Chapter Text
“Where are we?”
“Arizona.”
“Oh.” That explains the landscape. She hadn’t been close to home, she’d been days away. She must've been out for a long time when they brought her here. “Are we driving the whole way?”
Ava grimaces, and when she speaks, her voice is hesitant, apologetic. “Yeah. I'm sorry. They wouldn’t shell out for a plane. I didn't want to push my luck.”
“No. Don't apologize,” Sara says, shaking her head. “I don't care how we get home. I just want to get there.”
Ava glances away from the wheel for a second, finds Sara’s hand, gripping down tight. “We’ll get there. It'll just take a little while.”
They fall into easy silence. That’s always been easy for them, and Sara’s glad that hasn’t changed. There’ll be time for talking, but for the time being, Sara is happy just relishing the speed of the car, the movement. Everything feels amazing after being cooped up in one place for so long. She opens the window, trailing her fingers out of the car. The wind feels good on her face.
Ava looks at her, smiles briefly, before her eyes flick back to the road.
Over the next hour, Ava’s eyes keep flicking back to Sara, never lingering too long, but never going too long without glancing over—without checking, because Sara knows that’s what it is.
At some point, Ava drops Sara’s hand to do something. A little while later, Sara picks it back up, slowly, carefully, because if she’s too quick, too sudden, then Ava starts stressing out about her driving, about getting distracted.
“Hey,” Sara says, softly, ducking her head slightly, bringing Ava’s hand up to her mouth, pressing a kiss onto the knuckles there. She looks up at Ava through her eyelashes. Ava’s eyes flick back and forth relentlessly, obviously wanting to keep her eyes on Sara, but knowing she can’t. “You’re staring at me.”
For a second, Ava is silent, her eyes searching, and then she lets out a breath, a soft sound, and her lip trembles slightly, obviously remembering. “Yeah, because you’re beautiful,” she says, eventually.
Sara smiles, memories rushing back of a time long gone, and it's bittersweet.
“And because I missed you so much, Sara.”
Sara intertwines their fingers more, locking them together. “I know, baby. So did I.” She looks over at Ava, and there are tears welling up on her lash line. “Hey, you need to stop driving for a second?”
Ava shakes her head, blinking, staring ahead. “No. No, I’m fine.”
“Okay. Hold still,” Sara says, leaning over, carefully wiping at Ava’s cheeks with a finger, her turn to ward away the tears.
Ava sniffs. “I’m sorry.” More drops spill out, rolling down her cheeks. Her voice is thick with tears when she says, “Look, I’m undoing all your work.”
Sara sighs, shaking her head.
“Stop apologizing, Ava. You still got tissues in the glovebox?” Sara asks, and Ava nods, ever prepared. Sara pulls them out, then looks at Ava. “Pull over, baby.”
This time, Ava does, taking the tissues once the car has come to a stop, wiping at her face. When she is done, she looks up. “How do I look?”
“Beautiful.”
“No, really.”
Sara undoes her seatbelt, leaning closer, kissing Ava lightly, her hands either side of her face. “Beautiful.” Ava’s eyes close. “Beautiful,” Sara repeats, over and over, in between laying kisses all over her face.
When Ava’s breathing has slowed slightly, when her eyes are no longer red, Sara stops, just leaning close, their foreheads touching, breathing in time, silent for a couple of minutes. “You okay to drive again?” Sara eventually asks, quietly. "Or I can."
Ava just shakes her head, says, “You've been through a lot. I can drive.”
Sara narrows her eyes. “Do you think I've forgotten how to drive?”
“No!” Ava says, her voice still watery, defensive.
Sara raises an eyebrow.
“Okay, maybe a little bit." There's a tiny smile on Ava's face, and it feels like something has shifted a little, the tears slightly further in the rearview mirror.
“Wow.”
“I don't want us crashing before we get home, Sara," and there's something of the old Ava there.
“I love you, too,” Sara says, indignant, then glances over at her, her voice turning serious. "Only if you're sure you're okay."
Ava takes a second, then nods. "I'm fine, Sara."
A couple hours later, Sara decides to finally broach the subject that she needs to know the answer to.
“How did you do it? Get me out, I mean.” Sara pauses. “It was you, right? They didn't just… change their mind?”
“It was me,” Ava confirms. “It took— It took a while. I spent months working on your case before I even dared bring it to them. I had to get their trust back. Worked ridiculously long hours without extra pay. Took all the shitty missions I used to pass over when I had my search for you as an excuse. Convinced Gary I wasn't a traitor.”
