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    Summary

    There’s a pair of men’s combat boots by the foot of her bed; an ashtray with a half-empty pack of Silk Cut on the bedside table opposite hers; two whiskey tumblers on the table, a sticky amber residue on the bottom of each one; on the shelves, books in a language she can’t read; a protective sigil hangs from the ceiling over the bed, to keep the sex demons away. When exactly had this happened?

    Or, the one where an offhand comment from Nate sends Sara into a spiral of self-reflection and forces she and John to finally talk about whatever it is they’re doing.

    Written for this year's dccwrarepairswap on tumblr. Canon compliant until 318. Mentions of past Sara/Ava and John/Kit Ryan.

    Language:
    English
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