#Leonard snart's worst idea ever

[zemkzone]

That Rare Arctic Thunderstorm: Ch5 (on AO3)

Holy hell, May’s been shit so far, but with The Flash ending two days ago... I had to post this.

FULL FIC LINK HERE

It was one thing to know Barry ran hot, and it was another to feel that heat radiating so close to his back after so many months of freezing inside. Len’s amulet was over-warm too, but that was a different kind of heat. It reminded him why he shouldn’t have volunteered to take Barry home. He’d meant it as a simple gesture, but he shouldn’t have done it.

And yet here he was, driving past the nameless convenience store with the small but surprisingly good beer selection, Nina’s Diner, a Big Belly Burger, and the twenty-four-hour pizza place with a squeaky pick-up window. Six minutes, fifteen seconds and counting, and he was nearing the familiar street with red-bricked apartment buildings that looked the same except for the colors of their front doors. Six minutes, seventeen seconds and counting, and he was trying not to be hyperaware of the warm hands clutching tight at his hips. He could feel Barry’s fingers twitching to wrap around his waist. It was the way they’d always ridden before, but if they were going to establish new boundaries, he couldn’t let the speedster do that again.

Seven minutes and three seconds after leaving the Waystation, he parked in front of Barry’s apartment building. But Barry’s hands wouldn’t leave his hips. Barry wouldn’t move or speak at all.

“You’re home, Scarlet,” Len said, staring at the street up ahead. “The sooner you take a shower and get in bed, the better you’ll feel.”

Sixteen seconds passed before Barry spoke. “I don’t live here anymore.”

Len twisted in his seat, staring at him incredulously. Barry’s face was flushed red with embarrassment and his gaze was directed at the pavement. “Since when? You could have said something earlier.”

“I gave my dad the apartment. All the press after he was released made it hard for him to go to viewings and stuff. Most landlords didn’t want to deal with the… mixed publicity. Joe offered him a room at his house, but Dad—he needed a place of his own, somewhere that didn’t remind him of Iron Heights.” Barry shook his head. “It was quieter this way. My landlord okayed me transferring my lease agreement and, well, Dad’s been living up there ever since.”

“That still doesn’t explain why you didn’t say anything earlier. Or where you’re living now.” The amulet had grown even warmer, and Len had to ignore how irritable it made him feel.

Barry’s reply came in a whisper. “The rest of the team doesn’t know where I’ve been staying. You’re the only one who does.”

READ THE REST OF THE CHAPTER HERE

[devilishheart]

Moodboard for my fic So High School

Pairing: Barry Allen/Leonard Snart

Rating: Explicit

Summary:

Being forced to pair up with one of the worst kids in school for an English assignment was not Barry's idea of a good time, but maybe there was more to both of them than meets the eye.

Read on to get a snippet of Ch. 1 – under a cut due to length

Barry wasn't paying attention to what Ms. Horton had said to elicit a collective groan of protest from his classmates, but he did look up when he heard his name being called. He adjusted his glasses on his face and straightened a bit in his seat, attempting to appear as if he had any idea what was going on.

"Mr. Allen, you'll be paired with Mr. Snart, and your assignment will be Shakespearean sonnets."

Barry glanced towards the front of the room, where Leonard Snart sat elbow-to-elbow with Mick Rory. They had their heads together, whispering, and Snart didn't even glance upwards when his name was mentioned. Barry repressed a sigh, because he knew how this was going to go – he'd do all of the work, and Snart would just sign his name at the top of every page and call it a day. Barry knew it would probably be the best grade Snart would ever have in this class, and they would not say two words to each other the whole time.

Barry had been in this position before, during science projects and research papers. Teachers loved to pair him up with the more popular kids who were too lazy or too stupid to do their own work. Barry bristled when he remembered the two weeks he had to spend with Tony Woodward during chemistry, and hoped to God he wouldn't have to put up with anything like that when it came to Snart.

Barry had not had much contact with Snart until now. He'd only seen him from a distance, wandering around in a leather jacket and a scowl, and he'd made sure he stayed distant. There were certain kids at school who could only be described as mad, bad, and dangerous to know, and Leonard Snart was their king. There was a mean swagger to him, the unspoken need to make it clear he was bigger and stronger than everyone.

Caitlin Snow, beside him, gave him an apologetic smile. Caitlin knew the drill. She didn't even flinch when she heard that she'd been paired with Mick. She did, however, clutch her hands together nervously when Snart turned around in his seat to look her over with pale, venomous eyes. Barry was curious about that – how was it that Snart was more interested in Mick's partner than his own? – but he decided not to let it bother him too much. He didn't want to begin to understand how the minds of Rogues worked.

"See you after school?" Caitlin asked, once the bell rang. 

"Yeah," Barry said. They had a science club meeting.

Barry dodged through the sea of students, clutching a notebook to his chest. He felt invisible, and the way that other people pushed past him just reinforced that feeling. He stopped at his locker and was too busy sliding the dial around to notice Leonard Snart materialize next to him.

"Hey, Pee-Wee Herman."

Barry jolted, nearly dropping his notebook, and stared at Snart with wide eyes. Snart leaned against the row of lockers with deliberate casualness, not looking directly at him. Barry took in the black motorcycle jacket and the skinny jeans before quickly looking back up. He had strange eyes, a very pale, cold grey, going on for bleak miles. He was a handsome guy, Barry supposed, but it wasn't what you noticed first: that was the cold crystalline stare. Snart was, all at once, looming larger than life next to Barry, and Barry was almost breathless at the sudden shift in his reality. He'd been aware of Snart since they were in eighth grade together, but he didn't think they'd ever actually said anything to each other. He remembered Joe saying that Leonard was really troubled.

"When is this assignment due, again?" 

"Uh," Barry stuttered, and then swallowed. His cheeks flared red, and he stared down at his lock. "Two weeks from Tuesday."

"Great." Snart said dryly. "Your house or mine?"

Barry blinked. "Excuse me?"

Annoyed, Snart turned to look at him. Barry tried not to flinch at the moment of eye contact they made, before Snart's eyes continued on a cursory journey down his body. For some reason, it made Barry feel hot all over, and incredibly awkward – he yanked his sweater down and turned, suddenly, jerking his locker door open.

"You know," Snart said, almost thoughtfully. "You're not completely unfortunate looking. Why do you dress like that?" He had a look on his face like he'd smelled something slightly unpleasant.

Barry scoffed. "If you're just going to insult me, you can forget it."

His distant stare intensified, grey eyes sky-distant and cold. Barry felt as if he himself might soon be convinced that he was not there. "Suit yourself, Herman." He thrusted himself away from the lockers, bouncing on the heel of his combat boots. "Find me after school. We'll get started at my house."

Barry's cheeks were an embarrassing shade of red, so he didn't look up as Snart walked away.

"Barry," he mumbled, shoving his books into his locker. "My name is Barry."

[incorrectcoldflashblog]

☔️

Hi, anon! Sorry it took me a while to answer, I had to try a couple times to make sense of this particular AU, haha.

Is there a fic concept you have that you'd like to just explain and share because you're not sure you'll ever write it? If so, what is it?

Maybe I’m being overly optimistic but I still have hope I’ll be able to share ALL of my current WIPs eventually, lol. The only one I don’t actually think I’ll end up writing, and I’ve talked about it on here before, is my Genie AU, which was a mix of canon and AU where Barry is still the Flash but Len is a genie. Putting this under a read more because it got a bit long.

The idea originally came to me because I love genie/djinn lore but I’m not a huge fan of ‘The master falls in love with the genie and in the end he sets them free’ because IMO it doesn’t matter if your masters are kind or cruel, they’re still trying to master you. So I knew I wanted Barry to break Len free of the lamp in the very beginning, without giving in to the temptation of making any wishes, just because it’s the right thing to do, or maybe even because this is a Barry who went through a version of Flashpoint and is wary of whatever alteration of reality Len is offering. Meanwhile, Len is the one who is wary of freedom and doesn’t see why his purpose in life has to be ruined just because Barry doesn’t have any self-control. But we know how stubborn Barry can be when he genuinely thinks he’s doing the right thing so he frees Len from the lamp and *that* is when things turn to shit, lol. Len immediately starts decaying and comes to Barry being basically like, you broke it you buy it. Fix it or I’ll burn your house down with your family inside. So much for trying to do the right thing.

So yeah, the first part of the fic would be Len being pretty much the world’s worst house guest and trying to understand how the human world works now that he has to live in it full time thanks to SOMEONE, while Barry and his team (which in this fic was going to be Caitlin, Cisco and Hartley, with Hartmon as a side pairing because Cisco got tricked into making a wish before the lamp was destroyed and now he and Hartley have a baby and must raise it despite very much hating the sight each other, or do they) try to get information on the lamp, and the curse, and djinns, and try to unearth the mystery of Len’s origins. And of course during that time forced into close quarters Len and Barry were gonna fall in love^^ Not that they’d ever admit to it, especially not Len. There would be tropes galore, such as being forced to take care of Cisco and Hartley’s dumb baby together, or Barry teaching Len to read, but that one was gonna be a slooooow burn, mostly because I had plans for this version of Len to be somewhere on the asexual spectrum? Or at least it was gonna be strongly implied because humans were always just kinda there to him, and in any case he wouldn’t sleep with someone who kept him in a lamp when they weren’t using him.

I had plans to insert a bunch of references to Len’s canon appearances, including the fact that Barry would’ve found the lamp during a robbery of the Kahndaq Dynasty expo at the Central City museum, and Len was going to blackmail him into forging a new identity for him (as opposed to destroying his records like on the show). So, Leonard Snart was going to be his fake human name, although most characters just referred to him as Cold. Cold was literally constantly scheming in the first half of the fic and one of those schemes was gonna get Joe killed and force Cold into taking responsibility and sacrifice himself to bring Joe back. And that was gonna be the end of Part 1 because. Pain.

Part 2 was gonna start after a time jump and Barry still having no idea that Len is dead because, again. Pain. He thinks Len just took off, even though he promised him he wouldn’t leave. Joe never told Barry the truth because Joe never tells his kids the important things (yes, I’m still salty he told Iris her mother was dead, why do you ask). Meanwhile, Len has been sulking in the afterlife for four mortal years and the only people he’s got to talk to are some of his former Masters (namely Lisa and Ray) and Death (Sara, of course, who else), who he eventually tries to make a deal with: Undo the spell. She can have Joe West back. So Death is like, well, okay, that was dark even for you but if you really want to go through with this, do it yourself because I’m not going to do some insignificant mortal’s dirty work, I’ll give you one day because you entertain me. And Len sets out to do just that but of course he can’t, because once he’s back on Earth he immediately runs into Iris and tries to use her to get to her father but the thing is that Len/Cold HAS changed during the time he spent with Barry. He never meant to, but he did. So he basically just tells Joe to have a nice life and resigns himself to leave and go back to his little corner of eternity.

But not before Barry sees him.

And then—well admittedly I hadn’t really written too much past that point, haha, but I’m sure you can guess that Barry is furious with Joe and finds a way to go to the afterlife to get Len back, and I guess it turns into the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice for a while, although I would never give my boys an unhappy ending so I did plan for the fic to have a happy ending and have Len and Barry leave the afterlife together. However, it was by that point that I realized this would take waaay too many chapters and way too much worldbuilding to write this story in a satisfying manner so I got discouraged and gave up XD But yeah, that was basically the whole plan for this giant project that will probably never happen, although I guess you never know!

Thank you so much for the ask, anon. I can only hope I haven’t bored you to death <3

Send an emoji and I’ll answer

[achangeinpriorities]

How about for the prompt mash up, coldflash forgotten first meeting and it's not you, it's my enemies

Hmm... Both halves of Coldflash have so many enemies that it's hard to choose, but honestly, the 'forgotten first meeting' part is what I had to really think about. I'm gonna interpret it a little loosely, but here we go:

Long before he became a CSI, long before he'd ever considered going into law enforcement (and probably while he was in a bit of an ACAB mood, given that his dad was arrested), an early-teens-ish Barry decided he was going to write to someone at Iron Heights. He already wrote to his dad, in addition to visiting, but he figured, if his dad was lonely, no doubt other prisoners were too, and could he please correspond with someone who needed outside comfort.

The powers that be inside the prison decided this was the perfect way to distract one Leonard Snart from breaking out. And thus, Len got a pen pal during one of his stays. (At some point he probably puts together that his pen pal is the son of the alarmingly earnest guy they gave him as a cellmate, also to prevent him from breaking out - ask me about that headcanon sometime.)

They correspond for something like six months, long enough for them both to get fond of each other, before Len finally escapes Iron Heights and Barry hears no more from him. Barry, being young and distractible and dealing with a traumatic teenagerhood, forgets the whole thing within a year. Len doesn't *forget,* per se - I think he has too good a memory to let anything just slip away - but he actively puts it out of mind, thinking it was just one of those random acts of pity that upstanding citizens do to convince themselves they care about the less fortunate. Additionally, Len's stay in prison this time was particularly awful, with abuse from the guards, and he gets way too focused on a revenge plan to think about good-hearted pen pals. Not much comes of his revenge at this point, for reasons that will be relevant later.

Years later, Len and Barry meet face to face for the first time, and it's electric. They fight, like they do in canon, and slowly, slowly get closer. Barry's ability to throw himself wholeheartedly into loving someone scares the shit out of Len, so he's the real impediment to them getting together. They probably end up doing sex first, because I could see Len giving in to the electricity between them way faster than the Feelings, but one way or another, they're just about to the cusp of Feelings.

