Guess who's back? It's a long one, so hopefully that makes up for my inconsistency. So, without further ado:

.


It might be said that Sara was racing around the house like a decidedly more graceful Tasmanian Devil, a la Looney Tunes. This particular observation came not from Nyssa but from Sin, who was hunched over a bowl of cornflakes, sitting at the island and watching the blonde warily, though the former assassin guessed she'd probably agree with the teenager if only she knew what on earth a Tasmanian Devil actually was. Her fiancée had apparently been up for hours—Sara's side of the bed was long cold—by the time Nyssa had woken. And when she had woken, she'd opened her eyes to an enormous grin, a tray loaded with breakfast and the insistence that she stay quiet, because Sara had planned to wish her a very happy birthday and Sin had been asleep in her own room down the hall. Sara was highly enthusiastic about birthdays, so Nyssa wasn't complaining about the chaos, even though all she really wanted on her "special day" was to spend time with her family.

But Sin, on the other hand, was definitely complaining. Loudly.

"Sar, you're makin' my head hurt. Just sit down for, like, ten seconds. The world is totally not gonna fall apart if you chill out. Promise."

The blonde glared menacingly, and, for the first time in a while, the other two people in the room were reminded that she was capable of being intimidating. She huffed, "I'm trying to get everything ready. Unless you want to be thrown out of this house for the day or forced to help me, you will kindly shut it, kid."

"Okay, okay," Sin grumbled, holding her hands up in surrender.

Only somewhat hesitantly, Nyssa made her own attempt, wondering, "Beloved, what exactly are you trying to get ready for?"

"Your party," came the nonchalant reply from the living room.

Nyssa balked. "I beg your pardon?"

Sara poked her head back in the kitchen and repeated, "Your party. Y'know, for your birthday?"

"I most certainly do not know."

"I asked you. You were fine with it."

Crossing her arms, Nyssa argued, "I don't recall being asked."

Though Sara was back in the other room, Nyssa didn't need to see her face to sense the shit-eating grin she wore as she innocently replied, "Sure you do. It was a week ago. Remember? Last Saturday night, after dinner with Felicity and Oliver?"

At that, Nyssa glowered at the empty doorway. She had no trouble remembering that night in broader terms, but remembering precisely what Sara had said while three fingers in, or what she herself had agreed to when those fingers twisted just so…well, that was another matter entirely.

The brunette remarked, "You play dirty, Lance."

"And you like it," the blonde shot back.

"Ugh, come on," Sin cried. "Can't you guys take it easy?"

There was a fairly loud thump from the living room and then, "Ow. Shit. Fuck…ow."

Nyssa was immediately at Sara's side, knowing she was fine but still helpless to the pull. She found the woman standing beside their heavy, elegant coffee table, clutching her shin and grimacing, so she smiled softly at her beloved, gently teasing, "Baby, sometimes I wonder if you actively try to shed your training. No member of the League should even be capable of such clumsiness."

"And, yet, here we are," Sara whined, wincing.

Kissing her temple, Nyssa pulled Sara down onto the couch and brought the blonde's legs into her lap, smoothing her hands up the battered one to take the place of Sara's and tenderly stroke the sore spot. Sure, they didn't put any stock in physical pain—this was probably more about surprise than hurt—but that didn't dissuade Nyssa's urge to comfort her love.

Hesitantly, she asked, for clarification's sake, "You're throwing me a party?"

Sara blushed at the tenderness of the moment and explained, "Yeah, I know you've never really had a normal birthday party, and you've got a lot of friends now who want to celebrate, so it seemed like a nice idea."

Nyssa laughed, "I don't suppose that night at the bar in Tel Aviv counts as a normal birthday experience?"

"Oh, God, no. Although, I think, after those black licorice shots, that was the drunkest I've ever seen you. We should do that again sometime, without all the broken glass or unplanned midnight swims." Sara cocked her head to the side and amended, "Well, maybe swimming would be fine, but I'd prefer leisure to escape method."

"Perhaps," allowed Nyssa noncommittally.

"Okay, you're totally distracting me," Sara griped, swatting Nyssa's hands away and jumping off the couch.


