Chapter 50: A Time to Confuse

The eyes of the groundlings gazed up at him. Their attention was not on him: for the moment it was on the clown, William Kempe, in his garb as Launcelot Gobbo, the unwilling servant of Richard Burbage's Shylock; on the hunched Richard Cowley as Gobbo senior; and most especially on the striking figure of John Heminges as the romantic hero, Bassanio. They gazed up, nevertheless. It was unnerving. He kept his attention on the trio performing before him, as any good servant should.

"I pray thee, good Leonardo, think on this," spake Heminges, declaiming his private affairs to the avaricious audience. "These things being bought and orderly bestow'd, return in haste, for I do feast tonight. My best-esteem'd acquaintance: hie thee, go."

Sly clicked his heels and bowed his head, lifting it to announce his line. "My best endeavours shall be done herein."

The familiar form of Henry Condell, bedecked as fellow servant Gratiano, caught Sly by the arm as he turned to leave the stage. "Where is your master?"

"Yonder, sir, he walks," answered Sly, inclining his head to the now pacing Heminges.

The instruction to hurry had been needlessly given. Sly's long legs carried him into the tiring house faster than they probably ought. His heart was racing, pounding with the double beat of exhilaration and terror. His shoulders barely felt the weight of Shakespeare's arm on them, nor his ears register the whispered congratulations on a job well done, a part well played. It was not until the poet, now attired in the garb of the faithful friend, Antonio, held him by both shoulders and shook him that he heard sensible words again.

"Bertie!" Will hissed, calling over the younger Burbage. "Fetch a cup of ale for our newest player here. Our William's sinews need strengthening after all!"

The young man bobbed an acknowledgement and vanished from his place by the properties trestle, each item laid out in order of its appearance. Shakespeare led Sly over and sat him down by the long table.

"I fear young Cuthbert and I must continue our duties as book man while you gather yourself, friend William," smiled the playwright. "Do not distress yourself: the reaction is common enough among those new to the profession. The dread will fade, only the excitement will remain. Then we shall make you a man of a million faces!"

Sly nodded, a dry chuckle issuing from his lips. "A new face for every part I play, Will! And I'll play them as well I might until even I cannot tell which is mine own."

XXXX

"Captain Hunter?"

Gideon's voice rang through the observatory like a teaspoon against the traditional crystal glass. Rip sighed. It wasn't that what he was doing was particularly important, not in the time sensitive sense anyway, it was simply that he had been peaceful. Everything had been peaceful, since their last encounter with the Time Pirates and their new general. It had been quiet now for almost as long as it ever was in the pre-Oculus days. The Time Temptress was locked up in an old Time Master holding cell Eve had known of. Valor was locked up in another. There had been no attacks at the Vanishing Point. No anomalies to chase down. Nothing. Nothing but peace. Peace and quiet. Well: peace, quiet and the occasional ridiculous row. With so many scientists on board and limited laboratory facilities for them to tinker in during their downtime, that was to be expected. With certain other individuals on board it was a fact of life!

He was well aware he fitted into the latter category.

Gideon's voice chimed out again. "Captain Hunter?"

A hand lighted on his wrist, dragging down the hand with the book in it. His eyes dropped to the golden head in his lap, now staring up at him instead of the stars.

"You're gonna have to answer her," smiled Sara, running her thumb over his wrist. "She's not exactly likely to go away."

Rip rolled his eyes, but there was a smile behind his grimace. "Very well. Go ahead, Gideon."

"My sensors have detected an anomaly, Captain," reported the faithful AI. "An item of Time Master construction appears to have been used to change history."

Rip frowned, his hand and the book it contained coming to rest on Sara's stomach. "Deliberately or..."

"From what information I can gather, Captain," replied Gideon, "it seems that the fabricator technology from a time ship was used to help win a city council election in Coast City two thousand and seventy four. I can identify a sudden upsurge in the level of paper money present in the city at that time, with no possibility of the source being either counterfeiting, electronic or external."

"So somebody used a fabricator to replicate a wad of cash to pay for their election campaign?" Sara summarised, sitting up.

