Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It could have been any of a multitude of variables, really. Tweak time just…here…and…there…and everything's different.

But what matters for now is this: Rip Hunter never comes for them.

It affects them all, of course; all in different ways. The inventor, the (former) barista, the hawk, the arsonist, the professor, the mechanic.

The crook. The assassin.

But, as the Time Masters say, time wants to happen. And maybe some things are meant to be.

She doesn't stay in Tibet much longer, really. She's spent so much time drifting that she just can't help wandering back to what used to be home, a lonely moth drawn to the flame of friends and family, even as she knows she should stay away.

She visits Laurel, who tries to understand as best she can. And Laurel, sister and friend, knows what she craves hearing even as Sara believes, deep down, it can never be true.

"Walk in the light. Be the White Canary."

She can't resist, despite the gnawing doubt inside-she takes the white leather suit her sister offers her. And then, intrigued by the mention of her sister's "resourceful friend," she decides to visit Central City for a time.

Her mother is happy to see her, but they're too different these days to really spend too much time together without…trouble. She begs an introduction to the S.T.A.R. Labs crew from Laurel, but arrives to find grief and anger and the aftermath of loss rather than the escape and camaraderie she'd hoped for.

Oh, and a giant shark that walks like a man. There's that, too.

Well, shark or man, the league has taught her to handle larger opponents, even the odder ones. The King Shark, as Cisco calls him, is soon back in A.R.G.U.S. custody with no blood shed. She doesn't know if the bloodlust doesn't acknowledge more…fishy...targets or if it's truly subsiding, and either way she's pleased to think she's been a help.

Dig, Lyla, and Team Flash certainly seem to think so, and Barry Allen and his crew also seem truly glad to have her hang around to help deal with everyday threats such as giant man-sharks while they work out how to deal with someone called Zoom.

So she does. She gets a tiny apartment in Central City. She tries to fit in, to befriend the still-shaken Caitlin (who'd apparently seen a lover murdered right in front of her not long before Sara had shown up) and the distracted-but-friendly Barry Allen. Cisco is alternates between awe and half-flirtatious teasing and she welcomes the latter, anyway. It makes her feel almost…normal.

At night, though, she lies awake half the time, staring at the ceiling, wishing for…she doesn't even know what. More of a mission, perhaps. A connection, maybe?

And then Cisco's computer system logs a reading from what he calls a "cold gun."

"Snart's back in town," he informs them. "Right on time. No heat gun, though. It's just him; Rory would have burned something down by now."

The set of Barry's is mouth is stubborn. "Doesn't mean he's up to something. Remember the Trickster and Mardon? He could have gone along with them. He didn't. He warned us."

Joe—she likes Joe West; he reminds her a little of her dad—is in the lab at the time, and he shakes his head. "Didn't help, though, and he could have. Barry…I know you want to believe the best of the man. But Snart…whatever his past, he's still a crook. And still a killer."

Barry's eyes narrow, but he doesn't say anything. That tendency to believe the best of people is something she finds both charming and naïve about Barry Allen, but his faith in this man seems to be a little above and beyond.

"…whatever his past, he's...still a killer…"

Like me, she thinks. Just like me.

"Let me go check it out," she tells them abruptly. "I'll report back or I'll call for help. If Barry's right…then you won't have to waste your time."

After the Trickster…incident…it seems a wise decision to leave town for a bit. And so he does.

He knocks about in National City for a while, becoming familiar with the city in case he ever learns of a…job opportunity…there. He eats at its restaurants, reads in its libraries, browses its museums and shops. It's a taste of normalcy, albeit a solitary one, but he's OK with that.

The bartender at his favorite restaurant makes a bit of a play for his attention. So does the classics professor who is doing research near his favorite spot at the college library. He considers, but eventually demurs. He's not in a mood for complications, and he might want to come back to this city someday, after all.

He never even entertains the notion of a more permanent connection. Why the hell would that happen?

In January, he gets a lead on a job possibility in Central City and briefly thinks about calling Mick and taking it on, but in the end, he decides against it-something just seems off about the information. Anyway, Mick, having had a big score in Coast City with another group while Len was still in Iron Heights, is disinclined to bestir himself for a team-up.

Lisa has turned over a bit of a new leaf after their father's death, and although he suspects it won't last, he's glad for it anyway. She's traveling right now, going cross country on her bike, and occasionally calls to check in. She sounds content, at least, and he'll take it.

Frankly, he's considering doing the same, finding something else to do with his life. It's a function of some self-examination after the incident with Lewis and, at the same time, wondering if he's starting to lose his edge, get a bit soft.

"…well, you're doing a pretty damned poor job of being a villain this week."

No point in doing something if you can't be the best. But what else can a lifelong criminal, even a world-class one, do? Be an electrical engineer? Right.

In the end, anyway, it can't last. A few months later, bored and in need of a challenge-and perhaps just a bit lonely, although he'd never admit it—he finds himself reading about a valuable new acquisition at Haynes Manuscript Museum in Central City and acknowledges curiosity both personal and professional.

The pull of home is strong. And he follows it.

He'll need a crew if he's going to pull the job off, but the initial recognizance, he'll do on his own. Which is why he's studying the building, its security system, its guards, one winter evening—half-heartedly wondering if Barry Allen will show up—when he hears a throat cleared behind him.

The last thing he expects as he turns around, though, is an absolutely stunning blonde in white leather.

He's standing in the shadows, and she gets an impression of height, and strength without bulkiness, though it's hard to tell, really, because of the parka. She can't see his eyes because of those damned goggles.

He doesn't seem overly surprised, doesn't start or jump. He does cock his head at her in a considering fashion, studying her from head to toe.

"Well," he says finally, "you're new."

The dry tone actually startles a chuckle of her. "True enough. I'm…lending a helping hand, you might say. To the Flash and his crew. You're familiar with them, I understand."

"Oh, I am." She can both hear and, just barely see, the smile. "You, I don't know. And I'd remember you."

It almost gets a laugh. Is he flirting? She bites it back, gives him a thin smile. "White Canary. And you, they tell me, are Captain Cold."

It's his turn to laugh. "Ramon and his names. True enough. And what brings you to Central…White Canary?"

Oh, there is definitely flirtation in that voice. "Like I said," she informs him. "Helping out. Offered to see if a certain…known felon…was up to no good."

He smirks, tilting his head to the other side. "What?" he drawls. "A man can't admire a historic building in his hometown without drawing attention? As attractive as the attention might be…"

Enjoying the banter, she takes a step toward him, smiling a little more as he does too, watching how he doesn't back down.

"Oh?" she says, almost matching his drawl. "You wouldn't be, say, casing that museum for a heist or something would you? Because I don't really care otherwise, but if you were doing that…well, I'd probably have to warn you off."

He's in the circle of the light thrown by the nearby streetlight now, having moved—almost without really meaning to, she thinks—toward her even as she moves toward him. She sees him raise his eyebrows.

"Really?" he queries. "And how would you do that?"

"Mmmm. You really think I'd be out here if I didn't know how to handle myself in a fight?" She opens a hand and shows him a baton. "Come on. B…the Flash…thinks you're better than this, you know."

But he's paused and his face is unreadable again. "Does he now. Well. The Flash…is, perhaps, a little too trusting."

And he fires a warning blast toward her, the crackle and hiss of the cold gun sounding loud in the still February night, a streak of ice spreading over the façade of the building behind her as it strikes.

Later, she'll realize that he intentionally aimed wide. A warning, really, although given the verbal dance they'd been engaged in, maybe it's more along the lines of showing off.

But at the time, she thinks he's attacked her, definitely reads the step he takes toward her as the start of another attack, and maybe it's the sense of betrayal—ridiculous, to think they'd already formed any sort of connection—but something trips in her, that switch that's been so hair-triggered since her resurrection. And the bloodlust roars…and takes over.

Sensing something, perhaps, he's started to back up, but not fast enough. Through the haze, she gets the sense of his eyes widening behind the goggles as she flings herself at him, baton in one hand, knife in another.

Too late.

The gun goes flying. He gets his hands up, gets into a fighting/blocking stance, and it's more than most people manage in such a circumstance. He might even have managed to get in a blow, but he doesn't even try—something she doesn't wonder at until later.

She does, though. She strikes.

And she strikes again. And again.

It feels like forever. It's really probably only a minute or two.

But when there's no resistance before her, the red starts to clear gradually from her vision. She draws a deep breath, fighting the last of the rage and adrenaline down, and takes a step back, shaking her head.

And there's a tall man in a blue parka, its fur ruff blood-stained, a knife jutting out of his shoulder, lying crumpled before her, his left leg bent at an awkward angle underneath him.

She stares at him a moment, then registers that yes, he is breathing, he even seems to be semi-conscious based on the noise he's making, she didn't kill him, she stopped, but barely, she's a monster, she…

And then she calls, not for backup for a fight, but desperately, heartbrokenly, for help.

Chapter Text

The tall man, Leonard Snart, is lying drugged to the gills in a hospital bed in the bowels of S.T.A.R. Labs. Sara nearly sobs when Caitlin says he'll be OK...eventually.

She doesn't know him beyond those few minutes of charged flirting, but the idea that someone else should die because of her loss of control...she just can't handle it. Not again.

"A concussion...no real brain injury, amazingly...small puncture wound to his right shoulder, broken right wrist, a few broken ribs, some bruising and contusions. The ankle was just a bad sprain," the doctor says, looking over the X-ray printouts in front of her, "but he still tore up the ligaments pretty well. It's going to take some time and physical therapy before he's back on his feet."

The trepidation in her eyes when she looks at Sara makes the former assassin sick to her stomach, as does the similar expression in Cisco's. She's almost happy to see the flicker of anger in Barry's eyes and the chilly cop assessment in Joe's.

(Oddly, the man named Harrison Wells, whom she hasn't really seen much since her arrival, had taken one look at the panicked assassin and the injured crook and made an audible noise of surprise, his eyes widening before he grabs Barry's sleeve and drags the other man into a corner of the room for a quick conference. She's still not sure what that was about, and she doesn't mean to ask.)

She'd like to flee, to fling herself away from the lot of them, to run and run until she can't hurt anyone again, to crawl back in a hole and pull the earth over the top of herself.

She doesn't. She takes a deep breath, and explains to Barry about the bloodlust, about how she thought, she thought, it was under control, but he fired and she snapped, and...

She expects to be told to leave. But Barry looks at her for a long moment, then turns to look for another long moment at the still man on the bed before turning back to her.

"He's your responsibility," he tells her.

"What?"

"Your responsibility," he repeats. "We can't just...throw him out on the street like this...and we can't just leave Leonard Snart unsupervised in S.T.A.R. Labs, either, even a Snart who's really banged up and concussed."

She thinks about the quick-witted man she'd traded verbal shots with. She can understand that.

"His...I only know one person who might take responsibility for him and she's out of town," Barry continues. "We've got...a lot going on, with Zoom and everything, and..." He holds up a hand at the start of her protest. "I know you're a much better fighter than any of the rest of us, OK? But it's not going to help you with Zoom. And do you really want to be out there taking on everyday Central City crooks when thisis what happens to someone who's, well, actually a lot more competent?"

They both look at the silent Snart.

"He didn't really try," Sara tells him abruptly. "I've been thinking about it. He didn't try to hit me with the gun, and I'm pretty sure that even after I attacked, he was mostly acting defensively."

"Yeah, well..." Barry shakes his head. "Snart's got his issues, just like the rest of us. Look, Cait will keep a medical eye on his recovery, but you stay with him, OK? I get why it happened, but you're the reason he's here. It's on you."

"Wouldn't it be better to send him to a hospital?" And from there, back to Iron Heights,she thinks.

For a second, she sees the steel in Barry Allen in the look he levels at her. But he doesn't answer, just shakes his head...and then offers her the edge of a smile before heading out the door.

"You never know," he tells her on his way. "Maybe you'll hit it off. I think you two might have a bit in common."

She stares after him for a minute, then drops into a chair nearby with a sigh, eyes on the sleeping man in front of her.

"Well," she tells him. "I guess it's me and you, Captain Cold."

Cisco lends her a laptop and she uses it to pull up Team Flash's file on Leonard Snart, expecting the usual police-speak list of felonies and incarcerations, with an added drop of modus operandi.

Instead, she finds a tragedy. (In addition to the felonies and incarcerations, of course.) Not that it absolves him, but...

Sometimes you do what you have to do to survive. And when you turn around and look back on what you've done, you realize that you've become the monster after all.

She knows that far too well.

The file (much of it bare bones—recompiled as best the S.T.A.R. Labs team could after Barry'd wiped Snart's records, a decision Sara wonders at) charts a path from being dragged along on his father's "jobs" as a child to juvie at age 14 (shoplifting) to his rise as a world-class thief to the murder of that father only a few months ago. Chilling words. But she reads Barry's account of the last few days and death of Lewis Snart, and she sort of wishes she could kill the man herself.

All the scraps of information, together, paint a picture of Leonard Snart as a man with few real connections, a true-if-choosy sort of honor, a frightening intellect and an analytical bent that would have served him well as some sort of engineer...or even, she thinks, studying the color mug shot attached to the file, as a detective.

She's nearly to the end of the file when she hears a faint groan, lifting her eyes to see the subject of the file stirring, just a little. She hesitates a moment, then stands, putting the laptop down on her chair, and moves toward the man in the bed.

His brows are drawn together in...pain? She's not sure. She knows Caitlin has him doped up on some pretty good drugs, the better to keep him stationary and healing and out of S.T.A.R. Labs all the sooner. After a moment of watching his eyes move under the lids, she draws in a breath as they flicker open, and he gradually focuses on her.

They're bluer than in the mug shot, she thinks, ridiculously.

It takes a few moments before he manages to say anything.

"You beat the shit out of me." His voice is rough and he sounds, she thinks, more confused than angry. And weirdly, even vaguely impressed.

"I did." Her voice is nearly inaudible. "I'm sorry. It's...I...lost control. I have...it's a long story."

"Damn." He moves his head slightly, wincing, then frowns at the room. "Where..."

"S.T.A.R. Labs. Seemed like the least I could do was get you patched up."

The blue eyes widen, then narrow, and even though he has a concussion and multiple other injuries, she can see the mind behind those eyes working furiously as they flick around the room, taking in every detail and presumably logging it for future usage.

"Hmm," he says only. "Interesting. Medical facility? Haven't been in here before."

"Mmmhmm." She studies him for a moment as he closes his eyes again for a few seconds, drawing a breath as they flick open again and look straight at her.

"Well," he drawls, sounding just a little breathless. "Thanks for not killing me, I guess. But I need to be going now..."

And, to her amazement, he actually tries to sit up, setting monitors beeping madly and drawing an audible (if partially suppressed) groan from his lips. The monitor cords and IVs stop him, though, and she raises out to put a hand on his chest, telling herself not to be hurt as he flinches from it—she's the reason he's in this state, after all.

"You have a concussion," she tells him. "That needs to be monitored for a while. So do the broken ribs. You've got a bad ankle sprain; you shouldn't even be on crutches for days yet. And your wrist...you're right-handed, right?" She motions at the arm, which is splinted while Caitlin waits for some of the swelling to go down enough for an actual cast. "Tough to impossible to drive with that. And the more you try to do before you're ready, the more likely it is that some of the effects will be permanent."

She takes a deep breath. "If you stay put, take care of yourself, let us help...they say you should make a full recovery. You walk...limp, drag yourself, whatever...out that door, there's no guarantee of that."

He stops, his glare somewhat mitigated by the fact that all the monitors are still having a very loud fit and he's obviously, to her practiced eye, in some pain. She continues, hurrying to get the words out while he actually seems to be listening...

"Do you even have anywhere decent to stay?" she asks him. "Something a little less utilitarian than a safe house? And if you do...someone to help you out? Monitor you? Pretty stupid to survive all that you have and then pass out and hit your head because you were too stubborn to accept help when it's needed...and offered."

If anything, the glare is even icier at her reminder of his current fragility. She understands, though. She's never been good at accepting such things herself.

"Look," he grits out, anger in his voice even as he grips the edge of the bed in an effort to keep vaguely upright, a move that doesn't fool her at all, "I don't rely on anyone but myself, Canary. And why the hell should I listen to the person who put me here to begin with?"

It hurts, it hurts more than it should, and it's too goddamned true.

"Look," she tells him, letting some of her conflict and regret into her eyes, into her voice. "This thing inside me...yes, I hurt you. I didn't mean to. I didn't want to, not really. I'm trying...I want to make amends. Barry will probably be back soon; talk to him. He's adamant you don't get turned back in, so don't worry about that.

"It's just...let me help."

He's looking at her now with the oddest expression on his face, and she has the uncomfortable thought that, while he's used to people hurting him—and fairly used to dishing out hurt on his own-he's not so used to people offered even the sketchiest sort of assistance. And if they do, it comes with all too many strings. He's alone in the house of the enemy, after all, even though the enemy is allegedly trying to help him.

She bites her lip as something stirs inside her. A thread of fellow feeling, perhaps? It's not pity. Empathy, maybe. Connection.

It feels like much longer than it actually is before he gives an abrupt shake of his head, then subsides back onto the bed, closing his eyes and throwing his splinted wrist up over his face

"All right, White Canary," he tells her with a sigh. "You win. I'll stick around...for now.

"But in return...I want your story."

Chapter Text

"You want to hear my story now?"

He wants to snap back a "yes" at her, to exert some modicum of control over what he's been caught up in here...but he's just too damned tired. Self-preservation is forcing him to admit, at least to himself, that the threat to walk out of here had been more bravado than anything else.

But she's right. It would have been foolhardy. And while he'll admit to the occasional taking of chances, he tries not to do foolhardy.

"No," he manages to drawl, hoping that the slur in his speech is audible only to himself. "Just...sometime."

His splinted arm...which feels mostly numb with a faint sense of ache, but he will not stress out about the numbness yet, he will not...is over his eyes, but he feels the shift in the air as she moves closer, and tries not to flinch. He's more impressed than anything else with her fighting ability, really, if not with the whole berserker thing-but he's already unnerved by the notion that all that...doctoring…had taken place while he was drugged and out of it, and he's trying not to think about the touching.

"Do you want some water?"

"Yeah," he admits, watching as she crosses to a small refrigerator across the room, removes a bottle and returns with it, uncapping it and holding it out toward his left hand so he can take it. He eyes her as he does, then takes long drink before casting about for somewhere to put it.

Things are starting to get blurry and he can feel the exhaustion resettling its grip on him. He doesn't resist as she takes the bottle back, concentrating on keeping his eyes open, focusing on blond hair and blue eyes.

"Aren't you supposed to stay awake with a concussion?" he hears himself ask, and curses himself for the querulous tone.

"Not if you don't have a brain injury, and you don't," he hears. "Sleep's the best thing. Go to sleep...what should I call you? Barry just calls you Snart..."

The name's out before he can stop it. "Len," he tells her, immediately regretting it.

"Get some rest, Len." His eyes are closed and he's drifting now, but he hears her whisper, again. "I'm sorry."

"Has our patient woken up yet?"

Sara lifts her eyes from where she's reading back over the file (at the moment, Joe West's comments about Lewis Snart's background and treatment of his kids) and watches Caitlin cross the room

"For a few minutes," she says, setting the computer down again. "He actually tried to get up and leave. Talked him out of it, but I think that might have more to do with the fact he'd probably fall over on his face if he even managed it."

The scientist snorts, a curiously unCaitlin-like sound, as she checks the monitors. "Probably. He wouldn't want to show weakness. It probably pisses him off incredibly to be stuck here." There's a satisfied little smile on her face as she glances at Sara. "I can't say that's not one reason I told Barry I'd oversee this."

There doesn't seem to be a good way to respond to that...so she doesn't. She watches the other woman putter about for a few minutes, somewhat encouraged by the utter lack of concern in her demeanor.

Finally, Caitlin shrugs and turns back to Sara, spreading her hands.

"Call me when he wakes up again," she says. "I might want to let him twist in the wind a bit, but I need to at least deliver the usual this-is-the-prognosis spiel. Otherwise known as the don't-do-anything-too-stupid spiel. No one else listens, but you never know."

Sara opens her mouth to respond, then stops. Tries again. "Then he really…"

"…is an utter asshole but Barry seems to think there's potential there. You know Barry." She rolls her eyes. "He…Sara?"

Her eyes are closed. "I stopped in time?"

"Yes…" Caitlin stops, then sighs, shaking her head. She takes a few steps forward, kneeling next to her friend, putting a hand on her knee. Sara's eyes pop open in surprise, and she looks at the other woman, who is looking back at her with compassion.

"He is going to be OK, at least unless he does something incredibly stupid, you know," she tells Sara. "I know you lost control, but you didn't cross the line of no return. You did damage, but you stopped before it was irreparable. And you're doing what you can to make it better now. OK?"

"Doesn't change the fact I did it."

"No." Caitlin's gaze is direct. "And you've got to do something about that...issue. But one thing at a time, right?"

"Right." She hesitates, then, looking at the crook. "So...what is Barry's deal? You should have seen the look he gave me when I suggested someone just drop…Snart…off at a hospital."

"Hmm. Well, for one thing, no one wants him to accidentally…or 'accidentally'…" She sketches air quotes. "…spill the Flash's identity. And…well, Barry gets 'projects.' You know what I mean. I think he figures Snart is what he could have become, if he hadn't had Joe. 'There but by the grace…' and all that." Her mouth twitches. "He thinks Snart has the makings of a hero."

Caitlin obviously considers that ludicrous, or at least extremely unlikely. Sara, though, glances away. It is, after all, at least as ludicrous as an assassin becoming a hero, she thinks.

"And you?" she says. "He kidnapped you once."

The scientist looks thoughtful. "Well. I mean, Snart's an ass, but he's sort of our ass...that didn't come out right...and sometimes Barry's instincts are right. Practically, though…I suppose I like having him where we can keep an eye on him. One way or the other."

It sounds like it might, possibly, be a threat. Having seen glimpses of the steel beneath Caitlin Snow as much she's seen the steel beneath Barry Allen, Sara can believe it.

She doesn't point it out. She wonders, though, how much of the sentiment applies to her, as well.

When he wakes again, he's in a lot more pain. Enough that he has to struggle through it just to open his eyes—and nearly gives it up as a bad job.

He hates broken bones, he thinks, foggily. More than gunshots, stab wounds, concussions. From the time he was 8, he's hated broken bones the most.

That had been his right wrist, too.

It's throbbing now and he involuntarily pulls it closer to his chest, ruthlessly pushing the pain away, or trying. The ankle echoes it, but it's less immediate somehow. Or maybe it's the dreams tipped off by the broken wrist that make it worse...

He hates the pain, but he also hates feeling out of it due to painkillers, especially here, out of his territory, amongst people who aren't truly enemies, not anymore, but aren't really friends. He needs to be at the top of his game around the Flash and his team; that had been part of the allure of toying with them, a challenge and an occupation. Either way, right now, he's not.

And that loss of control bothers him profoundly.

He must have made a sound, because when he does open his eyes, the blond woman, the Canary, is standing at his side, eyeing him with an odd mixture of concern and curiosity. He'd like more time to contemplate the puzzle she represents, but it also occurs to him that—judging by the look on her face—the content of his dreams might have been more apparent than he realized.

The vulnerability makes him snap in anger. "What the fuck are you still doing here? Haven't done enough damage?"

She doesn't react to the words or the anger. Instead, he sees the flash of understanding in her eyes and, in the mood he's in now, he hates that too.

"Dr. Snow is on her way down here," she tells him quietly. "She can give you another shot of painkillers. I get it if you don't like the…the loss of control, I really do, but pain can do that too. So I'd take them. At least for now."

"So you're psychic in addition to badass?" he shoots back, realizing belatedly that his words sound just a little more…admiring…than he was really going for there.

His question draws a snort. "No. Thank god. But…if you really want…" She hesitates, then continues. "…I've learned a number of…pain-management techniques through…a group I was a member of. I can show you some, if you want. Least I can do." She gives him a strict look. "But not now. Take the drugs, Len. Heal. No one here's going to hurt you. Not even me."

There's a lot in her tone to parse out there, especially the bitterness in the last three words, and he catches himself studying her again, a welcome distraction. She glances away, but then almost seems to force herself to look back, meet his eyes…

Of course, that's when Caitlin Snow enters the room.

"Mr. Snart," she greets him, apparently unaware of the way both the room's occupants hurriedly look away from each other. "Back with us, I see."

"Snow," comes his response, in a tone that seems to be trying for dismissive and not quite managing it. "Don't tell me you're not enjoying this a little."

"Actually, no." She stops by the bed and shakes her head at him. "For a number of reasons. So let's try to get you healed up and out of here, shall we? For all our sakes."

"Don't make any sacrifices for my sake." His tone is dry as dust. This from the man who'd actually whimpered in his sleep only a few minutes ago, Sara thinks, and nearly smiles at the sheer effrontery.

Caitlin rolls her eyes. "Don't worry. I won't. But I am your doctor, if only temporarily…and somewhat involuntarily…and I take that very seriously. So. Here are the damages…"

Sara's already heard it all, and she doesn't really need to hear another litany of the results of her failure to keep control. She turns away from words like "Chauffeur's fracture" and "Grade III ankle sprain" and wanders back to the chair, picking up the laptop and shutting it down, then staring blankly at the screen for a long moment before turning back around, taking a deep breath, and wandering back over to the others.

Snart has a very thoughtful look on his face, and Caitlin is…actually looking a little sympathetic, perhaps? But she remains brisk.

"Now," she informs him, "I can give you something else for the pain. You don't have to. But I think it would be the best thing right now. Time to be all 'tough guy' later."

