Author's note: This just popped into my head on Christmas Eve. Enjoy! Thanks to LarielRomeniel for the beta.

"Lenny! Lenny!"

Leonard Snart is jolted awake by the abrupt weigh of a skinny 5-year-old as Lisa flings herself onto him, startling him out of what, for once, had been a fairly deep sleep. He blinks fiercely, trying to get his bearings and glancing at the old clock-radio at the side of his bed. 1:19 a.m.

"What's going on?" he asks groggily, struggling up to one elbow. He doesn't sleep this soundly when Lewis is home, but he tries to get more rest in when his fa…the old man's in prison. It's not easy keeping himself and Lisa fed and making sure no one twigs to the fact that they're alone here. Still, it's much preferable to when Lewis is home.

Lisa bounces a little, eyes wide with excitement, and hugs herself, skinny arms wrapped around the knobby knees barely covered by her old Rainbow Brite pajamas. She leans forward, peering into her brother's eyes, then, apparently satisfied with what she sees, sits back and beams at him.

"I think Santa's here," she whispers, eyes shining.

"What?" Len's wide awake now. And from the lofty height of 13 years old, he knows perfectly well that there's no way Santa or St. Nick or whatever else people call him is at their house. There are a few presents under their small tree already, but they'd been purchased with whatever he could scrounge up or, in one case, shoplifted because Lisa really desperately needs a new coat.

"He's not coming down the chimney, though." Lisa frowns. "He's at the front door. I snuck downstairs to peek when I heard the noise. I think he's having trouble getting through your locks. You should…"

But Len's on his feet, tossing off the covers and toppling his baby sister aside. He'd found those old locks at the junkyard, and hands that learned how to pick locks at an early age also knew how to install them. They're an extra little bit of security, in the case of Lewis' early return, well-intentioned CPS people, or someone looking to get even for some slight, perceived or all too real, of Lewis'.

"Lisa," he says quietly, urgently. "Stay up here. If I yell, open my window. Remember how I put a rope ladder there?" The smaller girl nods, expression going serious. "Go out and down. Run to…to…" He thinks a moment. There's not really a good answer here. "…the Smythes' house. OK?" Lisa nods again. It's cold out, but not icy, Len thinks. He'll only shout if there's real trouble. Hopefully…

"You don't think it's Santa?" his sister asks in a tiny voice, even as Len can see the illusions shattering in her eyes. The question hurts his heart. He doesn't know how it is that Lisa can hold on to the whole magic of Christmas thing after all she's seen and been through, but somehow, she has. So far.

"I don't know," he tells her, trying to keep his voice gentle. "Maybe! If it is, I'll just sneak back up here. But…I'm checking, just in case."

Lisa nods, her braids bouncing, and settles onto the floor by his bed, pulling his old NASA blanket over herself. Len pulls on his sneakers—he'd slept in a pair of sweatpants and a T-shirt, always ready to move—and takes a deep breath, then starts for the stairs.

He's only two steps down when he hears the door, the scratching noises that do suggest someone's trying to get in. Still, he slips down to the bottom before he actually hears the door open and reaches behind himself to grab the baseball bat he keeps there, just in case.

A figure about his size—maybe it's one of his asshole classmates, there to play a holiday prank on the skinny, intense delinquent-pushes the door open. Len draws in a quiet breath, unsure. He's got few compunctions about braining some violent buddy of Lewis', but someone his age…

Then the figure flips the light switch at the side of the doorway.

Len finds himself staring at a woman. A blond woman, just a trace taller than him but years older, dressed all in white with some sort of a long staff in her other hand. She halts abruptly, staring at him in return, blue eyes widening, and he hears her intake of breath.

"What…" he manages before a bigger figure pushes through the doorway behind her, reaching out to pluck the bat from his lax grip with a grunt.

Len blinks up at the older man, cursing his startlement and weakness. Lewis would…

But the big man, who has a shaven head and smells vaguely of smoke, for some reason, stares down at him with an almost stunned expression, not taking advantage of Len's weaponless state. There's an odd recognition in the man's eyes, a look that sends a weird shudder down Len's spine. He's never met his guy before…has he? The man is older than Lewis and much bigger. The muscle. Len knows the type.

The woman makes a sound, then, and Len looks back at her. Her expression is full of a similar stunned surprise, but it's different. Less recognition and more…amazement? Something more?

