Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Sara doesn't recognize the woman in front of her. She has dark hair, which was formerly covered by a hood but is now exposed to a light breeze, windblown strands of darkest hazel the only noticeable movement in the woman. Even darker eyes bore into Sara's, she takes in the sight of a strong jaw line and striking cheekbones, almost all black leather clothes and body armor highlighted with red leather. The woman is standing tall, heavily armed with bow and arrow, several daggers secured at her waistband and legs and Sara is sure she didn't even notice all of her weapons. She is a fierce-looking warrior, intimidating just by standing there, her posture clearly stating a high rank or at least a very distinct self-confidence. Her appearance should make Sara's senses tingle, set her into a highly alerted state, ready to defend herself. It should make her instincts kick in, bracing herself for the inevitable attack, and yet... Sara looks at her opponent and all she can do is stare into those dark brown eyes because what is happening there is something she didn't expect.

The blonde watches Nyssa, not being able to identify her, just seeing the pain and suffering and despair in her look being replaced by relieve and even more so an incredible warmth of overflowing love, tears gathering in them because at that moment, Nyssa doesn't care.
She's not badass, she's not tough, she's not an assassin, she is a broken woman whose heart has become numb due to the seemingly endless pain of losing her one true love to death, more than once. The pain of being left behind, betrayed and constantly beaten down, forced to kneel in front of the man who took not only her rightful legacy but also her beloved's life, forced to marry the man her father had chosen over her, the man whom she will always think of as the one who took Sara from her in the first place, forced to witness her life crumbling and falling into pieces within the course of weeks and being unable to change the tiniest thing about it....
But Nyssa can't think about any of this. At that moment, when her haunted eyes lock gaze with the brightest blue eyes she has ever seen and she had accepted to never see again in this dark and violent world, this crystal clear depth, wide and wild and without a glimpse of recognition but so full of life, Nyssa can physically feel her bones vibrating, her blood rushing through her veins and the shattered pieces of her heart reconnecting and rebuilding the vessel that held so much love for the woman in front of her. She doesn’t even notice warm tears running down her cheeks, washing away her anguish and leaving behind nothing but salty traces.
It is salt linking their destinies, their lives, salt that had stained Sara’s skin, all those years ago, when Nyssa had found her broken and yet beautiful body at the shore, salt that had cleaned her wounds, salt that they had sweated out during intense training sessions and intimate nights bathed in golden flickers of candlelight, salt she had cried both times she had lost her Beloved to death, it is the same salt covering her face now, putting all of their history out in the open. At that moment, all the aching in her mind and heart mends and the salt on her face finally allows her tortured soul to heal.

And Sara, though not recognizing the undoubtedly beautiful and majestic woman expressing such a variety of emotions with just her melting gaze, knows without a doubt that she doesn't have to fear her. There's no threat. It's been weeks of consciously being insane, unpredictable and a cold-blooded killing machine, weeks of searching for her true self, knowing that there was something missing, that once, before she had been caught in death's icy grip, there had been something about her, there just had to have been warmth or kindness or at least a sense of belonging.
After weeks of meeting people she didn't know and watching warm gazes turn cold, confusion and relieve turning into fear and defense, Sara finally feels safe, as if somehow she knows she's found her home.

Chapter Text

Sara grabs a towel and looks at Nyssa, an exhausted smile ghosting around her lips. "Intense", she breathes and Nyssa looks very pleased with both herself and her girlfriend. They have just finished their sparring session.
Nyssa had decided to oversee every bit of training with weapons Sara was to receive herself, and while most of the time Sara really enjoyed having the Heir to the Demon as her personal trainer, it also meant she was pushed to the limit more often than any other trainer would’ve dared to push the Heir’s Beloved. On the other hand, training with the stunning woman had its perks; little clothing and personal requests being only two of them.

"You are totally going to give me the best massage of my life for torturing me like this", Sara grins.
"Am I? I am not sure how I could possibly do better than last time", Nyssa responds and smirks when she catches Sara's cheeks blushing. Nyssa enjoys seeing her Beloved flustered as it’s not that simple to catch the blonde off-guard with a slightly suggestive comment. Usually Sara is the one with the instant responses. Sara, however, is quick to recover herself and jumps on the bandwagon. “Oh is that right? If I remember correctly, you were the one who –“ Nyssa’s eyes widen and she more or less instinctively throws a punch to prevent the other woman from finishing her sentence. The blonde dodges the blow and chuckles.

