Risks Worth Taking
by Sandrine Shaw
It's pitch black outside when Iris blinks awake. Drowsy with sleep, she props herself up and blindly reaches for her phone on the nightstand, wincing at the sudden glare of light when the screen switches on.
2:54.
No need to get up and face the day yet. She doesn't know why she woke up; her inner clock isn't usually that badly off.
With a yawn, she drops back onto the pillow. Her eyelids feel heavy and she's about to drift off again when she hears it: a soft shuffling noise from the living room, like someone moving on quiet feet across the floorboards. All at once, she's wide awake and sitting up ramrod straight with her fingers clutching the covers, the drowsiness gone, drowned out by the surge of adrenaline. Her heart beats fast and loud in her chest as she tries to fight down the panic and keep calm.
Someone's in the loft. It could be Barry... But even if he was back early, he'd be in here with her in a literal flash, not creeping through the living room like a thief in the night.
She swings her legs out of the bed, the goose-bumps rising on her legs only partially because of the cool air against her naked skin. The choice not to have a gun in the apartment feels stupid and careless all of a sudden. Then again, with all those meta criminals roaming the streets of Central these days, what good would an ordinary gun be anyway?
On her way to the door, Iris picks up one of her fancier shoes, clutching it tightly in her hand. Maybe not the most effective weapon, but the stiletto heel is a good five inches and ice-pick sharp, enough to do some damage against an ordinary human if she has the element of surprise on her side. She takes a steadying breath and pulls the door open fast, the shoe raised with the heel facing front.
She doesn't know what she expects to see. The room overturned, all their stuff on the floor, a masked burglar running off at being discovered – something along those lines. Certainly not Leonard Snart lounging on the couch, facing her with one ankle balanced on the other knee and in his hand a bottle of beer that she absent-mindedly recognizes as the brand they keep in the fridge. He makes a carefully-draped picture of poise and ease, like he was just waiting to be discovered.
"What the hell? Do you have any idea how late it is?"
The fear that gripped Iris when she realized she wasn't alone quickly ebbs away, giving way to annoyance. It bounces off Snart without making a dent in his unruffled exterior.
He eyes her with cool amusement, lips curling into a knowing half-smirk when he takes in the shoe in her hand.
"Interesting choice of a weapon," he drawls.
The smug superiority grates. Iris is tempted to throw the shoe at him anyway, see how funny he finds her makeshift weapon of choice when it comes flying at his head. But no, she's not going to ruin a $300-pair she's only got to wear a single time yet just for a gotcha moment, appealing as the idea is.
"We can't all have fancy guns."
Technically, they could – they do – but Iris prefers to keep them at S.T.A.R. Labs where the chances that they'll end up being used against them are a little smaller, despite evidence to the contrary present in Snart's holster.
Iris can't stifle another yawn, sleepiness catching up with her now that the adrenaline rush has gone. She sets down the shoe next to the TV and shakes her head. "Look, I'm not awake enough for this. I'm having a coffee. You want one?"
His eyebrows go up, like her offer is unexpected.
Before he has the chance to get another sarcastic comment in, she turns and goes to the kitchen, floorboards creaking underneath her bare feet. She switches on the espresso maker and grabs two cups from the holder.
"Gotta say, I expected a flashier reception, but I guess this'll do."
Snart's voice is closer than she expected, making her jump. When she turns towards its owner, he's standing in the doorway, the length of his body leaning against the frame, arms crossed in front of him.
She takes in his appearance while she waits for the machine to power up. Under the cool glare of the overhead light, he looks older and more worn out than the last time she saw him, shadows under his eyes and his salt-and-pepper hair a little more grey than she remembers. In the black turtleneck and the criminally tight pair of jeans he's wearing, his form is almost as lean as Barry's. It's odd; she never realized how much bulk the costume outfit added before now. She can't actually remember seeing him out of costume before, now that she thinks about it.
The way he clears his throat makes her eyes snap back up to his face, feeling caught red-handed in her unconcealed appraisal of him. Belatedly, she recalls his quip and realizes that he's probably waiting for an explanation of Barry's absence.
"Sorry, you'll have to content yourself with me. Barry isn't here. He's helping Supergirl with something on Earth-38."
