Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Okay Sara, I think you're getting closer. The energy reading I'm getting off your sensor is starting to go up," Zari's voice scratches in her ear.

Sara feels her fingers itch for a knife as she creeps silently through the dark halls of the 1986 Russian hospital she's found herself in. The night seems quiet and still, maybe even a little peaceful. The only sound in the air is is the soft padding of her own feet treading lightly across the tile floor.

Everything seems fine.

But still, Sara feels the hairs on her arms sticking up, and can't shake the ominous feeling in her chest that something is about to go horribly wrong.

When Nate had asked her this morning about 1986 Russia, she'd lied to him.

It'd been an honest kind of lie, really more of an omission than anything else, but a lie nonetheless. It was simple, see. She'd told him they'd never been here before. That this place was just like any other place to her. And technically, they hadn't been here before - when the Legends had first made a pitstop in Russia, it'd been in November. Now it was December.

Later, Sara was probably going to have to answer to the team for that. It was such a stupid thing to be lying about, but Sara hadn't been able to help herself. If she'd told the truth, they would've wanted the war story. And today, the war story hurt.

If she closes her eyes, she can practically still feel the rifle in her hand, with the scope focused on Stein. A taunting voice in her ear... telling her not to do it.

God, Sara thinks, her heart stuttering a little in her chest as her mind dwells on the thought for too long. That felt like five lifetimes ago. She shakes her head.

Feelings in a box she reminds herself, banishing the memories as quickly as they surfaced.

She's just glad the team hadn't questioned her when she insisted on doing this reconnaissance alone. Sara needed the action to help clear her head.

"Should be two doors on the left. That's where the energy reading is coming from," Zari comes over the comms again.

Sara nods, carefully pushing the door open and creeping inside. She finds herself in a patient room, and almost immediately alarms are triggering in her mind. There's a bed against the far wall, sheets ruffled, but no inhabitant. A cup is rolling around on the counter, water draining from its lip and dripping onto the floor. Pills lie scattered beside it.

Someone's clearly being treated in here.

Where are they now?

Something creaks off to her left, and Sara reacts immediately.

She slams the door back, knocking into something. No someone. Large and solid. They let out a surprised grunt, and Sara spins, fist grabbing the dark blue jacket that's hanging on their shoulders, knife gleaming in her hand. Her foot collides with the inside of their knee, and they pitch forward, head snapping up to look at her.

Blue eyes burn on his face, wild, startled, and... a little unfocused.

Sara feels her heart jump into her throat.

No, she thinks. Not again. She can't keep doing this over and over.

"Leonard?" she hisses, jamming the knife right up against his throat.

Every fiber of her being thrums with aggression.

She hones in immediately on the grey scraggly beard growing on his chin, the grimy smear of dirt that layers his cheek, and the ripped patches in his parka. Even though she's clearly threatening him, it hasn't seemed to register.

In the past three years, since she first met him, Sara does not think she's seen any version of Leonard look so unkempt.

Her mind tries to go to the first obvious explanation... but no. They'd dropped Leo off months ago - he'd been going back to Earth X, and had promised he'd call if he was ever back in the neighborhood. He had no business being in 1986 Russia, alone, without warning them first.

So then who was this?

She presses the knife closer to his throat, watching as a small trickle of red starts to leak down his neck. Proving, if nothing else, that the man in front of her is at least a living human...

Then something changes in his face. Leonard blinks, and he sees her. Actually sees her. Some - though not all- of the wild blankness that had settled in his features fades away.

"Jesus, Sara?" he says, looking at her suddenly aghast. Then... "Is that a knife in your hand or are you just happy to see me?"

Sara feels a whimper of shock escape her throat. Because that statement is just so incredibly, purely, exactly Leonard. And not just any Leonard. Their Leonard. Her Leonard.

"Sara? Did you just say Leonard? Do you need backup?" Zari asks in her ear.

Sara ignores her, quickly trying to swallow the flash of hope that has electrified her. Dead, she reminds herself. Leonard is dead.

"Is this Damien Dahrk's idea?" Sara snarls. "Does he think this is some kind of sick joke? Payback for Nora?"

Leonard's jaw drops, and he raises both hands slowly in surrender. "Not sure what you're talking about Sara," he says. "Just... it's me... The Oculus exploded, and then I was just here. In Russia somewhere... I think."

He squeezes his eyes shut. Something dark flashes across his face, but it passes quickly.

"Everyone knows the Oculus exploded," Sara growls, furious that Damien Dahrk is playing with her emotions like this. Furious that somebody has dared dangle him in front of her again - especially when her breakup with Ava is still so fresh. "Prove it some other way. Tell me something only Leonard would know."

Snart's lip quirks, and a touch of the wildness returns. "You're kidding me," he says. She presses the knife a little deeper, making it abundantly clear that she is not. "What? Gonna kill me with your hands Lance? You're gonna look me in the eye when you do it?" he asks, voice incredulous. Her mind wheels back to the trigger, to Russia the first time over, to Stein in her sniper's line of sight. "I don't think so. You're not the cold bastard you used to be anymore either."

Her hands shake a little, and she brings the knife down.

"It's you," she says, gaping, and when his hand gently wraps around her wrist - the one that's got the knife in it - she very carefully, doesn't flinch.

"Who the hell else would I be?" he asks.

Sara lets out a huff that makes her feel like she's going insane.

"Sara? Report in? Do you need backup?"

Sara reaches up and presses her hand to her ear. "Reporting in," she says, feeling her voice shake. "We... no back up needed. Coming back with the Fugitive."

"Fugitive?" Snart says, raising an eyebrow and pausing. "That me?" Of course, of all the things she's said so far, the word fugitive seems to have alarmed him the most.

Sara shakes her head. "Not now... I promise I'm not arresting you. Come on. We'll talk on the ship." When Leonard doesn't move, she gently, carefully, covers the back of the hand he has still wrapped around her wrist with her own. Sara looks him in the face, and lets herself feel shattered for just another moment. "Please Leonard. On the ship. We'll talk. I promise."

Snart gives her a slow nod, and with that the two of them are off.

Mick is in a bad mood.

A bad mood that's worse than his usual, natural state of bad mood.

He's been in one since they landed in Russia 1986, and Ray had started preening incessantly about the good old days.

"They tortured the shit out of you Haircut. Don't look so happy," he growls, taking another long swig of his beer.

It's his fifth one since lunch - the stash they keep in the mini-fridge of the Captain's Office is starting to run low. If Sara takes too much longer, Mick is going to have to move to find more. She better hurry up, he thinks, because the minute he vacates his spot on the steps to go get more beer, he's not going to come back.

Fugitive or no fugitive.

"Aw, but then you saved my life," Ray protests. "That was the mission when we became friends."

"I can't believe Sara didn't mention you all have been here before when we were talking about it this morning," Nate frowns, cutting off the unfriendly retort Mick has ready for Ray.

John Constantine shrugs dramatically, throwing his head back against the back of his chair. No, Mick's chair. The reason Mick has had to take residence on the stairs is because Constantine has stolen it again. He's almost certain the only reason Constantine is still sitting with them all is just so Mick can't have it back.

"Maybe Sara dearest got tortured here too. Doesn't want to talk about it," he says, waving a hand in the air and rolling his eyes. His tone seems to imply more that Constantine is the one who doesn't want to talk about it.

"Nope, that was just Haircut," Mick says. He takes another drink.

"She did almost shoot Stein though," Ray adds thoughtfully. Nate immediately looks at him with a disgruntled frown. "What? I mean, she didn't actually do it. I think it was Snart who-"

He doesn't get to finish his thought, as Zari swings around the corner suddenly to join them in the Captain's Office. Her arms are folded across her chest, and her mouth is set in slight frown. "Sara's on her way back," she announces. "Says she's got the Fugitive and everything."

"About time," Mick grunts, glowering at the dwindling beer stash.

"No way? She got it?" Nate blinks in surprise. "She didn't even leave any action for the rest of us."

Constantine's head jerks up. "What the hell was it? There's no way Sara captured a level ten fugitive without our backup."

"You know, things got done before you showed up," Zari shoots him an annoyed look, but her eyes flicker over towards Mick as she chastises Constantine.

She notably did not answer the question.

Mick's eyes narrow, "Spit it out."

"She didn't say what it was," Zari says, slowly. "But when she found it, I did hear her say a, uh, familiar name."

"That's impossible," Ray frowns, sharing a concerned glance with Nate.

"Yeah, I mean other than the secret prison break that the original Legends were running..." Nate agrees quickly.

Ray sits up straighter. "Unless..."

"Damien Dahrk..." Nate nods. The level of alarm on both of their faces grows wildly.

"No, no. She didn't see Damien Dahrk," Zari says quickly, shutting that down before the two of them started running for weapons or doing something equally stupid.

"Who'd she see?" Mick asks again, and this time, he pushes himself to his feet, standing up so he can glare at her from above instead of below. He doesn't like the worried look she's still giving him. He's been with the Legends long enough that he can spot the 'hopefully-this-doesn't-make-Mick-burn-the-ship-down' expression from a mile away.

Mick hates it when they look at him like that.

Especially because usually they're right. Any words that follow The Look do make him want to murder the shit out of someone, or multiple someones.

Zari doesn't get to answer him. She opens her mouth to respond, and they're interrupted instead.

"Long time no see, friends," a drawling sarcastic voice drifts in from the Bridge.

And all heads snap up at the same time.

Mick feels his mouth go dry.

Two figures are standing in the doorway.

One, of course, is Sara. Though, she doesn't look one bit like someone coming back from a successful mission should. Everything about her - the tight set of her shoulders, the down-turned corners of her mouth, the clenched fists - seems strained. Her eyes are not looking at the rest of the team, and instead seem to be pinned intensely on the man standing next to her.

Leonard Snart.

Or someone who looks quite a bit like him.

He's not exactly as Mick remembers. He's got a grungy wild thing going for him, that Mick's city-boy Leonard would've scoffed at. Not to mention the overgrown beard that's taken residence on his chin. But still... it's the eyes that make him. The first thing Leonard does when stepping in the room is hone in on Mick, and Mick takes one look back and just knows.

He feels the beer slip from his fingers and shatter on the floor.

"Leo?" Constantine says with a cheery smirk. "You dump the boyfriend?"

Leonard's eyes flicker away from his partner and narrow. He shoots John a cold appraising look, eyes roaming over the Brit like he's a total stranger.

Mick still feels frozen.

"Leo would've called if he was visiting," Ray mutters, when nobody else speaks. He starts to take a few steps forward. "Sara, it's not..."

"You're real this time? Everyone else sees him too?" Mick interrupts, very loudly. Ray stops moving.

Leonard seems to take that as his cue to break the tension in the room. "Yes, hello Mick, I'm the real deal," he says with a humorless smirk, sauntering through the doorway. "Now will somebody" - he cocks his head back and looks pointedly at Sara, who is still watching him like he might suddenly combust - "please explain to me what this time means, and why Sherlock Holmes here thinks he can call me Leo?"

Mick feels himself unfreeze, and he walks evenly towards Snart.

Leonard, oozing with his own personal brand of sharp, sinister caution, watches Mick come. He seems relaxed enough. More relaxed than anybody else - save maybe Sara - would've been, if they found themselves with a three hundred pound serial arsonist thumping towards them.

Mick stops right in front of Snart.

"Mick-" Leonard starts to say, a tone of warning in his voice.

Like he knows.

Then Mick punches him. One, clean fist right to the jaw, and Snart buckles to the ground like a bag of rocks thrown off a cliff.

"MICK!" Half the room yells all at once, as Leonard feels his vision swimming.

Mick is still standing just above him, staring at him like he's utterly shocked his fist has connected with something solid.

Leonard lets out a pained groan, his hand flying up to his throbbing jaw to feel the bruise he knows is already blooming there. His fingers come back bloody. A split lip, he thinks.

He'd seen the punch coming - Mick had his tells.

But still.

What the actual fuck?

Ray's face appears above him then, blocking Mick's. The boy-scout's eyebrows are knitted together with unabashed concern. "Leonard?" he asks cautiously.

"Hello Raymond," Leonard says, voice coming out in a strangled kind of growl, a leftover reaction from getting sucker punched moments ago.

Ray grins. "It is you," he says, looking excitedly up at the rest of the group.

"Glad to see I've met your burden of proof," Leonard groans, pushing himself up on his elbows. He swats at Ray's hand as the scientist moves to start probing his blooming wounds. "You know, all the stabbing and the punching is not cute."

His eyes flicker up to Mick and Sara. His closest friend in the world, and... well, whatever Sara is to him. But they aren't even paying attention to his jabs. Sara has made her way over to Mick, and is muttering something to him in low tones. Leonard doesn't understand why the two of them are looking at him the way they are. Sure, when he'd woken up after the Oculus, he'd known it'd probably be a shock to them, to find him still alive and kicking.

Hell, he'd been surprised enough for the whole lot of them. But here he was. Not dead. He thought, at the very least, they'd be little bit more relieved.

Leonard's eyes track back to Ray, who is now babbling at the other three - the strangers Leonard doesn't recognize.

"- be impossible," Ray is saying. "The Oculus -"

"Didn't blow me up, yes," Leonard interrupts, not bothering to hide his annoyance anymore. "What? Why are you all looking at me like that?" He pushes himself up, glancing again at Sara, at the way she's still clearly got her guard up.

His stomach twists a little, as the kiss flashes back into his mind, unbidden, the way it has ever few minutes since she'd found him.

"We're on the ship now. Explain," he demands. She'd promised him she would.

"Leonard," she says quietly, and his heart skips a beat at the way she says his name. At least she's not treating him like the enemy anymore. He can still feel the sting of her knife digging into his neck. "How... how long ago did the Oculus blow up for you?"

"I don't know," he shrugs, mind wheeling back.

Everything is a little blurry for him. He remembers waking up in a warehouse, his limbs feeling achy and weak. He remembers stalking streets at night, hearing people talk in a language he didn't understand, and digging through trash cans for newspapers. Leonard is not positive, if and when he ate last, though he does remember punching some street vendor and making off with a few bottles of water. Then there's the hospital...

How did he end up there?

His mind feels suddenly like a swamp. Some parts of it are lucid and he remembers clearly. Other parts are obscured under murky green water beyond his reach.

"Three weeks, maybe?" he guesses finally, when he feels Ray's hand on his shoulder. He swats at the boy-scout again. Leonard already feels quite out of his depth, and to allow Raymond to coddle him would be to admit to it. Yeah, absolutely not. "How long has it been for you all?" he sighs. Because three weeks, clearly, is not what they've experienced.

"Been two years Snart," Mick grunts. Leonard feels his jaw lock.

Two years? Damn. Well, maybe that explained it.

Mick, silently, reaches down and offers him a hand. Leonard takes it, the sucker punch already forgotten, and grasps Mick's shoulder to steady himself for a moment when he's back on his feet. His head is spinning.

He looks again at the three strangers in the room, and everything starts to click. They're all still hovering by the entrance to the Captain's Office, looking like they're unsure whether they should be around for this particular reunion. One of them - the prissy looking one giving off strong Captain America vibes- is frowning at him like Leonard once killed his cat.

"Where's Rip?" Leonard asks slowly.

"Demon got him," Mick says. "Blondie's captain now."

Leonard swallows, looking again towards Sara. Captain, huh? Her expression is unreadable.

"Savage?"

"Dead. We ended up exposing him to a radio-active comet and killed him three times," Ray supplies. Leonard pauses, considering pressing him for more questions on that one, before deciding that it doesn't really matter.

"... Kendra?"

"Retired, living with Carter in 2018," Sara says.

"The Professor?"

"Fucking Nazi's," Mick mumbles, shaking his head.

"Shit..." and then he almost can't bring himself to ask the next one. If Stein is dead... "Jackson?"

"Needed a break, after..." Sara's voice trails off and she waves her hand by way of explanation. "Married now. He's got a kid."

Leonard can suddenly see it. The grief. He doesn't know how he didn't place it before, when she had him backed against the wall with a knife on his throat. She was looking at him with a similar jagged edge of pain as she had when talking about Stein and Rip.

The kiss flashes in Leonard's mind's eye again. And this time the image is powerful and crisp and overwhelming. The edges of the memory are tinged with green. He grimaces at it, shutting his eyes briefly as it burns through him.

Not now, he thinks.

"Hate to break up the reunion," one of the newbies say, stepping forward. Her hand is hovering over a red pendent that's hanging around her neck. "But he just had a power surge. A big one..." She turns her head and looks at blonde man who had called him Leo. "Did you feel it too?"

"Aye. It was only a flash. Here and then gone."

Leonard glances at Mick, who grunts. "New Girl, Pretty, Trench Coat," he mutters under his breath, pointing at them each in turn. Leonard nods, even though Mick's nicknames are largely unhelpful.

The woman rolls her eyes. "Zari, Nate, and John," she clarifies.

"Oh you can call me whatever get's your rocks off," the British one, Trench Coat, winks. Leonard once again doesn't honor him with a response.

"We probably should get you to the Med Bay anyway, since we found you in a hospital... and Mick punched you," Sara sighs. She's still looking at him like she's seen a ghost. "Gideon can scan you for magic there."

"Magic?" Leonard's face twists.

"Whoa, wait, should we be doing this? Giving him the run of the ship like that?" Nate cuts off the answer.

Leonard raises an eyebrow at him, a surge of annoyance washing through him. Who the hell pissed in this guy's cheerios? Leonard has got half a mind to issue a good old-fashioned threat. It's hitting him, slowly, that half the team he'd left behind is gone. That he's missed things. Important things. It only feels right to channel some of his nerves towards a good impression on the new kids. Especially when they seem to have already jumped to conclusions about him anyway...

Carefully, Leonard crosses his arms, tilts his head to the side so that Nate - likely short for Nathaniel, he thinks - has good line of sight on his bloody lip and swelling jaw, and... Sara appears suddenly at his side. The words halt on the tip of his tongue the moment she's in his peripheries. He realizes that he's sandwiched between them - Sara on his left and Mick on his right. It makes his gut settle, just a little.

Out of the goodness of his heart, he doesn't threaten Nathaniel.

"Gideon will confirm, but yeah, as long as this is our Leonard. We are going to give him run of the ship," Sara says, voice firmer and more commanding than it has been all night. Her anger seems to be back - the anger he'd glimpsed when she'd started yelling at him about Damien Dahrk earlier, whoever the fuck that was.

"Yeah well that other Snart from the Legion was also your Leonard, and look what that guy did," Nate says, teeth gnashing a little. "I mean come on. We all saw him kill future Mick, and they said he shot Amaya- "

"That wasn't him," Sara replies hotly. Leonard glances down. Sara's fist has moved to wrap around the sleeve of his tattered Parka.

He isn't really following the conversation they're having right now, and part of him is once again leaning towards starting a fight. But he holds himself back. After all, Sara is grabbing him like he belongs to her, and she has already tried to murder him once today.

"You," Sara snaps suddenly, giving his sleeve a good pull. "Medbay. Now."

"Yes Captain," Leonard says.

And if a flash of pain crosses Sara's face, the two of them both carefully ignore it.

Chapter Text

When Leonard asks to clean himself up first before the team turns him into their newest science fair project, Sara agrees. The fact that he probably could've asked for the moon in that moment and she would've given it to him, is beside the point.

She is still kind of expecting for this to end at any moment. Sara's always been a light sleeper. All it will take is a little bit of time turbulence and she'll be awake again in her bed, and Leonard will be gone.

Although, she does have to admit, this dream is getting pretty strange. On the off nights, when dreams of Leonard don't involve the Oculus exploding, he typically is with her as he was. They play cards, and he cracks a few jokes. Maybe they start a bar fight. The fact that she found him shedding alarming levels of potentially magical energy emissions in a Russian hospital is pushing the bounds of even her fairly creative imagination.

Sara has yet to decide whether that's a good sign or not.

Leonard doesn't take long to return to the Medbay, which is probably a testament to how badly he wants answers from them. Lord knows, he could take five years getting ready in the bathroom if left to his own devices.

Sara's breath hitches in her throat when she sees him strutting towards her down the hall.

This is Leonard.

The beard is completely gone, and with Leonard's sharp jawline back on display, the bruise Mick gave him earlier looks all the more menacing. He's also disposed of the destroyed parka. Gideon has replaced it with a simple long sleeve black sweater and a pair of matching black skinny jeans.

Sara immediately regrets allowing him to clean up. It's so much harder to look at him now that he's undeniably himself.

Mick, at least, seems happy.

"Aha, you look like you again Snart," he nods in approval.

"I aim to please," Leonard shrugs, rubbing a hand absently over his bare chin. His eyes flicker over to Sara, and she realizes too late that she's staring at him. His expression becomes smug almost instantly.

She shakes her head, forcibly pulling her thoughts far, far away from the destination they'd been heading.

"Come on," she says, with a heavy scoop of false confidence. "Let's get this over with."

Then Sara turns away and walks into the Medbay to join the rest of the team, who are already in there waiting. She does not see his smirk drop from his face and shift into a thoughtful frown.

Leonard glides into the room after her and slips into the patient chair that's closest to the door. Mick follows him in like a silent shadow, procuring a fresh beer from seemingly nowhere when he turns the corner, and plops heavily down beside him. Sara has the distinct feeling that if anybody asks Mick to move, the bottle will be promptly weaponized.

The others all stir at their arrival.

Constantine is nursing a flask by the door. Nate is next to Zari by the unused patient chair, but quickly moves further into the room to make space for Sara and Mick when the area starts to become crowded.

And Ray stands on Leonard's other side, fiddling with some of the medical tech.

Ray, bless him, had enthusiastically volunteered to lead the diagnostics while Snart had been changing, and Sara had jumped on the opportunity to hand off the responsibility. She wants, no needs, to be distanced from him just in case Gideon tells them something she doesn't want to hear. Of course, that's hard considering that Leonard keeps glancing at her like he implicitly expects her to be in his orbit.

She doesn't blame him for it. After all, that's what it had been like before.

With-holding a sigh, Sara compromises for the time being and settles next to Zari in the spot that Nate had just vacated. It's not as far away as she could be - if left to her own devices she'd probably have ended up either by Constantine and the door or Nate's new spot in the back corner - but she's not stubbornly claiming space in Leonard's personal bubble either like Mick and Ray.

For now, it's good enough.

Leonard, of course, looks predictably sour about the situation when he realizes that Palmer is about to start playing doctor. Then again, Sara thinks Leonard would be pouting no matter who was about to start prodding him. As much as he loves attention, she knows he hates this specific brand of it.

If Sara were in a betting mood, she'd probably put big money that Leonard would be violent by the end of this.

"Alrighty then," Ray says cheerfully when he's ready to start. He rubs his hands together and he claps Leonard once on the shoulder. "Let's get you all strapped up."

Leonard glares at him. "Raymond, if you touch my shoulder one more time today, you are going to loose your hand."

Yep, there it is, Captain Cold's signature charm. They are off to a great start.

"It's really good to have you back Len. We've missed you," Ray grins like a cheshire cat, despite threat of dismemberment. Then he pulls the blue IV tube from the arm of the chair, and starts to hook Leonard up to Gideon.

Snart remarkably bears it with only a small scowl and little bit of glowering.

Beside her, Sara hears it when Zari huffs, glancing between Leonard and Ray with more than a touch of incredulity. "Yes, I got affection out of that too, Ray" she mutters sarcastically, too quiet for anybody else but Sara to hear.

Sara's heart squeezes.

"That's Mick Rory's best friend in the world," Sara breaths, unable to keep the fondness out of the statement. "What'd you expect him to be like?"

Zari's eyes flicker over to her.

"Uh. Huh," she lifts a dubious eyebrow at Sara.

Ah.

No.

Sara regrets speaking.

Quickly, she focuses back on Ray, who has finished with some of the initial health scans - Leonard's blood pressure, heart rate, and body temperature are all apparently normal. They're clearly about ready to start getting into the important stuff.

"Okay Gideon," Sara speaks up, switching into Captain mode. She can feel her palms sweating. This is the big moment of truth. "Is this our Leonard?"

"Biometric scans indicate that this is indeed Mr. Snart," Gideon's voice rings through the room.

A rattling breath passes through her. For a moment, Sara thinks this is going to be the part where she wakes up. It'd be poetic enough for him to disappear right after Gideon confirms he's real. But when she closes her eyes and opens them again, he's still there, sulking with his arms crossed in the exam chair.

"I hate to say I told you so," Leonard mutters irritably in a tone that suggests quite the opposite.

Sara thinks her heart is beating loudly enough now for the entire team to hear. Sara, Mick, Ray, Gideon - they'd verified it four different ways. Leonard is real. Here, alive, breathing, and undeniably not dead.

For the first time, she dares to allow that to sink in.

Not completely of course. If she lets it all hit her at once, she thinks she might shatter in front of the whole team like a piece of glass meeting a sledgehammer. But a little bit wouldn't hurt her.

Leonard is alive, she turns the words over in her mind. Leonard is alive.

"Based on data from Mr. Snart's artificial hand," Gideon continues. "I estimate that he has aged about one year since he last boarded the ship."

The room pauses.

"Thought you said it'd been three weeks?" Mick asks.

Leonard's face clouds for a moment, and a shadow passes over him. He squeezes his eyes shut and opens them again, almost like his vision isn't quite clear. "It... was," he says, convincing approximately nobody.

Sara frowns. She recognizes the distant look on his face from the Russian Hospital... almost like he isn't all there...

A dumbbell drops in her gut.

Alive or not. Something is wrong here.

"Leonard, do you remember spilling water on the counter of that hospital room?" Sara asks, desperately hoping her voice is smooth.

He blinks at her. "What? No, what are you talking about?"

"Before I had the knife to your throat, what were you doing?" she breathes.

Leonard's pinky starts tapping against the arm of his chair, and his jaw ticks. There's a brief crackle of something in the air around him. Almost like static in a dry room.

Zari suddenly stiffens, and the movement manages to rattle every single one of Sara's frayed assassin nerves.

"What are his power readings right now Gideon?" she asks.

"Ambient magic levels in the Medbay are unusually high. However, I do not detect anything notable coming from Mr. Snart himself."

"You sure love?" Constantine cuts in, kicking off the wall. He's been feigning drunk disinterest thus far, but this has apparently peaked his curiosity. "Cause my sixth sense is telling me otherwise."

John splays one hand out towards Leonard - like he's either getting a read on him, or ready to cast some sort of spell.

It's the wrong move.

Almost like Constantine has commanded it to do so, the crackling around Leonard get's worse.

"Positive Mr. Constantine. All scans of Mr. Snart have come back normal," Gideon answers.

Snart is no longer relaxed in the medical chair.

What started as a shadow of the look Leonard had been wearing in the hospital has evolved completely. He seems almost feral now - eyes wide, shoulders tense, wound up like a caged animal that's identified everyone around him as a threat.

The team reacts the only way it can.

Zari's hand is moving towards her necklace. Nate steps out of the corner and clenches his fists. Even Ray's happy excitement seems to have been cut off at the knees.

Sara knows she has to do something, that there's a call to make here. But she's frozen. She's not sure whether the solution is to pull a weapon or to grab Leonard's hand.

Usually her instinct is always knives first, questions later. Except... it's Leonard. Gideon had just confirmed it's their Leonard.

Sara curses under her breath and feels her heart ache painfully in her chest. This was inevitable. There's always another foot to drop. Always.

Reaching for a throwing star in her belt, she's about to take action, when somebody else makes the call for her.

"Snart, you want your ring back?"

The utter randomness of Mick's question splits the tension in the room like he'd taken a cleaver to it.

The crackling stops.

Sara breathes an incredulous sigh of relief.

Mick is still in the chair beside Snart, man-spreading and drinking his beer like he doesn't give a shit what everyone else in the room is getting on about. It's classic Mick.

Leonard blinks, seeming to come back into himself. Although he is now breathing like a MMA fighter that just barely survived round one of the heavy weight championship, he seems otherwise okay.

"You still got it?" he asks. Sara thinks it's more to distract himself than actually get the ring back.

Mick scoffs and reaches up to a leather rope that's been hiding around his neck, pulling hard. There's a familiar silver piece of jewelry hanging on the end of it. When the rope snaps off, Mick drops it Leonard's outstretched palm.

Relevant or not, Snart does seem to relax a bit more once the ring slips back onto his nervous pinky.

There's a beat of silence as they all take a moment to stare and collect their thoughts. All the eyes are making Leonard look antsy again.

"Um, yeah, what was that guys?" Nate asks.

The stupor breaks.

"That was disturbed ambient magic," Constantine answers. "And unless he's a bloody warlock, he shouldn't have been able to mess with it like that."

Leonard stares at Constantine, definitely tripping over the word warlock. "Well..." he raises one eyebrow and looks idly down at his hands. "I have no clue how I got into the hospital room."

There's another pregnant pause, and Sara can feel them all turning towards her.

God she wishes she didn't have to play captain right now.

She's not in the right state of mind to be the designated adult in the room. Somebody else should take a turn.

"Alright," she says, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Right. It's fine. That just means we've got a few different mysteries here. It's not like this team isn't used to a little bit of weird. We'll figure it out." Sara's not sure if she's reassuring the team or Leonard or herself. But whatever, it seems to work for them. "Maybe this was enough magic for one night though. Let's... take a break. We can keep talking about this at dinner later. Gideon, Leonard's otherwise okay to leave the Medbay right?"

"Yes Captain Lance. As I said, all scans indicate that Mr. Snart is in perfect health," she says.

Sara nods and takes one more shaky look at Leonard. He's watching her again. Frowning.

"Great, see you all in an hour," she nods.

Then Sara proceeds to make a sudden and graceless exit.

Nate does not particularly want to go to Leonard Snart's welcome home team dinner.

He knows it's a bit of a dick move to avoid someone he's never technically met because of actions Snart definitely doesn't remember, but Nate can't help it. Every time he looks at Snart, he sees the guy grinning maniacally as tries to shoot down the Wave Rider with his cold gun.

He sees a guy who shot and murdered Amaya.

Okay, so maybe Nate does not actually remember that part. When they erased the Doom World, they erased their future-selves. But Nate doesn't think he needs to remember. Future-Nate had given him enough details about how badly it had sucked to watch her die, and his own imagination was plenty capable of filling in all the morbid blanks.

Hell, now that she'd gone back to Zambesi, Nate doesn't even have to imagine what it feels like to loose her.

He knows.

So yeah. Could they really blame him for being a little suspicious of Leonard Snart? After the little power-melt down the guy had in the Medbay earlier, he thinks not.

Of course, that probably still doesn't mean he can skip dinner.

It's going to be a working meal to diagnose Snart's magic problem, and Sara will be royally pissed if he doesn't show face. Ever since they'd caught Snart that afternoon, she's been acting seven kinds of weird - six of which were definitely a little violent. Nate has a sinking feeling that challenging her orders at the moment is suicidal.

So he makes his way to the Galley, the way any reasonable guy who values his life would.

"I got Gideon to make us roast lamb, fish stew, and a platter of buttered root vegetables and sweet fruits," Ray says enthusiastically once the team has settled in. "You see, it's a traditional Viking feast, and since we're welcoming home one of our old warriors" - he pumps a fist against his chest for effect - "I thought it seemed appropriate."

Leonard Snart takes one look at the ridiculous spread of 900 AD era food and shakes his head. "That's great Raymond, I'll take a cheeseburger," he says without preamble.

What an asshole, Nate thinks, as Ray frowns guiltily at all the food in front of him. "Oh, but I didn't make any-"

"Two double stack cheeseburgers with bacon, coming right up," Mick interrupts, pushing away from the table to stalk towards the food fabricator. Snart smirks at him.

"Yeah mate, I might grab us some fish and chips," Constantine grumbles as well, and quickly gets up to follow Mick.

Nate frowns and bumps a shoulder against Ray's. "I think it looks great buddy," he reassures him. "Lief Ericksson would be super proud-" then he clears his throat and shoots Sara and Zari a look "- right guys?"

Zari looks back at him with a pained expression. "Yeaaah, sure," she says, and starts poking at the bowl of fish stew in front of her.

Of course Sara, who is sitting stiffly between Snart and Zari, doesn't seem to be paying attention at all. She's fingering her butter knife and staring absently at the roast like it might've offended her. Nate had watched her slip into the seat earlier. She'd ironically been the last to arrive for the brainstorming session she'd planned. And when she'd realized that the only seat left was on Snart's right, she'd frozen for half a minute in the doorway.

If Nate thought he was imaging her weirdness earlier, all doubts were gone now. He hopes this means he's not the only one being cautious about this.

Any who, it turns out Sara's approval isn't needed. Ray perks up plenty when he sees that Nate and Zari at least are reasonably excited for a Viking feast.

Fifteen minutes later, they've all settled back at the table with their meals, and the mood in the room turns a bit anxious.

As celebratory as Ray seems to want the night to be, it's impossible to ignore the elephant in the room. Nate expects Sara to kick things off with some sort of Captain speech, but she doesn't. When the butter knife turns over one too many times in her fingers, Zari is the one who clears her throat.

"Okay, we should really start talking about this," she says. Nobody has to ask her to elaborate on what she means. Although Snart does lean back in his chair and lets out a hefty sigh at the announcement. "I've been thinking about it, and maybe it wasn't magic. I mean, my totem has been sensing energy, and Gideon wasn't picking anything up. Maybe I'm registering something else?"

"Ah, well," Ray's eyebrows go up and down dramatically. "It's going to be hard to search for something if we don't have any idea what we're looking for... Here Mick pass the carrots."

There's a flurry of motion as Mick roughly dumps the vegetables in front of Ray. The loud clattering of plates only slightly drowns out the sound of Constantine's amused chuckle. "Were you there earlier, love?" he asks Zari. "That was definitely something of the magical persuasion."

"We didn't have magic problems until like a few weeks ago," Zari rolls her eyes and stabs her fork towards Constantine. "Why couldn't it be literally anything else?"

Constantine rolls his eyes and snorts, but Nate frowns.

Zari's right.

As a historian, magic might be a little bit out of his wheelhouse, but they didn't have these kinds of issues until recently. And Snart didn't disappear recently. He'd disappeared two years ago. Before all the magic troubles... Before Mallus.

That feels important to him.

"You know, maybe Gideon's tests just aren't sophisticated enough for this one. Bet I could try something a bit more unorthodox." John grins wickedly.

Mick promptly bristles, dropping his cheeseburger onto his plate and giving Constantine a murderous glare. "Give me a reason Trench Coat," he threatens. At the same time Zari lets out a withered sigh.

"As riveting as that sounds," Leonard interjects casually, apparently the only one unperturbed by this. "I really prefer to know a guy before I get sophisticated with him."

"Oh we've got time," Constantine slings back with a wink.

Mick is starting to turn a little red, when a loud thump echoes through the room.

All heads swivel over towards Sara. She's taken the butterknife she'd been playing with and embedded it into the wooden table. Even Snart looks startled by it.

Apparently realizing that might've been a bit dramatic, Sara clears her throat.

"Right, let's say Zari's right and it's not magic," she says. Her voice is half-business, half-murderous assassin. "What else could it be?"

The nagging feeling in the back of Nate's head suddenly clears, and he sits up stick straight in his chair. "Wait. I have a theory," he announces.

"Alright, let's hear it," Sara nods to him, crossing her arms and sinking back into her chair.

Constantine and Zari both shoot Nate a 'this-should-be-good' expression, but Nate's mind is moving too fast to care. All the gears are meshing together at once.

"Well, you all said the Oculus was kind of a time spring, or well, right? Like it was a big hole in the ground filled with a bunch of time stuff. And it exploded with Snart standing at like ground-zero? Almost inside of it?" Nate thinks aloud.

Sara nods, missing the point, but Ray's head perks up. "No way. You don't think the radiation could've changed his molecular structure?"

"Well yeah man, don't you? If it didn't kill him, an explosion of that size had to have done something."

"We'd have to run some DNA tests. I don't think it'd manifest in the same gene sequence that meta's have. But maybe I could build like some kind of gauge reader. We'd just need to figure out what kind of particles to search for..."

The theory takes off like a racehorse. Nate and Ray go back and forth - Ray speaks a lot of science, while Nate throws out several obscure Superhero names as relevant points of reference. Nate is so absorbed in the conversation, that he doesn't notice the way Snart's eyes are boring into him, narrowing more with each new line.

He looks less than pleased.

"Oh good. There's two of them now?" Leonard interrupts abruptly, shooting Sara a look that implies it's her fault. "One of you kids want to slow down and explain for the rest of the class? Try using words someone who wasn't bullied in high school would understand."

Nate stops mid-sentence, and the distrustful anger that erupts on his features has a mind of its own.

"Hey I was not bullied in high school," he says caustically.

"Well you could've fooled me," Snart quips back.

"Ooookay, come on guys, we're all friends here," Ray says, one hand coming up to rest on Nate's shoulder before Nate can say something rude about Leonard spending his high school years in juvie. "Len's just teasing. Why don't you explain it Nate. I think it's the best theory we've got yet."

Nate keeps eye-contact with Snart for another second - which is somewhat of a feat. He's not too big a person to admit that Leonard Snart is actually kind of intimidating. He's too relaxed, and he doesn't blink. It's unnerving.

Then again, Nate's a superhero god damnit. He can't just let guys like Leonard Snart start pushing him around. It's in the job description. He debates bringing up the Legion again to remind them all that Leonard probably shouldn't be trusted.

Then he catches Sara's eye.

For a reason he can't quite articulate - but somehow makes him think of Amaya, of all people - he makes himself calm down. For his Captain.

"Well, you basically got dropped in a vat of time chemicals. That's like straight out of a comic book dude. Superpowers 101," Nate says plainly.

When Sara relaxes a little in her seat, he is sure he's done the right thing avoiding a fight.

Snart, thankfully, doesn't press it either. He goes still about half way through Nate's explanation.

"Let me get this straight," he says. His voice is flat and utterly unamused. "You think that instead of magic, I have - what? Time superpowers?"

"Well no," Ray takes over. "We have to run some tests first to be certain. You know, just because you absorbed energy from the Oculus doesn't mean that your DNA's changed, or that you can control it, or that it's going to be particularly useful... but theoretically, it's definitely possible."

Leonard huffs.

"You can do all those test though, right Haircut?" Mick cuts in then, voice uncharacteristically mellow. "You can fuck with all that shit in the lab and know what's wrong with him?"

Ray nods slowly. "Yeah I think so," he says, but he hesitates a little at the end. "It's just, you know I'm not technically a medical doctor."

To say Mick looks grossly unsatisfied with that excuse, is a bit of an understatement. Fortunately, however, Leonard groans before Mick can react too much to Ray's lack of confidence.

"It's fine Mick. I can't believe I'm about to say this," he mutters, shaking his head. Leonard leans forward and props his elbows on the table. "Barry Allen owes me a favor," he announces. "And if I've got what you think I've got, then I think it's about time the kid pays up."

Leonard wakes up in the middle of the night feeling only slightly better than he did when he fell asleep.

It'd been one hell of a day, and he was still trying to make sense of it.

That's not the reason he can't sleep though. At the moment, what's getting him is the rhythmic jet-engine rumble coming from Mick Rory on the other side of the room. Leonard had known exactly what he'd been getting into when he'd agreed to share a bunk for the night, but somehow it had seemed better at the time than being alone with his own thoughts.

Maybe tonight just wasn't meant for sleep.

Leonard sighs and swings his legs over the edge of his bed. There's no point in spending the next few hours staring at the ceiling. If he's going to be awake, then he's going to be awake with company, and he thinks he knows where to get some.

Sara doesn't disappoint.

He finds her on the bridge, sitting in the pilot's chair with her feet on the dash and a bottle of whiskey in her hand.

Leonard doesn't announce himself at first. It's a rare moment that he can sneak up on her, and he wants to savor it. From the shadows of the adjacent hallway, he watches her as she swishes the bottle around idly in one hand and stares out at the time stream.

It's hard to believe that two years have passed for her. She looks exactly the same as when he'd left her.

Although, the way she was acting earlier was certainly different.

He'd expected the knives and the threats. You kind of had to, when dealing with Sara. But the distance is something new. He'd noticed in the Medbay, when Ray Palmer was standing closer to him than she was. And at dinner, when she'd stiffened like a board after realizing she had to sit next to him.

Absently he finds that he's almost nervous to step out from the corner where he's hiding. The unexpected fissure between them is making him question everything. Did she even mean it when she'd kissed him at the Oculus? Or was she just granting him some kind of hero's farewell, never expecting he'd ever come back wanting more?

If she's going to reject him, he'd almost rather they never have the conversation.

Then again... there had been a few moments today, when whatever wall Sara had built around herself seemed to falter. His mind was stuck on the feeling of her fist wrapped around his jacket sleeve. On the shattered look in her eyes when she'd half-begged to come back on the ship, and the way she'd stared at him after he'd shaved...

Fuck it, he thinks. Sara's whiskey is calling him.

"You know," Leonard says, stepping out from his corner. "I think drinking and driving is still frowned upon, even if you're piloting a time machine."

Sara doesn't startle or acknowledge what he thinks was a pretty clever joke. Instead, she just tilts her head to the side to note that he's there.

Ah.

Well, maybe he hadn't snuck up on her after all.

Sauntering forward, Leonard rounds the control panel in front of her chair, and leans over it to have a better look at her. Sara peers back at him evenly, drinking in his features like she still expects him to roll the drums and announce comically that he's a fake.

When that doesn't happen, she takes another long swig of her whiskey.

"Hi Leonard," she greets finally.

"And here I thought I was getting crafty," he says, unable to contain the little smirk that comes with it. "But you've known I was over there this whole time."

"It's going to take more than a few superpowers for you to get past me, Leonard Snart," she says. Her eyebrow quirks up, taunting him. "Anyways. I know you like to watch."

Leonard feels the air expel involuntarily from his lungs.

God, he's fucked.

There are a lot of things he wants to do to answer that taunt, but he has a feeling every single one of them would spook her. Instead he reaches over the Waverider's dash and wiggles his fingers at Sara. She hands him the whiskey bottle, eye catching with just a hint of mirth.

"Careful Lance. I might think you're challenging me to something," he says and brings the bottle up to his lips. The vanilla after-taste that tingles on the back of his tongue betrays her. This is her good stash of whiskey. She really must be feeling some type of way having him back to have broken this out.

This time she rewards him with a smile, even though it's only a small one.

"No probably not," she admits. He hands her the whiskey back. "If you start trying to sneak up on me, I might accidentally kill you for good."

"Mm. Well I am feeling very attached to my life lately," he says, pretending to contemplate it for a minute. Sara flinches though, and he immediately wants to take the words back. "Sorry," he frowns. "Bad joke."

"It's fine." Although one look at her and he knows that no, it's really not. "I think this-" she waves her hand back and forth between the two of them "- is just going to take some time to get used to again."

Leonard nods, watching her carefully as her face smooths back out again.

"Take your time," he says after a moment. "I'm not planning on going anywhere."

Sara's eyes snap back up to his and the silence that ensues is deafening.

He realizes, belatedly, the double meaning of what he's just offered... but he doesn't regret it. If that's what this is. If she just needs some time to come to terms with him again. He can wait.

"Hopefully not," Sara says quietly. Her head slides back against the pilot's chair, and Leonard thinks the whiskey might be getting to her a little.

"You think I got some place better to be?" he raises an eyebrow.

Sara scrunches her nose - which does things to him that he regretfully ignores.

"No, it's not that," she shakes her head. "It's just... this isn't the first time you've been back. I mean, I guess it's the first time you've been back. But... it's like an annual nightmare. Once a year somebody shows up, who looks like you and talks like you, but isn't you. And we just have to keep saying goodbye over and over again."

"Well, glad I can be a part of your annual nightmare then," Leonard grimaces stiffly.

Sara's expression sours. "No, wait that came out wrong... I shouldn't... I've had a lot of whiskey," she says, and waves the bottle at him. He wonders, half-appalled and half-impressed, if it had been unopened at the beginning of the night. "Leonard I've lost you three times now. And that guy, Damien Darhk that's after me. He knows that. I promise, we're going to fight like hell for you to stay, but..." she shrugs. "Today just felt too easy. I have a bad feeling about it."

"Yes, well it is always bad news when I have to start asking Patron Saint Barry Allen for help," Leonard mutters, trying to lighten the mood a little. It doesn't work. Sara hits him with a look that makes his pinky start tapping absently against the table. "You're worried this Darhk guy planted me?" he asks her, turning the thought over in his mind again.

The blank spots in his memory feel bigger than they had earlier. It disturbs him that he can't argue this with her.

"I don't know. Maybe?" Sara shrugs. "He was there the last time they decided to bring you back to mess with us, but that was different. You didn't remember us."

Leonard scowls. Even after Raymond had explained it to him, he is still having trouble believing any version of himself would be enough of an asshole to actually shoot Mick in the chest. He's tried puling that particular trigger enough times in his life to know how hard it is to commit.

"He's going to regret it, if he has," Leonard decides after a moment. "There are no strings on me," his voice tapers off in icy dark irony.

Sara frowns at him, startled and disturbed. He knows they all heard him over the comms that day, before the Oculus went kaboom.

Leonard shakes his head and goes for the whiskey again. He thinks he better polish the rest of the bottle off before Sara manages to drink herself under the table listening to him talk like that.

"Cards?" he asks lightly.

She nods once, a soft look returning to her face.

"Thought you'd never ask."

Chapter Text

Mick wakes up and Leonard is gone.

Almost instantly, he writes yesterday's drama down as just another hallucination.

Which is shit.

He'd really thought he'd gotten over them by now. Every damn time they happen, it's like the life is sucked out of him all over again.

"Gideon where's Snart?" he asks duly, just for the hell of it.

"Mr. Snart woke early and is now having his morning coffee in the Galley," Gideon answers. "Shall I tell him you're looking for him?"

Mick blinks.

Snart is in the Galley.

Apparently.

Without answering Gideon, Mick erupts from his room and barrels down the hall like a man possessed.

John Constantine, who is loitering mostly-naked in the hall, jumps half-out of his skin as Mick passes. "Who twisted your knickers in a knot Rory?" he asks, startled.

It's a testament to Mick's focus that he doesn't think about shoulder-checking John even once as he passes. He's too fixated on the task at hand, on seeing Leonard alive with his own eyes again. When he arrives, the door to the Galley is already open. Mick stops short in the threshold and hangs there like a bomb that's short-circuited.

Leonard is sitting at the table, just like Gideon had promised.

He's got a Captain Cold snowflake souvenir mug from Jitters in his hands, filled to the brim with steaming milky coffee. Ray bought Mick that mug as a joke for the holidays last year in a valiant effort to assuage the fresh wave of grief he'd been feeling after memory-wiping Legion Leonard.

Mick has never used it before. Breakfast beer is not the kind of thing you need mugs for.

"Morning Mick," Leonard drawls, raising an eyebrow at him.

He looks tired. There are bags under his eyes that weren't there yesterday, and he's clutching his coffee like a grouchy goblin hoarding treasure.

Mick stares another moment, then looks down at the knuckles on his right hand. The skin is tinged with faint green bruising that matches the ugly purple shiner on Snart's face, and when Mick flexes his fist, it's sore.

He rolls his fingers a few times over to intentionally aggravate it. Nate would probably say something stupid about 'unhealthy coping mechanisms'. But fuck him. The pain is grounding.

Guess yesterday wasn't a hallucination after all.

