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Chapter Text

Officially, this was a cultural experience, not a sign of weakness. Learning about an American touchstone, Sara insisted. Their plane left at 200… tomorrow. The drive was only an hour to the pickup. This fair closed at 2200. No, Nyssa accepted this weakness for Sara’s laugh. The Heir only vetoed rides for security. Strength and weakness balancing out.

Her Beloved diligently wandered around the landscape of rigged games, fried or sugary food, and merchants. Nyssa would rebuke under torture fair fries were excellent. The blue raspberry fibrous sugar overly sweet for more than a polite sample. Sara devoured the rest. Now casual echoes of Staircase to Heaven sounded from a distance stage over the thudding of a strength machine or din of bells.

“Dad won us a giant teddy bear at Skee ball.” Her Beloved detailed, pointing where people rolled balls to numbered cylinders. “Cost fifteen dollars and almost blew out his shoulder, but he set the record.” Nyssa smirked, sidestepping three 8 years old dueling with plastic tanto. “Bigger than Ollie’s.” Her Beloved smiled. “Laurel and I body tackled him and Tommy when they tried parading around with it.”

Nyssa draped her arm around Sara’s shoulders on the bittersweet note. The Blonde leaned into her. They strolled around vendors selling mystery bags for a dollar to passable mass-produced necklaces. “This reminds me of Temple Week.” The Heir mused. Free and fair games of skill for children next to food stands. No music though. The best Indian food next to the Bell Pick Pocket stands. Mexican next to the throwing knifes and dunk tank where initiates and apprentices tested their aim by dropping their instructors into water if their ball hit the target. Fire blazers every fifteen paces in the frigid mountain winters. Food vendors chosen by lottery, not coin. If her position allowed, she would have manned the throwing knifes games.

“That distraction your brother complains about?” Sara asked. They were completing Sara’s initiation marathon last celebration; her Beloved recovering from a fever her first week in Nanda Parbat the year previous.

The Heir smiled. Dusan ranted for hours on this proud six-century tradition, barely shortening when Ann and Mara discovered the joy. The market should stay outside of the First City. 600-year ancestral tradition or not. “To use your phase, his head would explode here.”

Sara bent over laughing. A true vulnerability turned strength. “You learn fast, young grass hopper.”

“My teacher is determined.” Nyssa replied.

“And student motivated.” Her Beloved stated.

The Heir glanced around at the commercialized scene. “Your next lesson?”

“Try one of the rigged games.” Sara suggested. “Darts, Skee ball, water guns, hammer test. Any game. I am going to get us fried dough.”

Nyssa sighed. “Darts should be painless enough.” Her Beloved had an ulterior motive for this. She humored her still.

5 Dollars got her five hopeless dull, unbalanced “darts”. Each dart with its own personality.  One bottom loaded, another top heavy. Only one decently balanced with cracked fletching. An unskilled thrower would spend 30 dollars for a large prize. The prize is worth the effort, she reminded herself. A shark stuffed animal, hopefully closer enough to “Sharkie” of old. If she had decent projectiles, this would only be 10 dollars.

Nyssa delicately loaded the decent dart. She adjusted her grip, then flicked it. A pink half inflated balloon popped. She smiled. The worker drifted to the nearest client. Two more until a medium. Two mediums secured a new Sharkie. Another dart struck true but bounced off. The cracked fletching avenged its brethren. However, the fourth betrayed her. She weighted the final projectile. Its center further down more than expected. That crimson balloon flanked by three other barely filled balloons. The worker occupied by giving a five years old boy the same quantity of darts.

The assassin adjusted her thumb, fletched her wrist releasing the dart. Crimson shards fell to the ground. “Well done! What toy do you want or another round?” He prayed another round.

A wall of comets, stylized faces called emojis, and patterned bears mocked her. The Starling Rockets had comets in their historical logo. Nyssa pointed to the comets, then placed another five dollars down.

Five new personalities greeted her. 2 well balanced, but blunter than Mara if possible. One balanced. The last two hopelessly top heavy. The boy’s third dart glided to the ground. “Can I hold your dart for a moment?” She asked, glancing up at the patient father. Defeated, the boy handed her the fourth dart. The assassin weighed the blunt projectile with cracked fletching. This one could fly at least. “It should rest like this in your hand.” Nyssa modeled with one of the equally hopeless unbalanced ones. The boy copied it perfectly.

The assassin smiled as she returned to her plotting. Maybe she could will two of these to pop the mocking balloons.

“Thank you, miss.” The boy squeaked in glee as a by a miracle, one balloon popped.

Her smile grew. The knife throwing had been Mom’s favorite too.  “Happy to assist…”

“Theo.”

Nyssa nodded, returning to her own situation. With a bit of luck, she could maybe pop two balloons. Two blunts popped a singular left green balloon. Theo’s final dart landed into the wall at least. He and his father wondered over to pick a small prize. The sole balanced one would get it victory. Except it bounced off. The other darts barely made it to the board. “Theo can get a medium.” She declared, refusing to acknowledge this round occurred. His dad nodded grateful.

Theo danced, leaping and pointing to a cat stuffed animal. “Mr. Tux will love his twin.” He cried. His father whispered into his ear. “Thank you.”

Again, she surrendered over five dollars. Three decent darts settled in her hand. One top heavy but hopeful. The other manageable even dull. She weighed it in her finger for ten seconds. Sara’s chuckle shattering the spell. “Taking your assignment seriously, I see.” Her beloved joked. Fried bread coated in powdered sugar, cinnamon, and jam in hand. Nyssa ignored her, then Sara laughed. “You got it, Jaws.”

“You want the shark toy?” Theo chuckled, spinning with the new toy.

“That is the plan, Beloved.” The Heir stated as she settled on the best grip. Clearly Jaws had some American popular reference lost to her. The quirky dart glided and popped the right green balloon. The next dull one bounded off the back.  One avenging dart later, Nyssa scanned the new map.. The left more direct but sparely populated; the right trickier but a city of half-filled balloons.

With these ‘darts’ of this quality, quantity alone mattered. A pen was more fatal than these. Sara smiled as she tore the sugared fried bread. The Heir glided to toward the pack of ten, bouncing off a blue balloon. Her Beloved personally weighted the hopeless dart. A plan forming in her head and choosing the right words. It was a miracle it flew in a straight line in the wall with a mocking echo.

“Tim, give the valiant knight one more chance to prove herself to her lady.” Sara leaned against her, offering the bread. “Not that she has not already or needs to.” Her Beloved glanced at the kid’s ballroom dancing and jumping.

Nyssa did not fight the warm smile. Rules were strict in Temple Week, but the games were fair preparing them for the League if they wished. However, he handed Nyssa an aqua blue dart. She weighed the top-heavy projectile. This dart was a stretch. 

She released it in a popping black balloon.

The vendor traded the overpriced comet for “Jaws”. Sara’s laugh worth the price and humiliation. They wandered away from the scam. Fried bread coated in cinnamon sugar and jam pleasantly if thoroughly American.

“What is this ‘Jaws’?” Nyssa asked by the classic rock cover band, concealed in a discreet corner. 1900. Only hours of this calm remained.

Sara paused. “The movie with the dunnn dunnn theme we almost worked in.” They agreed to never mention that incident again. “Two songs, then Skee ball, Hawaiian ice, then to return the music for the rest of the night?” The blonde offered.

“If that is what the lady wishes.”

“First, the Lady’s favor.” Her Beloved revealed an obsidian arrowhead with a tree engraved on it. “Not a handkerchief but…”

Nyssa leaned in, kissing her. The Heir tasted the strawberry jam. They could break a rule or two here undercover. “Still a good standard.”

They stayed in the over commercialized and sugared fair until they couldn’t.

Chapter Text

April 31, 2021

Sara Margaret Sharpe died the moment, ARGUS agents Trudeau and Halliwell tailed her to the Madrid safehouse. Sara Agatha Lance observing from the shadows while they inspected the cleared apartment. Ash where maps and sheets were piled an hour ago. Bleach down the drains. The place cleared. Yeah, the Aegean Yacht destroyed that alias. Two years was a good run. Nyssa Raatko lasted an impressive eight years before the Boston airport mess.

One train ride and encoded call later, Sara got a temporary alias Samantha Laurel Tomin from Hartford, CT. Just a state ID and non-travel grade passport to flash if needed. Another train, cargo plane, and small plane, she returned to secure but suffocating Nanda Parbat.  The labyrinth city built in and around the verdant mountain range. A relieved yet vigilant Nyssa waiting in the forest by the air strip.

The other assassins bowed, then fled. Cowards. Her girlfriend was not a hurricane yet.

“What happened, Beloved?” Nyssa demanded the moment they slipped into the primeval forest engulfing the city.

A simple chance encounter could ruin even the most secure alias. Sara groaned. “They traced me in Barcelona. I lost them on the L’Rambla, then completed the surprise in Nice. Your father…” the assassin scanned the forest. “…tacked on another set of missions in Madrid. Eliminated that pimp at the museum gala,” The blonde inhaled. “then guess who I see a day later three blocks from my safehouse?”

“The world’s most persistent gnats?” Her girlfriend finished.

Sara countered. “Ones who are just doing their job, Nys.” She would only eliminate corrupt officers. Hell, even Nyssa only knocked out the idiot guards in Boston. “Besides, they are financial blood hounds with decent luck.”

The Heir nodded. “After that?”

“I poisoned the German count after cleaning the safehouse, then waited. They located the den, not the fox.” Sara shrugged.

Her girlfriend arched her eyebrows. Sara stayed in the area? As was her discretion. Sara met the concerned questioning look. “So, they are just beagles now?” Nyssa stated her second thought.

Oh, Nyssa were delaying her planning. Sara chuckled, free from the constant vigilance of the last 24 hours. “Which is more persistent?”

“Blood hounds. Besides, beagles hunt in packs.” Nyssa shrugged, then sighed. Several equally concerning possibilities materializing. The blonde waited until they crossed the great west creek.

Sara began. “We didn’t clean up enough after the Aegean or they caught the Sharpe Scent.”

Her girlfriend stopped midstride, just glancing up at the clear, sky. “Treating wounds are always priority, Sara.” Said the woman who once viewed her bullet wound as lower priority than Sara’s sprained ankle. The blonde bit down on her counter. Not here or now. “The Aegean only accelerated the discovery.” One odd observation or strong memory could shatter a practiced alias. Ghasan forced to use their IDs several times in Greece; Sara posing as his wounded girlfriend.

The blonde filtered out the coursing creek water. “Nys, I covered my tracks. I survived the Aegean.” She grabbed the Heir’s hand. “What are the next steps?”

First, a new alias. Second, work outside of Europe, maybe in China… no Ra’s would veto China, too. Third, maybe never enter Madrid this year.

“You need a new alias and photo, Beloved.” Nyssa schemed. “I’ll speak to Father for the rest.”

Sara sang, “Clearing.” The new photo was excessive.

Her girlfriend sighed, gesturing for Sara to sit on the tree trunk. “He assigned me an extended mission, one that scale just exp… anded. I could convince Father a sixth assassin will shorten the mission.” She detailed after scanning the forest.