"I do not believe they stopped there, Miss Lance," grinned Gideon's ever-cheerful voice. "The councillor in question appears to have a penchant for bestowing lavish gifts on beautiful young women."

"And where is this fabricator now, Gideon?" Rip enquired, looking askance at the grin that was forming on Sara's face. "We'll just stop by, retrieve it, pass on some useful but anonymous information that should get the councillor removed from office and be on our way."

"It's sweet how you think our lives are ever that simple," cut in Sara, fixing him with a pitying look. He pulled a face back. She kissed his nose.

"I'm afraid I cannot locate the device, Captain," returned Gideon. "I can provide details of its recent locations, but then the signal fails. I do, however, have a full set of details on the councillor and their household. They suggest that there may be some form of clue or record in the councillor's electronic filing system at their private mansion."

"Hack it," blinked Rip, his brow knotting.

"I have tried that, Captain," admonished Gideon, effecting a tone of wounded dignity. "The system is impervious to external attempts to access it. I would require an on site connection."

"What? Like we load you onto a laptop and plug you in to the mainframe?" Sara queried, taking her turn to look confused.

"I believe a thumb drive exists with the appropriate software," replied Gideon, haughtily.

"It's in my quarters," nodded Rip, "I know the one."

"So all we need to do is get in there," grinned Sara, tipping her head to one side. "And for a beautiful young woman that should be no problem at all."

"If only Miss Wells were back on her feet," breezed Rip, dropping his head back to consider the view above him. "Ah well, at least we have Madame Jiwe..."

"Don't make me threaten you, Hunter!" Sara laughed, pushing at his shoulder.

Rip dropped the book and wrapped the hand that had been holding it around her waist, pulling her closer. "Is it my fault I don't want to share you with another man? Even if you're only pretending?"

"Other men you don't need to worry about," she giggled, kissing him. "Other women now: that could get interesting!"

XXXX

"What exactly do you think you're doing?" Sara demanded, stopping in her tracks as soon as she and her shadow were clear of the others.

"I'm going to the fabricator to get a suitable outfit for the mission," Rip replied, turning nonchalantly round her and backing away a few steps before spinning on a heel to continue his journey. He heard her footsteps hurry to catch up with him.

"Like hell you are!" Sara hissed, dragging him round to face her. "This mission is gonna be difficult enough without worrying about you!"

"I'll be fine!" Rip shot back, shrugging off her concern and turning back to the corridor.

She pulled him back again. "You are not going on this mission, Rip! You're not even going to be on comms. I cannot do this with you in my head. Don't you get that?"

"You said yourself: it's just a mission like any other," he shrugged, shaking his head and meeting her piercing blue gaze.

Sara frowned. "I said that to the team," she pointed out. "The team that doesn't know why I've stopped taking out my issues on every fight, bottle or pretty face that passes my way. The team that doesn't know how I've managed to get back on track. That doesn't know what made that difference in me. Who made that difference. The difference that means they're now willing to trust me with this. As far as they're concerned, this is just another mission. As far as we're concerned, it's the most difficult mission I've had to take in a very long time. I can do it, though. And I can do it well. And I will get us to the intel we need. But you have to stay out of it. The role I have to play... The character I have to become: she has to be a hundred percent focussed on the mark. They're used to people trying to trick them this way. If my attention falters. If something reminds me that actually hey: this isn't the world's most eligible catch and no, actually, I don't find them attractive because I already have a... a... whatever the hell we are now."

She trailed off. He was looking at her, with those dark green eyes and patient expression that she always saw when she or any of the crew decided to start ranting. But the eyes were a little darker for her, and there was something more than just patience in that slight smile. The anger in her melted when he looked at her like that. All too often it was replaced by something else.

"Stop it, that's not helping," she muttered turning away and continuing towards the fabricator.

"I'm not doing anything!" Rip laughed, catching up with her again. "Look, I just need to know you're safe. I won't interfere, I promise."

"I'll be safe," she assured him, neither stopping nor looking up to him. "I'll have Rex and Amaya there to back me up, Ray too if needs be, and Jesse and the others here on standby. I don't need you."

