Chapter Text
-- chapter one --
-- "i will not say : do not weep; for not all tears are an evil" --
-- j.r.r tolkien, lord of the rings --
They don’t leave Central City right away. Instead, they find a corner to park the Waverider and take the time to grieve. The Waverider is strangely silent and empty of people. Sara doesn’t have Gideon’s comforting voice, the latter respectfully quiet as she makes her way to the bridge, the lights automatically coming on. The rest of the crew had gotten back to their quarters, for the exception of Jax - he had followed Clarissa and Lily back to the Stein household for the night. Sara sighs, shaking knots of her hair as she walked into Rip’s study. She stops at the threshold, taking a deep breath as she takes in the surroundings, nibbling on her bottom lip. They’d have to tell him. She would have to tell him. None of them had contacted their former Captain ever since he had - ever since she had allowed him to take his leave from the Waverider. And why should be they be the ones to take the first step ? Rip still has the jumpship. If he had wanted to come back, he would have by now. Sara briefly remembers how their handshakes had lingered a few more seconds than necessary, the relucant expression on Rip’s face when he had pulled back, a last sarcastic quip escaping his lips before he had turned on his heels and walked away. Away from the Waverider and its crew of Legends. Away from her. Sara remembers the confusion and slight hope when Rip had stopped at the end of the hall, turning back around and walking back to Sara. Only for him to pull a folded piece of paper and put it in her hands.
"Just in case,” Rip had said when seeing her frown. He, then, had squeezed her arm and walked away a second time, not a falter in his steps.
Sara had unfolded the paper, staring at the nine digits hastily written on it before she had scrambled into a ball and storming to the bridge. She had plastered a smile on her face when meeting both Martin and Jax, discreetly throwing the paper into a corner of His study. Shaking her head, Sara walks into the office and falls into the couch, grabbing the hidden bottle of scotch from under the pillow. She doesn’t bother with a tumblr or glass, bringing the bottle to her lips and taking a huge gulp of it. Sara grimaces when the alcohol slides down her throat and sighs, craddling the bottle to her chest. A small smile tugs at her lips when Sara catches sight of the glasses sitting on the top of a pile of books. She drags herself off the couch and gently picks them up, as if afraid that they’d break as soon she’d touch them. Sara relucantly abandons her bottle to unfold the pair of glasses, carefully sliding them on her face. Sara squints her eyes, grimacing at the blurry lenses with a muttered ‘wow’. Blinking, she hastily takes them off and slides the pair on her shirt before rubbing her eyes. She freezes when she catches sight of the offensive crumpled ball of paper.
Sara narrows her eyes at it, as if it dissolves out of thin air the longer she stares at it. It doesn’t, with no surprise whatosever. Sara swallows a groan, and grasping the bottle by its neck, makes her to the dusty corner. Crouching down to pick the paper, she blows dust off of it and plops herself on the floor as she unfolded the paper with a sigh. She can still reads the number and once again, she hears that voice telling her - ordering - that she has to call him. Crossing her legs, Sara puts the bottle in the hole her legs now form before she grabs her phone from out of her pocket and composes the number. Sara takes another long gulp of scotch as she listens to it ring. And ring. And ring. Sara curses inwardly at herself. He’d probably give her a fake number just to to get them to leave him alone. Like he had left he-them. She’s ready to tear the phone away from her ear and drinks herself into oblivion when he picks up.
“H'lo?” Rip’s voice is hoarse and thick with sleep and Sara keeps quiet because she really hadn’t expected him to pick up. She hadn’t expected to miss his voice as much as she did. He groans and Sara can picture him taking the phone away from his ear, “Hello? Is someone there?”
Sara hasn’t cried yet. She hasn’t had the time. Sara hasn’t cried yet and all it takes for tears to form in his eyes is for her to hear his voice. She isn’t sure if her tears are only related to Martin’s loss. Sara’s angry and tired and sad and she doesn’t know what to do about it. She lets out a shaky breath and pinches the bridge of her nose, trying to keep the tears at bay. She knows she has to say something before Rip eventually lose patience and hang up on her. Sara clears her throat, trying to dislocate the lump in her throat.
