The room in Nanda Parbat where Sara's body is being kept has an illusory warmth to it, light streaming through the stained glass and enveloping the room with a pleasant glow, bright white and tinged with magenta. But those rays of hope belie the inevitable truth of the matter that Nyssa is laying out for Laurel as she avoids Nyssa's gaze, palms grazing Sara's coffin – that Sara is gone, once and for all.
"I miss Sara, too," Nyssa says softly. "But she is gone, Laurel. Forever. I have accepted it. I think it's time you did, too."
Laurel straightens up just in time to watch Nyssa leave, and somehow part of her (the part of her that is not still beset with the fresh grief and pain that comes with taking her sister's body across a million miles and several oceans to try and resurrect her) manages to call out Nyssa's name. Nyssa doesn't immediately turn around, though she does stop in her tracks.
By the time Laurel's feet have carried her the door, Nyssa is facing Laurel, an unreadable expression on her features, in her dark eyes and her prominent cheekbones.
"What is it?" Nyssa asks.
For some reason, Laurel falters for a second. Nyssa regards her expectantly, waiting patiently for her to answer.
"How – how are you?" Laurel says at last, and Nyssa jolts back as if surprised. Nyssa's keeping her distance from Laurel, as Laurel can't help but notice; hesitantly, she extends her hand forward, watching for Nyssa's reaction. Nyssa doesn't move. Encouraged, Laurel lets her hand settle on Nyssa's arm, and Laurel doesn't miss Nyssa's sharp intake of breath at her touch. To her relief, though, Nyssa doesn't move away. A good sign, perhaps.
"I have been better," she admits.
"Nyssa..." Laurel whispers, "about Sara – is it because of – because of what's happened between us?"
At this, however, Nyssa snatches her arm away as though she's just been burned. "No," Nyssa snaps, and Laurel's alarm must be evident on her face because seconds later Nyssa softens, sighing quietly. "No," she repeats, her tone gentler. "Your sister... was a forgiving person. It is not that."
"Then what is it?" Laurel demands. "I mean – you seem so sure that she's not going to come back as herself, but I can see it's more than just that."
And despite everything, Nyssa smiles wryly. "I take back what I said before. Perhaps you truly do know me."
Laurel shakes her head, and she draws up all the courage she can muster and takes Nyssa's hand. "I don't just know you, Nyssa. I –" Momentarily, Laurel hesitates, before finding it in her to continue, "I love you." Nyssa tries to tug her hand away, but Laurel holds on stubbornly, not letting go. "I mean it."
"I know you do," Nyssa says, at first not quite able to meet Laurel's eyes. Then, as if steeling herself, Nyssa looks up at her, sincerity and regret evident in her eyes. "I am sorry I left without saying goodbye."
Laurel is the one to look away this time. "It's okay," she says. "I'm – kind of used to it."
But then Nyssa's forefinger goes under Laurel's chin, lifting her face to hers. "I very much wanted to stay with you. But I could not. That night I had received word of Merlyn's ascension to Ra's al Ghul. I had to return."
"I understand," Laurel says faintly, her voice choked. Something stops her from saying anything about all the times she's called Nyssa, only to be greeted by an automated voicemail message. (She never left any voicemails – or, rather, she would record the message after the beep, as prompted, and then she would delete the message with tears in her eyes before hanging up. )
"I have missed you," Nyssa says. It's surprising how soothing Laurel finds her voice. "And as much as Nanda Parbat is my home, it is a little remote for black and white milkshakes."
Laurel manages a smile that she nevertheless knows is watery. "I've missed you too." She feels the sudden urge to kiss Nyssa, to claim her mouth with her own and savour the taste of her that she has missed more than she can say with words.
But she knows now is neither the time nor the place. Quickly she changes the subject. "About Sara –"
Nyssa nods resignedly, accepting that that is the end of their conversation, and she sighs. "When I first learned of Sara's death, I returned to Nanda Parbat and informed my father of it – as well as Merlyn's suspected involvement. My father did not want to avenge Sara's death. He declared the League would hunt down Merlyn only for his crimes against the League, not against Sara."
"Why?"
Nyssa laughs bitterly. "My father had never approved of my relationship with Sara. Together we could not produce an heir, so I was made less valuable to him. Sara's status in the League was merely as my concubine, and even this was attained with great effort. My point is that my father did not consider my grief worthy of vengeance. This angered me, made me irrational – much like you are now." Laurel opens her mouth to object, but Nyssa continues.
"I demanded for him to allow me to bring her back using the Lazarus Pit. It was soon enough after her death that I knew her soul had not yet departed."
"I don't understand – her soul –" Laurel starts to say, but she isn't sure she even knows what to say.
"Ensoulment is a complex process," Nyssa explains, "but the short answer is that if done soon enough after one's death, when the soul is still intact, the effects of being resurrected by the Lazarus Pit are not as great. At least, legend says this much."
"That's good, though, isn't it?"
Nyssa shakes her head. "If my father had allowed me to bring her back when I asked, perhaps there would be a chance. But he did not. And although I will always have a great deal of anger towards him, I do think – in this one instance – his disapproval had an upside. Because," Nyssa says, and now she takes Laurel's hand, squeezing it gently, "I realised, eventually, that I was not doing this for Sara. I was doing it for myself."
Laurel sighs, closing her eyes briefly and letting Nyssa trace a circle on her palm with her thumb. "You're right. It is selfish of me. I know that. But I just – I've lost her twice now, and both times I didn't think I would be able to live without her."
"You were wrong," Nyssa murmurs. "Not only did you manage to carry on living… but you flourished."
"Maybe," Laurel says. "But if there's even a tiny chance that I can live with her, I'll take it. She's my little sister, Nyssa. She – she's not supposed to die first. Before me. Twice. No matter what it takes I have to at least try to put that right."
"Laurel... samaya," Nyssa pleads, and Laurel winces, both at the endearment and at the tears in Nyssa's eyes as she lifts her hand to Laurel's cheek. "I implore you. This is a dangerous path. Please do not pursue it any further. If not for your own sake then for Sara's. Promise me, ya Laurel."
"I can't do that," Laurel says. It's now that she registers how thick her own voice has become with tears. "You know I can't. You know why."
"And you know why I object to you even suggesting this so strenuously," Nyssa replies.
And then Laurel can't help it – she reaches up to tuck a strand of Nyssa's hair behind her ear before cupping the back of her neck. "And here I thought we understood each other."
Nyssa closes her eyes at Laurel's touch. "I thought the same. I suppose we were both wrong."
The tears are falling freely down Laurel's face now. She stands on her tiptoes so she is briefly a couple of inches taller, tall enough to press a kiss on Nyssa's forehead. "I'm sorry," Laurel whispers into Nyssa's skin, lips still brushing her hairline.
Nyssa's sigh as Laurel pulls away is audible, and Laurel doesn't need to look Nyssa in the eyes to know she feels just as much regret. "As am I, samaya. As am I."
