(A/N: okay I'm probably making this way too dramatic but I couldn't help but feel extremely offended on behalf of Rip and Snart both when the crossover came and went, and…they were both…like…barely even mentioned? If that? Um?
….yes, it was a very busy crossover and crap was happening and there were aliens. But. I miss Rip. I miss Snart. Why can't we at least…like…have a sad angst scene of remembrance…or something…
Edit: Someone pointed out that the team was recruited in January, not February...yeah, I'm, I have no idea where my brain went when I wrote that. Thanks, Guest Person.)
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we don't talk about them
.~.
(in which the loss of certain team members doesn't go unnoticed)
.~.
Is it just her, or are the halls getting wider?
She doesn't mention it – none of them do – but every time they all stride down the corridors of the Waverider, marching out into a new time and place to try and do some good to the world, it feels like there are extra spaces between those metal walls. They march down anyway, though, and pretend like the gaps are meant to be filled with nothing but a breeze in their wake.
Sara tries not to think too hard about where they've been. The past is in the past; it's her ever-present motto, the only way to survive when her life amounts to this. Move forward. Don't look back.
She doesn't, so she doesn't talk about it. But – there are spaces where there shouldn't be. They glare at her, sometimes.
She tries not to think back to when this all started, in January 2016. Sometimes it's impossible not to - she remembers a rooftop filled with people, too many people who she didn't know. Didn't, until she did, and then there were too many people who she could lose. Not that she cared. Not that she does. There were nine on that rooftop, that night when her life changed. Eight strangers, to her; yes, she knew a few by name. They didn't matter, then. But.
There were nine. Of those, only five remain.
Kendra and Carter left. Snart died. Rip is gone.
They don't talk about it.
The empty spaces glare, though, and the jump seats left unoccupied scream for attention. Sara doesn't know how they all manage not to scream back. Except – she knows that they do, really. They all do.
Ray's eyes drift to the empty seats when he occasionally trails off, ramblings abandoned. Jax bites back his words, expression apologetic, whenever a taboo name is about to escape his lips. Stein frowns at Rip's empty study, sometimes wistful and sometimes lost. Mick gazes at thin air, that fierce scowl firmly in place, and they all know he's trying his very best to not see a ghost.
Sara presses her lips together and shutters her eyes closed.
.~.
Being made captain was both a blessing and a curse.
It gives her a much-needed distance – it lets her space herself, take a step back and say there's work to be done. Sometimes there just isn't time for thinking back, and sometimes Sara gets so tired and worn down that their names don't even cross her mind. There's an entirety of time out there, and all of it seems to yell for their attention; she dishes out orders, crafts plans of attack, and tries to make hard choices. And she does, she always does. Sara has a perfect straight face when she needs it – she crosses her arms, hardens her heart and pretends that there aren't gaps in their 'team'.
But then – she's captain, and that means that she can't be the Sara that she once was. Before, she could kick back, ignore everything, act like she didn't care – it didn't matter. Now she has responsibilities. Now, she can't hide in the cargo bay and knock back a bottle and a half of whiskey by herself if she wants to. Now, she can't steal off to some bar with Mick and get wasted and then wreck the place in reminiscence. (There would be someone missing in that scenario anyway, someone so quietly important that it would probably be agonizing to even try and pretend otherwise. But she wouldn't know, because she can't try.)
She has to stay alert. The alertness sometimes kills her.
She wonders how Rip managed it, sometimes. Whenever a mission just utterly falls apart, whenever things go south – how did he manage not to tear his hair out, or crumple under the disappointment?
He did, of course, on occasion. She does too – only on the inside, though, because if the League's taught her anything, it's to keep a cool head. Rip didn't have the League behind him, though, and he still somehow managed to do it – give or take a few irritated lectures and scathing remarks, but he did.
Sara never gives lectures, when a mission fails. That might just hit a little too close to home.
(And anyway, she'd never be able to give them as well as Captain Hunter once did.)
.~.
They don't talk about it – until they do, occasionally, and it's even worse.
Sometimes there's no avoiding it – Jax talks apologetically about some function of the ship that Rip told him about, or Ray goes on about an item that they need to somehow steal without realizing the hole he's dug for himself, or Mick remarks on the slight roominess of the ship recently, only getting halfway through his sentence before biting off his words with a scowl. They carry on like nothing is wrong – there's only ever a second or two of silence, and then everything is back to normal. Or anyway, as normal as things can be, these days.
If they glance at one another in those few seconds, sharing a silent memory that no one wanted to recall – well, they glance away an instant later, and it's forgotten again.
(Not forgotten, not in the least – but they can pretend, and they can go on like nothing is wrong. They don't talk about it.)
.~.
The newbies have no clue.
They're the worst, really, and at the same time they're what lets things be forgotten in the first place – Nate and Amaya have no idea who they've lost, not really. Nate knows, because he's the historian and he seems to think it's his responsibility to know everything – but he says 'Leonard Snart' and 'Captain Hunter' distantly, with that unfamiliar lilt that seems to grate against Sara's skin.
Amaya doesn't know, and she doesn't really seem to care, either. It's not that she's really that apathetic – it's just that she has her own agenda. She's professional, as much as Sara almost hates to admit it, and that sometimes rules out nostalgia completely. Amaya's on her own course for revenge (justice, she says), though, and she doesn't stop to ask about their losses.
In a way, it's a good thing. They can't talk about fond memories of their missing teammates, not with the newbies listening in and just not understanding. They can't ask about how each other are doing, not with Nate or Amaya frowning and wondering why the fuss?
