The gossamer veil shielding the lower half of her face fluttered in the wind, and the light emanating from the fire glinted off her unblemished porcelain skin. Sara knew that was possibly the only unmarred portion of her body; she had seen the angry, jagged scars that peppered Nyssa's arms, back, and torso. She used to trace them over with her fingertips as they lay in Nyssa's bed. Nyssa was hesitant at first. She didn't like exposing them to another person. She thought that they made her weak. Sara scoffed at the incredulity of Nyssa's fears and said that there wasn't any power on earth could make the Heir to the Demon look weak. She just turned to Sara and looked her squarely in the eyes. Words weren't necessary; Nyssa's gaze spoke volumes. You do.

She looked exactly as Sara remembered, regal and poised as always – or as Sara used to tease her, the "harbinger of death".

God, she was beautiful.

Sara watched as Nyssa's expression turned from shock, to confusion, to longing, and then finally settled on something shy of anger.

"Sara."

She could feel her body reacting instinctively to that husky rasp – her breath catching in her chest, her heart pumping wildly in trepidation or excitement – she didn't really know which.

But a part of her felt pure, unadulterated joy. There wasn't a day after she'd left where she didn't miss Nyssa. Her dalliance with Oliver confirmed that; he was nothing more than a warm body, someone she was comfortable with. When she was with him, her body ached for Nyssa's long, lithe form. She missed Nyssa's dexterous fingers lacing through her hair as they kissed. She missed Nyssa's whispering of beautiful Arabic endearments in her ear while they lay side-by-side in bed - her habibti, her nur, her khalas. She missed Nyssa's feather light kisses along her jaw, her collarbone – the very same person that spilt the blood of thousands was the gentlest person she ever knew.

"I didn't know if I would see you here."

"I didn't think that I would see you again, Ta-er al-Sahfer. Six months, without so much as a goodbye."

The familiarity of the nickname expelled a breath she didn't know she had been holding.

"You knew why I had to leave. This life was too much. I couldn't bear the killing anymore."

"But you know the rules. Nobody leaves the League and gets to live. Perhaps that was why rumours that the body of a blonde-haired girl adrift in the South China Sea again slipped past the walls of Nanda Parbat." Nyssa's eyes flashed in anger. "Did you actually think that I would not look for you myself? Or did your hooded green boyfriend come up with that foolish idea?"

Sara raised her chin in defiance. "It was me. I thought that it'd be easier on you knowing that I was dead. Then maybe you could move on."

She knew that she had said the wrong thing the moment those words slipped past her lips. Sara saw the change in Nyssa immediately. Her body stiffened in response, and the anger that previously clouded her eyes was completely replaced by pain.

Nyssa's voice was barely audible, but that didn't make her any less menacing. "If you thought that I could ever move on, then you never really did know me at all."

Sara didn't know how to respond to that. She knew how blinded by rage Nyssa could get when she was concerned. Once she went on an assignment to the Caracas for some drug lord running human trafficking rings. After she had dealt with him, she got carried away trying to help the victims assimilate to their new lives. She returned to Nanda Parbat a few weeks late, only to find Nyssa's private dojo in complete ruins - weapons strewn all across the floor; aerial silks hanging limply from the ceiling, tattered into shreds; bo staffs snapped cleanly in half; stained glass windows shattered. Nyssa had thought her dead.

"How do you know about Oliver, anyway?"

Nyssa chuckled in derision. "I've been monitoring your whereabouts from behind the walls of Nanda Parbat. Did you really think that I would rest well at night if I didn't know you were safe?"

"So you knew about the assassins?"

"I did. Father sent them. He sent me first, actually. But I didn't trust myself to be around you so soon after you left."

Playing with the hem of her leather jacket, Sara murmured, "It was never about leaving you, Nyssa. I needed to see my family. I needed to know that they were safe."

