The entire room smelled like clove cigarettes. Which was odd since it didn't appear that anyone was smoking. The last time Roy had smelled clove cigarettes was back in art school. The scent reminded him of long nights in the common room, mostly sitting by himself, just painting or sketching. Listening as his classmates talked around him. As they whispered about things he could never understand. Things he would never be able to see. There was something about the smell that would always be linked to foolish pride and silent loneliness. It was odd and a bit distracting.
It definitely wasn't what Roy expected from a warehouse full of mobsters. But then he was relatively new to the underground mob scene. Maybe this is what all their meetings smelled like. And the warehouse definitely wasn't as dark as the movies and TV shows made them out to be. Even with his shades on, he could see clearly without any issues. Which had been a minor concern when Cold had first proposed Roy join this little meeting. Roy had been worried he would walk into a wall with his shades on at all times. But he had walked into the room tonight and been mildly surprised at how much the warehouse looked like a banquet hall.
No broken windows. No chains hanging from the ceiling. Not a puddle in sight. There was always a puddle in the movies, like it was always raining or had just rained…and he was getting distracted.
It wouldn't do to screw this up. All he had to do was provide a little insurance, and his debt would be repaid. Roy would be glad when this was over. Cold had to know that a meeting with the heads of the six mob families of Central City was a bit out of Roy's league. The highest profile job Roy had pulled prior to his powers was stealing a painting from a museum. A museum with no security. He had gotten caught within two days of that heist.
Hell, getting caught while pulling a job was how he realized he had powers in the first place. He had been running low on cash, barely had any money to buy paints, let alone nonessentials like food. So he tried for something quick and easy. He grabbed a purse. Teenagers pulled off simple stuff like that all the time and got away scot-free. But of course he managed to grab a purse from an off duty police officer, who then proceeded to chase him down with embarrassing ease. His face was pressed on the ground and his hands behind his back so quickly he barely had time to be upset with himself. He had even resigned himself to the 6 to 10 month stint he was sure to do, when he saw them.
The policewoman had him on the ground, but he managed to turn his head slightly towards the mouth of the alleyway. He saw a group of two or three men standing there. Watching him. Gawking at the scene. Roy could hear them, could see their eyes. They were laughing. Laughing at him, at how easy he had been taken down. How pathetic they thought he was. Looking at him like he was nothing. Worthless.
He felt an anger so strong, the rage seemed to claw through his chest. It tore through his veins. His eyes had felt like they were on fire.
The men started to fight. Viciously fight. There was blood and teeth and scratching. They were like animals fighting over a fresh kill. Roy and the policewoman were shocked. She stood up, removing her knee from his back. She took one look at him, handcuffed and lying on the ground, and made her decision. She rushed over to separate the men who were now trying to brain one another with their briefcases. She hadn't seen him as a threat. Roy had given up without a fight, hadn't even resisted when she slapped the cuffs on. The men at the mouth of the alley were clearly the more immediate threat. They were the dangerous ones. He was just a simple purse thief. He had watched the fight for a few moments, something inside him telling him that he was responsible. That he had created that emotion in those men. He had run out of the alley as quickly as possible.
It took several weeks for him to figure out how to turn it off and on at will. How to make people so angry they wouldn't think to look at him. Anger, rage, they were definitely the emotions Roy felt the most comfortable inciting in others. Which was another reason he was hesitant to take this job.
Cold didn't want rage. He didn't want the mob bosses murdering each other over their dinners. He wanted calm. He wanted peace. He wanted Roy to make sure they were all willing to listen. That if anyone got out of hand, Roy could make them "chill out".
Honestly, Roy had to admire Snart's commitment to ice puns.
He had practiced using his powers to calm people down for several days leading up to the meeting. Mostly on people who passed him in the park. Harassed looking parents would suddenly not care that their kids had been screaming for the past 45 minutes. He even managed to make a woman stop crying. What she had been crying about he didn't know, but she stopped for a few moments. For a few moments, the weight of her problems meant absolutely nothings. Of course she most likely started right back up when Roy headed back to his flat, but that wasn't the point.
