For this week's FiccingCaptainCanary prompt on Tumblr: Shopping. I actually wrote most of this back in the fall and then abandoned it because I decided it was too silly.

It's still silly. And fluffy. But what the hell, right?

Thanks to LarielRomeniel for the beta!

Set during some post-Destiny world in which Leonard didn't die (or they got him back), Kendra is still on the team, and CaptainCanary is a thing. 😉

Mick has it all planned out.

Haircut, the professor, and the captain are off consulting with one of Haircut's former colleagues at a university somewhere here in River City, 2017. They probably won't be back until tonight. Everyone else on the ship is occupied in some way, even the Boss. It's perfect timing, really.

(He shakes his head at the name. Old habits…they die hard.)

He saunters along the corridor, trying for an air of nonchalance. But right as he gets to the hatch, he hears the step behind him.

"Going somewhere?"

With a sigh, he stops. Turns. Shakes his head at the duo who've appeared out of nowhere in the hallway behind him. Both of them move too damn quietly. Who would have thought the Boss would ever hook up with someone so goddamn like himself?

"I thought you two were still in Snart's room, swapping spit."

The Boss…Snart…narrows his eyes at Mick's words, but Sara just laughs.

"We took a break," she drawls. Oh great, now they're starting to sound like each other. "But where are you going? Off to find a bar without us? I'm hurt, Mick."

Oh, like the two of you aren't always vanishing without me these days? But he doesn't say it. Whatever fragile peace they've found in each other, he's glad of it. They're all damaged goods in their own way. "Nah." He glances around, realizes that somehow, he's become sensitive to hurting the feelings of a goddamn AI, and sighs again. "I'm sick of all the sugar-free horse crap on board."

Sara perks up immediately. "Grocery run?"

"Yeah." He lifts an eyebrow at Snart. "You gonna play mother hen again?"

Snart's lips twitch. It's Sara's turn to raise an eyebrow.

"Oh?" she says inquisitively. "Do I want to know about this?"

"Boss here used to make sure that Lisa ate something other than junk and sometimes he forgot that his responsibility didn't extend to other adults." He modulates his voice into a Snart-like drawl. "Mick, beer is not a food group. Mick, did you buy anything with a main ingredient that isn't salt or sugar? Mick, where the fuck are the vegetables?"

He's trying to annoy the other man, but Snart just looks amused. "Someone," he drawls in response, "had to be the responsible adult. You both would have lived on chips and soda if I hadn't stepped in, cooked something else from time to time."

Sara looks intrigued. "Wait. You can cook?" She studies Snart like he's just confessed to being an actual law-abiding citizen.

"More or less." He jerks a finger at Mick. "And he's acting the asshole, but he can actually grill."

"Well. Give me an open flame and I can do things. Sometimes they're even good things."

"Mmm." Sara licks her lips. "I think we need steaks, then. Something that didn't come from Gideon's stores and hydroponics. No offense, Gideon."

"None taken, Mrs. Lance." The AI's voice actually sounds interested. "Mr. Rory, I cannot allow an open flame on the Waverider…"

"So you've told me…"

"…but it would do none of you any harm to, for this stop, eat some food that is different from what I can provide." Gideon's voice goes a touch prim again. "Although I would, as always, recommend against partaking of too much sugar, sodium, and alcohol. Not that anyone listens to me on that last, even the captain."

"It's OK, Gideon, at the rate we're going, he'll be out in a month."

"You have not yet found it all, Mr. Snart."

"Oh?" But the gleam in Snart's eyes at a new challenge changes as Sara puts her hand on his arm.

"Down, boy. I want steak. And chocolate. And veggies that grew in actual dirt."

"Hmmph." But he backs down. Mick shakes his head in amusement.

"OK. There's a grocery store that looks good not too far away. We can get…"

"You're taking me with you."

Somehow, the discussion had been involved enough that even one of the less stealthy members of the team has been able to sneak up on the three of them. Jax stands in the corridor, arms crossed, trying to look imposing but really managing only desperate.

"Why wouldn't we?" Sara asks the air rhetorically. "Sure. More arms to carry stuff."

Met with acceptance instead of opposition, Jax deflates. "Great. I'd do a lot to get off this ship for a while. But let's go before Kendra finds out or she'll want us to buy…"

"I'd want you to buy what?"

