Sara Lance { is the steady hand & beating heart } (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
strongerthanyouknow) wrote2018-06-27 03:16 pm
strongerthanyouknow) wrote2018-06-27 03:16 pm
I totally said this would happen someday; Take 1
You don't know how lucky you are
You shouldn't spend your whole life wishin'
For something bound to fall apart
The bar is crowded and smokey, and she's been here a while. Long enough that enough people have come up to her, thrown a line or two her way, enough to make her raise her gaze from where it is on her glass and look at them in a way that self-preservation didn't encourage any of them to stay.
She doesn't know how many she's had. Many. Not enough.
Her ear piece, on the bar next to her glass, beeps again.
She answered it once. Hours ago. Maybe a whole day now. Only long enough to say, "Not now," and hang up. Barely able to form those words then. She's ignored it four or five times now. The last one not too long ago. It's not enough, and it's too long, and someone won't take no for an answer sooner or later. One of them, or all of them. But they're fine. Mick's got the ship. She's not worried about that.
Given she's not stumbling or slurring, the bar girl, who looks about as wary of Sara as she is getting too concerned, rationally over whatever that drink count is, and maybe the looks she's given, still doesn't have a justifiable proof to stop her by yet. But Sara's not concerned with her either. Or here to get drunk. No matter how many drinks she downs.
She's here because she can still hear Martin's voice in her head.
You can't do this, he said. You're the Captain now, he said. I'm sorry, he said.
But Martin's dead now, and his apology, all his bumbling words, are in the ground with him.
Martin's dead, and Rip's dead, and Oliver is in jail, and her Dad -- her Dad --
"I need another over here."
no subject
Ok, more to the point, Haircut knew what happened. Star City was his home and he was the one monitoring the news networks to find out what had happened with Robin Hood and with Lance.
Haircut had been the one to wander towards Mick's quarters, heedless of his growls to go away because it's Sara, Mick and she needs us and someone has to go get her before he finally kicks him out of his quarters and grabs his stuff. Because if anyone can understand grief and loss on the ship, it's Mick.
Not that he's going to talk about it. Ever.
Finding her at the bar is easy enough. Slight blonde at the bar, everyone giving her a wide berth? She's got enough of a presence that it's not exactly hard to miss.
Mick doesn't stop her from ordering again.
He slides in and claims the barstool next to her.
"Make it two."
no subject
Intrudes, down out, hollows a space around, that turns down everything else.
She'd like to be something immobile and absolute before it. Granite absolution. Something so much less than everything she feels -- and not far enough away from what it would be so easy, so god damn easy, easier than a single breath pulled in and out, that she could be. Wants to be. Can feel eating every edge, a lick of fire, leaving a trail of bodies and blood that demands its due.
Still, her shoulders stiffen, and even if she doesn't look to her side, what she says has a blade's edge of annoyance.
"You should be on the ship."
no subject
But that voice, that presence, is gone. No takebacks.
Only a carbon copy.
So he shrugs in response, tipping back his shot easily before ordering a beer. "Not like we can go anywhere yet." Not without the Waverider's Captain. Not without her.
The thing is? Mick gets it. Better than anyone on the ship, better than even she understands he'd guess. When one loss piles on top of another until you feel like you're going to break beneath the weight of it all.
.. which he did, but that's not the point.
"Trenchcoat is having goddamn kittens about it."
no subject
But she should be nowhere near a time ship right now.
(She knows how well Rip fell. How deeply. She doesn't care.)
She should be nowhere near the entire stock of her weapons right now.
(Every item within reach of her hands is just as deadly a weapon.
Anything that gets the job done is what gets the job done.)
"He'll live." There's something brittle about those words.
A promising menace in its shortness rather than any sadness.
Sare wasn't there to cater to anyone's temper or tantrums. Not anyone.
no subject
He doesn't give a fuck. At least that's what he keeps telling himself.
No one bothered with him after losing Snart so why the hell is he bothering now? Probably because Haircut would have come after Blondie and she'd have snapped him in two.
He sits back, digging out his old and battered lighter but Mick doesn't coax out the flame. "So what's the plan then? I been in and out of that supermax more than once, I could have Robin Hood sprung in under a month."