Chapter 80: A Time to Choose

Sara stared at the ceiling above her. Sleep was out of the question. Not after a day like today. An end like that end.

The rolling lights of her monitor tumbled over her face. She was underwater tonight, the occasional dark shadow of a fish floating sedately across the screen, but it wasn't her that would be drowning. She was sure of that. He had started the ball rolling, cleared the way, then sent Leonard in to rescue her. Her knight in shining armour on one of the few occasions she needed one. Why? Did he think Leonard wouldn't tell her? The man was the most painfully honest thief she knew, and the greatest of dissemblers, when he chose to be. Come to think of it, they both were! And then came the sequel! She wasn't sure there was enough whisky aboard the Waverider to drown that sorrow. That pain. He had endured responsibility enough before, and that had been almost enough to sink him. To have to do so again, and for so much more direct a reason, was surely enough to drag anyone down into those murky depths. And he had to be wondering now, after all she had told him, if he could try the same trick. Was there an Earth out there, somewhere deep in the multiverse, where his wife and son survived? Not some warped evil parody of his wife, but the brave, gentle, loving soul she had been to him in this reality. Could he find her? Would he find Jonas there too? Like some parallel universe paradise where the three could live happily ever after, watch their son grow up, grow old together and die in peace surrounded by their children and grandchildren. Was that what was going through his mind just now? Or was he drowning in the grief that had become so familiar to him once before? In the guilt and the self-loathing and the whisky.

Sara was at her door and raising a hand to the sensor before her thoughts caught up with her. Was she the right person for this? Surely, if he was wallowing in guilt right now, the sight, or sound, of his one-time mistress would be the last thing he wanted, or needed. Especially when said mistress is the person he chose to save by killing his wife.

Mistress.

Sara hadn't heard, or thought about, that word in a long time. He had used it once, back at the start of things, and she had teased him for it. Now, it seemed, he had been right. All along, all through the twists and turns life had thrown them, she had never been more than that: his mistress. His wife had been dead, certainly, but on the other hand his wife had been very much alive and plotting against them all for who knows how long. A different wife, from a different universe, but still his. Still the same woman, married to the same man. But not that man. No, not him. She might look and sound and scan like the woman he married, but she wasn't. Not truly. She was a pale reflection of her, the opposite of his true wife in every way, except perhaps her daring and her intellect. No, mistress was not the right word. There had been nothing sordid or underhand in their relationship. He had loved her. She had loved him. Had loved? Did love?

She swiped at the sensor and the door slid open. With unerring accuracy, her feet turned her towards the bridge, stepping quietly by force of habit. Doors opened to her touch, closing behind her with the barest sigh of air. The wide vista of the bridge, with its real window looking ever onward, broadened before her, silent and still. She turned to the stairs up to the office, but she knew before she reached them it was empty. It was as though she could feel his absence before she saw it. She padded around the room, investigating the little details anyone else would have ignored. She checked the record on the gramophone, the level of the whisky in the decanter, the stash of spare bottles. The photographs hidden away in a drawer. The last item in the holograph projector memory bank.

The monitor closest to her flicked into life, a colour image of the kitchen showing on its screen. For a moment she thought it was just that: an image, still and sterile as a painting in the Louvre. Then he moved. The image was a live feed. She muttered a whispered thanks to Gideon and turned out of the room they had so often shared, back to the room where it had all began. The door slid open almost silently, yet the sound seemed to echo in the deeper silence of the night. He was there, just as he had been in the monitor image, standing with his back to her, utterly unmoving.

"Rip." The word seemed to break the silence like a gong. How could a whisper feel so loud?

He didn't move. He didn't even flinch at the interruption. As still as he was, he seemed to grow stiller. Frozen, like a statue, in a single attitude that told her nothing of his inner thoughts. Should she leave? Or stay? If he would just turn, just look at her, she would know. She could read volumes in his eyes, in even a look. A single look. But only if he let her.

She walked softly, like a child trespassing past its bedtime, wary of reproach. One hand reached out before her, pausing inches from his back. She let it fall halfway, hesitant and wondering, processing various possibilities and responses. The hand hung in the air, trembling, until, like a branch that has been stretched too far back, she collided with him, her cheek pressing against his back, her arms around him, hands splayed on his chest.

