things had gone differently.
"Oh, that must have been difficult."
"Less so, given that Sin's adopted." Sara took a gulp of her own coffee and immediately regretted it—the steaming beverage didn't pair well with how hot her face felt.
The woman frowned. "I see."
Sara was officially over trying to be polite. "Why does it sound like you're judging me more now than when you thought I'd been a pregnant preteen?"
"No, no, it's just that this is a different experience when it's your real child."
"Really?" Sara was ripping. "So you think this is harder for you because it's your biological child?"
Haughtily, the woman dismissed her anger. "I don't mean to offend. It isn't your fault that you didn't experience the miracles of pregnancy and childbirth. But that's when the bonds between mother and child first begin to form."
Sara hissed, "Do you know what being an adoptive parent means? It means that kid doesn't owe you anything. Not unconditional love, or respect, or even tolerance. They have no biological compulsion to accept you into their life, and they have no grand illusions that you're some kind of infallible superhero. You have to earn those things: respect, acceptance, love. And it's not fucking easy, because you don't get to be mad in the face of adversity. That kid has been through enough already; you have no right to give them a hard time, no matter how hard they make it for you.
"And, if you're lucky, that kid becomes your kid. And your kid loves you. And, even if they never call you Mom, you're okay with that, because your kid is amazing and perfect and brilliant, and they love you by choice, which means more than you can possibly imagine. The fact that you pushed your kids out of your vagina doesn't make you a better parent. I would know, because I've done that, too. Don't you dare suggest that you love your children more than I do mine."
Over her shoulder, Sara heard a sigh and then, "Do we need to leave, Beloved?"
"No," Sara huffed, tilting her head and accepting a cheek kiss from Nyssa, who deposited Tim in her arms before taking the empty seat to her right.
"This selection is pitiful," Nyssa whispered, fingers soft against Sara's forearm as she leaned in.
Sara sighed at the reminder. "Tell me about it." Bouncing her baby boy contentedly, Sara risked a glance at the woman she'd been arguing with. "What?" she snapped, upon seeing that the lady was staring at her, wide-eyed.
"I—You—" the woman fumbled, eyes flitting from Sara to Nyssa to Tim. "He's adorable."
"Thank you," Nyssa said, trying to be diplomatic.
It prompted Sara to look around the room for the first time in a while, and she discovered that a lot of the parents were staring. More specifically, a lot of the parents were staring at Tim with looks of unadulterated longing. She almost laughed as the stereotypes about empty-nesters died in front of her. Apparently, those rose-colored glasses were a strong prescription if all those parents looked at raising an infant with such fondness in the face of seeing an 18 year-old off to college.
The man next to Nyssa told her, "Your son is a handsome little fella."
"He is, isn't he?" Nyssa replied with a smile that stopped Sara's heart for a moment.
"Those tiny shoes are precious," a silver-haired woman cooed across the table, and Sara agreed, fingered the laces of the baby-sized converse, and kissed his ultra soft baby hair.
He'd been born platinum blond, but, by now, Tim's ever-thickening hair was a sandy color. Sara had a feeling it'd be brown soon enough. He had her blue eyes, though, and his skin was warm yet light, somewhere between her pale tone and Nyssa's olive. Nyssa had dressed him in black jeans and a heather gray polo, and several of the parents were obsessing over how dapper he looked.
Eventually, the conversation shifted back to their college-aged kids and what the school had to offer, though a few of the brunch attendees kept Tim entertained by making goofy faces at him for the remainder of the event. Even the dean joined in at one point. Sara left the room feeling vindicated.
Also hungry, because she'd only eaten an orange, dammit.
The first thing Sin said when they met up with her at the dorms was, "Didn't you just have breakfast with the chancellor or whatever?"
Sara cradled her fancy coffee shop sandwich to her chest and scowled. "One day of college and she's already too cool to greet us properly."
"Brunch with the dean," Nyssa corrected.
Sin rolled her eyes, and Sara cried, "Our baby's growing up, Nys," as if Sin hadn't been directing eye rolls at them since age twelve.
