#also most of my unpleasant dreams growing up involved being pursued. a lot still do actually. so maybe that's it?

[skrunksthatwunk]

see chase-based games are fucked up. they're literally so scary and no one else seems to feel that way. what the fuck eww get away from me what what do you mean you're running at me?? you're gonna get me????? what the heck why would you do that nooooo nooo it's not funny anymore stop!!! stop it no im on time out IM ON TIME OUT!!!!! NOOOOO WHAT THE HECK STOP IT AHHHHHHHH. *gets lightly tapped on the shoulder*

[sgurrdearg]

Do you ever just. Fucking cry. Lmao.

I’m in SUCH a state of flux right now and it feels like.... it feels like a big crush or a whirlwind romance so I’m miserable and yearning but filled with so much happiness and HOPE and it’s really really fucking overwhelming and I’m doing my best to take a step back as much as I can???? Not sure that’s totally possible I’m ALL UP IN IT but I’m doing my best to think clearly and come up with plans A B C etc etc.

I just. I did talk about this in the tags yesterday but I just wanna type it out bc I find that helps me work thru my thoughts best of all. But when I left uni, I was severely suicidal, convinced that all my health issues were my fault/me overreacting, and then I had to face returning to a previously abusive home, or staying where I was & possibly being made homeless & almost certainly dying one way or another just to get a degree that wouldn’t even be worth it with the grades I was getting bc of the state I was in.

And I was resolute in that I would never return, Dundee was the worst place on earth and all of it was a mistake. But you know, with time and distance, maturing, and putting in the hard work of doing DBT on my own, I came to realise gradually that no, I was thankful to have been given the chance to discover hobbies that were previously inaccessible to me, and I still had love for them. I was thankful to have discovered subjects I still loved a lot (even if I thought myself too stupid to be worthy of them). I was thankful even to have been given the chance to BE disillusioned, to have bad shitty choices I made as a shitty 17 year old slap me in the face and realise that I done fucked up, that no I did have morals and I had to recentre the way I had *thought* the world worked to that and accept that it’s ok to be wrong, and to grow, and be disgusted with your past self. It’s a brutal lesson and I’m ashamed I had to learn it, but it gives me the insight and drive now to do better, even more so than if I hadn’t taken this path.

Ever since I left I’ve regularly had... nightmares? I guess? About being back in my flat, or a different living space, but back at Dundee, back at uni. Sometimes they definitely are nightmares and stress dreams, and other times..... they’ve been stressful and more than a little unpleasant but... there was a wistfulness to them. There was part of me in those dreams that knew it was worth it? And I wanted to be there. And I would wake up with such an aching in my heart, and would put it down to past trauma and that was that.

Because also, I was SO ill when I came back here, that it was a no go. I was NOT able to ever go back even if I had wanted to, and so I got to skip over the closure and processing part of it because it was just.... stamped and filed away for me. It was a life or death decision and I grew to be glad I chose life, even if it did mean being bedridden & housebound forever.

But now, in the past year and a bit.... my life has changed. Discovering I had Coeliac was a major adjustment but actually having answers and treatment and the validation that yes, I was ILL soothed my mind, and body has healed so much. I got on anxiety medication to tackle the PTSD and anxiety that has been plaguing me that my DBT couldn’t handle alone and it works, it actually fucking works I don’t get in a tizzy about every little thing, I actually barely have flashback nightmares any more, and I’m so much better at handling triggers. It’s not perfect but with time it will improve more and it’s WORKABLE.

I have energy and I have life, my mind is clear. I still struggle with ADHD and losing focus, but my doctor has recommended a specialist I could see privately who could help more efficiently than thru the NHS (because we barely have MH services where I live, it’s the worst in the country), to enable me to get proper support and medication for that last little helping hand I need to get my brain ON THE RAILS.

So since I’ve been better I’ve been getting involved in community activism, completely inspired and spurred on by my dear friend, and I’ve been loving it so far even tho I’ve barely begun! And beginning to see a life for me here.

And that’s where it’s all unravelling, really. Because. My life isn’t here. I’ve been in purgatory for five years. I never truly wanted to be back here, I just missed my pets and my parents (for all their faults, but we have all worked SO SO HARD to tackle our issues head on, and I’m proud of it. I don’t think it’s a path I would recommend for most people but I’m lucky in that my mum genuinely didn’t mean bad, and genuinely wanted to do better and put that work in. We have bad blips extremely fucking rarely because our communication is fucking SOLID now. I love them so much, they are my best pals.) and even though I can see myself being friends with the people I have in my life now and truly loving and being fulfilled with the volunteering and activism, and finding connections to get myself some fulfilling and flexible paid work too.... it isn’t home. And I’m the sort of person who doesn’t really have a “home” but. It’s not a place I like to hang out in, part of which is past trauma here, I’m always terrified I will see my abuser, but also, it’s never been a place I loved, even as a teen with actual hangout spots in the city, even as an adult with favourite shops, I feel no ache for them, no nostalgia, this place means almost nothing to me. I was in my old favourite record store a few months ago and it WAS lovely and made my week... but idk. I didn’t feel “it”. And I’m not saying that simply pursuing nebulous feelings and emotions is a smart thing to do, and I’m not basing a life choice on it totally, but when I put my foot down and made the choice to go on a day trip to Dundee back in 2018... it felt like ... open arms. It had barely changed, but even the parts that had I was excited to explore! I saw people I had once known and even talked to one and it hurt my heart but it was GOOD it was HEALING and I felt even then that, oh I could have stayed longer.

But again I just, didn’t pay too much mind to that beyond me being brave and facing my past and my regrets and putting that all in order in my mind, and just put all my emotions down to it being a really BIG thing. But now I’m back as a human being, I’m out there in meetings, I’m writing things up for people, emailing and networking and sending enquiries, talking about projects and talking about hillwalking at random??? And Scottish politics... and meeting new people and telling them my life story over and over has just been drumming it in. That I genuinely miss it. That this was once my life, but in a very different city and environment, and I miss it. I miss the worst parts of it that I know very clearly I would still hate and find hard, I miss the absolute best parts of it, that fill me with so much euphoria I could burst, I miss the quiet nondescript moments that I only remember because I have the memory of an elephant, like sitting folding leaflets on the sofa in the corner of the geography department. Filling in the attendance register and passing it around. Buying snacks for a field trip. Making the monthly walk to go pay rent. Treating myself to a pot of tea while I read my textbook in the café. Feeling homesick and depressed and exhausted, sobbing in front of a taxidermed otter at the museum. I want my worst moments there more than I want my best moments here and I’m frightened that I’m falling into a grass is greener thing, or that I’m romantisising past misery, or that I’m simply nervous about this new life I’m settling into...

But when I look back over the years, the voice quietly thinking or saying “I miss it and I want to go back, I want this life back” has always been saying it. My brain bricked her up to protect me when thinking that was futile, but she’s been growing louder and louder to a crescendo and now, with me being able to put the energy into things here, I can no longer use the excuse that finishing my degree isn’t possible. Because, it is. In theory. And with all of my brain thinking that just once it’s like that wall has come crashing down and this voice is now SCREAMING “I Miss It and I Want To Go Back, I WANT MY LIFE BACK” and I cannot ignore it.

