The problem was simple. Sara hated to run and the sport she chose happen to involve the fact of running a lot more than she had liked. It was like eating food you don't like. You're hungry but the food is awful, you keep eating it because you're hungry.
Soccer was like that for Sara. She hated running but she did it because she loved the sport, well that and she was damn good at it too. Leading goal scorer for the last three years and was looking to make it four.
So she suffered on, making the sprint to mid field and back for what felt like the hundredth time. Their coach was going harder on them this year, it was one day into the season and they had spent seventy percent of that on the line, sprinting because fitness was key this year.
"C'mon Diggle, what's the purpose of this?" Sara asked as he moved towards her. Normally she wouldn't be this informal but he was a family friend, only reason she got accepted in the first place, and she was the star player—these things lead to a more informal relationship. "We aren't even a couple days in. We're going to be dead by the end of the year."
He shook his head before following Sara's eye line to the couple girls who had already fallen victim to the ground. Truth be told she didn't understand why Felicity Smoak or Iris West stayed on the team. Both were brilliant in school but that brilliance did not translate onto the field and it was clear it didn't translate into their fitness levels either. Sara half wanted to believe the only reason Iris was on the team was because her boyfriend, Barry Allen, ran track at this school and this was the only logical way her father was going to allow them both to go to the same college. Actually, she believed it for them both. Felicity was probably only here because Oliver Queen was captain of the football team here. And she could keep an eye on him that way.
Because it was the same Oliver Queen that dated Sara's older sister and cheated on Laurel with Sara without Sara's full knowledge of the situation before cheating on both of them with some psycho named Helena that ended up in some mental hospital after her father's death.
Oliver Queen's love life was a mess and, now that she thought about it, Sara was none surprised that Felicity was here in the first place.
"It is futbol, Lance, that is why. The game requires a keen level of fitness, which some of the players here lack." The new assistant coach answer instead. Sara wanted to be pissed off because she was being rude, or annoyed because she answered a question not aimed for her but Sara only found herself amused and agreeing to three more of the sprints before being relieved of practice.
"You know, I do have a first name," Sara spoke as she came closer to the woman that appeared only to be a few years older. "I'm Sara."
The woman nodded before throwing out her hand. "I am Nyssa Raakto." Sara's brow furrowed in thought as she tried to place the accent and last name with possible placed on the earth that this wom—Nyssa could be from. "I am from a small country in the middle east, Nanda Parbat, rich in assassins, self-sacrifice and oil."
Sara couldn't tell if the woman was joking or not, her face held no clues as to whether or not it was one. So Sara laughed anyways, watching with satisfaction as the woman's face crumbled into a small smile. "That explains the accent. I'm Sara from Starling City—Star City now, I guess, that Ray Palmer was killed in that freak explosion last year."
Nyssa nodded, giving Sara a small pat on the shoulder before giving her apologies. "I was in town with my father earlier that week. He seemed like a nice man. Brilliant as well."
Sara went to ask what Nyssa's father did when a horn interrupted them, leaving both Nyssa and Sara to realize they were the last on the pitch and Nyssa's ride back to her house was about to leave. "Nice talking with you Nyssa."
"And to you Sara Lance. Rest up. I am running practice tomorrow, and it will not be fun." The woman gave a quick smile before jogging off towards the grey SUV, disappearing inside the passenger door.
No one talked about the way Nyssa had left with a grin she couldn't wipe. Nor did they talk about the blush on Sara's face that didn't fade for hours.
…
The next two weeks left Sara feeling like she had been to war. Her legs refused to take her anywhere, her arms refused to lift anything and her head refused to stop pounding. But she loved the game and that's why she threw herself through a miniature version of basic training every year, the results were almost an addiction. A painful addiction.
Nyssa had kept her promise and the practices she ran were hardly ever fun but she enjoyed the woman's accent and would therefore suffer through that practice, just to hear it.
She had learned, through various chats, that Nyssa had a half older sister and that her father was a businessman who traveled, often times taking Nyssa with him. She was expected to overtake her father in their company, Demon's Head Inc. A company that produced the highest quality boxing, MMA and UFC equipment; Sara was sure there was more to that company but she had spaced out as Nyssa talked, focusing more on how she pronounced words and less on what she had been saying. No one talked about how often Sara did that when Nyssa talked.
Sara also learned that Nyssa was fluent in about ten different languages, speaking them all a various number of times but favoring Arabic over all of them. Often times calling herself the "heir to the demon" in Arabic and causing a few of the girls swoon. Sara would never admit to swooning but it caused her to question why this girl was different. How she could want to be more than friends with anyone but a guy.
That was until the annual team meeting rolled around and Diggle had made it quite clear that dating an assistant coach, coach or any part of faculty at school was completely against the law and would result in the discharge of said staff plus loss of scholarship and/or expulsion from the college. He then added in that it was downright creepy for a student to date an older member of staff and immediately Sara crossed off the more than friends thought off of her things she could be with Nyssa list.