Oh, the Russian Smugglers. There were 3 assassins two weeks ago. “Count me in.” They could create an alias in two weeks.

Sarah was a safe start. Simple, yet database confounding. Nanna Lance preferred her middle name over her first name Mary. Agatha remained buried in Sara’s name for a reason. Sarah Diana? Diana Sarah? She replicated the new signatures. Diana Sarah just felt better. A huntress, she heard Nyssa before she flooded the air with details or suggested surnames.

Not Heir, Nyssa’s new unoriginal alias. The last remnants of her mother erased outside of Nanda Parbat.

Staff. Baton. Laurel. Quentin. Drake. Sara glanced up at the simple golden star hanging from a sketch of Nyssa stretched out slumbering as a baby. David. Star. Canary. Marshal? Gambit. Nyssa’s knock echoed before her girlfriend marched in. Victorious, yet exhausted. Her eyebrows adorably dancing. “Oddly, he agreed without protest.”

Sara padded the bed, tucking in the ballpoint pen. “You are incredibly persuasive, Nys.” She laughed. Still, no protest for appearance’s stake? How much did this group metastasize over the last few weeks?

“We spent the rest of the audience discussing the mission itself or Talia’s sustained absences.” Nyssa explained as she pulled off her gloves, chuckling to herself. Most of it focused on the absences.

Thank you, favorite nomad. Sara held the quiver still. “Half of those are work.” The blonde meekly defended. The decoy deserved that much.

“The rest are focused. On the North Atlantic Seaboard.” The Heir unbuckled the quiver. Idiot decoy. The couple concealed their relationship from Ra’s for almost a year. Talia did not need to concern herself with dawn flights and mission covers. She could travel freely. Yet… the idiot nomad… “If ARGUS could trace you, the Hidden Ones know about Talia Head.” Nyssa dropped her masking frustration, the sleek black quiver rested on the crimson comforter.

“Will he need anyone there for the ambush?” Sara massaged her shoulders, undoing several knots. Neither could guarantee their poker face if the World Series was mentioned. That night after better have been worth it. Sara’s Cap a smoking gun. A well-hidden one. Nyssa tilted her head back, chuckling. “Talia will be alone in her interrogation.” Sara’s laugh joined her’s, echoing over to the sparring area. Her girlfriend kissed her, fully relaxing. “He expressly requested they speak alone.” Sara almost pitied the foolish nomad. The Heir glanced at the list. “Your grandmother’s surname?”

The Blonde sighed. “Only officially to throw off the blood hounds. I have not decided on any set name yet.”

“Beloved, if they know your rank, hounds will transform into beagles.” Nyssa paused, glancing up. “They may know now.”

Sara danced her hand into Nyssa’s. “I know. I’ll be ready when they do.” She leaned back, returning the kiss. “but they do not know now...”

“When they do, we’ll face them together.” The Heir Promised. Concern just paling out.

Drake was unwise; Sara knew it. “The only question is which name I’ll use, Miss Nyssa Rucka Heir.” Sara laughed. Nyssa barely tolerated the alias – one of the best supported in the League. Her own new alias could be from overheated Dallas and frozen Anchorage, just she chose the name… this time.

Nyssa shifted, collecting the rough signature and surnames. “Diana Sarah Baton or Marshal.” The Heir suggested. Sara played with every syllable. Still not right. Almost right. Diana would not protect Drake enough. “It is your choice, Beloved.” She paused. “One minute to comment?”

Sara nodded. The stakes were too high for her family, her girlfriend, and other assassins. Her girlfriend burrowed beside her. The blonde rested her head on her shoulder. “ARGUS, Vandal, and even the Hidden Ones are ruthless. In honoring your past life, I only ask it remain sincere and subtle. Not a…” Nyssa paused. “…a security question.” Sara nodded confirming the statement. “For us and your family, please be careful.”

Be careful, unlike Natasha. Killed in combat, heroic but lost.

“You grew up here… in this. Anyone who knows your name, let alone call you it, is family, subordinate, or foe.” The Beloved paused. “An alias is a tool. This alias is not my name, but the closest I have out there.” She explained. The parts Sara loved the most in Nyssa could not have formed under Ra’s al Ghul, maybe in the city. She was reclaiming this choice after being drafted. “I must claim it.”

“Are there other suitable surnames or family jokes?” Nyssa half nodded, half pleaded.

Sara paused. Nyssa knew most of them. Ollie dressing as Robin Hood in their group costume the Halloween before…, Caroline the Canary, Sharkie… “Maybe Sherwood.” Diana Sarah Sherwood. “I joked with Ollie the Robin Hood costume sherwood be a good time. Laurel groaned.  Tommy almost spit out his drink over her new jacket. We laughed for a solid hour.” The blonde smiled. “Tommy had the ring in his pocket the whole evening before he proposed.”

“You murmured Sherwood as we headed to the ship.” The Heir declared. “Is that the surname you would choose, Beloved.”

The Blonde played with the aliases. Both workable, one more secure than the other. More personal too. Nana drake served in the army as a nurse, an intimidating woman. Her name Sarah, exactly like Diana Sarah Sherwood. “Yes.”

“Not just for us and your family?” Nyssa confirmed.

“Yeah, that memory got me through a few of the final nights on the island.” Sara burrowed, inhaling the Jasmine. Ollie’s dimples at Laurel’s death glare. The ones when she chose to wake up.

Nyssa pulled her closer. Their foreheads touching. “The idea of going back to them. Even considering Ollie surviving somehow… Some miracle.” Sara clasped the canary necklace. The canary that hinted at land. Dreams and nightmares taunted her periodically. She made the best of the work. The difference, friends, and Nyssa removing that weight.

The New Passport and ID arrived 3 days before the mission. A Tennessee Driver’s License for Diana Sarah Sherwood. The new photo little different than Sharpe’s. Born Dec 17, 1998 and lived in Nashville. Several stamps in the passport. Ireland, France, Tunisia, and Slovakia. She and Nyssa worked out the biography details or tales behind the stamps that night. International relations graduate, concentration French. Representing an import and export company since graduation as a junior corporation negotiator. Loved Ireland. They got gleefully distracted before they named or decided the goods

Chapter Text

Talia winced as a crippling screech echoed through the warehouse. Any remaining windows spiderwebbed and praying for mercy. She stepped away from the aching glass. “Hello, Sara!” The Daughter of Ra’s al Ghul yelled.

“Come in.” Sara cried warmly from the next room.

One hand ready to cup her ear, the al Ghuls stepped over the shattered glass coating the floor. Still glass crushed under her feet on disturbed dust. Sara took off her safety glasses; ear plugs draped from her neck. “What brings you here? I thought you were dealing with the Hidden Ones.”

Talia was. Someone had to. Nyssa pursuing Merlyn and herself to the ground. Sara forced her to rest today. Collapsed on the queen bed. “My question is how you got my sister to sleep?” 6 Targets eliminated, eight countries, and 100 million dollars frozen over the last two weeks. Bruce would have been impressed.

Sara laughed. Mesi finished jotting down some numbers in a notebook. A stopwatch hanging from her neck.  “I gently pointed out I got three too easy blows.”

Natasha tried that… in her own way. One flame attempting to calm the other. Mei pushed back... hard like an unyielding stone wall. However, Nyssa entrenched herself, reversing the siege. Reasoning through cause and effect the best approach most of the time. Cause – you can not turn on a computer. Effect – the mission fails. The remedy – Learn how to turn on and log onto a laptop at age 21. In this case, cause – you are permitting openings. Effect – you get injured or killed, you stubborn mule. Remedy – Sleep. The ambassador mattered too. Just the right rank and setting. No public weakness permitted… which is why Father assigned her this errand. Not just pulling her from a three-day vacation with Bruce.

“Three blows?” Talia stalled. Mesi signaled 4 behind Sara.

The blonde nodded. “The last few missions have been intense.” She glanced at the metallic sphere in her hand, playing with a dial.

Still, the nomad delayed. Passing this message meant she was locked into a week in uninspired Chicago. “Did you get that in Dresden?” Talia nimbly sidestepped more of the glass. Only the late Darya Bogomolov had access to that tech.

Sara and Mesi glanced between themselves but humored her… this time. “Yeah. Almost deafened Mesi accidentally.” Her sister-in-law laughed.

Nyssa’s former apprentice nodded, adding in Arabic. “It screamed like an Irish banshee.” So, the student was still reading about folklore and spirits… or lacked time to devour the tome in a week.

“So we called her Banshee.” The blonde mused finitely, flashing the sonic device.

Talia traced the spider web patterns on the ballistic resistant glass. “You may need Banshee for this mission.” She passed over Father’s sealed note. All Talia knew was she was assigned command of this operation. The youngest Demon’s daughter repeated the poem Father gave her.

Sara groaned, exasperated and silently cursed the Demon after rereading the note. “…and He asked me to inform the finally slumbering Heir?”

“No, but you are the best Messager.” The Daughter of the Demon stated. Any siblings, even unfavored Dusan were perceived as a possible threat. “The city has a resurgent Hidden One population.” She added a balm for any burnt pride.

Sara marked several random letters on the sheet. “Talibah, please brief her on the mission and targets. I suggest walking by the Tribute Tower and Navy Pier before even drafting a plan.” The blonde departed, throwing the safety glasses and ear plugs into her backpack.

Two hours later Talia returned to the safehouse, Nyssa and Sara’s room was her’s. Cleared and cleaned. Scouting planned for that evening. Four days later, national news reported the sudden death of a noted philanthropist. She arrived in time to attend the funeral with Bruce. Sara stood masked in the crowd. Unsurprisingly, two attendants died three days later. Another set of mobsters with clean public faces. Ballistic glass shattered; crimson fletched arrows in their chests. No rest for her sister… or Batman.

Chapter Text

October 27, 2020

Central California, United States

Three assassins circled the flea market. Nyssa volunteered to “assist scouting”. The fact it was a flea market across from the target house irrelevant. Sara pitied the vendors. Merchants from more bargaining nations lost to the shark. Al-Owal genuinely scouting. A current of people passed by the masked smuggler’s mansion, blind to the five cameras protecting the estate. Make that six. She glanced at the inner courtyard with overloaded elaborate Halloween decorations.

The blonde scanned the table littered with trading cards. Yu-Gi-Oh, Pokémon, Magic the Gathering, and Baseball. A good third were more survivors than the ‘Yellow Bird’. She promptly flipped through the battered cards. Gotham Knights opening year, League Legends, Central City Chill, and…

Bailey Rows and T. T. Waller from his Metropolis meteoroids days. 5 dollars apiece. Jump City Olympians, Fredrick Favager in his final season. Founder of Nanda Parbat’s Baseball League, 1962. Namesake of the Favager Cup.

“12.” She offered.

The vendor paused. “13.” He countered.

Sara was not Nyssa. She exchanged the bills for her three prizes in plastic sleeves. They were scouting, even if customs were not a problem. Cameras lined the inner court yards openly. The false community benefactor remained properly paranoid. Not that it would spare him.

