The first postcard Nyssa sends to Laurel is from the Grand Canyon. She does it on a whim, picking one out as she's browsing one of the gift shops. She's not quite yet ready to properly speak to Laurel, but she doesn't want to cut off communication entirely. She doesn't want her friend to worry any more than she already does. She thinks the Grand Canyon is as good a place as any to start her journey, even if some might say a tad cliche. When she watches the sunset and the way the light spills color across the canyon, she reaffirms that of all the sights Laurel and Sara's country has to offer, this one might be the most worthwhile.
The next postcard is from Yosemite. Then Chesapeake Bay, Chicago, Boston, and so many other major cities, parks, and landmarks, before she's exhausted the list of places she's always wanted to visit in the United States. Once she's satisfied with her tour of the US, she makes her way over to Europe.
The first and only postcard she sends to Sara is from Rome.
She can't help but remember how much Sara had enjoyed Italy when they were last there. She's committed to memory the look of sheer awe and wonder on Sara's face as they stood in the Colosseum, how she stared up at the Sistine Chapel, the taste of wine on her lips as they sat overlooking a vineyard. They had spent time in Venice and Milan, as well, but that assignment in Rome had been their first since she had taken Sara as her Beloved. The freedom to act on their feelings was still new. It had also been one of the few League assignments they'd ever received where they had an abundance of downtime, and Sara had previously had few opportunities to play the role of tourist.
Rome held memories precious to her. So when she goes to send Laurel her postcard, she's overtaken by a sense of nostalgia and missing Sara, and her resolve crumbles as she sends one off for Sara as well.
—
In Budapest, she meets with her sister. What first surprises her is that Talia's accompanied by Bruce Wayne. What surprises her even more is the discovery that this man is apparently Talia's lover. Nyssa saves her commentary for later, after she's settled in at their villa, and Bruce has left them to catch up.
"Last I recall, you were not terribly fond of bats," Nyssa remarks, an eyebrow raised.
Talia isn't fazed. "I'm sure you are familiar with the old adage that there is a fine line between love and hate."
"Indeed," Nyssa can't help but chuckle lightly.
She enjoys mornings with Talia the most. They're both still early risers, a result of years' worth of following League schedule and training regimen. Their mornings usually begin with enjoying a light, mostly silent breakfast together, before they retire to the garden to meditate. Some mornings, Bruce Wayne joins them. He's a man of few words, and perhaps because of this, Nyssa finds she doesn't mind his presence as much as she thought she would.
They also take up sparring and training together, and Nyssa relishes an opportunity to train without having to hold herself back. Talia is just as competitive as Nyssa remembers her to be, and it stokes her own competitiveness. More often than not, Bruce joins them for these training sessions as well, once again a quiet observer.
One morning, she finds Talia and Bruce already sparring in the large backyard, and it's Nyssa's turn to be the silent observer. She's heard tales of Bruce Wayne's combat prowess, from both Talia and her father, his skills apparently commendable enough to have garnered the attention of the former Ra's al Ghul. Watching him fight against her sister, she can see why. When she trains with him later, she's mildly surprised to find herself outmatched.
"He's rather impressive, isn't he?" Talia gleams with pride, but under the surface is a warmth and affection Nyssa has rarely ever associated with her sister.
"It would seem he is a man of legend for a reason," Nyssa agrees.
The companionable silence that follows allows her to reflect on her stay with her sister. She studies Talia intently, notes how relaxed she appears now, how unguarded she's appeared throughout her stay. She can't recall when she last saw Talia this way.
"You seem content," Nyssa notes.
Talia takes a moment before she responds. They've spent the late afternoon sitting at the table on the back patio, Talia nursing a cup of tea and watching Bruce train on his own, while Nyssa pages through one of the historical texts she'd found in the study.
"It's not the life I thought I'd lead," Talia says eventually, her gaze returning to Nyssa. "But it has surprised me in the best ways."
It's her turn now to be studied, as Talia's gaze lingers on her. She is curious what her sister sees now when she looks at her.
"I've been enjoying our time together," Talia says.
This has been the most uninterrupted time she's spent with her sister since she was a child. It's also the longest they've ever spent together without their father's presence looming over them. As a child, her father would teasingly call her Talia's shadow; she was prone to sticking close to her sister's side, intent on spending as much time with her as she could before Talia was sent away on another assignment. Talia was older, and wiser, and most importantly, the only other person who understood what it meant to be a child of the Demon.
She would learn many years later the true depths of her father's teasing; his words were not the affectionate observation of a father happy to see his daughters bonding. He had meant them to be a slight—that she could not compare to Talia, that she allowed herself to be so open and obvious with her "weakness," the name he put to any sign of love or devotion from Nyssa to anything other than him or the League.