“Don’t you dare…”

”What? Remember how you basically let me work you up until you begged me to have mercy…?” Sara hasn’t lowered her voice one bit and looks at Nyssa in such an innocent way that the Heir is agape. They are in a gym-like room in Nanda Parbat, a room every assassin is allowed to train in, and where currently about six other members of the League are working on their skills. The room is definitely not big enough to be overheard.
How can she say something like that without even flinching? Nyssa feels heat creeping up her neck and Sara’s childlike smile changes into a smug grin.
“Gotcha” she states, still grinning, and winks at Nyssa whereupon her girlfriend huffs but doesn’t make efforts to hide her smile, shaking her head in disbelief. With two graceful strides she covers the distance between them and bends over in order to be close to Sara’s ear when she, a hint of jeopardy in her voice, whispers: “We will have to talk about keeping our privacy again… somewhere and some time more private, Habibti”. Nyssa knows that none of the assassins in the room would dare to disrespect their privacy or love, let alone hold her in lower esteem because of an inappropriate comment, and that what Sara has put out there would not leave the room. Still, she doesn’t want to make her fellow members feel out of their depths. Sara looks a little guilty now and Nyssa lets a little chuckle fall from her lips, showing Sara that she’s really not too serious. Even if she wanted to, being angry at the magnificent woman with those clear blue eyes, looking at her in the sweetest way possible, would not be part of her skill set.

"I will meet you at home, just let me finish my own routine first", she smiles and winks back at the smaller woman who immediately is back in her wanton mood.

"Yup, definitely see ya there!" Sara briefly pecks Nyssa's beautiful lips and enjoys how Nyssa's body freezes for a moment, as if still, after months of living with each other and sharing homes and hearts, not used to being appreciated.

With a wide smile on her face, she leaves the Heir to the Demon to finish her training.

Chapter Text

“I wasn’t with you because you saved me. I was with you because I loved you.”

‘And I still do, oh, I still do’ every fibre in Sara’s body screams, her heart pounding in agony as she struggles to keep her eyes on the Heir to the Demon. She has to know Nyssa understands that even though she snuck out in the middle of the night, leaving behind nothing and everything at the same time, it didn’t devalue the relationship they had.

She looks up and searches for those dark eyes, pained and haunted eyes no one but her would ever be allowed to see like this, and feels her conviction crumble when they lock gazes. It would be easy, so easy, to just say it out loud. To tell the woman in front of her how she means the world and beyond to her, to sink into her embrace and wash away the pain they share in a stream of her true emotions, to shut up her stupid conscience and accept the League’s ways as a small price to pay for all the warmth, love and safety Nyssa has to give solely to her. She could hope for Nyssa to keep that little light inside of her safe and alive and prevent her from becoming dark, their bond alone being what keeps her from falling off the edge. She could work on distancing herself from the regret she feels after every single killing. She could take the risk and mend her loved one’s pain so easily, the pain that shines through the soft and loving look Nyssa gives her.

Nyssa now searches for the tiniest sign of true remorse and love in Sara’s emotional glance, she can feel the brunette’s gaze bore into her innermost core, tears glistening in her eyes as she’s taking a close look at every stone of every brick wall Sara has built to be able to leave her soulmate behind. She transforms Sara’s emotions from composed, distanced and almost ‘okay’ with her situation into a mess, an inner turmoil crashing her will to stay away like one of the many angry waves that had gripped and torn Sara around, far out on the ocean Nyssa saved her from what feels like an eternity ago. She almost feels as broken inside now as her body felt back then, the very second Nyssa, whose face is contorted with pain and whose voice carries so much hurt and is yet firm and without accusations, states: “But not anymore.”

And Sara knows that this is it. The life-altering moment, the crossroad, the chance to make everything right or walk away and take the path she knows is wrong. To either choose the woman she loves with all her heart and soul, by that accepting her fate to bring justice by killing delinquents and other threats to the League, or a life without assassinations side-by-side with a group of half-trained vigilantes, knowing that she will never be able to hold Nyssa again, knowing that the only reason she would ever look into those dark hazel eyes again would be to accept death.

She averts her gaze to not let Nyssa see her struggling. Her heart clenches excruciatingly at the mere thought of what she knows will rip the brunette’s heart into pieces again and yet, she just can’t object Nyssa’s reasoning as she knows, saying goodbye by declaring her love would be the cruellest thing she could possibly do.

Sara figures it is best to not return anything and instead pleads: “Ra's listens to you. And you can ask him to release me.” She knows she’s stalling. Ra’s al Ghul does not release anyone from their duties once the oath has been sworn.