And then Len spots the guard who gave him trouble years ago. All those long-buried traumas, and associated revenge plans, are foremost in his mind. And that directly conflicts with Barry, who wants him to be a better person, wants him to stop killing - wants him, in short, to let go of the revenge he's wanted for years. They can get justice, Barry says. Bullshit, Len says - the system doesn't work like that. (Deep down, Barry knows he's right.)

Faced with a choice between killing his enemy and keeping his lover, Len chooses revenge, because he'll always believe the worst of himself. It's a hollow victory, just like when he killed Lewis, but it's a victory nonetheless, and he forces himself to think it's enough, because he thinks he's just lost Barry. He hasn't, of course - Barry is forgiving, and understanding of grudges that last a lifetime - but he's so caught up in this idea of himself as unworthy that he originally isn't sure he wants Barry back.

Their road back together involves, in some way, them eventually recalling their correspondence all that time ago. Barry has big feelings about the fact that he was Len's bright spot through that pain when it first happened, and that he gets to be here for him now that it's resurfaced. Len is awed anew by how much this sweet boy means to him, and even if he's not sure he deserves him, he gives himself permission to be greedy.

(And then they both get counseling because holy shit do they need it.)

[ranger-of-estel]

Oh, my..#47, Captain Canary, please?

47. You have your soulmate’s name on one wrist and your enemy’s on the other, and have no idea which one is which.Captain CanaryPre-relationshipCanon Compliant

I’ll have you know this was one of the more challenging ones. When it comes to heroes the “enemy” part is much harder to narrow down!

 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

               Sara and Leonard are sitting in his floor, cards and Rip’s crystal decanter between them. Most of the liquor is gone now, just enough to fractionally drop their guards. “Have you ever thought about?” Sara asks, motioning to where his sleeve has been pushed up to reveal the name on that wrist.

               “Doesn’t everyone?” He shrugs, “but I’ve never really seen the point, I decided I’d choose for myself who I would allow in.” He looks up from his cards, “and you have done the same.”

               “I have,” she nods. “After all, it’s not that uncommon for soulmates to never meet.” She chuckles humorlessly, “especially when you’re an assassin living in a mountain.”

               “Or a thief hiding in safehouses,” he agrees as his eyes drift down to the four letters. “Besides, Sara is a common name.”

               “Tell me about it.” Sara lays down a card. “Leonard is less common,” she gives him an teasing look, “hell, you could be my worst enemy.” He scoffs at that, and she raises a brow. “Who’s your other name?”

               “Malcom,” he says evenly, taking his next turn. “Still haven’t met someone with that name.”

               “That’s cause he’s probably in Nanda Parbat.” She answers without thinking, drawing Leonard’s attention.

               “Pardon?”

               She shakes her head, “a coincidence I’m sure.”

               “I don’t believe in coincidence.” Len frowns, “a member of the league then?”

               She nods, “last I heard he’d become heir to the demon itself.” She sighs, “he’s from STAR; was behind the earthquakes some years back…he’s the one who had me killed.”

               Now Leonard’s attention is fully on her. “He what?”

               She tries to shrug it off, but he can see her discomfort. “Yeah, drugged one of the other vigilantes. Coached her into shooting me,” her fingers brush over the covered scars on her stomach. “Unfortunately, he’s clever. Always manages to slip away.”

               “Well, he does sound like the kind of person I’d stand at odds with.” He motions to her hands. “Who is your other option?”

               “Lewis.” She watches him tense, looking on curiously. “I take it someone your familiar with?”

               “My father.” He replies coldly. He doesn’t need to say more, while he’s never said his name, Sara’s learned enough to know that Lewis Snart was the kind of man the Black Canary would have left bleeding out in a dumpster somewhere.

               “Ah…” For a moment they sit in silence, Sara watching as Leonard processes the new information. “So, our greatest enemy’s are people we’ve never met?”

               Len shakes his head, “that’s not it. This,” he raises the wrist with her name, “is supposed to be the most important person in our life. Then it would makes sense that this one,” he lifts the other hand, “is the person who endangers them.”

               “Huh,” Sara just glances down at her own wrists. “Sounds like you really are stuck with me, Crook.”

               He lets his hands fall, smirking at her. “I could definitely have done worse.” He settles with his back against the bed, motioning to her with his head. “Your move, Assassin.”

[angsty-violet]

Stranded Together

Written for the Arrowverse Under Quarantine exchange for one of my fav people in the fandom.

@arrowversequarantinefic-exchange

@kleptoandpyro

It had been a freak accident. One minute they were working on a mission to retrieve an artifact causing time anomalies and the next they were stuck.

Stuck outside of time.

Suffice to say Len wasn’t very happy with the world right now. There existed multiple areas similar to the Time Master’s base where time didn’t exist. Ones where existence itself is questionable. As philosophically interesting as that was, all Len wanted to do was get back to the ship and do something that wasn’t playing cards.

“Go fish.”

Len drew another card and glowered at it. This was their 29th round of play Go Fish. They had already exhausted numerous other card games and Len was sick of it. Or maybe he was just sick of losing at Go Fish.

“I am done!” He announced and threw his cards down onto the table in annoyance. Rip looked up at him with just as much annoyance.

“Well if you have a better idea about what we should do to pass the time, I am all ears.”

“Tell me a story.”

“What?” Rip squinted at the man in confusion. “What do you mean tell you a story? What kind of story?”

“One about your life. One that you made up. Just tell me a story and then I will tell you one.”

Rip narrowed his eyes in thought. He thought of his many time adventures, the fairy tales he would tell his son, the thousands of years of history he had learned. His mind caught on a very particular story though. One that he was sure Len would be interested in.

“Alright. Once upon a time, there was this thief. At this point in his life, he was pretty off the rails. Just really out there and he was on a very special mission. One that would change the entire course of history. One that most people had told him was impossible.”

Len huffed lightly. “I think I already know this one Rip.”

“Yes, but you only know your side of it. You don’t know mine. Besides, what else do we have to do?”

Len shrugged and gestured for him to continue.

“This thief knew that he couldn’t do it alone. That he was going to need help if he were to defeat the tyrant he sought to kill. So, he went and found 8 people who were all special in their own right but not necessary to history. He thought that would make it easier if any of them were to die. See he was an arrogant pain in the ass that didn’t know the real value of human life.” Rips words trailed off a little and Len raised an eyebrow. He moved so he was sitting next to Rip and offered him his hand.

Rip took it gently and ran his thumb over the callused skin, then he continued.

“These 9 people set out on a mission to stop the tyrant from ever gaining power. The thief discovered along the way that maybe he wasn’t as cold to the people that he had taken on his ship has he had thought. That perhaps they might become his family, something he believed he had lost entirely. Even more than that he found that for the first time since his wife had died that maybe he was falling in love. Only a few months after he met these people.”

Len’s eyebrows raised. “A few months after we met? You didn’t tell me you loved me until well after the Oculus.”

“Are you going to actually listen to this story or endlessly interrupt?”

“Why, you got a hot date you’re trying to get to?”

“Yeah, actually I do. With you back on the Waverider involving a bottle of scotch and my quarters in privacy mode.”

Len blushed just a little but gestured for Rip to continue. “Then, by all means, keep going.”

“Right, so this thief begins to develop feelings for one of the people on his crew. He is still so wrapped up in getting his wife and son back though that he won’t admit them. To himself or the man that’s in love with. He just focuses more on the impossible. To the point where it eclipses anything and everything else in his life. That is until the worst thing that could’ve happened did.”

“Oh, what’s that?”

“The man he was in love allowed himself to die so that the rest of the crew and his best friend could live. I have to say, it nearly broke the thief. To do everything in his power. To go to all those lengths, to shut everything out and then have the one person in the world he had left die? If it wasn’t for the rest of his team, he would’ve just given up right then and there. Allowed himself to wallow in misery and pain.”

“So why did he decide to keep going?”

“Well, the man’s best friend told the idiot that if he loved the dead man that he wouldn’t allow his murderers to get away with it. That he would stand up and kill the bastard before he could take anyone else away from the people who loved them. So, he did. He and his team that helped him recover from it killed the immortal tyrant, prevented him from every rising from power.”

“Mm, then what happened? Did this thief get a happy ending?”

Rip leveled Len with a look. “As a matter of fact, he did. As it turns out the man that he was in love with was a hell of a lot harder to kill than anyone would have originally thought. That or time just really wanted to give him a happy ending. Because he was spat out on his ship with all of the people who loved and cared about him right there to interrogate him on his identity.”

“Yes, I imagine the man was very amused by his loved ones all believing that he wasn’t really who he said he was.”

“Oh yes, he found it an absolute riot. The words “absolute morons” being grumbled a lot and lots of glaring. Truly he took it incredibly well.”

“He sounds like a stand-up sort of person,” Len said with a little crinkle to his nose. Rip let out a hearty laugh.

“Oh, my dear, he truly is. You know what else he is,” Rip said jumping to his feet.

“What, oh great thief?”

“A fantastic dancer.” Rip pulled Len to his feet and took his waist and hand. Len scowled a bit but let himself be guided into a waltz.

“You are being absolutely ridiculous, you know that? We are in the middle of nowhere waiting to be rescued and you want to dance. I don’t know why I love you.”

Rip spun him around letting Len spin gently around and using their momentum to make the movement smoother. “Yes, it’s ridiculous to want to dance with the man I love. Absolutely insane. How dare I pass the time with an activity that I love. One that I could do until I dropped from sheer exhaustion. You should lock me up.”

Len huffed and avoided eye contact. Rip wouldn’t let him though. He took the hand that had been on his shoulder and nudged Len’s face until he was looking him in the eye. “I didn’t tell you the end of the story.”

“Oh? I thought the bit where they end up together was the end. Is there more?”

“More than I could ever possibly hope for, but I’m going to anyway.” He stopped dancing for a moment. “I was going to save this for a more romantic time, but I don’t think I’m going to find that perfect moment.”

Rip got one knee and Len choked a little on his breath.

“Leonard Snart, the day that you came into my life I started to live again. When I thought I had lost you there was nothing that I regretted more than not being with you. I felt at that moment with my wife and son gone forever and having lost the chance I had at new love, that I would simply never love again. I was wrong though. You came back to me. The first person in my life to ever really do so. I’ll never be able to forget the feeling of having another chance with you. I never want to. Will you, Leonard Snart, marry me?”

Len gaped at him for a moment astonished at this. He hadn’t even considered marriage. Regular people's events seemed so distant when they were in the Waverider. A million miles and 100 centuries away. Here it was though, his partner proposing to him. He looked up at Rip in astonishment and then gave a soft smile.

“Of course, I will marry you. What other choice do I have? You might leave me here if I don’t say yes.”

Rip scoffed and pulled out the ring, sliding it up Len’s fingers gently.

“I’m never leaving you behind again.”

[firesoulstuff]

Mixen + “We could…you know, go together, if you wanted.”

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13188444/chapters/56338903

Mick is going because he said he’d go. That, and Snart might actually kill him if he missed his wedding. Not that he ever would, he’s been waiting too long for him and Sara to tie the knot. He wouldn’t miss it for the world, no matter how much he hates weddings.

Haircut says it doesn’t make much sense for him to hate weddings. Parties where there’s a lot of booze readily available? That should be his scene. He’s got a point, one Mick has been countering by saying booze or not it’s too many people for his comfort. That is, for the record, part of the reason.

The other part? He really, really hates watching everybody prance around so damn happy.

He has a feeling this is gonna be the worst one yet. At least at the scarlet idiot’s wedding he’d had Haircut to be lonely with. But now that moron has plunged headfirst into a rushed marriage that against all odds might not have been a terrible idea. Pretty’s doing whatever he’s doing with Stoner’s sister, and even Stoner’s weird thing with Charlie is starting to look like it’s picking up into a real thing. Real enough he’s not counting on being able to drown his misery in a drinking contest with Charlie.

It’s just as well, getting too drunk with Charlie tends to lead to him thinking about…

“Unca Mick!”

He smiles wide, pushing away his thoughts as he turns to see a familiar toddler charging him full speed with her arms out, her mom trailing behind her in a walk with a laughing grin on her face.

“Hey munchkin!” He says, lifting Esi up and swinging her so that she giggles. “You’re getting big. You being a good girl for Maame?”

“Most of the time.” Amaya comments snidely, and Mick hums through a smile as he settles Esi tightly into one arm so that he can put the other around Amaya.

“Missed ya.” He says as she hugs him, “How ya been?”

“We’ve been alright.” She answers as she pulls back, and there’s something tired in her smile. Tired but happy, which he knows by now is par for the course with a kid as energetic as Esi. “Not much going on. What about you?”

“Maame....!” Esi whines from his arms before he can even think about answering, and with a grin and a shake of her head Amaya chuckles.

“Ok.” She amends, “Not much going on with me, but Esi has had quite the week.”

“Oh yeah?” He asks, turning his head with piqued interest to the little girl practically bouncing in his arm.

“I learned to do a somersault!” She announces excitedly, “Can I show you?”

“Maybe later Esi.” Amaya steps in, “When we’re in Central City and there’s a floor that isn’t made of metal.”

Esi pouts, but Mick chuckles and places her down.

“Maames right.” He says, “Why don’t you go find Ray and Nora? There somewhere around this tin can with the new baby.”

The disappointment of not being able to show off her gymnastics skills quickly dissipates and Esi runs off, leaving both him and Amaya chuckling as they watch her go.

“So…” Amaya trails as the two of them start a slow pace to an empty table in the back of the room. “Sara and your partner?”

“Bout damn time.” He snorts, “You’re lucky you haven’t been around for their dancing around each other, got hard to watch.”

She chuckles, like she can picture exactly all the goo-goo eyed torture he and the rest of the team have been putting up with over the last year and a half.

“So where’d they sit ya? Singles table?”

She nods, “Wasn’t much of another place for me. You’re sitting with them, right? As Leonard’s best man?”