Oddly enough, he looks at Sara. She bites her lip, then looks away. Then back, looking him in the eye, trying to remind him of her earlier words.

She sees those blue eyes crinkle at the corners, just a tiny bit, before he looks back at Caitlin.

"Yeah," he says. "For now, anyway. I don't want to stay on it long." Then, grudgingly, "Thanks."

Caitlin nods once, briskly. "Good. The more rest you get right now, the better. After a day or two, we'll get you in an actual cast for the wrist and a walking boot for the ankle and get you to work." Suddenly, she smiles. "Barry wants to pick your brain, by the way. Since you're a captive audience. He wants your take on some security issues, and your thoughts on a string of robberies around town. Figures you have…insight. Consider the consulting the price you're paying for all this medical care. And for not getting hauled back to Iron Heights."

Snart's eyes widen at that, and a look of disgust overtakes his features. "Are you kidding…"

Sara waits for him to point out that a member of their team, sort of, is the one who put him in this condition. He doesn't. He stops right in the middle of the thought, though, and looks at her a moment—Caitlin turning to see where his eyes are focused, and raising her eyebrows when she does—before turning back to the doctor with a sigh.

"Right," he says with some resignation. "Sure. Tell the speedster he knows where to find me. Now..." He frowns at her. "I want some rest. Without heroes blabbing at me. Can we manage that?"

He doesn't know why he's not absolutely ripping them all a new one for the, the… sheer temerity. Security issues? Consulting?!

Or maybe he does. Maybe he does know.

" No one here's going to hurt you. Not even me."

She's a mystery he wants to solve, this Canary.

And for better or for worse, he means to stick around to solve it.

Chapter Text

She suspects that he really does try to be on his best behavior at first. Honestly, she does.

But he's an intelligent, restless man with a certain disrespect for authority. And "best behavior" is a relative term.

After the first few days (when thanks to the pain meds he sleeps more than anything else), there is…friction. (And not necessarily in an interesting, possibly sexy way. And why is she even thinking that?) He snipes at Caitlin when she checks on him, until the usually calm, collected doctor actually throws her stethoscope at him and stalks away. After visiting the first time, Cisco refuses to enter the room with him again. And Barry…well, that dynamic is a little different, but still…adversarial…

Sara considers this for a moment as she enters the room, a little more than a week after that night in Central City, juggling a bag and a carry-out tray full of CC Jitters cups. Not far away, Captain Cold and the Flash are facing off—the former looking rather obdurate as he sits on the edge of the hospital-type bed, the latter looking vaguely amused as he stands with arms crossed, facing his semi-nemesis from just far enough away to be out of swinging distance.

Leonard Snart is wearing a long-sleeved S.T.A.R. Labs T-shirt. She spares a moment to be amused by this as the crook glances her way, already sharpened gaze taking on an even more laser focus.

"Canary," he drawls, "tell the speed freak here that giving me crutches does not mean I'm going to ransack this place and take off."

"Hmm. Am I sure, Len? Am I sure it doesn't mean that?" She lifts an eyebrow at him as she hands him one coffee, Barry another, ignoring the latter's sudden grin. "If anyone would do it, you would."

He looks rather pleased at that, ignoring Barry's sotto voce "Why does she get to call you 'Len?' "

"Caitlin said you can't have crutches until, one, she's satisfied that the swelling's gone down enough in your wrist that she can put a cast on it for support, and two, that the ankle is stable enough. Even with the walking boot, you nearly damaged yourself trying to get to the bathroom two days ago." She nods at the wheelchair by the bed. "That's what that thing is for."

Leonard looks annoyed. "I am not using…"

"Put a sock in it, Snart," she tells him, purposefully using his surname. "You'll use it if you have to. I know she's also worried…"

"Worried?" he scoffs.

"…yes, worried, she's a doctor, you idiot, she takes that seriously…about you putting weight on the wrist even with a cast's support, and you have to do that to use crutches. So she's looking into getting you a so-called hands-free crutch." She narrows her eyes at him, satisfied to see the surprise in his. "Yes, you ass, she's trying to help you. Why, I'm not entirely sure."

Leonard appears to be at a loss for words. She takes a certain smug sense of satisfaction from that.

Barry, to all appearances forgotten by both of them, laughs suddenly, drawing two sets of blue eyes back to him.

"Well," he says cheerfully, "looks like you have it under control. Snart, I still want to talk about the security stuff—and that string of robberies-but I need to get to work. Later."

He accepts the other cups Sara hands him for Cisco, Caitlin, and Wells, grins at them again and heads for the door. Leonard, recovering his usual insouciance quickly, can't let him go without a final word.

"Come back anytime, Allen," he drawls at Barry's retreating back. "Especially now, I can use the sense of superiority. And it can't hurt to know what you think the lab's security failings are. I probably know them all, but I still might find it…useful."

Barry Allen responds with a wave of his hand as he leaves the room. Leonard snorts in derision, watching him go, and Sara shakes her head as she watches him.

"Stop being an ass," she tells him. "And stop flirting with Barry Allen."

His chin goes up. "I am not…"

"Oh, yes, you are." Her lips twitch. "It's kind of cute. Captain Cold meets Captain Oblivious."

He glares at her for a moment before giving in and smirking just a little. "Jealous?"

He's flirted with her every bit as much and with a lot more intensity, and she knows she hasn't imagined the sparks. She shakes her head at him again, a smile lurking around her mouth, letting their gazes meet just a second before looking at the bag she carries.

You're playing with fire, Sara. Or ice…

After a moment, he sighs theatrically. "I'm bored."

"What are you, 5?" But she relents. "I can imagine. Run out of books? I can get more."

"Well. Yes. But it's not just that. I don't like being…" He seems to sift through words, choosing "…confined."

"I bet." She doesn't make a crack about prison, suspecting it might have more to do with other, older memories. "Or stationary, I'd guess." It will help everyone when Caitlin finally lets him start some sort of physical therapy. "Still no pain meds?"

"Nope. Not after the first few days." He gives her a thin smile. "Going to yell at me?"

"Not now. Worst should be past, at least for now; it's up to you. I suspect that's not what's affecting your usually sterling personality, anyway."

That actually gets a bark of laughter. How does it feel like they've known each other a lot longer than they have? She steers the chair over by the bed where he's still perched, sitting down and watching him maneuver his foot with the bulky walking boot back up onto the bed. Settled, he sighs, then looks back at her with a particular gleam in his blue eyes.

"So. Your story."

He keeps bringing this up; she keeps dodging. Sara sips her coffee, looking at him over the rim of the cup and trying to decide how to respond this time. He lets the silence drag out for a few minutes, then tilts his head at her, taking a drink of his own coffee.

"You did promise me."

"I didn't, really," she points out. "You asked…or actually, demanded. I never said I would."

She sees him thinking back over her words, finally conceding the truth of them with a shrug. "What if I asked nicely?" He darts another look at her. "Tell me a story…Sara."

Well, someone's been careless with her name. Cisco, she'd guess. "What if…we trade off? I'll tell you something about me, you tell me something about you."

It takes him by surprise; she can see it. Can also see the thoughts percolating behind his eyes in the moment before they shutter, the cold persona she's heard about but seen remarkably little of since they…met…taking over.

"I'm not very interesting," he tells her curtly. "And you probably know all there is to know."

"I doubt it." She leans forward, arms on her legs, studying him. "Come on, Len. You can stop at any time. I thought you were bored."

He slants a glance at her, then sighs. "OK. Shoot."

"Hmm." She's feeling oddly reckless, and it probably wouldn't be difficult for him to find out her full name away. "I'm Sara Lance. I'm originally from…"

"Star City." He lifts an eyebrow at her look. "Come on. You think I didn't know that Star is home to a vigilante called the Black Canary? Don't know if you've changed your name or your…counterpart…is simply an associate, but that's a little too much as a coincidence."

She doesn't confirm or deny, a little disturbed she might have revealed a chink in Laurel's secret identity. "OK, then. Since you know so much…it's your turn." She ignores his protest and considers. Best to start with a softball. "What's…your middle name? It wasn't in the file."

A huff of amusement. "Seriously?"

"Mine is Marie. Boring."

A tiny smile. "You wasted a question. I don't have one." At her look: "Honest. Family legend has it my mom wanted to use her dad's name, but my father 'forgot' to tell the nurse. At least he didn't use hisname."

"My turn, then." A little intimidation can't be a bad thing. "I was a member of the League of Assassins. Was."

He doesn't look quite as surprised as she'd expected, leaning back against the pillow and looking thoughtful. "That…explains rather a lot. And how did a…" A considering look. "…cop's daughter from Star City wind up with the League?"

She blinks at him, then sighs at the self-satisfied smirk on his face. "If you can't stop telling my own story for me, I'm going to stop telling it myself," she tells him shortly.

"Sorry." And he might, actually, look it. "Go on."

"Hmm." She stares into the depths of her coffee, wondering why she's even telling him this. "I got on a boat."

"A boat."

"Yes. And it sank. In the North China Sea." She takes a sip of the cooling beverage. "A…lot of stuff happened, and I don't really want to go into it, OK? The League rescued me. I didn't want to be afraid anymore…and..they taught me not to be. That's all."

He's silent a long moment, but she doesn't look at him. "Don't know much about the League, but didn't think they just let people go," he finally says.

"They don't. That's another story you don't need to know." She shrugs. "I'm out. It doesn't matter."

Another long silence. She stares at her hands, thinking about life and death and love, and wonders what he'll ask next, and how she'll answer.

"Any siblings?"

The change of subject—it has to be on purpose—startles her and her gaze flicks to his. The corners of his eyes crinkle a little, in the not-a-smile-really Snart expression she's seen before. Yes, definitely on purpose.

"You know I have a sister," he says finally, when she doesn't respond. "I'm sure Allen…and Ramon…told you that. Just wondered."

"I have a sister, too," she says quietly. "Older."

"Ah, you're the pesky little sister in the relationship." His tone is purposely annoying. Trying to chivvy her out of the darkness? It irritates her and…warms?...her in equal measure.

"Oh, yes, very," she says, injecting some lightness into her tone. "And…Lisa? Annoying?"

His mouth twitches. "Just a bit. But…family."

There's a lot packed into the word and his tone. "Where is she now?"

"Traveling." He shifts a little, moving his foot again. "Turning over a new leaf, she says. I have my doubts, but…she does seem to be…"

It's curiously forthcoming. "Rethinking things?" After the events described in the file, she can understand the desire to do so. In fact, she's wondering a little if the man before her might be considering the same thing.

The sudden spark of hope she feels surprises her, and she bites her lip in consternation. Leonard, apparently unaware of her sudden disquiet, shrugs again, then glances back at her. "And your sister? You get along?"

"She's the serious, responsible one." Oh, no, not a vigilante, certainly not. "But, yes. We do." Now.

"So why aren't you there?" The musing tone is so innocent…like this man has ever been innocent…and she frowns at him until he continues. "Why aren't you in Star City?"

"I…"

"Why are you here?" he asks, persistently, leaning forward a little. "Helping the Flash and company. In Central City and not Star City, when there's a lot of shit going down in Star City…there always is. Why did you leave?"

The question has her frowning at him, standing up, trying to regain her equilibrium, the sense of odd camaraderie that had been there a few moments ago. "I needed a change of scenery."

His eyes are bright. "Does it have to do with the…thing inside you, the loss of control…that caused you to beat the living crap out of me last week?"

"No!" She's on her feet, now, walking away, turning to stare back at him. He's silent, watching her, and she might be imagining the flash of regret in his eyes.

She thinks about leaving, walking out the door. It's been quiet, so quiet in Central City lately, but surely Barry and Co. can find something for her to do. Or she can go back to her apartment alone…

The one person who truly seems to want her company is staring at her, and yes, that is definitely regret.

"I died."

Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't that. (And honestly, she's surprised the words escaped.) She sees him blink, open his mouth, then shut it.

"I died on the streets of Star City. Three arrows to the gut," she says recklessly, watching him flounder. "More than a year ago. My sister found a way to bring me back about five months ago…no, I won't tell you, it doesn't matter anyway. It left me with this….bloodlust…a need to kill. I thought I'd…fought it off. That I had it under control. I didn't. I'm sorry; you paid the price for that."

She stops, blinking, looks at the stunned expression on his face, which is quickly concealed by the emotionless mask she's seen a time or two. She looks away. So, that's how it's going to be.

She can't really blame him. She wouldn't want her around, in his company, in his city, either.

"But you did."

"What?" She looks back. The mask is still there, but it's…slipping? Certainly, there's something in his eyes…

"OK, so you lost control." The drawl is back, a studied response to her turmoil. "But you said, a need to kill."

"Yes." She should leave. She should…

"You didn't, though." He shifts a little again, looks at his foot and wrist, then back at her. "Let's be honest; you didn't even damage me nearly as badly as you could have. Right?"

She just stares at him.

"Right?" he persists. "Come on. League of Assassins? I could have been dead before I blinked."

"Yes, but…"

"You didn't." His tone is smug and he's smirking at her, the asshole. "Was it my charm? My good looks?"

"No, I…" It hits her then, like a wave of cool water. He's trying to snap her out of it, the pain, the guilt, the fear. But where everyone else has tried earnestness and telling her things that she knows are not true…he's going for snark. And pure unvarnished truth.

Yes, she slipped. But, yes, she fought. And, yes, she succeeded, at least in part.

She actually laughs and if there's an edge of hysteria to it, there's also an edge of relief. "Maybe," she tells him, and OK, yes, there's also an edge of flirtatiousness to it, and well, that's OK. Maybe it's time to own that she's attracted to him. She's always liked bad boys and girls. "I just couldn't resist you. It counteracted years of training. Impressive."

He's grinning back, and it's a real grin. "What can I say? I'm just that good."

They look at each other and something has changed. Something indefinable and powerful, something new to both of them, something that speaks of feelings, of a meeting of minds, of connection.

But now is not the time, and they both know that, too.

"I need to go check in with Cisco," she says, throwing her empty coffee cup into a nearby wastebasket. "I'll see you in a little bit. Make a list of books for me; I'll find them for you."

"Books are good," he allows. "But…Sara?"

She turns around and looks at him, wondering what further truth he's going to try to drag from her, what he's going to make her feel this time.

"Do you play cards?"

Chapter Text

"...no. No. I'll come home. Really. I can throw a few things in a bag; I can be there..."

Sara's so distracted by the voice on the other end of the line...and the news that it's giving her...that she doesn't notice the different quality of the silence as she walks into the S.T.A.R. Labs medical room.

"No, really. With everything that's going on...I can help, I can..." She falls silent once more, listening to the voice, before actually lifting her eyes and glancing around...and stopping at the four sets of eyes gazing at her instead of just one.

Barry, Cisco and Caitlin are gathered around a table spread with papers, as is Len, leaning on the walking crutch fastened to his healing leg. The other three look concerned. Len's face, though, is carefully blank.

He meets her eyes, though. And, oddly, it's the promise of backup there, no questions asked, that helps the most.

"Laurel..." She turns away, though, concentrating on that voice on the line, which is telling her things she doesn't want to hear. "All right...all right. I'll stay here. But you call, you let me know if that changes. I'll be there as soon as possible." She bites her lip, avoiding the other eyes in the room. "OK. Give him a hug from me. I love you too."

She hangs up, takes a deep breath and turns around, noting how the others have turned back to the table, but Len is still watching her with that quiet intensity. As she moves, though, Barry looks back up, pretending at nonchalance.

"Everything OK?" he asks casually.

"Just...what did you say once? There's always some sort of chaos in Star City." She gives them all a thin smile. "I'm OK. What's going on?"

But Leonard, at least, has decided the gathering is over. He takes a step away from the table, leaning on the crutch perhaps just a little heavily, and Sara can't tell if it's an affectation or sincere. Both, maybe.

"That's enough free consulting work for one day, Allen," he drawls. "I'm an invalid, remember? I'm tired. And I still have those stupid PT exercises to do."

Caitlin bristles at him as she picks up the papers. "Those stupid exercises will let you build up enough strength to get out of here and stop mooching off S.T.A.R. Labs..."

"I have never in my life mooched..."

But Barry is holding up his hands in capitulation, shaking his head, an expression of great amusement on his face.

"All right, all right, we get it." The speedster picks up another pile of what appear to be blueprints, then takes the stack from Caitlin. "Think on that camera issue, OK, Snart?" He grins at the gesture he gets in return. "Right. See ya."

But neither of the two people left in the room so much as look in his direction as he, Caitlin and Cisco leave.

As soon as the door closes behind them, Caitlin lets out a rush of breath. "Is it just me or are they sort of..." She sort of shrugs and wags her head from side to side. "...you know...um. Maybe...into each other?"

Barry doesn't respond, just smiles to himself as the three stroll down the hallway toward the elevator. The other two don't appear to notice his amusement, however.

"Oh, they are definitely..." Cisco makes the same movement. "I don't like this. I don't like this at all. I mean, Captain Cold in love? That's disturbing enough without adding the, uh, whole scary assassin thing into it."

"I don't think I'd say 'love' yet," Caitlin muses out loud as they get into the elevator. " 'Like,' yes. God, that sounds so middle school. 'Lust,' almost certainly..."

"And, OK, did not need to hear that..."

"OK. Sing, Canary. What's going on?" He waits, of course, until he's practicing putting weight on his bad ankle, her spotting him, before he asks. Trusting that she won't walk out on him? She'd be annoyed at the assumption... but it's true enough. She's to blame for his condition. She feels that responsibility.

And he's becoming a friend. Strange, but true. Barry, Cisco, Caitlin...she likes them, all of them, but it's the crook who seems to understand her.

"Why do you think I'm going to tell you?" she fires back at him, though, watching his slow, steady progress along the wall railing Cisco'd installed.

"Because you need to tell someone and I'm here and asking?" He gives her a bland look. "And interested."

"In the story?" She's not sure why she said that, and continues before he has a chance to clarify. "It's nothing."

"Uh huh." He grunts in pain suddenly, puts a hand on the railing, but waves her off as she moves toward him. And after a moment, he continues, both verbally and in careful steps. "You were talking about leaving."

Would you care if I did? pops into her head, unexpectedly. "I..." She sighs. "Like I said. There's trouble at home. With friends. With family. My dad...he's been suspended." An unsteady breath. "It's a long story."

"Your dad, the cop."

"Mmmhmm."

He pauses, an odd expression in his eyes. "Why?"

She remembers, then, that his own father had been a crooked cop before turning to full-time crime. "Nothing like...he was working with someone. Didn't really have a choice. And he could have hidden it, but he testified. So this person wouldn't get released. And this is what it got him."

"Ah." A single, neutral syllable. Thinking of his father again? Himself? She doesn't ask. But the floodgates have been opened and she can't seem to stop.

"There's more going on, too. The tea...my friends. A lot of trouble. But they want me to stay here," she says numbly, sitting down in a nearby chair and tucking her feet under her. "Right now, I'm a problem they don't have to deal with. I want to help and my sister says the best way I can do that is to stay here."

His mouth twists. "Ouch." But it's said without pity, and when he looks her way, his eyes are considering, sympathetic in a way that belies his nickname.

"Yeah." She tries for levity. "So I'm stuck here with you. In case you thought you were getting rid of me."

"Perish the thought." Leaving the railing and limping her way—ignoring her warning to grab the crutch—he collapses into a chair next to her, stretching his leg out before him with a groan before looking back at her. "You know, maybe they just want you to be safe." When she rolls her eyes, he shrugs. "I'd feel that way. About my sister."

"I don't like being protected."

A huff of laughter, followed by a dry, "Stunning." He turns his foot this way and that, considering it. "But, Sara..."

"What?"

"It's not just for your sake, you know."

"What do you mean?"

"Sometimes it helps," he says, looking at his ankle and not at her. "Knowing there's something-someone-out there who's away from it. Whatever it is."

He'd protected his sister, she knows. Gotten between her and their father countless times when he was younger. Made sure she got a high school diploma, and tried (albeit unsuccessfully) to keep her out of the family business. And now, has spoken fondly of her attempt to find a new path.

So she doesn't respond at first. She thinks about it. About her father, who's lost her once, and Laurel, who did so much to bring her back and protect her. And Ollie and Diggle and Thea and Felicity...

"Len?"

"Hmm?"

"Thanks. For listening."

"Anytime."

A few days later, it's evening in S.T.A.R. Labs when Caitlin pokes her head into the med room, where Sara has just walked in and draped her jacket on a chair.

"We're going out. To a club." She beams. "Barry says it has four stars on Yelp. Just to blow off some steam. Even Jessie is going. Would you like to come with us? Harry is staying here and he can keep an eye on...things."

"Things," she's pretty sure, is standing not too far away, studying the deck of cards in his hands and pretending he's not listening, even though Sara's nearly certain he can hear everything. He'd just reminded her she'd wanted a rematch in gin, to which she'd agreed—although not without the threat of something unspecified if she caught him cheating. Again.

Caitlin notes her hesitation and, somewhat alarmingly, reads it correctly. She bites her lip, then adds, tentatively and in a low, low voice, "We could probably even bring Mr. Tall, Dark and Wanted over there if he kept his head down and you promise to 'babysit'..."

Sara spares about a second to think about Leonard Snart in a club with herself and Team Flash. It would probably, she thinks, end in a brawl of some kind. Which could be fun, but...

"Nah. It's not...I'd just rather stay here. Not really in the mood, you know?" She smiles at her friend. "Some other time."

"Hmm." There's an odd sort of consideration in Caitlin's eyes. "OK. Text if you change your mind."

"Will do. Have fun."

She thinks that maybe, just maybe, she hears a quiet "you too" as Caitlin leaves. But she ignores it, returning to Leonard's side and reaching for that deck of cards.

They're finishing the first hand when he finally speaks. "Not into the club scene?"

"I worked at a club for years." She gathers the cards back up, shuffles and begins to deal. "I'm sort of clubbed out."

"I'm more of a dive bar-type myself." A sly look as he starts picking up his hand. "We could sneak out."

She hides a smile, takes a card, considers it, and lays one down. "We could."

"Buy you a drink?"

"Maybe sometime when you can hold your own in a fight and won't rely on me to protect you from the people you'd inevitably piss off."

He doesn't argue the point. "I'd hold your beer."

"I know." And then, surprising herself: "It's a date."

He glances up and his eyes flicker. "I'll hold you to that."

Of course, she misses all the excitement.

When the team returns, full of talk about the evil speedster, it's time to move, time (Sara feels) to earn her place here.

Len is not impressed.

"Another speedster," he drawls with distaste from where he's leaning on the bed frame. "Fabulous. And this one's competition? Allen's bad enough."

She rolls her eyes at him from her position near the door. "I didn't even need to tell you, you ass. Just wanted to warn you that there was something going on. You steady enough to manage for a bit?"

He gives her a speaking glance that makes her lips twitch. "OK, then," she says then, turning to leave. "Don't overdo it. I'll check in in a bit."

"Canary?"

She glances back.

"Be careful," he tells her. "I still owe you that drink. And these speedsters are a pain in the ass."

Sara laughs off his concern...well, to be fair, he'd phrased it pretty casually. He watches the door for a moment after she leaves, then limps over to test it. Still locked in.

He snorts. Like he can't get out of here if he wants. He just hasn't wanted, not so far, not between the very real need for assistance and the intriguing puzzle that is Sara Lance.

She's never dealt with a speedster, he thinks. Not as an enemy. He has.

Somewhere in this building is a weapon developed to take on speedsters. Hisweapon. He's not sure where.

Maybe it's time for that to change.

"A lady speedster! It only took us two years, but we finally got one," Cisco says happily. "A lady speedster." Pause. "Hey, here's a question for you. Purely scientific. Was she good looking?"

Joe West laughs out loud. Sara's lips twitch, a little, but otherwise, she just leans against the doorway and listens.

"I was a little busy getting my ass handed to me, so I didn't really notice," Barry tells him a trifle acerbically.

"Right, right, right. Well, you know, next time? For science?"

"OK, yeah, the next time she punches me in the face, I'll be sure to get her number."

When Caitlin makes a connection between her former colleague at Mercury Labs and the new speedster, it's Sara who volunteers to go along…for perhaps Eliza Harmon won't be as suspicious at the presence of one of Caitlin's friends as the presence of a police detective. Joe heads back to the precinct to check out other leads.

S.T.A.R. Labs has upgraded its security. Leonard stares at the door in annoyance, flexing his fingers of his right hand just a little to test out the range of motion despite the splint and residual numbness. Not great, but perhaps still better than using his left, for all he's done his best to get as ambidextrous as possible over the years.

Any room stocked with medical supplies is going to have things that can be used as lock picks. He finds a few likely items, then drags a chair over, props up his aching ankle, and sets to work.

Sara and Caitlin have no luck with Harmon, although Sara's suspicions are tripped. They return to S.T.A.R. Labs. Sara's about to head down to the med room when a red blur flashes into the Cortex.

Something's going on.

There's a flicker of electricity over the door—right about when he thinks he's getting somewhere with the lock, damn it—and Leonard recoils almost involuntarily, annoyed with himself over the response.

There's an indistinct "click." And when he reaches out and puts a hand on the door, it slides open.

Well, then. He levers himself to his feet, but hesitates. That rush of energy had screamed "speedster." And Barry is not the only one in town.

There's a more conventional crutch in the room, and whether or not such a "weapon" will do any good, he feels better having it. Slowly, he makes his way out the door and into the corridor, heading for the elevator.

He doesn't quite make it.

Harmon, calling herself Trajectory, locks Barry in a cell in the Pipeline; his yells give Joe and Sara just enough time to pull their weapons….but to no avail. Trajectory knocks them both out, aiming for the two armed people in the room, and they only come to after all the damage has been done.

