Chapter 10

Patience is probably one of the most useful skills that the League ever taught Sara.

She can stand still for hours, if she needs to – she can perch quietly in some out-of-the-way corner, unmoving, as she watches for her target. Her patience will sometimes slip, of course – she's not perfect, and her emotions sometimes do get the better of her. Sometimes. Most of the time, though, she just stays. Her patience lets her think – it lets her mind quieten, settling into a pool of silence, clear and undisturbed.

This time, she sits next to other-Rip's bedside, waiting patiently for him to wake up.

This waiting doesn't present any challenge – it's a much-appreciated lull, and it gives Sara time to think. She lounges with her head resting on her palm, watching her 'target' absentmindedly – she uses the time to examine him more closely, noting all the reasons why she should've noticed he was different right from the start. This Rip is a little gaunter, a little more ragged; his facial hair is slightly grown out, bordering on unkempt. But he does have the same coat, and he's wearing practically the same outfit as their Rip underneath it. It makes Sara wonder – because, either this man really has no ambition whatsoever in the area of fashion, or this past isn't as far in the past as she would have thought.

Sara finds herself hoping that it's the former, but it's a doubtful hope.

Rip wasn't happy about Sara's plan to talk to other-Rip herself – he'd protested, forbid it, forbid it again, and then given an exasperated rant about the team's lack of obedience when all of that failed. Sara didn't care, of course, and neither did any of the others. Rip obviously doesn't know what's best for him in this situation, and Sara had been confident that she wasn't about to get killed by a younger version of Rip when their current Rip didn't even have a hope of making a dent in her. After promising Rip that it was going to be fine, really, and telling Stein to keep an eye on him – they still don't know how much of an impact this 'echo' injury can make on Rip, and Sara definitely doesn't want their captain to lock himself away again only to bleed out in solitude – she left them all on the flight deck, making her way back to the med bay alone. Other-Rip was right where they'd left him, this time, and she had made Gideon lock the door behind her. Just in case.

It's been a few hours, probably, and Sara doesn't mind that it could be a few more before other-Rip wakes up again. She has no idea how strong of a sedative Gideon had given him, or how badly he'd needed a long rest in the first place. Another less-than-happy thought – exhaustion and malnutrition, like Gideon had said. Just how much had this Rip gone through before he'd gotten here?

Sara lets the question settle as she does, resolved to wait.

It probably is hours before other-Rip wakes up – Sara doesn't really know, as she hadn't bothered keeping track. She's slouched in her chair, rubbing her fingers along her scalp absentmindedly, when he shifts with a slight cough.

It's another few moments before he groans weakly, scrunching his face into a faint wince – Sara tells herself not to move, not an inch. Her every muscle stays easily frozen, almost as if he were her actual target – but then, he might just be. She doesn't know yet, but she really hopes that he doesn't leap up with another knife in hand –

Hmm. Maybe she should've searched him for more knives when she'd had the chance.

Other-Rip turns his head in Sara's direction blindly, eyes still squeezed shut, and she hastily dismisses the afterthought. His eyes crack open marginally – it must take a second for his sight to adjust and for him to get his bearings. It's a second after that when other-Rip tenses, eyes going wide as he starts to jolt upright, obviously heading towards the scenario that Sara had just hoped to not experience –

But it seems that the sedative is still affecting him, because his attempt at getting up doesn't get him very far. Other-Rip only sits halfway up before wincing painfully – he cringes into himself, pressing one hand into his abdomen while he gingerly leans away from Sara on his other forearm. He stares at her, alarmed – she might not have known that, if she didn't know Rip's expressions so well. But this Rip doesn't know that…

She doesn't say anything, instead just sitting quietly with her eyebrows slightly raised at other-Rip's reaction. It's a long moment before he lets out a slow breath, frowning at her.

"You again," says other-Rip quietly – his eyes shift cautiously, taking in the empty room around them. "…What are you doing?"

"Keeping an eye on you, for one," replies Sara at length, giving him a slight smirk. "Can't have you running off again. By the way, don't get any ideas about trying to fight your way out of here or anything, 'cause it won't work. League of Assassins, you see." She shrugs lightly, deliberately playing up the nonchalance as she leans further down her seat, tilting her head back lazily.

It seems to work, at least a little – other-Rip's frown deepens, but he slowly lowers himself back down into a more comfortable-looking position. Clearly still on edge, but at least he isn't obviously inflicting pain upon himself anymore.

A rather uneasy silence stretches between them – one that Sara casually ignores. She notes with satisfaction that he appears to have calmed down a lot since he'd last interacted with any of them – he isn't shouting and slamming people into walls, anyway, although something like that could very well be on his mind. Other-Rip's eyes still dart around the room sharply, as if he's looking for the telltale signs of a trap and probably a way out, too. His gaze finally settles on her again, narrowing suspiciously.