She would also come to realize how often their father had played them against each other, encouraged their competitiveness, intentionally sowed dissent between them. And then one day, Talia left, and she was the sole focus of her father's attention.
So all things considered, this tentative relationship they've been building has been going surprisingly well. She's relished the opportunity to spend time with her sister without their father's shadow looming over them. She's enjoyed the time they've spent together, and has appreciated the opportunity to reminisce on the few good childhood memories she has. It's not all been smooth-sailing; there are still quite a few things they fundamentally don't agree on. But what was once an insurmountable chasm between them, doesn't feel as impossible as it had years prior. For once, Nyssa dares to hope.
It's not the undying love she's witnessed between the Lance sisters, nor the fierce protectiveness she had seen with the Queen siblings. But whatever she and Talia are, it is uniquely theirs, and she's grateful they're finding a way to work through the years of hurt they've caused each other.
"I've enjoyed our time together," Talia repeats, before Nyssa's had the opportunity to agree or voice any of her thoughts, "So I hope you don't take it the wrong way when I ask you why you've decided now is the time for a visit and a globetrotting adventure."
It's in the favor of their budding relationship that Nyssa decides to be vulnerable.
"Father rarely took us traveling for the mere pleasure of it." She begins with a truth, but not the sole purpose for her travels. "I no longer have roots tying me to one place, so I thought I ought to give it a try."
She pauses to collect her courage, because even though she wants to be vulnerable with her sister, it's still rather new for her.
"Staying in Star City proved to be difficult," she admits quietly.
"It is unlike you to run from hardship," Talia notes, her gaze calm and steady, her tone betraying nothing of her emotions.
There's no malice behind her words, but Nyssa feels shame regardless.
"I'm not running," she protests—weakly, if Talia's knowing look is anything to go by. "I'm trying to heal."
"Your Beloved released you," Talia surmises.
"It was I who released her, many years ago." At Talia's look of surprise, Nyssa elaborates, "I refused to drag her back into League business. She was not meant for our world."
"But the League is no more."
"She was not meant for me." Nyssa's voice is as small as she feels in that moment. She doesn't look at Talia when she says it, instead glancing off to the side.
"And so you pine."
"I do not want to pine," she snaps, immediately feeling silly for it, but there's something about Talia's frankness that still annoys her after all these years.
Talia is quiet for several long moments, leaving Nyssa to wonder if she's shared too much, been too vulnerable.
While she waits on Talia, she tries to busy herself with focusing on her surroundings. She notices for the first time that they're alone now, the sounds of Bruce's training replaced with the stillness of summer. The air is cooler now that the sun has begun to set. When she finally glances back over at Talia, she finds her sister already staring back at her with a sharp gaze.
"You've always possessed an innate ability to love deeply, regardless of our father's attempts to snuff out that side of you." Her voice is steady, firm but gentle, and Nyssa is struck by the statement, the way Talia delivers it in her matter-of-fact manner that she's perfected over time.
"When I was younger, I thought you foolish." Nyssa can't even be offended—there have been plenty of times over the years that her feelings have made of a fool of her.
"But now..." Talia continues, trailing off with a hint of a smile on her face, "I dare say I admire you."
Nyssa doesn't hide the look of surprise she's sure is on her face. In that moment, she feels she's once again the child from her memories, seeking her older sister's approval, preening at her praise and acknowledgment.
"You love so very deeply and completely. You're passionate and loyal to those you deem worthy of it. You've found strength in the emotions you feel. There is a light inside you, dear sister; something I've not felt in myself for quite some time. Something I don't think I've ever seen mirrored in myself, really."
These are undoubtedly the kindest words Talia's ever said to her.
"I hope you will believe me when I tell you, that you are all of these things with or without your Beloved by your side. She may have been the first to show you, but Nyssa, that light has been in you from the beginning. Why else do you think our father was so hard on you?"
To say she's overwhelmed would be an understatement. Talia either recognizes this or is embarrassed by her display of affection – perhaps both – because she's quick to excuse herself after that.
Nyssa sits in silence for a long time after Talia leaves. She can't help but wonder what possessed her sister to speak so highly and kindly of her—wonders if being in love has softened her to some degree, or if this is a result of Thea Queen's influence, or perhaps an amalgamation of all these things plus her sister's own journey toward enlightenment. It all sounded very much like something Laurel would possibly say to her, like the words of wisdom an older sibling would bestow upon their younger sibling. It's given her much to reflect on, and not for the first time this visit, Nyssa marvels at how far she and Talia have come.
