I've always liked the dynamic between Oliver and Sara, so this is meant to be a follow-up to the final scenes of Arrow Season 6. Thus, this is set before the start of Arrow Season 7, DC's Legends of Tomorrow Season 4, and The Flash Season 5.
As always, all characters belong to DC Comics and the CW, and this is written purely for fun. Thanks for reading. I appreciate it.
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In.
Out.
In.
Out.
He was alone, in solitary confinement. Again. Revealed as the Green Arrow and imprisoned with droves of the very criminals he'd successfully put behind bars, Oliver faced injury and death every second he was exposed to the general population. He questioned every morning whether he had any right to see the light of the next day, but so far he still hadn't come to a definitive answer.
So, he defended himself, over and over again. The next attack was always more brutal, with at least a couple extra inmates every time, and he never came out unscathed, but the other guys always ended up worse, thus landing him in a small, windowless, dingy cell afterwards. Barely four paces wide on each side, the cell had nothing in it to keep him company but a metal cot, molded out of a single piece to keep him from stealing any nuts or screws, and a barely functioning toilet in one corner. A lone, weak light bulb flickered on the ceiling, high out of reach and secured behind a metal cage, and the tiny slot in the door for food opened twice, sometimes only once, every twenty-four hours. He could be in here for days. He could be in here for weeks. It was his punishment for the trouble he "caused."
Oliver felt grateful. It was the only place where he could let his guard down, where he could let go of some of his tension, where he could even attempt to make sense of the path his life had taken. After everything that had happened, the loved ones who had died, the battles that had been lost, his quest ended with him in prison and his home just as corrupt and rife with evil as when he'd crossed the first name off his father's list. At every level, from Sebastian Blood to Adrian Chase to the dirty cops and the puppets under the thumb of Ricardo Diaz, Star City simply could not rid itself of the selfish and the dishonorable. What point was there in defending it from the likes of Ra's al Ghul and Damien Darhk, when it was perfectly capable of collapsing from within? What had he really accomplished after all these years? After making it his goal to save his city, how could he justify his existence in the face of such failure?
Desperate for answers, Oliver had resorted to meditation, something he'd briefly been introduced to while in Hong Kong with Tatsu and Maseo. Tatsu had primarily taught him what he needed to know to recall details buried deep in his memories, but he'd been able to glean enough from her and his time around the world to grasp the basics, which he relied on now to help him sort through this feelings, while simultaneously trying to ignore the aches of his fights and the utter despair of his cell. The dim light of the bulb above him was almost comforting as he sat cross-legged on his cot, his eyes closed, his back against the wall, his inhales and exhales timing a steady rhythm.
Through his eyelids, he suddenly registered a faint flickering, followed by a slightly deeper darkness. Although he heard no sound, he suddenly became aware of another presence in the cell, and the presence was so familiar to him that, even when the light bulb flickered back on, he didn't need to open his eyes to know who it was.
"Sara."
"Ollie."
His eyes open now, Oliver turned his head slightly to stare at her, arms crossed and leaning against the one corner of his cell not occupied by either his cot or the toilet. Her face was inscrutable, but Oliver could tell she was tired. Her street clothes and blonde hair were as casual as ever, but there was a little slump in her posture and puffiness under her eyes that he could detect. Rather than bring it up, his eyes rotated around his cell. "Wally vibrate you in here? Or did Ray shrink you between the cracks in the walls?"
Sara arched an eyebrow. "Keeping tabs on my teammates and their skills, I see."
"I keep tabs on everyone's skills," Oliver deadpanned. "You know that."
Sara rolled her eyes but didn't respond. She didn't offer any information as to why she was in his cell now, continuing to look fatigued and somewhat morose, and not for the first time he was struck at how utterly unskilled the both of them were at being direct with their words, considering how brazenly direct they both were with their actions. "Why are you here, Sara?"
She sighed. "I needed someone to talk to about…about the things that've happened recently."
"And you decided to talk to the person held in a supermax prison?"
"Well, believe it or not, Ollie, there aren't many people like the two of us," she retorted sarcastically.
"Experienced fighters, island survivors, secret identities," Oliver ticked off, "and emotionally distant?"
She huffed in amusement at that last one. "Bingo." A small smile crept onto Oliver's lips, the first in weeks. He'd missed the feeling of being with a friend. That feeling, however, came with a sense of melancholy that recalled the last time the two of them had seen each other. Apparently, Sara felt it too. Continuing, she said, "We buried my dad a few weeks ago. Or," she corrected, pinching the bridge of her nose, "to you it would've been a few weeks ago. I don't even know how much time has passed for me."
Upon hearing Sara mention Quentin's funeral, Oliver almost rushed into an apology to her. He couldn't help but feel he'd failed to protect her father, the same way he'd failed to protect her sister. What stopped him was the stress she radiated as her fingers left her nose to begin massaging her forehead. Him rushing to apologize would only address his own guilt, but it was Sara who clearly needed support now, so instead he asked, "How're you feeling?"
"Lost," she replied. Her arms had returned to being crossed in front of her chest, withdrawn and protective. "I mean, I know he was a cop. A cop in probably one of the most corrupt cities in the country. He died as a protector." She paused for a moment. "It's just, I feel so haunted by the fact that I wasn't there to save him."
Oliver shook his head. "It's not—"
Sara held up a hand, interrupting him. "I know it's not my fault. And," she added, eyes briefly flicking to meet his, "it's not yours, either. Like I said, Dad was a cop, but even though my rational brain knows that, I can't stop feeling guilty."
She lapsed into silence. The two of them were no strangers to grief and loss, but he sensed there was another reason she'd come to him, specifically. He took in her tired appearance again. "But there's something else weighing on you," he pointed out.