"Where is he?" He asks the question in an almost careful manner – he doesn't expect her to respond. It's obvious who he's talking about, though, and Sara can't think of a reason not to respond – after all, it's not like this Rip is going to get the chance to go after their Rip again. It's also not as if the answer to his question isn't obvious already.

She takes a deep breath and slowly releases it. "On the bridge," replies Sara loftily, before leaning forward and crossing her forearms over her knees. "Why? …You want to try to kill yourself again?"

There isn't really an easy way to put it. Rip just blinks at her question, looking away and chewing his jaw tersely.

Sara waits for a long moment, watching as he stares at the distant wall, clenching and unclenching his fists repeatedly. When it's clear that he's not going to say anything, she draws a breath and speaks. "You've gotta know that your plan is never going to work."

Rip ignores her.

"…In fact, I think that it isn't even a real plan. I think you're just frustrated. Lost. You woke up on this ship, figured out where and when you were, and you made an impulsive decision. A decision based completely on those feelings."

He presses his lips together tightly, still for all appearances not listening, and she would bet anything that he's trying his hardest not to roll his eyes.

"You're angry. Tired. Probably feels like going round in circles – trying again and again to save them, never getting anywhere. I bet you're ready to do almost anything at this point. Or maybe…just anything. Anything at all."

Rip stirs at her mention of 'them', twitching angrily, and he starts fractionally shaking his head throughout the rest of her calm words. He's about to burst out, she can see it – as soon as she pauses in her speech, he lets out a short sigh, still resolutely staring across the room and away from her.

"Look, if I wanted to hear your opinion on the matter, I'd have asked," snaps Rip through gritted teeth. "So please, stop acting as if you know me and just– just leave me the bloody hell alone."

Sara raises her eyebrows coolly. "I do know you, Rip. I've known you for a while now."

He scoffs at her, shaking his head in irritated disbelief. "No, actually, you don't," insists Rip, with a scathing note to his voice – it's so familiar, so fully synonymous with that of their Rip, that it almost makes her mistake the cold anger in his eyes for a more familiar sort of stubborn dismay. "You know a version of me. One that I don't intend to become, not if I can help it."

"Well, unfortunately for you, you can't help it," says Sara briskly. She straightens, folding her arms over her chest while maintaining her scrutiny of him. "Some things never change."

"Is that right?" He asks sarcastically, his tone becoming biting. "Born a member of the League of Assassins, were you? Have you always been such a stubborn conversationalist, or is that a new trick they're teaching in case you ever wanted to irritate your targets to death?"

Oh good, British insults. Sara calmly ignores the latter half of Rip's little outburst, sighing patiently. "No, I wasn't born a member of the League. Neither were you born a Time Master. But I like to think that there are some things that don't change." She smiles crookedly, letting her head tilt back lazily. "For instance – I definitely wasn't always an assassin, but I was always a survivor. I'd never have gotten this far if I hadn't been."

Still deliberately not looking at her, Rip raises his eyebrows disinterestedly and blows out a slow sigh of pointed boredom.

"You've always been a survivor, too," she continues, ignoring his antics. "You know what else you've always been?"

Rip rolls his eyes, lifting a hand in slightly violent gesture. "Pray, do tell," he retorts, sounding almost painfully skeptical at this point. It sounds so much like something their Rip would say that Sara can't help but smirk slightly, feeling a little spark of warmth in her chest. Maybe things aren't that bad…

Or maybe, nothing really has changed. She's suddenly unsure of whether that's a good or a bad thing.

Rip's (still disinterested) gaze has finally shifted over her, though, and Sara forces the thought out of her head. "…You're stubborn. And independent. Or, you try to be, anyway," amends Sara. She pauses for a moment, watching him as he averts his eyes again, a closed expression stealing over his face. "You hold all your problems as close as you possibly can, and you refuse to let anyone else help. Even when you do reach out about something – you still keep everyone at arm's length, and you try to hide what's bothering you. Even when whatever it is you're trying to hide is obvious to everyone else."

When Rip continues to resume studiously ignoring her, Sara reaches out and firmly pokes his shoulder with her finger. "And that, Rip, is definitely something that hasn't changed."

He flinches almost comically at the touch, turning to give her a nearly scandalized glare – Sara merely smiles with a minimal amount of mischief mixed into her expression. Rip grimaces sourly as his gaze flits between her face and the offended limb. "…Quite an extensive analysis," he mutters dryly. "Actually, it's a rather disturbing one as well, considering the fact that I have literally no idea who you are – and also no desire to find out!" He adds hastily, scowling, when Sara grins wryly at his words.