I don’t know if it IS financially possible yet and I need to find it all out before I go nuts but, I’ve discussed it with my parents, and we have plans. It’s possibly possible and that HURTS my heart in a way that only true love and passion can and I just hope. I hope I’m going home. I think I’m doing it for the right reasons, I think I’m ready and at the rate I’m improving health wise I will absolutely be ready when the time comes, whether I can hop in this September or next. I just hope I can get it all ironed out. I want to go home.

[idolizerp]

LOADING INFORMATION ON INDIGO’S MAIN DANCE, LEAD VOCAL, RAP MOON JIHUN…

IDOL DETAILS

STAGENAME: N/A CURRENT AGE: 26 DEBUT AGE: 21 TRAINEE SINCE AGE: 18 COMPANY: MSG ETC: this member is known for their involvement in musicals

IDOL IMAGE

The steadfast, reliable one.

That’s what he is, that’s what he needs to be, or so he’s told.

Not the one who ever truly stands out, only ever when he’s given the time to take center stage as a dancer, but a jack of all trades who blends smoothly into anything that’s thrown at him. Dancing is what he does best, and he clears the stage every time he’s on there, so much so that there’s articles written about how he comes alive, and there’s comment chains about his so-called duality, on stage vs off stage, the artist vs the person, as if they truly knew either at all.

Where his bandmates are electric and mysterious, where they’re magnetic and bring people in, his job is to keep them there, to be the anchor. He’s approachable, perhaps a little too much, and the company pushes his open and earnest relationship to fans, because they need it. The company tells him to be the best friend, the big brother, never the favorite but good enough to make people feel comfortable. The meek shall inherit the earth, as they say.

It’s a polished and just-flawed-enough version of who he’s always wanted to become, once, before the mirror cracked and the smoke vanished. Smile for the camera, be that boy, strong, unwavering, always there for others, sometimes not quite there himself.

He pursues musicals, gets the OK from the company after much insistence, after convincing them that it’ll allow him to show versatility, that that’s the thing they want for the group right now. Selfishly, he wants it for himself first, to show that he can take on that challenge and see it through. The company agrees, if only because they need it, a way to show and confirm, after re:group, that their idols can truly adapt and thrive no matter what’s thrown at them. It’s publicity, at least, but then it’s up to him to make it good.

There’s a sort of vindication in it, although he’s always been told to avoid being too prideful, but sometimes he can’t help it. No hurt in telling yourself you’re doing well, after all, that your best is enough for once.

IDOL HISTORY

corner of the sky.

“Special”.

“Gifted”.

“Prodigal”.

Words that mean too much, until they dont mean anything at all.

-

When Moon Jihun is seven years old, his parents sign him up for the school talent show, at his express request. He had seen this performance on TV, of an artist whose name he can’t remember and that his seven-year-old grasp on language would probably jumble anyway, but it shakes something up in him like nothing has before. It plants a seed in his young mind that’s only begging to grow, so he bats his lashes as his mother, and she writes his name down because of course, anything for her little prince. Before he knows it he gets a taste of it, the costumes and the light and the dramatics, but most importantly he hears his own voice, feels his body moving, and he loves how it makes him feel.

Passion feels like all he needs and he cultivates it, for all the years afterward, and it’s only the beginning of the road. It’s also the foundation of a home, for Jihun, and back then it’s whole and beautiful and precious, not in ruins quite yet. He’s his parents’ and grandparents’ treasure, the pride of Seogwipo, center stage in flashing light. The family’s crown jewel who can do nothing wrong in their eyes.

Jihun, you’re so much more advanced than all the other kids!

You know, our Jihun practices a lot at home.

I think it shows, he’s so talented!

He works hard at performing because he loves it,  but he can’t deny that being told he’s good, being told he’s special, is more fuel to his fire. It must mean he’s doing something right, and it must be true, they have no reason to lie to him after all, they’re only here to encourage and lift him up. Honesty is the best policy, always, that’s what he believes and what he holds on to. So whenever his father grips him by the shoulders and tells him he’s special, he believes it. Whenever his grandmother hangs another picture on the wall, he feels his heart filling with pride. Every time he sees them sitting in a row, all eyes on him, it’s only more motivation to chase this dream.

He’s special, after all.

Fresh out of middle school, he moves to the big city, Seoul, center of the known universe. And, or so he thinks, fulfills his destiny.

The performing arts school building towers over him the first day, so many promises rising up to the sky, all the hope he’d shouldered from all his years practicing finally about to fully realize themselves into something concrete, something for the future.

The future, as it turns out, is a paper plane that burns at the slightest change of direction.

Outside of his bubble, away from his family, Jihun crashes in a way he’s never experienced before. Where’s that special kid, where’s the prodigal son, in the middle of all the other students who are stronger and better in every way? Where’s the gift gone, when he’s struggling to catch up, much less keep up, when he loses his breath and comes tumbling to the floor, lungs on fire, sweat trickling down his back, the unpleasant physical manifestation of failure.

That’s a new word, failure. It stains his tongue like the bitter taste of tobacco, the cigarettes he starts sneaking in between classes, hunched over, curled up on himself against the back wall of the building, shame and disgust and failure, failure, failure.

His parents’ praise echoes in his mind and he tries to crumple it up and throw it away, because it’s not enough. It was never enough and he can’t do anything with it now, not when he feels himself falling behind, slipping away, his dreams so far out of reach he should probably just let them go.

But letting go is not an option, of course. The only thing stronger than his shame is his stubbornness. If he’s just average, the only way is up. If he only has his determination to show for himself, then at least he’s got something. Everyone has to start somewhere, right?  

Know where you stand. Stand your ground. Throw yourself into practice.

He takes everything in stride. Classes, projects, late night training, throw five or six desperate kids in a room and call it a learning experience. Sneak into the school’s studio when no one is looking, stumble upon a classmate, keep each other’s secrets and keep each other afloat. There’s more vindication in knowing he’s trying than in being told he doesn’t have to. Maybe it’s too much sometimes, but there’s this growing, urgent need in Jihun’s gut to just prove that he can, so he keeps going, cultivates his work ethic far away from false promises and little white lies.

waving through a window.

He’s eighteen, waiting at the bus stop when it happens, a man in a cheap suit handing him a business card, the three letters MSG feeling like a punch in the throat. He knows them, of course, anyone with an interest in the industry does. The fine print in is the man’s words, though.

“You’ve got a face that’ll sell.”

It’s a start, maybe. It’s ok if he can capitalize off of that, show what he truly wants to. It’s a chance he can’t afford to pass up. Even if he doesn’t like to think of it that way, everything is a means to an end.

Trainee life is, for all he’s anticipated, just a leveled-up version of school. He gets the call back a week after his audition. The almost soulless voice on the other hand claims they saw something in him, and it’s been a while since he’s heard those words so Jihun takes them with caution, files them in a corner of his mind that’s still marked with a red flag.