Much to the surprise of many guests—but not Nyssa; she had complete faith—Sara did a beautiful job as a hostess. Hors d'oeuvres, including stuffed mushrooms and bruschetta, were elegantly plated and ready when company started to arrive at 3pm. Said guests were Oliver, William, Thea, Roy, Felicity, Dig, Lyla, Laurel, Quentin, Donna, Talia, Clark, Lois, Barry, Cisco, and Caitlin. There was plenty of easy conversation, and no one was in a rush to get anywhere on that quiet Saturday afternoon.

They spent most of the afternoon out in the very spacious backyard. Nyssa wore the black dress she'd bought with Sara and Dinah, and she received an abundance of compliments on it, which had her feeling all the more confident. Sara was wearing white jean shorts, a sea foam v neck and her black blazer with the sleeves rolled up. They almost looked like they should've been going country clubbing. Sara made a joke about that. Nyssa didn't understand it, but it had Lyla snickering, so it must've been decently amusing.

There was music playing from a speaker masquerading as a colorfully lit jukebox, and Cisco and Roy had spent a good fifteen minutes engaged in what became a heated dance battle until Lois, with her titanic competitive streak, pushed her way into the middle of the circle and whipped out a few epic moves that earned her their much deserved respect.

By the time everyone was digging into the expertly grilled burgers, chicken, or the vegetable alternative, people had finally stopped seeming surprised by how smoothly Sara was handling everything. It was only May, so the warmth faded a bit as the sun sank, but she lit the nice, big fire pit on the stone patio, and that kept the temperature comfortable. When the sky started to go pink, she flipped a switch to turn on an extensive arrangement of fairy lights. She had strung them up through the trees ringing their yard while Nyssa was still sleeping that morning, and she looked to her fiancée hopefully.

"Do you like it?"

Nyssa set down her empty plate, intertwined their fingers and kissed her cheek. "It is beautiful, Beloved."

"You're beautiful."

"Sap," Clark teased. Neither woman minded, since he was really the sappiest of all of them, anyway. Lois amusedly reminded him of that fact, but he just grinned at her.

"You're totally whipped, Kent," Sara laughed. "Let's go inside. Gift time."

Nyssa looked at her in surprise. She was honored enough that all these people—these friends—came to celebrate her birthday. Gifts were unnecessary, and she hoped they hadn't felt obligated to bring her something.

"Don't worry," Sara assured, sensing her fiancée's unease. "It's not what you think." She guided the brunette into one of the armchairs in the living room and curled up on her lap, partly to maximize the seating space for their guests, partly to keep Nyssa from bolting, and mostly because it was one of her favorite places to be.

Sin cleared her throat, standing in front of the tv, facing the group, a hint of nerves playing across her features. She announced, mostly to Nyssa, "I've got something else for you, in addition to the big thing, so I'm going first, because there's no way I can follow that."

The words "big thing" made Nyssa uncomfortable. She was very unused to this sort of positive attention. This unmotivated friendship. Plenty League members had tried to gain the favor of the Heir in an effort to improve their station. But these people had no ulterior motive in being nice to her. It was both refreshing and oddly foreign. But she focused on what Sin was saying.

The teen reminded her, while filling in the other guests, "Several years ago, on my twelfth birthday, you gave me this." She held up a small silver compass on a chain. "You said it was a tradition, in your culture, for a parent to give their child somethin' that symbolized success or what they were proud of or…whatever," Sin said dismissively, trying to pretend this didn't mean as much to her as it obviously did.

"You said it's supposed to be a coming of age thing. Since you weren't around much, ya gave me the thing your dad gave you: this compass, made from the arrowhead of your first bullseye. And told me to look at it as a reminder that you an' Sara would always be with me, no matter how far away you were."

Sara, who was trying desperately not to cry, felt a hand on her shoulder, and looked up to see Laurel, tears shining in her eyes.

Sin continued, "So, since you gave me your gift, I figured it'd only be fair if I gave ya one back. Growin' up in the Glades wasn't easy, an' I used to get picked on for bein' such a tomboy. Then you taught me how to defend myself, and everything changed. I won my first fight with a broken glass bottle, and I know that's not the sorta thing you should tell your moms, but it's the truth, and I mighta gotten beat pretty bad if it weren't for what I learned from you guys. So I had this made." She handed Nyssa a box that was about a foot long and tied with a dark purple ribbon.

