Note: I'm actually getting to the place where I have to start writing to stay ahead of posting! It should be fine, though. That said, I'm a little worried this chapter isn't very good... so yeah, be aware. I hope it's enjoyable still.

She had very pointedly taken the call in front of Carl, picking it up and saying, "Hi Dad! What's up?"

"Hey sweetie," he had said, voice made hollow by the phone. "So, um, there's a work thing tonight. A potluck thing at the station. We're supposed to bring our families."

"You want me to come?" Carl had glared from across the breakroom, and Sara had grinned back at him, unconcerned.

"If you want." He shuffled around on the other end. "I know its late notice, and you don't have to. But all the other guys, they bring their wives, and in the past, since I, ya know, couldn't bring a wife, Laurel went with me."

"Oh."

"Yeah." She had waited out his pause, and their breaths passing in and out of sync over the phone. "No pressure, Sara. It would just be nice to see you."

She had donned a smile, even though he couldn't see it. "Well, Dad, I would go to hell and back for you, but a couple hours of small talk is asking a lot." He chuckled, and her smile slipped a little. "I'll be there."

So hours later, Sara waits outside the police department. She feels very short - neither tennis shoes nor boots had seemed appropriate, so she's wearing a cheap pair of flats she bought on her way here. After a few minutes of avoiding eye contact with officers on their way in, she pulls out her phone.

There's this thing called the Spear of Destiny, she types in a notes app, it changes reality. That feels solid, but nothing seems to come next, and she goes down several lines and starts somewhere else. I had to make a hard choice last year, she attempts, then holds down the backspace button a little too long and takes a minute to fix everything and get back to where she was. There's something I did that seemed like the right decision at the time and now I don't know, she tries again, and spends several seconds to fix her spelling, delaying. I wanted to apologize because, she manages, before leaving that there and starting yet another paragraph. I could have saved La

The sound of approaching footsteps makes itself known, and she glances up and immediately turns off her phone.

"Sorry I'm late," her dad sighs, approaching. "Had to pick some food up." Sure enough, he's brandishing a container of store-bought cookies. "Thanks for coming, by the way. I know this is the most boring thing you could possibly be doing with your night."

Sara offers a chuckle, falling into step beside him as they head in. "I feel like you're more annoyed than I am," she says.

He gives a strange half-wave half-salute to a woman getting out her car. "Oh, probably. These are always so awkward, and they're even worse since I got promoted." He pauses, then adds, "That's why I always had Laurel come. She was much better than me at making conversation."

Sara's smile is small and tight as her dad holds the door open. "I'll try my best," she offers.

Groups of people are scattered across the lobby, creating a low buzz of conversation and laughter. Along one wall is a row of folding tables, purple plastic tablecloths under a motley collection of dishes. They drop off the cookies, and drift down the tables, filling plates. "Honey, do you smell that?" he asks, handing her a fork. "Like soap?"

She rolls her eyes angrily. "Some little kid through a whole container of conditioner at me. I didn't have time to shower."

She glares at his stifled laugh. "Sorry," he chuckles. "It's not funny at all. Not funny."

They post up near the staircase, letting the carousel of acquaintances filter past. Many of them ask curiously after her, and she smiles and makes the same joke every time: "I'm the missing Lance."

"Oh, yeah!" one of them says. He's over-jovial and a little overweight. "I heard you were alive, was really happy for you, Quentin. But I haven't seen you around till now."

"I've been traveling," Sara replies. Out of the corner of her eye, her father's boredom is ill-disguised.

"Oh, I wish I had more time for that!" the officer responds. "Where'd you visit?"

Sara blinks. "Um, lots of places." She discards Camelot and the moon as abnormal. "Got a chance to see, uh, the Somme."

"Interesting," he replies automatically, then returns to talking about himself. "Me, I love Hawaii. Go every time I have the chance. You ever been?"

"Once when I was little." Oliver's family had taken her and Laurel, when she was in fifth grade and Laurel in seventh, when the three of them were friends and playmates and nothing else. She had gotten the most horrible sunburn. "It's been a very long time."

The man is happily, stubbornly certain of his conversation prowess, and it takes Sara a bit to send him on his way. Once he latches onto the next coworker, she turns to her dad. "I'm going to go get a drink," she says. "You want something?"

He blinks. "Huh? No, I got my water here. I'm good." Sara grimaces apologetically, he forgives her with a small shake of his head, and she heads off. She makes her way over to the coolers, intentionally slow, needing the break. Without her father, she's just another face, and she wanders through the crowd, eavesdropping and avoiding eye contact. By the time she starts to head back over, the tightness in her throat has subsided and she feels ready to face another hour of inane questions. Ducking past an officer in imminent danger of spilling her drink, she reemerges from the crowd, and the woman her father is talking to turns to face her and beams. "Sara," she greets, and opens her arms for a hug.

In the few moments she has before obligation pulls her in, she searches the woman's face. "Liz," she realizes, finally seeing past the graying hair to her father's partner from so long ago. She reaches an arm awkwardly up, and Liz embraces her quickly but tightly.

"Haven't seen you in forever!" Sara glances at her father as Liz goes on. "Not since, oh, remember that barbeque you hosted, Quentin? Like ten years ago now!"