He had been squatting in a flat across from the park for the past few weeks. He had no choice since the Flash knew about the location of his old loft. Funny how his old landlord hadn't accepted his excuse of being imprisoned against his will for several months as a legitimate reason for not paying rent. Roy was just glad the man had thrown all his paintings in the basement instead of throwing them away. He supposed that was the one upside of being taken in by the Flash, the cops hadn't confiscated everything in his apartment because, technically, he hadn't been arrested.
So. There was at least one upside to illegal prisons.
Having his paints back had helped him with his calming techniques. Helped him stay focused on keeping others calm. On seeing nothing but a wide open space around him. It kept his mind free of any…unpleasant thoughts that could compromise the job. If he could paint, then he could be calm. Months without being able to paint had been torture. More torturous than not being able to stretch out completely, than eating nothing but fast food, of knowing that every move was being watched and….
Roy didn't realize he was standing completely still until Lisa Snart elbowed him in the ribs. She gave him an odd look then continued walking past.
Roy took a moment, then walked out of the main room. The hallway was quiet. It was a long corridor, stretching in both directions. He could see the exit to his right. There was an exit. There was a way out. He could leave at any time. He was free to go wherever he wanted. He slowed his breathing. He was calm. He could be calm.
He was wearing his shades, no one else in the other room would have been unintentionally affected by his emotions. He could only imagine how pissed Cold would be if Roy ruined this whole deal by making everyone in the room have a panic attack.
Not that he was having a panic attack. That wasn't it of course. He was just…
Calm. He just had to keep everyone calm. It was a simple job. He could do this simple job and then be done.
Roy took another deep breath then walked back into the main room. The meeting was still on going, Cold hadn't looked up from his conversation, but Roy was certain the man noticed everything. Mick Rory and Lisa Snart were standing off to the side. Lisa was flirting with a younger man who couldn't possibly hold any type of position of power within the families. Mick was just standing behind them, glaring at everyone and everything. He was sure all of the mobsters knew why Lisa and Mick were at this meeting. Why Leonard Snart would want their particular skill sets. Roy wondered if any of them knew about his.
Roy resisted the urge to pull out his phone and text Mardon. He wondered what the other man was up to. They had only spoken a few times since they had been released, barely qualified as friends. But Mardon's was the only number in his phone. And Roy was starting to get bored of standing around and doing nothing. Were all meetings between mobsters so…business like? Roy lifted his hand towards his shades, intending to rub his eyes, but quickly put his hand back down. Cold had been looking directly at him. At least, Roy thought the man was looking at him. It was hard to tell behind those goggles he insisted on wearing anytime Roy was present.
Cold had told Roy in no uncertain terms that Roy was to leave his shades on at all times. It had been the main sticking point, drilled into him from their first meeting. If Roy removed his shades without Cold's approval, Cold would kill him. No warnings, no second chances. The shades come off, Roy dies. None of the Rogues were metas and they all seemed leery of working with one.
Especially Mick. The man had glared at Roy the entire initial meeting. And the second meeting. And most of tonight. His fingers constantly twitching towards the gun on his hip. Roy wasn't certain what Mick thought Roy was going to do to him, but he was sure the man would light him on fire if his glasses had even slid down his nose a fraction of an inch. If they didn't trust metas, why was Cold so insistent on working with them? Mardon had already repaid his debt to Cold. Though he hadn't given Roy any details about it. He didn't even know if Mardon had used his powers when he worked with the Rogues. Roy hadn't seen anything about weird weather patterns on the news in the past few weeks so he couldn't be sure.
Roy had tried talking to Mardon about their powers once. Why it seemed to be that some powers seemed linked to the personality of the person. And others to the situation they found themselves in when it happened. Shawna had been a thief, so the ability to disappear would have come in handy. But Nimbus and Mardon seemed to gain their powers from the environment they were in when the particle accelerator struck. Mardon had been less than receptive to Roy's inquiry. Something to do with his brother's fate most likely. Roy had enough sense to drop the subject when it started looking like a tornado was going to form inside his newly acquired flat.
Roy knew why he had gained his distinctive powers. He was an artist. It was an artist's job to make people feel things. To make them aware of emotions they didn't know they possessed. To bring those emotions to the surface, whether the person wanted to feel them or not.
After a few more minutes of staring at the wall to his left, Roy gave in and pulled out his phone. He sent Mardon a short text, asking if his stint in repaying Cold had been as mind numbingly boring.
