This sprang from two things: Comments about the whole "love triangle with a dead man" thing on season one of Legends of Tomorrow (referring to Ray/Kendra and Carter/Kendra in that context) and musings about how Legion!Leonard Snart may very well be past!Leonard Snart in Legends season two.

I always thought season one Leonard seemed to know an awful lot about Sara...

With many thanks to LarielRomeniel for reading this over. It includes a tip of the hat to her "Cool Movie Quotes" drabbles. You should check them out. :)

...

Of all the rooms in this entire goddamned sprawling complex, he has to duck into hers.

She has a knife at his throat before he can blink, almost before he can register who else is hiding in this tiny, closet-like space with him. The blue eyes widen, then narrow, but he splays his fingers wide, slowly lowering the cold gun to the floor as he keeps his eyes on hers, restraightening while never breaking the gaze.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Sara hisses at him, trying to hide the wobble in her voice, the pang in her heart, thankful for the League training that keeps her hands steady despite them.

At this close range, it's impossible to ignore that it's the same man she knew...the same eyes that sparked with amusement when she busted him cheating at gin, the same long-fingered hands she's seen shuffle cards, pick pockets, pass a bottle to her and accept it in return. The same mouth...

It's just an earlier version of him, recruited for his skills by Thawne in 2013, equipped with a cold gun that shouldn't even have been invented yet and given the chance to steal things throughout time, all to further the so-called Legion's mysterious goals. The flip side of Rip's original "Legends," really. (The irony is not lost on the Time Master; Gideon still can't figure out why the timeline isn't imploding because of this.)

To this Leonard Snart, Sara Lance is only an enemy.

"Probably the same thing you are," he hisses back in a low voice. "Stealing things." A frown, quickly hidden, flickers across his face, leading her to believe he's figured out the same thing she did...that the weapon in question has already been moved, and both Legion and Legends are too late. "Hiding. Wondering what the hell is going on, actually."

She raises her eyebrows at the moment of apparent honesty, but keeps the knife where it is. "What, you're actually here by yourself?"

He snorts. "I don't need that lot of lunatics tripping me up, especially here and now. And I don't need any of them getting ideas, because stealing from these, these...future wanna-be Nazis is one thing, but working with them is another." The distaste is unfeigned. "Not in my contract."

But you'll work with Darhk? With Thawne and Merlyn? She keeps herself from saying anything. Still, something in her face must give it away, because those blue, blue eyes study her, an oddly uncertain expression in them. She grips the knife a little tighter.

"So who's going to stop me from leaving your body here?" she retorts, burying remembered grief and current heartbreak underneath a shell of anger. He doesn't know she can't do that. "One less problem for us to deal with."

He tilts his head just a little, studying her. God, he's so him...

"No one," he says, finally. "But I don't think it's your style. You'd do it if you had to. But not in cold blood. Not to someone you barely know, not without a really good reason."

It's hard to tell what hurts most.The inexplicable understanding ("That's not you anymore," a voice whispers in memory) or the assertion that she barely knows him. The hurt manifests physically in pursed lips and narrowed eyes and, when she speaks, a clipped tone she's tried to purge of any revealing emotion.

"You don't know me."

Oh, but something's leaked in. She can tell from the sudden "v" between his eyebrows, the expression in his eyes, the twist of his lips. But he doesn't say anything about that.

"No," he says merely. "But I think I'm right."

He is, of course. She takes a deep breath.

Her comm is down. She hopes and believes that Amaya took her at her word and got the injured Ray to safety, but there's no way of knowing when someone might be able to return to help her out. Leonard, it seems, is in a similar boat. Impossible not to entertain the notion of...

"Truce?" He offers first. "Neither of us has what we came for; neither of us is going to get it. The best we can hope for is to get out of here intact.

"And I fail to see any way we're not going to have to fight our way out, and you're good, you're amazing, but we're going to be really outnumbered, and numbers like they have could pull anyone down."

He thinks I'm amazing? is the first thing that crosses her mind. Followed by Jesus Christ, Sara, you're acting like you're 16 with a crush. Get a grip.

It would be a mistake to not consider it, she tells herself. Because he's right. The odds she can make it out of this warren through stealth alone are not high, not with the numbers here, not even with her skills. And he's as sneaky as they come, a real...a real hell of a thief...but the same is true for him as well.