He still shows up on the company’s doorstep with his suitcase and his aching heart.

The cycle starts again. Push yourself to the limit, say yes, thank you, I’ll do my best, I’ll work harder, and then do just that. It’s all you’ve got a claim to, after all. In that room he’s just like he was before, keeps himself afloat among the others, and eventually, he finds his footing. He can breathe a little easier, sleep a little sounder, even if he doesn’t get to do either of those things much. Little by little, finally, he makes himself known. Remarkable if only for how diligent he is, people also commend his hunger to prove himself. The downside, that he tries not to let become his downfall, is his tendency to bite off more than he can chew, leaving projects unfinished or unpolished just because he wants to move on to the next one, to do everything at once, to show his worth. Run through a dance cover, move on to some barely formed choreography, or two, sometimes both at the same time because he needs to keep his mind occupied and alert.

His body feels like it’s being taken apart every day, from the hazy dance practices that blend into each other, always longer and more grueling and the next, but he loves it, this feeling, when the world spins and he’s taken along in the movement. It’s all he ever wants to do. It’s all he feels that he knows.

“You just don’t stand out.”

It’s that sentence, that he seems to hear over and over, that makes his blood boil and sets his heart on fire. “If they’re not looking my way, I’ll make them.”

And he does.

If he’s always heard that debuting is the hardest part, he’d wager that following up is harder. It doesn’t feel difficult or painful when he stands on that stage for the first time, finally, a day that he’d begun to think would never come. It feels freeing. It feels like the sky has opened up and all the atmospheric pressure has been lifted, and rain is clearing yesterday’s pain to make way for tomorrow’s joy.

Tomorrow’s joy, he learns the hard way, only comes to the fortunate. They’re not among them. Months pass and comebacks happen and everything remains the same, leaving sweat stains and tear tracks everywhere they go, trying to make sense of a situation that never does. It’s not hard work that makes dreams come true, it’s luck, pure dumb luck, and theirs ran out so quickly that Jihun keeps wondering if there’s something they’re doing wrong.

Still they keep on going, stuck somewhere between determination and desperation, a single red thread that threatens to snap at any moment. It’s burned into Jihun’s skin, this lifeline, the promise of a better tomorrow that never seems to come; low sales, low views, low interest, low morale, but still this hunger, unsatisfied yet, and maybe it never will be.

soul of a man.

Re:group is grueling, worse than he’d imagined, worse than he’s been through.

Against the odds, he hears those words again. One by one as the guys walk in, this one is special, this one is gifted, this one is prodigal, and yet they’re all here, but to him they don’t seem to realize the reason why.

He gets the devil’s part, grits his teeth when he watches the episodes and sees what they’ve made of him, but he makes do with it. After all, this world will only ever let you be who they’ve already decided you are, and in a situation like this one, it’s pointless to fight against it. If you know who you are then it’s enough, and Jihun does, finally. So he works, and he works, because that’s all he knows, and he refuses to let anyone hold that against him at least. If the producers decide he’s the bad guy, too relentless and demanding and straightforward, then so be it. Through it all, he fights like a lion who refuses to die in the cage.

Too often his outspokenness is mistaken for humor, and the things he says that pertain to the hardships of the industry are brushed to the side or not taken seriously. The industry is cruel, this much he knows, but even in the role he’s been given, even as the MCs and the managers try to silence him, he knows he can hold on to what he believes. Sure he has to compromise, and it eats him alive on most days, how often he’s asked or downright forced to set his conscience aside. The fans notice, a little, but it’s only small things they can get attached to. For now it’s probably enough, not that he’d be allowed anything more.

At the conclusion of it all, under stage lights and scrutiny, as he’s been doing all his life, he waits for his name to be called. But the call never comes. It’s okay. It’s enough. he  did his best, and they’ll never take that away from him.

The gate opens to a brave new world instead.

one day more.

Fortune is a funny thing, really.

One day it seems like it’s all but abandoned them, thrown them to the side of the road to fend for themselves and eventually be picked on by vultures, a disgraceful end for a disgraceful life.

The next day, like some trickster god was in a benevolent mood and spun the wheel again, they wake up in a world where people have finally taken notice, where they’re not an afterthought anymore.

The first group schedule after the show, Jihun can barely see through the crowd and the flashing lights. It’s a new feeling and he thinks he could get used to it, even if the little voice in the back of his head warns him that this too shall pass if they’re not careful.

Take the second chance and run with it, because they don’t come easy, because it could be the last. Take the love, the admiration, the trophies, cherish them, because they could slip away at any moment.. Put in your demands now, because they can’t refuse you anything anymore. Now Jihun understands what it’s like to be the breadwinner, the move maker, the one that the light is finally shining on.

In the wake of their newfound success, Jihun gets cast in his first real musical, so far from the cardboard and the watercolor of the school talent show. It’s a never-ending thrill ride, a rush of adrenaline like he’s never known before, one that he hopes he never gets used to. He’s clawed his way up here and he’ll fight to stay, even when the industry is as unforgiving as its ever been.

When the cameras are off, as always, his strong moral compass is both his lifeline and his downfall. Even when it starts working in his favor, he still disapproves of many aspects of the idol industry, silently protests against the personal restrictions, refuses to settle for “this is how it’s always been done.” His intentions to voice that dislike are often shut down by his company to maintain the image they gave him, one that is a little too off to who he truly is for him to stay quiet for long. Maybe one day the industry will change enough that it will never have to be this way again, for him or anyone who shares his way of thinking. For now, if he can keep his balance despite all of it, if he can stay true no matter what, then he’ll have already won.

It takes a lot to break a man’s spirit. Even more when he’s already been patched up, and is held together with renewed hope; and the knowledge that if he holds on to his unwavering belief in what’s right, and keeps on his path as he has, then he’ll find a way out into the light in the end.

[stillthewordgirl]

LOT/CC fic: Chances Are (Ch. 4)

What if Leonard had been stuck in the 1950s with Sara, Ray, and Kendra in season 1? And how the hell did they survive, anyway?

Long chapter! And a warning that it gets a little more adult toward the end.

Many thanks to @larielromeniel for the beta. And to @pir8grl for following along as well!

Can be read here at AO3 and here at FF.net. Recommended because of length.

In the middle of the night, for the first time in many years, Sara Lance wakes up as the little spoon.

They'd fallen asleep close, but not like this. Len's warm breath—slow and steady; he's still out like a light-- is hitting her ear, and his left arm is thrown over her, the other one curled and pillowing his head. Their legs are tangled together, and it's the most...intimate...way they've slept yet, even though they're both still fully clothed.

Sara lies awake for a while, listening to him breathe, all that restless, fidgety Snart energy tamed, for once, in sleep. She's not entirely sure how they've gotten themselves into this position—literally and figuratively, she thinks with amusement—but she feels...