“Hey, I didn’t mean to wake you up.”
She sniffs at the silence that answers her, her hand clenching around the phone. She hears him move around and Sara can almost picture him sitting up in his bed, racking a hand over his face.
“…Sara?” She snorts at the hesitation she hears in his voice. She ignores the slight hope that she thinks she also detects.
“In the flesh. Well, not really. Y'know what I mean,” Sara clears her throat again and frowns, running her fingers through her hair, “Where are you, by the way? I didn’t peg as the type to go to bed before midnight. To be honest, I didn’t beg you as the sleeping type, to be honest.”
The joke is weak and Rip doesn’t fall for it, much to Sara’s annoyance.
“Metropolis,” he answers and Sara is surprised she actually gets an answer instead of him avoiding the question, “I’m… Visitng some relatives. It’s almost five in the morning, here. And for your information, I do sleep.”
“Pic or it didn’t happen,” Sara weakly teases, frowning down at her watch. Time is a weird thing.
Rip falls silence again and Sara holds her breath, afraid that he had hung up. But after a few seconds, she hears him sigh and she does the same
“Sara,” his tone is soft and Sara has to angrily wipe away a tear that rolls down her cheek, “Is something the matter?”
It all it takes for her to break into tears, choking sobs racking through her body.
“He-he’s gone, Rip,” she lets her head fall in her hands, “Martin’s gone.”
Through her tears and sobs, she vaguely registers his sharp intake of breath. She wipes her nose on her sleeve, scowling down in disgust at the bottle of scotch between her legs. Sara pushes it away, catching it before its contents pour into a floor and leaning against the wall.
“Where are you right now?” Rip asks, sounding suddenly wide awake. She hears him shuffle around, looking for something.
“Wha-?” Sara frowns, shaking her head before rubbing her nose, “Hum, we’re docked in Central City. 2017. I don’t really know when we’ll depart. Why?”
“Because,” Rip groans - judging by the fact that she can barely hear his words, Sara figures that he’s abandonned his phone somewhere to have both of his heads free, “I’m going to need your coordinates if I need to meet you somewhere. Is there somewhere we could talk? Except for the Waverider.”
Her frown deepens at that but Sara doesn’t pay too much mind to Rip’s odd requests - she never has and isn’t about to start now. She grabs a box of tissue off the shelf above her head and and blows in it, racking her mind for places still opened that late/early in Central City. She could offer any bar or night club - Sara feels like drinking her worries away and spends the rest of the night/morning with someone that doesn’t know jackshit about her - but she knows Rip would shut both ideas before she could make her a case. Ever the moral killjoy.
“-Lance? Sara, are you still there?” Rip’s concerned voice brings her back to reality.
“Jitters,” she blurts out, words followed by a long silence. She can perfectly picture the expression of extreme confusion plastered on Rip’s face, “I mean Jitters stays open 24/7 in the holidays period. We can meet there,” she explains.
“Alright, then,” she swallows a hysterical laugh at the ever-present perplexity she discerns in his voice, “I’ll see you in a few.”
Sara almost doesn’t recognize him when he steps through Jitters, half a hour later. He apparently traded his long trenchcoat and entire Time Master attire for a dark sweater and a matching pair of jeans. His hair’s shorter too and he wears a bear of three days. Seeing as she’s the last one in the store, Rip finds her right away. The corner of his mouth lifts to form half a smile and he takes a hand out of her pocket to give her a wave, to which she replies with a wave of her own, getting up from her chair. Rip shoves his hand back into his pocket and weaves his way through the table to get to her, stopping a few feet away from her. Sara hadn’t known what to expect when she’d be face-to-face with him. She’d have thought she’d be angrier. She’d have thought she’d feel completely indifferent. But now that he stands in front of her, green eyes earnest and concerned as he stares back at her, Sara can’t feel anything but relief.
“Hi.”
“Hi yourself.”
Her hands stuffed in the back of her pockets, Sara huffs out a breath and begins rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet. She scratches the back of her head, her eyes roaming around the coffeehouse before it falls back onto their table and to their steaming drinks. Sara clears her throat.