It just makes sense.

"Truce," she tells him, slowly pulling the knife away, keeping it balanced in her hand. "Just until we're out. Then we go our separate ways. You don't bring your...friends into it; I don't bring mine."

"They're not my 'friends,' " he snaps back. Oh, a nerve. "It's a job. I'm getting paid."

"I hope it's worth it," she shoots back before she thinks better of it.

He tilts his head and gives her one of those considering looks again. And there's a tinier bit more warmth there now, and god help her, it makes him look even more like...

"You know, I don't even know your name." The slow smile is a little...is he flirting with her? "I only know they call you the White Canary."

She shouldn't. "Sara."

"Sara." The way he says her name is exactly the same. Just the goddamn same. "Sara, I'm...Len."

This is a mistake.

…...

"I'm going to pull something out of my pocket, all right, Sara? It's not a weapon. Don't stab me. Blood could ruin it."

And damn him for using that teasing tone with her. He doesn't have the right, not anymore. But he never has, has he? Not as far as he knows. "Got it," she tells him curtly, watching him reach slowly into the inside of that damned parka, poised and ready to move if it turns out he's stupid enough to pull something.

He's not. He withdraws a folded piece of paper.

"A map?"

Another sidelong glance. "Did you really come in here without one?"

We don't have you anymore and no one else is quite the planner you are. Were. Oh, hell. "I had a map," she tells him with dignity. "It turned out to be...inaccurate."

He snorts. "Yeah, well, the one Darhk..." His eyes flick to her, apparently tracking what she'd thought was an imperceptible flinch. "...gave me was out of date too. Fortunately, I do my homework. Memorized it, too, but I've gotten a little turned around." He unfolds it, smoothing creases, then turns just a little to put it on the small, apparently unused desk in the tiny office, jerking his head to indicate she should take a look. Bristling just a touch at his assumption of obedience, she does.

"As far as I can tell, we're here." He taps a section of the map that's full of small squares that she figures represent tiny offices just like this one. "Not so far away from where they were keeping the..." His gaze darts to her and his corner of his mouth lifts. "...item. Which is long gone, as I'm sure we both realize at this point."

Sara just gives him a stony look. The other corner of his mouth lifts.

"Anyway, we need to get out of this maze, out of the building, out of the compound, and then out of the whole damned valley. I'd planned to steal a uniform, but...well, first, you and your friends got them all riled up and then I got marked as an...undesirable...before I even did anything. I'm taking it as a compliment." He frowns at her. "Did they really take off and leave you?"

She comes within a hair's breadth of telling him what happened with Ray and Amaya. But they're not histeam, not now. She keeps her expression stony and ignores the question. "Undesirable? So, you got busted nicking the silverware?"

She'd like to laugh, the expression she gets is so offended. "Turns out they don't like certain aspects of my heritage," he informs her, "and in 2027 they have some strange way of knowing. Didn't pass muster. And you're in not any better a situation, given what they think of women."

"Broodmares and prostitutes? Yeah." She leans over to study the map, ignoring the warmth of his arm just an inch or so from hers. "So, what about getting to the garage and stealing a vehicle? We'll have to go through more real estate in here, but then we'll have transportation."

"Precisely what I was thinking." She can feel his eyes on her, but he doesn't say anything else. Just watches.

In another time and space, she'd tease about his fondness for watching. Here and now, she just traces the map with a fingertip, looking at possible routes, one of which leads through...

She pauses. Considers one of the objects she's carrying with her. Then glances up at him.

"You don't seem to care for these...what was the term? 'future wanna-be Nazis' … any more than I do," she says. "You were just ready to steal from them. How would you feel about causing a little destruction on the way out?"

It surprises him. She can see it in the raised eyebrows, the flicker in his eyes. But she's not sure if he's surprised by the suggestion or the fact that she puts it to him, the enemy-turned-only-temporary-partner. He looks at where her finger rests on the map, whistles, and looks thoughtful.

"Nazis," he mutters, as if to himself. "I hate those guys. Yeah. Let's do it."

"Did you just quote 'Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade?' "

A glimmer in his eyes is her only response.


It's going to be impossible for the pair of them, a tall man in goggles and a blue parka with a big gun and small blond woman clad in white leather with a staff, to go very far in this compound without attracting the wrong kind of attention. They give it a shot regardless.