He shrugs, “Supposed to.” He says, and it’s quiet. Like, painfully quiet. Maybe’s that’s just him, because the quiet doesn’t stretch on for more than a few seconds but for him it still feels like forever is going by.

Because hearing she’s a at the singles table, he has an idea. A very, very, bad idea.

“We could…” He starts, “You know, go together. If you wanted.”

She looks at him like he’s lost it, and he really should just shut up.

“Iris is sitting with you… Cause Scarlet’s in the wedding party. I told her I’d switch with her after the speeches, need to make sure Snart’s stuck at a table with Scarlet all night.”

Amaya giggles, “Ok.” She agrees, “In that case, sure. It’s a date.”

[eaion]

For the fandom survey: The Flash!

Yay, thank you! ^^

Here is my answers:

Favorite Male Character: I know everbody expect Leonard Snart, but he is not there anymore :’(, so my answer is genuinly Barry Allen. After all, I watch the show for the Flash. :)

Favorite Female Character: I guess, it’s Iris.

Least Favorite Character: It’s hard to choose one, because I don’t have any. I mean, I don’t like the cruel psychos, but I like everyone in the main team.

Favorite Ship: COLDFLAAAAAAASH! :D

Favorite Friendship: Cisco Ramon + Caitlin Snow

Favorite Quote: “Run, Barry, run!” *creepy Reverse Flash voice* and “Always pleased to meet a fan.” :D

Worst Character Death (if any): It was... plenty. :( But actually the worst for me was Nora West-Allen’s. I decided to drop the whole show after season five, because of that (and because of I gave up that we ever get any Rogue centric season...) But then I gave the show a last one try.

This made me so happy you have no idea Moment: When Barry just looooove to run. Every time, when he is happy, because of running. :) And when he and Snart are flirting with each other. :D

Saddest Moment: When a Nora is dying on the show... :( Because there were at least three Nora Allen death and one Nora West-Allen’s death. :(

Favorite Location: the speedforce!!! :D (If it counts as a location. ;)) I always wondered what would it look like and feel like in there in the reality.

[exasperatedmoron]

‘The Incident’

Nora and Michael were sitting in front of their father’s computer, snickering as they scrolled through their options for colours.

“I can’t believe they have so many choices! Holy shit...” Nora tried to be serious as she picked ‘rainbow’ and they moved on to the next selection; Size.

“Jac is going to kill us... Totally worth it though.” Michael scrolled to the very bottom and clicked on the largest size possible. The screen buffered for a few seconds until the final product appeared on the screen. The two teenagers cried out, laughing so hard they had to clutch their sides.

Jacques Rory-Snow’s 18th birthday was in a few days and he had a habit of making a lot of dick jokes (behind their parent’s back of course). Naturally, being a Snart, the siblings decided to get him the most extravagant dildo they could find.

They were too caught up in their ‘scheme’ that they didn’t even realise... that the product was charged to their dad’s credit card.

-

Len took a break from training to check his phone. As much as he trusted Sara as a babysitter, he still worries every time they were out of his sight. It’s been 17 years but he’s still extremely protective of the two. Maybe he’ll just give her a quick call to see if they were okay. Maybe she already knew and sent some kind of ‘calm the fuck down, leonard. they’re fine.’ text.

He wished that was what he read instead of the notification he saw.

‘Transaction Successful: SparkToys - Custom Ordered Dildo. Click for more details...’

Len was rendered speechless - the last time he felt anything similar was when he found out Barry was pregnant (because apparently speedsters could do that and no one told them). He started to run through ideas in his head.

Maybe it was Barry who needed to buy a toy to spice up their nights (even though Barry was in the room, training with Len). Maybe Sara got bored (even though he’s pretty sure she has enough sex toys at home, why would she need more). Maybe... Lisa... snuck into his house... then his room.. to order??? Nope. No.

He was not ready for this part of parenting.

-

“Nora? Michael?” Len knocked on the teenager’s rooms before stepping in. Nora and Michael looked up from their respective books and gave their dad a smile.

“Hey Dad! You’re home! How was training?” They asked simultaneously (Barry and Len have started to think they had some kind of telepathy powers with how coordinated they were).

“Fine. It was fine... Listen. I just wanted... to talk to the two of you about something.”

Nora and Michael frowned when Len took a seat on the edge of Michael’s bed and put on his ‘im-about-to-give-you-the-parent-talk’ face.

“I understand that the two of you are teenagers. And that you’re almost 18, Michael. So I really do get it that you will inevitably get... urges.”

“Dad?”

“And sometimes, you’re going to want to... experiment and explore. Hopefully with yourselves and not others - and by yourselves, I mean your own individual self! Not... with each other... Oh God, I’m becoming Barry.” Len put his head in his hands and started to shake his head. He was so happy he didn’t have this talk with Lisa. (Mick did).

“Dad... Where is this going?”

“Okay. I’ll just get right to it.” Len looked up to his children and realised ‘yes. this is it. this is the moment where they get scarred for life’.

“Michael. Nora. If you ever need advice about sex or about your bodies. You can always come to me or your dad. We’ll never shame you. We just want the two of you to be safe. So, if you need condoms or sex toys... non-extreme ones, of course. Then you can talk to us so you won’t end up hurting yourselves.”

“DAD?! WHAT!?” “THE HELL, DAD?!”

There was a look of absolute horror on both their faces. It’s amazing how they look like Barry. They even have his scandalized look nailed down.

“WHY WOULD YOU EVEN... DAD?!”

“Well, one of you guys bought a dildo online. And there are a lot of precautions you should take when it comes to purchasing sex toys online. You need to look at their reviews - sure, to see if it suits your needs. But also to make sure it’s a legit business and their products are hygienic. Plus, it looked rather massive and -”

“OH MY GOD, DAD! STOP. PLEASE. STOP.”

“IT WAS A PRANK! IT’S FOR JAC’S BIRTHDAY!”

Len paused and turned to Michael who was trying to bury himself in the corner, with his hands covering his ears. “A prank?”

“Yes!! It’s a prank gift for Jac! Oh my God, it charged to your card?! Oh my gosh, dad, no! Nope no no no no...”

“Wait. So the two of you are not in that ‘sex toy’ phase yet?”

“NO!!!”

Len let out a large, exhilarating sigh of relief and flopped backwards on Michael’s bed. “Thank fucking God. That was the worst 5 minutes of my life.” His children were still his innocent, pure, angelic (well...) children. He knew the day would come eventually, but thank heavens it was not yet that day. When it does reach that day, Len’s going to make Barry do the talking.

“YOUR life?! How about us?!

“Shhhhh. This is done. It’s over. The only time I ever want to remember about this incident is when Jac opens his gift and the look on Mick’s face when he does.”

“Or Aunt Caity,” the two snickered and the awkwardness in the room cleared. They started to talk about their day, erasing the memory of everything that just happened.

-

Len honestly did forget about the whole incident. He totally forgot to even tell Barry about it.

Which was why it was hilarious to walk in on Barry opening an indiscreet box in the living room with both Nora and Michael silently begging Len to stop their dad.

Len was a Snart. So he didn’t.

He did, however, take a picture of Barry wielding a 12 inch, rainbow dildo (sword) with Nora and Michael in the background looking terrified.

[dragonydreams]

Title: Letters Unsent Fandom: DC's Legends of Tomorrow Rating: Teen Pairings/Characters: Sara Lance/Leonard Snart Summary: Sara and Leonard are reunited. Sequel to Pen Pals. Timeline: S1E01 Pilot Word Count: 1,526 Disclaimer: I claim no ownership over these characters. I am merely borrowing them from Berlanti Productions, DC Entertainment, and Warner Bros. Television. Betas: Thank you to angelskuuipo and shanachie for looking this over for me. Author's Note: My muse has been on an unapproved leave of absence, but decided to visit me again. Hopefully she is back to stay as I've really missed writing.

 Sara reached into her duffle bag to slowly pull out the leather-bound journal she'd stashed in there before leaving Star City. This journal had helped her get through the years since the Gambit sank. It wasn't so much a diary as a collection of letters.

She'd never stopped writing to her pen pal, even when she'd known she'd never be able to send the letters to him.

Sara had found the journal on the Amazo. It had belonged to one of the prisoners. She'd squirreled it away after the man had died, figuring that he didn't need it anymore.

To keep her sanity, she'd poured all of her fears into the journal. She'd confided in her pen pal, like she'd always done. Only now her stories were of torture, medical experiments, and worse.

She'd carried it with her at all times for fear of Ivo, or one of the other men, discovering it. So she'd had it with her when she'd nearly drowned for the second time.

Nyssa had known about it, but she'd respected Sara's wishes to never read it; provided Sara tell her some of what it contained. Nyssa respected privacy, but would not tolerate secrets between them.

This book chronicled the worst times in her life.

For the first time ever, she was about to allow someone to read it. After all, he was the person she'd been writing to all these years.

~~*~~

When Rip told them that they would be idling in the time stream that first time, the newly formed team went their separate ways to the bunks they'd each claimed upon arrival.

Sara only stayed in her room long enough to retrieve her journal before heading across the hallway to the thief's room. She hadn't decided yet if this was the best of luck or going to be a prolonged act of torture, being just across the hall from him. She hoped for the former.

Knocking on the door, she couldn't help smiling at the gruff, "Who's there?" that came from inside.

"It's Sara," she called out. "Can I come in?"

The door instantly slid open to reveal Leonard on the other side, the delighted surprise slipping from his eyes as he got his mask back in place.

He gestured for Sara to enter, closing the door behind her once she had.

Sara held the journal against her stomach, not sure how to tell him of their connection.

"Resurrection," Leonard drawled, leaning against his bed. "Is that how you survived when the Queen's Gambit sunk?"

Sara's breath hitched and her jaw dropped. She blinked at him and he smirked. "Y-you knew who I was?"

Leonard shrugged one shoulder before hopping up to sit on the bed. "Figured it out when I saw the news reports. Robert Queen's boat sinking got quite a bit of air time, along with who the passengers were. Didn't take too long for me to put the pieces together."

Sara made her way to the desk chair and sank down onto it. She blew out a breath. "Well, that makes my story a little shorter. But in answer to your question, no, I didn't actually die that time."

"Where have you been all this time, Sara?" Leonard asked, an accusatory edge to his voice. "I mourned you, and I don't mourn many people."

"The woman that I am now is not the girl that you mourned," Sara reluctantly admitted.

Leonard snorted. "When your entree to this team is as an assassin, I should think not. Gotta admit that I'm very curious about how that happened. How did my bubbly teenage pen pal become an assassin?"

Sara stood abruptly and closed the distance between them, roughly shoving the journal at Leonard.

"I never stopped being your pen pal," she admitted. "I kept writing to you as soon as I was able. I just couldn't send you the letters. They're all in here."

Leonard closed his fingers around the book, brushing against hers as Sara relinquished it. "Your diary?"

Sara shook her head. "No, they're letters. To you. You're the only one I could tell about what was happening to me. You always were."

Leonard opened the book, surprised to see how damaged the pages were by water, dirt, and who knew what else. His eyes flew up to hers.

"I-It's not a happy story," she confided, wrapping her arms around herself.

Leonard reverently set the book down next to him before reaching over and drawing his own journal from under his pillow.

Sara's eyes widened as she realized what he was holding, then she barked out a laugh. "Is that what I think it is?"

"You're not the only one who couldn't stop writing to their pen pal," Leonard shyly admitted, holding the book out to her.

Sara took it, clasping it to her chest.

"You don't know how many times I re-read your letters and emails from memory while I was away," she whispered. "I look forward to having new content to remember."

"That's not such a happy story, either," Leonard cautioned.

"Yours never were," Sara reminded him. "Does Mick know?"

"That we were pen pals? No. He knew that I had one since we were in jail together for a while when we were writing, but he doesn't know that you're the girl I wrote to."

"Can we keep it that way? At least for a little while? At least until we've gotten to know each other as we are now?" Sara asked.

"I think that would be for the best," Leonard agreed.

"I really missed you, Len," Sara said, stepping close to him. "I promised myself that if I ever made it back and found you in person that I'd give you the hug I so desperately needed for many of the years that I was gone. Would that be okay?"

Leonard wondered what she could have gone through that she craved a hug from him so badly, but he could hardly deny her this request. Silently, awkwardly, he opened his arms and Sara rushed into them, holding him tightly, the journal pressed to his back. Leonard lowered his arms and wrapped them around her, nearly as tightly. This was something that he'd never thought he'd get to experience, and it was better than he could have ever imagined.

Eventually, Sara stepped back, tucking her hair behind her ear almost shyly.

"Thank you. I'll leave you to your reading," she said, backing towards the door.

"Sara," Leonard called after her, "I'm really glad you're not dead."

With a grin, Sara said, "Yeah, me, too."

~~*~~

...taught me how to torture… survival at all costs…

...got caught up watching the flames and got badly burned… cool it for a while…

...Ollie saved me instead of Shado…

...The Flash… no one will stop me…

...nearly drowned again… Nyssa saved me…

...broke my sister's heart, only fair I break his…

...three arrows to the chest… Lazarus pit… bloodlust...

...sees good in me…

...be a hero in the light... 

~~*~~

They both stayed up all night reading, needing to know what had happened in the other's life over all these years.

This time it was Leonard knocking on Sara's door, carrying two cups of coffee. She let him in and gratefully took the coffee.

"You finished?" she needlessly asked, gesturing to the journal under his arm.

"Couldn't put it down," Leonard said. "That all really happened to you?"

"Yes," Sara said, bracing herself for his pity.

"You, Sara Lance, are officially the strongest person that I know," he said, no trace of his drawl.