It's not safe, not precisely, or at least not because of him. She trusts Leonard; he's earned that, but she's the only one she truly relies on for her own safety. Content? Not quite that, either. Their situation is still precarious, and she vehemently doesn’t want to stay in this time, no matter how much they scrape out some measure of satisfaction and peace from time to time. And she's still worried about the others, Martin and Jax and Rip and even Gideon.

She doesn't know what she's feeling. In more ways than one.

She's attracted to Leonard. She can own that. He's a good-looking man, with just the right level of muscle without being brawny, and his eyes are amazing. Their personalities mesh well, too, even though they might, together, be a little too prone to snark. She enjoys his company, their card games and conversations. Even before this, she could say that she'd grown to consider him a friend. (And frankly, the competence and leadership he's shown since this debacle started is damned sexy.)

But is she starting to fall for him?

Lying there, warm and comfortable in the arms of a crook, knowing that they're going to get up tomorrow and keep working like the team they've become, trusting and relying on each other for backup and companionship and hope, she thinks...

Maybe.

The next morning isn't awkward—not quite. Still, there's a touch of...something...in Leonard's eyes when he returns with coffee for them both the next day (having vanished before she'd gotten out of bed again). Something a touch distant, and Sara can't help being a little disappointed by that.

She knows him well enough, though, that it doesn't take long to realize the distance is coming from distraction. He's pouring over something in the paper he'd gotten at the honor box last night, focused in a way she's come to recognize is Snart plotting mode.

She doesn't ask. He'll tell her when he has a plan. Instead, she takes a healthy swig of coffee, clears her throat, and raises her eyebrows in a different question when he glances at her. He reads it correctly.

"We need to hit the road as soon as possible today," he tells her, getting to his feet and stuffing the folded-up paper in his coat pocket. "Need to get to River City."

Sara snickers, grabbing her coat. "Going to go bang on Ray and Kendra's door?"

That gets a smirk. "What do you think?"

Leonard's not sure whether to be pleased or slightly disappointed that Raymond opens the door very nearly ready to go, just a little annoyed at the imperious hammering. Both he and Kendra do look rather tired, though, and Len resists the urge to make a crack at their expense.

So does Sara, who's being careful about such things around Kendra for some reason. She snags shotgun this time as he drives, and the lovebirds sit together in the backseat, where they're almost certainly likely to fall asleep with the hour.

He'd slept well. Extremely well, actually. Of course, he'd also woken up in a...situation...that now has him wondering why Sara hadn't slipped a knife between his ribs for his unconscious temerity.

But she hadn't. And he'd woken up like that...then spent a few minutes trying to figure out how to disentangle himself without waking her and making it clear where his mind had been...and how certain portions of anatomy had been all in for the idea.

On second thought, maybe his ribs weren't where she'd have put that knife.

For quite a while, the car is silent, a contrast to the actual camaraderie of last night. Raymond and Kendra do indeed fall asleep, and a soft snore now and again is the only sound from the backseat. Sara seems lost in thought and Leonard, frankly, has a lot on his mind, too, so he's content to watch the road and go over the checklist in his head as the miles pass.

Eventually, though, he feels Sara’s eyes on him and glances at her briefly, lifting an eyebrow to indicate he’s aware of her gaze.

“So,” she says after a moment, “why the urgency to get to River City?”

Of course she’d noticed that. Leonard considers denying it, but he’s pretty sure she wouldn’t buy it anyway.

So he prevaricates. “Sooner we get there, sooner we can figure something out, move on.”

“Hmm.” No, she’s not buying it, but he can more or less see her deciding whether to pursue the subject.  To his relief, she chooses the latter. “How’s the car handling? Kendra said it should be fine, but she couldn’t guarantee how long.”

“Seems OK. Might have Raymond get it looked at in the city.” He darts her an apologetic look. “Not that I wouldn’t rather you or Kendra do that…”

She finishes the thought for him. “…but we’re women and we’d probably get laughed at or someone would attempt to scam us. And then we’d be obliged to kick his ass. Although that’d be its own reward.”

Leonard snorts in laughter despite himself. “True. Probably not effective, though.”

“Probably not.” Sara sighs. “As much as I hate to admit it, we sort of need to do something else unpleasant and necessary too. Laundry.”

“Ehhhh…” Leonard gives her an apologetic look. “Can you and Kendra handle that? This time, anyway.”

Her expression is resigned, but Sara nods. “Yeah, I figured. We’re getting an iron and you guys are ironing your own shirts, though.”

“Wouldn’t dare to dream otherwise.”

“And what are you going to be doing?”

So they’re back there again. Leonard keeps his eyes on the road. “Research.”

He’s not looking at her. And, OK, granted, he’s driving, but it’s a very pointed sort of not looking at her. And Sara knows Leonard Snart well enough by now to know that lack of eye contact is the most notable tell for discomfort he has.

There’s something he doesn’t want her to know. Or something he doesn’t want to tell her, or both.

Her earlier unease, that he’d have enough of this whole thing and just vanish one day, leaving them to struggle on, flickers back to life. She shoves it away viciously. If he hasn’t done it yet, why now? Especially since they’d just talked about looking out for each other, and the others.

But… “If you’re going to do something, just promise me you’ll tell me first.”

That gets a glance, an odd flicker in his eyes. “Pardon?”

“You heard me.”

He hesitates, long enough that the unease, paired with anger, starts to resurge. Then: “Promise.”

And she’ll have to be satisfied with that, for now.

They make pretty good time to River City, and Leonard (missing online maps more than ever), with the others helping keep an eye out, eventually manages to find a decent-looking mechanic’s shop just a few doors down from a coin-operated laundromat.

This leads to a group conference, as they pool their money and calculate expenses for the near future. Leonard, counting, shakes his head. They can manage…for now. This isn’t sustainable.

Well, part of the reason they’re here is so they can take steps to start changing that.

So he can.

Unfortunately, perhaps, the others haven’t forgotten that.

They’ve settled on a rough plan that involves Raymond taking the car to the mechanic for a once-over (“Do not agree to anything without consulting Kendra first, Raymond”) while Kendra and Sara do a few loads of laundry, something they’re not precisely thrilled by but agree is necessary.

Leonard merely says that he’ll back soon.

Three sets of eyes regard him with nearly identical expressions.

“So,” Raymond says after a moment “are you here to make a…score?”

How can the man make that sound so cheesy? But there’s no point in denying it. “Leave that to me.” After a moment, he qualifies it. “Not now. But I need to do some…reconnaissance.”

Sara makes a noise of irritation, then, and gets out of the car, grabbing a few of their bags and heading toward the laundromat. Leonard can’t help glancing regretfully after her. But he doesn’t want the rest of them in on this, damnit, and he has his reasons.

Raymond shakes his head. “OK,” he says with a sigh. “I get it. You don’t want us tagging along. But, Snart, we’re all in this together. We’re trusting you. You should trust us, too.”

And then he gets out of the car, grabbing the other bags to carry them in for Sara and Kendra.

Leonard waits, but Kendra, in the backseat, doesn’t move. Instead, she regards him steadily in the rear-view mirror, for so long that he eventually turns around to meet her gaze directly.

