A few days later, after they tussled with some soldiers during the Crusades, Jax poked his head in the door of the library. "Got a sec?" he asked, holding up a first aid kit. "There's this cut on my shoulder. I would bandage it myself, but it's at an awkward angle."
"Gideon?" she asked, waving him over anyway.
"Busy with Mick, and Nate's getting checked out as well." He sat down next to her on the ottoman and pulled his blood-stained t-shirt off. "Right side."
She leaned in to look at the abrasion. It wasn't bleeding too badly. "There's some debris in here. What happened?" She reached for the tweezers.
"I got thrown before Grey and I merged. Otherwise I would have had the suit on."
"Is your head okay?" she asked.
"Nah, it's all on my shoulder. I know how to take a hit," he said.
"Jock," she teased. "This is going to hurt." She blotted away some already-clotted blood and he flinched. "You sure you don't want to wait?"
"I just need a distraction. Talk to me. You've been holed up in here ever since we left 2017. Nate's pissed that you stole his research spot."
"Nothing much to tell. Just searching for anachronisms."
"You can't do that out here with the rest of us?"
"I'm disinfecting this," she warned him, before pouring rubbing alcohol over his shoulder. She waited until his fists unclenched before shoving him lightly. "If you want to ask me something, ask."
"What happened when we were home? Ray said you and Oliver had a tense conversation. Was it about Dinah?"
Sara sighed. "Partly. We hadn't had the chance to talk in a while. There were a lot of things we needed to catch up on."
"Are you mad that she's using Laurel's identity?"
"It was mine first. The name. The basics of the costume. I made the original sonic devices. Laurel improved on all of it once I died."
"Were you mad when she used it?"
"Of course not. I'm not mad now either, I just wish they had warned me. It was- jarring."
"I'm sorry," he told her, trying to turn around to look her in the eye.
"Stay still. It's fine."
"It's really not."
They lapsed into silence so Sara could tear tape for the gauze with her teeth, her other hand pressed to Jax's shoulder.
"You're all done." she announced finally, pleased to see that no blood was seeping through the gauze. "Get Gideon to fix it if it's still bothering you later."
"I didn't know you used to use the Black Canary identity. I assumed you and Laurel came as a set."
"I've only ever used White Canary with this team. It's kind of obsolete at this point. It's not like I need identity concealment."
"You're a hero," he told her. "Heroes get a name."
Then, she was no longer in the library with Jax. She was somewhere else. Her chest was tight. Her stomach was burning.
Oliver was holding out a hand. She was in the water, floating. She was on the roof, then falling.
Laurel was throwing a glass at her head. She was in the pit. She was six feet under, in a corset.
She was in the fire, a child in her arms- but. No. There was a man strapped to the table, and her knife dug into the sole of his foot.
"Sara?"
She was across the room and couldn't remember moving. Her hands were shaking, and she had a glass figurine from one of the shelves gripped tightly in her hand.
"Are you okay?" Jax asked her. He was standing several feet away, hands up.
"I'm sorry," she said, though she wasn't sure yet what she was apologizing for.
"What do you need?" he asked, and nearly hysterically, Sara decided that she needed to write Beverly Jackson a thank you note for raising such a fantastic human being.
She needed to not be in charge. She needed to figure things out without putting her team's lives on the line. "I need to go home," she said.
Jax nodded. "Gideon?" he called. "Tell everyone to start packing their bags. We're taking shore leave."
There was a short argument about whether it rude to park the Waverider in the S.T.A.R. labs parking lot without asking permission first, but as the conflict faded Sara watched her teammates' gazes land on her.
"Okay," she said, shouldering her half-empty duffel bag. "We'll meet back here next Saturday- six o'clock sharp. Stay out of trouble, but if something goes wrong, you have phones. Use them."
Mick and Stein both made a beeline across the parking lot as soon as she was done speaking. Martin was eager to see Clarissa and Mick was dodging Ray's attempt to hug him goodbye. Undeterred, Ray turned to Nate and pulled him into a tight embrace.