“And then?” Sara asks.
“And then I gave them my case for you. I'd gone through all of the League’s documents, all their files, showed what they did to you, corroborated everything you’d said. Air tight case.” She pauses. “I even found records of everyone they made you kill, and…”
“And?”
“You almost never killed anyone completely innocent. Did you know that?”
“No. Really?” Sara asks, and it's incredulous. But it makes sense. It was rarely ever necessary to kill complete innocents. They never usually had enemies that wanted them dead.
“Yeah.” Ava shakes her head. “I mean, it doesn't make it right, but… a lot of them had done bad things. Horrible things.”
Sara laughs, low and rueful. “Ra’s always liked to say we were making the world better. But I suppose we only killed the bad guys he didn't like, so he couldn’t really talk. All the people who paid him for protection were all terrible people.” She pauses, doesn’t say what she’s thinking, that she did their bidding, and that makes her terrible as well. She takes a breath, pushing that down. There’ll be time to talk about that. So much time. Suddenly she has all the time in the world. “So they let me out, just like that? Just because I mostly killed criminals?”
“No. They said no. Said it was convincing, that it made it slightly better, but that it didn't absolve you.”
Sara wouldn't have accepted that argument, either. She'd still killed them. Still played judge, jury and executioner.
“Honestly, I— I nearly gave up.” Ava’s voice is wobbling again. “I nearly gave up. I’d spent so long on that, and they looked at it for all of an hour, and then made their decision, just like that, and it nearly broke me. I nearly gave up.”
“I wouldn’t have blamed you if you had, baby.”
“I would’ve blamed myself,” Ava says, and Sara knows that true. Ava sighs. “I nearly gave up, but I didn’t... somehow. I had to give it one more go. That was three months ago. After I decided to keep trying, they let me send you that letter and I tried so hard to tell you that I was still working on getting you out, but they redacted everything I tried to say.”
Sara smile at the thought of the letter, the letter that no longer has to cause her pain, because she’s back with Ava, doesn’t have to keep wishing she’d move on. And then the smile falls off her face as she realises that she doesn't have the letter anymore, that they didn't let her pack anything before she left.
Ava sees the change in her face. “You okay, babe? Sara?” Her voice is panicked, seeing the colour drain out of Sara's face.
“I don't have the letter,” Sara says, and she can't believe it, but she's choking back tears, and then it gets worse, because all of a sudden, she can’t breathe. “I don't have it. Ava, I don’t have it,” she gasps out, bracing herself against the dashboard, trying to suck in air, but it’s not working. The world is closing in on her, and she can’t see anything, can’t hear anything. Ava is a distant blur, a distant blur slamming on the brakes for the second time in as many hours.
And then Ava’s hands are on her, gentle, and her head stops spinning, and sounds that aren’t a horrible ringing come back. “Come on, babe, breathe. I got you.” Sara gasps, oxygen finally rushing in, filling her lungs, and Ava smiles encouragingly. “Yeah, just like that. You got this.” She pauses, tucking a strand of hair behind Sara's ear, her touch soothing, her voice even more so. “It’s fine, Sara. Everything’s fine. It's going to be fine. It’s just paper. I think I have it all memorized, anyway. ”
So does Sara, but that's not the problem. It's the meaning of the thing.
This one thing that kept her going.
She looks at Ava, eyes wild, and Ava speaks again. "Yeah, I know that probably doesn't help. I know how you feel. It's okay. You're okay." Ava always had a knack for that, for knowing exactly what Sara was feeling. It's comforting to know that that's still there.
Sara takes a deep breath, relishing in being able to even do that. The letter gone now. She just has to accept it. There’s nothing else she can do. She’s sure they’ve already destroyed everything she kept while she was there. She takes another breath, letting the world set itself right, letting herself focus on Ava's hands where they're still gripping her tight.
“We can keep going,” Sara says, her voice weak. “At this rate, we’re never getting back.”
Ava looks at her, worried, like she's worried Sara is going to disappear into herself again.
“Are you sure? I don't care how quickly we get back. Are you okay?”
“I will be,” Sara says. She takes another breath. Ava starts the car again. After a little while, another fifteen minutes of silence and slow breathing, Sara steers the conversation back to where she had been before she derailed it.
“What happened after the letter?”
