There are two things Sara Lance remembers about her childhood. First, being with her dad and sister. Sometimes, Quentin Lance would get a faraway look in his eye and say, "Life doesn't always turn out the way you plan." Sara just wishes, at the time, she had realized he was talking about her life.
But that never stopped Quentin from taking Sara and her sister, Laurel, on adventures. He would pack up their sometimes working car, and he would tell the girls amazing stories about strange and exotic lands as they headed off to exciting destinations like… Boulder. It's amazing how exotic Colorado isn't.
The second thing Sara remembers, her favorite thing, is the stories Quentin would tell Sara and Laurel about their mom. He would take them to the church where he and Dinah got married, and Laurel would beg him to tell them more about the ceremony and about their crazy uncle who fell asleep in the macaroni and cheese. Sara would ask her dad when he truly knew that he loved their mom.
He would say, "Girls, your mother gave me a special gift. She gave me the world."
Actually, it was a globe with a light in it.
But for the romantic that he was, it might as well have been the world.
Well, the first time Sara saw her, she didn't exactly give Sara the world. It was a dollar-fifty train token. But Sara looked forward to it every single day.
She started coming to Sara's booth between 8 and 9 most nights, but especially on the weekends. And she was just perfect. Long honey brown hair that fell over her shoulders in wild curls and a hard, ice-cold stare complemented by light blue eyes.
They've barely spoken, save the few times Sara has gotten up the confidence to compliment her usual leather jacket or ever-changing heels, but Sara knows someday they will. And, someday, Sara knows she'll find a way to introduce herself, and that's going to be perfect. Just like her.
In the meantime, Sara spends her time off from work alone in her studio apartment. No, alone isn't the right term. Her cat, Drake, keeps her plenty of company. Right now, Drake is incessantly meowing at Sara as she tries to pull a Christmas tree up the side of her building using a thick rope and all her willpower.
"45 dollars for a Christmas tree and they don't deliver?" She asks Drake. "You order 10 dollars worth of takeout, and they bring it to your door!"
Drake meows once more.
"I should have gotten the blue spruce, right Drake? They're lighter."
Sara takes a step back, not noticing the rope beneath her feet, and slips, falling on her ass as she drops the rope and screams.
Drake does not make a sound.
The Christmas tree does, though. It slides down the side of the building before going through the window of the apartment below, glass shattering louder than Sara thought it could.
Her landlord, Moira, makes a noise, too, as she yells, "Sara!"
Sara closes her eyes and sighs before steeling herself to walk downstairs.
It's a short walk that Sara tries to lengthen, and when she knocks on the door of apartment 1A, Moira opens it quickly, like she was waiting on the other side. She immediately leads Sara to her dining table, where Sara sees the Christmas tree, in all its glory, about a quarter of the way into Moira's apartment. Sara stays in the open archway.
"Nature of claim," Moira recites, probably having memorized all insurance sheets from owning and operating such a large apartment complex that she named after herself. Queen Luxury Apartments. "Christmas tree through window. How am I going to put that on my insurance? They're still pissed about the fire we had when Thea's ex-boyfriend tried to barbecue in the stairwell."
"I missed that one," Sara tries to joke.
Moira looks at her sternly.
"Look, I'll pay for this," Sara says firmly.
Moira throws her hands up in surrender, "That's alright, Sara. My friend Malcolm is in the glass business."
Sara hides a sigh.
When Laurel and Quentin died, Moira took Sara in, in her way. Sara is sure that her apartment has some type of reduced rent. There's no way she could afford downtown Central City prices on transit-booth-worker pay, especially not the roomy studio into which she's able to fit both a bedroom and living space. Sometimes, Sara thinks Moira feels guilty for being so weird around Laurel when she and Oliver were dating back in college. The two had broken up before the accident, but anyone could see that Oliver was still in love with Laurel. He just didn't know how to commit and be an adult like Laurel wanted. Like Laurel deserved.
Sara pulls a small box out of the sleeve of her giant gray sweater.
"I almost forgot," she says, holding out the mess of red and green. "Merry Christmas."
"Oh, Sara," Moira smiles uncharacteristically. "You didn't have to do that."
"I wanted to."
"I haven't even gotten to my shopping yet."
"Mom!" A voice calls from another room.
Oliver comes in from the hallway a moment later, face as steely and serious as it's been since the accident three years ago. Sara forgets how losing Laurel changed him.
"We have company," Moira informs him.
"Sara," he says in greeting as he notices her.
"Oliver," she returns.
"Nice, um…" Oliver looks at her too-big clothes and hair thrown in a messy ponytail. "...sweater."
"Thank you?" Sara can't help the way her face scrunches up.
"I'll talk to you later," Oliver says to Moira, and then disappears back down the hallway.
Sara straightens up, preparing to leave, but Moira walks toward her.
"You know, you and Oliver are both still single…" Moira starts.
Ever since Sara got her life back on track, Moira has been dropping hints about how much she and Oliver had both changed and grown over the last six years. And every time, it causes an uncomfortable shiver to run down Sara's spine.
"I, um…" Sara points toward the apartment door. "I have to go get ready for work."
.
Beanie pulled down over her forehead and scarf wrapped tightly around her neck, Sara waits in the cold for her turn to order from her favorite food truck. It's a small, red truck serving Pho, Vermicelli, or Bahn Mi with your choice of protein.
As she approaches the window after the person before her moves to wait, the man in the truck asks, "What'll you have?"