"I need a beer," Mick announces, when the surprise fades.

Leonard just snorts. "I feel like I've turned this place into a booze cruise," he drawls. His tone is utterly unapologetic, although perhaps a little distant. There's a cold glint in Leonard's eyes that suggests his thoughts are partly elsewhere.

"You spent the night drinking with Blondie. That's why you look like shit?" Mick realizes aloud. No wonder he hadn't been in the room this morning.

Leonard shrugs, not denying it.

It strikes something in Mick. Not a nerve, per se - he knows better than anyone that Sara needs time with Leonard - but something like a nerve. He wishes he hadn't woken up to an empty room this morning when he'd been expecting Leonard to be there.

Before his thoughts get too dark, he heads over to the kitchen to get his morning usual - two beers and three breakfast sandwiches. When Mick returns, he drops an extra sandwich in front of Leonard and gives him a menacing look.

Snart rolls his eyes as he takes it. "Who are you? My mother?"

Mick is not sorry in the slightest. Leonard has a tendency to skip meals when he starts thinking too hard, and Mick can recognize the look on Snart's face from a mile away.

"You were dead," Mick says simply. The 'so-do-what-I-fucking-tell-you' is implied.

Leonard sighs, taking the sandwich and starting to pick at it. The careful thoughtfulness doesn't fade from his face as he eats. If anything, it just gets worse.

Mick makes it all the way through his first sandwich before Leonard's silence starts to annoy him. His partner is so absorbed in his own thoughts that Mick can actually hear the clock ticking. The sound is like a cheese grater rubbing against his temper, and it's not long before he feels like a simmering bomb again.

"You gonna tell me who you're planning to kill?" Mick asks irritably.

"I don't know yet," Leonard says, slightly nonplussed by Mick's stewing anger. "Maybe this Damien Darhk guy, jury's still out."

Mick snorts. The reaction is almost involuntary. "Blondie's gonna kill him," he states, like that door is already shut. "But she'll kill you first if you're an idiot and get in her way."

Leonard gives him a long look. "Oh, I'm sure she'll have to get in line behind you," he says dryly.

Mick doesn't argue with him on that one, because yes, he's right. Hell, Mick is half ready to kill him right now, and he doesn't even know why.

"Relax Mick. I promise, I'm not planning anything yet. I've just got a lot to think about. That's all," Leonard says, waving his hand dismissively.

That doesn't satisfy Mick.

If anything, something about the callousness of Leonard's tone makes it worse. Apparently recognizing his fury, Leonard releases a heavy sigh, sits up a little straighter, and puts his coffee mug down.

Suddenly Mick has his full and undivided attention.

"Listen, Mick.. um..." His face pinches unpleasantly.

"What?" Mick's response is more aggressive than intended, although perhaps less aggressive than he feels. It's not often that Captain Cold trips over his own words.

"I'm sorry," Leonard blurts out.

Mick feels himself go rigid and the two men stare at each other. Both look like they've just bitten a lemon.

"Don't say shit you don't mean Snart," Mick growls.

"Okay... yes. Maybe I'm not actually that sorry I knocked you out," Leonard admits, hands wringing. "But, I'm sorry if you feel like I, ah... left."

Mick wants to punch him again. One time doesn't feel like enough punishment for the fucking stupidity of Leonard's actions.

But he doesn't.

Instead, Mick reaches one fat hand out and grabs Leonard roughly by the collar.

"Mick-" comes the familiar tired warning.

It doesn't matter though. It's too late.

Mick stands up, forcibly dragging Leonard out of his seat, and man-handles him into an abrupt bone-crushing hug. It's not exactly a soft or sentimental thing. Mick hugs Leonard with the angry threatening demeanor of a gorilla that might decide at any moment to strangle him instead.

Leonard returns it stiffly, after his initial fight-or-flight response fades of course.

And when Mick drops Snart, he has to admit, he does feel a little better.

"You do it again, and I'll fucking kill you," Mick says, punctuating the statement with a glare. Then he takes a step back and lowers his violent tone back to a simple simmer. "This never happened."

Leonard gives him a weary look. "Whatever you say big guy," he agrees.

When the two slip back into their seats, the tension between them has subsided, and it feels much more like old times.

"Code 3-8-1. I repeat Code 3-8-1."

Ray's voice booms loudly through the halls of the Waverider.

Over. And over. And over again.

"Alright Ray, I think everyone heard you," Zari yawns as she strolls onto the Bridge.

This had better be good. They'd interrupted her in the middle of her morning Mortal Kombat hour, and she'd been minutes away from beating the latest boss battle.

"Sorry. Nobody seemed to be coming. I wasn't sure you all got the message," Ray says. He's standing at the center consul, his hand hovering over the megaphone button.

Nate and Sara have already arrived as well, which is typical. Ray and Nate are the ship's token morning people, and Zari is mostly sure Sara just doesn't sleep. Whenever they get called together before noon, one of those three is always the instigator.

"Oh we got the message all right. It's just that nobody knows what it bloody means," John says as he enters the room. He's rubbing circles on his temples to nurse his usual morning hangover, and although Zari doesn't smile at him, she probably could.

John's heinous attitude has always been a little refreshing.

"Please don't get him started," Zari says and she jerks her thumb towards Ray.

John picks a spot next to her. "Wouldn't dream of it love," he promises darkly.

It's at that moment that the last two stragglers, Mick and Leonard Snart arrive together.

Immediately, they have most of Zari's attention.

She'll admit it. She's curious about Snart. How could she not be? Half the team has been in complete upheaval since his return - even Nate, who has never technically met the guy. It's like Leonard's very presence has made the Waverider's world shift, and Zari is still evaluating all the changes.

For now, she just focuses on what's in front of her.

The difference between Mick yesterday and Mick today is subtle, but it's there. He seems less chaotic than usual, like he's reigned in all of his usual flagrant aggression and is holding it in a ball close to the chest. She doesn't miss the way he situates himself suddenly with his back to walls, and places Snart just a little bit in front of him.

Leonard isn't oblivious to the way Mick is shadowing him either, and Zari wonders vaguely if he's got a problem with it. Whatever the pair was up to previously, it's left Snart doing his very best impression of a disgruntled cat.

"Why'd the whole team need to meet for a level one Fugitive Haircut?" Mick grunts for the pair upon entrance.

"I called the meeting. Ray just wanted to use the megaphone," Sara supplies casually. Her eyes flicker up to the boys before quickly snapping back down to the Waverider's situation screen.

Zari catches Snart's gaze sharpening on her, though he otherwise maintains his casual slouch.

"Do I want to know why we're speaking in code now?" he grumbles, then cocks his head towards Mick. "Or why you knew what that meant?"

Mick shrugs and Sara's lips twitch into something that could be a smile.

"Oh I've put the Song of Codes on a CD now," Ray beams in response. "I can give it to you later. We can add it to the list of all the things you need to catch up on now that you're back."

"So the answer to your question is nope, you don't want to know," Zari translates for Snart, who gives her a thoughtful withered look.

Beside her, John snorts.

"Come on guys, let's focus," Sara says, and on command the room collects itself. "Gideon detected a magical disturbance in the year 1967, but it's small. She can't find any real impact on history from it."

"How'd she pick it up then?" Nate asks as he crosses his arms.

"Well, that's kind of the problem. I don't know," Sara frowns. She closes her eyes for a moment, almost like she's collecting herself together for something. "And also... the place. The fugitive is apparently at Nanda Parbat."

The team falls silent at that comment.

For the Legends as they are now, Nanda Parbat is almost like Fight Club.

Everyone knows what it is, but it's something that they don't talk about often. Sara tends to get distant quick if they do. Zari's always gotten the impression that some of the older Legends had beaten the topic to death once up a time, and there just wasn't much left that hadn't already been said.

"What's the plan then Cap?" Nate asks softly. His tone is exactly the right mix of sensitive and business. This is why they keep him around, Zari thinks fondly.

"Leonard needs to go see Barry today no matter what, but I don't think we can ignore this either. The team needs to split up. Nate, John, and Mick, you all should take the jump ship with Leonard to 2018 Central City, and the rest of us will go investigate whatever this is," Sara says.

To Zari's surprise, Leonard Snart seems to have an immediate and visceral reaction to this suggestion.

"Sara, I don't need three chaperones to go have a doctors appointment," he says, frowning.

Sara levels a cool look at Snart. She seems utterly unfazed by his protest. More than that, Zari thinks Sara expected it.

"John has to go with you, because S.T.A.R. labs won't be familiar with any magic, and Nate is going because there's a fifty fifty chance Team Flash is going to try to shoot you when you give Barry Allen a heart attack later."

Snart's face sours. "Nobody said anything about traumatizing Barry," he lilts.

Zari might believe him if Sara didn't look so immediately unimpressed by his statement. She catches Nate rolling his eyes as well.

"Leonard, if you're going to play dumb, pick a better angle," Sara says impatiently.

Her tone is sharp and dangerous, and Snart seems to reevaluate her completely in response.

"Fine," he allows, eyes narrowing. "Then Mick-"

"You gonna finish that sentence, boss? " Mick grunts menacingly.

Sara waves a hand in the air like she's also daring Leonard to argue more. He's properly agitated now. All signs of the sarcastic calm that Zari has started to associate with him have vanished.

"Alright, let's not talk about me. Let's talk about you," Leonard says tightly. Somehow, he manages to curl his entire body into an impressive looking sneer. "What's your plan? Going to storm the League of Assassins by yourself, with Raymond as one third of your backup? That's moronic Sara. Rip Hunter was supposed to have cornered the market on terrible ideas."

Ray opens his mouth to protest, but Sara holds up a hand to stop him. She looks disturbingly pleased with herself. Then... "I mean, if you're that worried about Ray, I can send him with you too," she says innocently.

The look Leonard rewards her with is positively bone-chilling.

"It's a level one fugitive," Sara continues. "We'll be fine. Right Mick?"

"Yeah stop bitching."

Leonard doesn't look like he wants to stop bitching.

No, he looks angry.

His shoulders are rigid, and his arms are crossed, and Zari is under the impression that he'd be able to fight with Sara for half the day if it meant winning the argument. Sara's stubborn though. Zari may not know Snart all that well, but she knows the look of steel that's glowing in Sara's eyes. When Sara gets like this, there's almost no point in trying to reason with her.

Tension mounts in the room as the debate turns non-verbal. Snart glares at Sara over the center consul and she glares right back, and the rest of the team waits for one of them to give in.

As an outside observer, it's borderline uncomfortable to watch.

Zari leans over towards John.

"Nobody warned me to start bringing popcorn to team meetings," she whispers beneath her breath.

A conspiratorial smirk stretches across his face. "You think they used to shag?" he asks, looking happier than John 'I-walk-the-world-alone' Constantine ever should.

"Mm, maybe, but I don't think so," Zari replies as she evaluates the staring contest that's happening in front of them. "This feels pretty unresolved."

"I'll have to see if I can get it out of Rory later," John nods. "But I give it a week now that the bloke's back."

"Oh no. I bet you twenty they make it longer than that. Two and a half weeks."

"You're on, love."

As a handshake would probably be a little obvious, they subtly knock fists to seal the deal, and return their full attention back to the meeting.

In the end, Sara wins the fight with Leonard. Not that anybody is surprised by that.

Leonard is livid.

Sara just played him like a fucking fiddle, and there is nothing he could've done about it.

I mean if you're that worried about Ray, I can send him with you too, her voice dances tauntingly through his mind.

She'd known the game before he'd even realized what was at stake.

Leonard and Mick should be taking this trip to Central City solo, but instead, Sara has managed to wrap him in the human equivalent of superhero bubble wrap.

It's ridiculous. Unnecessary... Dangerous.

Leonard hates the idea of Sara waltzing into Nanda fucking Parbat without proper back up because of him. They used to trust each other more than this. She should've just let him take care of himself. It would've been fine.

Right?

More than anything, Leonard hates that this excursion is necessary in the first place - he should be going with her to take on the League.

It hadn't sunk in yesterday, how disturbed he was about his little episode in the Medbay. Now he can barely think of anything else. Leonard had lost control of himself, and that was unacceptable. Even now, he knows he has to be careful, because if he thinks about it too hard, it'll make the visions come back. He'll be at the Oculus again, holding that damn trigger down with both hands while the world around him falls apart. Sara will be there. She's always there. Shouting no, grabbing his arm, and kissing him.

Leonard had told himself that it wasn't real, but who is he kidding?

He can't remember the thirty seconds yesterday between Sara's questions and Mick's comment. It is just another blank spot to go with the rest of them - the real world replaced with the searingly crisp feeling of Sara's lips on his. He wonders if it's safe for him to be near the team when he's like that, but there's no way to know without some kind of incident.

Team Flash had better be able to fix this.

Of course for better or worse, Leonard hasn't actually told anybody about the visions yet. He'd thought about it last night when he'd been with Sara, but it felt like too much to unload on her. Their relationship suddenly felt so fragile, like one wrong word would make everything shatter to pieces. He couldn't risk it yet.

As for the rest of the team... well fuck no is he telling them.

The fact that he is hallucinating about Sara is absolutely need-to-know. Hell, he'd almost let Mick beat the shit out of him this morning because he'd been stewing silently on this nonsense. He's just lucky that Mick apparently learned some new conflict resolution techniques these past two years.

(Leonard still isn't quite sure what to make of the whole hugging thing. He supposes it's probably preferable to getting clocked in the jaw.)

For the mean time, it's much easier to pretend like nothing is wrong. Leonard is in enough of a mood already. Everyone will be happier if he channels his nerves into doing something he enjoys.

Like scaring the living shit out of Barry Allen.

Sara had called that one on the nose earlier. After all, what's the point of dying, if you can't come back as a ghost to haunt the Flash?

Their little entourage of four lands in 2018 on a crisp Saturday in June about a quarter mile away from S.T.A.R. labs, and by the time they touch ground, Leonard has successfully pushed all thoughts of Sara and their fight into a dark decrepit box labeled "Open Later".

From the drop point, it's only a short walk to their destination, but these moments are critical for Leonard's expedition. He needs to focus. Particularly because he knows he has an inside-man on this job who wants to sabotage him.

"Nathaniel, I'll give you this warning one time. Put the phone away or I break it," Leonard drawls casually.

Nate's forehead crinkles in confusion. "But it's the weekend. Somebody's got to call Barry and-," he starts to protest.

Leonard gives Mick a look, and the big guy swiftly snatches the phone right out of Nate's hands.

"Don't be a spoil sport Pretty," he grunts, pocketing it.

Leonard and Mick never actually stopped to discuss breaking-and-entering into S.T.A.R. labs, but they don't need to. For the two of them, the phrase 'visiting Barry' might as well be synonymous with 'kick the door down', even if no actual thieving is on the menu.

Of course, Nate doesn't know Leonard all that well. He supposes that the kid will have to be excused for not realizing there is a felony on the agenda for the day.

"Wait," Nate pauses in his tracks. "You're not planning to...but Barry and Team Flash are our friends. Why would we need to break in?"

"Because we can," Mick says, giving Nate one of his more chaotic smiles.

Leonard can't help but smirk. This is exactly what he needs after his jarring return to the Waverider.

Nate huffs and twists towards Constantine, looking for backup. Their resident warlock is walking about a yard behind the rest of them with a cigarette burning in his mouth. "Don't look at me mate. I'm just here for the magic. It's your job to play babysitter," he says.

"Oh, come on guys, Sara sent me to make sure you stayed out of trouble," Nate tries in one last valiant attempt to sway them. It's useless. Leonard can smell the defeat radiating off him from a mile away.

"Correction," he says easily. "She sent you to make sure we didn't get shot after we got into trouble. Big difference."

Nate groans, one hand running up through his notably quaffed hair. "I think I'd rather be fighting assassins in Nanda Parbat," he mutters under his breath.

Leonard stiffens a little, and his good mood is suddenly clouded again with thoughts of Sara.

Wouldn't we all, he thinks to himself bitterly.

Thankfully, there isn't too much time to let that thought fester, as the four arrive at the front door of S.T.A.R. labs.

Leonard immediately throws his full focus towards surveying the front area for security measures. He spots two cameras pointed in their direction, some basic turn key locks on the double doors, and a buzzer speaker against the wall that reads "Press for Cisco" in enthusiastic red and yellow lettering.

None of this specifically concerns him. Cameras are only good if somebody's on the other end, and given the lab has four people on its payroll, he doubts they take the time to monitor their footage live. Later, maybe he'll say something to Cisco about investing in some motion sensors. He'd prefer it if his adversaries at least pretended to give him a challenge.

"Oh no, the door's locked," Nate hums in faux drama as he gives the handle a good pull. "Guess we better call Barry so they'll let us in."

"That's cute," Leonard says, pulling a wire out of his jacket pocket and wedging it through the crease in the door. He's through in four seconds flat.

Constantine lets out a low appreciative whistle. "Good with tools, are we?"

"Call it a magic trick," Leonard shrugs.

Now that they're through the first door, it's clear that the rest of S.T.A.R. labs security is just as abysmal as it always is. That is to say, it's nonexistent. They're able to take the elevator right up to the main office without any resistance.

At least the door to the main control room is locked, though it's not any more sophisticated than the one he'd broken out front. Leonard considers pulling out the lock pick again before changing his mind.

"Hinges Mick?"

His partner grunts, and the pair make quick work, removing the door in its entirety and setting it aside.

"Oh and that lock was too complicated for you?" Nate asks, crossing his arms.

Constantine snorts.

"No mate, they're just being arseholes."

"Takes an asshole to know an asshole. Asshole," Mick half-growls and he makes a point to get in Constantine's face as he walks first into the control room.

Leonard eyes the situation carefully, watching to see John's reaction. Their warlock seems fairly unfazed by Mick's poking, maybe even a little amused by it. That's good. Leonard has watched full brawls break out in the middle of jobs before when Mick starts to get under people's skin, and unfortunately it's no longer socially acceptable for Leonard to just shoot the people Mick starts fights with.

Shirking away from the now-empty doorframe, Leonard moves to follow Mick into the control room.

That was their last obstacle. Now they're officially in.

His eyes trail over Barry's Flash suit on the far wall, and he can't help but feel a little smug.

Of course, other than the copious amounts of technology lying about, the room is empty. Apparently Team Flash has indeed decided to take their Saturday morning off, but Leonard can fix that easy enough. He takes a seat in front of Cisco's computer set-up and starts to poke at some of the keyboards while Nate and John file into the room. It only takes a minute to find what he's looking for - a big red thing on an iPad that's helpfully labeled "PANIC BUTTON" in bold letters.

Leonard grins. They have really made this too easy for him.

"Alright Flash," he mutters to himself. "Let's see how fast you are."

He kicks his stop watch off at the same time he triggers their alarm. They wait.

One minute. Two minutes. Three minutes. Then...

There's a sudden whoosh of air and an abrupt blue glow of light in the hallway, followed quickly by loud panicked voices.

"PUT YOUR HANDS WHERE I CAN SEE THEM OR I SWEAR TO GOD I'LL SHOOT!" Cisco bellows as he erupts into the room, flourishing a nasty looking gun in his hands. Barry is right beside him, dropped in a low runner's crouch like he's ready to start a forty yard dash.

Leonard spins the office chair around and holds both of his hands up in surrender.

Both Barry and Cisco seem to short circuit the minute they see his face. Damn, he loves a good dramatic entrance.

"Three minutes and twenty two seconds," he informs them happily. "Seems a little slow if you ask me."

"Snart?!" Barry gapes. His eyes flicker up to see Mick, John, and Nate lounging around the inner areas of the room.

"Hi Barry," Nate says, sounding pained. He raises his hand in a slow half-hearted wave. There's an apology somewhere in that greeting, and it makes Barry and Cisco drop the offensive.

Leonard is certainly not going to tell Sara later that bringing Nathaniel was a good idea, but he supposes if the point is not to get shot, then Nate has served his purpose. Cisco has indeed lowered his gun.

"But... you're dead?" Barry stammers in disbelief.

"Yes, well you know what they say, tales of my death have been greatly exaggerated," Leonard drawls.

"Whoa, wait wait," Cisco holds up a hand. "Are we talking like, Westley in Princess Bride here or more Nick Fury in Captain America The Winter Soldier?"

"Definitely more Nick Fury. We don't think he was ever actually dead," Nate supplies immediately, and John mutters something rude about American Superhero movies under his breath.

Barry finally straightens out of his crouch, and a wild grin stretches across his face. He looks at Leonard again with an expression like Christmas has suddenly come early.

"That's great news," he beams. "What happened? I mean, it's been like two years, where've you been all this time?"

"Isn't that the million dollar question," Constantine says.

Leonard scowls. This is the part he isn't particularly excited for. "I suppose this is where I tell you that we didn't just come to shame your security system," he grumbles.

Barry scratches the back of his head. He seems to have just realized the door to their lab is sitting in the hall, completely detached from the frame. "Right. Um... well what can we do for you guys? You know we're always happy to help the Legends."

"We need you to call that ice chick we kidnapped and get her to check out Snart," Mick speaks up.

Leonard suppresses a groan.

"Caitlin? Why? What's wrong with you?" Cisco frowns, eyes narrowing. He probably didn't need to be reminded about the various times Leonard and Mick have tried to kill them all.

"Well, it's a long story, but our working theory is time superpowers," Nate says.

"Or mystical intervention," John adds dryly.

"Whatever it is, you're going to get rid of it," Leonard says firmly. "You still owe me for Shark Week."

"Aw c'mon Snart. I think we're passed exchanging favors just because we owe each other. Of course we'll help," Barry says with a good-natured smile.

Leonard levels him with a surly look before Barry get's it in his head that he needs to pat him on the shoulder or something. The kid is too much like Ray with all the physical affection, and Leonard has no patience for it.

Cisco sighs.

"I'll call Caitlin and Harry," he says to Barry in a resigned tone. "Explaining why you just gave Captain Cold a free visitors pass is totally on you though buddy."

Good. Now all that's left to do is wait. 

Ra's Al Ghul is not in Nanda Parbat.

That's Sara's first sign that something is wrong.

She doesn't know whether his absence is part of the original timeline - records on the League of Assassins are intentionally few and far between - but she does know that it's much easier to break into her old home while the Demon's Head is abroad.

Without Ra's there to screen visitors, Sara doesn't need to devise a winning argument to gain his favor for their Fugitive search. All she has to do is craft a black League costume on the Waverider and walk through the front doors like she belongs there.

The guards ask for her name, and she gives it, Ta-er al Sahfer. They find her blood signature in the logs dated from 1958 and that's that.

She has free reign of the place.

"We're in," she mutters quietly into her earpiece.

"And Len was worried," Ray says.

He is standing miniaturized in the folds of her black collar while Zari quarterbacks for them back at the ship. Given that Nanda Parbat is one of the most heavily fortified cities on the planet, this two-man stealth set-up seemed the only option.

"Don't jinx it," Zari crackles over comms.

"Yeah, I second that," Sara agrees. "It's bad news that Ra's is out."

"Well, if something happens then I guess maybe Leonard was right, and we'll just have to tell him so when they get back later," Ray chirps unhelpfully.

She's going to kill him.

Ray has not stopped needling her about Leonard since the others left on the jump-ship earlier. He's made it abundantly clear that while he backs her decisions, he doesn't necessarily agree with her methods.

It's just, wasn't that a little harsh? He seemed pretty angry. Ray had said to her, the minute they'd left.

Sara would've thought Ray would understand the fight was unavoidable, given that he knows Leonard about as well as anybody. It's the very same instinct that made the idiot sacrifice himself at the Oculus. Leonard is completely unwilling to leave team members behind, which is undoubtedly what he felt he was doing today when he sent Sara off to Nanda Parbat.

It's a good quality to have. It really is, but it also got him killed once and she needs him alive now. Sara would've sent the whole team with him and run this League mission solo in a heartbeat if she could've gotten away with it.

"For what it's worth, I thought this morning was spectacular," Zari buzzes in her ear.

Scratch that, Sara is going to kill them both.

"Can we just focus on the mission?" she hisses.

"Aye aye Captain!"

Sara walks through the torch-lit halls at a brusque pace. Thus far, they haven't seen anything out of place, but she thinks that should change soon. The course she's taking will lead them to the archives and store rooms first. If somebody is going to try and take advantage of Ra's absence, that is the place where the most valuable items, weapons, and artifacts will be.

It's also not a bad spot to hide something. A magical trinket would hardly be out of place down in the vaults.

If this turns out to be a bust, their backup plan is to try the prison and torture chambers next, but Sara would much prefer it if that could be avoided. There are certain things in life that you just can't unsee, and both Zari and Ray are better off kept far away from that place.

"Stay sharp. There's a heat signature around the corner."

"That's where the weapons room should be. It's probably just somebody getting ready for a mission," Sara says, even as her hand moves to rest on the sword at her hip. There's a separate room upstairs for training blades. Anybody who is retrieving something deep in the fortress must be preparing for a serious battle.

Sara turns the corner thinking that she's ready for anything, but when confronted with the man standing in the center of the room, she realizes that she's not.

"Oh," he pauses when he sees her frozen there. "Well you're here earlier than expected. You know, I really could use another five minutes. If you wouldn't mind just turning around..."

It's Damien Darhk.

He's right there in his fancy button up suit, rambling like he runs the place. There's a large open trunk in front of him that Sara knows is filled with various herbal drugs - most of which are never used for pleasant purposes - and he appears to have been picking through them for something specific.

Sara realizes that he doesn't know it's her. She's still dressed in her 'League-Goon' outfit and her face is concealed. He must think she's just one of the patrols.

Good.

There is no time to deliberate an action plan with Zari and Ray, so Sara does the only thing that feels right.

She lunges.

Chapter Text

Sara leads with knives.

They whiz through the air with deadly precision, and if Damien were an ordinary man, that would be it. Death by three stab wounds to the head, heart and liver. Instead, Damien's hand cracks up quicker than a whiplash, and the knives slow to a stop mid-air like a scene straight out of the Matrix.

That's okay. The knives are a distraction. Sara has fought so many versions of Darhk now that she knows a frontal assault will never work.

"Well somebody's got a happy trigger finger," Damien huffs.

Ray and Zari are exchanging half-panicked words in her ear - Darhk is here. No backup. Get out.

They have to realize though that it's too late. Now that Damien has seen her, the only way out is through.

"Ray, you stay small till the last second," Sara commands.

Then she's on the ground, rolling to the left of the center store room table so that it blocks Damien's view of her. The strategy works well enough because the knives clink to the ground, and Darhk does not yet have her in that debilitating force-choke.

With her own line-of-sight hampered, the game changes. Throwing stars are now her weapon of choice.

She arcs them left and right, around the table, over the table, and under it. Some of them are targeting Darhk and predictably these don't take.

But some are not for him. Four swerve wide, slicing through a rope that holds one of the weapons racks upright behind him. There's a dangerous clatter of steel followed by a surprised yelp as an arsenal descends on her enemy.

Sara does not wait to see if Damien can deflect it. She springs upwards, vaulting clean over the table, and unsheathes the standard issue League sword that's on her hip.

For an exhilarating moment, she thinks this is it, that today is the day she takes Damien Darhk's head.

The blade whistles in the air, making a full circle until it just kisses the vulnerable skin of Damien's neck. Then his right hand twists and time itself seems to stop.

The sword halts without making full impact with his flesh.

A furious strangled sound erupts form Sara's throat as she realizes it's over. Whatever small window of opportunity she'd had is gone.

"Oh-ho, well that was a close one," Damien grins. He lowers his left hand, allowing the collection of swords and spears she'd dropped on him to clatter harmlessly to the ground. With a flick of his right, her weapon flies away as well.

All that and she's only managed to coax a single drop of blood to trickle down the side of his neck.

Well... hopefully she's stained his suit collar at least.

"Now?" Ray asks over the comms. He's no longer on her shoulder - she lost him when she tumbled behind the table - but that's good because Damien might've seen him otherwise.

Of course, Sara can't reply now without giving them away...

"I'll tell you when Ray. Give it another minute. Sara, see if you can get him talking," Zari says.

That's swell.

Sara would probably pick one hundred forms of torture over making conversation with Damien Darhk. But Zari is probably right. It usually isn't hard to coax Damien into a monologue, and beyond 'kill Sara' they have no idea what he's currently angling for.

"You look frustrated," Damien observes brightly. He steps forward and yanks her face cover down, not looking the least bit surprised when he sees its her. "Sara Lance. Of course, I should've guessed. Would you believe you're the only person I know who just jumps straight to the murder part? I mean even Ra's usually humors me with a little banter."

Sara's lip curls. "It's the part we're both really itching for. Excuse me for cutting out all your melodrama," she grits.

Damien smiles at her like she's amused him. It makes her skin crawl. "Well that's fairly short-sighted, as always," he clicks his tongue. "Believe it or not, I'm actually not interested in killing you today."

Sara can't help herself. The opening is too good.

"Finally realized it's your own damn fault Nora died?" she asks him.

And yes, that does it. The amusement is gone. Damien's piercing blue eyes flash with open loathing, and there's a sudden tight feeling in her chest, like someone has gripped one of her lungs and squeezed.

Sara wheezes, choking on air, feeling her muscles strain as she tries futilely to twist away from him.

Then it's gone as quickly as it began.

"Careful," Damien says, holding up a finger towards her. "I'm busy today, not patient." His attention drifts away from her, back to the chest he'd been rummaging through when she'd attacked him. Whatever he needs in there must be important for him to split his attention away from her like this. "Now why don't you save us both some time and tell me where your friends are? We both know that you didn't come here alone."

"Sara, Ray's in position, but this is your chance. Ask him about Snart," Zari says urgently in her ear.

Shit. It can't have been more than two minutes since she'd thrown those first three knives - fights are quick like that - but suddenly it seems unfathomable that she's made it so long without thinking of Leonard.

Zari is right. Sara has to know if Damien is behind his return. She's never going to feel like he's safe with that question hanging over their heads.

"They're handling the present you left us in Russia. I'd be with them too, but I'll always make time for you Damien," Sara snarls.

It's impossible to hide how angry she is at the very thought of Damien meddling with Leonard.

Perhaps that's why he pauses so sharply at her response. His gaze lifts from the medicinal trunk and attempts to flay her with its intensity.

"A present?" Damien says curiously. He waits another moment to see if she'll give anything more away before continuing slowly. "As much as I love the gift giving season, I've got to admit, all my presents for you Sara are still in the works..."

Sara's breath hitches in her throat.

Damien Darhk has no clue what she's talking about.

Not only has he just admitted it, but she realizes he hasn't made any digs at her yet. Hasn't used Leonard's name like some sort of weapon. If he had even an inkling that Snart was back, she's sure he would be stomping that nerve into the ground.

Sara knows it's a bad idea to react to the news while he's examining her so closely, but she can't help herself. She grins, lips pulling so wide it almost hurts, and when she sees how much he hates it, they pull wider still.

"Should I be jealous?" Damien asks her dubiously, and the pressure on her lungs returns. "Did you Legends piss off another megalomaniac that I should be aware of? And I swear to god, if you say the name Malcolm Merlyn..."

Sara gasps for air against his mounting annoyance. She's had quite enough of this.

"Now!" she chokes out.

Ray appears out of nowhere, right on top of Damien. It's not even an attack really - more like he's just spontaneously decided to sit on the man - but there's no question it's effective.

Damien crashes to the ground with a startled grunt, and Sara is released from his magic's hold.

Then she's falling too.

She realizes too late that she never fully cleared the table during her attempt to decapitate him. The edge catches her calf when she tries to pull her knees up, and she's suddenly twisting face first towards the floor.

There is no graceful landing.

Sara brings her arms up instinctively to protect her head, and her right explodes with white hot pain on impact. Broken, she knows immediately, but there's no time to nurse it. She lets the adrenaline carry her, pulling her injured arm to her chest, and grabbing for the first weapon she sees - a spear - with her left.

By the time she looks up again, Damien has already thrown Ray across the room, and is pushing himself back to his feet. Blood weeps from a fresh gash on his cheek, and his prim suit is slightly mangled.

Sara is suddenly very thankful that she landed in a spot clear of pointy objects.

"Well, as fun as this has been, I think that's my cue to leave," Damien says, voice just short of a growl. He has something green clutched in one hand and Mallus's time stone held in the other. "Sara, dear. Take care. I've got big plans for you, and I would be very cross if you let somebody else cancel them."

"Go to Hell," she snarls back.

She's ready to lunge again, broken arm be damned, but Damien's time stone starts to glow.

When her spear lashes forward, there is nothing but air to meet it.

Leonard sits in a S.T.A.R. labs exam chair and hopes desperately that this isn't going to become his new normal. He has been in way too many medical facilities these last twenty four hours, and it's not good for his sanity.

Thank god, they've left him mostly alone now.

Half-a-day spent as a test subject has left him feeling strung out and vulnerable, and one more wrong touch is liable to send him spiraling on a murder bender.

Caitlin Snow is the one who noticed. She forced the geek squad to retreat to the corner white board an hour ago in an effort to at least give him the illusion of space. Barry and Mick are the only two who didn't join them.

Mick, who procured a book from somewhere earlier, has been pretending to ignore everyone since they first settled in the med-room. It'd be a much more convincing act if he didn't pause to curse at Leonard every so often - usually when he started to become a particularly difficult patient.

As for Barry... well Barry is just blatantly hovering. He stands off to Mick's left, not-quite vibrating with nervous energy, and Leonard can't help but think he's met vertigo addicts calmer than the Flash.

"Hey Snart," Barry faux whispers, just as their silence starts to become peaceful.

A poorly stifled sigh escapes from Leonard's chest. "Barry," he replies.

"What happened to your face?"

Leonard scoffs.

"My friends are better than yours, Flash."

"He deserved it," Mick nods, eyes never leaving his book.

Barry frowns, looking far more concerned than he has any right to be. Leonard hasn't deciphered yet why the kid isn't playing meta-detective with the rest of his friends. At first, he thought Team Flash just wanted special eyes on Captain Cold and Heat Wave - for the greater good of society and all - but it's not like the rest of them aren't right there, hunched over charts and monitors, muttering things in low voices.

(Bad news, Leonard thinks.)

And if it were really about adult supervision, then Nathaniel probably has that corner covered. Captain America has been watching him like a hawk all day, and Leonard would know. Last time he joined the Legends, it took a while for Kendra-the-actual-Hawk to trust him.

He'll never admit it, but he actually misses the old familiar faces. Kendra, Jax, Stein, maybe even Rip.

He thinks their presence might've provided some sense of normalcy to the complete shit show that's occurring in the nerd-corner.

("Whoa whoa. Hear me out. The magic is totally blocking all the sensors. You know, electromagnetic ghosts anyone? The Poltergeist? White Noise?!" Cisco is half-shouting.

"Yeah, one problem with that. Snart is not a bloody ghost!" Constantine snaps back.)

Perhaps Barry is just trying to torture him with conversation.

If so, well then mission accomplished.

"When I got out of the speed force last year, my friends gave me a hug and threw a welcome home party. You know, said hello in lots of friendly, non-violent ways," Barry says pointedly.

It's like the kid is begging for him to make it worse.

"Mm, that's charming. Sara almost slit my throat," Leonard supplies easily.

He tilts his neck back so that they can see the thin red scab that's next to his Adam's apple. It's immediately worth it to see the way Barry's eyes bulge.

"Twenty bucks Lisa socks you too," Mick says smugly.

("Maybe we should trigger one of these attacks. That's the only way we're going to get good data on it," Harry suggests.

"Oh yeah, because that sounds safe," Caitlin hisses.)

"Call me what you want Mick, I'm not a sucker," Leonard drawls. Because, yeah, after Lisa get's over the initial shock, he knows she's going to be livid.

Mick called her earlier while they were waiting on Harry and Caitlin. She should be well on her way here by now, maybe arriving any minute. They told her that Team Flash was calling in a favor for helping with Lewis all those years ago. 'Hey sis, I'm back from the dead' didn't seem like the sort of news Leonard wanted to drop on her over the phone.

Barry moves to lean against the doorframe, and considers Mick. "You know what? I'll take you on," he declares after a moment. "Twenty bucks Lisa doesn't punch Snart."

"And here I told Nathaniel we weren't going to rob you today," Leonard says, unimpressed.

"Come on, she's your sister. She's going to be happy to see you."

Mick just snorts. "He never told her we were leaving. She's gonna be pissed as fuck."

Ungh.

It really does sound bad when Mick says it like that, and Leonard wishes that he wouldn't. He doesn't want to be nervous about seeing Lisa, the one person in the world whose always been on his side.

She must feel like he abandoned her though, and fuck if the thought of that doesn't hurt.

("Well what if we didn't trigger an attack?" Cisco says.

Caitlin pauses. "You want to vibe him?"

Cisco nods.

"No offense mate, as much as we all want to vibe Snart, you don't seem like his type" Constantine smirks.)

Barry, of course, is utterly flummoxed. "You just left her in Central City without saying goodbye?" he asks incredulously.

This is definitely not helping the anxious guilt Leonard already feels about the situation. He starts to drum his pinky idly against the arm of his chair. The quiet tap-tap-tap of his metal ring hitting the plastic surface calms him a little.

"We were boarding a time ship. It didn't seem necessary," Leonard mutters, taking his free hand and pressing his thumb against the bridge of his nose.

The kid shakes his head and releases a deep resigned sigh. "I want to say I can't believe you, except that I kind of can."

Leonard doesn't bother to respond to that. It's high time this conversation died, and he thinks maybe if he ignores Barry for long enough, he'll get the message and finally give Leonard some quiet.

But no, of course not. A few moments pass, and he takes another glance at Barry to find Central City's golden boy is still fucking staring at him.

"Get it off your chest," Leonard scowls.

Barry has the audacity to look sheepish as he shifts his weight nervously from one foot to the other.

"Oh um... Well, you know Snart, what you did... I think it was pretty brave. You saved the world."

Leonard lets out an audible groan. "Don't get your hero panties in a twist," he snaps. "Raymond saved the world. I saved Mick. If you think I would've done it for anybody else, then think the fuck again."

A sudden hush falls over the room. To Leonard's complete and utter despair, he realizes that everyone just heard him say that.

Nathaniel, John, Cisco, Caitlin, Harry - all of them have stopped with the science to stare at him.

He hates it.

Although, perhaps not as much as Mick hates it. The big guy has finally put the book down and is glaring at Leonard like he'd just slapped him.

"Yeah, fuck you Snart," Mick growls.

It takes every ounce of Leonard's self-control not to roll his eyes. At some point, they're gong to have to go more than twelve hours without Mick getting angry about the Oculus. Sure, Leonard gets it. If their roles had been reversed, he would be royally pissed too. But he cares about the oaf, and Mick is going to have to deal with that eventually.

His gaze peels away from Mick back to the rest of them. Originally, Leonard intends to say something acerbic and rude to get them back to work. However, the words die on his tongue when he finds that Barry has turned ominously smug while his attention was diverted.

"Lisa too," Barry grins. "You would've saved Lisa too."

Jesus, why does this matter?

Leonard folds his arms over his chest, and fixes Barry with one of his coldest glares.

"Fine, Lisa too. You want me to give you a gold star?"

The edges of Barry's lips quirk. "Well, if you're offering..."

"Don't finish that sentence."

Leonard feels Mick's mood shift before he sees it, and his eyes snap automatically to his partner.

Leonard stills.

He knows that look. It's the kind that usually says 'I'm-about-to-commit-arson-and-I'm-going-to-enjoy-it.' Except, Mick doesn't have a lighter out.

"Bet you, I can name a third person," Mick says slowly.

Leonard's eyes narrow.

"You wouldn't dare."

Oh, but Mick definitely would, and they both know it.

If he thought he was going to have a coronary before, it's nothing compared to this. Leonard can practically hear his own heart thrumming in his ears, as his jaw ticks angrily and something green blots at the edges of his vision.

He holds Mick's gaze for approximately five seconds before he realizes that he's completely unwilling to push him on this one. Not with the whole room as an audience. Leonard would rather jam his finger in a light socket than discuss Sara here in open forum.

For Pete's sake, John Constantine is grinning like he's god damn Gossip Girl over in the corner.

Mick's such an asshole.

"Fine," Leonard growls, caving. "Barry, you're right. I did save the world like a god damn superhero. Guess all of you owe me for saving your lives, again."

Mick's face morphs into a wicked grin that Leonard greets immediately with a scowl.

"I feel like that wasn't the point," Barry mutters. His eyes flicker between the two Rogues with no small amount of confusion.

Leonard, of course, is now ready to eviscerate anybody who wants to start asking questions, but thankfully, it's unnecessary.

Harrison Wells clears his throat and takes a step forwards.

Apparently, the geek-squad made some progress after all.

"Alright, well," Harry cuts through the awkward in the room like he barely realized it was ever there. "We want to run one more test on you."

"Really, you missed one?" Leonard asks dryly.

Harry, who Leonard has never actually met before today, is apparently not a man of great patience. He gives Leonard an unimpressed look before waving a curt hand in the air. "Of a sort," he clips. "Ramon, you explain it to him."

"Mm, you know one of these days, you're going to ask for something nicely and the world is going to end," Cisco says crossly.

"Ramon."

"Yeah yeah, whatever," Cisco turns towards Leonard. "Sooo, fun story. I have superpowers, and I'm going to vibe you. Got it?"

Leonard shifts in his chair. That was a shit explanation, and they both know it. Although, to be fair, Leonard does realize he's never done much to earn Cisco's patience or trust. Sure, he helped rob ARGUS that one time to save Iris, but perhaps that didn't make up for kidnapping the kid and torturing his brother.

Whoops.

"And what if I say no," Leonard asks dubiously.

"If you say no, then we don't do it," Caitlin says immediately. Her eyes dart sternly between Cisco and Harry, like she's daring them to contradict her. "But we think this is going to really help us understand where you've been the last two years."

Nate flexes his head to the side to stretch a tense shoulder. "Come on Snart, we're like almost done. Just do this one last thing so we can get back to the Waverider," he says. "He's just got to touch your hand. You won't even feel it."

Leonard considers them. Maybe it's just his usual cynicism, but he has an ominous feeling about this 'vibe' thing.

"Snart," Mick says. His humor from a moment ago is gone. This is Mick's precursor to an argument.

Leonard's mouth twists.

You know what? He'd do just about anything to get out of this chair right now.

"Fine, just do it," he says and extends a hand, palm up towards Cisco.

Cisco takes another two steps forward, hesitating in front of him for only a second, before he reaches out and takes it.

Nathaniel was wrong.

Leonard knows exactly when the vibe starts.

Cisco's palm brushes his, and the ground disappears beneath his feet. There's a brief sensation of falling and a dizzying swirl of green, and he knows before it starts that the Oculus vision has engulfed him completely.

He opens his eyes and it's like he never left. His fingers ache against the hot metal of the deadman's switch, Mick's body lies prone by his feet, and Sara is staring at him like the earth itself has shattered to pieces.

Leonard immediately feels like he's drowning.

"Whoa," a strange voice mutters.

He blinks. Someone else is here. Someone who shouldn't be.

Cisco.

Fuck.

For a moment, his mind is swept clean and filled with nothing but white noise. Cisco does not seem to be aware that Leonard can see him. He's too focused on the chaos that surrounds them - on the laser guns and the shouting and the glowing blue Wellspring.

Then Leonard feels himself speak - not to Cisco, but to Sara.

"Get him out of here."

And Cisco realizes where the real action is happening.

"No," Sara's voice cracks. Suddenly, the thought of looking anywhere but at her feels like utter madness, and Leonard aches at the pain that's erupted on her face.

But Cisco is there.

He's going to see.

No, Leonard can't -

"Just do it."

Panic wracks through him. This is too personal. Too painful. Nobody was ever meant to see this from him.

But Sara is already stepping forward.

He feels like he's being split in two. There's one half of him that's so utterly absorbed by her that Cisco's presence doesn't matter. While the other half bellows and writhes and yells and demands for it to stop. That part of him rebels. It pushes violently, desperately against the green, against Sara and against Cisco. He needs to throw them out before...

... She's there. Lips crushing against his, and he feels his chest crack open all over again, spilling over with more feelings than his body was ever meant to handle. It swallows him, sucking in his focus. Until there's nothing else but the two of them, and he is stuck there, desperately wishing that they had just a little bit more time...

"Holy shit," Cisco's voice breaks Leonard from the moment.

His two halves snap into one and he realizes with sudden abject horror what Cisco has seen.

It's enough.

He looks at Cisco, finds his voice, and seethes, "Get out."

At once, the Oculus evaporates, and Leonard's conscious slams back into S.T.A.R. labs with a fury.

He doesn't know if he grabbed Cisco before or after the vision took them, but he has him now, fists knotted in the front of his t-shirt. He pulls the kid close, until his feet are half dangling off the ground and his eyes are blown with fear and even Leonard isn't sure whether he means to strangle him or not.

That's not you anymore. The words come from nowhere. Isn't he the one who said them?

His mind is burning. Even though the vision has ended, he is still seeing the world through a strange haze of green. Some part of him knows unequivocally that something is wrong, but that part of him is small and quiet and powerless.

And Cisco has been somewhere he shouldn't have.

"Lenny?"

Lisa?

It stops. All at once.

His heart stutters in his chest, and his hands drop from Cisco's shirt like a lead weights.

Leonard only has a moment to realize that the room around him is in shambles. Glass is broken and tables are upturned. Nathaniel is made of steel, Constantine's hands are on fire, and yes, Lisa is there, gaping at him.

Then the void takes him.

Chapter Text

John swears to god, the devil, and every sordid creature in between, it's either a tragedy or a damn miracle that he is still sober right now.

More likely, it's a bit of both.

See, the tragedy is that Leonard Snart is waking up. That means in a few minutes John and Team Flash are going to have the regrettable responsibility of explaining this mess to him, and Caitlin Snow has made it very clear that the news is to be delivered "delicately".

"The man came back from the dead twenty-four hours ago after apparently saving all of free-will. The least we can do is try not to set him off," Caitlin hissed at them. Then Harry raised an eyebrow,"...okay, worse than we already have..." And, of course, she'd caught Rory glaring from Leonard's bedside,"...maybe we should be mindful of Heatwave too."

That's about when she'd lost John.

He's not exactly known for his tactful bedside manner, but maybe he could've managed for a pretty face like Snart's. Rory though? Now she's just set them up for failure, and John always prefers to be drunk for failure.

Of course, the miracle is that he pulled through Snart's nuclear meltdown without reaching for the bottle in the first place.

John prides himself on being a real nasty piece of work, and part of the job description is being able to identify other fun, nasty pieces of work. He'd clocked Snart the minute he'd laid eyes on him. Yet somehow, John had been so focused on analyzing the effects Leonard has been having on their dear captain that he'd underestimated the beast of a problem lurking underneath the man's own skin.

And exorcists who underestimate problems don't usually have long life-spans.

Thank the devil for Lisa Snart - who, by the way, is also beautiful, damn those Snart genes are criminal. If she hadn't been there earlier... well John doesn't think they could've taken Leonard by force. At least not before Snart had done whatever he was going to do to poor Cisco.

Leonard had barely touched the boy's hand when a wave of energy had ripped out of him like a storm sent straight from hell. It knocked Barry and Mick clean off their feet, destroying everything that wasn't physically bolted to the ground. The lights had shattered, and in the resulting din, emerald green sparks the exact shade and color of the time-stream illuminated the room. They popped and crackled like water in hot oil, and John learned the hard way that they singed skin if you allowed them too close.