“I got you tea, by the way,” Rip cocks an eyebrow at her and Sara smiles, “Earl Grey, right?”
“Anything that hasn’t a fancy name and tons of sugar in it is fine with me, Miss Lance,” he replies, sliding in his chair. Sara mimicks him, wrapping her fingers around her coffee, “Whatever insane concotion are you drinking?”
“Only Central City’s signature drink, The Flash,” Sara holds her cup and waggles her eyebrows at him, as if presenting a product in a commercial. He snorts, “You wouldn’t like it, though. Too much sugar, three pumps of caramel. Too American for you.”
Rip lets out a small laugh and shakes her head, taking a sip of his drink. Sara smiles when he hums in approval and takes a sip of her own coffee. She marvels in the way they seem to fall back into their usual banter and bickering after months apart, whatever the situation they find themselves in. The small thought is enough to bring Sara back into the cruel reality, remembering the reason of Rip’s presence. As if coming to the same conclusion, Rip’s smile vanishes and his expression takes a solemn, almost somber expression. He wraps his hands around his to-go cup, his fingers drumming against it.
“What happened?”
Her hand tightens around the styrofoam cup and Sara has to loosen her grip on it, so the cup doesn’t explose. She finds herself regretting not meeting Rip in a bar instead of a coffee place. Alcohol’s more effective when it comes to numbing her pain.
“Nazis,” Sara spits, angry tears forming in her eyes.
Rip raises both eyebrows at that and Sara blinks, brushing away a rogue tear. She closes her eyes, blowing out a breath as she prepares herself to recount the late events. She tells him about Earth X. She tells him about those evil - Nazi - versions of themselves that had invaded Barry’s and Iris’ wedding. She tells him about Martin taking a bullet in the back to protect Jax. As she comes to the end of her tale, her entire face is wet with tears and her hands are shaking. Sara blames the caffeine, but she knows better. And so does Rip, seeing as he reaches over to take one of her hands in his, rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb. Sara lets out a shaky breath and turns her hand so her palm is flushed against his, their fingers intertwined. Rip watches their joined hands for a moment before he looks up at her. Rip clears his throat and reaches inside his jacket, getting a handkerchief out of it and handing it to her. Sara accepts it with a small smile and dabs her eyes with it, giving a loud sniff.
“On behalf of every crewmember of the Waverider, I apologize for everything we put you through,” Sara mutters, blowing into the tissue, “Not so easy being in charge.”
“Aye-aye, Captain,” Rip dips his head in acknowdlegment, smiling when it earns him a snort from Sara, “You’re not at fault, though.”
“How?” She croacked out, scowling up at Rip, “How is this not my fault? I’m in charge of the Legends. I’m the Captain, this is on me. Martin-” she’s ready to burst into tears again as his name leaves her lips, “His death’s on me.”
Rip stares at her, keeping quiet as she composes herself. It’s unnerving, Sara thinks as she avoids his gaze, wiping her nose. She isn’t unaware of the similiraties between the two. She remembers confronting him after Carter’s ’*death*’ - *I don’t want anyone’s blood on my hands*, those had been his words. *Except your own*, Sara had countered, slightly bewildred by his train of thoughts. Train of thoughts that she, now, shares and understands. She hadn’t understand his distraught or helplessness, then. She had questionned his sanity when he had dropped them back in 2016, following Snart’s death. Sara had started understanding him when Rip had disappeared, forcing her into his shoes. It’s one thing being part of the Legends. It’s another being in charge of other people’s lives.
“I believe that’s my line,” Rip says, trying to make light of the situation. He grimaces when she glares at him, “Apologies. I do believe that if I were in the same situation, you would tell me something along these lines: it wasn’t your fault.”
Sara shakes her head at him, the coffe now cold between her hands.
“I shouldn’t have involved them in this mission-”
“Sara,” Rip cuts her off by leaning forward, squeezing her hand, “Martin’s been involved in this from the start. Every single member of this team has, including you. He could’ve walk out any moment, same thing goes for the rest of you. You’ve just to stay because it gave you purpose, because you were good at what you do and each of you belong in this time. Martin’s a Legend and will always be.”
“Legends never die,” Sara bitterly whispers to herself.
