#It doesn’t matter who you are if you have games on your holotable

[yetanothergreyjedi]

Jedi padawans asking people if they have games on their holo

[willow-salix]

(Fluffember Prompt: Carry)

Day six of the second lockdown and I realised today that I may have been a little hasty in believing that my sons were capable of making sensible decisions. While I trust them to pilot millions of dollars worth of the most advanced rescue crafts in the world, it seems that they cannot pilot themselves in a straight line.

I was sitting at my desk, trying to do some work, real work, something I’m beginning to think that no one in this house knows the meaning of any more. I heard her before I saw anything. Pained yelping and a grunt, then silence, then some more moans of someone in obvious pain.

“Why are you doing this to yourself?” I heard John ask in that tone that reminds me of my father’s, part exasperation and part disbelief. I do believe that I employ the same tone myself quite often.

“Because I have nowhere to go.” None of us did, this was hardly news.

“That makes no sense!” John argued. I snorted, arguing with your wife never goes well, you might as well try to fly your plane through a hurricane with your engine powered by a rubber band. In a word, it’s impossible, you can't fight your way through, you’d be better off flying low and waiting for the storm to pass.

“It makes perfect sense!”

“In what world?”

“In mine! Now help me.”

I heard his sigh from the lounge. I had no idea what was going on but I soon found out when John entered a minute later with her clinging to his back like a monkey. He stopped by the holotable, turned around and let go, dropping her onto the couch while she shrieked in protest.

“How dare!”

“You asked for a ride, not a gentle landing,” he shrugged and left us alone.

“Jeff,” she called over to me. Why must they always try to get me involved? 

“Yes?” I answered when I realised that there was no way I could pretend to have not heard her. Not without being extremely rude. 

“I do believe that you have failed in your duty," she started. 

"I have? How so?" 

"Your son is no gentleman.”

I locked my jaw so I wouldn’t laugh, not even a hint of a smile would grace my lips.

“I’m sure there’s a very good reason for his atrocious behaviour.”

“There was no good reason at all,” she sighed deeply, going quiet for a second or two. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance that you feel like passing me my book, is there?” 

I looked up, the book in question was on the other side of the holotable, closer to her than it was to me. I shook my head.

“Didn’t think so,” she hauled herself to her feet and made her way slowly around the table, wincing and groaning with every step. She retrieved her book and made her way back, making as big a fuss as she had the first time. I waited until she had sat back down to ask, unable to resist, although I tried to sound casual, it wouldn't do to give her too much attention, then she'd never stop.

“So, what gives?”

“My feet hurt.”

I glanced over at her feet, which were propped up on the table. Now, I don’t claim to know much about women’s fashion, but I’m quite certain that it’s not exactly what the youngsters call ‘a look’ to pair what appeared to be a pair of John’s pyjama bottoms and Scott’s hoodie with a very high pair of backless heels, which she was wearing with a thick pair of Virgil’s socks.

“The shoes?” I asked.

“Yep,” she nodded. “Since we have nowhere to go I thought I’d break them in, but even with these,” she pointed to the socks, “they are absolutely killing me.”

“I’ve heard it said that beauty is pain and that if you have no pain there is no gain,” I told her helpfully.

“Said as someone who has never suffered like this,” she responded in the most pathetic voice I’d ever heard from her. 

Thankfully she opened her book and settled down. With peace restored I returned to my work.

She stayed in her spot, quietly reading and allowing me to concentrate for over an hour, in fact the silence was only broken when Virgil came in.

“Are those my socks?”

“Yep,” she answered. Virgil just shrugged and took a seat beside her, picking up his graphics tablet and stylus. He’d always been the laid back one, even as a child, very much the peacemaker. He was more likely to try to stop an argument than start one and nothing much phased him.

“Why are you wearing them?” he asked once he was comfy. “Not that I mind, I’m just curious as they don’t seem to match anything…” he trailed off, taking in the rest of her outfit. “Never mind.”

She narrowed her eyes but obviously remembered that she was dealing with Virgil and not one of the others so let it go, leaning closer against his side to watch him sketch.

They didn’t move again until Scott and Alan came in, then it was only a matter of time, it always is. 

“Scott?”

“Yeah?”  he looked up from his phone.

“Do you want a coffee?” she asked sweetly.

“Yeah, I could go for one.”

“Cool, make me one while you’re at it, thanks.”

Alan sniggered. Scott snorted.

 “Yeah, no. But nice try.”

“I make you coffee all the time,” she accused. “You can’t do this one thing for me?”

“You say I make rubbish coffee, so you must be really desperate if you’re asking me,” Scott stated. “The fact that you are even considering it shows there has to be a reason for it, the question is, what is that reason?”

“I’m tired,” she lied smoothly but Scott didn’t look like he believed her.

"Try again."

“OK, OK, my feet really hurt, these shoes are killing me,” she admitted.

“Then take them off,” Scott shrugged, no longer really listening since it was her own fault.

“It’s not that simple,” she argued. “Come on, be nice to me!”

“I will never understand women,” Scott sighed, putting aside his phone. “Fine, what do you need?”

She lifted her arms up and made what she calls 'grabby hands', a little pout on her face, looking rather pathetic I must say.

I’ve always told my sons, remember the code of International Rescue, never give up at any cost. I’m not proud to say that Scott gave in very easily. He got to his feet, dragged her up into his arms, waiting until she wrapped her legs around his waist before he carried her to the kitchen.

Alan picked up his game controller and Virgil settled back to whatever it was he was drawing and I just hoped they remembered to bring me a coffee too.

“You’d better not drop me again,” I heard her warn John as he carried her back into the lounge, this time bridal style, her arms wrapped around his neck.

“I thought Scott had her,” I commented.

“He’s bringing the coffee,” John answered, sitting carefully and settling her on his lap. “There, better? Are you happy now?”

“Yes,” she accepted the coffee that Scott handed her, as did I. Virgil took one off the tray and handed it to John before taking one for himself, leaving one for Scott. Alan had a glass of milk, since he doesn't like coffee. 

“So, why couldn't you take off your shoes?” Alan asked innocently, apparently not noticing John’s frantic head shaking behind her or the fact that he had a milk mustache.

“I’m breaking them in.”

“They’re shoes, you just pick your size and wear them,” Alan scoffed, unimpressed by both her answer and her dramatics.

The glare she threw at him, by rights, should have killed him, all three of his brothers and myself sucked in a breath and winced in sympathy.

“What?” he asked. “You put them on and walk, it’s not rocket science.”

The boys groaned in stereo, something I just about resisted joining in with.

She scooched sideways off John’s lap and over onto Virgil’s giving John her feet. He took the hint and unbuckled the little straps from around her ankles and removed her torture devices. Then he tossed them at Alan.

“What?” Alan stuttered, “what am I supposed to do with these?”

“Put them on,” she ordered. 

“No way!”

“But I thought you said it was just a case of putting them on and walking in them,” she smiled innocently. 

