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Gary leaves two calculated knocks on the door. As he waits outside, his eyes fall on the acrylic sign that reads “DIRECTOR AVA SHARPE”. He nervously shifts his weight from one foot to the other. He furrows his brow when no answer comes from inside the office; drawing a deep breath, he steels himself to take the liberty to open the door, only to find no one in.
Two fingers come to press against his earpiece. ‘Anyone got eyes on Director Sharpe?’ None of the replies coming directly into his ear is the one Gary wants to hear, so he continues his search.
A hand mechanically reaches for the pocket on the inside of his blazer and gets his phone out. He takes a hasty look over his shoulder as his thumb hovers over the icon of a tracking app.
Guilt starts to well up inside him before he reminds himself of the seemingly equally lifeless figure of a Director he had found just last night standing by the Black Canary statue by the docks, melancholically gazing to the horizon. The watery eyes he’d been met with had made him promise to himself he’d do whatever it takes to make his friend smile again.
The blue pin on the map indicates that Ava’s still in the building. The same hand replaces the cellphone back into his pocket as Gary takes a right turn and enters the training room. Narrowing his eyes, he scans the room. For a hot second, he brings his hands to his waist, almost in defeat, before he sees the blonde Director, her hair in a disheveled bun that almost fails to keep the hair out of her face, chest rising and falling quicker than he can track, landing punches in a punching bag.
‘Director Sharpe,’ he mumbles, his fist clenching in half-victory; his duty to make sure Ava is alright is still making him nervous.
His mouth falls opens as he watches her train; the force she puts into each blow is excessive and Gary fears a breakdown mid-workout. Each punch is a step closer to the undoing of her stony Time Bureau Director façade, a step closer to repressed feelings becoming too overwhelming and pouring out of her at all directions.
Gary nods at the agents to clear of the training room. The agents’ promptness to evacuate the room alerts him further of Ava’s situation.
A sinister sound, almost a growl, comes from Ava when a particular hard hit sends the punching bag off its chains and onto the floor. Gary gasps; if it weren’t for the sand having trailed after it, he would’ve thought it a fake, considering the ease with which Ava has sent it to the floor.
Once he’s done admiring that, he pushes his glasses back onto his nose and he rushes to the Director. Ava is now kneeling, struggling to regain her breath.
He kneels in front of her. ‘Director Sharpe,’ he says anxiously, more likely to confirm it is actually her than to get her attention. ‘Do I wanna know who that was meant for?’
‘What is it, Gary?’ Ava says between deep breaths, still not looking up at him.
‘I’ve been looking everywhere for you,’ he chuckles nervously. ‘The Lege—’ Gary bites his tongue at the way Ava’s head shoots up at his little mishap; too soon, he thinks. He, not so swiftly, lies, ‘I had a buttload of paperwork for the Director to sign.’ He puts some flavor to the word Director, hoping to cheer the woman up. ‘Anyways, that can all wait.’
‘No, no. I’ll be right up,’ she coldly responds, and Gary tries to ignore the crack of her voice at the end of her utterance.
It takes some courage for Gary to lock eyes with Ava. That spark he’d observed in them days ago is now gone, tears seem to have welled up – Ava looks like she hasn’t had proper sleep in days, and he sees it his personal mission to change that.
Gary frantically looks for the right words, ones that won’t get Ava to run away from him, as he lunges to grab the towel off the floor and hand it to her.
‘How about…’ he starts, almost too timidly, ‘…we call it a day? Go home, get some rest and come back tomorrow. You look like you need it.’ He adjusts his glasses before the corners of his mouth curl most discreetly.
She takes a moment to think; with his eyes, he tracks the path a droplet of sweat marks as it travels from her hairline down her face. And, then, Ava’s jaw clenches, and she exhales deeply. Gary averts his gaze, waiting for the Director to bark at him to leave her alone. ‘You’re right,’ she finally says.
Gary’s eyes scout upward to meet hers but finds them closed. ‘I am?’ he asks, internally kicking himself for sounding so comical at a time like this. He repeats, this time more confident, ‘I am right.’
Without much thought, Gary takes Ava’s hand in his, and rubs his thumb over her calloused knuckles. Her mouth opens as if to protest but no words come out. He shoots a shy smile her way which Ava acknowledges with a light tip of her head and then tears her eyes away.
‘Come,’ he says, his voice laced with exceeding excitement, and offers a hand to her after getting to his feet. He presses against his earpiece again and asks for the training room to be cleaned up.
The silent walk to Gary’s car stalls a short stop by his office; he returns to Ava waiting in the deserted hallway bearing a paper bag which he is now shoving towards Ava’s direction.
‘You mentioned you craved some salted caramel ice cream yesterday,’ he shyly chirps.
Ava’s eyes widen before she looks into the paper bag to find a pint of ice cream and a bag of M&M’s candies. ‘You remembered.’ She whispers, ‘thanks.’
With the heel of his hand, he adjusts his glasses to hide the blush on his cheeks. A thanks is more than he was expecting from the Director. He internally congratulates himself for remembering to take a short trip to a nearby gas station this very morning.