"It's okay. I don't think you'll have much free time to mourn," Sin pointed out, playfully tickling under Tim's ribs. Then, before Sara could take the opportunity to embarrass her in the middle of campus, she informed both parents that they were invited to a casual game night in her dorm floor's common room later. Apparently, there'd been a conversation about "cool parents," and Sin knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that hers were the coolest.
Nyssa frowned. "This won't be like that night at the Queens'?"
"Never Have I Ever?" Sin asked and mimed gagging. "Ew, no. I think all my floormates would agree that a person should never havta know that much about their parents."
Game night was surprisingly fun, and, as it was wrapping up, Sin pulled Sara and Nyssa aside and offered to watch Tim for the rest of the night.
"Sin," Nyssa said, "we couldn't possibly ask you to—"
"Why not? He's already asleep in the pack 'n play in my room. Everythin' he needs is here, and you know I can handle it. I could use a night with my baby bro before you guys leave, and you two could definitely use a night off. Go take advantage of that hotel room and do stuff I don't wanna think about."
Sara blinked away tears. "You're the best kid on the fucking planet," she insisted, flinging her arms around Sin.
From the way Nyssa looked at her, Sara knew what she needed. So she said her goodbyes, dragging her palm over Nyssa's ass, much to the embarrassment of both Nyssa and Sin, and to the amusement of all the other kids and "cool" parents. After quickly checking in on Tim, she headed out, leaving Nyssa to catch up at her own pace but ordering her wife not to make her wait too long.
She was walking past frat row when she heard, "Where you headed, hot stuff?"
Spinning ninety degrees, Sara appraised the young man who was lounging across the ratty couch that sat on the lawn of one of the houses. Who put a couch on their lawn?
Oh, right. Frat boys.
"Who, me?"
Of course, she knew he meant her, but some affirmation couldn't hurt.
"Don't see a whole lotta other people wandering about," he drawled. "And, yeah, you're hot, if you were fishin' to hear that again."
Sara laughed out loud. The boy was almost to the point of earning her respect. Not the same respect she had for, say, Clark, but this frat boy had her inner bro jutting out her chin in a bobbing nod of approval. She took a couple steps forward, examining his white muscle tee—over decently impressive muscles—red gym shorts and snapback, and she noted that some things don't change. One characteristic that had, at least, was the hair, and she could be appreciative of the fact that flow had gone out of style. This kid's pompadour thing, though mostly hidden under his backwards hat, looked far better than the mop head that Oliver and his frat brothers had rocked back in the day.
In retrospect, not a lot about Oliver had been attractive then. And yes, Sara knew being happily married probably made her biased. Sue her.
"Forgive me if I flub some of my lines," she said with a shrug. "Been a while since I last walked frat row."
"That's surprising," he replied, sitting up on the couch as if to make room for her, but giving no further indication that she should sit down. "Unless you've had a boyfriend keepin' you locked up?"
Recognizing the moves for what they were—meant to gauge her interest in physical proximity and her availability—Sara remained standing. Again, she laughed, making absolutely no effort to hide it. "No, no boyfriend for me."
"Oh?" He held a beer out to her.
"Is that Natty Light? No, thanks. You might as well give me water, dude."
He laughed, popped the tab, and started drinking it himself. "Fair enough," he said. "So, what're you up to? Like we established, there's not a lot of warm bodies on campus yet. You here to help the froshies move in?"
"You could say that," Sara agreed, not mentioning that she was only there for one froshie in particular. "And before you try to invite me inside with the promise of better alcohol, I should tell you, no boyfriend doesn't mean I'm single."
He raised an eyebrow. "Girlfriend, or…?"
"Wife."
"No," he dragged out, disbelieving. "Really?" He squinted at her, tilting his head slowly as it dawned on him. "You're not a student, huh?"
"Nope," Sara chirped. "I'm old."
"I dunno about old, but…" He nodded, seeming to reframe their interaction in his head, unperturbed to find out that she was off the market.
So they chatted. It was more entertaining than sitting in the hotel room and twiddling her thumbs until Nyssa showed up.
Speaking of Nyssa…
"There she is!" Sara exclaimed upon spotting her wife in the distance.