I was watching Alan carefully by this point and I could tell by his expression that he didn’t know what to do, there was no way he could win this. If he refused he would have to admit that she was right and he was wrong, but if he agreed he’d be putting on her shoes. He was out of options, he had to make a decision.

He reached for the shoes and tugged them on with minimal effort. Luckily for him (though don’t tell her I said so, women can be a little sensitive) she has larger than average feet for a woman, she claims it’s because she's tall and needs them for balance.

Alan got his feet in and lifted his legs to show them. “There, I’m wearing them, happy now?”

“Now walk in them,” her expression dared him to refuse.

Knowing he was beaten (it seemed to be a theme for my sons today) Alan staggered to his feet, wobbling on the stick thin heels. He immediately fell over. His brothers managed to hold in their laughter quite admirably, I felt.

He got back up and managed to totter a few steps, shaking like a jelly before he was down again. This time they cracked, starting to laugh.

“It’s not funny,” Alan huffed, yanking off the shoes and tossing them towards Virgil. “Here, you try if you think you can do better!”

"Nope, not gonna happen," Virgil protested, shaking his head. 

"Why? You scared you'll do worse than me?" 

Virgil, I was surprised to see, must have been feeling quite bored. Usually he was the one I could trust not to rise to the bait like that, but alas, enforced isolation seemed to do crazy things to everyone. 

"Fine!" He bent down, tugging her shoes on as best he could, although he really had to squash his foot in and the end of his heel was hanging over the end. 

He got to his feet unsteadily. 

"Ow, these hurt already, I can't feel my toes."

"Welcome to my world," she said, rolling her eyes at his over exaggerated wincing. 

He stumbled, trying to flex his toes, standing on one foot then the other, balancing badly for a moment before toppling sideways onto the couch. 

She took pity on him and got up to help him, now that her feet were free from their prison, or so she said. 

She dragged him upright again and let him hold on to her shoulder as he tried to walk, his ankles rolling, feet folding under him as he flopped and wobbled.

"What are you all doing?" Gordon demanded to know, appearing as if by magic in the doorway. He's always had a knack for turning up whenever there is trouble brewing, sniffing it out like a bloodhound usually to exacerbate it. His squid sense he calls it. He knows when he's missing out on something, he can feel it calling him like a siren song. 

Virgil spun round so fast that he fell over again, crashing back down onto one of the launch seats and refused to move again, tugging the shoes off with a sigh of relief. 

"Why were you wearing her shoes?" 

"Because Alan took them off," Virgil answered, massaging his toes. 

"Alan? Why were you-" 

"He thought I should just put on my shoes and walk in them, as that's all you have to do."

Gordon frowned, unable to understand. His mother used to call that his "straining" face, it was always unclear as to whether he was thinking or filling his diaper. 

"That is what you do with shoes," his tone was slow and precise as if he were telling her that the sky was indeed blue. 

It seems that none of my sons have inherited my ability to know when to keep their mouth shut. Not everything in life needs a response. 

Scott, Virgil and John all groaned, knowing he was doomed. 

He got the shoes on easily enough, apparently they are about the same size which prompted Gordon to declare that the best things come in smaller packages and that it's not the size it's what you do with it that counts in response to the teasing comments he received. 

That led to a few back and forth comments with each trying to outdo the other. I've no idea where their competitive nature comes from. 

"It's not the size of the sub that matters, it's the motion of the ocean," Gordon preened. 

"It's not the size of the nail, it's the force of the hammer," Virgil countered. 

"It's not the size of the man but the heart that gives it," she added, trying to be romantic apparently. 

"It's not the size of the worm on the hook but the way that you wiggle it," Scott retorted with one of his patented grins and an eyebrow waggle, making them all burst out laughing. 

"No, you're all wrong," John told them once they had calmed down. "The thrust of your engines and the size of your rocket means nothing if the pilot can't stay docked long enough for all the passengers to get off."

There was stunned silence for a second in which she patted his knee appreciatively. 

"And you said I failed in raising him to be a gentleman," I tutted, not looking up from my screen. Their heads whipped round to stare at me, like they had forgotten that I was even there. 

"You said I wasn't a gentleman?" John asked, clearly shocked. "When? Why?" He sounded so insulted and I don't really blame him. 

"You dumped me on my arse on the couch!" 

John's eyes narrowed, clearly debating if he should threaten further abuse of her backside with his hand but he wisely kept quiet. Maybe there's hope for him yet. 

Alan didn't join in because he said it was weird and gross, I too kept my mouth shut, I wouldn't want to show them up. 

Gordon got to his feet, with much flailing and newborn foal legs and took a few steps, it didn't go well, he says his nose will never be the same again. 

She was looking very smug by that point, as well as highly amused by their attempts to walk in what amounted to skyscrapers. I'm just wondering what I did to deserve this. 

I'd spent longer gaping at them in utter despair and disbelief than I had working and I forgot I had my glasses on when I did that thing the kids call a face palm, a mistake I won't make again. 

"Why do you do this?" Gordon asked, dragging the shoes off his feet and tossing them back to her like they were radioactive. "Why do you suffer when you could just wear sneakers?" 

"Because they make my calves and butt look great," she shrugged. "You guys just don't have the knack." 

"There's a knack?" Alan asked in a disbelieving tone. 

"Yep," she stood up (minus the shoes which were abandoned on the floor) and gave a demonstration. "You have to plant your feet, walk with sure steps, keep your head up, back straight. Heel to toe, not toe to heel or you'll wobble."

They all look at her like she was speaking an alien language. 

"Heel to toe?" John repeated slowly. 

"Yes, heel to toe, like heel down first, then lower onto your toes. I bet you're all trying to put your toes down first in a valiant quest for stability, then going to your heel, but that won't work."

"It won't?" Scott asked, his mind obviously unable to comprehend her words or meaning, perhaps both. They had all been trained in such skills as rock climbing and some martial arts in order to deal with any situation that arose, and in all of those you mostly worked from your toes first. She was fighting a losing battle if she thought she could undo years of training and get them to understand. 

They continued to look blankly at her until she threw the shoes back at Alan, who reluctantly put them back on. 

Alan, followed by Virgil and Gordon, tried to make sense of her instructions with various degrees of success and much hilarity from their audience, I just wished I had an answer as to why they are like this. I've never been this bored, personal note: ask Mother to find them some more jobs to do around the house to make themselves useful. 

"You're all useless," Scott laughed, pulling me back from my musings. 

"I'd like to see you do better," Alan huffed as Gordon slid the shoes off. 

"Yeah, come on Scott, don't just sit there laughing. You can't judge if you haven't tried yourself," Gordon teased. 

I could see the cogs turning in his head. I'd like to say that I had faith in him making a sensible decision but I fear I'd be kidding myself. 

"Fine, give them here!" Yep, there's no fool like an old fool, misplaced faith indeed. 

