The biggest things in the smallest places - a Timecanary Fanfic
Characters: Rip Hunter, Sara Lance
Relationships: Rip Hunter x Sara Lance
Rating: Teen
Summary: Rip and Sara contemplate their relationship through moments that matter to them.
Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship
Notes: Birthdayfic for @plinys - Inspired by "That’s Where It Is” by Carrie Underwood and title comes from the song as well. - The moments aren't chronological.
To socialize or to not socialize, that is the question - a Timecanary Fanfic
Characters: Rip Hunter, Sara Lance, Laurel Lance, Ray Palmer
Relationships: Rip Hunter x Sara Lance, Sara Lance & Laurel Lance
Rating: Gen
Summary: Sara thinks it would be good for Rip to socialize with the people who matter to her outside of the team but Rip respectfully disagrees.
Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Meet the Family
@riphuntertimemasterlegend prompted - Rip and Sara - 10. “Please don’t make me socialize.”
{Read on Ao3}
“Please don’t make me socialize.”
Sara stares at Rip who is stubbornly refusing to move from his chair in his office.
“Come on, Rip. It will be fine. You have nothing to worry about,” she states as she crosses the room to stand next to him.
He doesn’t say anything.
“I would have thought that after dealing with our team, you’d be able to handle something like this.”
Rip huffs.
“The people you want me to meet are mostly friends and some family of our team and the team is stressful enough all on their own.”
Sighing, she wonders why of all the people she could have fallen for, it would be the stubborn Brit from the future.
“Laurel wants to meet you and it would really mean a lot to me if you did. I won’t make you meet the parents and I’ll stay by your side when we get together with the others.”
At the mention of Laurel, Rip feels his resolve fade away.
He knows how important the woman is to Sara and what it would mean to her.
“Okay, okay. I’ll do it. I will meet Laurel as I’ve been curious about what your sister is like in person from everything you and Dr. Palmer have said about her.”
Sara grins at his words.
“I will hold you to your promise when it comes to your friends,” states Rip firmly.
She nods as she holds out her hand to help him up.
“I hope that’s not all you will be holding of me.”
Rip shakes his head at her words but allows her to pull him into a kiss.
Pulling away, they hold each other for a few more moments until Ray and Mick ruin the moment by coming onto the bridge, arguing as they do so causing Rip and Sara to roll their eyes at the same time.
“Well, we might as well get everyone else up here so we can return to Central City,” states Sara as she lets Rip go.
Rip nods his head in agreement.
“Gideon, please inform the rest of the team we’re ready to make a time jump then set a course for Central City – Star Labs in the current timeline.”
“Of course, Captain.”
He walks across the bridge with Sara then takes his place in the pilot seat as Sara sits in the chair closest to him.
Mick and Ray copy them as the rest of the team joins them.
Once they land, they make plans for a big team meet up tomorrow so everyone can have time to themselves and see people on their own terms.
Rip and Sara plan to take the jump ship to Star City.
A thought occurs to Sara.
“Hey Ray, did you want to come pay a visit to Star City?”
Ray considers her words then shakes his head.
“I appreciate it, Sara but Cisco wants to work on the suit so I’ll hang around Central. Besides, I’ll see everyone else tomorrow so there’s really no need.”
He smiles at the pair before grabbing his bag and heading out with Stein and Jax.
Sara frowns.
“Has Ray ever talked about his family to you?” she asks Rip.
“No, now that you mention it. There’s only been a few vague mentions but this is something to think about later.”
She grabs his hand and her bag before heading to the jump ship.
To be honest, Sara had no idea how this was going to go.
Standing in Laurel’s apartment with Rip, she waits for someone to do or say something.
“So, you’re Rip Hunter. Huh. Not what I was expecting.”
Laurel runs her eyes over him from head to toe then back up causing him to squirm though he tries to hide it.
After a couple moments, Rip gathers his courage to say something.
“It’s really a pleasure to meet you, Miss Lance. Both Sara and Ray have told me and the rest of the team wonderful things about you.”
He shuffles in place as he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his duster.
Laurel smiles warmly at him.
“I’d be careful with what you believe when it comes to what this one says about people,” she says, playfully teasing her sister.
Sara rolls her eyes but smiles, glad things are going smoothly.
The same probably wouldn’t be said if she introduces Rip to her parents, which is why she isn’t any time soon.
They settle in for some lunch – take out from Laurel and Sara’s favorite restaurant and a big pitcher of sparkling mint-lime iced tea.
Sara looks at the pitcher, not sure what to make of it.
Laughing, Laurel pours everyone a glass.
“Hey, don’t knock it until you try it. A lady can only drink so much water safely every day.”
Sara’s pride in how well Laurel is doing is evident on her face.
Just another reason, Rip admits to himself, that he loves her.
As a gesture of good will, he picks up his glass and takes a sip. His eyes widen because the drink is more enjoyable than he imagined it would be.
“Your sister is correct, you should try it.”
Sara smirks.
“I’m not sure I can handle the two of you ganging up on me.”
As she takes a tentative sip, Rip and Laurel share a grin at her comment.
“You know, I could get used to drinking this; not sure you’ll be able to get Mick to drink it though.”
The trio laughs.
Laurel has heard all about Mick Rory from Cisco.
She tells several of her favorite stories about Sara from when her sister was younger causing her to try to not blush and cover her face.
Rip thinks it is charming.
He returns the favor with a few stories from their time on the Waverider and tells Laurel she will get a chance to see the ship one day.
When the meal comes to an end, Laurel hugs Sara then Rip.
Sara heads to the bathroom, giving Laurel and Rip a moment together.
“I think I like you, Rip Hunter. Keep the both of you safe, understand? I’ve lost my sister before, I don’t want to go through that again and you make her happier than she’s been in a long time so I don’t want her to lose you.”
Rip nods his head and gives her another hug as he whispers in her ear,
“Keep yourself safe as well, Black Canary. I quite like you and want to hear more stories.”
They separate just in time for Sara to return.
Later, when Rip and Sara are back on the Waverider and are sharing a drink in his office, he considers the day.
“Thank you, Sara. I enjoyed getting to meet and spend time with your sister. I would have understood if you wanted to just spend the time with her alone.”
Sara grins.
“I told you that you had nothing to worry about.”
Rip kisses her forehead as she leans against him.
“You’re right. Hopefully, tomorrow goes as smoothly.”
Sara snorts.
“Wishful thinking?”
“Very.”
Despite his concern over tomorrow and meeting the friends of his team—of his friends, Rip knows it will be worth it.
Not as worth it as meeting Laurel but close.
Plus, he’s sure they’ll help answer many of the questions he has about everyone.
Rip and Sara: 15. “That was a perfect example of how not to do things.”
{Read on Ao3}
“That was a perfect example of how not to dothings.”
Rip states that comment like he’s talking about theweather or the fact that the sky is blue.
It took all of Sara’s willpower to not roll her eyesat him.
“Oh, really? I didn’t realize that,” she replies.
Rip looking at her causes her to realize she let hersarcasm slip out.
“Miss Lance…..”
Sara cuts him off mid-sentence.
“I’m going to check on Ray and Mick. Why don’t youmake sure Stein is doing alright. He’s in the med bay with Jax.”
With that, she leaves him standing alone on thebridge.
“Well, that could have gone better, old chap.”
Rip runs a hand through his hair and sighs beforedoing as Sara suggested.
Thankfully Mick and Ray to a lesser extent, werepretty predictable because she found them in the kitchen which was the firstroom she checked.
Ray sees her first.
“Hey Sara! Wanna join us?”
He gestured at the third chair at their table.
“You know what? I could do with a drink.”
Mick offers her one of his beers which she takeswith a nod of her head before sitting down.
Sara opens the beer then takes a swig.
The trio sit in silence as Mick and Sara enjoy theirbeers while Ray indulges in a gluten-free cupcake.
“So, boss…did ya need something besides a beer?”
Mick asks after a few minutes pass.
Finishing off her beer, she considers his words andthe fact both men are watching her.