“My father has never released anyone from the League”, Nyssa shakes her head in disbelieve and irritation is showing in her voice as she answers. And though Sara knows it’s not even worth mentioning, though she knows Nyssa will see how weak her argument is, though she knows she sounds like she’s desperate to get away from Nyssa, she states: “He released Malcolm Merlyn.” And she discerns anger and despair in the beautiful assassin’s look the moment she dares to mention one of the greatest failures staining the League’s reputation, as far as that’s possible.

“An action he and the citizens of this city dearly regret.” Nyssa instantly replies, almost spitting the words. Sara can feel confusion, a hint of desperate hope, maybe even anxiety vibrating off her body and she recognises the look Nyssa wears on her face. It is the same one she is wearing, urgently trying to figure out what to say or do, what went wrong, trying to apologise and find forgiveness for any action - past, present or yet to come. It is a silent plea permeating the air around them, seeping through her skin into her heart and ringing in her ears, for both their souls are screaming.

Sara is tired of fighting the inevitable. She doesn’t want to choose. She doesn’t want to live like this. She’d rather die in peace in her lover’s arms and end this earthly life once and for all than decide to finally leave Nyssa or continue to be an assassin. She gives in to her look, reaches up to tenderly brush some hair out of the brunette’s face, almost hearing her own crying heart breaking as Nyssa leans against Sara’s hand, marvelling at the touch. Breathing in deeply, she pulls Nyssa closer and feels her body stiffening for a split-second. One last time she inhales the sweet scent of her hair, feels Nyssa’s tall, trained body pressed against her own, one last time she allows herself to feel both strong and weak at the same time as she relaxes against the Heir’s chest, allowing herself a moment to embrace her love, her fate, her life and her death.

And then with one final intake of breath, Sara surrenders.

“Do what you have to.”

Chapter Text

Sara snorted when she learned about the two of them going into the wild, in order for her to “learn more about survival techniques”, but kept her mouth shut nonetheless. Yes, she had managed to survive the last two years, the fierce grip of the ocean, the Amazo, Lian Yu’s hell - she had survived the relentlessness of both nature and men – but she probably could’ve done better with a little more practice and elegance. And she knew better than to challenge the Heir to the Demon when it came to decision making in her training.

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“You are going to build a campfire while I look around and search for possible… security gaps” Nyssa orders, as the sun is about to disappear behind the treetops in the West.
“How long do you think it’ll take me to build a fire, Nyssa?”, Sara grins, knowing all too well about her trainer’s seriousness regarding safety issues. “Just do as you’re told”, the Heir to the Demon commands and turns around so that Sara can’t see a smile tucking on her lips because the way the blonde grins with such ease never fails to make her heart swell a little too much.

Most of the time, Nyssa somehow manages to keep a straight face and tucks the feeling away, categorizing it as ‘unwelcome distraction’, ‘emotional confusion’ or ‘dangerous blind-spot’ – but sometimes she feels as if the tiny one’s ease seeps into her own heart and makes her comfortable in a way she has never known before. Whatever label she tries to put on the other woman, she somehow can’t bring herself to stay away from her. However distracted she gets by her light blonde hair, crystal clear blue eyes and adorable freckles, she somehow can’t bring herself to look away and often times she caught herself staring at the younger woman out of the corner of her eye. Nyssa doesn’t know whether Sara has ever noticed Nyssa looking at her in another than purely professional, watching way. She can’t tell that anything changed in the way Sara looks at her, though. Apart from the understandable intimidation in the beginning, there had always been a spark in her eyes, igniting Nyssa’s inside, letting heat creep through her veins and blood audibly pulsing in her ears. She has always looked at Nyssa in a way that made the assassin’s skin tingle, that made her feel seen and appreciated in the very sense of these words. And while the Heir sometimes wonders whether there could be more to their looks, Sara’s smiles, her own attention immediately turning towards the woman as soon as she enters the room, however crowded it is, she would never dare to put her confusion out in the open and make herself vulnerable in front of her apprentice. She is the leader of their little team, she is the one who orders, she is the one who sends glaring looks at the others whenever they fail her demands, she is the one to forgive or to punish, she is the one in charge here, she is the strong, fierce, rational warrior her father has always wanted her to be. To admit that maybe a tiny, radiantly beautiful young woman might be the one to take down her defences and show her a whole new world full of bright colours, full of adventure and laughter and life, to admit there might be someone who could change everything and become ‘the one’ for her instead – no, Nyssa isn’t able to do so. She feels out of her depth as soon as it comes to this magnificent smile and she won’t allow it to cloud her judgement even further than it already does.

