Work Text:
Do I contradict myself? Very well, then I contradict myself, I am large, I contain multitudes
- Walt Whitman, Song of Myself
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It's 2019. Zari is nine years old. She's at Heyworld, taking Mithra out for the very first time.
It's 2019. Zari is thirty three years old. She's standing in the library on a time ship, watching a beautiful, dumb man that she loves beyond reason fall to the ground. She's running out the door with her heart in her throat, full of so much love that there's hardly anything in her mind but a name: Nate.
It's 2019. Zari is nine years old but she's also thirty three years old and she's rolling her eyes as Behrad takes her on a tour of a ship he keeps calling The Waverider. He's such a nerd, chattering about how they save space and time and make friends along the way. She'd be embarrassed for him, if there was anyone important to see her here.
They get to the library and something washes over Zari; a wave of deja-vu that hits her down to the tips of her toes. She rests her hand on the desk, and thinks of a puckish smile and a man clapping his hands together and pointing finger-guns at her. She thinks of a name: Nate.
Then she shakes her head. Nate is Behrad's boyfriend. He's a total dork like Behrad and practically lives in the library; it's probably just one of those association things.
That's all this is.
+
It's 2042. Zari is thirty two years old. She's out at the farm, reading with Mithra.
"What do you think though?" she asks him. There's a letter she's been using as a bookmark, a request for a public appearance tucked into the pages so that she'll remember to remember it. "Like, we could do the Heyworld event but also they're kind of a little dated, and that whole silent management thing is getting tired."
Mithra curls his body around; she feels it from where she's positioned using his haunch as a backrest. He nuzzles into the back of her neck with the tip of his muzzle. Warm breath and a delicate mist of dragon slobber heats the back of her shirt.
Privately, with nobody around to look nice for, she can smile. "Silly dragon," she says, running her hand along his muzzle. "Is that yes to Heyworld, then?"
Mithra huffs. He nudges at her ear. He can be so gentle when he wants to be; people don't believe her when she tells them but it's just like having a big, scaly, fire-breathing horse. (Who's also part house cat. Who can also fly.) The force of his tap makes her lean to the side slightly, she laughs at him. "Fine, fine," she says. "You really like it there, huh?"
Mithra shifts, settling so that his head is on his front feet, his muzzle within patting distance for Zari. She strokes the space between his nostrils, scratching gently. He blinks, slowly, to show his appreciation.
Zari sighs. This dragon. "I love you, too."
+
It's 2042. Zari is thirty two years old. She's standing in an empty warehouse that's technically home but will never, ever feel that way. Her things are here - a few servers, some emergency supplies and some clean clothes. All of them are easily abandoned. Her whole body is on alert, the way it always is. Her family is dead and her heart won't stop thrumming because she has to go, ARGUS is everywhere and there's no safe place, anymore.
In front of her there's a woman with dark skin and dark hair and eyes that sparkle and seem to see right through to her soul. A woman who says it's not safe for you here like that means something. Like Zari should pay attention to whether or not she's safe.
The way that Amaya watches her feels intimate in a way that's almost painful. There's so much openness to it, and she talks about how they're bound together, how it must be fate, as if that's not something to be ashamed of.
As if believing in something isn't a crime.
Zari offers her hand. Amaya accepts it, her thumb soft across Zari's hand, their clasped palms warm and grounding. Amaya she thinks to herself, and without Zari's permission, the sound of that name starts to curl around Zari's heart. It's deeply, desperately private, how loved Amaya's made her feel in just minutes.
It also feels - strange, somehow.
Zari's feelings have always been closely guarded. Zari's feelings have never been secret. Both of those things feel true.
+
It's 1977. Zari won't be born for forty two years, but she's also thirty three years old.
She's standing in a warehouse, and there are anti-capitalist slogans spray painted onto the walls and takeout containers piled high next to a second-hand sofa. In another century, Zari could have lived here.
She's trying to be good. She's trying to do what she's supposed to: help people, protect the timeline. But now this shapeshifting magical person is standing in front of her, wearing Amaya's face, telling her that she's doing everything wrong.
It's almost physical, the rush of emotion she gets at seeing Amaya again. And it's not her. Zari knows it; she just saw them wear her own face, and Mick's, and Ray's. Whoever this person is, they're not Amaya.
But her heart can't tell the difference.
Her heart sees Amaya's face, those eyes and that smile and it feels like getting the wind knocked out of her. It's almost physically painful, the weight of missing her, and all the heartbreak and love that she's been trying to sublimate into anger floats to the forefront, despite her best efforts. "I can't do it," she says.
She shows anger, but her heart feels so full of love and it's not for Charlie. Of course it's not. But even though her head knows better, for a moment, her stupid heart can't tell the difference.
+
It's 2038. Zari is twenty eight years old and Behrad is nineteen and he's brought a friend from college to visit her. Zari's pretty sure they're dating - or if they're not now, they're going to be soon - but that's none of her business.
(Except that it is, because this tall, All-American apple pie of a man is way too hot to be dating Zari's dorky baby brother.)