It's almost funny how Jax freezes. OK, it is funny. Their sometimes-winged teammate eyes him with a smile, then shakes her head. "I don't care what sort of junk you buy. But I'd kill for some fresh fruit. Or sushi. Even grocery store sushi."

And just like that, it's an expedition.

For a group of people who've been used to quick forays to dive bars and tiny, often-old-fashioned convenience stores or Mom-and-Pops – if that - during most Waverider pit stops, the giant, modern grocery store is paradise.

Kendra starts determinedly for the produce section, while Mick heads for the meat department with Jax trailing behind. Sara mutters something about chocolate and sets out, a woman on a mission.

Snart follows her with a touch of bemusement, wondering about the last time he's done anything even remotely this domestic. Quite a while ago, he thinks. When they—he, Mick, Lisa—had all been much younger, certainly.

By the time he's caught up to her, Sara's found the candy aisle and selected a bar of dark chocolate about as big as his two hands together. Perusing the selection, she shrugs and picks up another one, grinning at him. "Heaven knows when we'll get another shopping run, right?"

"Right." He picks up a package of peppermint gum. "What else did you want?"

"Mick's grabbing the steaks, right? I do want to take a look at the produce section. Maybe some beer, something different. You?"

"That all sounds good." He shrugs. "Lead on."

But she hesitates, just a moment. He lifts an eyebrow at her as she steps closer to him, leans in conspiratorially, and says, sotto voce, "Do we have money? Or...?"

"Sara, I haven't shopli…" he takes a quick look around, "….acquired groceries in that fashion since I was a teenager. I have cash."

"Ah, but was it legally obtained cash?"

"Does it matter?"

"Nope." She grins at him…he will never stop enjoying the sight of that smile…and goes up on her tiptoes to kiss him.

"Humph!"

They both look around to see a sour-faced older woman glaring at them from the end of the aisle. From her entire demeanor—arms crossed, head tilted back so she can look down her nose at them—it's abundantly clear that they're the target of her righteous condemnation.

So it's inevitable that Sara's next action is to laugh, grab him by the collar of his jacket, drag his head down to hers and kiss him even more thoroughly. With tongue.

"Huummph!"

Now their onlooker looks downright aghast. As if two consenting adults kissing each other in the grocery store is an absolute harbinger of the end of polite society as we know it. Privately, Leonard wonders why she just doesn't walk away.

But because a Sara Lance who's been "humph"ed twice over PDA in a grocery store is a Sara Lance who may very well progress to jumping him right in the candy aisle, he decides to take matters into his own hands. Before she, ah, does.

Meeting her eyes—one does not surprise the assassin—he steps toward her, reaches out, and pulls her into his arms, dipping her back into a kiss that bends her nearly down to the floor. And because she's Sara, and she's amazingly flexible, she curves a leg up and around his waist as he does so.

"HUMPH!"

But there's applause over the sound of disapproval, and he feels his face heat as he stands them both up, realizing that they're acquired a smiling, although rapidly dispersing audience. The "humph"er, apparently dismayed by public approval, is gone.

Sara is grinning from ear to ear. "Well. That was fun!" She tucks an errant piece of hair behind her ear and takes a closer look at him. "Len…you're blushing!"

"Yeah, well, don't tell Mick."

"Maaayyyybe. If you make it worth my while." She laces her fingers with his as they walk to the produce section, where she chooses a bag of locally grown apples and Leonard picks out, despite mild teasing, a few bundles of fresh asparagus that he insists they can grill with the steaks.

"Hey, look. Mick's thinking ahead." Sara points, and Len glances over her head to see his friend approaching them from the far end of the produce section. The other man, Jax trailing along just behind him, is pushing a cart loaded with goods from the butcher department…and a small grill and several bags of charcoal.

"That's good. Gideon gets a little pissy if she thinks you're asking for frivolous…crap!"

"What?" Sara spins back around. "Oooh."

Mick's path through the twists and turns of the produce section has been blocked. And they can both see the impending eruption from here.

If the other cart had been neatly pulled over to the side, its user standing out of the way to look at the selection of bagged salads, there would have been no issue for anyone wishing to pass. That is not the case.