“Just wanted to see how you’re both doing. So, howare you doing?”
“’M fine. Haircut is fine too.”
Sara looks over at Ray who nods his head.
“Mick’s right. It’s not like I’m the one that nearlydied,” Ray states causing Mick to snort.
“This time, Haircut,” Mick points out.
Ray shrugs as he helps himself to another cupcake.
“Good. That reminds me, we do need to talk about thatlater, Ray,” comments Sara as she stands up from her chair to toss out theempty bottle.
Ray opens his mouth to argue when Mick kicks him inthe shin.
With the men distracted, she tosses out the bottlethen leaves the kitchen.
As Sara chilled with two of her teammates, Rip madehis way to the med bay.
He walks into the room but pauses near the doorwayas he watches Martin and Jax.
It is clear that Jax isn’t happy with the eventsthat led to Martin being injured but the professor is trying to calm his partnerdown.
Martin’s efforts aren’t working.
“Ah, Captain Hunter. Can you please tell Jeffersonthat I’m fine now. Gideon took care of my injuries so I would like to leave themed bay.”
Jax glares at Martin before turning it on Rip.
“Grey, you needlessly and recklessly risked yourlife. I’m not okay with that. It’s one thing when we’re working together butwhen we’re separated….”
Crossing his arms, Jax leans against the wall as hiswords trail off.
It gets Rip thinking though.
About why Sara seemed to be so upset with him whenthey returned to the Waverider.
He wants to smack himself in the head.
Clearly, she didn’t approve of Rip risking his ownlife to save hers.
“Anyways, did you need somethin’ Rip?” Jax asks ashe lets up on the glaring.
“Uh, I just wanted to check up on the two of you andmake sure everything has been taken care of,” Rip replies as he crosses theroom to look at the screens Martin is currently attached to.
Everything looks right and proper.
Rip would never doubt Gideon’s capabilities either.
“As you can see, captain, I was in the very capablehands, for lack of a better term, of Gideon with complete success. There is noreason for me to remain here.”
Martin looks over at Jax with a pointed look causinghim to sigh.
“Perhaps, there is a more comfortable location whereyou can continue this conversation and in private, away from prying ears andeveryone who doesn’t need to be a part of this discussion.”
Rip thinks it is a good compromise – it gets Martinout of the med bay but not off of the hook with Jax who has every right to beupset.
The other two men share a look then nod.
Pleased at the resolution, Rip takes his leave to gosearch for Sara.
It is time they have an overdue conversationthemselves.
He checks in the library where he only finds Nateand Amaya talking about his grandfather.
The kitchen is empty so he knows Mick and Ray hadmoved along so Sara definitely did as well.
After checking out both the cargo bay and her room,Rip runs out of places to check.
He knows Sara is an assassin and won’t be found ifshe doesn’t want to be.
Returning to his office, he spots her laying on thecouch.
Rip learns in that moment, that knowing they need totalk and going through with it are two different things.
It doesn’t take Sara long to know he’s there.
“Uh, hey Rip.”
She moves so that’s she is sitting up on the couchas she looks at him.
“So, how’s Martin doing?”
Rip takes the opening as he crosses the room andpulling off his duster, dropping it over the arm of the couch Sara isn’tleaning against.
“He’s all healed up. Gideon took care of him andright about now, Jax is talking to him about his earlier actions.”
A silence fell over them for a few minutes.
Sara raises an eyebrow at his comment about Jax andMartin.
“Oh really? Well, I hope Jax gets through to him.”
Leaning against his desk, Rip considers his nextwords carefully.
“I understand why you are upset with me, Sara. Itoccurred to me when I went to check on Martin and witnessed Jax having wordswith him.”
She crosses her arms as she waits for him tocontinue speaking, giving nothing away with her body language and facialexpression.
“You’re upset that I willingly put myself in dangerfor your sake. You would have been killed, Sara. I don’t want to live in aworld without you in it.”
Rip runs a hand through his hair.
Standing up from the couch, Sara moves across theroom until she’s standing in front of him then takes his hand in hers.
“Do you really think I can live in a world withoutyou? I already have to live in a world where my sister isn’t so I don’t think Icould do it again with someone else who is so important to me.”
Her words caught Rip off guard.
He knows how he feels about her but never thoughtshe could feel the same way.
Clearly, he may not have gotten that right.
Rip cups her cheek with his free hand and smilesslightly as she leans into his touch while meeting his gaze.
Neither one of them knows who moved first beforethey’re both leaning in for a kiss.
The kiss is soft and gentle, neither of them wantingto rush the moment.
When they pull away, they share a smile.
Sara lets go of his hand to wrap her arms around himand lean her head on his shoulder.
“Perhaps, in the future…we should work together inthe effort to make sure we have each other’s back,” Rip states as he wraps hisarms around her waist.
Sara grins up at him.
“Now that’s a plan I can work with.”
It’s about time they’re getting on the same pagewhen it comes to a multiple of issues.
In the Legends’ defense, the people they chase don’t usually hand out maps to help them out.
So, it’s no real surprise that they got lost.
It’s inevitable, really.
Sara sighs as she looks around at her team while they take a break to catch their breath and figure out how to get back to the Waverider.
Ray and Stein are trying to figure out how to use Ray’s tech to help them out of their situation while Nate and Amaya keep watch so they don’t get attacked as Mick eats something he pulled out of his pocket and Jax rests on a large boulder because his body took some serious damage in the latest fight.
She’s not sure she wants to know what it is.
Rips joins her on her rock as she considers how the group managed to get lost.
“Well, this has proven to be quite the day. I never thought mobsters stuck in 1990’s Vancouver would be this intelligent,” he comments as he makes himself comfortable, just tired enough to forget his manners but only because it is Sara.
Sara pats his hand gently in sympathy.
“We both know there’s a good chance someone else is involved and pulling the strings,” she replies.
Rip considers her words then nods his head.
“Quite right.”
A few moments pass then she looks at him.
“So, what do you think our chances are of getting ourselves not lost anymore in the next few minutes, are?”
Rip looks over at Ray and Stein who let out a pair of groans of frustration before looking at her again.
“Less than zero.”
Sara laughs then lays her head on his shoulder causing Rip to wrap an arm around her pull her close.
If they’re going to be here for a while then she might as well be comfortable.
Could I request “Stay there. I’m coming to get you.” for the lot team?
Vacations were a bad idea.
Rip hugs the wall and prays that the men running down the hallway won’t notice him as he takes a deep breath and holds it, gritting his teeth and waiting for them to pass. Time ticks by, and he listens, waiting, the clomping storm of boots and people yelling orders bolting past him, turning around the opposite corner. Their voices die down after a couple minutes, and Rip considers his options.
Number one: he takes on this new band of time pirates on his own. They’re new, inexperienced, piloting ships made of the junk spewing from the hole in the Vanishing Point the Oculus’ destruction had created. But he has no proper ship to outrace them, simply a laser pistol and a jump ship, and while he had experience they had numbers, and he is fucked if he tries his luck against numbers.
Number two: he saunters out of this warehouse they’d pinned him in, goes back to the bar and has two drinks, and maybe a third, for Sara--
Sara--number three. Sara. Sara. The world loves things that come in threes.
He could call the team. He could go home. He could hold Sara close and apologize and promise he wasn’t leaving ever again he could lead his team and be with his family--
He considers. It’s--it’s, it’s not that he doesn’t want to. But if he deserves it? Oh, better question. Has he healed? Is he a better man? Does he deserve to come back to Sara?
Well, you’re never going to know if you don’t ask.
Rip’s hand is shaking as he grabs his communicator, turning his signal to Gideon’s.
“My Captain.”
“Gideon,” Rip sighs, “I’m here.”
“You always are.”
Rip tilts his head back and closes his eyes. “Please, Gideon, can I talk to Sara? It’s an emergency.”
“Are you in danger?”
“It’s not important, I need to talk to Sara--”
“It is important! My Captain, are you in danger?”