Trajectory doesn't last much longer, though. And eventually, someone thinks about the crook in the basement.

"Snart!"

"Len..." He's the first thing she sees when the elevator doors open, and she actually beats Barry to his side. Propped against the wall, the crook winces just a little as he tries to right himself a little more, and Sara checks herself before her initial impulse to immediately offer him a hand up.

Following, Barry notes the crutch lying splintered down the hall, the open door...and the smile Snart actually gives Sara before transferring his gaze to the other man.

"I take it," he tells Barry drily, "that wasn't you."

"No. And I take it Trajectory made it down here too." He and Sara move to either side of the fallen man and slowly get him to his feet, and while Snart seems annoyed at the assistance, he does take it.

"The hell kind of a name is that?" he mutters, leaning heavily on the walking crutch and wincing again.

"Yeah, Cisco was not impressed." Barry shakes his head, then jerks it toward the med room, and the little group slowly starts moving in that direction.

"Well, whoever the hell it was knocked me on my ass." Snart makes no comment on his presence in the hall, and neither do the others. "Think I blacked out a while." At Sara's murmurred curse, his eyes flicker to her and he stops in his tracks, eyes going to the scrape on her forehead, the bandage around her wrist, the reflection of his own splinted wrist.

But after a moment, he starts moving again, and no one speaks again until they're all in the med room.

Sara's kicking herself for not realizing sooner that Harmon had made sure to cross off every potential enemy in the building before going after her fix. But Len, once settled in a chair with his bad leg elevated, doesn't appear to blame her. Instead, he's holding a staring contest with Barry.

"I don't like being stuck here when shit like this is going on," he finally tells the speedster in a curt tone. (And that, she thinks, is probably all the explanation for his "escape" they'll ever get.)

"I thought you were an invalid," Barry jibes back. "Why, you wanna be a hero now? If you're serious, I mean, we really could have used your cold gun the past few days. And frankly, it still wouldn't be a bad idea."

"You already have it." Snart's glare is both angry and uncertain. Sara, watching, bites her lip at her realization of the latter.

"And you've got a fingerprint lock on it now." Barry's gaze, however, is resolute. "I'm sure Cisco could bypass it, but we haven't really had the time. Say the word."

Snart stares at him a long moment…then snorts.

"Base pay for the hero gig go up while I've been laid up?" he asks.

Barry just shakes his head. "I'll send Caitlin down to take a look at you soon as she can," he says. "And Snart? Offer stands."

The words just get an annoyed wave of a hand...but as Barry glances behind himself as he heads out the door, he sees Sara cross to put a hand on Snart's wrist, and the man lifting a hand to touch the scrape at her temple.

"Matter of time," he mutters to himself, and smiles.

Chapter Text

Maybe it happens differently in another timeline.

Here, she's playing cards with him, late at night in the S.T.A.R. Labs basement nearly two weeks after the Trajectory incident, when she gets the call.

"No. No. NO."

She feels rather than sees Leonard tensing behind her, but her real attention isn't there. It's on the phone, on Oliver's words, on the realization that things may have changed forever.

"I'm coming home, I'm coming home now." A pause. "What the hell do you mean? I need to see her. And if I can help…" Another pause. "That can't…you don't…Oliver…I don't care!"

Pain in that cry; she just can't help it. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Leonard move as if to touch her arm, hesitate.

A long silence. Then: "I understand. But..."

She's interrupted the voice on the phone again, and it's all she can do not to rage at him, to hang up, to throw the phone across the room and just leave. But Oliver's talking faster than she's ever heard before in her life, and it's the desperation in his tone, in his words, that finally sinks in.

"I…yes. I will. You tell him…tell her…I'll be there in a heartbeat, I swear. I will," she says numbly, finally. "Just say the word. And tell her...I love her."

She hangs up. Stares at her phone, feeling the tears gathering in her eyes. Gathering and pooling and ready to spill over. But if they do, if they do, then it will be real, she'll have to admit it's all real...

She looks up, then, turns and looks at Len. And thank God, it's not sympathy in his eyes, not just yet, just that steady consideration she's seen there before. And that makes it possible for her to take a shaky breath, and not scream. Not yet.

His gaze doesn't waver. Then: "Tell me."

His voice is low, and she can hear the understanding in it. Family...is complicated. So, she speaks.

"My sister. She's...she's...there was a prison riot in Star City, and some people escaped and she, she fought." A ragged breath.

"She got stabbed. In the back. They don't know if she's going to make it. And if she does, what the long-term results might be. She might not be able to walk again.

"Ol...a friend. He said that it's more important to my Dad to know I'm out of it, and by the time I'd get there... And he says that...someone...long story...really long story, but someone I trust...told him that if I'm there, I'll die too. And my father too. So I have to stay here."

She looks so lost, standing there. So alone. And he knows he should let her go find her friends, the people like Barry and Snow and Ramon, who understand this hero-ing thing and aren't the sort of person who'd done this in the first place, but...

He doesn't think she can move right now. And he's not a hero, never will be, but he's here.

"Hey," he says, reaching out to grab her sleeve, sliding his hand down to enfold her cold fingers in his. "Hey. Sara."

The look she gives him is...that's just it, lost. He tugs her toward him and she goes unresistingly, until she's standing right there in front of him, and he hesitates. And then he puts his arms around her.

She's rigid at first. And he starts to let go, not wanting to do anything unwelcome. And then...she melts. Her muscles go limp, she folds into him, he catches her.

He doesn't think Sara cries often, if at all. But she does now. She cries. She buries her face in his good shoulder and sobs, her whole body shaking. He tentatively tightens his arms around her and she burrows into him even more, body molding to his, using the contact as a comfort, a connection, a way home.

He's never felt that way about human contact. But with her...

He'd been sitting on the bed as they played, using the mattress to support his leg, given that the incident with Trajectory had set things back a little. Now he adjusts a little, pulling her with him. First, they're just both sort of sitting there on the edge. But it's awkward and his ribs hurt, and she's going to fall if he lets go...

Even he's not sure how it happens, but eventually they're both sprawled on the bed, and she's arranged along his side, legs tangled with his, still curled into him, still lost in grief. It's so much more contact than he's used to, but it seems to be what she needs, given the way she's still clinging to him.

Eventually, she quiets. But she doesn't let go.

Greatly daring, he runs a hand along her back, trying to soothe, and she turns her face into his neck with a sigh. Still no words. Maybe, none needed.

"Go to sleep, Canary," he says quietly. "I got you. I'll wake you up if I hear your phone."

In the end, he dozes off too, there in the bed with Sara curled up in his arms, her face still buried in his neck and her fists still tangled in his soggy shirt. He's not sure how long they're out, but it's long enough that the sleep actually does some good, or least he's not too groggy when he wakes. Fortunately.

The last time he fell asleep with someone, anyone, like this, it was the approximately 5-year-old Lisa. This is utterly different, and every inch-every inch—of him knows this.

It has, well, reacted predictably.

Before Sara wakes up and decides to murder him for physical responses that, uh, he can claimare purely involuntary, he starts to carefully pull away, to put a gap of mere centimeters, at least, between portions of his body and hers.

He's managed that, barely, when he hears her breathing change. Feels the brief tensing of the muscles of her back and shoulders…and then, thank God, feels them relaxing again.

Her eyes flutter open; he can feel her lashes against his throat. (And no, it's not like he's hypersensitive right now or anything...) After a moment, she tilts her head back a little to look at him... and he realizes belatedly that, in his attempts to gain a little space between their lower bodies, he hadn't thought about other real estate.

Their lips are very close. And, no, he definitely shouldn't be thinking about that right now.

Sara, her eyes still a little red, studies him a moment, then gives him a rueful smile and settles her head more comfortably on his shoulder.

"Nothing? From the phone?" she asks, her voice a little rough.

"No. Been keeping an ear out."

"Hmmm." She closes her eyes again with a sigh. "Thank you."

Something in those two words, in the depth of feeling there, suggests that she's not just referring to the phone.

Sara knows she should move. Should get up, should go look for the others, let them know what's going on.

But she doesn't. She's warm and she's comfortable. And while she can't escape the knowledge of what's going on in Star City, she can bask, just a little, in the feeling of beingcared for.

It hadn't escaped her, how he'd shifted a little as she was waking, nor why. (And in a different situation, she thinks, what would she do with that?) But he's still here, still letting her into that bubble of personal space, and she thinks she has a grasp of how rare and precious a gift that is.

The crook and the assassin, she thinks sleepily. What a pair. How Laurel would laugh...

Her phone rings.

He's seen her move quickly before—notably, that fateful evening outside the museum. But even that has nothing on how she moves now, launching herself over him to grab the phone on the bedside table, swinging her feet off the edge of the bed and standing as she answers it.

"Hello?"

He sees it first in the set of her shoulders, the miniscule relaxation. And then, as she turns just a little, her face, the pure, unmitigated relief there.

"She is? She is? Really? That's...Dad..." A ragged breath. "Oh, thank God."

He lets out a breath of his own, then. He, Leonard Snart, invested in the fate of a DA...a DA!...from Star City. Because of her.

"No, that's good. That's great. I...yeah, I'll stay here. I promise, Dad. You stay in touch. Can I...can I talk to her?" Another deep breath. "OK, you call me back as soon I can, OK? I love you. I love you all."

She hangs up. Stands them a moment, still and thoughtful, then turns back to him.

Her eyes are still red, but they're shining, shining at him, and something clenches in the area of his stomach.

Oh shit...he thinks, distantly.

"She's going to be OK. Len, they think she's going to be OK," Sara tells him. "There are issues, there's some paralysis, but there are also things they can do, there's...there's hope even for those." She closes her eyes. "She's going to be OK."

He's still dealing with his realization of a few moments before, but her relief and her joy are so strong that he can't help but reply.

"I'm glad," he tells her sincerely. "Really. Do you…"

She takes a step closer, so she's standing right in front of him again...and then she leans over and kisses him.

It's just a brush of lips, brief and soft, and he's too surprised to make anything more of it, even if he'd do something like that given the past 12 hours or so she's just had. He may be a jerk, but he's not a total asshole, after all.

She pulls back and smiles at him, at the stunned expression on his face. "Thank you," she says. "For being here for me. You're a better person than you think, Leonard Snart. But don't worry. I won't give away your secret."

Then she kisses him again. And this time, there's just a flicker of tongue involved, a hint of heat, the caress of her hand along his jaw, of promise…

And just as he begins to consider pulling her closer, she breaks the kiss and takes a step back. He can't help the sudden intake of breath and knows she hears it.

But Sara doesn't comment. She just takes a deep breath of her own and lets it out on a long sigh. "I need to go let the others know what's happened," she says. "See if there is anything we can do from here. I..."

For a long moment, they just stare at each other. Knowing that something has shifted again, but with no clear consensus on what to do about it.

At least, not yet.

Finally, Sara reaches out and touches his hand. "Thanks again," she says quietly. "I...I'll see you later."

And she leaves.

Leonard watches her go, suddenly all too aware that a part of him, the part that's a survivor, Captain Cold, is screaming at him to get the hell out of here before thisgets worse.

And he knows he's going to ignore it.

"Right," he says, maneuvering himself out of the bed and onto his crutch. "Cold shower. Definitely the order of the day."

Chapter Text

A day later, Leonard decides he needs to get his cold gun back and get out of here. As soon as possible, preferably. Out of S.T.A.R. Labs, out of Central City. He'll do a few jobs elsewhere, maybe track down Mick. He'll come back when... when... well, at some point.

He snarks at Barry when the man drops by, getting hurt puppy-dog eyes as a result. He gives Caitlin the cold shoulder when she arrives to check his progress (and just gets an eye roll in return). Sara is distracted and quiet, although she smiles at him during her much briefer-than-usual visit. She doesn't seem to mind that he's distracted and quiet, too.

She suddenly squeezes his hand before she leaves. The imprint of her warm fingers on his stays with him much longer than it should.

A day after that, Sara brings a bottle of scotch when she arrives for a much longer visit. She smirks at him as she pours them each a glass, and her fingers brush his as she hands it to him, and he feels the cold expression he'd been wearing shifting into a return smirk. Before he knows it, and against his better judgment, they're soon both sprawled on the bed playing gin. Someone, they wind up playing—and talking—into the night.

Maybe he'll stick around for a bit. Maybe. Just because he's mostly moving on his own doesn't mean his ankle is that steady, after all. And his wrist is only newly out of the cast...

Another day later, he knows he needs to leave.

The next one, he changes his mind.

And the day after that, he feels like he's losing his mind.

She's…she's touching him more. Nothing like the night she spent curled up with him, or the kisses that one morning, nothing so direct, but little things, like hands brushing, shoulders bumping. Legs touching when they're playing cards. She gives him a hand up from his chair when his ankle, which is really doing much better, suddenly is disinclined to accept his weight, and the touch of her hand feels almost like a caress.

Really, there's no "almost" about it.

He doesn't like casual physical contact. Never has... or, at least, hasn't as long as he can remember. He should be reacting badly to this, very badly.

Instead, he's craving it. Looking for reasons, for chances, to prolong the touch; thinking about running a hand through her hair, just because he can, suggesting movies on the fifth and sixth nights just because she might curl up next to him again. (She does, her head on his shoulder, although it doesn't stay there long as she gets animated, helping him poke holes in the logistics of "Ocean's 11" and its sequels and enjoying it all the same.)

He feels... addicted. And it scares the shit out of him. So much so that he's pretty much resolved, by the seventh day, to leave again, as soon as he can. To make a clean break, for both of them.

And then Barry Allen pays him another visit.

"You…what?" He mentally curses his less-than-eloquent response, but recovers (he hopes) by glaring at Barry, who is looking somewhat sheepish. "You've had another evil speedster, one from another Earth, fucking around in my city—for months now!-and you didn't say a word?"

"Well. It's not like you could have done much about it," the kid fires back gamely. "Didn't seem to be much purpose in it." He glances at Sara, who's standing between the two of them, arms folded. "Still not sure there is."

"Then why tell me now?" He folds his arms where he stands (on his own, yay him) by the table, a semi-conscious echo of her posture.

His suspicion is correct. Barry tips his head toward Sara. "She didn't think we should keep you in the dark," he says. "Especially after what happened with Trajectory. So I gotta admit, there's truth to that."

Leonard gives Sara a quick glance, trying to convey a flicker of gratitude, before glaring at Barry again. "So did you bring me my gun? Just in case?"

"What?" Barry blinks, glances from him to Sara and back. "No."

"Then how the hell am I supposed to defend myself if something does happen?"

"Well, as I said before, the previous offer stands." The speedster actually has the temerity to hold up a hand as Leonard starts to retort. "But there's time to argue about that later. Now, I'm going to take him down. We have a plan." His eyes narrow and his mouth becomes a thin, angry line. "And I'm four times as fast as I was before."

Four times as fast? "Oh. Joy. How'd you manage that?"

Barry shrugs and gives him a half-grin, an expression that looks much more natural on his face. "You think I'm going to tell you?" He shakes his head. "I have to go. We have to move." He looks at Sara again. "You sure you just want to hold the fort here?"

"I'm sure. Someone has to." Sara heads toward the other side of the room, jacket in hand. Leonard notices her collapsible bo tucked into a belt loop. She doesn't normally go (visibly) armed around him... and he's pretty sure it's not, now, for his benefit.

Barry shrugs. "OK, fine." He turns to go. "Wish us luck."

He's not sure what makes him speak up then. The fact that he still owes the kid, much as he hates to admit it? The knowledge that without Barry Allen, Central City, his Central City, would be that much more vulnerable to people like this Zoom? "Barry." The kid glances back at him. "It's not all about raw speed. Hell, you should know that from the times I beat you."

Barry stares at him a moment, then shakes his head and gives them both a cocksure grin.

"I got this," he assures them, then turns and walks out the door.

Frowning, Leonard watches him go. Something, he thinks, is about to go sideways.

Alexa.

"This isn't going to go well," he says, knowing Sara's listening, feeling her presence right at his shoulder.

A moment later, he feels a warm hand reach up and curve around his bicep, squeezing just a little.

"I'm sort of afraid," Sara tells him, "that you're right about that."

And so he is.

Sara's decided that learning some basic tai chi is a good way to help him steady his ankle and he's playing along. The fact that she's even more gorgeous when laughing at his annoyance-and that she's taking every opportunity to physically correct his footing and posture-doesn't hurt.

So she's there, grinning at him, her fingers wrapped around his wrist, when a very different Barry Allen than the one they'd spoken with earlier slams through the door. (Walking quickly, not running, which is a distinction he'll only recall later.)

Sara's bo is out and brandished fast enough that even a speedster might pause. Leonard has no weapons—though that trusty crutch is leaning against the wall nearby—but he does go tense, hands clenching into fists, at the sight before them.

Barry walks right up to him and shoves his burden—the cold gun—into his startled one-time nemesis' arms, taking a deep breath before looking up and meeting Leonard's eyes.

"You need to get out of here." Barry's eyes are just a little red, but there's resolve there too, and anger—and not for one Leonard Snart. "As soon as you can."

He takes the gun out of reflex, arms almost hugging the cool metal to himself—although despite what Mick claims, it is not a strange sort of security blanket. "What..."

"Barry." Sara's lowered her bo, but she hasn't put it away. "What's going on? What happened?"

The speedster looks at her. "Zoom. It didn't work. He took…" He stops and shakes his head. "…and he took Caitlin." He drags in a shaky breath, and glances back at Leonard. "And she knows you're here. He…he might make her talk. You have to leave."

After six weeks cooped up in here, he should be nothing short of relieved to hear those words. "Why?" he says slowly instead, as he hears Sara take a shocked breath at this news. "Why try to get rid of me now?"

Barry frowns, glancing over his shoulder as if the enemy speedster is right on his heels. "Look," he says quickly. "I can't really tell you why. I promised…"

"Promised who?"

"…but you know that Zoom's from a different Earth. And, well, you…the you who's there…he's a very important man." Barry runs a hand through his hair with agitation. "And he's Zoom's enemy. And Zoom, I'm told, would give a lot to get his hands on you, use you to impersonate this man..."

"I'm not that easy to use. And I want to know who…"

Sara moves up besides him then, and there's determination and anger in her blue eyes. "Barry, I think you need to tell him..."

But the kid just blinks and looks at her like he's never seen her before. "And Sara. You have to leave too."

"What? I can help…"

"No. You…the you in Earth-2…" Barry shakes his head again. "Well. Ha...I didn't know about this before. I'm sorry; I can't tell you how right now. I promise I will later, if I can." He sighs. "But it would be very bad if he got you, too. Just…trust me."

Sara stares at him, then closes her eyes.

"She knows about my apartment, though. Caitlin." She looks sick. "She helped me move in. And I can't go back to Star City right now; I promised, but where…"

"I have a safe house."

They both turn and stare at Leonard, who glances away at this scrutiny.

"You can crash there," he says shortly, not looking at Sara, trying to downplay the moment. "Not too homey, but no reason Snow would know about it. Long as you need."

Barry nods then, once, and there might almost be gratitude in his eyes. Sara…

Sara's face is carefully blank. But her eyes are full of something he can't really put a name to. Gratitude and fear for her friend and…more.

This is, he thinks, probably a colossal mistake, just like so many other ones he's made since returning to Central City—and an unexpected rendezvous with a White Canary.

But somehow, he just can't make himself regret it.

Her motorcycle is parked outside S.T.A.R. Labs. While Leonard, with his mostly healed but occasionally unsteady ankle, probably shouldn't be riding it, there aren't a lot of options right now. (Especially since he just gives her a look when she notes he could call a cab.)

He puts his arms around her without hesitation, though, when she climbs on in front of him, and if the situation weren't so depressing, she'd enjoy that a lot—both the feel of warm, lean muscle around her and her back tucked against his front. (OK, so maybe she does still enjoy it a little.) For his part, there are no flirty comments this time, no sideways smirks. They drive away from S.T.A.R. Labs without a single word, though she feels Len turn to look back over his shoulder as they go.

Her apartment isn't far, and she leaves him with the bike as she runs up to grab a bag—not even considering that leaving the crook with the motorcycle might not be a good idea. But he's still there when she returns, his gaze turned inward and his expression thoughtful.

They leave again, with only a jerk of his head to tell her what direction to head in. After a moment, he starts offering quiet directions in her ear. She follows them without comment, bringing them to—what else?-what seems to be an abandoned warehouse in a rather seedy part of Central City.

He opens the lock with no problem, motioning for her to wheel the bike in behind him. She does so, leaving it in the dark corridor just inside the door and reaching for his arm as she notices him wobble a little.

He lets her.

She hasn't missed the conflict in him at times, this past week as she's conducted her campaign of…oh, call it what it is: very slow seduction. Because of that, she's tried to be very cognizant of when to stop, when to back off a little. Any sort of discomfort, after all, is very profoundly not what she's going for here.

But as the days have gone on, she's pretty sure she hasn't imagined the change in things, the way he's turned to her, the desire there, under an also-increasing sense of camaraderie. And now they're both here, in his territory, alone together, and it's awful, what's happened, but still she can't help but…

They proceed down the dark hallway, pausing so Len can also unlock the door at the other end, Sara's hand still steady on his arm. He pushes it open, then moves ahead of her to enter, flipping on the light.

He was right. It's not much, and it looks precisely like what it is: a former office converted into a relatively spare, just-in-case living space. A small kitchenette with a mini fridge, microwave, sink and a few cupboards is to their left, an equally small living area with a futon, a battered chair and a TV (the only obviously newish thing in view) to the right. A long table sort of divides them, and a hallway stretches away opposite the entry.

It will do.

She takes a deep breath, nearly letting her bag drop to the floor, but looks at him first. He's looking back at her, something guarded in his eyes, and she takes her cue from that. She doesn't drop the bag quite yet.

But she does say, "Thank you."

A jerky nod and a half-shrug. Then: "Come on."

She gets what her dad would call the 5-cent tour, then, even as Len checks the safe house for changes in what seems to have been a decently long absence: the kitchen area with its mostly empty fridge (he winces at the cheap beer and vile-smelling take-out box that sit in there), the workspace that currently just has a few odd mechanical components on it, the TV and the DVDs that are both neatly stacked (Leonard's, she thinks) and in wild disarray. He leads her to the other corridor and nods to one of four closed doors.

"Bathroom. Let me go in there first." He looks pained. "I don't know if my…roommate…has kept it very clean. Probably not."

Her lips quirk in response, but she just says, "OK."

"The door at the far end…another exit. Well, more hallways, but it will eventually lead you out. It stays locked." He nods to the other far door. "Mick's room. Eh. Wouldn't recommend going in there."

Ah. The partner of the take-out and cheap beer. "Got it."

With a hesitation, then, he reaches out and opens the door to the other room.

It's a bedroom, fairly small. And it just screams "Leonard."

A small desk, neat and clear. (She can picture it spread with papers, but that's far more likely to be the table in the main room, she thinks.) Two bookshelves, packed with books. A bed, full or queen? She can't tell.

Big enough for two, anyway, if the two are…close.

She rips her mind away from that.

Len's eyes are on her, and she wonders if he has any idea what she's thinking. But all he says is: "You can have the room."

"Come on. I'm fine on the futon…"

"No." A quick headshake. "It's easier for me to sleep there. Really. Railings if I have to get up."

We could share… "OK."

He looks at her a moment longer; does he have regrets? If so, he doesn't speak them. "It's late," he continues. "We'll figure out how to get some provisions in the morning. I want to know what you know about…whatever's going on. And…well. We'll figure it out."

"OK," she repeats, turning to him and finally letting her bag drop to the floor. "You're doing well enough? Ankle? Wrist? Ribs?"

"Just fine." He gives her the closest thing she's seen to his habitual smirk. "Really. It's late now. Get some rest. We'll probably need it."

Join me?

She doesn't say it. "OK."

"OK."

And then he's gone, the door closed behind him, and she's left there. Staring at the bed.

There's not much else to do, really. She changes into a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt and, after another hesitation, turns out the light and slips into the gray flannel sheets.

They're soft, obviously well-worn, but clean. And, even so… she takes a deep breath… they smell like him.

Desire, suppressed due to the stress of the evening, hits like a kick in the stomach, and she sucks in a breath, curling around herself.

This is, she thinks, going to be…a challenge.

Len lies on the futon, out in the silent living area, staring at the ceiling.

Sara Lance is in his safe house. Sara Lance is in his bed.

And he's not there with her.

This is, he thinks, going to be…a challenge.

Chapter Text

The bed is comfortable, and Sara's tired enough that she sleeps well—even if her dreams are a bit distracting.

OK. Maybe more than a bit…

One bit of League training she has never been able to shake…and shouldn't, honestly, for reasons of sheer self-preservation…is waking early and completely. No drifting leisurely from slumber or sleeping 'til noon for Sara Lance, not anymore. Still, she keeps her eyes squeezed shut and lies still in the tangle of sheets, breathing in his scent and listening.

She knows that Leonard is, by his own confession, a bit of a night owl, so she's surprised to hear the quiet sounds of movement from outside the room. In fact, she briefly contemplates taking the knife she'd tucked under the pillow and double-checking that it is, indeed, Leonard…

And then she realizes what he's doing.

She gives herself about another 10 minutes, then rises, considers her T-shirt and yoga pants and shrugs. Slipping the knife into the waistband of her pants, she pads across the floor and opens the door, looking across the hall at the open bathroom door.

"You know," she tells him, "I really would have been just fine without a sparkling bathroom."

Leonard, leaning on the sink in a way that's taking a bit of the weight off his healing ankle, a cleaning rag in one hand and a spray bottle of cleaner in the other, gives her a look that, on another man, might have been sheepish.