Bro," Ray said, meaningfully.
"Buddy," Nate responded, tightening his grip.
"It's a week!" Jax exclaimed. "Are y'all seriously having separation anxiety right now?!"
Sara moved toward Amaya. "Hey," she said, voice low. "I know you won't, but just in case- you and Nate should stay out of Detroit, okay?"
Amaya nodded, and thankfully didn't seem to take offense. "We're going to stay with Nathaniel's mother for now, and maybe visit to Washington, D.C. later in the week."
"Meeting the mom. Big step."
"Should we stay in a hotel instead?"
"Not necessarily. If Nate's ready for this, and you are, too, then I don't see a problem with."
"It'll be fine, Amaya," Jax cut in. "Good for you two."
Sara brought out her phone to dial a cab to the train station. "Five minutes," she told Ray once she ended the call, and waved to Nate and Amaya, who were already walking away, his arm slung around her shoulders.
Jax glanced over at her. He hadn't bothered her about her weird reaction on the Waverider, and she hadn't offered any information.
"Your mom will be excited to see you," she said.
He shot her a grin, catching her drift. "Yeah. You two be safe. Text us when you get to Star City."
"Will do," Ray responded, but Jax didn't look in his direction. His gaze stayed on Sara.
He didn't move to hug her, and she was grateful. Even in the wide open parking lot, she was beginning to feel claustrophobic.
"We'll see you next week," she told him, flashing him what she hoped was a reassuring smile.
He mock-saluted her with a brief "Captain" and set off toward his own destination.
After they caught their train to Star City, Sara steered Ray to the back of their car and maneuvered him into the window seat. He shot her an alarmed look, but tolerated her sudden burst of paranoia. He attempted to make small talk with her, which she ignored for the most part, examining the other passengers and often leaning around him to get a better view out the window. He quieted down after a while and leaned back in his seat, slipping on earbuds to listen to an audiobook- nonfiction, knowing Ray.
Sara settled into a steady rhythm of surveillance. She spent fifteen seconds on the window, then scanned the cabin back and forth five times, looking for movement or signs of concealed weapons. She performed a head count to check that the eighteen occupants were still in view, then switched her attention back to the window to start the cycle over again.
After twenty-two cycles, Ray leaned forward to get her attention. "Hey," he whispered. "What's going on?"
"Nothing," she hissed, and raised an arm to push him back into his seat, but he grabbed her wrist.
"Your hands are shaking," he accused. "What's going on?"
She stared at her trembling fingers, unsure of what was more concerning- that she had started panic in the first place, or that she hadn't noticed. She ripped her arm from Ray's grasp and rose out of her seat. She looked out the back door under the guise of checking the other car to avoid his gaze.
"This is a vacation, right? You aren't keeping anything from us?"
"I- don't. I don't know what's happening," she stammered. She suddenly became aware that she was breaking out into a cold sweat. Her breathing picked up. She could control it if she wanted to- her league training was never far from her reach, even now, but...there was no need to.
"Ok," Ray said, volume still low. He examined her for a moment. "When was the last time you slept? Or ate a meal sitting down?"
"Probably the last time you did," she shot back.
"Well I've been doing both of those things, which probably answers my question. Seriously, Sara, is there any reason we should be worried? I don't want to knock your instincts, but I think maybe they're a bit...off, right now. Temporarily."
She finally turned to glare at him, but restrained herself when she saw that his concern was genuine and not condescending. And of course it was. It was Ray. "I've been laying down to sleep, but nothing's been happening," she admitted. "Jax made me call for a break. Nothing's wrong. There's no- I'm not keeping anything from you."
Ray nodded and rose. "Okay. Well, here's what we're gonna do. You're gonna take the window seat."
He motioned again after she made no move to take his spot, so she reluctantly settled into his spot.
