II.

Felicity believes that it is gratitude which makes Sara so frequently press her mouth against the now pink flesh of her new scar, and Sara is not altogether sure that Felicity is wrong.

At least, not wrong entirely.

The first night – the night that she had taken Felicity home and changed her into the cutest of baby blue pajama sets and tucked her into bed – it had partly been habit. Though Nyssa had never been one to show weakness, she had mistaken Sara's worry for pride when Sara had kissed her abrasions and laved her tongue soothingly against them.

Nyssa was nothing if not proud of her work, and if Sara wished to dote upon her wounds and cherish her for them, Nyssa had been more than happy to allow it.

But as Sara's head had ducked closer to Felicity Smoak that night, emotions raging with affection and fear and warmth and–yes–gratitude, Sara had realized her intent, and she could have stopped it in plenty of time for Felicity to never have noticed.

Still, Sara's mouth had found Felicity's shoulder and the patch of gauze that had covered it, and Sara had kissed the injury, anyway.

Because Felicity was not Nyssa, but Sara was worried all the same.

Now, though, it is almost commonplace for her mouth to find that scar again, and Sara knows that it is not worry that prompts her, anymore, but care.

Sara makes effort to be careful around Diggle, Oliver, and Roy, because although she cares, Sara is not ready to admit to herself (and certainly not anyone else) how much.

But if she and Felicity are alone – if Felicity is preparing to talk Sara in on a solo mission, or if they both hang around the Foundry just that little bit longer than everyone else – Sara indulges herself.

Sara allows her lips to ghost across that beautiful, terrifying scar on her way out of the door; she allows her face to drop softly into the crook of Felicity's neck as the hacker pulls up security cameras and blueprints and whatever else they ask of her, and when Felicity has found what she needs, Sara offers that puckered skin a small kiss of celebratory congratulations and admiration.

Like now.

Sara is stretched behind her, and the scent of Felicity is as vibrant and colorful as the woman herself – and equally mesmerizing, too. The former assassin has one arm braced over the back of Felicity's chair, and the other is keeping said chair from rolling backward by planting itself atop Felicity's desk.

But Sara killed people for a living for a very long time, and so she immediately recognizes that Felicity is properly trapped in place, and that knowledge does things to Sara's mind that cannot be undone. Because what could Sara possibly do with a trapped Felicity Smoak?

A lot, Sara knows – and, she suddenly realizes, as much as she could do, she wants to do even more.

"There," Felicity drops her pen, hands flying back to the surface of her keyboard and fingers tapping wildly against the keys beneath them. "Fourth floor security cameras are down," she speaks into the awaiting Bluetooth, and with her matching one, Sara can hear Ollie and Roy moving into position.

She partly wishes that she could be there to help, but Oliver is determined to teach Roy his methods, and that cannot be done with Sara there to contradict them.

Because Sara was not trained the way that Oliver was, and certainly not with the same degree of morality, so it cannot be good for Roy to learn anything from Sara – in this, Sara is quite confident.

Still, she is pleased to have been left behind, too, because Felicity is always left behind – Sara momentarily feels stunned and concurrently just sad by this thought, and vows to correct it whenever possible – and Sara is more than happy to spend more time with her.

"Nice job," she praises, and – with little surprise – closes her lips over Felicity's scar once more.

"Thanks," Felicity replies breathily, slowly turning her face to view Sara's own.

Outwardly, Sara is calm.

She is cool, she is collected, she is poise and grace and perhaps a bit curious, because though Felicity will occasionally grin when Sara kisses her shoulder, she otherwise says nothing.

That looks like it might change.

And so while Sara is outwardly calm, inwardly, Sara is decidedly anything but. Her heart pounds and her stomach twists and her palms sweat, even as one clenches tighter around Felicity's chair to prevent acknowledgment of the shaking in them, too.

"Sara?" Felicity whispers softly, eyes timidly moving to find the former assassin's.

Sara knows that she will ask, and Sara knows better than to let her, but Felicity's blue eyes are crippling in their abruptly intense evaluation, and Sara can do nothing to counter her but stare back into a face that is far too close to her own.

"Is it weird for you that I have feelings? You know, like, non-friendly… feelings? Not that we're not friends, because we are. I think. You're my friend," Felicity determines with a brief tip of her head sideways. "But, more-than-friendly feelings. About you, I mean. Obviously. Who else would I be talking about?" She laughs nervously. "It's just that… we haven't talked about it?" The end of the sentence lilts somewhere into a question, and Sara is unsure why, but she is suddenly fighting off a tender smile as Felicity scrunches her nose up and rushes to add, "Not that we have to. Because we don't. We totally don't need to talk about it, ever. But you just seem… different?"

Amusedly, Sara looks down at her and lifts a brow. "Do all your sentences usually turn into questions when you're nervous?"