They get to the end of the corridor, Sara leading, Leonard guarding her back, before a door opens in front of them...and the latter-day skinhead behind it blinks at them in surprise.

"You guys know you're on the wrong side of history, right?" Sara asks him cheerfully... then sends him off to dreamland with a smart rap of her staff. He crumbles. A shout goes up behind him.

"Well, so much for that," Leonard sighs...and they both barrel through the door, into a room full of equally surprised future Nazi wanna-bes, who really should have been on their guard given that their compound had two break-ins today and there were no guarantees all the perpetrators were gone.

Well. No one ever said they were smart. They wouldn't have been so swayed by one charismatic, wealthy leader if that were the case, she tells herself, and the leadership and brain trust is all gone with the weapon.

Or even remotely skilled at fighting, apparently. They don't even have decent aim, those that even bothered to keep their weapons on them, Sara thinks, fighting and running, Leonard on her heels.

Whatever. Their priority is getting out of here, with a certain stop along the way.

They crash through the armory, a mostly stand-alone building, pausing for only a moment, and run on. After what might be moments or hours, they emerge into the huge garage and Leonard slams and locks the door behind them.

Almost there. But there's an approaching knot of thugs approaching them, standing in the way. They share a glance...and then they're in the thick of it.

There's a very special feel to it, that moment when you're fighting shoulder to shoulder with someone who gets you, who has your back, who knows what you're going to do even before you do it. She's felt it before, but she shouldn't be feeling it now. Not with him, not with this version of him. They've never fought with each other before.

But she does.

She feels that moment of transcendence, laughs right out loud in sheer joy as she moves, fights, catches the edge of his smiles as he matches her actions, causing mayhem to match her own-and knows that he's feeling it too

And for a brief, shining moment, she feels like she has him back. Snarky and intelligent and heroic in his own way and alive...

Reality crashes in. She wrestles with it a moment, then shoves it away. Not now.

There's a break in the action and she heads for the lines of vehicles, picking out a sturdy-looking SUV-type thing, all the better for their plans.

She reaches it first, and while their plan had been for him to hotwire it, she ducks down under the dash to do the honors. He whistles as he catches up.

"You steal cars, too? Where have you been all my life?"

She laughs at the blatant flirting. "When you hotwired your first car? Probably preschool."

"Very funny!" He spins, fires, punches a goon who actually got too close.

"Working for the other side?" The engine roars to life; she grins in triumph and hops into the driver's seat.

"Also not funny." He swings up into the passenger seat. "They really haven't closed the garage doors yet."

"Nope."

"Foolish of them."

"Yup." She guns it.

The gate into the compound is closed, though. It doesn't hold up against the cold gun and a large vehicle, however, and they're out, driving into the night, watching for pursuit and for...

"What are you muttering?"

"Just counting. And three, two, one..."

The explosion lights up the night behind them. Both of them grin.

"And that for their armory," Leonard says with satisfaction. He glances her way. "Ah...it should have been a pretty targeted blast. They probably had enough warning to get out of that section, for the most part."

The "bad guy" is reassuring her about casualties. She can't help but smile.

Not too far away, they skirt a small city, eventually driving into town from the opposite direction from the compound and join the locals, briefly, in marveling about the pyrotechnics coming from the "loony bin" to the south and all the federal and state law-enforcement personnel that are now on their way through. The SUV is soon abandoned in a parking garage, and the "nice couple with the odd clothes, the ones on a day trip from the big city" vanishes as well.

In truth, Leonard picks the lock on what appears to be a deserted, somewhat run-down office building, ushering her in with a tip of his head.

She knows she should be getting back in touch with the ship, with the captain, trying her comm—currently off and wadded up in her belt pouch—again. Just a breather, she tells herself. Just a bit of a rest first. Just...

She's not sure what he's telling himself. But he doesn't seem much inclined to contact his side, either. He closes the door behind them, locking it, and takes one last look around before turning to her with a sigh.

She's waiting.

Her nerves are still jangling, with the remnants of bloodlust, adrenaline, and whatever incandescent rush of...whatever...she'd felt when she'd thought, however briefly, however foolishly, that herLeonard Snart, Legend and crook and hell of a thief, had been back with her.

It's too much. It's just too much. She takes a deep breath, steps forward into his space and, before he can move or say a word, reaches up and drags his mouth down to hers.