He had been holding his breath. Waiting for her. Now, it left him in a long, shuddering, mournful sigh. He didn't take her hands. He didn't turn away from her. He didn't move. But beneath her arms and cheek and body, Sara felt every muscle in him relax.

Time drifted by, content to be ignored by the pair for now. Sara's feet grew cold on the metal floor. She didn't care. He needed her, needed her here, so here she would be. She had closed her eyes long ago, drinking in his presence. A delicate touch made her open them. Long, gentle fingers interlaced with her tiny ones, raising her wrist to his lips and pressing the softest of kisses there. The sigh left her unbidden. She knew he had heard it. Felt it. They were too close, pressed too tightly together, for him to not do so. His lips met her wrist again, travelling further up her forearm in the tiniest of increments as he turned to her. Their lips met, falling back into the well worn patterns of before, revisiting memories and times that were less hurtful, less complicated, until her knees grew weak and he swept her up, carrying her out into the darkness of the corridor and the privacy of his room.

XXXX

Sara awoke the next morning sprawled across the emptiness of the captain's bed. Her hand reached out, searching for him, only to find a cold pillow and a gap that should have been occupied. She frowned and blinked her eyes open, casting them about the room in search of him. He was seated in a chair at the opposite side of the room, legs outstretched, chin resting on one thoughtful hand, eyes fixed on her.

"Don't you dare, Rip," Sara warned sitting up and drawing the sheets around her. "Don't you dare say last night was a mistake, and don't you dare apologise!"

"I took advantage," he began, his eyes dropping to his feet.

"Like hell you did!" Sara retorted, sliding out of the bed and reaching for her discarded clothes. "Do you seriously think I wouldn't have stopped you? Couldn't have stopped you? If anyone took advantage last night, it was me."

"Hardly!" Rip murmured, his eyebrows flicking upwards at the recollection.

"Good. Then we both agree," sighed Sara, straightening her hair as best she could. "Last night happened because I wanted you and you wanted me. As simple as that. Any advantage taking was either mutual or non-existent. No regrets. No recriminations."

"But maybe a few consequences," Rip added, letting his eyes slide up to meet hers again. "Gideon says Mister Snart is waiting for you in your room. Apparently we both slept longer than usual. Can't think why! He went round there looking for you to train and Gideon had to admit you were not there. She did not tell him where you were, but I think we can all assume any man with the intelligence of Leonard Snart is perfectly capable of coming to his own conclusions in that respect."

Sara's face clouded. Her eyes fell away from Rip's and came to rest on the floor. "Ah."

"I didn't mean to make this so difficult, so... complicated," breathed Rip, letting his gaze rest on the unmade bed, his brow as wrinkled as the sheets. "I thought I could just stand back and let you choose and it would all be so... so simple."

"Since when were our lives ever that," whispered Sara, watching the door as if she expected her other suitor to burst through at any moment.

"I know you're with him now," Rip admitted, eyes dropping to his feet again. "I know this can never be more than last night. Perhaps it would be better if we made a clean break of it. I'll take you both back to Star City, or Central, or wherever, and let you get on with your lives without my interference."

"What if I don't want that?" Sara's voice sharpened, narrowed eyes turning back to him.

"Then tell me what you do want and we'll do that," he answered, his voice flat and lifeless. He closed his eyes with a sigh. "Whatever you want. Whatever you need. Anything. I would do anything for you, Sara. You know that."

"Rip..."

"Go to him," he cut her off, an edge beginning to show in his own voice. "Go. He deserves an explanation."

Sara opened her mouth to reply, but the words stuck in her throat. Eyes burning, she turned away, leaving the oppressive silence of the room behind her as she headed for her own.

He was still there when she arrived. Her other lover. Waiting. And he knew. She could tell by the ice in his eyes.