“After the letter, I stopped trying to build a case for you. I'd given them everything that could possibly make them sympathise with you, and it hadn't worked. So I changed tack.”
“Hmm?”
“Money. Keeping you there was ridiculously expensive. And they couldn't put you in a normal prison without a trial. They didn't want that, either. So I got a sort of compromise.” Ava's face is apprehensive. “It's… kind of community service.”
Sara raises an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Don't be mad.”
“I could literally never be mad at you, Aves. You just got me out of prison. Where am I gonna be working?”
“Strictly you're not going to be getting paid, at least not for a long while, so it's more like... volunteering.”
Sara rolls her eyes. “Fine. Where am I going to be ‘volunteering’?”
“The Bureau.”
“Oh,” Sara says, the sound escaping before she can stop it. She hadn't been expecting that. “Really?”
Ava bites her lip. “Yeah. They, uh, saw how well we worked together and I guess they figured why spend money keeping you locked up when you could be…”
“Providing free labour instead?”
“Essentially.”
Sara smiles, really properly smiles. “So I get to work with you?”
“You're— you're okay with this? I thought I'd have to persuade you. You didn't seem too keen on the Bureau when you had to work with them before.”
“They were treating you like shit and the they were going to lock me up.”
“They did lock you up.”
“Ava. Baby. I don't care. You got me out. I'd work on a garbage truck if I had to. Working with you is a bonus.”
Ava smiles, relaxing. The tension moves out of her body. “Really?”
“Really.”
A couple of minutes later, Sara speaks again. “If I'm working with you that means we don't have to keep any more secrets.”
“No,” Ava says, her expression content. “No more secrets.”
They stop at a motel, and it’s almost identical to the one they had stayed in a million years ago, before everything went down.
Sara shrugs off her jacket. Something crinkles quietly in the pocket, and there, where someone must have put it, where she didn't even notice when she was getting dressed in a daze back in the prison, is Ava’s letter. She looks at it in wonder. Someone at the prison had realised this was important. Maybe they weren't all bad. Maybe working at the Bureau wouldn’t be terrible, if there were people like that, people like Ava there.
She hadn’t been lying when she said she didn’t mind her new… work assignment. She really, truly, would’ve done anything if it meant being out and back at home with Ava. But she was just slightly apprehensive about working with them, working with people who hated her at worst, and feared her at best, so this made her feel slightly better, slightly hopeful that there would be people other than Ava that she might get along with.
“I love you,” Ava says, pointing at her words in the letter. Sara looks down, having been lost in the moment, briefly distracted. “I'm sorry— I haven't— I didn't say that until now. But you know that, right?”
“God, yes,” Sara says, leaning in close.
Ava smiles, presses Sara down onto the bed, her mouth hard.
Sara lets herself sink into the kiss for a second, then pulls away, just ever so slightly.
“I'm okay if we don't go any further than this,” she whispers. “You said you needed time. I know it’s been months but I… haven’t exactly been there to build this back up. But we've got all the time in the world, now. I don't mind waiting, if you don't want to do anything.”
Ava nods, a tiny nod, and then pushes Sara back further. Her mouth is less urgent, slower, and Sara doesn't even need sex, because this—Ava's fingers tangled in her hair, Sara’s on Ava’s neck, their bodies flush—is all she will ever need.
And then one of Ava’s hands moves to press up underneath the hem of Sara’s shirt, her palm flat on the skin of Sara’s stomach, and, okay, maybe Sara needs that, as well, but it's her only concession—Ava’s hand on her skin, warm and soft and leaving goosebumps in its wake.
She'd be satisfied with just this for the rest of her life, if Ava was the one giving it to her.
Ava pulls away for a second when her fingers trace over mottled skin. She looks at the scar on Sara’s stomach. It’s long since healed, but is now a permanent reminder of the day that they almost fell apart. Ava’s face twists in pain, and Sara needs to get rid of that, so she smiles, says, “None of the nurses who helped change the dressing were as nice as you,” and Ava laughs, a soft laugh. The tension is eased away, and they fall back together. Sara can't get enough of her, can't get close enough.
When they fall asleep together, for their first night’s sleep next to each other in half a year, neither of them have nightmares, and it’s a little bit of a miracle, but feels right.
The drive is long, but Sara hardly notices it, because Ava is talking the whole time, telling Sara everything she's missed.
Sara could listen to Ava talk all day. She's missed her voice so much.
