An idea of sorts just popped into my mind at the unlikeliest of times. I absolutely adore Captain Canary and this short little ficlet will hopefully be the start of my writing more CC.

It's been a while since he'd died.

A while since the immortal tyrant had been killed three times over, Rip had returned to 2166 rejoicing at the resurrection of his beloved wife and son.

But at what cost?

Kendra and Carter had decided to go away from Central City, to Keystone, play vigilante whilst they tried couples' counselling. Ray had gone to Central City, seeking refuge in Stein's home and Jax followed, visiting his dear old mother and helping Team Flash from time to time. Ray still pretended to be dead, and Stein and Ray, the two scientists they were, had started on some sciency project thy worked on when not saving Central City from metahumans.

And Mick...

Mick, too, had gone back to Central City, Heatwave coming around to do some light and hot thievery the Flash and his friends purposely took no notice to whatever he'd done, conveniently being 'busy' whenever a robbery with a heat gun had sounded their alarm system in S.T.A.R Labs and on their phones, and was to only rush in should the situation got out of hand.

Thankfully nothing like that had happened, yet.

Sara herself had come back to Star City, to Star City without Laurel Lance, her late sister who had died indirectly because of her, because she herself had died back when the Lazarus Pit was not demolished by her ex, Nyssa al Ghul because Malcolm fucking Merlyn had decided to ask his daughter to kill her good friend while she was under the influence of a drug that made her susceptible to suggestion. A Star City where Damien Even Worse Than Malcolm Fucking Merlyn Darhk resided, who had killed her sister, who had nearly killed Oliver. To a Star City where it seemed like she was no longer needed.

After all, six months had been a long time; she had gone to travel the world and ended up in Tibet to find herself again, got recruited by a lying Time Master to trave through time under the false pretence that they were heroes, legends even, in the future before no-so-nicely being told that they were recruited due to their uselessness.

Pathetic.

Sara had decided to help out at Star City, deliberately not keeping in touch with the friends she had made during her time in the Waverider or even thinking about time travel and the past six months at all. Instead, she put on Laurel's old domino mask, after it had been bleached white, got Cisco to change her White Canary suit so that it didn't remind her of the past and took up the mantle of White Canary, masked hero and protege of the Black Canary aka her sister.

She visited her sister's grave every week or so after the first fourteen days getting to know this Star City better, at first not being able to face the slate grey stone of her sister's grave for the second time due to the memories it brought back, when Rip had unceremoniously dropped the group when Savage was still at large, and the pulsing rage she had felt at that fucking bastard when she realised that he knew that Laurel was going to die.

And there. She had lost the two people shed cared for a lot in a mere matter of less than even a week.

"Take Mick and go!"

"No."

Her day job had been taking up the role of an MMA trainer, to teach young girls and boys how to defend themselves, to protect themselves from the bad things that may happen to them in the corrupted Star City. She enjoyed her job, loved seeing her students succeed and achieve further than what they could've done the last lesson, the looks of blatant triumph in their faces as they mastered a complicated move. The way they looked at Sara, like she was their saviour, who had given them a new light on living.

She loved it all - or, almost all.

Whenever she looked at Damien Darhk, the feeling, the rage to kill him ten times over, do what the team had done to Vandal Savage who had ruined the life, quite literally, of a certain crook she had played cards with in their rooms, the cargo bay...

"Of me and you... and me and you."

No, Sara willed herself. She was not to think of the past half year, not to think of the someone who had become a hero, someone who had sacrificed himself for the happiness and mortality of one grudging friend and one soul brother.

Of the crook who had slowly eased the bloodlust out of her system.

Of the crook who had saved her life.

Of the crook who had stolen a kiss from her, of the crook whom she had stolen a kiss from.

Of the crook, who, despite her desperacy to forget and get over the loss, still thought of day and night, who had given her a new light on life in ways she had never thought was possible after her death.

Of the crook whose voice still rang in echoes around her, in her head, in her dreams, in her hopeful vision of the future.

"I'm the crook, and you're the assassin..."

Of the crook, who she would forever love, forever cherish the moments they had together.

But...

"That's not you anymore."

You're not a killer.

And you're my assassin.

Sara smiled, as her blurry vision turned towards the picture frame in which the black and white photo of them, from the Wild West, with Ray and Jax and Kendra and Carter, and Rip.

"And you, my crook."