Sara spotted two openings as she slipped the cards into her hidden pocket. A woman chatted about Toussaint’s fifteenth annual Halloween party and charity movie marathon. Ones marked throughout around the town. His mask of charity allowing one of them inside to scout properly later. Al-Owal bargained over a collection of military memorabilia halfheartedly while he scanned the poster. Counting dollars instead of pennies. Nyssa distracting a vendor from her trade goal – several antique books. Not presently scouting.

The blonde wandered over to several tables. She indicated her observations silently. Nyssa smiled, nodding. “Look for one more.” The Heir gestured.

Stalling, Sara scanned the table. The couple seldom had a moment alone since landing in California. Any stolen moment interrupted by work or the First’s discoveries. The Heir’s crimson surprise unused. This proximity daring the fates again. Books ranging from medical knowledge to Victorian flower language coating the overburdened table. Her eyes drifted to the side gate concealed by well-tended shrubs. Excellently concealed. She opened the Victorian flower language tome confirming no other known escapes. Jasmine – love, romance, sensuality flashed on the page. Her girlfriend’s perfume dancing in the breeze. Sara gestured her correction over the page. Nyssa smiled, then masked. Al-Owal marching by with his treasure. They masked for a request for silence. Most of the League’s elite suspected. Ra’s commentless knew, just not the length. Scouting sara reminded herself, then forgot.

Her girlfriend traced the flower print. The archer searching for the orange blossoms. Sara’s favorite bodywash. Nyssa’s soft chuckle broke the silence. Chasity, then she smiled. Devotion. The First feinted interest in the acoustic guitar player ten feet away. ‘Tomorrow night.’ Nyssa gestured. No, promised. The blonde looking over several volumes before departing.

It took another loop and purchase, but she located another two expertly concealed cameras.  Al-Owal switching between his Korean conflict metals and World War One coins while he scanned from a bench. His knee still stiff from a recent salvaged mission. Nyssa wandering over to a hat stand by the First’s bench. “Approach.” The Heir commanded wordless.

“Two teams.” He sincerely suggested. Sara stood only present to learn the plan, she scanned the crowd and table.

The Heir placed her new books next to the fifty’s era hats. The flower language tome among them. “Agreed. You should focus on target 2.” Sara successfully pretended she was smiling at some baseball caps.

“Ta-er Al-Sahfer can lure him.” He countered correctly. Junior members always assigned the lesser target or look out. Bait, possibly.

Nyssa glanced up from some pillbox hat. Years of training contained the side look. Sara signaled ‘yes’ in their shorthand, then added ‘clearing’. Her own training kept her eyes on that limited-edition rocket’s anniversary cap. A lifetime of living with a detective masked her well. Well enough.

A fury of mission discussion followed. One minute Sara was playing look out, then next she was luring target 2 again. No signal to confirm or check in from her girlfriend. This minute she was scouting a secondary location. The blonde settled on two caps of interest. Tomorrow night, Nyssa promised. The blonde nodded. Sara could bargain the caps down when the mission bargaining ceased. If it did. So far, they agreed he should scout the estate while enjoying the classic horror movie charity and they needed costumes. All other details floating. 

Halloween Spirit, Sara signed. None of the veterans protested. Trust the American for the American Holiday.

Sara pulled her choice 2 hats away as she idly scanned for a decoy hat. A crimson fedora next to her caps. The same color as the lac… miraculously, Sara’s cheeks remained faithful. The staff user gestured ‘target movement’ as Toussaint marched out his courtyard. The Heir stared at the hat, then caught the repeated signal. The Heir haggled instead over a sleek black fedora. The Blonde smiled over a cap again. Tomorrow night will be fun.

The blonde traced the towering figure walking out to paths unknown. Nyssa indicated “Sara, tail”. Sara complied. A new lead in this parasitic spider web located over the next few hours.

Two baseball caps rested in Sara’s bag by her cot. A lone crimson fedora peering out of Nyssa’s room while the Heir refined tonight’s raid. Sara just collapsed on the cot after her formal work debrief. She needed sleep. Tomorrow night. Tonight, they raided.

Chapter Text

October 30, 2020

Central California, United States of America

Nyssa glared at the humming, ghostly twins rocking on the swings. A towering, suited skeleton taunting trespassers beside them. Al-Owal reported several of these features in the courtyard. Sara presently gleefully stepping on the button for the clown with a wrist-breaking knife grip. Such an American use of technology. “Nyssa, we need to get our costumes, not just continue glaring at the decorations.” Sara whispered.

“That is why we are here?” The Heir teased. Her Beloved laughed. They agreed to firm rules for costume selection. No vulnerable groups – reporters, clergy, medics. Any other first responders added just to avoid confusion. Nyssa vetoed any criminal associations on principle. Her beloved avoided any naval themes.

Nyssa adjusted the black fedora. The crimson reserved for private use. Sara blushed. If not for the camera and crowds, her hands would have been looser. Mischief managed, The Heir wandered over to the racks of costumes.

Half eliminated on moral grounds. Another quarter cultural references were lost on her. Gray inept cat and cunning brown mouse are the nearest example. “Cartoon or book?” Nyssa asked.

“Cartoon.” Sara chuckled. The Heir just nodded. “Laurel loved that show. She joked I was Jerry, and she was Tom.” Mara mentioned some show called, Tom and Jerry involving a mouse outwitting a cat…

Then the costume passed like a mirage. Her Beloved glanced at some demon masks next to several impractical winged white costumes. Sara was her weakness. However… no. She was not ready for the challenge, the blonde unprepared for the burden. Even if Father… respectable performance, particularly for a novice.

“Your eyebrows are dancing and its not the Velma and Daphne costumes.” Sara stated.

Nyssa surveyed the alley. Al-Owal supervising the front restaurant miles away with express orders to eliminate the accountant discreetly if he showed up. The Heir paused, encoding the situation. “Paul praised your baking in front of Father last week.” Sara’s eyes drifted to the pale impersonation of the basic league armor, then froze. Hamza seldom directly praised a novice.

“What did he say exactly?” Her Beloved managed. Everyone knew they were past courting… or suspected at least. The inner circle and elite simply waiting the formal presentation, for now. Enough cover to prevent sudden revelations. However, time gradually sands away their veneer. Thin veneer now.

“Respectable performance, particularly for a novice.” Nyssa repeated, Father’s brief glare directly on her as he spoke. His patience rapidly fading under the gleeful mockery.

Sara chuckled nervously, “High praise from him.” Her beloved played with a spirit airline pilot costume. “Do we need a costume now?”

For the Halloween party, yes. Maybe not for the League elite now. “For the private party, I believe we outgrew it.” The Heir declared, then whispered. “Just no couples costume for the public one yet.” Nyssa smiled. “If you desire it.”

The Blonde paused, the scar from the Hidden One flashing on her bicep brachii. She endured so much needlessly. This is just another target marking her. “Any idea when the next party will be?”

“Only when you want it, Beloved.” Beloved. She said it in public. A whisper though.

Her Beloved chuckled warmly. “Well, that narrows our options.” Sara the brash blonde who laughed at Father. More controlled than Natasha and lighter than Mei. “I still like my apartment though.” The Heir nodded. Sara’s own sanctuary and chaos.  

“Father would prefer to schedule it sooner than later.” Waking with Sara curling up beside her always initiated the day properly. Orange blossom dancing with Dawn’s first light. Nyssa blushed at the red riding hood costume, covering it by adjusting her fedora. The costume would stay one as long as that crimson fedora.

Sara guided her other to basic “historical” costumes. Her beloved willfully ignored the Sherwood archer and lady couple’s set. Sherwood be a good time, one of the phases she murmured in her sleep as she recovered. “Cowboy or baseball player.” The blonde gestured to three costumes. Her Beloved’s mind wandering back to the League.

Team Spirit from the Jack O’Lantern leagues embolden poorly on a black jersey. Equally cheat vest and shirts marked at 40 dollars. She searched for hats, ten dollars. An Egyptian goddess costume some not in blood exposing white beside them. No clear identifying markers from which goddess it was. Isis? Nyssa offered that instead. The Cleopatra one beside it.

Her Beloved mused. Cleopatra repeatedly personified herself as Isis in her reign. Almost a couple costume, but not. “A simple party is all I ask, Nys.”

Sara chose Isis… and the Team Spirit baseball cap. When they ended the masquerade, these caps were going into Sara’s wardrobe next to an ever-growing number of CDs. Nyssa picked up Cleopatra. The Blonde walked over to the overpriced accessories to “complete the costume.” They were still under budget, even with the cheap red cloak.

Three months later, ten baseball caps and fifteen CDs moved into the rose wardrobe handcrafted by the 13^th Demon. That invasion discreetly concluded over a month. Most of those nights together. The Blonde marching two paces behind Nyssa for the Feast for the Fallen. The Beloved uttered for the first time as Sara’s title.

Chapter Text

February 11, 2020

 San Pablo Airport, Seville, Spain

Sara blinked awake, stretching. Ra’s al Ghul tacked on another mission to this marathon. 6 weeks bouncing between three countries. She would take a Nanda Parbat winter if it meant sleeping in a bed three nights in a row. Now a fourth country and another week added. Nyssa promised the safehouse would have a bed.

Jet lagged travelers raced or settled beside her. Their own flight to Germany departing in two hours. Her girlfriend idly distracting an over traveled and overstimulated kid with coin tricks. The kid’s mom playing on her phone in relative peace. Another kid, reading in mom’s lap. Sara and Laurel traveled like that once. Nyssa smiled amused at the exhausted blonde.

“Starling City Police Detective Lance” shattered the mist of too much travel, too much work, too little sleep. The blonde stared up at the maze of tv screens. One played a soccer game by the sports bar; another some news cast explaining an election. Finally, she settled on the CNN broadcast. Dad, she breathed.

Her Girlfriend’s eyes located the appropriate screen. The franc still for the first time in minutes. Yes, dad stood exhausted, grayer than over two years ago – more than he should have been. He was working a case… hard. An all-consuming one. She scanned Dollmaker, serial killer, and 5 victims on the dashing banner.

Dad inhaled, staring at his feet. Anger and frustration palpable as he breathed. “Last night, we arrested Barton Mathis after a lengthy surveillance. Evidence located at his house directly tie him to several murders.” He began. His voice firm yet dragging. “Everyone in Starling can rest easy today after 5 weeks of restless nights.” They caught him in the act of abducting another. One victim a week in the time she was gone on this marathon.

Sara felt Nyssa’s arm drape around her shoulders. She burrowed. “My deepest sympathies go to the families who lost daughters, mothers, aunts, and cousins.” He bit down on the words monster. “The pain is unimaginable, and time can only heal the worst of the wounds. Now, the police commissioner Tapia and Chief Prosecutor Yu will explain the next steps.”

The blonde tuned out the rest. “Are you okay, Miss?” The kid asked.

“Yeah, the police just caught a bad man.” Sara managed. Mercifully in English. “Do you need some thing to drink?” She turned to Nyssa. Her girlfriend, pondering the past precedents for petitions and discreet exceptions as the coin tricks resumed.