It wasn't really meant to be funny; she wanted to attract her attention, knowing there was a chance otherwise that Nyssa would walk right past them. She wouldn't have expected Sara to stop and make a friend in the middle of the night. The frat boy, Harry, laughed at Sara's antics, intentionally amusing or not.
"I'm guessing this is the wife?" Harry deduced as Sara launched herself into Nyssa's arms.
Sara giggled and nodded, knowing she was acting like a sloppy drunk but not caring in the least. The single shot of Fireball she'd accepted at Harry's insistence might've had a slight effect. Maybe.
"Are you alright, Beloved?" Nyssa asked, steadying hands flying to Sara's hips.
"Of course," Sara responded brightly and bumped Nyssa's nose with her own. "You're here."
The barest hint of approval flashed through Nyssa's usual mask. Her embrace turned increasingly possessive, and, still not even glancing at Harry, she asked, "Who is your new friend?"
Both the words and disposition reminded Sara of the night Nyssa tracked her down in Starling after the earthquake. This was the same sort of jealousy displayed towards Oliver all those years ago, and it ignited a responding flare deep within Sara.
Stroking a freckled cheekbone fondly, Sara admonished, "Play nice."
Nyssa pressed her lips to Sara's ear and growled, low and seductive, "I'd rather just play. Privately."
"Okay, yeah, I'm not arguing with that."
"Well, I won't keep you," Harry chuckled when Sara glanced over at him. He raised his hand in a brief salute. "Duty calls."
Sara grinned at him, her fingers absently stroking up and down from Nyssa's jaw to her collarbone. "If only Oliver could take Bro Code pointers from you," she mumbled. "He's more of a cockblock than our seven month old."
A rumbling, impatient growl escaped Nyssa.
"I think that's your cue," Harry noted. "Here, you might need…" He trailed off, plunging his hand between the couch cushions and feeling around. With an "ah ha!" of triumph, he pulled something small and square out, glanced at it, and then tossed it to Sara, who caught it one-handed.
Having seen the glint of foil, Sara gave the packaging a cursory glance and snorted. "Very funny. Because neither of us have—"
"It's a dam," he preemptively corrected.
"Oh," Sara said dumbly, caught off guard. "Oh."
Harry gave her a look of utter amusement. "Have fun," he called, standing up and making his way towards the door of the house. "And be safe!"
"Hey," Sara shouted back, waiting for him to turn before informing him, "you're alright, kid." Then, adopting a dangerous tone, she added, "But, if you ever go near my daughter, I'll gut you."
He blanched. "Sure. Yeah. That's reasonable."
"Kay, bye!" she sang, dragging Nyssa across the quad, ever thankful that they'd managed to get a room at the hotel on campus.
Only later, while shucking off her jeans, did Sara remember the stretchy sheet of latex in her pocket. It ended up on the bedside table, forgotten in Nyssa's fervor and Sara's eagerness to please. Not that they needed it.
On the plane the next evening, it occurred to her that maybe she should've held onto it. Someday, they'd have to give Tim the Talk, and props might be useful. Sara shuddered and reminded herself that they had at least thirteen years until that became a real concern. Maybe she could convince Oliver to do it for them, man-to-man. He would have experience from William, after all.
"Baby?" Nyssa asked, nudging her nose against Sara's ear and breaking her out of her reverie. "What are you thinking about?"
Sara smiled widely and let Tim tug mercilessly on her index finger. "We have time," she replied ambiguously.
Nyssa didn't bother to ask what for; she simply pushed up the armrest and laid a warm palm on Sara's thigh in a show of solidarity. "Yes," she agreed, "we do, don't we?"
I know I should focus on CC&D, but I couldn't get this out of my head. It's not the best thing I've written, but I hope you enjoyed it, anyway.
Oh, Orientation Weekend: an endless stream of teenagers pretending to be embarrassed by their parents. Wasn't like that for me, though. Mine are very cool. Or does everyone think that about their own parents? And, if you were wondering, the couch on the lawn (among other things) does come from my own experience.
December 1st was (is) World AIDS Day, so I thought I'd take the opportunity to remind everyone to be safe. Have conversations, get tested, make good choices, etc. It's really important.