This is the final story of the semi-autobiographical character 'Sasha Jordan Scott'. Who most of the time is simply known as 'Sarah. Arrow's Star City is a place she visited once or twice and found a surrogate home...unitl she finally decided to go home to her rather isolated, perfectly normal life.
“It's been a long time.” Quentin Lance told me in a voice from which I could take no meaning.
“Do you accept I was honest in my explanation of leaving?” I told him curtly.
“Which was what exactly?”
“I wouldn't be believed if I spoke directly to either of you and I didn't really expect to be able to return. Or more accurately I wouldn't be able to finish...stick around to explain whatever warning or advice I would have given...so I didn't give any.”
“Yeah, that part I accept.” He told me gruffly. “It's the rest of it I'm having trouble with.”
“What that Oliver actually thought he was helping and didn't want you getting any more buried in things than you already were? That it was your choice to believe the Arrow when you were facing down Slade and Waller together and it was the right choice?”
“That vigilante..” The police captain began.
“That MAN has a deeper and darker past that anyone except his team have ever given him credit for. A lot of what this city has dealt with and overcome since his return from Lian-Yu, came from what happened there in one sense of the word or another. As such he thinks it's his responsibility to fix ev-ery-thing going wrong in this city. Speaking of the Arrow though, how did you find this place at all?”
“I don't understand.” Quentin replied, seeming sincere enough.
“I gave both of you directions to get here but they were meant to require the sharing of information to actually successfully guide either of you here. I thought it was the equal to telling one person 'go 10 blocks north and six blocks west' and giving the other person the starting coordinates.”
“It wasn't that hard to work out once I pieced together the only places you and I have ever met up.”
“You were about to ask me why Queen ran away if he cared so much for this city?”
“Yeah, that was pretty high on the list.”
“It's because his method for finally taking Rashe out didn't sit well with the rest of his team. That kid has some serious trust issues, I mean more serious than what I called you out on. Your original reason for not liking the Arrow, that he takes matters into his own hands, came to full flower that day. What led to the dam and the final battle was his lack of trust and lack of responsibility. And it cost him his team. But you hated him already because of gigantically bad timing. From my own personal life I don't like any history being thrown out because of one single event...past or present tense. Reconsidering what you've experienced over time in light of new evidence is usually beneficial, no matter who you are. INGORING everything you've experienced over time in light of what you've 'discovered'...is just weird.”
“I have to admit you have a point.” Quentin Lance told me in a steady voice. “Is he coming back?”
“He has no way of knowing how bad things are here. Even if he did, I don't know if the rest of his team can put their own grudges and burning coals aside long enough to work on something more pressing. His perception of not being needed isn't the issue. He no longer feels wanted. If they can't acknowledge that they need him in spite of that crap...they'll never have a chance to repair that damage.” Quentin looked at me as though trying to figure out the source of my opinion. “Yeah, I take it yours is a similar issue. But I really am referring exclusively to the rest of his team this time.”
“Changing the subject completely...I never asked you what you live on while you're here.” I couldn't figure out what he was getting at and I promptly told him so. “I've never seen you eat at any restaurant, you never invite me to your apartment. How do you live and where?”
“I'm a transient. I don't have a steady job, never really needed one, so I just travel around. I show up when and where I can, which usually is the same as when and where I can help. People would get sick of me too quickly If I stayed around and committed to just one cause or mission. What makes my adventures and thus my life unique is I pay attention to both sides of any equation, both cells of any conflict.” I could tell he was having trouble wrapping his head around that, so I changed the direction of my soliloquy. “I left when I did so I could repair the damage in my own head. I've had mental issues for a hell of a long time but my emotional numbness mixed with over-sensitivity had more to do with how I was 'trained'...people trying to bring me up as a logical adult who could see and judge things clearly...assuming what they were trying to teach me to be like was better than the thought process and perspectives I already had. I eventually figured out they were acting under the assumption that my oddities were exclusively the result of a crewed up brain...and therefore making me normal was the same thing as healing my mind.”
“Okay for once I'm not being sarcastic...how so?”
“I tend to choose my words way too carefully for most adults comfort. I mean I've done that since I was in middle school. I'd rather not get into that because it's not something that's very briefly understood. In your case it's a little more directly explainable. To avoid getting distracted or derailed by your responses to my words, I write up general points of what I'm actually trying to say.” He glared at me. “Is it really that surprising? I mean I don't write a script or anything. It's more like a 'this is what I'm here to get across, this is what might be a problem, this is how far not to go.' But something else is a little closer to the point here. As far as I could see, you and the Arrow were on the same side since he got back. I mean since he decided not to drop bodies as a solution to the crime problem. Which is one reason I never took either of your sides in your personal conflict with each-other. Not only was it almost superficial and a little beyond my understanding...I am famous for reading both interpretations of a conflict or argument and not 'drinking in' only one version or perception of a problem. And to hopefully permanently clear the air... When we met last time in the office, when Laurel was handing you a paper that basically said 'choose a suspect'? If I hadn't overheard that conversation and seen a chance there to cut straight to the point without added words or emotional language, the conversation would have gone quite differently.”
