#yet another idea I had a loooong time ago that fitted one of the prompts so I went 👀

[shiroganeryo]

BSD Rarepair Week, day 7: Rain

They got separated from their groups during a joint mission and unfortunately rain found them first.

White clothes and dark-colored underwear are a troublesome combo in this kind of situation...

[rorykillmore]

it’s been a little while since i updated my little black siren (and kendra) deserve better lot au ( part 1 |  part 2 | part 3 ) so here’s a VERY SAPPY ADDITION.

@larkspear sent me a few prompts awhile ago and one of them was sara and zari bonding over sibling stuff, so i centered this idea around that, although there’s also some stuff with sara and laurel at the end. writing zari requires a focus and intensity similar to a competitive sport but i love it and her.

So in the end, she goes to Zari.

Which is weird.

She’s never gone to Zari for advice before.

Sara’s pretty sure it wouldn’t surprise anyone if she admitted she isn’t great at asking for advice.

The thing is, it’s even harder now, with Stein dead and Jax gone. For different reasons, they had become the most stabilizing influences in her life, the people on the team it’d been easiest to open up to. Without them, it’s taken awhile for her to start feeling less adrift.

There’s Amaya, of course. Always a level, objective voice of reason, the person Sara knows she can turn to when she needs an honest and solid opinion on something. And Kendra, who it’s still first instinct to turn to when she needs the gentle, more compassionate perspective she still sometimes feels as though she lacks. And Laurel, who - though she may be from Earth-2, and a former supervillain - is gradually becoming one of the people Sara feels she has to guard herself the least with.

But she can’t turn to Laurel for this, for obvious reasons. Kendra would offer to help in a heartbeat, she’s sure, but she’s not sure she’s ready to talk about it with someone overtly familiar with her past, and Amaya...

Amaya would mean well, but Sara’s also not certain she’d give her a particularly sentimental opinion on this particular topic. 

So in the end, she goes to Zari.

Which is weird.

She’s never gone to Zari for advice before.

But Zari is blunt enough that Sara knows she can trust in her honesty, and friendly enough with Laurel to be invested in what Sara’s going to ask, so she comes out the best option in the end.

“Hey,” she calls over the noise of the video game playing in Zari’s room -- she and Nate are playing Injustice 2.  “Z. You got a minute?”

Zari glances over, offhandedly at first, but then she seems to read something in Sara’s expression.  She pauses the game.  “Nate, scram.”

“What?” Nate exclaims indignantly. “You’re just mad ‘cause I was about to kick your ass!”

But Sara gives him a Look, and any other protests die on his lips. He huffs a little, but then pulls himself up and trudges over to the door.  “Alright, alright, I get it. Girl talk.”

“Something like that,” Sara shoots after him, waiting until he’s meandered off down the hall to turn her attention back on Zari.

“What’s up, Cap?” Zari asks casually, though her posture is subtly attentive.

And now that Sara’s faced with it, she finds herself hesitating, not sure where to begin. So she just kind of goes for it. “Laurel’s birthday’s two weeks from today.”

Zari makes a face. “How do you even keep track of this stuff? I mean, is there a point?” She tosses her controller across the bed and leans back against her pillows. “Do we actually --”

“I mean, based on the timeline she and I left. Yeah.”

There’s a moment in which Zari seems to assess that, and then accept it.  “Okay, so. What’s the issue?”

There are, in fact, multiple issues, even with how much this Laurel has come to mean to her. Maybe especially because of that. Sara’s wary of screwing this up. She skirts around her main concern a bit.  “I think we should do something. Like -- throw her a party, or something lame like that.”

“You sound so enthusiastic,” Zari jokes, watching her curiously now.

Sara shrugs carefully. “I just think it’d be a nice... gesture. You know how it is. It’s been awhile since she joined up, but this’d be like an official... thing.”

Especially since Laurel’s had an extensive struggle of feeling welcome on Earth-1, period, but she doesn’t think she needs to tell Zari that.