I watched as Scott attempted to tug the shoes onto his feet, although he and John have the largest feet of all the boys and there was more than two inches of heel hanging over the end and his toes must have been bent double to have fitted in. 

She helped drag him to his feet and, to our intense surprise, while it took him a moment or two to find his balance, after a few wobbly steps he actually managed a lap of the holotable. 

He came to a halt in front of his chair, raised his arms in victory and flopped back down, lifting his feet for her to reclaim her heels. 

"How on earth did you do that?" Alan asked in what sounded like a mixture of awe and disbelief that he had witnessed such a thing from his heroic big brother. 

"I just listened to her instructions." 

"Rubbish," she laughed. "You never listen to anyone, let alone me. You said only last week that you've learnt to tune out my frequency and now I'm just noise to you." Scott snorted at that, looking very pleased with himself. 

Virgil, I noticed, had stayed mostly silent throughout his brother's walking in her shoes although I knew my boys and I knew he was thinking about something. 

She had pulled one shoe off Scott's foot but was wrestling with the other, so much so that John had to grab her around the waist and yank her while she held onto the shoe. 

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you'd done this before," she muttered at Scott as she dropped her shoes on the floor and curled up on John's lap, apparently having forgiven him for his ungentlemanly behaviour. 

Silence from Scott and a slight wheezing laugh from Virgil was all that was needed for us all to know that things weren't as simple as they appeared to be. 

"Spill it," she demanded. 

As I listened a story poured out of an unwise bet, a lost race and Scott in red knee high boots for a night on the town. I wonder if I'll ever feel surprised again when it comes to my family…

"I suppose I had better put those back on," she sighed once they all stopped laughing and I had stopped wondering if it was possible to sign adult children up for adoption. 

John, I realised, hadn't tried the shoes on, appearing to have flown under their radar with all the stealth of Thunderbird Shadow. I wasn't about to remind any of them of that fact. 

Virgil retrieved the shoes and handed them to her. She reluctantly took them and slid one on, a mild look of surprise on her face. She took it back off and pulled Virgil's socks off then put it back on again. She wiggled her toes, flexed her ankle, then pulled on the other. 

She clambered off John and stood up, taking an experimental step. We all waited for the inevitable moans of pain but none came. She walked a bit, doing a lap of the holotable, all of them yanking their legs out of the way. She was steady on her feet and surprisingly quick for such high, not to mention spindly, heels. 

"Oh my gods," she gasped, doing a little happy jump. "The combination of all your big clown feet have stretched them out perfectly! Now I know what to do next time!"

Boys, if you ever read this, take my advice, remember it well. You may think you've won the round, but you will certainly lose the war. Women will always find a way to get what they want. 

(Big Big Thanks to the amazing @myladykayo​ for this picture of Jeff looking so DONE with the world.)

[ellsey]

Agents of Shield Rewatch 1x13 T.R.A.C.K.S.

What is that an acronym for? Anything? Anyway, with the exception of Yes Men which I don’t really like for a variety of reasons, this is where this show starts to prove it’s mettle. Let’s gooooooooooooo.

Ian Quinn- he’s the worst

On a train through the Italian countryside? I mean yeah, I’d jump at this trip mission in a heartbeat.

UNDERCOVER!! I LIVE FOR THIS!!!

“HELLO DAD...who looks far too young to have a daughter my age” Haaaaaaaaahahaha Jemma is a literal ray of sunshine

May is gorgeous

That’s all, that’s the whole post

I think Ward was genuinely surprised that May had told Ward about them, which, he shouldn’t have been. It’s very May.

Fitz and Daisy as babies undercover I can’t with how cute they are

Fitz’s American accent is better than mine. I was born here. 

“Someplace affordable with big portions” THIS IS THE MOST USA THING EVER

“You’re the least supportive pretend girlfriend I’ve ever had” This might be one of my favorite Fitz lines ever

*subject to change as I go through this rewatch 

But seriously Fitz and Daisy are so sweet and cute together. What fun friends. It makes me sad for what I know is coming. I just don’t think they’ll ever have this again.

Jemma Simmons is so method

But also she writes fic too. Probably Dr. Who. This amount of story planning and prep is a clear sign.

Coulson’s face during this is killing me

RIP Stan Lee

“AND YOUR PROSTITUTES”

Iconique™

I love the way this episode tells the story from all POV. Very entertaining.

Ward asks how Cybertek knew they were coming which is rich. I mean all he’s been doing is storing up info for Hydra so.

In short, shut it Ward

Also he can’t work the holotable which is HILARIOUS

Haaaaaaaaaaahahaha this conversation with Ward and Coulson is KILLING ME on a lot of levels. Funny because Ward can’t say “sex” and then justifies everything by saying they haven’t actually done it on the plane. But also funny because EVERYONE is going to be doing EVERYONE on this team in a couple seasons. You can’t stop the sex Phil Coulson. Just accept it.

Is anyone more amazing than Melinda May??

The answer is easily no.

I think Ward realizes that May and Coulson have a real connection here. Good thing he didn’t hear them worrying about their kids too.

This is the second time in a short period that Fitz has had to yell “Jemma!” in an agonized way then watched Simmons potentially die. Poor guy.

“Look at her little face. She’d be so embarrassed” THIS IS TOO ADORABLE

“That’s for Simmons” I CAN’T WITH HOW MUCH HE LOVES HER

Poor Daisy. She has a good idea that’s going to be her undoing in this instance.

This episode is amazing in that it goes from a pretty fun romp in spy-dom to incredibly tragic in the blink of an eye

Basically it’s peak Agents of Shield

Seeing Daisy get shot kills me no matter how many times I’ve seen this

Nooooooooo Coulson’s face and voice and everything

It’s very impressive to watch Simmons go from freak out to in control in the blink of an eye. 

Jemma sounds like a robot talking to Coulson there, but Fitz is clearly not fooled. He knows she’s dying inside, and he offers her up the best support he can. One has to wonder if they’ve ever even hugged like this. As far as we’ve seen, up until this point it seems as if there is a line where that they very clearly don’t cross. Poking, playful touching, supportive one-handed shoulder grabs...this we’ve seen. But until Jemma breached that invisible line between them with the cheek kiss in FZZT, it had been an obvious attempt to stay friends4lyfe. So we had the kiss on the cheek when Jemma almost died the first time, and now Jemma was attacked AND Daisy is dying and Fitz offers up his arms (and frankly entire body) as support and comfort for both of them.

But he still kind of leans away some during the hug because obviously there’s still a line there he doesn’t want to cross.

Well he probably wants to but he won’t

Never let it be said that I don’t over analyze Fitzsimmons

This appears to be genuine rage from Ward as well. We know Daisy getting shot wasn’t in the grand plan or whatever. And he says he’s not blaming himself which I just now realized probably means he’s blaming Garrett. Interesting.

This is a great episode. It gets 10/10 for Bus Family Feeeeeeeeeeels, 10/10 for Amazing Undercover Work, 10/10 for DRAMA!