She can admit that she's spent much of her life defining herself by her relationships—her ties to the League, to her father, and to Sara. She's still not sure who she is without those bonds. She's no longer Heir to the Demon, or Ra's al Ghul, or even really Nyssa Raatko, the name of a mother she'd never known or met.
Now, she is just Nyssa, and she thinks it's past time she truly discovers who that is.
—
She stays with Talia for a little while longer before eventually moving on. She returns to places she once visited while on League assignment, wishes to experience everything through new eyes. With no deadlines looming, no lives to take, no risks to weigh, or men whose lives are in her hands. She finds it much simpler. It's nice in many ways.
But it's also lonely.
On a warm night in a small village off the coast of Greece, she finds the strength to finally call Laurel.
The phone rings only once before Laurel picks up the call.
"You sure took your damn time," Laurel scolds as a greeting, and Nyssa can't help the laugh that bubbles up from her throat.
"Lovely to hear from you as well, Laurel," she says it jokingly, but the statement rings true nonetheless.
"So your last postcard was from Budapest. Thea told me you visited your sister there. How'd that go?"
She's still getting used to the fact that Thea and Talia have managed to forge a strange work friendship.
"Complicated," Nyssa admits. "But we've made progress. She even introduced me to her boyfriend."
"Talia with a boyfriend, now there's something. Maybe it'll mellow her out."
"One can only hope."
Hearing Laurel laugh on the other end of the line is nice, comforting. It's the warm hug Nyssa has been needing these past few days in particular, as it's the most homesick she's felt since leaving Star City. She'll be damned if she reveals that to Laurel, though, not after so adamantly insisting that Star City was not her home.
"Thomas is well, I hope?" she asks.
"He's good. He's gonna hate that he missed this. You should call him when you get a chance, he'd like that."
"I would like that," Nyssa says, and finds that means it. She has to agree with Sara, her friendship with Tommy Merlyn certainly is strange.
"I'm really glad you called," Laurel says warmly, "I wanna hear all about your adventures. Where are you now?"
Nyssa proceeds to tell Laurel all about the past few days in Greece, and Berlin before that. Eventually, she describes in detail her time spent with her sister, wanting Laurel's insight on Talia's words.
"You sound confused," Laurel observes once Nyssa's finished recounting everything.
"My sister has not said a kind word to me in probably well over a decade, Laurel."
"Well, it sounds like your sister loves you, but instead of just saying that, she gave you a lovely speech about how wonderful you are. Which, now that I think about it, is very on brand for you al Ghul women," she mumbles the last part mostly to herself, before pressing on more seriously: "She's also right, Nyssa. I know you feel lost right now, but that peace you're searching for, I don't think you're gonna find it in any one place or any one person—that has to come from you."
—
For about a month, her focus and efforts are spent on trying to track down her late mother's village. The truth is, she knows it's an an impossible task. Her father had provided her so little information about her mother throughout her life, and forbidden anyone from speaking of her at all. Despite knowing all this, something still compels her to at least try.
Her latest efforts have brought her to a small village in Jordan. The people there aren't accustomed to outside visitors, but she does her best to blend in, and having Arabic as her first language certainly helps in that regard. She takes her time there, tries to pitch in with help where she can. It doesn't take her long to learn that no one in this village has ever heard of a woman named Amina, but she's in no hurry to leave.
She's taken in by a single mother, Badriya, the village's baker, who allows her to sleep on a cot in a spare room. Most mornings, she helps Badriya in the store, and learns how to make bread and whatever else the woman is willing to teach her. Badriya's son is fascinated by her – because she's someone new and her stories are exciting, according to Badriya – and soon enough, he's recruited a few other children to join him for Nyssa's stories.
"You are not in a hurry to return home?" Badriya asks her one night, over the dinner she had helped make.
Briefly, Nyssa's mind flashes to mornings waking up to a face full of blonde hair, a laugh that wakes up her entire body; but then shifts to Laurel's kind eyes, Tommy's silly triumphant grin whenever he gets her to laugh.
"I suppose, I'm taking the long way back," she muses.
—
In Brazil, she finds part-time work at a small bookstore in one of the more vibrant neighborhoods of Rio de Janeiro. It's something to pass the time, and gives her a bit of the routine and structure she's been craving. It also gives her an opportunity to both work on her Portuguese and people watch. Something to do during the day as she waits to patrol the more crime-ridden neighborhoods at night.
The bookstore owner is an older woman who doesn't ask her many questions, doesn't speak much at all, really, but at the end of most shifts, she always sends Nyssa away with plenty of food. There are two other people who work in the shop with her, and for a while, it's nice. The simplicity of it all is a novelty to her, and her co-workers provide a welcome change to the solitude she'd grown used to. The man she works with reminds her of Felicity in his ability to ramble at great speed and length, while the woman is quieter, more prone to reading at the front counter.