“That might be cool.” Zari nods thoughtfully after another moment. “But, like -- no offense, to me I guess, but I’m not exactly the event planner of the group. What’re you talking to me for?”

This is the tricky part, the part she doesn’t really talk about even with members of her own crew. She shifts her position a little, still leaning in the doorway. “I’m not sure if --”  Sara doesn’t like the note of uncertainty in her voice, tries to reign it in. “Do you think I should do anything... special for her?”

Zari seems momentarily nonplussed. “Like. You, specifically?”

Automatically, Sara feels oddly defensive, though it’s hard for her to even justify her own hesitance over all of this out loud. “I mean, I just. It’s also -- my Laurel’s birthday.” More and more, the wording of that description feels strange to her, because this Laurel is a part of her team, this family, and maybe it’s not such a betrayal to the sister she grew up with to say that Earth-2 Laurel is her Laurel, too. “And she’s gonna know that’s the only reason I remembered, or -- know about it in the first place. And I don’t want it to be...”

“Weird?” Zari suggests, going out of her way to sound distinctly weirded out.

‘Weird’ is, in fact, the correct word for it. That and a million other fitting descriptors that can’t be packaged quite so neatly. Like the fact that this day of the year is always a little bit sad for her, and she doesn’t want to rub that in Laurel’s face. Or that she wants to find a way to do this that wouldn’t be too much like what she would’ve done for --

“Yeah,” is what she settles on. “That’s one way to put it.”

Zari’s expression is difficult to read, but she’s more somber than Sara’s used to seeing her. Then she moves -- a slight but pointed tilt of her head, which Sara recognizes after a beat as a gesture meant to beckon her over. She hesitates - affection has never been a primary component in her’s and Zari’s relationship, at least not openly - but eventually, gingerly moves over to settle at the foot of Zari’s bed.

“Her dad died on her birthday,” Sara tells her more quietly after a moment of silence passes between them.  Zari swears softly; Sara knows she’s affected by this sort of thing, since what happened in her own timeline. “So I don’t know -- maybe all of this would just be a shitty reminder anyway.”

“You’re overthinking it,” Zari advises, though her tone is considerably less casual now.  “It’ll be chill, just -- all of us hanging out with her. Besides, I’m gonna go ahead and guess that she hasn’t celebrated a birthday in a loooong time. Maybe it’s about time she started building up better memories.”

She has a point, Sara supposes, staring at a spot on the wall and trying not to linger too deeply in doubt.

“And as for your thing -- get her something that’s... I dunno, specific to her,” Zari continues with a shrug. “...I know if I was hanging out with some weird, alternate version of my brother, I wouldn’t want him to forget my birthday.”

It’s a sentiment that gives Sara pause. Her gaze shifts back to Zari more carefully. “When was his birthday?”

Zari opens her mouth, and then closes it again, as if she’s realized a moment too late that she’s touched upon something vulnerable. “August 23rd,” she replies finally -- and then adds more softly, “Hell if that isn’t gonna suck, this year.”

Sara wishes she could tell her it got easier -- that there’d come a year when Zari wouldn’t be stuck lingering on what happened when her brother’s birthday rolls around. But if there is such a thing as getting to that point, it hasn’t happened to her yet.

“You won’t have to spend it alone, though.” And this is easier -- this steady reassurance she’s learned to harness when necessary, as captain.  “We’ll be here. And we can do -- whatever you need or want to do.”

Hopefully, it’s what Zari needs to hear. She can still remember when they first met, when Zari betrayed the team and Sara was ready to rip her a new one for it, until that realization that had her threatening to crash the Waverider into the Time Bureau’s ship for Zari’s sake.

Because Zari had been alone. Zari hadn’t belonged anywhere, so she belonged with them.

A moment passes between them in which Zari’s expression softens a fraction, and then she squirms a little, as if the emotional beat makes her restless. “I guess I’m not... super used to thinking about it that way. Yet.”

“Takes awhile,” Sara agrees, because she knows what it’s like, that risk of allowing yourself to believe that people actually want you.  “And just because you have us doesn’t mean you have to suddenly stop missing him.”