No one talked about why Sara would even had a things she could be with Nyssa list.
….
Sara found that keeping clean thoughts about Nyssa was growing incredibly hard, especially when Nyssa would speak in Arabic or French or in plain English with the accent that seemed to pull at her very heartstrings and wanted to hear her name being said over and over in it until it felt more like a chant that someone's name. She'd quickly correct herself after these thoughts, reminding her that Nyssa was a coach, someone at the college that was working to get her master's and did not need that risk of a student making moves.
The first day after game practice, Sara found herself nearly melting in a puddle after Nyssa had decided to have a bit of fun and giving everyone an Arabic name.
"Ta-er al-Sahfer." She had spoken upon arriving in front of Sara. The words sounded so beautiful coming from her mouth that Sara had her repeat it several times before she tried it out herself. It didn't sound the same, the same flow that occurred in Nyssa's speak was missing from Sara's. "It means 'yellow bird'." Nyssa had answered her before Sara could even ask the question. "Your blonde hair reminds me of the yellow canaries that fly about in Nanda Parbat. They have such beauty and grace, just as you do."
No one talked about the way Sara had looked when that name was spoken to her.
…
Sara had never been as thankful for an injury before but upon waking up to a ring of concerned coaches and a pounding head, she quickly became thankful of this one.
It came from head-to-head contact after the girl had jumped late for a 50-50 ball in the air. Sara had won the ball and simultaneously been knocked unconscious, not moving for a good thirty seconds before the trainer finally broke out the smelling salts and brought her back.
Nyssa had sat with her in the silence of the training room, helping her up for the bathroom and the occasional trip around the room to see if the dizziness was getting any better. Sara had laid in that room for nearly two hours before the trainer had allowed her home with strict orders for sleep, liquids and a watchful eye.
Sara's roommate was out for the weekend and Nyssa declared herself the watchful eye despite many girls volunteering their services, including both Felicity and Iris who both usually had dates on Saturday nights.
It was a long drive over to Nyssa's own apartment and then an even longer walk to the bedroom where she was giving Sara the bed for the night despite the complaints that said she could sleep elsewhere. Nyssa denied it, helping her out of her dirty warm up shirt and game shorts and into a pair of grey Nike sweats that were far too long for Sara, considering the height difference between the two, and a long sleeve shirt that read Expedition Everest on the front.
No one talked about how those items suddenly—and frequently—showed up in Sara's laundry from that point on.
"Wouldn't figure you a rollercoaster fan?" Sara had mentioned upon seeing the famed rollercoaster name on the shirt. She had never gone but from what she had seen on TV plus personal reviews, it was quite the adrenaline rush.
Nyssa shrugged as she tossed the clothes toward the doorway. "I went once with my father when I was roughly seventeen. I got on to please him. He bought me the shirt to show approval."
Sara nodded with immediate regret, throwing a hand up to shove against the side of her head in hopes to stop the sudden onslaught of pain that had engulfed her head like a wildfire. "Can I have some ice?" She managed to mumble once Nyssa had guided her down into a lying position.
"Caitlyn says I should not ice your head but rather cool it with a wash cloth." Nyssa informed before exiting the room and returned with a cloth, a small white bottle and a plastic cup filled with water. "She also said I could give you two Tylenol every four hours and I believe it has been four hours since the last time you had anything."
After guiding Sara into the sitting position, she handed the pills over before gently guiding the cup to Sara's mouth herself before placing the rag on her head after Sara had laid back down. "I've never had a concussion before." Sara admitted as she listened to rustling around the room as Nyssa changed. "I've broken arms and legs and ribs but never hurt my brain. It kind of sucks."
If Nyssa had laughed, she let no trace of it in her next sentence. "That it does. I have had two concussions but never as bad as yours. I did not lose consciousness nor was my voice as slurred as yours continues to be."
"Do the headaches wear off?" Sara had hardly had the concussion for the day and was already impatient to play again. Can't be lead scorer from the bench because she definitely wasn't scoring the other way either.
"It has only been a few hours, it takes time. Give it about a week before the effects of the concussion wear off."
That only frustrated Sara, leading her to shove her hands in her hair, knocking off the wash cloth in the process and leaving her with the view of Nyssa in short cotton shorts and a tank top that hugged in all the right places. Sara nearly drooled at the sight, her breath catching and her eyes slipping shut in attempts to prevent any dirty thoughts of entering.
No one talked about how that was Sara's default reaction whenever she saw Nyssa.
All thoughts seized to enter in the next moments when Nyssa pushed hair from Sara's face while murmuring a calm "Quiet Habititi." To say it worked would've been an understatement, Sara was completely entranced by the moment and wanted nothing more than to understand what that word meant. "It means my beloved. My mother used to say it to calm me, I wanted to calm you. Do not take that word personally, I just understood how much you like hearing Arabic."