Sara blinked at him. "What? No, I'm not."

"Most women, hell, most people, would have broken from just being trapped on the Amazo; but you not only survived, you got away."

"By nearly drowning for a second time," Sara reminded him.

"Perhaps, but then you became a fucking assassin in order to survive." The awe in his voice was nearly a tangible thing. Then, raising an eyebrow, he added, "And you turned gay?"

Sara smirked. "Bisexual."

"Are you still with her?"

"No, when I left the League I had to leave her, too," Sara said, sadly. "I'll always love her, but I can't be with her if it means being a killer."

"Did you finish reading my letters?" Leonard asked. Sara nodded that she had. "So you know that I'm a killer, too?"

"If you don't hold being an assassin against me, I won't hold your murders against you. Especially not your father."

Leonard let their exchange sink in for a moment before nodding to himself. "Good."

He lifted Sara's coffee from her hand and set both of theirs on her desk, along with the journal, before he closed the distance between them, took her face in his hands, and kissed her. Sara's arms immediately wound their way around his body, pulling him closer, hungrily kissing him back.

When they finally had to break for air, Sara panted against his lips, "You have no idea how many times I fantasized about that kiss."

"How did the reality compare?" Leonard asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"Better than any fantasy," Sara purred, reclaiming his lips.

The Beginning

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fic: An Internal Affair - Chapter 19 (Ao3 link)

Fandom: The Flash Pairing: Leonard Snart/Barry Allen

Summary: Leonard Snart, the CCPD Captain of Internal Affairs, is known as Captain Cold for a very good reason: He hates corrupt cops with a merciless vengeance, and once you’re on his list, you’re in serious trouble.

His next target?

A CCPD lab tech named Barry Allen who’s developed a suspicious habit of disappearing at random intervals.

—————————————————————————————————

Len is so far from having a good day, he can't even begin to quantify it. It's like something out of one of his worst nightmares.

(There had better not be a meta with the ability to turn nightmares into reality, because if there is and they have anything to do with this, Len is going to throttle them and he won't even be sorry. Well, maybe a little sorry.)

But seriously, he’s having trouble picking the worst thing that’s currently happening to him.

Mick is gone - hurt, kidnapped, probably dying from lack of hospital access, trapped at the mercy of some superhuman monster that likes to play with people before he kills them.

Trapped in a room knowing there’s nowhere to go, just like Len was.

If Len thinks about that for too long, he’s going to crack, and he can’t crack, not when Mick's counting on him, so he can’t think about it.

But if he’s not thinking about Mick, then he’s thinking about the fact that the Families are on the cusp of closing a deal that will give them fresh blood and power and vigor, thereby undoing all the work he's so painstakingly accomplished with twenty years undercover.

Or the fact that the police force he gave his life to, his friends, his family, his truth to, is corrupt beyond all belief, beyond even his admittedly negatively biased views of it.

That the city he loves is a ticking time bomb and he's one of the few people who knows it.

That Barry is still fucking perfect.

Okay, that last one is probably not at the same level as the others, but damnit, it feels like it should be.

Barry has no right being so damn wonderful. He committed horrible crimes!

...which he accepted, taking responsibility for and accepting the consequences of. He didn't make excuses, he didn't try to explain himself, he just looked Len square in the eyes and said: You're right, I was wrong, I will never let it happen again, I will do better, but just saying so doesn't change the fact that what I did was wrong and I will pay what I must for it.

And he was manipulated by Wells, who's apparently good enough to play politics with the military and the Families and the Central City government, all at once, and that's without considering how he tricked Barry into seeing him as a surrogate father figure, utilizing his apparently extensive stalking (including, apparently, cameras in Barry's bedroom which really is the stuff of nightmares) to figure out the best ways to get under Barry’s skin.

Under the circumstances, really, one could see many of Barry’s actions as being taken under a form of emotional duress...

Damnit.

Mick was right, as he so often is.

Barry really isn't corrupt. Barry's trying his best and making mistakes (if very bad ones) in the process. But deep down, Barry’s still a good man.

And Len is head-over-fucking-heels in love with him.

A realization that helpfully arrived after he destroyed Barry's life and those of his closest friends and family.

He fully expects that this has almost certainly ruined his chances to ever get Barry’s forgiveness, even after Barry serves whatever time he must. Acceptance, tolerance, understanding, maybe, but nothing else.

Nothing like love.

Great.

Way to go, Len. Way to fucking go.

At least Len’s still in charge of the investigation in some part – really, he ought to have recused himself as soon as he’d processed what Hartley had told him, given his emotional involvement with one of the targets, but he was just so upset that he utterly forgot – so there's a chance he might be able to present evidence of what mitigating factors exist to explain Barry’s actions, and hope that that's enough to convince someone impartial to take pity.

The alternative – Barry's spirit getting stamped out of him by the brutal realities of prison, or indelibly tainted by a quiet and unethical dismissal designed to avoid having to re-open his cases – isn’t worth thinking about.

So he won’t.

Len’s gotten very good at not thinking about things.

At least he has now: this wonderful, awful interlude where they're working together, a unified front, the way Len wishes they still were.

The way they were before Len screwed everything up because he just couldn’t help his knee-jerk instinct to assume the worst in people and refuse to listen to any explanation they might have. If only he'd confronted Barry in private, maybe...

Still, if this little bit of teamwork is all Len can get, he'll take it.

Of course, despite his confident words to Barry, actually getting everything into action and going to STAR Labs to defeat Wells and rescue Mick and Thawne isn't as easy as just saying that they’ll do it.

Len has a time and a half getting the Feds on board, but twenty years of being one of their most reliable local guys pays its dividends and they agree to come with whatever resources they can spare, which on such short notice – the day before, really, Snart, you getting lax on us? – isn’t much but will have to do. Len puts his contacts in touch with Singh at the CCPD and Cecile Horton at the District Attorney’s office, the only two he personally trusts to not be on a Family payroll, to work out the business of getting warrants and putting together an actionable plan for how to deal with what’s coming.

Unfortunately, getting in touch with the CCPD means that the CCPD, leaky boat that it is, knows that something big is going down.

There’s no way to avoid it, but Len didn’t spent his years undercover twiddling his thumbs, either.

“Singh, I want you to go for a walk with someone and mention to them that they’ve got to keep it real hush-hush, but the Feds are getting involved ‘cause someone’s threatening a terrorist attack on Election Day,” Len instructs. He’s getting annoyed that he’s still on the phone while Barry’s already finished up making plans with Iris, called in Ramon and Snow to go help the CCPD with gadgets and triage for potential injuries respectively, and is now standing around and is, in fact, twiddling his thumbs.

And, to add insult to injury, he didn’t even use superspeed.

“Yes, I know, the cover story won’t last past impact,” he adds impatiently when Singh protests. “That ain’t the point. The point is that we don’t know who in the department is on the take and who ain’t, and that means we tell all of ‘em the cover story in an attempt to keep the Families from panicking before the Feds can show up with RICO warrants. Just drop the story publicly, then keep going with it in private until everyone’s convinced that’s the reason for the time being.”

There’s more arguing on the now-conference call line.

“No, we’re not getting clearance from the Commissioner,” Len says. “Not till we’re sure he’s clean. Listen, he gave me free clearance to recruit as many people as I wanted to my Weird Things task force, right? And basically no mandate? I’m recruiting your entire precinct, it can go under my name, it’s fine – yes, I’m aware that it’ll blow up in my face if this intel’s wrong, I don’t care, I’m willing to take the risk.”

That convinces a good few people. Amazing what the opportunity to cover your ass will convince people to do.

After a bit more insistence, they finally agree to accept his idea and to implement it in just the way he proposed, and then they move on to debating mechanics – where to put up barricades to help reduce damage if there are, as expected, riots, explained away as preparations for a potential panicked response to the ‘terrorist attack’, how many resources they need to divert to reinforce Iron Heights to ensure there aren’t break-outs in the meantime, etc.

Len waits a few more minutes and, when he’s pretty sure they don’t need him anymore, says, “In the meantime, I’m going to go deal with an outstanding issue –”

Immediate protests.

Goddamnit, people, you’re adult policemen! Do your goddamn jobs! Without Len holding your hand the entire time!

“Are you done yet?” Barry asks hopefully.

"You know what, yes," Len says. "Fuck this. Let's go. Yes, I’m hanging up now – no, you can’t call me back, I’m going to mute my phone the second after I hang up, I don’t care – listen, if I survive what I’m about to go do, I promise I’ll sign off on all of this minutiae and if I’m dead, just blame whatever you do on me. I ain’t gonna care, I’ll be dead. And right now, I don’t know which one of ‘em’s a better option!”

He hangs up.

“Sometimes I wish we still had flip-phones,” Barry says nonsensically, but it makes sense when he adds, “I feel like it would have been more satisfying to slam something closed or down in the hanger or something, rather than just angrily stabbing the ‘end call’ button.”

“Very likely,” Len says, and then his phone rings again.

He lifts it up to throw it down on the ground, only for Barry to flash it out of his hands before he can. “I’m gonna turn off your phone,” Barry says wisely. "It's clearly stressing you out."

"Mick is missing and maybe dead, the Families are going to destroy my city, lots of people are gonna die, and even the police I trust not to be corrupt are being pests," Len says, scowling. Barry hands him back his phone with the setting firmly on ‘mute’, which helps a little. "I think I’ve gone beyond stress."

"Where we're going, we don't need neurotransmitters."

Len pauses. "We're in the middle of a crisis and you’re paraphrasing Back to the Future?"

"...maybe?"

Stop being perfect.

"Right," Len says instead. "Let’s find a private corner and you can take us to STAR Labs. When we get there, if you see Mick and Thawne -"

"Don't you dare say that I'm to prioritize getting them out," Barry cuts him off. "I can only carry two people, and I'm not leaving you alone."

"Barry -"

"You can't defeat him. I barely stand a chance."

"I have the cold gun –"

"He's a speedster. You got one over on him the last time because he wasn’t expecting it, but now that he is, you'll never get the chance to use it."

"It doesn't matter," Len hisses. He knows that. He knows that all too well. But ultimately, in the end, it doesn’t matter. They still have to try. "Barry, please. When we get there, you have to listen to me, okay? I'm not going to say you have to prioritize them, we'll make a game-time decision on that depending on the circumstances, but I have to trust that you'll listen to me."

For some reason, that makes Barry pause. "Okay," he says. "Okay. You can trust me. I'll listen to you."

"Even if I order you take them out and leave me behind?"

"Even then. But we have to try to get everyone out before we resort to that, okay?"

"Deal." Len tries on a smirk. “I don’t intend to let Wells have the last word – besides, didn’t you hear? I’ve got paperwork to do.”

“Just so you know, that conversation doesn’t actually give me a lot of confidence in your desire to survive this,” Barry says dryly, because he knows Len pretty well, but he runs them to STAR Labs anyway.

Despite the fact that the sun is rapidly setting around them, almost all of STAR Labs’ lights have been shut off, likely because Ramon wasn’t around to turn them on, lending the building an eerie, deserted feeling.

It's "almost all" because once they walk through the main doors, they see that it's not entirely true that the building is deserted – the lights in the base of the Accelerator itself, the very core of STAR Labs, are still on.

“Wow,” Barry says. “So, everyone who thinks this is a trap, say ‘aye’.”

“Aye,” Len says. “Sadly, we’re going in anyway.”

“Should I pick up my Flash suit?” Barry asks. “It’s in the main lobby, and it could offer some extra protection –”

“No, don’t. Ramon made that, and it lives here; Wells could’ve tampered with it at any time.”

Barry makes a face. “Yeah, point. I’ve seen some of the stuff Cisco can do remotely with that thing; I don’t want to get trapped or lit on fire or something like that.”

He still looks wistful, though, so Len adds, “If we survive here, you can get him to make you a new one. Ramon, that is; it doesn’t seem like Wells took him into his confidence.”

Barry nods, looking a bit cheered. “Stop saying ‘if’,” he advises. “We’re going to survive. Better, we’re going to rescue everyone.”

Determined optimism is a good look on Barry.

Everything is a good look on Barry.

(Barry's beautiful.)

God, Mick was right -

He can't think about Mick.

Mick, who was torn away from the hospital equipment he still needs to live. Who could already be gone, dying a torturous death of sepsis or an infection or even just an inability to keep all his body functioning...

He can’t think about Mick.

“Let’s go,” he says, and makes his way into the Accelerator.

It’s not even a surprise to see Wells waiting patiently for them down on the Accelerator’s floor, a door pulled open from the floor to reveal a ladder undoubtedly leading into a secret basement room.

Len assumes that’s where Mick and Thawne are being kept.

Wells is wearing the yellow suit with the hood pushed back off his face. It looks exactly like Barry’s Flash suit, only in reverse colors and with a lightning bolt facing the other direction.

Creepy stalker.

Len wonders if Barry’s suit was always designed to be the opposite of Wells’, and if so, what that was supposed to signify.

“Take us down,” Len tells Barry. “Fast.”

He grits his teeth through the run, even though, as always, his back and leg protest the movement. It’s fine, though; he’s prepared. He can’t show weakness right now.

He's always been good at ignoring pain to avoid showing weakness.

“Mr. Snart,” Wells says. “Mr. Allen – no. Barry. Welcome. I’ve been expecting you for some time now.”

“What can you say,” Len drawls. “Sometimes I can be a bit – slow.”

Barry, who was standing as tense as wire string and almost undoubtedly working himself into an anxious frenzy that would do nothing but make him less capable of thinking through his actions before he did them, audibly snorts at that, relaxing into a more comfortable stance.

Len knows Barry pretty well by now, too.

“Indeed you are, Captain Cold,” Wells says. “Slowing things down is rather your specialty, isn’t it?”

