"I can't believe I've allowed you to fool me into this," Nyssa grumbles, glaring out at the ice rink.
The skating rink is vibrant, alive with the sounds of Christmas music, children's laughter, and the faint scrape of blades along ice. Nyssa watches the steady stream of skaters pass by until a familiar burst of laughter draws her attention. Her gaze shifts back to Sara, who stands a few paces away with a triumphant smirk on her face.
"Did I fool you?" Sara questions, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Pretty sure you followed me here willingly."
"I was not aware this is what you had in mind." Nyssa gestures toward the ice, glaring at it once more, as if it's to blame for her current predicament. That only draws more laughter from Sara.
Admittedly, it wasn't difficult for Sara to coax her into venturing downtown for the Christmas festival. Nyssa enjoyed getting swept up in the festivities, trailing after Sara as they wandered from stall to stall, admiring the lights and decorations while indulging in street food and hot chocolate. She'd been perfectly content to follow Sara's lead, so when Sara had gently tugged her toward another part of the park, she hadn't given it a second thought. By the time she realized what was happening, Sara had already rented them skates and laced hers up with practiced ease. It wasn't until Sara stood before her, offering a pair of skates and a grin, that Nyssa fully grasped what she'd been roped into.
And so, Nyssa now finds herself sitting on a cold bench, glaring down at a pair of skates sitting beside her feet. Arms crossed, she looks up skeptically at Sara, who remains completely unbothered. With an easy smile, Sara gestures toward Nyssa's own boots still on her feet.
"Go on," Sara prompts, voice hovering between amused encouragement and gentle command.
With an exaggerated sigh, she reluctantly begins the process of swapping her shoes for the unfamiliar footwear. Before she can begin the tedious process of lacing them up, Sara wordlessly kneels before her to take over, ignoring Nyssa's look of question.
"Relax," Sara says patiently, grin firmly in place, fingers deftly tightening and adjusting the laces. "I have a hunch you'll pick this up in no time. Or has Nyssa, former Heir to the Demon, finally met her match in a pair of ice skates?"
"I know what you're doing," she counters, eyes narrowing. "You're appealing to my competitive nature."
"Is it working?" Sara's smirk is devious—downright dangerous, even, in how utterly disarming it is.
Not one to back down from a challenge, she glares back at Sara, but the edge is dulled and lacking its usual bite. Sara notices and softens.
"Do you trust me?" Her voice is quieter now, hands steady as as she finishes tying the skates.
It's a seemingly innocent question. But the unexpected weight of it settles over Nyssa all the same. She doesn't trust her voice to remain steady, so she simply nods instead.
"Then trust me when I say, you'll be fine. You might even have fun."
The playfulness returns, but there's also a certainty beneath her words—as if she already knows the outcome. It's the kind of certainty born from experience, from someone who knows this dance all too well, who's gone through it enough times to know: despite Nyssa's initial reluctance to embrace the unfamiliar, Sara's always been gifted at predicting what she'll enjoy.
Once Sara straightens, she dusts off her knees before offering a gloved hand to Nyssa. "Ready to go?"
"Not at all," she sighs, taking Sara's hand anyway, steeling herself for what's to come.
It is, perhaps, the least graceful she's ever appeared. Her initial unsteady wobble, coupled with the intense concentration etched on her face, must look completely ridiculous. She's grateful no one else she knows is here to witness the clumsy spectacle—least of all her sister or father.
But after a moment, a lifetime of League training in balance and coordination kick in. She manages to glide, albeit stiffly, alongside Sara. Sara's hand has remained firmly clasped around hers, and though Nyssa no longer needs the support, she makes no effort to pull away.
"See," Sara remarks, smiling brightly, "Not so bad, right?"
"It is not my first time," she admits. "Talia trained in figure skating when she was young and hoped to teach me. I did not care for it, and when my father deemed it a waste of time, I was all too happy to abandon it."