Snart appears to take a moment to process her comment.
"Right," he finally says, drawing out the word. "Alternate Earths. That's a thing now."
The espresso maker rattles to life, filling up their cups as the smell of freshly brewed coffee fills the room. It always reminds her of her time working at Jitters, and there's some nostalgia with that. She's long since outgrown her days as a barista and she wouldn't want to go back, but life was a lot simpler back then, when meta-human threats were nothing but a good story for her blog and the Flash was a mysterious red streak who occasionally flirted with her.
Iris frowns, something about Snart's reaction just now rubbing her the wrong way. It takes her an embarrassing moment to catch up. She twists towards Snart, staring at him, now with a new perspective on the physical differences she noticed before.
"You're not Leo." It's not a question.
He inclines his head. "What gave it away? The nightly break-in, or my sparkling wit?"
When he moves to take one of the cups, the motion bringing him right into her space. She wonders if it's deliberate, if he's aiming for intimidation. It might have worked, if she wasn't too stumped to be afraid, too busy trying to wrap her mind around the fact that the man in front of her has been dead for years now. The last time she saw him, at S.T.A.R. Labs when they plotted to steal the Speed Force Bazooka to use against Savitar, he'd been a dead man walking already, a ghost from the past.
He might be one now, too. He was on board a time ship before he sacrificed himself, which means he could be from any point in time after he joined the Legends. He could be nothing but an echo. Perhaps this is the last time they'll see him, time travel offering an unexpected chance – and by some cruel twist of fate, Barry isn't around.
Iris bites her lip. It shouldn't make a difference, but the desire to know is grating, so overwhelming that it's impossible to think about anything else.
"You're here with the Legends, right?" she asks, trying to phrase the question in a way that's as innocuous and general as possible.
He takes a sip from his coffee. "Hmm. They dropped me off for a little shore leave."
Evasive, but not necessarily deliberately so. She'll have to be more straightforward, won't she?
"Okay? So, where— When are you from, exactly?"
Snart cocks his head and gives her a narrow-eyed, shrewd look. Once again, he takes a little too long to answer, and she can't shake the sense that she's being measured. "Barry already took me on that little A.R.G.U.S. heist, if that's what you're asking. Seems to have worked out fine, seeing as you're alive and well."
Iris swallows, feeling her worst suspicions confirmed. How much time had passed between Barry stealing Snart from Siberia and Snart getting himself blown up to save the other Legends? She wishes she'd asked Barry, but back then everything had been such a terrible mess, the rush to save her from Savitar and H.R.'s death and then Barry getting trapped in the Speed Force. There was no time to discuss Leonard Snart's uncharacteristic heroic demise, even though she knew how much it had cost Barry to put him back on a path that would ultimately lead to his death.
She knew it then and she knows it now, and that's why she can't let this go, even though she should.
"There's something you should know," she hears herself say, nervously tugging at a strand of hair that's come loose from the messy bun, unable to look Snart in the eye as she forces the words out. "About what's going to happen. I don't know if there's a way around it, if there's any chance to stop it, but—"
Snart holds up a finger, interrupting her. "Didn't anyone give you the 'don't mess with the timeline' speech?"
The irony that he of all people should caution her to do the right thing isn't lost on her. Especially when 'the right thing' amounts to 'letting him die'.
She tries to smile, but it feels more like a grimace. "I'm usually the one giving it."
He sets down the empty cup, his fingers drumming out a rhythm on the counter-top, the only sign that betrays that he isn't quite as relaxed as he pretends to be. "And yet here you are. About to tell me what the future's got in store for me."
His tone is more curious than accusatory, but it still puts her on the defensive. The problem is, he's right. She was always the first person to tell Barry not to mess with the past after that first time when trying to save his parents almost got Wally killed in turn and they ended up in a timeline where Cisco's brother was dead. It was easy enough to caution Barry not to change the past to save her if they couldn't stop Savitar. Easy to say she didn't want to potentially trade her own life for someone else's. But then Nora showed up, their daughter who never really had a chance to know her father in the future she came from, and suddenly things weren't quite that black and white anymore with the life of someone she loved on the line.