She spends most of her evenings on patrol, as she's found vigilantism agrees with her, provides her an outlet for her restlessness and helps keep her skills sharp. It feels good, too, to make a small difference, even in one person's life. It reminds her of what she thought the League had stood for—a way to curb evil, but instead of replacing evil with death, she uses death as a last resort.
About three weeks in, Nyssa receives a message from Laurel asking her to call. It's nothing out of the ordinary, so she doesn't think much of it. Since the first call in Greece, she had gotten into the habit of calling her friend every so often, and if she didn't, Laurel has been good at reminding her.
The call follows their usual flow of conversation, until they reach a lull, in which Nyssa can tell Laurel's prepping herself for what she wants to say next.
"Do you think you'll stay there?"
The thought has crossed her mind, of trying to settle and make a life here. But for as much as she's been enjoying her stay, it still doesn't feel quite right. She thinks she might be closer to her answer of where she belongs. She's just not sure if she's ready to tell Laurel yet.
"Only for a little while longer."
"Would it be totally selfish of me to ask you to visit for the holidays? Thanksgiving is a couple weeks away, but if you can't make that, then try for after? I'm not trying to rush your soul-searching journey, but it would be really nice to see you again. Plus there's something I want to talk to you about, but I really want to do it in person."
"Is everything all right?" she asks immediately, her grip tightening on her phone.
Laurel's just as quick to assure her, "Everything's fine, I promise. It's just a conversation that would be better had face-to-face."
Something she's learned over the years of friendship with Laurel is that, in a similar fashion to Sara but for wholly different reasons, it's hard to deny Laurel's requests. So when the call ends, she knows that sooner rather than later, she'll be back in Star City.
What Sara's learning as she acclimates to the new status quo, is that there are ripple effects to the changes Ollie made to their world. There are the obvious changes: Laurel alive, her dad alive, and even a new addition to her family in the form of a brother-in-law. These are life-changing alterations, big, bold and in your face. They're changes she can wants to take in stride, because they mean her family is alive, safe and intact.
Having Laurel alive and well means so much to her, beyond anything she could ever effectively express or articulate. It's everything she's wanted since the moment she learned of Laurel's death. It's nothing short of a miracle.
Before she'd left with Rip and the other Legends the first time, she thought she'd have plenty of time with her sister—Sara was alive again and no longer bound to the League, free to come and go as she pleased. All that remained was for her to truly find herself, and in the meantime, her family would be there to anchor her, to be a safe place to land between all the noise and chaos. She never anticipated coming home to Laurel's tombstone.
It's the cruelest twist of fate that every time she thinks she has her family back, they're ripped away from each other. Even now, there's a part of her that isn't completely convinced this won't all go away again. The only comfort she has is knowing that Ollie did this, and if anyone was gonna make it stick, it'd be him.
She's immediately at her sister's side the moment she realizes Laurel's alive. She's grateful that apparently Felicity and Dig had already gotten to her, so she doesn't have to explain anything when she tearfully launches herself into Laurel's arms. She stays with Laurel that night. Kicks Tommy out of his bed so she can share with her sister, like they did when they were kids. She barely gets any sleep, too busy watching the rise and fall of her sister's chest, proof that Laurel's breathing. That she's alive. She can't shake the fear that if she falls asleep, she'll wake up back on the Waverider, and that all of this will have just been a dream.
The decision to leave the Waverider is difficult, but inevitable once she's learned that Laurel is alive. On the one hand, the Legends have become a second family to her, and she's really come into her own as their Captain. But on the other hand, there's no way she's going to tempt fate this time around. She refuses to pass on this precious opportunity to once again be with her father and sister, refuses to waste Oliver's sacrifice.
Which brings her to the other glaringly obvious alteration to this new world, one that she's having an especially difficult time navigating—Ollie's gone.
It's going to take a while for that to really sink in; even as she and the other heroes pay tribute to him in the S.T.A.R. labs hangar, even as she collects Ollie's daughter from the future so they can all gather for his memorial in Star City, even as she silently holds a grieving Felicity. She and Oliver had both defied death and the odds for so long, a part of her had come to see Oliver as invincible.
But now here she is, in their city, with another chance to be with her loved ones, and Ollie is dead. He won't get to watch his children grow up, won't get to enjoy a normal life with the woman he loves, won't get to be with his family, but she gets to be here with hers.
Sara's no stranger to grief. She's no stranger to survivor's guilt either. But she is so very tired of mourning loved ones. So very tired of death.
