AN: I'M ALIVE! And what better way to make my comeback than with something the people asked for?
John Diggle supposes that he should be against handing his child over to an assassin, but the exhausted slump of the Demon's Heir's shoulders told him she wouldn't be jumping out any windows with the baby in tow anytime soon.
Though he's apprehensive about letting a clueless person hold his daughter, and Nyssa herself admitted she knew nothing of children. John sat Nyssa down on the couch, showing her the proper way to hold a baby for a good ten minutes before finally trusting the assassin's balance and strength.
Nyssa carefully cradles Sara's little body, making the assassin equivalent of cooing noises and nudging a single finger along her tummy. When Sara squealed, the Heir to the Demon shared a heartbroken, tired smile with the child.
John felt something twist in his chest at the assassin's expression. He'd seen it so many times in Afghanistan. The half-hearted smile of a broken man with a broken heart; the deaths of lovers, friends, family weighing down on them–but trying not to show how much it hurt.
"I'm sorry," he says, before his brain can catch up with what his mouth is doing. "For not telling you immediately."
Nyssa barely has the heart to shrug. "I…understand. The League is very hard to contact."
"No. Oliver has some way of getting a message or other to you guys," John admits, shaking his head. "I forgot about you. Forgot that you loved…love her, too. And for that, I'm sorry."
"Ah, well," Nyssa says, avoiding his eyes by staring into those of his child, "everyone forgets another in their grief. Fate always forgets to write me a happy ending…though I've begun to believe again that it's intentional."
John isn't quite sure what to say to that (again. That means someone convinced her, once, that she deserved a happily ever after. It doesn't take him long to guess who it was.), and, for probably the only time in her parenting career, he's glad when Sara begins to fuss.
Nyssa furrows her brow. "Is it time for her to nurse?"
"Nah. She just throws fits for no reason sometimes. A raspberry usually cheers her up." The assassin raises her eyebrow at him, so he demonstrates, and she hesitantly copies, blowing air against his daughter's tummy. Sure enough, the child squeals in laughter.
Nyssa shifts her back down to her lap. Her finger traces over the embroidery on Sara's little shirt, proudly announcing her name to the world.
"She always said that if we had a daughter, she would be named Sara the Second," Nyssa whispers, as if scared of ruining the child's sudden peace with too loud a voice.
John stares at her. "You two talked about kids?"
"In passing, yes," Nyssa says, "but not too in-depth. Of course I would need Heirs, though my father would not grant me marriage to the one I love, and I wished to wed her before children. The second I was the Demon's Head, I would have offered her my hand."
He's surprised, again, by her admission, but love–and loss of it–can make anyone weak, especially about their feelings. John watches as Nyssa blows another raspberry, his daughter shrieking and squirming.
"She is going to be a fine warrior," Nyssa says, not bothering to block the tiny kicks to her abdomen, spurred on by Sara's giggle fit. "Sara would have been proud to be her namesake."
"Sara would have put together a parade if she'd known," John says, cracking a smile at the thought of Sara singing her own name from the rooftops.
It puts the image in Nyssa's head, too, obviously, as he earns a genuine uptick of the corner of her mouth. He ranks it as high a victory as any drug bust or crime lord thrown in jail.
Sara starts fussing again, and this time, it is because she's hungry. John takes the child to Lyla to nurse. When he comes back, Nyssa has already pulled on her jacket (an old, beat up one from the college Sara used to attend briefly, a size or three too small for the Demon's Heir) and is showing herself the door.
He clears his throat, taking Nyssa's attention from the doorknob she was about to turn. "You know," he starts, knowing he was offering this to a broken woman, not the world's second most deadly assassin in this moment, "we have a guest bedroom if you'd like, and extra food. We could use another set of hands for the night."
You don't have to be alone.
Nyssa's eyes are empty. "Thank you, John Diggle, but…no. Sara's items are still in the safe house and I need to…pack them up."
He understands how messy break-ups can be. Though this one is a lot more sudden and heart-wrenching and unintentional than any fractured relationship he cried over in high school.
He nods. "You're welcome. And the offer will stand for a while, if you'd ever feel the reconsidering." He opens the door for her, because Nyssa's hands are still yet shaking.
"You have earned a friend tonight, John Diggle," Nyssa offers in parting, already making her way down the hall. "I promise that no harm from the League will come to your child as long as I hold my significance."
John knows she's going to do something reckless after a phrase like that. But, for now, he takes comfort in the fact that she has to grieve before making any rash, life-threatening decisions.
He closes the door, and hears a strangled sob he knows he wasn't supposed to.
AN: *cough*John's I-forgot-about-you-Nyssa line was based off of the Arrow writers' mindset about Nysara*cough*
I know absolutely nothing about babies, so I don't know if Sara the Smaller would be doing those things by 3X04. *shrugs* Whatever.
This was not beta'd, so all mistakes are mine. If you find any grammatical errors, please inform me so I may fix them.
Disclaimer: I do not own Arrow. If I did, I would actually acknowledge Nysara.
Constructive criticism is welcome, and reviews FEED MY DEMONIC POWERS! BWA HA HA!