Len isn’t impressed with Wells right now. “You realize that’s a precinct nickname, right? And I’m pretty sure you ain’t a cop.”

“In my time, you are known almost universally by your chosen appellation,” Wells says. “I’d start adjusting now, if I were you.”

“In your time?” Barry asks. "What - do you mean that you're -"

No way.

No fucking way.

"Oh yes," Wells says, and smiles. It's a very creepy and intimidating smile. "It’s true. I'm from the future."

Len shifts to lean more of his weight on one crutch, pulling it in tight against his body for better balance, and raises his other hand into the air like a schoolboy.

"...do you have a question, Mr. Snart?" Wells says, his voice a little strangled, his creepy smile gone crooked with confusion. Probably wasn't expecting Len’s infantile behavior, but in his defense Wells is clearly setting up for a nice lecturing monologue, so it seemed appropriate.

Barry just has his eyes closed like he's trying to keep himself from kicking Len and his lips pressed tight to keep himself from laughing.

"How far in the future?" Len asks. "Are we talking one day? One week? One year? Ten years? A hundred? A thousand? Has the sun exploded yet?"

"I - no? Why would the sun have exploded?"

"Ain't it supposed to do that in a billion years or so?" Len frowns at him. "You're a scientist, don't you know that?"

"He's a particle physicist, Len," Barry says, sounding long-suffering but also highly amused. "You don't have to take astronomy courses to get a degree in that. He's not some sort of all-around mad scientist from a novel or television show or something. Besides, time travel we know is real; multidisciplinary studies is just implausible."

"Fine, fine," Len says, even though as a non-scientist that sounds highly dubious to him. "The question still stands - are we talking real time, or is he just being really pretentious about having come back about a week or so?"

"I traveled back a thousand years to find the Flash," Wells snaps. "And when I did, I discovered that he wasn't worthy of the honors history had bestowed upon him! I was alone, Mr. Snart; the only one in my era like me, the only one gifted with these powers, and yet when I sought out someone who could understand, he rejected my friendship -"

"Rejecting a crazy murderous fanboy," Len says. "Can't imagine why he did that."

Wells scoffs. "The people I kill here now have been dead for centuries to me, Mr. Snart. They were insignificant to the timeline; it makes no difference."

"Makes something of a difference to them," Len says. "Lemme guess the rest, yeah? You got powers - maybe you even gave yourself powers, after hearing about what the Flash could do from your history books - and then you realized that it's too damn easy to be the only speedster around. So you found a way to go back to the only place you knew you'd find another one, 'cept you're a waste of space personality-wise, a self-absorbed asshole with delusions of grandeur, so when Barry here didn't immediately give you all the attention you wanted, you decided you hated him and that you were gonna kill him. Except for you, it wasn't enough to just kill him, 'cause then he'd still be alive for you, wouldn't he? Not like those other, insignificant people - no, you needed to wipe him outta history. So you went back to when he was just an insignificant little kid. Something like that, yeah? Stop me if I got anything wrong."

"Very clever, Mr. Snart," Wells says. He looks like he's just bitten into a lemon. Probably wasn't expecting Len to steal his thunder like that. Pity for him that Len’s actually read a book or two in his time, and he likes scifi. God, what a cliché. "Unnecessarily editorial, but right on the important points."

"That's why you killed her?" Barry asks, blankly, numbly. Another dagger in his heart, courtesy of Wells - was there no way this man would stop hurting him? "Because - because of me?"

"You were my target, Barry, yes," Wells says. His voice is kindly, almost paternal, if you ignore the batshit crazy stuff spilling from his mouth. "Your future self stopped me, stealing you away and saving you, and I killed her in anger. But it was my good fortune that I didn't succeed - killing your mother was enough to derail your future and stop you from being the Flash. But it was only then that I realized: without you to inspire me, I would never have obtained my own powers. My access to the Speed Force was cut off, and I was trapped in this primitive era - and my only way back was you, Barry. I need you. Only you will be fast enough to help me use the Accelerator to open the time portal I need to get back home."

"That's why you wanted me to get faster," Barry says, his eyes fixed on Wells much like a man confronted by a venomous snake. "As soon as possible. That's why - but why in the world would you think I'd help you? Especially now? Why?"

"Because, Barry, I can help you fix it," Wells says, his eyes avid. "The same speed that will enable me to return to my era will help you go back to when you need - to stop me from killing your mother at all - to erase my mistake, that caused you so much pain -"

"You know what, I don't believe you," Len announces.

"You - what?!"

"I don't think you killed her."

"I beg your pardon?!"

"You're a speedster, Barry's a speedster," Len says with a shrug. "Who says the real Man in Yellow couldn't've been a third guy? You might just be claiming credit."

Wells looks irritated beyond all belief. Barry is just staring at Len in total disbelief. Lots of belief going around here.

"What?" Len says. "He's got a nice story - ooooh, I'm from the fuuuuture, how narratively satisfying - but no proof. Why couldn't he be taking advantage of someone else's crime to get what he wants? It's not like he knows any details about the murder that only the murderer would know or something -"

"I murdered Nora Allen in her own living room," Wells snarls. "With a stainless steel knife measuring approximately eight inches, taken from the kitchen - the second drawer on the counter, the third one down the right side of the knife block, knocking down several pans that were hanging above as I did - and then I stabbed her in the thorax between the seventh and eighth rib, using enough force to cause traumatic bruising throughout -"

He stops abruptly. And then he starts chuckling.

"Oh, very clever indeed, Mr. Snart," he says, his voice soft and menacing. "Always thinking ahead, aren't you? I assume you're recording this conversation?"

"My phone's uploading to a cloud stream right now," Len confirms cheerfully. "Scattering the evidence onto a dozen different servers all around the world - none of which you'll be able to track, being a particle physicist and not a computer engineer. Thanks, though; that'll make proving Barry's dad's innocence a heck of a lot easier."

Barry looks touched.

"Besides," Len says, "your plan won't work and you know it."

Wells scowls at him. "And why not, exactly?"

"Because you know very well that I made Barry promise me he wouldn't go back and change significant events in the past," Len says. "I've got some mistakes of my own that I need to confront and accept, and knowing there was a way to reverse 'em was too easy. So I made him swear." He shrugs. "Barry's a bit of a liar, don't get me wrong, but once he promises something, he sticks to it."

Wells looks even more lemon-faced, probably because he's spent significant time with Barry these past few months and knows that what Len's saying is, in fact, true.

Barry's a stickler for his promises, even if he lies like a scarlet-and-gold Aladdin-style rug when confrontation is in the air.

Len's pretty sure that Wells already knew all of this, though, which means he's just posturing - and still has cards left to play.

"Well, then," Wells says, and sure enough he doesn't actually seem surprised by the revelation. "It appears we are at something of an impasse. Unless you're willing to release Mr. Allen from his promise?"

"Nope," Len says. "Sorry. And yes, before you start, I included the event of my death in the things he ain't allowed to change. So that's my last word on the subject."

"Luckily, it isn't mine," Wells says, and smirks. "I heard you, you see, in the hospital - very touching, confessing your love for Mr. Allen -"

"His what?!" Barry blurts out.

Great.

Thanks, Wells.

"- but you also made something else very clear," Wells says. "You vowed that you'd never pick anything over Mr. Rory ever again, didn't you?"

"You stole him from a hospital bed," Len says bitterly. "One attaching him to things he needed to live. Given that he's probably already dead now, what exactly are you offering me? A redo where you don't take him?"

"Oh no, Mr. Snart -"

Wells blurs, and suddenly Mick is there - on his knees, his arms bound before him, a gag in his mouth - but he's alive.

He's alive.

He's –

Noticeably less injured?

Still burned, yes, the burn scars still ugly across his neck and his shoulders and chest beneath the ill-fitting STAR Labs sweatshirt Wells put him in, but he's breathing on his own and he's not bleeding and his muscle tone looks vastly improved.

He looks like he could almost be - okay.

"One of the many advantages of future technology, Mr. Snart," Wells says. "When I took Mr. Rory - admittedly, more in the interest of tormenting you than in preparation for this moment, but waste not, want not - I realized swiftly that he would soon expire if a number of his more serious injuries were not resolved. And so: I did."

Len swallows.

Mick.

Mick, alive, better - and probably about to be murdered by a speedster.

Well, two outta three ain't bad.

"And so I offer you a deal, Mr. Snart," Wells says. "You may love Mr. Allen, but you also love Mr. Rory. Which one do you love more?"

"Why'd you take Thawne?" Len asks, playing for time. That didn’t sound like the sort of ‘deal’ he’d be interested in. "Instead of Iris?"

Wells smirks. "Ah, yes; hadn't I mentioned? My name is not Harrison Wells - that was merely an identity I assumed upon coming to this era. Instead -"

"You're a Thawne," Barry breathes, inadvertently interrupting. "That's it, isn't it? You're his descendant! If anything happens to him, that would affect you, wouldn't it?"

"Very good, Barry," Wells says, because apparently Barry interrupting him with insights is all well and good while Len doing the same is just annoying. It's okay, Len knows who the favored child here is, and he doesn't envy Barry one bit. "My true name is Eobard Thawne - a descendant of a great and noble house, politicians and scientists and kings, the great movers and shakers of history. It occurred to me that continuing to run around with Mr. Snart here could lead little Eddie into trouble. And while he himself wasn't anything special, his death would be - paradoxical."

"Very Back to the Future of you," Len says.

"Indeed. Very well, enough of this - Mr. Snart, I will give you Mr. Rory, in his new stabilized condition, as well as my word that I will refrain from harming both of you. In return, however, you release Mr. Allen from your promise - and leave him here with me."

Barry swallows. "Len," he says before Len can react.

Len looks at him.

"It makes sense," Barry says quietly. "I'm the only one who's a match for him - even with your cold gun, you won't be able to do much. This'll at least keep you guys safe. It's a good deal. You should take Mick and go."

"That's right," Wells adds gloatingly, smirking as Barry flinches. "Just take Mr. Rory. You love him more, after all -"

"S'got nothing to do with who I love more!" Len exclaims. "That doesn't matter!"

"It - doesn't?"

"No! I'm a goddamn cop! Trading one innocent life for another is unethical."

"Unethical," Wells says blankly.

"Yes! Ethics! Contributing to another person's crime makes you part of it, while doing nothing doesn't. Listen, even for a psychopath like you that don't got a little voice that tells you right from wrong, there are rules that lay it all out, and the rules are real clear on this one. Emotions don't even come into the goddamn equation. No one's getting traded for nobody."

And then he catches Mick's eyes and without saying a single word they both act at once, in one gloriously synchronized motion the way they used to do when they were proper partners, Len acting as a distraction by pulling out his cold gun, keeping Wells' (Eobard's?) attention while Mick swings his bound arms straight across, thereby hopefully giving Len a chance to finishing getting his gun out.

Wells might be a speedster, but he still needs to notice something coming his way.

He also reacts to being punched in the balls the same as any other man.

Unfortunately, he recovers much faster.

Much, much faster.

He knocks Len down, only to be hit in the side by a charging Barry, and next thing Len knows the two of them are running through the Accelerator.

It's no contest.

Wells is faster - much faster. He has more experience, more practice, more time to experiment - he knows tricks Barry hasn't even conceived of.

He's leading Barry on a pointless chase through the Accelerator - or maybe not so pointless, given what he said about using the Accelerator to open a time portal.

Not good.

"Barry!" Len shouts. "Get Mick and Detective Thawne outta here now!"

Yes, he's aware that he could have safely left Thawne in, er, the other Thawne's custody; Eobard-Wells has already admitted he doesn't plan on killing him.

Not on killing him, no. But harming him...

There are plenty of ways to harm someone if all you need from them are their genes.

Besides, Len would never leave someone trapped in a small room, an oubliette, abandoned and losing all hope of rescue - especially as Wells would undoubtedly move him to somewhere equally secure but less easy to find if he were given the chance.

At least Wells wasn't expecting Barry to veer off so sharply, obeying Len's orders without hesitation, and he actually comes to a complete stop for a moment, staring after Barry as the yellow flash of light zips out the door.

Then he turns to Len.

"Cold, Mr. Snart," he says, and his tone is murderous. "Very cold. When given a choice of which one of three to sacrifice, you choose - yourself. The cripple."

Suddenly he's in front of Len, standing far too close, the cold gun batted out of Len's hands to their feet. Len can't bend to pick it up, not with his injuries, and he's pretty sure his conventional weapon will be less than useless.

"Pity," Wells says conversationally. "I would have liked to work with you, one day. But I suppose you'll have to serve my purposes by showing Barry that nothing he loves will ever be safe until he defeats me. Me - and only me."

Len doesn't even feel the blow that throws him across the room, but he does feel it when he hits the ground, hard, his crutches clattering down around him, his side and leg on fire, his head spinning from the impact as he stares blankly up at the Accelerator's glass ceiling.

He can see the stars in the darkening evening sky.

Only two, mind you, but that's light pollution in Central City for you. Plus he's pretty sure only one of them's a star and the other a plane.

Still - not the worst view to end a life on.

He regrets it, of course, but Mick will be safe and well, and Barry - well, Len already broke Barry's heart when he turned him and his friends in to the police. Barry will mourn him, of course, and probably the what-might-have-beens, thanks to Wells’ little revelation, but he'll be fine, in time.

Wells appears above Len and hauls him up.

"Not yet, Mr. Snart," he says. God, what an utter cliché he is; Len could practically recite his next few words with him. "First I'm going to wait until Barry comes back. Then I'm going to kill you."

Yep. Just as expected.

"Boss!"

Wait, what?

That was not part of the script.

Especially since that was Danvers' voice, rather than Barry's or Mick's.