"Maybe?" Felicity hedges with an uncertain laugh. "Sorry. I'm painfully awkward. Not that you don't know that already," she rolls her eyes at herself. "I just mean," Felicity begins slowly, "that if it's bothering you, we can talk. Or if it's not, you can tell me if something else is wrong. Or you could not," she spews hastily. "Because, you know, we don't have to talk at all. But you can. If you want," she finally says, nodding and strictly maintaining Sara's gaze with her own to be sure that, amidst her babbling, Sara understands her message, too.

Sara does.

"I'm not ready to talk, yet," Sara decides after a long moment of nothing but continued eye contact and soft breaths that crash against her mouth and tempt.

"Yeah," Felicity nods. "Of course not. Sure," she mumbles as she lowers her head, embarrassed.

Sara hates that she has made Felicity feel insecure, or ashamed for asking, because she shouldn't. It is a wonder to Sara that Felicity has paid enough attention to notice anything beyond the already-odd penchant she's developed for those tiny little kisses to Felicity's shoulder, and Felicity is not wrong. With that night, Sara had begun to consider a number of things about her life and her feelings, and it has strained some of her personal interactions, since.

No, Felicity is not wrong at all, and it is beyond humbling that Felicity has bothered to ask if Sara even wants to talk about it – or about anything. So Sara scrambles internally for something to make this better; something that is not a lie, but will not force her into a conversation that she is not at all prepared for.

Felicity shuffles in her seat in order to turn around, but Sara stops her from moving by shifting the hand at the back of Felicity's chair to the side of Felicity's face, instead.

"But when I am ready," she says meaningfully, ghosting her fingers across the delicate flesh of Felicity's progressively reddening cheek, "you're my girl."

Felicity flushes even brighter, and it is hard – so, so hard – for Sara not to do the same. Because babbling is Felicity's thing, and while Sara had not 'babbled,' per se, she had definitely let loose a phrase that was not so much inaccurate as it was just that little bit too… heavy.

"I'm your girl," Felicity nods in quiet agreement, smiling vaguely.

Sara's heart trips anxiously in her chest in the brief moment of eye contact that follows, but even though she thinks that she has managed to keep herself outwardly calm, like before, Felicity breaks her gaze away, anyway, and Sara feels like it is because Felicity knows that no matter how outwardly calm she may appear, it is naught but a farce.

III.

It is Laurel who makes Sara own her feelings, first, even if she does so without any such intention.

Sara hasn't spent as much time with her sister since her return as she would have liked, but Sara is not as good at secret-keeping as Oliver. It strains her psyche to lie to Laurel, and Sara avoids doing so whenever she can – which often means that Sara ultimately avoids Laurel whenever she can.

It isn't fair, but it is nevertheless true.

Still, Sara misses her. She calls and schedules a coffee date with her sister, and when she shows up, the grin that Laurel issues in her direction makes Sara decide that, lies or no, she needs to find a way to spend more time with her family without allowing guilt to crush her from within.

"I know it's been months," Laurel laughs as Sara sits down, lightly pushing a cup of coffee across the small table between them, "but I still have to do a double-take every time I see you."

"I'm sure that's normal," Sara chuckles back, accepting the offering of coffee with a smile and a tip of her cup in Laurel's direction.

Coffee is not Sara's favorite, and she would most likely have ordered tea, given the choice, but it was sweet of Laurel to treat her, and she is grateful, nevertheless.

"I don't actually think there is a standard for 'normal' when your sister comes back from the dead," Laurel counters, amused.

"True," Sara grants, still smiling lightly.

"So," Laurel hauls in a deep breath and sighs it out all at once, "you look happy."

Sara is unsure that she even knows happiness, anymore, but she realizes in that moment that she has felt more in recent weeks than she ever even felt capable of in Nanda Parbat. She had felt half-dead upon her return to Starling City, and she still struggles greatly with the contradictions of her past and present selves – but she feels.

She feels worry for her family and worry for Oliver and she is always, always worried for Felicity Smoak. Worry is not Sara's preferred emotion, but it is proof positive that she has begun to rebuild, because Sara has people to worry for. Sara has a network of people in her life, now, which she has not had in years.

Because Nyssa is Nyssa, but she had neither needed nor wanted Sara's worry, and even if she had, it would have been weakness to have shown it; Sara is not entirely sure that their union was exactly sanctioned, anyway – and if it was, it certainly had not been sanctioned by the Demon. Besides, any member of the League of Assassins will protect their own to the best of their ability, but it is honor which motivates them; Sara hardly ever knew anything about any of her fellow assassins, and it was easiest when everyone kept it that way.

They were not her people.

But Sara has people, now. She has her family, she has Ollie, and she has Sin; Sara has Felicity, and even Dig and Roy – and, when she's feeling particularly self-indulgent, Sara will event count Thea among them.

"I've got some good things going for me," Sara eventually shrugs, idly tapping her fingers against the cardboard sleeve of her cup.

"Yeah?" Laurel grins brightly. "Like what?"

"Friends," Sara smiles. "A job. Things to keep me busy," she shrugs again.