“Can you give me an example of what you would have said instead?”
“Actually yes. The conversation would have ended with this insistence: How do you justify so holding on to old prejudice and bitterness? You got thrown in jail at least one for trusting the Arrow's information. And he was right. You were promoted to Captain at all because you worked with that vigilante to save the city from Slade and from Waller. And now, because the Arrow is Oliver, the Arrow himself must be a prick? That's a level of selective memory that...that would baffle almost...”
“What is it?” Quentin Lance asked me, sincerely puzzled.
“I would have interrupted myself at that point; reeling myself in because such impassioned speech is not constructive unless it's inspirational. Before you ask, I don't have such clear memories of conversations that never would have happened. I don't plan these encounters out that well. But I've gone over it a bunch of times in my mind since that day. It's hard to forget or fix such a deep rut in mental pathways.”
“I would think...” Lance began. I glared. It wasn't hard to guess he was about to excuse his twisted perceptions of Oliver-Arrow, as they had been last time, by explaining how long he had been comfortable distrusting the vigilante. I knew well enough that was his next course of action. Then a light seemed to dawn in his face. “You were upset that I unlearned my realizations and open-mindedness, that I ignored the growth and acceptance I'd taught myself, because the revelation came at what was insanely bad timing.”
“Well, there's that.” I told him easily. “I think the rest of it is slightly more personal though. I never said a permanent goodbye to you or Oliver, because I hoped I could come back. The thing is, I didn't expect to come back. Contrary to what either of you believe, it was never the conflict between you that pushed me off. I've been willing myself to live beyond my time until the time came that I was willing to die.”
“Okay, I hope you can tell me more about that.” Quentin stated with sincerity in his voice and face.
“I'm sick.” I told him plainly. “Not like having a physical disease or anything. But my mind is a lot older than my body, because of all these travels and interventions I'm known for. My mentor and teacher stated I could have either one year of life worth living; out in the world and in adventures like this, or five years of life stuck at home. It wasn't something he would enforce or make sure of. He just knew a lot better than me what toll these adventures take on an already fractured mind. I would be pretty safe and calm at home if I stayed there, what some would call 'at peace'. But to my perceptions if I'd chosen that life, I might as well have been dead. I belong in the world, making a difference. More to the point, I found friends and a support network while jumping around like this...I never had that back home. I'd as soon join a shelter or a soup kitchen as a lay person rather than becoming a monk or a nun...to use the catholic metaphor. So I chose to keep traveling. The most poetic and succinct way to put my motivation is this: a horrible death at the end of a good life is preferable to a quiet death and the end of an empty one. If you do the math, you see why I feel now that I'm living on borrowed time.”
“If you were being literal with the chronology I guess so but..”
“..I made that decision before you and I ever even met.” I interrupted him.
“...OH.” he breathed.
Sasha and her Last Adventure; take one
“It's been a long time.” Quentin Lance told me in a voice from which I could take no meaning.
“Do you accept I was honest in my explanation of leaving?” I told him curtly.
“Which was what exactly?”
“I wouldn't be believed if I spoke directly to either of you and I didn't really expect to be able to return. Or more accurately I wouldn't be able to finish...stick around to explain whatever warning or advice I would have given...so I didn't give any.”
“Yeah, that part I accept.” He told me gruffly. “It's the rest of it I'm having trouble with.”
“What that Oliver actually thought he was helping and didn't want you getting any more buried in things than you already were? That it was your choice to believe the Arrow when you were facing down Slade and Waller together and it was the right choice?”
“That vigilante..” The police captain began.
“That MAN has a deeper and darker past that anyone except his team have ever given him credit for. A lot of what this city has dealt with and overcome since his return from Lian-Yu, came from what happened there in one sense of the word or another. As such he thinks it's his responsibility to fix everything wrong in this city. Speaking of the Arrow though, how did you find this place at all?”
“I don't understand.” Quentin replied, seeming sincere enough.
“I gave both of you directions to get here but they were meant to require the sharing of information to actually successfully guide either of you here. I thought it was the equal to telling one person 'go 10 blocks north and six blocks west' and giving the other person the starting coordinates.”
“It wasn't hard to work out once I pieced together the only places you and I have ever met up.”
“You were about to ask me why Queen ran away if he cared so much for this city?”
“Yeah, that was pretty high on the list.”