My song for this episode is “Mambo Italiano” as sung by Rosemary Clooney for shenanigans in the Italian countryside. This ep was all fun and games for a little while anyway.

[stillthewordgirl]

LOT/CaptainCanary fic: (I Don’t Believe in) Destiny (Ch. 6 of 11)

Leonard Snart is back, finally pulled from the timestream where he's spent the last four years. But he wasn't alone, and the repercussions of that will echo through the Legends, the Time Bureau, and beyond.

Can also be read here at AO3 or here at FF.net.

Ch. Six: Through All That Masquerade

Sara rubs her forehead as she walks through the Waverider’s hallways. For all she’s learned and all she’s seen as the Waverider’s captain, temporal theory can still make her head hurt.

They’re staying for a bit, probably just a night and day, both to gather more information and by popular demand. Nate and Nora had proven difficult to pry out of the Refuge’s library. John, in a rush to prove just how much he didn’t care about such idyllic country life, had immediately tried to slouch back to the Waverider, but Nora had quickly caught him, waving a book in front of his face that made his eyes go wide—and sent him at a trot toward the library.

Charlie, whom Sara had expected to be nearly as cynical as John, alternated between listening to every piece of music she can get her hands on in the Refuge’s music library—including, she’d said enthusiastically, a full history of punk in all its forms—and trying to drag Zari down there to listen to it too.

Zari was rather more enamored with the kitchen, or rather, the pantry—and, a little to Sara’s surprise, she’d befriended a number of the children at large about the place. They’d seen nothing of young Michael Carter, and with that information, Zari and Ray had managed to get a somewhat nervous Gideon, in human shape, to come with them to the house. Sara isn’t sure what the AI had been expecting, but Mary Xavier had greeted her, literally, with open arms. As far as Sara knew, the two were now off together, talking quietly.

They’d all been invited to stay there, in real beds in a real house, and most of the Legends had taken the offer. Sara had wanted some quiet and solitude, though, and the familiar surroundings of the ship, so she’d walked back here alone, thinking about all Mary had said…and all she hadn’t said.

And about Ava.

She couldn’t have been a Time Master. Or couldn’t become one in the future. Either. Both. Just…no.

There’s a niggling little doubt in her, though, and Sara hates it. For as long as Sara has known her, Ava has been about law and order and control. Of herself, of the world around her. She goes by the book. She believes in the good of the many over the good of the few. 

And for all her strength, she often felt inferior. Because of the clone thing, mostly, Sara knows, but inheriting the Time Bureau from Rip in such a dramatic matter hadn’t helped. Neither had the disaster of this past year, the loss of so many time agents Ava felt responsible for.

Druce had been able to get to her. Sara can’t help but feel a little rotten about that, although she knows that their break-up had been mutual, an acknowledgment that Sara wasn’t happy trying to be the person Ava wanted and vice versa. But…

Enough. Sara stops on the quiet bridge and looks around. She needs a distraction. Maybe it would have been better to stay at the house. At least there’d be plenty of that.

“Hey.”

Or maybe distraction had followed her. Sara turns on her heel at the sound of the drawl, smiling as she sees Leonard holding up the doorway at the other end of the room, watching her.

“I thought you were staying there,” she says, ambling slowly toward him. “You and Mick were talking, and I figured eventually you’d find that library.”

Leonard watches her through his lashes. “Mick was catching me up on more of the last few years,” he drawled, pulling out of his lean a little. “At least, until some of the others dragged him off to see something and he abandoned me”

Despite the words, his tone is light, so Sara grins. “Aaaawwww,” she says, going up on her toes and reaching out to run her fingers down the lapels of his jacket, which Gideon had somehow salvaged and cleaned. “Are you settling for spending time with me?”

Leonard smirks back, but his eyes go a bit dark, and he leans forward a little, into her space, taking her breath away.

“Time with you will never be settling,” he says quietly, intensity in his voice. But he still doesn’t touch her. Not quite.

Oh, they’re playing games, are they? Well, if he wants her to take the lead, Sara’s up for that. “So, the kids are all at grandma’s house,” she suggests, knowing her own voice has dipped a little, throaty and suggestive. “Wanna play?”

A smile flickers over Leonard’s face, lighting his eyes in a very satisfying way.

“Well,” he returns, “never reckoned on being a father, given the piss-poor example I had. But in this case…”

Sara feels a momentarily burst of awkwardness. The analogy had seemed apt enough but given their agreement to just have a bit of fun for now, see where things took them, she feels likes she’s brought in a more serious element. No matter that the “kids” in question are technically responsible adults, or for that matter, she could be a single mom…

This is ridiculous. She shakes off the lingering thought of how nice it would be to have a full partner on the Waverider, focusing on the now, and tightens her fingers on his jacket, pulling him closer. Leonard’s hands land on her hips, warm and strong, and Sara tilts her head, and...

...catches her breath and laughs right out loud as he picks her up (with a muttered “oof” she deigns not to acknowledge). “Hey,” she mock-objects, wrapping her legs around him and moving her hands to his shoulders. “Where are we going?”

“Hmmm...” Leonard carries her toward the middle of the bridge. “Holotable? Captain’s chair? Any preference?”

The very timber of his voice tells her pretty explicitly what he plans to do there. Sara shivers, libido going from interested to off the charts. Still, she laughs again as he pauses.

“We have a big, fairly comfortable—for the ship, anyway—bed just down the hall, and you want to get frisky on the bridge?” she asks with amusement, realizing belatedly that the “we” also assumes something beyond simply sharing space.

Leonard’s eyes gleam at her, though he doesn’t answer directly. Then he looks over her shoulder. “Holotable, I think,” he muses in that damned sexy drawl, hands tightening on...oh, of course, they’ve slipped down to her ass. “More room.”

The last two words emerge in more of a purr than anything else. Sara shivers again, pressing against him as he carries her to the holotable. The new jeans Gideon had made for him in the fabrication room leave little to the imagination at the moment, and he’s clearly just as aroused by this as she is.

“Holotable it is, then,” she whispers as he sits her down on the edge. “So, this has been a fantasy, huh?”

Leonard, hands still on her ass, pulls her forward a little, flush against him again, making her gasp. “It’s been…an ambition,” he admits, voice husky.

“Since when?” Sara squirms against him, grinning as he mutters profanity under his breath, fingers tightening.

“Since that first day on the Waverider.”

He ducks his head abruptly, and then Sara’s kissing him, hands moving to his jaw as his fingers move to the snap of her pants.

She’ll never be able to look at the holotable quite the same way again.

*

“Captain! Sara? Are you in there?”

Leonard wakes up abruptly at the voice—Heywood, he thinks. He blinks the sleep out of his eyes as Sara mouths profanity into his collarbone, arms tightening around him.

They’re back in their…her…the room, having made it back somehow after indelibly changing the Waverider bridge forever in his mind. (And thank god Gideon, in android form, had been at the Refuge and not around to “see” anything.) They’d continued their activities in bed, and Leonard is both pleasantly tired and entirely satisfied.