Mardon didn't respond. Not that Roy expected him to. Still it was nice to at least pretend that he had something to do at this meeting. Roy looked up from his phone to see Cold heading towards him. He quickly stuffed the phone back into his pocket. Snart gave a smirk at the action.
"Everything alright Roy?"
"Yes…I, of course. Meeting over?"
Roy knew that Cold wasn't a meta, that he had no extra sensory powers. But it was damned unnerving how easy the man could read people.
"Don't worry Roy, you'll be out of here and out of my debt in no time. Just wrapping up a few things with my associates."
"Looks like you didn't need my assistance to get these men to do what you want."
"I was never going to use you to get what I wanted. Like I said, you were just insurance incase anyone decided to act on some old grudges. Besides, getting them to work with me when they were under your influence hardly would have counted."
"Counted?"
Snart's smile only widened.
"Of course. I need them to see this as a good thing for all parties, and I needed them to come to that conclusion on their own. Without any outside influences."
"Except for yours."
"Exactly. I need this to be a long term arrangement." Snart started to move away then stopped at the last moment. "Oh, by the way, several of the men here are aware of meta-humans. And several of them have friends within the police force. Don't be surprised if one of them asks for a demonstration of your particular skill set. Remember the rules, Roy." Snart turned and walked away.
Roy wanted to punch Snart in his smug face. Except he knew exactly how that would end. And he didn't particularly feel like being frozen solid, set on fire, and then covered in gold.
Roy glanced at Cold's turned back and decided to risk it. He quickly rubbed his eyes under his shades. God he just wanted to go home and paint until he couldn't see straight. All this annoyance and he wasn't even getting paid.
An agonizing amount of time passed, but eventually the men and women at the meeting began to leave. Most of them leaving without any sign of hostility, looking more like satisfied business people than murderous mobsters. There were less than ten people left now, excluding the Rogues and himself. Mick Rory was standing behind Snart, looking every bit like the psychopathic muscle Roy was only half certain he was pretending to be. Lisa was still talking to that young man, Roy wondered at that for a moment.
What could she possibly want from him? Maybe he was the son of someone important. Although he thought he had seen Cold give Lisa a disapproving look earlier so…
"Excuse me, you are Roy Bivolo correct?"
Roy liked to think he hid his startled jump at the man's question, but he doubted it.
"Yes. That's…that's me."
Roy looked over towards the others. Snart and Rory were facing the other way. Lisa didn't look like she even knew there was anyone else in the room.
"My name is Alford Jackson." The man stuck out his hand. Roy took a moment to look at him. He was an older man, maybe in his fifties. There was something…slick about him. His beard was a trimmed a little too perfectly, his clothes too pressed, his shoes too clean. Roy realized he hadn't taken the man's hand and quickly shook it. Damn, it would be his luck to blow this entire thing because he didn't shake some mob bosses' son's hand.
Roy dropped his hand and said nothing. He wasn't sure what Mr. Jackson wanted. Let alone why he was over here talking to Roy instead of the Rogues.
"Forgive me. I didn't mean to interrupt your solitude. It is just that I like to speak with every man I will be working with before I get into business with them."
There was something in the way the man spoke that reminded Roy of his middle school principal. The man had always had a way of making Roy uneasy, no matter what they were talking about. It didn't matter if Principal Diam was scolding Roy for not getting along with other kids or praising him for his drawing ability. There was always something in his voice that made Roy want to take a few steps back. To always be out of the man's reach. Just in case.
"Ok."
Roy secreted another glance towards Cold. Still the man's back was turned.
"She's quite beautiful isn't she?"
"Who?"
Roy didn't really need the clarification, Lisa Snart was the only woman left in the room.
"Ms. Snart of course. She is quite the beauty."
"Um…yea. She's…"
"And so strong willed. I must admit, she has shunned all my attempts to get to know her better."
"You two know each other?"
"We have run into each other several times over the years, usually at gatherings such as this."
Roy wondered how many times international thieves and mobsters got together for meetings. It couldn't possibly…
"And she is always so…quick to rebuff me. I must admit, it makes me want her all the more. To see that fierce will of hers cowed beneath me, well I'm sure you can imagine the thrill."