"Let me guess, you fell a lot?" Sara asks knowingly, amusement dancing in her eyes.
"I lost count of how many times. It was rather humiliating."
"How old were you?"
"Six."
Sara snorts, letting out a soft chuckle, and nodding as though that makes perfect sense.
"I can totally picture six-year-old Nyssa being upset she wasn't instantly good at something." Then, teasingly and with a squeeze of Nyssa's hand, "Good thing you've grown out of that, huh?"
"You're mocking me," she huffs, trying for seriousness but unable to suppress the faint smile tugging at her lips.
"I would never," Sara gasps dramatically. "I'm simply making an observation based on experience and hard-earned data, just like you taught me."
"And what data is that, pray tell?"
"Well," Sara begins, clearly enjoying herself, "Let's start with almost every card game I've ever tried to teach you."
"Your card games have nonsensical rules and require almost no skill whatsoever."
"How about computers?" Sara adds, undeterred and ignoring Nyssa's remark, "Or better yet, smartphones. Teaching you how to use one of those was definitely not fun."
Nyssa bites back her grin of amusement.
"Yes, yes," she concedes with a wave of her hand, "I believe you've made your point, Beloved."
The word slips out so naturally, so effortlessly, that it takes her a moment to even realize what she's said.
When she does, she freezes for a moment, eyes immediately finding Sara's to search her face for a reaction. She braces herself for any awkwardness or discomfort, already formulating an apology if necessary.
Instead, Sara's teasing grin softens. Her expression melts into something tender and achingly familiar, the sight of which causes Nyssa's chest to tighten, unable to look away.
Sara's thumb sweeps over the back of her hand, grounding her; a reminder that neither of them have yet to let go of the other's hand. A small smile forms at the corner of Sara's lips, unspoken acceptance in her eyes.
Nyssa's shoulders relax as she exhales any remaining tension.
They're quiet for a while after that, gliding side-by-side along the ice. There's something oddly calming about the movements and rhythm of it all, the smooth push and pull of skating feels almost meditative.
Despite her initial protests and hesitation, she finds Sara was right. Again.
She is enjoying herself. She's already bracing herself for an evening full of Sara's gloating.
Whether that enjoyment has anything to do with the fact that Sara hasn't let go of her hand the entire time—well, that has no bearing on it at all. An inconsequential detail, she tells herself.
Eventually, Sara breaks the silence, her voice warm with nostalgia: "When we were kids, my parents would take me and Laurel here every winter. Sometimes Ollie and Tommy, too. The boys were awful at it. Ollie spent more time on his ass than he did on his skates."
Sara laughs as she recalls the memory. Nyssa joins her, amused by the mental image of a young Oliver Queen flailing on ice skates.
"It's hard to imagine someone with Oliver's agility being clumsy, but it's an entertaining image nonetheless."
"Half the time I think he was trying to impress Laurel," Sara chuckles. "It didn't work, either. Laurel was always better at it and made sure he knew it."
There's a comfortable pause that follows before Sara continues: "I wanted to keep the tradition alive. Laurel's pregnant now, so she couldn't join. And Mia's still way too young for Felicity to skate with. So it's just me and you this time."
For a moment, Nyssa's caught off guard. She's touched at the idea of being included in something that's clearly dear and personal to Sara, something tied to her family. It's unexpected, and though she feels a flicker of warmth spread through her chest, she tempers it down quickly, unwilling to let her hopes stray too far.
"So I am your last resort?" Nyssa jokes lightly, feigning offense but without any stock behind her words.
Abruptly, Sara stops and turns to face her.
"Never." Sara's tone is serious, voice steady, as her eyes pierce into Nyssa's, willing her to understand the meaning and weight behind them. "I need you to know that I've never thought of you that way. And I never will."
Nyssa falters slightly, speechless for a moment at Sara's unexpected intensity. She glances away, down at their joined hands.
A couple skates around them, and she's suddenly aware once more of their surroundings. Standing in the skating rink, the space feels too big for the vulnerability that Sara's showing her.