"Yeah, I remember," he replies, catching her eye with a strange expression. She flips through several memories in the time shortly before everything went to hell, vaguely lights on one of his birthday parties that she probably attended high. More memorable was how Laurel had stayed glued to her side, alternating between furiously disapproving glances and an impenetrable conversational shield between Sara and the rest of the guests.

Sara does not allow herself to be phased. With the scraps of patience she'd gathered during her escape across the room, she comes around Liz to stand beside her father, a little in front, and smiles as blandly as she can. "Yeah, the good old times, huh?" She lifts her beer cheerily. "It's good to see you again, how've you been?"

She gets lucky, though. Before Liz really hits her stride, another man drifts over and recruits her for a fusball game on the other side of the room. Sara smiles apologetically and turns down an invitation to participate.

Before she leaves, Liz hugs her again – this time, Sara finds an even better balance between discouraging but polite – and smiles warmly at the two of them. "Makes me happy to see you keeping you dad company, Little Lance," she says, face turning darker. "Should have at least one of his daughters."

When she's gone, Sara takes a long drink of her beer. She closes her eyes briefly, then turns to her dad.

He meets her with a guilty frown. "I'm sorry about that, Sara."

She shakes her head. "She's well intentioned. There's nothing to apologize for."

"Yeah." He gazes at her, idly scraping his thumb along his water bottle. "You've changed more than anyone gives you credit for. Even me."

Sara breaks eye contact and gazes out across the room. Impossibly, there's no one heading over to talk with them. A shout rises from the other side of the room – Liz has scored.

Her dad is still talking, a little nervously but with conviction. "I don't mean it badly, honey, but even from last year you've changed. I don't know much of what you time travelers do, but I'd love to know what happened that made you…" Sara looks back over at him, and he startles a little. "I dunno, Sara. More steady?"

It's been itching down her back all night, but it occurs to her plainly that if she's actually planning on giving her dad the apology she owes him, there will never be a better time than this. If she doesn't do it now, she might as well admit to herself she never will.

"Well, I became Captain," she begins.

Confusion flits across his face. "I thought that Rip character was in charge."

"He was. He got…" she struggles. "Lost. Sort of. I had to take over. And even once we found him again, I stayed in charge. It's my team now." He looks impressed, and it makes her feel much worse. "At least it was," she adds, and gathers her thoughts so she can get this over with. The words are there, sharp but unforgettable, and she only must push herself to start. "There's something I need to tell you."

His brow draws, slightly, and she sees it but doesn't, trapped now by her own momentum.

"Okay, so, we were fighting all these villains who had failed. A speedster, Malcolm Merlyn, and, uh. Damien Darhk." He opens his mouth to speak, but she barrels ahead. "From the past. Before he died, before he killed her." A pang shoots through her fingers and she loosens them around her drink. "So if I killed him, I could have saved her."

He interrupts her by putting his hand on her shoulder. "It's okay, Sara. You can't blame yourself," he insists. His sincerity is cuttingly clear. She blinks hard and brushes his arm off her shoulder.

"It's not that I couldn't," she corrects, "It's that I didn't. I had the chance, but it would have had consequences for the timeline. We're not supposed to change history, but I could have broken the rules to save her." She doesn't dare look up at his face, but she can hear his breath, the sudden raggedness of it, and she can hear what he doesn't say. She inhales and presses on. "The villains, they wanted the Spear of Destiny, it can change reality. We wanted to destroy it, but we couldn't, and so to stop them, I had to use it."

It comes back to her, the smell of Laurel's apartment and the movie on the TV and the taste of the wine in her glass. "I could have changed anything. Anything I wanted." He's still silent, and she looks up, urgently, almost desperate for him to understand. "I could have brought her back, and I decided the timeline was more important." She can't read his face, but there's no stopping now. She concludes, "I made a decision for myself not to save her. But I shouldn't have made that decision for you. I took her away from you again."

"Quentin!"

Liz has emerged again. She's grinning. "No one wants to play against me anymore. Care for some fusball?"

Sara studies the ground, the beige carpet and the crumbs waiting to be vacuumed. She hears her dad say, "Not now, Liz," and his voice is tense and strangled. She hears Liz's apology, and her voice is regretful as she quickly retreats.

"Hey," her dad says. She looks up, biting her lip. His eyes are watery but steady. "What do you say we get out of here? I think I've stayed as long as I need to."

She follows him to the door. He calls out farewells where necessary, and she lets him deal with that, trailing quietly behind him. Then they are out the door, and the chill night air rushes in. After the sleepy, stifling warmth of too many bodies in the station, the cold is shocking, and Sara lets it steady her.

Quentin leads her onto the lawn in front and stops in the dark stripe between two bars of lights thrown out of the windows. "Sara," he says.

She looks up into her father's face, the grass itches her exposed ankles, and it makes her feel very young.

"So I don't know about any of this Spear of Destiny timeline nonsense," he begins. He doesn't laugh at his own joke. "But I know you. I know that you've always been a strong, kind person, and that all the challenges you've overcome recently have only made you stronger. I know that you're a hero." He presses his lips together and gathers himself. "So if bringing Laurel back was the wrong call, if it hurt people, then that's that, honey. I trust your judgement."

Sara brings her arms in to her chest and holds her elbows, helpless before his faith. "I'm sorry, Dad," she says again.

He reaches out, and she stumbles a half step forward into his embrace. "Sara," he sighs, muffled by her shoulder. "What a woman you've become."

Note: To the person who commented - thanks for making my week. It means so much.