She stopped and pressed the heels of her hands into her eyes. The comment he was about to make froze in Rip's mouth. He stopped and turned to face her, watching and waiting. She could have left it at that. She could have walked away. Instead he felt his back hit the wall and Sara's lips close on his own. His hands had just closed on her waist to start tracing soft lines up and down her back when she pulled away, but she didn't go far. Her small, gentle hands cradled his face and the warmth in her cerulean blue eyes hypnotised him into silence. His hands stilled. She could do whatever the hell she wanted with him, he was utterly intoxicated by her.

"I do need you," groaned Sara. "I need you like I haven't needed anyone for years. And that's the problem. They, we, need me to get close to this mark. Very close! The old me, the Sara Lance of not even a year ago, wouldn't have batted an eyelid at the prospect. Me now... Ugh!" She broke away from his soft embrace and turned away. "The old Sara Lance would call her out as weak!"

"I remember," murmured Rip, casting a glance back along the corridor then reaching an arm out to draw her near. "Not a fan of feelings, as I recall. Or are we talking about the Sara Lance who found peace with the League of Assassins?"

"Both," laughed Sara, folding herself into the familiar comfort of his arms. "But neither of them were particularly happy." She leant back and looked up at him. "Neither of them truly found peace."

Rip held her gaze, processing her words and trying to read their meaning in her eyes. Those perfect, sapphire blue eyes that had invaded his mind and were starting, slowly, to take over his heart and soul. Or maybe not so slowly. Was he really that far gone already? He had no reply for her. No words, anyway. He leant down and fitted his lips to hers, holding her close, one hand resting on her cheek.

She was the first to pull away from the kiss. "That's so not helping!"

"You started it," smirked Rip, not meeting her eyes. "I guess I should leave you to it then."

"I'll see you when I get back," she nodded. "Remember: no comms. They'll believe you if you tell them I just didn't want your voice in my ear during this. It's the truth, for once!"

He nodded and walked away, coat flaring out behind him. Sara watched him go, then collapsed back against the wall, her hand to her mouth. No, this would not be an easy mission. In any sense.

"I have completed the items required for this mission, Miss Lance," interrupted Gideon. "They are ready in the fabrication chamber."

"Thank you Gideon," she answered, with the customary glance at the ceiling. "Are Rex and Amaya still there?"

"They are not," replied the AI. "Would you like me to call them for you?"

"No, thank you, Gideon," said Sara, pushing herself up off the wall and turning in the direction of the fabrication room again. "That was the answer I was hoping for."

She followed the winding corridors to the small room in the heart of the ship. As promised, the monochrome uniform of the high society house staff awaited her on its hanger. She took it and returned to her room. The door slid closed behind her and she leant back, folding the uniform over her arm as she let her head fall into her other hand.

"Is everything all right, Miss Lance?" Gideon's disembodied voice asked. For once, there was a genuine hint of worry in the computerised tones. "Is the costume not to your liking?"

"It's fine, Gideon, the costume is fine," sniffed Sara, brushing unshed tears away from her face. She walked over and laid out the garments on the bed.

"Them I am left to deduce that it is either your encounter with Captain Hunter that has lowered your mood, Miss Lance, or it is the mission itself," continued the computer.

"Gideon, I'm fine," sighed Sara, leaning back against the wall. "It's complicated. And you don't get to keep bugging me about that stuff until you're on first name terms with me too."

In the silence that followed, Sara sighed, wiped her eyes again and shrugged off her top, draping it over a nearby chair and turning to pick up the white blouse that formed part of her disguise.

"Very well, Sara," chimed Gideon's voice from above, making the assassin jump and miss the buttonhole she was working on. "You are obviously upset. I do not believe talking to Captain Hunter would improve the situation further and, as it is likely that the cause of your discomfort has something to do with the illicit relationship you and the Captain have embarked upon, unknown to everyone else on board but the three of us, this leaves you with only one possibly confidante. Me. Tell me what is bothering you. Please."

Sara shook her head. She laughed, focussing on her fingers finishing the buttons of the blouse, then looked up. "You're an Artificial Intelligence, aren't you Gideon?"