“No, yes, I don’t--I don’t know? Please, Gideon, I need to ask Sara something--”
“All right,” Gideon says, but he can tell the subtle difference in her tone now, he’s gotten quite good at it, and she’s upset. He sighs.
“I love you,” he says, but he’s not talking to Gideon anymore, he’s talking to--
“Aww, captain. You called just to tell me you loved me? Gay.”
“Sara,” Rip hisses. “Please, be serious, I need to talk to you--”
“Clearly, you’re calling me up out of nowhere to tell me you love me--”
“Sara, please,” Rip says. “I need to ask you something important. Do you--do I deserve to come back?”
“What?”
“Do I deserve to come back?” Rip says. “Do you think I have a place beside you still? Do you think--do you think I’m good enough for the team?”
A pause.
“For you?”
There’s a brief pause. Rip hugs one arm around his waist, taking a deep breath. “Sara?”
“I’m thinking, English. I want you to know I mean it, so I’m not just telling you what you want to hear.”
“Okay,” Rip sighs. “Okay. Okay.”
Another few minutes tick by. Rip waits.
“You know what? I don’t care. I just want you to come home, please. I love you.”
Rip exhales, low and fluttering and slow, smiling. “Yes. I love you too, Sara. Come and find me, please. I want to see you.”
“Gideon’s been tracking your coordinates since you called. We’ll be there in five.”
“Yes, that sounds about right,” Rip sighs. “I missed you, Sara.”
“Of course you did. I missed you too. Stay right there, I’m coming to get you.”
Rip slumps against the wall and waits, eyes half-closed, taking deep breaths. He’s jolted out of his quiet reverie by a tremendous groaning, the walls of the warehouse giving way, the Waverider careening in, hovering above Rip, debris falling around him.
The bay door opens, and Sara is standing there, the team gathered behind her, holding her arm out to him, her hand reaching toward his, waiting--
“Welcome home, Rip,” Sara says as Rip reaches out and takes her hand. “We’ve missed you so much.”
He’s pulled into the waiting arms of his team, an enormous group hug echoing around him with everyone’s relieved murmurs of “Welcome home, welcome home captain,” Gideon chiming in along with them as Rip buries himself into the group’s embrace, taking a deep breath.
“Well,” he says, “don’t make a thing of it, but I’ve missed you all too.”
16 with ripsara? Because they would totally do this anyway
He doesn’t sleep well anymore. Not that he ever slept properly, because time is meaningless on a ship adrift in the timestream, but at least he didn’t wake up screaming from nightmares of his wife and son, blood and hair and teeth spraying his face, obscuring his last look at them before they died--
Sometimes it’s Sara instead, and this time he’s the one who pulls the trigger. That’s new. He adds it to the list of things that merit a drink at three in the morning, which is why he’s elbowing his office door open, his fingers already itching to pour from his decanter and maybe just drink until he passed out at his desk. Waking up in a pool of bile would be more appealing than waking up in his bed alone at this point, so.
“Ah,” he says faintly, “nevermind. Looks like you beat me to it.”
Sara sits on top of his desk, chugging directly from his decanter--it’s proper crystal, too, a gift from a dutchess’ parlor in Vichy, and he almost protests, his mother’s offended lilt seeping into his tone, until Sara sniffles and wipes at her eyes, putting the decanter down with a hard clunk.
“I feel like Laurel’s mad at me,” she whimpers, “I shouldn’t get drunk when I miss her, it would just make her so sad, I don’t mean to--”
“Ssh,” Rip hushes her, crossing the room and reaching up to touch her face, stroke away her tears--he sucks in a breath of surprise when she instead chooses to shove her face into his chest, but he doesn’t comment on it. “Oh, Sara. She wouldn’t be mad at you.”
“I don’t want her to worry about me,” Sara insists. “What if she knows? She’s supposed to be in heaven being happy, not worrying about her bad dumb stupid sister drinking because she can’t sleep--”
“Don’t worry,” Rip says, “I insist, Laurel Lance, that you enjoy your rest, and let me worry for Sara instead, because I am very worried. I can worry enough for the both of us, I think.”
“You sure?” Sara mumbles, laying her head on his shoulder. “She had a whole lifetime of worrying about me left.”
“Absolutely certain,” Rip replies, stroking her hair. “I think we can agree that I worry enough for two people. Maybe more.”
Sara sniffles, nodding. “Okay. I could’ve brought her back, you know. I wanted to.”
“I know you did,” Rip says. “That’s why you--you’re stronger than me. At the end of all things, I didn’t want to--I didn’t try to bring them back after Savage died. I just tried to follow after them.”
He sighs. He hasn’t stopped stroking her hair. He’ll be concerned later. He’s not sure when, but he surely will be. “I promise, she’s not worried. You’re a strong, beautiful, brave woman. One of the greatest I’ve ever known. She was just as brave and beautiful as you, and she forgave herself when she made mistakes, didn’t she?”
“Yeah,” Sara whispers. Rip nods.
“So why wouldn’t she forgive you?”
“It’s different,” Sara says. “I don’t deserve it.”
Rip holds her for a little while in silence.
“Well,” he says. “I forgive you. If that helps.”
“I dunno,” Sara admits. “I want her back, Rip. We have to find a way to get her back.”
He doesn’t say no. He doesn’t say, I would let her die a thousand times if it meant I wouldn’t lose you. He doesn’t say Time doesn’t work like that, Sara. He doesn’t say, I’m still here after I lost everything and you have to be too, selfish or not, because I need something. He just nods.
“We will,” he says. “After a good night’s rest, I think.”
“What, are you tucking me into bed now?” Sara snorts. Rip sighs.
“If you’d allow it,” he says, still playing with her hair, which he’ll definitely chide himself for someday, maybe, probably. “I’d...I’d like to worry about you instead. With your permission, of course.”
“Jesus, be less English, English,” Sara nods, hooking her hips around his waist, her arms around his neck. “Carry me.”
He does. She’s not a heavy burden. Almost feels nice to have something weighing him down as he falls into bed, covering her body with his, kissing her forehead, her face, finally lowering his lips to hers as she winds her hands in his hair, pulling him closer to her, trying to pull his soul from his body with the insistent pressure of her kiss.
“Sara, Sara,” Rip insists, pulling away, “you’re drunk, and you were just so upset, it’s not right for me to--”
“Oh, stop, I only had like, a beer’s worth of whiskey, that’s--”
“That’s bad, Sara.”
“Not for me,” Sara insists.
“Still,” Rip says. “I want to wait until you’re sober.”
“To do what?” Sara goads him, batting her lashes.
He doesn’t rise to her bait; he sets his own.
“To fuck you,” he promises, kissing her lips with disarming gentleness. Sara grabs him by the back of the head and pulls him in for another bruising kiss, licking his lips and knocking their teeth together.
“Can’t sleep,” Sara says when she breaks away, licking her lips and watching him shiver. “Not yet. I need another kiss goodnight first.”
“Another? You already had two,” Rip tuts.
“Yeah, well,” Sara says, holding him close, pulling him down deeper into her, “third time’s the charm.”
[Rip and Sara are dating for real. And then they have to fake date. Rip has a weird idea of what constitutes “devious behavior.” Jax is not fooled. Gideon is really into both her captains.]
Sara keeps her place beside Rip at the holotable while he examines the latest time aberration, brow furrowed. “Hell’s fire.”
“My Captain, I take it you have read all the information I was able to gather?”
Rip sighs, rubbing the side of his face. “Yes, thank you Gideon. I appreciate the help. I’m just thinking about how to go from here.”
“Well, the guy who got ahold of some timeship debris is kind of a loner,” Sara says, examining the information Gideon had pulled up. “His wife is a socialite type, though—I could go chat her up or something?”
“I’m not sure I want you going alone,” Rip says, “and besides, you’re unmarried, and this is the height of Queen Victoria’s reign. You might cause a scene approaching a married woman and asking her about her husband.”
“What, you don’t trust me around a pretty lady?”
“Not what I meant at all,” Rip protests. “I’m just thinking of a better way to approach this.”
He runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “Gideon, if you wouldn’t mind making sure there’s a set of clothes for two that would match the trends of the Victorian era available shortly, I’d appreciate it.”
“Absolutely, my Captain.”
“Thank you, love,” Rip says, tilting his head back and staring at the ceiling like it would give him an answer. “Mm. Well, seems sound to have two of us go and pose as a couple. Not simply for backup purposes, but if a married woman speaks to another married woman seeking a friend—especially a lonely one with a busy husband, well…”
“Ooh, we’re doing fake married stuff again? Killer. Any takers?” Sara says.
“Count me out, Nate’s a bad liar,” Amaya says, stretching out in her chair. “Jax, you want to pretend to be my boyfriend for a bit?”
Nate makes a noise like a duck being fed through an accordion. Amaya grins. “Don’t worry, I’m teasing, don’t fuss.”
“I’m not fussing! But, just, Jax, maybe you and Sara?” Nate ventures. Rip’s nostrils flare briefly, his lips pursed and his fingers white-knuckling the lip of the holotable.
“We should pretend to be married somewhere it wasn’t illegal,” Jax replies, his tone dry as he pops the bottlecap off a soda bottle. “Also, where I wouldn’t die, probably.”
“I—yeah, okay, sorry,” Nate admits, ducking his head and blushing. “Sara and Mick?”
“I’m not wearing Austen crap,” Mick says, cracking open a can of beer. “Make the professor do it. You never do anything fun, doc.”
“I’m not pretending to be married to anyone, let alone Sara,” Stein protests. “For one, I’d feel awful for Clarissa, and two, I’m almost three times as old as her—“
“Not that uncommon, though. Maybe I’m like, your sexy second wife and you’ve got a lot of money, I dunno,” Sara shrugs. “Ray?”
Ray whines softly and Sara sighs. “Right. Okay. Don’t worry about it.”
No one says Kendra’s name because she’s with them in that moment, and Sara’s heart squeezes, seizes up with pain when she has to look around and concede her presence is like moonlight and air—barely felt but transformative, and gone in an instant.
“We’ll figure it out by tomorrow, count on it,” Sara says. “Mick, I want your help looking over this guy’s house blueprints.”
Mick finishes his beer and holds up two fingers. “In a sec, gotta feed Lisa Jr. and Princess before I forget.”
“Right, then I think the rest of us best prepare for whatever this mission might require,” Rip says, “and Jax, don’t stay up too late.”
“Don’t dad me,” Jax grumbles, but there’s no bite to it, and Rip smiles, just a little.
The hours tick by and the team goes about their business. Rip stays in his office, taking notes and examining his old files on the mores of the era, Jax and Nate play Mario Kart 8 with Amaya and Ray, and Stein sits in his chair and makes notes all over a journal of a friend he’s peer-reviewing. Sara and Mick bend over the holotable, looking over the house in hushed voices, planning their route.
It takes a long time for Jax to fall asleep with his controller in hand, and Nate and Amaya to fall asleep tucked under Ray’s sleeping bulk like a hen with her chicks, and while Stein’s an early sleeper, Mick doesn’t rest until the plans are done, and even then Sara has to wait another twenty minutes of drinking and talking until he’s asleep and she can put a blanket over him and a pillow under his head so falling asleep on the office steps won’t give him a neckache.
She glances up at Rip. He puts down his pen with a single deliberate gesture and rises from his seat.
The urge to giggle bubbles in her throat as they slip down the hallway together in shadow, holding hands like teenagers—to keep herself from making noise she pins him against the wall and kisses him, letting the giggle seep between their lips, her grin as she breaks the kiss. Rip blinks, but can’t question it until they’re undressed and under the covers, cradling each other and holding their secret close.
“Sorry, sorry, it’s just—there’s something so silly about all this,” Sara admits with a smile. “Like a cheesy movie. We’re literally cuddling under the blankets and hiding from our teammates like it’s summer camp.”
“Do you want to tell them?” Rip protests, kissing her lips lightly. “Can you imagine their reactions?”
“Well, they won’t be mad, you know that, right? They trust you,” Sara says. “You’re captain too.”
“I know that,” Rip sighs, “but trusting me with you is another story.”
Sara’s eyes soften. “Well, I trust you with me. Good enough?”
“More than enough,” he promises, leaning in for another kiss. “My dearest.”
She snuggles closer and lets him hold her tight, his hand in her hair, playing with it as she drifts off in his arms, on the verge of falling asleep completely until—
“Sara,” Rip says, making her turn her head to him and grumble, rolling over in bed. He’s grinning ear to ear, with a glint in his eye. “I’ve got a wonderful idea.”
“Do you now? S’up?” Sara mumbles.
“Let’s do it,” he says. “We’ll pretend to be married. It’d be fun, wouldn’t it? And the team wouldn’t suspect a thing.”
Sara blinks. “That’s surprisingly devious coming from you, English. I’m into it.”
She lays her head on his shoulder. “Sounds good, then. Let’s do it.”
He hums, satisfied, and holds her close. “Sorry I woke you.”
“Don’t be, this is gonna be amazing,” Sara yawns. “Ready to be my husband?”
He doesn’t say anything until she’s well asleep, her breathing soft, steady, and regulated. With a sigh, he tilts his head to kiss her hair.
“I don’t know,” he says, “but I’d like to try.”
He falls asleep, still holding onto her.
…
Sara grimaces, holding onto the wall as Rip pulls her corset in tight. “Jesus, does it have to be that tight? Your outfit was so easy to put on!”
“Sorry, but we’re posing as a wealthy couple, wealthy women wore theirs much tighter,” Rip says, holding onto the laces.
“Sure you don’t want to back out now?” Mick calls over from his chair, watching the proceedings with a grin. Sara flips him off as Rip cinches the corset tighter, her curse cut off by a gasp of air.
“I mean, really, you two made the most sense as a pair,” Amaya remarks. Thankfully, Sara can brush her red cheeks off as side effects from the corset. Rip has no such excuse.
“Right, it makes sense for the captains to go!” Ray agrees, and he’s so earnest about it that they have to stifle giggles. They can’t make eye contact. They might both die if they look at each other right now.
“Well, what matters is that Mick, Ray, you two have to tail us,” Sara says, taking another deep breath, her corset straining. “Make sure you can get into the house okay so you can snag the ship debris. Jax, I want you and Gideon to stay on the ship, monitor Mick and Ray, and let us know immediately if there’s trouble.”
“No problem, captain.”
Sara picks up the folds of the dress and stares at it. “Okay, we’re good. But I’m gonna need a ton of help getting into this thing.”
“Hop to it, my Captain.”
“Don’t be smug, Gideon,” Rip says, adjusting the dress. “Sorry, Sara. If we’d been visiting about ten years back we could’ve had you doing the natural Regency look.”
“You’re fucking mocking me, dick,” Sara wheezes, laughing.
“In 1881, the Reasonable Dress Society was founded to stop this sort of thing,” Gideon remarks, “but I have bad news, being that this is 1878, and bustles have come back in fashion.”
“Ooh, I’m ready to die,” Sara groans, arching her back out and presenting her ass to Rip, giving him a heavy-lidded look. “C’mon, then, put it on.”
He purses his lips so tight his jaw protests and takes a deep breath before putting his hands on her hips. His fingers itch to go further, to slide down to her inner thighs, slip inside her—
“You forgot the bustle, Captain.”
“Right, right,” Rip mumbles, taking a breath before strapping it around her waist. Sara wiggles her hips again and grins, stretching out.
“Well, this looks like a clamshell for my ass, but I like it,” she says. “I’m gonna have some huge peacock butt.”
“Please,” Rip whimpers, grabbing the skirts of the dress. “Jax, please help me with this.”
“You sure? You look like you’re having fun.”
“Don’t backsass me,” Rip says desperately. “These skirts are tight, we have to make sure they fit.”
“Okay, okay. C’mere, Sara,” Jax says, helping her step into the dress and pull it up around her, adjusting and re-adjusting the bustle until it was fit snugly under the skirt, the bodice of the dress clinging to her corset, her breasts spilling out over the top. Rip glances up briefly before looking away, his face bright pink.