"Who are you?" Wells asks, a bit blankly. He's probably never even seen Danvers before.

"That's my secretary," Len says, just as blankly. He has no idea what she's doing here - Iris must've told her where they were.

"Admin assistant, boss!" she shouts, a kneejerk instinct.

"...right," Wells says, obviously deciding that he doesn't care. "Unless you've instructed Mr. Allen not to return -"

Damn, Len wishes he'd thought of that.

But no, it's too late for that, he can already see the red-and-yellow streak that is Barry Allen, running towards them desperately, and he can see that Wells sees him, too, and Wells lifts his hand, vibrating as fast as a saw, and -

Suddenly there’s glass everywhere.

Glass?

Oh, he's gone through STAR Labs’ glass ceiling.

Wait - how?

Danvers has him in her arms.

(Heh. Women and glass ceilings - there's a pun in there, somewhere.)

Wait, is Danvers flying?

That seems impossible, but they're definitely hovering far above STAR Labs, looking down at Central City, all lit up for the encroaching night, laid out beneath them. Which - huh?!

They float there in silence for a long moment.

It’s getting awkward.

“Well, Danvers,” Len finally says, because he’s never been awkward with Danvers and he has no plans to start now. “No wonder you never had train problems!"

[captaincanarygotmelike]

Fic: What’s the Worst that Could Happen?

Remember when I said there'd be five chapters. Lol. Finals happened. We're down to four, probably gonna be three. We shall see.

Read on AO3

Read on Fanfiction.net

They all agreed later that what happened was Ray’s fault, although Nate wasn’t exactly blameless either. It had started with Ray wanting to celebrate the holidays on the Waverider.

“C’mon,” Ray had said at the latest team meeting, “Rip never let us celebrate, and now that we’ve got Snart back it’ll be even better.”

“Rip never let us celebrate the holidays because we never had time,” Sara said, “Which is still the case now.”

“We’re on a timeship!” Nate exclaimed, “We have all the time we need.”

“You’ve been here long enough to know that’s not true,” she replied, aware that he was no longer listening. Ray was talking again.

“It doesn’t have to be a lot,” he was saying, “We can just get a tree and Gideon can make us decorations and we can give each other presents and have a big dinner on Christmas day.”

“That’s not a lot?” Amaya asked with raised eyebrows.

Sara sighed, thinking for a moment. Her gut was telling her to say no, but she knew from past experience that saying no didn’t really stop anyone on this team from doing anything. If she said yes, at least they wouldn’t go behind her back, possibly damaging the timeline (she was starting to sound like Rip).

“Fine,” she gave in.

“Yes!” Nate exclaimed as he gave Ray a high-five.

“On one condition,” Sara continued. Both Ray and Nate stilled, nodding seriously, “Neither one of you is going to get the tree.”

“Aww,” Ray said, looking far too disappointed.

“I’ll go, and I’ll take…” she paused, looking over the team, “…Mick with me.”

She heard a scoff off to the side, just out of her view. She turned to see Leonard leaning against the wall.

“You object?” Sara asked him, eyebrows raised.

“I just think bringing Mick to a field of highly flammable trees might not be a winning idea,” he commented.

“So what do you suggest?” she asked, her expression unchanged.

“Fine, whatever, I’ll go,” he said, straightening and taking a few steps towards her.

“Great,” she said stoically, ignoring the quickening pace of her heart.

—

The following day, Leonard and Sara were dropped off in a small Connecticut town with a beat up Sedan and directions to a Christmas tree farm called Silverman’s.

“Is this crazy?” Sara asked, her eyes on the road ahead. Before Leonard could respond, she continued, “Am I crazy for letting them do this?”

“I think it’s a step in the right direction to not let them get the tree,” he replied. Sara tipped her head to the side in agreement.

“I don’t think I’ve celebrated the holidays in, like, ten years,” she said, “Not since I first got on the Gambit — whoops.”

Sara jerked the wheel to the side, narrowly avoiding clipping a mailbox with the side of the car.

Leonard didn’t respond immediately. The last time Sara had talked to him about her past was before the Oculus, which he knew was longer for her than it was for him.

“Yeah,” he said, “Been a while for me too. Never really got a chance to feel sentimental about it. Tried to do what I could for Lisa, but when she stopped caring I didn’t bother anymore.” Then he added, “Are you aware you’re driving about twenty miles over the speed limit.”

“It’s fine. This is Connecticut. Everyone drives like a moron in Connecticut,” she shrugged, although Leonard noticed the car slowing down to a more reasonable speed. He heard her sigh.

“What?”

“I don’t know why I care so much about having Christmas on the Waverider,” Sara shook her head, “It’s not like Ray and Nate are gonna hurt anyone just by putting up some decorations on the ship.”

“I guess you should be grateful that’s all they want,” he replied. Sara gave him a confused look, “What?”

“That’s very diplomatic of you,” she said with raised eyebrows.

“Says the captain of a timeship.”

Sara rolled her eyes, then sighed.

“You’re right. What’s the worst that could happen?”

They found out soon how bad it could get.

—

Sara woke up days later. She looked around, not seeing the soft blue light of the med bay she expected.

“Where am I?” she asked when she saw a figure moving in the periphery of her vision.

“Hey, you’re awake!” Ray exclaimed. He went for the door to call for a nurse.

“Where am I?” she asked again. Zari stood from a chair in a corner Sara hadn’t noticed before.

“You’re at the hospital. Someone called 911 before we could get to you,” she explained, “and the ambulance was there not too much later. We didn’t have a window to get you out.”

“Also, they didn’t let us see you if we weren’t family,” Nate added, “so if anyone asks, you’re married to Snart, you and I are siblings, Amaya’s my wife, Mick is Snart’s brother and Zari is Mick’s adopted daughter.”

“Okay,” Sara replied, not finding the energy to be anything but compliant. She went to push herself into a seated position and winced when a sharp pain shot through her chest and abdomen.

“Careful,” Zari said, finding the remote for the hospital bed and pressing down on a button. The hospital bed slowly rose to a more upright position.

“What happened?” Sara asked when she was sitting more comfortably.

“You remember the accident?” Amaya asked, stepping up to the bed.

“I remember…” she hesitated, “driving and then a crash and flashing lights and that’s it. Then I woke up.”

“You were hit by a drunk driver running a red,” Amaya told her.

“T-boned,” Nate said, nodding appreciatively, “Classic.”

“Well said,” Zari shook her head at him, stepping in front of Nate to get closer to Sara’s bed, “He hit your side of the car so you got the worst of it.”

Sara felt herself tensing as a new wave of panic settled in her chest.

“Where’s Snart?” she asked, looking around the room for a figure she might have missed.

“He’s fine,” Amaya told her, “A little beat up, but fine.”

“He and Mick are at a police station giving a statement,” Zari added, “Not their choice, but the hospital recommended it and we’re trying to seem at least somewhat normal until we can get you out of here.”

“And when do you think that will be?” Sara asked.

“We’re not sure,” Amaya replied, “You just woke up from surgery — two surgeries, actually.”

“Surgeries?” she asked, “For what?”

A nurse walked briskly into the room, Ray following close behind her.

“The EMT’s saw you had a collapsed lung in the ambulance,” she answered, “and while that was being fixed, the surgeons saw some internal bleeding in the abdominal region.”

“Oh.”

The nurse bustled around Sara for a few minutes, making occasional notes on a purple clipboard.

“How’s the pain?” she asked a minute later.

“Not too bad,” Sara replied.

“You’re a trooper,” she said, impressed, “Most people in your position are asking for all the morphine we’ve got. You’re getting some light pain medication through the IV, but if it starts to get bad, press this button,” she held up a gray remote with a big green light in the center, “and you’ll get a dose of something stronger.”

Sara nodded, and a moment later the nurse was gone. The room was silent for a while.

“When are they supposed to get back?” Sara asked after a few minutes.

“Rory and Snart?” Amaya asked. Sara nodded, “Not sure. They only left a half hour ago.”

“You’re sure he’s okay?”

“He’s fine,” Ray said, looking at Sara seriously, “Promise.”

Sara, feeling partially satisfied with the answer she received, began to realize how tired she felt. She let her eyes droop closed.

“We’ll let you rest,” Amaya said, heading towards the door.

Sara nodded, managing a small smile. The others followed Amaya, and Sara was asleep before the door had closed.

—

“She seems okay,” Zari said when they were back in the waiting room.

“Yeah,” Amaya nodded.

“Did any of you notice a weird vibe when she mentioned Cold?” Nate asked. Amaya and Zari shrugged and shook their heads. Ray looked determinately in the other direction.

“Ray saw,” Zari commented drily.

“Hey!”

“You saw?” Nate exclaimed.

“Yeah,” Ray admitted, “Look, Snart and Sara have had this weird bond ever since the first mission. She took all the Oculus stuff and his death really hard, but with her becoming Captain, and also probably not wanting to step on Mick’s toes, because obviously he’s known him for longer, she didn’t get to deal with it like she should have. Maybe the car crash just brought up old memories.”

“Shit,” Nate said slowly.

“Bond,” Zari repeated, “You mean romantic?”

“Not sure,” Ray replied, “They did start to seem like a married couple by the end, but as far as I’m aware, nothing ever happened.”

They were quiet for a moment.

“Their kids would be gorgeous,” Zari said to no one in particular.

—

About an hour later, Mick and Leonard walked into the waiting room.

“Did she wake up?” Leonard asked when he saw the rest of the team.

“Yeah,” Ray nodded, “She’s sleeping now, but she was up for a few minutes.

“She’s —”

“She’s okay,” Ray cut him off, looking at him with the same serious expression he’d worn when Sara had asked the same question of Leonard.

“She asked about you,” Zari told him.

“She did?”

“You should go see her,” she said, “She’ll probably wake up again soon.”

She told him the room number and watched as he headed down the hall.

The hallway was decorated for the holidays. Stickers of wreaths, candy canes, and trees were pressed against the doors, decorating the light wood. Someone had drawn snowflakes and snowmen on the windows with window markers. It all felt too festive for a hospital.

When Leonard arrived at the Sara’s room, the door was propped open. A nurse was inside, making notes on a clipboard. She turned when he entered the room.

“Ah, you must be the husband,” she said.

Leonard blinked, unable find a reason for what she had just said. He then remembered Nate saying something earlier about making up familial connections so they could get into the hospital.

“Uh, yeah,” he finally responded.

“I told her this while she was awake, but she’s a real trooper,” she said.

“She was awake?” he asked, momentarily forgetting Zari had answered the same question only minutes ago.

“Yes,” the nurse — Sandy, a name-tag read — replied, “Just the anesthesia wearing off. She’s been through a lot. She’ll probably sleep on and off for the next day or so. You don’t need to let me know next time she wakes up. I’ll be back in a couple hours to check her vitals again.”

Leonard nodded, and then the nurse was gone and he was alone with Sara.

Sara was asleep, her head tipped to one side and the hand attached to a heart monitor resting on top of a blue blanket.

Leonard pulled a chair over to the bed and sat. He looked at Sara. She was very pale, making the cuts above her eye and on her cheek even more prominent. Sometime between the ambulance and now, someone had removed all the makeup from her face. Leonard didn’t realize Sara wore makeup until its absence, and he had never seen her more beautiful than now.

He thought about the car accident.

They found a tree they both deemed acceptable in about a half hour (another reason for not sending Ray and Nate - it was possible they would have been gone for hours trying to find the perfect Christmas tree). In another fifteen minutes, the tree was fixed to the top of the car and they were heading back to the Waverider.

Leonard had insisted on driving.

"Why does it matter who drives?" Sara had asked as Leonard pulled out of the parking lot.

"You drove here," he replied, "It's only fair."

Sara raised her eyebrows, so he continued.

"Plus if you drove like you did on the way here, we might lose the tree."

“Aw did my driving scare you,” Sara smirked.

“Yes,” he nodded seriously, “You drive like Lisa did just after she got her license.”

“Hey, it's not my fault I haven't really driven a car since I was a teenager."

"I'll bring it up with Oliver next time I see him."

And then the world turned upside down.

Leonard hadn’t seen the pickup truck — not that it would have mattered if he did.

He heard a smashing sound and felt himself jolted to the side. Horns started blaring, muted somewhat by a ringing in his ears. He took a moment to assess himself. He felt a dull pain on the side of his head but otherwise he was okay.

He hesitated before looking at Sara. He could already hear her voice in his head.

Maybe you should have let me drive, and she would have that half-smirk on her face, the same one she wore any time something bad happened to her.

Or maybe she’d say something about karma for letting Ray and Nate do this whole Christmas thing.

He turned to look at her and then his heart dropped into his stomach.

Sara was slumped against the passenger-side door. Dark blood trickled out of a cut above her eye. Shattered glass was scattered around her, some small fragments caught in her hair glittering like fresh snow. She was motionless and Leonard was completely frozen.

Sometime later — probably only a minute or two but in the moment, Leonard had no idea — Sara’s door opened and a uniformed man was pulling her out of the car.

Then he became aware of sirens and a dozen people speaking over each other and a cacophony of other noise he couldn’t identify.

“Len.”

Leonard was pulled back to the hospital room by the sound of Sara’s voice. He met her eyes, feeling as he did a heaviness settle in his heart.

Neither said anything for a while.

After a minute, Leonard spoke.

“I’m sor—”

Sara stopped him when she dropped her hand to rest on his, shaking her head.

“You don’t have to,” she said, her voice rough, “It’s okay."

“It’s not okay,” he said, “This wouldn’t have happened if—”

“This wouldn’t have happened if some idiot didn’t get hammered in the middle of the day and then tried to drive,” she interrupted him again, “This isn’t your fault.”

Leonard turned his head away, not able to look at her anymore, not when her eyes were full of such sincerity.