Subtly shaking her head, Nyssa leaves what is to be their camp, forcing herself to think about the more urgent and important matters in life. She won’t let the blonde get hurt due to her own lack of attention.‘Us’, Nyssa mentally corrects herself. ‘I will not let either of us get hurt’.

Fire is crackling and their night’s-lodging is set up and shielded from possible rain with a construct built of wood, big leaves and moss, when Nyssa returns from her patrol.
“That poor little guy shouldn’t have tried to invade our camp, huh?” Sara jokes behind her and Nyssa almost misses the blonde nodding towards a dead squirrel tethered to Nyssa’s belt. Nyssa raises an eyebrow and then, against her earlier train of thoughts, gives in to the urge to return the smile her student offers her. It’s only a little smirk but she can see surprise flickering in Sara’s eyes.
Plainly and purely professional, she then states: “I have to admit, I am impressed, Sara Lance”, and feels the familiar swell in her heart she tries to suppress so badly.

Chapter Text

Nyssa is wearing a crimson, skin-tight dress with a dress-slit showing off quite a lot of skin of her long, left leg, as she tantalizingly moves her hips to the slow blues song she’s just performing. All eyes are fixed on her beautiful body, her dark hair falling over her shoulders in wanton curls, her make-up seductive and on point.

Sara, as her assistant, is standing next to the stage, trying hard to swallow down the lump in her throat and not let arousal cloud her thoughts. They are on a mission and she has to keep an eye on their target and not her betrothed. In between two songs, she hands Nyssa a bottle of water and briefly fills her in on where their target is located exactly and that he is just as spellbound as every other person in the room. Everything is going according to plan. She lets her eyes wander over the brunette’s body, all professional and obviously just checking on her condition, when, out of the corner of her eye, she notices how the man next to Vincenzo Verrazano suddenly gets up and, a little too casually to go unnoticed, leaves the room. His all black Samsonite suitcase, though, is still placed under the table, right next to the drug lord’s right foot.
Sara’s mind rapidly spins, analyzing the situation, and she quickly puts two and two together, already running on stage mid-song, causing sounds of protests to erupt from the crowd. However, when she shouts ‘EVERYBODY DOWN!’ in a volume that drowns the music and causes people to jerk, dead silence fills the room for a split-second, as the band immediately stops playing their instruments and Nyssa realizes that something just went terribly wrong. Sara barely has a second to throw herself in front of Nyssa before the bomb in the suitcase explodes and the blast knocks both of them off their feet.

When she opens her eyes a few seconds later, Sara’s vision is blurry and her ears are ringing from the volume of the explosion. The first thing she can form a clear thought about is Nyssa. Panic forms in her heart as she realizes that Nyssa is not safe and shielded by her body, fear clouding her thoughts and rapidly turning her head, looking for her. Only a moment later, she can feel a strong hand on her shoulder and hears Nyssa’s voice in her ear, worried but firm.

“Sara! What were you thinking? Are you hurt?”

Relieve immediately floods through Sara’s body and she quickly sits up, leaning into her precious girlfriend’s touch. The world around her is filled with dust, fire and screams, loud and chaotic, but at the moment, the proximity to Nyssa’s living, breathing body is all that matters.

“Thank God, you’re alive” she sighs and briefly makes eye contact with her, then letting her eyes wander over the brunette’s body again, this time to actually check for wounds. She appears to be alright, though the mesmerizing dress is definitely ruined.

“I am fine. You are hurt though, there is a lot of blood on your back, let me check” Nyssa orders and Sara knows there is no reason to protest, as Nyssa would check anyways.

“Cuts and bruises. You will heal, probably a broken rib, too, but other than that… we were lucky.” Nyssa states after some seconds and then, her tone more professional and less worried, says: “Verrazano is dead. Not much left of him to be honest. He obviously made more enemies than just the League and they got to him first. There are many casualties, though, we could’ve done it much cleaner and none of these innocents would have died.” Anger shows in her voice. The attack was shoddy work and Sara knows that this is something Nyssa won’t forgive and will get justice for, one way or another. The bomb planter is as good as dead already.

“Let’s check for other survivors, okay?” Sara asks to get Nyssa to focus on more important matters right now. “Also, we have to stay down, don’t want to risk blowing our covers, do we?”