The Heir paused. “Decent coffee.”

Sara located the newest coffee store. They still had one and a half hours until boarding. Five people were waiting for caffeine ahead of her. Three of them discussing the case that bubbled over the last weeks. The blonde centered, ordered their first non-instant coffee in weeks. Dad’s likely as well. She should have been there making peace between him and mom. Tough cases taxed their marriage. Maybe she and Laurel could tag team like in the New Port Murder. Or maybe two daughters at risk would… They were getting a divorce. She could see it. No formal paperwork yet.

“Sarah.” The barrister called. The assassin collected the overpriced caffeine. Her body craving sleep still.

CNN aired expert commentary on possible key evidence. The overworked mother left by then, shooed away by the doll comparisons. Nyssa gestured, Move? That soft smile confirming she located an exception. The anchor added the fact “Lance lost his daughter on the Gambit accident a later more than a year ago.”

Sara nodded no still, sitting down beside her. “No exceptions, Nys.” The blonde whispered the next part, “Dad located him first.”

Besides, they weren’t public yet. Ra’s suspected while Nyssa’s family covered for them. This would… confirm it. Neither prepared for that. At least, they could claim their relationship was newer than the truth. They still owed Talia for her rapid response two months ago. “If you wish it, Beloved.” Her girlfriend whispered.

“What was the exception though?” Sara asked. Her girlfriend detailed that example; besides it drowned out the report. A Demon – the 12 – added a qualified but tied associate to the request for severity of their crimes. That precedent only invoked twice after. A personal injury to the Demon’s immediate family justifying it. Immediate family. Not apprentice.

“How did they look on CNN?” She asked. Not now…  but then. A question she avoided. Newspapers provided enough hints.

Nyssa paused. A direct question was yes. “They commented regularly on how you were a survivor.” Sara almost laughed. She was a survivor… that accursed Island proved it. Only the League could locate that… Her luck striking in the cruelest paths. “The focus was chiefly on Mr. Queen.”

Her family was safer not knowing. Mom would search, maybe comfortable as a League scholar. She would not see Nyssa some nights as they discussed some historical trade route. Dad… was a committed cop. Disappointed in verdicts but honoring them. He instructed all his subordinates do as well. Laurel had Tommy and her expected niece. Sara burrowed into Nyssa again. News Paper and public records were enough. Maybe an odd medical record. Secure at least. The time ticked away, draining until boarding.

A week after she joined the Exalted family for the Fallen’s feast, Ra’s presented a standing warrant privately. If the Doll Maker escaped, the murderer would not survive three days. A welcome to the family gift, as much as he could give. Nyssa as surprised as Sara.

Chapter Text

March 19, 2005

25 hours of labor, countless meltdowns, and thousands of necessary changes only for her daughter to betray her with archery. Nyssa breathed bow work; daggers effortless but not her daughter’s heart. Amina rested the pencil across the sketch pad - one Nyssa gifted her for Hanukkah. Sketches of Tokyo, countryside Shinto shrines, and street scenes filling the pages. For her tenth birthday, her clever girl wanted to bring Sora on a weeklong trip to Japan so they could practice their Japanese. Ra’s lost that battle. It became a two weeklong cultural excursion. Yesterday, they hiked a mountain while Sora watched some dance performance and visited a cat café.  

Day five’s highlight a personal Kyudo lesson in an ancient temple that needed a new roof. Ten thousand dollars funded the gap. As far as their hosts knew, a Russian oligarch’s illegitimate daughter, his mistress, and her family friend were vacationing. The instructor sincerely praised her daughter, barely adjusting her arm. Not like the relentless instructors the Demon preferred and ones she quietly dueled him over. Her daughter has time to learn. Amina still chose that form for the sketch, correcting it.

An arrow pierced the little apple. Her daughter straightened proudly, exactly like Ra’s. She shifted the expression to that rare soft smile. The traditional robe’s shadows evaded her still. Similar but fundamentally different than the League’s formal robes as they danced in the light. Sora laughed with the head priestess, joking and gossiping in Japanese.

“Well done, Umnitsu.” The assassin praised in Russian.

The elder consort broke from the conversation, complimenting in Japanese. Amina recognized some variation of “Thank you, Great Aunt Sora” by tone.

Her daughter diligently reset, beaming then paused. “Mom, I want to use five fingered gloves, not these three fingered ones.” She declared in Russian.

The assassin closed the sketch book, sighing. In six years, her daughter could decide on her armor. Not now. Not at age ten. “If you wish to train more in this school, we can decide then. Just enjoy the experience.” This was not League training, no learning technique purely for combat. It remained a martial school, yes. One her daughter could just savor. The Demon’s favor and pressure momentarily forgotten as her daughter reset. An arrow inches from the last. Her daughter visibly surprised at the lack of corrections, just the next arrow.

Amina smiled. Tomorrow, they had 5 hours of Kabuki, not training or lessons. Sora promised to translate. She settled on the shadowing of the robes, turning the page.

March 19, 2019

Nyssa nodded. Sara could open it; the Heir even handed her the key. Mom’s sketches sealed in the fireproof, reenforced chest since her murder. All but that handful willed to Father. The Heir herself periodically unlocking it, then picking four randomly. “You never mentioned your mom sketched so much.” Her apprentice beamed.

The Heir smiled. “She could not complete the street signs without Sora’s help.”

They flipped through ten of the travel volumes for cultural education, instead of working on Sara’s Russian.

Chapter Text

October 5, 2024

Starling City

Redemption Basement

“Oliver, you look like you just saw a ghost.” Felicity wheeled herself over from the computer station. One program searching for Merlyn’s missing millions while another attempted decoding Dad’s final notes.

No, but Sara survived. Terrified, alive, and an Assassin. Flashes of those foaming waves claiming her taunted him. 3 feet away. 3 feet for the better. The archer played with his cropped hair. “Felicity, please get Diggle and Roy here now.” He commanded, meeting her by the stairs. He could only explain this once. Like when he detailed the last night on the Gambit to her after the yacht blew up a second time. A final time.

The Hacker paused but texted the alerts. “Did you actually see a ghost?”

Oliver collapsed in the chair beside the maze of screens before speaking. “Please just get them.” Nyssa, the Heir to the Demon, protectively draped her arm over his friend teasing him. Sara burrowed in exhausted. That habit never changed. A viper shielding a golden retriever. “We need everything we had on Marcus Willing.” Which was exactly ten photos and two shell companies.

“The mercenary who almost killed Roy?”

They missed some clue. A hint back to the League. A step on the path to reconnecting with his friend. He heard Shado laugh. Assassins are self-righteous phantoms, do not punish yourself boy. No one ever saw them, even their targets. “Yes. Can you please cross reference him with the name ‘Adil’?” Oliver added.

Roy and Diggle arrived promptly, delayed only by traffic. “Felicity mentioned you have a lead on the merc.” Roy stretched his shoulder, thumping down the steps.

Oliver inhaled. “A group contacted me in the park.” The League, never League of Assassins. One of the easiest taunts against them. “They offered to help hunt down Merlyn… the dark archer.” Their offer presented by Sara, his living friend, then negotiated by that viper. “I accepted.”

“Without asking us.” Diggle groaned.

The Green Archer leapt up; Felicity jolting up from the central screen. He stilled his breathing, breathe boy. “You never say no to the Demon.” Or his Heir on her own crusade.

Roy shivered. “Demon?”

“You looked like you saw a ghost, not a Demon.” Felicity paused, adjusting her leg manually.

The Green Arrow counted the color currents in the tiles. Ones exactly like the Gambit’s marble floors. Ollie. Sara had greeted her eyes trembling. I think we need more champagne. Picking up from when the ship exploded. That Nyssa remained a viper but one that protected and loved his friend. “Because I did. Sara survived.”

“Sara? The chick you brought on the Gambit with you?” Arsenal swallowed. “Laurel’s sister?”

Felicity ceased any attempt of typing. The selfie of them prior to boarding the yacht reflected on the floor. Her bangs newly cut. News articles highlighting the aftermath of the sinking. Crew names listed in a handful. All people Ivo killed… Ollie assisting. The last article was a joint appeal from the Lances and Queens for any information on any survivors. “How? You said the water pulled her down.” The Hacker rested her hand on his arm.

Ollie nodded. He did and it had. Their raft drifted for days in the blistering void. Dad’s cryptic papers tucked in his pocket. One he or Felicity could not decode. “I do not know!” He yelled, then inhaled. “She just approached me in the park alone and well with…” The Heir to the Demon, Nyssa. He exhaled. Wheels crept closer again. “My friend is an Assassin.” He uttered these terms aloud.

“The League of Assassins is real!” Diggle cried. “Not some myth to terrify warlords into basic decency?”

Oliver nodded. “They are very real.” They were Phantoms before they defected so they could preach morality, Shado once murmured to herself. “Except they are just the League.”

“Who are these assassins exactly?” Roy paced now.

“When I was deployed, we raided some warlord’s compound.” His friend paused. “By the time we arrived, he laid beheaded. One of my comrades signaled he was engaging the possible second target. When we entered the room, he was unconscious and the secondary target’s body was beside him. No head in the bedroom.” He rubbed his temples. “All the locals connected it to these Phantoms, The League of Assassins led by some Demon, sincerely praising them as they trembled.”

That tracked. Oliver nodded. “Why are we working with them?”

“As I said, you never say no to the Demon.” He played with his hair, sitting down. All adrenaline evaporated. “Besides it may be the only way to save Starling.”

“Who exactly did you spoke to?” Diggle hissed betrayed as he marched toward him.

Oliver stared at the photos of Sara before the Gambit. “Nyssa, Heir to the Demon.” No, these were after. Grainy surveillance photos or film stills, witnesses’ sketches. Only 30 in total, half with the viper. Then a grainy frame of a black figure wielding a bo staff beside an black and crimson archer.

“Nyssa Raatko? With 25 warrants.” Felicity pulled up a passport photo. Even that smug smile matched.

He stared at the Heir’s confirmed and suspected murders. Current alias unknown ARGUS listed. “Oliver, can we even trust her?” Roy read the profile, believed Heir to Demon, first confirmed with an Aminah Raatko 12 years ago. Nyssa had been a teenager. Do not approach without support still glared at him.

He inhaled. “Shado stated the League honors their promise.” Either way. “Besides, they want Merlyn dead. No one can stop them.” He paused. “She agreed to spare non-League members. You do not have to deal with them if you do not want to.” They needed him as much as he needed them.

His friend never picked a bad one. Irresponsible maybe but never cruel. Still his skin crawled when Nyssa hissed about Merlyn.

Diggle scanned the profile. “We are not doing this blind, and I am not meeting this woman, you understand.”

“I am always Arsenal around them.” Roy glanced at his armor.

Felicity paused.  “Just use Oracle for now.” She rubbed her temple, then massaged his arm.

“Thank you.” He whispered before they investigated.