"Your family," the raven-haired beauty mused, a sad smile ghosting her lips. "I had hoped that you would feel for me as strongly as you feel for them, but now it has become clear that it was foolish thinking on my part."

"I did. I do." Sara faltered. "I - I still do."

"But not enough."

The sadness in Nyssa's voice broke her heart. Sara wanted nothing more than to step into Nyssa's embrace. To let Nyssa know that she considered her to be her other half, her family. But it wasn't her place anymore.

It wasn't that Sara didn't love her enough. She felt a keen sense of emptiness every morning when she woke up alone in bed. The blonde had always been an early riser. For three years of her life she had woken up to the sight of Nyssa's sleeping form. She looked so innocent, her face completely void of guile. A few locks of tousled, jet-black hair would constantly be strewn across her forehead, and Sara couldn't help but gently brush them away. The movement would cause Nyssa to stir slightly in her sleep, before a contented smile found its way to her lips. Sara found it endearing how the big, bad, self-processed Heir to the Demon was no different from any ordinary person when she slept.

When she was with Oliver, she had always left before he woke up. He had understood. Sara thought that part of him was relieved that whatever they had meant nothing to her. Far too often she had seen his gaze lingering longer than was necessary when it came to a certain blonde IT expert.

Sara didn't know how to make Nyssa understand that she couldn't love her and live with herself at the same time. Being by Nyssa's side meant staying in the League, killing for the League, and she could feel her humanity slipping away bit by bit every time she took another life. She could feel Sara Lance dying with every kill, and Ta-er al-Sahfer taking over. The Canary. Something her family wouldn't recognise. Something even she herself didn't recognise.

But she would gladly return to that life if it meant that Laurel would be safe. Her sister was one of the kindest people she knew. A little slow to forgive, but she had a good heart. Laurel was one of the few people left in Starling City that actually cared for the people. She didn't know much of what happened the six years that she was away, but she heard that Laurel had set up a legal clinic in The Glades for those who couldn't afford an attorney. If anyone deserved to survive, it was Laurel. Not her.

"Why are you here, Sara?"

Sara faltered. "I - I needed your help."

"Help?" Nyssa let out a mirthless laugh. "How desperate must you be, to have to come to me, of all people? Did your Oliver -" she spat out his name like it was a curse, "have better things to do with his time than to help his pretty new girlfriend?"

Of course Nyssa wouldn't do it. She was still angry. She had every right to be. For three whole years, Nyssa had given Sara her heart. And on the first day of the fourth year, she had left the League; left Nyssa. All Sara hoped was that Nyssa didn't turn her in to her father until Laurel was found. Ra's al Ghul had always been civil to Sara, for the sole reason of her being Nyssa's beloved. But when she broke Nyssa's heart, the civility ended, and in its place was a bounty on her head.

Sara backed away towards the door. "Forget it. This was a mistake. I'm sorry for bothering you. I won't -"

Nyssa was right beside her before she could set one foot out of the cabin, and slammed the door shut. Sara had never felt such sheer terror in a very long while. She allowed the blues of her eyes to meet with Nyssa's and what she saw made her blood run cold. What was once filled with love and adoration was replaced with something else entirely.

Sara vaguely recalled seeing that exact expression on Nyssa's face before. A member of the League had too much to drink on her third day at Nanda Parbat, and had entered her room in his drunken stupor. David Cain, he was called. She remembered him pinning her down to the mattress, laughing as she struggled futilely in his vice-like grasp. She was so weak then. "Quiet, girl," he spoke with a guttural rasp, his foul breath upon her face. "Nobody's going to hear you here." She knew that he wasn't lying. The League had no interest of what was going on in their assassins' chambers, and the walls were reinforced with vinyl and drywall.

Just as Sara was about to give up fighting came the arrow to the throat. Cain fell to the floor, choking on his own blood. Nyssa stood beside the door; bow outstretched. Her face was a perfect mask of impassiveness that gave nothing away, but her eyes betrayed her. Sara didn't think that it was possible for looks to kill, but Nyssa's eyes were filled with so much rage that she was beginning to reconsider that.

