Beginnings of a story (Patreon)

Sara Lance hurt. She’d learned to endure a lot of pain over the years, but never being apart from Nyssa. There were so many ways to deal with pain, but only one way to deal with this. The League’s way. Remind herself that it was necessary. She couldn’t be with Nyssa. Starling City needed her, her family needed her. Nyssa needs you, a small voice said, so deep inside her that Sara couldn’t possibly shut it up. You need her. She sat in Club Verdant, watching it close up, the last of the employees departing one by one. She’d surreptitiously secured herself in the rafters, an easy feat for her training. Soon, there was no one to bother her. She changed into her leathers, prepared to go out on patrol. Maybe she could pretend any muggers she found were what was keeping her and Nyssa apart. “I never complimented you on your new garb,” a voice rang out, echoing through the empty club like a caress that ran from one wall to another. “An appalling oversight on my part.” Sara spotted Nyssa, lurking at one of the side exits. Her armor on, but her face unveiled. Just looking at her, Sara trusted she wasn’t there to fight. “I most especially like the jacket. It seems to me you built the suit entire around that.” With a sixth grade gymnast gold medal dismount, she dropped down to the floor. Nyssa wasn’t there to fight, but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t beg for Sara to come back, in her own way. Something infinitely more dangerous. “I can’t go back, Nyssa. You know that.” “I am aware,” Nyssa said, almost haughty, and Sara caught the words in their secret language, built year by year, touch by touch. Do you really think I know you so poorly? “Do you have any change?” “What?” “Change?” Nyssa’s eyes tilted to the side, reviewing her secondary knowledge of English. “The coins? Little coins you use for soft drinks and arcades?” “Yeah… I have change…” Sara reached into one of her jacket’s hidden pockets. It had almost a hundred of them. She guessed Nyssa had thought Sara would use them for USB drives, microfilm, little lockpicks, but mostly she kept old ticket stubs inside them. So hipster of her… She found a quarter. Flipped it to Nyssa, who caught it expertly. “The League of Assassins graciously accepts your payment. I will stay to provide whatever services I can render in exchange for your generous contribution to our cause.” Sara shook her head. “Nyssa, what are you doing?” “Accepting a contract. Why? Do you believe our terms are unreasonable?” Nyssa’s dark eyes were smoldering with a kind of sardonic humor uniquely hers. “I will accept a dime, but no less.” “Your father will never accept this.” “My father gives orders, but my heart commands me. And you are my heart.” Nyssa sauntered closer to Sara, treating her like a tiger that was finally at ease, allowing her to approach. “If anyone asks—insinuating myself in the circle of a wealthy CEO and his team of vigilantes seems to me the sort of thing the League of Assassins would condone. I will, of course, slowly corrupt you and your friends, giving Ra’s al Ghul a hold on Starling City, and advancing our cause throughout North America.” It was possible only Sara Lance could hear that plot from a terrorist mastermind and smile. “I was already missing you. It already felt like I couldn’t breathe.” “Then breathe, Ta-er al-Asfer. Breathe deeply.” They embraced. Coming back to Starling City hadn’t felt like home. That had been scrubbed out of her, washed from the marrow of her bones. Starling City was just a place. Even Laurel, Quentin, Ollie—they were just people. Nyssa, she was home. Sara held tightly to her, knowing she would never have to let go again. “I had an unquenchable thirst for you,” Nyssa whispered in her ear. “I sate myself with the sight of you, the sound of you, the feel of you, but I still feel this thirst. I’m as bound to you as I am to the air and the water.” “Then take your fill,” Sara said, hands tracing down Nyssa’s back, long-remembered curves, feeling things both inwardly and outwardly that she had not allowed herself to when she’d known they would have to separate. With a smile, Nyssa told Sara to undress her. Sara did. Eager to obey. “Leave the costume on. And the mask,” Nyssa told her. “I wish to lay claim to every facet of you.” “You like the wig,” Sara replied. “I knew it.”