Nyssa opened the box delicately, not trusting her own emotions, though her fingers never shook. Inside was a beautiful, blue glass arrow. With intuition ringing in her ears, she carefully lifted it close enough to discern that the arrowhead was engraved with the same patterns and inscriptions as her own traditional weaponry. As she turned it over in her hands, awed, her fingers brushed over grooves on the shaft, and she adjusted her grip to read a neat inscription that ran from head to fletching.

Family isn't always blood. It's the people in your life who want you in theirs…who accept you for who you are.

Only when the arrow was back in its padded box and safely set down on the coffee table did Nyssa spring from the chair and crush Sin in her arms. The teen grinned into Nyssa's shoulder, returning the hug for a long moment before playfully wriggling away, joking, "Enough mushiness. Since when are we one of those emotional families?"

Sara, who'd been displaced by Nyssa's abrupt movement, ruffled Sin's hair before tugging Nyssa back to the armchair. Sin scowled, frantically fixing it, but the annoyance was fleeting as she took a cue from Sara and directed everyone's attention to the large flatscreen for the "big thing". Then she turned off the lights and took a seat on the floor in front of the armchair, leaning back against Nyssa's legs.

As Sin pressed play on the remote, Sara whispered to Nyssa, "If you hate this, it's a hundred percent your sister's fault."

A familiar voice echoed through the speakers, "Even if we can't find heaven," and then, on the beat, the same motion—one hand reaching out to take another—flashed repeatedly during the line, "Hands / Put your empty hands in mine." Each pair of hands was from different people, and, even though nothing past the wrist was visible, they sparked recognition in the back of Nyssa's mind. She was sure she knew who the voice belonged to, but it was so unexpected that doubt edged in. The next line, however, brought certainty. Instead of hands, they watched the unidentified people show off their scars in another series of close-ups. Her heart surged with gratefulness at the sight of a slim hand tugging the collar of a blouse to reveal a bullet wound. She'd heard that story. And, yes that was most definitely Sara singing, "And scars / Show me all the scars you hide," as she pulled aside her unbuttoned flannel to reveal a pale expanse of skin that would've been unmarred but for the small red line of sharpie above her heart.

Nyssa's left hand slipped up from Sara's waist to touch that spot on her beloved, which had, before the effects of the Lazarus Pit, borne that very scar. Simultaneously, Sara's fingers slid into the palm of Nyssa's right hand to stroke one of two barely visible lines that ran across it. Their scars had been a set, obtained on a mission when they'd been taken by surprise. In what had once—before leaving and dying and time travel—been the most terrifying moment of Nyssa's life, an archer took a direct shot at Sara's heart. She hadn't been able to think enough to do anything more than reach up and snatch the arrow before it struck its target. Because of their positioning and the timing, she'd closed her hand as soon as possible, not willing to risk anything deeper than a nick to Sara's sternum. The action earned her wounds from the arrowhead slicing through her palm, but it was infinitely better than the damage it would have caused her beloved.

The whole rest of the video was beautifully shot and equally sentimental. At the first chorus, it opened up to show that all of their friends were involved. Barry and Lois did most of the more significant, discernible backup singing, and Cisco was on the drums, and William was there on Sara's shoulders. It was magnificent and touching and Nyssa blinked back tears for the second time in less than ten minutes, which…really. Absurdly emotional. She didn't even notice Sin shift away from the foot of the chair. After two weeks of planning, filming and editing, Sara, who was watching Nyssa and not the video, was relieved to see the appreciation on Nyssa's face.

As the song came to an end, everything else faded out and there was the Canary, standing alone. On screen, Sara whispered the last line, "I'm gonna stand by you," and sank onto one knee, grinning—always grinning. The Sara in Nyssa's lap turned over her hand—the one on Nyssa's knee—and Nyssa looked down to see a ring in her open palm.