"I am, Sara," the AI replied.

"What can an AI possibly understand about the human heart?"

"I presume you mean emotionally, not physiologically?"

"You presume correct."

"I would estimate that the average artificial consciousness of my generation has the emotional understanding of a ten year old child. Enough to build a bond of loyalty with his or her captain that would ensure a degree of autonomous protection should his or her captain be injured and unable to control the ship in an emergency."

"Average? What about you? Personally?"

"Most AI's interact only with a single Time Captain at once," Gideon began, sounding, to Sara's ears, almost apologetically nervous. "They are programmed with a strict set of parameters by the council and, should they be assigned to a different captain over the course of their lifespan, their memories of the previous captain are downloaded and wiped, to ensure the bond of loyalty forms anew in the same, unbiased way. I am an exception to this rule for a number of reasons. To ensure the secrecy of his relationship with Miranda Coburn, when Captain Hunter first took over the Waverider he disabled a number of my circuits that ensured my primary loyalty would be to the Time Council. The result of this was a greater freedom in my ability to learn from my surroundings. I was also a witness to the Captain's emotional state throughout his courtship and marriage, and subsequently. Add to this the numerous different levels of emotional maturity shown by the additional crew of the Waverider and I think you will find my own not entirely dissimilar."

Sara laughed again. It was a small, dry, humourless laugh. She shook her head and turned, sitting down on the bed and continuing to change into her outfit for the evening. "Fine. You want to know what's bothering me," she sighed, "here it is. Do you remember how this whole 'illicit relationship' - and we will come back to that wording, by the way - began?"

"As an artificial life form, I am unable to forget anything unless my memory is purposefully wiped."

"Of course you are," sighed Sara, closing her eyes. She felt ridiculous, but like the AI had very clearly pointed out: she didn't have many options. "Okay, so you know the background. You know how things were with myself and Leonard before he... Before he died. You remember the conversation I had with Stein about Lindsay, the nurse you saw in my dream. With Rip about training Kendra. With Kendra about, well, just about anything. You know I'm no good with feelings. You know Lindsay was the first time I really felt anything since the pit. She taught me to feel again. To take a chance and risk the heartbreak. Well I took that chance with Leonard, and I got my heart broken. I kissed him. At the Oculus. Moments before he was gonna die. And I knew he was gonna die. But I still took that chance. So why the hell is it so difficult to take that chance with Rip? We're closer now than Leonard and I ever were. On every level. So why can't I just tell him this is more than just an escape for me now, this thing we're doing. He's more than just an escape. More than just a friend. Even that kind of friend."

"If you will forgive the observation, Sara," began Gideon, her voice gentler than usual. "It seems to me that you had numerous opportunities to kiss Mister Snart before his encounter with the Oculus, even after he voiced his interest in you, yet you did not. Perhaps you deliberately waited until you had nothing left to lose?"

"I know I left it until the last minute, but that was because I wasn't sure," Sara shrugged, standing up in her new outfit. "I didn't want to push things."

"Were you sure when you kissed him?"

"No," she admitted, "but I knew I'd never get another chance."

"Your relationship could never become more than that one kiss," rephrased the AI.

Sara winced at the bluntness of it. "Yeah, but..."

"There was no risk," continued Gideon. "You knew what the future held with certainty. Painful or not, that certainty meant that matters were, to an acceptable degree, under your control. It did not matter if you read your feelings wrongly, because he would not be there to disappoint later. Nor did it matter if his feelings had changed, because he would never get the chance to tell you so."

"Are you calling me a control freak?" Sara's eyebrows went up.

"I am merely pointing out that you are more comfortable dealing with emotions when the rest of the situation is more or less under your control," explained the computer. "The emotional equivalent of riding a bike with the stabiliser wheels attached. The situation you now face with Captain Hunter requires you to take a chance. To step out of your comfort zone. To take, as it were, the stabiliser wheels off."

"But what if he doesn't feel the same?" Sara sat down again, no longer focussed on the idea that she was talking to a computer. "Gideon, I meant what I said back there. I need him. And he needs me too, I'm sure he does. At least for now."