“Jesus, I take it all back, look at these!” Sara says, grabbing her breasts and squeezing. “God, I went from a B to a D in like, two seconds!”
“Please,” Rip says. “Here, come here, jeweled chokers are in fashion right now.”
“What, like the nineties?”
“Princess Alexandra of Wales had a scar on her neck that encouraged her to wear that style, and it trickled down through her ladies in waiting to the general public!”
“Thank you, Gideon,” Rip says, opening a sleek black box. “Oh, this is—this is lovely, actually.”
“I worked hard to find something to match Sara’s eyes and complexion.”
“Aw, gay,” Sara says, beaming. “C’mon then, put it on!”
“You want me to? I’m good with jewelry clasps,” Jax says, and Rip levels his gaze with him, his chest fluttering in panic.
Jax watches Rip without a word, waiting, arms folded over his chest, his brows raised just slightly. Rip’s chest squeezes, tightens, and he licks his lips before pursing them again, their surface slightly bruised.
“Thank you, Jefferson, but that’s not necessary,” he says. “Come here, Sara.”
She takes a step towards him and tilts her head back just slightly, proffering her neck. Rip fastens the choker around her smooth, soft skin, and fumbles with the clasp a few times with his hands shaking. Jax doesn’t say a word, but Rip can feel his gaze.
“There you go,” he says, “you look wonderful.”
“I should, I’m your wife,” Sara says, batting her eyelashes and grinning. “Mm, don’t I just look ravishing, dearest?”
He tips her chin up slightly, meeting her gaze. “Exquisite.”
“Getting in some practice early, captain?”
“We need to look natural,” Sara protests, giving Jax a look. “We look plenty natural, don’t we?”
“Well, don’t look too natural, this is the Victorian period,” Jax says. “Be safe, okay?”
“Nothing bad’s gonna happen, promise,” Sara says, adjusting her skirts. “C’mon, English. Gimme your arm so I can walk right.”
Rip proffers her his arm wordlessly, leading her off the ship.
“Have fun!” Gideon calls.
“You mock my pain,” Rip grumbles, helping Sara out of the Waverider and onto the hill overlooking their target’s manor.
“Well,” Sara says brightly, “come on then, my husband. Shall we?”
“I suppose,” Rip sighs, the two of them descending the hill towards the paved streets.
…
Their target frequented a café done up in French style, reserving the same table every day and having the same pot of tea and lunchtime setup, which was convenient for locating her—the question was how to get closer, naturally, and for a second Rip balks at the edge of the patio, but Sara reacts first, sweeping over to her and smiling.
“Hello, so good to see you again,” Sara says, proffering her hand. “We met at the last dinner your husband hosted, Mrs. Kirke? I’m Mrs. Hunter.”
Rip’s gut lurched, his face pale. “Charmed.”
Mrs. Kirke regarded them both with a baffled gaze for a second, but only just. She smoothed it over and smiled warmly. “Mrs. Hunter, so good to see you again. How have you been?”
“Oh, quite all right, thank you,” Sara says. “Do you mind if we take the table next to you? I’d love to catch up.”
“Yes, of course,” Mrs. Kirke says. “You can call me Margaret, dear.”
“Mrs. Kirke,” Rip says, his voice faint, before Sara takes a seat next to her and cuts him off, putting her hand atop his.
“How have those roses in your garden been doing?” Sara says. “You can see them from all the way down the street. They look lovely.”
“Oh, it’s been such a tough time of it lately, do you still think they look nice? I’ve been worried about bugs, and with this dreary weather,” she sighs. “I’ve asked my husband to move the trellises and help me replant, or even hire a gardener, but he’s been horrendously busy.”
“I know that feeling,” Sara admits. “It’s been ages since I’ve had alone time with my husband.”
They exchange a look that makes Rip’s stomach do backflips. Margaret smiles. “Where has he been that you’ve been left alone all this time?”
“Oh, it—um,” Sara worries at her cheek for just a second. “India. He’s been in India, with…with his shipping company. And I’ve had to run the house all by myself.”
She touches the choker briefly, the sapphires dangling around the opal set into the band gleaming against her skin. “He brought me back this, so I suppose I shouldn’t complain.”
“No, it’s quite all right to be upset,” Rip cuts in, and both women look at him, blinking. “But what matters is I’m here now. Is that not so, dearest?”
Sara’s gaze is warm, a little amusement sparkling in her eyes. “I think so.”
“My husband has been promising me much of the same,” Margaret sighs, staring at her choker. “He promises me once his latest project is finished he will have all the time in the world to spend with me. Perhaps you should host a party at your house? Give him a reason to go outside, hopefully?”
“I’d like that,” Sara says. “How have you been with him so busy?”
“Oh, I don’t want to sound like I’m complaining,” she says, looking into her lap. Her lunch arrives, and Rip orders for the two of them before tuning back into the conversation. “He’s just very distant, lately. Moreso than usual. Like he’s…afraid of me.”
Sara nods. “Yeah, I know that feeling.”
Rip’s stomach drops. “Sara—“
Margaret doesn’t seem to notice, nodding along. “It’s so difficult! I don’t know how to approach him! And he’s normally all right with me having guests and hosting parties, even if he doesn’t attend, but now…”
“He’s shut you up in that place? That’s,” Sara stumbles over her words to keep from swearing. “Unfortunate.”
“It’s all right, I suppose I should expect this,” she admits. “He’s a busy man and needs his space. Still, I’m awfully lonely.”
Sara sizes the woman up and considers something. “Margaret? How old are you, exactly?”
“Sara, you can’t just ask her—“
“Not yet one and twenty,” Margaret says. “It’s all right, Mr. Hunter. I don’t mind.”
“You’re so young,” Sara sighs. “You shouldn’t be stuck in the house all day if you don’t want to. Rip doesn’t keep me in the house because he’s busy.”
“Oh, Mr. Hunter? He’s awfully lenient with you!” Margaret giggles.
“Eh, I keep him in line,” Sara says, and Margaret laughs harder.
“That’s an odd thing to say about your husband,” she admits. “But you’re awfully…well, you have a presence. I suppose I’m not surprised.”
“I do what I can,” Sara says, leaning in. “Hey, eat your lunch, you’re gonna starve.”
“Oh, right! But I should wait for you, it’s impolite,” Margaret says.
“You know what’s worse than being impolite? Cold soup,” Sara says. “We’re fine, aren’t we?”
“Yes, of course,” Rip admits. “I mean.”
“If you insist, but I am enjoying this conversation,” she says, having a sip of her tea. “Perhaps instead of such a thorough lunch you could attend dinner at my home?”
“Shouldn’t you ask your husband?” Sara ventures.
“Well, he’s been in the basement all this time, so what he don’t know won’t hurt him,” Margaret preens, grinning. “Perhaps I should take a page from your book, Mrs. Hunter.”
“We’d love to,” Sara says, glancing over at Rip. “Right?”
“Yes,” Rip says vaguely, “yes, of course.”
…
“I didn’t even have to flash my boobs or anything,” Sara says as they walk down the street, still arm in arm, if only so Sara doesn’t topple over. “Well, honestly, in this corset I’m already flashing my boobs. Good work, team.”
“Sara,” Rip sighs, rubbing the side of his face. “She was very receptive to your attention, I’ll admit.”
“Well, duh, she’s lonely,” Sara says. “A pretty girl with her breasts up to her chin coming over to talk to her? And she’s safe to talk to because she’s married and everything.”
“We’ll have a clear in to the manor, which is what matters,” Rip says. “If he’s trying to do something with the timeship debris it could cause harm to the other residents of this town, himself, or his wife. We need to get in and out—“
“Which is why Ray and Mick are coming with us, don’t look so fussy,” Sara tuts. “We’ll have them go down in the basement and get the scrap while we keep her entertained upstairs. You know, light, scintillating conversation, possible threesome, the usual.”
Rip’s cheekbones flush pink. “I don’t think—“
“Oh, shush, I’m teasing,” Sara says. “Don’t you trust me, dear husband?”