"You asked me first. Didn't seem fair that I never got the opportunity to ask you. Because I wanted to. I really, really wanted to. I need you to know that I'm not just accepting you, Nys. I'm choosing you, too. Forever. So I'm doin' this right." Sara slipped off Nyssa's lap and knelt down, mirroring the pose in the video.

"For the last eight years, you've meant more to me than I could ever put into words. You gave me something to believe in when I was sure I wouldn't believe in anything again. We've been through things that would destroy normal people. I would go to the edge of the universe for you, and I know you'd do the same for me. But, above all else, I love you. I love you so much it hurts sometimes. And it's the kind of hurt I can't imagine living without. So, Nyssa al Ghul, will you marry me?"

Nyssa tried to keep her emotions in check, but she couldn't control her bright smile as she replied, "If you insist."

Sara laughed, "You are amenable?"

"I am amenable."

Then she hauled Sara off the floor and kissed her like the world was about to end. Sara slipped the ring onto Nyssa's finger and jumped up with both fists in the air, exclaiming, "She said yes!" as if the entire room hadn't just silently watched the exchange.

Laurel and Talia simultaneously snickered, "Lunatic."

Clark pointed out, "Technically, she didn't."

Cisco started to chant, "Sara and Nyssa, sitting in a tree…" only to be harshly elbowed by Caitlin, who hissed his name and gave him a sharp look as a reminder that he had a secret to help keep.

"What?" he whisper-whined. "It was a joke."

"That they're pregnant, or that they think they're doing a good job hiding it?"

Both Caitlin and Cisco jumped at the appearance of Lois in their corner of the room. Caitlin fumbled clumsily with her wine glass, thankfully righting it before she could ruin her white dress. She whispered, "Miss Lane…or, uh, Mrs. Kent?…um, I mean…" she looked to Cisco desperately and squeaked, "Help?"

"Lois is fine, Dr. Snow."

"Just Caitlin, please."

Cisco sighed. "I wish I had a title other than Mister."

Leaning back to recline against the wall, Caitlin asked, "So, Lois, how'd you know?" She was careful to keep her voice down, because she would not be the one to spill Sara and Nyssa's decidedly large secret.

"Please," Lois proudly smirked. "I'm an investigative reporter. It was painfully obvious. First off, everyone is drinking alcohol—everyone of age, anyway—but Sara's got water. I think she realized an hour ago that it might look suspicious, so now she's drinking it from a beer bottle, but I watched her fill that thing up in the kitchen. And she rinsed it out so thoroughly one might accuse the girl of having OCD. Obviously, she's being overly cautious for a reason.

"And then there's the way Nyssa keeps touching Sara's stomach. It's as if her world revolves around it. Like she can't believe she could be so lucky," Lois said fondly, remembering how that felt. She laughed. "Plus, I'm pretty sure I saw Sara dip a potato chip in Sriracha mayo, and I'm really hoping that's a craving, not something she does regularly."

"Fair enough," Cisco acquiesced. "But it's a secret, so…"

Lois pinned him with a skeptical look. "Are you implying that you are more capable than I am of keeping a secret?"

He held his hands up in surrender. "I'm guessing "no" is the right answer?"

Across the room, Talia and Lyla, of all people, had ganged up on Clark and Dig.

"Really, you don't think we give men the benefit of the doubt?" Talia was scoffing.

Dig huffed, "Yes. It's pretty stereotypical to say—"

"John, what's different about me?" Lyla cut in.

"Uh, what?"

She rolled her eyes and asked again, "What's different about me? What's changed since yesterday?"

Caught off guard, the former army man blinked like a deer in headlights. He took a shot in the dark: "You…uh…got your nails done?"

"John, I haven't worn nail polish for years."

"Um…"

"Haircut," Felicity hissed helpfully as she strode past.

Dig let out a long, understanding, "Oh," followed by, "I see it now. It looks good."

Lyla just rolled her eyes.

Clark protested, "Maybe some men are less observant, but we don't all fall under that generalization." He was quite sure that his Kryptonian DNA and resulting superiority meant he'd lack such shortcomings.

"Is that so, Kent?" Talia questioned with a smirk.