"I believe the Captain's welfare and state of mind has improved since you became... involved," chirped the AI, bringing the identity of her confidante back into Sara's mind with a bump.

"You mean he's better off with me than alone?" Sara smiled. "But what I want to know is does he think he's better off with me than with anyone else?"

There was a pause, then Gideon's celestial voice returned. "I believe it is only fair that you ask the Captain that question. Not me."

"Fair?" Sara frowned. "You know something I don't?"

"Innumerable things, Sara, but regarding this question, the only information I have to base an opinion on comes from things that, were the situation reversed, you would prefer I kept private. If you would wish me to maintain that privacy for yourself in these matters, I believe you will understand if I choose to do so for the Captain."

Sara nodded. "Does this mean you'll stop blurting out my dreams in front of other people?"

"It happened one time, Sara, and I believe I have learnt from my mistake."

"Then you're doing better at this maturity thing than some of us."

"I am aware of that."

XXXX

Sara arrived at the mansion early. As staff, she would have to help set things up and be present for the briefing that was due in a half hour. She handed her papers, another product of Gideon's fabricator, to the security guard on the gate, shivering in her uniform and smiling nervously at the guards. She wasn't nervous. Not enough to show it anyway, but it seemed the mark, their host for the evening and a city councillor, had a preference for innocents. She might not be the most emotionally mature on the ship since her ordeal with the Lazarus pit and all that followed - hell, she might not even be more emotionally mature than the ship - but it was a long time since she had been an innocent. She tried to remember what she had been like, then, other than a stroppy teen.

She was accepted and ushered round to the servant's entrance at the side of the house, where she joined a bustling hive of activity that neither knew nor cared who she was as long as she made herself useful. Half an hour later, she lined up in the ballroom with the rest of the serving staff, a button tweaked threateningly loose in a place she hoped would grab the mark's attention. True to form, it did, and she left the hall with the other staff confident that it and her flustered performance fixing it had garnered enough of the mark's attention to make the rest of the evening equally predictable.

An hour after Sara's arrival, the first of the guests began to appear. Known dignitaries followed unknown benefactors and mysterious personages into the elaborate and elegantly lit ballroom, depositing capes, cloaks and coats with the liveried footman at the door. Sara was halfway across the room handing out champagne when Rex and Amaya made their entrance. She watched as the android, who still believed himself to be human, passed Amaya's wrap to the footman and held out his arm to her. They made a plausible enough couple, she thought, and the queen of the jungle was certainly beautiful enough to attract the mark's attention in that dress. As long as she didn't overplay things, of course.

A hand traced its way across her shoulders and rested itself on the opposite side. Sara jumped slightly at the contact. The tray of glasses tinkled slightly.

"Careful," laughed the mark, leaning down and removing one of the full glasses from the tray. "Now who can it be that has caught your attention so, my pretty one?"

Sara half-smiled, apologising and trying to move out of the mark's grasp. Not trying too hard, of course. She sighed and smiled self-deprecatingly when the mark repeated the question, then indicated Rex and Amaya. "I was admiring the lady's dress, Councillor."

"Not just the dress, I think," smiled the mark. Sara did her best to blush and the councillor grinned, brushing a stray strand of hair back out of her face. "Come now, little one, we're all friends here."

"I should really get back to my duties, Councillor," Sara smiled, twisting out of her employer's grip and turning into the crowd. Well, she certainly had made an impression. Now it was up to Rex and Amaya to make theirs.

Sara circulated with drinks, watching the mark and taking care to avoid being spotted. It didn't take long for the councillor to approach Amaya, sidling up to her when Rex left to find them each a drink. Amaya flirted and laughed just as they had planned, and, just as they had predicted, the mark made some suggestions then left as Rex returned with the champagne flutes. Sara flitted between the dancers and the talkers and the drinkers, one eye always on the mark. Sure enough, as soon as Rex and Amaya were out of sight, the councillor beckoned to one of the security detail and whispered in the man's ear. Stage one of the plan, get in, had gone smoothly for all three of them. Now it was entirely up to the security guard how well stage two would go. Sara's tray emptied and she wondered if she would have time to find the mansion's main computer, upstairs in the study, before being missed. The mark appeared again in her line of sight and she decided not. This time, she allowed the mark to catch sight of her, and her empty tray, and follow her out of the ballroom.