Instead, the cart is parked askew in the aisle, blocking the entire thing, while its apparent user is peering at the lettuce, oblivious to the world, chatting away on his cell phone while blocking Mick and Jax from the only convenient path into the department.

As Sara and Leonard start in that direction, they can tell that Jax says something, his body language vaguely conciliatory. (Whether toward the oblivious shopper or Mick is anyone's guess.) The man glances at him vaguely, then away, merely ratcheting up the volume on his discussion of the failings of the local football team.

Jax repeats himself. (Mick's gaze promises fire and death.) This time, the other shopper—apparently born without any innate sense of self-preservation—looks right at him...and moves the cart a bit to more thoroughly block the aisle.

Now Jax looks pissed too. Peachy. Mick's eyes are narrowed. Leonard sees him take a breath...he's not going to get there in time...

And Sara dodges in, smoothly, forcibly checking the cart out of the way, jarring Captain Oblivious into dropping his bag of spring mix. Jax grabs their cart and steers it through the gap and out of harm's way; Mick, deflating, follows with a quiet "Thanks, Blondie."

The fellow recovers, turns to glare at the small blonde who's watching him with arms folded and a steely glare. He opens his mouth...Sara's eyes narrow further...

Watching, Leonard sees the moment the fellow's hindbrain kicks in and tells him, "Oh, hell, not a good idea." The man actually takes a step backward, bumping into his cart, as he stares at Sara likes she's going to stab him with the loaf of French bread in his cart.

Sara takes another step toward him, and then, then gives him a sunny smile and turns with a little wave, strolling back to where Leonard's waiting with amusement. The whole thing takes less than a minute.

"Crisis averted. And thanks," he sighs. "Thank god Mick doesn't have the temper he used to." He gives her a smile. "Can you imagine what it was like shopping with him and my sister when we were younger?"

"Well, I haven't met your sister yet, but from what I've heard…you have my sympathy."

"Thanks."

The five of them converge at the front of the store, Kendra unloading her armload of produce and sushi and chocolate chip cookies-"What?" she says—into the cart as they all pool cash and squabble over who has to wait in line.

A ruckus at the service counter, though, cuts through even that, and Sara can feel Leonard's attention being caught and held as she turns to look too.

A well-dressed man is leaning well into the space of the small woman behind the counter, spraying spittle and increasingly loud invective as he waves a receipt at her.

"I'm sorry, sir. There are no returns on these," she says gamely. "It says right on the racks. And I can return the bottled water, but it is taxed in this state. No, sir..."

Leonard's tensing and on the verge of heading over there (Sara puts a hand on his shoulder, but can't decide whether to stop him or not) when the man, red-faced and still visibly seething, throws the paper in the cashier's face and turns to walk away, into the store...then spins and fires back what he obviously thinks is a real zinger: "Get a real job, you bitch!"

The woman, her mouth a thin line that speaks as much of held-back tears as the way she's rapidly blinking, squares her shoulders and, pasting a falsely bright smile on her face, turns back to help the next customer.

Sara sighs, and looks at Leonard, only to blink at the sheer depth of anger in his eyes.

"You know, my mother worked at a grocery store for a while," he says shortly. "Second job, or third. Trying to make sure we could keep the power on and a few groceries in the house even when Lewis was in Iron Heights or drinking away whatever paycheck he was earning, if there was one.

"She came home more than one night utterly defeated...well, more so than she already was. People think they can treat retail workers like shit."

"You're not kidding, man." Jax is frowning. "My mom did that for a bit and, wow, did she have some tales."

Leonard is still studying the young woman. "My guess...she's a single mom. And a college student. Trying to juggle both and work."

Sara gives him a questioning look.

"No ring, and that pin on her smock is definitely a product of a preschool kid. And there are ink stains on her hands. She's exhausted, and that's not hung-over or out-partying-all-night exhaustion." He gives her a thin smile. "I pay attention."

He looks back at the young woman and seems to come to a decision. "Jax, think you can find the front-end manager in here, get a read on him or her?

The younger man blinks. "Uh. Sure. What do you want to know?"

