It's nearing midnight when Laurel enters her apartment surreptitiously through the window. She's gotten pretty good at getting in without anyone noticing her – thanks to Nyssa's training, that is.
But it's also thanks to Nyssa that's she quickly realises she's not alone. The very faint sound of rustling tells her that. Whipping out her baton, Laurel tries to stay in the shadows, all but ready to strike the intruder if necessary. She can only just make out the tall, dark, hooded silhouette in the darkness, but thankfully, seconds later, the figure lowers her hood and Laurel recognises Nyssa al Ghul standing near the foot of her couch.
"Hello, Laurel," she says after a moment, meeting her eyes. Laurel heaves a sigh of relief, replacing her baton in the holster on her thigh.
"Nyssa, hey," Laurel says, taking a few steps towards her. After leaning over the couch to switch on the light, she takes off her mask, tossing it on the coffee table. Her wig is next, and it lands unceremoniously on the floor near her feet.
But the smile that is immediately on her lips quickly fades when Nyssa doesn't quite return it. "What are you –"
"How was your meeting with your father?" Nyssa asks instead, sitting on the arm of the couch.
For a moment, Laurel eyes Nyssa curiously, and though part of her wants to ask what's wrong, she has a feeling Nyssa won't tell her.
"Good," Laurel replies, deciding not to question her. "I was... glad he called. He didn't really say much when he was there, and him agreeing to go to one AA meeting with me isn't everything, but it's a start, I guess."
"I am happy to hear that," Nyssa says, and Laurel can tell she means it. "You deserve to be forgiven. More than most."
Nyssa has a faraway look in her eyes that Laurel doesn't recognise. "What do you mean?"
But again, Nyssa doesn't answer. "Not so long ago, I said to your sister that whoever and whatever is important to her is important to me also. It was... during what were the last hours I would ever spend with her, in fact."
"Why are you telling me this?" Laurel whispers, wishing with all her might that Nyssa isn't about to say what she thinks. And Nyssa can't quite meet Laurel's eyes, her gaze instead fixing on a spot above her right shoulder.
"I wanted to say goodbye," Nyssa says at last. "I knew you were with your father, but I wanted to see you before I left."
At first Laurel can't say anything. Her mouth opens and closes several times before her lips can form words. "You're leaving?"
Nyssa looks away. "I must return to my home. Or, rather, what has no doubt become of it in my father's absence."
Laurel closes her eyes, trying to take a breath, but the lump that has formed in her throat doesn't go away. "Nyssa... why do you want to go back there?"
"It is my home," Nyssa repeats, but the lack of conviction in her words is obvious. "True, for the past week, it may have been my prison, but that does not change the fact that I must go back."
"Even though you were forced to marry – against your will – a man you don't love? Even though you almost died I don't even want to think about how many times in the last seven days? And even though for the past week I was convinced that you were dead – or worse?" Laurel can feel her voice getting several octaves higher as she speaks, but she tries her hardest to swallow the tears she can feel in the back of her throat.
"Laurel..." Nyssa's voice is surprisingly soft, placating, almost, as she gets to her feet and reaches down to touch Laurel's wrist. It calms Laurel a little, enough for her voice to become steady once more.
"I almost lost you," Laurel says. And without thinking, Laurel moves her hand up so her fingers and Nyssa's are locked together. "I thought I had."
But then Nyssa tugs her hand from Laurel's, turning away once more.
Undeterred, Laurel continues, "And it was – when I thought Oliver, or your father, or someone else in the League, had killed you, that I realised... I hadn't just lost you. I'd also lost any chance of telling you..." Laurel hesitates, not quite sure if she should go on, and her heart is thumping almost painfully against her ribcage now – whether with nervousness or anticipation, she doesn't quite know. But at this, Nyssa turns back around, watching Laurel tentatively.
"Telling me what?" Nyssa says finally.
Laurel takes in another sharp breath, steeling herself before lifting her hand to Nyssa's cheek, and she holds Nyssa's gaze as she says, "You know what."
