Before you dive into this Chapter, You should take a minute. This chapter was excruciatingly hard for me to write, and it is very emotional admitting I did. A lot of what's coming up has been an experience in my life I never wanted to talk about, let alone think about, so by proxy, I know the pain that comes with it.

Ladies, I don't envy any of you that may have gone through what Sara goes through in this chapter, and I don't talk about it lightly. The reality is, it was something that I had seen coming for a while, and was almost inevitable. I only ask that we all take this for what it is, an opening to see both Sara at her worst, and an understanding.

So here's your warning, this chapter is going to get rough. Please be careful.


The Waverider – Minutes after Docking.

Sara moved like a ghost, boots barely making a sound on the metal floor.

The ship didn't welcome her this time. It didn't hum gently beneath her feet. It felt…hollow, sterile. Like it knew something she wasn't ready to say aloud.

She didn't go to the bridge.

She didn't even head to the medbay at first.

She simply walked to her quarters…and locked the door behind her.

For a few seconds, she just stood there in silence. Hair damp with sweat and moisture from Lian Yu. Her reflection caught in the metallic paneling around her, barely recognizable. There was dirt on her cheeks, flecks of blood in her hair, her arms were tense. Her eyes…haunted.

Then her chest heaved, and the sob finally punched through her like a gut shot.

She collapsed, not gracefully, not in control – just down, on her knees, palms flat against the cold floor, gasping like she had been underwater far too long and finally broke the surface.

The cry that tore out of her chest was ragged and wet, full of rage, terror, guilt, and several emotions she couldn't even name. She couldn't tell what she was grieving.

Maybe all of it, maybe herself, maybe what could've been.

Because she already knew, deep down…she knew.

You carry something too, the Loa had said, almost kindly.

She'd thought it was a metaphor; her burden, her trauma, the things she never admitted out loud.

But now…she knew better.

She pressed a trembling hand to her stomach.

The scan would confirm it.

She was pregnant.

And the terrifying part?

Part of her didn't feel dread at first…no…part of her – some small, secret, broken thing– something flickering like light through leaves….hope

She finally made herself stand. Her body ached with exhaustion and grief, but her feet moved anyway. They knew what must be done.

The medbay was quiet, too clean, too bright. The kind of brightness that didn't make you feel safe; it just showed every crack you tried to hide.

She stepped into the center of the scanning field, robotically.

"Gideon," she said, voice low.

"Yes, Captain?"

"I need a full internal diagnostic scan…something isn't right."

There was a pause, not long, but just long enough to feel like Gideon knew. Her voice almost lost its artificial quality, taking on a soft, careful tone.

"Please remain still."

The blue light swept across her body as Sara stared straight ahead.

In her mind, she was back in the clocktower, Jacob kissing her like the world might end for them both again, their bodies pressed together on that cold, hard floor, against the wall, in the quiet before the storm.

She was back on Lian Yu, the waterfall crashing down around them, just her and Jacob. The feel of his breath against her skin, his heartbeat echoing hers. The way he touched her like she was something worth saving. The way she let herself believe it, if not for just a little while.

Moments, she let herself forget what the world demanded of her.

Multiple times, she'd said yes to him.

Not just the sex.

But to him.

And the possibility of more.

But now, now there was this…

"Scan complete," Gideon said softly, like a friend seeing someone in crisis, breaking her memories. "You are approximately six weeks pregnant."

Sara didn't blink, didn't breathe, just froze…staring at the screen.

Six weeks, she thought, that makes it real.

The clock tower, then Lian Yu, the camp, the waterfall…

Moments she hadn't guarded herself.

Moments where she let herself believe she might be more than just a soldier, more than just someone who came back wrong, more than a weapon…

"I thought maybe it was just the stress," she muttered out loud. "Or just that damn Island, or the Loa…I didn't want to believe it."

Gideon again, hesitated.

"Sometimes…we don't let ourselves imagine good things. Especially when we've spent so long surviving the bad."

Sara laughed – bitter and wet. "Gideon, that was almost human."

"I've learned from the best," She replied, gently. "You, this crew, Rip….love leaves an imprint…even on code…"

A mother?

Could she even be that?

Could Jacob be a father?

She let herself imagine it, just for a second.

Jacob, cradling a baby in his strong arms, humming some half-remembered tune while swaying back and forth, trying to lull them to sleep. Reading bad poetry to a toddler because he thought it was deep. Teaching them to shoot a bow at twelve and pretending not to cry with joy when they outpaced him.

He'd be awkward at first, she knew it. Gentle in all the wrong ways and protective in all the right ones, and he'd love that kid with the same quiet fire he gave to everything he believed in…

He would be a good father, he was already becoming something like one to Sin.

And her?

Sara could almost see it: the training, the snark, the terrifying intensity when someone tried to hurt what was hers.

The quiet moments, rocking a child to sleep in her arms, feeling those tiny fingers playing with her hair, watching Jacob hold them, seeing a future she never let herself imagine.

She felt a smile crack across her lips, small, soft, hopefully

And then– a tear, and everything shattered.

"I'm not built for this," Sara whispered.

"You were built for survival," Gideon replied, instantly. "You chose love."

She was bleeding inside again, and this time the wound came with no visible scar. This life – this one small, impossible life – it couldn't survive what was coming.

Not with the Loa.

Not with this darkness on their heels.

Not with their lives that found danger everywhere they went.

Not with her…

She couldn't be tethered to something so fragile when the war wasn't over, when the war was never over.

Not yet.

Maybe not…ever.

She pressed her hand to the scan's glow, voice trembling and tears falling.

"Gideon…"

"Yes, Captain?"

Sara's voice broke. "What would he say?"

A long pause ensued, almost as if Gideon was contemplating on what to say, then:

"Sara, Jacob has demonstrated strong protective instincts, emotional resilience, and a capacity for deep loyalty. He would, most likely, be scared. But he would love this child…fiercely."

Sara bit her lip, another tear rolling down her cheek and falling to the floor. And another, until her vision blurred.

"Do you think I'd be a good mother?"

"You already are one," Gideon answered gently. "In many ways: to Sin, to this crew, to the people you've saved."

Sara looked away, her throat burning, her knees threatening to give out again.

"I can't do this," she whispered.

Another silence, before:

"What would you like me to do, Captain?"

Sara's eyes flicked back to the screen.

The glow showed something that could've been more. Something she wasn't brave enough to hold.

She forced the steel back into her voice, wrapping herself in the cold clarity of command.

"Terminate the pregnancy."

Gideon, despite her being an AI, hesitated.

"Sara, are you sure…"

No, but I have to…she thought.

"Terminate it," Sara repeated, louder this time, as if trying to convince herself it was the right decision.

Her fists were clenched at her sides, her jaw locked.

Her heart was somewhere on the floor back in her quarters, still bleeding out.

After a long moment, the pod hissed open.


When it was over, Sara sat on the edge of the med table, staring at nothing.

"I have ended the process, there were no complications."

The silence after, in the medbay was thick, final.

She didn't cry anymore. Didn't scream, just sat in silence.

Empty.

Then she stood, slowly, gingerly. Her voice was hoarse when she spoke:

"Seal the medbay."

"Yes, Captain."

And then Sara Lance walked out.

Not like a mother who had lost something, not like a woman who had chosen to let something go.

But like a soldier, who had once dared to dream, and now never would again.