#lotfic

The hospital corridor’s mostly empty when Ava steps through, just a small crowd huddled together at the end. She recognizes faces and information, can’t even bring herself to blink at the sight of Laurel Lance, and beelines directly for Sara who hasn’t looked up, is staring at the wall, mouth tight and eyes wet, grief blanketed across her shoulders.

Ava’s not surprised that Sara recognizes her footsteps, is just glad when she turns and all but throws herself into Ava’s ready arms, emotions filing over her face at a speed too quick to assess and making Ava want to punch something.

“Oh, Captain,” she breathes against Sara’s hair, and Sara’s sob is muffled in Ava’s shirt. Ava holds her for a long moment, feels her own heart breaking, and wonders at how Sara can still be the strongest and brightest women she’s ever known when life keeps battering her over and over again.

(She wonders if the Ava’s before her ever felt this, if they’d looked at the sun and known they’d do anything to keep her burning.)

“What do you need?” Ava asks, and Sara’s sharp glance makes it clear she knows it’s not a placation. It’s a dangerous statement — a promise — but in this moment Ava would willingly tear apart time itself just to see Sara smile.

(How many Ava’s before her were deprogrammed for feeling too much?)

“I want to go home,” Sara says after a long moment, and the determination in her eyes is one of the bravest things Ava’s ever seen.

“I can drive you there,” one of the men says — John Diggle, the vigilante Spartan, A.R.G.U.S. Agent, husband of Director Michaels, father of John Diggle Jr., cohort of vigilante Oliver Queen — but Sara shakes her head, fingers still gripped tight in the back of Ava’s blazer.

“No,” she says, “I don’t mean…I don’t mean Dad’s place. Thank you, Diggle, but right now I need to be home. I won’t leave, I just—”

Diggle nods even though he’s obviously confused, but Ava understands. It’s also a glaring sign of her emotional state that Sara hasn’t seemed to notice Ray and Nate peeking around the corner at the end of the hall, expressions grave, and Nate’s grip on Ray’s shoulder probably the only thing stopping Ray from barrelling away and sweeping Sara into his arms.

Ava’s proud of their resolve.

“I don’t think you’ll have to go far,” she says, tilting her head, and Sara’s laugh is wet and sad but something.

Sara gives her teammates something as close to a smile as she can manage, and Ava’s proved right when Ray’s tripping over his own feet and wrapping Sara in a tight hug, Ava included by proxy. Nate hovers just behind, reaching out to grip one of Sara’s hands tightly, obviously wanting in on the comfort but not wanting to overwhelm, a surprising amount of forethought for someone who’s modus operandi is almost entirely physical.

“We weren’t sure we should follow,” Ray says, “but we didn’t want you to be alone.”

“Gary told us what happened, after Ava left the bureau,” Nate adds, and Ava promises to offer Gary a rare ‘well done’ when she next sees him.

“The ship’s just outside,” Ray says. “Shall I ask Gideon to find us somewhere to park up?”

Sara nods, taking a deep breath, eyes fixed on the ceiling for a moment as she pulls herself together. Ava wants to tell her she doesn’t have to, that her team won’t expect her to, that Ava doesn’t expect her to, but she understand Sara Lance well enough to know that it’s for Sara, not for them.

“Laurel,” Sara says, and the line between her eyes says the words feel strange on her tongue, “we’ll talk tomorrow, okay?”

Laurel — whoever this Laurel is — nods, and Ava really hopes she’s not an anachronism, for Sara’s sake.

“I’ll go get started on dinner,” Ray says, begrudgingly stepping away, and Nate throws his thumb over his shoulder in the direction Ray’s purposefully marching.

“I’ll go make sure he doesn’t use all the groceries in overdoing it,” he says, giving Sara a soft smile. He presses the palm of his hand briefly between Ava’s shoulder blades, solidarity and friendship and team, and Ava thinks, not for the first time, how strange and naive and special these people are, letting their hearts drive them and giving their friendship out so easily.

“Tomorrow,” Diggle says when Sara turns to offer her goodbyes, finally stepping out of Ava’s embrace. Diggle’s eyes flicker between them, but he doesn’t say anything, and Ava gets the impression he knows how to mind his own business, a trait she greatly appreciates and scarcely finds now she’s found her lot thrown in with Sara’s crew.

“Tomorrow,” Sara says, a promise not to run for them all to hear.

She takes Ava’s hand, tangling their fingers together, and Ava tugs her close against her side, pressing a chaste kiss against her temple, wishing she could kiss all of her until the grief’s washed away and knowing all she can really do is follow Sara’s lead.

(She wonders if any other Ava has ever felt helpless; if it was in their programming at all or if she’s been flawed from the start.)

“Love you,” Ava says, little more than a whisper against Sara’s hair, and Sara’s fingers tighten around hers, breath a shaky rush.

“Love you, too,” she says. “Thank you. For coming.”

Ava pulls them to a halt, thinks about the span of time and space, of anachronisms and duty and tears in the very fabric of the universe (thinks about this incredible woman’s strength in the face of endless grief), and can’t stop herself from brushing a gentle kiss over Sara’s broken smile.

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” she says and means it.

(She wonders if another Ava has ever loved somebody like this.

She hopes so.