Watching Thea sit there pretending to be pitiful — big eyes, sad tone, the very picture of an aggrieved heiress — left everyone on the ship with a complicated expression.
Especially Rip Hunter.
Seriously? he thought. This is the woman who supposedly killed the Time Marauder — the assassin feared across the multiverse?
Still, at least she wasn't extorting them. Her "request" was reasonable enough. A damaged hoverboard? On a ship crewed by two geniuses with PhDs coming out of their ears and a supercomputer AI? Fixing it was hardly a challenge.
Rip was just about to order the others to help her get it repaired and send her on her way when Gideon's calm voice broke in.
"Captain, a reminder: our extended presence in this temporal zone has attracted the attention of the Time Council. Detection teams are expected to arrive in three minutes and twelve seconds."
Rip froze. Then groaned, palm to his forehead.
"Oh, for the love of—" He turned quickly to Thea, smiling a bit too tightly. "Miss Queen, you heard that, right? We're… uh… about to depart. So perhaps you should—"
—be leaving now, his tone implied clearly.
But Thea wasn't that easy to shake off. Her hoverboard damage wasn't even that bad; she could have repaired it back in Star City in half a day. She was only using it as an excuse to hitch a ride.
This ship was packed with future tech — quantum drives, advanced AI, Ray Palmer's micro-reactor systems, miniaturization tech. She'd be insane not to at least take a peek. And now he wanted to kick her out? Dream on.
She shook her head vigorously. "Nope. You throw me out now, I can't even get home. Guess I'm staying."
Rip rubbed his temples. "Miss Queen, I'm trying to protect you. If you insist on traveling with us, you can, technically — but your original timeline will be erased. You're not like us. You're an integral part of the main history. If you leave your own time, you risk unraveling it."
His voice was genuinely earnest. Every member of his crew had been chosen because their disappearance wouldn't distort history. Thea Queen, however, was another story.
That hit Thea like a cold shower. "So not just anyone can time-travel?"
Rip's grim expression was answer enough. He wasn't lying. Realizing how dangerous this could be, Thea reluctantly nodded and started heading for the exit. "Alright, fine, I'll go. Shame, though… all this beautiful tech going to waste…"
But before she could step off, Gideon's voice interrupted again.
"Captain," the AI said, "technically speaking, Miss Queen is qualified for time travel."
Everyone turned to stare.
Rip's brow furrowed. "Gideon, that's impossible."
He knew the rules better than anyone — anyone who could influence the timeline by more than one percent was strictly forbidden from traveling through time. The ripple effects would be catastrophic.
But Gideon remained calm. "No, Captain. I am not mistaken. Miss Queen's physiology has absorbed residual temporal properties from the Time Marauder. However, she has not been formally registered with the Council. Under Article 112, Clause 18 of the Temporal Directive, she possesses autonomous time-travel clearance."
"You're saying," Rip asked slowly, "that she can travel freely without disturbing the timeline or creating paradoxes?"
"Precisely, Captain."
Rip blinked, trying to process this first-of-its-kind situation. Then, seeing her curious look, he hurried to summarize for Thea, skipping the technical jargon.
She didn't understand every term, but she got the gist: when that black-clad woman had self-destructed, Thea had accidentally inherited part of her "temporal license."
In other words — the Marauder's ID badge was now hers.
Rip Hunter? Former Time Council employee.
His crew? Freelance misfits he'd recruited off the record.
Thea Queen? Unexpectedly, an official time traveler — without ever applying.
Realizing this, Thea's ego swelled a little. So I'm the only one here with a legitimate job title? she thought smugly.
Satisfied that her presence wouldn't wreck history, she promptly plopped herself into a seat. "Alright, Captain. Fire her up."
They really were cutting it close — if they stayed another minute, the Council's scouts would spot them. Rip gave up arguing and initiated the jump.
Time travel, as it turned out, wasn't half as glamorous as it looked in the movies. No lights, no swirling tunnels — just blink, and it was done.
Still, Thea felt awful afterward. Something inside her body pulsed, pushing outward like static. The others assured her that it was normal: temporary disorientation. Some people went blind, others mute — it passed quickly. She decided not to panic.
When the ship finally landed, Rip explained that they'd arrived three months after her own departure point — the time they were returning the 2008 version of Sara Lance to her proper timeline.
Thea stayed aboard. She had no interest in watching them "release" Sara back into the wild like some nature documentary. Instead, she wandered the corridors, sightseeing.
That's when she spotted a dark-skinned woman with sharp eyes and regal posture.
"You must be Ms. Kendra?" Thea approached, offering a friendly smile.
The woman turned, smiling politely. "Thea Queen. Of course I know you. You and Oliver helped us once."
Oh, great, Thea thought, her smile stiffening. She knows me. I don't know her yet. And now she's explaining why I don't know her.
Nothing created awkwardness faster than time travel.
Still, she nodded politely. "Right… happy to help."
From their brief chat with the crew, Thea had already gathered the essentials: Kendra Saunders — Hawkgirl — ancient Egyptian priestess in her first life, now reincarnated more than two hundred times. Her partner, Carter Hall — Hawkman — was currently dead. Again.
To be honest, Thea had zero respect for these two.
From ancient Egypt to modern day, they'd been reborn 206 times. Two hundred and six! That's a world record in wasted second chances.
And what did they accomplish with all those lives? Running. Just… running.
Each lifetime, the same story: discover their memories, realize their immortal enemy Vandal Savage is after them… and flee for their lives.
Chased like scared sheep from Siberia to Canberra, Yokohama to the Congo. They crossed deserts, scaled mountains, and trekked through jungles—measuring the Earth one panic attack at a time.
They'd contributed absolutely nothing to human civilization except maybe perfecting cardio.
And their "unstoppable nemesis"? Vandal Savage — the most overrated villain in four thousand years.
His résumé? Big beard. Good aim with throwing knives. That's it.
Maybe, Thea thought, he got bored after four millennia of chasing the same couple and picked up knife-throwing as a hobby.
And yet, despite being basically a grumpy caveman with delusions of grandeur, the man had managed to keep these two running for forty centuries.
Savage's dream was world domination. His strategy? Outlive everyone.
By 2166, after four thousand years of scheming, the immortal fossil finally achieved it—not through genius or might, but through sheer turtle tactics. He just waited until every decent hero had died of old age, then declared himself king of the world.
Rip Hunter, disgusted by the old man's ego and cruelty, had quit the Time Council in protest. He gathered a crew of misfits from across time to stop him.
That, Thea realized, was basically their grand story — a bold, hopeful, slightly absurd crusade powered by revolutionary optimism and chronal nonsense.
She leaned back against the wall, suppressing a grin.
So this is the "Legendary" team? she thought. History's weirdest field trip.