Same Dance, Different Tune
by Sandrine Shaw
The seating plan for the wedding reception is laid out on the kitchen table, tiny movable pieces of paper with names written on them that Barry has been steadfastly ignoring since they started planning the wedding. He's been plenty involved with the rest of the preparations; he figures it's okay to leave this part to Iris.
He sometimes finds himself glaring at it, staring it down like it has personally offended him, and the desire to wipe it off the table in a blur of speed catches him unexpected. He doesn't understand his anger, the heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach. Except, he does. Of course he does. He's not that good a liar, not even and especially not when the one he's trying to sell the lie to is himself.
He's not good at lying to Iris either.
She catches him leaning over the plan, and it's only when she reaches out and entwines their fingers that he realizes that his hands have been clenched into fists. Iris pries them open with gentle insistence, and Barry closes his eyes and lets her touch soothe him. Her thumb draws small, comforting circles on his skin as she stands next to him and looks down at the complicated array of colorful paper labels.
She turns her eyes to him and gives his hand a soft squeeze. "It's Snart, isn't it?"
His head snaps around towards her. "How — "
"You flinched when he made that quip about not wanting to be seated at the singles table. You looked like you wanted to tell him the truth right then and there." There's sadness in her smile. "I can't say I wasn't tempted myself."
Barry can't remember that. He remembers Snart's comment, but not his reaction. Back then, everything had been a blur of adrenaline and mind-numbing fear, the race against time to stop Iris' death overpowering everything. He'd shoved his guilt and his grief over the fate he left Snart to into a box and closed the lid on it because there was no time to dwell on it. Not back then. But Savitar is gone now, Iris is safe and Snart's dead, and the box won't stay shut anymore.
"I want him at the wedding," Barry blurts out before he can stop himself. It's the same kind of selfishness, the same carelessness about the integrity of the time line that got him in trouble before, and he should know better. He does know better, but it doesn't do anything to ease the sadness and the remorse when he's looking at the place cards, or when he remembers saying goodbye to Snart in 1892 without being able to say goodbye.
"Okay."
He blinks at Iris. It's not the response he expected.
Iris laughs at his bemused expression. "What? Did you think I'd say no? The Speed Force bazooka might not have been what defeated Savitar in the end, but Snart still helped save my life. If you want him there, I'm okay with it." Her smile is soft and kind and understanding, and he feels a fresh burst of love for her that makes his heart clench.
He's only too eager to accept her agreement and let it push him further towards the intention that's already been on his mind since the wedding planning got underway, maybe even since he dropped Snart off the Waverider after the A.R.G.U.S. Heist. "And I got him from the past before, so what's one more time, right?"
"Right." Iris' answer comes somewhat hesitant, and for a moment she looks like she want to say something else, but all she does is squeeze his fingers a little firmer.
At least this time, Snart doesn't aim the Cold Gun at him. It's hard to tell if he's annoyed or pleased to see Barry. His eyes narrow and there's a minuscule twitch of his lips that could be the hint of a smile just as well as it might be a scowl.
"Barry. Twice in a week. I'm flattered."
Barry winces and rubs the back of his neck. "It's— Um. It's actually been a few months. For me, I mean." He shrugs. "Time travel," he adds by the way of an explanation. Like Snart isn't perfectly aware of that.
"Ah. I take it Savitar has been dealt with, then. So what is it? Another problem that needs my particular set of skills?" He doesn't even need to add the accompanying gesture for the air quotes to be plain obvious.
"Actually, no. Nothing like that. Remember how you told us not to sit you at the singles table at the wedding reception? We found you a seat elsewhere. So, I guess this is your RSVP. Wedding starts in four hours, so... Sorry if it's a bit short notice."
Snart stills. For a moment, it's like a freeze-frame, like a split second stretched into infinity, and Barry doesn't understand why the cessation makes him so anxious, his heart is beating up storm in his chest.
"Like I said, I'm flattered. But I've been doing this time travel thing for a bit now, kid, and I've heard Rip go on and on about the rules. I'm not sure why my presence at your wedding is important enough for you to mess with the past."