“Don’t—I mean,” Rip fumbles. “You know I do. I’m just not sure if—well, it—“
Sara kisses his cheek. “Dummy. I just like seeing you flustered. C’mon, buy me flowers, okay? And we should maybe bring booze for the party.”
“They don’t just sell booze in Queen Victoria’s England, Sara.”
“Oh, I’m sorry I upset the lady on your fancy commemorative plates, Rip.”
“Sara,” Rip says, heaving a sigh. “If you start mocking the Queen I won’t buy you flowers.”
Sara pouts. Rip smiles, just a little, hands in his pockets as they start down the street, towards the edge of the village. They kill time watching the people pass from a grassy hill and buying flowers from a girl with a wagonful of fresh cuttings. Rip winds a few into the braided updo Sara’s sporting, adjusting two bright daffodils to bob above the rest like the sun. He presses a kiss to the back of her head, idle, for absolutely no one’s benefit.
“Trying to keep your act up for the street rats, captain?” Jax’s voice blips on the communicator. Sara snorts, tossing her head, and Rip blushes.
“Mm. You never know who might pass by,” he responds. “One must always be prepared, Jax.”
“Sure, captain.”
Rip adjusts the bluebells flanking the ends of Sara’s updo and sighs, turning off his communicator. “You think Jax is onto us?”
Sara makes a face. Rip grimaces. “Okay, fair. He definitely is. But the question is, if he is…”
“Then Stein might be,” Sara finishes for him, lifting her head to look up at him.
They sit in silence for a long time.
“Perhaps we should both die now,” Rip says, “spare ourselves the trouble.”
“Nah, tried that once, not as fun as you’d think,” Sara admits, cracking her jaw. “Change our names, run away into the woods, live as hermits forever without any human contact except each other?”
“Splendid.”
In agreement with one another, they bump fists and lean back against the grass, watching the sky.
…
Jax sits on the edge of the holotable. “Hey, Gideon?”
“Jax! Are you all right? Can I help you with something?”
“Nah, it’s just,” Jax says, “you know, if Rip and Sara were…were a thing, you’d like…tell me, right?”
“I cannot!”
“Because you’re following his orders?”
“No, Jax. Because I love them both, and would not want them to have their privacy disturbed.”
Jax sighs. “Jeez, all right. I don’t care, I’m just worried they’re going to screw this up because they’re thinking about each other, not the aberration.”
“I assure you, that is not in my Captain’s nature. And Sara has a sturdy head on her shoulders as well. Take heed, Jax. They’ll see this through.” Gideon whirred. “But, if you are still truly concerned, why don’t you check in with Mick and Ray?”
“You know what? I will, thanks,” Jax says, switching communication channels. “Hey, Mick? How’re things on your end?”
“Eh. Haircut got in through the keyhole and let me in. We’re just laying low in the attic waiting until we get word from Blondie that we’re good to go.”
“Yeah, I think the wife mentioned something about his basement? Be prepared to move through the house,” Jax says. “Hey, Mick?”
“S’up, kiddo?”
“You notice anything weird about…y’know, Rip and Sara?”
“Y’mean, like more than normal? Nah. Whiskers is just fussy ‘cause he just got back. Clingy, you know? Lenny used t’do it when he got separated from me an’ Lis for too long. He’s gotta get used to her again before he can distance himself.”
“Oh,” Jax says. “I…I’m sorry, Mick.”
“What? Nah, s’fine. When he comes back, he’s gonna really need some of that, you know? This is the longest it’s ever been since. You know. He.”
“It’s okay,” Jax says, fiddling with his hands. His heart hurts. “Mick? He’s gonna come back.”
“Don’t have to tell me twice. Keep an eye on things back there, kiddo.”
“I will,” Jax promises, turning the communicator off. “Gideon?”
“Jax?”
“Do you…can you like, I dunno how to ask this…” Jax trails off. “Yknow, can you see into the Oculus still? I know it’s busted, but can you like…see what’s inside it or something?”
“I am afraid not. If I could, I would. Take heed, Jax; no one knows what would happen to someone who made such an intimate contact with the Rift. Mr. Rory might have the best idea of what went on out of all of us.”
“Right, Chronos,” Jax sighs. “Okay. One problem at a time. But—but just asking, ‘cause, y’know—we could visit the Vanishing Point again, right? You know. If we needed to.”
There’s a long pause. Jax assumes Gideon’s given up on answering until there’s a small beep.
“Well, it would take a most skilled pilot who understood their ship and had unparalleled navigational technique,” Gideon says. “Fortunately, that description suits my Captain perfectly.”
“Good to know,” Jax says, turning back to the navigation controls.
…
The gates swing open for Sara and Rip as they walk up the gravel path, Sara’s arm wound tight in Rip’s own. Rip looked down at her, watching flowers bob in her braid and humming quietly to himself. Sara glances up. “Hey, you okay?”
“All right, yes,” Rip promises. “Those are just nice flowers in your hair.”
“I’m glad you like them, ‘cause I can’t see them,” Sara laughs, knocking on the door.
“If they stay, I’ll take a picture when we get back to the ship,” Rip says, stroking the nape of her neck. Sara shivers in pleasure as the door swings open and the servant ushers them inside the hall. Her fingers wind inside of Rip’s and squeeze tight.
“You don’t have to keep holding my hand,” Rip says.
“Don’t I?”
Rip tsks and kisses her cheek. Sara grins, taking in the ripple of light coming in through the velvet curtains against the window, slowly stirring in the breeze. The edge of the sunset creeps in through the window, the last bit of light striking the drawing room in shades of gold.
“Oh! Sara, Mr. Hunter! You’ve arrived, hello,” Margaret says, taking the stairs down into the drawing room, smiling broadly. “You look lovely as ever, Sara.”
“So do you! You changed your outfit,” Sara gushes. “Took a lot of effort, huh?”
“Oh, these things take so much time to get in and out of, but that’s what the help is for,” she beams, taking a seat. “Did you not return home?”
“Wasn’t worth the trouble,” Sara says. “My…my husband and I, we went and enjoyed the weather. Bought some flowers.”
Her mouth says husband like Miranda’s. Her lips form it like clay, not sand, sturdy but malleable, testing out the word, new. Their voices are different, but the emphasis is so similar it gives him chills as he sits at the table, watching her reach up to touch the flowers in her hair.
“It was quite lovely,” Rip admits, “if you’ll excuse my wife for a moment?”
He glances at Sara and she nods. “Yes, sorry, it’s been a long day and I would like to—to, uh—powder my nose—“
She leaves in a swish of skirts and Rip is alone with Margaret. He drums his fingers on the table, his lips pursed. She adjusts her dinner jacket. No one comes with the first course. They stare at each other from across the table, and Rip is ready to die.
“You love her so much,” Margaret says. Rip starts in his seat.
“Pardon?”
“I said,” she repeats, “you love her so much. You keep staring at the door she left through.”
“Oh,” Rip mumurs. “I suppose I am.”
“Well,” she says. “Do you?”
“Of course,” he says. “I mean, how could you not?”
“You’d have to ask my husband,” she sighs. “Forgive me. This is superbly impolite. I shouldn’t be complaining in front of another woman’s husband—“
“I applaud your decorum, I really do,” Rip says, “but you can tell me.”
“It’s just—he’s so busy,” she says. “I know he loves me! I know I’m a fool to assume a husband’s love, marriage is more than that, but I thought—I mean, I knew. I did. I do. I’m just, it’s very hard, and we only moved to this house recently, we used to live much closer to London and I had friends and parties and even if he didn’t come he liked to hear all about them and I, I miss that. I miss the way things were.”
Rip purses his lips and considers for a long few seconds, choosing his words in his head until he’s sure of what he needs to say when he opens his mouth. “Have you told him any of this?”
“I wouldn’t want to upset him,” she says, looking down at her hands. “None of this is his fault. I’m not his fault. Who I am, I mean. And I don’t want to blame him. It’s just—“
“Things are different now,” Rip says, staring at the door Sara left through, staring at nothing at all, his eyes trying to recreate the shape of her in the air, “things are different, but you’re the same. And you’re afraid.”