"I'll keep an eye on things," he promised.
"Keep an earbud out," she ordered. "The one near the aisle."
"I will, but look? I've got my suit. It's in my pocket. You're still you so you've got what, four weapons on your person? At least? Even if something goes wrong, we can handle it. So just...you don't have to sleep, but take the other earbud. Close your eyes. See what happens."
Sara laid back against the seat and forced herself to close her eyes and time her breathing to the cadence of the narrator. She was unconscious within minutes.
She awoke to a nudge from the shoulder she was sleeping against.
"Sara?" Ray hissed.
She shifted off his shoulder and slumped back against her seat. "Hmm?"
"What's your dad's address?"
She to a moment to piece together through what he was asking. "Was just gonna go to the bunker," she told him.
"It's two in the morning. By the time we get across town, they'll be gone."
They lapsed into silence as the train lurched to a stop. The other people in their compartment began to chatter and rustle for their luggage.
"The clock tower," Sara murmured.
"What?"
"Across from the bank. Used to live there."
"You're not sleeping in a clock tower," Ray told her. "I can call your dad. What's his number?"
Her eyes shot open and she grabbed Ray's arm. "No. Not tonight."
Sara was positive that if she saw her dad that night she would start crying and never stop. Just the thought of seeing him conjured a lump in her throat that constricted her breathing.
Ray typed rapidly on his phone. After most of the crowd had cleared, he stood. She shouldered her duffel bag and led their way off the train.
The Star City train station was nearly empty and the crowd from their train quickly thinned. Sara stumbled over to a wall and sat on top of her bag. Ray's phone chirped, then rang, and he held it up to his ear.
"Hey," he greeted. "Sorry for the short notice. Yeah, we just got in."
There was a long pause. The edges of the lights that lined the hall were blurry. Sara blinked slowly to clear them. The paranoia was back, stronger than before, and she tried to widen her focus to look for any movement in her field of vision.
"Both, kind of. I don't know when the last time she slept was."
That did her in. Sara dissolved into tears. Her sobs were noisy and they echoed across the hall of the station and hurt her chest. She wiped at her sides of her eyes and tried to keep her field of vision wide, but the effort was useless. She was failing completely.
Ray kneeled down in front of her and placed a hand on her arm. "Sara, you need to calm down. Someone's going to think I'm kidnapping you."
That got a hysterical chuckle out of her that came out sounding more like a cough, because Ray just looked so earnest. What the hell was she doing freaking out in the train station of all places? Sara could count on two hands the number of times she had cried in the past ten years and whatever was happening to her now wasn't worth a single tear.
She shut her eyes and bit down hard on her tongue. No more. The feeling was as well-practiced as a swing of sword. Learning not to cry had been high on her list of priorities as a young assassin.
Ray's hand stayed on her knee, and Sara kept her eyes shut. He asked a question every couple of minutes, but she ignored him. Finally, his phone chirped and he pulled her upright by the hand.
"Our ride's here," he told her.
She walked out of the station on her own two feet. Ray took her bag and led the way. Sara had no clue what arrangements he had made. A hotel, maybe, though she didn't know how to work around the fact that she was legally dead.
The answer was waiting for them in a dark red coat, leaning against the passenger side door of her car. Felicity tossed her keys to Ray. "You're driving," she told him.
She kept a steady stream of chatter as she directed Sara into the backseat and slid in next to her from the traffic side of the car. "Don't go home yet, Ray," she said. "Hop on the interstate."
"Why?" he asked, but she ignored him, turning to Sara instead.
"You look nauseous," she said. "When did you stop crying?"
Ray answered for her. "Right after we hung up. I asked her to. I didn't want to attract any attention."
Felicity took one of her hands. "Do you trust me?"
Sara nodded. As much as she trusted anyone right now, she trusted Felicity.
"Put on your seatbelt. After we merge onto the interstate, I'm going to roll all the windows down. Ray, you're going to gun it. Don't worry about speeding tickets. I've got a couple of connections in the mayor's office."