The sheer amount of power Leonard had channeled through his body was absolutely fucking mental. John's never seen anything quite like it, and that's saying something. The real miracle here has nothing to do with John's sobriety. By all means, Leonard Snart should be in a coma right now.

To hell with it, John pulls out his flask and takes a deep, deep swig of gin. It's foul stuff that he'd nicked off a particularly shady Puritan man while they were in Salem. Nothing like an era of sexually repressed magic haters to produce reliable glorified rubbing alcohol. He gives it a good thirty minutes until he's well and toasted.

Better late than never, as they say - Leonard is waking.

"What the hell did you all do to me?"

There's a sudden flurry of movement, as people either start to hover - Barry, Mick, and Lisa - or prep for a medical presentation - Harry, Caitlin and Cisco.

Not Nate and John, of course. They hang in the back of the room like a pair of reject teenagers looking for some excuse to skip class. Leonard may be their teammate now, but everyone else here... well, they're his people. Nate and John don't really have any business inserting themselves into this scene until they're really needed.

The Legends have always been back-row-2.0 kind of people anyhow. John will join the doctor-squad when he can be obnoxious about it.

"Geez man, more like what did he do to us," Nate mutters, rubbing his face.

John smirks at him. He finds Nate's irrational hate for Snart to be rather entertaining.

"Give it a minute, squire."

They watch as Leonard's eyes dart around the room, suspiciously passing over each face before stilling on Lisa's. Then it all seems to come back to him at once. John can tell by the way his chin jerks wildly towards Cisco.

"Ramon!" Leonard says, voice suddenly hostile.

"There it is," John grins to Nate, who just shakes his head in response.

Cisco throws his hands up into the air and takes a reflexive step back, but before he can bumble his way through an explanation, Lisa has a hand on Leonard's shoulder, pushing him back into his seat.

"Lenny please," she says. "Cisco's here to help."

"That what he told you?"

Cisco starts.

"Yo, listen Cold," he says, waving a finger in the air with a fairly impressive amount of bravado. His jaw unhinges to finish his thought, but the words never come. Snart fixes him with an absolutely fiendish glare that seems to douse all of Cisco's courage on the spot. 

"I'm listening," Leonard snipes, tone pure ice. Cisco looks about ready to swallow his own tongue. 

Holy hell, John thanks his lucky stars that he didn't get stuck on that trip to Nanda Parbat with Sara's A-Team. You couldn't pay for this sort of drama entertainment anywhere else.

Cisco is such a bloody liar.

He'd told them all that he'd only seen "the Oculus explosion" in the vision he'd shared with Leonard. But that is not the face of a man who just gained a witness to admire his heroic last-act. John would bet his last cigarette that Cisco is covering for something.

But what? He wants to know, badly.

For a brief moment, everyone in the room seems to hold their breath. Leonard's hostility has caught them all off-guard, and nobody seems to know quite what to do with it. Least of all Cisco, whose being targeted by all that malevolence.

Then, Lisa suddenly thwacks Leonard upside the head with an open palm, and the spell is released.

(Off to the side, Mick lets out a tone deaf guffaw, "You see that? Pay up Red.")

"Listen jerk. Stop that," Lisa rolls on with a fury that erupts from seemingly nowhere. "You just collapsed, and they're..." Her cheeks redden angrily. "They're helping!" she finishes. "Don't you dare be an ass about it."

Leonard falters.

For a brief moment, John thinks Snart is actually going to try and defend himself, but the longer he looks at his sister, the less gumption he seems to have. Actually, more than that, he seems be turning a little pale.

Mm, that's a shame. John definitely could've suckered Nate out of some money if a real fight had broken out.

"Sorry Lis," Leonard grumbles eventually.

"Yeah you better be," she glowers, then spins back towards Team Flash. "Cisco, babe. Go ahead."

Barry, not Cisco, is the one who actually takes point for most of the re-telling. After all, Cisco was in this secret vibe with Leonard, so he missed most of the light show. That being said, Barry sugar coats a lot of it, downplaying all the damage and outright skipping how close Snart had been to actual murder.

Leonard doesn't seem fooled.

By the end of the story, he's half-sagging in his seat, looking thoroughly exhausted though not particularly surprised. He must've been lucid for some portion of it.

"The good news," Caitlin jumps in at the end. "Is that we were able to get a lot of information from this. We have a diagnosis and a treatment plan for you now. You're going to be fine."

Snart nods at them to keep going, triggering a stiff pause that undercuts all of Caitlin's optimism.

"So, bad news next?" Cisco asks, voice still a little squeaky.

John grins, feeling the gin hit him just right. This is exactly his cue for a good caustic entrance. "Oi, give it to him straight," he tells Team Flash, lazily raising his flask. "There is no good news."

Rory's mouth twitches at the comment, and for a brief moment, John thinks the big man might get up and throttle him right then and there.

"Man, please don't make me break up a fight with Mick," Nate whines.

John shoots him an easy wink that promises nothing. Although, Leonard appears to be awake and well enough now to run Rory interference on their behalf.

"News is news," Leonard sighs, waving off Mick with only a subtle hand gesture. "Just get it over with."

Barry, Caitlin and Cisco exchange another worried glance, before Harrison Wells rolls his eyes at all of them.

"You all aren't going to do it? I'll do it," he says irritably, then turns to Snart. "You are a time bomb."

Immediately, Caitlin releases a dismayed groan, and Barry slaps a hand over his face.

"I'm a what now?" Leonard says, voice very low and maybe a bit too calm. Lisa shifts beside him, her hand moving to rest on his shoulder. If anything it seems to make her brother even more tense.

"What Harry meant, is that when the Oculus exploded, you seem to have absorbed a great deal of temporal energy," Caitlin starts to explain, her hands wringing. "The thing is, your DNA hasn't changed. You don't have a meta gene, or any other kind of biological anomalies in your system."

"English Doc?" Mick demands.

"It means he should be dead," Harry offers, throwing one hand into the air. "This very instant, he has almost no business breathing."

"Bed-side manner Harry!"

Lisa's eyes narrow in what is apparently a signature 'Snart' expression. "But he is breathing," she points out dubiously.

"Yeah, yeah. He's fine," Cisco hurries to agree. He takes a step closer to Lisa before he is once again cut off by a sharp look from Leonard. John is immediately amused - is Cisco shagging Leonard's sister? He hopes so.

"We think Snart's acting like a vessel for all this energy," Caitlin continues, biting her lip. "Since his DNA hasn't changed we know he isn't creating it, just storing it, and it looks like certain stressful situations or traumatic memories might trigger him to release it, you know... explosively."

"A time bomb," Leonard mutters, seeming to understand.

"And a ruddy dangerous one at that," John chimes in. "It appears that our dear Zari was right, the energy itself isn't magical, but when you have one of these... attacks... it interacts with other inter-dimensional forces. Ambient magic. That's why Gideon didn't pick anything up when she scanned you earlier. It was blocking her. Magic is sticking to you like gold to a bloody Leprechaun."

"That's bad?"

"Aye mate. If you let too much of that out at once, you could accidentally rip a hole in the fabric of reality... or worse."

Snart hardly reacts to the news. He doesn't even ask what 'or worse' means, which is really such a pity because John does kind of get off on telling others about the various demons that might be drawn to power like this.

Lisa and Mick aren't nearly so calm.

"We came here for you idiots to fix him," Mick growls dangerously. "You saying you can't?"

"The temporal energy he's carrying is finite," Harry sighs. "We could, theoretically, try to drain him, but one misstep and..."

"Kaboom," Cisco explodes his fists in demonstration.

"I was willing to give that a go," Harry says, before Caitlin sends him another long suffering look. "But it will be safer to try to contain it instead," he returns her look with a smirk. "We'll make you a device that will bleed off the energy slowly over time. You wear it for a year, maybe a little longer, and then when the energy is gone, you can get rid of it."

"Plus in case of emergencies, it seems like other people can snap you out of the episodes," Caitlin nods. "Lisa was able to jog you back to yourself earlier."

"And Rory caught you yesterday in the Med-Bay," John agrees, taking another pull from his flask.

"Sara too," Nate adds. "From what she was saying, it sounds like you weren't all there when she found you in Russia."

"Wonder if Palmer wouldn't be totally useless here either."

Leonard clearly doesn't find that amusing.

"If you all sick Raymond on me, I'm not responsible for what happens to him."

"You're a literal bomb mate," John scoffs, ignoring the way Nate's fists are suddenly clenched. "We'll sick whoever we bloody well please on you if it keeps the time ship from blowing up."

Leonard frowns.

Apparently, he doesn't have anything particularly witty to say to that.

They let the news settle for a few minutes, while Lisa pesters Team Flash with a few more questions about Leonard's long-term health. Caitlin reassures her that barring more acts of sacrificial heroism - a comment that makes Leonard scowl- her brother is now back for good.

As the conversation makes another turn towards Leonard's temporal energy suppression device, Nate's shoulder bumps into John.

"What's got you looking suddenly all cheery-like?" John asks as he empties the last of the gin.

"Oh nothing," Nate grins. "Just, you know. You're kind of our expert on all this now, right?"

"I'd say I'm really more of an... adjacent expert," John replies suspiciously. "My great wealth of knowledge only goes as far as the dark arts are involved."

"Dude, all I'm saying is that somebody's going to have to explain all this to Sara when we get back, and you are totally going to do all the work," Nate shrugs.

John blinks at him as that sinks in.

"Bloody hell," he curses. "You noticed it too then?"

"Well yeah. It's kinda hard to miss."

John can only shake his head. "There's a betting pool if you're interested," he offers.

He's going to need a damn refill on his gin.

Eventually, this day is going to have to end. That's the thought that drives Leonard through the next hour or two at S.T.A.R. labs.

By the time Team Flash finishes explaining to him that he is a literal living, breathing time-bomb, Leonard is done.

He's done with the vile mix of hero-worship and pity that Team Flash can't seem to keep off their faces. He's done with the way his stomach twists every time Mick and Lisa glance to check he hasn't vanished yet. And he's more than done with this whole idea that he's not in control of himself.

Even when he was at his worst, going on crime sprees - shooting security guards, truck drivers, and even sometimes members of his own crew - at least Leonard has always been in control. He's always meant it. Not once has he woken up dazed and confused with a gun in his hands or blood caked on his fists.

Lewis used to hurt people like that, when he was stupid drunk and couldn't tell his left from his right.

And above all else, Leonard must be better than Lewis.

The concern is bad enough that he almost tells them he's not going back.

Loathe as he is to admit it, John Constantine has a point. It's a dumb fucking move to bring a bomb aboard a time ship. It'd be safer for him to hide out alone for a while, in some place where he couldn't hurt one of the few people he actually gives a damn about. If Sara or Mick had a problem with it, they could even time skip a year ahead and pick him up after the whole danger-to-yourself-and-others nonsense had blown over.

Except, apparently that's risky too.

According to Caitlin, the best thing for him to do now is to stick to his people like glue. If he has an episode alone in a safe-house, there's no guarantee he won't accidentally kill himself, but if Mick, Lisa, Sara, or (apparently) Raymond is around, they can stop it before it gets too out of hand.

Or so everybody seems to think.

He hates that this is actually a bit of a relief.

As much as he should fall off the map, the thought of actually doing so makes his stomach churn. Just this morning he was livid they benched him for one mission. The thought of spending a whole year away from the team, all the while knowing some psychopath is out there personally hunting down Sara...

Ha! Already, it doesn't feel like a real option. God, he's such a selfish bastard.

Of course, Lisa, meanwhile, is another matter entirely.

They dance around the issue at first, as Lisa gives him a highlight reel of everything he's missed in her life these last two years - most of it revolves around terrorizing Central City's underground as a newly-minted bartender at Saints and Sinners.

Eventually though, she won't let him avoid the elephant in the room any longer.

"I'm coming with you," she informs him when she's finished being pleasant.

Leonard hardly misses a beat.

"No," he replies impassively.

She glares at him - an unstoppable force suddenly confronted with an immovable wall. Two Snarts bleeding off infinite reserves of stubbornness.

"You don't get to say no. You have been dead for two years, Lenny. Two years! You left to go board a time-ship without leaving so much as a note, and then you died! If they say it's going to help for you to be around family, then I'm coming. End of discussion."

"What discussion? You're not coming Lisa," Leonard repeats, harsher this time. "Mick will be with me. I'll be fine."

"Fine like you were last time, right?"

She says it like a dare.

Fight with me Lenny, she's thinking. Fight with me so I can throw every decision you've ever made in your face. You'll feel so guilty, you'll have no choice but to let me win.

Leonard stares unflinchingly into her sharp, sickly-sweet gaze, and for a moment, he can almost taste his own blood on his tongue.

No, he won't engage her here. She can go ahead and throw ten temper-tantrums for all he cares.

Things are just different when it comes to Lisa. It's one thing to put Mick, the team, even Sara at risk by afflicting them with his presence, but he won't do that to his sister. If she were around and he hurt her, he'd never be able to look in the mirror again without seeing his father.

And above all else, Leonard must be better than Lewis.

"Such a pity," - his drawl lingers on the words, so she can tell exactly how disingenuous he's being - "You don't have keys to the jump ship." Then he breaks eye contact to study a bit of dirt caught under one of his fingernails.

Oh, he thinks Lisa might slap him this time. She's wearing a hateful look that says she'd cuff her own wrist to his, if she didn't know he'd have the lock picked in a fraction of a second.

"Cisco baby," she trills out suddenly. "Be a dear and tell Lenny about those inter-dimensional portals you can make."

Across the room, Cisco freezes, and Leonard's eyes narrow shrewdly in his direction.

He's aware that his sister has had a sort of on-again-off-again thing with Cisco Ramon. He's just never thought much of it because he's always been sure that Lisa would cannibalize Cisco one day for breakfast, like some kind of praying mantis or maybe a black widow. Shame on him for assuming she'd already done so while he'd been away. The last thing he needs today is one more reason to murder Cisco.

"Lisa, babe," Cisco imitates her tone with a nervous laugh. "I really don't think that's a good idea." He wags his head in Leonard's direction - the absolute death of subtlety.

"Don't be silly," she waves him off impatiently.

Cisco's swallow is nearly audible from across the room. "You know, I'm really more Night Crawler than Kitty Pryde," he insists.

"But between you and the Flash, I'm sure we could get by," Lisa smiles easy poison. Then comes the kicker. "You'd do it right? For me?"

Leonard has had quite enough of this. "Did you know that dead superheroes can't time-travel?" he reminds them all casually, fixing the full force of his cold gaze on Barry Allen - the only one that he knows isn't emotionally compromised here.

Even Lisa has to pause to gauge how serious he is. Leonard has tried killing Barry one too many times for them not to take his death threats seriously, and if he's proven anything to them these past few years, it's that the word 'drastic' might as well be meaningless when it comes to protecting his sister.

Cisco and Barry are still gaping at him like two blubbering fish when Mick decides to put everyone out of their misery.

"Fuck off. Both of you," he slams his book on the table. "Lisa! You're not coming."

Leonard's eyes flicker over to Mick in surprise.

He's used to Mick blurting out violent declarations of intent, but suddenly his words seem to carry a sort of authority that Mick's never had before. The kind that doesn't come from everyone else in the room fearing a fiery retribution. When Mick tells Lisa no, it feels like a decision, and nobody really questions that.

Later, Leonard might carve out some time for an existential crisis over his new place in the world next to a decision-making-Mick. For now though, he's just grateful somebody has put an end to this ridiculous argument he's having with Lisa.

"You're siding with him?" she asks incredulously.

"Oh, you want to fight with me about it?" Mick raises his eyebrows at her with just a hint of the old sadistic amusement. "You show up, and Snart's just gonna leave, so instead you're not gonna to show up. Saves us all some time hunting the bastard down before he gets himself killed again."

It's all very matter-of-fact, and the logic is hard to argue with.

Lisa's gaze wheels back to Leonard, and he can see the disbelief there, the sort of audacious 'you wouldn't'. Something in his languid expression must confirm Lisa's worst fears however, because after a moment she finally deflates.

Any other week, he'd be smirking his ass off at the victory, but today he's just left feeling rather empty. The resentful dejected look she's suddenly wearing is infinitely worse than the combative one from a second ago.

Unfortunately, this was a necessary evil.

"Ah, the professor had this thingy," Mick adds as an after-thought. "Could talk to his daughter everyday no matter where we were in the timeline. Had video shit and everything..."

"We'll get you one of those," Leonard jumps on the bone. "You can check up on me all you like."

A stiff pause stretches between them before Lisa lets out a dramatic sigh. "You are going to owe me for the rest of eternity for this," she informs him.

Leonard releases a breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding. By some miracle, she's apparently not going to hold a grudge.

"I'll nab you something impressive for your birthday," he promises.

"You better come home for my birthday."

Leonard sighs. It's a deep thing that he feels at the very core of his being. At some point this day is going to have to end, he reminds himself one last time before giving her a soft nod.

"Sure, that too," he agrees.

The beauty of time travel is that they don't have to wait around for Team Flash to make this temporal energy device. All they have to do is hop into the jump ship, skip a week ahead, and voila they can go home.

Leonard and Mick run into S.T.A.R. labs alone for the pick up.

"I think this might be some of my best work, if I do say so myself," Cisco grins at them, as he hands Leonard a thick silver ring with a blue studded gemstone in the middle. "Nobody will ever know it's more than a sweet fashion statement."

Leonard inspects it with feigned disinterest. "It's alright," he allows. Then slips it onto his left thumb.

Almost immediately, he feels a sudden tightness in his chest, like he's strapped a belt taut around his ribcage. It's not an entirely unpleasant sensation. He certainly likes the sense of control that comes with it. For the first time, he thinks he can parse out the temporal energy as it thrums through his veins. He knows, of course, that it was always there, but now it's something other. A foreign entity, not apart of himself.

The way the stone glows faintly as it dissipates the energy isn't ideal, but he supposes this will be an excuse for the gratuitous use of gloves on future missions.

"We done here?" Mick asks when Leonard finishes examining the thing.

"Mind if I have a word with Cisco before we go," Leonard drawls casually, tilting his head towards his partner.

Mick squints at him before coalescing. "I'm eating something," he announces, then stalks out of the room.

Cisco shifts uncomfortably the moment Mick is gone. "This is the part where you thank me profusely for all my help, right?" Cisco says with a nervous laugh.

"Not much of a thank you kind of guy."

"Of course not," Cisco half-mutters. "You're Captain Cold, what was I thinking?"

The sarcasm is a little rich, and Leonard lets Cisco sweat it out for another moment before getting to the point.

"You didn't tell them," he says, careful to keep his tone nonchalant, like he's just passing a comment about the weather.

Cisco mercifully doesn't ask him what he's talking about.

"Well yeah," he nods, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "It's not really any of my business, and trust me you made it pretty clear that you didn't want anyone to know."

Leonard studies Cisco, not quite sure how to handle this predicament. He'd come into the room with quite a few creative threats ready on his lips. When Cisco had invaded his vision, it had felt like his world was ending. Like some sort of terrible awful thing had come to pass.

Except, now the kid is acting like it's no big deal. And if he hasn't told anybody, then maybe all the violence isn't actually necessary...

"Can I say something?" Cisco asks.

"I suppose I'm not stopping you," Leonard replies with blatant disdain.

"Listen dude, you're not my favorite person. Barry's totally forgiven you for all the crap you put us through a few years ago, but he wasn't in the room when you almost froze my brother's hands off or when you tied Caitlin up on top of a bomb."

"You've been sleeping with my sister, Cisco," Leonard hedges. "Must not be carrying too big a grudge."

"My point," Cisco's cheeks flush. "Is that however much of a douchebag I think you are, you must've done something right for Sara freaking Lance to look at you like that."

Leonard scoffs. "Please, save me the Romantic Comedy nonsense."

"Oh no, I'm serious," Cisco shakes his head. "Although for your information, Rom-Coms are a seriously underrated movie genre."

Leonard rewards that comment with a long burning look. He's not entirely sure how he's ended up here - talking to Cisco Ramon, of all people, about his love life, but he wants out.

"Just keep it to yourself Ramon," Leonard warns him tiredly. "If I have to have this conversation with Barry Allen the next time I see you people, we're going to have a problem. Capisce?"

Cisco nods, although he seems a little skeptical.

Leonard takes that as his cue to leave. "Always a pleasure," he clips sarcastically and he uncurls from the wall he's been leaning against.

"Oh it's something like that," Cisco mutters underneath his breath.

Leonard ignores him and stalks off to go find Mick. 

True to form, his partner is in Team Flash's break room raiding their refrigerator. He grunts when he sees Leonard enter the room.

"You tell him we'll burn him alive if he hurts Lisa?" Mick asks through a mouthful of PB&J.

Leonard pauses.

Maybe Cisco's absurd pep-talk has gotten to him somehow, or maybe he's just lost his whole damn mind. Either way, he proceeds to do something absolutely ridiculous.

He tells the truth.

"Actually no," he says, twisting his new ring around his finger. Mick waits expectantly for Leonard to elaborate. It takes a few seconds to get out, and he can't look Mick in the eye while he does it, but he manages. "The Oculus... she... she kissed me. He saw."

Mick blinks, then busts out into a wide shit-eating grin. "You almost iced him for that?" he asks.

"Yeah I did," Leonard says, showing no hints of remorse. "Don't make me regret telling you."

"Sure Snart," Mick agrees, though Leonard is positive he doesn't mean it.

It's not like this is really news to his partner - the man was goading him about it in front of a room full of people just a few hours ago.

They've never spoken about it, but Mick's known about his ...feelings for Sara for a long time now. Since Mick almost shot her, and Leonard (inadvertently) left him to rot in a field for it. Two years ago, it might have even been a sore spot for the two of them. Now apparently, it's just a source of amusement.

"You gonna say something about it now? Not like you don't know how she feels."

Leonard scoffs. "I knew how she felt, that's different," he tries but Mick clearly is not willing to allow that excuse the time of day. "Fine. We did sort of talk about it over cards last night. She said she needs time to... readjust."

Mick nods, as if that actually makes a lot of sense to him. "She missed you," he says, suddenly very serious. "Not my business, but... she missed you."

Well... what the hell does that mean?

"Since when do you care about boundaries?" Leonard demands. He swears, in the thirty odd years he's known Mick, the only people he's ever seen him keep a secret from is the freaking police.

"Can't explain it," Mick shrugs. "It's just Blondie. She's been different since we beat Savage. You'll see."

Leonard's lips curl into a deep frown.

Different? Different how? He supposes maybe he's seen a glimpse of it. Sara has seemed rather on edge having him back, but he hasn't chalked it up too much. After all, it's not like Mick has been much better.

"Give it a week Snart," Mick insists again. "Pretty boy and the rest of them didn't know her before, but you did. You'll know."

"If you say," Leonard mutters skeptically.

Suddenly, he's anxious to get back to the jump-ship. Today's been more than exhausting, and all this talk of Sara has reminded him that she's been off playing covert operative in Nanda Parbat with Raymond. He thinks he'll feel better when he can see she's safe again.

Whether she's as 'different' as Mick says she is... well, he'll be the judge of that.

Chapter Text

The wait for the rest of the team to return to the Waverider is maddening, and if Sara has to sit still for another minute of it, she's going to go insane.

"Wait! Sara! Where are you going?" Ray yelps, as she abruptly leaps out of her chair in the Captain's office.

"The training room," she answers. "You don't have to follow me."

Of course, Ray doesn't give up chase, and the persistent sound of shuffling feet follows her around the next corner.

"But we agreed to wait together!" he protests.

Oh sure they did. At Ray's vehement insistence. He pressed the issue harder than he had the last team-bonding sports night. An event that, shocker-shocker, had ended with a broken trash compactor and three black eyes.

Sara is almost positive his wheedling was entirely for her benefit - a theory supported by Zari's suspicious lack of complaining when Ray asked her to join. The team has this obnoxious habit of babying her every time she runs into Damien Dahrk, like they're constantly wondering which encounter will be the one that finally makes her snap.

And that was before this whole Leonard situation.

To be fair, Sara didn't mind humoring him at first. Despite how annoying Ray could be, she doesn't actually want to worry him. Except... that was hours ago. He just had them sitting there talking cheerfully about nothing, for hours.

Eventually, Zari had excused herself to go work on Gideon's magic-sensing algorithm (which must be broken since it hardly registered Damien's presence in Nada Parbat as a disturbance), and Sara just couldn't take it anymore.

"Yeah well, I need to hit something," she tells him.

"Ms. Lance, I must strongly advise against that," Gideon cuts in, sounding fairly exasperated. "Your fractured ulna will not be set for another six hours and twenty four minutes, and further stress to your injuries could significantly set-back your recovery."

"We used to do one-handed combat training all the time with the League, Gideon. I promise I'll lay off it."

It's not like Sara would be able to move her bad arm much anyway, even if she wanted to. Gideon put it in a sling the minute they'd finished juicing her with the good future bone-regrowing drugs. Sara hazards it's meant more as a reverse placebo than anything else.

Ray, apparently, isn't the only one on this ship that doesn't seem to trust her ability to take care of herself.

"Sara, if Gideon says you need to rest, then you should rest," Ray insists.

Sara spares him a glance as she finally arrives in the Waverider's little make-shift gym. Suddenly, she no longer has to imagine the critical pursed-lipped expression that Gideon would be wearing if she had a body, because there it is, come to life on his face.

Well, if that's the way he wants to be about it...

"Ray, you really want to help me?" Sara asks.

He has to know this is a trap, but of course this is Ray Palmer she's talking to. His compulsive need to be helpful will trump his common sense every time.

"Of course," he assures her, true to form.

"Then take this."

She steps back to the weapons rack and throws a bo staff towards him, then picks a shorter one-handed baton for herself. Ray balks.

"You're injured! I can't fight you like this. What if your arm get's banged up worse?!"

"Please. You couldn't take me even if I had both hands tied behind my back," Sara says, amused.

It's light banter, but at the same time, it's not. Can't Ray see that she needs this?

Sara's skin itches from all the horrible idleness that he'd inflicted upon her. Her muscles are tense, and her mind won't stand still, and there is an unsettling knot of something tightening in her chest that's starting to become difficult to ignore.

If she doesn't get this energy out soon, everyone is going to regret it.

"Sara, I really don't know about this..."

Ray is still hesitating. He's holding the bo staff with limp fingers and staring at the weapon like its offended him.

"Don't spar with me then," Sara shrugs. She's too pent-up to wait for him to mull this over. Her eyes wander longingly towards her usual stress-reliever. "Think I can do the salmon ladder with one hand?"

"Please don't do that," Ray begs immediately, voice squeaky. "You know, maybe sparring is a good idea after all. I mean, I can even make sure to go easy on your arm. That shouldn't be too bad, right Gideon?"

There's a long pause. "Risk of further injury would be smaller than with the salmon ladder Mr. Palmer," she eventually allows.

Sara grins something sharp.

"Well, can't argue with that."

To his credit, Ray takes the beat-down that follows like a champ.

He doesn't utter a single word of complaint. Not even as Sara proceeds to splay him out on the mat again, and again, and again.

She doesn't know how long the two of them go at it. Certainly long enough for her to loose count of how many wins she's racked up. By the time they're finally interrupted, her muscles are humming contentedly with that sweet post-workout feeling, and Ray looks ready to melt into a puddle on the floor.

"Oh, looks like we missed a real party."

Sara spins around to see John Constantine smirking gleefully in the doorway with the rest of the boys close in tow.

Nate pushes his way through the second he sees that Ray is on the floor. "Dude, what'd you do to piss off Sara?" he asks with a grin, offering him a hand up.

Ray takes it. "Oh nothing," he wheezes. "We were just getting the good ole' blood pumping."

If possible, Mick looks even more entertained than John. "Really Haircut? 'Cause Blondie barely broke a sweat," he chortles.

"Did you at least get one or two good swings in, buddy?"

"You know, I don't think we were really keeping track," Ray replies, effectively answering the question.

Sara should be grinning at them. She should be teasing Ray more about his form or taunting Nate and Mick to see if she can convince them to take a turn, but she doesn't do any of these things. It's hard to focus on the jeering when Leonard is staring at her.

He hasn't stepped into the room like the rest of them, instead choosing to stop in the threshold and lean against the doorframe, hip out and arms crossed, gaze piercing. He doesn't seem to find Ray's general state of distress even the slightest bit amusing. Which, coming from him, is rather foreboding.

Sara holds his gaze, stubbornly undaunted by the scrutiny, despite the way his attitude starts to bleed into her own body language.

She doesn't dare let him know it, but seeing Leonard, it's like the Russian hospital all over again. His very presence knocks the wind out of her, even as the suffocating knot in her chest mercifully loosens. Sara hadn't even realized he had been the cause of it...

Eventually he tilts his head back and gives her one final painfully obvious once over, like he's sizing her up... or checking her out.

"Your arm is broken," he says evenly. 

Sara rolls her eyes.

"Yeah, and you're not riddled with bullet holes."

Leonard shrugs, and the sheer amount of 'flippant' he fits into the little gesture is impressive.

"Don't worry Captain, it's not for lack of trying," he tells her.

Oh, Sara's not a fan of that. Her eyes narrow shrewdly at him as her fingers twitch agitated, against her baton. Hadn't he gotten the message last night? Morbid jokes about death and dying are off-limits for the time being. Something must have happened in Central City. Why else would he suddenly be acting like an ass?

She's about to ask him as much when Nate clears his throat, interrupting them.

"Hey where's Zari?"

"Oh," Ray perks up. "She's in the lab working on some of Gideon's algorithms."

"Cool, well I'm going to go find her. Want to come?"

"We probably should have a meeting with the whole team to debrief everyone, don't you think?" Ray frowns.

Nate shares some sort of look with John and shakes his head. "Well if we're with Zari and they're with Sara, everyone can get all the information, and, uh, this way Zari can keep working," he says reasonably. "Come on buddy."

Ray looks like he wants to dig in his heels, but then Mick joins in. He slaps a hand forcefully onto Ray's shoulder, making him wince.

"I'm coming too, Haircut," he says, then throws Sara a wicked grin. "Blondie, you're on Snart duty."

Leonard's gaze whips towards Mick and turns briefly malignant. If Sara wasn't suspicious before, she certainly is now.

It's possible Mick might be joking about the "Rory Duty" pie slice on the chore wheel, but she doubts it. Leonard would hardly be so peeved over a good one-liner.

John is the only person, other than Leonard, who lingers behind as the others file out. He catches her eye and winks as he digs through his pocket for his lighter. It's not lost on Sara that he's swaying a little on his feet. Probably drunk.

Oh, she's got a bad feeling about this.

"What happened?" Sara demands the moment they others are finally gone.

John grins, a cigarette lolling in his mouth, and leans towards her conspiratorially. "So glad you asked, love," he starts.

Then Leonard promptly cuts him off.

"You know," he says, drawl thick. "How about you go first? Care to share about the arm? Or maybe what's got you beating the snot out of poor Raymond."

John's mouth snaps shut, and he hits Sara with a sloppy too-pleased smirk that makes it abundantly clear she's on her own with this one.

Good lord.

It's never occurred to Sara that she might one day be sandwiched in a room between drunk-John and moody-Leonard, but perhaps this is her new worst nightmare. Later, she's going to ream Nate a new one for allowing this to happen, but right now, she's going to glare daggers into Leonard.

He's looking at her like he can read her, like he might possibly have an idea of what they'd run into today. Like hell could he know.

"Alright, sure," she agrees slowly. Her tone dances along a knife's edge. "Damien Darhk was stealing herbal drugs from the League, and I broke my arm when I tried to free his head from his shoulders."

It has the desired effect. Leonard's entire body goes completely and utterly still, and John's cigarette drops from his mouth.

"Bloody hell, Sara," John curses. "How long'd you last before he had you three strung up on the ceiling?"

Her knuckles turn white against her baton.

"It was just me. Zari was quarterbacking and Ray was miniaturized... but not long enough," she grouses bitterly.

Another string of colorful expletives leaves John's mouth, and Sara finds herself looking at Leonard again. He's still barely moved a muscle. Although, the tension in his frame is decidedly worse than before, and there's a hard spark in his eyes that reminds her viscerally of the moment he had pulled the Cold Gun on her.

"You going to say something, Leonard?"

She kind of wants him to. Maybe that training session with Ray wasn't enough, because Sara is suddenly itching for this fight almost as much as the last.

This is what Leonard is for, right? Arraigning the Captain for all their stupid, dumbass decisions. He's going to tell her what nobody else on this ship has the balls to say. That she can't handle Damien Darhk. That she's only breathing right now because the bastard allowed her to come home today.

And Sara will tell him to fuck off. Because if she can't kill him, then what in the world are they going to do?

She's so wound up prepping counter-fire that she doesn't notice it when Leonard abruptly closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, and deflates.

"I'm a bomb."

Now it's Sara's turn to freeze. That wasn't a nasty comment about Darhk.

"What?"

Leonard looks down at his hands again. No, at the shiny new ring around his thumb. There's not an ounce of Captain Cold left in him.

"I said I'm a bomb, apparently," he repeats himself. "That's what Barry and the Flashlings had to say."

Damien Dahrk suddenly doesn't matter. "I want it from the beginning," she says, looking once again towards John.

"Course love," he mutters.

Leonard is mostly silent for the explanation, but she can feel him watching her again, gauging her reaction. She tries her best to stay neutral through most of it; although, she thinks he knows what her sticking point is going to be.

"So, to be clear, the visions," she starts slowly, once John has finished the story. "All of them are of... the Oculus."

Leonard gives her a dry smirk.

"Yep."

"And Cisco saw the... Oculus ... in one of his vibes."

"Yep."

"And how many times do you think you've seen the Oculus since, you know, it actually happened?"

"Well, can't say I've been right in the head for the past year or so," he sighs. "But I think it's fair to assume that it's been playing on loop, repeat pretty much the entire time." A pause. "That a problem?"

What a question.

"I don't know Leonard," Sara breathes.

And she doesn't. She can't imagine a world where she's forced to relive that kiss over and over again. Because, whatever else it was, that was her last memory of him. One last cruel almost before he was gone and all she was left with was her grief.

"Peachy," Leonard mutters.

Sara frowns, feeling slightly overwhelmed by the situation. He's putting up walls. She knows he is, but she doesn't know how to stop him either. What does he want her to do, crack herself open for him on command? 

She's been dancing on a cliff's edge for months now. Has been ever since she'd lost her father, and she knows all too well that if she trips and falls into the abyss, it's going to be hell to climb back out again. If she can even do it at all. The team just can't afford her to break like that right now, and this...

Well this is just a lot for her to take in.

"Darhk doesn't know about you," she says, reaching for the only safe straw she has left to play. "You're not his plant."

Both Leonard and John startle at that.

"What? Did you bat your pretty eyes at him and ask nicely?" John asks in disbelief.

"Something like that," Sara's lips quirk. "He didn't appreciated it much."

Leonard slumps his shoulders and lets out a breath. "Sara -" he starts, but she won't hear it.

"Can it, Snart. It was worth it a thousand times over."

He wipes a flustered hand over his jaw, looking even more miserable than he had a second ago. Still, his walls have halted in their construction, and for now that's good enough for Sara.

"It'll only last until we run into him again," John warns. "The bloke knows Snart's supposed to be dead from when you lot tangled with the Legion. Sara love, if you pissed in his boots... "

"Then I'll be happy to have a nice word with the man," Leonard says sharply. His gaze frosts over into pure ice. "I haven't shot anybody in a year and a half. I think I'm overdue."

Sara feels her breath stick in her throat. The thought of him sauntering up to have a "nice word" with Damien Dahrk is actually terrifying. She imagines every version of that scenario ends with her holding Leonard's dead body.

"If today proved anything, it's that nobody's going to have anymore 'nice words' with Damien Dahrk, okay?" she says tersely. "The next time he catches us, it's got to be all of us."

Leonard raises an unimpressed eyebrow at her and his eyes slide down to her broken arm for what now feels like the billionth time today. "What, you're the only one allowed to play Rambo?" he asks sarcastically.

Ah. There's the snide comment about Dahrk. Lucky for him, Sara's lost her fighting spirit for the time being.

"No more Rambo. For anyone," she says tiredly.

Leonard lifts one shoulder in a half shrug.

"Well, if those are Captain's orders," he says pointedly. "Guess we best all follow them."

Gary loves his job with the Time Bureau

Like really, really loves it.

He's never had a job where he's felt so fulfilled before. People respect him at the Bureau, and they're doing good, important work. Even better, he's Director Sharpe's right hand man. Her go-to guy.

Gary: the man, the myth, the honorary Legend.

It's that very same stellar reputation that led Director Sharpe to assign him a super-duper important mission today. Something she said she wouldn't dare trust to anybody else.

Him. Gary. Hand-selected.

Straightening his back and smoothing out his suit, Gary presses a few buttons on his Time Courier.

"Hello Waverider, here I come," he grins to himself as a portal opens in front of him.

The bridge of the time-ship is notably empty when he steps through it. There's no sound coming from the Captain's Office television, and no voices carrying through the halls. A quick glance at the clock, however, reveals that ship time is 10:42 pm.

Probably a little late to be making a house call. Whoops. Maybe his time courier wasn't calibrated right before he left...

Well, it's no matter.

The Legends are regular ruffians. Surely somebody will still be awake, even at this hour.

Gary starts to make his way down the hall to the right. A quick loop around the ship won't hurt anybody, he reasons. If all the common spaces are empty, then he'll just head back to the Bureau and come back later. The Legends will be none the wiser.

He makes it past the Galley and the Training Room - both of which are empty - before he starts to hear muffled voices drifting from the Laboratory.

Gary hurries towards the noise, and the words start to become discernible as he gets closer.

"Okay Grumpy Cat," says a sarcastic female voice... definitely Zari. "Who are you and what have you done with Nate?"

There's a loud drawn out groan.

"Come on, I can't be the only one here whose getting bad vibes," Nate answers. His voice is hard and unhappy. Entirely unlike what Gary is used to hearing from the Legend's Man of Steel. "It's not like he's being subtle about it. The dude literally almost killed Cisco twice today. Not to mention he was threatening Barry..."

Gary freezes a few feet from the open doorway, not quite sure what he's stumbled upon. This conversation sounds pretty serious, and he's suddenly unsure whether he'll be a welcome intrusion.

"Don't say that," Ray's exasperated voice joins the fray. "Believe me, I know he's kind of an acquired taste, but he's good. He saved us. It should've been me that day you know. I was holding down the switch first."

Oh man, Gary's eavesdropping now, isn't he? He should force himself to move. Either enter the room, or beat a hasty retreat back to the Time Bureau. Lurking in the hallway for much longer is definitely, absolutely, totally a bad idea...

"Excuse me if I don't give the guy a gold medal," Nate huffs. "He was barking today that he only did it for Mick..."

"Oi, I wouldn't die for anybody but myself. The bloke's already got a leg up on me," says John in his unmistakeable accent. "Anyways, what'd you toss in with the betting pool for if you want to see Snart's body rotting in a gutter?"

"Betting pool?" Ray asks.

At the same time Zari mutters, "So glad you care, John."

"Hey, just because I see it, doesn't mean I like it," Nate replies to the original question.

Gary isn't paying attention to whatever is said next.

He's been thoroughly distracted by the name Constantine had mentioned.

Snart... Snart... Where has he heard that name before?

Suddenly it hits him, and Gary gasps. His hand flies up to cover his mouth as an afterthought, hopefully stifling the noise.

Leonard Snart. That's who they're talking about! Gary's read about him before when Director Sharpe had him running background checks on the Legends. Snart was in Mick Rory's personal file, listed as a former criminal associate.

Wasn't he supposed to be dead?

There's no time to dwell on the revelation. Apparently, the Legends heard him after all, because Gary has barely put two and two together when Nate and Zari burst into the hallway - steeled up, wind churning, and ready for a fight.

Uh oh.

"Hi guys," Gary squeaks, hunching his shoulders in an effort to become a small target.

They blink at him in shock.

"Gary!" Zari breathes, lowering her hand from her necklace.

Nate de-steels, and looks back into the room. "False alarm guys," he says.

Ray and John appear behind them a moment later, looking equal parts relieved and flustered to find Gary standing there red-handed. Thankfully, it appears to only be the four of them. Sara and Mick, the scariest two Legends (and the two most likely to get violent), must be off somewhere else on the ship.

"How long have you been standing out here?" Zari asks angrily.

Gary swallows hard. "Not that long," he swears.

"Were you eavesdropping? Not cool dude," Nate huffs.

"No. Well yes, but it was an accident. I promise! I'm here on official Bureau business. There must have been a mis-calibration in my time courier because it's kind of late and you all just seemed so serious, and I didn't want to interrupt. Please don't be mad at me."

Gary closes his eyes and braces himself for anger.

Instead Ray sighs. "Come on guys, he says he didn't mean it," says Gary's new favorite Legend.

Nate and Zari hardly look convinced, but John is suddenly grinning.

"Yeah relax you lot," he says, slinging two arms around their shoulders. "This brave man donated us a nipple recently. I'm sure we can come to some kind of understanding."

"Of course. Definitely. I love understandings," Gary agrees quickly.

"Why don't you come in and have a seat, mate. Tell us all about what you've heard," John nods.

He drops his arms from Nate and Zari and leads them all back into the Laboratory. A few minutes later, Gary finds himself sitting in a comfortable roller chair while Ray presses a mug of hot tea into his hands.

"Alright, let's hear it," Zari prompts him.

Now that Gary's nerves have been set at ease, it's easy to jump right into his explanation.

"Well Director Sharpe sent me to come check up on you guys because we haven't gotten any mission reports recently," Gary starts.

He's interrupted almost immediately.

"Ava didn't just give us a call about that?" Nate says with a frown.

"Lovely Sharpe is avoiding the Captain," John smirks in explanation.

Gary opens his mouth, knowing that Director Sharpe wouldn't be happy about that kind of insinuation, but he never gets the thought out.

"The mission reports are my fault, not Sara's," Ray says guiltily. "I usually help her with them, but we've just been so busy lately..."

"Let him finish guys," Zari shushes the boys. "Cut to the eavesdropping part Gary. What'd you hear."

Gary hesitates for half-a second, then rips the bandaid off.

"Why were you guys talking about Leonard Snart? Isn't he dead?"

A chorus of groans answer him, which really does nothing to answer his question.

"Is it a secret?" Nate sighs.

"Not anymore," Zari gestures towards Gary.

"I think maybe we should go get Sara -" Ray starts.

Three very loud, fervent no's nix that idea.

Gary quietly sips at his tea while the Legends proceed to bicker for a few minutes. Several thoughts are discussed, thrown out, and then revisited again; however, the most popular three options seem to be memory flashing him, calling in Mick, and fessing up.

Gary, obviously, prays they choose the last one. 

Eventually, John clears his throat and turns back to him. "We're going to let you in on something here, but we need you to keep it to yourself for a bit. Can you do that for me, Gary?" he asks.

Gary clutches his mug of tea closer to his chest. "You mean keep it from Director Sharpe?" he blinks owlishly back at John.

"Yes well, not forever. Just for a little while, yeah?"

Gary frowns. Maybe it would be better for them to memory flash him after all. He's very bad at keeping secrets, and even if he could, Director Sharpe will be furious with him if she finds out he's been hiding things from her on behalf of the Legends. She trusted him, after all, with the very important job of checking up on them today.

"How long is a little while?"

The four of them exchange a few looks.

"Not long," Ray answers. "Sara was probably going to draft a notice for the Bureau any day now. It's not really a secret."

"Definitely," Nate agrees. "You guys are still getting audited, right? I'm sure whoever's looking over your files probably would prefer stuff like this to come through official communications. We're just looking out."

Gary nods slowly. He still feels a little uneasy about all this, but if it's going to make things go smoother with Mr. Heywood, then Ava would hardly be able to fault him for that.

"Well, then I guess I can keep a secret for a little while," he decides skeptically.

"Good man," John grins, clapping a hand on his shoulder.

Over the next ten minutes, the four of them proceed to explain to Gary that Leonard Snart used to be one of the original Legends, and that he's recently come back from the dead. In fact, right this instant, he's just down the hall, sharing a bunk with Mick and sleeping off what has apparently been a very long day.

Gary, unfortunately, is not nearly as clueless as people always assume.

He's read Leonard Snart's Bureau file, so it's pretty easy to read between the lines. If Leonard Snart is on the ship, then technically the Legends are harboring a convicted felon with an active warrant out against him.

And they want Gary to keep it a secret from Director Sharpe.

Oh man. What is he going to do?

Chapter Text

Two years is a long fucking time.

Leonard thought he understood that, especially after they had accidentally left Sara, Ray and Kendra in the 60's, but he knows now that he didn't. The next few days are an adjustment he isn’t really prepared for.

"What do you mean I can't have it back?"

Raymond wrings his hands together and sways a little. The warm light of the Captain's office hits his frame at an odd angle, shading his face as he looks away from Leonard. "Well Zari lives there now," he starts, in that obnoxious tone he uses when he rambles. "You can't exactly steal her room from her, and -"

"It's my room!" Leonard interrupts. "You can't steal something that's already yours. I would know."

Sara silently raises an unimpressed eyebrow at him. She's sitting in the arm chair with her legs crossed and her chin propped up in one hand. For the most part, she's been letting Ray fight this battle. In fact, Leonard gets the impression that he might be boring her. He presses his palms flat against the surface of the Captain's desk and stares intently at her. Every part of him itches to provoke some kind of reaction, but he knows the second he gives into that instinct, he'll have lost this argument.

John 'it's-always-my-business' Constantine decorates a column by the door, the opposite of bored. And Mick is there too, but he seems rather engrossed in a football game from the year 2033. Leonard is not sure how closely he's paying attention to the rest of them.

Proactively he changes his angle.

"Fine," he says. "Give me one of the other rooms. Big Bird's old room. I can send her a post card of my lock grease on her make-up counter. She'll love it."

"Shut it Snart. We talked already. You're not getting your own room," Mick cuts in, not looking away from the television.

Leonard's lip curls. Damn it. He really thought Mick was ignoring him. He thinks recently that his life has been a whole lot easier when Mick wasn't paying attention.

"And you had this conversation without me?"

Ray's face twists into a pout. "It wasn't like that," he says. "We were just talking about Team Flash's diagnosis this morning during breakfast."

Leonard opens his mouth to counter, but John interrupts him with a snort.

"Oi, we don't need your permission to state the obvious," he says with an annoying smirk. "Tall dark and brooding gent like yourself's gotta have some demons, eh? We've got no control over our dreams. Even with that big rock on your finger, someone should be near by. Just in case."

Leonard gives him a look of utter contempt and pushes off the table to start pacing. He considers, briefly, leaving this conversation altogether. His 'demons' are not a topic for public discussion. No matter what John thinks is in the team's best interest.

Sara sighs.

"Come on Leonard, you know John's right," she says quietly.

His fingers twitch irritably.

Oh, of course he knows John's right, but it's the principle of the matter. Leonard hates feeling so weak. The next few minutes play out in his mind, and he imagines all the different ways he could draw this out, trying to pick an angle that ends favorably. There doesn't seem to be one.

"If you wanted me to move in so soon Sara, all you had to do was ask," he eventually replies. Because apparently he can't help himself.