Roy unconsciously took a step back. He cursed himself for not getting any of the other Rogues phone numbers. Hadn't seen the point at the time, they all arrived together. They were all going to be in the same room, and Roy wasn't intending on interacting with any of them when this was all over. A quick SOS to one of them would have been a relief right now.
Roy tried not to react. He just had to stay calm.
"She is something else."
"Exactly. And from what I understand, you are precisely the man to help me with such a delicate situation."
Roy turned his head sharply toward the older man, just in time to see Jackson place something in Roy's hand. Roy looked at it for a moment. It took few seconds for his mind to process what he was seeing.
"It's $5,000. You can count it if you like. I am willing to negotiate the price, if you need more for your little trick."
Roy just stared at the money a moment longer. He wasn't sure how to even begin to respond.
"I'm not a pimp."
"And Lisa is no whore. Believe me I have had plenty of those. The idea that a woman like that, so strong and defensive, could come to me willingly. Well, that is an opportunity too good to pass up. Her brother could hardly have an issue if she were to come to me first, now could he? There would be no problems if she were the instigator of a little…"
Roy had stopped listening. There was $5,000 in his hand. It was more money than he had held since the bank robbery. And he hadn't even gotten the chance to spend that money. Prior to that, Roy hadn't had more than a couple thousand to his name in his entire life. The life of a starving artist and all that. Roy had always dreamed that one day his paintings would sell, that he would have this kind of money to do with whatever he wanted. To buy whatever he wanted.
Now he finally had it...
Roy stared at the man in front of him. He gripped the money tightly in his hand. His first payout, his first big score. And this man had ruined it. Tainted it.
He had made Roy's ability, his art, something cheap and dirty.
Roy was struck by a memory. The first time he had sold one of his paintings in art school. How elated he had been. How his feelings of frustration and despair had almost been forgotten. It had all been worth it. He was finally going to be vindicated. All those people who had mocked him, had told him to abandon his dreams, had told him he would never be able to make it as an artist.
They had mocked him. Who would buy a painting, if the artist never used color? How could someone ever truly express passion on the canvas without using the color red, or despair without the color blue? What kind of vision could a man have, who only saw the world in black and white?
Finally, he had thought, his gifts were being recognized for what they were. Finally people would see the beauty in what he saw, in what he felt. His elation had lasted less than a day. He soon found out that the man who bought his painting had been hired to do so. Hired by some of Roy's more brutish classmates. They had thought it would be funny. A joke, that was what Roy's work was to them. What they thought of his talents. They thought it was funny to see Roy finally realize the truth. No one else would ever see the world from his perspective.
To hell with them. They didn't deserve to see what he saw. To feel the emotions he could portray in his paintings. They were beneath him, they didn't have half of his skill. They were petty little creatures.
His first crime had been breaking into their rooms and destroying all of their original works. Entire semesters, years, of work destroyed in a single night. It was the one thing he was most proud of in his entire criminal career. The only crime he had gotten away with. There hadn't been enough evidence to prove that it was him.
Roy could feel the anger start to build in his chest, but he pushed it down. No. Not anger. Anger was too pure an emotion for a Neanderthal like this man. Alford Jackson didn't deserve to feel something so honest. This man was a coward. Alford Jackson wanted to feel powerful by making someone else feel broken. He deserved something more than anger.
He deserved fear.
Roy slipped his glasses down. If Jackson knew how Roy's powers worked he showed no sign. He didn't react when Roy stared directly in to his eyes. He didn't move or flinch when they glowed a bright yellow.
Jackson screamed. It was a guttural, primal noise. Less like a scream, and more like the sound an animal makes as it is being eaten alive. Alford Jackson hit the ground, his knees making a sickening sound on the concrete. He was clutching at his head so tightly he was drawing blood.
Roy smirked at the man on the floor. Roy had never tried fear before. He wondered if everyone would have such a strong reaction to it. Roy wanted to mock the man, wanted to ask him what he thought of Roy's talent now.
Any attempts to find out where cut short by a sudden explosive amount of pain, perpetrated by a bullet embedding itself in his left arm. Roy was knocked backwards, he hit the ground so hard his teeth shook. He wasn't entirely sure what happened next. The temperature in the room seemed to fluctuate widely. One moment Roy was freezing, the next he was certain he was on fire. He felt an arm pull him up and was mildly surprised to see Leonard Snart dragging him out of the room. The man wasn't speaking. No bravado, no quips about their situation, no puns.