“Sara? Are you OK? Do you know where Snart is?”

With a groan, Sara pulls away, rising to her feet and reaching for a robe. Leonard, just a fraction of a second later, does the same, grabbing pants and a T-shirt from one of the drawers he’s claimed as his own. If Heywood barges in here, he doesn’t want to be as…relaxed as he lets himself be with Sara.

He’s barely pulled them on when Sara, clad in the robe and nothing else, throws open the door and barks, “What?”

From behind her, Leonard can see the historian/hero gape at her.

“Um,” he manages. “Sorry. We were looking for you and there’s…uh…your shoes and the shirt you were wearing yesterday were kinda just lying there in the middle of the bridge…”

Apparently they’d missed a few things before going back to the room. Sara sighs, Leonard smirks, and Heywood cranes his neck, suddenly realizing there’s someone else there.

“Who…oh!” His eyes widen before he tries to conceal the reaction. “Um…what…”

Behind him, Zari facepalms.

“You are the most clueless,” she mutters through her fingers. Leonard remembers that Sara has said Zari and Heywood had had a bit of a thing at one point, though it hadn’t lasted long. He rather thinks Zari’s more into Charlie, anyway.

“You knew about this?” Heywood asks her plaintively. Zari rolls her eyes at him, as does Leonard, and the two share a smile as Sara decides she’s had enough.

“What do you want?” she sighs. “Seriously, I thought I had a chance for a break…”

“Mary Xavier asked to see you,” the historian adds quickly. “Uh. And Snart.”

“Got it. Tell her we’ll be there soon.” Sara shuts the door in his face and lets out an aggravated breath.

Trying not to chuckle, Leonard saunters over, pulling her into his arms. How has he gotten so easy with this all of a sudden? “Kids, huh?”

“Some days it feels that way.” Sara lets her head thump on his shoulder. “I wonder what Mary wants.”

Leonard, who’d been both intrigued and unnerved by the woman, shrugs. “For us to bring her some Big Belly Burger the next time we pay a visit? Who knows?”

Sara shakes her head, though she does so smiling, pulling away to Leonard’s regret. “Well, let’s go see what it is. And see if the ‘kids’ behaved.”

“If they didn’t, can we ground them?”

*

Mary Xavier’s in her office when Sara and Leonard walk in together. Sara watches the older woman’s eyes flicker from one of them to the other, a smile—a sad smile?—crossing her face.

Huh. Sara frowns briefly but modulates the expression as Mary focuses on her.

“Captain Lance, Mr. Snart,” the other woman says. “Thank you for coming.” She pauses. “I would, however, like to speak to you individually, please.”

Sara and Leonard exchange a glance. Neither of them, Sara thinks, is very happy about that, but Leonard nods curtly, taking a step backward toward the door, then another.

“Be outside,” he tells Sara, eyes still on Mary, who gazes steadily back.

“OK.” Sara waits until the door closes behind him, then frowns again at Mary, who simply smiles at her.

“I am sorry,” she says with a tinge of regret. “Still, I have my reasons.” She pauses, picking a compass-like object up from her desk and then putting it back down. “Mostly, I asked you hear to tell you that...that if things do not go well, at the Vanishing Point, you are welcome here.” A wave of her hand seems to include all of the Refuge itself. “This place is out of time, and I can hide you and yours indefinitely”

Sara blinks at her. “Thank you,” she says almost involuntarily. Then: “Do you really think the odds are that far against us?”

“The truth is, Captain Lance, that I do not know.” Mary sighs. “I know what I hope for. I know what I think...but nothing is set in stone.”

Sara makes a thoughtful noise. “Even if...if the time loop has happened? Already? Or before?”

Mary spreads her hands out before her. “What is before? What is after? Time is more fluid than many people realize. As I said earlier, there’s a chance of breaking the chain here. The wheel. Whatever you wish to call it.”

Sara nods, accepting this despite her qualms. Then she pauses. “And...Leonard?”

Mary meets her eyes. “He’s at risk, with this,” she admits. “Only one of them—your Snart and Zaman Druce—can come out of this.” Her gaze is kind. “It could be Mr. Snart. I hope it is. But, my dear...this isn’t certain.”

Sara lets out a long breath. “So...”

“So, appreciate what you have. While you have it.” She nods. “Always, I think, good advice.”

*

Sara emerges from the office looking very thoughtful. Leonard steps toward her, noting the sadness in her eyes as she focuses on him, no matter how well she tries to disguise it.

“OK?” he asks quietly.

“Hmm.” She pauses, and Leonard knows she’s not going to lie to him. “I don’t know. I hope so.” She shakes her head. “Talk about it later, OK?”

“Got it.”

Mary Xavier is looking at her bookshelves when Leonard reenters her office, feeling uneasy and perhaps a little annoyed. He doesn’t much like this “mysterious time...whatever” act, but something deep-seated is telling him to trust her—and that’s unnerving in and of itself. He never trusts people right off.

“Mr. Snart.” Mary puts down the book she’s holding, nodding to him. “Good morning.”

Leonard doesn’t feel like small talk. He folds his arms. “What do you have to say that Sara couldn’t hear?” he asks a bit harshly.

Mary doesn’t seem upset by his brusqueness. “Oh, nothing she couldn’t hear,” she says with a sigh. “In fact, I rather alluded to it when I spoke with her just now. But she has her focus, and you have yours, and this seemed best at the moment.” As Leonard shows no sign of sitting down, she doesn’t either, simply moving back behind her desk and watching him.

Leonard waits.

Finally, Mary speaks again. “Only one of you—you or Zaman Druce—can come out of this fight for the Oculus,” she says gently. “But...you’ve guessed that, haven't you?”

Leonard doesn’t ask how she knows. “Seemed logical,” he drawls, moving into the room a little more. “The whole ‘neither can live while the other survives’ trope is pretty classic, after all.”

Mary’s eyes sparkle and she tilts her head to him. “Indeed.”

“Plus, seemed like that might be why Druce wants me, when he has his own share of temporal energy from a dip in the timestream anyway.”

“He does—though not as much as you, the man who was at time’s ground zero.” Mary nods at Leonard’s thoughtful hum. “The thing is, while the Time Masters have always thought they’re subtle and know all the ins and outs of time...well, they’re not. And they don’t. Not like Druce wants to think.” She nods at Leonard. “He probably does truly believe he has to kill you, at the Vanishing Point, to release that temporal energy. But it doesn’t have to be that way.”

“I mean, I’m perfectly willing to kill him first, but...” Leonard studies her. “What’s the other way?”

Mary’s eyes are serene. “Meet him at the Vanishing Point,” she says, putting her hands flat on her desk. “Harness the temporal energy in yourself. Bend your will to it. Take the both of you and the wellspring back to the time of the supernova, and into time.”

Leonard dislikes showing surprise in front of this woman, but his eyes widen despite himself. “I can do that?”