It's not like Laurel's been imagining it. How can she, when one or both of them have so many times before had to take a step back because the embers that had flared between them whenever they got too close – physically and emotionally – had become too much?
But they've always had this unspoken agreement that has never even needed to be uttered.
Sara.
And that agreement has meant that although they've toed the line before, neither of them have ever actually crossed it.
This time, though, neither of them pull away. Nyssa leans into Laurel's touch, closing her eyes, and Laurel can't help but rub the tip of her thumb down the edge of Nyssa's cheek. That's all it takes, though, for Nyssa to open her eyes and make to move away.
"Laurel," Nyssa pleads. "You know why I – why we – cannot."
"I know," Laurel says helplessly. "I know. I get it. I don't want to betray Sara's memory either. But... that doesn't change the fact that – that I love you."
Nyssa's eyes widen, and she looks so disbelieving of Laurel's words that despite what she has just said, Laurel can't stop herself from reaching up to kiss her.
It's barely even a kiss. Laurel's mouth just catches Nyssa's lower lip for no more than a few seconds before Laurel pulls away, ever so slightly, but still with her forehead leaning against Nyssa's so their breath mingles and their noses brush against each other.
She hasn't kissed someone in almost three years. And despite its briefness there's no denying how glorious it feels – the way the beat of her heart starts to become exhilaratingly unsteady, the sheer spontaneity of it – so much so that her heart sinks a little when she sees the expression in Nyssa's eyes.
"You don't believe me?" Laurel asks quietly.
"This is not just about Sara," Nyssa says, and Laurel's close enough to Nyssa to feel her sharp intake of breath. "It is not that I don't believe you. I… simply do not feel deserving of that love."
"No, Nyssa," Laurel says firmly. "Don't ever think you don't deserve love. Of course you do." Nyssa doesn't look convinced, though, and Laurel kisses her again. This time Nyssa kisses her back, and there's something about kissing a woman, Laurel decides, that is infinitely better than kissing a man – by far. Maybe it's the softness of Nyssa's lips, or the way Laurel finds herself tangling her hand through Nyssa's hair, or perhaps it's just how Nyssa sighs into Laurel's mouth ever so softly – the way Laurel has imagined in her dreams.
"You told me I showed you kindness," Laurel whispers when, reluctantly, they come up for air. "That when you were with me you were happy. But I never got to tell you – that you made me happy too. Happier than I have been in a long, long time."
"It cannot always be like this, though," Nyssa murmurs back, cradling the back of Laurel's neck with her palm. The warmth of her skin touching Laurel's is all she needs to lean forward, wanting to kiss her again, but her lips land on Nyssa's jaw this time. Nyssa straightens, then, so she is no longer leaning her back against the wall.
"I don't care. I just – don't want you to go. Please. Stay with me. Even if it's just –" Laurel falters, unsure whether to continue, but then to her surprise, Nyssa interrupts her with a kiss. There's more promise in this one – it feels more like the start of something, rather than a goodbye, and something that feels like hope, molten hot, erupts in her heart.
And when Laurel feels the hum of Nyssa's murmured assent on her lips she can't help but coax Nyssa's mouth open with her tongue, trying to keep kissing her as she unzips her jacket and tugs it off so it lands on the couch. And there's something about the way Nyssa gazes at her, hand outstretched towards her shoulder but stopping just short of the newly exposed skin of her upper arm, that raises goosebumps on the back of Laurel's neck.
She steps towards Nyssa, just close enough so she can feel the rapid rise and fall of Nyssa's chest as she exhales softly. Laurel just watches, doesn't do anything, waiting, and seconds later Nyssa has reached out and is running her thumb over the black lacework that covers the skin just above her breasts up to her neck, the warm backs of her fingers going underneath the black material until finally it's hot skin against hot skin. That's all Laurel needs – she kisses Nyssa soundly once more, wanting only the taste that her lips allow.
Laurel lifts her hands to the opening of Nyssa's cloak, undoing the knot at her neck and pushing it off her shoulders. She only has on a thin camisole beneath it, revealing bare shoulders and – when Nyssa, without warning, grabs Laurel by waist and turns her round so her back is pressed right up against the wall – the soft curve of her breasts as they push against her own.