Sara nodded gently, drifting off to sleep with the thoughts of Habititi and beloved bouncing around her head.
No one talked about how Sara spoke that word for the next week, nor did they talk about the usage of it.
…
They didn't talk about the word or what it translated to. They didn't talk about how Sara had woken up screaming later that night, fighting some invisible monster that plagued her healing brain.
They tended to not talk about a lot of things.
Like the way Sara leaned against Nyssa during a game when she still had a concussion and the way Nyssa was rubbing small circles in her back to comfort the pained child. Or the way the Nyssa had insisted she stay that night so she could watch over her again despite Caitlyn's protests that it wasn't necessary.
They definitely didn't talk about the time Sara had seen Nyssa driving as she walked home from a party and was quick to take the ride and even quicker to place a kiss on Nyssa's check as a way of payment.
Sara said she was too drunk to remember and Nyssa plain forgot that she had picked Sara up that night and they left it at that.
But the thing they didn't talk about the most was the stupid rule that kept them from acting on what everyone could clearly see.
…..
It was called the creeping crud and it always seemed to appear the same time every year. Sara did a good job of avoiding it, taking Emergen-C every morning with her breakfast while also drinking obscene amounts of water in attempts to fight off anything and everything.
Nyssa on the other hand did not, coming down with it the moment they got back from their weekend trip, missing a consecutive three practices—those of which were the worst in Sara's career, but they didn't talk about it.
Sara had visited before practice with a bunch of girls; bring soup, tissues and apologizes for not warning her earlier about the crud. Nyssa had offered smiles and warnings about not getting to close before sending the girls on their way with stern reminders that she will be back for revenge. Once more Sara was lost on whether or not she was joking and chose to laugh while the others seemed to shrink in fear of what was to come.
She visited later, by herself, knowing well that Nyssa's roommate was gone for the week and the creeping crud made doing anything hard. Sara offered her services; cleaning dishes, retrieving tissues and class notes, fetching soup and handing out cough drops like candy.
There were more things they didn't talk about; the way Nyssa had tasted of tart cranberries or the way Sara had made it to second base without even trying. Maybe the way Nyssa had moaned into a kiss when Sara's hands had ventured further south, playing with the fabric just below her sweatpants. And maybe the way Sara gasped when Nyssa had bit down onto her bottom lip and sent the younger girl reeling and almost too far.
Because that was forbidden.
Nyssa blamed it on a cold medicine induced hallucination while Sara claimed it to be one of the most vivid dreams she had experienced in a while.
No one talked about it but everyone knew.
…
Sara and Nyssa had a hard time not talking about it the next time they were alone.
It mainly consisted of a hushed conversation between the two in the abandoned corner of the cafe, where even suspicious eyes did not wander.
They talked about what acting upon this could do to both of them and how this could be avoided from then on. Nyssa left Sara with a pat on the hand, a whispered Habititi and a kiss against the side of the head that could've been mistaken as a kind gesture before disappearing into the crowds of people.
….
If Sara wasn't playing up to potential, no one talked about it because everyone knew she knew. Everyone could see it in the way the flames grew in her eyes with each tackle lost or shot missed. Sara was a complete mess for three games before being benched, Diggle becoming fed up with the star player's poor attitude and poorer performance.
Nyssa apologized after the fourth game, not knowing what else to do with the younger girl. She was met with slight resistance before Sara gave in and accepted the apology.
No one talked about the way Nyssa stared at Sara like the world revolved around her or in the way that their hug lasted seconds too long for people who were just friends.
Sara had left, stating she would be back on Sunday and they could talk then; she had something big she wanted to tell her but she wasn't visiting some friends at a local college tonight and didn't want to leave what she said hanging.
….
They never did talk.
The news came later that night.
From a teary eyed Diggle, it was announced that Sara Lanced was killed when a drunk driver had hit her head on, killing her instantly.
Nyssa had stayed strong, keeping her tears minimal while attempting to support all the girls who had just lost a friend. She held Felicity while the younger girl sobbed, claiming they had all lost a sister and she didn't know how to handle that. Her home life had been rough and Sara was the first person to take her in, to treat her more than some Vegas girl with prodigal brains.
It was at the funeral that Nyssa had lost the battle in staying strong. Collapsing into the older sister of Sara's, she sobbed with the older girl about the brightness in their lives that had been dimmed because of one stupid mistake.
If someone had googled translated the Arabic phrase Nyssa had been sobbing into Laurel Lance's shoulder and noticed she had been repeating I love you, Yellow Bird, no one talked about it.
A/N: I know Nyssa's last name is different by Al Ghul didn't feel right so I gave her the one that she has in most comics. I hope you enjoyed, this was the first time I wrote something like this.