He's only just started to be noticing girls…and boys, if he's honest with himself…but there's a completely different shiver down his spine as he meets her eyes momentarily. Sort of an… Oh. So this is my type, is it? Badass and blond? OK, then.

Not the time, Len.

He sucks in a breath to yell to Lisa, because whatever their other attributes, these two also scream "danger," and that's nothing he wants his baby sister around. But the big man holds up a hand and, for some reason, Len stops.

The look in the man's eyes is complicated. But his voice is unexpectedly gentle.

"It's OK, kid," he rumbles. "Not here to hurt you. Opposite."

Len drags in a breath. "Looking for Lewis?" he guesses quietly. "He's not here."

"Not Lewis," the woman cuts in. Her voice is low and musical, and another shiver runs down Len's spine. A different sort of shiver. "There's…well. There's someone else who might be coming. After…after you."

Leonard feels his eyes widen. "Me…what…"

"Long story." And there's sympathy there, but the man cuts back in, voice gruff.

"Where's yer sister?" he asks, and Len's suddenly suspicious again.

"I don't have a sister," he retorts, hoping that the little sister upstairs is listening and will realize what he's getting at.

But the man chuckles. "Bullshit," he returns, amusement in his tone. "S'okay. Here to protect her, too."

Len stares at him, eyes narrowed. The woman makes a quiet noise, and when Len glances at her, she nods slowly, that odd intensity still in her eyes.

"I promise," she says quietly. "We just need to stay here a little while. And maybe there won't even be a problem, but…if there is, we'll take care of it. All right? But you need to trust us. And I know, a little, how hard that is for you, but…that's how it is. Please."

Leonard Snart at 13 is, as Mick had told her, not at all like Leonard Snart at 44. He's quite short, skinny in an almost fragile way and with a head of curly dark hair that Sara can't help staring at. Is that why he'd kept his hair so short? When he'd been ali…when she'd known him?

But still, there's something in the expression and in the eyes. Something that speaks of the man that she'd known, that she'd…cared for. Caution and curiosity and a lively intellect.

When she'd found out that some of the bounty hunters who'd formerly worked for the Time Masters had been sent after the Legends, she'd assumed, at first, that it'd be the current team's makeup they'd be targeting. And to some extent, it is. Zari and John are keeping an eye on young Ray. But Ava and Nate are watching out for pre-Carter Kendra. And Ray and Charlie are guarding preschool-aged Jax.

And Sara and Mick are here.

Of course the hunters would come here, she thinks distantly, staring at young Leonard. He'd saved all their lives multiple times before he'd died. If he'd never become a Legend…

What would be different?

But then, the boy who would become Captain Cold nods jerkily, obviously ill at ease with the decision but nonetheless definite in it. "OK," he says quietly. "For now. My sister…"

"She upstairs?" Mick butts in. If this is tough for her, it's even tougher for him. He knows this Leonard, or one very like him. Less than a year later, his own younger self will meet young Leonard in juvie. And the rest, as they say, will be history.

Young Leonard gives him a suspicious look then glances at Sara. Amused and flattered by the trust he already seems to give her, she nods in return.

"You want me to get her?" she asks. "Lisa? Better if we know where both of you are."

He doesn't like that she knows Lisa's name, she can tell, but he's committed now, sort of. He nods again, and Sara slips up the stairs even as he lifts his voice, telling the younger girl that it's OK.

Sara pauses at the top of the stairs, glancing around, then sees the girl poking her head out of one of the rooms. Lisa bites her lip uncertainly as Sara approaches, but she holds her ground, and Sara moves closer slowly.

"Hey," she says gently, "Lisa, right?" She goes down to one knee as the girl nods. "I'm…a friend. We're here to keep an eye on your and your brother for a while. Just making sure some, uh, potential trouble doesn't find you."

Lisa's eyes go wide. Wider. Her lips shape a word, a word no 5-year-old girl should ever associate with trouble, and it hurts Sara's heart even more. She shakes her head gently, thinking about her words. "No, no. It's hard to explain…and I hope nothing even happens…but we're just watching out for a while, in case."

Lisa considers, then brightens. "You're like superheroes!"

That makes Sara cough, imagining Lisa's brother's reaction to that-both at 13 and decades older. "Well, sort of." She stands, extending a hand to the girl. "Let's go downstairs."

