Sara didn't know why she adored the 1920s so much. Maybe it was the beautiful music, maybe it was the dresses and the nightlife. But maybe it was just the air in Paris at night.
The one thing she knew for sure was the moment she walked out of the Waverider and into the paved streets of Rue Crémieux is that she had fallen in love with that city. She fell in love with the sounds of laughter and the faint sound of music that played somewhere in an alley.
And the man next to her couldn't do anything but gaze at her as she tried to take in all the beauty of the city of light. Sara awoke from her daydream and her eyes locked with her partner's; mouth twisting to a small smile.
"Ah…Don't you just adore Paris...?" Sara questioned with a now-radiant smile on her lips. "The lights, the music; everything. For me, now is The Golden Age of this city."
"If I am not mistaken, La Bella Époche of Paris was in late 1890s." Leonard countered and Sara lifted an eyebrow as they continued leisurely walking down the sidewalk.
"You speak French?" She inquired. "What other talents have you not spoken to me about?"
"I am a man of many talents, Sara." He responded; eyed fixing on how Sara was observing his navy blue tie. "And as I recall, you haven't ever asked me of my knowledge of languages."
"Never got the chance." She simply said, shrugging her shoulders and noticing how they were still walking without any specific destination.
"So where do want to head?" Leonard asked; as if reading her thoughts. "Anything specific in mind? Because Rip doesn't usually give team members night offs."
"I think I know a place…Read about it in a newspaper Gideon recovered for me." She suggested as Leonard offered her his arm, which she gratefully accepted.
They walked for a couple of streets, until they found themselves entering a beautiful home decorated elegantly to every detail; from the bar and the lounges, to the flowers that hung from the crystal chandeliers.
Music played in the background; a man playing piano and singing softly as the smoke from the cigarettes gave the room a distinctive scent of burning roses.
"What is this thing called love?
This funny thing called love?"
"Want to grab something to drink, Leonard?" Sara asked, bringing the man back to reality. He just nodded and let the blonde beauty grab his hand and lead him though the crowd.
"Deux Français 25, S'il vous plait." Sara stated and the bartender smiled adorningly at her, making Leonard's fists clench.
"Now who is hiding talents?" He inquired, hand trying to make his lighter work and failing.
Suddenly out of nowhere a hand appeared and his cigarette was lit within seconds. Leonard lifted his head to meet the oddly familiar face of the kind stranger.
"Thank you." He said, scanning the features of the man.
"Don't mention it." The man answered and stretched out his hand to Leonard, who accepted it reluctantly. "Name's Scott Fitzgerald."
Leonard swore he heard Sara suck her breath through all the noise.
"Nice to meet you." He said as he shaked the writer's hand, noticing Sara trembling as she walked back to him with their glasses in hand. "This is my…wife…Sara…I am Leonard."
Sara lifted her eyebrows at his words, but her attention immediately turned to the man standing in front of her.
"Mr. Fitzgerald…Your work is so amazing…I am such a big fan of yours…" Sara managed to stammer out, before a woman yelling in the distance was heard yelling the man's name.
"I would love to chat, but my wife Zelda is calling for me…Nice meeting you, Leonard and Sara." Once the man was out of sight, Leonard heard Sara breath again.
"Oh my god, I just met F. Scott Fitzgerald. Leonard, we met one of the greatest writers of all time." She chimed happily. "And my favorite one."
Leonard just sipped his champagne and shrugged.
"I don't know…I am more of a Hemmingway type." He saw Sara's eyes widen in surprise again. "I might have been in juvie, but I had a lot of free time there. I loved reading Hemingway; The Old Man and the Sea, A Farewell to Arms. I spend months in that place reading and reading every single writer from that era and I was smitten. I don't even remember how many times I have read The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn and The Great Gatsby."
"You have read The Great Gatsby?" She requested excitedly; downing the remaining champagne and setting her glass atop a marble table.
"Of course I did. There are all kinds of love in this word, but never the same love twice." His eyes locked with hers for a moment and she smiled.
"He looked at her the way all women want to be looked at by a man." He set his now-empty glass next to hers and extended his hand. "You want to dance Sara?" He asked her with his voice low on the noisy room. She smiled and took it. Her hand found their way around his waist, just as his did too. Her head rested on his shoulder as they both swayed to the music. One hand now was set on his chest and Leonard's fingers had started to play with the ends of her smooth blonde curls. "What is this thing called love? This funny thing called love? Just who can solve its mystery?" Just as the song ended they pulled away, not having an excuse to hold onto each other anymore. "Want to go for a walk?" Leonard asked and Sara nodded with a small smile. Outside the Paris night was quieter than before, with less people on the streets; not that the pair minded. They walked for a little, just enjoying the intimacy and comfort of the silence shared between them. And somehow along the way, they had found themselves standing in front of the Eiffel Tower. They settled on the grass; Sara sitting on Leonard's sprawled suit jacket and Leonard next to her, observing the woman who has practically glowing, the light of the moon and that of only the few street lamps, casting on her face and the sparking blue diamonds of her flapper dress and headband. "What are you thinking about?" She asked him suddenly when she saw the smile on his face. "You." He answered simply. "What about me?" Sara questioned again, moving closer to Leonard. "I wish I had done everything on earth with you." He whispered on her lips, before connecting them. And the clock struck midnight in Paris.