When they get home, Sara is surprised by how… normal it is. It feels like it should look different, but it's the same house she's always lived in.
(The only thing that’s different, Ava had told her, is the kitchen, redone after Sara slightly exploded it, and the electrics, gutted to get rid of any trace of the surveillance the League had placed there.)
She steps inside, and it feels right. Not perfect, but right. It's the same hallway, the same hallway where they'd fallen apart and fallen back together. It's something, that's for sure.
And then Ava joins her, her hand in the small of Sara’s back, reassuring, and there it is. Now it’s perfect.
“Welcome home,” Ava says.
Sara just smiles.
Falling back into their bed with Ava is more than perfect.
Sara sits in the kitchen the next morning. She's wearing one of Ava’s sweaters, just because she can.
It's oversized for Ava, so, on Sara, it hangs down to top of her thighs. It's almost decent. Not quite, but then, they’re at home. For the first time in six months, Sara doesn't have to worry about anyone watching her but Ava.
The fabric is soft, warm, well-worn. It feels like home. Maybe she’ll never wear her clothes again, maybe she’ll just steal Ava’s. That’s something she could do, now. She can do anything. The world is wide open.
She's up early, because she was always up early at the prison, and you don't just snap out of a routine just like that. When Ava eventually wakes up, comes downstairs, she's adorably sleepy. Sara just hands her a cup of coffee, wordless.
And then Ava’s face twists, and Sara’s stomach turns.
“I got worried when you weren't there when I woke up,” Ava says, her voice quiet. “I thought I lost you again.”
“No,” Sara says, pulling her close. “Never.”
After that, Sara stops getting out of bed before Ava wakes up. It's not a hard change to make. She gets to stay tangled up in her a little longer, watching her sleep. When Ava wakes up, there is always the same smile on her face, like she's seeing Sara for the first time. Like she's the best thing Ava has ever seen.
When Ava reaches out a sleepy hand to find Sara, to touch her, to know that she's real, Sara’s heart breaks, just a tiny bit, but it is healed when Ava’s smile only widens, even half asleep, at the feeling of Sara under her fingertips.
It takes Sara a little time to settle into the Bureau. Everyone distrusts her at first, wary of the assassin in their midst.
But after a couple of months, a couple of months where they see she's more competent than most of them combined, and where they seem to decide that she's not going to kill them, they almost seem to accept her.
At least, no-one starts when they see her anymore—except Gary, that is, but he just seems like he's always nervous.
She eats lunch with Ava in her office. It's fancy, big glass walls and open space.
Apparently, it would've been bigger, had her big mission not fallen through so spectacularly, but Ava's voice is earnest when she convinces Sara that she doesn't mind, that she wouldn't trade the promotion for her, ever.
Sara believes her.
They work perfectly together, like Sara had known they would. They're the perfect balance. Ava pulls back when Sara takes a mission a little too far. Sara pushes forward when Ava hesitates.
Together, they make the right call, over and over again. No-one at the Bureau does better work. It helps that Sara knows how the enemy thinks, how it works. Her record at the Bureau is spotless. Everything she touches turns out well. And, somehow, she's actually enjoying working for the government.
Seven years ago, she would never have imagined in a million years that she'd be saying that.
Seven years ago, she hadn't even been sure she'd survive this long.
But she'd met Ava, and that had changed everything.
Ava had ruined her, and she'd never been more grateful to be ruined, because Ava had saved her as well.
At night, they get closer, closer than even before, because now, finally, there is nothing to hide, and they can both be themselves, not having to worry about checking what they're saying, not having to worry about anything. Nothing is off limits, and there's so much to tell, so much to spill, every word confessed feeling like another weight off both of both of their backs, every word bringing them closer.
But Sara is still cautious, still careful. There is the smallest feeling that this thing is still breakable, so Sara is wary of pushing too far, too fast. She doesn't have to worry about what she says, but she is spends every second thinking about what she's doing, about making sure Ava isn't uncomfortable, trying not to ruin the painstaking progress they have made.
She'll wait for Ava to be ready, however long that takes.
She is satisfied just being close to Ava. She doesn't need more, doesn't need to touch her like that, not if Ava doesn't want it.
A couple of times, Ava offers to take care of Sara, and Sara believes that the offers are genuine, that Ava would be fine doing that, but she really doesn't need it. Doesn't even want it, not while they're healing, not while Ava wouldn't want it back.
