Femme Fatale
oneiriad
A/N: Yes, as a matter of fact, the summary is me misquoting Discworld.
And then there is light.
When the spots finally stop dancing sufficiently in Len's sight that he can focus again - that he can think again! - he finds himself rather surprised to be standing several feet away from where where he was just standing.
The Oculus Chamber is damaged. The walls are tilting, and there are corpses lying near the entrance, where the Time Bastards had done their insufficent best to get clear. But all in all, it seems to have been a surprisingly contained blast.
Well, it must have been, anyway, since he survived it.
"Did you?"
Len whirls around, reaching for his cold gun before he remembers leaving it with Mick, and scowls at the person speaking.
It's not a Time Master.
The woman seems to be about Lisa's age or perhaps a bit younger. Her skin is white as bone and her clothes black as the emptiness of space, and there's a silver ankh dangling around her neck.
"Hello, Leonard," she smiles.
"How do you know my name?" he demands, curling his fists for want of a better weapon. "Who are you?"
"You know who I am, Len," says the Goth, as she sits down on a toppled pillar. "Just think about it for a moment. It'll come to you."
He scowls at her, because what sort of a non-answer is that? Except, as he looks at her - he realizes that he does know who she is.
He turns, looks back at the center of the chamber, to where the Oculus has been blasted to smithereens. There's something lying by it. Something - mangled.
"I've seen messier," the woman states behind him, matter of factly. She tactfully doesn't mention that he's probably been responsible for some of those messes.
"A friend of mine told me, not that long ago, that dying was lonely. And she'd know."
"Dying can be lonely," the woman agrees. "Death doesn't have to be. How is Sara these days?"
"Alive," and he turns back to woman, scowling again, his hands fists again. "And staying that way."
The woman doesn't seem ruffled by his implicit threat. She wouldn't be, he supposes, but it still needs to be made.
"You don't need to threaten me, Len. I don't actually mind people getting second chances. Or more than that. It's actually quite nice. I'm a very busy entity, it's not like I have that many opportunities to meet people outside of work."
There's just a faint hint of a blush against a bone-white cheek, and suddenly Len can't help but smirk.
"She kissed you, didn't she?"
The woman doesn't answer, just smiles again.
For a moment they stay there, in the Oculus Chamber, and there's quiet.
Then Len sighs.
"So - what happens now? Come to drag me to Hell?"
"Actually, Mr. Snart, I have a proposition for you."
He raises an eyebrow at her.
"You want me to kiss you too?"
"Not that sort of proposition, Mr. Snart. A professional proposition."
"You want to hire me?" and he hopes that she won't take offense at his incredulity. "For a job?"
"Yes, I do. I find myself in need of the services of a thief, so why not avail myself of the opportunity to employ the best?"
"What's the score?" because this is an insane situation, but why the hell not? It's not like he's got anything better to do right now, is it?
She taps a nail against the silver ankh.
"I lost a necklace like this one a while back. It didn't matter so much, except it's fallen into the hands of some people with a little knowledge."
"And a little knowledge is a dangerous thing?"
"Something like that. Not for me, that's not how it works, but the repercussions of what they're planning could have some consequences that I'd rather avoid altogether."
"Right," he says, because there'll be time for details in the planning stage of this heist, he's sure. Besides, it's doubtful that he's in any sort of position to turn the lady down - not really. But before he agrees, there's something they do need to talk about.
"And my finder's fee?"
"A second chance."
Well. That doesn't sound half bad, given the circumstances.
"Do we have a deal?" and she rises to come and stand in front of him.
"I want one more thing."
"Are you trying to bargain with me?" she asks, but she sounds amused, not offended.
"I hear it's traditional."
"Very well, then. What more do you want?"
"My team - do they succeed? Do they get to kill Vandal Savage for good?"
"Do you doubt it?" and maybe he does, because Rip sucks at planning, but he doesn't say that out loud.
"Then this is what I want: I want to be there when they do. I want to be the first thing he sees afterwards, and I want my own shot at kicking his ass. Deal?"
He extends his hand, halfway waiting for her to tell him no, that she won't tolerate that sort of interference with one of her shades.
But then Death smiles at him and takes his hand in a firm handshake.
"I believe that can be arranged."