“Well, there’s some truth to th at saying,” Rip says, sipping his tea. Sara raises an eyebrow at that, “Martin and his memory will continues to live through the Legends, especially through Jax. Through Clarissa, through Lily and Ronnie.”
“You know about Ronnie?” She asks with a frown.
“I’ve kept my eye on you, Captain Lance,” he says with a small smile, as if it were obvious, “Can’t let you gallivating through time and space without expecting a disaster. You’ve got quite the characters on your team.”
She lets out a snort, shaking her head at him. Rip smiles at her. They must make an odd pair, the two of them : her with her red-rimmed eyes, running nose and Twitty pajama bottoms and him, the Englishman lost in time comforting her. She’s thankful for the absence of customers. She’s thankful for the distance the barista keeps, her eyes fleeting to the couple every couple of minutes. She’s thankful for Rip’s presence and the weight he silently accepts to take off her shoulders, her hand in his. The barista looks their way againn and Sara catches Rip stifle a yawn from the corner of his eye.
“We- I should go,” Sara jumps out of her chair, her knee hitting the leg of the table and her hand slipping out of his. She hides a wince and plasters a smile on her face when Rip stands up, “I mean, I should go back to the Waverider before they notice I’m gone. I should check on Jax too,” she adds to herself, almost as an after thought.
“Of course. And how is Mr Jackson holding up?” Rip frowns down at her and Sara isn’t sure if it’s due to confusion caused by her sudden hurry or concern for the youngest crewmember. Probably both.
“Just that. Holding up,” Sara sighs, wrapping her arms around herself, “He’s staying with Clarissa and Lily for the night. I think you should go see him before leaving to go back to Metropolis.”
Because it’s inevitable, isn’t it? Rip would be leaving again. Sara doubts he would’ve been the first one to go back to the Waverider. God knows how long it would’ve taken him for Rp to eventually come back. As if guessing her train of thoughts, Rip narrows his eyes and tilts his heads to the side.
“Well, I’ve planned to stay in Central City for the next couple of days at the very least,” Rip informs her, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet.
“Oh. Great. Got some place to stay?”
The question sounds weird and stupid coming out of her lips, as if the Waverider isn’t parked miles away from the coffee place. As if the Waverider isn’t his. Before she can backtrack and offers an apology, Rip surprises her by nodding.
“I’ve booked a place downtown, actually,” Rip says, rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand
“Oh,” Sara repeats, blinking at him.
Now, that is even more stupid than her asking if he has a place to stay. Or maybe, it isn’t. It seems that Rip had done a lot of thinking on his way from Metropolis to Central City. If he had the pre-thought to book a room before coming, it means Rip hadn’t expected her to accept him in their ranks right away. He had chosen to keep his distance, for the moment being, testing the boundaries that he can and can not cross. And though the gesture might seem insignificant, it makes Sara love him even more.
“You ought to catch some sleep, Captain,” Rip says, snapping her out her thoughts. He puts a hand on her arm, as if afraid she’d fall without its presence.
“Right,” Sara sighs, running her fingers through her hair, “Yoo too, by the way. It sounded like I coaxed out of some needed sleep - which I still don’t believe you do. You run on cynicism and black tea,” Sara smirks when he rolls his eyes at that, biting the inside of his cheek to restrain a smile. Her smile falters, leaving place to a hesitant frown as she nibbles on her bottom lip, “See you tomorrow?”
“Yes,” Rip squeezes her arm, allowing his smile to grow on his face, “I believe you will.”
It all takes for Sara to raise to her toes and wrap her arms around his neck, smiling at his surprised *humfph*. His arms hesitantly lift to her sides before they themselves around her waist, bringing her against his chest. Their bodies flushed together, Sara rests her chin on his shoulder and swallows a gasp when he buries his face in the crook of her neck, a hand pressed against the small of her back. She tightens her hold around him and he appears to do the same, his trembling intake of breaths tickiling her neck. She feels a tear drop.
“I’m glad you’re here,” Sara whispers, keeping her tears at bay. I missed you.
“I’m glad you called,” Rip says with a sniff, rocking them for side to side. I missed you too.