Leonard watched Sara pad softly into the room, almost as if she was afraid any sound might break the silent, everlasting moment that stretched out before them, before they had to break it and acknowledge the truth of their situation. He had half expected this. From the moment he told her the truth behind her escape he knew it was a possibility. When he heard the gun fire and saw the wicked witch of the west hit the deck instead of the woman she was aiming at, and when he saw the look on Sara's face when she realised who had thrown the knife protruding terminally from Miranda's back, he knew it was a certainty. He felt like King Canute, ordering the tide to turn. He could sit on his throne and shout, he could argue the stars into darkness, but none of it would change a damn thing. He loved her. She loved him. That ought to be enough. It wasn't. It never would be. No matter how much she loved him, or he loved her, she loved Rip more. She always would. He, Leonard, might hold a part of her heart forever, but Rip Hunter held a part of her soul. And she held a part of his. Maybe, perhaps, if he hadn't died, if he hadn't been gone so long: maybe then he might have stood a chance. Maybe. Not now. Not any more.

He cast his eyes over her silent form, watching and waiting, wondering who was going to be the first to make a move. She closed the door behind her and picked her way over to him. He stood up to meet her.

"I know," he said, watching defiance struggle with regret in her eyes. "I understand."

"Do you?" Sara breathed, her voice barely a whisper. "Do you really?"

Leonard nodded. "You love me, I get that. I really do. You don't want to hurt me, either. I appreciate that. But you love him too. You're in love with him. Deeply. Too deeply to ever truly love me the same way. I see it every time you look at him. Every time you think of him. There is a smile that lights up your face like daylight every time it happens. A smile I never see any other time. He makes you happy. Not content. Not just your ordinary, everyday, happy-with-the-state-of-play happy, like you are with me. Really happy. Happiness that bubbles up inside you until it takes you over and everyone can see it. And believe me, Sara: if I thought there was the slightest chance I could make you smile like that - could bring you that kind of happiness - there is no way in hell I would be standing here saying what I'm saying now. If I learnt anything in the lifetime of brain scrambling time hopping I've been through it's that you can't force yourself to love someone, not even if you think you should. You can't force them to love you either. But I love you. Whether or not you love me back is beside the point. I love you. I want to see that happiness on your face, no matter what it costs me." He paused and took both her hands in his. "Even if it costs me you."

"Leonard," she murmured.

He stilled her with a finger to her lips, then leant down and kissed them. Her arms slid up around his neck and his wrapped around her slim waist, pulling her close. He would have made that kiss last forever if he could, but nothing he could do would change the facts. Leonard pulled back from her, breaking the kiss, and waited patiently for her wandering eyes to find his. This he would remember. No matter what the future held. That last kiss and those blue eyes staring into his: he would hold on to that. He would remember them to his dying day. And when it came, if it came, he would close his eyes and see them once again.

"I love you," he told her. "Go. Be happy."

"Don't tell me what to feel, Leonard," scolded Sara. Her voice was shaking, she knew. Her hands too. She could feel the tremors running through her. Tremors caused by what? Anger? Fear? Pain? Love?

"Fine," Leonard purred, detaching her hands from his face and returning them to her. "Then go work it out for yourself. Take your time, Canary. Look on the bright side. Chances are this damn side effect is permanent. If things don't work out with him, you can always look me up when you two are through. I ain't exactly going anywhere fast."

XXXX

The day had passed without incident. A sombre quietude had settled on the crew. They had braved the worst, passed through the fire and come out the other side more or less alive, but the events of the previous few days had taken their toll on all of them. Work, play, research: all was left aside for the time being, and everyone was keeping a low profile. The bridge was empty. It had been empty for hours. Empty of all but one.

Sara sat cross-legged, her back to the doorframe, her chin resting pensively in her hands, the fingers of one hand covering her mouth. Her eyes were resting on the edge of the doorframe opposite, remembering a callous thief slouched there, killing time by driving her up the wall tapping his pinkie ring on the metal of the steps. She blinked the memory away and another took its place, drawing her eyes up to the clear wall her back had been slammed into the very first time she had broken through the captain's calm exterior. Even the memory of that kiss was enough to raise her pulse. Her eyes flitted to the chair he had been sitting in the second time. The kiss that had made them more than a momentary mistake. She looked away, looking over to the holotable. Memories surrounded it like ghosts. The thief leaning in to meet her. The captain pushing her away. Or trying to. The thief trying to threaten her. Trying and failing. The captain holding her gaze even with her knife at his throat. Again. The look of shock on his face the first time she kissed his cheek. The thrill of terror when she saw him lying there, unresponsive, blood leaking from his head.