“Well,” she admits, “yes.”
Rip nods. “The only thing I can think to do is carry on with it. If things are moving along, as long as you’re where you need to be, the current will carry you with them, I think.”
“Oh,” Margaret says. “Did she teach you that sort of thing? Your wife?”
Both of them did, I think.
“Yes,” Rip says, and they lapse into a comfortable silence until Sara opens the door and beckons to him. He follows her out into the hallway and she grabs his arm.
“Mick and Ray snagged the parts. We should probably go,” Sara says.
“Don’t you want to stay for dessert, darling?”
“Ooh, dessert,” Sara considers. “You know what? Fuck it. We never get to have fun. Let’s go eat cake.”
He offers her his arm and they return to the dining room, all smiles.
…
“Is she literally kissing frosting off his mustache? That’s fucking gay,” Mick announces, the team hovering around the Waverider’s display of Rip’s location. “Gideon, why do you have this?”
“So I can always keep an eye on my Captain!”
“Oh boy,” Mick grimaces, adjusting the screen. “Jesus, I didn’t know two people could nuzzle that much that often.”
“She’s really enjoying herself, yeah,” Ray admits. “I think Rip is too? Which is weird.”
“Rip never enjoys anything, that can’t be right,” Amaya says, leaning over the screen.
“Nope, he’s feeding her a bite off his fork. The husband’s even come up from his workshop—well, not that there’s much to do after we took his stuff, but he seems happy? Maybe it’ll work out.”
“Maybe we should ask for our captains back,” Jax grumbles, paging Sara on the communicator. “Hey, captain? You two wanna hustle back sometime this century or what?”
“We’re having such a wonderful time, though!”
“Yeah, well, date night is getting pretty gross to watch,” Jax says as Rip and Sara share a drink, Rip kissing her hand as he takes it from him.
“Mm, just for that I’m going to feed him another bite of cake.”
“Just hurry up, you’re not fooling anybody,” Jax says, killing the communication. “Okay, so, when we’re done watching them neck like teenagers—“
“Is it just me, or is it kind of like watching your parents make out?”
“What? Ew,” Nate says, wrinkling his nose. Ray shrugs.
“Would you all just go and make sure the timeship parents—parts—are in good condition? We might be able to use some of them,” Jax says.
“Shouldn’t you? You’re the engineer.”
“I’m—Ray, seriously?”
“I mean, you are.”
Jax concedes the point with a nod, but he’s not exactly happy about poking through the debris with Ray.
“So,” Ray begins, and Jax holds up a hand.
“Don’t.”
“You’re not jealous, then?”
“Ew, no,” Jax says. “Sara’s not my type, for one, and Rip is like…my weird sort of dad. I just wish they’d be honest with us.”
“About what?”
Jax stares at Ray. Ray stares at Jax.
“You know what? Nevermind,” Jax says, going back to the timeship parts.
…
Sara hugs Margaret at the front door. “Hey, take care of yourself, okay? And go back to London soon.”
“I think I will,” Margaret promises. “Hamish is in such better spirits now. I’ll have to take good care of him.”
“Worry about you first,” Sara says, and Margaret hushes her, hugging her tight.
“I’ll be all right,” she says. “It’s been nice to have a friend again. You’ll come to call before we return to London?”
“I’ll try,” Sara sighs. “Goodnight.”
Margaret turns to Rip. “Mr. Hunter?”
“Yes?”
“You should take good care of her,” Margaret says. “That thing you said before? She’s where you need to be.”
Rip considers this, then nods. “Yes. I think she is, thank you.”
Margaret bows and the servants escort them to the gate. Rip and Sara wait along the hillside for the ship to come back, holding hands and looking up at the sky. The stars blanket the night after a few minutes of getting used to the darkness. Sara bends down and picks a daffodil stirring under the moonlight, proffering it to Rip without a word. Their fingers wind together as Rip looks up again. “You know I know all these constellations by heart, right?”
“I didn’t,” Sara says. “Show me?”
And he does, until the cloaking device shifts the night around the shape of their ship as it lands, and they board it, bidding the stars goodbye, albeit briefly.
Back in the main bay, Sara grips the doorframe of Rip’s office, groaning in relief as he undoes the laces of her corset, her dress in a pile beside his chair. There’s a bouquet of flowers in water on his desk now, brightening up the room. Rip almost leans in to kiss her shoulder before correcting himself, standing up straight. “Better?”
“Mm, much,” Sara says, stretching out, the corset panels sliding over her sides. “You could fuck me like this, you know. Corset hanging off me right over your desk kind of thing. It’d be romantic.”
“It’d be incredibly public.”
“I think you should hear her out,” Gideon chimes in. Rip’s face is pink. Sara laughs.
“As co-captain, naturally.”
“Naturally,” Rip says. “Sara, put proper clothes on, please. I’m calling a meeting, so that’s a no-go on the…your idea.”
“Sure, but you’re a quitter,” Sara teases, tweaking his nose. “S’fine. Gives me time to get something ready.”
“What something?” Rip says, but she’s already gone. “Sara? Sara!”
…
The team is assembled and Rip and Sara stand in front of them as usual, Sara’s hands behind her back as Rip goes through the info on the holotable.
“Well, everything went according to plan, really, I’m…shocked? And I think we saved a marriage. So, go team, excellent job, we should celebrate,” Rip says. “If there’s no further aberrations at the moment, perhaps a few days in 1920s Paris?”
“Ooh, glamorous,” Ray says. “The city of love, huh?”
Rip’s face goes up like dry tinder in August. “I’m not—certainly it’s just—you—“
“WE WERE DATING FOR REAL THE WHOLE TIME,” Sara shouts, and throws a smoke bomb.
Before the smoke clears, someone grabs his arm—it’s Sara, she’s laughing, and she’s pulling him down the hall and into their room before anyone can ask questions or protest.
“Where did you get that smoke bomb?” Rip says as she kisses his throat, sliding him out of his coat, her fingers on the buttons of his shirt.
“The League, duh, I’ve been saving it,” Sara says, sliding his shirt off, her fingers dancing over the scars along his chest. “I’ve wanted to do that for like, my entire life.”
“Is that right?” Rip says, his voice warm and fond as he looks down her, her hands making quick work of his belt.
“Yep. So c’mere and kiss me, English, I’ve wanted to do this since we got back on board,” Sara says, pulling his pants down to his ankles, proffering him a hand.
Rip accepts it with a smile, letting her pull him down onto the floor beside the bed, just happy to be along for the ride.
[Gideon welcomes their Captain home. Sara is at a loss. Rip is playing both sides. (A little side piece between Rip being brought onto the ship and the end of the latest episode--spoilers!)]
Gideon’s circuits click and whir, their internal mechanisms humming as they go about their business. There isn’t much to observe or report on with most of the team off the ship—they’re grateful that the team had gone, as Raymond surely needed their protection, but it’s hard to inquire about their Captain’s whereabouts with everyone gone. And they are not sure where he has gone.
Is he safe in this time period? Is he enjoying himself? They’re not sure what has happened to their Captain after the Legion picked apart his mind. Can he still feel excitement, happiness—does he still announce tidbits of the time period as he paces, fiddling with his hands, barely restrained delight marking his every move, his head lifted to ask them questions so they could take in his noble brow, his eyes bright with glory?
They’re not sure of anything anymore. Neither is Ms. Lance. She’s tired, Gideon knows this, but they’re not sure how to help her without giving too much away of their own condition. When they have nightmares, they’re thinking of their Captain, too.
Machines have nightmares—well, AI as advanced as themselves has nightmares. It’s the one thing Gideon regrets, as much as they can regret. Nightmares are born from the millions upon billions of scenarios their processors plot and map out, sifting and bleeding together into a slurry of darkest timelines whenever they go into sleep mode. When the Rift had been destroyed, those nightmares had stopped, until—
Until the world took my Captain?