Lisa slips her hand into Sara's with a willingness to trust that Sara knows won't exist when she's much older, and they both head down the stairs.

There, Leonard's watching Mick with great wariness, braced in a doorway and looking like he'll run with the merest provocation. He relaxes a tiny bit as he sees Lisa, gaze flickering up to Sara's face and then away again. Sara looks over at Mick and sees her friend sigh, barely visibly, at the skittishness in young Leonard, although she's not sure Leonard himself sees it.

Lisa pauses when they're nearly to the bottom of the stairs, craning her neck to look at the small fake Christmas tree in a corner of the room. Sara, who'd missed it before, looks too. There are a few packages underneath—three that she can see-but it's really rather a sorry scene for two kids.

Lisa seems to agree.

"Oh," she says, disappointment laced through her voice. "I guess Santa hasn't been here yet."

Sara, glancing back at young Leonard at that moment, sees him visibly wince. He's probably done what he could by putting anything under that tree at all, she knows. They shouldn't be here alone, not at their ages, but she has an idea what lengths Len had gone to to keep Lisa out of the system. If he'd accepted Christmas charity at all, even for her sake, they might have been found out.

Well, she decides, wishing she'd thought of it sooner, the Legends can do something about that, at least. Not now, perhaps, but after this bounty hunter thing is sorted. They'll almost certainly move soon.

For now…

"Anyone want to play cards?" she asks casually, pulling a deck—not that deck, that deck stays safe in her desk on the Waverider—out of her pocket and waving it. "Since we have a little waiting to do?"

Len sort of wishes they were playing for money. The big guy has a rotten poker face, and while the blonde's is much better, he figures out her tells pretty fast.

Although he has no idea why she suddenly gets up and leaves the room after he asks if she knows how to play gin.

While she's gone, Len starts carefully prodding the big man for any clues he might drop, after what sort of trouble they expect. If it's not Lewis, he really has no idea what the issue might be. CPS? Why would these odd people care? People who really hate Lewis and think that taking it out on his kids would hurt the old bastard? Perhaps. But that still doesn't explain why these people would want to protect him and Lisa.

Unless they feel they owe Lewis somehow. But that doesn't seem right. These aren't Lewis' kind of people. They're too careful, and too dangerous in a far more controlled way. Lewis, Len knows, is dangerous because he's stupid and sloppy. These two…they're neither. Every instinct he has tells him that.

Lisa had insisted on playing at first, but she nearly immediately started to fade, then yawned hugely, climbed onto Len's lap and put her head against his shoulder, falling asleep. Len had wrapped an arm around her and kept going. You can learn the most interesting things about people, if you pay attention at times like this.

Like the fact that the big man somehow defaults to thinking that Len should know him, and weird things about him, like that he doesn't like Coke (a vestige of proper hospitality, a remnant of his grandfather's teachings, had spurred Len to offer the rather meager contents of the fridge) and that he tends to tap his fingers against the table when he has a good hand.

And that the blonde returns a bit later with eyes that are just the tiniest bit red-rimmed, although she'd clearly done everything she could to remedy that.

But she picks up her cards and resumes without a word, and while Len frowns at his own hand, he says nothing. This whole thing is weird and surreal enough as it is.

He knows he doesn't need much sleep, but he's starting to flag when the blond woman abruptly stands again, her hand going to her ear as she quickly steps out of the room. Len and the man watch her go, then exchange a look that's oddly familiar for having known each other all of two hours.

After only a few moments, she returns. No red eyes this time, just a sort of…well, what Len might call grim triumph. "Mi…hey," she calls to the man. "That was Zee. They went after Ray, all three of them." She nods, smirking. "And all three of them are now captured and remanded to the custody of the…" She glances at Len. "…the Bureau."

The man stares at her a long moment, then grunts and nods, getting to his feet. He looks down at Len, then, that odd, almost soft look on his face again, and then looks away.

"We should get outta here, then," he says harshly. "Boss." Another quick look at Len, then at the woman. "Right?"

Len looks at her, too, and notices a look that's probably best described as maybe…regret? Conflict?

"Just a sec." She jerks her chin out into the hallway, stepping toward it, and the man (Mitch? Mi-something) follows her out there. Len waits only a few moments before making a decision and rising himself, putting the slumbering Lisa down on the threadbare sofa and skulking toward the doorway.

"…replicator," he hears. What the hell's a replicator? Sounds like something outta Star Trek.