(And also they keep making googly eyes at each other over the dinner table and it's not subtle and Zari is trying to eat, could they please take their eye-canoodling elsewhere.)
Behrad goes out to the barn after dinner to greet Mithra. Zari can see the way that her little brother is brimming over with excitement and pride and it softens her irritation, a little. She watches from the barn door, as Behrad greets Mithra with a laugh and a hug. Mithra's always been so good with him; gentle from the start. In a way they're more like siblings than Mithra and Zari will ever be. They grew up together, and as the larger sibling, Mithra has always been protective but patient.
Behrad is too big to sit on Mithra's tail and get lifted up, these days, but he crawls underneath his big, dragon head and wraps his arms around Mithra's neck. He's rewarded with a slow blink, a little puff of happy smoke and Mithra tossing his head in greeting. Behrad holds on, bounces about a foot off the ground before Mithra lowers him gently back to earth.
It's then that Zari notices a presence to her left: Behrad's not-boyfriend. She's pretty sure his name is, like, Noah or Mason or something. He's standing by the doorway and it's clear that he kind of didn't believe Behrad when he was told that they were going to meet his sibling the dragon. "Is it, like. Safe?" he asks.
"Yeah," Zari says. "Just, um. Be respectful."
"Respectful," Noah or Mason or something says, wiping his palms on the front of his jeans. "Right."
Zari watches as Behrad's beautiful boyfriend crosses the distance from the barn door to Mithra's nest. She can't quite hear him; he's speaking in a voice close to a whisper. But she can hear Behrad's reply, and see the way his smile crinkles the corner of his eyes as he says, "Yeah, come on. Mithra, this is Liam."
Liam. She was so close.
Mithra leans his head out, huffing warm air onto Liam, who's clearly doing his best to be respectful and only flinches a little. Behrad reaches out his hand and Liam takes it, lacing his fingers through Behrad's for comfort like they've held hands before. "You can give him your hand," Behrad says. "Here, like this."
He takes Liam's other hand in his and places it gently on Mithra's snout, hand-over-hand with his own.
As long as Liam doesn't break her little brother's heart, Zari can try to get used to him.
+
It's - Zari doesn't know. It's a time, but it's not a time. The Waverider is floating in the time stream, unmoored and yearless. Within the Waverider, they're in Zari's room.
Zari's sitting on the couch with her legs tucked up underneath her. Charlie leans against the inside of the closed door, her skirt swaying around her upper thighs and her legs crossed at the ankles. She's got her tongue curled up to touch her teeth like she's just asked a very dirty sort of question.
Zari feels it in her groin, a reply to Charlie's question and she's just. They're doing this. They're actually doing it, the thing they've been circling around since New Orleans.
"You're not getting cold feet, are you, Z?" Charlie drawls. She's making eye contact a hair too strongly, a triple-dog-dare to get on with this.
Zari leans back, shifts her weight so that she's resting on flat palms just behind her hips. The gesture opens up her chest, lets the half-buttoned V of her shirt collar settle flatteringly. Charlie breaks eye contact to notice the wedge of bare skin, and the swell of Zari's breasts hinted just below. "I'm not getting cold feet, are you?"
Charlie pushes off from the door, takes two confident, sauntering steps to close the distance between them. "I just said I wasn't."
"Fine then."
"Fine."
Charlie bends at the waist, leaning down to give Zari a soft, teasing kiss on her forehead. "Let's go, then."
They end up kissing on the couch, then kissing on the bed, and then Zari's knee slips in between Charlie's legs and Charlie arches up against her and that's when it hits her: this is really happening.
Charlie's knees spread like an invitation and she's warm and slippery under her skirt.
Zari touches her, and the sound of Charlie whimpering into the air around them is something indelible.
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It's 1809. Zari doesn't exist yet. Zari is thirty three years old.
She's dancing.
She's dancing, and everything is lights and warmth and there's a beautiful man with strong arms holding her, whispering that he wants her to be his bride. It feels like it would be so easy.
But there's another beautiful boy, one with equally strong arms and goofy hair, who makes her nervous down to the tips of her toes. It doesn't feel easy, the idea of kissing him. It feels like the most frightening thing in the world, as easy as jumping off a cliff.
Zari steps back and lets the warm lights and the fuzzy intoxication of the first boy slip away. She knows her heart. She knows who she wants to kiss.
+
It's 2019. Zari is nine years old but she's also thirty three; looking at that same beautiful boy with her heart racing. They're in an office. They're at the Time Bureau.
Nate's standing over her shoulder, giving instructions while Zari types as fast as she can and does her best to ignore him. He puts his hand on her shoulder, for reassurance. Like friends do. He's her friend, so they do this sometimes.
The weight of his hand on her shoulder makes her feel so smitten that she could almost float away.
+
It's 1874. Zari doesn't exist yet; she's sure of it.
Zari is in the American west and Amaya is there and her heart is aching so hard that she feels like it might burst.