“It's because his method for finally taking Rashe out didn't sit well with the rest of his team. That kid has some serious trust issues, I mean more serious than what I called you out on. Your original reason for not liking the Arrow, that he takes matters into his own hands, came to full flower that day. What led to the dam and the final battle was his lack of trust and lack of responsibility. And it cost him his team. But you hated him already because of gigantically bad timing. From my own personal life I don't like any history being thrown out because of one single event...past or present tense. Reconsidering what you've experienced over time in light of new evidence is usually beneficial, no matter who you are. INGORING everything you've experienced over time in light of what you've 'discovered'...is just weird.”
“I have to admit you have a point.” Quentin Lance told me in a steady voice. “Is he coming back?”
“He has no way of knowing how bad things are here. Even if he did, I don't know if the rest of his team can put their own grudges and burning coals aside long enough to work on something more pressing. His perception of not being needed isn't the issue. He no longer feels wanted. If they can't acknowledge that they need him in spite of that crap...they'll never have a chance to repair that damage.” Quentin looked at me as though trying to figure out the source of my opinion. “Yeah, I take it yours is a similar issue. But I really am referring exclusively to the rest of his team this time.”
“Changing the subject completely...I never asked you what you live on while you're here.” I couldn't figure out what he was getting at and I promptly told him so. “I've never seen you eat at any restaurant, you never invite me to your apartment. How do you live and where?”
“I'm a transient. I don't have a steady job, never really needed one, so I just travel around. I show up when and where I can, which usually is the same as when and where I can help. People would get sick of me too quickly If I stayed around and committed to just one cause or mission. What makes my adventures and thus my life unique is I pay attention to both sides of any equation, both cells of any conflict.” I could tell he was having trouble wrapping his head around that, so I changed the direction of my soliloquy. “I left when I did so I could repair the damage in my own head. I've had mental issues for a hell of a long time but my emotional numbness mixed with over-sensitivity had more to do with how I was 'trained'...people trying to bring me up as a logical adult who could see and judge things clearly...assuming what they were trying to teach me to be like was better than the thought process and perspectives I already had. I eventually figured out they were acting under the assumption that my oddities were exclusively the result of a crewed up brain...and therefore making me normal was the same thing as healing my mind.”
“Okay for once I'm not being sarcastic...how so?”
“I tend to choose my words way too carefully for most adults comfort. I mean I've done that since I was in middle school. I'd rather not get into that because it's not something that's very briefly understood. In your case it's a little more directly explainable. To avoid getting distracted or derailed by your responses to my words, I write up general points of what I'm actually trying to say.” He glared at me. “Is it really that surprising? I mean I don't write a script or anything. It's more like a 'this is what I'm here to get across, this is what might be a problem, this is how far not to go.' But something else is a little closer to the point here. As far as I could see, you and the Arrow were on the same side since he got back. I mean since he decided not to drop bodies as a solution to the crime problem. Which is one reason I never took either of your sides in your personal conflict with each-other. Not only was it superficial and beyond my understanding; I am famous for reading both interpretations of a conflict or argument and not 'drinking in' only one version or perception of a problem. And to hopefully permanently clear the air... When we met last time in the office, when Laurel was handing you a paper that basically said 'choose a suspect'? If I hadn't overheard that conversation and seen a chance there to cut straight to the point, the conversation would have gone quite differently.”
“Can you give me an example of what you would have said instead?”
“Actually yes. The conversation would have ended with this insistence: How do you justify so holding on to old prejudice and bitterness? You got thrown in jail at least one for trusting the Arrow's information. And he was right. You were promoted to Captain at all because you worked with that vigilante to save the city from Slade and from Waller. And now, because the Arrow is Oliver, the Arrow himself must be a prick? That's a level of selective memory that...that would baffle almost...”
“What is it?” Quentin Lance asked me, sincerely puzzled.
“I would have interrupted myself at that point; reeling myself in because such impassioned speech is not constructive unless it's inspirational. Before you ask, I don't have such clear memories of conversations that never would have happened. I don't plan these encounters out that well. But I've gone over it a bunch of times in my mind since that day. It's hard to forget or fix such a deep rut in mental pathways.”
“I would think...” Lance began. I glared. It wasn't hard to guess he was about to excuse his twisted perceptions of Oliver-Arrow, as they had been last time, by explaining how long he had been comfortable distrusting the vigilante. I knew well enough that was his next course of action. Then a light seemed to dawn in his face. “You were upset that I unlearned my realizations and open-mindedness, that I ignored the growth and acceptance I'd taught myself, because the revelation came at what was insanely bad timing.”