But then, with a gentle squeeze of her hand, her attention is redirected back to Sara's steady gaze.
"I was always going to drag you out here, with or without them," Sara's tone is lighter now, playfulness creeping back in. Nyssa thinks it's for her benefit, a reprieve to keep her from spiraling. Out here in the open, where Nyssa feels exposed, the banter is easier to lean into.
"You are rather persistent," she responds, unable to help the fondness in her voice.
Sara grins confidently. "It's one of my more charming qualities."
"Charming is one word for it," she quips dryly.
"Are you implying it isn't?" Sara challenges, eyebrow raised, voice still playful.
And, well, Sara's got her there. Judging from the gleam in her eye, Sara knows it, too.
Nyssa tilts her head, considering her options before she settles on the age old tactic of diverting attention.
"Do you have any plans to demonstrate just how well you skate? It's a rare occasion where your skill surpasses mine. Don't hold back on my account."
"'Rare occasion'? Really?" Sara laughs, shaking her head. "I'll let that one go for now. If you're giving me permission to show off, then who am I to turn that down."
Reluctantly, Nyssa drops Sara's hand to allow her to skate away.
Settling against the edge of the skating rink, she watches Sara glide across the ice with effortless grace. Her movements are fluid and precise, exuding an easy confidence. Nyssa finds herself captivated, her eyes tracking every sweep and turn. On the ice, Sara is no longer the hardened warrior or steadfast captain—simply a woman who's utterly free, lost in the pure, unguarded joy of doing something she loves. Her skill is undeniable, but it's the sheer delight radiating from her that steals Nyssa's breath, leaving her staring in quiet awe.
When Sara returns, cheeks flushed an enrapturing shade of pink, she looks at Nyssa expectantly. Grinning and breathless, she asks, "Well?"
Nyssa regards her for a moment, words catching in her throat. She's caught between playful evasion and raw honesty. Sara's boldness since Nyssa's return hasn't gone unnoticed. It's been disarming, but Nyssa hasn't dared to meet her with the same openness—not because she doesn't want to, but because her fears have kept her guarded.
How does she tell Sara that she's breathtaking? That watching her, so bright and unrestrained, skating across the ice as if the world itself isn't heavy on her shoulders, stirs something deep within her? How vulnerable can she allow herself to be?
Nyssa settles for a small allowance—as dangerous as vulnerability feels, Sara deserves more from her than constant deflection.
"You've always been most impressive," she says finally, softly, and with a sincerity that she hopes conveys even a fraction of what she feels.
—
They skate one final lap together before returning to the benches to remove their skates.
As Nyssa focuses on untying her laces, Sara clears her throat beside her.
"Hey, Nyssa?"
"Yes?" she replies automatically, glancing over. Sara's expression has shifted from the carefree playfulness she's displayed throughout the day, replaced by a quiet seriousness that catches her attention.
Sara looks uncharacteristically nervous as she continues, "Laurel, Tommy, and I are gonna be heading to Central City for a couple days to visit my mom. I have some friends who live there, too, and I'm going to be dropping off their presents."
Sara pauses, glancing at Nyssa with a bit of hesitance. Nyssa can sense she's working her way up to something, and offers a reassuring smile, hoping to ease her nerves.
"Would you like to come with us? I thought... maybe you could meet Ray and Jax?" Her words trail off uncertainly.
Nyssa blinks, the shy request catching her off guard—Sara's always had a knack for that. The significance of the invitation doesn't escape her, but she's confused as to the why.
And as she tries to wrap her mind around the request, she realizes her silence has stretched on too long. Long enough that Sara looks more unsure than ever. Sara's hopeful expression falters, and she buries the flash of disappointment under a practiced mask of neutrality.
"Obviously, you don't have to," Sara begins to backtrack, "There's no pressure."
Nyssa finally finds her voice, confusion lacing her words when she asks, "You want me to meet your friends?"