It's 1874; Zari kisses Amaya and tells her that she's beautiful. It's secret, this thing that's happening in between them. They don't kiss in the main bar room; they kiss in little store room behind the bar. Zari drags Amaya in by her shirt front, Amaya giggles and pushes Zari back-first against a cask of liquor. The floor is sticky under her boots. It's kind of gross. It's kind of perfect.
Zari closes her eyes, tries to memorize the taste of Amaya's mouth and the feel of Amaya's lips and the way that their bodies seem to just fit together; exactly the right shape and size to be a matched set. "I'll miss you," Zari whispers.
Amaya pulls back, and for a moment there's so much pain in her expression that Zari wants to look away. It's gone as quickly as it comes, those emotions schooled back into place and forced away with a smile that's still bright enough to leave Zari transfixed. "Let's not talk about that," Amaya whispers back. "Not now."
Zari clutches at Amaya's shoulders, as if she could somehow pull her even closer. "I don't care," she whispers. "I'm still going to miss you."
Amaya presses her nose to the side of Zari's neck and leans in, rubbing her face into the curve of Zari's shoulder. She leaves a trail of tearstains across Zari's skin. "Me too," Amaya says, her whisper a little watery. "For always."
Zari holds Amaya close, as tightly as she can. Her heart hurts. That's all she can think about. Her heart hurts and Amaya's leaving and she feels like she can't breathe.
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It's the ice age. Dates, years - none of that has been invented, yet. Zari is thirty three years old.
The floor of the Waverider is freezing cold; the temperature outside already creeping in around them. Her parka is spread out underneath her but there are spots where it's riding up, and the cold is sharp where the bare skin of her back touches the floor.
Nate is warm on top of her.
Nate is warm and solid and beautiful and kissing her over and over again and Zari feels beautiful herself in a way that she hasn't in a long time.
Mithra is there - no, that's not his name yet. Wicksty is there, still growing inside his egg, waiting to become himself. She thinks about that, idly.
She thinks mostly about the heat between her legs, the way that Nate's hips rub against hers and she feels him against her body. She thinks about the fact that this is happening, that they're finally doing this and about how every atom of her is aching to be opened up and held and cared for.
Zari takes off her pants. Her knees part. Nate feels like coming home.
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Zari is a cat. Zari is a person.
It's every year all at once - or the same year a bunch of different times, maybe. The date feels like a jumble, tangled in an infinite knot.
Zari is a person trapped inside a cat, that's what it is. Charlie's stroking her from head to tail, talking idly about how all of this is going to be just fine.
Zari's trying not to interpret this in person terms. She's definitely not thinking about Charlie doing this to her when she's in her proper shape. Not even a little bit.
If Charlie knew she was a horny pussycat, she'd never hear the end of it.
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It's 2019, except that it's not. Zari is thirty-three years old. She stepped onto Behrad's ship in 2019 and now she's here, in that yearless place, floating in the ocean of whatever exists outside of time.
(Or maybe the ocean is made of time? Behrad and the talking computer on the time ship are giving contradictory answers.)
They walk past the library and Nate looks up from his books as they pass. It's like a switch flips, his expression goes from studious to soft-eyed and smitten in an instant. "Hey, B," he says.
Behrad's expression shifts, too. He stands a little straighter and his smile gets sort of goofy and soft as he pauses on the threshold. "Hey," he says. "What's up?"
Nate's tongue presses against the inside of his cheek and his mouth twists. "I've got something for you."
"Oh?" Behrad says. He rolls his eyes a little, laughs good-naturedly as he walks to Nate's desk like they've done this a dozen times before. He leans across the desk, hands planted flat on the surface of it to look down at Nate's book. "What is it?"
Nate leans in to give Behrad a kiss on the mouth, lightning-quick. "Just one of those," he says.
Zari feels a few things at once. The first is discomfort: it's one thing to know in the abstract that her brother is probably having sex and it's another to know that her baby brother is definitely having sex with this particular person. The second is dizziness, real and physical and for a moment she has to brace herself against the bookcase.
The third is a perfect, clear memory of being exactly this age, in exactly this time and place. She's walking over to Nate's desk and she can feel a soft flutter of anticipation low in her belly. Sure, they're dating, but it still feels so nice to be flirted with. Nate's grinning, already too proud of his joke to contain himself.
This time it's Zari in Behrad's place, feeling Nate's mouth against hers. She knows the exact emotional reaction it inspires: affection and bemused irritation and a little bit of lust.
"Zari."
Zari blinks, and the memory fades. Behrad is watching her, eyes open too wide as though he's asked her a couple of times by now. "What?"
Behrad taps Nate on the shoulder with the back of his hand. "See, I told you. Your flirting grossed out my sister. I want her to be impressed.."
"Yeah," Zari says. She still feels like she's coming back to herself, somehow. "Yeah, you guys are super gross. That's what it is."
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It's 2020. Zari is ten years old. Zari is thirty four years old. Zari is both at once - all three at once. Zari has a pet dragon but she also doesn't, Zari grew up in a police state but she also didn't. Zari's parents and brother are dead. Zari's parents are alive and her brother is a time traveling superhero.
Zari sits up in bed. Suddenly, she remembers.