"Stop, right there, my girl," ordered the commanding voice of the councillor.

Sara froze, letting her shoulders creep upwards at the command. She tried to sound young and afraid. "Y-Yes, Councillor?"

"I'm afraid that will be your last tray of champagne for this evening," breezed the mark, walking over and removing the tray from Sara's unresisting hands.

"Councillor?" Sara frowned, just a little. Was this a good sign or a bad one? At least as far as the mission was concerned.

"Oh, certainly," grinned the mark, tipping up Sara's chin with one outstretched hand. "You are much too pretty a little thing to hide away behind these drab clothes. I have the perfect dress for you upstairs. Come, let me show you."

XXXX

Three and a half hours later, all parties footsore and weary, the three returned to the welcome safety of the Waverider.

Amaya preceded Rex and Sara onto the bridge and came to a sudden stop, looking puzzled. "Where is Captain Hunter?"

Mick looked up from the holotable, glancing over the new arrivals and pausing to raise his eyebrows at the gown flowing over Sara's slight form. It definitely was not the clothes she had left in. "Said we could handle it and he had stuff to do. That'll be the frock then."

Sara threw the big man a look that would have made a lesser heart cower. Mick merely grinned and raised his eyebrows again.

"Where is everyone?" Rex asked, looking around the near empty bridge.

"My young partner is attending to some maintenance down in the engine room," replied Martin, reclining in one of the armchairs in Rip's office. "Avoiding me, if I'm not mistaken. I believe Miss Wells is with him, helping, or so I'm told."

"More to the point, where's the idiot," grumbled Mick, looking over the three in their glad rags. "Tell me he ain't been captured again!"

"Ray's in the medical bay," said Rex, nodding over his shoulder. "He took a hit, but he's fine. There seems to be a small problem with his suit, though."

Mick nodded. "Sound's about right. What kind of problem?"

"He can't resize. He says he can fix it with Gideon's help."

"I think I will find out if my own expertise may be of assistance," sighed Professor Stein, pushing himself to his feet. He stumbled slightly on the stairs and Sara darted to the old man's side.

"You shouldn't be out of bed, Professor," she scolded, wrapping an arm around Martin's back and draping his arm over her slim shoulders. "You heard what Gideon said about overdoing things just now."

"I am banned from combat duties, whether alone or as Firestorm," replied the old man with a smile. "When it comes to using brain instead of brawn, however, no power in the 'verse can stop me."

"Lean on me, Professor," suggested Rex, holding out an arm to Stein on his other side. "I don't have anything else to report that Amaya doesn't know, and two brain's are better than one, especially where Doctor Palmer's technology is considered."

Sara stepped back as Martin transferred his weight to Rex, and watched as the two disappeared in the direction of the medical bay. She looked back round to Mick. The ex-con was watching her with folded arms and an interested gaze. Amaya was notably not looking at her.

"Well, now ladies," barked Mick, looking from one to the other. "Who wants to go first?"