“Hypothetically.” Mary’s lips twitch at his reaction. “Yes, Mr. Snart, you can do that. You have the will, and the temporal power all around—and within—you. And once you’re there, in the timestream...you have an advantage Druce does not.”

She smiles. It is not a particularly nice smile.

After a moment, Leonard smiles back.

[pizza-is-my-buziness]

“Is that my shirt?”- skimmons (but like pre-relationship maybe??)

“So May will lead the first group around the back of-”

“Is that my shirt?”

Jemma cringes at the question, freezing like a deer in headlights. She stares down at the intel in front of her, willing her brain to fumble for some sort of excuse, one that doesn’t start with “uh…well…” which is currently where her brain is at.

She’s gotten better at lying recently but she’s not exactly on her game all the time.

Especially not when faced with such difficult questions.

Questions asked in the middle of a mission briefing, with the entire team in attendance.

Coulson, confused, looks over at Daisy. Not that Daisy notices, her attention still on Jemma. Looking at the offending piece of clothing.

Jemma looks up, meeting Daisy’s eyes, and she feels like the answer to Daisy’s question is pretty obvious.

They both know that Jemma is wearing her shirt.

Daisy lifts her eyebrows and Jemma’s mind is still stuck on “uh…well…” but at least she hasn’t said anything out loud.

There’s still a chance for redemption, for an explanation, for…

“Uh…well…”

Or not.

But how, exactly, is she supposed to explain that she took Daisy’s sweater out of the laundry in the hopes that it would smell like her when she put it on?

That it looked far more inviting than her own clothing?

That when she put it on, she imagined that it was Daisy who had her in her arms?

Coulson clears his throat. “Maybe we could get back to the mission and, you know, save the world before it blows up?”

Jemma glances down at her shirt, like she possibly could have forgotten what she was wearing. “I found it in the laundry,” she says, “I think it got mixed in with mine and I-”

“Decided to wear it,” Daisy supplies for her, a hint of a smile on her face. “I mean I’m not complaining, because you look pretty good in my clothes.”

“Briefing?” Coulson says again, tapping the Holotable in front of him. “Maybe? Ladies?”

Daisy shrugs and shifts her gaze lazily away from Jemma.

Jemma kinda misses the attention.

By the end of the briefing, Jemma has no idea what they’ve been talking about and is pretty sure it doesn’t matter anyway because most of their plans go to hell pretty quickly and dissolve into the idea of “don’t die” which she thinks is probably pretty instinctual anyway.

As she tries to leave the room, she’s cornered by Daisy. Which is neither a surprise nor unwelcome.

Not that Jemma is entirely sure she can confess the real reason for the sweater theft.

“I’m terribly sorry, Daisy,” Jemma fumbles before Daisy can even open her mouth. “I must have just mistaken it and-”

Daisy shakes her head. “Keep it,” she says. “Like I said, it looks better on you. And I’m not opposed to you wearing my clothes.”

Jemma crinkles her nose as she smiles, shy and uncertain. “I quite like wearing your clothes,” she admits. “Though…it would be nice not to have to steal them from the laundry…”

Daisy’s smile shifts to a grin, wolfish and attuned to Jemma’s meaning. “Well, you know where my room is,” she says with a wink before disappearing from the room to get suited up for the mission.

Jemma watches her go, feeling a twinge of disappointment. At least now she has something to look forward to at the end of the mission.

[stillthewordgirl]

LOT/CC fic: Rebuilt

For a month or so after the events of "Me vs. You" and "Wager," the members of Team Legends have watched Sara and Snart slowly rebuild their friendship and learn to work together again. Eventually, everyone knows, something will have to give.

(Of course, knowing the Legends, it might take something strange to give them that push.)

Takes place a month or so after "Me vs. You" and "Wager."  (Find the series here.) Many thanks to LarielRomeniel for the beta!

Can also be read here on AO3.

It’s been an interesting month, all right.

But honestly, Mick thinks, it’s been a pretty good one.

No one’s quite sure what’s going on with Sara and Snart—including, perhaps, Sara and Snart. By Mick’s best guess, they haven’t slept together again, but they’re…easier with each other. Frankly, they’re acting much the way they used to, way back in the beginning, after St. Roch and before the Oculus, all circling around each other and card games and eye sex with a side of innuendo. They even got in a bar fight, trying to apprehend a leprechaun who’d completely bought into the stereotype and taken over an Irish pub in Boston.

That was fun. Mick approved.

And when Sara and Snart are actually talking, and working together instead of against each other, they make a damned good team. While Mick knows he and Snart make a good team too, Snart had been right—that dynamic had always been between the brains and the brawn before, and that’s changed a little now. Mick isn’t proud…he knows he’ll always be the brawn…but he’s used to working with others now, Sara and Haircut and Pretty and New Girl and Charlie, and he doesn’t instinctively look to Snart to tell him what to do these days.

And that could have hurt a lot (and would have once, he thinks), but miraculously it doesn’t, especially not now, when the pieces are starting to fit together again, probably better than they ever did before. He and Snart, they’ll always have each other’s backs.

Crew’s just bigger, that’s all.

Even Nate's gotten used to Snart’s presence on the team. Sara had pulled him aside and although Mick doesn’t know what she’d said, the historian was rather more thoughtful after that. And then Snart pulled him out of an ambush by a group of what Constantine called redcaps, which were essentially lawn gnomes with attitude and big honkin’ teeth. Teeth capable of rending metal, which would have gone very badly for Pretty if Snart hadn’t dropped into their midst, laying about with his gun, clearing a path for them both to run for it.

Yeah, since then, even Nate has acknowledged Snart’s place here. Haircut, of course, is still pleased as punch the former thief was back. Zari herself has taken a great liking to Snart, and Charlie, while still dubious, has inexplicably decided that any friend of Mick’s is a friend of hers.

(Mick still can’t figure out why he’s Charlie’s favorite person on board. It pleases him and unnerves him in equal measure. She looks like Amaya, who he’d come to...to care for...but she’s also a badass, fire-breathing shapeshifter. Which is awesome, but...why him?)

Constantine, of course, is being his usual obnoxious self. He’s stopped barging into the cargo bay or wherever Sara and Snart are hanging out, trying to catch them at something, ever since he nearly got one of Sara’s knives through his eye. But he still thinks he deserves that bottle of whiskey, or maybe it’s just an excuse to be a prat (to use his own word).

(Given the man’s tendency to poke at things he really shouldn’t be poking at, Mick honestly wonders how he’s survived so long. One of life’s mysteries.)

And then there’s the Time Bureau.

Gary keeps watching Snart like he’s afraid the other man's going to go full supervillain right before his eyes. (Mick still thinks he peed himself the first time Snart actually spoke to him.) Ava, meanwhile, has accepted their assertions that Snart isn’t what she thought he was—but now she clearly suspects there’s something up between her ex and the newcomer, if Mick’s any judge. And she’s clearly not sure how she feels about that.