Zari nods slowly. “And just because you have Laurel doesn’t mean you have to stop missing... the other Laurel.”

Sara knows her smile is a little sadder, this time. “I don’t think I could even if I tried.”

The silence that falls between them is more comfortable now. More understanding. There’s something comforting in knowing that there are certain things Zari just gets, things that maybe Sara couldn’t talk to anyone else about. It’s probably about time to stop shying away from that.

“Anyway,” Zari shatters the moment abruptly. “Selfie time.”

Sara fails to stifle a snort that’s half surprise, half amusement. “Congratulations. You’re from 2042, and you still manage to be one of us millennials.”

“It’s a gift,” Zari agrees, pulling out her phone and leaning in to snap a quick shot of her and Sara together. The camera goes off just as Sara’s rolling her eyes in apparent protest, but when they look at the resulting photo, it’s clear that she’s also smiling a little. A compliment to the exaggeratedly deadpan face Zari was making.

“Perfect,” Zari decides. “Very us.”

“Yeah, well. Don’t post that anywhere, or Ray is gonna want to know why he didn’t get one.”

“Oh, I already got one with him.” Zari swipes the screen to show her. Then she pulls up the next one, which is a presumed shot of her and Mick, blurred by Mick’s clear efforts to get away. “I’m taking them with all the Legends, to indulge my own sick sense of humor.”

Sara can’t help but laugh at that, though her expression softens a little at the next picture of Zari and Amaya -- they look so comfortable with each other. There’s even one of Zari and Laurel, in which Laurel looks almost happy --

“Do you think I could trick Ava into taking one?” Zari’s asking conversationally, and while normally the prospect of that is one Sara would find delightful, she’s suddenly a little distracted.

“I think I just had an idea,” she says abruptly, and Zari blinks. “Can you send me that?”

“The one of Nate using the dog filter?”

“No -- the one with you and Laurel.” She’s having a hard time not being apprehensive about the thought that’s just sprung into her head, and in her impatience she rises quickly to her feet. “I need it for something.”

“...Okay. Sure.” Zari’s obviously dubious, but Sara’s never been more grateful for the ‘guess I’m going along with this bullshit’ demeanor she’s adopted since joining the Legends. 

“Thanks.” Sara pauses, catches herself before the impulse to rush out of the room overtakes her.  “...For, you know. Everything.”

Zari’s uncertainty fades, and she smiles at Sara just a little, leaning back against her pillows again and giving her a trademark sarcasm-laced double thumbs up.

And Sara can’t help smiling back.

She spends the next several days slinking around to the other Legends as inconspicuously as possible. Discretion is a difficult concept to grasp on the Waverider - any gossip tends to spread like wildfire - but when she explains her idea, even Mick is begrudgingly invested, in his very Mick way.

And many of them actually have at least one or two pictures to give her.

There’s a group shot they took awhile back - mostly at Kendra’s sentimental insistence - and a snap Ray took of Nate gabbing away about history at the breakfast table and Laurel (against all odds) tolerating it. She looks slightly bemused, but he looks happy, and as irritating as Nate can sometimes be, Sara can’t help appreciating it.

Amaya and Kendra end up having a couple of photos from various Girls Night hangouts, too. And Sara ends up adding a few of her own personal touches -- the muggshot taken when an incident in 1986 briefly got Laurel arrested (not that the point of this is to be funny, but she can’t really resist) and the candid shot she’d stolen the first time they’d dragged Laurel out on a mission dressed in period clothing (on one of their semi-annual and practically initiatory trips to the old West, in fact).

And one of her and Laurel, too. Sara vaguely remembers that they’d been watching Grey’s Anatomy, or something, and Zari had sidled in and awww’d at them mockingly and Sara had thrown her arms around Laurel in playfully overbearing affection while Zari had taken the shot.

Sara hadn’t made a big deal out of it, hadn’t told anyone she’d kept it. She also hasn’t looked at it very often since then, but holding it now, it’s a lot less strange and jarring than she expected it to be somewhere in the back of her mind.