Sara blinks. To her credit, she only hesitates for a fraction of a second before she catches herself. "Haha," she says, the mood in the room shifting completely. "Go fish Snart. My bed's not big enough for your ego."

"That's funny," Leonard drawls. "Because I seem to remember my old room had space to spare."

Sara gives him a look that makes Leonard want to say something else even more inflammatory, but he doesn't get the chance. He swears he's met toddlers with better social awareness than Raymond Palmer.

"If you don't want to stay with Mick, you could room with me."

Leonard groans, breaks eye-contact with Sara, and turns towards the suspiciously smug arsonist in the corner. "Mick, the bear trap goes," he says.

Mick smacks his lips together and drops an empty bottle on the table. "The bayonet stays," he rumbles.

"You tell me where the rest of the weapons are," Leonard counters.

"Fine."

"Fine."

Leonard wakes up to the sound of clacking. His body still feels unnaturally sore from his incident in Star Labs, and like any bad injury, it's worse in the mornings.

"Mrph, what time is it?" he groans, sitting up in the bed.

"Late," comes Mick's grunt of a response.

Leonard blinks as the room comes into focus, and he's confronted with the image of Mick in a pair of red reading glasses, hunched over an ancient type writer. Mick doesn't acknowledge Leonard again until he's finished his line. The typewriter dings and Mick peers dangerously over his glasses. Something homicidal looms in his eyes.

Leonard decides not to ask.

Eventually, boredom takes over.

Everyone seems to have their own routine now aboard the time-ship, and although Sara and Mick don't seem to mind, he loathes even the concept of encroaching on their space for too long. Leonard isn't some lost puppy in need of constant attention. He should have his own things to occupy himself with. 

Naturally, the first thing he does is look for his Cold Gun. Leonard has always found it soothing to clean out the mechanism, and Lord knows he could use a hint of sanity. Plus, the thing has presumably been gathering dust for two years now. It will need a thorough greasing if it's going to be ready for Leonard's first mission back with the team.

"Ha," Mick barks out a laugh when he asks. "Why don't 'cha go ask Haircut."

Leonard frowns. "Raymond? Why would he have the Cold Gun?"

Mick takes a bite out of the doughnut he's been eating and grins back with his mouth full.

"He doesn't."

Leonard realizes rather quickly that Mick's not going to give him any more information. Grumbling something rude under his breath, he stalks out of the Galley towards the lab. Mick chuckles and follows him out the door.

"Raymond!" Leonard growls as he turns the corner.

Ray is in his swivel chair with Zari and Nate hanging over his shoulder. The three of them are staring at computer code alphabet soup displayed prominently on Gideon's big screen. Their heads turn to Leonard when he busts into the room.

"Hey, how's it going?" Ray greets him with a note of confusion.

"Why did Mick just tell me to ask you about my Cold Gun?"

The team's reaction to the question doesn't inspire confidence. Ray's cheeks turns a faint sheepish red, and Nate, beside him, slaps a hand over his jaw. Zari at least has the decency to look confused.

"Cold Gun?" she asks.

"A weapon. About yay big. Fires an ice beam out of its barrel. Very effective against speedsters. Am I ringing any bells?" Leonard says, keeping his gaze pinned on Raymond.

"Yeah about that..."

"What did you do to my gun?"

"Saved President Ronald Reagan?" Ray's voice turns squeaky. Behind Leonard, Mick guffaws. "It's really kind of a funny story. You see, my suit was broken, so Mick leant me your gun. Oh, and Damien Dahrk was there. He planted this bomb in the White House. We needed an outside power source that was capable of -"

"Spit it out," Leonard looses his patience.

Ray's jaw hinges open for a second. "Well, it's gone," he admits. "I used it to diffuse the bomb and we had to junk it afterward."

"You junked it?" Leonard makes a noise of exasperation. "Cisco Ramon had a very bad day for me to get that gun," he says.

Nathanial frowns.

"I'll... make you a new one?" Ray starts. "A better one!"

"An identical one. No upgrades," Leonard corrects him.

"But what if-"

"Then you make me two Raymond."

"Oh," Ray pauses, the gears turning slowly in his head for a minute before he nods vigorously. "Um, yeah I can do that." He glances at Zari. "Right?"

She glares at Gideon's computer screen and cracks her knuckles. "Yeah, I think I got it. You go fix that," she gestures towards Leonard's whole person. "And I'll let everyone know later when I hack this."

Later comes, and Zari hasn't hacked anything.

She glares at Gideon's main dashboard. London blinks red on the world map with a tag that says: 1973, Level 7 Magical Fugitive.

The whole team has gathered on the Bridge to discuss the alarm. It's only been a week since they found Snart in Russia. They'd all been hoping the quiet might last a little longer.

"What are the odds it's Dahrk again?" Sara asks the question they're all thinking.

Zari's face twists into a sour scowl. "I can't find anything wrong with the algorithms," she admits through her teeth. "My working theory is that it's not the coding at all and Dahrk's found a way to cloak himself. Unless the other day was just a fluke."

Nate groans and stretches his arms high above his head. "It's never a fluke with us," he says.

"Only when something goes right, squire" John agrees with a smirk.

Sara runs a hand through her hair and sighs. Her arm has healed over nicely during their short respite in the time stream. They can all be thankful trouble waited that long at least - everyone would've been nervous if they'd had to run a mission while their Capitan was still injured.

"We can't ignore the fugitive alerts because they might be Dahrk," Sara says decisively. Her eyes flicker towards Snart, who's lurking by the steps next to Mick. "But if he is there, I don't want to be out-gunned again. Every mission is all-hands until we've got this sorted out. Got it?"

Zari blinks, her eyes flickering briefly over to Nate's. Did she hear that right? Did Sara just finally admit that she's in over her head with Dahrk? Nate gives her a small shrug - apparently she did.

"Got it Cap!" Ray agrees for the room.

Nate fakes a cough. "What's the fugitive alert anyway?" he asks.

Sara brightens. "Ah, we need to go back before the monarchy goes anarchy."

Just like that the team snaps back into an odd sense of normalcy. "Never thought I'd get to meet the queen," John peacocks. His gaze roams Gideon's central dash, like this mission might be his next meal.

Sara hardly blinks. "Not now, too risky," she clips. "And besides she's not the one setting off Ray's magic-o-meter. The queen's favorite new band is - The Smell."

"The Smell? Never heard of them and I know of every rubish punk band there is in London," John frowns.

"That's because they didn't exist in this timeline. Gideon?"

"The Queen's cheeky jig launched the smell's rise to stardom. They were known as much for their music as for a series of improbable anti establishment pranks."

"All with a magical signature," Ray adds.

Zari nods slowly. "Okay so we're looking for someone in the band," she says.

"To be fair, this doesn't smell like Dahrk to me," Nate adds lightly.

A faint smile actually catches on Sara's face at the stupid joke, and Nate beats a fake snare drum in response.

"Agreed," John plows forward, as if he hasn't heard them. "We could be dealing with demonic possession, mind control, illusions. Or maybe just the run of the mill royal dementia." He pauses suddenly. "Hold on a minute," His finger stabs at a picture of the band. "There's your magic man right there. Obsessed with riches, given to mischief. That irishman there is a leprechaun."

"Sorry. Are you being serious or racist?" Zari asks.

"Both love."

"Why is the weasel running the show?" Mick bellows suddenly.

His voice brings everything in the room to an abrupt halt. Everyone holds their breath for a heartbeat as John stares Mick down like a man who has absolutely no regard for his own life.

"If you've got a problem with me, pie-head, why don't you just say it," John says.

Mick's eyes flash. "I've got a problem with you," he declares brazenly.

"I'm running it," Sara interrupts them both. "And I say we need to get close to that band. Which shouldn't be a problem, because everybody left on this ship is a punk"

The tension breaks, as Mick's gaze cuts away from John back to their Captain. "Everyone except for Haircut and Pretty," Mick grunts.

"Hey, I can be punk," Nate protests immediately.

Beside him Ray frowns. "Is being a punk really a good thing?" he asks.

There's a short debate that ensues, but it's light hearted. Nate had been right earlier - a punk band really doesn't seem like something Dahrk might dip his hands in. Maybe a good, clean, regular mission is exactly what they need to get their mojo back.

Zari lingers behind when the rest of the team leaves to suit up.

She studies the newspaper articles on the screen carefully looking for who-knows-what. It's been a long time since she's met a computer problem she couldn't solve. If they run into Damien Dahrk on this mission because she couldn't find a work-around to his magic, she's going to feel like she's let the whole team down.

"Is that how all the team meetings go now?" a voice interrupts her train of thought.

She looks up to see that Leonard Snart hasn't moved yet. His blue eyes are fixed sharply on her. Thoughtful. He'd been quiet for nearly the whole team meeting, she realizes. Zari might not know the man very well yet, but she gathers that is very out-of-character for him.

"Pretty much," Zari nods. "Were they different before?"

Leonard looks passively down at the thick ring on his thumb. "Used to be more fighting," he says. "And fewer puns."

Zari nods slowly. She wonders what those first few months on the Waverider must've been like if today's meeting counted as some kind of improvement.

"Don't worry, Mick's going to sock John one of these days," she says. "Should be like old times for you, right?"

Leonard is quiet for another long moment.

"If Mick lets the wizard off with a black-eye, then it's nothing like old times."

The London music club might possibly be one of the worst places Zari has ever been. It reeks of sweat, and the whole building seems to throb from the ear-splitting music that reverberates off the stage.

John sighs happily, and mumbles something incoherent into Zari's ear.

"What?" she glares at him.

"The music it's the dog's bollocks," John shouts.

Zari crinkles her nose. Of course he loves punk, she thinks. It's the only noise Zari's ever encountered more obnoxious than he is.

"Sorry," she yells back. "I can't hear you over the terrible music."

The team settles in the middle of the floor, as close to the stage as they can get without risking death-by-mosh-pit. The Smell cycles through two dreadful, migraine-inducing songs before the band's front-woman announces they'll be taking a short break. The speakers switch over to a punk radio station that plays at a slightly less offensive volume.

"All right guys here's our chance," Sara says. "Somebody's got to slip backstage and get in with the band."

"Yeah leave it to me," John volunteers. "I used to play here with Mucus Membrane. I know my way around and besides you're all bloody Yanks."

Mick's nostrils flare like an agitated bull's, and he grabs John's arm roughly.

"Not you," he growls.

Sara presses her lips together. She might finally be loosing patience with this particular feud. "Why not," she asks.

"I don't like him."

"Always Perfidious Albion is it?" John crows, taking dramatic offense. "Never trust a Brit."

"Something like that."

Zari groans. "Guy's really we don't have time for this," she says.

"Somehow Mister Rory here hasn't realized that if he's going to play with fire, he's going to get burned," John's hands twist and flicker towards the ground. A pocket of fire blooms between his fingers. It splashes onto Mick's boots and dances on the ground, and despite Mick's usual pyromania, he jerks away from the flames like a spooked wild animal.

"Don't," Sara calls after Mick.

The next few seconds are a blink-and-you-missed-it kind of ordeal.

Mick reaches out to weaponize a bystander's beer bottle. He is an overwhelming force when focused. Nobody, not even Sara, will be able to stop him in time, but Leonard Snart starts to move anyway. He also goes for a bottle, and while Mick takes time to pivot back around towards John, Leonard smashes his overtop the closest possible available target.

The sound of glass shattering startles everyone. Mick's head whips away from John towards the noise.

The man Leonard hit is an elephant with tree trunks for arms. A thin stream of blood trickles down his temple where the bottle broke skin. "What the hell!" he bellows.

Leonard gives him a wide, guileless smirk. "Whoops," he says.

The man launches himself at Snart, but the crook is ready for it. He gracefully side-steps his attacker like he's done it a thousand times before, and allows him to ram right into Mick instead. It's a bad misstep for the poor band groupie. Mick, still agitated from John, has violence in his eyes.

Across the club, someone shouts, "Fight!"

Leonard steps away from the brawl he's started and nods at Zari. "Now it feels like old times," he says.

The club erupts into chaos.

As far as bar fights go, this is one of their better ones.

Sara feels alive in that sea of burly, untrained thugs. She ducks and weaves through their tangle of flying limbs, completely untouchable as she fishes her team out of the crowd. She retrieves Mick and Leonard last. Partly because Mick needs to burn off the steam, and partly because she missed this.

"Feel free to shout if you need a hand," Leonard drawls as he downs a man with a blue mohawk.

Sara's answering grin is sharp as a knife. "You're going to be waiting a while," she replies.

When it ends, Sara can't even be mad that the mission was thrown off the rails. In a series of events that no one could have predicted, the Smell used Ray as a getaway driver during the commotion, and he successfully infiltrated the band using the code name 'Ray-ge'. So they got their spy, Damien Dahrk is nowhere to be seen, and Mick and John didn't kill each other.

Sara knows she has Leonard to thank for it.

She can picture another version of the night too easily in her mind. Leonard isn't there to redirect Mick's temper, so he hits John on the head with the bottle. Constantine, of course, takes it personally. The bar fight that ensues isn't some fun mishap, but instead a physical manifestation of her team fracturing.

It had been one more thing plaguing her mind of late - the team can't fight Dahrk if they're fighting each other - but maybe today they've crossed a bridge. Sara will have to find some way to thank Leonard later.

They return to the WaveRider on foot since Ray drove off with the van, but it's a nice night out and nobody complains.

When they make it back, the team stalls for a moment on the bridge. "Stay by the comms just in case guys, but until Ray reaches out, I guess we've got the night off," Sara shrugs at them. A pleasant murmur of agreement passes through the room. They're not used to getting breaks like this mid-mission.

Sara uses the opportunity to take a minute for herself.

The others miraculously don't bother her when she sneaks away to get reacquainted with her salmon ladder, and perhaps even more surprising, they allow her to hog the bathroom for a whole forty minutes afterwards. When she's done, Sara dries off and slips into a pair of pajama boxers and an oversized t-shirt.

Her muscles tingle pleasantly with exercise endorphines as she sets out at last for the Galley. Back with the League, Ra's al Ghul used to reward excellent trainees by treating them to evening tea in the Demon's Hall. Sara was basically banned from the room during her first tour because of her affair with Nyssa. Then, her second time around in the 60's, she suddenly became a favorite. She always recognized the tradition for what it was - one of a thousand tactics that kept members clambering for even a wisp of Ra's praise and attention - but some parts of the the League are permanently engrained in her.

It only feels right to end a particularly successful day with a cup of tea.

Sara is half-way to the Galley when she discovers why it's been so peaceful around the ship. Mick's laughter travels around corners like a boat horn on the ocean at night.

"Fucking hell!"

She turns the corner just in time to see John slap a hand of cards onto the table. The whole team (minus, Ray-ge) is there, frowning down at the hand Leonard has face up in front of him. Well Mick is grinning at it, but that's not the point.

"He's cheating," Nate sighs.

"Thanks Sherlock," Zari narrows her eyes at Leonard. "I just don't get how he's doing it."

For his part, Leonard is sprawled out in his chair. The picture of boredom. "Maybe you're all just bad at cards," he drawls.

"Beg to differ," John huffs, offended. He waves one palm towards the table. "Deal another hand."

Zari rolls her eyes and Leonard leans forward to start gathering up the cards. "This is how gambling addictions start," she mutters.

Sara can't help but smile at the lot of them. It's good to see them all mostly getting along. Especially after their near-miss implosion earlier. "So who is doing Leonard's chores this week?" she announces herself, stepping fully into the room to get her tea.

Three distinct groans answer her, and Mick's grin widens.

"Pretty boy's got the kitchen. Tomaz's got the bathroom. And the Weasel is emptying the trash compactor."

Sara grabs the kettle and starts to fill it with water. "Really, that's it?" she asks, amused.

"It's for the next month," Zari clarifies.

"It wouldn't be so bad if there were more of us," Nate adds. "Mick won't play."

Mick takes a swig of his beer. "I ain't doin' Snart's chores."

"You don't do your own chores," Sara points out with a snort. Mick tilts his bottle towards her and winks.

"Think you can do better Lance?" Leonard asks, ever so casually.

The room suddenly goes dead silent, and it takes Sara a moment to process exactly why. She glances up towards the table and finds herself making eye contact with Nate. His face is white like he's expecting a bomb to go off.

And oh.

Oh.

Maybe, if she thinks about it, there was a bit of an incident last year when Zari had first joined the team. She didn't have a lot of personal belongings, having come from a meta-prison, so Ray had let her scavenge through some old boxes in the Cargo Bay. Several of which used to belonged to Leonard.

The evening may have ended with some mild to moderate violence.

"Sara doesn't play cards," Zari says slowly.

Leonard's eyes flicker towards her, and a small crease forms on his brow. The rest of the team seems to be holding their breath, except for fucking Mick who has never looked happier. Sara's muscles tense. She's not sure whether to deny the comment, lean into it, or completely retreat.

Explaining herself certainly isn't an option.

"Well," Leonard smirks at her suddenly. Before she makes a decision. "I can teach you the rules, if it's your first time."

Oh, he thinks this is funny.

"Alright, I might just grab a sweater first," Sara says, matching his innocent tone.

Leonard's eyes dance. "Wouldn't want you to be cold," he replies.

"Nope."

When she comes back, Sara cleans the floor three out of the four rounds they play.

Chapter Text

"QB or wet-work?"

"QB."

Leonard doesn't outwardly startle, but it's a near thing.

In front of Gideon's dash, Sara nods like Mick's answer didn't matter to her one way or the other, and turns away to grab her jacket off the back of the pilot seat. She halts abruptly when her eyes catch on Leonard. Two moments too late.

"You want to come?" she asks.

Leonard thumbs a page of the magazine he was pretending to read - a modern day feature on the Queen's royal jewelry cabinet. He wonders if Sara truly forgot he was in the room, or if this is just what her autopilot looks like now. Leaning on Mick.

"No thanks," he shakes his head. "Don't let me ruin your groove."

"You wouldn't-"

He cuts her off. "Lance. It's fine. Go help Raymond steal a Corgi."

Her chin dimples with her frown, but she doesn't push the issue further. While he'd like to think that they'll talk about this later, the way the past few days have been going, he's not so sure. The realization sours his mood even further.

Mick smirks at him the moment she's out the door.

"Jealous?" he asks.

"Hardly," Leonard scoffs.

From the look on Mick's face, he doesn't believe him, and maybe he shouldn't. Leonard doesn't know what to feel anymore.

He's tired of being disoriented all the time. Awkward interactions with Sara aside, Leonard wonders if Mick even realizes how unhinged the past ten minutes seemed to him. He trusts Mick implicitly. Always has ever since their juvie days. But there was a time when he wouldn't have allowed Mick to breath on a set of car keys, and now Sara has him calling the shots for a mission on a whim. Mick's whim.

Guess it's another thing to get used to. He should start keeping a formal list.

Mick's eyes go distant, apparently distracted by someone over the comms. "Alright Haircut. Do exactly as I say," he says.

Leonard can only shake his head and returns his attention to his magazine.

Sometimes, even Sara has to admit that enough is enough. 

She picks at the worn edge of their card deck as she stands stupidly in front of the door to Mick's bedroom. Not moving. She already checked twice with Gideon. Mick is in the weight room and will probably be there for at least an hour, which means Leonard is in there alone.

She should really knock.

"Captain Lance," Gideon says. "Shall I notify Mr. Snart you're outside his door?"

Sara glares at the ceiling. "Mind your own business," she tells the A.I. "I'm working up to it."

This is absolutely ridiculous. They played cards last night with the team and didn't have any problems. Why should today be any different?

Because this is the first time I've gone looking for him, she knows. Up until now, either he's initiated or it's been a coincidence, and at least half those conversations have ended in arguments. It's not what she imagined, the one million and one times she pictured having him back. And that's her fault - he's not the one being distant.

Suddenly, there's a soft clicking noise, and the door snaps open on its own accord.

Behind it, Mick's room is the typical disaster. Random knick knacks, weapons and beer bottles spill across every available open surface. Most of it looks like junk, but Sara knows better. A good portion is probably priceless. Leonard is lounging on his new bed against the far wall with an array of lock picks meticulously arranged on the comforter. There is a a five foot radius of order around him repelling Mick's clutter. It's possible they literally drew lines on the floor to divide up the space like two kindergarteners.

His eyes flicker up lazily, catch on her and stick, and for a heartbeat the two of them just stare at each other. Then, Leonard leans back on his elbow. "I could have been indecent," he greets her.

Sara mentally curses Gideon. "I don't think you've ever once been decent," she quips back automatically.

The words shock her almost as much as the door did. It's like a damn coin flip. Sometimes when she sees him, it's easier than breathing. The banter slips out like the two years he's missed were just hot air. And sometimes, nothing's there at all. Only an open wound throbbing in her chest.

"Probably true," Leonard smirks.

Well, here goes nothing. Sara steps over a hockey stick and a Samurai helmet and waves the deck of cards in the air, just like he used to. "Felt like we were past due," she says honestly.

His clever blue eyes sweep over her. "Guess I can clear my schedule," he drawls airily and moves to clear away the lock picks.

"Wow, I'm flattered."

Leonard's lips quirk and he waves her towards the foot of his bed. She accepts the invitation, slipping onto the comforter and pulling the cards out of their sleeve. "Any preferences?" she asks.

"Dealer's choice," he shakes his head.

"Gin rummy then."

The stakes are low as they start to settle in. He asks her a benign question about about Corgi patrol with Ray, she makes a few jokes about the state of Mick's bedroom, and neither of them cheat at cards. Then when Leonard deals the third hand, Sara decides to just go for it.

She came prepared with the better half of a spare deck stowed away in her sweatshirt pocket. It's not subtle, but that's half the fun. She watches, nervously smug, as Leonard slowly realizes his odds have shifted. Back in the day, she swore he always kept a few high cards up his sleeve for emergencies, but he clearly wasn't expecting her today. When she wins the fourth time in a row, he rewards her with a rare genuine smile. No snark attached.

Sometime in the last hour the invisible wall between them vanished.

"I think I was just hustled," he shakes his head.

"You don't want to call it beginners luck?" Sara grins back.

Leonard rolls his eyes and spins the ring on his thumb. "You've already got four suckers on this ship, you don't need a fifth."

"Says the Super Villain who's taking my night watch shift all next week," Sara teases.

"I prefer the term criminal mastermind," he quips back. "Super villains are a dime a dozen these days and they never accomplish anything of substance."

Sara pauses.

"Not interested in world domination?" she asks, her heart twisting traitorously in her chest.

Leonard tilts his head curiously. "Sounds a bit dull, don't you think?" he replies, like he doesn't quite understand the question.

Immediately a weight vanishes. She hadn't even realized that she needed to hear him say that, but then, the Legion of Doom has always bothered her more than she's ever been willing to admit. Looking at Leonard now, she wonders if that particular demon will ever be able to bother her again. She hopes not. Having him in the room, where they can play cards and exchange banter and just talk... She feels safe.

Leonard is frowning at her. "Did you expect me to say different?"

"No," Sara shakes her head and allows herself a small private smile. "Can I ask you something?"

Leonard nods slowly, dubiously. "Ask away."

"Have you been okay?"

He doesn't miss a beat. "Worried about me?" he asks.

She kicks his knee. "Stop, I'm being serious," she says. "Resident expert on dying, remember? In my pretty extensive experience, the whole resurrection thing kind of sucks."

"Mm," Leonard's head tips to the side. An acknowledgment that yes, she has a point. The question sits between them for another moment before he does eventually nod. "It's different, but... I'm adjusting." He shrugs. "You all seem better than you used to."

"Really?" Sara asks, surprised.

His eyes narrow. "Yes, most of the time," he says. Her face must not be convinced, because Leonard sits up straighter. "Lance, you realize that for me, it feels like two months since Mick threatened to off Lisa and nearly beat me to death. Last I remember, you were still fending off time drift from your second round with the death cult. So yes, whatever else is going on, this seems better."

Sara opens her mouth then closes it. She resists the urge to touch her neck. There's still a very faint white scar there from the day Vandal Savage got the jump on her and held a knife to her throat. Leonard, she remembers, had been livid.

Had things really been that bad? It almost feels silly to even attempt to draw comparisons.

That entire first year on the WaveRider was absolutely miserable. She'd been coping with her bloodlust, getting used to her undead body, and after being stranded in the 60's, unlearning all the trauma habits she'd picked up with the League a second time over. Leonard is right. Her life now should be an obvious improvement.

"I guess so," she pulls her knees to her chest and sighs. "Sometimes I wonder if it was worth it."

"If what was worth it?" Leonard asks immediately.

She gestures towards the ceiling. "What this cost," she clarifies.

"You mean Stein, Rip, and... me," he says. "I know Rip was a bastard, Lance, but I think even he'd be happy to see what you've done with the place."

She shoots him an utterly unamused glare. He can't possibly think she's talking about Rip. "If you're joking, I'm not laughing," she says, tone razor sharp.

Leonard looks down-right offended. "Joking about what?" he demands.

"I'm supposed to believe that nobody told you?" Sara asks incredulously.

"Yes," he scowls. "Believe it or not, Gideon, Raymond, and Mick have all been annoyingly respectful of your privacy."

Sara drops her cards. She's pretty sure she's about to have an incredibly inappropriate response to this. "Leonard," she says bluntly. "Laurel and my Dad. They're dead."

For once, she seems to have actually, genuinely surprised him. He stares, moves one hand towards her, aborts the gesture, then stares some more. "Jesus Christ," he says eventually. "Where do you-" he cuts himself off and wipes a hand over his jaw. "When?"

"Specifically?" Sara does let out a breath of dry laughter now. "I found out about Laurel twelve hours after you-" she finds she can't finish the sentence. "My dad was recent. Three months ago."

"I... shit Sara."

Her lips pull into a bitter smile. "Got any whiskey in here?" she asks.

Leonard nods, immediately pushing himself off the bed. Apparently, Mick has a mini-fridge hiding underneath a stained orange poncho in the corner. Leonard pulls out a handle and tosses her the whole bottle. It burns as the first swig goes down.

"What happened?" he asks, sliding back onto the bed. Leonard situates himself closer this time, so that his elbow brushes her knee. Every muscle on his lanky frame seems tense.

For a moment, she considers brushing him off. She can probably manage telling him about Laurel - it's been a while since the six dark months that followed her death - but her father... She hasn't really talked to anybody about that yet. Not even Ray.

"Sara," Leonard's eyes darken.

She sighs, feeling something inside of her crack. "It's not a good story Len," she says.

"Never is with us," he replies. His eyes flicker up towards her. "You don't have to tell me," he says, with what appears to be a great deal of effort. "But I'd listen. If you wanted to."

Her stomach twists. Sara had done her best the past few years to try and forget this part of their relationship. Leonard has always been able to see her in a way others don't. Losing this is what had hurt the most, and fuck, he's hardly finished his sentence before she knows she's going to tell him everything

"Starts with Rip," Sara says slowly.

Leonard scowls. "Don't hog the whiskey," he replies.

She doesn't. They pass the bottle back and forth, and take turns drinking as Sara goes through everything he's missed in gruesome detail. He stops her occasionally, poking for details that she's never thought to explain to anyone before. He asks how it felt to see Malcolm and Damien in a room together for the first time. If she hated Nora Dahrk for trying to bring her father back. If she still visits her mom often, now that her Dad and Laurel aren't there...

"Just ask Leonard," she says quietly when she finishes the worst of it. "I can hear you thinking it."

Leonard sighs. His fingers brush hers as he hands her the whiskey back. "You never tried to go back and change it?"

Sara polishes off the last of the bottle. "Thought about it," she admits. "Thought about it a lot. Rip didn't tell me about Laurel because if the timeline was allowed to run its course, we both would've died in that prison. After I became Captain, I used to have Gideon run simulations. What if I bring the team with me to save her? What if I call team Flash? What if... what if it's okay if she makes it out and I don't."

"Sara," Leonard breathes.

"I know. I know. Trust me, Gideon had thoughts on that," she sighs. "But Laurel literally brought me back from the dead, and she was just some lawyer in Star City. I had a time-ship full of geniuses and meta humans at my disposal and I couldn't do a damn thing to help her. I felt like, I don't know... like I didn't love her enough or something. I told you I wasn't in a good place."

Leonard shakes his head. "But you still didn't kill Dahrk when you had a chance," he mumbles.

Sara nods. "It clicked when Malcolm showed up," she says. "He offered to erase the Gambit if we gave him the map to the spear, and I played the scenario in my head, and I guess it was just everything all at once. If Oliver and I weren't on that boat, and what happened... didn't happen. Would all the good we did get erased too? Would Ivo still be torturing people on that boat? Would you guys still have stopped Savage? Would Dahrk have nuked Star City?" Sara shakes her head. "And I couldn't imagine myself as that person again anyways. Partying all the time because I didn't fit into the world the way everyone seemed to think I should. All the shit we've been through, it has to matter. And it doesn't if we go back and erase it all just because we can."

Leonard nods slowly, and the two of them sit in that thought for a while. Everything is out in the open now. The good, the bad, and the ugly, all laid bare for Leonard to see. Sara feels empty, but its not a bad feeling.

"You're a better person than me," he says eventually. "If it were Lisa, I'd have razed the world to the ground. Even if it hadn't saved her."

Sara gives him a look. "I think you would've done the exact same thing," she says, confidently.

"You're drunk," Leonard scoffs.

"Yes and I'm particularly insightful when drunk."

He rolls his eyes. "I'm not dignifying that with a response," he says.

Sara snorts, and maybe she is feeling the whiskey, because before she thinks about what she's doing, she leans over and rests her head on Leonard's shoulder. Notably, he doesn't move away.

"Hey Len," she says.

"What?" he mumbles. 

"I'm am really glad you're back. I'm sorry if it hasn't always seemed like it."

Leonard is quiet for a long, long moment.

"Glad to be back birdy," he says finally. "Just wish it could've been sooner." 

Chapter Text

Before the Oculus, Kendra used to relentlessly tease Sara and Leonard. She'd drop unannounced into Sara's room to find them playing cards together and she'd say "Snart, you spend the night in here again?"  He would always brush the comment off. Say something stupid and flirty to divert the conversation, and they'd move on.

The truth of it though, is that Leonard did spend the night. Just once.

It was right after Sara returned from her second trip with the League, and Gideon had fixed up Leonard's dismembered hand. To say they both were in a bad place is an understatement.

Leonard spent hours that week watching Mick on Gideon's security camera, guilt and fear twisting like dual poisons in his gut. Every time Mick twitched, his adrenaline would spike, and the cancers would root themselves deeper. His sanity was hanging on by mere threads.

Eventually, Gideon cut him off. His eyes had gone bloodshot from staring at the monitors, and she promised him up and down that Mick wasn't going anywhere.

Sara was going through her own issues. Her second trip to the League had changed her. She was still Sara, of course, but for days she walked around the ship like a phantom. Unnaturally composed. Never sleeping. Half void of personality. Then the facade seemed to crack all at once. Leonard wasn't there for the inciting incident, but apparently Jax accidentally snuck up on her and her assassin instincts had taken over.

Jax was fine. Sara wasn't.

Leonard found her by accident two hours later in the Cargo Bay, hiding behind three stacked crates. He’d gone there looking for a place to wallow alone, but his intentions inexplicably shifted when he’d seen the haunted look on her face.

You just like that someone else here is more miserable than you. Selfish bastard, he told himself as he slid down to join her on the floor.

This was back before he’d admitted to himself that he’d developed a weak spot for her.

Hours later, Leonard was so delirious with exhaustion, it was becoming difficult to keep lying to himself. “We should probably try to get some sleep,” he told her.

"I can't sleep," she admitted, in a detached way. "League habit. Sleep's not safe."

Leonard smirked bitterly at the ground. “I know the feeling,” he said. Paused. Voiced a fear that he didn’t mean to share. “Have you noticed? Mick’s sleeping like a baby down in lock up. When he gets out, I’m going to be fucking useless, but I can’t-”

He didn’t finish the sentence, but Sara knew what he meant.

“Come on Leonard,” she sighed.

Her room was closer than his. When they reached it, the doors slid open automatically – a sure sign that Gideon had been eavesdropping - and Leonard found himself hanging awkwardly in the threshold.

This was the part when they were supposed to go their separate ways.

“You could stay,” Sara said, voice barely a whisper. “If you wanted to."

Some part of his brain was screaming that this was a bad idea, but he was tired and Sara had this horrible vulnerable look on her face. Like maybe she needed this as badly as he did.  

“Alright,” he said.

Nothing really happened after that. They crammed themselves into a bed that wasn’t meant for two people. Sara insisted he take the spot closer to the wall, (“It’ll make me feel better. Please don’t make me explain.”) and within seconds Leonard was asleep.

For better or worse, the two of them never spoke about it again.

Leonard slips into the the Galley half in a daze, looking for more booze.

Raymond called fifteen minutes ago with an update on the undercover job, and Sara left to go play spy handler. Leonard almost followed her, then thought better of it.

He feels on edge. Not angry per se, but agitated in a way that's not like him. He thinks maybe he just needs a minute to clear his head.

Without specifically meaning to, Leonard finds himself at the sink instead of the fridge. He lets the cold water run for a few seconds and splashes a handful on his face. Two fucking years, he thinks bitterly to himself. It could've been twice that for all the shit he's missed.

"So you two finally done?" someone grunts behind him.

Leonard shuts off the sink abruptly and straightens himself. He turns to find Mick sitting at the table with a half-eaten sandwich. He's wearing a bathrobe and what appears to be nothing else.

"You been out here this whole time?" Leonard asks evenly.

"You talk to her?" Mick doesn't answer the question.

"Don't see how that's your business."

Mick snorts and shakes his head. "Bought fucking time," he grumbles.

Despite himself, Leonard is inclined to agree.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Nate asks for what must be the hundredth time.

Zari rolls her eyes. "Mick is a serial arsonist. We let him walk around with a literal flamethrower," she reminds him, as she carefully drops the mini-cyclotron core into its place.

Ray finished most of the work on Snart's new Cold Gun before they left for the Smell concert. After he went under cover, Zari figured it was probably best to finish the job without him, before they inevitably got ambushed with Snart functionally out of commission. Gideon was able to draw up the blueprints for her, and she'd spent the rest of the afternoon polishing off the finishing touches.

"Yeah, well Mick hasn't burned anyone to death with the heat gun recently," Nate grumbles.

"Technically neither has Snart," Zari shrugs. "And for what it's worth, Gideon says Snart's body count is lower."

Nate pauses. "Are you siding with him?" he asks.

"I'm not siding with anyone," Zari gives him a look. "All I'm saying is that I don't think he's that bad, and I don't think you're giving him a fair chance."

Nate groans. Zari clicks the last part into place and sits back to admire her work.

"You coming with me to go give this to him or not?"

Nate grumbles a lot while Zari tucks the completed Cold Gun into its case, but he does follow her out the door to go find Snart. She takes that to be as good a sign as any.

Surprise surprise, Raymond is in over his head.

Leonard probably could've called that one. A lot has changed in the past two years, but Raymond is still his last choice for any kind of undercover job. He might've complained about it, except the thought of some action has considerably brightened his plans for afternoon.

"How's it feel?" Sara asks.

He glances down at the new-but-not-improved Cold Gun in his hands. Zari gave it to him in the Galley about an hour ago. Little did she know, her timing was perfect. Sara gave the order not five minutes later that Ray's cover was blown, and they needed to roll out immediately.

"Like it's supposed to," Leonard flexes his fingers around the grip. "Won't really know for sure until I take it for a spin."

"You won't have to wait long. I have a feeling this is about to get messy," she sighs. Her eyes track towards the shoddy wooden house in front of them, and Leonard finds himself taking the opportunity to just look at her.

She's ditched the sweatshirt she was wearing earlier in favor of a plain black tank top that shows off her muscled shoulders and biceps. She looks every bit a bad ass. There's no sign of the wounds she'd bared to him earlier. Absolutely none. He can't decide whether he hates or respects how well she hides it.

"Oy, we're ready by the back door," John's voice comes over the comms.

"We're ready by the window," Nate chimes in.

Sara nods to no one in particular. "Alright. Let's roll then."

Leonard follows Sara down the stone paved path to the front door. She kicks through the lock upon arrival, but the show of force is unnecessary. The door splinters where her foot impacts, then falls to the ground with an audible slap. Apparently, it hadn't been attached to its hinges properly in the first place.

Inside is a similar disaster.

The foyer is all bare space with rotting wood finishes. Cobwebs decorate abandoned crevices and grafiti splashes across the worn plaster walls. It reminds Leonard of every foreclosure property in the Central City docks, and he half expects to turn a corner and find a room full of Vertigo junkies high out of their mind.

It's hard to imagine Raymond sleeping well in a place like this.

"Ray, we just want to talk" Sara announces herself after the dust has settled.

Down the hall to the right, glass shatters, and Mick's voice promptly joins in. "Haircut," he bellows, audibly irritated.

Leonard points to the left and Sara nods. They start down a hall, in the opposite direction of Mick's calls, checking doors as they go. All of them are unlocked, until they reach one on the end that has a slightly newer brass knob. Leonard thinks he hears feet shuffling inside.

Sara knocks twice. "Come on Ray. Open the door," she calls.

"Or we'll open it for you," Leonard adds helpfully.

For a minute, he thinks Ray might listen. Then, the door suddenly blasts off its hinges, smashing into Sara and knocking her into the far wall. Leonard feels his heart short circuit. Raymond steps through the door threshold into the hallway, wearing the full Atom suit, except for the helmet.

He starts to lift the Cold Gun, but he's too slow. Half of his attention is still locked on the other side of the room, where Sara hasn't moved yet underneath the fractured remains of the door.

Raymond raises his fist like he knows how to swing it, and hits Leonard in the temple.

He isn't out for long.

At the hazy edges of his conscious, he's aware when someone comes to shake him and then moves away again, but it's the second person that fully jogs him back to reality.

"Leonard, you okay?"

He feels a hand on his cheek and blinks blearily up at the figure looming over him.

"Mrph. You okay?" he grumbles in response.

"I'm fine," Sara says. Her face is set in hard edges though, and Leonard is certain she's not being honest with him. A loud bang sounds nearby. "They need help," she says.

Right. Raymond had sucker-punched him.

She offers him a hand and he takes it, allowing her to pull him to his feet.

They enter a space that's been fashioned into a make-shift living area only to find not one, but two Raymonds solemnly facing each other. One has the Atom suit disassembled into a hundred pieces scattered around his feet. While the other stands un-armed with Mick, Zari, Nathaniel, and John at his back.

Leonard glances at Sara and they move wordlessly to join their team behind the the suit-less Raymond. One of the two is obviously the shapeshifter, and Leonard mostly trusts that the other members of their team chose to back the right one.

The duplicate sneers at them.

Their face starts to morph suddenly. Literally melting down until they change into a woman’s likeness, nearly a foot shorter than Ray, with dark skin and a pink streak in their hair. Leonard recognizes the new face from the concert the night before.

"Guess you're a drone too," the Shifter says bitingly. It's some final quip from the argument they'd been having with Ray before Sara and Leonard ran in. The disgust that shows on their face looks near-feral.

"That's enough," Sara cuts in. "Zari?"

This is Leonard's first rodeo capturing a 'magical fugitive', so he is equal parts surprised and impressed when a gust of wind powerful enough to shred a building rips out of the bracelet on Zari's wrist. The shifter flies back with a force, and slams hard into the wall, cracking the plaster.

"Great. Now let's send this beast to hell," John says, a touch dramatically.

Ray's head jerks. "Wait," he says.

At the same time, the shifter on the wall grows alarmed. "Hell?" they squall. "What the hell?"

"Guys, come on, look. Let's think about this. She’s not evil," Ray practically begs them.

"She stole your suit and tried to kill us, Ray" Sara's tone doesn't leave any room for argument.

"That's the ballsiest thing you've ever done, Haircut," Mick agrees.

"She's only doing what any one of you would've done if you were cornered."

"We let her out," Sara says solemnly. "This is on us."

Beside her, John starts to chant in a language Leonard doesn't recognize. Shapes erupt from his palms, twisting in the air, then fizzling out abruptly. A vortex blooms in their wake, and a disturbing air of malice emanates from its depths. The wind around them changes direction without Zari’s input. The new breeze isn't strong enough to move anything, but Leonard can feel it trying to pull him in.

"The portal's open," John shouts. "Now send the monster through."

Zari is about to do it, but then the shifter speaks. "I'll show you what a real monster looks like," they say. Their face melts again, and it bubbles into something familiar. Into Sara. Leonard feels his mouth go dry. "Like this" the shifter says. Again its skin starts to change, bulking up and filling out, until suddenly it looks like Mick. "Like someone who'd rather do what's easy." Again it turns, this time into Leonard himself, and then again, this time into Zari. "Than figure out what's right." Nathaniel's face makes an appearance. Then John's. "Someone who'd send an innocent to Hell!"

"Don't fall for his bloody parlour tricks," John shouts.

Something clicks into place in Leonard's chest. It's one thing for someone to call him or Mick a monster. They're used to it. Comfortable with it even. It's another thing entirely for someone to throw that specific term in Sara's face. He knows too damn well how much that bothers her. He turns a dial on the Cold Gun and hears it start to hum with life.

"Ray said your team's moral compass is missing," the monster says, and this time it changes into a person Leonard doesn't recognize, a woman with dark skin and a big 70's afro, complete with a white disco outfit. Nathaniel makes an audible strangled noise. "Can you send her to hell?"

"Zari you're too smart to fall for this bloody creature," John cries out, a hint of worry echoing in his tone. "Now send it through. I can't keep the portal open forever."

Leonard's eyes flash towards Zari. “No, I- I can’t do it,” she says.

"You're kidding me," Leonard snaps incredulously. “It’s a miracle you all have made it this far without me.” This woman sure as hell isn’t his morale compass.

His finger starts to depress the trigger of his cold gun as the magic flooding out of John’s fingertips starts to flicker.

“No!” Someone shouts.

Then something tackles him.

It hurts too much for the attack to have come from a human. Leonard feels a brick wall slam into his side, taking him clean off his feet and knocking the air out of his lungs. His shot veers wide and paints an arc of ice crystals above the shape-shifter’s head, and when he collides with the ground, his gun clatters away from him.

A snarl rips out of Leonard's throat. He thrashes around for a moment in a useless attempt to right himself, but the thing on top of him is unnaturally heavy. The howling noises of the Hell portal and Zari's wind powers cease abruptly.

The silence is quickly filled with quite a lot of shouting.

“Okay! Okay!” Sara’s voice cuts over everyone else’s, effectively silencing them. “Nate. Get off Leonard.”

The weight lifts, and Leonard twists immediately onto his back. He finds himself looking at his own reflection in Nathaniel fucking Heywood’s polished steel forehead.

"What the hell?" he demands.

Nathaniel looks at Leonard, then down at himself. “You were going to shoot her,” he says, powering down.

“You were plenty happy to send her through the hell portal five seconds ago,” Leonard sneers.

Nate’s expression hardens. “Yeah well, she looks like Amaya now,” he says. “You don’t get to shoot Amaya.”

Leonard looks around for back-up and doesn’t find it. Sara shakes her head subtly to the side, frowning, and Mick won’t even look at him. He’s too busy staring at the shifter.   

“It’s fine,” Sara says tightly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “We’ll sort this out on the ship.”

“Fine, but I’m not letting a shapeshifter on the bloody ship,” John says. He starts to chant again, and the shapeshifter is thrown back against the wall. They glow, briefly. Then John lowers his hands. Whatever spell he cast is apparently complete.

“What did you do to me, you ass,” the shifter demands.

“It’s a lobotomy of sorts,” John explains. “Your shapeshifting days are over sweetheart.”

“No!” the shifter bellows.

Her despair seems to physically wound Nathaniel, and the rest of the team starts to move without speaking. John mutters another spell under his breath, restraining the shifter’s hands. Sara steps forward to clock her on the head, knocking her out. Zari ghosts over to Nate’s side, setting a hand on his shoulder. Ray steps tentatively forward to help carry the shapeshifter back to the ship, and Mick. Mick just leaves.   

Leonard feels disconcertingly like an outsider loitering around the fringes of a stranger’s funeral.

“Come on Leonard.” Sara walks over and offers him a hand up from the floor.

He takes it. “I was doing what you all said needed to be done,” he says, not entirely sure why he feels like he needs to defend himself.  

“I know,” Sara mumbles. “I gave the orders.”

For a fraction of a heartbeat, Leonard sees a whisp of something in her face. It reminds him of the look she wore that night, two-years-ago/last-month, when he’d found her in the cargo bay after she’d attacked Jax.

I’ll show you what a real moster looks like, the shifter had said to them.

Some morbid part of him can’t help but wonder, genuinely, if she thinks that of herself, what she could possibly see when she looks at him.

Chapter Text

Nate Heywood considers himself to be a pretty regular dude. Recent superpowers and Legends antics aside, he’d spent his first thirty-odd years living an aggressively mundane life. He used to have a regular job and a regular apartment and regular friends. The only thing that used to be exceptional about him was his health problems.      

Nobody is more surprised than he is when he bodies Captain Cold in the middle of a mission. Regular dudes with exceptional health problems don’t go around assaulting people. Least of all their co-workers.

And yet, he knows he’d do it again in a heartbeat. The image of Snart sneering at Amaya has been seared permanently into his brain. If he shuts his eyes, he can still see the faint blue glow of the cold gun casting shadows on Snart’s face.

He flexes his fists open and closed on instinct, trying to find an outlet for the adrenaline that’s still coursing through him. Nate isn’t used to the hot iron of rage that burns at the back of his neck. Possibly, he’s never been this mad at anybody before – save maybe his father.

In some quiet, sane corner of his mind, he wonders if this is what Mick feels like all the time. Nate doesn’t know how he can possibly stand it. His nerves feel like they’ve been fried to a crisp.

Their current predicament isn’t helping.  

Upon returning, the team locked the shapeshifter - who Ray insists is named Charlie - up in the lab, and the security footage is now plastered on every available screen on the Bridge. Since waking up, the shifter has made it abundantly clear that she’s not taking imprisonment lying down. She paces her cell, screaming and beating on the walls. They’d muted the video feed almost immediately, not that it’s really stopped Charlie from communicating. She curses them with the whole of her body. Even without sound, it’s easy to decipher every single colorful expletive.

Nate doesn’t want to stare, but he can’t stop himself.

She doesn’t just look like Amaya. She’s a dead ringer. Identical in absolutely every way, down to the pattern of the freckles that dot her collar bone. According to Ray, all the shifter had to go off of was an old newspaper clipping. She shouldn’t have been able to get every single detail so exact.  

Real life magic kind of sucks like that.

Of course, if he isn’t looking at Amaya (Charlie), then he’s looking at Snart, and that’s almost worse because Snart stares back. Most of the team is gathered around the Bridge’s center consul, but not him. Captain Cold has taken up residence at the foot of the stairs that lead up to the Captain’s Office. Nate can feel his beady blue eyes following him.

He wants to leave.

He wants to lock himself in his room with Ray and eat a pint of ice cream. But he can’t because Snart is still here. Sara’s about ready to do the mission de-brief, and if he leaves then he’ll be leaving Amaya’s (Charlie’s) fate in Snart’s hands.

That’s simply not an option.

After what feels like an eternity, Ray finishes messing with Gideon’s security system and finally voices the thought that’s weighing on everyone’s minds.