No missed clues revealed. ARGUS’s web of key players remained padded and disjointed. The Demon unphotographed and a true phantom haunting Waller. His Heir connected to seven aliased or codenamed assassins. All he saw what Ta-er Al-Sahfer, previously known as Baseball Bo or Sara Sharpe. Her true name only confirmed by familial DNA. Her missing person’s DNA database did not match her family. If they knew Marcus Willing was League, even former… maybe he could have initiated contact. They overlapped in Moscow when Waller drafted him.

They missed so much.

Chapter Text

July 15, 2020

San Francisco, California, United States

That grainy camera still moments before the metallic Bo staff crashed down mocked him. League Bo staff users were rare. Agent Trudeau counted two known living. The database only confirmed four. Two of which were believed killed in action. This Bo staff and baton user stood at most 5’ 9”, likely 5’ 5” with that towering mantle. He marked them BU 5.

Then BU 5 was spotted twice with the Crimson Archer, a prominent League leader as far as they suspected. You never knew facts about these cults. A break finally emerging when Prue, his eagle-eyed wife spotted a blonde with a baseball cap approaching the late cybercriminal in the alley. The handle of the baton matched BU 5’s unique weapons. So, BU 5 was 5’ 6”, blonde, and female. More than they knew about half the League of Assassins cultists.

December 15, 2020

Washington DC, United States

Finally, they had a colored still with a face. Distant but a face. Video of BU 5 and the Crimson archer, even. A Christmas gift. A miracle even! BU5 assisting the unprotesting Crimson Archer up, draping the woman’s arm over her shoulder. The Leader placing no weight on her left leg. Crimson paint spatter from the knocked over can. Samuel Hightower still beside them.

BU5 became Baseball Bo. No way that proud archer quieted for anyone. Particularly after tripping over a paint can. A trusted associate, traceable maybe. He prayed traceable. This murderous cult must fall. A crumb on the trail.

February 01, 2021

Bologna, Italy

Waller approved resources for the Baseball Bo hunt immediately. Every known image of the Crimson Archer searched for the new blonde. Three new images and locations confirmed as probable. Half of the known and recovered stills of that archer in the last two years. Agent Klebba assigned to this case. Any new lead to this “Demon” cult leader.  

He played the intercepted call, twenty seconds that cost them a source. Encoded Arabic, but they picked out Ta-er Al-Sahfer from the traditional codes. The timeline matched. He still preferred Baseball Bo.

February 20, 2021

San Francisco, California, United States

Learning her League name meant nothing. No cultist traveled under “Yellow Bird”. These assassins also seldom traveled commercially as well. Then, “Nyssa Raatko” made a mistake or a decade old alias finally collapsed. Agents Halliwell and Trudeau took it. The next time, she traveled hopefully they could track her first and maybe second steps before she disappeared or a known body dropped.

He retreated into travel logs. Sara Sharpe listed on numerous flight manifests frequently next to a Nyssa Raatko. Oh, the Crimson archer made a mistake. Orders changed to prioritize capture, just not tracking Ta-er Al-Sahfer.

December 25, 2022

Undisclosed Location

One DNA sample survived the bleach bath in Athens. Sara Maria Sharpe lost in the wind after Barcelona. Still, they reconstructed BB’s DNA enough to test. No match in the missing persons database or any criminal database. Yet, they got a fifty percent match on a Starling Detective. Quentin Lance. A headline announcing his late daughter Sara Lance. A younger Sara Maria Sharpe smiled in the photo beside Oliver Queen. Two of the souls lost on the Queen’s Gambit.

No, it could not be that easy. There were lots of blonde 20 somethings. So, they discreetly collected her sister and mother’s DNA. All fifty percent matches. Waller personally praised the team.

Social media, recital videos, school records flooded in. All to no use, Sara never contacted her family once. Analysts pulled back to the feeble tracking of phantoms and bodies.

Chapter Text

July 15, 2012

City of London, England

The coroner counted six arrows. Two precise yet unnecessary. Even the veteran cop winced sympathetically at the corpse. ARGUS Director Sasha Bordeaux focused only on the camera pierced with a crimson arrow. The feed cut, still they gazed at a crimson and black armored teenager treating a green and black figure’s arm later. Green Dagger, senior League commander.

Distinctive armor meant a respected rank. This girl was a teenager, maybe 20, lost to that murderous cult. Green Dagger comforting her while she worked. A tender moment, Agent Dale Gunn hesitated. Director Bordeaux nodded. He just added Crimson Archer. Green Dagger leaning heavily on the archer. Never speculate.

August 17, 2013

Milan, Italy

Teatro alla Scala

Agent Gunn held his head. Stairs and chairs danced in front of him. He fought the black curtain of sleep, his eyes heavy. A man blocking the smuggler from his view. “Sir, I am a doctor. Are you okay?”

The arms smuggler Aikaterini Papoutsis, a vital link to that international terrorist ring, still watching Der Rosenkavalier. He stared at the limp, gowned figure.

…Was watching the Der Rosenkavalier. “No.” The agent cursed before the drug claimed him. Notes of the Marschallin’s grief echoing in his sleep.

Next moment he knew, he laughed at Papoutsis’s “sudden stroke” at 35.

Later analysis located a still of the probable mother and daughter savoring the rose presentation scene. A soft smile gracing both of their features while Green Dagger draped her arm proudly around the teenager. ARGUS’s last lead on the ring collapsed traded for confirmation. Or as close as you get with those phantoms.

October 17, 2015

Sofia, Bulgaria

League chatter erupted. Restrained lines screaming and groaning under the sheer, sudden weight. Agents tracked to the initial burst to Bulgaria in six hours. Sofia the next day.

Police “investigating” the shooting of an Amina Raatko, or Green Dagger, in the City Park in front of the National Theater. The woman disappeared as she fought her mortal injuries. All leads terminated or silent. Director Bordeaux stared at the photographed misplaced crimson show ticket… That cult did not leave clues unless…

Waller’s problem. She retired in thirteen days, two hours, 17 minutes. The incoming director inherited a name and possible DNA sample.

A month later, two decades of organized money laundering, drugs smuggling, and human trafficking smoked in the ruins. Survivors fleeing the hunt. The retired ARGUS director flying to Bora Bora for an overdue vacation.

October 28, 2021

Undisclosed Secure Location

Waller rewind the video. Too late decoded chatter mentioned the Heir was “completing the mouse’s run and show”. Nyssa Raatko towered over the assassin while a subordinate restrained the man. Ta-er Al-Sahfer a pace behind her. The archer approaching the man, then tearing off the hooded mantle. A tablet of white powder crushed under her feet.

The director cut the recording. She knew the rest. A swift, decisive swipe ended the show. The mouse killed publicly. For them and others? Maybe, Vandal? ARGUS confirmed Nyssa Raatko was the Heir at least.

April 10^th, 2024

Washington DC

Secured Location

Chatter erupted again… internationally. A new Bulgaria boiling over. ARGUS counted three killed in the past week. Still the decoded messages evaded them. That cult learned but so did ARGUS. They used Arabic openly, periodically masking the intentioned language. Russian, Amharic, and who knows what else.

Then in that chaos, an analyst decoded a fragment of a weeks-old message. One of the first rushed messages “Habibat attacked. Do not meet Daniel, visit the barber.” “Beloved”, Female form. Money exchanged on bets dating back to the rose petal littered back room. They heard the title whispered twice, but…

Trudeau handed over his hundred dollars to Klebba. He did not need to be so smug about it. “Kid free dinner for you and Gunn.” He covered, then dived into work.

Now if they got a confirmed photo of either Ta-er Al-Safher, look for Nyssa.  And vice versa. So Sara Lance was immediately listed, beside Butterfly Zhang and the Occitan Poisoner. Who else remained concealed? Prue placed a rose symbol on the white board. He could not fight this. Assassin bachelorette it was.

They had a preliminary report on Waller’s desk on the 16^th. Resources focused on the League international Bulgaria or civil war though.  

Chapter Text

Tartu, Estonia

August 15, 2023

Assassins fell into two categories: model patients with a keen aversion to pain medicine or stubborn ox pretending a bone was not glaring out from their arm. Endel groaned. This woman made ox model patients. A pride ox who couldn’t lift her left arm higher than her shoulder, visibly wincing at that.

“Nys.” The blonde assassin, Ta-er Al-Sahfer, hissed half melted into the foldout chair. Her two fingers bent and broken. Several cuts on her face suggesting shrapnel or glass. Maybe both.

The League doctor decided it was safe as Nys the stubborn ox lowered her arm, not pretending for once. “What will you tell me?” Endel asked. She brushed against the injured ox’s side, two broken ribs and one cracked with left leg outstretched. The X-ray confirmed.

The ox inhaled deeply as the blonde opened her mouth. “Car accident.” ‘Nys’ interrupted.

“40 miles per hour,” Ta-er Al-Sahfer stated. 65 km an hour. Endel listened. “Crashed into stationary object.”

“Then we escaped a failed ambush.” The proud assassin declared.

The Medic nodded. “You will stay and rest here for the night.” That foolish ox glared, then groaned. Ta-er Al-Sahfer glared and tilted her head at the fellow assassin. A rebuke dropped dead. “I trust your partner can make the travel arrangements. You are not cleared for the field.” The less the nurse knew, the better. No internal bleeding.  Just two months of rest and testing a relationship.

“You said the beds were behind the second door to left, correct?” the Blonde confirmed.

The Doctor nodded, “I will write up notes and aftercare instructions.” Endel retreated into her office. Her presence would not assist this Ta-er al-Sahfer in the ensuring battle.

Fifteen minutes later, Ta-er Al-Sahfer entered for the notes. “She is asleep.” She declared exhausted yet triumphant. Her heavy leather jacket hitting the chair.

“Let me set your fingers, then.” Assassin rarely detailed their experiences to her, yet the American wanted to talk. Debrief. A vague summary the closer she could get until home to whatever the ox rested. “Do you hurt your hand in the ambush or crash?” She switched to English, likely the girl’s native language. She gathered the splint and bandages.

The assassin paused as she rubbed her temples. An attempt to massage away the concern. “Ambush. I blocked another lucky strike from the amateurs.” Assassins only… She and the Ox were a couple. “Her ribs were from the crash.”

“Likely her leg too.” Endel comforted. The assassin’s ring and little finger bent out awkwardly. Little finger only a few degrees off the expected angle. “Were you driving?” Bones pushed back into alignment with a crack.

Ta-er Al-Sahfer nodded as she inhaled. “I got into the car first.” Endel paused while clicking the middle phalanx in place. She wrapped the split around the fractured fingers. “Will she be cleared to leave tomorrow?” Fingers swelling.

Endel almost choked. An Eye swordman remained the worst patient; she endured three days of mutual silent threats, no amount of magical cooking worth the challenge. The blonde chuckled. Moments passed before the hardened medic collected her diplomatic words. “If she rests and transport is arranged.” That ox was a senior League member. Maybe another ‘Eye’ or Senior commander, more danger to herself presently thought. 36 hours of dueling awaited the medic.

Ta-er Al-Sahfer laughed too pure and unconstrainted to be born into the League. “I will persuade her.”

