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What is normal to her isn't normal to most people. She didn't know this until she met a yellow haired girl.
The girl was much younger than her, maybe six, and had a squeaky little voice. She asked Nyssa if her parents ever made her take a nap in the afternoon.
She told the girl she rarely slept, and the girl looked at her in awe.
"Do you get to play a lot?"
She never played. She trained, and her lack of sleep was only because her father made a habit of attacking her when she slept, said she has to always be ready for an attack.
When her cheeks couldn't stop burning after the fifth time, she learned her lesson.
She told the girl that too, and blue eyes widened, less from awe and more from fear.
Nyssa asked, "Don't your father do the same?"
The girl shook her head vigorously, eyes now wet.
"I don't," she stuttered, "I don't think so," and released the loudest shriek Nyssa had ever heard.
.
"Do you remember us—no, it's silly."
"What?"
Nyssa shook her head. Children remember things wrongly all the time.
"Tell me."
A soft laugh tickled her ear.
"It's nothing."
A kiss tickled her soul.
"Come on."
And she gave.
.
Nyssa isn't a person who easily flusters but a glance from Sara turns her cheeks red.
"I told you it was silly."
"No, it's not," Sara says. Yet amusement accompanies her denial. "It's…it's cute."
Nyssa isn't a person who easily loses her cool but Sara's teasing tone stings more than she would like to admit.
She turns her back on Sara.
"Hey…" Sara mutters, her fingers gently grazing Nyssa's shoulder blade and Nyssa has to bite back a moan. Her heart is eager to forgive but her ego prevents her from turning around.
Sara rests her chin on Nyssa's shoulder. "For what it's worth," she drawls. "I'm a little jealous of that yellow haired girl. I wish I could have met you sooner."
Nyssa tilts her head, leaning it against Sara's.
"Me too, my beloved."
...
Fuck normal. Sara once said to her. A response to a careless confession Nyssa made while so intoxicated by Sara that she dreamed of a future where she isn't Ra's.
"It's your birthright," Sara had disagreed.
"But you always speak fondly of the quick kisses your parents share before they rush off to their respective days," Nyssa told her, "and the deep stolen ones they have when they think you're not looking."
"We have that too."
"But if I am Ra's, there won't be a house to rush out of. No big windows for the moon to light up our kisses, and our days don't end at five o'clock. We could be away from each other for weeks. Months even."
Sara shrugged that off too. "I mean the caves can get a little dark sometimes but I took an interior design course in college. I'm pretty sure I can figure out a way to make 'em livelier."
Except Nyssa remembers all the nights when Sara woke up drenched in sweat, letting out a piercing scream that reverberated through every corner of Nanda Parbat. Some of those nights, Nyssa was allowed to hold Sara, to whisper words of comfort as Sara fell back to sleep, but for the remaining nights, her father wasn't as kind and locked Sara's door to prevent anyone from coming in and out of the room.
"You don't belong here," Nyssa said.
"That's where you're wrong," Sara told her. "I belong wherever you are. Nanda Parbat is your home, so it is mine—our home."
Three months later, Sara abandoned the League.
.
Her years with the League taught her that nothing good ever comes under a disguise — not even blessings — but experience can be wrong and strangely, she's thankful for it.
Because the blessing came in the form of one Dinah Laurel Lance.
...
Normal is dipping fried potato in partially frozen milk.
Or so Laurel says.
"I am a normal person."
As soon as the words climb up her throat, she knew how much of a lie they were, but she could not help it. Being in Starling City, away from the only home she has ever known, she has had some time and company to work on her humor, and while she has experienced mirth in her life, she didn't know how infectious it could be.
Especially when it originates from Laurel.
When Laurel laughs, something happens to her. Not the same tickle that Sara used to inspire, but something a little more subtle. Something that carries on to the next day and injects a kind of purpose, but without the heavy expectation.
So she told a little lie, just to hear Laurel's laugh.
Just so she would find reality a little more bearable tomorrow.