So she gets things developed and polished where she needs to, and then pieces it all together as delicately as she can. Delicate has never been her strong suit, of course, and the photo album feels oddly fragile in her hands even before she’s done with it, but she finishes it a few days before her sister’s birthday and manages to only deliberate on what to write on the inside cover for a little while. There’s a lot she could say, but in the end she settles on something short and simple.

‘Laurel,

For whenever you need a reminder that you still have a family.

Love, Sara.’

It’s a far cry from what she usually does for people. It’s... sappy, as Zari calls it when Sara shows it to her beforehand, but at least it’s something concrete. She’s noticed that Laurel doesn’t really seem to have a lot of personal possessions.

She pulls Laurel aside the morning of the ‘party’, for lack of a better word for what the Legends are planning, to give her a little heads up.

“So they’re throwing you a surprise party tonight.”

“A what?” Laurel narrows her eyes, veiling her surprise with suspicion.

“I just wanted to let you know, in case you wanted to plan an escape beforehand, or something,” Sara says casually, like she had nothing to do with this, like there isn’t only one person the Legends could’ve gotten the date of Laurel’s birthday from.  “Don’t worry about it, if you do. I mean -- they want you there, obviously, but they’ll find another way to entertain themselves if it’s too... much.”

Laurel stares at her, looking caught between about five different emotions. It’s hard to tell which one is winning.

“Oh,” she says finally, and it’s a little softer than Sara was expecting.

“Either way, I wanted to give you... this.”  She takes the photo album out from where she’s tucked it under her arm - hesitates a beat, because it suddenly feels oddly heavy - and then holds it out with a seemingly easy smile.  “...Happy birthday, Laurel.”

Laurel’s gaze drops to the book, and for a moment she looks almost confused, like she didn’t hear Sara. When she finally takes it, she does it very gingerly, like she’s afraid the cover might burn her.

Like she’s not even a little bit nervous about what Laurel’s going to think, Sara leans forward teasingly. “You’re supposed to open it.”

There’s a beat of hesitation -- but then, wordlessly, she does. Sara watches her expression shift, almost fracture a little as she absorbs the message scrawled into the front of the book, and suddenly feels like she shouldn’t be watching at all. Like maybe she should just go somewhere else and leave Laurel to this, except -- she supposes that would take away some of the meaning behind it.

So as Laurel slowly begins flipping through the pages, Sara uncharacteristically feels the need to fill the silence.  “I’m not, like. Spectacular at arts and crafts bullshit. And it’s a little Hallmark -- you can do your own thing with it, I mean, if you want different pictures in there or whatever --”

“Sara,” Laurel stops her, her voice wavering slightly. Her eyes don’t leave the book.  “...I don’t know what to say.”

“...Me neither. If that wasn’t obvious.”

That at least gets a shaky laugh from her, at least, which prompts Sara to continue a little more steadily, “You don’t have to say anything.”  She pauses with a sudden twinge of alarm.  “...You don’t have to cry.”

Because Laurel looks dangerously close to it, and Sara suddenly feels terrible, though she can hardly blame Laurel after all she’s been through. 

“I’m trying not to,” Laurel protests, not managing to sound quite as dryly confident as usual.

“Well. Good. ‘Cause if you start, then I’ll start, and then Ray will probably start --”

Sara cuts off, caught off guard when Laurel shifts the album under one arm and pulls her into a hug with the other. It’s not like they’re not affectionate with each other, but whether because she’s unused to it or because some part of her still thinks she’s crossing some boundary, Laurel’s usually more skittish about initiating it. And this is a particularly loaded moment, so it takes Sara a couple of seconds to unfreeze and gently hug her back.

“Thank you,” Laurel manages, only half-audible.

“Zari helped,” Sara provides, half joking and half because some bizarre instinct compels her to back off from taking too much credit now that she’s gotten a positive reaction. 

Laurel laughs a little again, and if either of them end up crying too -- it’s the good kind of crying, at least.