But then…they can't do any of those things. And sometimes it's not at all a good thing. Sometimes the silence tears at Sara's ears, and the averted eyes just scrape against her fraying nerves.
(Sometimes all this thought of loss just makes Sara want to curl up and just stop. There's the memory of a rushed-too-rushed kiss on her lips, and there's the long-since-faded presence of a companion, someone who understands, at her side.
There's a sister-shaped hole in her heart, gaping and deepening and constantly aching, but it's somehow different, and it's something she can talk about. The others have all lost family and friends – they all have ghosts hanging over their shoulders, and they all know the hole that it leaves. They can try to console. They can try to sympathize.
The gaping hole that their missing team members leave is different. It's somehow something that should be okay, that they should deal with and move on from and be alright. It demands silence. They give it.)
She wants to scream. She wants to sob. But she doesn't, and she can't, and she can see the same hollowness in the other's eyes. They carry on, and they don't talk about it.
.~.
It's late at night, after a particularly long and tiresome mission – one during which Nate and Amaya managed to blend in perfectly and act in sync with the rest of the team. For some reason, the thought is sobering and Sara finds herself wandering the Waverider, letting her fingers trail along the cold walls.
She winds up in the dining area, and it's not empty like it should be. Stein and Jax are seated side by side at the table, while Mick slumps deeply in his own seat on the opposite side and Ray leans forlornly against a nearby wall. Sara slows when she catches sight of them all, frowning.
"What are you all doing here?" asks Sara slowly, tilting her head curiously. "It's been a long day. You should get some rest."
Mick leans almost dangerously far back in his chair, raising his brows skeptically. "So should you."
Ray twists his lips in agreement, lowering his gaze, while Jax rolls his eyes and Stein gives a light grimace.
She stands there for a moment, scrutinizing them – but then, she's not one for giving lectures. Sara shrugs fractionally, letting her arms swing at her side as she approaches the group.
"Is there any particular reason why you're not in bed yourself, Sara?" Stein asks at length, his forehead pinching inquisitively.
Sara shrugs, stopping to lean against a doorframe with feigned laziness. She's still good at it, playing up the nonchalance, though she'll never be as good as someone else, someone who once would have fit perfectly with this group, slouching casually with narrowed eyes and a mischievous smirk – she shakes her head dismissively, releasing a long sigh. "Guess I'm just not sleepy."
There's another moment of quiet – Jax ducks his head, pressing his lips together with a pinched expression, and Ray continues to frown with averted eyes. It's Mick who speaks up a second later, gesturing indifferently with a bottle of beer in hand.
"I guess everyone just came here to celebrate, huh?" He takes a long draught from his drink, smacking his lips in shallow satisfaction. "Seeing as how the mission went off so perfectly today."
His grin is practically see-through, and the rough oblivious exterior that he so often parades seems thinner than usual. Sara nods slowly, her frown deepening.
"Nate and Amaya did good out there," she says, attempting to put a note of anything other than disappointment in her voice. It doesn't seem to work, and she clears her throat briskly. "We all did."
Jax nods slowly, still wearing that expression of faint dismay. "They're really a part of the team now, huh…"
Stein tilts his head back wryly, putting on a nostalgic smile. "I seem to recall many more screw-ups on our part when this all began."
"Yeah, looks like Nate and Amaya are just naturals or something," says Ray, grimacing. He doesn't sound bitter – just quiet, and maybe a little remorseful. "Kind of makes you think…about how much things have changed."
Sara turns to look at him, silent – Jax and Stein do the same, while Mick just continues slouching. Ray presses his lips together, eyes widening slightly. "You know, I'll bet – Rip would have found something to lecture us on. Snart would have found a way to make things a little more 'interesting' out there."
No one says anything – Sara blinks and looks away, while Mick scowls at his beer and Jax swallows audibly, averting his eyes. Stein nods slowly, frowning sadly.
"I know that no one wants to talk about it," says Ray quickly, frowning down at the ground. "I get that. It's just…days like these–"
"Days like these…perhaps a little remembrance is in order." Stein stands up from the table, nodding firmly. He disappears into the kitchen for a moment, coming back with a bottle of wine and several glasses in hand.
Sara watches him as he pours out five glasses of wine, her eyes narrowed – she feels almost trapped in a state of forced indifference, reluctant to move either forward or backwards. She doesn't know which is better, or which is worse. Across the room, Ray seems a little taken aback by Stein's reaction to his words – Mick turns his scowl from his beer to the professor, and Jax maintains his look of bewilderment.
"We've all taken to grieving in silence for too long, I think," says Stein eventually, handing out the wine. Sara takes hers with a frown, staring into the deep red depths of the glass. "We've all suffered losses recently, and even not so recently. We're all moving on, and yet – sometimes, it's better to stop and look back." He pauses, gazing between the four of them – eyebrows raised, he's strangely optimistic and sad at the same time, and Sara thinks that the optimism is probably there by choice.
"A toast, I think," says Stein finally, raising his drink. "To times gone by."
Jax is the first to nod. "To times gone by."
"To Captain Hunter," adds Ray solemnly, lifting his glass.
"To Snart," growls Rory, ignoring the wine and downing the rest of his beer.
She lifts her glass slightly, swirling it – the redness glints in the dim lighting, and the sight sends something heavy settling deep in Sara's stomach. She sets her jaw, nodding, and raises her eyes to look at the rest of her team.
"To those we've lost," says Sara, and she tilts back her head, grimacing at the too-sweet taste of aged wine.
.~.
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(please review)