When Sara nods, she asks, "Why?"
Sara exhales, and glances away for a moment, as if to collect her thoughts. When she meets Nyssa's gaze again, there's something raw and vulnerable behind her eyes.
"You're part of my life now." Her voice is quiet but steady. "And Ray and Jax are like family."
Nyssa's once again struck by the significance of the request. Sara's words are deceptively simple, but feel like an invitation to something greater. Since her return, their time together has been cautious, measured. But this feels different, like a deliberate step toward folding Nyssa back into Sara's life.
There's a whisper of a doubt that tells her she's not ready for this, for what Sara might be offering. But beyond that, there's the longing Nyssa's never been able to rid herself of—that deep, unshakable yearning to belong again. To belong in Sara's life, by her side.
Then there's a part of her that fears she's reading too much into this. But as she meets Sara's steady gaze, sees the tentative hope behind her eyes, she knows this moment matters.
So she answers with the only response she was ever truly going to give: "I would be honored to accompany you."
Whatever lingering doubts she has are pushed aside when Sara breaks into a bright smile. The sight of it tugs at Nyssa's chest.
"Really?"
"It's important to you," Nyssa replies, voice steady and sincere.
Relief washes over Sara's face and the earlier tension begins to melt away.
"I admit, I am rather curious to meet some of your former crew members, especially after hearing your stories."
"I think you'll like them," Sara replies excitedly, her earlier nerves all but forgotten. "Ray's basically a golden retriever, and Jax was kind of like a little brother when he was on the Waverider."
—
The evening before their trip to Central City, Nyssa's nerves begin to fray.
In her bedroom, Nyssa methodically folds a sweater, placing it in her travel bag alongside the rest of her carefully packed items. Soulful, bluesy music softly carries from the living room through the open bedroom door, courtesy of one of Sara's many playlists she'd put on after commandeering the speaker.
"So to no one's surprise, Laurel and Tommy are excited you're going to be joining us," Sara calls out from the living room. "They're gonna take mom's guest room, but you and I can share the basement. Make sure you pack an extra sweater, it gets pretty cold down there this time of year..."
Whatever else Sara says after that fades into the background. Nyssa's hands freeze in the middle of folding a pair of pants, as she processes the confirmation that Sara intends for them all to stay with her mother.
Taking a deep breath, she steels herself for the impending conversation.
Stepping into the living room, she's greeted by the sight of Sara sprawled out on her couch. Mish-Mish rests comfortably on her chest, purring contentedly as Sara absently scratches behind the cat's ears.
The scene is enough to make Nyssa linger in the doorway, her heart constricting at the sight.
Sara looks so at ease—on her couch, with her cat, in her space. Looking as if she belongs there. It's enough to cause Nyssa's resolve to waver, to consider saying nothing and avoid disturbing the tranquility of the moment.
When Sara looks up and meets her eyes, her smile brightens, easy and warm. Nyssa savors it, knowing it won't last much longer.
"I think it would be best if I made my own arrangements for accommodations," she states quietly, voice carefully measured and neutral.
Sara's smile falters. She sits up abruptly, displacing Mish-Mish who leaps away with an indignant chirp.
"You don't have to do that," Sara says, brows furrowing in confusion. "My mom has enough space for all of us."
"It would be better for all involved," she insists, avoiding Sara's gaze.
She can feel the weight of Sara's eyes on her, no doubt studying her every detail. Despite knowing that, she can't bring herself to ease the tension in her body.
"You're nervous about seeing my mom," Sara says after a moment, the realization dawning on her.
Nyssa exhales slowly, eyes finding their way back to Sara's.
"The last time I saw your mother, we did not part on the best terms."
Sara tilts her head curiously. "Was that at Laurel's funeral?"
"No," she hesitates, then reveals in a clipped tone, "I visited her once after that. To apologize for my past behavior."
Sara blinks, clearly taken aback by the information. "You did?"