But the woman has continued. "Just enough for a decent Christmas dinner and some leftovers," she says quietly. "Maybe…I don't know what the popular toys were now…for 5-year-old girls…"

A quiet huff of laughter. "Well, after all…you weren't born yet, Blondie…"

What?

It sounds like the woman hushes him, then, but after a moment, the man speaks again. "I kin' ask Gideon…"

"And some…I don't know, books and something for him. You know him, even at this age." Len hears a sigh and, frowning, tries to move closer. "I wish there was more…"

The man says something quiet and sympathetic-sounding to her, something Len can't catch no matter how hard he strains to hear. Then he turns away and Len hears him leave through the front door.

And the woman turns and heads back into the living room—very nearly running right into the listener in the shadows. She puts out a hand in surprise, touching his shoulder, and the two stare at each other for a moment.

It's pretty clear that Len's been listening. He hesitates, then puts his chin up, daring her to protest. Collecting information is what he does; it's how he stays alive. He's useful to Lewis, and he knows enough at school to blackmail the people who could hurt him most.

It's not the greatest situation. But it's his life.

The blond woman takes a quick breath but sets her shoulders and meets his eyes, not backing down. That impresses Len, anyway. He doesn't get the impression much surprises her, really.

"We don't want charity," he tells her as harshly as he can muster, given that he knows a little bit would make Lisa's Christmas much nicer.

The blonde shakes her head in return. "Isn't charity," she returns quietly. "It's…oh, just trust me. Please? It's repayment of a…sort of a debt. One that can't really be repaid, but…" She must read his thoughts on his face, because she immediately adds, "Not to Lewis. Trust me."

The words hang in the air.

And why should he trust her? Len can't help but think.

And why does he, somehow, anyway?

Young Len clearly has serious qualms about accepting anything at all from them, especially given that he still doesn't have a clear idea what's going on—and Sara can see that's bugging him a lot. But she also knows that Leonard at any age will do almost anything for his sister.

And that wins out. After a few minutes, he gives her a jerky nod, glancing over his shoulder at the sleeping girl, then looks back at Sara.

Those eyes, intent and so very blue, are so close to the ones on the man she'd known. They're still cautious, but a little more open, a little less guarded. Sara swallows hard, hating her-OK, admit it, her heart—for betraying her, and she purposely looks away from those eyes, looking toward Lisa herself.

"Is there anything else?" she asks, keeping her tone businesslike. "Anything else we can do?"

Young Leonard snorts, a rather adult noise. "Not unless you can break into Iron Heights…" he mutters under his breath, then shrugs at her expression. (He has no idea how much Sara would like to break into Iron Heights and off Lewis Snart, but it would doubtlessly irreparably damage the timeline.) "Nah. We're fine."

They're not fine. They're a 13-year-old and a 5-year-old on their own for three more months until their father is back from prison, and Len is less than a year away from heading to juvie himself—for trying to shoplift food, Sara knows.

But there's not a goddamn thing she can do about it.

Nothing but try to give them a sort of Christmas-and walk away. Again.

She turns away quickly, horrified at how tears are rising in her eyes again. She's not a crier. And it's been years since…since the Oculus. She'd quashed the grief she'd felt then, especially as it was subsumed by the agony of losing Laurel, but it's apparently been lingering inside, waiting for a reason to well up.

"Are you even going to tell me your names?" Young Len sounds a mix of confused and suspicious—with, Sara realizes, an awkward dose of apparent attempted flirtation in the mix. "Or what was going on?"

"Better if you don't know," she returns quickly, looking at the small tree. He'd obviously tried to do his best, but she's betting it'd been pulled from someone's garbage. "Sorry. It…it shouldn't be a problem again."

Len makes a noise of annoyance. "Doesn't usually work like that," he returns, with all the lofty cynicism he can muster. "Stuff always creeps back up. Kicks you in the ass."

"Don't I know it," Sara mutters, then gives him a quick smile as she realizes he'd heard her. "Well, I think it's the truth this time."

He studies her, the lights from the tree reflected in those blue eyes. "And you're…not going to tell anyone?" he asks tentatively. "About us?"

Me and you. "Us?"

"Me and Lisa." There's worry there, though he quickly conceals it. "I don't want…she can't…"

"No." Oh, she wishes she could. "Just…keep taking care of each other. OK?"