"That's still no reason to-"
"Go the limit then, but no slower."
The streets were nearly empty, and it was so late that only caution lights were flashing at the intersection leading onto the interstate.
Felicity lowered the windows as they picked up speed, and the wind that rushed into the car began to roar and toss Sara's hair around wildly.
The miles piled up behind them. One exit past town. Two. The overload of sound and feeling didn't stop, and the pressure she had pushed down into her chest burst. It was too loud to hear the worst of the sounds that she was making as she stared intentionally at the back of the seat in front of her.
She was a mess. Her hair whipped through streaks of snot, which dried almost immediately in the wind. Her muscles were finally, finally loosening. Once the heaving, heavy part had passed, Felicity rolled up the windows and the torrent of stimulation stopped.
She pulled Sara into her shoulder. "This is an old sweatshirt," she assured. "Ray, there's some tissues in the glove compartment. Can you hand them back to us? Crank the heat, while you're at it. I'm getting chilly."
"Should I head back to town?" he asked.
"Are you ready, Sara?" Felicity asked. Sara wiped her face with some of the tissues she had been handed, and shoved them into the seat pocket in front of her. She was still crying, but it was gentler, and she wiped at her eyes with the sleeve of her shirt.
"Yeah," she responded. "I'm ready."
Felicity wrapped her arms around her, and Sara fell asleep once more to the pattern of street lights flashing past.
When Sara opened her eyes, the sun was setting, and she was in a bed that she figured must be Felicity's. Her limbs were stiff as she rose. Downstairs, someone opened and shut the fridge.
She breathed, reaching her left arm over the opposite shoulder and inching it down as far as she could. Judging by the light of the sky, she'd slept for nearly fourteen hours. Her head was fuzzy, and she was covered in sweat, but she felt more calm than she had been in weeks.
"Sara?" a voice called. Felicity.
"Hey," she responded. She shuffled over to the stairs so she could see down to the bottom where Felicity was standing in sweatpants and a S.T.A.R. labs t-shirt, hair pulled into a ponytail.
Felicity looked her over, then pointed up the stairs toward the bathroom. "There's a bottle of water in there. Drink it. Take a shower. I'm ordering fried rice- how spicy?"
"Are you ordering from the place on twenty-fifth?" Sara asked, her voice a little hoarse.
"I'm insulted that you even had to ask."
"Three peppers, then. Where's my phone?"
"In the fruit bowl, turned off. Just like mine. Ray checked in with your team. They're all fine."
The water pressure in Felicity's shower was much better than aboard the Waverider. Sara usually stole most of the hot water- Captain's privilege, though it had been a habit long before she was in charge- but here she was able to crank up the temperature without even a twinge of guilt.
The food was there by the time she had changed into mostly-clean pajamas from her duffel and settled on the couch downstairs. Felicity turned on some inane sitcom without asking and they ate in comfortable silence.
""Don't you have vigilante duty?" Sara asked, once she was just picking around the leftover stalks of broccoli.
"I called in some vacation time. I would lie and say it was before Ray called but you probably know some freaky League of Assassins tells and could call me on it."
"I'm sorry," Sara said. "I didn't mean for that to happen."
"Of course you didn't," Felicity insisted. "It's a classic case of burnout. I pulled stuff like that all the time in college."
Sara didn't want to mislead her. "It was more...complicated than that."
Felicity shrugged. "I mean, I figured. I didn't think it was a coincidence that you showed up looking like a ghost a few days after you and Oliver had a heavy talk. It's fine, Sara. We can talk about it in the morning, if you want, but you don't owe me any sort of explanation. It happens. I'm glad I could help."
On screen, the show came back from commercial. The kids of the family attempted to sneak into the oldest sister's prom in dresses and tuxes that dragged the floor. Felicity laughed, unrestrained, and some piece inside of Sara settled back into place.
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