Endel almost laughed at the foolish assassin, then remembered… Nys. “I will not burden you with that task.” She passed the instructions and reports. The blonde assassin left the tiny corner office. Endel retired to the weekly inventory after checking on the still assassins. Those two fit on a bed meant for one. The Ox attempting to shield to the blonde from sight, protect her still.

Heavily encoded transport instructions arrived three hours later at 200. Endel just stared. Nys was “Demon’s kin”. Senior “Demon’s kin”. That explained the posturing pride. Endel drummed on the door before entering. Hazel eyes glaring at her before the Blonde freed herself. A discrete whisper soothing the brunette to sleep.

She gestured 3 or 7. Nyssa glanced then confirmed. Senior Commander and a Demon’s Kin. Endel stopped the pieces there.

The couple left at 1100. Another assassin, a plain faced dagger user, escorting them. That Eye’s daughter. Endel shut the door. The League saved her life. The less she knew, the better.

Chapter Text

Detective Lance glared at the menu. Waiting. First Green Arrow detailed his forced allies, some League of Assassins, then they called him when he was wrestling the Team Chaos into eating. Not decorating the table with syrup and strawberries. How did he do this when Laurel… and Sara… were their ages? He looked up from the table. A blonde in a world series champion Rocket cap and Brown Leather Jacket marched in… terrified. That Heir woman must be a terror. At least this assassin supported the right team.

“I heard the rockets traded their pitcher.” He hissed. The sooner this ended, the sooner he could eat.

The woman dropped her voice. “I heard it was a good trade.” She inhaled.

The Detective just nodded, gesturing to the seat. “How long have you been watching me?” The detective began.

This assassin chuckled. Sara laughed like that when nervous. “We have not.” Her phantom laugh whispered momentarily. “You just never change your habits.” The assassin pulled one of the thin napkins and elegant pen in a terrifyingly swift motion. An expertly engraved canary dancing with each Wavy D and Sharp Ts. Don’t react. She pushed the cracked napkin toward him. Sara wrote like that. All Drake women did. “Your routine has not changed in six years, Dad.” The cap laid on the table, Sara – older, exhausted, and alive - sat in front of him. His favorite daughter, the joyful one, stood in front of him at 26, not drown at 20. “And you hated that trade.”

One of the longest car rides of his life. Only his Baby Girl would have known that. Chosen that. That photo could have been real. She hid from them. Sara hid from them, made them lie to Dinah. Why? His daughter grasped his wrist, her own hand trembling. “It worked out for the better.” He chuckled. All restraint stopping him embracing her. She survived. Dinah was correct.

Sara half smiled, playing with the canary locket. Some habits never change. “They won the world series three years later. 9 to 8.” The napkin disappeared.

When Sara was five, he promised both would get tickets to where and whenever the drought broke. Instead, he dragged Tommy, Dinah, and Laurel to the VIP booth. Sara’s cheers missing from the historical event… and promise. “I dumped a bowl of popcorn on Tommy when that happened.” He stated.

“We saw.” His daughter laughed exactly when she and Veronica talked about the god-awful chick flick or when Dennis Conners…

“We?” Dad paused, half smiling. “Do I want to know what happened?”

“A member found me after the storm.” Sara swallowed down countless details. One critical one to protect him. He should have protected her. “Saved my life, took me in, and trained me.” She simplified. “I can’t stay forever. We…” She paused, terrified. “...must handle this mess.”

“Of course.” Dad paused, No details here… or ever. If he knew…. Still, we? She was not talking about this League of Assassins, self-righteous criminals. “Do you still like sesame chicken?” A taste of old times, before the Gambit’s final journey.

“Yes, but…” Sara began. He flagged down Natalie ordering that and egg rolls. She intently read the specials thoroughly, her head turned away, until the waitress left. “…I ate before meeting you. What did he tell you?” His baby girl was an assassin now… alive but officially dead. Likely wanted by another police force.

“Merlyn attacked this Ra’s fellow’s daughter in law to take over this group. My family is threatened due to it.” The detective stated, almost flagging Nat back. No that would just draw more attention. “Now, this Nyssa woman is in town.” Green Arrow had been protectively vague. The detective only half understood why now.

 “I will have it later. Thank you, Dad.” She lied, gesturing aimlessly at the food. “He ordered a hit on the Heir’s Beloved. An assault on the Beloved is the same as the Heir.” She determinedly summarized. Too determined.

He nodded. “If this woman is anything like Ra’s, Malcolm is a fool.” This Nyssa sounded like a mafia boss mixed with vigilantism. Sara terrified too even approached her own dad.  

The blonde squeezed her canary necklace. Her birthday gift after Caroline. “She is and isn’t.” She volunteered, warmly smiling. That smile reserved for those she loved. Not Friends with benefits like Oliver.

“We?” Dad rested his head in his hands. Sara was the Beloved... to this Heir Assassin Woman. Merlyn attempted to kill his baby girl. “I never completely liked the man.” He groaned, lifting his head. His daughter in law was a vigilante mob boss. “Does she treat you well?”

“We take care of each other.” Sara smiled.

“How long?” He asked, relaxing. His daughter never chose a bad one. Part of him still did not want to meet this Demon’s Heir.

The assassin paused, precisely wording this like a defendant in an interrogation. “Five years, this June 24. That day was the scariest I have seen her.” She replied. This Assassin Heir protected his daughter… loved her… kept her safe for years. He respected that. “Mom would like her. One question about the silk road and we would lose them for the night.”

“All the better for baseball night.” He joked, then swallowed down on countless questions. As a father he wanted details. Who was this Demon? What lie did she bury in truth? As a cop… “Would he hurt them? Even Tommy and the Girls?” Merlyn first.

“They are safe. His vengeance is against the Glades, not them.” Sara almost choked. The daughter he knew who would collapse there. A whole section of her home threatened. The living miracle in front of them stood trembling but upright. “For now, you three are safe. He may be very desperate very soon. I did not mean for this to endanger you guys.” Sara slipped on her hat again. Natalie a few feet away.

“At the moment, I am just happy you are alive and so strong.” Quentin stated as the food arrived. “Does Oliver know?”

“It is best not to tell him. He must make peace with what happened.” The assassin explained after Natalie left. She groaned nauseously. The detective couldn’t push. That Green Arrow that paraded for the camera did not match the regular one. A lead he could never investigate. “He did try to grab me.” Her eyes traced the islands of chicken.

“Your mother? Laurel.” He pleaded. They needed to understand the situation. The hazards to his family. His baby girl always handled herself. He worried about the academics. Academics just determined enough to stumble into trouble.

“No, particularly with mom. It is not safe…” Sara lifted her head up. “If someone has a legitimate message for you from me, it will be from Caroline.” She chuckled.

Quentin laughed. “I will keep an ear out from that canary.”

His daughter poked at her food, not feasting like countless times before. As good of a trade as he could hope for though.

Chapter Text

June 1, 2025

Starling City, CT, USA

Redemption Basement

Two hours ago, Nyssa arrived without a lead or name. Visibly stressed, then Thea… or Laurel invited her to the movie marathon. Felicity could not remember who. Oddly, the Heir accepted.

The hacker knew this was not normal. Drinking with an assassin and vigilantes, but that was two or three drinks ago. Four or five drinks between the four them. The onscreen action hero escaped through the glass after hearing the first villain’s mook last words. Maybe more. Either way, the Hacker was only on her second Last Words. Funny name for a cocktail. Nyssa must have had a lot of these. Heard, not her own.

The Heir smiled amused but sipped her Manhattan instead. That was aloud. “How was the wedding? Valentine’s Day is a romantic choice.” Thea asked before the hacker rambled. Oliver’s sister sipped her own disappearing Blue Hawaii. The pineapple wedge disappeared at the first last words. Thank you, Felicity mouthed. Sipping her drink would not help her. She couldn’t exactly hack to her usual standards if she wanted to.

Laurel swirled the last of her Black Velvet. “Apparently, the astrologer suggested it.” Thea paused mid sip. Like the newspaper columns? Gunfire burst from the screen, all rounds missing dramatically.

“My sister-in-law is correct.” Nyssa chuckled. “It marked Sara as my Beloved and equal. That is all that mattered.” She stirred the remnants of the Manhattan. Daniel Cross’s new husband waited for him in the convenient swimming pool below on the screen.

“What does a League wedding look like?” Thea asked. “I can not see white gowns and rice. White armor?”

“I am seeing a lot of weapons, armor, and vows.” Felicity shrugged. “More competent guards than the Daniel Chase series.”

The Heir sipped the potent drink, pausing. “For the Formal Ceremony, yes. Our informal ceremony lacked the pageantry.” No, the assassin almost laughed. Could Nyssa laugh?

“Is there wine?” Felicity asked. Laurel and Thea turned to the surprisingly sober assassin. Straight faced one too.

 “No wine.” Thea suggested.

Black Canary paused. “Strongest wine.”

“Both. To quote Sara, “The League are not prudes, but Ollie’s habits would be cured quickly.” Nyssa decided to finish the drink. The movie was tolerable or her drink too good to waste.

Laurel rested the empty glass away from the computers; her shoulders finally dropping. “In your own words?”

“The League encourages moderation while celebrating life.” A suitable philosophy for those in constant danger, Felicity shrugged. No different from them. Lance mentioned they visited him on the 28^th. “True celebrations occur in absolute security unlike this scene. A rare event.”  Nyssa studied the screen, still smiling.

Laurel gestured to the destroyed dining hall. Seven… no eight guards... The scene started with seven guards. The vigilantes paused it repeatedly trying to figure the security arrangement. Nyssa terrifyingly pointed out ten easy gaps for the couple or any guest to die.

“Why are there eight guards?” Felicity sipped her drink.

“And yes, there are now eight unconscious guards.” Nyssa agreed.

No one rewind the clip before the couple slipped into the crowd dripping wet. Laurel chuckled. “Was the honeymoon good? Dad mentioned the Knights stayed by.”

Nyssa leaned back mischievously. The hacker couldn’t blame her… or Sara. Both were highly athletic and attractive women. If Nyssa handled drinks like… two weeks of fun. That was NOT out loud. Thank you. “That is a topic for when Oliver and Mr. Harper are not imminent.”

“Tommy and I barely left bed the first night in Morocco. Now between the girls, work, and patrols, If I can watch one movie alone a month, it is a miracle.”

Thea nodded. The younger Queen finally joined patrols freely, not training every other night. “Roy and I manage. Here is the chase scene that makes the movie.”

“Enjoy it with you can. Use protection.” Nyssa smiled smugly, but eyes tracing the mad dash to the car.

Felicity commented. “The car accident did not impact that.” Vigilantes and Assassin stared impressed at the sudden guards reappearing. The Heir glaring insulted as the first man collapsed.

“When we found her, Sara was direct about her arrangement with Oliver.” Nyssa shrugged actively waiting for the scene to end or counting the quieter takedowns… likely both. Definitely both. The others just laughed at the swift retreat. “I understand he is attempting to draw attention away from his husband but---”

“Movies are made to look cool, not be practical.” Thea corrected. The spy finally glided into the passenger seat. “Apparently, Alexander used to be a getaway driver for the mob. Daniels helped him escape in the third movie.”