“Hey,” Sara said, her voice soft. He felt her hand brush against the side of his face, the cool touch of her fingers coming to rest on his neck and jawline, “You okay?”

She turned his head slightly to better see the cut on the side of his head that had been stitched up the day earlier.

Leonard found himself without words.

“What?” Sara asked, noticing the change in his expression.

He looked to her again, leaning slightly into her hand as he met her eyes.

“How do you do that?” he asked.

“Do what?”

“Be so…” he paused, “…you. All the time.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re the one who almost died and you’re asking me if I’m okay.”

“I’ve seen worse,” she told him with a small smile.

“I haven’t,” he replied, “Not with you.”

He saw a twinge of something in Sara’s eyes but he wasn’t really sure what it was.

“I promise,” she told him again, “I’m okay.”

He didn’t say anything, and Sara could see him inwardly grappling with something. She wasn’t surprised. Their conversation had long since drifted into feelings-territory, and Sara knew that Leonard’s eloquence and charm rarely made it there with him.

“I should go,” he finally said, starting to lift himself out of the chair, “I’ll let you—”

Sara caught his wrist and pulled him back. With her other hand, she pushed herself up towards him, her lips capturing his. Sara felt him freeze momentarily, but then the hand not in Sara’s grip traveled to the back of her head. Sara felt herself being lowered down to the bed as Leonard deepened the kiss.

A moment later, he felt Sara smile.

“What?” he murmured.

“I think I might enjoy the holidays this year.”

Both the town and the farm where they got the tree are both real, that town is where I'm from. If any of you happen to be in the Fairfield County area of CT I highly recommend going to Silverman's farm. It's beautiful.

[zaricats]

legends!

favorite male character: Leonard Snart… i love him so much… so smart, so handsome, so brave

favorite female character: tie between Sara and Amaya… Amaya is an old woman at heart and so soft and I love her sm but Sara is so badass and hardened and tough and I LOVE THEM BOTH

least favorite character: i guess damien darhk but i don’t even hate him? i love everyone this was a hard question

favorite ship: COLDWAVE (but if we’re going canon nate/amaya is the cutest) but COLDWAVE (the extreme variations on how this relationship can be written really intrigues me but also they’re just really good together and it’s practically canon anyway)

favorite friendship: if the entire team isn’t a valid answer, then I really liked Sara and Len… the bi/pan solidarity, playing cards, helping each other learn to be good… fuck

favorite quote: “Worst. Orgy. Ever.” also anything referencing prison break

worst character death (if any): I’m still crying about len don’t look at me

this made me so happy you have no idea moment: I really liked the Leo/Sara moment of acknowledging each other’s queerness, also Len in the entirety of the two Russian episodes

saddest moment: when len sacrifices himself for the team!

favorite location: I liked the way old Hollywood looked in “Helen Hunt”

give me a fandom!

[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?”

[pheuthe]

Kiss prompt 'as comfort'. Coldflash (but maybe Leo/Barry?)

((thanks for the prompt :))

It starts with a six-year-old meta. She’s not the criminal they’re looking for, but she proves to be kind of volatile, so they can’t exactly let CCPD deal with her unless they want the whole precinct to go up in flames. (Harry is the only one who votes for letting the police deal with the kid anyway.)

“Can’t you just vibe what she saw that night?” Barry turns to Cisco, whose scowl is really an answer of its own, even without his quiet mumbling about how he used to like the shirt that the kid burned right off his back.

“We need someone who can get the kid to talk, preferably someone who can deal with metas so they won’t die,” Barry sighs, deciding to ignore Cisco’s Lost Shirt Tirade in the background. “Any guesses where we can find someone like that?”

It’s more of a rhetorical question designed to point out the helplessness of their situation, but Caitlin raises a tentative hand.

“I might know about someone. But you have to promise not to freak out?”

Barry silently throws his hands up in the air. He’s ready to find the meta melting people’s faces off - and maybe to get the little pyro into a healthier home environment - so he’ll try about anything.

...

He never thought that ‘anything’ would include the sight of Snart lounging around STAR Labs.

“Are you serious?” he hisses at Caitlin after dragging her off for ‘a word’. Caitlin, surprisingly, just shrugs.

“He’s our chance, Barry-”

“Was this Killer Frost’s idea? Some sort of cold-induced alliance maybe?”

Caitlin gives him A Look. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean- but Snart?! How much better than us can a criminal be in dealing with kids?”

“One with a degree in psychotherapy? A lot better, I’d hope.”

That stops Barry short and he blinks, not truly comprehending Caitlin’s meaning until he realizes.

“Oh. He’s not our Snart, is he.”

“No,” Caitlin shakes her head, glancing towards Snart through the glass wall with a look that could only be explained as... fondness? Barry has sleep-sped into a different Earth, he’s sure of it. “He’s the one from Earth-X. He’s been in Central City for a couple of months now and... I think he’s a little bit lonely. He can help us, Barry, and maybe, we can help him.”

“You know a lot about this guy,” Barry says slowly. Caitlin doesn’t exactly blush, but she starts twining her fingers around, and Barry gasps. “You do know him!”

“Look, I just bumped into him one day at a bakery and... I thought he was casing the bank across the street, but it turned out he was just confused about their selection and... we started talking, and he’s a really nice guy, Barry, so please, don’t be weird?”

“Who’s weird? I’m not weird,” Barry huffs, and follows the Caitlin back to the main floor of the Cortex, to properly meet the man who looks like Barry’s nemesis.

...

He’s weird. Not Barry, thank you very much. But there’s just something not quite right about watching Leonard Snart - however he abbreviates his name - being nice. He gets their kid meta to talk within an hour and lets the kid curl up in his arms as she cries herself to sleep, not even complaining when he emerges out of that experience a little bit singed. He lets Caitlin put a salve on his burns and then agrees to watch over the kid, whose name turns out to be Abby and who now refuses to go anywhere until ‘Leo’ is there. 

It takes a week for them to capture Laserblast (Barry doesn’t have the strength to even form an opinion on the name) and another to find a family who is willing to take Abby into foster care. The mother is a meta herself, although her abilities mostly include being able to accurately sense the temperature of anything - which will probably come in handy with Abby’s preferred way of dealing with anger or sadness. She cries when she says goodbye, and Barry would swear he sees Leo’s eyes go a bit misty as he waves back to the kid, but this is Snart, and Barry refuses to believe him capable of human emotion other than smugness.

Except... even he can’t deny that Leo is nothing like Len, aside from the occasional sarcastic comment. Within the two weeks the man spends at STAR Labs, Harry’s ratio of throwing things versus offering a civil reply goes way down, Cisco becomes much more likely to admit that he misses his girlfriend instead of just being a dick to everyone for no reason, and Barry actually walks into the Cortex one morning to find Leo sharing a bucket of ice-cream with Killer Frost and telling her something about icing people not being the best expression of love.

It’s undeniable that in his little ways, Leo Snart has transformed Team Flash for the better... except Barry still resents him and manages to tell himself it’s rational.

...

And then, one too many people die on Barry’s watch and he barrels into the Cortex, manic and wound up and angry at himself and the world at large. Both Cisco and Caitlin immediately glance at Snart and before Barry can finish yelling about how he doesn’t need a shrink, thank you very much, he needs a plan and tech that works the way it’s supposed to, he needs to be faster and stronger and smarter... before he says even half of that, Cisco and Caitlin clear out and Barry’s misdirected rage falls onto Snart’s head.

Leo just listens, damn him to the worst level of hell, calmly weathers the storm and lets Barry get it out of his system, and then he gets up and Barry thinks he’s going to yell back, sass him the way the real Snart would; but Leo just stops right in front of Barry, looks him in the eye... and then wraps his arms around him like that’s a thing they do.

Barry tenses immediately and tries to wriggle away, but Snart’s not letting go and Barry’s seen way too many people hurt today to try and use his powers against this very human jerk.

“Screw you,” he mumbles into the collar of Leo’s shirt. “I don’t need a shrink.”

It sounds petulant when spoken out loud, and Barry braces himself for the sarcastic quip that is sure to follow, but Leo’s voice comes out quiet and sad when he finally speaks.

“There’s more to who I am than just my degree, Barry. And I’m not going to tell you about the stages of grief or coping mechanisms right now. Take this from someone who’s seen way too many people die - no words can actually make it better. But you’re not a hero because you always win, you’re a hero because you can’t stand not to even try, and yes, some days, it won’t work and people will die. But that doesn’t mean you’re not good enough... and it doesn’t mean you can’t be upset when it happens.”

And yeah, the people who died are still dead and Barry still has no clue about how to beat this particular villain, but he lets himself melt into the surprisingly warm hug, buries his face in Leo’s shoulder and lets it all out.

Leo holds him through it, doesn’t say another word, just strokes Barry’s back and later, when the first quiet sobs escape, his hair. It’s not sadness as much as frustration, helplessness, and exhaustion, and Barry’s too damn tired at the moment to even feel embarrassed about it.

He expects to be teased the next day, but Leo just glances at him and nods almost imperceptibly, and somehow, Barry’s sure that the man will never mention it again.

...

“I don’t know what to do,” Barry sighs, rubbing both hands down his face. He hasn’t slept in three days, and he knows that neither did Leo, but somehow, he’s still sitting right there next to Barry, offering silent support.

Barry doesn’t come to the man for advice, not really; he’s got Cisco, Caitlin and Harry for figuring stuff out, fighting metas, catching criminals, and keeping as many people as he can alive and well. Occasionally, Leo does suggest a direction they haven’t thought about before, his past in what Cisco has dubbed the Rebel Alliance surfacing every once in a while in a helpful manner.

No, Barry doesn’t come to Leo for advice on how to fight. But there’s still something that keeps him coming back, some unspoken understanding between them, and Barry soon has to admit - even if only to himself - that Leo provides something that none of the others can. 

A safe space in which Barry can be just himself, let all the anger and fear and frustration pour out without worrying that he’ll burden or hurt someone he cares about. Leo listens to Barry’s rants, and hugs him when they go on too long or when Barry starts consciously pouring salt into his own wounds. He lets Barry vent without letting him become self-destructive or doubtful about all the good he’s been doing, and Barry can’t even begin to voice how much he values that.

How much he’s needed that, for a long, long time, without even knowing it.

Eventually, he starts talking beyond the immediate crisis of the week. He never quite knew how much pent-up frustration and sadness there was in his thoughts about Iris until he lets it flood him, lets it pour out of his system in half-broken sentences and quiet sighs, the rejection, the weirdness, the way he’s missed her ever since, even though he recognizes that some distance will do them both good, in the long run. Maybe. And he learns that Leo’s been through the same thing with Ray; somehow, it’s more comforting than anything anyone has ever said to him when Leo just gives him a small smirk and holds him tighter, whispering about how some things just hurt for a long time until one day, they hurt a little less. They’re both raw and aching at the end of that talk, and Barry doesn’t even protest when he feels Leo’s lips against his temple for the briefest of moments - he just holds on a little tighter and enjoys the simple closeness.

...

It becomes a thing, afterwards; Leo will let him vent as usual, will take everything Barry throws at him and will hold him through it, and then, at the end, when Barry’s ready to let go, Leo will kiss his temple, or his forehead, and tell him to go take a nap before any more heroing. Sometimes, Barry takes that advice and sometimes he doesn’t, but he always walks away feeling... cleaner, lighter, like the world might not be as hopeless as it seemed a while ago.

Leo gets himself invited to the West Christmas party, and it turns out that Joe was actually the one to invite him first; Barry’s a little resentful about that, but he lets go of that when Leo starts loudly, jokingly analyzing his unhealthy competitiveness and monopolizing tendencies until Barry throws a candy cane at his head. 

He’s laughing at Leo’s long-winded speech in favor of hot cocoa without marshmallows or any other ‘unnatural additions’ - which Barry is sure Leo is exaggerating because he knows Barry will never be amused at the man’s fastidiousness - when Iris suddenly appears right next to him, giving him that warm, knowing smile of hers that Barry used to love.

The thought is not exactly a surprise, but Barry wonders when was it exactly that he became capable of thinking ‘used to’ about anything regarding Iris. 

She leans closer and clinks her eggnog against Barry’s cocoa, following his gaze to where Leo is trying his first snickerdoodle ever - looking distinctly more impressed than he was with the marshmallows. Barry smiles at the sight, and Iris laughs quietly at his side.

“I’m happy for you,” she says, and Barry blinks at her, confused.

“What?”

She doesn’t reply; instead, she tilts her head in the direction of the living room and smiles at him again, then trails off to join Linda by the fireplace. The sight of them will probably hurt for a few more years to come, but Barry’s gaze slides back to Leo and he wonders if maybe she’s on to something, with her weirdly accurate sixth sense. 

Or maybe she doesn’t even need that: Leo turns then and his eyes meet Barry’s, and there’s such fondness in that gaze that Barry doesn’t get how he could’ve missed it before. And at the back of his mind, he knows he hasn’t missed it as much as they both needed to let this grow, this unspeakable, warm comfort between them, the trust and the caring and everything beautiful inbetween.

He catches Leo’s sleeve when everyone’s gone home or upstairs for the night. It’s just the two of them, in the dim light from the Christmas tree and the dying embers of the fireplace, and Barry almost wishes there was mistletoe he could blame if things go wrong, but Leo’s been right all along.

It’s not about winning all the time - it’s about not being able to stand not to try.

“Stay?” he whispers, and captures Leo’s lips in a gentle kiss. It’s returned almost immediately, Leo’s arms wrapping around Barry’s shoulders, familiar and warm and right, and Barry wouldn’t trade this feeling for anything in the world.

