It was here. It was finally here. Mick Rory had no idea where he was, when he was, and half the time he didn't know who he was. But he did know one thing. It was here. He sat in his jump ship and tilted his head back as he poured a beer haphazardly down his throat. He watched the fire in the distance appreciatively, eyes glistening with interest. But they soon glazed over as Mick began to think. He felt the vibrations throughout the ship and knew the explosions were getting closer.
"'Been wait'n fer the end fer a while now, huh? Beautiful, ain't it?"
Mick sighed as he realized there was nobody there to converse with. He was alone. He had been alone for a long while. Memories of his time as Chrono's flitted here and there, but he hastily shooed them away. He was Mick Rory. He would remain Mick Rory for however much time he had left. Not much if the rising temperature had anything to say about it. Mick's ship lay on the ground, the front half burrowing into the cracked soil. The landing had been a bit rough, but Mick didn't care. The Time Masters could shove it up their asses. Mick was done being played.
He closed his eyes for a moment and let out a rush of air. He missed them. He'd be damned, but he missed them. Rip with his annoying nagging about everything, Jax and Stein and their wonderful fiery friend, Haircut with his idiotic tendencies, Sara with her naturally gruff and unforgiving nature. Len. Just… Len. That fucking idiot that had to go all macho self-sacrificing bullshit when Mick actually tried to be helpful for once. They were gone. Slivers of memories swam through Mick's head, wiggling out of his grasp like slick ice. Ice. Cold. Snart. Len. Captain Cold.
Len was the only permanent. Fiery. Hot. Warm. Heatwave. Rory. Mick. He knew. He needed to remember. Leonard Snart. Captain Cold. Partners. Len was like his lifeline. Everything was collapsing around him, so Mick only held onto that tighter. What was the Waverider? Who was Sara Lance? The windows began to rattle and Mick screwed his eyes shut tighter. No. He would not give in. His thoughts began to waver. Chronos attacking Len. The horrified look on Len's face when he realized Mick was trying to kill him. Focus, Rory!
His eyes were open again, watching as the blasts grew ever so closer. He was ready. The Legends were gone. What happened to them? Who knows. All Mick knows is that he needs to hold on to Len. The Oculus. That night. His eyes were cold as ice, the look in them causing Mick's strong facade to waver. He remembers hearing the echo of words. Somehow. Maybe Len had been screaming them. Maybe Mick just knew. "There are no strings on me." Hah. Famous last words. Mick doesn't know what's happening. He honestly doesn't really know anything anymore. He does know that this is the end.
Ship crashed into dry, cracked soil. Future? Past? Present? Maybe. There are no screams. There is nobody there. The flames are licking faster and faster, approaching Mick's jump ship with increasing speed. The pebbles that had been tracked into the ship were rattling as the ship shook from the force of the blasts. Something was happening. Nuclear blast? Alien's invading? Earth's core collapsing? To put it in simple terms, Mick knew that this was the end of the road. Last stop, ground zero. Chrono's mindset tries to overtake him again, but is held back. It is easier now, knowing everything is almost over. The ship's engine's fried. There's no getting out of this. And even if there was, Mick wouldn't want to. Everybody was gone.
Mick let out another puff of breath, this one a soft sigh, as he began to sweat from temperatures many degrees higher than he is while using the heat gun. It's beginning to burn. Mick relishes it. He'd always loved the heat. Why stop now? A final taste. Then once the heat consumed him, he could finally find his ice. Inhaling sharply, the bitter tang of smoke clashed into Mick's nose. He rose from his seat at the console, and strode to the storage in his cabin. He opened a chest full of valuables, grabbed what he needed, then made his way back to the Captain's seat.
Once Mick had sat back down, he looked at the object grasped tightly in his hand. The chill of Len's gun seemed to seep into his skin, chasing out some of the heat that was nearing unbearable. "Well pardner," Mick said quietly, a smile donning his face, "We gave it a hell of a run." Pulling his signature Heatwave goggles that he had scavenged up over his eyes. Mick held the gun tightly and then walked leisurely to the center of the room. This was it. This was actually it. Although there was no one watching, Mick felt that he needed to keep a calm facade. He would face it head on. After all, he was a criminal. Wasn't he supposed to greet death like an old friend?
Once he reached the center of the room, Mick slowly turned back towards the front and looked through the windshield. All you could see was fire. Normally it would be comforting, but now Mick just felt… numb. The flames were raging and the explosions were ear popping. The roar was deafening, the shaking causing everything to fall and crash and break. As Mick was preparing himself, he suddenly leaned down and snagged a stray bottle of vodka that had been rolling across the floor. Popping it open, he chugged some down then immediately chucked it at the windshield, chuckling as it shattered.
The thick bulletproof glass began to visibly weaken as a large crack spiderwebbed across the middle. Mick knew that this was it. There was no going back now. Everything he had done. Everything Len had done. It was over and he had to accept that. Taking a final deep breath, Mick breathed out, "You fucking better be up there Snowflake." then shot the cold gun straight up through the ceiling and into the sky that was crying ash. Then for once, Mick was content to let the dark surround him and finally let go.
As Mick's body began to burn, his finger stubbornly remained pressed into the trigger of the cold gun. It's ray was lighting up the sky. An outlier. An icy blue amongst all of the burning red and orange. The icy ray cut through the fire and obliterated all ash in its path. Even once the finger on the trigger finally slipped away, and the gun clattered lifelessly to the melting linoleum, the cold blue ray remained for a few extra seconds. Like a the last beacon of hope. A final 'FUCK YOU' to the world that had taken so much and given back so little.
Let it be said that Mick Rory and Leonard Snart were, in fact, criminals. They did steal. They did maim. And in some instances, they did kill. But for being so called 'cold-blooded' criminals, they got a happy enough ending. Because even if they didn't make it in life. Even if they couldn't deal with the hardships. Even if their deaths were in the worst way possible, some may say that death brings new life. So as Leonard Snart's body lay obliterated in the vanishing point surrounded by enemies, and as Mick Rory's body lay crumpled and burned alone in a barren wasteland, one chapter ends and another begins because the fire has finally found his ice.