"Decent human being or another asshole. And if the former, rule-follower or someone who's willing to…bend things a bit, in a good cause. Sara…" He pulls out his wallet. "Would you run over to the department store next door, get me a suit coat and a pair of reading glasses, wire rims, the weaker the better? And then set the bag just behind that display of pumpkins outdoors."

She takes the offered bills. "What are you up to?"

He just smiles. "Mick, text me when asshole there leaves. Now..."

Kendra puts up a hand. "I was a barista," she reminds him. "Customer service, remember? What can I do to help? "

"Check out with the groceries." He smiles at her. "If something goes south, you can bail us out."

With a grumbled "I never get to have any fun," Kendra goes to get in line. Sara gives Leonard one more long look, then turns to head for the department store, as Mick, chortling, heads back into the store and Jax follows him. Leonard casts a practiced look at the security cameras, then, smiling, strolls toward the exit.

Asshole leaves not long later, casually tossing abuse toward the cashier who checks out his pricey fancy beer and departing for the parking lot. A few moments later, a rather professorial type saunters back in the same set of doors.

The man who walks back into the store is obviously Leonard Snart, if you know what you're looking for, but with the leather jacket swapped out for a suit coat and wire-rimmed glasses. Watching from near the front of the store, Sara hums to herself in speculative admiration. Kendra shakes her head at her friend, but lifts an eyebrow herself, studying the crook with a faint grin on her face.

Snart circles into the store, tracing a path that lets him avoid cameras, then makes his way back to the front end, studying things momentarily before making a beeline for a middle-aged woman Jax has texted him about, who's standing there studying what seems to be a schedule.

Sara can't hear the first words he says to her, but she watches him extend a hand that that the woman shakes, then moves just enough to listen in.

"The young woman," he tells the manager seriously, "the one at the service counter… you should know in case he complains, but she showed great grace under fire just a little bit ago…"

Sara frowns at the anger at the woman's face, then realizes it's not anger at the young employee, but rage on her behalf. Jax has called their target well.

She's missed the next few moments of conversation, but when she refocuses again, the manager is staring at Snart, holding an envelope with an expression of amazement on her face.

"Sir, this is too much…"

He shakes his head at her though, gesturing to the envelope. "Please," Sara hears him say smoothly, "let me make someone's day. In memory of my own mother."

The manager looks at him another moment...and then smiles. "Yes, sir," she says. "And may I say 'thank you' for doing so. She's a good worker and, well, she's had a hard time of it. Everyone needs a little hope from time to time."

Snart agrees soberly, then nods to her, takes one more glance at the young woman, and—still avoiding video cameras—sees himself out. One by one, his compatriots follow him.

By the time they all meet outside, he's ditched the jacket and glasses in a charity clothing bin and retrieved his own jacket from wherever he'd hidden it. The smirk, too, is firmly in place.

"Use the money from Asshole's wallet?" Mick asks him with a mirroring smirk.

"Yep." He brandishes the item in question. "He should've known better than to carry that much cash. Paid for most of our grocery run too. Prick." He shrugs. "He was driving one of those compensating-for-something gigantic pick-up trucks. Thought about planting something, but he already had coke hidden under the passenger seat." Distaste crosses his expression. "At any rate, the cops should be picking him up any time now. Sure they'll be fascinated at his lack of ID."

Mick laughs. Jax just shakes his head.

"I don't care what anyone says, Snart," he avers solemnly. "You are a hero."

"Bite your tongue, kid." But he smiles a little as Sara goes up on her toes to kiss him, and even Kendra squeezes his arm.

Leonard leaves the wallet, complete with ID and credit cards if minus cash, in the bushes on the way back to the Waverider.

When Rip, Ray, and Stein return, they find their cohorts relaxing in the park near the parked ship, steaks tended by Mick on the grill and accoutrements ready to go. Rip, appeased with the knowledge that no one had been arrested and the fact that they'd bought him a steak, rolls his eyes and breaks out a bottle of whiskey to share.

And a struggling single mom opens a card that night in her tiny apartment, small son sleeping in the next room, finds three $50 gift cards and a message of encouragement—and bursts into tears.

All in all, a good day's work.

Author's note: The Asshole Incident is based on one that happened to a friend (a single mom working her way through college) back in my own retail days. Little bit of belated wish fulfillment, there. ;)