“I get it,” she says finally, echoing Raymond’s words, holding up a hand at his expression. “No, really. They might not, but I do. Ray is brilliant, but…well. He’s Ray.” Her lips curve. “I love him, but I’m not blind to his faults, Snart. And Sara…I think you know how stubborn she is.” He snorts at that, and her smiles grows. “And she hates being protected. She went through a lot so she could protect herself.”

“I know that.” He winces at the defensiveness in his voice. “Hell, she could kick my ass. With a hand tied behind her back. But this isn’t the sort a thing where Sara’s MO of being, well, a blunt instrument is going to help. And…”

“And what you’re trying to protect her from isn’t quite what she thinks you’re trying to protect her from.”

Leonard frowns, both at the knowing words and the undercurrent therein. Kendra’s eyes are direct, and a little sad.

“I wasn’t always a barista,” she says quietly. “And sometimes I remember. Running into Savage, back in Harmony Falls…it brought some things back that I’d really rather not have recalled. And while 1950s women’s prisons aren’t as bad as some punishments throughout time—and I’m thinking you and I both know that Sara’s been through worse—that doesn’t mean they don’t have the capacity to break people. Especially if a person’s lost all hope of going…home.”

The words cut to the quick, knowing what he’s done to Mick. And she needs to understand that it’s not that he usually plans on himself, or his people, being caught. “If I had more time…”

But Kendra holds her hand up against his explanation again, and he’s bemused enough at her authoritative attitude that he does quiet, listening to what she has to say.

“I get it,” she says again. “Just…I know we need the money, but don’t think we’d leave you behind either, OK? If something goes wrong? You’ve kept us alive this long; you’re part of this team.”

Leonard’s still digesting that, dealing with an odd and not-wholly-unpleasant feeling of…acceptance, he supposes …when Kendra sighs and leans forward, putting her hand on his shoulder.

“Snart…Leonard,” she says after a moment. “I know we haven’t always seen eye to eye, but…take care, would you? Please don’t make Ray try to organize a prison break, because you know he would.”

That gets an actual laugh out of him, for the mental image it creates. Leonard tilts his head in acknowledgment, smirking.

“And Sara?” he asks. But while he’d meant for a rather sardonic tone, the question comes out vaguely…plaintive, really.

“Sara?” Kendra smile grows, and suddenly, with a rush of insight, he knows exactly why Sara’s been so careful around her the past day or so.

Oh, crap.

But Kendra doesn’t give him even a fraction of the shit she could. Instead, her smile becomes almost fond.

“Sara…” she muses. “I think Sara would tear down this city, this time, until she got you back. Do you know that?”

Yeah, because I’d do the same for her. But he doesn’t answer, just looks at her steadily.

It’s enough. Kendra nods, once, pulling her hand back.

“Then do what you have to do,” she says. “And thank you. But remember. We need you. Sara needs you.”

Doing laundry while Leonard is off doing god only knowing what is, well, irritating.  Sara scowls at the laundry spinning in a washer while Ray, back from the mechanic, is chattering away and Kendra is very patiently (in Sara’s opinion) asking him questions about what the man said.

She’s so lost in thought that she doesn’t notice, at first, that Kendra’s also talking to her.

“What?”

Kendra raises an eyebrow. “You OK?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

The other woman gives her one of those patented looks. “Because you’d rather be out there skulking around with Snart and you’re stuck here instead? Because you’re pissed at him for not talking to you about it?”

Sara refuses to dignify the questions with an answer. Kendra just rolls her eyes and goes back to talking to Ray.

The plan was to stay at the laundromat until a pre-agreed-upon time, then, if Leonard wasn’t back yet, to head down the road to a motel they’d checked out earlier. He’s not, and they do. Ray emerges from the office and hands Sara her own set of keys without comment.

She takes them without comment as well, even though she’d told him to go ahead and get one room. Well, she supposes that he and Kendra want their own space…and even though she’s pissed at Len, she’d still rather curl up with him…

After she tells him off, anyway.

They head next door to a little restaurant to get some food—Ray had scouted it out earlier and reported that it seemed to be safe. But even as they’re being seated, their missing crook strolls in the door, taking off his hat and joining their party without comment, just a charming smile for the young waitress. (Who seems, indeed, to be charmed, considering the way she bats her eyelashes at him.)

Sara gives him a level, unimpressed look. (Which he ignores. Aggressively.) After they’ve ordered and the flirting waitress has delivered their drinks and gone to check on other tables, Ray leans forward across the table and whispers, “So?”

Leonard leans back and takes a sip of his water. “So what, Raymond?”

“So…” Ray casts a slightly confused glance at Sara and Kendra and then looks back at the other man. “Your…reconn...um. What you were doing. How did it go?”

“Went fine.”

“Are you done?”

That just gets him an unimpressed look. (Which Kendra notices is the mirror of Sara’s earlier look, although she doesn’t point it out at the time.) “No. What was the verdict on the car?”

That successfully distracts Ray, mainly because he can extoll Kendra’s virtues in the field of auto repair. Kendra, correcting him and adding information, ignores the elephant in the restaurant too. Sara, who thinks she’s probably being childish but just can’t help it, continues to stare down into her drink and think annoyed thoughts.

After a while, the waitress—Mary, her nametag says--returns with their meals, sliding them across the table with smiles for them all, but especially Leonard.

“You seen all the fancy types in town for the gala?” she asks with barely concealed excitement. “I mean, we get all types here, for Slot Row. But my friend, who works down at the Goldeneye Hotel, she says they been pouring in the past few days, even though it’s not ‘til tonight. And, boy, do they like to tip!”

For a heartbeat, three of the people at the table try very hard not to look at the fourth person at the table.

“We’re just passing through,” Sara says, putting a sincere (she hopes) smile on her face and learning toward the woman, “on the way to Opal City. A gala? That sounds like fun!”

Mary grins back at her. “Doesn’t it? But it’s bigwigs only. Some political thing.”

Kendra, joining in, laughs. “Eww,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “Yeah, not our type of party. But, yeah, I bet the tips are great! I remember…”

She continues, spinning a story that Sara is pretty sure is a 1950s-appropriate adaption of a true incident from her CC Jitters days. Soon, they’re bonding over shared food-service experience, and Sara’s decided to…tone down and tweak…a few stories from Verdant and share those too. Ray and Len share glances, the former grinning and the latter inscrutable, and chime in a few observations here and there.

All in all, Sara thinks, she’s pretty sure they’ve successfully kept Mary from connecting the friendly strangers who’d left the nice tip with any…problems…that might occur at the fancy political event down on Slot Row.

She hopes.

"You're going to rob the gala.”

Sara’s voice is matter of fact and absolutely certain. She’s standing in their room, arms folded, watching him with an odd expression—something that’s somehow determined and uncertain at the same time.

There will be no equivocation here. Leonard pauses in studying the two double beds with some regret. (Raymond had told him there were no kings available, sotto voce, on the way back here, obviously looking for a reaction he didn’t get.) He studies Sara instead, at a loss for how to handle this, at a loss to explain why he cares.