That’s fun. “Fun,” in this case, meaning “likely to blow up and be a problem at the worst possible moment.” Mick has decided, however, that it’s not his problem. Not yet, anyway.

At any rate, the balance isn’t perfect, but it works. And who knows how long they could have continued like this, really, if it hadn’t been for the hydras.

“The what?”

Zari’s voice is disbelieving. Mick can’t blame her. In fact, they’re all staring at John Constantine in varying degrees of disbelief, because no matter how many of these mythological whatsits they deal with, it will never stop being weird.

Well. Most of them. Charlie just nods. But then, Charlie is a sort of amazing being herself, and she sometimes seems to forget that she doesn’t have easy access to her dragon form here.

“Isn’t that...some sort of evil organization?” Haircut asks, looking around. “I thought...”

Constantine shrugs. “That sort does like its creature names, but no. Not in this universe, anyway.” He turns away before any of them can continue that line of questioning. “They’re bad enough, let me tell you. Reptilian critters. They have nine heads and, just like the stories say, if you cut off one, two grow back.”

Sara closes her eyes in a “give me strength” sort of expression. The captain is leaning against the holotable, on which Gideon is now projecting an artist’s rendition of a hydra, and Mick can’t say he blames her, either.

“OK,” she says then, opening her eyes. “Where and when is it? I’ll set the course, and then we can start talking about a plan.”

Constantine gives her a wary look. “Well, that’s not all. They’re resistant to magic. In fact, they’re attracted to it.” He steadfastly ignores Sara’s sigh. “And, their blood is poisonous, deadly poisonous. Even if you only get a whiff of it. So, no blades, luv,” he says, pointing at Sara. “Sorry. I do know you love your pointy objects.”

Sara’s even louder sigh is drowned out, though, by Haircut, who’s perked up.

“Fire,” he says, looking over at Mick with a grin. “That’s what Hercules used. In the stories. He did cut the heads off, but then cauterized them with fire.”

Constantine points at him. "Bingo. Whatever removes the head without actual bloodshed. I mean, you need to take precautions just in case, but better if they’re not needed.”

“And ice,” Snart interjected laconically. “Frozen things smash.”

Mick notices him idly rubbing his right wrist as he speaks. Ah, damn. He still can’t believe the bastard did that, smashed his own hand off, whether it was to keep him from killing the Legends or keep the Legends from killing him.

“So where are these things?” he cuts in as the old guilt surges. “I want to burn something.”

Constantine nods to him. “1958 small-town Pennsylvania,” he says, leaning on the table himself as a map appears. “Out in the sticks, fortunately.” He points to a random plot of green on the grid. “We got a breeding pair here in the hills. Need to banish them—or better yet, just dispose of them—before we get a mess of baby hydras. No one wants that.”

Mick thinks later that he should have known at that moment that things were going to go sideways.

They have a good plan when they land just outside Benjamin, Pennsylvania. Even Mick thinks so. Sara had taken the newer capabilities of both his and Snart’s guns into consideration (with much consultation with Snart, a fact no one missed) and, with Constantine’s information on the habits of hydras, concocted a plan of attack that involved luring the pair of hydras out of hiding and into the line of fire.

And since Constantine had come to them, and hydras were both resistant to and attracted to magic, he got to play bait.

“I’m not going to make one of the others do it when you’re so perfectly suited,” Sara had told him mock-innocently when he’d objected. “You can throw a little magic around, draw them out. We’ll protect you.”

Constantine complained and Constantine sulked, but then Constantine did as told. While Charlie stayed by the ship (so no residual aura of dragon could scare off the smaller hydras), the others split into teams of Leonard and Sara, Mick and Zari, and Ray and Nate, one for each hydra and a “utility infielder” sort of pair. Each team has one person who can provide some sort of hydra-vanquishing firepower (or ice power, as it were) and one as, well, a hydra-herder.

Then Constantine saunters out into the field, gives them all a long-suffering look, and throws a fireball into the air.

It’s magical fire, not real, but that’s the idea. As the sparks rain down around him, he folds his arms, turns to face the others, and scowls at them.

And then there’s a hissing noise from the hill behind him.

The creature that emerges isn’t quite as big as they’ve been warned it could be, but it’s big enough. It’s a muddy green color, with four stumpy legs off a body that looks a little like an alarmingly large alligator, and its tail is lashing back and forth with what seems to be ire at its visitors.

And so are the nine sinuous necks that emerge from where the creature’s head would usually be.

“Whoa,” Haircut breathes. Nate’s jaw drops. “Where’s Percy Jackson when you need him?” he yells, looking around as if the fictional demigod is going to appear out of nowhere. (For all Mick knows, he could. No weirder than murderous garden gnomes now, is it?)

(What? He reads.)

Fictional characters aside, though, Mick swears at the sight of the thing. His gun is already primed, but he raises it then, trading glances with Zari and looking over at Sara. The captain is watching the monster calmly. Snart, his own gun primed, is at her side. Then she looks at Mick and nods.

That’s all he needs.

Zari throws her hands in the air and then buffets the creature with a gust of wind, distracting it, while Mick runs for its other side. He raises his gun and aims for the leftmost several heads, firing and grinning as they crisp and the thing howls, other heads whipping his way. But then Zari’s fanning the flames, and Mick ducks to the other side, and Haircut’s firing at one of the heads with his suit’s blasters, and...

Mick hears Constantine yelling and, out of the corner of his eye, sees the other hydra coming. But then he hears the whine of Snart’s gun and Sara’s crisp voice and...they know their business. He has his own, right now.

In the end, it doesn’t take so long, really. There are two dead monsters, with some combination of 18 heads charred, blasted, or frozen and shattered. Mick prods one with a boot, then raises his gun and, at a nod from Sara, sets them on fire. Constantine had said the best way to dispose of them was to burn it all, which should even negate the poison.  They’ve already churned up the dirt so much here that the blaze shouldn’t spread, but he’ll keep an eye on it.

He’s come a long way from the man who wanted to watch the world burn. He doesn’t even want these hills to go up. People live ‘round here.

Constantine wanders over, studying the burning corpses, then turns to peer in the direction the second hydra had come from.

“The female came from a cave over there,” he says, nodding. “ ’Cross the field. If they have a nest, that’s where it would be.” He shrugs. “There might be eggs; there might be babies, though that’s less likely. Either way, cold will do for them.”

Snart rolls his eyes but holsters his gun again and starts that way. Sara falls into step with him. Mick smirks, then looks over at Ray, who’s removed his helmet and part of his suit, tinkering with something. “You OK there, Haircut?”

The other man nods. “Yeah.” He glances up, a little sheepish. “That thing caught me with its tail, sent me sprawling. Going to have to fix the propulsion system.”

“Well, at least you didn’t get chomped.”

“Yeah,” Nate says with a grin, joining them. “I can’t believe it. A plan actually went...according to plan!”