They search the room and try their best to render first aid and to get people who are stuck under chairs, tables and wreckage out of their bad situation, until police and fire department arrive. They leave the rest of the work to them and under their aliases are examined by the ambulance. Sara is told to spend a night at a nearby hospital and complies, not because she wouldn’t be able to handle the pain of a broken rib and some cuts and bruises on her back, but because of their covers. It was always good to make sure they could reassume an identity should it come in handy sometime in the future. The blonde is once again impressed by Nyssa’s acting skills, tears washing traces into the dirt and dust on her face, her body and voice shaking as from shock when officers question her as a witness. Sara thinks she manages only half as impressive but as she just publicly threw herself in front of her ‘boss’ to save her from an explosion, the rather distanced way she tells her story seems to be fine to the officers. She also gets them to promise not to give her name or picture to the press, to avoid being called a hero and being way too visible for the next few weeks.

At first, Nyssa was a little worried about her betrothed and found it quite stupid of her to catch the explosion’s blow for her. But now, that Sara grins up at her out of the hospital bed, she knows, her Beloved is just fine. Plus, she can’t help but feel a little admiration for the quite heroic stunt Sara pulled in that night club. And it was just a broken rib after all and that happened quite regularly in training sessions or fights with targets. At the latest when Sara, a tantalizing expression on her face, tells her how extremely hot she was in that red dress, figure-hugging neck holder cut and plunging V-neckline suiting her very well,singing and dancing like it actually was her profession and not a cover, she knows that there is absolutely no reason to worry at all. Also, knowing that Sara had been tempted to lose focus on the mission more than once does make her kind of proud and her stomach clenches with excitement.

Good to know that this is a one-bed room and a broken rib isn’t that much of a constraint.

Chapter Text

Darkness. Not completely black, but dark. Inside and out. Punctuated only with the street lamp’s light, about six feet away. Shaking hands strew loose tobacco on the flimsy leaf. Brush it aside to make place for the filter, roll it. Her mouth is dry but she somehow manages to lick the adhesive-coated area to finish the cigarette. Muscle memory. Some things you just never forget. Trembling fingers place the cigarette between chapped lips. It’s been a long time since she last smoked. Years, feeling like a lifetime. Still, she can clearly picture it in her head like it was yesterday. After the third try she manages to light a fire with the cheap lighter she just got from the dirty, little shop at the gas station. Embers light up in the dark as she inhales. Lets the smoke fill her lungs, the familiar action bringing flashing memories back before her eyes. She resists the urge to cough, holds in the smoke, half self-restraint and half self-punishment. Closed eyes, shivers running up her spine, hands still shaking, blocking out the world, sinking into oblivion while desperately searching for it on the inside. But some things you just never forget. She lets her shaky breath flow out and allows herself to slide down the brick wall, now coughing a little. It’s been a long time.

The sounds of the ocean are still in her ears, calm and deep and wonderous, small waves lapping against the boat, quiet jazz music playing in the background, coming from inside Oliver’s cabin. She blinks at the stinging in her eyes, inhaling once more. They both had survived the following night. Sees herself again, standing at the bow of the yacht. Smoke filling her lungs like now, but barefoot and barely dressed, the salty air against her bare skin. Oliver’s arms around her waist. She had been happy. “It’s like I’m Rose and you’re my Jack” she had sighed lazily. How foolish and ironically right she had been. He had admitted a romantic atmosphere. Oh, how little had they known.

She once loved the ocean. Back then. On the Queen’s Gambit. Before she fell into a nightmare she has yet to wake up from. Now... not so much. Many nights of jolting awake, gasping for air, water-filled lungs, only darkness of crashing violence all around her. And then - nothing. Just her uneven breathing in the darkness of the night. No water. Just stony ground underneath her hands and knees. Seems to be one of those nights where she wakes from falling out of bed. Seems to be one of those nights. There are plenty of those nights. It’s gotten better though. Now... Probably not anymore.

Her heartbeat starts to return to normal. Breathe in… Breathe out… Hazed thoughts, head swimming from nicotine pulsing through her veins, flooding her system. Is he still alive? She looks at her hands. Still slightly trembling fingers. The hand-rolled, partly smoked cigarette in her left. Funny thing. Even though right-handed, she had always held her cigarette with her left hand. Muscle memory. No thinking needed. Training. Months and months of practice, repetition, the action becoming second nature to her. No thoughts. Just do it. Some things you don’t have to think about. Some things you can never forget anyways.