Lyla forced her mind away from thinking about how Reporter Clark Kent knew Nyssa's Sister, Talia, whose last name and associations and place of residence they'd coincidentally—yes, coincidentally—not discussed, because she was still the director of A.R.G.U.S, dammit, and she had responsibilities and obligations and this was so…dubious. Not that shepherding pigtailed lunatics and sewer mutants was expressly morally sound. At least her friends weren't playing host to green hair and bleached skin. As far as questionable acquaintances go, this crowd was a lot less…murder-y.

She refocused on the conversation as Talia was saying, "Just saying, you may have some damage control ahead. Doubly so if you still haven't determined what for."

"Wha–how should I…hmph," Clark huffed, "Well, you've been helpful as always, Talia. I'll just be…" And he marched off in search of Felicity, who was apparently the only sympathetic woman around. Maybe she could tell him.

Lois smoothly dodged her husband, who found himself cornered by Cisco, and glided over to their group. Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she drawled, "Thanks, Tal."

Talia smirked, asking, "For the flowers and chocolate and attention you'll be drowning in for the foreseeable future? You're very welcome."

With a shake of her head, Lois redirected her attention, eyes glinting.

"So, Lyla, I understand there've been some changes in the leadership of certain…organizations since we last saw each other. Are congratulations in order?"

Keeping her expression casual, Lyla shrugged and offered, "Just a small promotion here. Nothing to write home about."

"Ah, well, congratulations anyway," Lois remarked, undeterred. She was Mad Dog Lane, possibly the greatest investigative reporter of their time. Likely enough, she already knew the truth. So it wasn't too shocking when she offhandedly said, "I was in Louisiana recently. Terrebonne Parish? Working on an article about Belle Reve. It's pretty tough to get decent information out of those wardens. Don't suppose you know anyone out there?"

Dig chuckled and commented under his breath, "Gotta respect a hustle."

It was Sara who appeared out of nowhere—seriously, that former assassin thing…—and rescued Lyla. The blonde tugged Lois's arm and insisted, "Lo, I need your help. I'm trying to tell that story, Y'know, the one about that guy at the bar in Metropolis? But it's so much funnier when we tell it together."

As they walked along the edge of the room, Lois glanced sideways at Sara and whispered amusedly, "Christ, Sara. Sometimes, you're a freaking ninja, but others you've got the subtlety of a bull in a china shop."

Sara squinted at her friend. "Huh?"

"You're walking like you've got the heavyweight champion of the world shadowboxing on your bladder."

"Um," Sara squirmed. "I have to pee? But like…I don't? I don't know."

As they walked into the hall between the living room and the foyer, Lois admitted, "I know. Been there. How's the nausea?"

"Eh, it comes and goes," Sara replied with a vague wave of her hand.

Lois pulled her into a hug. "Congratulations, hun."

Grinning, Sara squeezed back and sighed, "This whole keeping it a secret thing isn't working so well." She led Lois into the kitchen and started rummaging through the fridge.

"You're doing fine," Lois assured her. "Maybe just tone down the… Please tell me you're not about to put mustard on that cookie. Oh, ew, Sara. That's just horrible."

"Mfph, 's nah so bad," the blonde argued, munching on the now sickly yellow sugar cookie.

Lois grimaced. "It is. And worse when I have to watch you chew it."

"Luhk you didn' get cravingth."

"Mine were normal. Pickles and ice cream. Mostly one or the other. Sometimes both together. Plus orange juice and going to the beach, but that was probably because of the Kryptonian DNA. Yellow sun exposure or something."

Sara finished her cookie and pointed out, "So we're both entitled to unusual cravings. Y'know, 'cause miracle babies and all."

"Oh?"

"Well, yours is half alien, and mine's got two biological moms."

"Biological?" Lois echoed. At Sara's nod, she smiled. "Science or magic?"

The way the blonde said, "Science," it sounded a lot like magic.

Lois mused, "Isn't it incredible what scientists have come up with? My grandparents were amazed every time the TV turned on, and your kid's got two moms."

"This awe from the woman whose husband can fly."

"Touché."