He doesn’t remember Leo saying ‘yes’ - but when Iris bursts into Barry’s room the next morning, yelling about gifts, she promptly shuts the door again and thunders down the stairs, yelling, for a change, about how Joe owes her a twenty.

Barry rolls over and snuggles into Leo’s chest, trying to make his sigh sound put-upon, but the smile on his lips foils his plans.

“You think we can just stay here until everyone’s gone?” he mutters, and lets out a happy chuckle when he feels Leo’s kiss against his hairline.

“I think we should go be disgustingly cute in front of everyone. That’ll teach them to bet against us.”

The ‘us’ goes straight to Barry’s heart and he chuckles, turning his head up for a proper morning-breath kiss. Somehow, Leo still tastes a little like cinnamon.

“Deal.”

[pinkletterday]

Notorious

Pairing: Barry Allen/ Iris West.

Rating: Teen

Warnings: drug use, addiction

Status: WiP

Summary: Iris West reluctantly faces the challenge of her career as a publicist - saving up and coming alt-rock sensation Barry Allen's career from himself.

"People like notoriety. Studios don't like uninsurable flight risks. The money is in the sweet spot between the two."

Prompt taken from this post and altered.

"Hi, I'm gonna kill you."

Iris's boss, Leonard Snart, swivelled in his chair to face her as she stormed into his office, heedless of the transparency of its walls.

"Good morning to you too, Iris," he said wryly. "I wouldn't mind if you do kill me, I have meeting with Accounting in ten minutes. But why am I to be executed?"

"Why would you put me on the Allen account?" Iris demanded, eyes flashing angrily under wide-rimmed glasses. "More importantly, why am I being taken off the Queen one? I brought in that client, Len! And now you want me to baby-sit ANOTHER self-aggrandizing man-child AFTER I helped QC Records pull off a complete image revamp?"

"We're a entertainment PR firm, West, they're all self-aggrandizing man-children. We'd be out of business if they weren't," Len waved her away and went back to collecting his papers. "And I put you on the Allen account because Oliver Queen likes you."

"What?" Iris stopped, non-plussed.

"When you pull off the impossible, people reward you by giving you something more impossible," said Len in his usual air of imparting some grand wisdom upon the newbies. It did nothing to assuage Iris's bad humour. "You got the public to see young Ollie Queen, heedless playboy in the club scene, as a savvy charismatic businessman able to lead his father's empire without running it to the ground. Now he wants you to do the same for his good buddy Barry Allen."

"Why didn't he just ask me?" said Iris, only slightly mollified.

"Probably didn't want to be around for the kicking and screaming," said Len, leaning his head sardonically at her. Iris flushed. Snart was such an asshole. "And don't worry, Queen's paying the retainer fee."

"Why is Oliver paying for Allen?" she determinedly strode behind him as he headed out to the elevator. "Barry Allen's already got two singles in the Billboard Top 40 and a contract with QC. Can't he afford to pay us himself?"

"Ah, there's the rub, darling," Len smirked at her. "Part of the deal is that you convince young Mr. Allen that he needs you. And judging by the recent tabloid coverage - boy, he really does need you."

Iris stared at him. "You can't be serious. He doesn't even want a - Len, he needs rehab not a publicist!"

"No reason why he shouldn't have both," said Len stepping into the elevator as she stood outside, stupefied in disbelief. "Don't worry, Iris. I have every faith in you." The elevator doors closed on her boss's infuriating Chesire cat grin.

"I don't even know anything about alt-rock!" she yelled fruitlessly at the closed steel doors.

"So, I guess this is a bad time to tell you I got the QC account," Sara approached waving a folder at her, her expression not much less disgruntled than hers. "Any tips on how to handle Queen?"

"Yeah," said Iris, pivoting angrily on her heel and marching away. "Kick his fucking ass."

***

For someone with a talent for both music and being splashed across the tabloids, Barry Allen had a rather unconventional arrangement. He was not represented by any major talent agency, even Snart Associates was more entertainment-corporate oriented than talent. He had been "managed" this far by a personal friend in the music industry, a Cisco Ramon, whose own success had made it impossible to focus on Allen's. Iris figured that some well-meaning yet complicated friend negotiations had taken place behind the artist's back for this clusterfuck to land on her desk. She fumed. She was a professional. Even when she had had to contend with Oliver Queen at his worst (the fact that much of the worst had been a ruse was small consolation) it had been saving of the company she had been tasked with. She hadn't gotten an MBA on her own money by twenty-four while working her way up from a mailroom to end up playing nurse maid to entitled white boys.

It was her ire that made her square her shoulders, wipe the sneer off her face and beard the proverbial lion in his den alone. Ramon had asked her to wait for him outside the unimpressive square brick building in a bad part of town ("probably to fit his boho aesthetic," Iris thought uncharitably) but he was now ten minutes late, so screw him.

There was no security or buzzer at the entrance so Iris was able to simply walk into the alarmingly large and clanky elevator that took her upto where Allen lived on the top floor. She stepped into a hall of bare brick with thick wooden sliding door staring at her. There was no buzzer to be seen here either. Iris was about to bang on the door when it opened by itself.

"- all right, fine, I'll let myself out, you jerk. Thanks for the sex and the coffee, I guess!" an irate blonde in dishevelled clothing appeared in front of her, coat and one heel still in hand, facing away to yell at the occupant. She turned around, came face to face with Iris and stepped back in surprise. "Who're you?"

Iris stared awkwardly at her. "Um."

She snorted. "Yeah okay, whatever, good luck." With which ominous benediction she pulled on her shoe and clattered down the stairs, apparently unwilling to wait for the elevator.

"Hey Kathy - Katya - whoever - could you close the door please? Thanks!" called a male voice.

Iris stepped in and complied.

The studio was kind of a bachelor cliché, bare brick, high ceilings, stainless steel counters and leather sofas. A vague smell of weed hung stale in the air. Dull grey sunlight flooded in from the large square windows overlooking the brick and mortar part of the warehouse district, on which gentrification had not encroached. A sad little pocket of impersonal luxury in a sadder, almost forgotten place.

A tall, lanky white man in a tattered tee shirt sat in profile at the far end, eschewing the sprawling sofa behind him in favour of sitting on the floor rug in a tangle of long legs, intermitently strumming on a guitar and scribbling on a note pad on a coffee table strewn with mugs, cans and paper.

"Mr. Allen?" she said tentatively.

His head whipped up, startled. "Huh? Who're you?"

"My name is Iris West. Oliver Queen sent me," said Iris, brisk and no-nonsense, adjusting her glasses.

He blinked slowly at her. Then a lazy grin came over his face. "And here I thought Ollie wasn't gonna send me strippers anymore," he said, eyeing her appreciatively, "he still definitely knows my type."

Iris gaped at him. "I am not a stripper!"

"Oh," he looked befuddled. "I'm sorry, but he really has sent me strippers before and one of them was actually dressed all school-teacherish like you - um. Although come to think of it, he hasn't done that in a few years. Sorry, um. Did uh, the other lady leave?"

"Yeah, she left just as I came in," Iris felt even more nonplussed, no idea which end of that ramble she was supposed to start with. He rubbed the back of his neck and looked around blinking as though not sure of his own surroundings. Or what time it was. Possibly which year.

"Are you high?" It was only ten in the morning, Jesus Christ.

"Um. Only on coffee. And Redbull. Lots of Redbull," he said, going back to work as though her presence in his apartment was not really of much concern to him. "Sex really gives me an endorphin rush and I had this idea - couldn't really go back to sleep after that. I think I made Katya -uh, the girl - mad. I just really need to focus, y'know? Like, if I don't it get done while I'm in the zone I can't ever get it back again?" He never tooked up, talking as though mostly to himself.

Iris approached him cautiously. "Huh. Well, coffee and Rebull I can work with. As long as it's not coke or something."

"Out of Coke. Might have some Pepsi," said Allen absently.

"I meant cocaine."

"Yeah, out of that too."

Iris breathed out slowly.

"Uh, so if Ollie didn't send you, why are you here?" Allen looked up at her, finally seeming to register that this vital question had gone unanswered.

"I said Mr. Queen did send me," she said patiently. "I'm your new publicist.

"Oh." Allen absorbed this. Then closed his eyes, hummed and began strumming his guitar.

Iris felt a headache building behind her eyeballs. "Mr. Allen? Did you not hear what I said?"

"I did, thank you," said Allen, "but I don't need a publicist. I'm sorry you wasted your time."

"I'm sorry about that too," said Iris, temper flaring out her nostrils, "but I am used to being treated with respect, client or not. Something apparently neither you, Oliver Queen or even Mr. Ramon seems capable of."

To her surprise, Allen's eyes flew open and he seemed genuinely dismayed. "Oh. You're right. I called you a - and then. Oh my God I'm sorry," he scrambled up, coltish legs unfolding almost comically to reveal himself a full head taller than her, pale and almost gangly but for an unconscious grace. "Um, please take a seat. Can I get you a drink? I can make more coffee. What do you mean Ollie and Cisco were rude to you?"

She stared after him as he bustled over to the kitchen island at the other end of the studio. Her past experience with Queen's associates and the tabloids had prepared her for a womanizing druggie manchild. It wasn't that Barry Allen had unchecked any of those boxes, exactly. Just kept checking them slightly to the left of where she expected.

"Well for one, Mr. Queen didn't notify me of my change in clients himself, and Mr. Ramon is now fifteen minutes late to our meeting," Iris slung her coat over a barstool and firmly sat herself on another, emanating a stern "will not be dislodged" aura, "I haven't had a briefing and also been told that I have to convince you to let me be your publicist. This is beyond professional discourtesy."

"Agreed on all counts," said Allen, smiling ruefully at her over the sink where he was rinsing the coffee pot. Unbecoming scruff aside, it was a very cute and disarming smile. "I'm sure Cisco has a good explanation, but I'm afraid Oliver is just an asshole like that."

"Believe me, I know," Iris snorted.

Allen's amusement deepened. "You aren't worried about calling your client an asshole in front of his friend?"

"I've called him worse things over the last year," she rolled her eyes, "and I can promise you I am going to call him many things as soon as his plane lands and he turns his phone on. I worked my ass off to save his company. I thought that meant something to him." The hurt she had been trying to ignore twinged despite herself. She had thought, after everything, that she and Oliver were at least friends.

Allen snapped his fingers in realization. "Oh, hey! I know who you are! Oliver talked about you all last year!"

"He did?"

"Yeah! Mostly complaining," (Iris snorted) "but in an impressed, complimentary way, you know?" Allen leaned his elbows on the counter and bent toward her with earnest blue eyes.

"I can imagine," she smiled wryly. "And he signed on with me willingly."

"Well, he got his money's worth. People finally get to see him like I've always seen him - not just a selfish party animal. You've done good work, Miss...?" he trailed off uncertainly again.

"West," she reasserted. "But you don't feel in need of my services?"

A distant door shut behind Allen's open, friendly eyes. "No, Miss West, I don't. It's not a reflection on you, it's just personal reasons."

Iris shrugged. "All right."

This seemed to surprise him. "Really? You aren't going to try to persuade me?"

"Do you want to be persuaded?"

"Well, no. I just thought -"

"Mr. Allen," Iris rubbed the headache away from her eyes, "a publicist is an integral, almost invasive presence in a company or someone's life. I need to know who you are, I need you to trust me so that you will come to me with everything and anything so that I can head off any media shitstorms or rumour mills, I need you ready and willing to take my advice on important life choices. I can't force my way into that position. Either you really want to rework your image or you don't."

"Why do I need to rework my image?" said Allen, blue eyes growing stormy. "I'm a musician. It would be weird if I weren't into sex and drugs."

"Sex and drugs, yes. Not making a fool of yourself by turning up high for your Jimmy Fallon interview, being arrested for solicitation and making it plain to the world that you are one drunken orgy away from an OD."

Allen was quiet as he poured the coffee into mugs. They were gaudy novelty ones with silly puns, incongrous with the sobriety of his interior decor. He slid one over without looking at her. She wondered whether he had deliberately chosen the bright-eyed unicorn saying "Go To Hell" in rainbow colors for her, but then he had his (long, graceful) hands wrapped around a mug where a slice of cheese announced "We'd be gouda together!" so she let it slide. "It doesn't matter," he said quietly.

"Oliver's been bailing you out of your worst jams, but now he's under extra scrutiny by the board. He can't keep you signed on for another album, even with two hit singles, if you look like you're going to be more trouble than you're worth."

Iris regretted saying it so baldly when she saw Allen flinch.

"I'm making trouble for Ollie?" He said it in a small, lost sort of way that made Iris feel like she'd kicked a puppy.

"I'm saying you're probably making life pretty difficult for him at the moment, yeah," she ploughed on, determined. "And that's probably why he hired me. Besides the fact that he obviously cares about you."

Allen peered quizzically at her over the rim of his mug. "Oliver talked to you about me?"

She snorted. "Yeah no. Cagey as hell, that guy. That's kind of how I know. The closer he is to someone, the less he talks about them. The opposite of the rest of the world."

"So you know he cares about me because he never talked to you about me?" Allen grinned as she drank her coffee. Her amazing, rich, life-giving coffee.

"That, and another thing."

"What's that?"

Weak silver sunshine cast half Barry Allen's lean, stupidly tall frame in shadow. It turned one of his eyes a light hazel and one side of his stubbly, hollowed cheek marble pale as he smiled down at her, both beautiful and uncanny.

I saw the financials for the out-of-court settlements he'd made to keep you off the news, for what good it did. If even one of them had been for sexual harrassment I wouldn't have touched either Queen's account or yours. I told him to void your contract last year and he shut me down. You have no idea how hard he's working to save you.

Iris grinned back. "He gave you the best damn publicist he had ever met."

***