She downs the last of her coffee, already lukewarm and too bitter.
"Maybe I just realized that letting things happen the way they're supposed to isn't always the best option."
She turns away from Leonard to switch off the espresso maker and put the dirty dishes away, busying herself just so she'll have something to do other than watch him watching her with that penetrating blue-eyed stare that seems to be sharp enough to dissect her thoughts.
"Did you now? Sounds like there's a story there." He doesn't wait for her to make up her mind about whether she wants to share that story with him. "Be it as it may, while I appreciate your willingness to bend the rules to save me, it ain't necessary. Already saved myself. Manner of speaking."
It takes a moment for his words to sink in, and when they do, she snaps around towards him. "You're—"
"From the present day," Snart finishes for her, cutting her off. He offers a one-sided shrug, the nonchalant kind that seems to say 'whatever, no big deal'. "Resurrection is now on my résumé, thanks to our sorcerer friend. Not as much fun as it sounds. Wouldn't recommend it."
Trust Leonard Snart to make smart-ass quips about dying and coming back to life.
Iris glares at him. "You couldn't have told me that before? No, forget it. Why am I even asking? Of course you couldn't. God forbid you put your cards on the table even once."
She shuts the dishwasher with a little more force than necessary, porcelain and glass rattling inside.
Snart doesn't apologize. Iris didn't expect him to. The tension between them stretches, taut and fraught, heavy like a physical thing, and she doesn't know how to break it. It's Snart who does, to her surprise.
"Were you really going to tell me?" he asks, tone so carefully neutral that coming from anyone else, it would be impossible to interpret. But the usual drawl is missing, no hint of the biting sarcasm that's intrinsically linked to the Captain Cold persona. It's such a massive tell, it's hard to believe that he doesn't know how it's giving him away.
She shrugs. She'd already started to, hadn't she? There's no reason she wouldn't have gone through with it if he hadn't stopped her mid-sentence.
"Barry didn't."
Oh. So that's what this is about.
Of course.
He looks half like he regrets asking, like he wants to turn and leave and only holds his ground out of sheer stubbornness and because he believes fleeing now would give even more away than he already did. It must be exhausting, always needing to keep his cards close to his chest, always afraid of having any weakness he shows used against him. The surge of compassion she feels is unexpected, and she begins to understand how Barry softened towards Snart. Maybe it wormed its way underneath his skin too, slowly, gradually, while he wasn't paying attention.
She reaches out and puts a comforting hand on Snart's arm. There's a barely noticeable flinch, muscles shifting underneath the soft cotton, but he doesn't pull away or shake off the touch.
"Barry... has learned the hard way that you can't change one thing and expect everything else to stay the same. If he changed the past for some selfish reason again and someone else got hurt because of it, he couldn't live with it."
They're standing too close, too much honesty to fill what little space there is between them, until it becomes almost suffocating. Iris watches Snart's throat work as he swallows, the twitching muscles of his jaw, the flash of something in the pale blue of his eyes.
"Letting me in on the fact that I'm gonna get myself blown up would hardly have been selfish."
She isn't sure if he's fishing or trying to rub it in or if he genuinely doesn't realize how much Barry cares, but it's past three in the morning and she doesn't have the energy to go toe to toe with Captain Cold, so she chooses to interpret it as insecurity rather than confrontation.
"To Barry, it would have been," she says.
She holds his gaze until he's the one turning away. He takes a step backwards, and the fragile intimacy of the moment shatters like ice crystals.
"Shame I missed him," he says as she follows him back into the living room.
There it is again, the old familiar drawl. It seems like all his walls are back up at once. "Gotta make sure to plan something special for our reunion. I hear there's a diamond exhibition at the museum. Perfect timing."
He's headed towards the door, and the sense of relief she expected doesn't come. The tension of the last twenty minutes isn't ebbing away, it's pulling back into her stomach and coiling into a tight ball, spurred on by the certainty that if she lets him leave now, whatever headway she made in cracking his frosty exterior will be lost.
He's almost at the door when she calls him back. "Or you could just stay until he gets back. He'll probably be home in the morning. He'd be happy to see you."