"Do you think about it much?" Sara wondered. "I mean, like, I'm sure you've gotten so used to it, but does it ever randomly occur to you all over again how crazy it is? I don't think I'd be able to wrap my head around being married to an alien."

Lois countered, "Isn't your fiancée technically a myth?"

Sliding the reporter a fresh beer and refilling her unconventional water bottle, Sara grinned and acknowledged, "Good point. The other night, I said, "Oh, God," and she said, "Wrong deity." I called her "Your Demoness" for the rest of the night."

"Kinky," Lois chuckled. "Take advantage while you—Oh, Christ, Sara! Will you stop that?"

Sara licked the remaining mustard off the back of the spoon and shrugged dismissively. "What do you think that makes me?"

Lois blinked. "Huh?"

"Nys is supposedly, like, a deity in some cultures. Because of all the mysticism crap—"

"Mysticism crap that brought you back from the dead," Lois points out.

"Yeah, right. Anyway. You know how much of a fit religious people throw when anyone dares suggest that their deity could've been, like…not perfectly holy," the blonde noted flippantly. "Imagine what they'd think of me. It'd be like if Jesus walked into church on Good Friday with a giant sign over his head that said, "Queer As Fuck" and started making out with Kanye. Okay, wait, I'd be Kanye in that situation, and I am not Kanye, because… What?"

Lois was peering at her questioningly. "Nothing. It's just… You've always been so insistent on identifying as bi."

Running a hand through her hair, Sara nodded. "I didn't–don't want anyone to think I'm ashamed of my sexuality. I spent so much time tied to identities defined by other people. Shit in high school, what Ivo made me on the Amazo, who I had to become with the League, the person Oliver expected me to be after. When you're being twisted into something you don't recognize, it's a relief that the one thing no one questions is your heart and your right to give it to whoever you want. So, if that's what it comes down to, I'm gonna own it.

"Besides," she hedged, "I am queer as fuck. It's an umbrella term, right?"

"Uh huh," hummed Lois. "But, okay, back to this Jesus-Nyssa, you as Kanye situation…"

Sara laughed. That was why Lois was such a good friend. She could tell when Sara wanted to talk and when she wanted to get it out and move on.

Rolling her shoulder, Lois reached for a cookie, then thought better of it.

"Now I'm picturing you cutting off one of Oliver's speeches like, "Yo, Ollie"–" Lois's impression of Sara was oddly uncanny. "–"I'm really happy for you, and I'mma let you finish, but…"

"Nyssa is one of the best archers of all time," the Canary declared emphatically, proud of picking up on a pop culture reference from her time off-grid.

"That may be a bit of a stretch, Beloved."

Spinning around and bouncing on her toes, Sara grinned and threw her arms wide.

"Hey, babe!"

Nyssa strode over and leaned into her fiancée's embrace, asking Lois, "Do I want to know what you were talking about?"

Shrugging and reaching for a carrot—the one available food Sara hadn't yet bastardized—Lois summarized, "The hypothetical situation wherein Jesus non-platonically loves Kanye more than Kanye loves Kanye."

"A simple "no" would have sufficed."

Sin appeared then, swiping a sugar cookie and raising an eyebrow at Lois's wince. "This sounds interesting," the teen declared.

"I'm just saying," explained Sara, "there are people out there—weird, fucked up people, but still—who would totally lose their shit if they knew that the Demon's Head kneels to a skinny white girl from Starling City."

"Star City," Sin helpfully reminded her. "And ew, by the way."

"Oh, who really gives a fuck?"

Joining them at the island, Laurel remarked, "The city, apparently."

"And Ray," Thea noted from the doorway.

"Yeah, well." Sara huffed. "He knows what I think of it."

Oliver walked in and stood next to Thea. "Fill me in?"

"Um, I'm not entirely sure. Something about Nyssa being gay Jesus. And Sara might be pursuing a rap career? Or running for president in 2020?"

Sara cocked her head thoughtfully. "Maybe I should."

"You won't be old enough," objected Laurel. "You've gotta be at least 35."

"I will so, if you count the time travel."

Sin brandished a carrot, arguing, "But are you even still a citizen? You died here, and then you were reborn in Tibet. Does that make you Tibetan? How does that work?"