“If all goes well,” he confirms eventually, dropping his coat onto a chair, “I'm going to...divert...the proceeds from the event, yes.”

Sara snorts at the euphemism, but he also thinks her shoulders relax, just a little, when he admits it.

“OK,” she says then, “what’s the plan?”

He draws in a breath, then goes for bluntness. And tries to channel the chill he doesn’t usually use, with her. “Nothing you need to know. Better you don’t.”

Sara’s eyes narrow, and there’s steel in them…and a little bit of hurt. “Bullshit,” she hisses. “You need backup. I’m not letting you do this alone.”

“You don’t get a say,” he snaps back, losing the chill, spurred to urgency with the need to keep her out of it. “This is my plan. I say what I need.”

Of course—and he should have expected this—his brusqueness just cements the anger and insistence in her eyes. “Seriously? After all…after all we’ve been through on the ship and here, you’re just going to…to freeze me out? I know you get the need for backup; you lit into Rip…”

“This is different.”

Sara takes a step toward him, eyes blazing. “Bullshit,” she repeats. “I’m going with you.”

She can’t. She can’t, and the panic that elicits in him startles him and pulls truth from him, makes him step forward and lower his voice, trying to show her his sincerity, his…fuck..feelings.

“No,” he says again, voice low and intense as Sara stares up at him with furious eyes. “No. I haven't had time, and I don't have the information, to plan this like I usually would. It’s too…sketchy, too sloppy to drag anyone else in, to risk anyone else.”

Sara looks a little startled by the sincerity he’s trying to convey, but she’s too very…Sara…to back down. “I’m not just anyone.”

“No, you’re not.” Too much, too much truth, but he can’t back down. “You’re…I am not leaving someone else behind.”

To Sara, at least, it’s undeniably clear who and what he’s talking about. She blinks up at him, and he can see her mouth the name, but she doesn’t say it, not out loud. For Leonard’s part, he’s startled to realize that he’s nearly shaking with the need to make her understand. Abandoning Mick, that last-ditch shot to save his partner…his friend’s…life had been the worst of plans, thrown together on the spur of the moment when it became clear a nuclear option was necessary.

He’d had no clear idea how he would manage to convince Hunter to go back for Mick after a cool-down period, whether he’d be able to steal the jump ship again, if the team would even tolerate having either one of them back after that. If Mick would ever forgive him.

And now it’s worse. So much worse.

This plan isn’t much better. Sure, he’d been planning as he went today. He has the framework, the bones, of a decent heist. But it’s hasty and so many things could go wrong--no, could go catastrophically wrong. And Leonard knows it. He’s planned too many heists—and suffered through too many poorly planned Lewis heists—not to.

Sara’s still quiet, watching him, and he’s not ready to say all that out loud, whether or not she knows it anyway. So he tries to throw more logic at it.

“Raymond is the most likely person to be able to figure out how to signal the Waverider,” he tells her, taking another step closer. “We can't risk him getting locked up. Kendra...no way in hell I'm going to risk what could happen to her if she was arrested. And the same with you.”

Sara’s chin goes up. “You do realize I've been through worse than prison,” she tells him in return, voice just as low and intense as his.

Leonard takes a breath. “Yes,” he says quietly—thinking about both quiet conversations over cards and the file on Sara he’d looked up on the ship's computer. “I do. I know about the Amazo, and I know it was hell.” He meets her eyes. “Not again.”

There’s surprise there, and her tone softens, a little. “I don't need you to protect me, Leonard.”

That draws a snort from him. “You think I don’t know that?

“I know you do.” She shakes her head. “Damnit, you stupid crook, I’m trying to protect you.”

The words rattle him, a little, more than he shows, more than he thought they would. He’s not used to this.

Lisa had tried, back when she became old enough to realize that he so often took the punishments and blows meant for her. He’d done his best to train her out of that impulse—and for years, wondered if he’d damaged her in a way he’d barely considered at the time. But it’d been necessary.

(And then Lewis had reappeared and tried to hurt her again, to hurt him--and goddamn Barry Allen and his silly team had stepped in. That’s a completely different set of mixed feelings.)

Mick had protected him, way back in juvie, of course. And he won’t think about Mick.

“And I appreciate that,” he tells her instead, trying to show it in his voice. “But you...you three...need me to keep doing my thing so we can survive this. Living out of hotels, ripping people off and moving on...it's not sustainable.” He shakes his head. “I plotted this heist out for one person. And I’m going to do it. You…if the worst happens, keep the other two moving. Give Raymond a chance to figure out how to signal the ship. Then…break me out.”

They both know that’s not the worst that could happen. Sara shakes her head too, as if in denial, but they know he’s right.

“When?” she asks simply.

Leonard glances at the clock. “Maybe…an hour. It’s early yet, but I still have some things to put into place. And I need to be sure that I don’t…can’t…lead them back here.”

Sara draws in a deep breath, holds it a moment, then lets it out. “Then…sit down.” She pulls the deck of cards out of her coat pocket. “Talk to me. Tell me if there’s anything I need to know.” She shakes her head again as he eyes her. “I promise I won’t interfere. But maybe I can help with logistics, anything you’re still working out.”

After a minute, Leonard nods.

“Well,” he says, taking a seat on the edge of one of the beds and watching as Sara shuffles the cards, “whenever someone’s transporting a great deal of money, there’s always a weak point…”

Sara never thought she'd miss the constant access to news so familiar to her native time, but this...this is torture.

She crosses the room again, restless, unable to sleep, although she knows she should on the chance they'll need to move quickly—whether it's all four of them or only three of them. If all goes well, though, they’ll just stay put until the next day; running, as Leonard had noted, is always bound to attract more attention than just looking confused and asking the nice police officer what all the excitement is about.

Sara, who had, after all, spent years as a thief of a sort herself—albeit a thief of lives—understood.

That didn’t mean she had to like it.

Leonard’s been gone for hours now. Which was to be expected, since he’d plotted a very circuitous route to and from Slot Row, along with multiple changes of clothing and personas. This is his business, and he’s very good at it, despite his unease at the lack of time and his usual meticulous level of planning.

She knows that.

But…damn it. Sara sits back down on one of the beds, putting her head in her hands and trying to breathe. To center herself.

She can’t do this without him.

It’s just past 3 a.m. when there’s finally a nearly imperceptible noise at the door. A glance through the peephole and she has it open before he can pop the lock, pulling him into the room and closing the door behind him.

“Are you OK?” she demands, taking in the weariness in his eyes, the empty hands, the same navy suit he’d left in. “Leonard. Are you all right? Do we need to leave?”

He holds up a hand, and she takes a breath, steps back, stops the flood of things she wants, needs, to ask. He seems to be in one piece, unharmed at any rate, but there’s a shadow there, something behind his eyes, and she’s not sure what it is.

"I got the entire take,” Leonard says quietly after a moment. “It’s stowed safely; we can get it tomorrow. Should be more than enough for what we need." He shrugs out of the suit coat. “And they got…someone else…for it. So I think we’re clean.”