"It's not for you," he informs her, just a little drily. "Or not only for you. I have to use it too." He looks around and sighs. "Mick and I need to have another talk about putting the seat up."

Sara bites back a laugh. "Any chance he'll be showing up?" She holds her breath just a tiny bit—foolishness—as he considers and then shakes his head.

"Doubt it. He had a big score in another city while I was…away. He's probably still blowing it on wine, women and song somewhere." A sideways look. "Don't tell Barry."

"Tell him what?" Smiling, she studies him, noting the black T-shirt he's wearing, the sleeves actually pushed up a bit, exposing muscled forearms. And a few scars, including a doozy on his left forearm, but she's long since figured that a policy of silence on his scars is the way to go.

She lifts her eyes and meets his, only to realize that he's rather obviously been giving her, in her skimpy T-shirt and low yoga pants, an intensive one-over as well. He blinks after a moment, lifting his eyes only to see her grinning at him…and, holy shit, Leonard Snart, Captain Cold, master of snark and sarcasm, actually blushes. Just a faint flush along those impressive cheekbones, but it's definitely there.

She doesn't say a word. But as she turns back to go grab her bag, she puts just the tiniest bit of extra sway into her hips.

Now. This could be fun.

Any potential fun that their close quarters could bring has to wait though. They're both thoroughly professional—for their respective "professions"—once they both get through the now-pristine bathroom (separately, more's the pity) and dress (also separately).

Len's seated at the table, methodically squeezing an exercise ball to work his mostly mended wrist, when she drops into the seat across from him.

"OK," she says, "shall we get in touch with Barry first? And then you need some food in here. I'm famished."

The words get her a tip of his head, but he's silent a moment longer. Then he shakes his head.

"If you go to Jitters for take-out, I'll buy," he offers. "I want to talk. To you. Before we talk to Barry."

She sits back in her chair and regards him, getting a steady blue gaze in return.

There's really only one thing to say. "OK."

One coffee-and-bagel run later, Sara sits down again, watching with amusement as Len stirs sugar into his coffee.

"Sweet tooth."

"A bit," he admits, sitting the spoon down. "Now. Talk. What do you know about what's going on?"

They're past hero/villain now, she thinks. Maybe the two of them were there already, but the offer of this safe house... well. That tears it.

"Barry told you about Zoom."

"The speedster from another Earth. Yes." His gaze is steady. "So, who's he getting this information about … Earth-2 me, and you … from?"

"That would be Harrison Wells." She holds up a hand as he starts to speak again. "Because he's not the Harrison Wells from here. I don't know what happened to that man; they don't talk about it. This one is from Earth-2 himself. I don't know much about him; he stayed away from me. Might have something to do with this, but I have no idea."

That gets a blink. "OK," he finally allows, sipping his coffee. "I want to know why he thinks we're in danger. But that can wait. Been thinking. Something was odd with the kid last night."

She'd almost forgotten about Caitlin's plight, and the realization makes her heart sink. "Can you blame him?"

"It wasn't that." Len taps the fingers of his right hand on the table, then picks up the exercise ball again. "He walked."

"What? Barry walks."

"But not when he's agitated. Not when he was trying to get to us quickly. You saw how he slammed that door open. He didn't...flash." An irritable half-shrug. "You know what I mean. And when we left, he saw us off outside and walked back inside."

She's about to scoff, but she pauses. She might kid Len about flirting with Barry Allen, but the man doesknow his nemesis. Former nemesis? "You...have a point. So...what? What do you think happened?"

He stops squeezing the ball for a moment, then drops it on the table and catches it as it bounces back up. "No idea. But if the Central City speedster no longer has speed, I want to know about it."

She leans back then and gives him a long look. Len rolls his eyes and drains his coffee cup.

"Look," he tells her, "as much as I might professionally enjoy the loss of that speed, I don't want this city to fall apart, either. And I really don't want some lunatic from another dimension to mess with it."

She can buy that. "And so?"

"And so." He looks at her expectantly. "So let's get the 'hero' on the line."

"You two." Barry's sigh echoes across the line as they both lean toward Sara's phone, which is set on speaker and lying on the table. "Look, there's nothing new. And I'm having a rotten morning even on top of...what happened. AndI just broke my favorite mug."

Sara sees Len's eyes narrow, and realizes why even as he suddenly leans forward and drawls, "Lost your speed, did you, kid? How'd it happen?"

She gives him a menacing look; he rolls his eyes. Barry, on the line, is speechless for a long moment.

"Oh," he says finally. "Fabulous. Snart, I swear to god..."

"Chill, Barry." He smirks as Sara groans softly. "What kind of a challenge would it be to pull any kind of a heist now? I don't need the money. Don't worry...about me, anyway. How'd it happen?"

Another silence. Then: "Zoom."

It's their turn to be silent. Then, Sara says, "All keeps coming back to him, doesn't it?"

"Yeah. He…well, he took my speed. I had to give it to him to save Wally."

Wally?Len mouths to Sara. Later, she mouths back to him.

"So that's all she wrote." Barry sounds miserable. "Now, Zoom can get back here whenever he wants. And I can't get there to save Caitlin. I can't save anyone."

She half-expects a Snart zinger, but the crook is frowning. "Stop feeling sorry for yourself, Allen," he says sharply. "It doesn't get things done. And the one thing we've always had in common is that we don't leave our crew behind."

"Well, there's not much I can do about that right now, is there?" But Barry's voice is annoyed now, not despondent, and that's an improvement. Sara glances at Leonard and smiles a little at the look he gives her. The asshole is doing it on purpose.

"Guess you'll have to work on that," he drawls at the phone. "Let us know if there's anything we can do." And then he reaches out and hits "end," cutting off Barry's rejoinder.

"You just had to get the last word, didn't you?" she tells him. We?

"Well, the kid will ramble on if you let him." He sits back and sighs, then bounces the ball once and flips it toward her, smirking as she snatches it out of the air.

"So, what," she asks him, "are we doing next?"

Making a grocery list with Sara Lance has to be the most domestic thing he's ever done…at least since Lisa was old enough not to need her big brother making sure she ate regularly, and actually got quite irritated when he tried. (OK, so he's tried with Mick, too, but Mick just laughs off his comments about booze not being a food group.)

Sara writes down "ice cream" first, then "beer," and gives him a sunny smile. He rolls his eyes and snitches the list, writing down some staples before going to double-check the cupboard.

When he returns, she's written down a few more items, healthier ones, and beams at him again. He can't hide his smile—and writes down "chocolate" after "ice cream."

She leaves on her bike, with some of his cash stash from the safe house, and he wanders around the space aimlessly for a few moments. He could leave if he wanted, he knows. He's able to get around on his own, now. This is his city. He could go to ground here easily. Barry would never find him. This Zoom would never find him.

But neither would Sara.

He doesn't want to.

He finally retrieves a favorite book from his room, studiously avoiding looking at the tousled sheets on the bed, and sits down. But after he's read the same sentence three times without absorbing it once, he sits it back down, leaning back against the cushion with a sigh.

He's not an idiot, and he's not a kid. He knows perfectly well where this could go if they let it.

Part of him would like nothing more, as evidenced by his dreams last night. He moves his head back and forth against the cushion irritably. And it would probably even be easier that way. A tumble in the sheets, physical release, carry on.

That's not what he wants. Or, rather, that's not all he wants.

And that's scaring the hell out of him.

He's had flings. Nothing that didn't end with both the fling and himself going their separate ways after a night, or maybe two. He prefers it that way; requires it to be that way, at this point in his life. If he really...engages...with someone, that'll be harder. He doesn't generally want to, anyway; most people bore him, if they don't out and out annoy him.

But. Now.

There's a sound at the door and he frowns, levering himself to his feet and heading for the door. He should have known the second someone besides himself was in this building. He's distracted...and that's not good. Not in his line of work.

But she's there; he can see her through the peephole, holding up a hand full of bags and lifting an eyebrow at him. And all this introspection...well, it'll just have to wait a little longer.

Sara badgers him into continuing the physical therapy, and while he puts on a show of being annoyed, he knows she's right. They move the table out of the way and, a few minutes later, she starts running through martial arts patterns (he doesn't know enough to tell which kind) as he's working on a couple balance exercises.

At first, he tries to look like he's not watching her. Then, he realizes that it's a lost cause, because she's watching him, although how she can do that and focus on her patterns is beyond him.

"I need a sparring partner," she tells him as she brings one pattern to an end, smirking at the look on his face. "Get a little stronger and maybe you'll do."

And what precisely are we talking about here? "Can't say I've studied quite like you have."

"No, but you're a brawler, aren't you?" She studies him openly as she takes a drink of water. "I hear you can...hold your own. Bet you're good in a bar fight."

He can't help laughing at that one. "Been in a few of those."

"And you still owe me that drink."

"Booze and a brawl, Canary? That's your idea of a good time?"

"Well...I like to dance, too."

They have groceries in the cupboard now, but Sara declares her desire for Big Belly Burger fries and whisks out for some takeout for dinner. They eat mostly in silence, with a minor discussion of milkshake-as-condiment, before she vanishes back into his room for a time—calling her family, he guesses, from the quiet sound of her voice through the door.

She emerges quiet and thoughtful; maybe, he thinks, a bit worried. But she appears to try to shake it off with a smile, and he lets her have that.

She peruses the movies for a time while he reads, eventually turning to him.

"Come on, Len. Watch something with me."

He eyes her over the top of his book. "What?"

"You've got a bit of a collection over here. Pick one. Or we can see what's on Netflix." Then, at his continued silence, "Come on, I just...don't want to watch alone."

He regards her a moment longer, then shrugs in acceptance. But to his surprise, before he can shift from his sprawl across the futon, she promptly sits down close, curling her legs underneath her and learning back against him, fingers of her right hand resting on his knee.

It's a posture that could get, well, rather intimate in a hurry, if they want it to, and he lets out a slow breath, wondering if he does. If she does.

Or rather, wondering if he should.

They've settled on "Apollo 13," and her fingers are distractingly starting to circle his knee when he makes a decision, moving his hand from the back of the futon and letting the fingers drift down to settle on her hip, grazing a sliver of bare skin there.

And then the goddamned phone rings.

For a moment, he thinks she's going to let it go, but then, with a sigh, Sara bounds to her feet and catches it on the second ring. "Hello?"

She listens in silence for a moment, biting her lip, then repeats an address and nods, even though the person on the other end can't see her, before hanging up.

"I have to go," she tells him, a little breathlessly, heading for his room and her bag. "Barry and the others need help. A meta kidnapped Wells. They know where he is now, but they could use a...distraction."

"What is it with this group and getting kidnapped?" mutters the man who's done some of the kidnapping. But he stands, too, and heads for his parka and cold gun. "I'm going too."

She doesn't try telling him to stay. She doesn't even warn him not to overdo it. She just nods and vanishes into the room, emerging minutes later in her black tactical gear (well, the White Canary get-up probably would be too pale in the nighttime), collapsed bo secured by its belt loop and god knows how many knives tucked within.

He's changed his mind and eschewed the parka, at least for now—too many people know it and he doesn't want his reputation damaged thatmuch. But he's got his gun and his goggles and the more anonymous black jacket, and Sara just gives him a nod as she sees him.

They look, he thinks, like a matched set.

They're already waiting outside the Central City Amusement Park, Sara spinning her bo in her hands and Len leaning against the bike, when the van pulls up, Barry, Cisco, and Joe West emerging

"Snart?" Barry says, with a grin that's tinged with stress and doesn't reach the usual wattage, but conveys amusement nonetheless. "Seriously? Playing the hero after all your protests?"

"You wish," he drawls, straightening out of his slouch. "I'm just curious. And I didn't trust you all to be her backup." He nods toward Sara, who rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, well, you keep telling yourself that." Barry looks at Sara, then back at Leonard. "OK. This guy...Griffin Grey..."

"Seriously?" Leonard's tone is dry. "Or is this another Ramon name?"

"Stop interrupting me." Barry has that long-suffering expression down pat. "He's a meta. Super strong, so stay out of his reach. But we have to get him to exert energy somehow...because when he does, it ages him. Age him enough..."

"...age him right up to dead." Snart sounds vaguely impressed. "That's cold even for me."

"Knock it off, asshole." Sara swats at his arm, then looks at the others. If she notices how Cisco hides his surprise at the byplay and Joe, his amusement, she doesn't show it. "So, what's the plan?"

"OK, this suit..." Barry thumps his red-clad chest. "...it's reinforced enough to take one good blow from Grey. Just need to keep harassing him from a distance. Get him to use his powers, but not hit any of us until we can use that one blow to finish him off. Jesse and Iris are in the van. They're going to be distracting Grey, too, and giving us intel."

"OK. So you want us to...what? Strike and retreat? Keep him following us?" Sara looks back at Snart. "I have to get closer, but you can tag him from a distance. If you can."

The crook shrugs. "You've never seen me with my chosen weapon, Canary." A smile lurks around the corners of his mouth.

"I did once."

"Well, yes. But I didn't have time to use much...finesse..."

"OK, can the creepy flirting," Cisco mutters finally as Barry hides a smile and Joe chuckles, wincing just a little as two sets of blue eyes glare at him. "Let's go."

"One sec." The speedster…former speedster…reaches into a pocket and pulls out two sets of comm units, extending them. "Here. So you're in on the intel."

Sara takes one, but Len stares at the other a moment before lifting his eyes to regard Barry, who just grins. "Thought you might be showing up," is all he says.

Len takes the comm.

As Cisco notes, the deserted Central City Amusement Park is creepy in the evening light. Joe, Cisco, and Barry stroll along part of the midway. Sara and Len, walking behind them, exchange a glance and then peel off to either side, moving amongst the shuttered food stands and silent kiddie rides.

"Hey, Barry," Iris' voices comes over the line. "Grey's headed your way."

The trio breaks into a trot, and so do the two on the outskirts, although Len's is a bit slower than the rest. Barry positions himself, back against the fence of a kiddie ride, while Joe and Cisco hang back. Sara and Len stay in the shadows.

They all see the shadowy figure approaching and, at Cisco's mark, Iris turns the festive lights of one ride on, causing Grey to reel in confusion, shielding his eyes. Barry is suddenly in his face, punching him one time, two, three, four, before jumping away.

Len, watching, from behind a temporary tattoo booth, shakes his head. Kid has guts, he'll give him that. He moves his head to catch sight of Sara, who's across the way, skulking in the underpinnings of a small roller coaster.

For all the blows Barry has landed, Grey is unperturbed. "That all you got, Flash?"

"We just want Dr. Wells."

The other man is unimpressed. "And I wanted him to fix me. But he can't. So once I finish you, I'm going to finish him."

Joe West, apparently, has had enough. "Freeze!" he yells, stepping out behind Grey and aiming his gun, Cisco at his side.

As Grey turns, Len does a bit of a crouching dash from his hiding spot to Sara's as she straightens to enter into the fray. "Isn't that my line?" he whispers. Her lips twitch.

But in the meantime, the meta has picked up an entire miniature car from a kiddie ride, hurling it as though it were a toy at the two men, who dive (mostly successfully) out of the way. And then Sara is running at him, landing one good blow before he spins and lunges for her as she dances back.

Len, a few paces behind her, raises his gun, which whirrs to life in a burst of blue light. No point in warning this time: Sara's seen him and the others are out of the way. He fires.

But Grey is already gone, after Barry, who's moved back into the darkness, and there's only an ice slick on the pavement to show for it.

"Damn it, Allen! Could have had him." He lowers his gun as Sara rejoins him.

"Well, I think one more punch and we get his guy a walker," Cisco observes.

"Hey guys! I think we have him." Iris' voice again. "He's over by the Ferris wheel."

By the time they get there, though, following the sudden burst of light from another ride, it's just in time to see Grey land that one punch, sending Barry flying through the air and crashing into a ticket booth.

"That's the gimme," Joe comments. But Grey, heading for the fallen Barry, shows no sign of stopping.

Sara runs toward the meta without hesitation and Len, cursing inwardly, follows, priming the cold gun and looking for an opening. Grey, visibly aging, rounds on them and fires a punch at Sara that she dodges. He picks up a metal section of fencing, twisting it into a large and jagged projectile, and fires it at her, clearly aging again and looking furious when she moves away. She moves, dodges again, feints…

She's herding him.

Len still doesn't have a clear shot, but he fires wide, helping to steer the meta in the right direction even as he gets increasingly unsettled about where Sara is going with this. Working together, though, they get him into a corner, hot dog stand on one side, a midway building built of solid-looking sheet metal on the other.

And then Grey rounds on Sara.

Len's pretty sure he knows what she's up to at this point, but he can't help the words from bursting from his throat as Grey swings at her. "Sara! Watch out!"

She dodges, and the man's fist slams into the sheet metal of the kiosk, leaving a deep and ugly dent. Lines etch themselves into Grey's face, his hair receding farther and growing whiter, but he growls something at her and swings again.

Misses again.

And, aged past the point of no return, sways and topples bonelessly to the ground.

Ignoring him, Leonard lowers the gun and leans against the nearby building, taking some weight off his ankle and watching Sara. She shakes her head and looks at the fallen man sadly as she heads back over to him, passing Joe and Cisco and a limping Barry as they converge around Grey.

"You OK?"

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" He studies her a moment. "That was..."

"Effective?"

"I was going to say ridiculous."

"It worked." She shrugs. "Thanks for the help."

He thinks about what he'd felt when he'd seen the meta drive his fist toward her face. "You're welcome, Canary."

Harrison Wells is chained up in one of the park's warehouses. His daughter is the first one to reach him, freeing him and throwing her arms around him as he puts his around her.

Sara, watching, smiles as she glances at Len, who's leaning on a worktable next to her and trying to look unaffected. He doesn't, entirely, pull it off.

Wells looks up at Barry as the speedster draws closer, tears in his eyes.

"Thank you," he tells Barry. "Thank you."

Barry smiles at him and shakes his head. "Well, you're welcome. But in the end, I'm not the one who wore him out." He jerks his head at Sara and Len. "They did."

Wells gets to his feet, draping an arm around his daughter's shoulders, and regards them a long moment before sighing.

"Thank you, Mr. Ma…" He pauses. "Well. Mr. Snart. And Ms. Lance. Thank you both."

Sara acknowledges it with a nod, but Leonard just continues leaning against the table and staring at the man.

"I want to know," he says suddenly, "why the hell it was so important that Sara and I get out of S.T.A.R. Labs. I want to know who I am, on your Earth."

Well stops in his tracks and regards the other man, who stares back with a stony expression. Barry starts to say something, but Joe shushes him. And, after a moment, Wells shakes his head.

"You, Mr. Snart?" Wells gives him a thin smile. "Well, on my Earth, you're one of the main, if not the main,leaders of the Zoom resistance. You've spit in Zoom's face, both figuratively and, once, literally. He would love to get you to bow to him, or even better, to kill you in front of City Hall. But you—that you—have stayed one step ahead of him, somehow. You give the people hope." He reaches out and claps the startled crook on the shoulder. "You're the goddamned mayor of Central City."

And on that note, he turns and limps back over to his daughter, who gives them both another wide-eyed look before taking her father's hand and walking with him out of the room. Barry gives them both a nod and follows them with Joe.

Leonard is still standing there, looking almost as surprised as she's ever seen him.

"Huh," is all he says.

Sara walks up beside him and indulges herself a moment by leaning into his shoulder, smiling just a little as she feels him leaning back.

"He didn't answer your question about me," she notes.

"No. He didn't."

Chapter Text

To be honest, Leonard would rather have liked to go back to their previous activities once he and Sara return to the safe house.

But first, they have to find a plausible way to dispose of Griffin Grey's body, in a way that implicates none of them but gives some closure to whatever family he left behind. Then Barry wants to tell them earnestly about whatever Team Flash has learned about Zoom, and...and...

By the time they make it back, he's limping badly, his wrist is also aching, and he's just this side of exhausted. Sara tells him they both need some sleep, in a voice that brooks no disobedience, and it doesn't hurt that she sounds absolutely beat as well.

He doesn't argue; he pretty much collapses onto the futon and only distantly feels her tugging off his boots and pulling a blanket up over him. He might have dreamt the lips that brush his forehead...but maybe not.

He's pretty much one big ache the next day, and just opens one eye as Sara strolls in, yawning, from the bedroom. She regards him a moment, then gets him a pain-killer, a glass of water and a book and leaves him be.

They don't hear from S.T.A.R. Labs that day. Sara cooks pasta for dinner. ("I can boil water without burning it, but don't expect much more.") And then they finally watch "Apollo 13."

This time, she snuggles—yeah, he'll use that word—up to him again, and, at one point during the movie, threads the fingers of her right hand through the fingers of his right hand, bringing his arm around her before she starts gently running the fingers of her left along his right wrist in a caress that shouldn't have him nearly as on edge as it does. His left hand, subsequently, finds that sliver of skin between her shirt and waistband again, and he gets an occasional caress in himself, running his thumb slowly over warm, soft flesh.

He's not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved neither of them go further. Not that night, anyway.

They're asked to stop by S.T.A.R. Labs the next day. (Well, Sara is, anyway. Leonard simply tags along again.) There, the topic is how to best protect Central City during the absence of Barry's powers. Cisco proudly unveils a hologram system that does not get quite the reaction he'd hoped for. ("So, what, Ramon, you're going to just bluff the criminals? Seriously?") And Sara drily reminds them that she's been a successful vigilante without any special powers at all, thank you.

When a call about a possibly robbery at the Central City Museum comes across the police scanner, Sara simply says "We got this," and heads out the door. They all just assume Leonard's helping out, like he did with Griffin Grey, and he's following Sara (on his own bike, now, retrieved from storage in the safe house) to the scene before he realizes that maybe he should have demurred, strictly for the sake of his reputation.

But she needs backup. And he's there. And these lunatics are not allowed to fuck around with his city, damn it. Stupid amateurs are going to get people killed, make it that much harder on the rest of them.

The would-be thieves barely know what hit them. One runs, and actually makes it outside the museum—until he hits a patch of ice and wipes out. He's still playing turtle, gasping for breath, when the CCPD shows up and arrests him. They find his cohorts unconscious just inside the museum's vestibule.

The runner squawks about a woman in white and a man in a blue parka with an icy weapon. Joe West, listening, smiles.

Sara's still grinning, full of glee and adrenaline, when they get back to the safe house. A half hour or so later, with "The Terminator" on the TV in the darkened room, she squirms around in front of him, gives him a long look and a slow smile, and, running her fingertips up under his shirt, lowers her mouth to his collarbone.

And he's gone. It's been a slippery slope, the past few weeks, and now, well, he's slipped.

And fallen, hard.

They fall into a pattern, the pair of them, crook and assassin, a semi-nocturnal schedule that has them sleeping late, dealing with an increasingly domestic reality that involves cooking dinner or getting take-out and then heading out to help Team Flash (and the hologram system Leonard still mocks) protect the city.

They foil robberies. They interrupt assaults. His cold gun and his knack for planning an operation mesh so well with Sara's martial arts expertise and instinct for mayhem that the others begin to refer to them as a unit. (Although Cisco only manages to refer to them as "CaptainCanary" once before Len shuts that down with a glare. Sara, predictably, finds it hysterical. So does Barry.)

And, then, each night, they repair back to the safe house to relax—where "relax" increasingly means pretending to watch a movie while indulging in an increasing amount of, well, fooling around.

They both know they're getting closer to pushing their relationship into something they have to, or should, at least, address. And the whole thing, Leonard thinks, is a little silly and probably juvenile, but…

He's enjoying himself. A lot.

So it's juvenile, this making out on the futon like a pair of teenagers. Well, he spent all his time as an actual teenager trying to keep his sister alive, keeping himself alive in juvie, avoiding getting arrested under his father's incompetent watch, and slowly disconnecting himself from his father's shadow and building his own reputation.

He is, he tells himself, allowed this. Right?

He thought he was addicted before? Now, he's addicted. He's never felt like this about touch in his life, but she's in his head, under his skin, calloused fingertips running along his spine under his shirt as her teeth scrape against his collarbone, warm hands—and warmer lips—finding spots that make him groan. Conversely, he's finding another addiction as well, one to the sounds she makes when he returns the attentions, as he trails a line of kisses down her neck, as his hands trace her scars, gradually and tentatively finding her own sensitive spots.

For someone used to holding himself apart, keeping even sexual encounters just this side of commerce, it's a revelation.

They don't talk about it, what they're doing, where this is going. (And somehow that makes it easier. Len, he thinks, you're a bit messed up.) They press it a little further each night, in touches and kisses and sighs—or gasps muffled against skin. They always stop before…well, before, pulling away without words to seek solitary beds. And it's as tantalizing as it is infuriating, even as he's the one who hesitates.

Eventually, he knows, he's going to have to make a decision...either by action or inaction. In the meantime, he's just enjoying himself.

"Eventually" comes eight days after the incident with Griffin Grey.

They'd rescued a young woman from a pack of drunken college students that night, stepping in smoothly as she ran for shelter, the men staggering to a halt as they realized their easy prey had been replaced by a tall man with cold eyes and a short blonde whose eyes were far too bright. For the most part, Leonard stood back and let Sara have fun toying with them as they, with the assurance of the intoxicated, decided she'd do in the absence of their intended victim.

And she does, smoothly eluding their clumsy attacks as she sends one, then another to dreamland.

They're not a threat, not to her anyway, but as one shrieks a particularly disgusting epithet and drives a fist toward her face, he can see the change in her expression and opens to his mouth to call to her. But then she catches herself, and smiles coldly. Five minutes later, he's calling Joe to come collect the trash—who are whole and breathing, but will likely think twice about attacking anyone ever again.