“We can’t just leave them locked in there forever.”

Sara’s face is set in hard edges. “You are on thin ice in terms of what we can or cannot do,” she says sharply, glaring at him. “Those punks were a bad influence on you.”

“I’m not defending Charlie because of the punks. It’s just the right thing to do,” Ray crosses his arm and puffs out his chest a little.   

Sara lets out a frustrated breath.  “Well right thing or not, they cannot stay on the ship,” she says firmly.

“Especially with Amaya’s face,” Zari agrees, bumping her shoulder into Nate’s. “It’s frickin’ creepy.”

Nate nods at her, a small wave of gratitude slipping in past the mess of other feelings that bounce around in his chest. He couldn’t agree more.

“You broke her, you fix her, Weasel,” Mick glares at Constantine. “Make her not Amaya again.”

John, who is on the opposite side of the steps as Leonard, takes a long swig from his flask. “Spell doesn’t work like that, Womble,” he says. “I took away her power to transform. It’s like clipping an angel’s wings. You can’t exactly unclip them.”

Nate’s heart falls. “She can’t just be stuck like that,” he says, running one hand through his hair.

“Oh trust me. She can be,” John says.

A collective groan makes its way around the room. Nate wonders how long he’s going to make it on the ship if Amaya’s face is waiting for him around every corner.

“Gentle reminder,” Leonard’s unwelcome voice cuts through his thoughts. “That we didn’t need to be in this situation.”

Nate feels a chill pass through him. “Cause you were going to handle it. Right?” he grits out.

Leonard’s gaze could cut glass. “You obviously weren’t,” he says.

“Well that’s not how we handle things,” Nate reacts instantly. The anger that he never really swallowed surfaces too easily. “We don’t shoot people here.”

Leonard taps his pinky finger against his knee. “People in general? Or just your ex-girlfriend?” he asks.

Nate feels his heart skip a beat and his ears start to turn red. The video feed of Amaya (Charlie) mutely damning them is still live on the center consul. “People in general,” he says, too fast. “What kind of question even is that?”

Sara seems to decide that they don’t need an answer. “Len. Not helping,” she says, shooting Snart a look. Nate wonders if that means she’s siding with him on this one. He might feel smug about it, except Snart doesn’t seem to be all that perturbed.

“I’m just trying to understand the new rules around here, Captain,” Leonard says smoothly, gaze still pinned on Nate. “Seems like Nathaniel’s got a problem with me. Now, would you say it’s personal or on principle?” 

Oh. It’s personal. It’s been personal since 2015 Snart decided to team up with Darhk, Merlyn, and Thawne. Every time he talks about it with Zari and Ray, they’re too quick to remind him that version of Snart hadn’t met the team yet, but you know what? Nate doesn’t think that’s a real defense.

Three of the most evil men in modern history presented Snart with a plan to erase reality as they knew it, and Snart, in full control of all his mental faculties, shook hands with them. So what if he wasn’t friends with the team yet? Snart doesn’t get a morale pass just because the Legends happened get first dibs on his loyalty in the main timeline.

“Depends,” Nate’s jaw ticks, finding he does have a retort for Snart’s question. “Did you almost shoot her because you’re literally not allowed to leave, or do you actually believe in what we’re doing here?”

Snart doesn’t flinch. He leans forward, putting his weight into his elbows, and Nate waits expectantly for the next horrible thing to roll off Snart’s tongue.

“He almost shot her cause he’s a jackass,” Mick cuts in suddenly. He crosses his arms and gives Nate a look that feels like a threat. “You’ll get used to it eventually, Pretty.”

Nate’s attention breaks away from Snart, and he realizes that the rest of the team doesn’t appear to be nearly as invested in the argument as he is. Zari and Ray are frowning at him, and John’s smirking.

Sara presses a thumb to the bridge of her nose. “Are you two done?” she asks.

Nate’s cheeks burn. He feels vaguely like he’s getting told off by Mom.

Of course, he doesn’t really want to be done. He wants Snart to answer his question. If he’s going to be here, then all his cards should be on the table. His motives. It’s what’s safest for the team. Except, Nate gets the distinct feeling that he’s lost his audience. The others may not like that Snart almost shot Amaya (Charlie), but they’re not ready to force him out over it.

Snart raises one infuriatingly calm eyebrow at him.

“I’m done,” Nate says.

“Right, well thanks for that,” Sara says tightly. “Does anybody have any ideas that are actually going to help us get out of this situation?”

It’s dead silent for a moment. Then Zari clears her throat. “Okay. I’ll say it,” she sighs. ”Why don’t we just turn her over to the Bureau? Problem solved.” 

Mick scoffs. “Cause the Bureau’s a bunch of Narcs,” he answers immediately.

“Who we all work for,” Zari retorts.

“They’re going to lock her up,” Ray shakes his head. “She doesn’t deserve that.”

“I’m with Mick. The Time Masters can stay out of this,” Leonard says. His eyes flicker back towards Nate, and they all pretend to ignore the lingering edge of residual awkwardness.

Sara lets out a long, deep sigh. “Len, I told you –“

“Yeah yeah, they’re different,” he drawls. “Is that why everyone seems to be uncomfortable calling them?”

John snorts. “Oh, it’s only a certain someone at the Bureau we’re really worried about,” he says hiding his shit-eating grin behind his flask.

Sara’s eyes snap up. “Okay. Nope. I’m not doing this,” she says. “This conversation isn’t getting us anywhere anyways.” She surveys the team. “Ray, you don’t want to hand Charlie over? Fine. Figure out a better solution. I’m going to bed.”

Snart’s eyes follow her out the room.

Another day, Nate might’ve considered going after her himself to check and make sure things were alright. As things are, Nate leaves wordlessly a nano-second later. He trusts Ray to do right by Amaya (Charlie), and he can’t stand to be in the same room as Leonard Snart a moment longer.

Let the record show that Sara does in fact try to get some sleep after that train wreck of a team meeting. She forces herself through her normal wind-down routine, brushes her teeth, takes a shower, and changes into pajamas, before quietly slipping into bed.

Sleep comes easy enough. It always does. What comes after is the problem.

It’s the first night in a long time that Damien Darhk isn’t heavily featured in her nightmares. Not that that’s any kind of real relief. She drifts off and when she resurfaces, she’s in another bed. A terrifyingly familiar one. It’s cold and dank, and the thin sheets are stiff against her skin. The room rocks gently, matching the swell of the ocean, and when Sara dares to open her eyes, her fears are confirmed. Rusty iron walls confine her.

It’s the AMAZO. It’s always the fucking AMAZO.

Her heart beats like a racehorse in her chest as she stares hard at the door that leads out to Ivo’s quarters, but for some reason she seems to understand that for tonight at least, nobody is coming.

She’s alone here. Completely and utterly alone.

Minutes tic by. They feel like hours.

Sara sits in the room and understands in her bones that no-one is out there looking for her.

She wakes slowly, then all at once.

The first few threads of consciousness are gentle enough, but as her groggy mind starts to work, there is a moment when she thinks she’s still there. A spike of adrenaline rocks down her spine, and her lizard brain immediately goes on red-alert.

Sara’s panic is silent.

She lays perfectly still, eyes closed, as she rapidly searches the night for a threat. She notes the weight of a proper blanket on top of her, the faint leftover scent of a lavender candle that burned out hours ago, and the hum of the AC fan. Otherwise, there’s nothing. No rocking ocean, no mildew smell, and most importantly no sign of any visitors.

When she finally dares to crack her eyes open, Sara finds herself where she expected to. In her room on the Wave Rider.

The hysteria in her chest subsides, leaving a familiar, dull aching hollowness in its wake. The silence around her suddenly feels oppressive.  

“Gideon,” she calls out, throat dry. “You there?”

“I’m here Captain,” Gideon answers.

Sara nods, taking a deep breath. “Okay. Just checking.”

She glances at her bedside clock. It reads three forty-seven a.m. That’s about as good a rest as she probably could’ve hoped for. She certainly won’t try for more if there’s any chance she might be visiting the AMAZO again.

“Captain Lance, might I pose a suggestion?“ Gideon speaks up again.  

Sara narrows her eyes dubiously at the ceiling. “If that suggestion involves calling Leonard, then I’ll pass,” she says.

There’s a brief pause, where Sara imagines a real person might sigh.

“Your heart rate and cortisol levels are both unusually elevated Captain. I believe it would be wise for you to seek some kind of remediation.” 

“Yeah, define ‘unusually’,” Sara mutters sarcastically, running a hand through her hair.

“The Miriam Webster dictionary defines unusually as-“

“Oh my god, can it Gideon. I’m not waking up Leonard.”

Gideon falls silent. Apparently giving up for now.

Sara swears, the AI has been unusually sassy as of late. Particularly when it comes to Leonard. It feels like every time she sneezes, Gideon’s in her ear, trying to convince her that all her problems might disappear if her and Snart played cards more regularly.

Clearly Gideon hadn’t been paying close enough attention during the team meeting yesterday. No amount of talking can fix her problems.

Sara releases a deep, world-weary sigh and sits up in her bed.

She can’t think about this right now. Not after her mind just decided to helpfully remind her what it was like to be drowning in a bottomless pit of loneliness. Not when Darhk’s shadow is looming over her.

Did you almost shoot her because you’re literally not allowed to leave, or do you actually believe in what we’re doing here?

Nate’s question echoes around in her skull anyways. An intrusion. Sara wishes she could just let the stupid comment go, but unfortunately it seems to have stuck. It’s stupid because she knows why Leonard tried to shoot Charlie. Anyone looking closely enough would realize that he has a protective streak worse than Oliver’s. Anyways, Sara’s not even convinced Leonard had the Cold Gun on the murder setting when he fired yesterday - not that Leonard would ever admit that to anyone. 

She's not entirely sure why the question still nags at her.

Sara needs to be in motion.

She slips to her feet and starts towards the gym automatically. The salmon ladder should silence her frazzled mind.  

“Captain Lance,” Gideon catches her, just as she starts to push into the hallway.

“Gideon,” Sara stops on a dime, hands closing into fists. “I’m not joking. Drop it.”

“This is not about Mr. Snart, Captain,” Gideon says. “You are receiving a call from Star City.”

“Oh,” Sara blinks. She considers ignoring it for a minute, but quickly rejects that idea. As badly as she wants to get some of her energy out, past experience has taught her never to ignore mid-night calls from Oliver. “Sorry Gideon. Send the call to the Captain’s Office. I’ll be right there.”

She changes course and makes the short trip around the corner. Then climbs into the leather armchair and turns towards the monitor.  

“Okay Gideon, patch them through.”

The screen blinks to life, and Sara promptly finds herself looking at a familiar blonde.

“Ha!” Felicity grins at her from the Arrow Cave. “I told you she’d be awake.”  

Oliver’s face pokes into the frame. He’s coated in a layer of grime and he’s wearing his Green Arrow costume with the hood down. “You also told me I should try being more optimistic,” he says dryly.

Sara surveys the two of them quickly. Neither seem to be in any immediate danger. “You two don’t get to lecture me. I bet I’m the only one here who went to sleep last night,” she crosses her arms and gives Oliver a hard look. “You’re not calling because you’re having trouble are you?”

Felicity gives her a faux offended look. “We don’t only call you when we need things,” she says.

“You also don’t always call from the Arrow Cave at the ass crack of dawn,” Sara raises an eyebrow at them.

“Somebody’s gotta keep you on your toes,” Oliver shrugs lightly.

Sara tentatively allows some of the tension to drain from her shoulders.  

“We’re calling to invite you to our wedding party,” Felicity elbows him.

She blinks. That’s not at all what she’d been expecting to hear. “Didn’t you guys get married last year with Barry?” she asks.

“Well, yes, but we haven’t really had the chance to celebrate. It was Thea’s idea. With everything that’s happened the last few months, we thought it’d be nice for everyone to get together for, you know, something happy,” Felicity explains, beaming. “We’re having it at our apartment on October twelfth. Bring the whole team.”

Oliver’s eyes sweep over her. “If you all are dealing with something right now, it’s also okay if you need a rain check,” he says, like he knows.

Sara starts shaking her head before he’s even finished the sentence. “No, no. Of course, we’ll be there,” she says firmly. “Really, I’m happy for you guys. You deserve your day.”

Felicity looks at Oliver, then at Sara, and the shadow of a frown ghosts over her face. “Everything’s okay over there then?” she checks.

Sara chews on her lip. She hasn’t told Team Arrow about Darhk yet. If she wanted to, now is probably the time.

“Everything’s fine,” Sara lies automatically. “It’s just… the team’s been fighting recently. You know how things go around here.”

She tells herself it’s for their own good. The two of them are clearly happy right now - Oliver rarely smiles so easily. They don’t need this kind of stress dampening their joy. Not because of Darhk, of all people.  

Felicity frowns. “Well, tell them we said to fall in line. Or else,” she says.  

Sara let’s out a huff of laughter. She tries to picture Leonard’s reaction to Felicity’s threat. Then automatically finds herself thinking of Oliver’s reaction when she turns up to his wedding reception with one more felon than expected.

They did say to invite the entire team.

“Will do,” she promises brightly. The memory of her nightmare on the AMAZO feels more distant than it had moments earlier. “They’ll be on their best behavior for your party. I promise.”

“We’re holding you to that,” Oliver says.

“Take care Sara!” Felicity nods.

Sara gives them one last parting smile. “See you guys soon,” she says.

The screen blinks off, and Sara sinks into her chair for a moment. It’s good to hear from Felicity and Oliver, even briefly.

“Heartrate and cortisol levels are back in normal range Captain,” Gideon says a moment later, as if proving some kind of point.  

Sara throws a paperweight that’s resting on the table towards the ceiling. “Nobody asked, Gideon,” she says, and gets up to continue her way to the gym.

Ava clicks her pen with her thumb and stares down at the piece of paper resting on top of her desk.

Correspondence: Legends, the title reads, but the remainder of the document is depressingly blank. It’s yet another request for an extension on Bureau mandated reporting paperwork. They now don’t have record of the Legend’s activities dating back for the past month.

A weight rests heavy on Ava’s chest. She should’ve known better than to ever get involved with Sara Lance. Everything between them feels horribly messy now, and she’s not sure how she’s supposed to respond to this.

“Director Sharpe, you called?” Gary knocks on the door to her office.

Ava looks up at him and nods, waving to the chair across from her. “I just got a wire from the Legends,” she says.

Gary’s face brightens. “Oh, that’s great!” he says. “I told you, you could rely on me! What’d they send over.”

“It’s another extension request,” Ava says, and Gary’s enthusiasm halts abruptly.

“Another one?” his voice turns squeaky.

“Yes. Another one. I thought you spoke to them? Captain Lance was supposed to have something substantial for us any day now.”  

Gary squirms in the chair and looks at his feet. “Well, I didn’t talk to Captain Lance,” he admits, voice squeaky. “But Ray said he fills out the reports now, so I figured that was okay. He said he’d send everything over right away.”

Ava huffs. This is so typical of Sara, avoiding her so completely that she won’t even send the Bureau correspondence herself. Ava doesn’t want to be the bad guy here. She really doesn’t. She doesn’t want to micro-manage the Legend’s Fugitive quota, or the unorthodox methods they employ on missions. Hell with the outstanding Darhk situation hanging over their heads, she’d even be willing to waive a certain number of case requirements from their docket.

But she needs them to submit this paperwork. Ava isn’t the problem here. She’s only going to be able to hold off-

There’s another knock on her door.

“Director Sharpe, am I interrupting something?”

Hold off that for so long.

Before she can properly answer, Hank Heywood strides into her office with a thick binder in hand. “Mr. Heywood, come in,” Ava grits her teeth. “You’re not interrupting anything.”

“Good. I heard you received a wire from this Legends team?” he cuts straight to the point.

Ava resists the urge to flinch. “It’s another extension request,” she admits reluctantly. “They’re probably handling something particularly diffic-“

“There’s no excuses for tardiness, Director Sharpe,” Hank interrupts her. “I’ve been reviewing their business expenses this morning. Some of these costs are egregious.”

“It’s all put to good use, Sir. We hold our teams to the highest standards,” Ava tries to start, but Hank holds his hand up.

“Yes yes. I’m sure. However, I think we can’t take chances on the Bureau anymore with the American tax dollar. I’d like to see this Legends team for myself please,” Hank says.

It’s a miracle Ava doesn’t drop her pen on the floor. She glances over at Gary, who isn’t even bothering to hide the look of abject horror on his face.

“We’ll send a wire ahead to let them know we’re coming this afternoon sir,” Ava says, knowing her hands are tied.

Hank, however, just shakes his head. “No, you won’t. Audits are a surprise. We’ll drop in without warning,” he says. “I’m going to collect some things. Be ready to leave in an hour.”

Then, just as fast as he came into the room, he’s gone.

“Um. Director Sharpe,” Gary starts. “There’s, um, something-“

“Gary, not now,” Ava cuts him off. Her mind is in a frenzy. If she’s going to drop in on the Legends in an hour there’s a laundry list of things she’s going to need to square first. She wishes she’d ironed her pants suit more thoroughly this morning. This is, undoubtably, going to be a horrible afternoon. “I have to put some things together. Can you go prepare some time couriers for the three of us please?”

“Oh. The three of us. Okay,” Gary pulls at his shirt collar. “But, I really-”

“Now Gary, please,” Ava insists.

Gary swallows, and backs out the room slowly, fists closed around his notepad. Ava is so distracted, she doesn’t even think to question the fact that he seems to be sweating the situation worse than she is.

Chapter Text

People used to visit Mick when they had him locked up in the brig on the Wave Rider. It drove Leonard mental. They would talk to Mick like he was this sane, reasonable person. Like a little conversation could mend a lifetime of trauma. And worse yet, Mick would talk back, hateful but calm. A weapon pointed, instead of blind violence lashing out. 

Leonard is still half-convinced that Mick had known he was watching on the cameras. He’d put on the face that he knew would bother Leonard the most, and goddamn did it work. The week Mick was in Wave Rider lock-up is a strong contender for the worst week of Leonard’s miserable life.

It feels a lot better to be on the other side of things, Leonard thinks, appreciating the irony of the situation as he rounds the corner and saunters into Ray’s laboratory. He hopes, pettily, that Nathaniel is somewhere watching the security feeds. 

Charlie is sitting down with her back leaning against the invisible barrier of her cell when he enters the room. Leonard hasn’t kept close tabs on her overnight and wonders idly how long it took for her to wear herself out shouting. She looks a bit shattered now. Probably barely got a wink of sleep the night before.

Her eyes flutter open as Leonard picks a spot on the floor against the opposing far wall, and his assessment of her firms up. The Charlie they imprisoned yesterday would’ve been screaming again already. Now, she only rewards him with a scowl.  

“What the fucking hell are you doing here?” she croaks at him. Her voice is absolutely wrecked.  

Leonard flashes the small novel he’d found on the floor of Mick’s room at her. It has a grainy picture of Fabio on the front, and Leonard is positive that it’s going to be complete garbage.

“Oh, you know,” he drawls. “Just looking for some peace and quiet.”

Charlie’s lip curls nastily at him. “Yeah, I’ll give you some peace and quiet, you bloody narc.”

Leonard ignores the half-baked threat and opens his new book to the first page. “Did Raymond call us that himself?” he asks, amused.

“He didn’t have to. I saw how you people operate. It was enough.”

“Ah. I see,” Leonard cocks his head to the side. “Well, maybe a better introduction is in order then. Leonard Snart, convicted felon. I tried to kill you yesterday. Nice to meet your acquaintance.”

Charlie spits on the ground between them, and at a minimum, he has to admire her fight.

“Okay Leonard Snart,” she says, her accent chewing through the syllables in his name. “So what? You’re supposed to be the worst of them then? Only one willing to shoot a friend. You’re here to threaten me?”

He shrugs. “Friend? No. I just got back after a brief leave of absence. I don’t have any attachments to that permanent Halloween costume that you’re wearing.”

“Well congrats to you on your clean fucking conscience,” Charlie sneers.

Leonard turns the page in his book. “Always nice to feel recognized every now and then,” he clips back easily. “But also, no. If I wanted to threaten you, believe me. You’d know it.” He looks up at her, “Would this be easier for you if we cleared the air a bit? The way I see it, we’re even right now. You cold-cocked me, I tried to shoot you. You insulted my team; they threw you in a pig pen.” He gestures at the space between them. “What happens next here is up to you. I threaten my enemies. Is that what you are?”

Charlie makes an airy noise of exasperation. If looks could kill, he’d probably be dead. “You left out the part where you lot literally tried to send me to Hell,” she says, hatefully.

Leonard’s lips quirk. “We’re all headed there eventually,” he says and reopens his book. “Don’t think you’re that special.”

Charlie squints at him. “You know what I think?” she says.

“Nope.”

“I think you’re hiding from the wanker that tackled you yesterday,” she says, accusingly. “Peace and quiet, my ass. He’s got a problem with you, ain’t he? And he won’t come in ‘ere while I’m lookin’ like this.”

Leonard snorts. Where on earth does Raymond find these people?

“Well aren’t you perceptive,” he says, not bothering to deny it. He flips another page. “You can go back to screaming now if you’d like. Reminds me of my days in juvie. Good memories. I like the white noise.” 

“Fuck off,” Charlie says.

Leonard will never admit it, but she’s not actually bad company.

“Okay Gideon, what if we dropped her off in the future somewhere? Then she can’t mess up history, right?” Ray asks.

“Unfortunately, Mr. Palmer, because of Charlie’s rebellious disposition, my calculations show her to be a threat to the timestream wherever the team might try to integrate her,” Gideon responds.

Ray lets out an exasperated breath and runs a hand through his hair. He bends over the library desk and flips through Constantine’s monster manual for what feels like the hundredth time that morning. There must be something in here that can help them. Some way to turn Charlie into a real human maybe? To remove whatever magical properties make her a Bureau-classified fugitive?

John hadn’t seemed very optimistic about this option when Ray had presented it last night.

“Metaphorically speaking, I clipped ‘er wings, but she’s still an angel,” he’d said, skeptically. “She’s always going to attract a certain kind of trouble, if you know what I mean.”

Ray refuses to accept that. Whatever the others might think, Ray knows that underneath the punk bravado, Charlie is a good person. He can’t send her to Hell, and he can’t send her to the Bureau for a lifetime of imprisonment. Sara has offered him a chance to make this right. If only he can –

Ray’s train of thought is cut short by an electronic zipping sound coming from the hallway. Frowning, he moves to investigate.

“Welcome to the Wave Rider, sir. I’m sure that somebody is – oh, perfect! Ray! It’s good to see you. Come here please. I have someone to introduce you to.”

Well, shit.

Ava Sharpe stands in the hallway, face stiffly cheerful, waiving Ray towards her. There’s an older man with a square face, dressed in a suit, next to her that Ray has never met before, and Gary, of course, sways awkwardly behind both of them.

“Ava,” Ray squeaks, trying his very best to act natural. “What a surprise! I didn’t know you were planning to visit today.”

“Yes, sorry. This is a drop-in inspection. You weren’t supposed to know,” Ava explains, very professionally. “This is Mr. Hank Heywood. He’s with the Budget department in the Pentagon.”

It’s a godsend that Ray’s good manners are his default setting. He offers Hank his hand, before his mind fully processes who he is talking to. “Mr. Heywood,” Ray says very, very slowly. He looks the older gentleman up and down and finds himself almost at a loss for words. Nate is his best friend, and Ray knows what his dad’s name is, as well as what kind of relationship the two have. This can’t possibly be a coincidence. “Like… Heywood, Heywood?”

Hank’s eyes narrow. “Yes,” he confirms. “And you are?”

“Oh, um, sorry. I’m Ray Palmer, sir. You might know me from the news cycles in Star City a few years back? I’m former CEO of Palmer Tech?”

Ray immediately wants to kick himself for name-dropping, but he’s having trouble thinking straight.

Still, this does seem to ring a bell for Hank. “Oh. I didn’t realize-“

“That I was still alive,” Ray laughs nervously. “Yeah, go figure.”

He looks past Hank and Ava and makes eye-contact with Gary. The guy is sweating almost worse than Ray. I didn’t tell them, Gary mouths, tugging anxiously at his shirt collar.

“We’re going to want to gather the team and get a tour of the ship,” Ava clears her throat, oblivious to the exchange. “Where’s Captain Lance?”

She turns to the left, peering down the hallway in the direction of the lab, where Charlie is currently detained. “Oh, I bet she’s in the Captain’s Office,” Ray says quickly. He drops a hand gently onto Ava’s shoulder to guide her in the opposite direction.

Ava looks at him for a second like she can see completely through him, but for some reason, she doesn’t call him on it. “Lead the way Mr. Palmer,” she says, tone foreboding.

Ray swallows. Charlie may be in the lab, but he doesn’t know where Leonard is. Taking Hank and Ava anywhere is a gamble.  

“Well, you know what they say,” Ray feels random, agreeable words falling out of his mouth. “Scientists make the best tour guides.” He internally cringes at himself, as he skirts around the edge of the group so that he’s leading.

If the Legend’s luck gets him through the day, the whole team is going to owe him big time.

They don’t find Leonard in the Captain’s Office (thank god), but Sara isn’t there either.

Ray pokes his head in ahead of the Bureau party, heart thumping near out of his chest, and finds Nate sitting in the swivel chair. His eyes are pinned to the to the tv screen on the far wall. A video feed of the lab is rolling. Charlie appears to have calmed down since the night before and is talking to someone off-camera.

Ray knocks twice on the door frame and jerkily tries to move his body between the screen and Ava’s line of sight. “Heyyyy, Nate. We got company!” Ray blurts out, somewhere between cheerful and panicked.  

Nate startles. He clicks off the television before the sentence is half out of Ray’s mouth, and his chair spins around so fast, it nearly tips over.

“Company?” Nate asks, ears red.

His gaze falls on the three suits hovering over Ray’s shoulder. Gary is the only one who waives at him.

“Nathaniel?” Hank’s eyes grow wide.  

“Dad?”

A wave of guilt washes through Ray as he makes room for Hank to advance further into the Office, closer to his son.  

“You didn’t tell him Nate was going to be here before you left?” Ray asks Ava quietly, more than a little incredulous.

“I don’t know if you noticed,” Ava whispers back. “But Mr. Heywood is not a great listener. I’m trying my best over here. Now where’s Sara and what are you all hiding?”

Ray’s neck grows hot. “Hiding? Why would we be hiding something?” he replies, too fast. “Gideon, can you get Sara?”

“Right away, Mr. Palmer,” Gideon responds.

“Ray, listen to me,” Ava breathes. “Whatever Sara’s been saying, I’m just trying to get through this, same as you all. Let me in on what you’re covering up. Please. I’ll try and help.”

Ray wants to believe her. He genuinely does, but he’s learned a lot about people’s prejudices from hanging around Leonard and Mick the past three years. He knows better than to risk this.  

Instead, he lets an instinctive twinge of protectiveness get the better of him. “Sara hasn’t been saying anything, you know. Not about you or the Bureau,” he crosses his arms. Pauses. “Does Mr. Heywood know that you two…”

Ava’s face flushes. “No. He doesn’t. And I’d like to keep it that way,” she says.  

“Right,” Ray mutters. He glances back towards Hank and Nate, and figures this is about as good an opportunity to cut them loose as any. He clears his throat to get all their attention. “Hey, mind if I go gather the rest of the team?” he asks, willfully ignoring the muted, murderous look Ava sends him. “You two seem like you could use a moment to catch up.”

Nate raises a silent eyebrow, and Ray shakes his head once.

“I think we do need a moment to catch up,” Nate agrees, tone combative. “Ava, how long did you say you’ve been reporting to my Dad?”

Ray sends Nate a short apologetic nod before making his escape. He walks first. Then, once the Bureau team is out of sight, starts to run.

He passes Constantine halfway through his sprint. The Warlock appears to have just finished up his morning mystic Yoga routine, and thankfully, is back in his boxers and white undershirt.

“Oi, what wrong with you?” John sniffs, after Ray almost barrels him over.

“Ava’s here,” Ray explains in a rush. “Do you know where Leonard is?”

John doesn’t have a chance to answer the question. Ray skids to a stop in front of the lab and finds everyone he’s looking for all at once. “Oh, thank god,” Ray huffs, scurrying over to the computer.

Leonard pushes himself up off the floor. Later, Ray will have to ask what he was doing hanging out with Charlie.

“Raymond? What’s going on?”

“Ava’s here,” Ray says again.

Leonard frowns. “And Ava is?”

John cracks a wicked smile. “Sara’s ex-dearie,” he says. At the same time, Ray offers “Head of the Time Bureau.”

Ray stifles a wince as Leonard’s eyes snap up to John’s. “I’m sorry, what?” Snart asks.

“Think you heard me the first time, mate,” John says, too smug.

Ray can see Snart’s jaw tick from across the room. And oh boy, that isn’t good.

“Can I have two minutes before we do this please?” he squeaks out.  “Ava’s walking in here any second.”

Leonard waves his hand in the air, incredulously. “Tic, toc, Raymond,” he does acquiesce. “I’m timing you.”  

Ray swallows and forces himself to turn towards Charlie. “Um, Charlie?,” he starts. “The actual Time Cops are here now, okay? And if they realize you’re, well, you know, you. Then they’re going to arrest you for real.”

“As opposed to whatever the bloody hell this is, right?” Charlie bites back at him. And yes, it does hurt a little. Her voice sounds horrible.

“Please,” Ray sighs, urgently. “I’m trying to help. If I let you out of here, can you play along? We can tell them you’re part of the team. I think they’ll roll with it.”

John whistles. “That’s a terrible idea, mate,” he says.

Ray ignores him. “Can you do that? Can you promise me you’re not going to attack us again if I let you out of here?”

He rolls his weight from foot to foot as Charlie takes a moment to consider. “Promise me I don’t end up right back in here when they leave,” she says. “No more cages.”

“Gotta say,” Leonard takes a step towards him. The digs about Ava are momentarily forgotten. “I think I agree with the Brit.”

Ray doesn’t dare wait for his teammates to make the intervention physical. He presses the release button, and the force field around Charlie dissolves from the bottom up.

For a heartbeat, everyone in the room stops breathing.

Charlie rises to her feet and looks straight at Leonard. “We’re even for now, eh?” she says.

Ray wipes his hand over his face, half baffled, as Leonard shrugs at her. He doesn’t dare press his luck asking questions.

“Okay, second problem then,” he nods to himself, and mentally prepares for what is undoubtably about to be ‘the hard part’. “Len, if I ask you to hide now, any chance you’ll just, you know, listen?”

Sara is in the gym when Gideon informs her that Ava’s on the ship.

“Fuck,” she drops off the salmon ladder rung as if it’s burned her. “How much longer do you think Nate can buy us?”

“Not long much longer, Captain,” Gideon says. “His father is pressing about a tour now.”

“Shit,” she curses again. “Call Mick. Tell him to get in there. Where’d Ray go?”

“He’s with Mr. Snart and Mr. Constantine in the laboratory. They’ve freed Charlie,” Gideon provides.

Sara blinks. “Of course they did,” she mutters, and starts jogging towards the lab.

She doesn’t even know why she bothers to act surprised anymore.

“And why am I hiding from Sara’s ex-girlfriend?”

Sara enters at exactly the wrong time.

“Oh perfect, welcome to the party,” Len cocks his head at her. “Gideon tell you we have visitors yet?”

The room in front of her is something of a scene. Leonard leans against the far wall with his arms crossed and his shoulders taut in a line of silent tension; Ray is hunched over the lab control consul, staring at Snart, looking unusually sweaty; one of Mick’s ‘it’s-just-market-research’ romance novels is randomly on the table between them; John is barely dressed and obviously isn’t helping anyone; and then there’s Charlie, who has peacefully slipped into one of the chairs. She waves at Sara when she walks in. Her grin is utterly self-satisfied and looks out of place on Amaya’s face.

Sara breathes and takes a rapid mental catalogue of every problem she’s currently looking at. The Legends have a cardinal rule that goes something like, ‘if it’s not shooting, it’s not important’, and today is not the day that Sara’s planning on abandoning it. Leonard, she decides, is the most pressing issue at hand.

“Len,” Sara says, guessing most of what she’s missed. “Not now. Ray’s right. You need to hide.”

“See, told you,” Ray exhales. He looks like he’s never been so glad to see her.

“From your ex-girlfriend? Raymond and Constantine were just filling me in,” Leonard says. “Funny, you never mentioned that you were on certain terms with the head of the Time Masters.”

Sara grits her teeth. “Time Bureau,” she corrects him, automatically. Then, immediately regrets it when she sees him narrow his eyes at her. “And I guess I hadn’t gotten there yet. It doesn’t matter. Leonard, you need to hide.”

“I thought the Time Masters were nicer now, right?” Leonard argues, caustically.  “What are we scared of them for?”

He’s being obtuse on purpose now. Why the hell does he have to be so stubborn?

“They’re a subsidiary of the U.S. Government, Snart. You’re not hiding fr-“

“Sara! There you are.”

It’s too late. Sara turns around, and Ava is there. They haven’t spoken since they’d defeated Mallus, Darhk got away, and Sara had ended things. Sara’s been using Ray as a passthrough at every available opportunity.

What terrible timing.

Even though she seems to have been looking for Sara, Ava’s eyes slide right over her, as if she’s pointedly trying not see her. Instead, she homes in on the state of the rest of the team. Sara can tell from the tilt of Ava’s brow that their pro-typical state of disorder is annoying her. Her lips quirk subtly into a near-imperceptible frown when she notes Leonard and Charlie’s presence. 

Then, as if things could possibly look any worse, Mick and Zari make their entrance on the other side of the room.  “Aha! There’s Agent Hot-Cakes!” Mick barks out.

Sara resists the urge to do a facepalm.  

“Here everyone is,” Ava amends, gracefully ignoring him. She takes a step further into the lab, and Gary, Nate, and an older gentleman that Sara assumes is Nate’s Dad file in.

“You. You’re in charge of this ship?” Hank Heywood pushes around Ava to see her.

Sara clears her throat. Maybe it’s not too late to salvage the situation.

“Captain Sara Lance,” she says, with all the professionalism she can muster. “And yes. I’m in charge here.”

“Well it’s about time we found you,” Hank huffs. “Care to introduce me to the rest of your team?”

Sara gives Hank a quick once over. She hasn’t spoken to Nate extensively about his father but knows that they’re not on the best of terms. Sara pegs him immediately as former military - some kind of commanding officer with an ego about his station, but with minimal combat exposure.

“Well, I take it you’ve met Nate,” she starts intentionally.

Hank waves an annoyingly dismissive hand at her.  “And Mr. Palmer,” he says.

“Right. Well, this is John Constantine. He’s our magic expert,” Sara starts. “Over there, that’s Mick Rory, our, um, weapons specialist. Zari Tomaz. Computer expert – “

“Charlie,” Ray jumps. “She’s a consultant of John’s. Helping us close a shapeshifter case we just got back from.” Sara gives Ray a short, impressed nod. It’s the smoothest lie she’s ever seen out of him.

“And, um. This is Len Barrows. In charge of Security,” Sara finishes.

“Charlie, and… Len,” Ava repeats, crossing her arms. “Anyone new on the payroll needs to be approved through HR, Sara.”

A stab of irritation pierces through Sara’s gut. She’s got two fugitives on her ship (one magical, one not), and of course all Ava’s worried about is the paperwork formalities. 

 “Charlie’s just here as a favor to John,” Sara lies. “Len’s paperwork just hasn’t gone through yet. I was planning on contacting them this afternoon, actually. We’ve been so busy with the fugitive hunting. We’re just behind a little. I’ve got a stack of half-written mission reports waiting for you on my desk.”

“Uh-huh. Just a little behind,” Ava repeats.

Oh, they’re going to be talking about this later. Sara can tell by the look on Ava’s face that she’s already called her bullshit. Leonard situation aside, it’s impossible to hide that Charlie is a dead-ringer for Amaya. But it doesn’t matter. Ava knows they’re lying and hasn’t said anything yet. She’s clearly trying to save face in front of Mr. Heywood.

This may turn out yet to be a blessing in disguise.

Sara gives Mr. Heywood a moment to get a grip on the situation. It’s his move now. He walks further into the room, eyes traveling over the piles of discarded tech and the romance novel on the counters.  The team waits in silence.

He does a circle, taking a moment to look each team member dead in the face before moving onto the next. When he passes Charlie, Sara allows herself a small half-sigh of relief. Then he moves on to hover by Mick and ends, definitively, on the one person Sara wishes he would skip.  

“Wait a minute. I know you. I know your face,” Mr Heywood says suddenly, pointing a fat finger straight at Leonard, then at Mick. Sara’s heart sinks. “You’re that thief! Both of you are. You kidnapped that girl in Central City a few years ago.”

Ava’s head snaps up. “Sara, please tell me that’s not…”

Leonard lifts an eyebrow. “Oh no,” he deadpans. “You caught me?”

Hank looks over his shoulder at Ava, appalled.

“Well, what are you waiting for? Arrest them!”

Ava clears her throat. “Mick Rory received a presidential pardon a few years ago, sir, after the Dominator invasion. He’s authorized to be on this ship.”

“Well is the other one authorized?” Hank demands.

Ava sighs. “No sir.”

“Then arrest him. That’s an order.”

Mick takes a silent step forward, positioning himself in front of Leonard. Nobody else moves.

Sara realizes this is it. One word from her and the team will resist. Eight on three, they almost certainly would be able to get Ava, Gary, and Hank off the ship well before they’d made any headway arresting Leonard. But then what? They’d be on the run from the Bureau again, hiding away somewhere in the far corners of the timestream. Fighting not just Damien Darhk, but also Ava’s army of bureaucrats.

Sara is exhausted even thinking about it. She has her problems with Ava, but she doesn’t want to fight her. Her eyes lock with Leonard, trying to gauge what he will be okay with. He lifts one shoulder in a half-shrug.

He’ll follow her lead then.

“Okay, we’re going to try this again,” Sara plays the only peaceful card she has left. “We pulled Leonard out of the timestream, and he’s got a whole bunch of weird time magic running through him. If he leaves the team, that magic would be a danger to him and everyone around him.”

 “Is the magic going to be a problem if he leaves the ship?” Ava asks skeptically.

Sara clenches her jaw. “Depends on who’s with him,” she says.

“Then it sounds like something we can sort out at the Bureau,” Ava retorts.  

Leonard, who has been remarkably quiet throughout Sara and Ava’s exchange thus far, seems to decide he’s done with this. He kicks off the wall, making both Ava, Hank, and Gary tense, and slaps a hand on Mick’s shoulder.

“It’s fine. I’m a reasonable guy. I’m sure we can work all this out at your little time precinct,” he says.

Mick makes a noise that is very close to a literal growl. “You sure Snart?” he asks, glaring at Ava and Hank.

Leonard meets Sara’s eyes and nods. “Positive,” he says. “I’m sure you’ll send word if you think our new friends are becoming… unreasonable. Right big guy?”

Mick grunts once. The tension in the room rachets down slightly, and Ava unfreezes. Leonard lifts his hands up to allow her access to his wrists.  “I prefer my bracelets in front, if I get a choice,” he says. She doesn’t say a word as she pulls a pair of cuffs out of her back pocket and clamps them onto Leonard.

Sara feels her nails digging into her palms, watching the arrest scene. “Team. Everyone follows to the Bureau,” she orders, tersely. She closes the gap between her, Ava and Snart, purposefully turning her back to Hank.  “We’re talking about this when we get there. Privately,” she whispers, harshly, in Ava’s ear.

“Try and remember that you put me in this situation, Sara,” Ava matches her tone, finally looking her in the eye for the first time this morning. “I wouldn’t be here if you would just fill out your damn reports.”

Leonard watches their exchange with a carefully blank look on his face. “Lance, loosen up,” he drawls, lifting his hands and wiggling his fingers. The cuffs around his wrists jingle. “This is a professional courtesy.” He leans closer to Ava, conspiratorially. “The government has been trying very hard to lock me up for a very long time. But we all seem sensible here. I’m sure you and - what’d Mick call you? Agent Hot-Cakes? - are going to work something out just fine.”

Ava’s face flushes faintly, and she clicks a button on her time courier. A portal back to the Bureau springs open in the middle of the lab. “Sounds like you must already know your rights then,” she says. Leonard rolls his eyes dramatically, as Ava starts to mirandize him.

Sara desperately hopes he knows what he’s doing. She isn’t so sure that her negotiation skills with Ava are something that should be trusted.  

Somewhere, well before the year 2019, Damien Darhk frowns down at the smooth brown time stone resting in his palm. There’s a rune engraved on-top that usually glows a faint green, but it’s flickering now.

It’s something Damien has been anticipating for some time. The stone’s power came from Mallus, and his presence in the mortal realm is fading. He will need to act soon, or else risk losing his ability to time travel altogether.

This is fine, of course.

He already knows where he can find a suitable replacement piece.

Chapter Text

Leonard supposes he deserves this.

Sara and Raymond had both told him to hide and, like an ass, he’d ignored them.

It’s ridiculous, really. Almost inexcusable. Who did he think he was, questioning somebody who was telling him to hide from the authorities?

The general heroics of his past few months must really be getting to his head. All it took was one goading comment from Constantine about Time Masters and ex-girlfriends and Leonard just… wasn’t in a listening mood anymore.

(He’s not jealous. Captain Cold does not do jealous.)

On the bright side, this has got to be the most comfortable excuse for an interrogation room that he’s ever been in. The director woman, Ava, had said something about magical holding cells when they’d first arrived, and Mick had almost gotten violent. So now he’s landed in a repurposed conference room, cuffed to a cushy green chair at the head of a sturdy red-oak table.  

He wonders, bored, if this is all good-will between Sara and her ex, or if it’s just arresting-officer amateur hour. They never searched his person for weapons or contraband, and nobody has been assigned to watch him. The conference room even has a whole wall of two-way windows that are only covered with beige plastic slat blinds.

From his seat, he has access to all three of his emergency lockpicks (hidden in his socks, left boot, and waistband respectively), a pocket-knife, and line of sight on the first leg of his exit route. They might as well have given him free roam of the place.

Yet, here he is. Decidedly not roaming.

Some misguided part of him must still believe that Sara’s going to negotiate him out of this situation without a full-scale prison break. 

He sheepishly hopes that time doesn’t prove him to be a fool twice over today.

Sara pinches the bridge of her nose between her fingers to try and stave off the raging headache that’s blooming in the back of her skull.

The Bureau is the same stuffy place it’s always been. Sara’s always thought it was remarkable that Rip managed to turn something as objectively cool as time-travel into a nine-to-five cubical farm. She feels a depressing twinge of second-hand existential dread just looking at the flurry of nicely dressed suits typing monotonously away in front of the computer screens.

Her team sticks out here, six very loud bullhorns in the metaphorical china shop. She can hear most of them arguing with Hank through the walls of Ava’s office, which is kind of remarkable. Sara and Ava tested the room’s soundproofing once when they were on better terms and found it held up very well. 

That feels like a lifetime ago now.

This is not at all how she pictured her first reunion with Ava post-breakup would go.

“You have to understand,” Ava is saying, in the shrillest whisper Sara’s ever heard. “The Bureau’s entire budget is under a lot of scrutiny right now. If the Pentagon thinks we’re fraudulent or unnecessary the entire department could be scrapped! I know politics aren’t your thing but looks are important right now. We can’t afford to act like, you know…” She waves her hand towards Mick, who stands menacingly by the door. “Rogues.”

This must be the tenth time they’ve hashed through this particular sticking point in the last hour, and Sara is running out of polite ways to tell Ava that she doesn’t care. 

The Legends were active for a long time before the Time Bureau, and if push came to shove, they’d be active after the Bureau too. It’s convenient to have a government entity backing the team – to have paychecks hitting their home bank accounts and reliable back-up for emergencies - but also, half the team is legally dead, independently wealthy, or displaced in time without a social security number.

Convenience is optional for her. Leonard is not.

“Ava, what do you want from me?” she asks, wrapping her fingers tightly around the back of the chair that she’s supposed to be sitting in. “I didn’t submit the freaking reports, okay? And I can’t go back and fix it without breaking more rules. We’ve been dealing with a lot recently, so shoot me.” 

Ava opens her mouth, then closes it, her face flushing just a little. “I’m trying to explain that this is out of my control now. There isn’t anything I can do,” she says bluntly.

This is not the answer that Sara wants to hear. She won’t accept it. “Is it that you can’t help, or that you won’t help?” she asks. “There’s a difference.”

“Don’t give me that line, Sara,” Ava crosses her arms. “That’s not fair.”

“Let Snart out, or we’ll show you what’s fucking fair,” Mick seethes.

Ava rewards him with an unimpressed glare. Mick has threatened her enough today that his words are probably starting to loose individual meaning. Normally Sara would make more of an effort to run interference, but she’s run out of the social bandwidth.

“Okay, you know what? Fine. What do you want from me, Sara?” Ava seems to crack. “Was I supposed to just make excuses for your team indefinitely while you avoided me for the rest of eternity? Don’t think for a second that I don’t know the real reason you didn’t file those reports.”  

Sara feels inches away from actual murder. “I’m allowed to want some space. You don’t get to hate me for that,” she grits out. “And Leonard doesn’t deserve to rot in some pit because we’re having an awkward breakup.”   

Ava’s jaw jumps. It feels like they’re teetering at the edge of an actual honest conversation now. Sara is not one hundred percent sure that’s a good thing.

“Are you-“ Ava starts a retort, but her sentence is cut short.

Above them, the lights wink out.

The emergency lights thunk on almost immediately, illuminating the egress routes in a weak white glow. A series of curses and complaints echo through the cubicle farm. The Legends aren’t the only ones about to be behind on their reports anymore, Sara thinks, ruefully.

“Don’t you guys have a back-up generator?” she asks slowly.

Ava nods. “It takes a minute to start running,” she says, frowning. Pauses. “Sara, if this is Snart…”

Sara gives her a look that stops her mid-sentence. “It’s not,” she says, in a tone that brokers no argument. She turns her attention to Mick. “Can you check in with Ray?” she asks. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this.”

Mick gives her a short nod and kicks off the wall.

“I’m doing a lap of the floor,” Sara says, flexing her fingers. “Shouldn’t take me long.” She reaches out and catches Ava by the forearm as she makes her exit. “We’re continuing this conversation when I get back.”

Ava purses her lips. “Be quick about it,” she says.

The ‘before Hank loses his patience,’ passes between them unsaid.  

Leonard doesn’t like this. Not one bit.

He’s been in the conference room for about forty-five minutes when the lights suddenly go out. Whatever idle boredom was entertaining him before vanishes with his general ability to see.

This outage can’t possibly be natural. The sun was shining through the Bureau’s wall-to-wall windows when Ava took him on his faux perp walk through the front office earlier, and sudden weather events aren’t exactly pro-typical for Washington DC in the late fall.

Some kind of foul-play has to be at work.

That being said, it’s actually rather difficult to cut power off completely to a building of this size – Leonard would know. The core electrical panels are often behind the site’s security features with redundancy so that if one source goes down, the offices won’t be completely neutered.

Taking down a building like this would require a strong, coordinated strike.

Leonard stares hard at the door and wonders how long it would take for somebody to fish him out of here if something was going south around the corner.

