Sarah Lance sat sipping a coffee and wondering how a time ship had started to feel like home after only a few months…and why it felt so empty now. The answer to both questions was the same. She'd walked on board the Waverider with Leonard Snart, and as strange a combination as a crook and cop's-daughter-turned-assassin-turned-vigilante might seem, they suited one another, and they'd grown accustomed to this place together. It had become natural for him to lounge on her bunk playing cards, and for her to sit leaning against his legs while they passed a bottle.
And now he was gone, and the ship seemed so, so empty.
Except for the heavy footsteps intruding on her refuge.
"Look, whoever you are - I am not in the mood for another goddamn pep talk!"
"Fine by me," Mick Rory replied. He picked up Sara's coffee cup and sniffed it disdainfully, then added a good splash of whiskey from the bottle he carried, and passed it back to her.
Sara took a sip, then raised an eyebrow, and held out the cup.
Mick obligingly added more booze. He watched her drink her coffee in silence for a while.
"He liked you."
Sara swallowed hard, but didn't answer.
"You're smart, and you fight good, and…" Mick paused slightly, looking like he was getting ready to run, "you're hot."
Sara smiled a little at that, and Mick relaxed.
He leaned forward and placed something on the table in front of her. "He'd want you to have that."
Snart's ring. "No," Sara protested. "He gave it to you. You're his oldest friend -"
"Yeah, I am. Means I got more memories of him than you do. You keep that."
"Thanks, Mick," Sara murmured.
"Wear it on your punching hand," Mick suggested, with the ghost of a grin.