"Any close friends?" Laurel raises her brows interestedly.

Sara knows this look, and Sara knows this tone; she knows it from a time long ago, and though Sara has long felt detached from her teenaged self, it is still a battle not to blush under her sister's eager stare.

Because Laurel is prying about her love life, and though Sara presently has some fairly ambiguous… relations with Oliver, it is not The Arrow whom she thinks of first.

It is corn silk hair and bright pink lips and bright pink nail polish to match; it is sky blue eyes that shimmer even in darkness and finely toned biceps that lack the rigidity of muscle in Sara's own; it is defined calves that swell above colorful high heels, guiding up pale thighs that lead to a deliciously sinful ass that Sara is not above watching, if discretion can be managed when doing so.

That, in itself, is a sign which Sara chooses not to linger over for too long.

The hesitation during which Sara could not help but linger over that godforsaken sign, however, is enough to drive Laurel forward, even if Sara wishes only that she would just… not.

"Sara," Laurel insists expectantly, leaning forward slightly over the table.

Sara bows her head and takes a moment, but when she lifts it again, she says softly, "I'm not… there, yet, Laurel."

"Does he know that?" Laurel asks gently. "I only ask because your face is practically exploding with guilt right now. And I'm pretty sure that this is something to be happy about. Isn't it?"

Sara closes her eyes and withholds a sigh. Her father hadn't exactly been what one would call thrilled about Nyssa, but he had tolerated it and even remarked that he wanted only for Sara to be happy. Still, Sara is unsure if his disapproval stems from Sara's actual attraction to the fairer sex, or if it is solely Nyssa of whom he disapproves.

She is nervous, and she wants nothing more than to end this conversation with whatever dignity she feels she has left – but Sara doesn't want to lie to Laurel. Not anymore. Not about this, at least, which involves nothing of her nighttime endeavors and therefore means no danger to Laurel.

So Sara takes a deep breath, holds it for three seconds, and releases it in two.

"I think she knows," Sara tells her sister quietly. "I told her that I would talk to her when I'm ready."

Laurel chokes a little on a sip of coffee, and Sara bites her lip, waiting anxiously for a reply.

"Oh," Laurel says, dropping back in her seat with slightly widened eyes. "That's… Really?" She asks. "I mean, not that there's anything wrong with it. You were just always so- boy crazy," Laurel laughs awkwardly, sifting her fingers through her hair as she regards Sara with curiosity and a little disbelief.

"Yeah, well," Sara rolls her shoulder slightly, "my options were pretty limited for a while. It's not like I met too many people, and the ones I did come into contact with were, for the most part, like me. Isolated. And eventually people just became… people. I took human company when I could get it."

"But that sounds more just like it was out of convenience," Laurel frowns. "Are you actually- attracted to women?"

Sara laughs, and cannot help it, because although Sara has been coming to realize that her relationship with Nyssa was not exactly healthy, there is no doubt that Sara finds her beyond attractive.

"Yes," she answers with a grin.

"But aren't you and Ollie…?"

"Sort of," Sara admits. "I think… I think it's mostly just familiar. And that when we're together, we don't have to… pretend," she finishes quietly, averting her gaze.

Because that is as honest as Sara can be, at least about Oliver; they are friends and they have shared, traumatic experiences, and it is so, so nice to be understood in that way. Sara is grateful for him, and she loves him – but Sara has never been in love with Oliver Queen.

"Have you talked to him about it? This girl, I mean," Laurel elaborates.

Sara shakes her head. "It's- complicated," she decides.

It is.

It isn't that Sara thinks Oliver will mind if they are not together. Not that he doesn't care, of course – just that Oliver is not in love with Sara, either, and he will not be heartbroken by their inevitable separation.

What might break his heart is if Sara leaves him for Felicity. Because Oliver may think he is too dangerous or volatile or broody to be with Felicity in the way that she deserves, but he does not want anyone else to be what Felicity deserves, either.

If it comes to it, Sara will explain to him how that is unfair – because surely Felicity does not deserve to be alone?

Still, that is only a concern for when or if Sara feels ready to be what Felicity deserves. And Sara is not there, yet.

"Well," Laurel chews thoughtfully at her lower lip, "either way, I'm happy for you. Even if it's too complicated, or if it doesn't work out, it's… Sara, it's really nice to see you smile. I could throw this girl a party, just for that."

So Sara smiles again, and whispers with all the sisterly affection that she has ever been able to feel, "Thanks."

Because, though it feels a bit foreign, the smile that curls up the edges of her mouth at the indirect mention of Felicity feels nice, too.

Plus, Sara is awash with pride, inside.

This is a step. A relatively small one, granted, but a step, nevertheless. Laurel knows next to nothing about Sara's time away, but it is wonderful, still, to share something new with her sister.

It is wonderful to have this time with her at all, and Sara is warm in this feeling of closeness that she had sincerely feared she'd lost forever.