This is inspired by the Legends of Tomorrow episode with my own take on the situation. I wrote this as a standalone one-shot, but if the response is positive and people want to read more I might make it into an actual story, most likely an AU.

This is a response to Changingdestinty40's challenge to create more Sara/Oliver stories. I have started to write more Canarrow stories outside of my main story, the Arrow and the Canary, and will hopefully begin to post them onto the site when I feel like they are good enough. I recommend to anyone reading this who ship Canarrow to write their own stories or one-shots.

The Foundry was abandoned. Felicity's beloved computers, which had been the best of the best in 2016, were covered in a thick layer of dust, and anything else, from furniture to random equipment, were enveloped by musty tarps. The glass cases that had once proudly shown the outfits of Team Arrow, and where Sara's own outfit had once been, were broken and empty. It looked as though no living soul had been down here in decades.

"Whoever is there, get out!" The voice was robotic, filtering itself out in harsh echoes. And yet, despite the mechanical tone, Sara recognized it. But yet it couldn't be; Connor had said that he was dead. Shining her flashlight towards the source of the sound, Sara searched for the speaker, mouth dry and heart pounding.

Connor aimed his bow, Rip pulled out his futuristic pistol; both looked ready for a fight. But Sara just froze in place, searching for the speaker.

"I said get out!" The voice screamed. "Whoever you are, get out!" There was movement in the darkness of the abandoned Foundry. The harsh amber lights of the flashlights provided to them by Connor Hawke swerved before settling on an approaching figure.

Sara's heart seemed to shudder to a halt as Oliver Queen emerged from the dark shadows, bearing a shotgun that was aimed right at her.

Sara dared not believe it. "Oliver?" Besides her, Rip cocked back the trigger to his gun, its sights aimed right at Oliver Queen's chest.

It couldn't be Oliver. It didn't seem possible, and yet it was.

Oliver was… old.

His once sandy blond hair had faded away into soft, receding waves of gray, his prominent jawline hidden underneath a thick beard. There were wrinkles on his face that had not been present when she had last seen him. His face was worn and weathered. When had she last seen him? To Sara it only seemed like a month since she had bid her vigilante friend farewell outside the Waverider. But the man before her seemed to have aged decades in her absence.

It has been decades. Sara realized, feeling a bit sick, for Oliver Queen.

It was 2046. This was Oliver Queen's future staring right at her. A future that had yet to happen back home, but had already happened here.

Old Oliver's surprise and reaction was almost comically dramatic. He openly gawped at her, his eyes nearly bugging out his skull before it faded away into a weary acceptance. "Hello, Sara." He greeted gruffly, his voice more gravelly than ever. Slowly, almost tiredly, Old Oliver lowered his shotgun. When had Oliver started to use firearms? Where was his bow? "Long time no see."

Old Oliver stepped closer, now fully visible in the light. Sara's eyes trailed downward, inspecting everything about this new, yet intimately familiar, version of her friend. She immediately found another new change, one that she hadn't noticed before.

Oh.

His left arm was gone. Severed at the shoulder, leaving behind a useless lump of scarred flesh. She could see the scar tissue poking out from the loose sleeve of his t-shirt. That was why he had a firearm; he couldn't use his bow anymore.

There was an odd roaring her ears, like waves crashing against the inside of her head. She didn't hear anything but the roar, was only aware of one thing that mattered at the moment, her and Rip's mission be damned.

Someone had taken his arm; Ollie's arm was gone. Someone had mutilated her friend.

Red flickered in the corners of her vision, followed by brief bursts of dark spots that seemed to burn into her retinas like the flare of a supernova. She didn't know if the sudden rise of darkness rearing back its head was a result of her resurrection from the Pits, or just Sara herself.

Honestly, at the moment she just didn't care.

Sara all but leapt at the man in her haste to embrace him, wrapping her arms around his battered body and pulling him in so close she could have bust his ribs. She furrowed her face against his chest, all the anxiety and nerves that had been steadily building within her receding away into the corners of her mind, because all that mattered right now was Oliver.

He smelled different now, just as he looked different, but he still felt the same. It was the same heartbeat, still the same strong pulse that had lulled her to sleep so many times. This was Ollie. Her lover. Her friend. It was still Oliver. It was still him.