He can see the energy in her as they return to the safe house, can't help grinning to himself about it. Sara's never quite so happy as when she's saved someone, and he knows she's pleased at stepping back from the bloodlust again.

And she channels that pleasure in the most interesting ways…

"Are you going to start a movie?" he asks once they're sprawled on the futon, moving his hand to her hip again, much like he'd done just over a week ago, this time running his fingertips up under her shirt and feeling her shiver.

"Why?" she murmurs, leaning back against him. "Are we even going to watch it?"

"Hell," he murmurs back, allowing his lips to brush against her neck and smirking, just a little, at the sound she makes, "I sure hope not."

With another sound, she tilts her head back and he moves his lips to the hinge of her jaw…

And then Sara's phone rings. Because of course it does.

With a growl that makes Sara laugh out loud, he lunges across the room and grabs it himself, barking "What?" into it in a way that probably isn't very wise.

Fortunately, it's not her father or sister calling. (And why would he care about that anyway, he wonders?)

Unfortunately, it's not really good news, either.

The quality of his silence alerts Sara, who stops laughing and sits up to watch him. After a moment, he hangs up without speaking so much as a word in response.

"Zoom," he says, staring at the phone. "He's here. As in, this Earth. He's taken over the CCPD. Barry says not to leave the safe house, to stay locked in, and not to leave until he, Ramon, or one of the Wests gives an all-clear."

This is bad. They both know it's bad. But they also know Barry's right, that they have to stay here. Alone. Together. And...

"Huh," Sara says. "Whatever are we going to do to pass the time?"

He stares at her and, for a moment, Sara think she's utterly misread the situation.

Then she realizes that the expression in his eyes isn't a lack of interest. In fact, it's rather the opposite.

But there's something deep and hesitant in Leonard Snart, even as they've grown closer, as the casual flirtation has grown into camaraderie and the camaraderie has grown into the beginnings of intimacy both physical and emotional.

In her own head, she'd dubbed this little campaign of hers "Operation: Cold," a few weeks ago when she'd started it, recognizing that the man who'd flinched from human touch back when they'd met (for good reason, to her sorrow) wouldn't embark on a physical relationship without some care on her part.

Now, she thinks she was wrong, in a way. Maybe if they'd gone straight to a purely physical relationship early on, they would, or could, have kept it casual. But they're past the point where sex is something that will come without strings, connections of mind and body and, yes, heart.

He is, she thinks, not a man who is easy with strings of any sort.

And yet, she…covets his body. She admires his mind. And she dearly wants his heart.

A breathtaking realization, that last.

It only takes a few steps to bring her right up to him, and they stand there a moment, his eyes searching hers. She watches him in return, then, moving slowly, goes up on her tiptoes, puts her hands on his shoulders, and kisses him.

It's a gentle kiss, far more deliberate than her impulsive ones the morning after Laurel had been injured, far more serious than what they've been doing this past week. A promise and an invitation, in the slow, soft press of lips, the mingled breath, the flicker of her tongue, the closeness of their bodies.

She can feel the hesitation in him, still, the indefinable holding-back, and with regret, she accepts her mistake…

And then it's gone, that hesitation, vanished like smoke, like cobwebs, and his arms are around her, one hand tangled in her hair and cupping the back of her head, the other arm looped around her waist and pulling her into him, warm and solid and real.

She laughs with surprise and pleasure against his lips and feels the smirk in return before he tilts his head and deepens the kiss, pulling her even closer, something she hadn't thought possible but enthusiastically endorses, molding herself to him.

After a few pleasantly intense moments, he breaks the kiss, moving his mouth along her jaw as she sighs and clings to him...well, in her defense, that's not usually her style, but she's not sure her legs really want to hold her at the moment. After a minute, though, he leaves off that and whispers in her ear, voice sending a fresh run of goosebumps down her arms.

"Might want to take this somewhere else."

"Oh?" She turns her head and nips at his jaw, enjoying his intake of breath. "You have a suggestion?"

"Futon's been OK." She can feel the renewed smirk against her cheek. "More room in the bed, though."

"Well. You do need to get off that ankle."

"I do. "A brief return of the hesitation…and then it's gone. "Come with me."

He's not one to kiss and tell, but the next couple days are…well, "intense" is probably the best word for it. "Incredible," works, too. "Mind-blowing?" Oh, yes, certainly.

It's a little like the world outside ceases to exist, and that's a luxury he hasn't permitted himself in, well, ever. He has one focus, and one focus alone, and it's Sara Lance, in his bed, in his arms, her mouth on his, her hands on him, all her attentions matched and returned.

They don't come up for air for hours, although, to be honest, they've really lost all track of time at that point. Might be days. Might be weeks, he thinks with amusement, stretching as Sara strolls out into the main room to check her phone and grab them something to eat. (She insists that breakfast...is it breakfast? heaven knows...in bed is definitely the way to go.)

Not bad for an old man, he thinks, a bit smugly, reaching out to pick a strand of golden hair off a pillow and absently winding it around his fingers. Their age difference hasn't really bothered him, since it doesn't bother her, but it's nice to know he can keep up with her. She certainly hasn't seemed to have any complaints…

When Sara returns, bearing a tray, he disregards his tendency toward fastidiousness and shifts to make room for her and it. It holds nothing more than two glasses of wine and a few select items they'd had in the fridge and the pantry… sliced cheese, and crackers, and chocolate…

And a bowl of strawberries and whipped cream that is very, very…distracting… because of the way Sara chooses to eat them…

After a while, the tray gets knocked to the floor, and forgotten. They won't find every bit of the crumbs for weeks.

Neither of them cares.

It says something, bad or good depending on the perspective, that he's so deep in a sated and content sleep, Sara's warm and naked body wrapped around his in their nest of sheets, that he doesn't hear the intruder in the safe house until the familiar voice barks out a word out in the main room.

"Snart!"

His eyes fly open, but he's barely had time to do more than tense (Sara, he can tell, has as well) when the door to the room bangs open.

A shadow looms there, arrested in the doorway, and he peers at it, Sara coiled next to him.

"Huh," it says after a moment. "Good for you, boss. I'll be out the other room." The figure's head tilts a moment, considering them, especially as Sara sits up just a little. Only Leonard can see the knife balanced in her hand.

Huh. Where'd she get that? I'm not sure I want to know…

"Hey, Blondie," the voice says. "Well…damn. Snart has all the luck."

With that, the door closes. And they're…sort of…alone once more.

Leonard allows himself to close his eyes as he lets his head fall back to the pillow just for a moment. He can feel Sara prop herself up an elbow next to him.

"Mick?" she asks with amusement.

"Mick."

When Len vanishes into the bathroom, he's probably assuming Sara is just going to stay put. Or maybe he knows her better than that. (She thinks he does.) At any rate, she immediately pulls on some clothing, runs a brush through her hair, and pads out to the main area to acquaint herself with Mick Rory.

Len's occasional partner and old friend is sitting in the battered chair, feet up, one of the crappy beers from the fridge at his side. He raises his eyebrows when he sees her, then gives her a thorough once-over (which she returns).

"I can count on the fingers of one hand the times I've known the boss to hook up, and never here," he tells her finally. "You must be somethin' else."

There's…really no good way to respond to that. "Thanks. I think." She parks a hip against the wall and regards him. "So, you're Mick. I'm Sara."

It just gets a grunt in response, then a tip of his beer. "I'd say 'pleased to meet you,' but I still have no idea who the fuck you are. Or if you're taking the boss for a ride." He pauses, then leers at her. "You know what I mean."

She's pretty sure he's not trying for this response, but the protectiveness (and even the innuendo) make her smile. She doesn't get a chance to respond quite yet, though, because Len strolls out into the room then, giving her a half-smile and fixing a glare on the unrepentant Mick.

"I didn't expect you back in Central City for weeks, if that," he tells the other man. "What happened, you run out of money already?"

Mick doesn't respond to the half-hearted insult. Instead, he just leans back in his chair and, digging in the battered bag he'd dropped by its side, pulls out a folded copy of the Central City Picture News, which he brandishes. Leonard takes a closer look at the headline visible on the lower right of the front page and sighs. "Fabulous."

"Mystery heroes foil robbery at CC Museum," it reads, followed by the subhead: "Woman in white, 'Captain Cold' sighted at scene."

"So, you're a hero now, huh?" Mick inquires, tone somewhere between amusement and annoyance. "They certainly seem to think so."

Holding the paper up and peering at it, then, he starts reading in a nearly falsetto voice, presumably because of the feminine name in the byline: "Police charged six men with trespassing Wednesday after they allegedly broke into the Central City Museum and caused considerable damage to one of the museum's newest exhibits."

His eyes track downward a little, then he continues, "A security guard on the scene said one of those arrested threatened him with a gun, but that the alleged robbery was interrupted by a man and a woman who subdued the men before vanishing.

"The man… met the description of the so-called 'Captain Cold,' who'd robbed the same museum previously. This time, however, 'Cold' departed the scene without any apparent losses from the collection. Police are..."

"Mick, not funny."

"She thinks it's funny." His partner smirks at Sara, who gives up trying to hold back laughter.

"I think we've established she has questionable taste." He gives the snickering Sara a long-suffering look, then looks back at Mick. "What do you want?"

"I want to know what the hell is going on." Mick's voice is abruptly serious again. "Snart. Seriously? You two runnin' some sort of con? I know that's not usually your sort of thing, but now that I see her…OK, maybe I can understand you getting in on the action." He pauses to leer again at Sara, who rolls her eyes.

"No con." The words are terse. Leonard really doesn't want to explain this to his friend, given that he's not sure he understands his change of heart himself. But Mick's staring at him in disbelief and he needs to say something. "Look, there's a lot of shit going on in this city right now, OK? And it's home. I'm not going to let someone else take it over. If I have to work with the Flash to do that, I will."

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sara frown at her phone (which had been lying discarded on the table all this time), then move back toward the bedroom to make a call. But his focus is still on Mick, who's still frowning.

"Are you... the other man says slowly, "telling me you really are working with the heroes? This isn't some sort of game? And what is she? One of them?"

"She...it's complicated."

"Snart..."

"Look, it's sort of a long story and I'm not going to get into it right now." He can't, quite, keep the anger out of his voice. "Trust me."

Mick, as usual, doesn't listen. "Then when? Look..."

But they're interrupted by Sara, who re-enters the room with an expression on her face that makes Leonard immediately take notice. "What's wrong?"

"It's..." She glances at Mick. "...the Flash. He's...he's gone."

"What do you mean, gone?" His words come out sharper than he'd intended, as he turns away from Mick to stare at her.

"They tried to replicate the particle accelerator explosion. And..." Momentarily at a loss for words, she spreads her hands out before her. "They don't know if he's just...somewhere else...or..."

The words hang in the silence for a long moment.

Then Mick grunts in surprise, and then again in what seems to be satisfaction. He stoops to pick up his gun, then stops abruptly when he realizes the reaction from the other two, especially Snart, isn't what he thought it'd be.

"Boss?"

But Leonard's eyes are on Sara, and Sara's gazing back at him, and he knows she understands something of what he's thinking, and it's...

Time to choose a side, I guess.

"Let's get to S.T.A.R. Labs."

Chapter Text

Mick, Sara thinks, watching the door to the safe house from where she's perched on her bike outside, is not at all amused by the changes in his partner.

"What the hell?" he'd barked as she'd gone to change and Leonard had grabbed his cold gun and parka. "The Flash is gone and yer… what? Goin' to help? The fuck …"

"Not now, Mick." Leonard's voice had been terse as she'd closed the door. And just as terse when she'd opened it a few minutes later. "… not much good if there's no city left!"

He'd caught her eye and glanced toward the door. She'd given him a look that promised backup if needed… and Mick a look that was more threat than anything, although he'd just grinned at her… but gone, getting their bikes ready and then waiting.

When Leonard emerges a minute later, his mouth's a straight line and there are lines of tension around his eyes, although he smiles a little when he sees her.

"You two all right?"

"Peachy."

By the time they arrive, it's been a decent span of hours since Barry vanished, but the group at S.T.A.R. Labs still looks shell-shocked, stunned. Sara takes off immediately to wrap her arms around a distraught-looking Iris for a big hug; Leonard sidles around the edges of the room, uncomfortable and out of place.

The past few months can't change the fact that he's tried to do this himself, to erase Barry Allen from the picture, and even though things have … changed … the past remains.

It always does.

He studies the room: Sara, Iris, Ramon, Joe West… and another older man, gray-haired and with the sort of tension about his jawline that speaks of repressed emotion, talking to West.

He looks vaguely familiar, in more than one way. A mystery.

But one that will wait. Sara's looking around now, fire in her eyes. "And where the hell did Wells go?" she asks, clearly irritated. "This whole damned thing was his idea."

But West holds up a hand and shakes his head at her. "His daughter," the man says simply. "She's … her and Wally, they were caught in the explosion."

Sara sucks in a breath. "They're..."

"Wally is fine." West can't keep the relief from his face. "Jessie... she seems OK, but she won't wake up. Wells is with her."

There's no good way to respond to that. Sara meets Leonard's eyes, then shakes her head. "So, Barry..."

"He's alive. Too." Cisco chimes in now, glancing at them. "Um. I 'vibed' him. We think he's in the Speed Force."

"Well, how the hell do you get him out?" Leonard can hear the irritation in his own voice, and curses the impulse as everyone turns to look at him. He's never done well with dithering.

"We're working on that," West tells him mildly. "Or...we're going to be." He puts a hand on the shoulder of the oddly familiar man, who takes another look at Leonard before they both turn and leave the room. Leonard frowns, watching them go.

Sara crosses back to his side and he's about to ask her about the stranger when Cisco speaks up.

"Given all the crap that's been going on, we probably shouldn't have asked you guys to come out of hiding," he says a little apologetically. "And Harry probably would have squawked about us asking if he hadn't been so, uh, distracted. But... well, I mean, did you see the broadcast?"

Sara snickers as Leonard joins her by the other two, and the crook rolls his eyes.

"We haven't been... watching TV, Ramon," he says drily. "What's going on?"

"That what have you been doing for two days... oh, shit, I don't want to ask that, do I?" Cisco Ramon looks like a man with many life regrets at that moment. "Forget it. Forget I said anything." He pauses as Iris buries her head in her hands, shoulders shaking as Sara openly smirks and Leonard ignores them both. "And now I need brain bleach. Anyway..."

He hits a few buttons and a nearby screen flickers to life. Everyone sobers as the masked face of Zoom, energy crackling over it, appears, seemingly part of a newscast.

"There is no more hope," he intones as the camera rolls, a scene of carnage behind him. "There is no more Flash. There is no one left to protect you from me."

Cisco pauses the video, and they all stare at the screen for a long moment before Cisco speaks again.

"He's coming. And it was bad enough when Barry had no powers, but now he's gone and..." He lets out a sigh. "I mean, we're gonna get him back." He throws Iris a determined look. "We are. But Harry seems to think Zoom will be coming with all the metas, and I know you don't have any powers, but…"

"But we're here," Leonard says into the silence. "We get it."

Cisco gives him a quick look. "Well… yeah. We've called in a few more people, but it might take them a while to get here, I don't really know..."

"Wait, who?" Sara's voice is curious. "Guys, I'm sorry, but from what Laurel and my dad have said, Star City has its own problems right now."

"Well..."

But just then a voice interrupts them, a man's voice Leonard would swear he'd never heard before.

"Cisco? Iris? I was wondering if you and your... friends... could join me here for a moment."

It's strange, being back in the medical room. As he leans against the wall, Leonard watches the mystery man talk to Iris and Cisco and carefully rotates his ankle, checking for pain and range of motion. It's largely better, although he's taken pains to avoid being in situations in which he needs to run, and though he suspects his wrist (and ribs) will always ache from time to time, those are fine, too.

No way around it. He owes Team Flash.

There's a young woman in one of the medical beds now, pale and still and hooked up to all the equipment. Wells' daughter, he's told. He can't help imagining Lisa in her place and the thought is an uncomfortable one. All he needs is more reason to…

"Snart..."

He's been lost in thought so much that he actually starts, just a little, at the musing comment. The man, the gray-haired fellow who looks so frustratingly familiar, is now watching him, an odd expression on his face.

"Henry Allen," the man says finally, extending a hand. "You don't remember me...or do you?"

He looks at the offered hand for a moment, then back up at the man.

Barry's father.

"Iron Heights," Allen says, nodding, seemingly unfazed that Leonard hasn't acknowledged the hand. "Our … stays … coincided a time or two, but you and I, we didn't really cross paths." He pauses. "But they told me early on, two Snarts. Stay away from the older, no matter what.

"But, they said, the younger... if someone's … well … on your case for no good reason, you could do worse than to make sure you're in his vicinity. He doesn't hold with crap like that. And for once, they were right." Allen nods again. "So, you may not have met me before, Mr. Snart, but I'm pleased to finally, officially meet you."

He moves his hand forward a little more, meeting the younger man's eyes with a determined look. And until then, Leonard Snart hadn't really seen a resemblance between this particular father and son pair.

But he sees it now. The jaw. Steel in the eyes.

And, somewhat bemused, he shakes Henry Allen's hand.

The man gives a satisfied nod. "I don't know what they're doing to get my boy back, but I'm not so sure the likes of you or I can help with that part." He lifts an eyebrow. "But there are things need doing that he'd be tending to, and I hear you've been helping with those."

"We have." Sara's appeared next to them, a question in her eyes... and, he realizes, a warning as she gazes at Allen. She reaches out and threads her fingers through Leonard's, openly, possessively, and Allen's eyebrows rise abruptly.

Then he smiles.

"Good," he says. "Thank you."

With that, Henry Allen turns back to the still girl on the bed, checking monitors, reading equipment. Sara and Leonard share a glance, before his eyes go to their joined hands.

The gesture, she thinks, watching him closely, had been an impulsive one, a way to show that she trusts him, that she considers them a team. But she can't pretend that the form it took doesn't betoken, well, more. They may have spent the past 48 hours or so in bed together, but is what they have truly a relationship? Of the sort that includes such small, semi-romantic gestures as hand-holding?

From the look on Leonard's face, even he doesn't know for sure.

She can wait. She gives his fingers another squeeze, then gently reclaims her hand, turning to Allen just as he turns back to them. "Where'd Iris and Cisco go?"

"They're getting Wells' … Thawne's... oh, well, I'm told it's complicated… the original records of Barry's initial treatment. After the lightning strike." Allen frowns, eyes turned inward, then shrugs. "They're apparently in a storage room in the morgue."

"They have a morgue in here?" Leonard's voice is a strange combination of snark and something just a trifle uneasy, and Sara can't help but bite back a smile.

"There are times I really, really don't want to know about everything that goes on in this place." Joe West has rejoined them now and, for once, his expression shows he and Leonard are in perfect agreement. The two men share a nod, then look appalled as they realize it.

Allen chuckles and starts to speak again, but the moment is broken as a ruckus disturbs the relative quiet of the labs, commotion resolving into Cisco Ramon, who clatters into the room with Iris a few steps behind him.

"We're got a new problem," he says breathlessly. "Our accelerator experiment seems to have reanimated one of the dead metas in our morgue."

Joe gives him a disbelieving look. "Reanimated," he repeats. "Like, brought back to life."

"Life-ish." Cisco takes a deep breath. "You ever seen 'The Walking Dead'? It's 'The Walking Dead,' but without higher brain function and with major rage issues." He glances at Iris, frowning. "I'm still not sure if our brains are on the menu, though."

"Zombies?!" Sara says, in disbelief. Leonard just curses. Joe stares. "Which one?

"Tony Woodward," Iris informs him.

"The bully from school who turned into the metal man? That's not good, Cisco!"

The conversation continues, but Sara looks at Leonard and sees him watching her in return, hand on his cold gun, spark in his eyes. And whatever strange thing they might be becoming, this … this is real.

They're one damned good team.

"We got this," Sara tells the others, turning away, Leonard falling in by her side. "We got this."

"Big Belly Burger? Seriously?"

"Maybe Ramon can quit worrying about brains," Leonard shakes his head as he climbs off his motorcycle, watching the large... is it fair to call him a man, now? … lumber toward the restaurant. "Fast food addictions apparently transcend death."

"I can vouch for that." Sara steps to his side, wrapping her fingers briefly around his wrist with a brief caress before pulling her bo out of its belt loop and extending it. "Game plan?"

"Simple one: distract him, I'll freeze him." He stops mid-step. "Wait."

Sara watches Woodward … what used to be Woodward... put a fist through the window of a bright yellow Hummer and rip the door clean off, then raises an eyebrow at him.

Leonard shrugs. "I hate those things." He pulls his gun from its holster. "And... OK... now!"

Sara runs toward the zombie meta, skirting around to the left as Leonard moves to the right, carefully, trying to get close enough for the gun's maximum effectiveness while remaining out of... what the hell did Ramon call him? It? Girder?... Girder's reach.

"Hey! Big guy!" Sara finally stops right in front of the zombie, spinning her bo to better attract its attention. "Right here!"

Girder turns with a grunt, Sara steps back... and Leonard steps forward and fires, starting at the monster's feet, then sweeping the cold gun's icy blast upward. The zombie tries to turn, but it's too late, and with a strange howl, its features disappear behind an overlay of ice.

Leonard makes a noise of satisfaction, lowering the gun after a moment as Sara joins him.

"Well," she says cheerfully, going up on her toes to kiss him, "that was easy."

He sighs, giving himself just a moment to lean into the kiss before pulling away. "Don't say that..."

Crack.

"Shit." They both turn to look at the iced-over figure besides them.

Crack. And another. Another. A growl emits from the casing, and the small flakes of ice falling away are joined by larger shards.

Leonard takes a step back. "That's not good," he mutters, lifting his gun. "I don't have a ton of charge left, either."

"The metal must make him resistant." Sara frowns, readying her bo. "Well. Plan B."

"What's Plan B?" He's cursing himself for not having one going in.

"Improvise!"

With a roar, Girder breaks free from the thick shell of ice, stepping out of the remains as Leonard raises his gun again and Sara moves to circle around. The meta zombie grunts, then turns toward her … only to be hit by a blast of fire from behind as another figure emerges from the alley near Big Belly Burger.

"Mick?!"

It is, indeed, Mick, who grins broadly as he fires his heat gun at Girder. While the meta doesn't seem to be overly fazed by the blast, it/he doesn't like it, either,

"The fuck is this?" Mick yells at Leonard over the crackle of flames. "Is that a zombie? Awesome!"

"I told you to stay back at the safe house!"

"Damn good thing for you I didn't!" He chortles as the zombie meta turns toward him. "So, does it eat brains? Zombies are supposed t'eat brains."

Leonard ignores that. "OK, Plan B," he yells, moving back. "Mick, keep your gun on him as long as you can. Then I'll hit him with ice. Sara..."

He's not sure what it is. A bit of Hummer debris, a chunk of concrete, even, ironically, a piece of ice. But whatever it is, his right foot lands on it. And his ankle, only newly getting up to snuff, rolls.

He goes down hard, on his back, cold gun flying from his grip to land a few feet away, a huff leaving his lungs with the force of the impact. With some sort of animal instinct, the zombie turns back toward him, partly glowing the reddish hue of superheated metal, partly still shedding the remaining vestiges of the ice shell.

"Len!" Sara shouts, but he can't see her, can't see anything other than the nightmare figure looming over and reaching for him. With a grunt, he shoves himself up on his elbows, mind racing, preparing to lash out in any way, no matter how futile...

Rescue comes from an unexpected source: above, as what appear to be energy bolts smash into the meta zombie, knocking it back, then clear off its feet.

As soon as it's clear Girder's not rising immediately, Sara's at Leonard's side, frowning in concern as she extends a hand to pull him into a sitting position. He accepts it with a grunt, but shakes his head at the look on her face.

"I'm OK," he tells her. "I don't think I even really sprained it again. But..."

Mick's staring at the figure, encased in red and blue armor, that's landed nearby and is walking toward them.

"Who," he says, raising his gun, "the hell are you?"

Sara glances up, too, then rises, holding a hand out to deter Mick as she stares at the newcomer.

"Ray?" She says in disbelief. "Ray Palmer? What are you doing here?"

"Sara! Sara Lance? Wow, it's good to see you again." The armored figure takes its helmet off, revealing the grinning face of a dark-haired man. "Cisco said they had a White Canary, but he didn't use your name, and..." He stops at the look on her face. "Oh. I was sort of visiting my cousin in National City… thought I'd let at least one person in my family know I was alive... and Cisco called me and asked if I could help out a bit. Sorry it took me so long to get here. But I even brought help!"

And, then, the sound of wings.

Leonard has to check himself as a woman with... yes, wings, large, feathered wings... lands near him, giving him a quick glance before turning to Ray, Sara, and the still skeptical-looking Mick.

"This is Kendra," the man in the odd suit says happily. "We were both sort of patrolling in National City, and she sort of, err, nearly took my head off before we realized we were both on the same side. She used to live in Central City and she knows Cisco, so when he called..."

"Ray. You do realize," the newcomer says drily as she takes off the sort of helmet/mask she'd been wearing, shaking out curling brown hair, "that while you've been talking, the … zombie... took off again."

Ray looks around, then back at them.

"Oh," he says in a small voice. "Crap."

Chapter Text

It's a somewhat grumpy and discouraged group that finally makes it back to S.T.A.R. Labs, engendering a wave of reactions in Cisco Ramon that would be fairly amusing, Leonard thinks, if he wasn't so goddamned annoyed.

"Mick Rory? Heatwave?" Ramon gapes at the grinning Mick as he saunters openly into the room with the rest. "Oh, nononononono... oh, hi, Ray. Kendra!? Oh, wow. Wait, what happened to..."