“Well, there's that.” I told him easily. “I think the rest of it is slightly more personal though. I never said a permanent goodbye to you or Oliver, because I hoped I could come back. The thing is, I didn't expect to come back. Contrary to what either of you believe, it was never the conflict between you that pushed me off. I've been willing myself to live beyond my time until the time came that I was willing to die.”
“I hope you can tell me more about that.” Quentin stated with sincerity in his voice and face.
“I'm sick.” I told him plainly. “Not like having a physical disease or anything. But my mind is a lot older than my body, because of all these travels and interventions I'm known for. My mentor and teacher stated I could have either one year of life worth living; out in the world and in adventures like this, or five years of life stuck at home. I couldn't have known what toll these adventures take on an already fractured mind. I would be pretty safe and calm at home if I stayed there, what some would call 'at peace'. But to my perceptions if I'd chosen that life, I might as well have been dead. I belong in the world, making a difference. More to the point, I found friends and a support network while jumping around like this...I never had that back home. I'd as soon join a shelter or a soup kitchen as a lay person rather than becoming a monk or a nun...to use the catholic metaphor. So I chose to keep traveling. A horrible death at the end of a good life is preferable to a quiet death and the end of an empty one. If you do the math, you'll see why I now feel I'm living on borrowed time.”
“If you were being literal with the chronology I guess so but..”
“..I made that decision before you and I ever even met.” I interrupted him.
“...OH.” he breathed.
Sasha and her Last adventure take two
“I can't see you but I know you're there.” I told Quentin when he came through the doorway.
“Well your acuity sensors haven't failed you let.” The police Captain told me firmly.
“Ignoring that word choice completely, I made a promise and I gave you a compass. I knew you'd put two and two together eventually.”
“...However...?”
“Either you've been preoccupied and now have room to breathe or you think you've solved everything and are here to confront me on what you consider to be the truth.”
“I take it this is why you wanted to get out of dodge?” Lance told me flatly.
“I got out of dodge for exactly this reason: My mental state was degrading and pretty soon I wouldn't be of any use to anyone. Even letting myself say exactly what I thought, it wouldn't have helped anyone.”
“What the bloody hell do you mean by that?”
“The dark Archer was a mystery solved by the arrow on his own. Slade Wilson was a monster and a shadow that belonged every bit as much to Oliver as to the Arrow. But thanks to my own twisted sense of honor, including knowing it wasn't my fight, I couldn't say anything to anyone. Except the supposedly vague hints I gave both you and Queen that night, right before things blew up in everybody's face.”
“I'm afraid you'll have to be a little more specific.” The cop prompted me.
“It doesn't matter anymore. At least not for your intent tonight I have a feeling. The point I'm making is that with both of those monsters out of the way, I had the freedom to speak. But either I wouldn't have been believed or I would have been considered to have crossed a line. I didn't want either outcome.”
“No, I got that part.” Captain Quentin Lance told me firmly. “I mean about your 'condition'.”
The sarcasm he put on that last word irked me. But I tried not to let it show too much as I responded. “I do have mental problems. I have done since I was thirteen years old. Which is significantly earlier than we've known each other. But that ain't the problem right now and neither is Oliver...or is he?”
“You've known all along, haven't you?” The former Detective questioned.
“Well, longer than most others yeah. But I'm not stupid enough to assume I know him best...or know what is best. I'll leave that to him.”
“What the heck?”
“He does almost everything he does because he foolishly or at least mistakenly thinks it's actually the best thing for the most number of people...or something along those lines.”
“I hope you're not trying to justify that bastard's actions to me.” The idiot answered gruffly.
“That's almost amusing coming from you!” I shot back. He looked at me as though dumbfounded.
“Okaaaay. What am I missing here?” He finally muttered.
“How do you justify so holding on to old prejudice and bitterness? You got thrown in jail at least once for trusting the Arrow's information. And he was right. You were promoted to Captain at all because you worked with that vigilante to save the city from Slade and from Waller. And now, because the Arrow is Oliver, the Arrow himself must be a prick? That's a level of selective memory...that would baffle almost...”
“What is it?” Lance asked me, apparently sincerely concerned.
“Where are we?”
You're not going to get away that easily. I need to know..”
“Where. Are. We?” I all but demanded of him.
“You gave me a compass point and I followed – Bullshit.” I interrupted him.
He stared at me a moment longer and I explained, speaking as slowly as I would talking to a child. “I gave you a set of directions and the Arrow a set of coordinates. But the directions I gave you when we were out in the cold that night didn't start there. They were to be followed starting from the Arrow's set of coordinates. Unless he's given you the starting point, you shouldn't be here right now. And given your current animosity towards Queen that seems unlikely!”
“That's true but, what could be guiding me what you've already told me?”
“Queen told you the coordinates back when you still trusted him and you are only just now digging it up. Hehe. Apparently even my brain is starting to fry...not just my MIND.”
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