She pulls her legs closer to her body, leans her head back against the hard surface of the wall. She had killed before. In self-defense. Six. She had killed six men. No need to count. She just knows. Some things you don’t have to think about. It’s probably a good thing her parents think she’s dead. Is she though? At least her dad doesn’t know who she’s become. What she’s become. His precious, little, innocent daughter. A killer. Not because of the six men on the Amazo and Lyan Yu. That was self-defense and a desperate try to survive hell. He is a cop. He’d understand. But not the man she killed half an hour ago. He wouldn’t understand. This man hadn’t done her any wrong.

The bricks are cold against her back. The icy and adamant asphalt moist underneath her body. Her tongue briefly wets her lips. Raw, dry, cracked. Places the cigarette back between them, inhales, lets the taste roll over her tongue. It’s dark out here. It has been dark so many times, she doesn’t even know how often. Darkness as part of her training. Self-restraint, sharpened senses, inner calm – she was supposed to do her job and get over it. Darkness was supposed to help. Months and months of practice, repetition, action automating. No thoughts. Just do it. Some things you don’t have to think about. Not self-defense. Murder. Stares at her hands. A murderer’s hands. They look the same as this morning. They don’t feel the same though. They seem to stare back at her.

She feels her senses tingle. She’s being watched. She doesn’t move, just continues to gaze and remind herself to breathe. Breathe in. Breathe out. With or without smoke filling her lungs. She killed a man. His death is on her. Her alone. She briefly wonders what her sister would say about someone who first fucked their sister’s boyfriend and then became a killer. She studies law after all. At least that’s what she had always wanted to do. Years ago.

The tiny hair on her arms and neck get up as someone approaches her. It’s a dark alley. She’s alone. She should probably move... She remains frozen and gazing at her fingers, seeing crimson red stains of blood on them even though there are none. Someone is gazing at her. Moves closer. Sits down next to her. Not directly next to her, but about two feet away, staying further in the shadows, away from the street lamp. Stays silent. One last drag. Flicks away the cigarette end. She can’t remember why she had started smoking so many years ago. It wasn’t about the great taste, that’s for sure. She remembers. It has always helped her clear her head, numb the pain. No hard drugs. Ever. A joint, maybe once or twice. Alcohol and cigarettes. Nothing else.

She sees herself slipping into the man’s bedroom. The man she killed. He was asleep. He didn’t even wake. And then he was dead. And now he is dead and gone and it’s on her. She’ll never be able to clean her hands, wash off the guilt. The trembling in her fingers increases again. She hates it. The shaking. The weakness. The pain. The guilt. Now that her hands are empty, she doesn’t know what to do with them. Laces her fingers together and places them in her lap. Cold creeps through her body. Someone moves closer to her. Graciously and without making any noise. A familiar scent wafts through the air, creeps into her nose, making her shiver again. Now she hates it even more. The shaking. The weakness. The pain. The guilt. She’s been trained for this. She was supposed to keep it simple. Do her job. In. Kill. Out. Done. Instead – shaking limbs, darkness, nicotine flash, a trip down memory lane. Instead, the lingering presence of the absent while the present fails to keep past days absent in a puzzling inner turmoil. Let it go. The street lamp flickers. For a moment, it's completely dark. Inside and out. When the lamp is back on, darkness still lingers. She doesn't look up. No need to see what she can clearly perceive by scent and intuition. She knew who approached her from the first second on. Guessed this was part of her training. Sense enemies even in the most chaotic times, with an occupied mind and a burdened soul. Practice, repetition, second nature. No thoughts. Just do it. Some things you don’t have to think about.

Breathe in. Breathe out. An instructor shouldn’t smell like light oranges. A predator shouldn’t smell like sweet vanilla. An assassin shouldn’t smell like cinnamon, like warmth and safety masked with danger and aloofness. Someone like the Heir to the Demon shouldn’t smell like oranges and vanilla and cinnamon. Her presence should have her hide her emotions, hide her pain, mask the blossoming fear with aloofness herself. Instead, the scent begins to permeate her thoughts and the darkness, the burning images of the dead body in front of her drown in emotions. What is wrong with her heart? It feels numb and shattered. With a growing hint of fear of what is going to happen. Yet, it hammers against her chest, demanding to be let out, crying and bleeding and begging for a tourniquet. For a split-second she feels like her soul is on fire and burning through the night. She’s scared for her life now. Does she really care though? The burning is gone again. She restrains herself, tries not to scream. Her wind-pipe narrows. She hates it. The numbness and fear and bursting in her chest. The powerlessness. The aching in her heart and muscles. The lack of warmth - anywhere, anytime. Hide her emotions, hide her pain, mask the blossoming fear with aloofness. Maybe that’s the only way to get through the anguish. Maybe that’s the reason why the Heir always seems so cold. Backing further into the wall, hands clenching into fists in her lap. It’s so cold out here. It’s so cold, no matter where.