She'll forever be grateful to Oliver for what he's done for her. And she thinks she'll forever struggle with what it cost. But in his dying moments, he'd asked two things of her and Barry: to watch over his family, and to keep going.
So that's exactly what she's gonna do.
—
Something Sara's unprepared for, and what can really throw her for a loop, are the less obvious ripple effects. The ones that are subtle, that she doesn't always realize right away are alterations from BC (and yeah, there's definitely a voice in her head that sounds suspiciously like Nate that coins that Before Crisis abbreviation).
The one that's tripping her up at the moment, is learning that Laurel's resurrection didn't change only her life; it's also had a profound impact on Nyssa. It means that Laurel and Nyssa's friendship was able to evolve into something that meant not only was Nyssa an active and constant part of her sister's life, but she was also no longer a distant memory Sara could push away or ignore. It also means that when she'd wanted to, she could ask about Nyssa and receive an honest, informed answer. It ultimately means Nyssa was never really all that far from her, something of a fixture in her sister's life.
Sure, there's comfort in knowing Laurel's had someone as loyal and protective as Nyssa in her life; just as there's comfort in knowing Nyssa's had someone as compassionate as her sister to be a true friend to her, and that Nyssa hasn't been completely alone in the world. But this knowledge also reignites the guilt she's felt before at having left Nyssa behind. She can't help thinking there wasn't ever really any closure there, was there? Nyssa had sent her away, and she'd kept her distance, to the point where she'd convinced herself she was doing the right thing by moving on, convinced herself that she couldn't have this new life and be with Nyssa. And now that clean break was gone. She couldn't just ignore the Nyssa shaped hole in her memories.
What's probably the most concerning to her, is that all of this means that after all these years, and even while happily with someone else, the sliver of doubt in the back of her mind that she always kept pushed down is a little louder than before. Just a little more insistent in wondering what another chance with Nyssa would be like, and contemplate the what-ifs that would resurface as a result.
So when she sees Nyssa at Oliver's funeral, and she's introduced as "my Beloved" to Nyssa's sister, a part of her falters. She pushes it down, because they're at a funeral and it's so not the time for her to be juggling relationship woes. But then it happens again, sitting on a couch in her old clocktower while Nyssa wipes away her tears and comforts her in that steady and sure voice of hers.
She knows she should be focusing on fixing things with Ava. So she pushes that traitorous voice down as deep as it can go. She does want Nyssa in her life, and that means figuring out a way to just be friends.
—
She's gotten into the routine of having lunch with her sister on the weekdays. It's a little trickier to navigate now that she has an honest-to-goodness job, but they make it work. Sometimes, their father even joins them.
This afternoon, it's just her and Laurel, and they're trying out the new food truck parked outside Laurel's office building. Once they've claimed a bench to themselves and dug into their food, Sara asks something that she's been wondering ever since her return: "Do you ever miss being the Black Canary?"
"Sometimes," Laurel nods, chewing her food thoughtfully. Then, knowingly: "You missing the Waverider?"
"Is it weird that the superhero stuff is easier, in a way?" she asks by way of answer. "There's a clear goal, a purpose; you know what you're supposed to do. There's a mission, there's plans, there's a resolution."
When she glances at Laurel, her sister is watching her intently, eyes patient, encouraging her to continue.
"But here," she waves around them, "Doing civilian adult life, trying to figure out what I want to do, how I'm gonna do it. I think that's the hard part."
She stares down at the hot dog in her hand, then admits with a chuckle, "I don't know what I'm doing."
"I don't think any of us really know what we're doing. We're all kind of making it up as we go along."
"I dunno, you seem like you've got a lot figured out," she says as she looks back up at Laurel. "Career, purpose, husband."
It's been this way their whole lives, really. As far back as Sara can remember, Laurel's always been the one who's had her shit together—the drive, the ambition, the boyfriend, the five-to-ten-year plan. When they were younger, it was something that bothered her, being in her sister's shadow. It's not quite how she feels now; she knows what she's accomplished. She conquered her bloodlust, she wielded the Spear of Destiny without being corrupted by its power, she was captain of a time ship with a crew that looked to her to lead, to have the answers. But sometimes, there are moments when she still feels like Laurel's little sister.
The smile Laurel gives her is full of love and admiration as she lists off the very accomplishments Sara had just been thinking of and then some. Sara can tell she means every word she says, can feel how proud Laurel is of her, and in that moment she knows that at the very least, their relationship is good, solid. It feels like proof of how far they've come and how much they've both grown individually and together.