Oliver, although hesitant for a second, returned the hug happily, resting his chin on the top of her head, his warm breath tickling the back of Sara's neck. "Sara…" Oliver whispered, his voice catching ever so slightly. His arm tightened around her with a desperate strength. "You're here. You're really here."

Reluctantly pulling herself out of his grip, Sara stared up at the aged version of her former lover with confusion. "What do you mean 'I'm here'?" Her hands somehow found themselves cradling Oliver's jaw, one finger lightly stroking the soft, gray bristles.

Oliver's wrinkled hand placed itself on one of hers, his own fingers softly stroking small circles on her hand. He looked so sad as he stared at her with those watery blue eyes, looking far more weary and broken than she had ever seen in a single man.

"Ollie? What do you mean?" For some reason she feared his response.

"Thirty years ago, you and Ray hopped onto a space ship with him to save the future," Oliver jerked his head over at Rip, a dark emotion gleaming in his eyes as his lips curled into a snarl. Sara nearly jumped at the venom in Oliver's voice; it was so thick with hatred and anger that it made the man before her even more unfamiliar. Oliver's glare and scowl slowly fell away, replaced by nothing more than sadness. "And you never came back."

Eyes burning as tears began to swell, Sara just stood there, unable to understand. Her thoughts were so muddled and unfocused when staring into the sad eyes of an old Oliver Queen that it was difficult to truly comprehend what he had said. Slowly, his words began to sink in, burrowing themselves into her like greedy parasites.

It just couldn't be. They had a time machine, for Christ's sake! Once they beat Savage, Rip had promised her and Ray that he would drop them off back in their timeline. Even if their mission took months as they traveled throughout the world's history, Ray and Sara would be dropped off a week or so after they had left on the Waverider. It was a time machine; they could be dropped off five seconds after they had originally left if they so desired it.

But they… her and Ray… hadn't come back five seconds later. Or even a week later.

She had never come back.

"O-Ollie…" She croaked out, reaching for him desperately.

"Was the future worth saving, Sara?" Oliver asked her sadly.

Worth saving? She hadn't even saved it yet. Every time the Legends had come close to victory, Savage always managed to pull a fast one and escape, leaving her ragtag team to lick their wounds and rekindle their damaged pride. Vandal was still too dangerous, too crafty, and too powerful to be beaten just yet. The Legends weren't even close to fulfilling the mission they had set out on. The future wasn't safe yet.

And this is the result of our failure.

The realization was like a sharp slap in the face.

She wanted to speak, to try and somehow answer Oliver's question, but someone else spoke before she even tries to begin.

"I thought you were dead…" the voice came from behind them. Oliver looked away from her and focused on something behind her. A quick turn around revealed that Connor Hawke still had his arrow aimed directly at Oliver's chest, if not for the situation Sara would have been impressed that he had been able to keep the bowstring steady for so long as she and Oliver reunited. The young dark-skinned vigilante looked furious.

Oliver seemed to age another decade under the furious gaze of his copycat, some unknown emotion flashing in his eyes before dying out. He looked very tired at that moment. "Put the arrow down, John, you're embarrassing yourself."

"John?" Rip and Sara asked at the same time as 'Connor' reluctantly lowered his bow and arrow. Rip asked because of the vigilante's earlier introduction, smelling out the lie. Sara, on the other hand, asked because the name held importance to her.

"John Diggle Jr." Oliver corrected himself.

Sara whipped her head around to openly gape at the younger Green Arrow, at Diggle's son. John Jr. avoided her gaze, instead focusing at his predecessor. "That's not my name, not anymore."

"John…"

"I'm not fit to use my father's name!" John Diggle Jr. cried out, snapping at Oliver. "Not after I failed him, not after I watched him die and I could do nothing to stop it!"

Diggle was dead. Sara stumbled under the horrible revelation. John was dead.

Who else was dead in this dark, horrible future? How many good men and women had died?

Her father, Laurel, Nyssa, Roy, Thea, Felicity, Barry. Where were they? Were they all dead too? Dead like Diggle?