"Differences of opinion," the woman tells him mildly, with a smile. "Carter and I… parted ways. Ray said Central City could use some help."

"Yes! Um..." Cisco glances at Ray, who's earnestly chatting with Iris. "Right..."

The inventor notices the glance and walks back over. "So, um... we sort of need to find this zombie again. Cisco…"

Leonard snorts as he makes his way carefully into the Cortex. This is not how a Snart... this Snart... plans out operations, he thinks, collapsing into a chair. He's gotten… well. Maybe not precisely soft. But out of practice at the precise plotting and planning a well-executed heist entails.

Working with Sara has been exhilarating in its own right. (He smirks a little, watching her cross the room, enjoying the view.) But with an enemy like this Girder, and a group that's not just the two of them, it's different.

Closing his eyes, he finally entertains the thought that's been lurking in the back of his brain since he'd hit the concrete in the Big Belly Burger parking lot … and wonders again if maybe it isn't time to leave.

Cut his losses. Let his wounds mend. Let the insanity ruling Central City shake down a bit before sniffing back around to see what opportunities are available for an enterprising crook and… and…

His mind just doesn't want to go there.

Someone nudges his shoulder, interrupting his train of thought. Sara's returned, holding out the ankle brace he should have been wearing. Her glare says that he better put it on, and so he accepts it without a word. She smiles a little, shakes her head at him, and then turns to perch on the arm of the chair, close enough that he could slip an arm around her waist if he wanted to.

He wants to.

He can't leave. He can't. Not while his city's this open to things like this Girder, like this Zoom, who apparently killed seven cops while he and Sara had been holed up in the safe house and who seems dedicated to being a force for the type of chaos Leonard just can't stand. If Wells is correct—and there's no reason he wouldn't be—eventually there will be nowhere left to run.

And not while Barry is still MIA. While his feelings on Central City's speedster are complicated—he'll admit that—running off while his fate's unknown just doesn't feel right.

And not while Sara won't go with him.

And she won't. There's simply no way. Whatever fragile thing they have, it's no match for her pure drive to be a hero, to help people. It's who she is. He glances up at her, takes in her profile as she watches the others discussing metahuman apps and Girder's probable whereabouts, and thinks about card games and fighting side by side and long hours in bed…

"So! If he's probably at the West's house, are we going to go get him?" Palmer's voice is plaintive. And when Leonard looks over at him, the other man is looking a trifle lost, casting about the room as if looking for someone to tell him what to do.

Well. They do need a plan. And now Sara's looking down at him, a little smile playing about her lips, and damned if maybe she didn't know exactly what he was thinking all along….

Leonard Snart sighs… and levers himself to his feet, resigning himself to his fate.

"That thing's metal, more or less," he says. "I laid out the plan before, although we didn't get a full chance to carry it out. Mick heats it up as much as possible, then I hit it with ice. I don't think I have to tell you what that combination does to metal."

Palmer looks intrigued. "Makes it brittle," he says. "So… what do Sara, Kendra and I do?"

Leonard shrugs. "Distract him. Make sure he stays in metal form. Make sure no civilians get in the way. And when I've cooled him down…"

"Shatter him." Kendra's voice is low. "It's a good plan."

"Of course it is." Turning, he offers Sara a hand. She accepts it, getting to her feet, and smiles at him.

But into this silence, then, comes a new noise: the low hum of the heat gun.

Mick's standing, primed gun in hand, and he's sweeping it back and forth to cover them all, more or less.

"I don't know what the hell he thinks he's doing," he says, staring at Leonard. "But I'm no hero. Sure, it was fun frying zombie ass, but I'm not putting my life on the line for nothin'. There are other cities. Why would…"

"I'll pay you."

At this point, everyone, including Mick, turns to stare at Ray Palmer, who colors faintly, but looks stubborn.

"I'm rich," he says to Mick. "Well, sort of. Not as much as I used to be. But enough to make it worth your while. What's a good take in a heist? Hit me."

Mick snorts, but hesitates… and then names a sizable figure, one that Leonard knows perfectly well is far more than he'd be pulling in on anything other than one of Len's elaborately planned jewel heists, enough that he won't have to pull anything else for months.

And Palmer nods. "Done," he says. "But you have to see this out. After that... well... we'll renegotiate."

Mick stares at him, then lowers the gun and shakes his head.

"I'm in," he says, "for now."

Palmer takes a deep breath, then looks at Leonard. "And you? Is that what it's going to take?"

He's actually surprised at the fury that sparks momentarily. Hasn't he been protecting the city pro bono over the past few weeks with Sara? Wasn't he the one out there about to get flattened by a fuckin' meta zombie? And isn't…

A noise from Sara, though, distracts him from his own anger, and he glances at her to see utter rage in her eyes as she glares at Palmer, who, showing an ounce of self-preservation, takes a wary step back. The hawk woman steps to his side, watching Sara, and Mick watches them all, and this whole thing could go downhill really fast…

Which will serve no purpose whatsoever.

He puts a hand on Sara's shoulder, and when she looks at him, he meets her eyes, trying to convey gratitude and understanding and…

"Got my own reasons," he says shortly to Palmer, still holding Sara's gaze. "So, they say he's probably heading for the West residence? I just happen to already know where that is..."

It is a good plan.

They lure and herd Girder off the quiet city street to a vacant lot in an area when the resulting fallout can't damage much, then put Leonard's plot into motion. While Ray and Kendra and Sara herself harry the lumbering meta zombie from one side and then another, keeping him off base and in his metal form, Len and Mick move around them, alternately heating and freezing him until he finally slows to a stop, metal body stressed to the breaking point by the forces of physics.

Palmer moves into position then, readying his weapons… when what seems to be a shooting star in human form careens right through their midst, smashing into the metal form with a resounding crash and sending chunks of stressed metal everywhere.

The fiery figure loops back into the air, then comes to a rest at the spot when the animated form of a dead man once stood.

"Whoo!" it crows, with a young man's voice. "That was awesome!"

This spectacle earns a long moment of silence, even from Ray, whom Leonard had started to suspect never really stopped talking. It's eventually Mick who, lowering his weapon, shakes his head in amazement.

"This day," he informs the fiery man, "just keeps getting weirder and weirder."

The figure tilts its head and then, with a low rush of air, glows brighter for a moment before separating into two figures who step away from each other as the flames die.

The shorter of the two, an older, bespectacled man who looks like nothing so much as an absent-minded professor, shakes his head.

"Was that," he says, distaste dripping from his voice as he scans the group, "a zombie?"

The other man, much younger and with the build of an athlete, laughs out loud and stretches, looking around at the startled faces around him.

"Like I said," he adds with a grin, "awesome."

The fiery man, it turns out, is two people in one superhuman form: Martin Stein (the older man, who is indeed a professor) and Jefferson "call me Jax" Jackson, who takes his older counterpart's lectures with a combination of fond exasperation and annoyed frustration. They'd apparently also been among the help Cisco'd called in when Barry'd vanished, although Leonard, listening to the two sides of "Firestorm" bicker as they all head back to S.T.A.R. Labs, thinks to himself to perhaps they have some issues to work out as a bit more of a priority.

But then, don't they all.

The members of their little group, flush with the success of the operation, are chattering amongst themselves as they head down the corridor toward the Cortex. Leonard, bringing up the rear side by side (and hand in hand) with Sara, shakes his head in amusement—but then frowns as he notices the silence falling the moment each of them reaches the Cortex. He slows, squeezing Sara's fingers in warning, then lets his other hand drift down to rest on his gun...

… and stops dead in his tracks as they emerge into the room.

Barry Allen, grinning, stands there with Joe and Iris, Cisco and Wells and Henry Allen, still wearing his ridiculous red costume and taking in the group with a smile that just grows wider when he sees Leonard and Sara.

"Hi, guys," he says, spreading his hands out in front of him. "Thanks for the assist. But I'm back!"

Leonard stares at him a long moment... and then snorts.

"Whatever," he tosses over his shoulder as he steps around the bemused speedster and heads for the elevator. "I need a shower."

Barry, as it happens, has returned from an experience with what he seems to believe is the Speed Force itself. He's woken Jessie Wells with a mere touch of his hand, and he seems to have a renewed store of faith that he's meant, destined even, to defeat Zoom and bring balance to the force… or something like that.

But Leonard just can't seem to shake the feeling that something's about to go sideways. He stands in the Cortex and watches the impromptu welcome-home celebration, frowning, until Sara shakes her head, makes him take a drink, and insinuates herself under his arm, leaning against him in a way that once would have had him running, but honestly just feels right.

"What's bugging you?" she asks finally. "And don't tell me 'nothing.' "

He owes her the courtesy of honesty. "Barry seems to think everything's sunshine and rainbows now," he says slowly. "But..."

"It just doesn't work that way," Sara finishes. "So, what are you thinking?"

He exchanges a long look with her, then turns again to look at the group. Mick is regarding Palmer with an expression that seems to be equal parts amusement and bewilderment as the armored man jabbers on at him about dwarf star alloy and astrophysics. The hawk woman... Kendra... is speaking with some animation to the professor (whom he thinks he's met at one point, though he can't recall precisely how) while the kid is watching her with an expression of great appreciation.

A motley crew, to be sure, but... he's worked with worse.

And he can work with this. He can work with them.

"If Barry's not going to be ready for the worst," he says slowly. "We will be."

Chapter Text

Later, they'll call it the "meta-pocalyse."

It starts as… Tuesday.

Leonard hears the first explosion faintly, muffled by what turns out to be some distance and the curtain of Sara's hair, which has fallen over his face as she's wrapped herself around him, there in the king bed in the safe house. He sighs into her neck as she mutters, then brushes her hair away and rolls over, listening.

Boom. Boom.

OK, not his imagination. He sits up, catching Sara's hand (not without regret) as it slides down his chest.

"Trouble," he tells her as he swings his legs over the side of the bed. "Maybe not our kind of trouble, but... hear that?"

"Mmhmm." Sara rises, stretching, and damn, is that a sight he'd like to wake up to every day. But it's neither the time nor place for thoughts like that, and he rips his away with regret, turning to look for his cold gun and parka.

They emerge, dressed and armed, only minutes later. Sara's sorting through the comm units left discarded on the desk when a door bangs open at the other end of the safe house and Mick comes stalking out, also ready to fight with his gun right at hand. Leonard sighs, but turns to face him.

"Maybe you should stay here."

"Like hell." Mick sounds pissed. "I wanna know what the hell's going on, Snart."

"Frankly, Mick, I haven't the faintest fuckin' idea!" But he does. He does have a pretty good idea. He pays attention, after all.

And a moment later, Sara confirms it.

"Metas," she says tersely, listening in on a comm. "All over the city. No sign of Zoom, but Wells says he's doubtless behind it. CIsco says Barry's doing his best and the CCPD is out in force, but..."

"They could use help." He can't help a sigh. "What about..."

"FIrestorm, Hawkgirl... don't look at me, that's a Cisco Ramon special... and the Atom are heading out too." The corner of her mouth lifts. "But Barry says they'd probably do better with some sort of coordination..."

"Peachy." He sighs again. "Well, then... let's go."

The rundown Central City neighborhood where the safe house is located hasn't drawn any trouble yet, but they don't make it very far toward city center when trouble finds them. A snarling figure that screams "werewolf" more than anything else bounds toward them, murder in its eyes, and Leonard takes aim, motioning both Sara and Mick back… only to have a red-and-gold blur zip between him and creature, which vanishes as the Flash sweeps it off to parts unknown.

A few seconds later, Barry Allen is back, pausing for a moment with hands on his knees, looking like a man who already needs a break. His eyes are wide and a trifle shell-shocked, and Leonard can't restrain a twinge of sympathy for the kid.

(In another place, another time, Barry Allen might be a little more cocky about dealing with hundreds of rampaging metas. In a world where Leonard Snart is around to take him down a peg or two… well, he's just not.)

"Hey," the speedster finally breathes out, "I'm glad to see you guys. Could use some help."

"How bad?" Sara comes up beside them, her voice terse. Barry just shakes his head.

"Bad," he says. "I'm trying, but... the cops aren't prepared… and I can't be everywhere at once…"

Sara holds out a hand. "We'll help," she says firmly. "We might not be metas, but we've dealt with some strange shit." She glances at Leonard, who doesn't even try to deny that he's in, not at this point, although he does throw an eyeroll in for plausible deniability. "But… Zoom…"

"He's not actually here, as far as we can tell." Barry glances over his shoulder at a ruckus nearby. "They're… unorganized. It's just, just carnage, not any kind of orchestrated assault. Not yet."

"Then all the better if we get organized," Leonard observes drily. "Where're big bird, fire guy and the incredible shrinking schmuck?"

Barry gives him a look that isn't sure if it wants to be wounded, appalled or amused. "Heading for S.T.A.R. Labs, last I knew. Cisco was going to give them comms." He taps his. "Cisco? You hear that?"

Sara gives Leonard a pointed look, which earns another eyeroll as he pops his own comm into his ear, just in time to hear Cisco Ramon confirming that, yes, the three had checked in and headed for city center. Sara nods and murmurs an acknowledgment and shoulders her bo, but before they can move, Barry takes another deep breath.

I… I mean, I'm trying to take all the metas I can back to S.T.A.R. Labs to be locked up, but I can't get everyone," he rushes to get out. "But this… it's not normal, such as it is, even for dealing with metas. These people are all working for Zoom, we can't… I mean, they won't hesitate… this is…"

Leonard takes pity on him.

"It's war," he finishes. "Don't worry, kid. We won't kill anyone we don't have to, but we won't shy away either. You know the… the three of us… can do what needs to be done."

Mick, who up to this point has spent more time investigating the security cameras on a nearby jewelry shop (whose glass windows have cracked but not yet shattered), grunts from behind him. But despite Barry's startled look, he doesn't say anything more, just falls into step with Leonard and Sara as they start into the war zone.

It doesn't take Leonard long to realize he might have made a tactical error.

But at first, the confusion is simply so bad that it's easy to disregard. He uses the cold gun to freeze the pavement under what resembles nothing so much as an actual screaming banshee, whose cry turns into a strangled gurgle as it loses its footing and slides into a Sara Lance on the rampage. Spinning, he takes out an indistinct figure crackling with electricity, then takes a few steps to ice the feet of a… human-sized turtle? Really?... that's threatening a young cop whose hands are actually shaking as she aims her gun at it.

With a moment to breathe, he does so, looking for Sara and seeing her leaning on her bo and watching him in return. The corners of her mouth lift as she sees him and, after a moment, he lets an answering smile cross his own face, knowing, in that instant, exactly what she's thinking.

Imagine what we can do with all this adrenaline later…

But that's later and this is now, and standing there daydreaming is bound to get them into trouble. He turns to check on Mick, whom he'd seen holding off what seemed to be a man made of wood a few minutes ago.

It only takes one good look around for him to regret not knocking Mick out back at the safe house.

Because the city is burning.

Oh, not in its entirety. Not yet. But there are patches here and there, and they're growing by the minute, even as the sound of sirens grows in unison. The flames from the city are reflected in Mick Rory's eyes, and there's a sort of manic glee there, too. Leonard's seen that look before.

It doesn't mean anything good.

"This is beautiful," Mick whispers, leaning his gun against his shoulder.

"Mick..."

"Snart. Why are we fighting this?" He turns, taking in the chaos with a rapt expression. "Think of the potential. No one would be paying attention to a pair of the baddest thieves out there. We could be kings."

"Maybe for a bit. And then, when the dust settles, you'd wind up working for Zoom. Or dead." He keeps his tone flat. Factual. "You don't take orders well."

Mick frowns and, almost casually, brings his gun down to firing position. Leonard sees Sara take a step toward them, then stop. He keeps his eyes on Mick, though, and she seems to sense they need to hash this out themselves.

Mick is looking at him again, his expression unreadable. "I take the orders I like."

Leonard snorts. "Don't I know it. So…what? You figure he'll just keep telling you to steal and burn and cause mayhem? Because I don't think so. He wants to rule, after all, and I can't imagine it's much fun to rule a wasteland." He takes a step closer, watching the other man. "And if you don't work for him, if you just accept his boot on your neck…"

It's Mick's turn to snort, now, and Len accepts the unlikelihood of that with a tip of his head.

"And if you leave the city," he points out, "eventually they'll be nowhere left to run. And you're back to square one."

He can tell Mick's listening… if he wasn't, he'd have already flown off the handle and Leonard would be fighting his friend in addition to dozens of random metas. (A turtle? Really?)

"Come on," Leonard says, turning the persuasion a little higher. "You hate taking orders and you like busting heads. Help us do the latter and you won't have to do the former."

That gets a grunt and a grudging head tip of its own, but the look on Mick's face is almost… betrayed?

"What happened to you?" the bigger man says finally, sounding a bit bewildered. "Since when have you wanted to save the world?"

The answer bubbles up unbidden.

Since I knew it contained Sara Lance.

But it's not just that, and he's simply not up for more introspection right now. In self-defense, he simply snaps back his next words. "Tell me anything I said isn't true!"

It's a misstep. Mick's eyes harden… and the next few minutes could have gone very differently if the universe hadn't, apparently, decided that they've all had enough of a "break." A howl makes them all start and turn to the sky, heat gun and cold gun pointed toward the figure trailing green fire that's hurtling toward them….

…only to be smashed out of the air by a figure wreathed in red-gold fire, as Firestorm makes an appearance at last. And with him, Kendra Saunders and Ray Palmer, who alight near the trio as a fresh wave of chaos erupts.

"I mean, I lived in Star City. But this," says Palmer, staring at the oncoming rush of metas, "is nuts."

"Standing around talking? Really?" "Hawkgirl" asks with an air of amusement, looking at them. "And here Barry was saying you'd be helping us."

Leonard doesn't dignify that with a response. "Incoming, people," he says shortly, readying his gun and giving Mick one more long look. But the blow-up has apparently passed for now, and his old friend shrugs, moving his own gun from one hand to another before stepping up to his right side.

Sara steps to Leonard's other side, meeting his eyes briefly before looking at Kendra and Ray. (Firestorm still tussling with the unknown meta in the wreckage of a minivan the next block over.) "If you provide some air cover, we'll take the ground," she says. "Just knock 'em down here if you can."

Kendra nods, then, readying what seems to be a… mace? … launches herself into the air again, arrowing toward another winged figure that screams in rage. Ray gives them another look, but hesitates for a moment to aim his suit's weapons at one of the 6-foot-tall insect-like things that are scrabbling toward the group.

Mick steps up to fire his gun at the other, grinning when its exoskeleton proves to be quite flammable. "Hey, Haircut! You still payin' me?"

"Uh. Watch out! Sure? Same rate?" Ray pauses before shooting a dark shape that's about to launch itself at Mick's back.

"Dunno. Might need hazard pay."

Sara and Leonard have fallen into the same easy rhythm in which they've gotten used to working over the past few weeks, and although he knows the situation is dire, he can't help grinning as they do so.

They just move so well together.

And then the time for thinking about such things is over, and all they can do is survive.

Eventually, they lose track of how long they've been fighting. Hours? Days? Weeks? Gradually, the group straggles back to S.T.A.R. Labs for a break and a meal, but Sara can't persuade Leonard to do so until he nearly rolls his ankle again despite the brace, at which point he acquiesces.

They're both stunned to see Caitlin Snow back from Zoom's clutches, and Sara, beaming, throws her arms around her friend. Leonard, watching, can't help but see the way the other woman flinches, and his jaw tightens.

Another reason, he thinks, that this Zoom needs to go down.

They trade a situation report with an exhausted-looking Barry and Cisco, then scarf down a sandwich each (Sara later can't even remember what kind) and a quantity of coffee, followed by a cat nap sprawled together in the same bed Leonard had been stuck in when he'd first woken up at S.T.A.R. Labs.

There's a strong temptation to burn off nervous energy when they awake, but given the cameras both know are scattered throughout the facility, they abstain. They settle for a quick wash and a weapons inventory before heading down the corridor to the elevator to the Cortex.

But before they can make it there, the elevator rumbles, just a little, and the doors open... and they're met, not by Barry Allen or one of the rest of "their" little team, but by Harrison Wells.

The older man stops in his tracks and studies them for a long moment, then sighs. "We need to talk."

Leonard lifts an eyebrow and looks past him to the elevator. "So, talk. We got places to be."

"No... really." Wells sighs again. "And it might be better if you sit down."

How do you respond to that? They grudging allow themselves to be herded back to the medical room, although both stubbornly refuse to sit, Leonard parking a hip against the bedframe and Sara leaning next to him, tossing a knife from hand to hand in a judicious show of annoyance.

Wells seems unfazed by the weaponry, but he's definitely uneasy in general. He looks about the room another moment or two before meeting their eyes.

"Before you go back out there... and I'm not going to try to stop you... there's something... a few things, really... you should know. I've told you, through Barry anyway, that Zoom would love to get his hands on you..." He nods at Leonard. "… and I've told you why, to some extent. But…"

His eyes flick to Sara, who frowns.

"Spill it," she says in a low, dangerous voice, tucking the knife away. "And don't think I… we… haven't noticed you've left a lot out. But you're right. Now… now it might really be a problem. We need to know."

Wells but nods in agreement. He glances away again, then back at them.

"Look," he says. "I didn't want to tell you this, but... the two of you." He motions from Leonard to Sara, back. "Well. Your counterparts. They were together. In Earth-2."

She hears Leonard's slight intake of breath, but doesn't look at him. She can't. Not yet.

"Like... Barry and Iris."

"Very like." Wells' gaze is steady, and not without compassion. "There are people who simply seem to find each other in all the worlds we know. I can't say you're two of them. But... I can't say you're not."

He shrugs. "It was one thing, however unnerving, to see Sara here. But when she returned with you, that night... I've learned to pay attention to those patterns. Told Barry he should keep you together, if he could, and help you out." The look in his eyes is distant. "You were each other's balance, on my Earth. I thought it might be the same, here."

All three of them are quiet a long moment before Leonard, ripping his gaze away from Sara, looks back at Wells.

"So, I'm the mayor there. Or my counterpart is." His voice is quiet. "And Sara? And I did notice you said 'were.' "

Wells sighs, shaking his head, and studies the ground a moment before setting his jaw and lifting his eyes.

"She died. Not long before I came here. She wasn't a fighter, there, at least not anywhere on the same level that you're at," he nods to Sara, "and... she... she was killed.

"And Leo... you don't go by that at all here, do you?" he asks Leonard, who gives a brief, jerky shake of his head. "Well, her death didn't break him, it... galvanized him. Made it so he would never, ever bow to Zoom, not in any time, not in any circumstance.

"And if Zoom gets you..." He points at Leonard. "… he'll try to make you pose as Leo to wipe out the remaining resistance. And if he gets you..." He points at Sara. "... he'll use you to tempt Leo. It would be hard... beyond hard... for him to stand back and let you die, even if he knows you're really not his wife. It all happened so fast before... to see you again..."

He lets his voice trail off. "Well. Better he not get his hands on you, either of you, to begin with."

Sara takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "If Zoom's so willing to use me as leverage... why did he kill... I mean, Earth-2's Sara..."

Wells leaps to the correct conclusion. "Oh, he's not the one who killed her. He'd have much preferred to use her. I'm pretty sure that was the plan.

"Your counterpart's death... it was a mistake, made by a person who's still working for Zoom. She'd be dead now herself if she weren't so valuable to him, and she's going to have something to prove. And she's really why I'm telling you this now."

He takes another deep breath and looks directly at Sara, and she somehow knows what's coming, has suspected some part of it all along.

"It's the Earth-2 version of your sister. And she's already here."

Chapter Text

Sara can't reach Laurel, her Laurel, in Star City.

And somehow that just makes it all worse. Because it's tough, so very tough, to look at the image of the smirking, slinking, black-clad woman on the surveillance camera footage and remind herself that that's not Laurel, not really, that Laurel is mostly confined to a wheelchair right now, and she's still in Star City, and she's OK. She is. Sara has to believe that.

It's hard, too, to watch Wally strike the… Black Siren… with his car, even though it's not Laurel, not her Laurel, and she'd been about to hurt Barry, and, and…

She turns away, closing her eyes, but stops when she bumps right into the man who'd been standing behind her. Leonard lifts his hands to her arms, then hesitates and slowly lowers them to his sides after only a brief touch.

And then, a moment later, she feels them return, feels his hands settle firmly on her upper arms, holding her, anchoring her, and all the watchers be damned.

But no one says a word.

"She's a meta. And she brought down all of Mercury Labs," Sara says a bit numbly. "While we were out there?"

"You all were on the other side of the city," Barry offers. "And we didn't know… who it was… at the time."

Leonard turns to level a glare at Wells. "You knew about our Earth-2 counterparts. But you didn't tell them about her?"

Wells meets him stare for stare. "Frankly, until Mr. Allen had his run-in with her, I thought she was dead." He shrugs. "Zoom didn't take the death of... well, her failure to capture... your counterpart well. And there are other meta powers that can take down buildings."

"Yeah, well, no one else managed to kick Barry's ass." Cisco's grin slips a little as Barry turns to look at him. "Uh. Anyway, we're putting together some tech to take down all the Earth-2 metas—it uses vibrations, it's kinda weird, just trust me," he rattles off. "We just need some time. But she says she's just going to keep taking down buildings for Zoom. We don't really have another good way to stop her. We just need…"

The silence hangs for a moment before Sara finally opens her eyes, then turns around and looks at him.

"… time," she finishes. "You need a distraction."

As if on cue, a noise from the other side of the room breaks into the tableau. Caitlin reacts first. "Cisco, it's your metahuman alert app."