Sara blinked hard, taking a couple steadying breaths. "Yes and no," she responded. "It's all related, I guess. I…we lost someone on the team a while ago. Rip. I watched him die to save us."
Oliver only had vague notions of this Rip Hunter character, having primarily heard about him through Sara and Ray. He thought Rip had struck out on his own rather than be a regular member of the Waverider crew, but on the other hand he'd obviously been instrumental in putting Sara on her current path. "I'm so sorry, Sara."
She nodded slightly in acknowledgement. "He…we had our differences, but I never doubted how much he cared about us and the ship. I never stopped thinking of him as part of the crew. And you know what I did not long after he died?" Sara scoffed at herself in disgust. "I took the crew to Aruba. We lounged on the beach."
He sensed that she expected him to pile on, help fuel her self-hate, but he knew that trick too well, having used it often himself. Plus, he was starting to see what was happening. "And what have you been doing now?"
"Running around stopping supernatural 'fugitives' from destroying history with their magic," Sara replied matter-of-factly. Oliver raised an eyebrow. "Don't ask," she muttered.
He was quiet for a moment before continuing. "So you've been trying to solve this new problem and you're not resting," Oliver finally observed. "That's why you don't know how long it's been since Quentin's funeral, because you've been losing yourself throughout history. You're running," he finished, simply. Ever so slightly, her composure began to crumble, and Oliver knew he was right. "It's okay, Sara. You're being too hard on yourself."
A small sniffle echoed around the tiny room as she wiped her hand under her nose. "I…I don't know how you do it, Oliver. Be a leader. Be responsible for the safety of the ones you care about," she said. "I lose people when I'm not there to help. I lose people when I am there to help. I just…lose."
He sighed in response. "Unfortunately, it doesn't get any easier."
"Great," she muttered.
"You know, after Tommy died, I left the city for a while. I couldn't save him, I couldn't save the Glades from Malcolm Merlyn, and I felt like I'd failed. I ran all the way back to Lian Yu."
Despite her own misery, Sara's eyes widened slightly. "That's one hell of a place to get away from things."
Oliver tilted his head from side to side, not disagreeing. "I didn't see any reason why I was needed. I didn't feel like any good had come out of my time trying to right my father's wrongs," he continued, "but it was eventually made clear to me that my losses and my setbacks didn't end my responsibilities. There were still people who needed me. People I cared about more than anything." Internally, Oliver registered his own words. There are still people who need me.
"But how do you keep going?" Sara asked, a tinge of desperation in her voice. "Tommy, your mother, Laurel, Dad…we try so hard just to keep getting knocked down. We've still lost them."
"We have," he conceded, "and it's for them that we have to get back up." Boring his eyes into hers, he finished, "No matter what you've lost, you'll always be valued, Sara. You'll always be needed."
Silence stretched out between the two of them. When she finally broke it, it was with a little chuckle, and the tension in her shoulders eased, if only slightly. "What?" Oliver asked.
"Nothing," Sara replied. Nodding in his direction, she elaborated, grinning slightly, "It's just, the shaven head. Messy beard. Sitting cross-legged on a bench. Didn't think Starling City's rich playboy would turn into some sort of advice guru."
He smirked. "Well, you're the one who came to me."
"Fair enough," she replied. Sighing, she finally straightened up and uncrossed her arms. "You know, I can get you out of here," she said, tilting her head at the seemingly solid wall through which her team had presumably snuck her into the cell.
Oliver shook his head. "You know I can't do that, Sara. However this plays out, I can't go on the run."
She nodded. "I figured you'd say that," she said, walking up to him on his cot while slipping a hand into her jacket, "so I brought you this." In her hand she revealed a photograph, and even in the dim light Oliver could see the shining smiles of Felicity and William directed up at him. "She doesn't know I'm here, by the way. You know she'd never forgive me for not busting you out against your will."
Seeing the faces of his loved ones momentarily drew the breath out of his body as he reverently took the photo from Sara's hand. He briefly forgot where he was as he stared at it and was only brought back to the present by Sara's voice. "We're not always so lucky to have people like that."
Taking the statement on its own, Oliver thought Sara was wistful. He knew, after all, that her and Nyssa's paths had diverged a long time ago. When he finally looked up from the picture however, there was a small smile on her face. "I take it we're both lucky?" he asked, staring pointedly at her smile. At that, Sara fidgeted somewhat in embarrassment, like a child with her hand caught in the cookie jar, and Oliver smiled wider, having not seen her act like that in a long time. "This person have a name?"
Sara let out an amused sigh, seeming to wonder how they'd managed to fall on this subject. "Ava. Her name's Ava."
"Does she make you happy?" Oliver asked.
"She's too good for me," she quickly replied.
"That's not what I asked."
A few seconds of silence. "Yeah. Really, really happy," she finally conceded, earnestly.
Still smiling, Oliver looked back down at the picture. "Thank you," Oliver said softly, after a long pause.
"I should be thanking you," she said. Glancing up, he saw Sara looking at him with emotion and gratitude colored by their long history together. "Thank you for reminding me why I do this."
"Believe me," Oliver replied, "you've helped me too. More than you know."
Sara leaned down and pressed her lips softly on the top of Oliver's head. When she stepped back into the corner of his cell, the light bulb overhead once again fizzled out, plunging the room into darkness. "Stay out of trouble," her voice called out.
"Yeah," he replied. When the light came back on, he was alone.
Carefully, Oliver tucked the photo into an inner fold of his prison uniform. He'd struggled with questions about what good he'd really been doing, and whether he needed or deserved to keep going. As he closed his eyes again, focusing once more on his breathing, he knew for whom he still had to fight. He had his answer now.
In.
Out.
In.
Out.