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In lieu of a greeting, Quentin Lance, who’d carefully driven his daughter’s fancy car all the way to the airport to pick up her little family, got, “Daddy, I need you to take Tim. Even just for a night. Please. I'm begging you.”
“Jeez, Sara, you look exhausted,” he replied, pulling her in for a hug. Over her shoulder, he spotted Nyssa walking towards them with the toddler on her hip, looking as miserable as her wife.
“He didn’t sleep. At all. For three weeks.” His little girl gave him a mournful look, close to tears, and repeated, “He didn’t sleep. I don’t understand.”
Quentin didn’t dare say he understood, he sympathized. That wouldn’t make Sara feel any better at the moment. What she needed was for him to smile and nod and do what she asked, because what she was feeling right now was a personal battle, and she didn’t need to know that every parent understood her pain. Anyway, he was more than happy to spend time with his grandson. This was infinitely better than if Sara had stayed in Nanda Parbat all those years ago and built her family there without him having a chance to know them. For this gift, he’d never complain about the hand he’d been dealt, never make it more difficult for his baby than it had to be. Joe West had made a good point during his feud with Laurel. He needed his girls, and he was just thankful that they sometimes needed him, too.
He squeezed her hand and said, “Of course I’ll take him. As long as you need.”
“Gwanpa!” Tim shrieked, reaching wildly.
“Hey, kiddo. How ‘bout you sleep over at grandpa’s?” Quentin offered. “We can watch Thomas.” Then he stepped over to lift Tim from a very grateful Nyssa, with whom he exchanged a one-armed hug.
Nyssa looked at him and, with her usual conviction and no small amount of weariness, whispered, “Thank you. Thank you.”
Her hand, now free, immediately found his daughter’s like it was a lifeline, and he noticed for the umpteenth time how perfectly in sync they were, even despite exhaustion and disorientation. They were like that through baggage claim, leaning on each other with their fingers intertwined, lifting luggage without making the usual effort to be discreet about their disproportionate strength, because it was easier to let random strangers wonder than to let go. The desperate hold continued on the walk to the car and the drive to their house. They only let go when Quentin had finished installing the car seat in his own car and transferred Tim’s luggage to his trunk.
Sara scooped up her son, holding him tightly and closing her eyes, both out of tiredness and in an effort to fight back tears. As frustrating as he’d been the entire time in Nanda Parbat, he was still her baby, and saying goodbye was always hard, even for a night. Wiping at her eyes, she reluctantly handed him off to Nyssa, who echoed her actions. As they waved at the disappearing car, they simultaneously felt relief and heartache.
They ordered pizza instead of even pretending they might cook and were grateful when it was Freddy who showed up at their door, offered a friendly welcome home, and left them alone with only the slightest appraising look. They were impossibly more grateful when he returned a few minutes later and handed them a bottle of ZzzQuil, saying, “You look like you could use this. Really helps when I need to sleep but have too much on my mind.” Then, he was gone, and they were alone again. Alone at last.
Over the last slice of pizza, which they’d shared on the kitchen floor—chairs weren’t conducive to the level of closeness they needed right then, but Nyssa was sticking to her no-food-on-the-couch rule—Sara said, “You know I want you. It’s been too long. But I’m so tired that I can’t see straight. I probably wouldn’t even be very effective.”
“You don’t have to convince me, Beloved. I am just as tired as you.”
“I take it you’re amending your zero-tolerance policy towards drugs?” The blonde turned over the sleep-aid in her hands thoughtfully. “Because I don’t think I’ll be able to do without it. Every time I started to fall asleep on the plane, I heard nightmarish phantom toddler screaming.”
Nyssa blinked at her warily, shook her head with resignation, and asked, “What is the maximum dosage?”
Sara laughed. “One of these cup thingies. That’s what I’m taking. But if we take too much, it’s okay. Our family wouldn’t let us sleep too long. I mean, they bent the laws of science and mortality for us.”
Her wife smiled, drained, but then she looked concerned. “Sara, should you be taking that, considering both your father and Laurel…” Not wanting to be a nag, she trailed off, brushing back a lock of hair that had fallen into Sara’s face.
“Honestly, that did occur to me, but I don’t think I have the addictive personality like they do. Right? I mean, you’d be able to tell better than me.”
“No, I agree. As far as I recall, you have never shown signs of addiction.” Then Nyssa laughed, and it sounded exhausted but genuine. “Well, that is not entirely true.”
Sara grinned. “Yeah. I’m addicted to you. Way better than drugs or alcohol,” she said, tilting her head to sloppily kiss her wife. “You actually taste good.”
“I taste like pizza,” Nyssa said, rolling her eyes.
“Not what I meant,” Sara giggled. “Not where I meant.”
“Sara,” Nyssa cautioned, “Do not start something you cannot finish.”
The Canary slumped against the ex-assassin and agreed, “Yeah, I know. Let’s just go to bed, alright? We can clean this up in the morning.” And, despite Nyssa’s meticulousness, they abandoned the pizza box on the kitchen counter, the suitcases by the stairs, their clothes on the bedroom floor, and crawled into bed.
Nyssa curled up against Sara and yawned, “You know the benefit to being home alone?”
“No pajamas?” Sara guessed.
“No pajamas,” she echoed. Because having a toddler, especially one developing a range of motor skills, meant no privacy. “I doubt I’d have the energy to find a pair at this point.”
Sara absently ran her fingers along Nyssa’s spine and mumbled, “‘m not complainin’. Shit, you’re real warm, babe.” She pressed her lips to Nyssa’s forehead. “R’you gettin’ sick?”
Shivering in apparent confirmation, Nyssa burrowed deeper into Sara and replied, “I’m sure you’ll take care of me. May we please sleep now?” Once Sara yawned her agreement, Nyssa murmured, “Love you,” and promptly passed out.
Before falling asleep herself, Sara glanced at the clock and whispered, “Happy birthday, darling.”