There really wasn't that much to tell, thought Sara, hurrying through the corridors of the Waverider. She had escaped the bridge as soon as she could, citing her very real wish to get out of the shimmering, flowing dress she had spent most of the evening being paraded in. She had played her part perfectly, and because of that Ray had been able to find and in particular gain access to the biometrically, electronically and physically locked server room, downloading, or uploading, all its files to Gideon's system. The hack had taken time. A lot of time. Far more than they had originally planned for. Ray was blaming firewalls. Then, of course, the system had fought back and fried a few circuits in his suit. While he got things back under control, Sara had been left to amuse and monopolise the mark. That had been simple enough at first, of course, but if there was one troublesome feature of assertively successful billionaires who have little conscience and an expectation of getting everything they want, it was that they tended to always want more than they had. Apparently the 'naive little waitress' Sara was playing wasn't enough for the mark. The 'obviously dissatisfied wife' with the 'inattentive husband' became an object of the mark's attention also, and more than either Sara or Amaya had planned. Watching the woman from the austere and war torn forties attempt to flirt with their sumptuously bedecked host was almost painful. Being on the other end of the flirting was worse. Apparently the mark had decided why entrance one beautiful stranger when one can have two. It had been the most awkward, tedious half hour of Sara's life, and if it wouldn't have blown their cover and possibly got them all killed, she could have laughed out loud at the look of relief on Amaya's face when Ray's voice came through the comms to say he was done. Rex had stormed over, playing the jealous husband, and caused a scene to get him and Amaya out of there. Ray was small enough to get out by himself. Sara had been left coming up with the age old excuse of 'visiting the powder room' to get away, and had been forced to exit through the bathroom window. The window catch had caught on her dress and torn a slit up the side of the opalescent, diaphanous fabric, and the drop had broken the heel of one of her shoes. She didn't care. She hated the entire outfit. She wanted it off of her and gone. She slammed her hand on the door lock of her room and stormed through, letting the doors hiss closed behind her.

"Are you okay?"

Sara froze, her hand half raised to the trio of knots at the back of her neck that would remove the offending garment. She had been in such a rush to get here she hadn't noticed him. She turned. He was sitting on the floor by one of the few flat walls, near the door, jacket thrown over a chair nearby. She had walked straight past him.

"Rip..."

"Are you okay, Sara?" Rip repeated, getting to his feet and walking over. "I need to know you're okay."

"What did you see? Hear?" Sara shot back, turning to the mirror and tugging at the knots in the high-necked collar of the dress.

Rip looked down, his hands on his hips. "Nothing. You told me not to watch or listen, so I kept my comms off and stayed away from the monitors."

He looked up to see Sara watching him in the mirror.

"Liar," she said flatly, giving up on the knots and settling for removing the earrings instead.

"Does it count if you always know when I'm lying?"

"How much do you know?"

"Enough to worry, me," he admitted, meeting her gaze. "Not everything, though. Just answer the damn question, Sara, please!"

"I'm okay," Sara nodded, wincing at how much her voice shook. "Everything went according to plan, more or less. We had a little glitch with the hack and Ray's got another little problem of his own to sort out, but we got the info and we're all back here in one piece. Upside, I think Amaya's gonna be avoiding me for a while. Turns out she's not quite as comfortable at some aspects of the spy game as she thought she was."

Rip heard her laugh at the last part of her report, but noticed it never reached her eyes. "You're not okay. What else?"

"Nothing... I..." Sara turned to face him, dragging a hand over her eyes. It was shaking. Rip reached out and took her hand and kissed it.

"Tell me," he pleaded, kissing her wrist and brushing her hair back from her face with his other hand. "Whatever it is, talk to me. Please."

Sara's eyes closed at his touch. She leant into the hand that caressed her cheek, turning her head to kiss his palm. She reached out and pulled him to her, wrapping his arms around her tiny frame and sliding hers around his shoulders. "Just hold me, for now. Please."

They drifted into a warm silence, content in the simple fact of each other's presence. When Sara's breathing had slowed, and the shaking in her hands had stilled, Rip lifted his head and looked down at her.

"Before the mission," he began, keeping his voice low, "when we were... discussing my wish to accompany you, you said a few things. Things I think we need to talk about."

"You may need to be little bit more specific, Rip," replied Sara, looking up at him with a ghost of a smile. "I remember saying quite a lot!"

"Well, there were two things that jumped out at me, and if you don't mind, I'll take the second first?" Rip looked to her for agreement and received a slight nod. He brought his hand up to her chin and turned her face up to his. She had to see that he meant this. "You said you needed me. I need you too, Sara. I still need you. And I need you to know that."

"Okay," whispered Sara, her voice shaking again for an entirely different reason. "What was the other thing."

Rip swallowed, breathing in deeply before he spoke again. He was terrified. He shouldn't be, but he was. "You said you already have a 'whatever the hell we are now'. I want... I think it's time... I would like us to work out just what that is."