That earns her the flash of a smirk so familiar, even now, that it's nearly breathtaking. "Always do."

And then Mick's coming back through the door, his arms full of packages—apparently Gideon had not only worked fast, she'd somehow included gift wrapping.

And that's that.

Baffled doesn't begin to cover it.

Len has no idea why these people are doing this. Why they'd bothered protecting two kids they didn't know from some sort of danger. Why they'd then fetched an armload of gifts for Lisa. (He doesn't know yet, at that point, that there's a small package of books and drawing supplies for him in the presents too.) Why they'd stocked the kitchen with groceries—nothing extreme, but milk and eggs and bread, a package of cookies, deli meat and cheese and some fresh veggies.

There's even hot cocoa with mini marshmallows, something that draws a reluctant grin out of Len—and, he sees, a quick glance between the two mystery guests. The woman turns away again, returning to the living room to check on the still-out-like-a-light Lisa, and Len studies the big man in her absence.

The man studies him in return, then shakes his head.

"Take care, kid," he says gruffly. "an'…well." He thinks for a moment and then adds, carefully. "You find help unlooked-for, you take it. Got it?"

Len frowns. Is he talking about the food and presents? The only reason he's accepting those is for Lisa. "Got it…I guess."

That gets a snort. The man studies him again, a gaze that might have felt creepy but doesn't, then sighs, turning away. The woman comes back into the room even as he does so, and he says a few quiet words to her, then leaves.

The woman sighs too, then looks at Len.

"She's stirring, a little," she says, apparently referring to Lisa. "I'm going to get her a glass of water and then take her upstairs." She reaches into her pocket and then holds up a pill bottle, giving it a shake. It rattles, like there are one or two pills inside. "But first, I'm going to crush one of these and put it in that water."

She speaks quickly, again, at Len's intake of breath. "All it will do is make sure she doesn't remember anything. She'll go back to sleep now, and in five hours or so, she'll wake up and 'Santa' will have been here, and all will be well, for Christmas Day, at least. I promise."

He doesn't like it. He doesn't like it at all. But every instinct he has is telling him to trust this woman, as odd as that might be, and after a long pause, Leonard nods.

The woman nods in return. Then she looks at the bottle again.

"And the other one is for you," she says. "You're older. I didn't want to give it to you without you knowing about it. Didn't seem right." She sighs, yet again, a sound full of…something complicated. Len's not sure what. Then she looks him in the eye, blue eyes into blue, and he's struck, again, by how upset she looks.

"I'm going to have to ask you to trust me one more time, Leonard," the blond woman says. "If you remember this, what happened here tonight, things…things might not go as they should, later. And they have to. You have to forget."

That's grief, in her eyes, he realizes. For…for who?

For him?

"I don't get it," he returns, trying to sound older, harsher. "Why? Why would I have to forget anything? It's important to remember." He's saying more than he wants to, he realizes, but somehow it's all spilling out. "I want to know. I have to know. It's the only way I can make us, me and Lisa, safe."

A flicker of sympathy? No, not quite. "I get that more than you can know right now," the woman says quietly. "But…I can't tell you." She closes her eyes momentarily, then opens them again. They stare at each other another moment and then she turns away, going into the kitchen. Leonard hears a cupboard open, then the sound of rushing water. The crunching of what is probably the pill. And then she returns, two glasses of water in hand.

One glass, she sits down on a coffee table, putting one white pill next to it and looking at him. The other, she carries into the living room proper. Leonard takes a step or two to follow her and watches as she guides the groggy little girl into an upright position, putting the glass of water into her hands. Lisa mutters and rubs her eyes with a hand, then looks around for Leonard, who nods, hoping he's not making a big mistake.

Lisa drinks it all, then puts her head on the blond woman's shoulder and goes right back to sleep. The woman looks a bit startled, then smiles a little, standing carefully with her slumbering burden and heading up the stairs.

Leonard watches her go, then walks over to the table, picking up the one white pill. No markings. Nothing unusual whatsoever.

He's still inspecting it when she comes back downstairs. The woman watches him a moment, then sighs again.

"If you take it," she says lightly, "I'll tell you my name."

Leonard snorts in amusement. "I'll just forget it. Isn't that the point?"

"Still."