Nyssa just stared bewildered. “What movie is this one exactly?”

“The fifth.” Thea shrugged. “Highest grossing one yet.”

Laurel nodded. “The fourth one was decent. The trailer for the sixth drops tomorrow. Tommy loved this series.”

The Heir contemplated another Manhattan on sheer principle. “We can change the movie.”

“No, his escape scene is the highlight of the movie. Besides, it is almost over.” Laurel comforted.

“There is still ten minutes left.”

Nyssa stared at the empty glass. The Heir could handle another drink, she mentioned she needed to leave at 400. It was only 1:30 am. 130 assassin time.

Royce’s thundering steps echoed down the stairs as the credits rolled down the screen. He froze, Ollie almost tripped over their crimson archer, not the League’s. “Sara’s initial understanding of our vocation makes more sense now.” Nyssa muttered in English. “Do not worry, Mr. Harper. My time here is brief and irrelevant to your city.”

“You watched Daniel Chase’s Race to the Altar the Finish?” Royce stumbled.

Oliver blinked. “Sara loved that series. How have you never seen any of these movies?”

“She stressed I could avoid them. A correct decision.” The assassin decided against a drink… barely. The League endorsed moderation. “Good company and Mr. Presto’s driving make it tolerable.”

Likely drinking with friends as well. Oh, that was out loud again.

“So you were just drinking and watching a movie?”

Nyssa glared at Roy; The starling red archer… not the assassin crimson one backed away. “You forget the casual chatter.” Felicity giggled. Oh, tomorrow early board meeting will be rough.

Chapter Text

October 12, 2024

Starling City, CT, USA

Ritz-Carlton Starling

Quentin passed Queen’s hired security in the hotel suite, then shut the door. This room alone was bigger than his apartment. Becky curled up around a burrowed Dina and Dog, the faithful stuffed animal. Both zonked out. Sara and Laurel slept like that after Disney world with the Queens. Now, Laurel rested on the other side of the California King. Sara… leaving with this Nyssa. His future daughter-in-law. Assassin daughter in law. The woman who loved his daughter… younger daughter without question. His baby girl returned only to leave again after less than 48 hours. Barely enough time to begin a normal investigation.

Dawn peeked out over the smoking glades beyond the city forest and river. “Captain Morgan took over.” He melted into the chair, blinking away asleep. Four hours before his normal shift began.

Dinah stared into the cold coffee. “Mack always manages.” Her voice dragged down to the basement; her arm wrapped in a cast. Silence filled the room. Could they ever say Sara’s name? Nyssa’s certainly not.

The detective placed the signal jammer under his hand, activating it. “Knight was certainly well read.” He fought the yawn. That taunting sleep.

His ex-wife laughed. “She is better read than half the faculty. Excellent questions.” She hesitated. “She loves her fiancée.”

“Caroline, yes.” He nodded. Mobsters kept it vague. So could he and Dinah. He glanced at the hotel notepad beside them. Their wedding invitations had worst paper. Clean up apartment. Fix windows. Inventory and replace furniture. Ikea? Tell Laurel. Clothes, toddler potty seat.

Laurel barely managed a conversation with Sara. Repeatedly she asked, where was Tommy on the ride back. “I can tell her or take the girls.” He whispered. This morning would be brutal... worse than when Kane knocked on their door years ago.

All arguments were exhausting yet critical. “One minute?” She placed the quarter on the table. “Heads.”

It was tails. Lance paused, collecting terms outside of police code or public statements. “Thank you for putting the girls to bed. You are exhausted. The girls will need you. I have done these notices before.” He swallowed, never to his daughter or family. Own daughter. He witnessed collapses, tears, complete silence or wailing. “Please just let me do this.” Sara should be doing this… or at least with the girls. Her necklace draped around Laurel’s neck. Hell, he would take Nyssa. No guard would question her.

“Let’s just have Oliver with the girls. They like him.” Dinah rested her hand on the mug. “Laurel needs him. We can support her. Someone will need to identify the body.” Tommy’s body. He nodded. So many bodies filled the morgue; several bodies were missing as well. The League’s work, no doubt. Dinah froze. “I can if you stay with Laurel.”

Green Arrow still needed help. Opportunists would take advantage of the chaos. Several senior officers are nervous about the vigilante’s efforts. Just look at Gotham, Sargent Alice Kane stated. Any other plans faded. Rico agreed fully.

Rose light glared off the untouched steel towers. “When did you met Caroline?” The Professor whispered.

Lance paused. “She approached yesterday morning, but I did not know who she was until that evening.” Sara had to be with… Green Arrow at that point. When did she agree? Did she know about the photo? If she had approached them… maybe Tommy would be here. If they called in their favors, would she have hidden? He and Laurel would have needed to show indomitable Dinah… His baby girl tremored as she approached him… Could Merlyn have been planning a trap all those years ago?

His baby girl was loved and safe. Only that mattered now.

Yet, another lost her love tonight. Team Chaos their captain. Her elder daughter needed him. Both meekly smiled. Elder, not just daughter. Sleep evaded him in the precious hours of calm before… He just sat, staring out at the coming morning.

Rain clouds inched toward the city, due in two hours, knocking on the city’s door. Pouring down ironically… dramatically… when they told Laurel. Oliver distracted the kids in the next room until they heard the wailing.

Chapter Text

Starling City, United States, Connecticut

November 16, 2024

Nyssa fought a creeping yawn. Father assigned her this fool’s errand. Any League member could pay down their debt, but sending his Heir insulted her office. If Father even dreamed of replacing her with Wayne or Queen, the League would mutiny now. The yawn won. Soon, she would be home with Sara.

Fortunately, Mr. Queen’s security upgrades ignored the side doors. Electronic notes and sounds echoed from the walls. Nyssa rubbed her temples… soon, she reminded herself. Consciously she scanned the fire exits and shadows. The Heir resisted another yawn. No, the sooner the better.

A darker haired and taller Sara sat on the seats, her head supported by one arm and a bottle of Freeman Estate Rum Extra Dry in the other. Her Beloved sat like that after… genetics Nys. You three all have the same posture. Stress radiated from her.

The assassin confirmed she was alone. If Mr. Queen saw her, she was home sooner. Laurel traced the letters of the expensive drink; an engraved glass covered the top. Nyssa kicked an empty crate. Laurel jumped up, then studied her. A ghost of recognition flashed then collapsed. “You did that on purpose.” The lawyer sat down. “Are you one of Knight’s friends?”

Initials glared in the faded light - TAM in curved letters engraved on the fine crystal. “I am Jessica Knight.” The assassin replied, words spoken to Sara normally in private. Nyssa saw a distant leaking grin.

“Oh…” Laurel bite back on the acknowledgement. “Is your fiancée well? We have not made it public yet.” Nyssa smiled, nodding.

Laurel whispered, clutching the bottle. “Good.”

“I am just here to see Mr. Queen.” The assassin stated before more words failed Laurel.

She nodded. “He is here working in his office. I just needed air.”

Formalities flooded the assassin. League customs useless in Starling. “I would have liked to meet you properly, Laurel.” Nyssa searched looked for Sara’s baffling expression. “You wanta talk about it?” For once, no assassins watched her.

Laurel laughed, softer yet mirthless. A cousin to Sara’s. “No wonder, she likes you.”

Nyssa sat down beside her future sister-in-law. The assassin smiled, she needed to help Sara negotiate the announcement and ceremony. “This was Tommy’s favorite drink. Ollie had enough for half shot left over on the top shelf.” Laurel stated.

“He had expense taste, if acquired.”

“Painfully acquired.” Laurel idly swirled the bottle, fluid dancing and liquor perfuming the air. You could mask countless poisons in that. Any powder balanced in with the natural sediment at the bottom. “I never understood it.” More words ceased, teasing her.

“That sounds like Caroline’s obsession with salt and vinegar chips.” Nyssa smiled. French Fries she understood, but that combo shocked her tongue every time. Particularly the American version.

Laurel genuinely laughed. “You are not alone in that. We… Tommy and I were baffled by it.” She traced the letters on the bottle. “Could I ask you a question?”

“I may not be able to answer, but yes.” Nyssa nodded. Many questions sealed for their protection. Even in her exhaustion, that remained.   

“Were you there when he…” Her future sister-in-law swallowed. Guard’s rest remained a blessing she accepted.

“Yes.” The Heir replied. That echoing crack and sheer relief Sara was a safe distance away. “His only concern was you. We got you to safety as soon as possible.”

“The kids still ask about pops. When I explained he is missing like Angel auntie was, but he will not come back, they just stared confused.” Laurel wiped her eyes. “They cling to us now. I can barely close the bathroom door.”

“Mom once said when I was a toddler, I would follow her until she held me.” The assassin smiled. Mom away smiled at this point. “She repeatedly reported to Father while rocking me.”

Laurel half smiled. “She sounds like a good mom.”

“She was.” Nyssa glared at her own reflection. Mother’s eyes staring back at her. Mom should be here; she should have helped with the campaign. Sara should have died several times. Yet the Fates decided who lived and died.

“I am sorry.” The lawyer paused.

The Heir recovered, “You meant no offense. Assassins are well acquainted with death.” The League normally lost one or two assassins on missions annually. This year they lost so many more… “We still have rites though. Mom helped with Natasha’s.” Years ago, Natasha’s luck ran out. The brazen axe wielder held off seven guards while her injuries mounted. Only that fiery spirit could fight death until the plane landed home.

“Natasha?” Laurel set the glass down.

The Heir smiled despite the pain. “Mom was surprised I found someone as fiery as me. She was almost grateful we could not sire children for the League’s sake.” The Lawyer chuckled. “That is what I loved about her. A rebel within the League. Two young flames dueling each other.”

 “What happened?” Laurel stared at the sediment filled dregs in the bottle. The lawyer lost to distant memory.

Nyssa declared. “She held an impossible line only as she could.” Anymore and Laurel would hear the memorized report.

“Were you two…?” The blonde asked, resurfacing.

The Heir smiled. “No, we burned out years prior.” Their fights as passionate as their nights after.

“But it did not help?”

For a moment, she felt mom’s arms wrapped around her as she collapsed in the first private moment after the cremation. Left hand squeezing her upper arm while her other cradling her elbow. “No.”

Laurel poured out the remaining shot. She sipped it. “Still as bad as I remember.” She offered Nyssa the remaining half. “Worse.”

The Heir down the drink. Mr. Queen could wait. Exhaustion forgotten.

Chapter Text

January 10, 2022

Dubai International Airport

Dubai, UAE

Mesi Natifah blinked awake. The blonde warrior, Yellow Bird, stretched out on the neighboring couch, her hair still wet. No, newly wet. The warrior transformed into those one of the girls from the English language videos. “Nyssa will be here soon. She is still securing Khem-Adam.” The blonde yawned in Arabic.

Last she remembered was the doctor treating her cuts and bruises, Yellow Bird guiding her to this backroom - cool backroom, then the void of sleep. “Will he escape?”