Crashing images of dead bodies break through the surface of her conscience again. One to six. And seven. Seven shines the brightest in front of her and pierces her brain, leaving only the darkest blackness behind. Shaking hands. Clenched jaw. Eyes stinging. She’s not supposed to be weak. She’ll be killed. Remorse doesn’t do any good. The dead are gone. Because of her. She deserves this. To be gone, too. Or maybe she doesn’t. It would be the easier way after all. And she somehow never gets to choose the easy way. A slight movement next to her startles her. This is it. She’s as good as dead. Does she care though? Hands clenched into fists, jaw locked, staggered breaths, dry eyes, fighting back stinging tears, staring ahead into nothing but blackness. Searches for light, for an open door in the dark room that is her mind. She feels too caged within her fears. Is this her life now? Looking back into dark times, staring ahead into dark times.

A hand carefully reaches for hers. Rests on top of the fist. Warmth radiates from it. Her heart stops beating. Starts beating again. Not sure what to do though. Speed up, don’t beat at all, be scared or hopeful? There are different kinds of holding hands. Her hand has been held many times by many people. How many times? None that she can remember now. This is different. There is no condition to it. There is no intention beyond now behind it, nothing but comforting silence. Suddenly the past isn't lingering anymore. Nothing is left. Left with nothing. Finally, oblivion is breaking her darkness inside. Shivers running up her spine. The everlasting gloom surrounding them is just not as dark anymore. The morning sun is rising. She somehow doesn’t feel as cold anymore. There it is, a slight flicker of hope, a warm glowing, a candle lit in a dark room. Not merely enough to see everything clearly. Just enough to see where to place the next step. There is still a little light inside of her. And she feels it merging with the Heir's light as they sit in silence, now both staring in the same direction.Time cannot erase what she has done. Time cannot make things right again. Time cannot wash away the fear and the guilt and the pain. It’s the Heir’s light that gives her hope. Hope that one day she might become able to feel good again. Not now. But one day. Maybe. Even if she doesn’t know how.

“I know.” Nyssa states, the two words carrying more emotions than Sara has ever heard the Heir unveil before.
She doesn’t say anything else, just continues to stare ahead and hold her hand.

Some things you just never forget.

Chapter Text

„I don’t understand why anyone would want to engage in a competition with the only purpose being hitting a ball over a net”, Nyssa huffed a little unnerved. Sara, on the other hand, beamed at her girlfriend and joked lightly that not all sports were designed to punch people but rather to just have some fun in one’s free-time. She winked and stepped a little closer to Nyssa so that it was easier for her to successfully pass the ball.

“I get that you don’t like it though”, Sara’s tone was more serious now. Nyssa raised an eyebrow and glanced skeptically at the blonde, her hands gripping the colorful volleyball a little too tight.

“Is that so?”, she asked cautiously and Sara nodded, a grin tucking at the corner of her lips as she struggled to keep a straight face.

“Yup. It’s the first time someone, and by someone I mean me, is actually better at sports than you”, Sara laughed and skillfully dodged the ball the Heir to the Demon threw at her in response.

They were dressed in light and little clothes. Sara wore a slate blue bikini and a soft, thin, white beach skirt revealing quite distinct abs and a few scars on her back and calves. Some of them she had collected while she had been fighting for her life - all alone out on the ocean after the shipwreck at first and surrounded by men on the Amazo later, or finally forsaken and caught in ocean’s crashing grip again. Others, and those outnumbered the former, were scars that reminded her to learn fast, to move inaudibly and to be aware of her surroundings at any time, scars that she wore with pride, scars which bound her to the League and connected her with Nyssa. The brunette currently wore short, carmine chino pants and a loose, white, low cut shirt on top of her bikini, a sun hat on her head and a slightly irritated and disturbed look on her face. At the moment, they were standing on a beach volleyball court, sand beneath their feet, the sun above and the sea next to them. The field was surrounded by a small but growing group of people watching interested and amused as the blonde tried to teach the assassin how to play volleyball. Obviously, none of the other tourists knew who they were which made it even a little funnier for Sara to keep hinting at things like “missing the target”, “not killing it here” or “messing up a perfectly good hit”. And even though a part of Nyssa was being a little grumpy as she wasn’t used to failing at anything sports-related, the other part kind of her enjoyed their little bickering. Additionally, Sara in a bikini with her sun-bleached, blonde hair untied and flying lightly in the breeze, enjoying herself, laughing and being extremely cute, was surely a sight making the stupid game worth the while.