Roy knew Cold was going to kill him the moment they were out of the range of gunfire. Snart's grip was crushing, Roy had no way of getting out of it. The pain in his arm was distracting him from even considering using his powers to try and escape.
The next thing Roy was aware of, he was being thrown to the ground. He was inside a house. At least, he thought he was. His face was on a carpet and he was almost certain that was a couch to his left. Though it looked a little lopsided. How much time had passed? Had he been in car? He had a vague memory of moving, of speeding somewhere. He had just started to get his bearings when he was pulled up and slammed into a wall.
It was so hard to breathe. It took a moment to realize it was because Mick Rory was choking him to death. Roy tried to lift his arms, but his left one was completely useless and the other kept getting swatted down. Mick could choke Roy to death with one hand. That was sort of impressive.
He could hear yelling but he wasn't sure what was being said. Suddenly he was on the ground again. The fog in his mind started to clear. The voices were so loud and so close.
"…shit! You should let me burn him!"
"I said no Mick! I want to know what happened…"
"You want to know what happened? You want to know what happened? What happened is this little piece of shit screwed us! All that work down the drain because freak show here wanted to play with some dip shit's head. Jackson was so low level, the damn bosses only brought him in case they needed a human shield. But now…"
"Now…the situation has changed Mick. The O'Donnelly's were the only family still left at the meeting. The other bosses…"
"The other bosses are going to think we let them leave and then tried to kill the O'Donnelly's when we had them alone brother dear. Mick's right, we should…"
Roy finally managed to get himself into a seated position. He supposed he should have preferred to be standing, isn't that how everyone was supposed to want to go out? Standing on their feet? Roy didn't think he could muster the energy to stand. Maybe he could just ask Snart to tell people that he died standing.
Not that anyone would ask.
Snart was kneeling in front of him. The man was still wearing his parka, his goggles still firmly in place. Roy was certain he wasn't wearing his own shades any more. He noticed how Mick and Lisa were standing protectively behind Cold, but neither were looking anywhere near Roy's eyes. Their guns were trained on him with unflinching accuracy.
"Roy."
Roy turned towards Cold's voice. It was deceptively calm.
"I know I said no rage. But I thought you understood that I meant no emotions that could compromise the meeting. Was I not clear?"
"…you…" Roy started to cough. The word had barely made it out, if it had at all. His throat was on fire from Mick's attack, and speaking was going to be a chore for a while. If he lived that long, of course.
"You see Roy, after Mardon repaid his debt, he assured me you wouldn't be a problem. You would do what you were asked and then be on your way. He seemed to think that you wanted nothing to do with all this and would be glad to be rid of our merry band of thieves. I had reservations about using Mardon because of how…temperamental he could be. But you….it would appear that I vastly underestimated your intelligence."
Roy managed to give Cold a dirty look. A few seconds later Roy remembered that Cold was most likely going to kill him and perhaps insulting the man wasn't the way to prevent being frozen and shattered into a million pieces.
"Now. I like to think that I am a reasonable man. Although my sister tells me that I have a tendency to let my curiosity…"
"Obsessions."
Snart continued as though his sister hadn't spoken.
"get the better of me. Take this for example."
Cold pulled a wad of cash from inside his parka. Even with the blood stains on it, Roy recognized it immediately. Roy was fading fast, the blood loss from his arm wound was starting to make itself known. But he managed a respectable glare at the offending money.
"I'm curious as to why you had this money in your hands, and what exactly it was that Jackson was paying you to do."
"Jesus Len, the asshole was paying Rainbow Bright here to do some job…"
Rainbow Raider. Roy felt it was important people remember that part at least. He liked that much better than Prism. Prism didn't even make sense. Roy was curious as to how man like Mick Rory knew who Rainbow Bright even was. Mick hardly seemed like the type to watch Saturday morning cartoons while stoned out of his mind in a college dorm. Maybe Mick saw them in prison, Roy remembered the first stint he did, the warden insisted on having Sesame Street play in the evenings, seemed to think it would…
"Roy." Cold was snapping his fingers in Roy's face. He got the distinct impression it wasn't the first time. Cold looked mildly annoyed.