Mick groans. “Don’t say that kinda thing, Pretty!”

“What?”

“You’ve been part of this team long enough to...”

That’s when they hear it.

It sounds like…hissing. Higher pitched than before, but louder, as if it’s coming from more throats, even though it seems farther away. Mick, frowning, turns, and bumps into Constantine, who’s staring at the hill where he’d sent Sara and Snart.

Mick looks too. Then he squints.

Some of the greenery on the hill, it’s...moving?

He realizes what’s going on at the same moment Constantine curses. “It’s a damned nest!” the warlock yells. “And those aren’t babies, they’re half grown!”

“Are you tellin’ me those are teenage hydras?” Mick bellows, drawing his gun again and taking a few steps. But he already knows he can’t make it there in time. None of them are going to be able to get there in time. Especially not with Haircut’s suit on the fritz.

Mick sees Sara and Snart, visible near the faint dark cave opening at the bottom, look at each other, sees them both draw weapons, and then...

Then the swarm is on them, and they’re fighting.

Mick knows that they’ve been training together again. Actually training rather than “training,” too, because the one time Constantine had interrupted them in the training room, he’d gotten an eyeful of no more than two fully clothed people experimenting with how Snart’s new cold gun worked and the best ways of utilizing it in battle.

(And then Sara had gleefully decided that the warlock needed a little more physical conditioning if he was going to run with the Legends. Constantine had limped about complaining for days, gotten off the ship again as soon as humanly possible, and only returned when he needed the Legends to help take care of another myth-turned-real.)

Still, this is the first chance anyone’s had to see what that training might be amounting to.

They’ve backed up to a sheer incline, and Snart’s shooting one critter after another, keeping the heads back, as Sara smashes them as soon as she can. She’s moving in her usual graceful fashion, like it’s a dance, and they’re working together, like they can read each other’s minds, and damn, that’s a pretty picture.

Even though he knew the swarm would descend before they arrived, Mick’s crossed the field anyway, but it’s almost as though stepping in at this point would mess up the dynamic, so he waits, watching, to see if he needs to help. The others skid to a halt near him, all of them staring.

Just in time to see the maneuver that ends the battle.

Mick hears Sara yell something, sees Snart nod, and then sees something pretty amazing. Amazinger. More amazing.

Sara steps back. Snart ducks, going to a knee, but then he slides something on his gun and raises it, pulling the trigger. A spray of blue emits, fanning out a lot farther than the blast of the cold gun usually does, and Snart holds it rock steady--even as Sara steps up, planting a foot on his shoulder, and uses it as a springboard to launch herself forward, into the air….and sweep her bo across as the blue light dies, smashing at least 16 hydra heads into icy shards as she explodes through them, landing neatly on the ground.

Nothing else moves.

Sara lowers her bo. Snart holsters his gun in one smooth motion. And then they look at each other.

Damn.

Zari shakes her head, stepping up on Mick’s left side.

“I feel like I should either applaud or tell them to get a room,” she whispers. “Maybe both?”

Mick doesn’t have words. He just nods.

Constantine wanders up on the other side. Even the unflappable warlock is, well, flapped.

“Bloody hell,” he mutters. “I didn’t even take part in that and I feel like I need a cig.”

They watch as Sara and Snart head their way. They’re both ruffled, but they’re side by side, and Mick doesn’t think it’s his imagination that they’re walking more closely than usual. Sara smirks at them, but Snart manages to maintain his usual cool expression…but Mick, at least, notes a certain gleam in his eye.

Constantine clears his throat.

“I don’t say stuff like this casually, you two,” he says. “But that was...amazing.”

Sara laughs, then, looking around.

“It was, wasn’t it?” she says, a smile tugging at her lips. “C’mon, team. Let’s get home.”

It’s just the aftermath of one mission out of many, but their get-together afterward feels like a victory feast, probably because they all suspect there was no way they should have been able to walk away from a confrontation with nine hydras, even if seven of them were only partly grown. Especially with their mission accomplished and no real casualties.

Constantine had stayed behind to make sure there was no further cleanup work to do. He’ll turn up at some point, Mick knows, probably with his eager buddy from the Time Bureau, and try to drag them into new trouble (probably succeeding) and resolve his wager. Maybe Mick will even try to make the pair in question ‘fess up, just because it seems a bit ridiculous to even pretend there’s nothing going on there.

Even now, right there in the galley, with the whole Waverider team present, there’s tension.

Oh, it’s not a bad tension. Not now. Snart’s leaning back in a chair at the table, balanced in a way that should probably have him crashing to the floor if he wasn’t, well, Snart. He’s not even looking at Blondie, who’s checked her hip against the counter and is talking to Nate, who seems to be blathering on about monsters throughout history, and which ones might be real, and how he wants to write a paper and other such nonsense.

But they’re clearly aware…no, aware…of each other. Even Mick, who knows perfectly well he tends to be oblivious to some things, can see that. Every once in a while, they glance at each other, and…yeah.

Finally, Sara makes a noise of contentment. She glances around the room, and while her eyes don’t particularly land on Snart, Mick’s pretty sure no one misses the smile that touches her lips as her gaze slides past him.

“Well,” she says, stretching. “It’s been fun, celebrating a clear victory for once, but I’m beat. We’ll stay in the timestream for a bit, at least until something else presents itself or John turns up again like a bad penny.”

She pauses, then meets Mick’s eyes. “You have the ship,” she informs him. “OK? For at least a few hours. I need the rest.”

He nods, but Sara barely seems to notice. Turning, she gives Snart a long look. He returns it, expressionless. And then Sara turns and walks away, toward her room.

For a long moment, the galley is quiet and relatively still. Snart takes another sip of his scotch. Ray gives Mick a look that’s frankly a bit distressed. Nate becomes preoccupied by his napkin, and Zari stuffs a miniature éclair in her mouth.

Charlie looks back and forth between them all, confusion on her face. And then, before Mick even realizes what she’s going to do, she speaks up.

“Aren’t you going to go after her?” she asks, looking at Snart. “Because you really should. Even I can see that.”

Nate chokes on a drink, much like he had back when this all started, and Zari closes her eyes. Ray looks like he’d wished he’d said it first. Mick stifles a sigh.

But Snart actually gives Charlie a slight smile. He looks down, considering his drink, then nods, tossing it back before sitting the glass down and climbing to his feet.

“I believe,” he tells her, “that you’re entirely correct.”

And then he smirks at Micks, nods to the others, and saunters after Sara.

The silence lasts a beat or two past when he’s moved out of sight, and then more than one person lets out an explosive sigh. Zari shakes her head and reaches for another eclair, and Ray and Nate exchange glances, smirking.

Charlie cocks her head to the side and then grins at Mick, pleased with her own actions. And Mick, after a moment, gives her a smile in return.

He just really hopes those two don’t fuck this up.

“All right, then,” he says, getting up himself. Time to switch to coffee, if he has the ship. “Anyone want something else to drink?”