"And you know, if you're worried about the partner thing, it wasn't easy for me and Tommy. I messed that up in the beginning, and we both had to work to get here. If it's what you want, you and Ava will work it out."
The words are supposed to be comforting, but they dredge up emotions Sara was hoping to avoid in this particular conversation. Laurel must notice something's off about her expression, because she looks concerned, abandoning her food completely.
"If you ever want to talk about whatever's been going on, you can."
Sara does, she really does. But she's not sure where to even begin.
She wants to explain to Laurel that in the immediate aftermath of the Crisis, when she'd returned to the Waverider, everything had gone to hell. She wants to explain the stupid documentary, how she'd had to mourn Ollie's loss in front of a camera crew. How despite all of that, afterward, she'd thought she and Ava were making progress only for the rug to be ripped out from under her.
The film crew had left behind seemingly random, unfinished footage, and Sara's curiosity had gotten the better of her. She'd come to regret it once she got to the footage of one of her girlfriend's confessionals.
The words had kept ringing in her ears long after she'd turned the video off. No matter how many times she'd replayed the footage, the words Ava read off the condolence card were no less biting; there was no follow-up line to soften the blow, no revelation of it being a misguided attempt at humor. The words didn't change. It wasn't like Ava to be cruel, but the confession had struck a nerve.
She remembers feeling helpless in that moment, remembers the way her chest tightened, her still raw grief mixing with a surge of anger. Remembers wondering if that's how Ava really felt about her history with Oliver.
She'd always known her girlfriend to be prone to jealousy, and she'd thought they'd been through enough together to trust each other deeply. But the words in that card? The way she diminished what Oliver meant to her? The complete lack of compassion and understanding from someone who's supposed to love her? And then the clincher: the reminder of her past mistakes – the tangled, complicated history she had with Oliver and her sister – and having that thrown in her face. She couldn't imagine what would possess Ava to bring that up at a time like that—she still can't, no matter how many times Ava's apologized or tried to explain it.
Even now, she can still recall the way the anxiety had sat heavy in her body. The hurt from Ollie's death was amplified by the disconnect she felt between herself and her girlfriend. She'd felt torn between understanding and anger. She knows how hard grief is to navigate, knows how hard it is to think of something to say in the moment. But in that moment, she couldn't help how hurt she felt.
The fallout after she'd confronted Ava had been ugly. She didn't know how to move past the hurt, and wasn't really afforded the time to dwell on it once she'd learned about her dad and Laurel.
Grieving the loss of her oldest friend is something that, to begin with, she barely feels equipped to deal with. And now she feels like she's grieving a different kind of loss—that image she had of Ava, supportive and earnestly wanting to be the person who's there for her, feels shattered. She doesn't know how to even begin to pick up those pieces.
So when Laurel asks her to open up, she knows she's gonna need more than the lunch hour just to provide the setup. Who knows how much longer to explain how every time she thinks she and Ava have made a step forward, something happens to make her take a step back.
But instead of saying any of that, she takes a bite out of her hot dog, and just says: "Maybe next time."
—
"Next time" turns out to be a few weeks later. Sara and Ava have already moved into a place of their own at this point, but Sara still finds herself at Laurel and Tommy's when boredom strikes. This particular evening, they're huddled on Laurel's couch, watching a cheesy rom-com, laughing and talking about nothing in particular. But when Laurel casually asks her how everything is going, it feels like everything bursts from Sara all at once.
She tells Laurel everything. Once she's done talking, she can tell Laurel's concerned, and possibly trying to temper down her own anger.
"Have you two talked about it?"
"We have, but every time it comes up, it's like we're speaking different languages. I don't know how to get us back on the same page." She pauses, then adds guiltily, "I woke up to a whole new world. So much is different. I feel different."
The guilt she's felt since waking up after the Crisis has weighed heavy on her. She feels it in multitudes. The survivor's guilt of being here without Oliver. The guilt for what she thinks is the poor role she's played in her sister's life. Guilt over leaving her crew; over leaving Nyssa behind all those years ago and staying away; over how far removed she now feels from Ava, and how uncertain she feels in trying to navigate a way back.
"I don't feel seen anymore," she confesses quietly.
Laurel takes Sara's hand in hers, and the contact is warm and soft, comforting and grounding.
"Sara," she says her name affectionately, with comfort dripping off the edges of her voice. She brings a hand up to cup her cheek, brushes against the curve of it. Her voice is steady and sure when she says, "You've been through so much. It's okay for you to feel different now. It's okay for you to need or want something different now. You deserve to feel seen."
Her sister's words are comforting, something she's needed to hear. But the guilt doesn't subside.