So they wait, dancing a careful dance around each other.
And then one day they are in bed, faces close, eyes closed.
“I love you,” Ava murmurs.
“I love you, too,” Sara replies, her voice a whisper.
“I love you so much, Sara,” Ava says, her voice earnest. “So much.”
A smile breaks on Sara’s face, one she can't restrain. Ava pulls her closer, presses a kiss to her temple, her mouth warm. Sara's smile only widens. Her eyes are still closed. Their hands are intertwined and Sara’s thumb is rubbing over Ava’s skin. Ava hums, just a tiny bit, at the touch.
The motion is only supposed to be comforting, grounding. Sara’s almost not even thinking about it—she's just content being where she is, doing what she’s doing.
She's not intending to invite anything else.
But then Ava’s foot nudges Sara’s legs, pressing in between, and Ava is shifting even closer, if that was even possible.
Sara’s eyes snap open, and Ava is smiling at her.
“Baby?”
“Hmm?” Ava’s response doesn't give Sara any answers. Her lips are pressed together, and her expression offers no answers, either. Instead, Ava just nudges her knee higher.
It’s not like they haven’t touched in any way since Sara got back, not like this is the first time they’re this close, but there is something here that is different, some intent behind the movement that hasn't been there, and it almost takes Sara’s breath away.
She can feel anticipation building, but she reins it in, monitors her tone when she says, “Ava…”
Ava is still smiling.
“Do you—" Sara can't finish the question before Ava speaks again.
“Yes.” Ava nods.
“Are you sure? You know I'd wait as long as you need, right?”
“Yes,” Ava says. “And that's why it's time. Because I know you'd wait, and I trust you.”
“You trust me?” It's almost a year since everything went down, time enough for things to heal, but trust… trust takes time. The months of healing have been long, but Sara would wait longer, if she had to.
“More than I did before, even. Now that I know everything.” Ava pauses. “When I first found out, I thought letting you touch me would hurt me. And then I lost you, again, and realised I was so wrong, that losing you hurt so much more. I realised I didn't care about your past.” Ava closes her eyes for a second. “I still needed time, though, even when I got you back. To get back to where we were. It was going to be a while before I could want—" She cuts herself off, a tinge of pink on her cheeks, and she's nervous.
It's like they're beginning all over again. Sara smirks, leaning in close. “Before you could want what, baby?” she asks, her voice low.
Ava bites her lip. “You,” she says, simply. “Like that. Again.”
“And do you, now?” Sara asks. “Want me… like that?”
“Yes,” Ava breathes, her breath hitching in her throat as Sara’s hand splays on her stomach.
“What do you want, Ava? I need to hear you say it.” Sara isn't doing anything more until she is absolutely, positively sure Ava is okay with it. She needs to hear the exact words from Ava, needs it like air.
Needs the confirmation, in nothing less than certain terms.
Ava places a hand round Sara’s neck, kisses her, quickly, then pulls back, meeting Sara’s gaze, her expression serious. There is no room for doubt when she speaks. Her voice is low. “I want you, Sara. Right now.”
The words echo through Sara’s mind, bringing back memories from another time—a bar and a dress and a mission almost gone wrong, bandages under her shirt. They flash through her mind, and, yes, she can work with that. Combined with the earnest look on Ava’s face, it's more than enough, more than enough certainty. She shifts position carefully, so that Ava is under her.
Ava, the woman who ruined her.
Ava, the woman who single-handedly brought down the League. (She had loved Sara when Sara had been sure she was unloveable and unredeemable, and that was the beginning of the end, so it was all her, really.)
Ava, who is looking up at her with love and trust (and lust) in her eyes.
Sara smiles. She leans down, pressing kisses to Ava’s skin. “What was it you wanted, again?” she asks, teasing. Her voice is light.
A tiny frustrated sound comes out of Ava’s mouth, but she's smiling as well.
“You.”
“Me?” Sara asks, raising an eyebrow. “Are you su—"
Ava pulls Sara down, swallowing her words with her mouth. “Just touch me, Sara,” she says, her mouth against Sara’s cheek, only a hint of pleading in her voice.
Sara pulls away. Looks at her. Ava looks back, her gaze steady.
They're not back to normal, because the old normal had been a lie.
This is something new, and it's better.
“Okay, baby, okay,” Sara says, giving in.
Ava smiles, and she is the sunrise.
THE END