"If you would be so kind as to answer my question before you bleed to death all over my nice rug."
Roy opened his mouth, but started coughing again. His throat wouldn't respond. Damn it. He was going to die here all because he didn't have the chance to explain. Not that he was sure Snart would care about Roy's reasons. He didn't know the Snarts that well. Maybe Cold wouldn't have cared. Maybe he would have considered giving Lisa to Jackson all a part of doing business with the mob. Cold had mentioned that people might want a demonstration of his abilities. Maybe Cold had sent Jackson over to him.
He looked at Cold, hoping that the man could use whatever gift he had for reading people to see what Roy was trying to say. Hoped that the man had at least some semblance of love for his sister.
Roy looked Cold square in the eyes. Then he looked at the money. Then he stared at Lisa.
He repeated the last two looks. Money. Lisa.
Money. Lisa.
Money. Lisa.
Money…
Roy felt Cold grab his chin. When had his eyes closed? He tried to open his them but it was just so difficult. He couldn't get his eyelids to respond.
"…grab his legs."
Roy wanted to stay conscious. He should at least be conscious for his own death he supposed. But stubbornness was no match for blood loss, he passed out just as he felt someone lifting him off the ground.
When Roy woke up, he was lying on a bed. He seemed to be in someone's bedroom. It felt oddly homey, the quilt over his legs looked new. He tried to lift his head to get a better look, then stopped as he left a sharp pain in his arm. There was a bandage wrapped around his wound and a sling pining his arm to his chest. Most peculiar, aside from waking up at all or the IV hanging next to the bed, was the book on the night stand beside him. It was lying open, as though someone had just been sitting there reading it.
Roy heard someone approaching. He tried to lift himself up, find some kind of weapon. He could still defend himself. Just because he was going to lose didn't mean he wouldn't at least try to fight. He reached for the night stand, and suddenly found his hand encased in someone else's.
"Whoa, easy there killer. Don't want you screwing up all my handiwork."
Roy blinked a few moments at the sudden appearance of another person.
"Shawna?"
"What's up Roy? Heard you went and got yourself shot on your first real job."
"What are you doing here?"
Shawna pointed to the bandages on his arm.
"Looks like those two semesters of nursing school are finally going to pay off." She smiled and then put her hand on his forehead. "Doesn't look like you've got a fever."
Roy resisted the urge to shrink back from her touch. He wasn't used to people getting this close to him. Especially not touching his head.
"You can stop touching me now."
"Geez, right sorry. Like I said, only took a few semesters. Didn't really get to the class on professionalism." She sat down in the chair beside the bed and closed the book.
"Where are the others?" Roy's voice was still hoarse, but at least he was able to string together sentences. How long had he been asleep?
"Oh man. You should have seen it. You know that scene in every action movie where the heroes start suiting up and they are like sticking knives and guns and bullets on like every part of their clothing? That is what happened downstairs about 6 hours ago. Then Cold said something about him and Mick going to make hell freeze over for the O'Donnelly family."
"They went after the O'Donnellys? Why?"
"Because no one goes after my family and gets away with it."
Cold was standing in the doorway, his gun held up and resting against his shoulder. Shawna stood up.
"That was quick."
"Lets just say the O'Donnellys was more than willing to comply with my demands once the situation was explained to them. I gave them a choice, Jackson or a new Ice Age. Any trouble here?"
"No. Roy just woke up a few minutes ago. Doesn't seem to have a fever. Shouldn't lose any function in the arm, long as he lets it heal correctly."
"Thank you for your help Shawna. Consider any and all debts repaid."
"How gracious." Shawna's tone was sarcastic, even Roy could pick up on it. She turned and looked at him. "I'll be back tomorrow to check your bandages. Try not to get shot while I'm gone there Raider." She gave him a smile. It was all a little bewildering considering Roy hadn't intended to wake up at all, let alone to ever see Shawna again. Still he should at least try to be polite to the person who sewed him back together.
Roy gave her a small wave, she smiled then disappeared in a puff of smoke. Roy found himself alone with Cold.
"Now then. What do you say you and I continue our conversation from the last night, shall we?"