"I'm not messing with the past." Barry's denial comes too fast, and he's stumbling over his words. "I'm just... borrowing you for a second and then you'll be back exactly where I took you from, and you'll just get on with your life on the Waverider. No harm, no foul, right?" His voice trails off and his gaze flickers away from Snart, uncomfortable at the idea of looking him in the face while telling such a blatant lie.
It's pointless; he can't fool Snart any more than he can fool himself. His eyes narrow, and the look he fixes Barry with is every bit as sharp and unforgiving as his tone. "Nice try, Barry, but you and I both know what borrowing 2016 me for a wedding in 2017 implies, and what I could do with that sort of knowledge."
"2018 actually," he absent-mindedly corrects, before he can catch himself. At Snart's flat expression, he shrugs. "Maybe I'm willing to risk it."
He knows he's sounding callous and sullen, like a stubborn teenager refusing to heed good advice. He wasn't prepared to have this argument. Not yet. Not in 1892, not with Snart. He knew he might have to face this exact conversation with Joe or Cisco when he'd show up for the wedding with Snart in tow. But he hadn't been expecting for Snart himself to call him out.
And he's not done with it yet, from the sound of it. "Wrong. You were willing to risk it when you recruited me for your little heist last time. And I get it, you were in a tight spot. Time was running out. No other option. This time, you're just blatantly daring me to do something about it, while still avoiding all responsibility should anything go wrong. And while I have a certain appreciation for the underhandedness, that's not going to happen."
Barry's stomach sinks at the outright refusal, the cool contempt in Snart's tone, and he forces himself to offer a dejected nod. Tries to gather up the strength to say, 'I get it. I'll be out of your hair then.' and accept that his final encounter with Snart would end at a sour note.
Snart steps closer, and the flight or flight response in Barry's lizard brain is kicking up. He has to consciously stop himself from backing away. Even if Snart is angry with him right now, he's not the kind of person who channels anger into violence unless he believes it gives him an advantage.
So Barry stubbornly digs in his heels and holds his ground when Snart moves into his personal space, close enough that the open parka brushes against Barry's suit and Barry can see the specks of brown in the icy blue of Snart's eyes. Their gaze burns into him with an intensity that makes it impossible to look away.
"So here's the deal. I come with you, you tell me exactly what's going to happen and how to avoid it. All the details. I want to know everything you know. You don't want this to be on you? Tough luck. It already is."
Barry should say no. He should speed out of here, back to 2018, and forget this ever happened, hope that he hasn't already revealed too much. He's changed the past before, and he regretted it, every time. He shouldn't be here.
But Snart's right. This has never been about borrowing Snart again for a final goodbye; the minute he decided to go back in time and get Snart, he was secretly hoping that it might be influencing the outcome. Give Snart a subtle little nudge to change his fate. He might not have been prepared to lay his cards on the table, but it doesn't mean that he hadn't subconsciously counted on Snart taking the chance to peek at his hand.
He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Nods shakily. "Okay."
When he looks at Snart again, the other man is watching him with a curious, pinched expression, like he's trying to burrow into Barry's mind and figure out what makes him tick.
He expects an uncomfortable question, perhaps the dreaded why that he has no answer for, but instead, Snart's lips twitch into a suggestive smirk and his drawl becomes more pronounced. "Gotta say, Flash, getting to watch you willfully breaking the rules always gets me all cold and bothered."
Barry snorts at the terrible pun. Some of the tension finally bleeds out of him. "I'm already regretting this."
He says it like a joke, but of course Snart picks up on the truth behind it, the uncertainty, the fear that he's making a mistake of colossal proportions.
Snart's grin widens. "Oh, I know. Which only makes it all the sweeter."
There's no good response to that, so Barry decides that it's okay to let Snart have the last word this time, grabbing him and speeding the two of them back to 2018.
He's talking to Cisco at the buffet when the sound of Iris's laughter draws his eyes to the dance floor.