Nobody else at the Bureau seems to be particularly alarmed yet, at least. There’s a gentle hum of muffled voices through the conference wall, and Leonard can see a few workers walking back and forth through the window.

He decides to give it ten. If nobody’s checked in on him by then, he’ll make this his business.

Seconds tick by. Then minutes. Leonard starts to grow restless. He is just about to let himself out when the door clicks open.

And Nathaniel steps in.

For half a second, the two of them just stare at each other.

Then Nate awkwardly clears his throat. “Ray sent me to sit with you,” he explains stiffly. “The back-up generator downstairs didn’t start up. He’s going with Zari to see if they can’t figure out what’s up with the lights.” He plops himself down at the other end of the table, as far away from Leonard as the room will physically allow.

Leonard surveys Nathaniel coldly. “And you agreed?” he asks, incredulously.  

Nate shrugs. “Didn’t have much of a choice,” he says. “He thinks I’m the only one who won’t get kicked out, and I guess you know how Ray gets with stuff like this.”

Leonard raises an eyebrow. “Because of your father?” he asks, and Nathaniel gives him a short nod.

“He’s wrong,” Nate’s lips thin into a hard frown. “So no worries, I’ll be out of your hair the second my Dad realizes where I’ve disappeared to.”

Leonard fidgets with the time ring on his thumb. He and Nathaniel have been at such odds the past few days, it really shouldn’t matter, but he finds, suddenly, that he needs to know.

“He hit you?”

Nate’s eyes snap up. “What?” he blinks.

Leonard scowls. “You heard me. I asked if he hits you,” he snaps.

“No,” Nate says quickly. “He’s never hit me. You know, Mick asked me that too once.”

“Mm.” That doesn’t surprise Leonard in the slightest. “What a coincidence.”

Silence stretches between them for a moment as Nate waits for him to elaborate. When he realizes that Leonard doesn’t intend to, he sniffs. “Sara and Mick pulled Ava to the side to talk to her privately… But Ray’s mostly arguing about your charges out there,” he continues. “My dad thinks some of them are missing from the system.”

Leonard allows himself a hint of a smile. This happened the last time he was arrested, as well. Barry erased his permanent record from existence back in 2015, but he couldn’t do anything about Leonard’s reputation.

“I’d get comfortable,” he kicks his feet up onto the chair next to him. “If they’re trying to dig up kidnapping charges, we’re going to be here a while.”

Nathaniel’s eyes narrow. “You did something?” he says, half question, half accusation.

“Nothing you or anyone else can prove,” Leonard replies. “Don’t worry. I’m sure they’ll decide the patricide is enough to justify the arrest warrant eventually, and we’ll all be able to move on to booking soon enough.”

A vein on Nate’s temple pops, “You killed your father?” he asks, alarmed.

Honestly, Leonard doesn’t know why this tends to surprise people so much. Nathaniel clearly already thinks he’s some kind of monster. Why should the unfortunate blood bond he shared with Lewis make some kind of cosmic difference on the matter?   

“What? I’ve met your father now,” Leonard drums his fingers on the table. “You going to tell me that you don’t understand the sentiment?”

Nate wipes a hand over his mouth. “Listen, my dad and I have our problems. That doesn’t mean I actually would, you know, kill him,” he says. 

Leonard just rolls his eyes. “It’s easier than you’d think,” he says, then decides he’s done with the conversation. “Did Ray say you had to talk?” 

Nate crosses his arms. “No I guess not.”

“Then please, save my eardrums the stress,” Leonard sneers.

Nathaniel rolls his eyes, but mercifully doesn’t press the issue any further. Leonard makes a mental note to harangue Ray about this situation later. He thinks he preferred sitting in his little conference prison room alone.

The ominous feeling in Sara’s gut does not settle after she’s finished doing a quick patrol loop of the Bureau’s main floor. If anything, it gets worse.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she can hear Ra’s Al Ghul whispering in her ear ‘A warrior knows the difference between battle sense and paranoia,’ he tells her. A whiplash scar on her lower back prickles with phantom pain.

When she returns to the main open office, she finds Charlie, John, and Mick mulling around a mildly lit aisleway. Hank is a few feet away from them, having some kind of tiff with Ava.

They pause when she approaches.

“Find anything?” Ava asks her, tone faintly strained.

Sara shakes her head and looks over at her team. Mick’s thumb is resting lightly on the grip of his heat gun, and John is playing with the cap of his lighter. She’s satisfied enough with their general state of readiness. Then, there’s Charlie, who slouches between them.

She hesitates for a moment before reaching into her boot for the k-bar knife that she keeps stashed in the side. Carefully, she flips it hilt side forward and offers it to Charlie.

“Just in case,” she says.

Charlie blinks at it for a moment before accepting.  “Right… Thanks,” she mumbles.

Hank eyes the exchange warily. “Is that really necessary, Captain Lance?” he asks.

Yes, Sara thinks. Even as she tells Hank otherwise. “Let’s hope not,” she says. “Do you want a knife too? You’re un-armed, and I have extras. Better yet, Ava probably has an extra gun for you somewhere.”

Hank’s mouth screws into a sour downturn. She wonders if he thought his general air of authority might fool people into thinking he had a concealed carry. “That won’t be necessary. In fact, I was just telling Director Sharpe here about what a distraction this has been for us. I’d like to get back to…”

Hank’s voice trails off mid-sentence.

Something about the air around them changes in a way that makes the little hairs on the back of Sara’s neck stand on end. Her eyes snap over instinctually to John’s. He’s got his nose turned upwards and looks decidedly less impaired than he did moments earlier.

Magic. Strong enough that even regular people, like Hank, notice it.

Through the sudden quiet, they hear footsteps clicking lightly down the hall, coming from the direction of the Bureau’s suite entrance.

“Get down,” Sara shouts.  Then throws herself towards the cover of the nearest cubicle.

She doesn’t have a chance to see if the others listened. Knuckles rap lightly against the far wall. “Knock, knock,” a whimsical voice sing-songs over the din buzzing of the emergency lights.

There’s a sudden pressure drop, followed by a whomp.

Utter destruction follows.    

An invisible gale of sheer force rips through the room. Everything that isn’t nailed down goes flying. Sara hits the ground just in time. There’s a cut-out in the floor under a desk with wires sticking out if it. She grabs its lip and hangs on for dear life while a mountain of debris sails over her.

Someone’s body knocks into the nearby cubical wall. It pancakes backwards onto the table-top, giving Sara a decent line-of-sight on their attacker.

But of course, she knows who it is, even before the dust settles.

Damien Darhk stands at the epicenter of the blast. He wears a pristine slim-cut grey Italian suit with a blood-red handkerchief sticking out of his left-breast pocket.  

“Whoops,” he grins wolfishly around at the chaos he’s caused.  “My sincerest apologies. That was probably a bit much. Would somebody mind pointing me to the lady in charge?”

A heartbeat of silence passes. Then a guttural bellow of rage rips through the air. Sara feels a wall of pure heat pass over her back as a beam of almost-white fire shoots over her. Darhk raises his left hand and the blast seems to encounter an invisible wall, about a foot in front of him. With the flick of his right, it cuts off all together.

Out of the corner of her eye, Sara sees Mick get wrenched off his feet and fly bodily towards the ceiling. He sticks up there, suspended by invisible strings.

“Coward. Let me down and I’ll roast you alive,” Mick bellows.

Damien ignores him. “There’s one,” he says.

John emerges from a pile of broken electronics, lightning crackling at his fingertips. Charlie pops out from the cover of one of the private offices with her knife in hand. A phaser gun goes off, as Ava shoots a hole in the desk that’s on top of her. Even Hank seems to catch the script, and starts shouting some long-winded bureaucratic jargon at Damien, which, if nothing else might be semi-useful as a distraction.

Sara’s entire being thrums with violence as she watches Darhk start to thwart their assault, but she doesn’t dare join in. She gets one good shot. That’s how this sick dance between her and Damien works.

She can’t afford to miss again. 

Darhk clicks his tongue. “You people really never learn,” he says.

He flicks the air, and Constantine’s head cracks backwards like he’s been socked in the nose. Then he’s yanked upwards by the wrists, before being pinned next to Mick. Hank and Charlie’s time on the ground is equally short lived. Neither of them have ranged weapons, and both end up strung up well before they’re able to close the gap to enter melee range.

It’s Ava that lasts the longest. She fires her gun from heavy cover and is smart enough to stay moving between shots so Darhk can’t pinpoint her easily to counter. Unfortunately, guns aren’t the most effective weapon against a guy who can deflect bullets with his mind. None of her shots come close to hitting.

After he’s finished handling the others, Darhk seems to loose patience with the cat and mouse game. He cuts another force strike towards Ava. It rips through the already destroyed furniture, completely removing all of Ava’s options for cover. She gets off one last shot before Darhk disarms her.

He takes a step forward and spreads both hands out. Ava grunts as she’s forced star-fish flat onto the floor in front of him.

Damien’s eyes dart around the room, sharp and clear, cataloguing his victims. “You’re missing numbers” he says, cocking his head towards Mick and Constantine. “No Sara today?”

Sara holds her breath. Her elbows sting from rubbing against the carpet, but it can’t be helped. Ever so slowly she army-crawls closer to where Darhk stands.

“Go fuck yourself,” Mick grunts.

Damien gives him a bland smile. “You’re delightful as ever, Mr. Rory.” He steps forward and bends over Ava, examining her like she’s some kind of curiosity. “It’s no matter. I’m actually here for you today.”

“Sorry, I don’t think you had an appointment,” Ava chokes out. “My schedule’s booked.” Her shoulders squirm, like she’s trying to muscle her way out of his magic’s hold, but the effort is clearly in vain.

“Consider me a drop-in,” Damien says.

Alarm bells blare in Sara’s skull as Darhk kneels down beside Ava. There’s still about eight feet of junk between them now. It’s too large of a leap for her to make quietly. She just needs to get a little bit closer…

“Ah! Perfect,” Damien reaches for Ava’s wrist and unbuckles the watch she’s wearing – her time courier. “Demon magic becomes frustratingly unreliable after they’ve been banished, you see.” He tucks the watch into his pocket with one hand and tosses a stone onto the ground with the other. “Now, what to do with you?”

Sara’s out of time.

She loops her fingers around the hilt of a knife she has stashed in her waistband, coils her muscles, and launches herself at Damien. The motion is perfectly silent. Every ounce of her extensive assassin training boiled down into one precise strike.

When she leaves the ground and he doesn’t turn, she is certain that this time, she has him.

“What in the world-“

Voices sound from the hallway just as Sara is about to slam her knife into Darhk’s back. Damien spins towards the noise, eyes widening when he instead finds Sara mid-swing.

Darhk’s League instincts kick in instantaneously. His hand snaps up and wraps firmly around Sara’s forearm, intercepting the pressing danger of her blade. Then he allows her momentum to drive her forward.

Sara has grossly over-committed to her one strike. Her gut collides straight into his knee.

It’s the worst hit she’s taken in a long, long time. Stars swallow her vision. All the air leaves her lungs at once, and her side explodes with mind-numbing pain. A broken rib possibly? That’s not good. Her body hits the ground with a thud. She tries to suck in a breath, but her diaphragm seizes. A horrible, hacking cough starts to wrack through her system.

Distantly, she’s aware of a loud commotion going on around her, but she can’t focus. Doesn’t understand what’s happening until it’s over. When she finally blinks the black spots out of her vision, she realizes Ray and Zari have returned, only to join the growing list of people hanging from the ceiling.  

Damien is clapping above her.

“Bravo, Ms. Lance,” he says. He has a glint in his eye like her sudden appearance has absolutely delighted him. “You almost had me there. I thought for sure I caught your lady-friend on your day out of the office.”

Sara feels a wave of raw, unadulterated hate wash through her. “Why can’t you just fucking die already,” she wheezes. The knife that she tried to kill him with a moment ago is gone, but Sara has more. She pulls one out of her sleeve, quick as she can, and swipes at him again.

The movement is sloppy.  Damien backsteps out of the way easily, then swiftly kicks her hard in the stomach. She feels an involuntary whimper squeak out of her. Her bad rib screams.

Damien let’s out a theatrical sigh. “You’d think you’d be nicer to me while I’m deciding whether or not to let your girlfriend live today, Sara,” he says.

“Ex-girlfriend, you asshole,” Ava grits out, still struggling. “Leave her alone.”

Darhk flashes his teeth at her. “Oh? That’s news. Did she get bored of you? Or did you finally notice that everything our dear Sara touches seems to die and try to cut your losses.”

“You know, sometimes people break-up for completely normal reasons,” Ava grunts, as Sara lets out a completely unintelligent snarl.

“Well, it doesn’t really matter,” Damien shrugs. “Guilty by association, as they say.”

He looks at Sara, and she feels her heart fall through her stomach like a lead dumbbell. “How about we play a little game, hmm?” Damien steps over Ava’s pinned body and kneels so that his knee is resting on her sternum. His left hand reaches forward and closes around her throat. “Break my hold and I’ll let her live.”

The rest of the team erupts in a cacophony of distant yelling, but Sara can barely hear them.

The entire world seems to narrow around her until there’s nothing but the three feet of space between her, Damien and Ava.

She’s been here before – the day Ivo shot Shadow, the first time she killed a fellow League-inductee, when she left Leonard behind at the Oculus, in the hospital waiting area after they told her that her father died. It’s that certain out-of-body quality that life seems to take when you know bad things are happening and there’s nothing to do about it.

Experience has not made this any easier to deal with.

Adrenaline mutes the pain burning in her side as she forces herself to her feet. She throws herself at Damien- no weapons, intending to grapple with him- hoping numbly that he will voluntarily abstain from magic to at least keep up a shadow of the pretense that she might have a fighting chance. 

But of course, Damien isn’t interested in fair. She feels an invisible force flip her over him the moment she’s in range. She lands wrong on top of pile of splintered wood and feels something warm and wet start to drip down her arm.

There’s no time to check where the blood is coming from.

“Again,” Damien shouts.

Sara grabs a snapped chair leg and throws it at him like it’s a javelin. He diverts it, then magically swats her even further away from him, like she’s a particularly annoying gnat.

Ava makes a near-silent choking noise.

Sara forces herself up again.

“Come now, Sara. Where’s the effort? This is pathetic,” Damien jeers.

Knives again. Sara throws two, and pulls a third out, meant for close ranged stabbing. She tries to dive under a fallen desk for cover, but Darhk blocks the projectiles and pushes the desk out of the way before she can disappear from his line of sight. He’s taken away every approach option, except for a direct charge.

Frontal assaults don’t work against Darhk.

“I don’t think she’s going to last much longer, dear.”

In her heart of hearts, Sara has already resigned herself to the fact that Ava isn’t going to make it out of this. Damien is right after all. Everyone who gets close to her does seem to die eventually. Maddeningly though, she can’t stop trying.

Slowly, painfully, she pushes herself to her feet again. This is what insanity feels like.

“I didn’t kill your fucking daughter,” she breathes, voice thin.

And charges, one last time. 

---

Leonard stares hard at the door that leads out to the hallway and chews anxiously on the inside of his lip. The steady sound of nearby voices has quieted over the course of the last five minutes, and nobody has passed by the window in twice as long.

“Something’s wrong,” he says, breaking the vaguely uncomfortable silence that’s settled between him and Nathaniel.

“What?” Nate’s head jerks up.

“Do your ears not work properly? I said something is wrong,” Leonard repeats himself. “Palmer should’ve gotten the power back by now, you said it yourself when you came in here – you expected your father to notice and have kicked you out by now, right?”

Nate frowns, looking down at his watch. “Yeah, but it’s been quiet,” he says. “I’m sure if there was a problem somebody would’ve-“

Leonard makes up his mind while Nate is mid-sentence. He pulls the lock-pick out of his waistband and is out of the cuffs in five seconds flat.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Nate is suddenly on his feet, blocking the route to the door.

Leonard presses forward until he’s in Nate’s personal space. He’s taller than Nathaniel, if only by a few inches, and while Nate could certainly power up and stop him, physically, Leonard is willing to bet that he won’t.

“Out of my way, Heywood,” he says, impatiently. “If everything’s fine, I’m sure dear old dad will turn me around himself the second we step out there. This isn’t a break-out.”

Nate runs his fingers through his hair. “Fine. Maybe. Let me poke my head out first,” he says.

Leonard nods, allowing it. Nate takes two steps backward, cracks the conference room door open, and looks both ways down the hallway. “Everyone’s gone,” he mumbles.

“By all means, let’s go find them,” Leonard replies.  

They step out into the hallway, following a trail of small white lights on the floor towards the main office area. When they turn the corner, they find their path blocked by a heavy-set fire door. It must have closed itself after the power went out.

Nate has to throw his back into it to force it open. Sound starts to carry the moment it’s cracked.

“I didn’t kill your fucking daughter.”

Leonard barely hears Sara over the sound of the others shouting.

He exchanges a brief look of shock with Nate, before the two of them are moving like somebody’s life depends on it.

They burst through the fire door and Leonard’s heart stutters in his chest.

The room before him is entirely unrecognizable. It’s been leveled so thoroughly, nothing is intact anymore.

And Sara. Sara. Leonard’s eyes find her immediately. She crouches on the ground in the center of the room, completely alone. One hand is clutching her abdomen and while the other unclips a baton from its holster on her thigh. Blood drips down her arm from a gash on the outside of her bicep.

A man in a suit is kneeling over someone a few feet in front of her.

Nate breaks into a dead sprint towards the fight they’ve interrupted, shifting mid-stride into a man-shaped block of steel. Leonard isn’t nearly so fast, but he follows anyway. Years spent alongside Mick have taught him a lot about shadowing stronger men in fist fights. He puts himself intentionally behind Nate’s looming profile.

It’s not clear whether Nate’s heavy footsteps or Sara’s face gives them away. All Leonard knows is that one moment, he’s staring at Nate’s steel back, and the next, Nate is flying across the room like a rag-doll.

Leonard lunges forward in his wake. The man in the suit doesn’t expect to find him lurking behind Nathaniel.  Leonard is a dead man walking. An extra. A number this villain-of-the-week wouldn’t expect to be rolling with the Legends. Leonard has every intention of shutting this scuffle down. Brutally, definitively, with his fists.  

Of course, you know what they say about the best intentions.

The man recovers from his surprise quickly, and Leonard runs head-first into an invisible wall. He feels something lifting him and instinctively kicks out against the hold. But nothing is there. On the other side of the room, Leonard realizes that half the Bureau seems to be stuck to the ceiling, the entirety of the Legends included.

Mick looks nearly feral.

Something clicks. Leonard gets his first good look at the man in the suit. This must be Damien Dahrk.

The person on the ground beside Darhk – Sara’s ex, Ava - makes a sudden, terrible gasping noise. A dark red hand-print circles her neck. Leonard and Nate must’ve gotten there just in time… however short-lived the rescue effort may end up being.

Darhk is staring at him. “My god, Leonard Snart? You’re supposed to be dead,” he glances over towards Sara. “Is this the little present you found in Russia?”

Sara doesn’t respond to him, opting for another assault. She starts to spring forward with her baton, but Damien waves his hand and her shoulder careens ruthlessly into the ground instead. Leonard can only watch, horrified.

How long had this been going on for, while he was playing prisoner in the conference room? How are you supposed to fight someone who can brutalize you with the snap of their fingers? 

“Sorry, have we met?” He finds himself snarling, suddenly desperate to divert Darhk’s attention away from Sara. “Must not have left much of an impression. I’m not the kind of guy to forget an interesting face.”

It works, perhaps a little too well.

Darhk’s eyes flicker to Leonard’s. “Oh, we’re old friends,” he says, too cheerfully. “But I suppose you wouldn’t remember any of it, would you. I wonder how much of it they’ve even been able to share with you.” He makes a motion with his hand as if to beckon Leonard to him, and whatever force is keeping Leonard airborne yanks him forward. Suddenly, he finds himself hovering a foot off the ground, well within arm’s reach of Darhk. “Allow me to jog your memory.”

Damien reaches his arm out, places his thumb on Leonard’s forehead, and twists. Leonard feels the invisible band that holds his temporal energy at bay thrum like a plucked rubber band. It settles back into a place a moment later. Holding firm, apparently.

As far as their audience can tell, nothing happened.

Darhk frowns at him and repeats the motion.

Again, the band warbles. Again, it holds.

“This seems kind of anti-climatic for you,” Leonard comments, dryly.

Damien’s lip curls. “Well, isn’t that odd,” he says.

Darhk’s eyes flutter back over to Sara. She appears to have found her feet again while his attention was diverted; although, Leonard wishes she would have stayed down. Blood is smeared across her face now, and he can’t tell if it’s from the gash on her arm or if she’s nursing a new wound. Either way, she’s not in good shape to continue fighting.

Even worse than the injuries, is the dead look in Sara’s eye. It occurs to Leonard that he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Sara afraid before. Angry, sure. Frustrated, yes. Grief-stricken, arguably. But never, ever afraid. When he catches her attention now though, that’s undoubtedly what she is. Openly terrified and somehow, resigned to it.

Leonard feels a visceral loathing start to boil in his gut, as he notices the way Darhk seems to drink in her expression.

Damien’s gaze returns to Leonard. “Tell you what,” he says. “Maybe we’ll have to get reacquainted the old-fashioned way.”

Darhk pulls a small watch out of his pocket and clicks a button. A square portal unzips in front of them. Rain is splattering down on the other side of it, obscuring what looks to be a dark-lit alleyway. 

On the other side of the room, Leonard sees Mick start thrashing and Sara mobilize in some kind of last-ditch effort to rescue him, but it feels like he’s watching them through molasses. Even if Darhk wasn’t a literal wizard, neither of them are close enough to reach him in time.

“Don’t worry Sara, I’m just going to borrow him for a little bit,” Damien grins over his shoulder. “I promise to give him back… eventually.”

Sara looks wildly at somebody behind Leonard, a wordless plea written across her face.

Then he feels a brick wall slam into his side. Steel flashes in his peripherals as something much stronger than Leonard tries to wrench him out of the air. The pulling is mostly just painful. He doesn’t budge an inch away from where Darhk has him dangling.

“Nathaniel?” he grunts.

He struggles to get a better view of what’s happening, but rain is suddenly sloshing into his vision. Leonard catches one last blurry glimpse of blonde hair rushing towards him, before the Bureau itself blinks out of existence.

Concerns about time masters and prison-time have never felt so far away.

Chapter Text

Silence rings in Sara’s ears like a death sentence.

She blinks hard at the space where Leonard and Nate had been just moments ago, waiting for… something. The crisis doesn’t feel over yet. Someone is supposed to be choking, bleeding, dying on the patch of carpet where Damien Darhk just stood, but nothing is there. Only the gentle quiet of absence. Sara feels like she’s drowning in it.

Leonard and Nate are gone.

Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone. Gone.

She’s not sure how long she sits on the floor, staring at nothing. Only that eventually, a hand grazes her shoulder, and she jumps near out of her skin. It’s only Ray though. Her eyes sweep over him, checking for injuries. His hair is a little mussed, like he’d just walked through a wind tunnel, but otherwise he seems fine.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, recoiling his hand when he realizes that he’s startled her. “Hey, Sara. It’s over.”

Everything feels suddenly worse, looking at Ray. His face has become her own personal calamity meter as of late. She can tell exactly how badly she’s been thrashed by the angle of the crook in his frown. Sara doesn’t know what she’s supposed to do with his worry.

“No,” she finds herself telling him quietly. “It’s not going to be over until he’s dead.”

The ‘or I’m dead,’ goes unsaid.

Sara pushes herself up off the floor, stubbornly ignoring the way everything burns as she does so.

“Sara, I don’t think you should be moving,” Ray mumbles in an exasperated tone that says he already knows she’s not going to listen to him.  

She grits her teeth. “I’m fine,” she insists, then immediately undermines the statement by reaching out to steady herself with his shoulder. She doesn’t realize how bloody her hands are until she sees them contrasted against Ray’s light blue sweater. When she releases him, she leaves behind a crimson handprint.  

“You really, really don’t look fine,” Ray tells her.

Sara is already shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter. We need to get started on search and rescue. It’s not fatal. I’ll see Gideon after,” she says.

“But-“

Something vital in Sara’s chest threatens to crack. “Ray,” she cuts him off. “Please don’t make me do this right now.”

The concern creased in Ray’s features ratchets up to unprecedented levels, but he does fall silent. Sara turns away from him before he decides to press her further.

The rest of the Bureau has started to quietly lick its wounds around them. The desk agents who’d hidden themselves during the worst of the attack trickle out of their hiding places. Most of them are unharmed, except for a few minor scrapes and bruises. Remarkably, despite the wasteland of ruined government property that Darhk left in his wake, on first glance, there doesn’t appear to be any bodies.

Sara scans the rubble for Ava and spots her – alive - a few yards away, resting beside an overturned water cooler. Her limbs unglue to close the space between them.

“You okay?” she asks, offering out her hand.

Ava stares at it. “Not really,” she says. Her voice comes out in a harsh croak, but gets better as she continues speaking. “I’m not dead though. That’s something… Should you really be helping me up right now?”

Sara once scaled the top seven floors of a skyscraper towing a 150-pound dead body over her shoulder with a sprained ankle and a hairline fracture in her clavicle. The word ‘should’ is extremely subjective.

“I’m fine,” she insists.  

Ava ignores her hand anyways, opting to use the broken water cooler as leverage to push herself up instead. A frustrating swoop of helplessness plunges through Sara’s gut as she watches. This is just another thing she’s no use for today.

“Sara,” Ava seems to notice the look on her face. “I… I’m sorry. I didn’t know he’d gotten this bad.”

An hour ago, the comment would’ve set her off. The Bureau has known Damien’s been at large for weeks now. What the hell did they think he was doing? Having a nice peaceful, non-murderous tea party? After Nora died? No, they’d gotten what was coming for them. Damien Darhk had caught them with their pants down, and now the Legends were the ones paying for it.

Unfortunately, Sara finds that she can’t be mad at Ava while she can see angry red finger imprints circling her neck.

“You know now,” she says, feeling hollow. She sways a little on her feet. “Ava… I need them back alive. Both of them.”

A touch of distant sadness ghosts through Ava’s eyes. “You never mentioned Snart to me. Not once,” she says, wistfully. “But I guess we never talked about the important things, did we?”

Sara looks down at her bloody hands. “I… it wasn’t you,” she manages, unable to quite muster the apology that Ava probably deserves. “Snart was dead.”

He’s going to be again soon.

Ava sighs. “Yeah. Yeah, I know,” she says. “You have whatever support I can give you to find them. We just need to talk to Hank first.”

Hank…

A quick scan of the room places Hank on the ground not far from the entrance to Ava’s office. It’s roughly where Darhk threw most of the people he’d magically restrained during the fight, and so the rest of her team seems to be over there with him, recovering in prototypical chaotic fashion. John is smoking indoors, there’s a fist-shaped hole in the dry wall beside Mick, and Zari is having some kind of biting exchange with Charlie.

Like Ray, none of them seem to be hurt. Not physically, at least.

Sara glances back to Ava. “I’ll do it now,” she says. “You should go find a medic to check you out.”

“I’ll get looked at when you do,” Ava replies, utterly unimpressed with her suggestion.

Sara decides it’s best not to argue.

With a sigh, she hobbles over towards Hank. The Legend’s conversation grows hushed as she nears, but Hank himself hardly seems to notice her. He sits with his back against the wall and his legs splayed out haphazardly in front of him. A pair of dog-tags, similar to the kind Nate wears, are clutched tightly in his left hand. The man who was harassing her earlier about rules, protocol and money seems long-gone.

“Get up Mr. Heywood,” she says. “We need to talk.” 

Hank blinks at her. “Talk?” he rasps. “Ha! There’s nothing left. What could we possibly have to talk about?” The word spills out of his mouth two octaves higher than normal. His tone borders on hysterical.

Sara wrestles with herself for a moment, trying to find the part of herself that’s good at working with trauma victims. Digging inwards right now though is a mistake. Sympathy doesn’t exist in the torrent of gone-gone-gone-gone-gone that’s storming through her chest.

“We’re going to talk about saving your son,” Sara snarls instead, because some things never change, and it’s so much easier to be angry. She bends over to grab Hank by the collar, hauls him up off his spot on the floor, and pins him forcibly against the wall.

Her broken rib screams at the sudden exertion, but the pain is almost welcome. It washes her mind clear of the other pesky, competing feelings that are bouncing around up there, forcing her to the crystalline present.

Hank stares at her, absolutely gob-smacked. Whether he’s more surprised by the fact that she’s laid hands on him or that she’s still capable of moving in general is hard to say.

“Do you know who that was?” Sara asks, cutting right to the point. Hank’s mouth opens and closes twice, but no words come out. She considers that he may still be in shock. “That was Damien Darhk,” she answers the question for him. “The man who nuked Havenrock.”  

Hank blinks at her owlishly. “The Green Arrow killed him,” he protests, finding his tongue. “I-it was caught on film, broadcast on the news. He’s dead.”

Sara can’t help but let out a humorless snort. “Think again. This is the Time Bureau Mr. Heywood. Nobody is dead here. Every depraved psychopath that’s ever breathed and ever will breathe is just a quick time-jump away.”

Hank’s face pales. Sara wonders if this is the first time he’s properly considered the threat time travel poses to society.

“Now I need you to listen to me very carefully,” Sara says, voice lethally even. “Damien Darhk is one of the most prolific mass murderers in history. He is over two-hundred years old, trained by the League of Assassins, has telepathic powers and a hell of a grudge against the Legends. And now he has Leonard and your son. He has Nate. Do you understand me?”

She waits for Hank to nod.

“You are about to drop every other Bureau priority. Every available resource under your control - to include any influence you have at the god damn Pentagon. Every man, every dollar, every time ship is searching for Nate and Leonard. And when we find them, Leonard gets authorized to be on the Wave Rider. No questions asked. Give the order. Now.”

The entire room is silent as Hank grasps for some semblance of composure. “Captain Lance, I don-“ he starts.

But Sara cuts him off. “No. This is not a negotiation. I am telling you what I need to make sure that this-“ she waves towards the general destruction behind them “- never happens again. Now, give the order.”

Hank visibly swallows, then nods. “Yes. Yes, fine. Do whatever you need. You have the Bureau,” he says. “Just… just get Nathaniel back.”

Sara releases him, having gotten what she needed. Hank sags down against the wall like a deflating balloon.

I will, she considers telling him, but the words die in her throat. Darhk just gave the entire Bureau a very public, abject lesson in how outclassed they were against him.

Any pledge she might offer Hank could only ever be half-empty at best.

Nate lets out a long, pained groan as he slowly blinks his eyes open. He regrets moving almost immediately. A bright white light hangs overhead, and the sudden sensory input makes his head throb.    

“You finally awake?” a low voice calls from his right.

He startles, jerking to the side weakly only to realize that he’s restrained. A wiry rope is looped tautly around his wrists and biceps, anchoring him to a metal chair. His limbs feel loose and funny and wrong, and his thoughts are oddly slippery. It takes several sluggish grabs at the strings that hold his thoughts together to remember how exactly he’d gotten into this situation.

The fight at the Bureau, a short scuffle in a rainy alleyway, and then afterwards a sudden, oppressive darkness – it all comes back to him slowly.

This must be where Darhk brought him after he’d lost consciousness.

“Umph. Snart, that you?” he asks, remembering that somebody had spoken to him.

Leonard releases a deep sigh. “Check back in when your vision stops swimming Nathaniel,” he says.

Nate blinks until the light feels a little bit less like needles. Looking to his right, he can now see Snart similarly bound to a chair a few feet away from him. The ropes don’t leave much room for movement, but Snart still somehow manages to look like he’s slouching.

“I think Darhk drugged me again,” Nate mutters trying to stretch out his neck.

“Would you say you’re concussed then drugged regularly, as a three-ton steel man?” Leonard asks, voice heavy with sarcasm. 

This is exactly the type of comment from Snart that would’ve gotten on Nate’s nerves back on the ship. As things are, he finds he’s too strung-out to care. There are probably enough tranquilizers in his system to put a bear down for the winter.

 “Ung, it’s more than you’d think it should be,” he confesses, honestly. “Tranq’s mess with my powers.”

“Ah,” Snart nods. “One of his goons did come in and stab you in the neck with a needle earlier.”  

Nate supposes that makes sense and squints around the room some more. The lamp above them is almost like a spotlight. Its brightness casts much of the room around them into shadow. The wall on the other side of Leonard is made of worn grey wood, the floors of cracked concrete, and the air is thick and muggy with humidity. To their left is a maze of red and blue shipping containers, stacked about four high underneath the pitched truss ceiling. Wherever it is, the exit is not within Nate’s line-of-sight.

It's impossible to pinpoint exactly where, or when they might be in the timestream, but they must be somewhere that’s more modern than not. Electricity, concrete, the implication of trade by freight ship… it’s not much to go off, but it’s something.

“You shouldn’t have followed me through that portal,” Snart interrupts his train of thought.

Nate’s head rocks to the side. “Yeah, I know,” he says, not really in the mood for a lecture.

“Do you?” Snart asks. His tone is oddly flat. It’s missing the theatrical lilt that’s usually present when he’s sneering at Nate. “You’re a spare. He didn’t mean to take you here. Men like Darhk use spares to send messages.”

“Wasn’t really thinking,” Nate shrugs. “Just… Sara doesn’t deserve this, you know? It’s messed up.”

Leonard’s expression does something complicated, seeming to sharpen and turn pensive at the same time. “You’re as bad as Palmer is,” he says, almost as an after-thought.

“That’s a compliment,” Nate mumbles in response. “Ray’s awesome.”

Surprisingly, Snart doesn’t press the subject further than that. Silence stretches awkwardly between them, but it doesn’t feel nearly as hostile as it did before, at the Bureau. It’s a notable change of script.

Nate finds his mind wandering back to the dilapidated shack in London, where he decked Leonard not even forty-eight hours ago. It’s funny how quickly circumstances can change things.

Nothing like a light kidnapping between unfriendly co-workers to break the ice.

“I don’t suppose you’re sitting on some kind of plan over there. You’re supposed to be some kind of escape artist, right?” Nate asks, mostly just to fill the void.  

Snart’s eyes flicker over to him lazily. “Clean breakouts take time,” he says slowly. “Darhk’s going to come in here to chat with us soon. He wants something. If he didn’t, he could’ve just killed us at the Bureau. There’s no use in starting something we can’t finish. We’re going to have to hear him out.”    

Nate sighs, expecting as much.

“What’s a messy breakout look like?” he asks.

“Last time? I shot my right hand with the cold gun and snapped it off,” Leonard deadpans. “I would prefer that stays a one-time thing.”

Nate pauses, unable to tell if Snart’s joking or not. He squints down at the crook’s hand, which is conspicuously still attached to the rest of his body. “Wait… really?”

“Gideon,” Snart says curtly, by way of explanation.

Nate shakes his head in disbelief. “Right, no messy breakouts then,” he says.

Leonard taps the ring on his thumb twice against the hard metal arm of his chair. The clinking sound echoes ominously through the air. “Agreed,” he says smoothly.

Nate tries to mimic Snart’s lackadaisical slouch in an effort to get more comfortable in his seat.

He has the distinct feeling that he and Snart were not going to have much say in what their breakout looks like – messy or otherwise.

Being tied to a chair under the imminent threat of a violent interrogation is nothing new for Leonard, but for some reason, the situation feels particularly dire anyways.

Unlike Nathaniel, Darhk hadn’t knocked him out during transit to this rundown warehouse. Leonard had been wide-awake as they made a second time jump out of the first brick alleyway and into a second plaster one.

There had been men waiting for them there. Darhk hadn’t said a word as he dropped Leonard in their midst. They knew, without verbal orders, to shove Leonard’s head into a bag and man-handle him into the back of a car. Then precisely twenty-four minutes later, new unfamiliar voices had been there to receive him.

Their interactions were short, curt, and professional. They spoke in whispers in front of Leonard, and the few words he did catch seemed to be nothing more than vague logistics. He gathered next to nothing from them as they dragged him to the back of the warehouse, tied him down, and removed the bag from his head.

Before he knew it, it was just him and Nathaniel again, left alone to stew on their own predicament.

The Legends thought Darhk was working alone, but the last hour changed everything. Leonard is positive he’s interacted with at least seven men working under Darhk, maybe more. Best case, that meant Darhk had recruited a small team to assist him. Worst case, he’s building up an organization again.

Leonard has plenty of time to mull over the consequences of this revelation before Nathaniel stirs, hours later. Plenty of time to consider the true depth of the grudge that Darhk seems to harbor against Sara.

They’d tried to explain it to him before. He’d seen evidence of Sara’s fear, repeatedly, but still, he hadn’t really understood. The gravity of the situation had been masked by two years of absence – by time bombs, whiskey, and dead family.

Leonard feels like a fool for ever taking Darhk so lightly. That last glimpse of Sara at the Bureau sits like a scourge underneath his skin, and time has begun to morph the initial horror of the moment into something entirely darker.

There is no room for his anger in the forsaken shipping warehouse that they’re tied up in. If he and Nathaniel hope to survive the impending interrogation, Leonard knows he’s going to have to play up a part that Darhk wants to see in him.

Still, that doesn’t stop the ire from growing quietly in a sealed off cavity deep in his chest.

When Nathaniel finally becomes coherent and starts to needle him with slurred bits of conversation, Leonard humors him. The psychological waiting game that Darhk is clearly playing with them is trite and overdone and Leonard refuses to reward him for it.   

Eventually, shoes click against the warehouse floor behind them.

Show time.

“Your oxfords are noisier than my sister’s middle school tap shoes,” he drawls. “Is this your best two-bit Jaws impression?”

“They’re monk-straps, actually,” Damien Darhk’s confident intone echoes around the empty corners of the warehouse, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. “I thought you might appreciate them. You and I both know the value of some tasteful suspense, eh Leonard?”  

He rounds Nathaniel, coming into view exactly at the end of his sentence, almost like he’d choreographed it.

He holds a long-pointed syringe in his right hand, and before either Legend has a chance to reply, he jabs it into the side of Nate’s neck. Nate makes a low grunting noise as he’s dosed, jerking weakly to the side before his head lolls backwards.

 “Grrt… the ‘ell man,” Nate garbles out, not quite unconscious.

Darhk discards the empty syringe, tossing it onto the ground by the foot of a matt-blue crate. “Sorry,” he says, not sounding sorry at all. Then turns to Leonard. “Necessary precaution,” he winks. “Can’t be too careful with a meta under your roof.”  

Leonard watches Nathaniel try and fend off the drugs for a moment, careful to keep his face completely expressionless, before rewarding Darhk with his attention. He regards the man with a practiced cold apathy, making a concerted effort to sit loosely in his chair - the absolute definition of ‘unbothered’.  

“Naturally,” Leonard drawls the word out, voice dripping with sarcasm. He makes a show of looking Damien over. His eyes drag over the shine of his polished brown dress shoes, the crisp traveler’s crease in his slacks, and the ivory buttons on his double-breasted navy suit, before brazenly meeting Darhk’s piercing gaze head on. “If this show is all for me, I gotta say, the theatrics are a little rich.”

The corners of Darhk’s mouth cut into a concerningly self-satisfied grin. “Speak for yourself, Mr. Snart,” he says, as if Leonard is entertaining him. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting, of course. I had some, ah, personal research to do after our little hiccup at the Bureau. Finding you there was a bit of a shock, old friend,” he pulls an orange-tinted shard of glass out of his pocket and points it at Leonard’s forehead. “With some kind of protection charm on your psyche no less. Very unusual.”

Darhk holds the glass up to one eye, peering down at Leonard through it. He makes a quiet ‘hmph’ sound, curiosity seemingly satisfied.

Leonard makes a conscious decision not to ask. “My friends don’t usually tie me to chairs,” he comments coolly, watching Darhk pocket the glass again.

Darhk tilts his head to the side in acknowledgement. “Yes, that’s also a necessary precaution for now,” he says. “You see my friends don’t usually galivant across the timestream with one Ms. Sara Lance.”

Darhk’s gaze cuts towards him, and Leonard can feel the man trying his best to read him.

Leonard only shrugs. “The pay’s better than you’d think it would be,” he says.

Nathaniel’s head turns slightly in Leonard’s peripheral vision – a sign that he’s still awake and might be tracking the conversation.

“I suppose I can’t fault you for your bottom line,” Darhk says slowly, not sounding particularly committed to the statement.  

Leonard allows just a hint of the disgust roiling in his chest to shine through. “I wasn’t particularly looking for your approval, thanks,” he replies evenly. “Now, if it’s convenient for you, I’d appreciate it if we could get to the point. These ropes are going to be a nightmare later for my skincare routine. Are you going to tell me why I’m here, or not?” he asks.

Darhk paces in front of him. “Your confidence is quite singular, as always,” he comments. “We’ll get to that in a minute. First, I’d like to know what they’ve told you about the Legion of Doom?”

Leonard flexes his fingers, pausing for a long moment before answering. “I’m aware that I was a part of it, if that’s what you’re asking,” he says.

“Is that all?” Darhk raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. Then shakes his head. “Most of our successes were unfortunately retconned by our current timeline. The Legends can’t remember any of it, because this version of themselves didn’t live it. Almost everything they know, they learned second hand,” he explains.  

Leonard’s eyes narrow. This isn’t the direction he thought this conversation would be going. He glances towards Nathaniel, but his cell-mate is staring at Darhk with an expression that’s somewhere between blank and utterly bewildered. He’s no help to Leonard in his current state.

“If it was retconned then you shouldn’t remember it either,” Leonard points out.

Darhk smirks. “I was resurrected from the dead by a time-demon, Mr. Snart. Certain rules simply don’t apply to me.”

Growing tired of the cloak and dagger, Leonard decides to take a calculated gamble. “Alright, so you tried to take over the universe with a pointy-stick. All of this is because you’re after Lance, right?” he says, lowly. Neutrally. “What’s it got to do with her?”

Darhk’s eyes catch on him again at the second mention of Sara, as if watching for… something. Leonard doesn’t so much as twitch, even as a spike of uncertainty rockets through him. Something about the way Darhk’s looking at him doesn’t make any sense…

He couldn’t possibly know, could he?

Darhk licks his bottom lip. “We used the spear to change the fabric of reality,” he says. “It has everything to do with her.”

He moves closer, brushing past Leonard’s elbow as he steps out-of-view, behind the chair.

“There are certain rules that come with magic items as powerful as the spear,” Darhk says, almost reverently. “For one, you have to understand a thing completely to change it. The world isn’t a blank canvas for magic to write over. There are bits that must be removed before you can re-create it in your own designs, and you can’t remove things if you don’t know they’re there.”

Leonard can’t help but tense as he feels Darhk’s hand on his shoulder - like a friend slinging an arm around a buddy, except the touch is entirely unwanted. 

“The scope of the changes we made to history were unimaginable. We could’ve lived for a millennia and never understood the world enough to use the spear. No mortal can come to that kind of understanding naturally. That’s why we needed the spell. It bridged the gap. Gave us what was required to use the spear as intended. We all had different purposes with the spear. Thawne wanted to ensure his safety from a time wraith. Merlyn wanted to bring his son back to life. You wanted control of the legal system in Central City.”

“And you wanted?” Leonard asks.

Darhk releases his shoulder, coming into view in front of Leonard again. He stops his pacing, and turns, watching Leonard intently, something like madness shining in his eye “Lots of things,” he says. “But, among them? I wanted the Legends under my foot. Punishment for trying to interfere with our original plans. Thawne called dibs on a few of them, of course, but I got Sara. I changed her. She was mine in the Doomworld. When I gave a command, she obeyed it. Unconditionally.”

A feeling of quiet violence blooms unbidden in Leonard’s gut. “She must really be under your skin for your five minutes of fame with the spear to have left such an impression.” he comments, ever-so calmly, unable to leave the opening alone. “I typically leave all my botched jobs off my resume.”

Darhk lets out a sharp, humorless, chuckle.

“I think you’ve missed the point, Mr. Snart,” he says. “We recruited you to our team because of your known connections to Mr. Rory. You were hired flip him – a task, you completed flawlessly, by the way. Of course, we knew you must’ve had some working relations with the rest of the Legends as well, but given that Rory was the only one who knew you substantively before, any bonds they may have shared with you hardly seemed relevant.”

“So, you can imagine my surprise when I used to spear to change Sara – when I used the spell to understand Sara - and learned exactly how much our little team-up bothered her,” Darhk finishes. He pauses, scrutinizing Leonard for some kind of reaction.

It takes everything he has to keep a straight face.

He hardly dares to even process what Darhk is implying. This is enemy territory. Whatever Darhk thinks he knows about Leonard and Sara, it doesn’t matter. Nothing this jack-ass has to say to him is allowed to matter.  

Darhk keeps going. “It becomes something of an art to continue hurting a person like Sara. I’ve already killed her sister. Her father’s dead. I go after her girlfriend, just to find out they’ve already broken up,” he shakes his head. “Don’t get me wrong, I love a good challenge, but, ah, what’s the saying? I’m not one to look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“Now, I know exactly what Sara thinks about you, but it’s one way. What I don’t know, is how you feel about her. I found you to be a very reasonable man during our last dealings, Mr. Snart. The way I see it, there are two options in front of us. Option one – maybe her feelings are mutual. Maybe you decide that your loyalty can’t be bought. Unfortunately, if that were the case, I would have no option but to kill you. Not today, of course. It would be slow and very, very painful. Preferably, with Sara present at the end to witness it. Or, option two – you could work with me again. I have some use for a man of your skillset. I’d offer you decent pay, and per our last agreement, I’d guarantee Mick Rory’s life at the end of this as well as your sister’s. Lisa, right? Seems like a more than fair deal, if you ask me.” 

Leonard can hear the blood rushing through his ears, as Nathaniel’s wide eyes bore holes in the back of his neck.

Is this how they got him onboard last time? Had they threatened Lisa?

For a tantalizing moment, he forces himself to stop and truly consider his options here.

He can’t betray Sara. Not truly. It doesn’t matter if his own life is forfeited because of it. But also, there’s a third path forward in front of him. One that doesn’t involve asking to be tortured and stops just shy of genuine duplicity.

What would happen if he says yes to Darhk’s proposal? How long would it take for Darhk to untie him? To hand him a gun? To go to sleep without watching his back?  If he had to, could Leonard keep up the act? Could he play pretend? For Lisa? For Sara?

His mind hurtles back to the Bureau, to that look on Sara’s face. He tries to imagine the way she’d look at him if the next time she saw him, he was nominally working with Darhk. It’s not a hard image for him to conjure. He held a gun to her once, not too long ago. He can remember exactly what that felt like.

The thought of doing it again makes him feel nauseous.  

“I see,” he says slowly, weighing every word with the utmost care. “Well, then. I think there’s something you need to understand about me. I have one rule, when it comes to work, that I don’t break. One rule.”

Darhk’s eyes flicker with impatience. “And what’s that?” he asks.

Leonard leans forward as much as the ropes will allow, encroaching into Darhk’s space as much as Darhk is encroaching into his. “I don’t work with abusive fucking fathers,” he says.

The reaction is immediate. Darhk’s hand cracks across Leonard’s face like a whiplash, the sudden pain making his eyes water.  