Roy made a small gesture towards the empty chair near his bed. Cold seemed incredibly amused by this. There wasn't much that didn't seem to amuse the man.
"Now, just to be certain that I didn't just murder a man for no reason, you were implying that Alford Jackson attempted to pay you $5,000 to have you use your powers on my sister in some way, correct?"
"He wanted me to…persuade her to be with him." Roy hesitated for a moment. "What happened to your no killing rule?"
"That rules are malleable and subject to change according to the situation. I said no unnecessary killing. But if the situation becomes life or death, I expect you to be the one that lives through it. The rules are there, and I expect them to be followed, but I do not intend to let some nobody like Alford Jackson get away with attacking one of mine. The no killing rule doesn't apply to revenge scenarios."
"Besides, once I told the O'Donnelly's what Jackson had tried to do, they were more than willing to let me dispose of him in order to maintain our alliance."
Roy didn't want to know exactly how Snart had disposed of Jackson. He could only imagine it was a painful death. Roy got the distinct feeling he was only alive because Leonard Snart truly loved his sister. He didn't even want to consider what Snart would have done to him had Roy actually agreed to Jackson's request.
Cold leaned forward, invading Roy's personal space.
"I do have one question. Why didn't you take the money?"
Roy found he was glaring at Cold again. Not the best way to make a good impression on the other man. But Roy figured there wasn't much else he could screw up at this point.
"I'm a thief, not a monster."
Snart's smile wasn't quite so smug, for the first time, it almost seemed genuine. Snart leaned back in the chair.
"Get some rest Roy. You and I will discuss your potential future in the morning."
"Potential future?"
"Let's just say, I have a plan for how this city should be run. And I need people around me who I can trust to stay within certain guidelines. People who know where the line is. And who know the best way to stay within our chosen fields is to keep one foot on either side of it at all times."
"You…you want me to join your crew? Even though I…"
"Did the situation get a little out of control? Of course. But that's to be expected, I had already planned for what would happen should someone start shooting. Besides, it all worked out in the end. No need to rehash the mistakes. Just learn from them and move on to the next job. Next time though, take the money then come and tell me the situation. It will be easier for me to know who I should be shooting at if I have all the information before hand." Cold stood up and reached into his pocket. "Here."
Cold threw a wad of cash onto Roy's lap.
"Since there was no real score, your 5k was the only money to be made from the other night's festivities. That your cut, minus a few dollars for medical expenses."
Cold walked out of the room without a backward glance. Roy reached forward tentatively and touched the money. He had expected to be murdered, his body broken into pieces and thrown into the river. He certainly hadn't expected to get paid for botching such a simple job. He grabbed the bills with his good arm. There was probably a little over a thousand dollars. Most of the bills were clean, but the top one was covered in blood. Roy wondered if Snart had done that on purpose. He was far too tired to try and decipher what message the other criminal was trying to send. Roy wanted to put the money in his jacket, but it was slung over a chair in the corner. He hesitated for a moment, then just put the money on the night stand beside him. He got the feeling it would be safe there.
The money sat next to his shades. He wondered where they had come from, he couldn't remember if he had been wearing them when he was bleeding out in Snart's living room. Cold hadn't been wearing his goggles just now, and Shawna had looked him directly in the eyes. That meant something…maybe. It felt important. It was hard to think right now, hard to stay focused. Whatever drugs were in that IV, they were certainly doing their job. He wondered where Shawna got the drugs.
He would have to ask her if she really only had two semesters of nursing school. Why had she dropped out? How did Cold know how to get ahold of her, Roy still wasn't sure how the Rogues had found him. There were so many questions he should have asked. He would text Mardon tomorrow, see if Cold had offered him a spot on his team as well. It was all so…
Roy's eyes slid closed, he was asleep almost instantly.
"He blew the job. And you wasted your favor with the disappearing chick. I thought the plan was to use her for the job at the docks next month." Mick was glaring at Len over the dining room table. Several beers sat between them.
"Shawna. And it wasn't a waste." Cold had his gun out, checking to make sure no damage had been done during their unanticipated escape and subsequent trip to track down Mr. Jackson. "Besides, I get the feeling Shawna might be willing to help us out with that one regardless."
"I still don't like it."