She's dancing with Snart, her arms looped around his neck as he dips her backwards in an exaggerated move, and when she's coming back up she's giggling so hard that she misses a few steps. He leans in and tells her something that makes her shake her head and gently swat his shoulder in playful reprehension. Barry's standing too far away to make out the words or be able to read Snart's lips, but he looks more relaxed than Barry's ever seen him, eyes crinkling with genuine humor rather than narrowed with sharp sarcasm, and Iris seems just as comfortable in his company.
Barry can't take his eyes off them.
Snart expertly twirls Iris around the floor with the grace of someone who's had plenty of experience blending in at various social functions. He looks devastatingly handsome in his smokey blue suit, a stark contrast to Iris' white dress. Barry isn't sure if he wants to know where Snart got the outfit from on this short notice, telling himself that as long as no tailor called in a burglary, he can claim plausible deniability. In fact, 'plausible deniability' might just be today's theme.
He barely notices the smile that has crept onto his face until Cisco snaps, "Dude. No."
Barry twists towards him, feeling oddly guilty, like someone caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. "What?"
"I know that look. That look doesn't lead anywhere good. Even not taking into account that this is your wedding day, did you forget the part where Snart is— You know." He lowers his voice. "Dead?"
Something must be showing on Barry's face because Cisco's eyes suddenly go wide. "Wait, you're going to take him back to wherever you got him from, right? You're not just gonna leave him here?"
"Don't worry. I'm taking him back," Barry assures him. He doesn't mention that he's planning to drop Snart back off in 1892 with all the information he needs to change his fate, everything Ray told him, all the details Gideon has.
Despite his best intentions to stay focused on Cisco, he finds his attention pulled back to the pair moving along the dance floor. The snug lines of Iris dress. The way her hair sways with the beat. Snart's hand curved around her waist. The sure way he's leading her. They're gorgeous together. Barry's stomach does a little flip – not unpleasant, but not quite comfortable either, a little like the initial rush when he's tapping into the Speed Force.
Perhaps Snart can feel the weight of Barry's stare, or perhaps he just happens to be seeking out Barry in the crowd. Their eyes meet over Iris' head, and Snart's lips stretch into a wicked smirk that's full of dark promise. Holding Barry's gaze, Snart leans in and whispers something into Iris' ear. When she's facing Barry again, she arches her eyebrow in a way that suggests she knows exactly what he's thinking.
He blushes and ducks his head, and he wants and wants and wants.
The sun's already coming up, filtering through the bedroom window and turning Iris' skin into dusty gold. She watches him with a soft smile, and he can't quite believe that this is his life now, that they made it here, after everything: all the trials and threats and almost-misses. It feels almost sacrilegious to wish for more.
He tries to keep the wistfulness at bay, but he's clearly terrible at it because Iris suddenly asks, "When I was dancing with Leonard earlier, which one of us were you jealous of?"
There's a second or two where Barry is caught up in the name, wondering when exactly Snart became Leonard to Iris, before the question really hits him.
"I— What — No. I—" he stammers, but Iris only looks at him with a raised eyebrow, face caught halfway between amusement and fondness, and he can't lie to her. "Um. Both of you?"
Her smile broadens. "Good," she says.
Before he can ask her what that even means, she leans in and kisses him, and he figures maybe this discussion can wait until after the wedding night.
The déjà-vu when he drops Snart off feels like a clawed hand closing around his throat. It's been more than a year since Snart told him he preferred Barry to stay a hero and clasped the hand Barry offered him in a firm grip, and Barry still remembers how badly he wanted to warn him off rejoining the Legends.
Now they're here again, and even though the information Snart has should give him a significant advantage, it still feels a little like Barry is abandoning him to his grim fate.
Snart turns towards him. "We really gotta stop meeting like, Barry."
The lazy drawl teases a smile out of Barry, despite the anxiety settling in his stomach. "Well, hopefully the next time I want to find you, I won't have to travel back in time." It's a sobering thought. "Do you think you can find a way to survive the Oculus explosion? Look, I can still... I don't know, ask Cisco or Stein for help."