Sara wanted to cry out at the injustice.

"I'm not the same boy you used to know, Oliver. John Diggle Jr. died when he failed his father and city." The young archer stated. "I'm Connor Hawke now."

Oliver's eyes closed shut tightly, debating, before opening them slowly. "You're angry at me. You might even hate me, but please, John, listen to me. I know exactly what you're feeling. I lost my father too, and I failed both him and Star City countless times. Don't let this darkness consume you, don't let it change you like it did me."

Connor didn't look convinced, if anything Oliver's speech made him angrier. "You didn't fail this city, Oliver. You abandoned it."

Oliver reared back as though he had been struck.

"I thought you were dead. Everyone thought you were dead." Connor, or John, accused. Oliver looked away, unable to meet the younger man's angry gaze. "And with you dead," Connor continued, "Someone had to rise up and take your place. I'm the Green Arrow. That's all I'll ever be now."

"So you won't take your father's name, but you'll wear another man's armor and take his identity?" Oliver asked.

"Someone has to. Because last time I checked, you were dead. Everyone thought you were dead!" Connor spat out, his body practically shaking with uncontrollable rage. He looked positively betrayed.

"I've been trying to hold this city by myself, because I thought you were gone." There were unshed tears in Connor's eyes, held back only by sheer force of will. Sara suddenly saw just how young the vigilante was, more a boy than a man. And he had been forced to try and save a city that could have never been saved with no one to help him. He had been the only thing left to defend the people of Star City from Grant Wilson, because Oliver had been hiding under the pretense of being dead.

Ollie, how could you?

Wilting under the gaze of the three intruders, Oliver began to slink backwards towards the shadows. "You should go." His eyes flickered to Sara, staring at her and only her as though no one else mattered. "Leave."

"Hold on now-" Rip said angrily.

"You can't just expect us-" Connor began.

"Go!" The shotgun was raised, leveled at Rip. Connor raised his bow again, ready to fire. Rip raised his arms in surrender, staring at the shotgun nervously. Sara didn't do anything. She eyed the gun, noticing the finger against the trigger wasn't shaking. Oliver wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger. It appeared that his promise to never kill again had died along with Star City.

"Guys… Do as he says."

Both men argued, but Sara didn't even care enough to listen anymore.

Screw the mission. Screw Rip. Screw the Legends. Sara didn't give a damn right now, because Oliver needed her, even if he was too stubborn to admit it. She wouldn't abandon him. Not again.

"Rip, head back to the ship."

"But the device-"

"Screw the device! If you want it so much, go find one somewhere else." Sara snapped out.

Rip looked at her in protest, mouth open, before he closed it shut. Apparently he decided that it would most likely be better for his health to keep quiet.

"Connor, I know I can't order you around, but I can still ask."

Hawke nodded his head slowly, though he still looked torn. "We're not done yet," he warned Oliver as he left the Foundry with Rip reluctantly following.

"Sara-" Oliver began to argue.

"You'll have to try and throw me out yourself," Sara interrupted him, her hand falling to her side to brush against her holstered Kali stick. "I don't think I need to remind you that I've taken you on before and won, and that not even mentioning that you now have the body of an old man."

Oliver's lips twitched into the smallest of smiles. "A ripped, sexy old man." He argued.

"Debatable."

This time Oliver actually laughed. It was throaty and hoarse, as though he hadn't laughed in a very long time, but it was genuine. "God, I've missed you." He looked at her with such fondness it practically made her heart melt.

There was a tightness in her throat that refused to go away. "I missed you too."

She walked the distance between them swiftly, before she wrapped her arms around him, nestling her head against the crook of his neck. "Just… don't talk…" she pleaded with a sigh, closing her eyes shut as she enjoyed his warmth and presence. "Lets just pretend for a minute that I didn't hop onto a time machine, that it's been thirty years for you and that the world has gone to hell. Lets just... enjoy this moment, okay?"

He wrapped his remaining arm around her, the bristles of his gray beard tickling her face. "Okay," he murmured so softly it was practically a whisper. "Okay, Sara."

The Green Arrow and the Canary were reunited once again. And neither one seemed keen on letting the other go.