"I did," she confirms, voice quieter now.
"When?"
"Years ago. You were with the Legends at that time."
She braces herself for the inevitable question, the one she's dreading the most. Not one to disappoint, Sara asks: "What happened?"
The distance between them suddenly feels like a chasm. She doesn't want to continue this conversation from across the room. She crosses over to the couch with deliberate, measured steps, and perches on the armrest, neatly folding her hands in her lap.
"She listened to what I had to say," Nyssa explains calmly, "which was more than I had expected—or deserved. I bore no illusions that she would forgive me."
"Then why did you do it?" Sara asks, her voice a mixture of confusion and curiosity.
"Accountability, Sara. I hurt your mother. I hurt her daughters. I had to hold myself accountable for those actions, for the hurt I caused."
A myriad of emotions flash across Sara's face—sympathy, curiosity, and something Nyssa can't quite place. Sara is quiet for a while. Her gaze searching, eyes flitting across Nyssa's face, a crease of concentration in her brow.
The only sound is the hum of music still playing from the speaker, which Nyssa tries in vain to focus on as a way to calm her nerves. She waits for Sara to finish studying her, to finish processing and reach whatever conclusion she's forming. Under the weight of Sara's scrutiny, she resists the urge to shift, clenching her hands in her lap instead. She feels exposed, and vulnerability still feels foreign to her, a skill she has yet to fully cultivate. Sara has always had a way of peeling back her layers, leaving her raw and exposed in a way no one else has ever been able to accomplish.
The silence stretches on until eventually, Sara softens, her expression melting into something gentler, warmer.
"That must've taken a lot," Sara says at last, quietly but brimming with something Nyssa dares to hope is pride.
Nyssa's chest tightens at the words, both at the affirmation they hold and the tone in which they're delivered. Like Sara not only knows exactly what it meant for her to face Dinah, but also how difficult it is for her to discuss it now.
This has always been the dangerous thing about Sara—her uncanny ability to truly see her. Not the mask she wears, or the facade she's perfected over decades of necessity, but the real her. The woman beneath it all, who is flawed and desperate to be understood and so earnest in her feelings.
Sara's empathy has always unraveled her in a way that's terrifying. It's also what has made it so impossible to ever truly walk away from her.
Trying to maintain her composure, Nyssa tilts her head in acknowledgment of Sara's words.
Sara smiles and moves toward her on the couch, crossing the space between them until she's able to cover Nyssa's hand in a reassuring gesture.
"You're not that same person anymore." Sara's voice is firm but gentle, an intensity behind it that wills Nyssa into believing her. "You're not the person who did all those things. And I think my mom's going to see that, too."
Wishing she could mirror Sara's confidence, she offers Sara a faint smile, but doubt still lingers in her eyes. "We shall see."
"Either way," Sara says with quiet conviction, "you won't be alone this time."
—
Once the plane levels off, their pilot's voice crackles through the intercom to announce their expected flight time. To Nyssa's left, Sara sighs heavily and rests her head against the window with a soft thud.
"I used to go anywhere in the blink of an eye," Sara grumbles, eyes closed.
Nyssa tilts her head, turning her attention to Sara and studying her profile.
"You miss it," she observes, referring the Waverider.
"I'd be lying if I said I didn't." A small smile tugs at the corner of Sara's mouth, and her eyes flutter open to meet Nyssa's.
"And yet, you choose to stay?" She keeps her tone neutral, but can't help the curiosity that underscores it.
Sara pauses, her gaze shifting to the seat in front of her where Laurel and Tommy sit, heads close together in quiet conversation. She takes a moment, as though gathering her thoughts, her fingers fidgeting with her seatbelt.
"Whenever I do start to miss it, something happens that reminds me why I'm staying," Sara says, shifting in her seat to face Nyssa as best as she can in the cramped space.
"Laurel will show up at my apartment to tell me about her day—a case she's working on, or some dumb thing Tommy said." As if on cue, Laurel's quiet laughter drifts back to them, and Sara smiles faintly at the sound.
