Possessions: Stolen and otherwise

The bridge of the Waverider was sweltering. An oppressive heavy heat that seemed to only be noticed by one person and he was getting bored. When they'd first climbed on board the ship, Len had spent much of his time memorising the patterns of the team, their daily routine. Or where the electrics were; what to turn off or on in some cases.

After he'd exhausted all possible relevant observations, he'd taken to hiding in the cargo hold between jobs, fiddling with the cold gun he already knew back to front and inside out. Mick would join him if he was in the right mood, usually trying to get the flame from the heat gun to exceed maximum, tapping his feet to the beat of 80's metal playing quietly in the background.

Months had passed since that point, but time on the ship was of no consequence and it made for a pretty boring existence in his opinion. This Legends gig wasn't all thievery and saving the world. Stealing Rip's whisky and hiding it, no longer had the same allure it once did. Even the ranting and empty threats of being dropped off in the time stream had gotten tiresome.

At that particular moment, they were stagnating in one position with nowhere to go. The air motionless, just like the tin can they had been travelling in, which was floating listlessly in the time He could still feel the cracked plastic in his fingers. Looking stream. Jax and Stein were on it, but it was taking time and the rest of them were left twiddling their thumbs.

Len hung back at the edge of the cockpit, resting against the solid walls, leafing through pages of a dog eared copy of ''The Art of War' like he was trying to memorise it. Facial expression indecipherable by anyone who looked over, his breathing out uncomfortably deep, as if trying to blow the walls further away. A distraction was required. Right now, he would give anything for some sort of disturbance.

Raymond, Kendra, Sara and Rip had gathered around Gideon, watching a hologram of the future, their bodies too close and claustrophobic. They had been running imaginary scenarios for hours, determined that unlike Len, they would not give in to the tedium of being stuck in the time stream with nothing of consequence to do. From his position, he could see that all the towers in the city were still standing, but there were no people.

"They all seemed to have vanished." Kendra said softly

"Not vanished. Shrunk." relayed Rip.

The viewers of the scenario, glared at Raymond. Len hoped that someone would say something, give in to the monotony of it all. Throw a punch, something.

"How would we solve this problem?"

Rip took back control of the room, leaving Len feeling more than mildly disappointed.

He closed the book, tucking it under one arm and examined his nails, all the time listening to their babbling and finding that it was of no interest to him. After what felt like decades, he retreated from the room, leaving it to the rest of the team to figure it out the problem. If you could call it that.

Black boots hit the metal corridor floor at an even pace, coming to a stop in front of his cabin's ID plate. The infrared passed over his palm and the door flew open, a gentle breeze of the air con fluttered against his skin. He padded automatically across the room, almost lovingly straightening the painting next to the door that tilted to the left, pausing to set the book on a towering book case. His mouth curved into a smile with a glimmer of satisfaction. All the possessions, stolen and otherwise gave the cabin an air of domesticity. It was no longer a room, but a home.

Len fell onto the bed at the edge of the room face first, a muted scent of sweat and charcoal drifting under his nose. After a while he sluggishly rolled over to face the ceiling, arms stretching out wide on the grey sheets. When he closed his eyes, memorised blueprints of the Central City museum danced behind them. They would be prepared when they got back to 2016, he didn't appreciate surprises. Mick often called him out on his obsessive research, but how many times had it got them out of trouble? Planning a heist in the future was not an immediate disturbance, but it would have to do and there was something salaciously erotic about the thought of committing an act of grand larceny. As he was on the verge of doing something about it, a faint acrid smell and the door whooshing open jolted his senses. The blueprints vanished and he swore under his breath as the door shut and smell came closer. The only heat he didn't mind.

"Don't tell me. The other guy looks worse" He drawled, not bothering to move or open his eyes.

The answer, a disapproving grunt.

He felt the bed dip by his feet, feeling a surge of warmth against his toes, then heard the clunk of heavy boots followed by goggles as they hit the floor.

"How was training, Mick?"

He lazily opened one eye and sat up.

"You don't wanna know" Mick groaned, leaning forwards so that his elbows were resting on his knees, fingers linked tightly and held behind his head.

Len paused, awaiting his partner's customary display of agitation. He frowned when it didn't arrive, gaze shifting to survey the damage. Singed cotton and shredded leather revealed bruised and burnt skin around his ribs and shoulders, with three recent wounds puckered and shiny in amongst the blue and black. Len crawled up the bed, sitting far enough away to not cause discomfort, but close enough for Mick to know he was there.

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't." He drawled, before dropping a kiss on the top of the other man's head. "What's got you in a snit?"

"Fireballs. Firestorm don't pull their punches."

"Would you want them to?"

Len quirked his head as he observed the way his partner twisted as he straightened.

"Landed badly"

A grudging admission. Len raised an eyebrow, waiting for further response. He was nothing if not patient in his quest to get to the truth. Unlike him, Mick was a terrible liar and he'd got to understand over the years there was no point hiding anything, because it was going to get found out eventually.

"Busted a rib."

A pause, in expectation of further injuries.

"Dislocated left shoulder. Put it back. Hurts like a bitch." Mick ground out obligingly.

"Aren't you supposed to get out of the way?" He paused for a reaction, but got none. "Why didn't you see Gideon?"

"Not letting that pile of wires touch me" His tone petulant. The second question getting more of a reaction than Len anticipated. "Not gonna have a repeat of last time."

Len's forehead creased in concern. Mick ignored the look and grunted again as he leant back, letting Len squish up behind him and wrap his arms around his neck. They sat like a totem, breathing in the charred smell and the stillness. A semblance of an idea began to slowly form in Len's mind, a perfect distraction that would solve both their predicaments. It could go one of two ways, depending on Mick's desire to be belligerent and irritable for the rest of the night, but that unpredictability made it all the more fun.

He smirked lazily to himself, then backed off, rolling off the side of the bed. Mick growled at the disappearance, a rumble that was ignored.

"You stink."

Mick's eyes narrowed at the remark and opened his mouth to retort, but closed it again as he watched Len languidly remove his t-shirt as he wandered in the direction of the bathroom.

"Are you coming or not?"

Mick leapt off the bed like he hadn't just spent hours sparring with an amalgamated science experiment.