—
Living in Star City again isn't all turbulence and struggle. She experiences more good than bad, and she's found plenty to do to keep herself occupied and chase away any doubts of being there.
Being able to spend time with Felicity is decidedly in the "good" column. She's loved having Felicity in her life again, and watching baby Mia grow from week-to-week, month-to-month, while getting to know William, has felt like a privilege.
Laurel and Felicity have taken to organizing game nights for them as something to look forward to at the end of a long work week. A good number of Felicity's games are strategy games, some she recalls playing with Ray and Nate whenever they'd rope her into their own board game nights. William joins them at times, and it's been interesting learning how his mind works, catching glimpses of both Ollie and Felicity in his thought process and mannerisms.
Her first visit to Central City is a breath of fresh air; introducing Ava to her mom goes over well, and there's the added bonus of visiting Ray and Jax. Their dinner with Ray and Nora is the most normal her relationship with Ava has felt in a long time. Seeing Jax again after so many years leaves her emotional in the best way; they fall back into their regular banter, and it feels like no time has passed at all.
It becomes a monthly event, making the trip to Central City to see her former crew members, with or without Ava joining her. Due to their uniquely shared experience, they're able to confide in each other in a way they can't with anyone else. They'll discuss the initial strangeness of being back in their time, of trying to figure out their next steps in life, of adjusting to civilian life. How much they miss their friends, and sometimes, the adventure. Ray also still makes the trip to Star City every other week to attend trivia night with her at their favorite bar. It means the world to her, to still be able to have her former crew members in her life in some way.
What comes as no surprise to her is how easily she's been able to reconnect with Nyssa; what does surprise her is how much it's made being back in Star City worthwhile. Sometimes, though she won't openly admit it to anyone, the highlight of her week is the time she spends with Nyssa in the clocktower, or patrolling the streets of the Glades.
Sometimes, this thing with Nyssa is light and easy, and leaves Sara hopeful. Leaves her thinking that she can build a friendship with Nyssa and still be happy with her girlfriend.
And then sometimes, she's reminded of how confusing it is for her to even be in the same room as Nyssa, let alone be close to this woman who loved her, and mourned her, and set her free not once but twice. There are moments when she feels 23 again, and this woman is her whole world; moments when she's 30 again and uttering the words: "I think about going back to her all the time."
It's not until after a particularly bad disagreement with Ava, one that happens in front of Laurel and involves Nyssa being mentioned, that Sara first realizes how naive she's been. Realizes that none of what she's been doing with Ava or Nyssa is sustainable.
"I don't necessarily agree with her execution," Laurel says, after Ava's exited their apartment to get some air. "But it seems like she's scared of losing you."
"Nyssa and I are just friends."
There's a look of skepticism that briefly flashes over Laurel's face, blink and you'll miss it, almost like she can't help the reaction. It's a testament to how well Sara knows her sister that she's even able to catch it. It makes her feel defensive, the crushing guilt rearing its ugly head once more.
"Nyssa's easy to confide in," she begins, "She always has been, from the moment I met her. She's never judged me—not after I told her about the awful things I did before I met her, or my time on the island, or Ollie and what I did to you. Not after I cried after my first League assignment, or when I'd miss home. She's just… it's easy to do."
She can tell it's new to Laurel, hearing Sara's side of her relationship with Nyssa. She can see it in the way Laurel unconsciously leans in to listen as Sara speaks, the slightest look of surprise in her eyes. Sara had always been less forthcoming about their relationship than she assumes Nyssa has been.
"Nyssa is a good listener," Laurel hums in agreement. "I wouldn't know about the never judging part though, I'm pretty sure that's reserved only for you."
Laurel says it jokingly, but it's probably true. Her expression turns serious after. She looks at Sara like she knows something Sara doesn't. She can't say she likes being on the receiving end of it.
"Honey," she begins carefully, and Sara can already tell she's not gonna like this, because in that moment Laurel's seeing right through her. "I think you really need to think about what you're doing here."
The words stay with her long after Laurel's left, and long after Ava returns and they both apologize to each other. She wants to ask Laurel if it's really so bad to want both women in her life, to think that they can all find a way to coexist happily, and even if things aren't the same, she's not ready to let Ava go and admit to another failed relationship.
—
After Thea and Roy's wedding, she feels a bit of hope that she's turned a corner. The weeks leading up to it, she's made her best efforts so far to try and move past the hurt and disconnect with Ava. She owes it to what they had, and how happy she knows they used to be, and maybe could still be.
But whatever plans she had, and progress that's been made, come to a screeching halt when Laurel drops a bomb on her.
She had come over to watch baseball with Tommy and her sister. Tommy's just gotten up to grab them more snacks, when her sister turns in the seat next to her and unceremoniously announces: "Nyssa's leaving."