"And I'm sure they'll be thrilled to hear you're messing with the past." Snart looks amused at Barry's wince. "Don't worry your pretty head off, Scarlet, I have months to come up with a plan. I'm sure I can work something out without the help of our resident superbrains."
He sounds confident enough, but Barry isn't sure whether he wants to stake Leonard's life on that. "'Make the plan, execute the plan, expect the plan to go off the rails, throw away the plan'? Yeah, I don't know why that doesn't exactly reassure me."
"You forget that I always have a plan B. And a plan C, if that fails. And maybe a few more. Why do you think you barely stopped half of my heists?"
"I still stopped half of them. At least," Barry argues. "Actually, probably more than half."
An odd rush of nostalgia hits him as he remembers going against Captain Cold, and perhaps it's not just him because Snart's expression softens ever so slightly.
"Maybe I was... distracted," Snart— fuck it, Leonard concedes, quieter and without the usual edge in his voice. It feels like an admission of some kind.
Barry's heart and his stomach clench, and he can't keep up his defenses anymore. "Just... don't die, okay?"
He half-expects Leonard to mock the plaintive tone in his voice, to poke at his display of weakness and cut Barry wide open with razor-sharp words, because – reluctant time-traveling hero or not – that's how Leonard Snart wants to be seen: a criminal and a liar, someone who hurts people. It's his go-to defense mechanism whenever someone other than Lisa gets too close. Barry's determined not to let him get away with it, but that doesn't mean he isn't steeling himself for the way he's bound to crash full-speed into Leonard's emotional walls.
He's not prepared for the soft-spoken, "I don't intend to."
Leonard's eyes are sharp and bright. Whatever it is they're searching Barry's face for, they seem to find it, because suddenly Leonard is right in Barry's space, and his gloved hand comes up to curve against Barry's cheek. It would take effort not to lean into the touch, so Barry doesn't bother to stop himself, and when Leonard leans down, he sways towards him.
He thought what it would be like, kissing Captain Cold, a shameful little fantasy that goes back a long time. Back to their first meeting at Saints and Sinners when Barry came to make a deal and found himself at the receiving end of a blatant once-over that brought out a blush so obvious that he couldn't believe Leonard hadn't taken the opportunity to taunt him. So, yeah, he's imagined it. Imagined heated clashes. Adrenaline. Frustration after a fight, channelling all that anger into a different kind of passion. Blood in his mouth, bruises that take hours to fade.
It's nothing like that. It's tentative, almost gentle, devastatingly intimate. It's a goodbye and a promise, and it makes Barry want to grab Leonard and speed them right back to 2018 because he doesn't want to take any chances, not when the stakes are so high.
But he can't. Telling Leonard about what the future has in store for him so he can change it, fix it, is already cheating. But actually stealing him from the past and having him stay in the future, bypassing his death like that would be a violation the timeline wouldn't forgive.
He lets his forehead rest against Leonard's. "This better work out."
Leonard steals another quick kiss before stepping away, and his moment of vulnerability passes. He tilts his head, and he amused drawl is back in his voice. "Give Iris my regards. I'm sure she'll want a detailed recount of how this—" he points between them with a smirk "—played out."
Barry chokes on a laugh.
This time, Leonard's the one who turns around and leaves, heading towards the Waverider with a lofty wave of his hand, a wordless see you later that Barry clings to like a solemn vow. He watches Leonard's retreating form and uses all the willpower he has not to call him back.
He runs straight back to Iris because he doesn't want to be alone right now, because Iris will understand in a way that no one else can.
Phasing through the front door, he stops in the middle of the living room and catches his breath. His lips are still tingling; he can still taste Leonard, a different kind of electricity than the one he's used to.
He hears Iris moving around the kitchen and slowly makes his way over there with normal speed, time he needs to rein in the rush of emotions that almost pulls him apart.
"I took him back," he announces. His voice is so choked up that it makes him wince.
"Took who back?" he hears Iris ask. There's a rustle, followed by a low chuckle that sounds nothing like Iris.
When Barry rounds the corner and steps into the doorway, she's facing him with a confused expression. She has that glow she always gets when she's a little flustered, and Barry absently notices the dark flush on her cheeks, the shiny, kiss-bruised lips. "Where did you disappear to? One second you're here and the next you're gone."