"That's the hi-rise development on the west side," Joe says, eyes on the display as Iris comes up behind him.

"Hundreds of people live there," she breathes in horror.

But Harrison Wells is moving already, running for a bank of computers. "Ramon, we're up! Let's go. Set that pulse off right now." He pauses to point at Barry. "Allen, you start generating that refracting field around the city right now."

"But… all those people…"

And, just like that, there's no more time. Sara takes a deep breath. "Where is she?" she whispers. "Black Siren. I'll go." She looks at Barry. "Admit it. I'm the perfect distraction. With what Wells has told us, she'll be completely focused on me. Not on what you're up to."

"She's right," Wells breaks in before Barry can respond. "And Black Siren… she knows capturing this Sara could be a ticket back into Zoom's good graces." He holds up a hand as Sara looks at him. "But… she gets angry. That's how… well. Be careful."

"I'm going too." Leonard's voice is flat and profoundly unhappy. It's his turn, though, to hold up his hand as Wells starts to speak. "She needs backup. It's me."

And that's that.

They park the bikes a block or so away, then split up, Leonard giving Sara's elbow a quick touch before vanishing into the night. She watches him go, then takes a deep breath, sets her shoulders, and gets on with it.

Black Siren, obviously waiting for someone to respond to her use of powers, is lingering in an abandoned building near the development. She turns as Sara steps through the door, a quick blink the only sign of surprise she shows.

"Well, well! If it isn't my sweet lil' sister," she says, stepping closer. "I'd wondered about you."

"Not quite," Sara responds tersely. But Siren doesn't even seem to hear her.

"You look like quite the bad-ass here. I heard it went a bit differently, on this Earth." She makes a tsking noise, shaking her head as she strolls slowly in a large circle around Sara, who turns to keep her in view. "Dear ol' Ollie. I wonder if my version harbored any of the same thoughts? I'm going to guess… yes." She shrugs. "Maybe he just didn't have the balls to go for it there. Doesn't matter."

Sara licks her lips, moving her bo from hand to hand, unable to escape the visceral feelings of guilt that she and Laurel are long since past, that don't, can't apply to this Laurel.

"I'm not her," she points out, as much to herself as the other woman. "And you're not... you're not my sister."

"No." Siren stops, cocking her head to the side, birdlike. "I'm not. I'm ever so much better." She smiles as Sara's eyes narrow. "Oooh, protective of your dear sissy, are you? My s... she was, too. Or at least she pretended to be."

Keep her talking. Just a little longer. She doesn't dare look past Siren to where she knows Leonard is skulking silently at the other side of the building. "Oh?"

It's almost like this Laurel wants to talk, wants to air her grievances. She continues, still moving, still circling, as Sara watches.

"I came to Central for a fresh start, but everywhere, it was always about her. Sara, working her way up through the ranks, fighting for women's services. Sara, the young, hard-working director of the CC YWCA, helping women with nowhere else to go." Her tone is light, but with a bitter edge, Sara thinks. "And then, the perfect story, the fairytale romance with the politician no one thought had a heart. My baby sister was fucking the goddamned mayor, after I'd lost..." Siren stops, spins, and stares at Sara a long moment, then smirks again.

"And then! I got the meta powers, you didn't." She does a little pirouette, smiling, black leather flowing out around her legs. "So much potential, I thought! Maybe... now, I could…" Her expression hardens. "But people hated metas. And all that potential... the only one who wanted it was Zoom... and, oh, it's just so much fun to watch things crumble and fall..."

Sara, who's been watching Siren's throat, tenses as she sees the muscles tighten, but the other woman doesn't attack her. Instead, she spins, screaming, sonic waves aimed at the back of the room and causing havoc in their wake. Leonard dodges and rolls out of the way, bringing himself into view in the dim light.

"Oh, you did! You did find him here!" Black Siren actually sounds quite pleased about this, taking a step closer to see the newcomer. "And, my my, you look a lot more bad-ass on this Earth, Leonard." Her tone is admiring as she looks Leonard up and down. "I like the jeans, and the black leather, of course."

She taps a finger against her lips. "Other you is a lot more... staid. Cute, in a preppy, older sort of a way, but staid. Should have realized there was a bit more potential there, given how difficult he's proven, but... well, that's besides the point."

Since the jig is up anyway, she can see Leonard weigh his options… and then shrug in typical Captain Cold insouciance, sauntering over to stand by Sara.

"Thanks," he drawls, hand on cold gun, "I think." She can see the gleam in his eyes. "I might appreciate it a bit more if you weren't so obviously insane."

Siren actually laughs. "Oh, I do like you better! But I'm not insane. I just like being the one with the power. It's such fun." Her eyes narrow. "And now, speaking of which…"

Come on, Cisco! "Laurel!" Sara says in desperation. "We could really use your powers here, use them for good. I'm sorry they weren't appreciated there, that you weren't appreciated there, but you could be, here."

She sees a spark of surprise in the other woman's eyes, quickly concealed. Siren pouts, dark lips forming a moue of annoyance, as she steps closer.

"The time for that is past, dear Sara," she says lightly. "Besides which, she tried to convince me of that, too." A shrug. "She was wrong. And then she died."

Sara can feel Leonard's arm move as he grips the cold gun besides her, as she grasps for more distraction. She seizes, then, the very real grief she feels bubbling up at the other woman's words.

"You were her sister," she cries, her tone full of anguish. "Even if you hated her... even if you had reasons... how could you kill her? Just tell me that."

Siren seems just as stunned by Sara's words as Sara herself is. She blinks a moment, then says, "It was an accident."

They both stare at the Earth-2 woman. Black Siren glances away, but she continues.

"You had earplugs," she says, as if to herself, as if she's forgotten again that this is not the same Sara. "They fell out. I didn't know... Zoom was going to let me go, he was... he was just going to use you..."

Sara takes a step, feeling Leonard tense again. But she needs to take this opportunity, for more reasons than one. "I mean it," she says quietly. "You don't need to work for him here. You could change sides. It's not too late."

For a moment, Earth-2 Laurel Lance stares back at her little sister's Earth-1 version, and there's almost something besides mockery in her eyes. Something wistful.

But then they harden again, and she laughs.

"Oh, please. Really? After I've disposed of lover boy here and taken you back to Zoom, gotten him off my back, I think I'll head to Star City, see what my counterpart is up to." Her lips curve. "She should be easy to dispose of, and then I might be able to get an actual life back. Is it any less than she deserves, for being such a little..."

Sara lunges for her, bo in one hand, knife in the other. Leonard curses, bringing the cold gun into firing position. And at that moment, the S.T.A.R. Labs secret weapon blankets the city in vibrations designed to take out the residents of Earth-2.

And Black Siren claps her hands to her head with a look of horror on her face-before dropping like a marionette with her strings cut.

Sara stutters to a halt, then drops to her knees by the other woman's side, a hand covering her mouth, shoulders shaking. With her free hand, she reaches out toward the Black Siren's shoulder, stopping just shy, her fingers trembling, unable to bridge the final centimeter of space. Leonard hesitates just a moment, then puts a hand on her shoulder, and she reaches up to put hers over it.

They're still there, motionless, when Barry arrives.

They go back to her apartment this time, the solitude much-needed, Sara giving the request to Leonard in a voice that's more numb than anything else.

Once they've parked their bikes, he takes one look at her standing there, staring at the building with a blank expression… and then makes a decision. Moving slowly so she can see what he's doing, he steps closer, then swings her up into a bridal-style carry and makes his way toward the door.

Then up the stairs. Into a sparse apartment that has less sign of someone actually living there than the S.T.A.R. Labs medical rooms. Into the bedroom, where she finally stirs from her curl in his arms to motion, still wordlessly, for him to put her down. When he does, she divests herself of her uniform in small, efficient, unthinking movements, finally peeling back the bed covers only to stare at them like she's not sure what to do.

Leonard's the one who gently pushes her down until she's stretched out on the bed, then pulls the covers up over her. But as he does, small, strong fingers wrap around his wrist, tug him toward her and down.

He caves, lying down next to her and pulling her into his arms with a sigh. She curls up there with a sigh of her own and is asleep in moments.

Leonard intends to wait only until she's out—as comfortable as he is, and as much as he'd like to stay with her, there are things he needs to do. But it's been a long day, a long, exhausting, stressful day with only one brief rest. It's not much longer before he's out too, breathing evenly and deeply as they slumber.

Sometime in the middle of the night, he wakes from a sound sleep to find Sara staring at him from only a few inches away, eyes nearly purple in the dim light, hand on his chest. After a moment, she leans forward to kiss him, lips soft, then increasingly urgent.

They'd been having fun, before. Blowing off steam and enjoying each other.

This is different. This, he thinks, not long later, every sense filled with Sara, is what people call love-making.

He's never understood that before, not really. He does now.

This is… healing. Far more than the physical, more than a satisfying release. And when she whispers his name on a breathless cry, hands tightening on his shoulders, the words he responds with are not her name.

It's nothing he's thought out. Nothing he'd expected to ever say. But other words and thoughts from throughout the day keep echoing through his head and…

Since I knew it contained Sara Lance.

There are people who simply seem to find each other in all the worlds we know.

You were each other's balance, on my Earth.

… and life can change, so fast.

He sees her eyes widen, even as he, too, gasps, shuddering over her as her arms tighten again around him. And then she whispers. His name.

A few other words.

He lowers himself to the bed, pulls her into his arms. She buries her face in his neck.

And they hold each other.

He waits until she's sound asleep again, then carefully disentangles himself, rising and searching for the clothing discarded earlier. Dressed, he scrawls a note and then stands there a moment, looking down at her, thinking about the paths he's chosen and those he's walked away from, and why he's done what he's done.

What he wants.

How it's changed.

And then he goes back to S.T.A.R. Labs.

Chapter Text

 "She can't break out of there," Leonard says, staring at the angry woman on the other side of the glass. Black Siren glares at him, eyes filled with rage, then screams, no trace of the sound waves audible on the other side. "You're sure?"

"Mmhmm." Cisco eyes him. "Positive. How's Sara?"

He starts to glare at the younger man, then gives it up as a lost cause, looking back at the Siren. "She'll be OK." This is what Sara's sister looks like? More or less? There's really not much of a resemblance. But then, Lisa looks almost nothing like him.

After one more long look, he turns away.

"Where's Mick? And... the others." What the hell does he call that absurd group of losers, anyway?

"Kendra said she has a place to stay, a little to Ray's disappointment, I think." Barry sounds amused. "Stein and Jax went to check on their homes and families. I think Mick dragged Ray out of here to go drinking." He motions toward a police scanner. "I fully expect to hear about that later. Or maybe Ray will be a good influence?"

"The reverse is more likely." He's not really sure why he came here. Just to make sure Black Siren was contained, he supposes, for Sara's sake. And to check on the others… Mick. Because.

Barry interrupts his thoughts.

"We're, uh, getting together, later, a bunch of us, at the house. A celebratory dinner. It was Iris' idea." He eyes the crook, a tiny smile on his face. "I know you know where that is."

"Cocoa's not cocoa without the mini marshmallows. You're out. I checked." "I do."

"Well... stop by. You and Sara. If you want." He grins a little wider at the look on Leonard's face, then turns away, speaking to Cisco, as Leonard turns toward the door.

Invited to Barry Allen's home. What is the world coming to? He shakes his head in bemusement as he departs.

He cuts through the medical room on his way back to street level, surprised to see Henry Allen puttering around with the equipment. The older man looks up at the unexpected interruption, actually smiling as he notes Leonard standing there.

"Mr. Snart. Hello." He hesitates. "Ms. Lance. Barry told me... is she OK?"

Snark comes to mind first, snark and a biting comeback. He gives voice to neither, hesitating instead as he tries to think of an appropriate response.

Let's face it, Leonard. A psychologist would probably have a field day with you and your reactions to other people's fathers.

He's spared the need to come up with something when Henry Allen laughs a little, shaking his head and giving the younger man a wry smile that looks a lot like one of his son's.

"That was sort of a stupid thing to ask, wasn't it?" he says. "Of course she's not OK. What a thing... Barry told me her real sister, here, was badly injured not that long ago, that there are still many issues. That just makes it harder, I'd think."

He shrugs and continues setting the medical area to rights. Leonard watches, feeling like he ought to leave, but oddly loathe to.

A field day.

"All these other Earths, it makes you wonder what went differently in each of them," Allen muses. "Barry's mother is alive, in Earth-2. Did he tell you that?" He shakes his head again as Leonard wonders uneasily if the man has forgotten that he and Barry Allen are not precisely buddies. "I'll admit, I considered asking him to take me over there. Just... just for a few minutes. So I could see her."

Henry Allen looks off into the distance again, then sighs.

"No good can come from that," he says quietly, picking up a scalpel and studying it. "And so I won't do it. But I can't help but wonder: what was different? Why is Nora alive? Why is Barry not a speedster? Why is Iris a cop? Why..."

"Why am I the mayor instead of... what I am?" Leonard can't believe he's actually said the words, although they've been rattling around in his head for weeks now, only picking up volume with recent events. But they sound so, so... wistful... that he shudders, turning to leave before he can hear what he figures is sure to be a scornful reaction.

But Allen doesn't laugh. And, when he speaks, he sounds so thoughtful that Leonard turns back in surprise.

"Just as impossible to know as anything else, I suppose," he says, slowly. "But... maybe your father wasn't the... piece of work... he was here. Or, perhaps more likely than that, you had more of a support system." He points at the younger man. "Don't think I haven't wondered what would have become of my boy if Joe hadn't been there for him. And you were starting at a disadvantage to begin with... no, don't give me that look..."

That may have been the first time anyone's used dad voice on Leonard Snart in decades. He's stunned speechless. Allen continues, ignoring his expression.

"Frankly, I don't doubt your father was a bad egg in any world," he says, somewhat acerbically. "But you…the man I heard about in prison... the one I've heard about here... yes, you've been feared. But you're been admired, too. No, there's good in you."

He sounds just like his son in that moment. Leonard snorts.

Allen just smiles. "Barry sees it," he points out.

"Barry sees good in everyone."

"Ah. Yes, he does. But does Sara Lance?"

He has no good answer to that. Allen's smile grows.

"No, I didn't think so," he says. "And, don't tell Barry, but I don't either." Another faraway look. "Not anymore."

He stares off into the distance another moment, then shakes his head. "I think sometimes that 'who we are' comes down to a narrower set of circumstances than most people ever recognize, Mr. Snart.

"And what might be most interesting is that it's never really too late... to change those circumstances."

Maybe it's Sara's grief over the woman who might have been her sister. Maybe it's Henry Allen's words about second chances and "who we are."

Or maybe it's just him.

But next, he goes back to the safe house. Just to see if Mick's there.

He lets himself in, shaking his head at the heat gun thrown casually onto the futon with Mick's coat, then lifts his head, tensing just a little as the man himself, in T-shirts and boxers, throws the door to his room open and stalks out, staring at Leonard a moment before approaching.

Leonard waits until he's at the far end of the table. Then he sets the cold gun down and, with a push, sends it to the other side of the table, where Mick stops it with a hand before it can slide off, eyeing the weapon for a moment before staring at his partner.

"I'm told we should have a... heart-to-heart."

Mick grunts, folding his arms. "We don't have hearts. Where does that leave us?"

Leonard sighs. But there are worse responses his partner could have given him, and most of them involve violence and fire. He can work with this.

"You wanted to know," he says finally, carefully. "What changed."

Mick remains silent, watching him. Leonard looks away, picking over his words, fighting the desire to fall back on snark again, or even to just to stop now, to deny that any changes have taken place. But they have. And Mick knows it.

"Seems like I spent my life trying to prove that I wasn't my dad," he says slowly. "That I was a better crook... a better man." He lifts his head and looks right at Mick. " And then... I wasn't."

He broke my sister's heart... seemed only fair that I break his.

He shrugs. "Lewis is gone. Seemed it was time for something... new."

The silence stretches. Leonard knows Mick is more than capable of reading between the lines, of understanding what his friend is trying to say without making him elaborate. But he'll also play dumb when it suits him, so...

Finally, Mick sighs and shakes his head, shoving the cold gun back to Leonard, who puts a hand on it with what he hopes doesn't seem like undue haste.

"And then you met a blond bad-ass," the bigger man says, and there's actually a tiny hint of approval there? 'You always did like 'em blond."

The relief that swells up is unbidden and unexpected. Leonard snorts, leaning against the table. "As opposed to..."

Something clicks. Mick's antsiness. The fact, to be honest, that he's not out casing the still-damaged city. The... he turns his head to check again... the other coat lying half off the side of the futon.

"Mick."

"Boss."

"Are you keeping a hero in the bedroom?"

Mick snorts. And doesn't deny it. "You were."

"Yes, but..." There's really no good way to reply to that. He settles for a plaintive, "But... the Boy Scout?"

"Hey. Be prepared."

And there's no good way at all to respond to that. "Whatever. You stickin' around?"

"For the moment. That Zoom clown, he's still out there, isn't he?" Before Leonard can react to that, a slightly maniacal grin touches Mick's face. "This's a bunch of lunatics you've thrown in with, Snart, but they could be fun. That bird girl... she has some stories... wonderin' if I couldn't convince her to join us..."

At the moment, he doesn't know what "us" Mick means, nor what... activity. Which is just fine. "I don't want to know about it." Leonard turns for the door. "Have fun. Don't break the hero."

"Snart."

Hand on the door, he turns back around. Mick's watching him, an odd expression on his face, then glances away.

"You're not your dad," he mutters, again looking anywhere in the room but at the other man. "Never were."

"Yeah. Well. Neither are you."

Sara, awake and stretching when he finally gets back to the apartment, is more than willing to visit the West/Allen household for dinner, a thought that still bemuses Leonard. He agrees—but although he'd like to say it's for the humor value alone, he's increasingly aware that it's more.

This is all too... good. All too smooth. MIck had pointed it out and he'd been right. Barry has been far too blasé about the fact that Zoom has escaped again, that the speedster who can create portals at will is still on the loose.

Alexa.

The feeling grows while he showers and dresses, and he reaches for the holster almost without thinking about it, strapping it to his leg and sliding the cold gun home. Sara, who can tell he's preoccupied, can see it in the way he moves and the expression on his face, also sees the weapon, but doesn't comment except for a nod, reaching for another knife that swiftly disappears into some hidden scabbard under her street clothes

She gets it, this woman. It's one of the reasons he loves her.

They share a bike, parking not far from the house, and the feeling of Alexa is now stronger than ever. He taps his fingers on the gun as Sara rings the doorbell, and then he walks into the West/Allen home as an invited guest for the very first time. At the side of Sara Lance.

Life is strange.

Sara squeezes his hand, then moves toward the table to greet Barry and Iris, while Henry Allen rises from his place on the couch... next to Tina McGee, hmm... to extend a hand to Leonard.

"Strange, isn't it?" he says in a low tone, echoing Leonard's earlier thoughts. "Being here. After... everything."

There's really no good way to respond to that. He settles for a rueful smile, stares at the fireplace a moment, then turns toward Sara and the others.

"...really are invincible."

"No." Barry smiles a little, then grins as he sees Leonard. "But the Speed Force is with us."

Alexa. "No one's invincible, Allen. And maybe the 'Speed Force' is with you, but does it give a shit for the rest of us?"

His tone comes out harsher than intended, and Sara rolls her eyes at him while Barry blinks.

"We did win, Snart," he points out, though, a note of humor in his tone. "And thank you for that." A nod to Sara. "Both of you."

"More than just us," Sara points out, taking a glass of champagne and handing one to Leonard, nudging him, as Iris and Joe start passing the glasses out and the others gather near the table.

"First, a toast," West says, with a smile. "To family."

Not usually his sort of toast, Leonard thinks as he watches the others drink. But he thinks of Lisa. Mick. Sara. And glancing at her, he drinks too.

"That's my kind of toast, short and sweet," Cisco says happily. "Let's eat."

And then he freezes, eyes wide, taking a step back a moment later, horror on his face.

Alexa. Leonard puts a hand on his gun again. Alexa.

"Cisco," Barry says, "what is it?" He puts his glass down. "What'd you see?"

"I don't understand."

"What, Cisco?" Joe says gently. No one's watching Leonard, who slides the cold gun from its holster, Alexa prickling along every nerve, casting quick glances from side to side.

What would hurt Barry the most?

"Earth-2, splitting in half, straight down to the poles," Cisco says numbly.

Joe West? Iris?

"Tell me I didn't just vibe the future."

He focuses then, on Henry Allen, who's watching the drama, champagne in hand. Yes.

"Tell me I didn't just see the end of the world!"

And then... Zoom's there, in the house. He has an arm around Henry Allen's neck... and almost everyone freezes.

Almost.

Leonard moves without thinking about it. He swings the cold gun up, aims and fires in one smooth motion. And Zoom never sees it coming.

He has to avoid hitting Allen, so he just wings the speedster, really. It's not a death blow, just enough to hurt, to slow, to...

To make him let go.

Hunter Zolomon snatches his arm back with a howl of very real pain and, for a fraction of a second, the black-masked figure's eyes burn into the stubborn blue ones of the crook.

And then Zoom is gone. At least, for now.

And Henry Allen, who can still feel the speedster's grip on his neck, touches it in wonder as he looks first at his son, then at Leonard Snart, who's still holding the cold gun—a weapon designed and built to stop speedsters—extended, a look of resolve in his eyes.

And, unbeknownst to all of them, the timeline... shifts.

No one sees it, but the figure that stands in the shadows outside the West/Allen household nods in immense satisfaction as Zoom flees the home, pulling back moments later as people spill out of the house, going to S.T.A.R. Labs to put certain vulnerable members of the group into what passes as protective custody.

Henry Allen doesn't die today.

And that changes... everything.

Chapter Text

"Barry. We can't just stay in here forever." Henry Allen's voice is gentle, if frustrated. Standing in the bowels of S.T.A.R. Labs, where the group has gathered after Zoom's abortive attempt at kidnapping him… and, they all know, most likely far worse… he's been trying to get through to his son for a while now. "I know what you're feeling… I know what you're thinking… but hiding isn't the answer. Not for me… and not for you."

"What else are we supposed to do?" Barry Allen's voice is also frustrated, with cracks around the edges. The speedster is pacing, pacing, turning and pacing more. "He nearly killed you. He had you. He would have killed you." He stops again, then turns and stares at Leonard, who's parked himself in the doorframe, Sara learning next to him.

"Thank you," he says, for about the 10th time in the past few hours. "I mean… really. Thank you." He shakes his head, the gesture managing to convey gratitude, fear, amazement, frustration and more. "I owe you. I… I've only just gotten him back, I don't know what I'd do…"

The outpouring is too much. "Yeah, yeah. You're welcome. I'll figure out some sort of payback. You might regret it." For all the casual sarcasm, he meets Henry Allen's sincere eyes briefly, then glances away again. "He's right, though. Can't live your life in protective custody."

"And, frankly, if anyone needs to be in protective custody, it's Mr. Snart." Harrison Wells' voice is dry; he's been observing the drama from the other side of the room, where he'd entered after double-checking on Wally West and Jessie. "Zoom already hates his Earth-2 version. And now he knows this onecan hurt him." The look he gives Leonard holds respect. "I knew about that gun, but I have to admit, I didn't realize just how effective it would be."

"Yeah, well." He can't help but put his hand on the cold gun, protectively. "I'm not staying in here. Doesn't solve anything." He glances at Sara, though, unable to stop the impulse. She meets his gaze, lifting an eyebrow as she smiles.

"Don't even think about it," she tells him. "I've never run away from a fight yet."

He also can't stop the smirk in response. "Right." His gaze turns back to Wells, then Barry. "He's a coward. Zoom. He only goes after things and people he thinks can't hurt him. I'd guess that's why he's so into the idea of using hostages."

Wells nods. "You're not wrong," he says, stepping farther into the room. "And not only is it useful to him, he's invested in the idea of... of loved ones being a weakness." He frowns, gaze turning inward, then shakes his head. "And they are, I suppose. But…"

"But what else do we live for?" Barry's voice is quiet. "What I don't get is… what does he want?"

Wells exchanges a long speaking glance with Henry, then shrugs. "Besides turning you into him, or trying? He wants to finish conquering Earth-2 and then take over this Earth."

"Does he, though?" Sara muses. "Because he's not going about it very well. The only speedster around here is Barry. At least until he... encountered... the cold gun, he must have thought Barry was the only real threat to him. So why hasn't he just killed him?" She shrugs at the speedster's expression. "Sorry. Assassin, remember? It's how I think."

Barry looks half appalled, half amused. "So why didn't you think of it until now?"

"She's been... distracted," Leonard drawls as Sara laughs.

"Stop! I don't want to know!"

"Lance has a point." Wells, ignoring the byplay, looks thoughtful. "Honestly, I figured he was sort of... well... playing with his food. But I think you're right; there's something else going on here."

The arrival of Cisco Ramon is heralded by a flurry of footsteps, and the other man appears in the doorway behind Wells, trotting into the room quickly enough that Barry gives him a look of alarm.

"Cisco, have you vibed… that… again? What did you call it? The end of the world?"

"Um. No." The other man sidles past Wells. "But I've vibed something else since. Twice now." He takes a deep breath. "Just… ice. Like, a wave of it, and a sense of mega-cold."

He gives Barry and Wells a quick headshake as Leonard and Sara glance at each other, then continues. "And a smell in the air. Something, I dunno, coppery. And warm, which is weird."

"Blood," Sara provides flatly. "That's what it sounds like."

"Yeah. Yeah, maybe." Cisco comes to a halt in front of Leonard and takes another deep breath. "Can I... borrow the cold gun?" he asks carefully. "I want to make copies. I should have asked weeks ago, given our speedster problems, but I think I underestimated it."