Sara sighs, letting herself relax a little bit. But he’s standing there in the middle of the room staring down at his jacket like he’s not sure what to do with it, and something’s certainly gone wrong, in some way.

“Good,” she says finally, not entirely sure how to handle a Snart in this mood, but relieved that he’s back safe. “Then…want to help me here? We could push the beds together; I’m pretty sure a double alone wouldn’t be that comfortable for you…”

But there’s a flash in his eyes, then, something complicated and unhappy, and she sees the cold persona settle over his features like a mask, an uncanny transformation right before her eyes. He drops the jacket on to a chair and shrugs, chilly gaze meeting hers for only a moment before sliding away.

“I think I can live without...snuggling...for a night.” And there it is, the harsh, dismissive edge that's been missing from his voice since they've been stuck here, since he's been distracted by the task of keeping them all alive and moving.

It’s like a kick in the stomach, given how much they’ve…given how much she’d thought they’d grown together over the past few days, but Sara’s suddenly too tired herself, body and soul, to call him on it.

“Suit yourself,” she says simply, turning away, exhausted. “Suit yourself.”

She’s tired enough to sleep, although it’s a fitful sleep, a discontented one. Leonard’s changed and stretched out on the other bed, facing away from her without so much as a “goodnight.” Sara, staring at the ceiling during one of her periods of wakefulness, decides that maybe the Leonard she’d seen over the past few days had been the façade.

Now that there’s money, he’ll be gone as soon as possible, shedding the rest of them like an ill-fitting cover story, she thinks. He’ll slip away into the night, into the criminal underbelly of one of the bigger cities, and she’ll be left behind trying to hold them together, to hold on to hope, to…find somewhere she belongs.

There is somewhere, even in 1958. She’s been trying not to think about it. But Nanda Parbat is, at least, a place to go, somewhere she could fit in again.

“No…”

The mutter from the other bed breaks into her unhappy thoughts, and Sara blinks, rolling over to peer through the darkness at the tossing, turning shape across the room.

The next noise is inarticulate, but clearly pained, and she sits up. Maybe she’s still pissed at him, pissed and hurt, but for now, he’s still a member of her team.

“Leonard?” she whispers. “Are you OK?”

“Don’…don’t do it…”

A dream. Rather, a nightmare. Sara’s had too many of those herself to feel anything other than sympathy. She starts to climb to her feet, but before she can do more than that, he makes another one of those wordless noises of pain, louder this time, and starts to thrash around, lashing out at something he’s seeing only in dreams.

“No…!” His next panicked blow sends the lamp crashing from the table, and he flinches at the crash, but doesn’t seem to wake.

They’re not next to Ray and Kendra this time, and if someone calls the cops… Sara hurries over, jumping back as he lashes out again, then climbing onto the too-small bed next to him.

“Stupid, stupid, stubborn crook,” she chants under her breath as she tries to figure out how to help without getting an unintentional blow or freaking him out more. “You should have talked to me. Should’ve helped me push the beds together. We’re…better together, you idiot. Damn it, Leonard. Come back!”

At that point, she just catches his right hand in hers, blocking his blow at an unseen assailant, leaning forward to put her other hand on his shoulder, moving it up after a second to gently cup his jaw. Because whatever he’s seeing in dreams, it’s not gentle, not at all.

And that, against the odds, works. Blue eyes fly open, staring blindly at her, but he stops the thrashing instantly. Instead, he struggles to sit up a little more, shaking his head with agitation before trying to focus on her again.

“Sara,” he says, his voice rough and perplexed.

“Yes.”

“Sara.”

“Yes,” she repeats, keeping her voice as gentle as possible. “I think you were having a nightmare. You were getting really loud and…and a little violent, and I didn’t want anyone to call the cops. You OK?”

But her words draw an immediate recoil from him. “Violent?”

“Yes. No…not to me,” she adds, leaning forward again and catching his shoulder again. ��You were just thrashing around and…I was worried.”

Leonard closes his eyes again and takes a deep breath, then another, some of that terrible tension running out of his shoulders. Sara, very gently, very tentatively, starts to knead the muscles on which her hand is resting, moving to sit next to him.

“Sorry,” he mutters again after a minute. “I…”

He's staring off into space again, but Sara isn't about to let it go this time.

“What happened out there?” she asks quietly. “Tell me.”

He doesn’t want to talk about it. But it’s eating at him, and he’s pretty sure that Sara, this time, isn’t going to let him pull his usual bullshit of retreating into the ice.

He glances at her. Yeah. Definitely not.

“It was going according to plan,” he says finally, closing his eyes. “I had my mask on; I was waiting at the point where there should have only been two guards, right before they got to the armored car and the others. But...

“There was this pair of dumb-ass kids. Eh, maybe about 20 years old. I heard them before I saw them, and they didn’t see me. Reminded me a bit of me and...me back in the day, but I was never that stupid.” He opens his eyes, staring into the dark, into memory. “You can tell a plan isn't a good one when two idiots like that come up with the same one. Well, a similar one.

“Except their plan wasn’t much more then ‘go in with guns blazing.’ ” Leonard shakes his head. “It would have been a bloodbath.”

Sara’s pulled both her legs up onto the bed, moving a little so she can work on both his shoulders. The touch feels really good, actually. “So what did you do?”

She’s simply assumed he wouldn’t let it stand. Well. She’s not wrong.

“The two guards carried the take out in a bag,” he said after a minute. “Right on schedule. The idiots moved in, guns drawn. So I… shot them.”

Sara’s hands still. “The...idiots?”

“Yes.” His right hand moves up to rub at his left bicep, but he barely realizes it. “Just winged them both, in the upper arm.” He glances back at her. “I know basic anatomy. I kept it as safe as I could, stayed away from arteries, or so I presume.

“Well, they went down, dropped their guns like the rookies they were. The guards pulled their weapons, and dropped the bag—they weren’t the brightest, either--focusing on them, there was a lot of yelling, it was dark…” He shakes his head. “In the chaos, I got the bag. Got out of there, stowed it, changed, and circled back around to see what the buzz was. The press was already out in force and I blended in with them. Even had a notebook in my pocket.”

He snorts. “The story is already that those two just had an accomplice who turned on them. That’s where the investigation is focusing: on another idiot kid. No one saw me clearly, and there were no cameras. So I guess I should be pleased."

Sara’s started rubbing his shoulders again, her fingers brushing the bare skin of his neck and he’s trying not to lean into the touch. “So,” she says quietly, “you probably actually saved lives tonight. Probably more than one guard, maybe even the would-be robbers.”

Leonard hasn’t really thought about it that way. “But…”

“But you know I’m right.” There’s a faint hint of amusement in her voice, and he can’t help smirking a little in return, especially since he thinks that, just maybe, his earlier reflexive coldness has been forgiven.

But she needs to understand.

He pulls away, just a little, then, swallowing, abruptly drags his shirt up and over his head, dropping it onto the bed next to them. Sara watches with a little surprise in her eyes, but doesn’t say anything, even he turns to better show her his bare left bicep…and the deep scar that still cuts across it.