It's a bigger draw than it should be, considering. Leonard eyes her, then nods, reaching for the water. He holds up the pill so she can see it, then pops it in his mouth, taking a swig of the water and swallowing before sitting the glass down and holding up both hands so she can see that they're empty.

She's not a total sucker—she checks the glass to be sure he hadn't spit out the pill—then smiles a little sadly.

"You might want to sit down, Leonard," she says gently. "It will knock you out. No matter how much you try."

Leonard blinks a few times, then shrugs, moving over to sit heavily down on the couch. The woman, after a moment, sits next to him, and they both watch the Christmas tree, now with a healthy pile of present underneath.

"I'm Sara," she says finally.

Leonard yawns, then looks appalled. The woman…Sara…laughs, a sound not without sadness. Len peers at her, then yawns again.

"I still," he tells her, "want to know what's going on."

"I get it. But let's just say you…you have to grow up to be someone special."

Leonard peers at her through heavy lids. "What? Like in The Terminator?"

"Ha. Not quite."

"Hmmmmm." His eyes drift shut, and he forces them open. "I'm just…Lewis Snart's kid…"

"You're a lot more than that." Her tone is soft. "Believe it."

But his eyes are closed now, and they stay closed. He feels Sara get up, hears her sigh. And then, unexpectedly, feels her draw nearer. Feels a gently hand touching his hair, hears a whispered "Merry Christmas, Leonard."

And then he hears her walking toward the door. Hears it open. A long pause. Then he hears her step out, and he hears it close.

The moment the door closes behind her, Leonard's eyes pop open.

After only seconds, he hurries to the doorway, peering out and watching the blond woman walking slowly down the sidewalk toward a car, which the big man is leaning against. When they meet, the man reaches out and pats her on the shoulder, and the woman hesitates only a moment before leaning against him, sorrow in both their stances. There's nothing romantic about it, Len thinks, just comfort. Friendship.

Whatever the moment, it doesn't last long. The man gets into the driver's side of the car, and Sara looks back at the house. Len pulls back quickly, so he misses her expression, but he looks back as he hears the car start and watches it pulls away, disappearing into the night.

"Gotta forget, huh?" he mutters, staring after them and rolling the pill through his fingers. "Like hell."

Thirty-four years (for Leonard) or six months (for Sara and Mick) later

On some level, Sara just can't believe it.

Mick is convinced. Gideon has confirmed it. But Sara just can't believe that the man they'd pulled out of the timestream is the real, the one and only, the Leonard Snart they'd lost three years ago at the Oculus. There have been too many "fake Snarts," as Mick says, too many hopes that wound up being futile. It just can't be.

But it is.

She knows it the moment she stops just inside the door to the room Mick had given him in her absence. She'd been at the Time Bureau when the Waverider had been on its way back from Renaissance-era France, stepping carefully around the relationship between the Legends and the Bureau now that the relationship between the Bureau's director and the ship's captain has ended. She'll probably hand the liaison job over to Nate soon, but she owes it to the team—and yes, Ava—to get things as formalized as possible as they head into a new dynamic.

As awkward as it might be.

Mick had met her at the hatch when they'd picked her up, an expression of stunned disbelief still on his face, delivering the news right away. And Sara, after a moment or two of stunned surprise herself, had ordered them to take off immediately, the fact that she'd only just established that the Legends were supposed to report any time aberrations to the Time Bureau foremost in her mind.

A man who'd been stuck in the timestream for three years after being presumed dead in the explosion that'd killed the old Time Masters—an explosion he'd caused—probably fell smack in the middle of that category. And, yeah, this probably isn't a great start to the new Legends & Bureau dynamic.

Gideon had already cleared Leonard, this supposed Leonard, of any health issues except for a residual aura of temporal energy. What that means, no one is sure of.

He looks up as she stops in the doorway, and they lock eyes immediately. Sara's stomach gives an odd little flip-flop, and she moves inside, knowing she's still staring, feeling the door slide shut behind her.

Given that the last Leonard (well, except for Leo, who'd paid them a brief visit last month to hand out cigars and deliver the news that he and Ray Terrill had adopted an infant daughter) she'd seen had been the 13-year-old version on Christmas 1985, it's even odder. She can't help seeing that shock of curly, dark hair, the teenage awkwardness in lieu of the adult Leonard's nearly feline grace. The voice that had barely started to deepen instead of…

And then: "Sara," he says. And, oh, that voice. That low, rich, sexy voice. Sara takes a deep breath and gives him her best I'm-the-captain-and-you're-not look.

