Make the plan.
"Sleep well, Sara. I'll see you tomorrow."
Leonard pauses as the door slides closed behind him, leaving an already slumbering assassin-turned-captain behind, then saunters off down the hallway, smiling to himself. The others might have been nonplussed at the expression, but if Mick had been there at that moment, he could have told them precisely what it meant.
Leonard Snart is planning a heist.
Sort of.
"...that's twice now, and you haven't stolen either of them. Thought you were a hell of a thief."
"Well, that's the thing about a good thief. You don't see them coming."
Maybe he's had reason for it, but he's waited long enough—especially now that Sara has made it quite clear she agrees with that sentiment.
Tomorrow, he decides, as he reaches his own room. While some of the duties of captain are still off her shoulders. He'll go to see her after she's had some sleep, maybe take some coffee. See if they can pick up where they'd left off tonight, the chemistry and the camaraderie he's missed so much.
It is, he thinks, a good plan.
Execute the plan.
He winds up reading a bit later than he'd planned to, and Gideon doesn't wake him—which is good, because it means there's been no new crisis to draw an exhausted captain from her bed, no chaos to require the efforts of the team. No distraction for a crook—former crook?-planning the heist of his career.
The ship is quiet as he makes his way to the galley, which is just as well, because he's a bit lost in thought, picking over Sara's words from last night, examining all the steps and missteps he's made along the way. Will she feel differently in the morning, a little less tired, a bit more logical? Has he made enough amends for his stupid-ass decision at the Vanishing Point? Will...
He walks into the galley...and stops in his tracks.
Or will she already be awake and out of her room, standing in the galley and watching him, a knife in her hand?
Apparently.
Expect the plan to go off the rails.
Later, he'll wonder why he didn't just ask Gideon if she was awake yet. The only answer he can come up with is that he'd been distracted, and it hadn't occurred to him that, as tired as she'd been, Sara would feel quite this revitalized on a mere six hours of sleep.
Sloppy, Snart.
He has the feeling that Sara's reading the thoughts that are, for once, probably quite clear on his face. After a moment, she shakes her head and smiles at him, returning her attention to the bananas in front of her on the cutting block.
"Breakfast?" she asks him. "I think the others have already come and gone, but I wanted something, and there's a bunch of fresh fruit right out of hydroponics. Thought I'd make waffles."
Slowly, Leonard moves into the kitchen, trying to rework his plans as he does.
"I thought," he drawls, leaning against the island in the middle of the space, "you'd still be sleeping, tired as you were last night."
Sara darts him a bright glance, sliding banana slices into a bowl and covering it with a bit of plastic wrap.
"I got a solid six hours," she informs him, turning to put her back against the counter, and stretching her arms over her head in a way that makes her tank top ride up, displays a strip of tanned skin and makes things move in a very distracting fashion. "That's pretty much unheard of in the League. I'm fine."
If he were a little smoother, Leonard decides, he might make some sort of smartass comment about just how fine she is. But he's feeling a bit speechless right now, frankly, and so he only manages to blink at her, folding his arms and trying to look as if he's in control of the situation.
Something in the slow smile Sara gives him suggests she is, again, reading his mind. She laces her fingers together behind her head, watching him closely and speculatively.
"Thank you for being the voice of reason last night," she adds. "You were right, I wasn't at my best, I wasn't making any sense. Pushed it too long."
Is she saying that she didn't mean what she'd said last night? He frowns, quickly conceals it, reaching for his habitual smirk.
"Glad to be of service," he drawls. "Though I seem to remember you accusing me of chivalry. I'm not sure that's something I want to be associated with."
Sara snorts. "Tough," she informs him, stretching forth a foot to poke him in the leg. "It's too late. You can't back out now."
The problem is, he's not precisely sure what they're talking about here. Is it just banter, or... "Who said I wanted to back out?" he shoots back. "I haven't precisely had time to pull out of anything."
OK, that didn't come out precisely the way he'd meant it...
Sara laughs anyway, moving her hands from behind her head and putting them on the counter on either side of her, learning back a little and smirking at him.
"Leonard," she tells him, eyes shining, "you're overthinking things."
Throw away the plan.
OK, then.
Meeting her eyes—one tries to avoid startling the assassin with a fondness for sharp objects-Leonard takes one step, then another, reaching out to tentatively rest a hand at her hip and study her expression.
What he sees…
…hell of a thief…
And then Sara's in his arms, and he's kissing her, one hand cradling her jaw, the other curved at her hip, pulling her closer, and she's kissing him back, arms rising to rest at his shoulders, nails digging through the fabric of his shirt, meeting his passion with her own.
He's not one to do things like this in public. This hadn't been a part of his plan. But really, none of this had, none of this at all, and for better or for worse, he's a time traveler, he's a hero…
And he's in love with Sara Lance.
Not that he's ready to tell her that. Not quite yet.
He tries to pull away, just a hair, to say something, at least, but Sara wraps her hands around the back of his head as he tries to move, growling and nipping at his bottom lip, and he gives the impulse up as a bad, or at least momentarily misplaced, one, returning his focus to the kiss and the low hum of pleasure Sara's making as she leans into him.
After a moment's consideration, he moves both hands to her waist, boosting her up on the counter, neither of them breaking the kiss. Her legs lock around his waist, and Sara laughs a little, breathlessly, before their lips meet again.
"Hey! We have to eat in there, you know! Get a room!"
A chorus of mixed laughter rises at Mick's words, but while Leonard ignores them all, Sara reaches down without pausing a second, palming the knife with which she'd been chopping fruit, and hurls it at the doorway from which the peanut gallery is watching.
There's a clatter as it ricochets off something, and at least one startled yelp…Raymond, he thinks…follows. And then, a ripple of laughter (Amaya), a flurry of footsteps, and…
They'll certainly pay for it later, but for now, they're alone again.
After a few more heated minutes, Leonard finally breaks the kiss, staring down at Sara's flushed and grinning face with something like startled awe, which he quickly tries to cloak behind a smirk.
He's pretty sure he doesn't entirely succeed.
"About time," Sara tells him in a voice that's somewhat, satisfyingly, rough, moving her hands to smooth across his shoulders.
"Worth the wait, I hope." Damn. His voice is rough too.
"Oh, I don't know." Sara gives him a look from below lowered lashes. "I think I need another example. For comparison purposes."
She's going to be the death of him. And he doesn't mind at all. "Might be able to manage that."
"Oh, you'd better, crook. After all, you still have some time to make up for."