The Blonde nodded No finally. “We are just resting here longer than expected.” Sleep almost claimed the assassin.

“Are you certain he can’t escape?” They were thousands of miles from Kahndaq but Onslaught’s grasp stretched far.

“If he manages,” Yellow Bird shrugged. “One of us will be here.” She revealed a concealed dagger in her jacket. One of many on the Assassin. Even half asleep, she equaled that coward and his guards.

A rapid drumming of knocking echoed. Mesi grasped her gifted dagger. Yellow Bird opened the door to a man. His head bowed deeply, a steaming pot and spiced coffee resting on a silver tray in his hands. “Our deepest apologies for the delays. Food will arrive shortly.”

The blonde nodded. “On behalf of both of us, no offense taken.”

He audibly inhaled. Managing a respectable distance, he placed the tray on the table and fled. Silently, Yellow Bird inspected the silver pot and foaming fluid. Who were they? That man trembled like the general around Khem-Adam. “Coffee?” She poured herself a cup, before filling another with cream.

Mesi nodded no. “What happens next?”

“You rest. Nyssa will not train you until you have recovered fully.” The blonde sipped her coffee, wrinkling her nose. She poured a second cup.

Training in combat, languages, and any other topic she wanted. The African smiled, then winced as she pushed herself free from the blankets. The blonde held up the coffee cup. Nyssa accepted it, before Yellow Bird cleared space on the couch. How long until she could study? The Heir smiled as she sipped the coffee.

“Khem-Adam is secured and heavily drugged.” Nyssa greeted as Mesi sat up. She added. “Now, we can speak more if you want.” The blonde yawned despite the coffee. The student finally exhaled. These two cleared out the camp. Now, Khem-Adam was in their camp – the Assassin’s camp.

“When can I begin my studies?”

The assassins glanced at each other, shrugging. The blonde burrowed into the fellow assassin. “When you are ready. League training tests even seasoned warriors.” Nyssa studied the blonde assassin as she spoke. “Luckly, you have no habits to unlearn.”

The blonde openly chuckled, light and refreshing. “That we know of.” The brunette assassin idly played with the blonde’s hair, amused. A silent, intimate conversation between the two of them transparent.

“The other courses?”

“Yellow Bird can introduce you to one of the Scholars. They can arrange a several volumes of interest and possibly a tour.” Nyssa declared. Scholars? The League has scholars?! A tour? The blonde finished her coffee, yawning. The archer continued. “I could have someone get you books here if you want. Any topics interest you, Mesi?”

“Nyssa is a talented Russian teacher.” The blonde yawned. Nyssa’s eyebrow arched at that suggestion.

“Geography, Empires, and English” spilled out immediately before the brunette counter volunteered.

The Heir smiled as Yellow Bird begrudgingly sat up. “Give me a moment, Mesi.”

“I can do it. You will just terrify them, Nys.” Yellow Bird declared. Nyssa stiffened slightly but nodded.

The books arrived after the food… a meal for a family. The three of them feasted emptying the table. The blonde stretched out on the couch asleep after, using Nyssa’s lap as a pillow. Mesi studied a map of the Malian Empire while Nyssa pulled out a battered paperback. The student translated the title as Something of Wildfell Hall.

Long after Khem-Adam’s death by her hand and just after that Singular Dosage, every evening was filled with books and lectures. Ones on German folklore, others about tectonic plates. Several detailing the Chinese Tang Dystany covered her desk in her new apartment. Empty bookshelves lining the stone walls… waiting.

Chapter Text

November 30, 2022

Nanda Parbat

Demon’s Personal Compound, Heir's Chambers

Talia stared at the Heir’s emblem. Her sister’s impish texts confirmed it. However, she respectfully remained silent. Father just suspecting her suitor. Fortunately, the Demon was “tending to personal affairs”. Ma performing a rare rite outside of the city. Hesitantly, she knocked.

“Enter.” Nyssa called from inside. Her sister was alone.

Talia centered herself. She could ask Ma or her sister. Neither were palpable.

“Enter.” The Heir groaned impatient.

Nyssa was better than Ma. At least she chose her partner; lineage decided for Father. The Demon’s youngest child entered the chamber. Sara introduced just enough modern life into the League Archive. Aunt Aminah’s sketches framed on the ancient stone. An autographed Rocket’s cap displayed on top of the 13^th Demon’s rose wardrobe just outsight of the door. Finally, a leather jacket draped over a century old chair by the 12^th ‘s desk. Talia froze at the Starling City Rocket World Championship hung in equal pride next to the centuries old battle banner. Her sister truly loved her.

Her sister sat motionless, meditating in front of the time worn banner. “Did Sara like the hat?” Talia initiated.

“Very much so.” Closed eyes arched, amusing her for a moment. “I simply reminded her it was ill suited as a meditating focus. Besides, Father may ask questions.”

The nomad sat down. “How much does he know?” She breathed.

“Your travel has become dangerously predictable, sister.” Nyssa opened her eyes. Her afternoon meditation completed early. “I suspect he almost approves.”

“More than you and Sara?” Talia chanced.

Her sister stretched. “I would be more concerned about your inevitable interrogation. My Beloved earned her respect.” Laughing in front of Father was a proper if confounding start.

“While mine harasses the League.” The nomad stared at every symbol but the ancient League seal.

The Demon for the Day shrugged almost casually. “Enough father respects Mr. Wayne.” Father would replace Nyssa with Bruce as soon as she became an active priestess. Maybe Sister believed it now. “How much does your suitor know?”

“He suspects I am some illegitimate daughter of some billionaire.” Talia swallowed. Her sister did not believe Father’s absolute trust in her but she pushed harder. Nyssa permitted her the time. “Some thieves broke into Wayne manor late one night. We were preparing for a second round.” She smiled. Around Bruce she could breathe… just be Talia, not a Daughter of the Demon. “He asked I get to safety in the saferoom, but he couldn’t hear my steps.” A foolish oversight but habit. He noticed it. “Mercifully, no one got near that room.” Safety meant more than questions. She could not lie to Bruce. Omit details, but never lie.

Nyssa audibly sighed, rubbing her temples. “Fortunate indeed.” No mutual silence could save her. Sister would support her, but Father’s questions challenged everyone. “Did they locate the intruder?”

“No. Several paintings were later located cut out of their frames.” Talia assured. “They did not know I was there. Bruce kept the police away from me largely. Just a brief statement to Captain Gordon.”

Nyssa nodded. “It is a mercy Sara and I can be honest with each other.”

“We are honest with each other in every other way.” Talia stared at the faded banner. “He almost told me after the break in.” She rubbed her temples. The man she loved terrified for her, unaware of the missions she led. No scars for his eagle eyes currently. Her sister froze. “I think I would have told him, Nyssa.”

“A secret for a secret.” Her sister agreed.

“He just looked away ashamed, sister.” The would-be priestess paused.

The Heir memorized the tiles of the Heir’s Chambers. For a spilt second, she was the youth smuggling Natasha in her room without care. The woman who broke up with an assassin Father immediately approved of, encouraged even, because it was better for both. Then chose a companion who lighted her day. “In time, he may not be. Just…” She paused. “…be ready to live with your choice.”

“Thank you.” Talia whispered.

Chapter Text

March 10, 2020

Berlin, Germany

A miracle. Nyssa needed help with a mission – just simple tasks like dead drops, decoding, and decoy duty. The Heir claimed the mini-vacation as “training for her apprentice”. Ra’s al Ghul brought it – hook, line, and sinker. 18 hours later, the couple departed for Berlin.

Now, a new but familiar challenge remerged. Birthday gifts for the insanely loaded. Whatever Nyssa wanted or needed were covered from her undisclosed yet vast “private” funds. Last night scouting the club was purely a personal expense. The target left the bar long before they left. Ollie loved gag gifts, licorice, and card games. Sara smiled at his laughing fit three years ago. He wore that custom shirt on the Gambit. Nyssa was harder…

Sara stretched in her seat, writing the encoded message then decoding it on a separate sheet of paper. Isabel made this look so easy. The blonde corrected the second “e”. She glanced up at the covered dinner once freed.

Last year, the blonde hunted in those months for those 12 Hanukkah box stuffers. Trading with Isabel or handing off cash to Talia. She sprinted to the deadline by three days. One gift was clear and reasonably available when Ra’s left the Nanda Parbat temporarily. The rest wasn’t. In the rush to pack, she forgot the Ten Intersections of Classic Literature and Cinema and Turron de Jijona. Isabel happily shared a quick and easy Koshari recipe, suggested sauces, and two wines with a knowing grin. A knowing grin at the price. Still enough for a proper dinner and celebration…

Nyssa’s knock echoed in the silent space. Sara knocked back. Her girlfriend hung the custom coat from the hook, deflated.

“Fortunately, we will have another day here.” The Heir declared.

Sara paused. The note added two more targets – Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Nyssa marched past the two steaming plates and chilled 80 Euro wine blindly. “Slytherin escaped the restaurant before I could get him. He slithered like a snake, Beloved.”

“You really need to read Harry Potter, Nys.” Sara sat down beside her, passing her the decoded note. “…because we have Helga and Helena as well now.”

“Those are children’s books and....” Her girlfriend groaned, scanning the note. The blonde burrowed into the jasmine.

“You would finish the series in two weeks after buying them used.” Sara countered. “Besides, you would be a Slytherin or Ravenclaw.” A certain disregard for the rules but sharp wit. Nyssa reread the message. Her eyes actively constructing a timetable.

“We should return to the club tomorrow night as a belated if proper…” The Heir froze, stared at the sweating sweet wine and steaming plates. Nyssa paused confounded, then noticed the blue strap.

Sara laughed. “Happy Birthday, Nys.”

Her girlfriend smiled impishly.

They dined cold that night.

Chapter Text

Nanda Parbat

Exalted Tunnels

February 15, 2020

Melisandre readjusted her robes. The Demon tried to help, but his mastery in disrobing appeared. Not that she minded. None of these routine rites required ritual purity. Still, Sister Shan fretted over the morning rituals. The priestess arranged her braids into the crown of the mountain. Just casual enough for the rites but formal enough to guide her disinclined niece around the sanctuary, she decided. These tours were as short as custom permitted, then an afternoon of overdue administrative tasks and paperwork. After that, the balancing rites at dusk.

The priestess pulled on her jacket, fur heating her exposed neck. Mark free neck, she checked twice. A shadow shifted; Her hand dashed for the dagger.

That same shadow waved and smiled…Sara smiled. The blonde adjusted her new rockets scarf. In the Family tunnel.  An hour before sunrise. The late raiser… headed out into the frigid Nanda Parbat winter…. To her own apartment…

 The pair stared at each other, then a bell echoed. The assassin barely contained her amusement. Melisandre was late. Shan fretted too much. Sara was here for an innocent, explainable reason. One she did not have time to hear.

Both nodded in agreement before walking to parallel tunnels.

Nyssa tolerated the tour well – even accepting the customary invitation to the concealed archive. Kunzang Lga frenetically collected and organized the ledgers for inspection. At least the archive finally acquired the additional guards they desperately needed.