"Leonard," she says carefully. "Hello. Are you…how are you doing?"

His lips twitch a little, and the crook holds out his arms in a clear invitation to take a look. Which she has, to be fair, been doing. He looks…he looks just the same. Close-cropped graying hair. Snart smirk. All-black garb, including the leather jacket he'd been wearing when he'd…when…

"Fine," he drawls. "I think. It was a bit of a blur, and it sure as hell didn't seem like three years. Couldn't believe it when Mick told me. Felt like a really long dream." His lips twitch again as he studies her. "Though…it was a really good dream in parts."

The tone of voice and the way he's looking at her lips tell Sara that's she not imagining the innuendo. She feels heat rise in her own face and frowns at him, even as something deep inside warms at the familiar banter—and the reminder at the kiss at the Oculus.

"What do you remember?" she says briskly, trying to keep it professional.

Mistake. The smirk widens—but then even as Sara prepares herself to return more innuendo, it fades, into something more wistful and uncertain.

"I remember," he says then, quietly, watching her. "You know what I remember?"

Sara bites her lip despite herself. "What?" Is he thinking of the kiss? Of me and you?

The smile flickers back.

"Christmas," he tells her. "1985."

For a moment, Sara can only stare at him.

"What?" she asks finally, faintly. "But you took…"

Leonard rolls his eyes, an expression very reminiscent of his younger self.

"Please," he drawls. "Young me was already pretty good at slight of hand. Kept that pill a long time to prove to myself it wasn't a dream before I used…well, that's another story." He gives her a very direct look. "Thank you again, by the way. That Christmas meant a lot to Lisa. And me."

Sara's quickly trying to figure out how this development might affect things. The Leonard who'd originally gone on the Waverider hadn't known her before that. At least, he'd never shown any sign of it.

Or…had he?

"But Gideon said," she says slowly, "that the timeline didn't change…"

Leonard smirks at her. "I was careful. Tried to do mostly what I figured I'd have done anyway. Wasn't always easy." Something complicated flickers through his eyes. "But I'd already figured out that something must have happened to me in your time." He shrugs. "I kept looking for a way to avoid that. And before we went to the Oculus chamber, I filched one of Mick's temporal whatchamacallits… temporal regulators…out of his Chronos gear and took it with me. Far as Gideon can tell, it's what kept me, well, solid and in a sort of stasis."

Sara tries to puzzle that out. "So, were you not there? In the time stream? Before Mick and I went to 1985 and 'met' you—warned you?" she asks slowly.

Leonard shrugs again, watching her intently. "I don't know. Kinda impossible to say now, I guess." He gives her a slow smile. "I'm here now."

Sara can't help but smile back. "So you are." She moves farther into the room. "What else do you remember?"

Leonard's watching her with dark eyes. "I remember a gorgeous, badass blonde who didn't talk down to me," he says carefully as she joins him in leaning against his bed. "I remember having a…a certain fondness for badass blondes from that day forth."

"Yeah?" Sara studies him. "Precocious."

"Mmmm. My dreams were very interesting after that." The smile is sly. "I remember, decades later, seeing the blonde I thought I might have dreamed up, on a rooftop in Central City."

He takes a deep breath. "I remember…watching her and deciding to go on a time ship. I remember…when she said we could change our fates."

He leans forward, then, and Sara leans forward too, licking her lips and listening as she looks into blue eyes. "I remember telling her who she wasn't, in Russia," Leonard says softly. "I remember nearly freezing to death with her. I remember…a lot of things. Both good and bad." He glances away, then back. "And I remember…a kiss."

Sara studies him in return. It's probably much too soon, she knows, to throw herself into something like this. Too soon after the end of her last relationship. Too soon after Leonard's stunning return.

But…sometimes you just need a little Christmas miracle.

"I remember a challenge," she says quietly, looking into his eyes, letting the meaning behind the words show in her tone and in her smile.

"Yeah?" Leonard's a little closer now. A smile is touching his lips. "Is that what that was?"

Sara closes her eyes. He even smells the same, leather and mint and cold winter air. "Unless you want to take it as a warning."

"Definitely a challenge." He chuckles then, the sound low and amused. "'Someone special?'"

"Don't let it go to your head."

"I won't. I'd rather be…a hell of a thief."

And so he is.