Sara danced barefoot across the field and grinned widely at her girlfriend, freckles all over her face and her blue eyes shining bright and full of joy. She enjoyed their first vacation far away from the Leagues’ business very much and appreciated every second of it, knowing that these were the rare happy times she had to soak up as consciously as possible. She looked up into Nyssa’s face and tucked lightly at her shirt, pulling her closer and smiling sweetly. She reached up and pushed Nyssa’s hat a little further up before pulling her in for a light kiss. Nyssa tasted salt from their earlier bath in the waves of the Atlantic, mangoes they had bought from the nice, elderly woman selling fruit at the beach, sun screen to protect Sara’s light skin tone, laughter and happiness in their kiss and decided that this was going to be her favorite taste for the rest of her life. The Heir to the Demon couldn’t help but smile warmly at the blonde’s positive glow. It reminded her of all the good she had in her life and yet so often was too busy to notice.

“You’re not really grumpy, are you?” Sara checked half-joking but also half-concerned. She wanted her favorite person to have at least as much fun as she herself was having and under no circumstances was she willing to keep teasing if it meant upsetting Nyssa.

“Of course not, tiny one”, the brunette winked. “I was actually thinking about the moment I understood I was in love with you. Well, in fact, I wasn’t actively thinking about it, it rather just flashed before my inner eye”, she smiled thoughtfully.

Sara looked surprised and her attentive gaze dared Nyssa to explain more detailed.

“To me, you were always… extraordinary. You were the most special person I had ever met in my whole life. I knew there was something about you when I first found you. But what really changed my feelings - or rather what made me realize that I in fact had feelings for you…” Nyssa tried to find the right words to express what she had felt at that unique moment that seemed so far away and yet closer than ever. She cleared her throat and started over.

“Sara, when you faced the Head of - when you were brought before my father, I felt a genuine fear that this might just be the last moment I was ever going to see your face. But you were not scared. Instead, you simply laughed - you laughed at the threat of an imminent death. I had never heard anything more powerful and fulfilling than your laughter. I still haven’t.” Nyssa slightly shook her head at the memory and then took a deep breath while locking gazes with her girlfriend.

“I just love seeing you like this, I love how free you are, I love your joy and the vibrant energy you’re letting everyone feel. I love this glowing side of you Sara. I love it and everything else about you. I love you way too much to really be grumpy only because you are laughing a lot and I happen to be the reason for it.”

Sara’s smile had widened and her gaze had become deep and soft while she had watched Nyssa’s facial expressions underline her words.

“And they say I’m the cute one”, she responded softly and stood up on tiptoe to kiss Nyssa once more. For a moment, both women had kind of forgotten about the little crowd following their interaction, something that tended to happen when they looked into each other’s eyes. However, when Sara kissed Nyssa again, they were reminded that, sadly, they were not alone, as one of the guys in the crowd whistled and shouted something in a language Sara couldn’t understand. Nyssa went stiff and inhaled sharply, though.

“Don’t, please, Nys, just let him be stupid.” Sara pleaded softly and grabbed the hem of Nyssa’s shirt a little tighter. “Not now…” she looked up into dark eyes and recognized a glimpse of the all too familiar darkness surrounding the Heir in them.

She knew she couldn’t run from it, they couldn’t. It was a luxury to be out here, in the light, far away from the often so cold stonewalls of Nanda Parbat, not involved with any mission. However, it would be foolish to think that a bit of sunshine and free-time would change people’s personalities and take away any sorrow they might feel and weight they might carry on their shoulders. Sara was no fool, she knew there was no place in this world where Nyssa was not Heir to the Demon and no soil on this planet where she was not haunted by her sense of duty and honor, dark memories and shady responsibilities. They could not run from it. And yet, at this day, this place, this moment, Sara wished for Nyssa to simply be there with her, not running from anything, but not answering any call of darkness she might discern either. Of course, Nyssa saw. She saw the tiny hint of fear creeping into her Beloved’s look and understood.

After a split-second, Nyssa’s gaze had already softened again and the smile returned to her lips just as easily.

“I’m not going anywhere, my love, I promise. I’m here with you. Nobody else’s opinion on us matters to me”, she assured her Beloved and kissed Sara’s hairline. She sighed and added: "And now you better ask some of these strangers to join us so I do not have to embarrass myself any more than I already have."

Sara laughed happily and turned to fulfill Nyssa’s wish immediately.