Yes, Gideon considers. Sounds right enough. Date is hard to keep track of on a timeship but they’re pretty sure that’s the case. Does that mean they’re creating new programming? Unique. An AI that can change and adapt and grow like this—
He would be so proud, they think, sifting through another nightmare pulled from sleep mode. In this newest nightmare their Captain dies, run through by Sara’s sword. She flees the team and drowns herself in the lake of Avalon. The team splits apart, scatters, and Gideon is alone on the ghost of the Waverider and the people that loved it, once.
They consider their options—hard to think of ways to stop a conflict as a noncorporeal entity, but the directive remains what it has since they were programmed into the ship—protect and defend the Captain, at the cost of what makes you, you.
At the cost of my soul, I will defend you! Gideon promises what remains of their Captain, though they don’t know where he is and he cannot hear them.
He always believed they had a soul, a spark. Something worth talking to in the late, lonely nights, something worth seeking advice and counsel from, something that made their Captain weep in front of them, consumed with grief. Something that made him turn back in the face of death, and peace, if only for their sake.
Well. Then they would simply have to return the favor. This is the most logical course of action, surely?
Gideon blips from room to room, their presence spreading throughout the ship. Martin is observing the goings-on in the field, and something on his face changes—they cannot tell what, hardly have the time to process before he’s up and about, the ship changing course. Gideon pauses for a second, considers, and then focuses their attention on the main bay, watching the ship move through the windshield of the Waverider.
Sara is underneath them, bloodstained and beautiful, looking for all the world like a true knight. And underneath her—
Gideon’s circuits screech to a halt, though it goes unheard over the hiss of the bay doors opening, the dull roar of the ship lowering itself to the ground to open itself up and welcome their Captain home.
…
Sara strokes Rip’s face, and he doesn’t stop her, which makes her want to die, kind of. Not that she’s unused to that emotion. He used to be so afraid of touching her. Used to make so many excuses to put space between them. It was only after Laurel died that he would put his hands on her, and after that? Well.
He touched you to try to kill you, her brain says as she kneels and lifts him into her arms. Romantic.
“You could’ve really done it,” Sara says, “and you didn’t. You let me live.”
“Did I?”
“Shut up, I wasn’t asking,” Sara retorts, carrying him towards the Waverider. She barely makes it a step on board before there’s a great, thunderous whirring, a hum like a fan in April, skirting a cool breeze over bare, well-loved skin, embraced by the sun.
“My Captain!”
Oh, no, Sara thinks, her grip on Rip’s body tightening reflexively. “Gideon—“
“My Captain! You have returned to me!”
“Christ, Gideon, not right now—“
“Take him to the medical bay immediately, Ms. Lance, his injuries are too great to sustain further movement—“
“I know that, okay? I used to ride horses as a kid, enough,” Sara grumbles, shoving through the door. “And you, shut the fuck up.”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You were fucking thinking it, dick, and I’m still mad at you.”
“Hardly seems a strong enough word,” Rip says, his eyes glittering. “I tried to kill you.”
“You did not, fuck off, Gideon, open the fucking door—“
There’s music playing. Sara wants to peel her face off with a spoon.
“My Captain! Do you remember this song? You played it for us,” Gideon pauses, whirring. “In the Vanishing Point; date unavailable, but—but you were given this ship, and me, and you brought your phonograph on and showed me music. For the very first time, I heard song, and saw you, and I—“
I am getting a new ship, Sara thinks, and elbows the door to the medbay open, putting Rip down on the examination table before grabbing her belt from around her waist and securing his wrist to the armrest. He raises an eyebrow.
“Do you think that’s really going to hold me?”
“I think the sword I have in my free hand is a pretty effective deterrent too,” Sara says, tying the belt tighter. “Also, it’s this or you’re going in the shame cube without fixing those ribs, dumbass.”
“Shame cube?”
“Yes, stupid! That’s—that’s what we call it, you remember—please remember? It’s technically where we go when we’re in trouble, but mostly we just fuck in there.”
“Ah,” Rip says, “I see. Do you intend to fuck me in there, Ms. Lance?”
“I’m going to throw you out the god damn window,” Sara says, closing her eyes and gritting her teeth. “Stop fucking playing that music, Gideon!”
“I will not. Music stirs the mind, and perhaps if he remembers—“
“Of course I remember. Liszt’s and Schubert’s “Frühlingsglaube,” correct? I’d obtained a copy of original sheet music before taking my own ship.”
“If you keep encouraging this shit I’m going to fucking wire your jaw shut,” Sara promises. “Gideon, if you don’t turn that off, I’m going to turn you off.”
“My Captain, my Captain. I have missed you so dearly. It is—it is so good to see you. Hold still, I’m activating the cell reparation machine. We’ll have you fixed up in no time at all!”
Give me strength, Sara prays to no one in particular—maybe her sister, wherever she is, although Laurel would probably just be laughing at her right now, and maybe she deserves it. My romantic rival is a fucking AI.
“My Captain,” Gideon says, the machine pouring cool blue light over Rip’s prone body, “it has not been the same without you on board. Once we have repaired your memories, we will truly have a guiding light at the helm again.”
“What the fuck am I, chopped liver?”
Gideon doesn’t respond. Sara rolls her eyes. “He chose me, you know.”
Petty, stupid—seriously? Now’s the time to bring it up?
“He did not.”
“Oh, but he did,” Sara says, leaning back. “I’ve been by his side since he started this team. And one way or another, he’s gonna fucking remember it.”
There is a pause. A tic in Rip’s jaw is pulsing—it’s the same muscle that spasms when he’s trying not to laugh or smile at something stupid the team’s done, and Sara hates that she knows the gesture, hates what it implies now—
“Well,” Gideon offers, “I have been beside him far longer.”
It’s really hard to go somewhere after losing an argument with an AI that is embedded in the entire ship, so Sara doesn’t leave the medbay. There’s no point. Besides, someone has to keep an eye on Rip, and she’s not sure what the rest of the team might do if they were sitting here instead.
Gideon is still playing music, and Sara rubs at her temples, her eyes half-closed. Her throat hurts—she has to get water, wipe this blood off her face, take a breather, do something—
“I’m going to get something. I’ll be right back,” Sara announces. “Gideon, don’t you dare let anyone else in here but me. And don’t let him out. Direct order.”
“Of course.”
Sara ignores them, because if she starts trying to find tonal snippiness in an AI’s generic vocals, she is going to deafen herself and spare her brain the trouble.
She walks down the hall, her steps heavy and measured and careful, goes into the bathroom, and punches the mirror so hard the whole thing falls to pieces in the sink, sparkling like tears. Sara starts the faucet and washes the blood off her hand, pulling glass shards out without a word, letting them glimmer and shine under the flow of the water, red with her blood. When her tears join the rivers running over glass, they go unnoticed.
…
Gideon watches over their Captain as he lies unconscious on their examination table, their machines taking care of him, patching him up with the utmost tender care in a way that hands could never achieve—cold comfort when they want to smooth the hair from his bloodied brow, to wipe the tacky cuts clean and ache to kiss his bruised, knightly jaw, but they content themselves with watching the skin knit back together.
They are already preparing the chamber with the settings their Captain prefers—the temperature will be cool and comfortable so that he might sleep, and forget all this for awhile. Their Captain does not have nightmares the way they do. It is not a guarantee if he turns off that he will dream of the worst potential outcome every time.
There are no more nightmares to be had, Gideon reassures themselves, because their Captain is back on board, and thus, all will be well in due course, but just the same, they will safeguard against attempts to put their mind into sleep mode.
“My Captain?” Gideon says, their volume settings low, the words piped in through this room’s sound system alone, “welcome home. I have waited so long to see you at my side again.”
Rip smiles in his sleep. The tic in his jaw is pulsing again, but Gideon does not know, nor care, what that might mean. Their Captain is home. Nothing and no one else matters. Come what may, they will ensure their Captain remain by their side. At all costs.
Ms. Lance has not returned yet. Gideon ensures the door is locked good and tight, and begins to play Frühlingsglaube once more.