“When I was about that same damned age,” he tells her, “my father shot me. Same spot, more or less, though I’m pretty sure his motives weren’t good. I was a distraction, so he could get away during a heist gone wrong.” He holds himself still, trying not to flinch as she cautiously reaches out to run a fingertip over it, a sensation that raises the hairs on the back of his neck. “The damned thing still gives me problems. Still hurts at night, or when the weather changes.”

He shakes his head. “And I did the same thing to those two stupid kids.”

Sara has mixed feelings, at this moment. She wants to go find the two boneheads that nearly ruined Leonard’s heist, make sure they’re OK (for his sake), and then yell at them until they rethink their life choices.

She wants to go back in time and find Lewis Snart so she can kill him again.

And she wants…

She wants.

She runs her fingers across the vicious scar again, surreptitiously (or not so surreptitiously, really) running her eyes over the half-clothed man sitting in front of her. But this probably isn’t a good time to act on the attraction, not when he’s caught up in guilt and memory, and the last thing she wants to do is scare him off.

“You said it yourself,” she says instead. “It could have been a bloodbath.”

Leonard doesn’t answer, although he does shrug. And he doesn’t argue, either, and she’ll take that, as long as he keeps thinking about what she’s said.

She should go back to her bed. She should…

"C'mere, Len," she sighs instead. "I...I sleep better with you here. And I don't think either one of us should be alone right now."

Leonard regards her steadily. Then he nods, moving to stretch out, catching her wrist to pull her gently down with him

The bed is small, much smaller than they’re used to now, but it doesn’t matter much, because they’re definitely well and truly in each other’s space. Leonard hasn’t bothered putting his shirt back on, and the warmth is radiating off him, striking in a man who usually gloried in such a chilly image, and Sara, lying next to him, only inches apart, glories in it.

Without even thinking about it, she reaches out with the arm that isn't curled up under her head and runs her hand down his back and then up again, palm smoothing over warm skin, callouses catching on the scars she’d just gotten her first look at.

He freezes, at first, and she does too, suddenly wide awake, cursing the drowsy impulse. But then…he slowly moves his own free hand around to rest on her hip, then up under her top, fingers drifting up her back, too, skin on skin, tracing her spine. The spark of electricity this causes makes her shudder, sensation prickling along every nerve, and she stifles a gasp of reaction, arching her back just a little.

Oh.

Oh, this could be dangerous. Or wonderful. Or dangerously wonderful. All three?

Is she ready to go there? Is he?

Well. He's no expert, but from the way Sara's reacting, his touch certainly doesn't seem to be unwelcome. Far from it. Her eyes are closed, and her lips are slightly parted, and she's breathing far more heavily than he'd think a simple caress could account for.

So is he. And his breath catches again as she moves her hand around, trailing her fingers lightly down his bare chest slowly and steadily, bringing her hand to rest right on the waistband of his pajama pants, hooking her fingertips just inside.

And, holy shit, if he hadn’t been hard before (and he’d definitely been on the way there), he sure as hell is now.

Sara follows up on that move by edging a little closer, and he follows suit, until they’re touching just about everywhere, more contact than he’s experienced in a good long time. Leonard, cognizant of his own ragged breathing, makes himself take a deep breath, then another, running his hand down her back again, sensitive fingertips tracing her spine, right down to the base, an area that seems to be particularly…sensitive.

She arches her back, gasping again, bringing her front into even closer contact with his chest and making a noise that seems to mix amusement, desire and frustration.

The first kiss isn't quite a real kiss. More...that their mouths sort of touch as they lie there, arms around each other, as she looks up at him and he tilts his head down to look to her. Her top lip brushes his bottom lip, lingering just a little, and they both hesitate, then move to readjust the angle.

The second kiss is still awkward in its own way, slow and unpracticed, as if they’re still trying to pretend this isn’t what it is. Lips brush, lingering and hesitant, but the angle is still off, and Sara hums to herself, then moves a little, adjusting it again, and darts her tongue between his lips.

Damn.

She tastes like something sweet, something he can’t name, and he just enjoys it for a moment before upping the aggression just a little on his part, snaking his other hand around to cradle the back of her head, pulling her closer. And all of a sudden, just that quickly, there’s nothing hesitant about it; they’re devouring each other, making out like they’re never going to have this moment again, an air of desperation about the whole thing.

Somehow, through a combination of his efforts and hers, Sara’s top has become completely unbuttoned, and she pulls back for just a moment to strip it off and fling it elsewhere before surging back to kiss him again, skin pressing to skin. They’re both half-naked now, and her still-silk-clad thigh is moving between his legs, and he’s moved his other hand to curve around her ass, and if those two layers of fabric weren’t there…

It would be the easiest thing in the world to let go and do this.

But. The corner of his mind that hasn’t yet ceded control to other portions of anatomy points out. But.

Leonard is an overthinker. Always has been, always will be. It makes him an excellent planner, an exceptional crook, one who anticipates almost all contingencies (except, one time, a damned speedster) and prepares for them.

It makes him lousy at relationships.

They’re stuck here. They might never get to go home. The realist in him knows it even as he’s been trying to soldier on preparing for the best possible chance of making it there. And beyond all the planning, the pragmatic slog toward Nickel City and a situation where they can safely go to ground for a while, there’s only one bright point in this whole damned mess.

Sara’s here too.

Sara, who gets him on a level he’s not sure anyone else ever has, not even Mick. Sara, who has her darkness too, but understands what it’s like to wonder if you can still reach the light. Sara, who’s every element of brilliant and bad-ass he’s ever been attracted to.

If this goes south, and they fall apart, he’ll be alone here.

Sure, this whole roll in the sheets could just be a friends-with-benefits thing. Maybe it is to her. But deep down, Leonard Snart acknowledges that he’s well and truly falling for Sara Lance, the way he’s only fallen for two other people in his life.

Neither of those times went well.

And the notion that he could ruin her presence in his life, drive her away, by pursuing this terrifies him.

Leonard breaks the kiss, pulling away with a gasp, putting a little space between them and trying to clear his head. Sara, whose fingers had been drifting south, stops her exploration immediately, reaching her right hand up to cup his jaw, eyes concerned.

“Are you OK?” she whispers after a moment. “Talk to me.”

“It’s OK. It’s OK. It’s just…need to slow down…I…” I’m a little more fucked up than I’ve ever told you. “It’s not you. All right? It’s not you.”

She studies him a moment, then nods, pulling back a little herself. But he reaches for her when she makes a move to get up and she subsides back down to his side, reaching out to grab both their discarded shirts and pressing his into his hand.

Leonard takes it but doesn’t move yet to put it on. Sara pillows her head on an arm and watches him steadily in return. There’s no judgement, no anger or even irritation in her eyes, and that make it easier to say what he does next.

“Just…don’t leave,” he says quietly. “Give me time?”

He’s never asked for such a thing in his life.

And on some level, he’s stunned when she whispers “Of course.”