"Or my dad will hug me," Sara continues, voice softer now, more reflective. "That bonecrushing hug he likes to give me, like he can't believe I'm real."
"Or you..." she trails off, her eyes meeting Nyssa's. She hesitates for a moment, swallowing thickly before continuing, "You'll just… look at me like... well, like you always do. Even when you're pretending to be annoyed with me."
The air between them shifts. Sara holds her gaze for only a second longer before glancing away. Sara's tone shifts again as she moves quickly past the admission, giving Nyssa little chance to linger on it. Still, the faint flush on Sara's cheeks betrays her.
"I'm tired, Nyssa." There's an unmistakable weariness in Sara's voice that tugs at Nyssa's heart.
"I love my team. I love being a hero. But I'm tired of losing people I love and not being there when it matters. I'm tired of missing out on time with my father and sister."
Nyssa feels a pang of understanding. She can relate on some level—knows what it's like to leave Star City only to return to attend a funeral, to one less Lance in the world.
"Besides," Sara's somber expression clears as she brightens slightly. "Laurel's gonna be popping out a kid soon, and I think I'm gonna make a pretty badass aunt. I've gotta be around for that."
Nyssa smiles affectionately, matching Sara's enthusiasm. She's also been anticipating being an "aunt" to Laurel and Tommy's child, and Sara's excitement is contagious.
"I have no doubt you will be their favorite aunt," Nyssa teases.
"There's some stiff competition, but I'm not above bribery."
—
Central City is larger and brighter than Star City. The streets are cleaner, the air feels lighter, and there's a constant thrum of life and energy that serves as a sharp contrast to Star City's darker more rugged charm.
The neighborhood where Sara's mother lives is quiet and cozy, far enough removed from downtown and the metropolitan bustle. It's the kind of place that feels worlds away from anything Nyssa had grown up with. Streets lined with trees, neatly trimmed lawns, and twinkling holiday decorations on many of the houses they pass by, all make for a stark contrast to the cold and austere candlelit halls of Nanda Parbat's League stronghold.
Dinah's home is a simple two-story house tucked away at the end of the street, modest and unremarkable, but in a way that Nyssa finds the simplicity charming.
When they pull into the driveway and pile out of the rental car, Nyssa allows herself a moment to take in the features of the house, noting the glowing reindeer in the lawn and the plotted plants that line the porch. Sara and Laurel begin to make their way to the front door, but Nyssa opts to linger near the back of the car with Tommy.
The two take turns unloading the bags, and Nyssa's grateful for a task to occupy herself with as she tries to ease her nerves.
"You kind of look like you're gearing up for battle," Tommy teases lightly, breaking the silence once the sisters are out of range.
When Nyssa glances over at him, behind that ever-present Tommy Merlyn grin is a look of understanding.
"This is... unfamiliar territory," she admits, grip tightening on the strap of the duffle bag she's slung over her shoulder.
"I've been in your shoes before, trying to figure out how to win Dinah over," Tommy says knowingly. "Laurel's mom is no joke."
"If you're trying to reassure me, you're off to a great start," she quips dryly.
"You've got both her daughters in your corner," he continues, unfazed, "which is more than I had when I was trying to win her over,"
He then adds, almost as an afterthought, "Also helps that you don't have the playboy reputation haunting you. Dinah's gonna love you compared to the guy Laurel dragged into behaving like a functioning adult."
"Yes, because being a former assassin is surely a more endearing quality." Her tone is still dry, adding a quirked brow for emphasis.
Tommy pauses dramatically, brows furrowing as if in deep thought. "No, that's still better than trust fund kid with bad decision-making skills."
She knows Tommy's making jokes at his own expense to ease her nerves, but she tuts anyway, shaking her head. "That's rather reductive."
It earns her a genuine smile, one without the usual teasing edge, and for a moment, Tommy even looks touched.
