It's an odd dichotomy, and one she thinks comments on Oliver Queen and her crew more than anything else, that it's offsetting. Watching someone with that much power, have the mannerism of someone she would expect to be much smaller, softer, quieter. But he isn't. He's a brick. It's the ruin of emotion that degrades the image.

Or maybe, rather like Sara herself, the image that is Captain America, and the person at the core are very different things. Necessary and undividable now, and yet still very different. She watches him. The crossed arms, the bitten lip, the way his eyes move, the way he sighs. The weight of what she's taking from him is so apparent. Even though, again, it's not her.

But if she had to leave Mick, Leonard, any of her people with him, would she be very different.
Maybe her version would involve a knife, but she thinks she'd be in his shoes, still.



"I'll do my best," Sara says, as a hand rests on her hip. "But I'm not making any promises for him. I barely know your friend. Enough to trust him out of my sight on the ship. Enough to know I could probably take him down if I had to. But not nearly enough to make that kind of promise for him. Not even for my people. I'll give him what he needs, but he'll have to figure out the rest himself."

Whether that was coming back or not. Sara couldn't be helpful in that way.
Sara hadn't stayed in Star twice now. Not even though it would always, always he her home.