But once the milkshake-dipped fry is in her mouth, she feels her walls going down and a little stupid for telling such an obvious lie.
So she confesses to Laurel her 'normal'.
.
Nyssa had imagined the night to go differently. She didn't think that it would become the night her life ends. Not the one which puts breath into her, but the one that barely had the time to nurture in Starling City.
(Because even if her father had discarded her for the son he had always wanted, she still holds out hope that he is still her father and will not have the heart to dispose of the life — her life — that he helped bring into this world.)
She hadn't expected the nice dinner and its delightful effects despite its greasiness, but she did expect Laurel's company and that had her anticipating the night, getting impatient with the sun, and wishing for it to descend sooner so she may be closer to Laurel.
She had imagined walking under the moonlight with Laurel by her side, recounting their favourite memories of Sara and their complicated relationships with their respective fathers. She had imagined saying goodbye to Laurel and receiving a promise to "See you!" in return.
It's always carelessly said, and yet, Nyssa never once doubted it, making her think that maybe she is a huge sucker when it comes to the Lance sisters.
.
"There was no way that I was about to lose you too!"
Not a sucker, it turns out.
But it would be easier if she was. It would make it easier for her to leave and surrender to her fate.
She can't have another Lance sister die on her. Especially not for her sake.
...
It must be a law of the universe; only one Lance sister is allowed to exist at one time. If Nyssa is a person who believes in a higher power — there is believing and there is believing — she could be tempted into thinking that someone up there is a terribly lousy writer.
Then she would swear at the sky, calling it all sorts of names while Sara can't help but fall into a laughing fit.
Oh, wait, that happened already.
Last night.
She is in the past according to Sara. A few months after Sara was informed of her sister's death, and Nyssa doesn't question. Doesn't argue. Doesn't doubt.
Sara has that effect on her.
She also notices new lines on Sara. New scars on old. And a new glow like Sara has finally found a place where she belongs.
Nyssa was sure that she had dreamt it, but here is Sara, on her bed.
Nostalgia washes over her. For a time when Sara was hers and hers only. While Sara may zip in and out of time, Nyssa is stuck travelling time the usual way — the normal way.
Sara had offered, not quite meaning it, to live the life of a Legend.
(Nyssa had learned her lesson.)
But even if Sara had meant it, she wouldn't have accepted it. She tells herself that she needed to hold on to the one normal thing in her life.
But truth be told, she never wants to go back.
She has travelled too far forward to go back.
...
Of all her befores, the person she was before Laurel is the person she least wants to revisit.
The person who mistook being another's lifeline as a well-balanced relationship. The person who was blind to the power she held over her so called beloved. The person who almost lost said beloved because she held on too tight.
Sometimes she fumbles, takes a misstep or two, and that Nyssa resurfaces, but she knows it is a process; it doesn't reflect the person she has become.
Until she sees Laurel in the flesh.
She taps Laurel's shoulder, sure that her fingers would go through what must be a hallucination. When they don't, she tells herself that the head that is about to turn around won't bear Laurel's face.
And when she is wrong again, her fingers wrap around Laurel's neck.
"Nys—" Laurel chokes out. "Can't— breathe."
With those pleading eyes looking at her like that, Nyssa's hand inevitably loosens, but she gathers herself quick, retightening her grip on Laurel's neck.
Unfortunately, that split second is all Laurel needed to let out a shriek that throws Nyssa into the air.
Her first thought: "It's not the Lazarus Pit."
Her second thought: "It's not Laurel."
.
She has heard of the metahumans.
A parallel universe, however—well, she has heard of that too. She just never really believed it. Certainly, her father would never have said something that was untrue — he had his faults but a liar was not one of them — but something like that, you have to see it to believe it.
"Do you believe now?" is whispered into her ear in Laurel's voice.
She closes her eyes, refusing to be fooled by the lie she so wanted to believe. Laurel's hands rest at the nape of her neck. Her head turns, nudged by the thumb on her jaw.
"You can look now."
She inhales. "This isn't working," she replies.
"Who says this is for you?"
Nyssa opens her eyes.