"The usual."
"What's that?"
Sara looks at the man, forcing herself not to roll her eyes. "Banh Mi. Tofu."
"Sara! Sara!" Her boss, Rip, calls as he approaches. "I'm glad to find you here."
"I was hoping you'd find me in Brazil," Sara retorts as Rip pulls something out of his trenchcoat.
"Oh, Brazil, wouldn't that be nice?" Rip straightens some bills in his hand. "I am recommending you for employee of the month," he tells Sara before telling the man on the truck, "my usual."
The man nods. Sara looks at him in disbelief. She hopes it's only Rip's British accent that makes everybody remember him over her.
Sara and Rip pay the man before stepping away to wait for their food.
"I didn't know there was an employee of the month," Sara muses.
"Supervisor Rip Hunter nominates Sara Lance for employee of the month," Rip reads off of a wrinkled sheet of paper that he pulled from his jacket. "Sara is never tardy and always works holidays even if she has worked the previous holiday."
Sara rolls her eyes, ready for the request.
"Just because she worked Thanksgiving," Rip continues, still looking at the paper even though Sara knows it's probably blank, "Sara is willing to work Christmas, too."
Rip's arms drop as he finally looks at Sara again.
"I'm not working Christmas," Sara deadpans.
"You'll get a nice plaque with the mayor's stamp on it!" Rip pleads.
"I didn't vote."
"You get to ride on a float!" he pesters. "St. Paddy's day!"
"I hate parades."
"Did I mention extra holiday pay?"
"I hate you."
" Sara," Rip pleads.
Sara huffs in annoyance.
"Look," Rip levels with her, "My son is sick and Thea can't switch because she's got a big family thing —"
Sara knows about the family thing, considering it happens every year downstairs from her. Sara got Thea the job 8 months ago after Thea finally decided she desperately needed to move out of her mother's apartment if she was going to make her relationship with Roy work.
"— And I promised my wife I would be home this year."
"This stinks, Rip."
"I know it isn't fair," Rip sighs, "and I can't make you do it. But, Sara, you're the only one…"
"Without family," Sara finishes, nodding her head and looking to the ground.
As the man from the truck calls them over to pick up their food, Sara knows she's going to take the shift on Christmas.
.
That night, Sara sits in her booth feeling less than in the holiday spirit. A small dollar store Christmas tree sits in front of her on the counter, covered in tiny, color baubles, mocking her. It's the kind of tree her father would have called a Charlie Brown Christmas Tree. Sara makes a mental note to ask Oliver to help her finally carry up the giant one she stupidly bought tomorrow morning before he goes to work. Oliver may have his own apartment somewhere in some actual luxury building, but more often than not, he can be found at the complex helping his mother with something.
Children laugh as they wait to go home with their parents, big shopping bags probably full of toys. One family is even wearing matching red scarves. It's all Sara can do not to feel like she got the short end of the stick in life.
And just as she's feeling so sorry for herself she could cry, someone with long black nails drops a token in her window.
"Hi," a deep but feminine voice says from above. Sara looks up into cool, blue eyes. "Merry Christmas Eve."
She smiles as Sara finds herself at a loss for words, pressing the button to let the beautiful, perfect woman through. And as she walks away, Sara runs through all the things she could have said while mentally beating herself up.
Sara groans in self-hatred as she watches her stand on the platform, leather jacket hugging her curves. And then a group of guys approaches her, and Sara's instincts kick in as one of them places a hand on her shoulder. Sara jumps out of her seat, exits through the door that leads to the platform, and rushes toward the group as one of the guys realizes he isn't going to get what he wants and pushes her just hard enough that she loses her balance and falls off the platform.
Sara picks up the pace for the last couple of feet, not bothering with the cowards running past her and away from the station, stopping just as she reaches where she fell onto the tracks. Sara leans over, looking around for anyone to help, but it's 8:30-something on a Wednesday night and the platform is near empty, save for a family near where the front of the train would stop, matching red scarves more a stop sign than an assistance-found-here sign.
"Hey!" Sara yells to her. But her eyes are closed and she isn't moving. "You have to get up!"
She makes a snap decision and jumps down onto the tracks, moving to straddle her.
"Are you breathing?" she asks as if a passed-out person could answer.
Sara leans down to listen, hearing soft breaths.
" God you smell good," Sara sighs, moving to shake her shoulders. "Come on! Wake up!"
"Help!" Sara calls, knowing there's no one listening. "Help us!"
A whistle sounds loud, signaling an approaching train.
Sara's heartbeat somehow picks up its pace while she keeps screaming for help that cannot possibly come in time. She quickly debates trying to get the woman onto the platform, but she knows she can't lift her in time. Sara is strong, but she's not strong enough.
"Hey!" she yells at her. "There's a train coming! It's fast; an express! If you could wake up right now, that would be great!"
The train moves closer and closer, chugging along without a clue, and Sara knows she has to do something right now so she and this beautiful woman below her won't die. She grabs the woman's shoulders, squeezes her legs around the woman's waist, and rolls them over to the side of the tracks, just beneath the edge of the platform, where Sara knows the rats and roaches to live and thrive, as the train approaches and then rushes past. Sara lands on top, watching and waiting as the express train thankfully does not stop here and rushes by.
As Sara looks down, the woman's head starts to move, and she barely opens her eyes to stare at Sara above her.
"Hi," Sara whispers.