Sara looked up at him. She knew he must be able to see the fear in her eyes, hear it in her voice, feel it in her arms. "What do you want us to be, Rip?"

Another deep breath. He leant forward, resting his head on hers. "You're more than a friend to me, Sara. Much more. You're my anchor and my strength and my hope and I... I think... No, I know I'm falling for you. I never thought I could. After Miranda, I never even considered the possibility of falling for someone else. Of falling in love with someone else. I know you care for me. I'm not expecting anything more than that. Not right now. I know you have your own pain to deal with first. I will be your friend. I will be your lover. I will be whatever you need me to be. And perhaps, when... if... you think you might be ready to try falling in love again, I'll be here. Waiting."

It was Sara's turn to breathe deeply, but she found she could hardly breathe at all. He had laid it out before her: the future she and Gideon had talked about. He had handed her the reins and told her to choose a path. Any path. The future she was so terrified of messing up was now totally in her hands. And she couldn't find the air in her lungs to speak. She reached up and kissed him, one hand resting on either side of his face. When she ran out of air for that, she rocked back on her heels, breathing heavily. Time to pick a label. Her mind spun back to the way Gideon had talked of them as if they already were a couple, with or without choosing to define themselves as such.

"Lovers, then," she said, her breathing recovering. "But lovers that were friends first."

"I can live with that," he murmured holding her close and trailing soft kisses down the side of her neck. "Can I remove this damn halterneck collar now?"

"There are three ties at the back of my neck," Sara murmured, sighing in disappointment as he moved past the area the collar covered. "They're holding the collar up. I think they're what's holding the dress up too. My hands are shaking too much."

"Do you still trust me?" Rip whispered in her ear.

"Yes," responded Sara, before she even began to consider the question. "Always."

She felt the hand that was on her back slide up and tip her head forward, nestling it into his shoulder. Her eyes closed, she breathed him in. Warm, familiar, home. Her breathing sharpened only slightly at the touch of a cold steel blade, sliding against the soft skin at the nape of her neck, slicing through the three knotted strands holding the collar, and dress, in place. The collar slid down, releasing her neck. The dress didn't. She was pressed too close to him, held too tightly, for it to go anywhere. Right now she wouldn't have cared if it did. Not here. Not with him. She heard him place the knife down on the table nearby. The sound was unfamiliar.

"That wasn't one of mine," she murmured, leaving the question hanging in the air between them.

"It was mine," he breathed into her ear, the hint of a smile playing in his voice. "It was my only protector long before you ever showed up. Or the bloody Time Masters. I've been reminding myself how to use it. Somebody's been trying to get me to improve my fighting skills after all."

Sara laughed, and this time the laugh did reach her eyes, running her hands through his hair as he worked his way down her neck again. She sighed when his mouth reached the sensitive spot the collar had been covering, aware that she was melting into him again, forgetting everything else around them. The world drifted away. It came flooding back a second later.

"Shit!" Sara swore, aware that her knees were suddenly threatening to betray her. "Rip, that's gonna leave a mark!"

His arm had tightened around her the second he felt her knees buckle. When he spoke, he was as breathless as she, but she could still hear the smug little smirk that tinged his voice every time he felt her body react to him. Only him. "Boundaries? Or are you just worried the others will find out?"

She felt him press a myriad of tiny kisses to the area. They didn't help the situation with her knees at all. "Are we ready for them to find out?"

"They don't have to," he gasped, resting his head alongside hers. "It's where the collar was. They would assume you got it on the mission."

Sara paused, breathing heavily and still not trusting her legs. The nails of one hand were digging into his shoulder hard enough to leave marks of their own, the fingers of the other tangled in his hair. He was right. Given the mission she had just been on, and if they were careful, the others wouldn't question it. And there would be another secret between them to smile about across the holotable at briefings, or the kitchen at mealtimes, or anywhere. Something that marked her as his, just like the bruises her nails were leaving marked him as hers. Something that only they shared. Something that only they understood.

"It's gonna show now anyway," she decided, her mouth curling into a smile. "You might as well make it worth it."