After years of friendship – strict Time Bureau partnership as Ava insists on calling their relationship – Gary knows better than to open the car door for Ava Sharpe. Instead, he climbs onto the driver's seat and waits for the woman to make herself comfortable before he pulls away.
Idly, he shuffles through a list of playlists. He skips to some of the softer tunes, which color the soft pitter-patter of the rain on the car. Before he knows it, he’s humming to the tune of “Space Oddity”. His fingers drum on the steering wheel, his gaze jumping from the avenue to the occasional road sign.
Gary steals some glances at Ava; the minimal street lights cast hints of a melancholic shine on her skin; her eyes remain fixed on the horizon; just like the previous night on the dock, Ava’s emitting the upsetting remoteness of a marble sculpture, sending a chill up Gary's spine.
Next time he looks at her, her eyes are closed, her features seemingly so relaxed, he thinks her to be sleeping. The way she clings to the paper bag in her arms has the lump in his throat he’s been ignoring now make its presence known to him.
He worries his lip between his teeth, when he stops in front of her place; he is puzzled for a second as to how to wake her up; he timidly goes for a light nudge on her shoulder.
‘I’m not sleeping, Gary,’ she husks before she opens her eyes. A hand languidly passes through her hair which is still in a loose bun. She takes a hasty look at the dark windows of her house but doesn’t move off the seat. She merely lets the bag with the ice cream on her lap and looks down at it. ‘Hey, um,’ she starts hesitantly. ‘Wanna come in for some ice cream?’
‘What? For real?’ he asks, probably a tad too excitedly for Ava’s liking. He’s not sure she doesn’t regret asking the very second the words come out of her mouth, but he can barely hide his enthusiasm. Nothing other than her offer has come out of Ava’s mouth, so he grasps the opportunity and with a nervous yet smiley ‘okay’ he gets out of the car.
By the time he’s walked over to the passenger seat door, Ava’s out the car and now leading the way to her house.
If he didn’t know of the situation, he would’ve thought the place had been broken into. It mustn’t have felt much of a home lately and that shows; hell, the apartment doesn’t feel like Ava Sharpe, at all.
‘Oh god,’ she scoffs. ‘Sorry for the mess, I guess,’ she says, her voice coming too sad. She reaches down to pick up a cushion off the rugged floor. ‘I don’t—’
‘It’s—it’s fine,’ Gary stammers and examines how long it might take him to make it feel cozy again. He takes the cushion off her hand and throws it on the couch. ‘You should see my place,’ he chuckles, awkwardly adjusting his glasses. Ava doesn’t say anything, she just stares at him, exhaustion showing in her eyes. ‘How about…’ he says, clasping his hands together, ‘…you go take a shower while I wait here.’ He takes her hands in his when she shakes her head negatively. ‘It’ll help you feel better.’
Ava frowns. ‘I don’t want to. And it won’t.’
‘Please.’
She rolls her eyes. ‘K, mom.’
He watches as she heads to her bedroom to pick up some clothes, and somewhere in the process he hears a faint scoff. Feeling quite satisfied, he starts tidying up the room, but only after he hears the bathroom door click and the sound of water overshadows that of the rain outside.
Minutes later, he checks his watch; from what he remembers from their time as roommates, Ava’s not one to take long showers. He leans in, his ear inches from the bathroom door. His grin is wiped off his face in a flash. Under the thundering roar of the shower, he can hear some muffled sobbing.
The lump in his throat is back and this time won’t go away. His eyes fall on the floor as he tries to understand what Ava might be going through.
He musters as much courage as he can and knocks. ‘Everything okay in there?’
His eyes spot a framed photograph of the two, a smile—
‘Yeah, I’ll be out in a minute.’
He nods in understanding and moves on. His hands fumble for the light switch of the bedroom, and upon turning it on, the sight of papers and photographs scattered across the floor make him gasp. He doesn’t have to check the title page of the folder to know whose file that is. He merely squats down to put the folder back together, absently collecting photographs of a certain blonde ex-assassin.
He springs to his feet with a small hop and folds his arms before his chest as he examines the admittedly-outdated plan on the board; without much thought, he moves Mick Rory’s photo over the question mark under the handwritten “fire totem”. He makes to move Sara’s under the “death totem” but furrows his brow to take a closer look at the photograph of Constantine; he can make out some red marks Ava’s marked on top of his headshot: he comes closer to see a pair of devil’s horns. ‘Oh Conny,’ he mumbles to himself.
He walks over to the nightstand to leave Sara’s file but instead picks up a pendant he finds there. His thumb brushes over the material of the Canary symbol, his other hand examining the spot where the jump ring has loosened and split from the rest of the chain.
‘Think you can fix it?’ a colorless voice husks. He turns to see a sight he hasn’t seen since their early years at the Bureau: Ava in an Academy hoodie, leaning against the door frame, her hair damp, arms crossed in front of her.
‘Yes. I think.’ He looks at the pendant again. No, he corrects himself. ‘I can.’
She cocks her head invitingly.