Sara doesn't really understand at first, just blinks questioningly at Laurel.
"She's leaving Star City," Laurel clarifies, trying to keep her voice even. "She told me and Tommy at brunch yesterday."
Once she's really registered the words, Sara immediately balks at the idea. Nyssa's the one who stays, she doesn't leave.
But the longer she stares at Laurel, the more the words sink in.
All she can think to say is: "Why?"
Laurel stares back at her, looking conflicted – maybe even a little frustrated – and like she doesn't want to say too much.
A sense of dread starts to kick in.
"Things were good though," Sara insists, not entirely sure if she's trying to convince herself or her sister.
Her mind is already replaying all her recent interactions with Nyssa. She really had thought, despite whatever else was going on in her life, that things with Nyssa were good. She thought there would be more time to figure everything out.
Something breaks in her when Nyssa leaves. It leaves her feeling like she's made a mess of things. Like she should have known better, like there's no way she and Nyssa could ever be just friends, no matter how much they will it. The conclusion to all of this was inevitable; the answer to her confusion had been staring her in the face all along, but she was too stubborn to see it. And now, she might be too late.
She cancels on game night that week, for the first time since she's been back. Laurel's worried about her enough to show up unannounced, letting herself into the apartment.
She can hear her sister stop short when she sees Sara hunched over her dining table. She's spent the past however many minutes glued to this chair, staring intensely at the flowers Ava has brought home.
Laurel quietly takes a seat beside her, and when she notices where Sara's attention is, she nods toward the flowers. "Those are pretty."
Sara does her best to discreetly wipe the tears from her eyes. She hums absently in agreement, still staring ahead, but she can feel the intensity of her sister's gaze on her. She can only imagine how she looks: eyes red and puffy from crying, fatigue probably written all over her face. If Laurel wasn't worried enough before, she's sure to be now.
"You've been crying," Laurel notes softly, now that she's gotten a good look at her. She reaches out to brush a finger across her cheek.
"You know, I never used to have a favorite flower." Sara looks directly at her now. "I kinda figured, flowers are flowers, they're all beautiful."
"What changed?" Laurel takes the non sequitur in stride, keeps brushing her hand comfortingly over Sara's cheeks, her hair.
Sara gives a small, watery smile as she recounts a memory—a favorite that she's revisited countless times throughout the years.
"Nyssa was the first person to ever get me flowers." She shakes her head a bit, chuckling to herself. "They were these pretty little blue ones that grew not too far from Nanda Parbat. I don't know what they're called, or if they even grow anywhere else. But they were really beautiful."
"Are you saying the Heir to the Demon picked you flowers?" Laurel jokes quietly, like she doesn't already know, better than anyone besides Sara, that Nyssa was much more than her title, her mask. Like she doesn't already know and love the woman who cared for her grieving husband and father, who loves her sister so deeply and unconditionally.
Laurel and Sara share a look of knowing and understanding before Sara continues, "After that, I noticed she only ever gave me blue flowers."
Sara finally turns to look at Laurel, a sad smile still on her face. "When I finally asked her why one day, she said she wanted them to match my eyes."
With this newfound information, Laurel glances back at the flowers in the vase, like she's noticing the deep red hue of the petals for the first time. Sara can see the gears turning in Laurel's head as she processes it all.
Laurel turns back to her sister, her hand falling from her face to instead clasp Sara's hands.
Under the weight of the silence and Laurel's questioning eyes, Sara feels the dam on her emotions break. And because this talk is long overdue, she finds that once she starts, she can't stop her thoughts from tumbling out, like unspooling yarn.
"I used to think that Ava was it, that she was my one shot at being happy, at something real. And I was happy. Ava was just what I needed at that time. Sometimes I feel like I'm being unfair; she's apologized and she's trying, and maybe we could move past it eventually."
"But Laurel," she exhales shakily, because she might as well get to the crux of all this, of what she's been repressing, of what's been apparent for quite some time now, but she's chosen to ignore: "Nyssa's been here. Nyssa's been here, with you, and dad, and freakin' Tommy Merlyn. And I still feel that pull to her. And when she looks at me, she still sees straight through to my soul. It doesn't-"
She cuts herself off, searches for the words she wants to say, is surprised she hasn't run out of them at this point.
"No one has ever looked at me like that. No one." She says it fiercely, quietly, maybe a little desperately.
Laurel looks stunned at the confession, at everything's she's heard, and Sara can't blame her, she's pretty stunned at herself.
"So yeah, I've been crying. Because I miss Nyssa, and I'm going to break Ava's heart."