The blue parka that Sara held on her lap did not smell pleasantly of sandalwood. She'd swiped it from Snart's closet quite some time ago. Now, if anything, it smelled a bit like her - an indication of how long he'd been gone, and how often she'd cuddled his stupid coat for comfort.
It hurt that she, Mick, and Ray were the only ones left on board who remembered him. It hurt that he was gone, before they'd ever had a chance to find out what their future might hold.
She missed having someone who accepted her, just as she was. So what if they lived off of take out eaten with plastic utensils? She thinks they could have been happy. She knows they wouldn't have picked each other to death over stupid, crappy little things.
Sara is not 'normal.' She hasn't been in quite some time. And fine - maybe she hasn't always made the best choices, but she is who she is. Trying to sweep that under the rug for a semblance of normalcy tended to end badly, not just for Sara, but for people around her, people who didn't deserve to be hurt.
"Captain Lance," Gideon said gently. (Gently? How was that even possible?) "There is a matter requiring your attention."
Sara pressed her face to the soft fur of the jacket's hood for a long moment, then sighed and stood. "On my way, Gideon."
She hung the parka in the back of her closet, carefully arranging other items so that A- so that no one who happened to go rummaging through her things - would notice.