OK, am I forgiven for the last one?
"Now, be sure to return all the nineteenth century weapons to storage," Rip instructed. "And I sincerely hope that none of you brought back any souvenirs."
"Does dirt count?" Kendra asked, beating at her coat.
"I wanna bath," Mick announced.
The other stopped in their tracks, staring.
"What? I don't like smelling like a horse." He pushed past them, heading for his quarters.
"I feel like someone should record this moment for posterity," Martin remarked.
Sara wasn't entirely surprised when Snart sidled into her room with her. He fished a pack of cards out of his coat pocket and held it up invitingly.
"Raincheck? Mick's not the only one who could use a bath. And no - that is not an invitation. Also, I really like how you listen to Rip's instructions about souvenirs. Those look suspiciously like the cards from the saloon."
He shrugged. "I like to keep in practice." He rested a hip on her desk and crossed his arms. "Are you telling me there was nothing in the old west to tempt you?"
Sara grinned at him as she started to remove the layers of her wild west outfit. "I dunno…it's not really an era for edged weapons. I'm not much of a gun girl, but a Lady Derringer, maybe?"
"Ah. Didn't see any of those, I'm afraid. My place in an hour?"
"Sure."
When Sara looked up from wrestling with her boots, Snart was gone, but there was something on her desk that hadn't been there before. She smiled delightedly at the beautiful, ivory-backed hairbrush. It was delicately carved with the image of a songbird surrounded by leaves. It was lovely, and foolish, and impractical…and he'd stolen it for her.