"You got to set things on fire Mick, I don't know why you are so upset."
Mick growled at Len then stood up and stormed out of the room. Lisa slid into the chair that Mick had just vacated.
"I thought you said rule number one was to focus on the score."
"I did, but things change. The score will have to be second from now on."
Lisa frowned at Len. He hadn't looked up from his gun once since he had sat down after checking on Roy. Lisa ran her finger over one of the beers, then flicked a droplet of water at him. Len glanced up with an annoyed expression.
"What?"
"Why are you so insistent on bringing them into this."
"The Flash…"
"We have gone up against him, without any metas, several times and we have come out on top each time. They are too unpredictable."
"Because you and Mick are the paragons of predictability and composure."
"Don't be mean, Lenny."
"Because eventually our luck is going to run out sis or, more likely, the Flash will call in a few of his super friends and we will be out numbered and out powered. The metas don't want to go back to prison any more than we do. They are probably more motivated to stay out of those boxes at STAR labs than we are to go back to regular cells. If we work together, then we can guarantee that none of us will ever spend much time locked up."
"How do you figure that?"
"Think about it. Me and Mick will always be sent to Iron Heights, you will end up at that women's prison upstate, and the metas will be at STAR labs." Lisa smirked, catching her brother's line of reasoning.
"And since the security at STAR labs is basically non-existent, we could always get them out if they get taken. While their powers would easily overwhelm any opposition from the prison guards at Iron Heights."
"Exactly. As long as one of us gets away during a job, a prison break would be ensured." Len made a mental note to start drawing up plans. He would have to plan for each inevitability, ranging from if one person got arrested to if only one person escaped. And he would have to tailor each plan to the strengths of those left on the outside. He would start in the morning, after he got some much needed rest. "If we pull jobs together, there is no way the Flash will be able to catch all six of us."
"Six? Don't get me wrong Len, I'd be glad to have Shawna join. Gets a little lonely with only you boys for company. But I thought you said Mardon was too…oh how did you say it, tumultuous?"
"We need his power. He would be our heavy hitter. Besides if the man gets too out of control, Bivolo would be able to calm him down."
"We assume. We still haven't seen Bivolo use his powers to calm anyone. I thought you didn't like Bivolo. Said it would be too easy for him to turn his powers on us. Can't trust someone who can change your mind without you knowing it. And I know how proud of your mind you are."
"That was before his actions with Jackson."
"Making a grown man piss his pants and scream like a little girl in the middle of meeting, causing an entire mob family to start shooting, that's how he gained your trust? Sometimes I don't understand how your funny little mind works Lenny."
"He was handed a large sum of cash to do something that would have taken seconds. And we would never have known he did it until it was over and he was halfway across the state. He chose to use his power to protect his crew instead of take the easy money. And that, dear sister, is exactly what the Rogues need to keep working in this town."
"You know I never agreed to the whole 'Rogues' name."
"You just don't like it because Cisco didn't come up with it."
Lisa rolled her eyes but didn't deny it. If they had been younger, Len was certain she would have stuck her tongue out at him as well. Len smirked and went back to working on his gun. He would have to talk to Shawna tomorrow when she came by to check Roy's bandages. Len had surprised her by using his favor for her medical skills instead of her ability. She had seemed…amazed that he would cash in such a valuable asset to help save a meta he barely knew. She might be the most open to Len's proposal. Mardon would be the most difficult.
Len smiled, if he played his cards right, then the Rogues wouldn't just be able to continue working in Central City, they would run the whole damn town. Len didn't just see next month's job at the docks. He wasn't just planning for the museum job six months from now. He saw jobs years down the road. He saw a team of thieves that no one could touch. Not the cops, not the Flash, and not whatever other surprises might pop up along the way.
They could be unstoppable.
"Oh, by the way, since Roy is currently recovering in the bed I was sleeping in, you are going to have to sleep on the floor. I would tell you to sleep on the couch, but Mick might have set some of the legs on fire earlier and I'm not sure a fly could land on it without it falling apart." Lisa smirked, then stood up and walked towards Len's room. "And I had to use all the extra blankets to put out the fire. Good thing you have such a warm parka. Should keep you nice and cozy. Night, big brother."
Provided they didn't kill each other first.