Laurel drags a hand along her jaw and stops underneath her chin. "I've always wanted you. Well, not exactly you, but you look the same and that's good enough for me."
"You are nothing like her."
"And you're not the first person to say that." Laurel yawns. "I am so sick of hearing about how good she was, about all the good decisions she made. She's an angel, I get it." She climbs on Nyssa's lap, one hand on Nyssa's shoulder and the other lifts Nyssa's chin. "But I'm alive."
.
She is holding on too tightly again even though she knows she shouldn't. A Lance is once again in her care. This time, she can do it right. Without her father's intervention.
"I'm not some stray," Laurel tells her. "I'll get out of your hair once I figure out my next move."
"Take as much time as you need," Nyssa replies. "Or as little," she adds when Laurel glares at her.
She knows what happened in Central City. She knows what Laurel did there. Who she helped.
She knows about Star City too. Made a call to Felicity and heard all about the chaos that Laurel brought on her husband and his vigilante gang.
When Felicity asked, "Where did you see Laurel's doppelganger again?"
She replied, "She was in a crowd. It might have been a mistake."
But she lets Laurel stay because she no longer owes her loyalty to anyone.
(And maybe for those split seconds when she manages to fool herself into believing that the Laurel who has taken up her living room is the Laurel she's been missing.)
.
Nyssa left first.
She continues her habit of not sticking in one place for too long. Some of the perks of having been Ra's still haven't expired and neither is the danger.
The next time she sees Laurel is on the island where she met Sara for the very first time. She pretends not to notice Laurel, and Laurel does the same to her.
...
No one died.
Sara — present Sara, not one from the past or the future — appeared minutes before the explosion and took all of them into an underground bunker. They were down there for two days.
It was plenty of time for Sara to get acquainted with her sister's doppelganger, but she barely acknowledged Laurel's presence. Detective Lance, in contrast, cannot stop engaging Laurel in a conversation, or a bicker. Yes, bicker is the more accurate word.
The detective can't help himself. He misses his daughter, and Laurel looks exactly like her.
.
"Your beloved is charming."
"Thanks."
"For?"
"For not making it harder for her."
"Yeah, well—"
Nyssa rushes towards the vase on the coffee table and extracts the knife in it.
"You should not have kids in here," Laurel comments.
"No one should be here except me," Nyssa replies as she creeps towards the door where the impatient knocks are coming from.
"Gee, now I feel special," Laurel says
"Who is it?" Nyssa asks, leaning towards the door to look into the peephole.
"It's me," is all she receives as an answer — an answer which she didn't need because light travels faster than sound.
She opens the door before she remembers that Laurel is here too. Sara's face mirrors her surprise.
"What the fuck is she doing here?"
.
Sara is quiet. The angry torrent of questions that she swallowed when Laurel so kindly offered to leave seem to have lost their urgency. As she waits for Sara to regain her vocabulary, Nyssa makes tea. It is only polite.
"I don't understand," Sara finally speaks as Nyssa pours tea into the cup she has set in front of Sara.
Nyssa pours tea for herself and sits next to Sara, leaving an inch of space between them.
"You pretend she doesn't exist. Your father tries to squeeze Laurel out of her," she tells Sara. "This is how I cope."
"With?" Sara asks.
"Missing Laurel," Nyssa answers honestly.
"I knew the two of you grew close when I died but I didn't think that…" Sara trails off.
"I think it was the shared grief at first. But then it became something more," Nyssa tells her. "I'm sorry."
"For moving on?" Sara asks. "That's only fair."
"No, for falling in love with your sister," Nyssa replies. "It wasn't something I planned."
Sara shakes her head. "It never is."
"But don't worry," Nyssa says. "I never acted on it, and now I will never have a chance to." She tries not to sound too regretful.
"Oh, honey," Sara murmurs, laying her head on Nyssa's shoulder.
Nyssa leans into the cuddle, snaking her arm around Sara.
"I did sleep with Laurel's boyfriend a few times," Sara adds. "So I think we're even."