“You shouldn’t believe everything Sara’s undoubtably been telling you,” Darhk says, voice suddenly laced with venom. He stands up straight, eyes falling to the ring sitting on Leonard’s thumb. “It appears we’re back to where we started then, Mr. Snart. Perhaps if I jog your memory, you might be inclined to reconsider.”

Darhk reaches down and pulls the ring off Leonard’s thumb.

And all at once he’s drowning.

It’s a cacophony of noise in a place that had become accustomed to silence. The temporal energy assaults his senses, suffocating them with so much input, that everything loses form. The room around him blips out of existence, and all he can parse is the universe coated in a sickly green hue.

Familiar images dance on the edge of his conscious, flashing past just quick enough for him catch the flavor of them but not long enough for him to truly grasp. He has the sense that he’s speeding away from his body so fast, even the concept of returning to it seems like a pipedream.

No, he thinks. I can’t do this.

He knows what it feels like to be under control. The ring did that for him. Caitlin Snow had gotten it right before when she noted that people were able to rip him out of these episodes.

Now, he needed to be able to save himself.

He reaches out, grasping at the feral anger he’d been purposefully smothering for the past few hours, and when he finds it, he pulls, using it like a tether. Determinedly forcing his way back to himself.  

It’s not easy. In fact, it feels like dying. Like the Oculus is ripping his body apart a second time over. He makes the journey by sheer force of will, thriving on his own spite. On the need to make sure that this bastard is not allowed to continue to hurt Sara any longer.   

When he makes it, the final moment of waking is jarring. One second, he feels like he’s loose in the timestream itself. The next, he’s just sort of there, in the warehouse again, gasping for breath like he’s never had it before.

“Snart?” Nate moans beside him.  

He looks up to find Nathaniel struggling to sit upright, while Darhk stands a few feet back, leering at him.

“Absolutely fascinating,” Darhk mutters. “It’s like Mallus himself tangled with you before the time stream decided to spit you out.”

“Stop,” Nate breathes, glaring at Darhk. “Y’ gotta stop. Y’ don’t understand. He’s dang’russ like this.”

“On the contrary,” Darhk replies confidently. He holds Leonard’s ring out in his palm and cages his fingers around it. There’s a faint popping sound, and the gem in the center of it fractures. “I have a blood pact with the time demon himself. Nobody understands this better than I do. Now, where were we?” 

Leonard can feel the window to act closing rapidly as Damien takes a step towards him. He should say something. Agree with Nate, maybe. Or threaten Darhk. But it’s taking the whole of his being just to stay conscious. There’s no room left to talk, let alone think.

“It’s about time, Mr. Snart, that you remember.”

Just like at the Bureau, Darhk reaches forward and presses his thumb to Leonard’s forehead, but this time the ring isn’t there protecting him. Leonard can feel the intrusion. It’s as if a phantom is reaching into his mind with long, reedy tendrils and rooting itself there. When Darhk twists his finger, it’s like a key turning.

Something within him unlocks.

His control slips.

A torrent of force rips out of Leonard, twice as strong as it was before, and this time, it doesn’t feel confined to his sub-conscious. This time the power is out there, lashing out at the real world.

Leonard doesn’t want this, but the forces are bigger than him.

He stays above water for a second, maybe two. Then the storm pulls him under.

Chapter Text

For a moment, Nate swears he’s falling straight through the timestream again.

He thinks he’d probably know for sure, if he could just open his eyes and look, but whatever drug Darhk injected him with is settling in now. His eyelids feel so, so heavy.

Vaguely, he’s aware that his clothes are billowing against his frame, the cold warehouse has turned hot hot hot, and his feet aren’t pressed against concrete anymore. Then, suddenly his stomach drops out like he’s just crested the top of the worst sort of roller coaster. His head whips back painfully, jerking left and right and forwards, bouncing like a bobble toy on top of his shoulders.

And even though the world seems to have weaponized itself, Nate still can’t bring himself to look at it. His limbs hang from his joints like lead weights. Useless.

The sweet siren’s call of the void has never seemed so tantalizing blissful.

Nate can’t even remember why he’s fighting it anymore.

Leonard is sitting on a dock scoping out a Custom’s warehouse for a job when they first approach him.

Malcolm Merlyn looks at Eobard Thawne like he’s mildly interested in learning what the man’s intestines would look like outside of his body, even as he explains to Leonard that they’re real chummy business partners.

“This is taking too long,” Eobard snaps halfway through the sales pitch. “Come with us if you want to live.”

(Leonard intends to sneer but finds himself frowning at them instead.

It’s like he’s there and he’s not. Like he’s living the moment and watching it back on a movie-reel at the same time. There are two versions of him pounding around his skull, and the important one is decidedly not in charge.)

“Did you just quote the Terminator at me?” he asks Thawne.

Eobard seems unbearably annoyed with him. “If I say yes, will you comply any faster?”

(Leonard wants to shoot him so bad it hurts, but of course, that’s not what happens. His body moves on its own. It’s following a script that’s already been written.)

“Well,” he says, shrugging. “I’ve always been a sucker for the classics. I suppose I can hear you out.”

A long, shuddering moan slips out of Nate’s chest.

He blinks his eyes open and finds himself staring up at a stunning expanse of midnight, speckled brightly with twinkling white lights. It takes a disturbingly long time for his brain to parse exactly what he’s seeing.

That’s the sky, he thinks, stupidly. He’s outside.

He starts to push himself up onto his elbows, feeling equal parts sore and groggy, but the ground sags beneath him. He looks down, confused, only to realize that he seems to be lying in a pit of sand.  

That probably explains the crunch of grit in his back molars.

Moaning again just for the hell of it, Nate staggers to his feet. To his left, the mangled remnants of a metal chair poke out of the ground, frayed bits of rope wrap around the debris, and yes, Nate remembers it now. He’d been kidnapped and drugged.

Leonard had been with him.

Darhk had done something to Snart that had ended with him here… wherever here is. From the size of the crater he’s laying in, Nate hazards he may have hurtled out of the sky like a god-damned meteor.

Where is Snart now?

God, Sara’s going to kill him later. 

(They don’t threaten Lisa.)

The Legion wines and dines him like he’s the missing link in their gold chain. They promise him utopia with their silver forked tongues, and Leonard listens, quietly, suspiciously. He knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that these men are dangerous, but Leonard is dangerous too.

They don’t scare him.

(Fucking moron. Maybe they should.)

They finally hook him with Mick.

‘Mick’s fallen off the path’, they tell him. ‘He’s not right in the head. The Legends have him on a dog leash, and you’re too dead to provide course correction.’

After that, it’s not even a choice really. Memories of the worst job they ever pulled are still fresh for this version of him.

He remembers the stench of Mick’s flesh melting, the look of complete and utter madness in his partner’s eyes when Leonard had left him behind so the cops would get him medical attention. He remembers watching the news afterwards, only to learn that Mick had crashed his own ambulance, killed three paramedics, and ran off into the woods, his full-body second-degree burns still untreated.

Mick’s half-deranged on a good day, and if Leonard’s dead, well… Mick’s probably having a hell of a lot of bad days.

(Let Mick go, you idiot. The team’s taking care of him. He’s better now.)

Leonard shakes hands with Merlyn, Thawne, and Darhk, and tells himself that this is temporary. He’ll run with the Legion until they deliver him Mick, and not a second longer.   

It takes a stupid amount of effort for Nate to climb out of the sand crater. He blames the tranqs. Hours must have passed since Darhk initially dosed him, but he still can’t steel up, so they must still be in his system.

Cresting the edge of the pit, he gets a better view of his surroundings. Not that it’s particularly encouraging. The sand seems to stretch for miles in every direction, broken up occasionally by jagged yellow rocks and thin straw grass.

Out in the barren wilderness, there’s not much he can do about his circumstances. If there’s any hope of signaling the team, he needs to find something living. A civilization, preferably, but it's also entirely possible that those don’t exist yet. Nate can’t divine what time-period he’s landed in just from the moon and dirt.

“Man, if I run into a dinosaur, I’m going to be upset,” he mumbles aloud.

He spends the next five minutes contemplating which direction to start walking, when something on the horizon catches his eye. There, in the distance, he swears something is moving.

“Well buddy,” he considers. “Staying here forever isn’t really an option.”

He starts walking.

The Legion was right. Mick isn’t well.

(Leonard knew this, of course. Grief has colored every interaction he’s had with the man since he came back from the dead. But it’s so much worse here, where the wounds are clearly still fresh.)

Mick reeks of stale beer when Leonard finds him next to the World War I command tent, and there isn’t even a flicker of surprise when he notices Leonard approaching.  

He pulls on Mick’s strings like he always has, completely assured that it’s for Mick’s own good. It hasn’t crossed his mind once that Mick might belong with the Legends. Leonard is completely and utterly confident that this is the right path for him. For both of them.

“You’re an illumination,” Mick tells him, eyes squeezing shut, fist clenching and unclenching.

“A hallucination,” Leonard corrects.

(At least he knows why Mick punched him after they pulled him out of Russia now. He most certainly deserved it.)

As Nate closes in on the figure in the distance, something that feels awfully like relief washes over him.

Initially, it’s hard to make out exactly what he’s approaching, only that the thing seems to almost vibrate in place, pacing left and right in short, jerky steps.

Now that he’s closing in though, the shape is obviously human, and a familiar one at that. A tattered navy long-sleeve hangs off the man’s tall, lanky frame, making him almost blend into the night sky. Nate thanks his lucky stars that he was able to spot him against the desert rocks.

“Hey! Snart!” Nate shouts, grinning despite himself. “Where’s your meteor crater? Did you have a softer landing than me?”

Snart doesn’t seem to hear him. He keeps pacing, arms snapping up at odd intervals, hands twitching at his sides.

“Snart,” Nate tries again, smile fading. “You there?”

Again, no response. Nate feels his stomach drop.

Something’s wrong.

(Leonard doesn’t get a good glimpse of Sara until the fighting is basically over.)

They’ve got the Legends surrounded when he steps out, and their Captain has given Mick the spear. In the moment, he grins. Checkmate, Leonard thinks to himself.

He loves it when his plans just work. No last-minute improvised scrambling. No heart-pounding life-on-the-line chases. Only the sweet taste of a meticulously maneuvered victory. The Legends never stood a chance against him.

(Eyes on Mick, Leonard barely spares Sara a second glance. And why would he? He came here for his partner. Sara doesn’t mean anything to this version of him. He doesn’t know her.

And yet. And yet.

The way she looks at him cleaves his heart in half.

The others have clearly told her that he’s here. Like Mick, she’s not surprised to see him, but he catches her slip anyways. It’s a flicker of betrayal. A raw, visceral pain that vanishes as soon as it surfaces.

She’s always been too good at hiding her grief.)

Damien Darhk claps a hand on Leonard’s shoulder.

(For a moment, he hates himself.)

Leonard looks worse the closer Nate gets.

As the distance vanishes, Nate notices that Snart’s clothes are lightly singed, freckled with black burs of ash. Sweat beads run down his temples, smearing soot stains in dirty little rivers. Snart’s hands tremble almost feverishly, and his eyes…

His eyes are freaking Scooby-doo green.

If Nate’s being honest, he can’t remember what color Snart’s eyes are supposed to be, but he’s positive he would’ve noticed if they had always been this neon. It’s like Snart’s not present in his own body. Nate’s not even ten feet away from him now. There’s no reason Leonard shouldn’t have noticed him yet.

“Snart, dude, it’s me,” Nate swallows.

He’s not close with Leonard. If the man is in a time trance, there’s no reason to think Nate’s going to be able to pull him out of it the way Sara or Mick could. Still, he needs to try, right? They’re stuck together in the middle of a freaking desert. There’s no food or water in sight. No shelter either.

If Nate doesn’t have Snart, then he has nothing.

Nate splays one steady hand out in front of him, bending slightly at the knee, and takes a few hesitant steps forward. He feels more than a little silly. In his mind’s eye, he can picture Zari rolling her eyes.

He’s not a velociraptor and you’re not Chris Pratt, dummy, she’d say.

Yeah, maybe he’s just got dinosaurs on the brain today. Nate decides to blame the tranqs for that too.

“Come on, buddy… friend… pal,” he says, approaching Snart like he would a wounded animal. “You’re going to snap out of this, right?”

Snart rakes his shaking hands over his scalp, but otherwise still doesn’t seem to take any notice of him. Very, very slowly Nate reaches out, fingers grazing Leonard’s shoulder and-

He suddenly feels like he’s jammed his fingers into a light socket.

Something like electricity ripples down his arm, lancing his nerves with static pain. Nate falls to one knee. Then his limbs lock up completely. His head is pounding. The world starts spinning.  

And then it’s like he’s falling again. Falling and falling and falling.

Away from Leonard. Or is he with Leonard?

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know.

(The decisions all make a little bit too much sense. That’s the worst part.

He’s disgusted every time Darhk, Merlyn and Thawne so much as breath in his general direction, but at the same time, the math adds up. He can feel himself watching the others, noting the way they’re threatening each other, cataloguing all their little natural hostilities.

And the logic writes itself really.)

Leonard’s gotten what he wanted - gotten Mick. But, what are they supposed to do now? Leave?

Of course not. They might be world class thieves, but even Captain Cold and Heat Wave have their limits. As good as they are, Leonard knows they won’t measure against two assassins and a speedster in a dog fight.  

If the Legion is going to use the spear with or without them, then better it be with them. Better they maintain control. Whatever this job was before, it’s about survival now.

Leonard’s always been very, very good at survival.

A loud clap rattles Nate’s eardrums, and the world comes into a sudden, sharp focus.

Everything around him is so white, for a second, he thinks he’s gone blind. Nate gulps in a desperate breath, and the air that sucks into his lungs seems to burn him from the inside out.

He ends up choking on nothing, staggering forward, only to find that his legs seem to have turned to jelly.

When his face connects to ground this time, the sand is frigid. Or no, it’s not sand at all. The desert is gone entirely. Nate is laying down face first in a pile of snow.

“Fuck,” Nate curses. “Snart? Snart? Did we just time jump somewhere?”

Nobody answers him.

Leonard’s hands close around the Spear.

Everything that happens next doesn’t seem quite real.

The universe around him swirls to a pinpoint. He feels like he’s looking at time through a zoom lens panned all the way out. Everyone and everything he’s ever known is puddy under his fingertips, available for molding.  

He does the predictable thing.

Leonard Snart stumbles upon the power of a literal God and the first person he reaches for is daddy dearest.

He’s barely summoned the thought of Lewis before the Spear is practically assaulting him with knowledge. In an instant, he knows more about his father than he ever wanted to.

He knows the name of the first man Lewis killed while he was still on the force. He knows what his mother looked like the first time Lewis hit her. He knows every slimy thought that ran through the man’s head during the years he spent terrorizing his children. The bastardized, disingenuous moments of guilt. The fucking sense of self-righteousness. And on one or two occasions… the pride. The ‘that’s my boy’.  

Leonard wants to hurl, but it’s too late.

The knowledge is his forever now. A gift once received that can never be returned.

When he started down this path, he thinks he intended to make Lewis a better man, a better father, but now that the final choice is in front of him, he can’t seem to pull the trigger.

Even if the Spear changes Lewis, it won’t change Leonard.

As the architect master of the new universe, he’ll retain all his old memories out of necessity. Without them, the Legion would be stuck in an odd, cosmic paradox. He understands this. The Spear ensures he does.

In the end, Leonard pulls back. A coward and a hypocrite both. He tweaks the necessary things and nothing more.

If Nate loses consciousness again, he’s not going to wake up.

The desert was bad, but this icy tundra is worse. His thin t-shirt and jeans don’t offer any protection from the bitter cold. The snow seeps into the fabric and melts against his warm skin, only to freeze over again almost instantly. His entire body feels like it’s caked in ice. Warmth is leaching out of his skin at an alarming rate, and the numbness that replaces it is terrifying.

It’s kind of funny actually. He’s been so convinced that Captain Cold would try and ice him eventually, and now he kind of has. Not the way Nate thought he would. No. But surely, getting shot by the Cold Gun must feel something like this.

Nate cranes his head up in some delirious last-ditch effort to escape somewhere, and when he does, he sees him.

Leonard has teleported with him after all.

He’s not twitching anymore. That’s probably a bad thing. The man is sitting upright in the snow, staring at the sky blankly, still as a statue. Nate wonders if whatever magic-time bullshit that’s going on with Snart is protecting him from the cold, or if he’s just too far gone to realize that he’s dying too.

“Snart?” he croaks, mostly because he feels like he should.

Leonard doesn’t respond, not that Nate expected him to.

A gust of wind rips suddenly across the bluff, and the air feels like a wall of needles crashing against Nate’s skin. He plunges his face into the snow, like the ice itself might be able to protect him somehow.  

It doesn’t matter if the Legends are looking for them right now. At this rate, Nate and Leonard are going to die to frostbite before they ever find them.

They need out. They need out now.

Nate has an idea, but the idea sucks. Possibly, it’s the literal worst thing that he’s ever considered doing, which is really saying something, considering the amount of time he’s spent with the Legends.

“Leonard, m-man,” Nate gasps as he starts to army-crawl across the snow towards Snart. “If you don’t f-fucking kill me right now, you’re going to owe m-me forever.”

He closes the distance just as another torrent of wind slices through the air, and at that point, there’s no time to over think it. Nate reaches up and clamps his hand down on Leonard’s shoulder.

When he feels the timestream attempt to bodily rip him apart for the third time of the day, well… at least he knows what to expect this time. 

(The Doom World is a nightmare.)

At first, things aren’t so bad. Leonard carved out a pocket of Central City designed to deliver them both sound peace of mind. For the first time in a long time, Leonard goes to sleep without keeping one eye open. Nobody is hunting them here. The cops are in his back pocket, and their enemies have forgotten their grudges.

It’d be peaceful, if it wasn’t also incredibly boring.

Hardly a week into their new life, Leonard recognizes the drawbacks to the changes he’s made. By removing all the inherent danger from their lives as thieves, he’s removed the challenge too. Robberies are hardly necessary when you technically own the banks, and the game isn’t nearly as fun without the risks.

If circumstances were different, maybe that’d be fine.

Amongst a variety of other reasons, Leonard became a thief because he grew up in fucking poverty. He has everything he ever wanted now though. Money, fame, fortune. The whole gamut. Really, they should give up thieving all together. Pick up some hobbies or something. Live the quiet lives of men who have finally made it.

Except, Leonard tries to suggest this to Mick, and it goes over worse than a ton of lead bricks.

“Fuck off. You aren’t giving up shit,” Mick snorts derisively, taking a deep swig from his flask.

Leonard’s not sure he’s seen Mick sober since he pulled him from Legends. Every conversation they have these days is like navigating a field of landmines. And while maybe that’s not so out of character for Mick, Leonard used to know the triggers better. 

Time drags on and it becomes abundantly apparent; Mick hates it here.

He hates the luxurious apartment that they share. He hates the robberies that Leonard painstakingly plans for him. He really hates the monthly meetings they have with Thawne, Merlyn and Darhk. Somedays, he even seems to hate Leonard too.

“Hey Snart,” Mick slurs one night, half-slumped over in a beat-up reclining chair. 

“Mick” Leonard clips.

He’s agitated. After days of receiving the cold shoulder, Mick’s sudden mood swing irks him. His partner hasn’t even blinked at the detailed map of Central City’s biggest casino that Leonard has laid out on their kitchen table. Mick is the one who demanded their heists continue, but he seems more than content to let Leonard toil away at these farces while he just drinks himself to death.

“Where’s Lisa?”

The question slips between his ribs like a well-placed knife. Leonard presses his palm flat against the table and pretends to be unbothered by it. Mick was bound to notice her absence eventually. He’s been anticipating this conversation for a while now.

“Someplace safe,” he says, tone mild, even as his heart threatens to escape his chest. “She won’t be accessible to us here.”

Mick watches him for a moment. His eyes look almost entirely black in the shadow of the night. Then, without warning, his partner barks out a raucous laugh. Loud and gritty, it’s the most emotion Mick’s shown in weeks.

Leonard hates it utterly.

“Something funny?” he asks.

Mick takes another sloppy sip of his beer. “Nope,” he replies. Then laughs louder.

Ray is having flashbacks.

Well, maybe flashbacks is the wrong word. He’s not hallucinating like Mick sometimes does, and it’s not a PTSD thing either. He’s been there, done that, and would talk to someone if he really felt himself slipping.

He is thinking about Anna though. He’s thinking about her a whole lot.

“Hey, did you know I used to be engaged?” he asks abruptly.

Zari doesn’t look up from her tablet, but Ava does tilt her head towards him in acknowledgement. They’re all sitting in Ray’s lab on the WaveRider, staring at screens so hard, it seems likely their eyes might dry out soon.

It’s been seven hours since Leonard and Nate time-jumped out of the Bureau with Darhk.

The search isn’t going well.

Tracking Darhk has been an on-going problem for them. That hasn’t changed just because they’re desperate now. Their last hope hangs on Ray’s anomaly detector. Since banishing Mallus, when they’ve run into Darhk, he’s always shown up as a low-grade disturbance. A one on a scale of ten.

And of course, conversely, Leonard’s managed to register himself too. In the Russian hospital he’d generated a massive temporal disruption – a cataclysm that might’ve set records, had Ray’s metrics not been set to fixed limits. If Darhk tries to hurt Leonard, it stands to reason that might set him off again.

A one or a ten. Numbers drowning in an ocean of possibilities. They can weed out intermediate fugitives, but not the extremes. Their search for Nate and Leonard has boiled down to brute force trial and error, sending operative after operative on missions that have thus far, all come up short.

Zari and Ray are desperately trying to find some way to narrow the options down while Ava keeps track of the troops beside them.

“Mmm, yeah,” Zari hums, apparently having heard him after all. “You and Kendra right?”

Ray’s heart aches in his chest. “Oh, well yes, that’s technically true. But, um. Also no. Before Kendra. Did you know that I was engaged before Kendra?” he clarifies.

Zari frowns. “No. You’ve never mentioned anyone,” she says.

Ray glances back at Ava, who shoots him an apologetic look. “Sorry Ray,” she says. “I’ve read everyone’s files.”

That might bother some of the others, but Ray finds himself breathing out a small sigh of relief. “That’s okay,” he says. “I think… I think it’s nice that somebody knows... you know?”

There’s a quiet clattering noise as Zari places her notepad down on the lab table. Frustration bleeds off her in waves. Every fruitless minute that passes is costing her something, but he can see her push that down, making room for this conversation.

Ray appreciates her endlessly.

“What happened to your fiancé Ray?” she asks.

“Oh, she died,” he answers, voice faint. “It was the night Slade Wilson raided Starling City. I watched it happen.” He shudders at the memory of his own helplessness. “That’s why I built the Atom suit, originally. I wanted to be able to do something next time.”

“Jesus,” Zary blinks. “That’s messed up.”

Ray just shrugs.

He knows she’s right, of course. What happened to Anna is super messed up… but also, tragedy seems to cloak every member of the Legends. Some days, it feels like his own issues pale in comparison to everything his friends have gone through.  Zari herself grew up under a dystopian fascist regime, lost her entire family, and ended up in a Meta prison.

Ray got to grow up normal. He got to fall in love. And sure, while all that good does sometimes feel eclipsed by the worst night of his life, Ray can admit, objectively, that he’s gotten off light compared to so many of the others.

“I… that’s not the point I think,” Ray mumbles, half to himself. “It’s just… Leonard, Mick and Sara all got to meet Anna, once. We had to pull her from the timeline because the Time Masters started going after our families. I got to show her around the ship and everything. But I guess I don’t talk about her much anymore. It just hit me that you all probably didn’t even know.”

He shakes his head. “And it’s not just Anna. You didn’t really know about Leonard either. Like, you did, kind of. ‘Cause we ran into Leo. But not the whole picture. That’s weird right? It feels like you all should’ve known.”

Zari gives Ray a withering look that teeters dangerously close to pity. “Ray, don’t take this the wrong way, but I think if you guys start trauma dumping every time someone new joined the team, you’d probably scare people off,” she says.

Ray feels his cheeks flush. “Yeah, I guess so,” he agrees, sagging into his chair. “I just… I don’t think Sara’s going to be okay if we can’t find them,” he says.

It’s the first time one of them has dared to voice the thought aloud, even though they’ve certainly all been thinking it.

Ava’s hand brushes over the ugly bruise on her neck, and a twisted scowl settles over her features. “She shouldn’t be out in the field,” she mutters.

Zari sighs. “You’re free to try calling her back in again,” she says, but she’s being sarcastic. They managed to force Sara to spend a grand total of fifteen minutes with Gideon before she was heading to the jump ship with Mick, Constantine, and Charlie.

In Ray’s opinion, this is the worst combination of team members she could’ve chosen for the search and rescue mission. Neither Sara nor Mick are thinking clearly, and Charlie is liable to run off at literally any moment. Of all of them, Constantine is the most clear-headed, and he’s also drunk. Ray could literally smell the booze on him as they were walking out the door.

Sara’s so far down the warpath though, they would’ve had to knock her out to stop her, and Ray just couldn’t bring himself to do it. If he takes that choice away from her and they come back with corpses, she’d never forgive him.

In the meantime, Ava’s been sending the Legends after the low-level threats. Picking out the ‘ones’ for them to chase, instead of the ‘tens’. Ray thinks it’s more frustrating for them this way when they turn up empty, but it’s safer. To Ava’s point, there’s simply no way Sara’s combat-ready right now.

If she does manage to find Darhk, they’re all doomed.   

(Leonard is starting to lose track of his own edges.

When he first plunged into this hellscape, everything had been so clear. He’d known what parts of him belonged here and which belonged there. But it’s all starting to blur now.

Legion Leonard has finally realized the gravity of the situation he’s landed himself in, and with both of them in the same panicked headspace now, everything feels muddied.)

He’s losing Mick.

It’s taken months for him to realize it. But one morning he wakes up, and Mick isn’t in their apartment, and it just hits him. He doesn’t know where his partner is.

Most likely it’s fine. Mick’s probably just run out to the liquor store. A quick glance in the fridge confirms they are indeed out of beer.

But what if he’s not? What if Mick’s decided he’s done with the Legion and the fake heists? What if he’s decided he’s done with Leonard?

It’s something Leonard’s never worried about before, but he realizes he’s worried about it now. The base trust that’s defined their partnership for decades is missing, and Leonard hasn’t a clue where it went.

He used the spear to cut all critical ties. Old flings, friends, Lisa - he buried all of them to keep them away from the Legion. It’d been a tactical choice at the time. One he’d been comfortable with because at a minimum, he knew, he’d always have Mick.

But what if he doesn’t?

A few hours later, the big guy stumbles back home with three cases of beer in hand, wasted out of his mind. Everything, nominally, seems to still be okay – whatever that word means for them these days.

But Leonard’s had the thought now. There’s no returning it.

Things just get worse from there.

Darhk makes a comment about Mick during their next meeting. Leonard has no choice but to play it off like nothing is wrong, but Darhk’s threat is more than dire.

Leonard suspects that snake of a man has been waiting for this. Every time they visit, he’s got those two girls - Sara and Amaya- dressed in skin-tight black leather body suits, waiting on his hand and foot. They all have eyes and basic social comprehension skills. Darhk must know how badly that shit bothers Mick. Why the fuck is he trying so hard to poke the bear?

(Oh, it bothers Leonard too. More than bothers him. Every visit with Darhk causes another little piece of him to fracture.

He never knew Amaya, but that’s not Sara. His Sara would saw off Darhk’s hand for touching her shoulder like that. His Sara would rather die than be some villain’s puppet. When Legion Leonard looks at her, there’s no wit in her eyes. No, substance. If Darhk’s left any piece of the real Sara in there, she’s buried deep and probably suffering.

This is his fault. The Legion would never have gotten this far if not for Leonard.)

It has to be tactical.

Darhk must be trying to torture Mick on purpose. Leonard can only assume Darhk intends to thin the herd. He can’t kill Leonard and Mick outright without setting off Merlyn and Thawne. But if he can force their hand, get them acting irrationally, then suddenly he’s not the bad guy anymore.

This is the problem with working with narcissists. They all talk big game, but nobody is willing to share the spotlight. If Darhk doesn’t make the first move, then Thawne will. And if not Thawne, then Merlyn. It’s only a matter of time.

Leonard considers discussing their predicament with Mick. But no. The big guy is in a bad headspace, and the two of them need to tread carefully right now. It will be safer for Leonard to keep him out of the loop.

He doesn’t specifically enjoy manipulating Mick, but there’s no doubt in his mind, things will go smoother this way.  

(That’s the thought that spells the end for him.

Leonard can’t find it in himself to be frustrated with his own actions anymore. He’s run out of energy to beat on the walls of his own imprisoned mind. He watches the rest of his own downward spiral play out with apathy. Every fear he’s ever harbored in the Doom World unravels in front of him, like his own paranoia was divine foresight all along.

He loses Mick.

And all he can think as the big guy walks away from him is:

Good for you, buddy. Good for you.)

The Waverider pitches forward without warning.

Its hull rattles and groans as the floor suddenly becomes unreliable. Ray’s roller white board starts to flee from him, his notes become momentarily airborne, and it’s a battle to make sure he hits the ground with some semblance of grace.

“Whoa, timequake!”

Probably, he didn’t need to announce that.

Zari has also hit the floor, having fallen out of her chair, and Ava is clutching the edges of the lab desk in a full-body vice-grip. Their monitors – which are all securely bolted down, this isn’t Ray’s first rodeo, thank you very much– are all blinking a violent red.

The shaking subsides, and Zari starts to scramble back to her feet.

“Gideon?” she calls out.

“Four new fugitive alerts, Ms. Tomaz,” Gideon announces immediately. “They are all level ten anomalies. The team should anticipate strong magical interference upon arrival at all sites.”

Several windows of information pop up on Ray’s dash, listing out date and location coordinates and providing situation reports on each one. For the most part, the information is scarce. The four incidents are scattered across four different centuries, all well before the age of technology, and the impact to the locals’ everyday lives appears to be minimal.

They’re temporal disturbances without clear impacts to history. It’s just like the day that they first found Leonard.

“One of these has to be them,” Ava says as she rapidly scans through the information. “You’ve been saying for hours that we’d know if one of the ‘tens’ was Snart.”

Ray is already nodding. “Yeah,” he agrees, making hard eye-contact with Zari. “Sudden new readings are a good sign. But multiple locations… Len can’t be in four places at once, right?”

“It’s weird, but if one of them is Snart and he’s lost it, we can’t send a Bureau team,” Zari says, reading his mind.

“But if Darhk’s there…” Ray’s voice trails off.

“We better hope he’s not,” Zari shakes her head, expression grim. “We’ll split the field team up. Mick on two of these, Sara on the other two. That way either group could run Snart interference if needed.”

Ray almost can’t believe they’re even considering this. “Who takes Charlie and who takes John?” he asks, a little incredulous.

His mind is spinning with all the problems this field team poses. Charlie isn’t reliable backup right now. If either Mick or Sara find a fight, she might not have their backs. Plus, John and Mick are always at odds. They’re as likely to fight each other as they are an anomaly. Sara and John are probably alright together, although John definitely won’t try and intervene if Sara starts to do something reckless…

Zari grabs Ray’s jacket off the counter and throws it at him. “Doesn’t matter,” she says. “We‘re meeting them out there. Which one do you want?”

Oh, well that does make things better.

If they’re certain that one of these is Leonard, then he supposes that they aren’t needed at the computers anymore. He thinks about her proposal for a second. “Mick,” he decides. “You go with Sara.”  

Zari nods and glances back to Ava. “You okay to QB alone?” she asks.

Ava lets out a short, breathy huff. “If either of you mention Darhk, I’m sending an army after you,” she warns.

“Good,” Zari says. “If someone cries Darhk, send two.”

(It occurs to Leonard that all of this seems to be ending.

It’s taken months, but he’s finally shot Amaya. That feels important. The accusations that Nathaniel flung at him when he rejoined the Waverider almost feel more like a dream than the Doom World now. But he does remember them.

He wonders what will happen when the Legends finally defeat him. Will he wake up? God, he hopes so.)

Mick stares at the icy shards of Amaya’s corpse, and Leonard knows in his bones, the two of them will never be right again.

(Time gets real funky when Thawne destroys the spear.

He’s in the Doom World and Thawne’s threatening them, but then he’s not. Reality warps like its signal has gone suddenly bad, and then he’s back in the World War I tent.

Back to scheming. Back to manipulating.  

Everything about the trip is jarring.

The ever-present intruder in his mind, Legion Leonard, has regressed. He can feel it. The despair is gone. His confidence has returned. He’s talking about Mick like the man is a toddler throwing a tantrum who just needs to be reined in again.

He hasn’t lost him yet.

The relief is short-lived)

The Legends win out in the end, but not before Leonard shoots Mick in the back of the chest.

It’s Merlyn’s idea.

Although, in retrospect, Leonard has no idea why he’s listening to Merlyn.

The Legion promised him that Mick would be safe, but what was he supposed to do when the biggest danger to Mick happened to be future Mick? He offs Mick’s double to prevent contamination. To stop his future-self from talking Mick out of his allegiance to Leonard.

It made a lot more sense when Merlyn first explained it. Now that he’s trapped in a cell in the belly of the Legend’s time ship though, all he can think about is the way Mick’s blood seemed to coagulate against the chunk of ice that penetrated his heart.

The murder didn’t buy him anything.

(Going home seems like too much to hope for, but Leonard just can’t seem to help himself.

The end of this psychological torture is so close now, he can practically taste it.)

Mick stands with him in Central City’s Harbor, sober, looking as good as Leonard’s ever seen him. Leonard’s not a fool. He knows what comes next, although he doesn’t understand it. He thinks, if their roles were reversed, he would’ve killed Mick for betraying him like this.

“You know what your punishment is Leonard?” Mick says, calm in spite of him. “You end up being a better man. And so do I.”

A better man? The thought is practically unfathomable.

“Better? You mean softer,” Leonard scoffs.

“No,” Mick says. “I mean better.”

His partner holds up a familiar joystick device and presses a button. When the bright light flashes in his eyes, the entire world recedes around him. 

(For a moment there’s nothing. Just blissful, darkness. It lasts long enough that Leonard wonders, sluggishly unbothered, if he might be dead for real this time. Perhaps there will be no going home at all, and this is the end for him.

Then, slowly, the darkness turns to static like a video cassette with damaged tape. The world slowly comes back into focus.)

Leonard is sitting on a dock scoping out a Custom’s warehouse for a job when they first approach him.

Malcolm Merlyn looks at Eobard Thawne like he’s mildly interested in learning what the man’s intestines would look like outside of his body, even as he explains to Leonard that they’re real chummy business partners.

(Leonard’s entire being seizes. It’s the incorporeal equivalent to a soul-deep panic attack.

No, he thinks. He wants to close his eyes, cover his ears, and scream. But it’s all the same as it was before. He still can’t control himself.)

“This is taking too long,” Eobard snaps halfway through the sales pitch. “Come with us if you want to live.”

(And just like that, the nightmare starts over again.)

Chapter Text

The footprints are mocking her.

There are two clear tracks cut into the sand. One starts almost a quarter mile away in a giant crater and ends in this desolate rocky outcrop, joining with the second set before both vanish without a trace.

There are no signs of a struggle, no evidence of either individual escaping onto the boulders behind them, and also, no indication that anyone tried to deploy survival skills. Whoever was here, they didn’t look for water or try and build shelter. There aren’t any traps set out to catch animals or any damage to the sparse plant life that might indicate human interaction.

That means the two marooners can’t have been here long at all. They just fell out of the sky, took a short walk to join up, and disappeared.

The fun cocktail of exhaustion, bodily injury, and general despair that’s pounding through Sara’s system is becoming harder to ignore. That nasty little voice that lives somewhere in the haunting depths of her skull is waking up again. It sounds disturbingly like Darhk today, whispering: “Did you finally notice that everything our dear Sara touches seems to die.”

Sara’s nails dig into her palms. Feelings in a box, she focuses on the task at hand.

Since it’s now officially clear that the tracks don’t go anywhere, it’s probably time to admit why this dead end is frustrating her so badly.

The League taught her how to read footprints like they’re pages out of a kindergarten book. Sara took one look at them upon arrival and her brain had connected the dots before she’d even given it permission.

Both sets of treads are large and deep. It’s possible one or both could’ve been made by a very tall woman, but it’s unlikely. The heel on the first track is pronounced and square, and the sole has deep rigged teeth where the shoes bit into the sand. They had to have come from practical shoes. Good for the outdoors. Boots more than likely.

Leonard likes to wear boots.

Sara can’t remember if he was wearing them this morning - or, it’s probably yesterday morning now – but the team didn’t have anywhere specific to be before Ava forced them to the Bureau. Leonard would’ve been wearing what he always wears. That means boots.

The other treads are flatter. There’s no gap at the arch, and while there are some shallow indents for grip, it’s clear that this man’s foot was slipping more while he walked. If Sara had to guess, she’d say this track came from a pair of sneakers, which would make a lot of sense if the second man was Nate. Zari was making fun of his beat-up pair of Nike’s just a few days ago when Nate was working out in the gym with Sara.

Objectively speaking, all of this should be good news. After hours of agonizingly bleak searching, this is the closest they’ve come to a sign of life.

Except, the prints vanish.

Leonard and Nate aren’t supposed to be able to teleport, so if it was them, how did they get here? Where did they go? The wind hasn’t disturbed the trail much at all. Did Sara miss them by mere seconds? Minutes? Hours? How could Gideon have let this happen?

Sara feels like they’re chasing ghosts, and ghosts tend to be dead.

That’s a dangerous thought to be having.

“There’s no third set,” she grunts, staring at the point where the trails end as if she could manifest the boys by sheer willpower.

“Sorry?” Zari looks up from her phone. She’s been taking photos for Gideon.

“There’s no third set,” Sara repeats herself. “And Darhk always wears dress shoes. These aren’t from dress shoes. He wasn’t here.”

Zari purses her lips and pockets the phone. “Well, that’s good,” she points out, like Sara must need some convincing. “They must’ve escaped. Maybe we can jump back another twenty, thirty minutes? We can cut them off before they leave.”

Sara nods. It’s as good a plan as any. She certainly doesn’t have any better ideas. All they need before they go is to collect John.

Their third is standing about fifteen feet away from them, wiggling his fingers towards the sky and chanting like a lunatic.

“Constantine,” Sara calls.

John doesn’t stop his chant. His fingers straighten, and his voice gets louder, and he opens his arms wide as if to embrace the moon itself. Sara is impatient to move on but even she knows better than to interrupt his séance.

A moment later, John lets out a deep, guttural gasp and seems to come back to himself.

“Alright, Cole Sear. Who’d you see?” Zari asks.

“Not who, love. What,” John says, still breathing heavy. “This whole bloody lot is scarred over.”

Sara’s fingers twitch against her leg. “What’s that mean?” she asks.

“Means something ripped through the veil here,” he says. “Made a right big fucking mess. Honestly, I can’t believe we made it so close to the event unscathed.” Constantine kneels, rubs his hand in the sand, and promptly licks his palm. “I’d say we missed it by… ten minutes? We can try and head it off, love. But I have a feeling the ride’s going to get rocky.”

Sara’s shoulders tense and her hands ball into fists.

“This is in line with what you said about… about Snart’s symptoms, right?” she says through clenched teeth. “It’s them.”

Constantine shares a look with Zari.

“Aye,” he agrees. “Probably.”

“Then let’s go,” Sara says.

It’s a decision, not a suggestion.

The first location they visited had been a bust. There’re no guarantees they’re ever going to get a better lead than this. They have a place and a time now. It doesn’t matter if the time stream itself is twisted sideways. Sara’s going after the boys. She’s going after them now.

“Okay. Nobody’s arguing with you, Sara,” Zari sighs.

For some reason, that’s not really what it feels like. “I never said you were,” Sara snaps.

“Right,” Zari mumbles. Again, she shares another look with John.

Sara wonders if they think she doesn’t notice that. It’s annoying her that they all seem to be looping her out of their little worries. She wishes they’d just say something to her face so they can all fight about it properly. If they weren’t chasing their first legitimate lead, she might even call them out on it, but Sara doesn’t want to waste any more time here.

Silently, the trio makes their way over to the jump ship.

Neither Zari nor John pass comment when Sara clips herself into the pilot seat, and it’s almost a relief to put them in her blind spot, where she doesn’t have to look at any of their micro-expressions.

She’s just about to turn the keys in the ignition, when suddenly, their comms crackle to life.

“Sara, Zari, John, it’s Ava. Come in.”

Sara’s spine straightens. “We’re here,” she says, pressing one finger to her earpiece.

“Mick’s team found them,” Ava says. “Get back to the ship. Pronto please.“

Sara’s breath freezes in her lungs. “Ava, are they…” her voice trails off.  Ava knows what she’s asking.

The pause on the other line is too long. “They’re alive,” Ava answers, eventually. “I’m sorry, I don’t really know anything else right now. Ray just said they’re bringing them in, but he seemed... I don’t know, worried, I guess.” 

Sara swallows, nodding. “We’re on our way,” she says.

Then she twists the key in the ignition and floors it.

Sara tears out of the jump ship before it’s completely done docking. Zari and John don’t even try and stop her.

“Gideon?” she calls out as her feet glide over the Waverider’s grated flooring.

“Yes, Captain.”

“Where are they?”

“The Medbay, Captain.”

Sara barrels through the ship, moving so fast that her wounded arm slams into walls as she pivots around corners. She barely feels the impact. Her composure has been rapidly decaying for hours. It suddenly feels like if she doesn’t make it to the boys right now, she might finish unraveling entirely.

When she finally reaches her destination, she finds that the Medbay doors are drawn shut.  Outside of them, Nate stands in the hallway with Charlie and Ava. There’s a large grey blanket draped over his shoulders, and he looks completely disheveled. His hair is damp and sticking to his forehead, his bottom lip is split in two places, and his left cheek is red and speckled with a nasty looking rug-burn. Despite the few scrapes and bruises, he’s also intact in all the ways that matter.

“Nate?” Sara blinks, shocked not to find him strapped to one of Gideon’s patient chairs.

He glances up at her, cutting off his conversation with Ava, and Sara’s feet start moving on her own accord.

“Oh, hey – oof. Hey Sara.”

Sara loosens her hug the second she notices Nate wincing, pulling back far enough to take a closer look at him.

“Sorry,” she says, quickly. “Are you okay?”

Another survey still doesn’t reveal anything dire. Nate’s covered in a thin film of smeared dust, his hands are red and a little swollen, and he’s changed into a pair of warm grey sweats that she’s positive don’t belong to him. But again, there’s no blood. No bandages or wraps. No obviously broken bones.

Nate shoots her a small, weary smile. “I’m good, Sara. Really, just a little sore,” he assures her. “I can give you all the details later, I promise. But Darhk hit me with those freaking bear tranquilizers again, and I think we time jumped, um… four times without a ship? Gideon’s already checked me. She said I just need to sleep it off.”

Nate’s voice trails off as more footsteps sound behind them. Knowingly, Sara takes a step back to allow him some room. Zari crashes into him a moment later.

“You scared the shit out of us, you dork,” she says, pulling back to give him the obligatory once-over, just like Sara did.

“Sorry,” Nate mumbles.  

John ambles in behind her with a cigarette in hand, the only one of them that didn’t choose to dash across the ship like an Olympic track runner. “Real good of you to not die though, mate,” he says by way of greeting. 

Nate rubs the back of his neck with one hand. “Yeah, yeah. Anytime,” he says. His other arm is still slung around Zari’s shoulders.

The scene is kind of touching.

The part of Sara’s brain that is always keeping track of her surroundings notes how Charlie is kindly giving them all space for this reunion, how John’s shoulders are actively draining of tension, how even Ava is wearing a faint smile on her face. The rest of her attention though, isn’t quite ready to bask in their near miss. Her mind is still snagged on Nate’s comment – on four time jumps without a ship.

“Ava, where’s Len?” she asks. Although she’s almost positive she already knows the answer to that question.

Ava’s face twitches with exhaustion. “Ah, yes, Snart,” she says.  

Dread seeps quietly back into Sara’s knotted stomach. Seeing Nate whole and mostly healthy was a brief salve, but he’s still only one half of their rescue mission. It’s suddenly ominous that half the team is standing in the hallway – especially when Nate should really be resting.

“He’s in there with Mick and Ray,” Nate says, jabbing his thumb towards the medbay door. “But Sara… You should know. He’s… he’s not really talking to anybody.”

Charlie snorts. “That’s one way to put it,” she mutters under her breath.

“Well, he’ll talk to me,” Sara says. She’s not planning to give Leonard any other option.  

Unwilling to delay any further, Sara moves towards the Medbay, only for Nate to side-step and block her path.

Her fingers itch for a weapon. “Nate,” Sara says, voice low. “Get out of my way.”

“I will. Really, I will. I promise, but hear me out first, okay?” he holds his hands up in the air in mock surrender. She raises an eyebrow at him. He has seconds before she crawls out of her own skin to get behind him. “Darhk took the ring that Cisco made off Snart and broke it. He… I don’t even know what the hell he did after that, but Snart’s not right. His eyes were like, glowing Sara. They were the same color as the freaking time-stream. He seemed to snap out of it some when Mick showed up, right? Like, Mick kind of screamed at him, and his eyes powered down or something. But he’s still not really present. We were able to get him back to the ship without him time jumping again but-”  

“Okay, okay, I get it,” Sara cuts him off. She can’t listen to this anymore. “Let me through.”

Nate’s teeth run over one of the cuts on his bottom lip, and slowly, he backs off. Time itself seems to stutter, after that.

Sara’s body feels oddly wooden as she steps around Nate to get to the door. Like the marrow of her has been temporarily sucked out of her limbs, and a hollow visage has been left behind to press forward. Vaguely, Sara’s aware that she’s probably pre-emptively dissociating, but there’s really nothing to do about that now.

Gideon opens the door for her before she has a chance to go for the button. 

The soundproofing on the Wave Rider is something that should be studied. Inside, the med-bay is in absolute shambles, and there’d been no indication of a problem while the doors had been shut. Sara wonders if Gideon had been blocking them out on purpose.

Two rolling shelves filled with various first aid equipment have been knocked over, their contents spilled across the floor. Mick is on the ground against the wall to Sara’s right, on top of splintered built-in cabinetry. His chest is heaving, and there’s blood dripping down the side of his face. Putting the context clues together, it looks like Mick was bodily flung across the room.

Ray kneels beside him, looking very unstable on one knee. Perhaps at one point he was trying to help Mick up, but Mick’s got his collar in a vice grip now. Ray seems to be flinching like he’s expecting violence.

The fight abruptly ceases when Sara steps in. Their heads both swivel towards her, their jaws gaping like baby birds, and Mick’s grip on Ray slackens. Of course, neither of them are really who Sara’s looking for.

The center of the room seems to shift away from them, then. Over to the left. Over to Leonard.

He’s not sitting in either of the patient chairs, but rather is standing near the far wall, backlit by the fake white windows. Like Nate, other than some grime and superficial cuts and scrapes, nothing seems to be physically wrong with him. Although, that’s hardly reassuring.

Leonard doesn’t seem to be aware of his surroundings.

His pinky finger taps neurotically against his leg, but the movement is unusually stunted. Even when Leonard is agitated, he always carries himself with this signature sort of grace - a languid smoothness that Sara has come to implicitly associate with him.

That’s missing now.