He gives Leonard a quick glance. "Wells—err, sorry, Harry, Thawn—destroyed the original version last year. I have my notes, but dude, I think you've made a lot of modifications. That thing works waaayyy better than the gun I made."

"Flattery, Ramon?" But he can't help tapping the gun a touch protectively again, avoiding the others' eyes, even Sara's.

The cold gun had upped his game. Made him more than a common crook. Even as part of his ego shies away from that notion, a tiny part still holds onto it. The gun was his ticket...

To what? Defeating the Flash? He's been working with the man for weeks now. To being something special, even among the upper echelon of jewel thieves? He's not sure he has anything left to prove, there, or wants to if he does. To showing... his father...

His fingers tighten on the weapon convulsively... then flex and let go.

"Few conditions." He fixes Ramon with a glare. "I get the original back."

"OooK..." The younger man takes a half-step backward, but nods.

"And I work on this project too. I don't have notes for the changes. It's all in my head."

"Gotcha." There's definitely respect there. "Hoped you would, actually. Need a sneaky-type mind. Um… that's a compliment."

"Figured." He matches Sara's grin with a shadow of a smirk of his own, then looks back at Barry. "So. We need a plan. I say you go call him out."

Barry blinks at him. "Wait. What? Zoom?"

"MmHmm. If he wants you for something, he won't hurt you. Act scared; he won't look closer. And then you…" He smirks at the speedster. "… buy us some time."

Cisco perks up. "Oooh, and in that time, we build a bunch of cold guns. With the cooperation of our other 'super friends'-Ray, Kendra, Stein, Jax-we lay a trap." He spreads his hands. "Barry leads him into it. And badda bing, badda boom, Zoom's an icicle. Party time!" He holds his fist up to Leonard, who stares at him until he slowly lowers it. "Well. Yay."

For a long few minutes, the six people in the room just look at each other.

"We do it right, that might work," Wells says finally. "He's going to be more cautious, now, and it'll be tough. But it just might work."

Barry sighs. "In the meantime, though, I do want you," he looks at his father, "to stay here. You're right that you can't stay forever. But we know Zoom's gunning for you." He takes a ragged breath. "It would make me feel better, OK?"

Faced with that, Henry Allen sighs and acquiesces. Leonard has just started to turn to Sara (and her to him) when Barry points a finger at them.

"You two as well," he says, and now there's an almost Snart-like smirk on his face. "Harry's right. Zoom's not going to take the fact that you hurt him well, and he's apparently already inclined to hate your doppelganger. And he'll take you," he looks at Sara, "to hurt him. You need to stay here."

The crook and the assassin look at each other.

Leonard, noting the smile still lurking around Sara's lips, sighs. "Both of us?"

"Yep." Barry crosses his arms and does his best to look stubborn. "Everybody here, if possible, actually."

"Give us back the med room again?" Sara chimes in, threading her fingers through Leonard's and leaning toward him.

"Ye… yeah?"

"And disable all the cameras you have in there?" Leonard's openly smirking again. There's an actual bark of laughter from Henry Allen and a squeak from Cisco. Wells just shakes his head.

Barry gives them a flat look, aware at this point that he's being messed with. "Sure," he says with a sigh. "Why not? Want a waterbed while you're at it?"

Sara perks up. "Oooh. Promise?"

Barry just throws his hands up in the air and turns away.

And with that, Operation: Let It Go (Cisco's name, to Leonard's great dismay) commences.

Barry, with the aid of Cisco, contacts Zoom, doing an authentic job of portraying a deathly frightened man who, though he knows his loved ones are as safe as can be expected at the moment, also knows that that's not sustainable. (So, in other words, reality.)

Zoom seems to buy it. Neither of them mention the cold gun, although Barry later points out that the speedster stresses that he must come alone—and just may seem to be favoring his right shoulder.

Hunter Zolomon, it seems, wants a race.

You win: this is over, and you get to be the hero.

All I want to know is who's the fastest man alive on either world.

A race, Barry, between you and me... to see who's the fastest.

Barry agrees to do it… in a week's time. To say farewell, just in case, he says.

And another race, this one against time, is on.

It doesn't take long for Wells to figure out the magnetar angle, and that what Zolomon really wants is to use Barry's speed with his own to destroy Earth-2 and all the other worlds. He's puzzled, however, that Cisco's vibes of what seem to be that situation have stopped.

However, the new ones, ice and what might be the scent of blood, continue. Cisco, relieved to dispense with the mass destruction in the other vibe, is flippant about it. ("Hey, that sounds like something from 'A Game of Thrones,'" he points out. "'Ice and Blood.' Like, the anti-Targaryens, or something.") And Barry, optimistically, takes it to mean their plan is going to work.

But Sara, watching, keeps noticing a thoughtfulness about Leonard when the subject arises. And although she doesn't bring it up, she keeps watching… and makes sure she's involved as much as possible in the cold gun plan.

Leonard insists that Mick be brought in on the project (to Cisco's great dismay); Ray Palmer tags along, happily offering ideas to tweak the technology and managing to unite Cisco and Leonard in their annoyance at him. But they don't have a lot of time, and they have to produce more cold guns, and Ray's good at that sort of thing…

So they play nice.

(Although Leonard's expression the first time Ray proudly shows off his installation of a cold-gun micro-engine in his suit's weaponry is something Mick laughs about for days.)

Stein, Jax and Kendra, at least in their usual forms unknown to Zoom, wind up being their links to the outside world that week, with fast-food runs and courier work and at least one actual meal from Clarissa Stein. Everyone else stays put, for safety's sake, though Joe remains somewhat cranky about having to take a week's vacation time only to stay cooped up.

There are times that the S.T.A.R. Labs facility resembles a college dorm, that week. Mick somehow acquires several crates of alcohol (that Ray swears was legally obtained no matter how hard Mick laughs at him). No one gives him much grief about it, though, because he's remarkably generous about sharing.

Cisco bemoans PDA in the hallways -between Sara and Leonard, who don't even pretend they're not together anymore; Iris and Barry, who've decided they've wasted enough time, thank you very much; and, in one notable case that has him stealing a full bottle of Mick's Irish whiskey and loudly requesting "brain bleach," Caitlin and Wells.

And the various temporary residents keep squabbling over who used all the good shampoo and hot water (it's usually Cisco, for both), as well as what sort of recreation is available that evening and who's taking part.

(One particular game of Never Have I Ever will live in S.T.A.R. Labs infamy—well, that's what happens when it involves not only the lab crew, but two career crooks, an assassin who came back from the dead, a demigoddess, a physicist with a more interesting life history than anyone imagined, and a wealthy Boy Scout who built himself a shrinking suit. Joe West threatens to cart them all off to jail-and orders the fascinated [and supposedly impressionable] three youngest members of the group to cover their ears.)

And then Zoom's deadline is up…

Operation: Let It Go has created four cold guns in addition to Leonard's original and Ray's adaptation.

And there's no more time to plan.

The night before the deadline, S.T.A.R. Labs is actually quiet.

Everyone's tucked away in whatever nook they've claimed for their own, in whatever combination. The med room is silent, except for the breathing of the two people lying together in the bed—which, if it isn't the waterbed Barry had so jokingly referred to, is at least bigger than the original hospital-type cot that had been there before.

Leonard's been a bit jumpy about the heightened presence of other people in the building, but tonight, no sooner do they have the doors latched then he's pulling Sara into his arms, mouth slanting across hers, and she's all too willing to just... go with it.

"Don't do anything stupid out there," she breathes later, eyes closed, cheek against his chest. "Tomorrow."

Leonard is lying on his back, staring at the ceiling, his arms around her. She can feel the steady beat of his heart, finally slowed from prior... exertions, his calm breathing.

"Now, why would I do something like that?" he asks after a moment. "I'm no hero."

That comment earns him a noise of derision, but she doesn't argue with him, choosing instead to prop herself up on an elbow and regard him steadily. He watches her in return, blue eyes warm, a hand gently running along her spine in a most distracting fashion.

"What do you want to do?" she asks, changing the subject and finally bringing up one they've avoided. "After all this is done. Are you planning to stay in Central City? Go somewhere else? Or... travel a bit?"

His eyes are direct, even if his eventual answer is not. "Don't know," he says. "Guess... we'll see."

Sara narrows her eyes at him, trying to disarm the glare with a slight smile. "See what?"

The persistence gets her a sigh, but also a far more sober response than she expects. "See what happens," he says seriously, hand stilling against her back. "Tomorrow. Have to get past that first."

She studies him. "You don't think it's going to work?"

"I think... I think it's a good plan. The best any of us could come up with for an... imprecise... situation." His hand starts to move again, oh-so-distractingly, and she catches her breath as it dips just a bit lower. "But it's not perfect. I'm still... planning."

"Of course you are." She shifts a little, listens to him catch his own breath. "Stop for a few minutes."

"Just a few minutes?"

"Shut up, Snart."

He does.

It's not until later, much later, that she realizes he didn't make any promises in response to her first question.

"We only get one real chance at this before he's onto us. It gets a lot trickier after that. He already has to know we're up to something." Harrison Wells studies the cold gun he's holding, then lifts his gaze to look at the group around him. "And these don't have as much charge as the original model. Sacrifice we had to make to build them smaller."

He looks at Leonard, then. "Mr. Snart? Your plan."

Showtime. He takes a breath, reflects a moment with amusement on how he's plotting to take down a speedster again, and studies the gathering. Nine pairs of eyes study him in return, from Wells' level gaze to Mick's skepticism to Ray's bright enthusiasm. The rest of the group, including Henry Allen and Iris, had wanted to be included, but given Zoom's propensity for taking hostages, had eventually been convinced to remain back at the lab and monitor things.

Sara's eyes sparkle as she looks at him, cold gun of her own cradled in her arms, and if that combination isn't a sight capable of distracting him more than all the jewels in the Central City Museum, well, nothing is. But it's not the time, and there's a deadline.

He takes another long look, though, just to hold the image in his head.

"Barry's meeting Zoom on the south side of this building," he says finally, gesturing in the correct direction. "The Stargate-looking thing..."

"Magnetar," Cisco provides helpfully, shouldering his own gun with perhaps a trifle too much glee.

"Whatever... is on the north. And when they start, Barry's going to lead Zoom through this old factory, instead of around." Another gesture, taking in the facility where they've gathered. "Kid, you gotta get the jump on him, right?"

"I'll do my best." The red-clad speedster bounces on his toes a little, adrenaline already sparking, and Leonard can't blame him.

"Mick, Kendra, and Firestorm," he nods to the four in question, "are going to make certain Zoom follows him, then they're in charge of holding down the doors to this place. Zoom doesn't get back out. Not in one piece."

"Right, boss."

"Not," Kendra adds, "on our watch." She's casually swinging her mace from hand to hand, an image that seems to distract Mick, Ray and Cisco as much as Sara's been distracting Leonard. He clears his throat, and all three look back at him with varying levels of guilt. (Kendra laughs.)

"OK, the hallways here are winding, and we have them blocked off so there's only one real path through. You... Sara, Wells, Cisco, Joe... will each be lying in wait along that path. Try to miss Barry," he adds drily. "Even though he's wearing his thermal suit, it could complicate matters. Tag Zoom as best you can, hit him head on if he turns on you and we'll get this done sooner rather than later. Otherwise, follow with weapon firing so he can't retrace his steps.

"Eventually, that path's going to end here." He motions at the more cavernous warehouse room around them. "I'm going to be here. I have the strongest gun. If he's still moving, well, he won't be for long. And just in case..." He looks at Ray. "Boy Scout here'll be shrunk down and lurking near the other wall. He grows, hits the speedster from behind while I ice him from the front..."

"Zoom's an icicle," Cisco repeats, almost reverently. "Boom."

"Don't get cocky. It's not airtight." He thinks about vibes of ice... and blood. "But it's solid. Now, we don't have a lot of time. Break!"

The group disperses. He takes one step, then another, and grabs Sara for one last lingering kiss before she grins at him and runs to her station.

And then it's time to wait.

The plan starts out well enough.

Zoom arrives, right on time, zeroes in on Barry where he waits in the abandoned industrial park.

"You didn't bring the whole crew with you, huh?" Leonard hears the Earth-2 speedster say over the comm as he waits. "Pity... it's going to be one hell of a show."

There follows the requisite villain bravado and ego, and Leonard rolls his eyes at the other man's posturing. Did I ever sound like that?

I... don't think I'm going to ask.

And then Barry's in the building, as Jax-as-Firestorm notes over the comm, Zoom following him, and...

"Tagged him!" Wells yells with satisfaction, even as Sara notes the same. Leonard barely has a chance to take a breath of relief when Cisco, then Joe West, confirm the speedsters have passed their position, Zoom taking at least a solid hit every time.

He's moving, gun in position, when Barry, barely visible in the speed lightning, flickers through the room, and then...

Zoom.

The other speedster is definitely moving slower now, and he slows more to look right at Leonard as crook raises his gun and...

And then time speeds up again, and it all goes to hell.

In a heartbeat Ray surges into view behind the black-clad figure, suit-based cold weapon pointed at him. He's just a little too close, and Leonard checks his forward momentum just enough to avoid hitting the other man.

Zoom takes advantage of it. He loops an arm around the inventor's neck... and he flashes toward and through the door, hauling him along.

Leonard, cursing, follows, ready to fire, only to throw himself aside as Mick, just outside the door, pulls the blast of his heat gun, avoiding hitting Ray, who's effectively being used as a shield. Zoom loses his grip, though, and the other man hits him with a pulse from his non-cold weapon, throwing himself free.

Zoom skids to a halt out in the area beyond the building, in the shadow of the magnetar, watching as the members of the team come boiling out of it. He's injured, slowed by cold, slightly singed, but he's still moving, still a speedster, and Leonard moves his gun into firing position as he paces forward, wondering why the other man hasn't just...

A flash of white in the corner of his eye. Sara.

Zoom moves, right toward her.

Leonard hears a voice scream her name, then realizes it's his. And Sara spins and, out of instinct more than anything else, hurls a knife at the enemy, the shining blade speeding through the air right at the speedster's right eye.

Zoom snatches it out of the air... and then he's gone, leaving only a sizzle of blue lightning behind him.

Sara, unharmed, takes a deep breath. The members of the group, still trickling to a halt outside the building, look around them.

"So... what?" Cisco asks, looking down at his discharged cold gun. "He's just... gone?"

"Worse than that, Ramon. We just sent a wounded animal off to lick its wounds... one that can come back at any time to bite us in the ass." Wells' expression is still, horrified. "Any of us. Any of our loved ones. Just about anywhere."

"Oh," Cisco says into the silence. "Oh. Shit."

And then he staggers, reaching out as Sara steadies him, blank eyes fixed on something only he can see, other arm wrapped around himself as if to hold in warmth.

"Ice," he breathes. "So damned cold. A pillar of ice. A field of it. And..." He gags. "Ugh. That smell again. It's so strong I can taste it..."

While Ramon's providing his so-convenient distraction, Leonard has taken a step back.

He takes a deep breath, and he lowers the gun to his side. Oh, he keeps his hand on the grip, but he's no longer holding the weapon in firing position. He tightens his fingers in just such a way...

And then he starts moving away from the group. A few steps. Then a few more. No one notices, not yet. A few more. Far enough away...

And then, with a flicker, Zoom is there again. And he does precisely what he's expected to do.

He grabs Leonard.

And when he stops at the base of the magnetar, facing the rest of the group, the speedster also has Sara's knife in his hand... with the razor-sharp edge held to Leonard's throat.

The speedster is clamping his arms to his sides, but Leonard still has his grip on the cold gun's handle. Not the sort of thing Zoom's going to worry about, given that his intended victim can only really shoot himself in the foot right now.

But.

Leonard hadn't been bluffing the day—was it really five months ago?-he'd told Barry that he'd refitted the cold gun with a… a fail-safe, if you will. A last-ditch weapon against the speedster types, one he'd carefully failed to work into the cold gun copies for safety's sake. He'd used it to confront Barry during the whole Trickster debacle.

He's figured it might be the only way to take Zoom out, in the end, although he'd hoped to be able to set it off remotely. Out of time for that, now. He'd triggered it just before Zoom had grabbed him, taking the bait he'd so helpfully presented. Now, all he has to do is release the grip abruptly-and the gun's core will go critical, wiping out a good-sized swath of real estate here in a cataclysm of ice.

The others are far enough away that they should be OK. Zoom won't be, particularly as Leonard's pretty sure the speedster has no idea the fail-safe even exists. And you can't run away from what you don't see coming, after all.

And Leonard himself?

Well.

Someone has to do it.

He looks across the gulf at them as Zoom monologues. (Amateur.) There's no time, no chance for a pithy comment, not now. No chance to say goodbye. He can't give Zoom any reason to suspect what's coming.

He scans the group: Mick with rage in his eyes and his hand on his heat gun; Wells looking oddly unsurprised and resigned; Barry, distraught... does he have an idea what's coming? The crew... the team. Oddly, he finds he's proud of them. What an unexpected thing.

It's Sara's eyes he meets last. Her jaw is tight, but her eyes...

I'm sorry. I'm sorry this is all we get, he tries to say without words, using only his own eyes in those last moments. But you understand why.

So do I, now.

And then Zoom moves. A flash of pain.

And Leonard Snart... lets go.

Chapter Text

He's conscious, first, of warmth.

Then, his own breath, deep and uninterrupted.

The steady thud of his heartbeat. The "beep" of medical equipment.

Light, diffused through closed eyelids, but there. The faint scent of disinfectant mixed, oddly, with a whiff of a crisp, light perfume.

He knows that scent.

It takes a Herculean effort to do so, but Leonard Snart opens his eyes. Just a crack, at first, as the light hits him like a physical blow and actually draws a faint, painful grunt from his throat. Then wider.

Again, he wakes in the S.T.A.R. Labs medical facility.

Again, Sara Lance is there.

But this time, she's curled up right next to him, head on his shoulder, arms wrapped around him like she's never going to let go…

And maybe, just maybe, they're going to have a little more time, after all.

His earlier protest has alerted her, and she turns her head so her eyes meet his, slowly, like she's not sure what she's going to see.

The breath she lets out sounds like a prayer. And then, "Len," she whispers. "Welcome back."

"How..." His voice is rough, disused, and the word emerges like a croak. His throat aches.

"You essentially flash-froze yourself, you fool." She takes a deep and ragged breath as her arms tighten around him. "Which is a damn good thing because in the split second before you did it, Zoom slit your throat."

A flash of pain... His left hand goes to his neck before he can stop it, traces the outline of a thick bandage there.

"It's a good thing we had doctors with us there. They thought there was a chance. As soon as we could get close enough, Ray shrank down, used his weapons to essentially carve you out of the... the hunk of ice you'd created, then Barry ran you back to the lab," Sara continues quietly. "You were so cold, your metabolic rate was so slow, that you just... stopped.

"It saved you. Henry and Caitlin worked together to stop you from bleeding out and sewed you up. Then they just had to deal with bringing you back from extreme hypothermia." He feels her reach out to gently brush brush one of his hands, which hes only just realized are also wrapped in soft bandages. "There's a little damage on your fingers and toes, but not as much as you might think."

He's still caught up on her earlier choice of words."Stopped? I died?" He'd been prepared to, but hearing it after the fact...

"Well, welcome to the club." This time the smile is a little more real. "Although Wells says 'you're not dead until you're warm and dead,' which apparently is a medical truism. Zoom might not have agreed."

"What...?"

"Hmm. He, like you, was an ice cube." A shudder runs through her, but she continues. "I suppose we might have been able to thaw him out, too. But Mick got there first." Her lips curve in a smile that betokens no actual humor at all. "So I guess he was ultimately 'warm and dead.' So to speak.

"No one minded. Well, Caitlin and Barry might have liked to get a few extra licks in, but they were too busy saving your life at the time. They're just glad he's gone."

Gone.

It'd worked. Against all odds, it'd worked. "Same," he tells her, pleased that his voice sounds a little less rocky. "Though I wouldn't have minded another crack at him myself."

That earns a snort, but when he shifts to look at her, for the first time, he sees the tears shining in her eyes.

"You ass," Sara whispers, staring at him. "I thought I'd lost you. Don't ever, ever do that again."

"Not planning on it." But she's leaning into him now, and her shoulders are shaking, and all he can do is put his arms around her and hold her, feeling her tears hot on his skin and marveling at the gift of her grief.

For him. The crook. Who would have thought?

Soon, she quiets, and they simply lie there a time, entangled, breathing in each other's presence. He keeps expecting an interruption, but one doesn't come, and the monitors are quiescent.

Eventually, Sara tips her head back and looks at him, and he obediently moves his head to kiss her, a move that, after a moment or two, does draw an indignant "BEEP" from one of the monitors, and they subside.

Sara stretches, then curls into him more, running her fingertips down his arm.

"Henry likened what you've been through to a 'rebirth.' Another thing we have in common." She smiles. "Although, given that you did it to save all our lives, I don't think we have to go looking for your soul."

Rebirth. He stares at her, digesting the word. Second birth. Second chance. Isn't that he's been looking for here, really, all along?

Sara's watching him, and he wonders what she's thinking, lying there next to him with tears still drying on her cheeks. How many second chances can two people get?

There's no way he's wasting this one.

"So," he tells her, using the words he'd been rehearsing in his head for weeks now, "I've been thinking about what the future might hold...

"…for me... and you… and me and you..."

"See? Told you it was only a matter of time."

The look Leonard gives Barry as they stand outside S.T.A.R. Labs is absolutely withering, and the speedster can't restrain a bark of laughter. The crook... former crook... maintains his frown for a moment longer, then shakes his head.

"I prefer 'anti-hero,'" he tells Barry loftily, leaning against his motorcycle. "Has a better ring to it. And I'm not gonna be pulling kittens out of trees anytime soon."

"Not even if Sara asks you to?"

The gesture Leonard makes at him is spoiled just a trifle by the glint of sunlight off the ring on his left hand. Barry just laughs again.

"I can't believe you two eloped," he comments, shaking his head. "Sara's father's going to be..."

"I think that's why she wanted to do it. Less chance of him running me off."

Barry grins at him. "That's not going to happen anyway, is it?"

Leonard just smiles, one of those patented Snark smirks, and shakes his head. He doesn't say anything. He doesn't need to.

When Sara had, well, abruptly popped the question… he can't say he wasn't surprised. Stunned, rather. But... if there's one thing in his life he knows he has to hold onto, it's Sara Lance. And in the end, it's no decision at all.

Thinking about Henry Allen's words, he reaches up and traces the scar on his throat. Second chances.

He has many scars. This one, he's taking as a badge of honor. And a reminder.

Barry's just watching him silently, but there's understanding in the other man's eyes.

"Still," the younger man says lightly, "when you get to Star City, send word if you need backup." A grin. "I wonder how Mayor Queen is going to take you two showing up, with Mick and Ray in tow."

"He'll have to live with it, won't he? But Palmer thinks it's time to go home, with everything that happened there, and I think Mick just wants to be obnoxious."

"Mick? Nahh..." Barry laughs as Leonard gives him a look, then transfers the grin to Sara as she wheels her own bike up alongside Leonard's.

"Hey," he tells her. "Seriously, let us know if there's anything we can do. I know Star City has a lot of cleanup to do right now. After everything you guys have done for Central..."

"Stop it, Allen. I'm getting all misty..."

"Seriously," Barry repeats, and this time the look on his face actually makes Leonard subside. "You...don't think I don't know... I'm not sure how things would have gone, if the two of you hadn't been here, but I'm pretty sure everything would be different." He swallows, looking back at S.T.A.R. Labs. "Thank you."

Leonard seems to be at a loss for words, for once, so Sara answers for them both, gently touching his arm.

"You're welcome," she says quietly. "And thank you. For... everything." A grin, then. "And I'll hold you to that. I think I've talked Jax and Stein into dropping by, and even through Kendra left a few days ago, I think we might see her, too. We make a good team."

"Snart!" Mick is hollering from his own motorcycle,parked at the edge of the lot with a sidecar in which Ray Palmer is perched. Enough jawing! We gonna get this show on the road?"

Leonard and Sara exchange glances that are already so very, well, married, that Barry laughs out loud again, then climb onto their bikes.

"Don't be strangers," the speedster tells them seriously, then grins again. "Do you know what Iris says they're calling you at CCPN? The Legends of Central City."

Leonard snorts as he starts his bike up. "Legends?" he says over the roar of the engine. "Yeah. Right."

And with that, and a wave from Sara, Captain Cold and White Canary peel out of the parking lot, heading for Star City, Sara's family, and a new start. Barry shakes his head, watching them go, and marveling at the strange places life can take us.

"Yeah," he says, grinning after them. "Legends."

The man in the shadows watches Barry wave goodbye to the crook and the assassin before he turns to head back into S.T.A.R. Labs, breathing a visible sigh of relief as the speedster does so.

The timeline's as safe as it can be. And while he has better things to do than babysit Barry Allen, it now looks safe for the foreseeable future. Err, in a manner of speaking.

"Well," he says after a moment. "That did work out, after all, didn't it? Much better this time around, although certain things didn't go quite the way I expected."

The voice that answers him isn't audible to anyone else, but the words draw a smile.

"Yes, yes, I'm sure you did see that coming, Gideon. Now... how are Miranda and Jonas doing?" He listens to the reply over his earpiece with an even broader smile. It's an expression that looks oddly natural on his face, and that may be the single biggest change from earlier incarnations of this man.

"Excellent. I'm on my way back now." Rip Hunter takes one last look around and nods to himself.

"Time is as it should be."