"Sara Lance, former citizen of Star City and League of Assassins member," she says brightly, making a mock bow of introduction. "…and currently Captain Rip Hunter's trusted second-in-command." She grins all the wider at the last bit, even though it's basically true anyway – although, she probably wouldn't get very far with saying something like that with the other team members, or their own Rip Hunter, in the area.

The younger Rip rolls his eyes exasperatedly, sighing heavily. "Oh, well, bloody brilliant then," he snaps in annoyance. "I suppose I'd shake your hand, but under the circumstances…"

"That's all right," replies Sara easily, leaning back in her seat again. "You'll get the chance to do that eventually. Although – I actually don't think that you ever shook my hand when we met the first time…" She frowns, absently thinking back to that distant day.

Rip watches her with a frown, brows pinched together. "How terribly negligent of me," he says, not sounding very sorry at all. "…Very well, Ms. Lance – since you seem so dead set on conversation, tell me this: how did you come to join your Captain Hunter's crew aboard the Waverider?"

Sara senses that there's probably a (very pointed) point to Rip's new train of thought, but it still feels like progress to her – she shrugs internally, pursing her lips before replying. "Actually, you lied to us to get us to join you," says Sara lightly. "You told us that we were all legends in your time and that was the reason why you chose us to help you defeat Savage. That wasn't exactly the case, sadly...but we all decided to stay anyway."

He scoffs at that, seeming somehow more irritated than previously. "Well, you have my condolences on your…unfortunate decision," says Rip scathingly, shaking his head. "Although, I'm not in the least bit surprised that I had to lie to you all in order to convince you. Because, as you say, some things never change – and this certainly hasn't. Rip Hunter, in any instance, is not someone that you should trust."

He pauses there, looking away with something akin to guilt on his face – Sara raises an eyebrow, and after a long moment he continues. "You don't know me, you don't know what I've done – you can say that you do, but how can you know that in the first place? I've already lied to you once. Who's to say that I haven't lied to you about the rest of it? About everything? About who I am… what I've done…what I've been through…" He shakes his head dismissively, averting his eyes.

And really…it's a valid point. It's not as if it hasn't already crossed Sara's mind, anyway. After that first trip that they went on with Rip – after he finally admitted that he had lied to them, and that he was really trying to save his family above all – well, Sara had had her doubts. But still – there had been a reason why she'd stayed. It was the same reason why she never dwelled on the possibility of Rip having told them more lies again.

Sara watches Rip quietly for a long moment, tilting her head contemplatively. "You could be right," she says eventually. "But you're a little wrong too. Because…sometimes, lies about the big things don't really matter so much. You know? And maybe you could lie about what you've done, or what you've been through – but you can't lie about who you are. And that's what's really important."

He continues to look away from her, still appearing stubbornly adverse to what she's saying – and really, Sara almost feels strange talking so much about this to him. What's really strange, though, is that it doesn't really feel all that strange – it's almost serene, oddly comfortable. That sensation is probably helped along by the fact that neither Rip will remember this at all, in the end.

"Maybe I don't really know what you've done or what you've been through," continues Sara, watching Rip seriously. "But I do know the version of you that survived all that. I know what sort of person you are, and the sort of person you'll still be after all this is over. And that's why…I know that you, the real you, wouldn't ever go through with this weird suicide plan. Not when you've had the chance to clear your head."

It doesn't seem like exactly the right thing to say – Sara hasn't even finished speaking when Rip snorts derisively, clenching his jaw.

"Is that right," he mutters, his lips twisting angrily. "Is that right…" The expression on his face is clear as day – you don't know what you're talking about.

Sara is silent. It doesn't seem like he can handle maintaining his forced position of reclined relaxation any longer – Rip ticks his fingers agitatedly before shooting upright, letting out a short sigh. She doesn't move, just lets him; he only swings his legs over the side, turning to sit in a rather hunched position. A faint beeping starts emanating from somewhere, but they both ignore it.

Rip stares at her for a long moment – his frown looks like it wants to be more like a scowl of distaste, but that doesn't hide the hint of desperation that has somehow stolen into his expression. "You don't….you don't," says Rip quietly, twisting his hands together in agitation. "…You don't know that."

She waits. A quiet lull stretches out, disturbed only by the slight sound of Rip's hands rubbing together incessantly – it's a twitch, an unforgiving fidget. Sara is patient, and he eventually shakes his head again, drawing an unsteady breath.