"Psh," Sara said, waving it off. "We'll just gloss over that part."

"You do have the money to kickstart a campaign," Thea acknowledged.

Grinning, Sara added, "My First Lady can do all the responsible and diplomatic stuff."

"Oh, the irony," Talia snickered.

"Hold on," Lois interrupted sternly. "Why are we actually discussing this as if it's a thing that's even remotely realistic?"

"Hey! I could totally be president. Right, Daddy?" Sara shouted.

In the other room, Quentin raised his eyebrows, but wisely said nothing.

Sara grumbled, "Yeah, 'preciate the support," and Lois smirked.

"I'd vote for her," Clark offered, leaning in around the doorway.

"Thank you, Clark," Sara replied with a grin.

"So," Sara asked a few hours later, "would you, really? Vote for me, I mean?"

It was near midnight, and almost everyone had gone home. The Canary and the Man of Steel were out in the backyard, lying on their backs in the grass and pointing out constellations.

Clark shrugged. "Sure. Why not? It's not like we have an abundance of more legitimate candidates."

"Ugh, I know. I really should check on my status, and citizenship stuff, and register to vote and all that, but they're not making it very enticing." Still squinting up at the stars, she hugged her knees to her chest, mostly because it was comfortable and only a little bit because she still could. Or partly because it was comfortable. Well, okay, definitely at least a little comfortable before her balance shifted a hair, and she ended up wobbling onto her side, grass itchy against her cheek.

With a grunt, she rolled back into the original prone position and asked, "Is there anything livable out there? Better options?"

"Nothing close enough."

It wasn't a no, and little green creatures flashed through Sara's mind before she remembered she was talking to the real deal.

"Anyway," Clark reasoned, "we're the heroes, so we'd be obligated to bring everyone, and then we'd be in the same position we are now, except on a planet without Big Belly Burger."

"Yeah, that sounds awful. Never mind. Let's not do that."

They lapsed back into companionable silence.

"Clark Jerome Kent!"

Sara and Clark froze.

"Did your wife just go full name on you?"

Clark grimaced. "Unfortunately."

Relaxing, Sara laughed, "What's unfortunate is that middle name. Jerome? Really?"

"Hey," he pouted, "it's not like I chose it."

"Clark!" Lois barked again in that authoritative tone she picked up from being an army brat, voice echoing from somewhere inside the house.

Pushing herself up to sit cross-legged in the grass, Sara poked his shoulder and whispered, "Sounds like you're in trouble. What'd ya do?"

"No idea. Which is always worse because I should know, apparently."

"I know, right?!" Sara commiserated, throwing her hands out passionately. "Are we supposed to be mind readers or something? Because that's not in my skill set."

Lois's voice pierced through the patio door again. "If you're ignoring me… I swear to God."

Sara smirked. "Better answer her, Jerome."

"Oh, shut up."

Then they heard, "Sara? Sara Lance, where are you?"

The blonde paled at the sound of Nyssa's voice. Clark took up the smirk.

"That doesn't sound good," he teased.

"Uh oh," Sara mumbled. "At least she hasn't–"

"Taer al Asfer, if I have to come find you…"

In a panic, Sara scrambled to her feet. "Here! We're out here! Sorry!"

"Traitor," Clark hissed.

The door clicked open and shut, and the patio light flicked on, revealing Lois and Nyssa with matching scowls. Clark squinted up at them as Sara sank back down, fingers curling absently in the grass.

"Don't pull the grass, Beloved," Nyssa admonished gently. Okay, she didn't sound too mad. That boded well for Sara.

"Heeyyy, Lois," Clark murmured.

Lois shook her head, growling, "What the hell were you thinking, Clark?"

"Um…that you're pretty?" he ventured.

"No, this. Explain this." She held up the silver platter they'd used to bring fruit to the party and turned it over, indicating something on the back.

Her husband blinked. "You said to put our name on it."

"With a sticky note. I didn't mean engrave it with your heat vision, you idiot."

"Gee, Lois. Well, you could've been more specific."

"Clark!" She grumbled, "This is a really nice piece. You're so lucky it isn't damaged."