Snart turns towards her, hesitating with his hand on the handle. She decides to take it as a win that he's not out of the door yet. If there was ever a time to push him, it's now.
She tries to infuse as much challenge as possible into her smile. "I mean, you went through all that trouble to break in and catch him on his home turf. It would be a shame to waste a good entrance like that, right?"
#
A flash of lightning and the bristling of electricity announce Barry's return. The lightning trail disappears into the bathroom and out again, and then Barry is sitting on the bed in shorts and a threadbare shirt, his hair a tousled, shower-wet mess that makes Iris's fingers itch with desire to comb through it.
She offers him a sleepy smile that he returns, soft and sweet, leaning over the steal a kiss. "Hey."
"Hey yourself. You okay?" She doesn't ask how the mission of Earth-38 went, knowing he'll want to tell everyone later today at S.T.A.R. Labs, and there's no need for him to go through the same story twice. All she needs to know right now is if he's alright.
"I am now. It's good to be home." He gives her a curious look. "So... why is Leo asleep on our couch?"
"He isn't."
Barry frowns. There's blur of orange and the mattress shifts for a split second, startling her, and then he's back already.
"I'm... pretty sure he is, actually." He makes a vague aborted sign towards the living room where he clearly just went and checked if he had imagined the man on the couch.
Iris snorts. "I hope you didn't wake him. And he's not Leo."
"Not— What— Wait, are you— Is he—?"
Too sleepy to wait for Barry to decide on a question to actually finish asking, Iris takes pity on both of them and cuts to the chase. "He's the real thing. Back from the not-so-dead, apparently. He didn't share any details, and I thought I'd hold off on grilling him until you were around."
"Oh."
The expression on Barry's face goes from confusion to shock to disbelief to something fragile and hopeful and aching. And that, that right there is why Iris would have been willing to roll the dice on changing the past if necessary. It's also the reason why Barry would never have allowed himself to alter the timeline. It makes Iris ache for a myriad of different reasons, compassion and overwhelming love and a twinge of jealousy all hopelessly tangled together. It's exhausting to try to unravel the messy knot of emotions, so she doesn't even try.
"How did you get him to stay?" Barry wants to know.
Honestly, she's still a bit stumped that it worked, but maybe she shouldn't be. "He didn't break into the loft in the middle of the night just to see me, Barry. I tried my best, but I don't think I could quite provide the Flash experience."
Barry ducks his head and grins, fondness tinged with nostalgia. "I'm trying to imagine you two having a tense stand-off where you threaten him with prison and he makes terrible puns until you want him to freeze you with his gun just so you don't have to listen to one more cheesy temperature joke."
"We just had coffee and talked."
The incredulous look Barry shoots her makes her tempted to admit that it wasn't quite that cozy, that she almost took it upon herself to mess with the timeline. But he doesn't need to know that. She carefully watches his expression, the wistful little smile like he's imagining himself in her place, sharing a quiet chat with Snart over coffee.
"You have that same look on your face like you did when you were twelve and tried to convince Dad that we should keep that stray dog we found in the park."
"Captain Cold isn't exactly a puppy," Barry protests.
Iris sends him a sly look. "You wanna keep him, though."
"Iris—"
Instead of laughing at the quip, Barry looks stricken. It makes Iris realize that she's been a step ahead and didn't give him enough time to catch up. Barry might be the fastest man alive, but that doesn't mean he's always quick to acknowledge his emotions, much less deal with the fallout instead of trying to outrun them.
She reaches out to take his hand. She feels tiny micro-vibrations under his skin, like he's working himself into a state of panic that makes him want to flash away.
"Hey, it's okay. We'll figure it out."
Barry looks at her with wide eyes, like he can't quite believe she's real. "I love you. You know that, right?"
Of course she does. It's the only reason she isn't freaking out. There aren't many things she's sure of anymore since the particle accelerator exploded and sent their world into a crazy spin, but she's sure of Barry's love for her. She's sure that she won't lose it, whatever space they'll carve out in their lives for Leonard Snart.
She puts all that certainty into her smile.
"I love you too." She entwines their fingers and holds on until he gives her a brief, reassured squeeze. "Come on, get some rest."
End.