"…You don't know what I would do," mutters Rip darkly, eyes downcast. "I–I may hate the Time Council for their blindness. You probably know that much. And, I certainly despise Vandal Savage for all that he's done. But – you don't – you can't…" He pauses, sighing shakily and gritting his jaw.

"…Despite all that, Ms. Lance, there is still no one that I loathe more than myself. No one. So you don't know – you have no idea what I would do. You can't possibly."

He steels himself to the admonition, clenching his jaw and looking away tersely. Sara watches quietly, frowning, and she waits for shock – she almost wishes that she were surprised, that she were dumbfounded by words she'd never expected him to utter. She's not, though. This, too seems just a little too much like something that their Rip would say.

She doesn't think she'd be shocked if their Rip did say it, either. Some things…

She does find herself a little speechless, though, but that's only because she's not sure there is an adequate response to something like that. "Rip…" she starts, trailing off. "You're not – you're not a bad person, Rip. You shouldn't – don't compare yourself to them."

"Not a bad person?" Rip bursts out, scowling incredulously at her. "Not a bad person? Do you even–" He scoffs shortly, leaning back in frustration. "Look – Savage may be an evil monster, but I – I'm the one who decided not to kill him back in Egypt. I'm the one who couldn't save my family, and who still can't. I'm the one that left them – I was the one who had to go off and try to be a Time Master, leaving my wife and son alone, because my career was so important, wasn't it–"

Sara finds herself straightening, leaning away from him and his furious tirade – Rip bites back a heated sigh, pressing his lips together. His hands are shaking, and he clenches them fiercely. "The members of the Time Council are fools, and Savage is pure evil," says Rip slowly, his voice breaking. "But I…I was just – a coward. A poor excuse for a Time Master, a poor excuse for a husband, and a poor excuse for a father."

He sits there, trembling ever so slightly – Sara doesn't miss the sheen of moisture that his eyes have acquired, but she bites her lip and decides not to comment on it. "Stop it, Rip," she says instead, her frown deepening. "Look, I – I know where you're coming from, I really do. But you're wrong. And all of this – punishing yourself? It's not going to fix anything."

Rip shakes his head, muttering under his breath. "You don't know that."

"I do," Sara insists – she leans forward with her elbows on her knees, her expression turning earnest. "A while ago, I thought I was a monster. I used to hate myself. I didn't think that there was any way for me to find redemption, or a purpose, or any way to get rid of the guilt. D'you know who changed my mind?" Rip's frown deepens, but he turns away and Sara continues persistently. "You did, Rip. You're the one who convinced me to stop punishing myself."

He scoffs again, frowning darkly. "That's a tad hypocritical."

"Then change it!" Rip refuses to meet her eyes, and Sara doesn't relent in her stare despite the growing redness of his eyes. "Stop trying to get revenge on yourself! You're not gaining anything but more pain."

He clenches his jaw, ignoring her words, and Sara presses on. "Do you know what your future self is trying to do?" asks Sara determinedly, not waiting for an answer. "He's doing his best to make up for all the mistakes he's made. He's trying to put it right. And here you are, angry at him when he's the one trying to move forward. Do you really want to take all that away just because you feel guilty? What's the point, Rip?"

She's never really been the delicate type, but even she usually knows when to stop – but it's harder with Rip, because he locks down on his pain until he can't hold it back anymore. Sara pauses for breath, watching him as he sits there, stock still for a long moment – he finally reaches up shakily, pressing a hand to his mouth.

"I'm not…" Rip starts thickly, blinking forcefully. "I'm not guilty… Not just that."

He looks away again, turning his face upwards while he blinks back tears as if she can't see them. He sighs heavily, seeming to exhale out all of the strength in his entire body. "…it's mostly…I just- I don't know. I can't – I've tried so many times, over and over and I just can't – I don't know. I don't know what to do–"

She's done it before – there are times when Sara doesn't stop to think, when she simply acts on instinct because there really isn't any other choice. She can't not, and she rarely regrets it – and she doesn't stop to think about it now. Rip curls in on himself convulsively, as if a stabbing pain has suddenly erupted in his chest, and he tries to bite back a sob to no avail – and Sara just moves without thinking, getting up and reaching forward to embrace him tightly. He doesn't put up any sort of fight – he just shakes slightly in her grasp, and Sara presses her lips together tightly and closes her eyes.

"It's okay," says Sara softly, not that she really thinks he's listening – not that it matters. Rip, this Rip, probably hasn't had a chance to fall apart in a long time, and Sara just stays and hugs him tighter. She refuses to let a tear of her own fall – but she can't help but think of their Rip, the one who probably hasn't had a chance to fall apart in an even longer while.

She doesn't need patience now – she just stays, trying not to think, while Rip quietly cries into her shoulder.