Immediately Laurel feels a tug of arousal in her groin and can't stifle her moan into Nyssa's mouth. Nyssa peppers kisses down Laurel's throat, all the while with her hips pushing against Laurel's, making her gasp. Then Laurel lifts Nyssa's face to hers and this time she can't hold back – Laurel's tongue is in Nyssa's mouth, and it's messy and her hand cupping Nyssa's breast through her bra is unpracticed and unsure but Laurel doesn't care, and from the way Nyssa returns the kiss, she doesn't either.
"Laurel," Nyssa says, just as they surface from their kiss (Laurel's lost in Nyssa's eyes, the way they have darkened with desire and anticipation, but also how the steeliness that Laurel usually sees has disappeared, replaced with something that looks like vulnerability). And then Laurel feels Nyssa's fingertips again, this time skimming the hem of her shirt and then sliding tentatively, hesitantly, to the waistband of her pants. "I will stop if you ask me to."
"Don't stop," Laurel says breathlessly, almost before Nyssa's finished speaking, and she catches Nyssa's free hand, guiding it between her legs. And even through leather it's impossible to ignore the pool of sticky heat Laurel can feel in her panties as Nyssa's hand clenches around Laurel's thigh. "God, Nyssa..."
Nyssa repeats the motion, her hand gliding up Laurel's leather-clad thigh before she squeezes lightly, and Nyssa's name is an elongated hiss of yearning on Laurel's tongue. And then she gasps as Nyssa actually lifts her a couple of inches off the floor, her arm wrapped around Laurel's waist to support her, while the other is slipping inside her panties. Laurel cries out, pleasure flooding her just with Nyssa's fingers stroking her entrance. She feels Nyssa's eyes on her in askance, as if waiting for her, not uncertain but patient, and Laurel answers her with a kiss, wanting, needing to satiate the desire for Nyssa that she can feel in her very blood.
And then Nyssa's forefinger is inside her, and Laurel's always been a bit sensitive but she's never felt like this before – she can feel her walls close around Nyssa's hand even though her touch is light to begin with. And now Nyssa's hair is spilling onto her shoulder and the press of Nyssa's breasts against her own and the way Laurel's lips gracelessly move against Nyssa's, any semblance of self control completely gone now. Laurel's breaths are becoming more laboured, every ounce of the longing and pain and love she has felt in the last seven days poured into the vicelike grip she has on Nyssa's arm.
Nyssa's panting, too, bearing most of Laurel's weight as Laurel cries out, pleasure coursing up and down her spine. Laurel shudders all the way to her climax and is still breathing heavily into Nyssa's mouth when Nyssa sets Laurel down so her feet are finally touching the floor once more. Nyssa doesn't move her hand, though – Laurel can still feel the flat of Nyssa's hot palm press against her entrance as Laurel's lips meet Nyssa's in another wonderful, messy, languid kiss. Laurel's still giddy from her orgasm and part of her is still floating back to earth, but that doesn't stop her from running her tongue along Nyssa's lips and then thrusting it into her mouth.
"Ya Laurel," Nyssa whispers when, what feels like thousands of seconds later, they break apart, "antee jameelah."
The foreign words that spill from Nyssa's mouth as she moves her hand to Laurel's hip sound like a prayer – there's something so beautiful about the soft, gentle lilt of the Arabic as it falls on Laurel's ears, even if she doesn't understand, that momentarily she is lost for words. And Nyssa takes advantage of that temporary silence, it seems, her hand going to Laurel's hair once more and murmuring against Laurel's lips, "I love you also."
And as Laurel somehow finds it in her to push at Nyssa's shoulders, steering her towards the couch, as her fingers slip under the hem of Nyssa's clothing until they meet the taut skin of her abdomen, as Laurel climbs onto Nyssa's lap on the couch, their lips meet in a kiss of that tastes of promise and comfort and hope. And even if Nyssa leaves tomorrow, it warms Laurel's heart to know they can at least spend these last moments together.