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“You deserve the world.”
Nyssa says this to her during their last night together, over burgers and shakes. It takes Laurel by surprise, but she she continues to dip a french fry into her pink drink.
“I’m sure you say that to all the girls.”
Nyssa scoffs, and it’s because she knows Laurel too damn well. She can recognize a defense. Laurel - strong, tough, rock of the team, ready to take on any challenge - hides her emotions. She’s known time and time again it only hurts. She’s not allowed to be weak. But with Nyssa, she’s wearing her heart on her sleeve.
“I don’t,” Nyssa says after a pause. The weight of the initial statements sets in, and Laurel fiddles with her straw.
“Not even to Sara?” The blonde asked. She was sure this had to come up in their epic love story.
Nyssa slightly frowned, shaking her head. “I would tell her I would give her the world, but it was regardless to whether she deserved it or not.”
Laurel wasn’t sure if that was romantic or not. She didn’t say anything. Nyssa took her silence as a cue to continue.
“You have been doing good in this city for years,” Nyssa attempts, but stops. She starts again, differently. “I told you before you’ve reminded me that the strongest blade is forged in the hottest fire.” Laurel nods. “You are thrown down in pits and you climb them. You’ve been torn down by people close to you and yet you are still standing.”
“So why do I deserve the world?” Laurel finally speaks. She’s curious to know the difference between Sara and her. Sara went through hell and stood tall before three arrows struck her chest. Why was Laurel different?
“Because you continue to save it,” Nyssa replies simply.
Laurel stares at her. She waits again for Nyssa to continue but the assassin doesn’t take notice. She proceeds to finishing her meal.
“You can’t leave it like that,” Laurel tells her.
A small smirk plays at the edge of Nyssa’s mouth. The brunette enjoys teasing, Laurel knows. She also knows Nyssa means every word she says.
“You’re a lawyer, which would come with the idea of a six figure salary, something clearly you’ve never seen,” Nyssa offers a beginning of an explanation.
“Thanks.”
“You’ve become an attorney to aid others, from working at CNRI to the district attorney’s office. When tragedy strikes, you help others rather than doing what others do.”
“Not true,” Laurel says quickly. She’s no hero. “I fell into addiction. I pushed everyone away-”
“Stop,” Nyssa says, a command Laurel hears when they train. Same tone and word. “Stop telling me what others tell you.”
“Then I don’t know what to say,” Laurel says honestly. They weren’t lies.
Nyssa sighs, almost like she’s disappointed. She looks away briefly, glancing out the window, at other patrons. Laurel’s appetite diminishes by every passing moment.
“Exulansis,” Nyssa says suddenly.
“What?”
“The tendency to give up talking of an experience because people are unable to relate to it. It causes such an experience to feel out of place, like it was never yours.” Her eyes meet Laurel’s as she sips her milkshake.
Of course Nyssa would know complicated words she’s never heard of, but it doesn’t change the accuracy. “So?” Laurel retorts, but it’s only another defense Nyssa sees through. It’s in those dark eyes, the kindness, the pity. The understanding.
Warm tears threaten to slip out. Laurel doesn’t know why nor care. She hasn’t cried since mourning over Sara, and that was mostly because she thought she didn’t have any tears left. No tears for Oliver as she doubted his death, she couldn’t even process what happened to Thea, and she refused to allow her father to break her heart. And Nyssa was opening vulnerabilities she was trying to hide.
Nyssa could see Laurel’s eyes glisten. “After Tommy’s death, Sara’s death, your own mother abandoning you, almost losing half your city, taking responsibilities. You stole your father’s medication and fell into a drinking habit - no excuses, of course - to survive tragedies you continue to face. People forget who you’ve lost, forget the pain you’ve endured. They forget the number of times you’ve been kidnapped. It is expected of you to still be standing.”
A salt trail slides down Laurel’s cheek, but she made no move to wipe it away. No need to fake strength.
“On the day that marked one year of sobriety, your company was only me,” Nyssa strikes a heartstring yet again, the rhythm of it against the beat in her chest.
Laurel closes her eyes, allows herself to silently cry in the middle of a restaurant.
“Such a feat is exemplary. Your father couldn’t even do it,” Nyssa sighs. “Yet it is expected of you. As if Lian Yu was the only place where one can endure Hell.” She puts a hand upon Laurel’s, allowing her canary a brief moment to compose herself.
Laurel thinks she looks ridiculous, red-eyed and wet cheeks. But she grasps her companion’s hand, almost desperately. “Please don’t go,” she whispers. Insecurities plagued her mind the moment Nyssa spoke of returning to Nanda Parbat.
Nyssa offers a small smile. The sadness never left her eyes. “You are not alone here, Laurel,” she speaks softly. “Queen, your father - but if you doubt their company, know Sara is with you. She protects you more than I ever could.”
A kiss on her forehead and she’s off in the night. And Laurel - dried eyed and determined - slips on her mask and leather jacket.
She’s got the world to save.