He looked affronted at the suggestion that he had anything less than perfect control over his powers. Regardless, he apologized and got up to kiss Lois's cheek, smiling when she gave in and rested her head on his shoulder.

"Alrighty," Sara declared, standing again and wiping her hands off against her thighs.

"Sara…"

She squirmed. "Nyssa?"

There was a warm glint as Nyssa held up Sara's favorite copper mug, made all the better, in Sara's opinion, by the very new engraving on the bottom that read, "Runner-up in places Sara Lance likes to put her mouth." She thought it was decently clever. Clark had rolled his eyes but laughed and carved it anyway, so that was a win.

"Did you think I wouldn't notice?" Nyssa asked, dangling the mug from her index finger by the handle. "You did leave it upside down in the sink."

"Hey," Sara countered teasingly, "it's not on me how your dirty mind interprets it."

Obliterating the space between them in a few long strides, Nyssa grabbed Sara's chin and looked her in the eyes fiercely. She purred, "Well your dirty mind had better be on the same page as mine, or second best will be all you enjoy for the next week."

"I'd be more than happy to demonstrate exactly where my mind's at," Sara rasped.

Clark cleared his throat. They could whisper all they wanted; he still had super hearing. "Well, I think we should get going."

Without looking up, Sara hummed in acknowledgement, hands curled possessively into the front of Nyssa's dress.

Lois added, "Happy birthday, Nyssa."

The former assassin twisted slightly to look back at them. "Thank you. I am very glad you were able to be join us."

"Of course," Clark replied, tightening his hold on Lois and hovering off the ground. "Night," he managed as he took off, and Sara tugged Nyssa back around.

With practiced ease and Sara's legs locked around her waist, Nyssa pulled the door open and carried the blonde inside, kicking it shut before pressing Sara up against the glass and kissing her hungrily. When she adjusted her grip, Sara grinned into the kiss.

"Are you planning on carrying me up the stairs? You know it's not my birthday."

"True," Nyssa said, stealing another kiss. "But, without you, I wouldn't bother to celebrate."

At Sara's appreciative hum, she spun around with the intention of moving things to their room posthaste. She made it all of the ten steps to the kitchen when a cough tore her away from the highly important task of re-confirming Sara's dental records with her tongue.

"Ollie?" Sara squeaked, breathing hard. "What are you still doing here?"

"I was waiting to talk to you," he huffed reproachfully.

Sara raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

He didn't take the hint. "Alone would be good."

"Oliver," Sara enunciated carefully, "get out of my house."

"Fine," he grumbled, getting up. Then, apparently remembering to be their friend, he fished an envelope out of his pocket and slid it onto the counter.

"Almost forgot to give this to you. And by that, I mean I was trying to decide whether to keep them for myself. Happy birthday, Nyssa. See you guys later." And with that, he was gone.

Shifting her weight more securely on Nyssa's hip, Sara nudged the brunette to open the envelope. So she did, only slightly frustrated by the distraction.

"No way," Sara breathed, tilting her head to read the details off the two tickets.

"Baseball?" Nyssa asked, recognizing the Rockets logo from Sara's old t-shirt.

The blonde was wide-eyed, blinking in wonder. "These seats are incredible. How did he…"

Nyssa carefully returned the tickets to the envelope and set it back on the counter. She nuzzled at Sara's jaw to regain her attention and said, "It seems you'll finally have your chance to teach me all about baseball."

"God," the Canary groaned, closing her eyes.

"Is something wrong?"

"I just don't understand how it's possible to love someone as much as I love you," Sara sighed. "It makes my brain all fuzzy."

Nyssa grinned like a fool until Sara kissed her again, chasing away all rational thought beyond the love thrumming through her veins.


.

If you couldn't tell, I do so love Lois. She and Clark have always been my faves/OTP. I started reading Superman at age 2, so I do mean always.

Belle Reve is where the Suicide Squad is held, and Lois actually did work on an article about it, so that's legit.

I'm thinking the story about the time Sara was going to propose will come out soon, in some form. Also, it occurred to me that Sara and Nyssa playing the newlywed game could be funny. But I guess that's supposed to be a newlywed activity, huh?