"Sara," Gideon's gentle voice broke through her reverie, making her look up.

"Yes, Gideon?" Sara sniffed, her eyes fixed on one point of the holotable.

"Captain Hunter is asking why the bridge doors are locked. What would you like me to tell him?"

Sara paused, her eyes closing. She took a deep breath and drew a hand across her eyes. "Let him in."

She heard the doors slide open behind her. Heard the familiar steps hurry into the room and stop. She knew he could see her. She untangled her legs and stood up, her back still pressed against the doorframe.

"Miss Lance," he said, his voice quiet and calm. Emotionless.

She knew if she turned his mask would be back in place, shutting out the world. And her. "Rip."

"Do you want me to go?"

"If I had I wouldn't have told Gideon to let you in," Sara sighed, willing herself to find the courage to smile. To turn. She heard the footsteps tread closer. It was now or never. "Gideon, close the doors and keep them closed until one of us asks otherwise."

"Of course, Sara."

There was a hesitancy about his steps now that her assassin's ears could not help but hear, yet he circled round until he was facing her. He leant against the outside of the office wall opposite and looked up at her. She bit her lip, dreading picking the wrong place to start.

"What is it, Sara?" Rip asked, when it became obvious she was having trouble starting the conversation.

"Leonard and I talked," she blurted, ripping the plaster off as fast as possible. "We kissed. This time, it... it cleared up a lot of things for me."

The sight of the last dregs of light dying in his eyes was almost more than she could bear.

"I see," he stated, climbing the few steps and passing her without a second glance. He poured himself a glass of whisky, paused, then put the bottle down again. Not this time.

Sara watched the captain slump down in his chair. She shook her head, stifling a laugh, or a sob, she wasn't sure which. She dragged her hand across her eyes again and walked over to him. He averted his eyes as soon as she came near. Again she shook her head, and this time it was a small laugh that escaped her lips. She slid down onto the chair with him. Pinning him down as she had a dozen times before. At least! This time she felt every muscle in his body tense. She removed the whisky glass from his hand and placed it safely on the desk.

"Look at me, Rip," Sara entreated. "Please."

"Sara..."

She caught his chin and turned it up to hers. Eventually the green eyes opened.

"You said you'd give me whatever I needed, remember?" Sara reminded him, dropping her hand.

"I remember," he murmured hoarsely, fighting the urge to look away. There was no light in those viridian eyes.

"I need you to kiss me."

"Sara..."

"Rip."

Something flashed through his eyes then. A burning emerald spark in the darkness. Anger? Pain? Both?

"I need you to kiss me, Rip," she repeated softly.

He held her gaze, unflinching as always. A movement under her hand reminded her just how pinned down she had him. She released his arms, one at a time, moving hers to the back of his chair. The first snaked upwards, catching her neck and drawing her down, meeting her lips half way. The other arm wrapped around her back, holding her closer. Steady. Safe. She leant into the kiss, trailing soft, caressing fingers over his shoulders, chest, neck, head, letting them tangle in his hair and shirt. When they broke apart, breathless and dark eyed, he moved her away from him, a hand on each shoulder.

"How many more times do I have to kiss you goodbye, Sara?" Rip demanded, turning away from her again.

"That wasn't a kiss goodbye," she told him, her voice shaking. She cradled his face in her hands and this time the eyes came up to meet hers instantly. There was a light there again. One she had seen first a long time ago, with the final dew drop notes of Clair de Lune fading in the background.

"What?" Rip frowned, watching her so intensely he was sure his heart had forgotten to beat.

"That wasn't a kiss goodbye," Sara repeated, certain that the immensity of time itself had drawn to a halt around them. She traced a thumb over the curve of his bottom lip, letting her eyes linger on every line of his face as she raised them to meet his again.

There was a question still hanging in the luminous green orbs.

She answered it.

"It was a kiss hello."

~Fini~