He follows her into the living room. ‘Do you mind—?’ he asks, pointing to the kitchen with his thumb. He waits ‘til Ava nods, and his feet, as if on auto-pilot, are happy to trail through rooms he would once frequent.
As he’s fixing the chain, Ava comes into the kitchen to fetch two spoons and when she does, leans against the counter and watches him. She soon loses interest and leaves the room.
Ava’s waiting for him on the couch, a DVD case dangling from her fingers.
‘Are we watching this?’ Gary asks enthusiastically, as he takes it between his thumb and forefinger. Memories of their time at the Academy flash in his mind one after the one. A grin splits his face into two; Ava’s probably going through the same memories for her lips turn into a discreet smile. ‘We used to watch this when we were at the Academy,’ he thinks aloud and holds the disc up proudly.
‘On this very couch,’ chuckles Ava and pats the spot next to her.
High as fuck. Neither says it, though. They just share a knowing smile, one that says I miss those times and I missed you.
Gary doesn’t know what has prompted this sudden change of mood but welcomes it heartily. Like an overexcited puppy, he sits down next to her. In the back of his mind, Gary vows to make her laugh more often.
Ava takes a scoop of the ice cream and offers some to Gary. He opens the bag of chocolate candies and spills them into the ice cream, throwing a couple pieces straight into his mouth. He looks at her with a warm smile as if to say like old times, and if he’d blinked he would’ve missed Ava winking at him.
A giggle leaves her lips as she says, ‘So, tell me about that time that speedster p—’
‘Pantsed me?’ Gary rushes to say before Ava can complete her sentence and both shake their heads comically. He reaches for the ice cream before he continues. ‘I was on the phone with Agent McNeil, congratulating him on being agent of the month—’
‘Yikes,’ Ava says, and scrunches her nose, as she has another spoonful of ice cream. ‘McNeil’s agent of the month?’
Gary hums in agreement. ‘Yikes, indeed.’
Ava cocks a brow. ‘So, like, how many times have you been agent of the month?’
Gary thinks the nervous laughter that escapes his lips is some kind of an answer to her question, but, apparently, Ava’s still anticipating a verbal response, her brows furrowing in confusion. ‘Like, zero.’ Ava gasps. ‘What—what about you? I’ve counted only, like, a few.’
‘Thirteen,’ Ava mouths, raising her fingers to tease Gary.
He lets out an inaudible gasp. ‘Oh, wow,’ he mouths back. Ava pursues her lips in mocking before her attention shifts back to the ice cream.
Gary chooses not to return to the speedster discourse for fear the topic might change into the Legends.
‘So, how,’ she starts but has to pause when ice cream cools her teeth in the most unpleasant of ways. ‘How are things between you and “Conny”?’
‘Conny and I are, um, great,’ he admits, pushing his glasses further back with his fingertips. ‘He actually stayed over last night,’ he whispers with a grin.
‘He did not! What,’ Ava blurts, her eyes wide with amusement. ‘Damn,’ she adds as Gary continues to giggle. And, then, Ava’s face stiffens again, her grin fades away.
Next time Gary speaks, he doesn’t look directly at Ava; instead he pretends to be fishing a spoonful of ice cream off the pint. ‘You consider calling her?’
Ava doesn’t look at Gary this time either. ‘Only every other second.’ Her voice comes out raw, scratching at that part of Gary’s throat where the lump causes him discomfort.
Ava’s never been good at feelings; he knows she prefers to swallow emotions than let them show—
‘I just wanna be there for her. There’s times I think she just dives head first into danger.’ She chuckles, wiping some tears with the back of her hand. Her honesty takes him by surprise. ‘I’d die if something happened to her and I’m not there to do anything.’
Gary reaches behind him to his blazer and pulls out a handkerchief. He offers it to Ava. ‘Captain Lance is very careful when it comes to her team.’
‘Yes, Gary, she is,’ she breaths softly. ‘It’s her I worry about.’
He’s not particularly good with words, has never been; instead, he opens his arms, offering comfort and warmth the best way he knows. Ava leans against him and Gary has to shift his position so that she can lay on top of him.
‘I just miss her everything. So bad.’ She tucks her head under his jaw.
Gary wraps a hand around her. He tries to sound optimistic, ‘You can always try calling her tomorrow.’
Ava puts her hand on his chest as if to check for his heartbeat. What she finds, or rather, what she doesn’t find there must disappoint her, for she curls her fingers into a loose fist and anchors it there.
The movie playing for no one is the only thing filling the air with words. Gary contemplates turning it off completely. Ava has always been one to appreciate silence, anyway. Gary figures, however, that, over the past two nights, she must have come to hate silence, so he simply turns the volume down, so that the movie dialogue is reduced to whispers, a kind of comfort, a reminder that life goes on.
He feels wet spots stain his shirt and he’s almost sure Ava’s damp hair is not the source of them. He brings one hand to softly caress her arm, and watches for changes in her breathing pattern; it is not long until he can feel her relax completely. Excuses to get the Director and the Captain to meet flood his mind, but only for a moment, before he also gives himself up to sleep.