Her question barely registers because all of Barry's attention is drawn to the man standing behind her, slouching lazily against the kitchen counter with his arms crossed over his chest, every inch of his body projecting the same sly kind of satisfaction like he's pulled off a complicated job. And that's precisely what he's done, isn't is? The most complicated job of them all, with the highest possible stakes.
"Hey, are you okay?" Concern tints Iris' voice. "You look upset."
Barry can barely hear her over the rushing in his ears. He wants to speed right towards Leonard and touch him to ensure himself that he's really here, that it's really him looking so at home in the middle of Barry's kitchen and not some kind of mirage, an imposter, or merely Barry's mind playing tricks on him. But he's rooted to the spot, and all the can think of is, You're alive.
He doesn't know what to say; all the words he has seem inadequate. His mind blanks out, and perhaps that's his excuse for settling on a wry, "That's unfair. You had a head start."
Leonard cocks his head and regards Barry with a smirk.
"Since when have you known me to play fair?" The sardonic quip is belied by the warmth in his gaze, the heated way his eyes are taking Barry in. It's a different kind of appraisal than the one he gave Barry just now (two years ago), back in 1892, an undercurrent of familiarity that wasn't there before.
Bemused, Iris looks from one of them to the other. "I'm... not sure I want to know what you're talking about."
Right. She doesn't know. Can't know, because in her timeline Leonard never died. Barry remembers everything because he only just stepped into this timeline, and Leonard remembers because it's his knowledge of the old timeline that changed things, but no one else does. It's probably a good thing because there won't be any awkward explaining to do.
Whatever Iris sees on Barry's face must be enough to convince her that he's okay, that the details can wait. Shaking her head, she kisses his cheek as she pushes past him. "Promise me you'll tell me if it's something I should know, okay?"
Barry smiles at her and nods, once again marveling at how he deserves this kind of implicit trust she's giving him. When she's out of earshot, Barry turns to Leonard. "Did we break anything? Oh God, tell me we didn't break anything. I really don't want to have to undo any of this."
"Much as my ego would like to pretend otherwise, I'm not that important, Barry."
When Barry is about to protest, Leonard shakes his head. "I'm not. Not in the grand scheme of things." He makes an effusive, flourishing gesture. "Don't worry. Life, the universe and everything is just the way it was, undeterred by my continued survival. Except that I got to dance with you at the wedding too. I missed out on that the first time."
Barry snorts. "Some people would call that a blessing."
"I don't know, I quite enjoyed myself."
There's a part of Barry that hates that he missed it. Hates all the firsts he missed. The memories will come, eventually, as he settles into the timeline, but it's second-hand experience only, and he wishes he could have been there.
Some of those regrets must be reflecting on his face, because Leonard reaches out and catches Barry's wrist. It's the same hand that touched his cheek when he kissed Barry goodbye, except now there's no barrier of glove between them. Skin on skin, warm and reassuring and full of promise. A shiver runs up Barry's spine.
Barry still can't quite believe that he gets to have this. That it comes without any terrible consequences. That Leonard's plan, or perhaps plan B or C or even plan Z, worked out in the end. Talking about planning—
"Wait, did you time it just so that I'd find you making out with Iris when I came back from 1892?" Because, really, there's coincidence and then there's 'coincidence', and Leonard is too meticulous to leave this pivotal moment to chance.
"Guilty." A flicker of amusement lights up Leonard's eyes. He shrugs, unrepentant and satisfied and clearly pleased with himself, delighted that Barry figured it out.
It startles a laugh out of Barry. Joy bubbles to the surface and relief, strong enough to bury the last of his misgivings. When Leonard's hands settle on his hips and long, slender fingers that have featured prominently in some of Barry's favorite fantasies tugging him closer, Barry readily lets himself being pulled in.
It doesn't matter, he realizes, those little moments he's missed. They have all the time in the world to make new memories. Him. Leonard. Iris. And he's going to be around for all of them.
The End.