It’s like someone’s attempted to un-masked him. They’ve riffled through a catalogue of Leonard-like idiosyncrasies, pulled out everything filed under “things-he-does-when-he’s-bothered”, and had his body start comically miming the hand-motions. Only they’ve forgotten that Leonard normally goes through great lengths to hide when he’s not okay. This flagrant display of his quirks feels theatrically garish.

It’s just like Nate said, Leonard can’t possibly really be there. Not acting like that. His eyes are dull and unfocused. His back is turned to the chaos Mick and Ray are causing, he hasn’t noticed her entrance, and every movement is wrong. He’s standing, but he’s not conscious.  

Sara takes a deep, steady breath. She remembers with visceral clarity, the look on Leonard’s face when she’d first found him in that Russian hospital. This isn’t new ground for them. He was like this before, and she had gotten him to snap out of it almost instantly by jamming a knife up against his throat.

Sara would prefer not to do that again, but she will if she has to.  

“Snart,” she calls out, taking a hesitant step forward, her voice smaller than she’d intended. He still doesn’t seem to notice her, so she tries again, firmer this time. “Leonard.”

Again, nothing. Leonard flexes his hands and continues playing with his pinky ring. There’s no sign that he heard her.

“Sara be careful,” Ray calls out. “Mick just tried to punch him and it really, really didn’t go well.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Mick snarls.  

She ignores him them both, walking even further into the room. “Len. Look at me please,” she says, hands balling into fists.

This time, she seems to startle him. Leonard’s head jerks up and his eyes home in on her with a frightening, glacial intensity. Sara’s breath catches in her throat. She doesn’t know what to make of the madness that’s taken over his face. Can’t even tell if it’s him or the phantom inhabiting his body.

She feels herself fall completely still on instinct and holds his gaze. One heartbeat passes. Then two.

Something in his expression flickers, like a light bulb struggling to turn on, and the air around him sparks. Literally. Sara can see the ghoulish green light crackle in the air. Here and then gone. It looks like a special effect from a haunted house, or maybe a firecracker lit up for the wrong holiday. The others start making noise behind her, but she holds up her hand, willing them to let whatever is happening run its course.

Then Leonard buckles, and she’s moving.

His arm flails out, catching on the ridges of the windowsill and arresting the worst of his momentum. Sara is there an instant later. She manages to get her shoulder underneath his before he starts falling again, but unfortunately, she’s not quite ready to take on the whole of his weight. Darhk fractured two of her ribs during the fighting earlier. Gideon repaired them, of course, but she was strongly advised against any further strain for at least another… three hours?  

She can certainly feel why now. It’s like someone’s jammed a hot poker into her torso.

Stifling a whimper, she manages to lower Leonard into a seated position against the wall before she basically collapses onto her ass beside him. The pain hardly matters. She wraps one hand into the fabric of his shirt to help steady herself, pivots forward into a more stable crouch, and slips her other hand up his jaw.

Sara pulls his wild, present blue eyes to hers and searches his features for some sign that maybe he’s snapped out of it. “Hey, Len. Len, it’s me,” she says, voice thick with her own panic.

His fingers dart up and wrap around her forearm, and for a moment she thinks he’s about to shove her off him. The possibility stirs up a fresh wave of nearly irrational panic. The skin-on-skin contact suddenly feels like the only thing keeping her tethered to reality. Like, if she stops touching him, he might vanish completely, and if that were to happen, Sara thinks it’d be the last straw. That final, horrific thing that would drive her over the edge of despondency.   

But the opposite happens.

His grip on her tightens, but he doesn’t rip her hand from his face. He just holds her where she is. Maybe preventing any sudden movements? That’s fine. More than fine, in fact. Leonard doesn’t like people touching him – Sara knows that – and yet, she’s very much in his space anyways. Whatever he needs from her right now, she’s ready to give it to him.

“Sara?” he murmurs.

“Yeah,” she confirms. “You with me?”

He nods wordlessly, and Sara feels sick with her own relief.

She doesn’t dare move as she gives him a moment to come back to himself. Last time, the process happened very quickly. He’d blinked once, maybe twice, and then was immediately back to his normal self, sassing her about being too stabby with him.

Now, he seems almost waterlogged.

Leonard’s eyes ping around the room sluggishly, like… well, the only thing Sara can think to compare it to is like someone fighting to be coherent through the haze of blood-loss. It’s an incredibly concerning analogy.

Her thumb runs over some of the stubble on his cheek. “We’re on the WaveRider. You’re safe. Everyone’s okay,” Sara says, because it seems like something he needs to be told.

Leonard’s attention slides back to her. “Yeah?” he says, a shadow shaping over the panes of his face. “What’s okay mean?”

The hand he has wrapped around her forearm moves up her skin and grazes the bandage that’s wrapped around her bicep. Sara resists the urge to shiver.

It’s one of four wounds that she didn’t allow Gideon to patch earlier. There’s also a gash above her left eyebrow, a scrape that spans from the corner of her jaw up the entirety of her cheek, and worst, a messy laceration across her side where she collided with the twisted edge of a split metal desk during the fighting.

He can’t see that one though. It’s hidden underneath her black tank top.

“Hey, you’re not allowed to be worried about me right now,” she admonishes him softly, forcing the smallest hint of a smile onto her face. “Anyways, that is just a flesh wound.”

It doesn’t win her the reaction she was really hoping for. Leonard stares at her like something is burning him from the inside out. “Is that why I’m on the floor?” he drawls, harshly. “Thought you were supposed to be sweeping me off my feet, Canary.”  

Sara frowns. “Give me some more warning, and I’ll catch you next time,” she replies.

Leonard scoffs and runs one hand over his scalp. His fingers almost look like they’re shaking.

Sara wants to ask him what’s wrong - because obviously, something is wrong – but also, she doesn’t know if rehashing his memories will trigger him again. Whatever else is going on here, Leonard’s physical wellbeing has to come first.

“Do you think you can stand?” she asks, finally dropping her hand from his face, before the touching becomes too weird. “I’d like Gideon to check you out.”

“I…,” he pauses. “Maybe.”

Sara nods. Slowly, she untangles herself from him, allowing him just enough space so that he can move. Before she can try to aid him further though, Mick appears next to them. Sara shoots him a quick, reproachful look that says: ‘I can help him just fine.’

But Mick only returns the expression, eyes dancing with a threat that reads something along the lines of ‘Fight me and I tell him about your fucking ribs.’

In the end, Mick wins. Because even though the worst of it seems to have passed, Sara hasn’t been much help to anyone today.  

Chapter Text

Sara hooks Leonard up to Gideon herself this time. She attaches a little white clip heart monitor to one of his fingertips and snaps a silver bracelet rigged with sensors around his wrist.

Len sits rigid as a board as she adjusts the equipment. Every muscle in his frame seems drawn taut. His eyes track her fingers as they skim close to his skin and Sara does her best not to make contact where she can help it.

That’s harder than it seems, for a variety of reasons.

Sara hates how wound-up Leonard is. She hates that Darhk has hurt him right under her nose when she should’ve been able to protect him. More than anything though, she hates that she doesn’t know what’s wrong or how to make this better.

The last time Len spiraled – while Mick, then Chronos, was locked in their brig- things weren’t like they are now. They weren’t this close yet. Or if they were, Sara hadn’t acknowledged it. She’d been so consumed by her bloodlust and the two years she spent stranded in the sixties that she didn’t even realize she was seeking Leonard out until she was so worn down, there wasn’t any space left in her brain to overthink things.

Now that she’s in this position again, trying to comfort him somehow, she’s at a complete loss. They can’t talk about it while there’s a risk he might lose control of himself, and she knows he wouldn’t want to anyways, since the entire team has trickled into the room. There are too many ears around.

Unfortunately, that’s also the only thing Sara can think of that might help.

Really, she wants to be able to touch him. To squeeze his shoulder or brush her fingers against his, to do something to remind him that she’s here and he’s safe.

But that’s selfish.

It was one thing for Sara to encroach in his space when he was delirious. There’d been no other choice then. But the initial adrenaline of Len’s return to consciousness has worn off now. Sara’s gathered herself enough to recognize that she’s the one who wants the contact, not him, and it’s not fair of her to force it.

She’s not the one who was kidnapped and maybe tortured. Sara is fine. Exhausted, maybe. Worried, for sure. But anything she might want or need obviously takes a back seat to whatever is happening with Leonard.

She doesn’t want him to pretend to be okay just for her sake.

Finishing up with the wires, Sara forces herself to take a small step away from him, giving him space. “Gideon?” she calls.

“Scanning, Captain.”

The team is eerily quiet while Gideon works. Normally, Sara can never get them to shut up, but now their silence is practically suffocating. If it weren’t for the low hum of mechanical whirling noises coming from the med-tech, Sara thinks she’d be able to hear herself breathing.

It’s awful. The anticipation of bad news builds too easily without any good distractions, and there’s nothing to do but let her mind spin with possibilities.

It feels like jitterbugs are living underneath her skin, gnawing at her fresh bruises. Sara forces herself to ignore them, settling into a familiar learned stillness. It’s something she picked up from her League training. A sense of control that comes from inside for when the world presents a tragic shortage. It’s something she thinks Leonard appreciates about her, and the thought that her own projected calm might make things easier for him, in turn makes things easier for her.

After what feels like an eternity, the blinking blue lights flicker off. “Biometric scans are coming back mostly normal, Captain,” Gideon announces.

Sara pauses. “Define mostly, Gideon,” she grinds her teeth together. Something about Gideon’s choice of words makes her deeply suspicious of where this is going.

“Mr. Snart’s heart rate and cortisol levels are unusually elevated,” Gideon clips in response. Her tone is light and cheery, like it always is. “Would you like me to suggest remediation measures?”

Sara’s eye twitches. The absolute gall of her sentient time ship is frankly astounding. The whole team is listening to this conversation, and Gideon is baiting her. Leonard just collapsed, for god’s sake, and Gideon is baiting her.

Leonard, of course, has no clue. He rolls his neck around on his shoulders as if trying to work out a knot and throws an agitated glare upwards. “Try and sedate me and I’ll factory reset you,” he snipes, icily.

Something in the tense atmosphere seems to melt. Like, the diagnosis has implicitly given the team permission to start acting normal again. Zari clears her throat. “Is it bad enough you think that’s something we’d consider?” she asks.   

Another green spark snaps near Leonard’s ear. He doesn’t seem to notice it. “Oh, I’m peachy,” he sneers. “Just making sure the bot isn’t over-reacting.”

“Over-reacting? You’re crackling like a bag of microwave popcorn,” John huffs.

Nate shakes his head. “It’s the ring. I told you Darhk broke it. We need to get him a new one.”

At the mention of Darhk, Leonard’s shoulders seize. He’s already so tense, the others probably don’t even notice, but Sara does. Leonard focuses intently on Nate. A hard spark of pure animosity shines in his eye, and his spine curls inwards just a fraction.

Sara stamps down the urge to reach for him again and redoubles the efforts to swallow her own worry. “Okay,” she says, trying to be gentle. “So you need a new ring. That’s easy enough to do.”

Ray nods in agreement. “Maybe Len shouldn’t leave the ship for this one though,” he suggests. “Someone else can go grab it?”

Sara couldn’t agree more. “You volunteering?” she asks.

“Sure, sure. I could do the Central City run,” Ray shrugs.

Sara cocks her head back towards Leonard. “Sound good to you?” she asks.

Leonard gives her a sharp, weathered look, as if to say that he doesn’t give a rat’s ass where Ray is or what he’s doing in the world. “Whatever makes the wizard happy,” he waves a hand in the air.

“Right,” Sara says. “Take the jump ship, Ray. Make it fast.”

Zari pulls the keys out of her pocket and tosses them across the room. Ray, of course, fumbles the catch. The keys clang against his fingers, bobbing in the air twice, before dropping loudly to the floor. Ray is unbothered by it. He bounces down to retrieve them and pops back to his feet with an unwarranted amount of energy.

He’s almost out the door when an odd, strangled noise tears out of Leonard’s throat.

“Ah, Raymond. Wait,” he calls out. Ray freezes mid-stride. “Pick up Lisa while you’re there and bring her back with you. Cisco will know how to get in contact with her.”

Mick sharpens. “That ass wipe is after Lisa?” he asks.

The implication slams into Sara like a freight train. Her heart writhes in her chest and a dark jolt of molten hostility seeps into her veins. Despite all the violence that’s passed between her and Darhk – the Legion, Nora, the mess with Ava at the Bureau, all of it - Darhk was a sister-killer first. Laurel was the first casualty that mattered.

If he threatened Lisa… well, Sara thinks she’d take that quite personally.

Leonard doesn’t answer Mick right away. He drums his fingers on the armrest of his chair, mind carefully chewing on words that the rest of them can’t hear. Sara would kill to know what he was thinking.

“I don’t think so,” he says, finally. “But we’re not taking chances.” 

Ray nods. “Okay. One ring and one sister, coming right up.” He takes another step towards the exit, before hesitating again. “You guys will be up when I get back, right?” he checks.

Sara glances towards Leonard, trying to gauge what he’ll let her get away with. When things get bad, she knows that he tends to seek solitude, but also, in the past, he’s made exceptions for her when he was near rock bottom…

Is that where they are now? She has no clue.

“Len and I will be up,” she says, pausing to give Leonard a chance to protest. When he doesn’t, she continues. “Just try not to take too long.”

For some reason, Ray still doesn’t move. “Um, well Mick, you’ll be up too, right?” he says.

Mick shoots Sara a suspiciously wary side-long look. “What’s it to you, Haircut?” he asks.

“Oh, I was just thinking, maybe the whole team should have a movie night while I’m out,” Ray suggests.

Sparks strike near Leonard’s ear again. “Why on earth would we do that, Raymond?” he asks.

Ray fidgets nervously with the keys. “Well, it’s just been a long day, you know,” he explains, eyes darting to Sara before snapping back to Leonard. “I figured maybe it’d be nice if nobody had to be alone while all the adrenaline wears off.”

And oh. Oh no.

This is a certified Raymond Palmer trap, if she’s ever seen one. Sara must really look horrible if Ray thinks he can get Captain Cold to agree to team bonding night on her behalf.

Normally, she does try to humor the team when they’re clearly worried about her, but also, the problem’s already been solved. She just announced that she’d stay up with Leonard. Sara doesn’t need the rest of them baby-sitting her.

Anyways, don’t they get it? Every assassin-trained paranoid nerve-ending in her body has been wired to full alertness for hours on end. The impending crash-out is going to be miserable no matter what they do.

Sara will admit that sometimes it’s better for her to be with the whole team after a day like this. It can help to have them all in her line-of-sight, alive and safe, where she can check on them, but that’s not always the case. Sometimes it really is better for her to be alone.

Try as she might, Sara is never truly relaxed in a room full of people. Years of repeated traumas won’t allow it. A movie night means two more hours of holding things together. Of being Captain Lance, instead of just Sara. And again, she’s fine. So that’s fine. But…

Leonard is the one they should be futzing over, and he’s the same as her. He won’t be able to turn his brain off, and she suspects he needs to. It’ll be better, easier if the team leaves them both alone to wallow.  

At least Len seems to be aware that Ray is playing them. He wears a dubious expression that borders on mutinous.

“I’d be down for a movie night,” Nate chimes in. “We could watch a bad kung fu film. You love those Sara.”

That’s true. Sara does usually like to pick apart all the ridiculous stage fighting. But also, again, this isn’t about her. She just can’t imagine that Len wants to get coerced into this tonight.

“I don’t know,” she sighs, rubbing at the bandage on her arm. “It’s late, guys. Everyone’s tired.” She glances at Leonard, nervously.

This is his out. He should take it.  

Leonard’s eyes flutter shut, and he presses his thumb to the bridge of his nose. “I get to pick the movie,” he grumbles, face pinched like that sentence caused him physical pain.

Sara stares at him, positive that she heard him wrong, and Ray grins. He looks entirely too proud of himself.

“Great, I’ll see you guys when I get back,” he cheers.

Then, finally, he disappears down the corridor, bound for Central City.

None of this feels real yet.

Leonard spins his ring around his pinky, watching his fingers move at his own command, and tries his best to ignore the haunting buzz of memories that dance at the edge of his sanity. It’s only half working. Every time he looks up at the team, he gets a flash of them in the Doom World.

Charlie, who really is the spitting image of Amaya, frozen solid in a chunk of ice. Mick cackling in the darkness after hearing about Lisa. Sara in that fucking black catsuit.

At least they’re all draining out of the room now. He thinks it will be easier to shut his mind off with their attention focused elsewhere.  

Sara is the only one who hasn’t moved yet. She’s been stubbornly pinned to his side since he woke up, hovering like a worried mother hen. Leonard doesn’t know what to make of that yet. His face still feels oddly warm where her thumb caressed his jawline earlier.

“You should go change and take a shower while they set-up,” Sara says, watching him closely.

He looks down at himself and notes for the first time that his clothes are wet and tearing at the seams. For some reason, that doesn’t specifically bother him.

Leonard has spent a critical mass of time in prison without many basic living amenities. He normally goes through great lengths to stay comfortable whenever he can. Grimy, wet cotton is now sticking to his skin. He should feel gross - and he supposes if he focuses on it, he sort of does - but the pressing need to fix his condition is missing.

It kind of feels like the fabric is clinging to someone else.    

“Not a fan of my castaway look?” he asks. His voice sounds flat, even to his own ears.

Sara has definitely noticed something is off, but for some reason, she hasn’t commented on it yet. Instead, she lifts one shoulder in the air and leans into the outside of the armrest of his chair.

“Nope. You smell like you just ran out of a burning building,” she tells him.

Leonard wonders if he did. The last thing he remembers, Damien was pressing a thumb to his forehead, and now he’s here. Nobody’s told him anything about the in-between bits yet. Although, he’s inferred a lot from the way Sara’s holding herself.

He can’t stop looking at her.

Sara looks wrecked. Her face is mangled with cuts. There are dark bags under her eyes, yellowing bruises running up her arms, and her hair is starting to frizz out of its ponytail. Worst of all though is the oppressive air of defeat that hangs off her shoulders. A deadness that sinks into her features during every lull in conversation.

He hates it.

He can hardly stand to see the evidence of Darhk’s violence against her, written plainly all over her skin. The flavor of the wrath that sits on his tongue is sickeningly familiar. Hot and winding and endless, it’s a feeling Leonard never expected to encounter again. An anger so deep-seated and thick, it’s woven itself into his stomach-lining. It’s branded him. Become part of the fabric of his person. Taken up a permanent residence in his chest and made a menace of itself there.

It should probably terrify him.

Because, oh, Leonard recognizes this disease that’s growing inside of him. He knows, intimately well, the monster it draws out. Nothing good will come of this. But confronted with the image of Sara looking like that, he finds that he doesn’t care to fight it.

“You take a turn in the patient chair, and I’ll do whatever you want,” he tells her.

A deep, hollow sigh tears out of her chest. “Len,” she says. “I’m –“

“Fine?” he interrupts. “Yes, you mentioned. Would Gideon agree?” 

“It would be my suggestion that you follow Mr. Snart’s request, Captain,” Gideon chimes in.

Leonard looks at Sara expectantly.

She huffs. “Traitor,” she mumbles, shaking her head, and he’s not sure if she’s talking about him or Gideon.

“You’re welcome,” he replies on behalf of them both.

Satisfied that he’s won, Leonard swings his legs to the side of the med-bay patient chair and slowly pushes himself to his feet. Everything aches when he moves. If Gideon hadn’t medically cleared him moments ago, he probably would’ve assumed that something was injured.

Sara must notice, because her hand threads into his shirt while he steadies himself like maybe she’s expecting him to fall again. Her knuckles brush against the side of his abdomen through the wet fabric, and he notes how that really should bother him. It doesn’t though. His lizard brain, as always, seems to have quieted around her. If anything, all these maddening little almost-touches are just making him want her closer.

“Are you going to make it to your room okay by yourself?” Sara asks, face split with concern.

A faint smirk pulls at his lips. Despite the despair hanging off Sara’s shoulders, he can’t help the faint sliver of satisfaction at her concern. Sara had barely spoke to him during his doom loop. During the bits where she still had her own mind, she left him for other team members to deal with, and then while she was with Darhk…

Well, best not to think too hard about that.  

Whatever else is going on, Sara’s not trying to smother her worry or her pain in front of him, and it’s such a crushing relief to have that window into her thoughts back.

Leonard finds he can’t leave the opening alone. “You want to come with, birdy?” he asks, quietly. “The shower’s kind of small, but I’m sure we could make it work.”

Sara’s face flushes. Just slightly. For a second, he thinks he’s imagining it, but no. It’s definitely there. A light dusting of pink colors her cheeks. Leonard makes dumb comments like that literally all the time, but Sara never blushes. Until now, apparently.  

“Right, I see you’re fine,” Sara releases her grip on his shirt. “I’ll meet you in the Captain’s Office with the others. Okay?”

Leonard blinks.

“Yeah,” he mutters, eyes sweeping over her one more time. “See you in there.”

On any other night, Leonard might’ve been impressed by how quickly the team is able to turn the office into a home theater. In the time it took for him to shower and change into sweatpants, a long sleeve and a zip-up hoodie, Zari and Mick completely flipped the room.

They’ve removed the desk and office chair and replaced them with two couches from the library, shaping a ‘v’ around Gideon’s tv-wall. Mick’s recliner has been pushed to one end, and an assortment of knit blankets and pillows have been thrown all over the place. It looks cozy in a way that the Wave Rider never used to be.

And again, on any other night, that might be nice.

Right now, though, he’s questioning why he agreed to this again.

It had seemed like a good idea earlier, when Sara was looking at him like she expected he might dissolve into dust at any moment. He’d wanted to coax that hapless look off her face and agreeing with Raymond seemed like it could help. Despite all his many and numerous flaws, Ray is on healthier terms with his own feelings than Leonard, and he’s been here, with Sara, through every single tragedy.

Meanwhile, Leonard’s missed almost everything, and he’s seen what happens now, when he’s left to his own devices to decide what’s best for people…

Still, in retrospect, maybe he was suffering from a stroke. One step into this room, and he already feels like he’s losing his grip on reality again.

Nathaniel, who has flopped onto the far end of the second couch, waves at him with a bizarrely timid smile. John Constantine is organizing four bowls of popcorn on a coffee table. Mick is getting drinks for everyone. The scene is so domestic. He can’t help the visceral instinct that twists in his chest.

Leonard doesn’t belong here.

“Sit the fuck down, Snart,” Mick glowers at him.

His partner pulls a beer bottle out of the mini fridge and opens it on the edge of a bookshelf. Leonard flinches at the crisp noise of the cap cracking off. Abruptly, he forces himself onto the end seat of the couch, closest to Mick’s recliner and furthest from Nate, and prays that Mick didn’t notice anything.

“What movie are we watching?” Zari asks.

Leonard takes a deliberate breath. “Mission Impossible II,” he says. He claims a thick red blanket off the floor and wonders if the rest of the team would be willing to ignore him if he stops talking to them.

Nate groans. “Really? Dude, that’s like the worst one.”

Zari also looks skeptical. “Do you need to know what happens in the first one to get it?” she asks, plopping down on the other end of Leonard’s couch.

“I mean, no? But the first one is also way better soooo,” Nate gestures helplessly across the room. "Hey - have you seen many movies, Charlie?"

Charlie snorts. "Nope. Weren't exactly a lot of TV's in Mallus's pocket dimension," she says.  

“I think the latest ones the best,” John comments. “It’s the fifth or sixth? Can’t keep track anymore since they stopped using the bloody numbers.”

The last time Leonard checked, he thought there were only four Mission Impossible films, but it doesn’t matter. Sara likes bad fight scenes, and this movie is filled with them. Anyways, even if they picked a newer one, he’s not going to retain anything he watches tonight.

“If you don't like my pick, feel free to leave,” Leonard says. “I didn’t ask you to be here.”

There’s a chorus of general complaining, but nobody moves to make good on his suggestion. Mick thunks his way over to his recliner, and Gideon pulls up the movie.

Sara arrives about fifteen minutes later.

She looks a thousand times better than she did when Leonard left her. All the bandages are gone, and whatever cuts they’d been hiding have vanished with them. She still has a fair amount of lingering bruises on her face and arms, but that should clear up quickly over the next few days.

Leonard is concerningly familiar with the healing rates of all Gideon’s various wound care remedies.

“Sorry I’m late,” she announces. “Had to see Ava out.”

Constantine grins. “Oh. She didn’t want to stay for the movie?” he asks. There’s a diabolical edge to his tone that prickles Leonard’s nerves, but Sara rolls with it. She leans down, swipes a pillow off the floor, and beams it at John with frightening accuracy.

John snorts as it hits him square in the chest.

“She said she had to go sort some things out at the Bureau. Update Hank and call all the troops back. That sort of thing,” Sara explains. “Make room for me on the couch.”

As if it’s the most natural thing in the world, Sara slips through the center of the room and drops into the middle seat between Zari and Leonard.

Immediately, Leonard becomes hyperaware of the dip in the cushions where her weight has settled. The few inches of space between them somehow seems both paper-thin and like an ocean’s distance. If either of them twitch, their legs might press against each other, and Leonard can’t help but wonder if she’s okay with that.

The thought that she might not be is particularly nauseating for him at the moment.

Silently, he lifts up the corner of his blanket and offers the end to her. Sara shoots him a small, tentative smile, takes the blanket and slips a little closer. Leonard decides stop overthinking it.

After that, things mellow out fairly quickly.

Gideon dims the lights, the Legend’s persistent voices mostly patter out, and the movie starts playing.

The movie really is pretty bad. Leonard knows because if it was even half-decent, Mick would probably be snoring in his chair, but instead, the big guy’s let out a few barks of intermittent wheezing laughter.

It’s amazing how quickly Mick can rebound after a day like this.  

Leonard, himself, is having trouble paying attention to anything. Out of the corner of his eye, he finds himself counting how many beers Mick drinks. Which is horrible. He despises that anxious itch that’s sitting in his skin. Hates that the thought of not knowing makes his throat feel constricted.

Mick’s only had one and a half so far, for the record. Compared to what he’d down in the Doom World, that’s basically a joke. It’s so little, the big guy probably can’t even feel it, so really, Leonard should stop watching him.

But he can’t.  

Truth be told, Mick’s drinking might actually be the safest thing for his mind to stew on. The Doom World memories are a constant pressure in the back of his skull that builds more with each passing moment. If he’s not thinking about Mick drinking, he might start thinking about Mick walking out on him – the first time or the second. Leonard might think about killing him. About what it felt like to pull the trigger. About how he didn’t even bother looking Mick in the eye when he did it.

Stewing on any of it is dangerous.

If he lingers on any individual moment for too long, he can feel it start to actively draw him in. His vision becomes fuzzy, and the memories start to become disturbingly real, and it’s not until Sara shifts or Mick laughs again that he realizes how far down the spiral’s pulled him.

He can’t ignore the thoughts completely either. It takes a good deal of focus to keep the storm of energy in his veins at bay, and that slice of mandatory concentration keeps him stuck right on the edge of that cliff, staring down, terrified, into its maw.

The movie is probably half over when a weight settles against his left arm. For a brief moment, the buzzing in his brain falls silent. Leonard glances over, confused, to see that Sara has fallen asleep. Her knees press against his thigh, out of sight underneath the blanket, and her head is snug against his bicep.

His heart stutters in his chest as he stares at her, and his throat feels tight again, for an entirely new reason. Even asleep, Sara looks half-coiled for action. Her brow is slack, but she’s close enough that he can feel the muscles in her arm twitch against his side periodically, like wherever she’s drifted off, she’s still fighting someone.

Leonard realizes, suddenly, that he has no idea how long it’s been for her. When he’d woken up, he’d seen that her injuries still looked fresh and had assumed that their search had gone quickly.

But he doesn’t know.

Leonard thinks about the two years Sara spent stranded with the League when Chronos abducted him, and then, more recently, the two years he’d missed after the Oculus exploded, and suddenly, he has to know.

When he looks up, he realizes Zari is watching them. Her attention is convenient enough that he decides not to be annoyed by it.

“How long was it, for you all?” he whispers, quiet as not to disturb Sara.

The rest of the team have all been talking during the entirety of the movie - some of them quieter than others. Nobody notices that another voice has been added to the mix.

Zari, herself, doesn’t seem to expect him to address her. “Oh, um. It wasn’t too long. About nine hours ship-time, I’d say, but if you’re asking about Sara specifically, maybe she had it longer. We didn’t follow all the field teams around with the Wave Rider, so some of them would drop out periodically while they were performing their searches,” she replies.  

Leonard hums and tries to parse through the math in his head. Nine hours searching, a couple more at the Bureau, the morning spent on the Waverider…  It’s hardly been more than a day for them.

That’s wild to him. Has it been longer on his end? Nathaniel would probably know. His own perception of time feels uniquely unreliable at the moment.

The Doom World had felt so real. It had persisted, even when nothing important was happening. He remembers the most mundane things there – eating breakfast in the morning, checking the mail, running to the grocery store to buy Mick more booze. Everything. It had lasted for months. He’d experienced it as months.

And then it had looped.

Over and over and over again. Enough times that he’d stopped counting. Enough times that he’d started glazing over the ordinary bits. It was such an odd feeling… to be able to zone out of your own life for days on end. But little decisions stop pulling you back to the present when your body’s not responding to you.

Had it really only been a few hours?

Leonard steals another glance at Sara, unsure whether the sight of her is making things better or worse. Even asleep, Damien’s shadow seems to linger in places he hadn’t noticed before.

“Did she sleep last night Gideon?” he finds himself asking. The question comes out of nowhere. He’s hardly formed a coherent thought of his own curiosity before words are tumbling out of his mouth.  

There’s a long pause. Then Gideon does speak up, hushed, from a nearby spot on the floor, instead of over her usual ceiling speakers. It gives them an illusion of privacy.

“The Captain slept her usual amount,” the A.I. replies. Cryptic, but also not.

Leonard almost wants to scream. He can do that now, if he wants. It’s one of the inherent privileges of having control of your own body.

I can’t sleep. League habit. Sleep’s not safe.

Her old midnight confession rattles around his eardrums. It’s been two years. How is it possible that despite all the progress the Legends clearly made, when he starts looking closely, Sara still seems to be slipping through the cracks?  

On his other side, Mick snorts. When Leonard glances over, his partner raises his beer (he’s still on bottle number two) in a mockery of a toast, and Leonard can’t help but scowl at him. Mick tried to warn him about this weeks ago, but Leonard hadn’t been ready to listen.

He hates when Mick is right.

“You gonna wake her up?” Mick taunts.

Leonard glares at him. He doesn’t know what Mick thinks he’s implying. Of course, he’s going to wake her up… eventually. When Tom Cruz finishes motorcycle jousting. What other option is there? Does he think Leonard might try and carry her off to bed, like some bastardized knight in thief’s armor. That’s utterly ridiculous. Sara would probably stab him before he could even get his arms under her, anyways. He knows all too well that she gets jumpy when she sleeps.

Instead, he flips Mick the bird and sinks a little deeper into the cushions. He’s a good bit taller than Sara. His shoulder will make a better pillow if it’s closer to her level.

“Everybody awake?” Ray’s obnoxious attempt at a whisper fails utterly.

Leonard feels Sara stir against his shoulder, and glances down to find her looking unnaturally alert for someone who had been unconscious mere seconds ago. Fucking assassin instincts.

“We’re awake,” she says. The liar. Her voice is completely normal. Not even a trace of grogginess. “You get the ring?”

Ray sweeps deeper into the room, dramatically pulls a small piece of jewelry out of his pocket and offers it to Leonard. Rolling his eyes, he takes it.

When he slips it onto his finger, the effect is immediate. The ever-present tumult of force in his chest patters out, taking the threat of being pulled back into the Doom World along with it.

The sheer intensity of his own relief makes him feel light-headed.

“You alright?” Sara asks, prodding his shoulder gently.

Leonard gives her a wan smirk. “Yeah. It works,” he says. His eyes flicker back to Raymond. “Where’s Lisa?”   

“Oh, um, I’m going to have to go back for her. Hope that’s okay,” Ray scratches at the back of his arm.

Leonard sits up from his slouch. “Why?”

“Well, Cisco got in contact with her, but she wouldn’t tell him where she was. Just said she’d meet him at Star Labs. And I said, you know, no problem, just say when she’ll be there, and I could jump ahead and pick her up. But then she said she’d get there when she gets there,” Ray explains. “So now we have to wait for Cisco to send us a message that she’s shown up. And you know how wonky the mail gets ever since I got all our tech sync’d up with present day. It’ll probably be a few hours until I know exactly what day and time she’ll show.”

Leonard groans, scrubbing at his face with his hands. This is so typical of his sister. She’s probably not even running from anyone that would warrant such diligent evasive maneuvers. He’d bet big money that she’s just fucking with Cisco. Or him. Maybe both of them.

What a pain.

“You tell her Snart got kidnapped?” Mick asks.

“I told her we rescued him?” Ray replies.

Leonard groans again, louder this time. “You should’ve let that bit out,” he grumbles.

“But that would’ve been lying,” Ray frowns.

Leonard stares at him, realizes that he’s being serious, and then promptly decides he doesn’t want to have this conversation. It’s not worth it.

“Forget it,” he says.

Sara stretches her arms above her head.

“If we’re all sorted, I’m going to bed,” she announces. Her eyes skip over Leonard quickly, but he catches the look hidden in there. He swallows, twisting his new ring around his thumb.

Gideon turns the lights on dim while everyone starts to gather themselves. Blankets are thrown into a pile, Nate gathers popcorn bowls, and Zari starts talking to Charlie about spare bedrooms. When Leonard glances over at Mick, the big guy tips his head to the side, and it’s enough communication for now.

Sara slips silently into the hallway behind them, and Leonard follows suit.

Mick watches Sara and Snart limp out of the Captain’s Office like two blind love-sick puppies, too concerned about Snart to be amused by it.

“Looks like you’re going to win the bet, Palmer,” Constantine yawns on the other side of the room.

The drowsiness must be contagious, because Nate answers the yawn with one of his own. “Hey, it’s not price is right rules. I’m closer right now. If they break tonight, I win,” he says.

Mick tears his eyes away from the now empty hallway. “The fuck are you talking about?” he asks.

Nate’s head whips towards Mick, as if just remembering he was there. Ray, who is still standing by the television, turns bright red.  

“Come on, don’t be dense, you lunk,” John crows. “We’ve been betting on how long it’ll take for Snart and the good Captain to-“

Zari throws a handful of popcorn at Constantine before he can complete the sentence. “To hook up,” she finishes for him.

Charlie perks up from where she’d been laying on the floor. “Wait a second, those two haven’t shanked?” she asks. “I want in on the bet.”

Mick looks between the five of them and lets out a heavy snort. “They’re not fucking tonight,” he says.

It’s like a bunch of owls are staring at him, all blinking in unison. Not one of them seems to believe him. “You’re kidding,” Nate says. “I mean, come on. You’ve been here this whole time too. Sara’s been hovering for, like, hours. He was asking Gideon about her sleep patterns. I swear I thought he was going to princess carry her to bed before Ray showed up. They’re like head over heels in love. I’m getting cavities just looking at them.”

Mick grins. “Yep. Still not fucking,” he says, shaking his head. “They’re both morons.”

John clearly thinks he’s lost the plot. “Sara seduced the bloody Queen of France. You expect me to believe she’s going to decide to be shy now? Around Snart? Don’t get me wrong, the bloke’s pretty, but…” his voice trails off, and he gives Mick a look that’s probably supposed to be meaningful.

“Never said anybody was shy. Said they were idiots,” Mick repeats himself.

“This can’t have been what it was like before,” Zari says, disbelieving. “Surely somebody would’ve said something to them.”

She looks over towards Ray, who shrugs helplessly. “Welllll,” he says.

Mick smacks his lips together as he polishes off the end of his beer. “It used to be worse. Used to find ‘em just fucking staring at each other all over the damn place,” he says. “Blondie’s been running since he’s been back. Snart’s been giving her space.”

“Are you saying that you and Snart talked about it?” Zari asks.  

Mick thinks about the time before the Oculus – when he’d almost killed Snart several times over for paying Sara so much attention. “Something like that,” he rumbles.

Nate crosses his arms. “So, they’re just going to be what? Totally platonic worrywarts for the rest of eternity? No way that lasts. Something’s gotta break eventually, right?” he says.

“Sure,” Mick agrees. “You think that’ll happen before or after one of ‘em fucking dies again?”

Silence drops over the room like a lead dumbbell, the comment hitting closer to home than Mick intended, but he’s not sorry about it. At this point, that honestly might really be the reality of their situation.

Both Sara and Leonard easily could’ve died today. Darhk had every one of them dead to rights.

“Maybe if we talk to Sara about it,” Nate mumbles.

“For what it’s worth, I did try talking to Sara about it a few years ago, but it was after he died, so… bad timing, I guess? She threw a knife at my head,” Ray offers.

“If he was dead, I don’t think that counts. Anyways, it’s not like we can talk to Snart about it,” Nate points out. “At least, I don’t think…” He glances back towards Mick. “Snart’s going to get mad if we bring this up to him right?”

Mick blinks at Nate, amused. Stupid heroes. You get kidnapped with a guy one time, and suddenly they think you’re their best friend. “He’d kill you, Pretty,” Mick confirms.

Zari stretches her legs out into the space that Leonard and Sara vacated. “I thought you hated Snart?” she asks, raising an eyebrow at Nate.

He shrugs. “Hey, I’m not saying it’s okay what he was like before. It’s still messed up that he joined the Legion and shot Amaya, but… he put his neck out there for us with Darhk today.” Nate seems to realize that they never did a mission de-brief. “Shit, we didn’t tell you guys anything yet, huh. Darhk tied us to chairs and was ranting about Sara like a Bond villain. He tried to recruit Snart, but he said no. It was kind of badass, actually. I thought Darhk was about to start chopping off our fingers, and Snart was talking to him like it was a regular Tuesday and the guy had scraped up his car or something.”

Mick’s chin jerks up. “What set Snart off?” he asks.

Nate rubs his cheek, tiredly. “Ah, I don’t… I don’t know really. I was having a hard time staying awake” he says.

Mick hums.

Something obviously has Leonard fucked sideways.

At first, he’d thought maybe it was just Darhk’s initial attack on the Bureau - he’d caught Snart’s face when he’d walked in on Sara fighting alone. But having watched his partner brood for almost two hours, it seems like there must be more to it.

Sometimes, watching Leonard feels a lot like watching the flame burn on his lighter. Mick looks him in the eye and all he sees is the capacity to burn down cities. It’s kind of fucked that they all think Mick is the crazy one. Leonard can be just as bad, at his worst. They make good partners for a reason.

He decides that a little meddling could do the man some good after all.

“You want to play match maker? Make Snart jealous,” Mick says.

Across the room, John perks up.

“Jealous?” Zari mumbles, exasperated. “Maybe talking to Sara isn’t such a bad idea after all.”

“We’re thieves. He’s a jealous fuck about everything,” Mick says.

“Yeah, but, jealous of what? Sara’s not interested in the rest of us like that,” Nate replies.

Ray’s brow furrows. “We could talk more about Ava maybe?” he suggests. “But I don’t know. That seems kind of mean…”

“Oh, you leave that to me, squire,” John says, ominously smug.

Mick hates that weasel more than any other member of the Legends. The thought of Constantine running point on anything makes his blood boil.

But he knows his partner. Leonard is about to take a nose-dive into a bender so bad, Snart’s next prison shrink is going to want to write about it in their memoir. Desperate times call for desperate measures.

Sara and Snart can thank him later.

Leonard and Sara walk through the halls of the Wave Rider in silence. They both stall in front of the door to her room, and the scene is so hauntingly familiar, it’s almost painful. Leonard knows what she’s going to say next before the words come out of her mouth.

“You could stay,” Sara says.

He brackets his arm on the doorframe and sways towards her.

God, he wants to say yes. He wants to say yes so fucking badly.

He’s been waiting for this invitation for weeks – hell, for months maybe – and now that it’s here, sitting in the space between them, the thought of accepting it makes something sticky and anxious swirl up in his chest.

“I can’t,” he breathes and he loathes himself for it.

Half of him expects her to retreat now, to take this as some kind of rejection and to move onto damage control, but she doesn’t. Against all odds, somehow, he thinks that she gets it.

“I’m not going to sleep tonight,” he adds. His voice is barely loud enough to qualify as a whisper. The confession makes him feel vulnerable in a way that he hates, but Sara deserves to hear the explanation.

She needs to know for certain - it’s not her.

Sara wraps her hand around the zipper edge of his open sweatshirt. Not quite touching him but anchoring him there.

“What’d he do, Len?” she asks, quietly.

Ah, so they’re going to talk about it now then, are they? He supposes she was just waiting for Ray to deliver the ring and a moment alone with him.

“Nothing,” he says, licking his lips. “He barely laid a finger on me.”

Sara raises an eyebrow. “So what? This is all about me then?” she asks. “This isn’t the first time you’ve seen me lose a fight.”

“Oh, are we calling that a fight now?” Leonard asks. The sarcasm is instant. A poor veil for what lies underneath.

Sara skewers him with a look. “Stop that,” she reprimands. “Don’t make me get it from Nate.”

Leonard wipes a hand over his jaw. “Fine. Fine,” he grumbles. “He took us to some warehouse. It was on the water, had a bunch of shipping containers in it. He had a big long speech prepared. Wanted me to join the cause. It was all very Darth Vader of him.”

“And you said no?” Sara checks.

Leonard falls still as death. “Does that surprise you?” he asks, emotionless.

“No,” Sara says swiftly. “Absolutely not. We already talked about this, remember? I’m just saying, I would’ve considered it. Not for real, but… he would’ve had to arm you eventually, if you sided with him.”

And then you could’ve killed him, his mind finishes the sentence for her. It’s almost disturbing how similar their thought process is. Because he had considered it. Damien had offered him a clear way out of this mess, and when push came to shove, he hadn’t been able to take it. 

Mick was wrong. He was going soft.

“Well, I told him no,” Leonard says.

Sara’s eyes flash. “Which, I’m sure he took well.”

“He didn’t torture me, Sara,” Leonard says. Because he’s pretty sure that’s what she’s thinking. “He gave me my memories back. We were such pals before. Guess he thought it’d make me have a change of heart.”

Sara’s head tilts to the side. “Memories of what?”

“The Legion of Doom,” he clarifies. “That’s an asinine name, by the way. Who thought of it? Heywood or Palmer?”

Sara doesn’t answer his question. She goes silent for a long moment, while Leonard stares determinedly down at his own cuticles. "We don't even remember the Doom World, Leonard," she murmurs. "That wasn't really us there. It was future versions of ourselves that we erased by taking the spear back."

"Mm. Well, lucky you.”

When he dares to look up again, Sara is frowning at him. Her arms are crossed tightly against her chest, and her left hip leans heavily against the closed door to her room. “You didn’t know who we were,” she says.

“I’m aware.”

“That matters.”  

Leonard swallows. He doesn’t know where she gets this unwavering faith in him from. It’s misplaced. “Doesn’t it?” he asks. “You just said it yourself. You don’t remember anything. You don’t have a clue what you’re giving me a pass for.”

Sara points to herself, looking fiercely unimpressed. “Assassin, remember?” she replies. “If someone pulled me from the wrong part of the timeline and told me to kill the whole team in cold blood, as long as Ra’s okayed the hit, I would’ve done it in a heartbeat. And... and I know that it wasn’t right to be like that. But I’m doing better now. You’re doing better now. That matters.”

Leonard wishes it were that simple.

His eyes flutter shut and with his new ring tethering him, the memories surface easily.

There was a day early in the loop when Damien and Malcolm debriefed him on each member of the Legends. When they’d gotten to Sara, the conversation turned into a predictable dick-off over who’d hurt her the most, and Leonard... He didn’t care. He’d been mildly annoyed with them for wasting his time with their psychopathy, but the information on Sara was all just intel to him.

Remembering it now makes him feel sick with himself. Like he’s got a stain on his soul that he can’t rub out.  

And it’s not about the team. Not really. Leonard’s done so much bad shit over the years and never felt such stifling guilt. Fighting the Legends? Sara’s right, in the grand scheme of his various crimes against humanity, it’s not that bad. It probably doesn’t even rank on his list of top ten worst life choices.

Working with Damien might, though. Working with Malcolm too.  

Leonard’s always felt like he and Sara were on equal footing with each other. They’ve both done terrible things in the name of survival. It’s one of the reasons they understand each other so well.

But if he tries to imagine Sara working with Lewis, the image doesn’t quite load. Because that’s the true role reversal here, isn’t it? If someone scooped Sara up during her League days, she might have been willing to slaughter the team, but she wouldn’t have been willing to work for a washed-up abusive beat cop. It would’ve been beneath her. She was literally a professional serial killer, but even then, she had standards. There were lines she wouldn’t cross.

The same can’t be said about him.

“Hey.”

A tug on the end of his sweatshirt pulls him back to the dimly lit hallways of the Wave Rider. Leonard opens his eyes to find Sara staring up at him. Blue irises shadowed with worry.  

“Don’t let him win,” she says.

And her voice is so soft. So thin and delicate and fragile. His traitorous black heart can’t handle it.

For a moment, that thing inside of him that wants and wants and wants takes control. His hand breaches the space between them and hesitantly brushes over the spot on her right bicep where the bandage had been earlier.

Sara doesn’t pull back.

She allows him to run his fingers gently over the bruised skin, feeling the hooked bump there. The only remaining evidence of injury. And beneath that – the corded muscle, the body heat that warms his hand, and the solidness of her person.

Already, it’s more than he deserves.

“Okay,” he says.

Sara’s shoulders sag and her head rocks to the side so that her temple presses against the door.

“Thank you,” she replies.

Leonard gives her arm one last squeeze and drops his hand back to his side.

This is the part, he knows, where he is supposed to leave. Sara needs to sleep. Leonard has betrayed her in exquisite fashion. If this were a movie, this would be the bit where he would let her go while he… disappeared to right his wrongs, or something.

At least, that would be the chivalrous thing to do.

Unfortunately, his feet won’t move. Lingering feelings of cataclysmic self-hatred aside, Leonard doesn’t want to leave Sara. He wants her with him, desperately, in any and every way that she’ll allow. And at the end of the day, Leonard’s not a hero and he’s certainly not a masochist. If Sara doesn’t want him gone, he doesn’t have the courage to send her away willingly.

“I’m going to the Library,” he states, knowing full well that Sara will take it as an invitation.

For a second, he swears he sees a flash of relief flutter across her features.

“Lead the way,” Sara says. Just like he knew she would.

They pad through the hall in tired silence. It’s companionable, and Leonard finds he’s too tired to regret pulling her away from her bed tonight. 

Once in the library, Leonard starts the tedious work of clearing every available table surface of clutter while Sara curls up in the cushioned armchair in the corner. The mess is a combination of ancient scrolls on magic and dry texts on different historical periods, and all of it will be useless for the long night ahead of him. By the time Leonard feels organized enough to begin, Sara is starting to doze off again.

“Alright Gideon,” he says, finally facing the main tv screen against the center wall. “Give me everything there is to know about Damien Darhk.”

“Of course, Mr. Snart,” Gideon replies.

Several dense textboxes pop up on the television. Leonard starts to read.