"You've got me in your corner, too," he says, tone shifting to something more sincere. "For whatever that's gonna be worth in this situation."
This time, it's Nyssa who's touched. She feels a wave of gratitude wash over her. Tommy's humor and supportiveness may not have completely dispelled her unease, but she'll admit the unfamiliar territory ahead feels just a bit less daunting than before.
"Thank you, Thomas," she says sincerely.
Tommy grins, lightheartedness returning, and slams the trunk shut after removing the final piece of luggage.
"Anytime," he replies easily. "We should get going before we're left out here to freeze."
They both glance in the direction of the front door, now open and revealing Dinah. They watch as the sisters embrace their mother, and with one final shared look of understanding between each other, Nyssa follows Tommy up the driveway to meet them.
—
Greeting Dinah goes about as well as Nyssa could hope for—polite but tense.
Once they're all ushered into the house, Nyssa purposely lingers at the back, setting the luggage down near the doorway. She watches as Dinah once again embraces her daughters. Tommy follows, setting his bags aside to free his hands before stepping forward to wrap Dinah in a warm hug that draws laughter from her.
It's not the first time Nyssa has felt like an outsider looking in, but it's been a while since she's felt that way in the presence of Sara, Laurel, and Tommy. It smarts more than she cares to admit.
From the corner of her eye, she catches movement. Sara shifts, breaking away from the others to subtly drift closer to her. There's a brush of their shoulders together, light enough it could almost be accidental.
"You doing okay?" Sara's careful to keep her voice low enough that it doesn't carry over to the others.
Nyssa's posture straightens. "I will be."
"You will," Sara agrees, voice resolute as she shoots her a reassuring smile.
Dinah's gaze lands on her before she or Sara can say anything else. Nyssa's suddenly very aware of how quiet it becomes once Dinah steps toward her.
"Nyssa." Dinah's tone is pleasant enough, wrapped in formality. "Welcome."
"Thank you, Professor Lance," she replies evenly, meeting Dinah's gaze. "I appreciate you having me."
"Of course," Dinah replies with a polite smile, just on the edge of being stilted.
There's a beat of silence that follows, in which Nyssa resists the urge to glance over at Sara for reassurance. Instead, her eyes find Laurel, standing just over Dinah's shoulder. The smile Laurel gives her is warm, a look of understanding on her face.
When Nyssa's gaze shifts back to Dinah, she can't shake the feeling of being appraised. Dinah's scrutiny feels different than Quentin's. Quentin's initial hostility toward her had been unfiltered, his disapproval barely contained. Dinah's poker face is much better, her gaze sharper and heavier.
"Well, I hope you all had a smooth trip," Dinah says, finally looking away from Nyssa and stepping back to address everyone. "I'll let you all get settled. I'm sure you're all hungry, so dinner should be ready soon."
When Dinah turns to give her attention to Laurel and Tommy, Nyssa allows herself the smallest exhale. Beside her, Sara lightly bumps their shoulders together.
"That could've gone way worse," Sara murmurs, voice low and close to her ear.
She glances at Sara, one eyebrow arching delicately. "Your standards for success are remarkably low."
Sara merely grins, unbothered. "Hey, it went better than Dad."
"I suppose that is one way to look at it." Nyssa smiles wryly.
"You're doing great," Sara says lightly, but sincerely. "Now come on. I'll give you the grand tour later. Let's go put our stuff downstairs."
Nyssa moves to grab her bag, but Sara is quicker. She reaches for it without hesitation, swatting away Nyssa's hand.
"I got it," Sara insists, carrying both of their bags with ease.
"I'm quite capable of carrying my own belongings."
"And you carried mine in here," Sara counters smoothly. "I'm just as capable of being a gentleman."
Before Nyssa can protest any further, Sara moves further into the house, motioning for Nyssa to follow her.
A/N: Happy holidays to anyone who celebrates/celebrated something this time of year! Sorry this chapter's a bit shorter than the others.