Work Text:
If there was one thing that had remained consistent over the years, after the hell she’d gone through, it was the fact that Sara Lance hated lying. Lying was always ugly and messy, like a lipstick that stains and smears the longer you wear it. There was always a remnant in a lie that lingered, something small that could fester into something larger, more dangerous you matter how hard you tried to scrub it out. She’d learned that the hard way.
Because of this particular one (one of the very, very many lies she had created), she got a front row seat to her older sister crying over their father.
And there wasn’t anything Sara can do, and the lump in her throat, the weight in her chest reminded her of that.
She was on the ledge of the hospital window, crouched low in an effort to make herself as small as possible (as small as she felt) and off to the side. The Starling city night air was damp with an afterthought of rain, slicking the brick beneath her hands and at her back. From this vantage point she could see over the tops of buildings until the mist swallowed the view. Anyone could be out there.
At the moment, Sara didn’t give a shit. She was wrung out, torn down, itching to wrench the window open and throw her arms around her dad. She wanted to grab Laurel and look at her, face to face, for the first time in over five years. The apology was already bubbling up her throat like a sob, but she clamped down on it, strangling the words. She couldn’t.
She had made herself a target. Gotten in with the wrong people. It would be selfish of her to barge in there like she still belonged.
Sara peeked in through the window, watched as Laurel dabbed gently at the messy tear tracks on her face, wipe the moisture from her eyes. It was fascinating, in a way, to watch her sister go from a wreck to mildly upset in just a few moments. Sara had never been like that, always wore her heart on her sleeve, their dad used to say with a small grin.
But it was sad too. Sara wondered how often that skill of Laurel’s had been put to use over the past year, two years, five years ago when she had found out about her and Ollie. All those times when Sara had been a shit head just because that’s what sisters did sometimes, right, and she hadn’t flinched once. She wondered now how much Laurel had gone through and her heart ached, her hands twitched with the need to grab Laurel and fix everything.
She watched her get up and walk out of the room, leaving nothing behind. Sara counted 6 minutes out before giving into the urge of cracking the window open, letting herself slide inside soundlessly. She delicately walked over to her dad’s bed, sitting in the still body warm chair. He stirred as she put a hand on his wrist over the IV drip. He blinked up at her, eyes glazed over with drugs and a touch of pain, and smiled.
“Hey pretty bird,” he whispered quietly, like he wasn’t sure she was really there. The smile that she gave him was just a little watery.
“Hey,” she said. She cleared her throat, trying to clear the sudden lump that caught on her voice. “How do you always get into trouble, old man?”
“’m a cop. It’s the job.” His speech was slurring. He really needed to rest.
She got up from the chair, brushing her hair to the side so that none would fall on him as she leaned over the bed to kiss her father’s forehead. He was looking at her the best he could, although his eyes weren’t tracking her well. “Go to sleep. I’ll be right here, okay?” He nodded and as she settled back into the chair he fell back into a hazy sleep. When she was sure he was out for a bit, Sara headed out the way she came. As she closed the window, she took one last look at her dad. With a click, the window was closed, and she was off.