Sara had slept in Nyssa's bed ever since.

This was everything she had feared. Oliver was right. This plan was a suicide mission. What else did she expect? For Nyssa to welcome her back with open arms?

Sara mentally rebuked herself for being the same stupid, naive, ignorant little girl she had been before the island. It should've been her. Not Shado. Then all this wouldn't have happened. Slade wouldn't have become this cold-blooded killer, and Shado might have picked up her dad's mantle and join Oliver on his crusade. Slade might have even helped her. And all three of them could have looked for Laurel together.

Now here she was, asking the person who probably hated her most for help. She was going to die. Her sister was going to die. And it was her fault.

The words that slipped past Nyssa's lips next surprised her. "You don't get to appear and disappear from my life as and when you wish. What was it you wanted help with?"

And so Sara told her. Everything. About Slade, about the Mirakuru soldiers, about her reuniting with her family and then losing her sister shortly after.

She thought of her father – her strong, loving detective father. She remembered how he sank into depression after she was reported dead, how he found comfort in cheap booze and alcohol, how he shut everyone out, losing his own wife in the process. He didn't know she was still alive, and losing Laurel would mean losing both of his daughters. He couldn't take it.

"You weep, Sara Lance. Why is that?"

Sara didn't notice the single tear rolling down her own cheek. She brushed it away haphazardly, choosing to cast her gaze anywhere else but on Nyssa.

"It's nothing. I should probably go now."

Kicking aside a stray log that blocked her path, Sara attempted to barrel out of the door before she felt a hand on her wrist, gently but firmly holding her back.

"I'll help."

Sara stopped dead in her tracks.

"Really?"

Nyssa gave a curt nod and motioned for her to sit. Sara chose the ottoman, while Nyssa picked the rickety rocking chair beside the fireplace. The fact that Nyssa had picked the furthest possible spot to be from Sara did not escape her notice. She wanted nothing more than to reach out and take her hand, which was tracing idle patterns along the length of the chair arm. Instead, Sara let her hands fall limply by her side, balling her itching fingers into fists.

"You haven't been living here." Sara began, meaning for it to come out like a question, but her matter-of-fact tone made it sound like a statement.

Nyssa shook her head slightly. "This place is a constant reminder of what I have lost. Today was the first time in six months that I mustered up enough courage to set foot into this cabin. There was this… Inexplicable pull that drew me back here."

"Well, I'm glad you were here."

"I'm not sure whether I feel the same," Nyssa replied, a sad smile ghosting her lips.

Sara managed to force a smile on her face, but she felt like she had just been punched in the gut.

"Either way, thank you."

The atmosphere shifted, a palpable transformation in the room. The two of them sat in silence for a moment, basking in each other's presence. Or rather, Sara was. Nyssa just sat there, eyes vacant, face an enigmatic mask. Sara had used to be able to decode her cryptic expressions, but now she wasn't so sure. She wasn't even sure if the Nyssa that was in front of her was the same one she had left heartbroken six months ago. Sure, most of her mannerisms were hauntingly familiar, but her words were minced, and she had become so much more emotionally withdrawn. It reminded Sara a little of how Nyssa was when they first met. It had taken an interminable length of time before she had finally managed to get rid of her inherent distrust of people and fully allow herself to love. Sara just hoped that it wouldn't take that long this time around.

Moments later, Nyssa rose to leave. She paused just as she had one foot out of the doorjamb.

"I will be here tomorrow at dawn. It will not be wise to show yourself at Nanda Parbat. Father is still furious that you left without a word. I fear what he might do to you if he found you here, still alive."

Then she was gone, her cape billowing out from behind her.

Sara sighed, putting her face in her hands. It was going to be a long time before she regained Nyssa's trust again. But she was determined to try.

-/-

habibti - beloved
nur - light
khalas - salvation