Author's Note: For the FiccingCaptainCanary prompt, "Oh crap, I'm wet and freezing and you're the only one who can warm me up." I love this trope SO much. I was very disappointed by how it was executed with Nate and Amaya on the show, so I'm really glad for the chance to re-imagine it, CaptainCanary style. Thank you to ClaudiaRain and Crazygirlne for reading this over and also for listening to me talk about it non-stop for days ;) Hope you enjoy it!

Leonard had never felt panic like he did the moment Sara fell off that cliff.

It was absolutely no consolation that she'd taken that bastard time pirate down with her. Her life was too good for that scum. He ran for the edge, too late, far, far too late to do anything but watch helplessly as she careened into the icy river below.

He wasn't even sure what time period they were in, let alone where. Somewhere in America, he thought, nineteen-something, he hoped, or maybe eighteen. Seventeen? As for the month, he felt pretty confident about December, given the thick layers of freshly fallen snow. But who the hell really knew?

He'd been too busy noticing the way Sara's eyes kept darting to his while she gave instructions, how her mouth curved up every time she looked at him while handing out roles for the team's mission.

"You're with me, crook," she'd said, giving him a little wink. He was supposed to have her back. He was supposed to keep her safe.

He'd failed.

And what had distracted him so? Watching her move through the forest like a sliver of moonlight in the darkness, entrancing him like she always did. Maybe if he could've taken his eyes off her for just one second to do his goddamned job, he would've realized something was off.

But she'd been glancing over her shoulder at him as they'd walked, giving him that casually sultry smile of hers that heated him up from the cold. That look had always been his undoing.

"So, are you trying to encourage shipboard romances?" he'd asked, reaching for sarcasm to shake himself out of it. "I don't think anyone's missed how you keep assigning Nate and Amaya to team up."

She'd shrugged, but by the expression on her face he could tell she was pleased with herself. "I'm not opposed to them," she'd said. "If you ask me, Nate and Amaya just need to sleep together and get it out of their systems. In the meantime, they work well together."

"Interesting opinion." He wondered what others she had. "You know, Mick and Amaya also work very well together."

He hadn't missed the changes in his old partner, particularly surrounding the young woman. Just one of the many things that had changed since his "resurrection," as it were. He'd returned to the Waverider to find everything so different. A different mission. A different team.

A different Sara.

She'd changed, and he'd been so off-balance around her, so unsure of where they stood, after…everything. She'd moved on in his absence, he knew, but. But.

He hadn't.

"Maybe Mick and Amaya can work together after Nate and Amaya are finished," she'd suggested, and he suspected she'd said it just to get under his skin.

"Nate and Ray work well together, too," he'd replied, scowling. "You should send them out together more."

She'd snorted at that. "You know who else works well together?" she'd asked, lightly.

"Ray and Mick?"

She'd stopped then, turning to face him, and he'd nearly run into her, catching himself with just inches between them. It'd taken his breath away, really, because he couldn't remember the last time they'd been this close. And then suddenly he could, with far too much clarity.

"You and I," she'd said.

His smirk had been automatic, covering up how carefully he was considering how to continue that line of conversation.

And then the first shots fired.

Now, he was staring at the ripples in the water below, grim reflections of the woman who'd made them.

"Sara fell in the river," he said, stunned, hoping his teammates were listening. "We need help!" His cry fell uselessly into the night air.

"Uh, we're a little tied up," Ray replied. The sounds of gunshots punctuated his statement. "Can you get her out?"

They'd just been doing reconnaissance, trying to figure out the point of origin for whatever time anomaly they were chasing this week. No one else was supposed to be here – it was supposed to be simple, out and back and nothing more. But then those idiot time pirates had shown up, attacking him and Sara and the ship, too, apparently. Shit.

And it was all his fault.

He raced down the hill, willing his legs to move faster, wishing – not for the first time, lately – that he was a younger man. If he'd been a little bit quicker, maybe the goon's friend wouldn't have tripped him up. Maybe he could've knocked out those guys and kept up with Sara's fight, been there when she needed him.

Would he make it now?

It may have only been seconds, but it felt like far too much time had passed when he reached the river, eyes scanning the rushing water for any sign of Sara. How far would the water have taken her by now? He turned to look downstream and – there. She was already climbing out, arms wrapped around a boulder at the river bank.

She was so much stronger than he gave her credit for. He couldn't believe he kept forgetting.

In a moment, he was there by her side, lifting her out and helping her to shore. She coughed, spitting up water, one hand wrapped around her middle and the other clinging to his arm. But she was okay – a miracle, that, but what else could he expect from her? And he was so relieved she was alive, he barely noticed that his feet were soaking almost up to his knees. It didn't matter. All that mattered was that a little river was no match for Sara Lance.

She glanced up at him then, her eyes distant and glassy, her breath fanning out around her in a cloud.

And then she collapsed.

His heart stopped. He crouched down beside her, bracing her as her body shook against another fit of coughs. But when the coughing stopped the shivering started, and Leonard didn't need to be as smart as he was to know that this was bad.

"Yes, she's out," he said into his comm, giving Ray a belated answer. "But we're miles from the ship and she can't walk." He paused, watching her shuddering form, feeling more urgent with every passing second. "She's freezing!"

"I'll bet," Jax quipped, "it's like twenty-five degrees out!"

"Twenty-two degrees Fahrenheit, actually," Gideon corrected.

"She must have hypothermia," Stein said. "In these temperatures, she may only have about 15 minutes. Gideon?"

"That is correct, professor."

"This is starting to feel like your thing," Ray noted, lightly. "How does this always happen to you guys?"

"Palmer," Leonard growled. His mind was racing. Fifteen minutes until… He couldn't finish the thought.

"Sorry, not the time," Ray admitted, then he cursed in time with the sound of a bullet.

"Mr. Snart," Stein cut in. "This may sound...uncomfortable, but the best way to help Captain Lance for the interim would be to use your...well, your own body heat to raise her temperature."

For a moment, his words didn't even register. Leonard was too distracted by how blue Sara's lips were, by how cold her hands were in his. And then he realized what Stein meant.

"You're telling me that the best thing to do to warm up..." he started, sighing through his nose in disbelief,"is to get naked?"

"I'm telling you she's running out of time and you don't have another option," Stein said, over the sounds of yelling and weapons firing behind him. "Unless there's some sort of shelter nearby? A cabin, perhaps a tent?"

Leonard rolled his eyes. "That's a negative."

"If you can at least get her torso warmer," Stein continued, "the core of her body, it could be enough until we can get there. We're fighting our way out, tell her to hold on."

Leonard looked back down at Sara, his heart racing for a whole new reason. "Did you hear that?"

He thought she nodded, though it could've just been the force of the shivering.

Fuck it. He wasn't going to let her die for the sake of modesty.

"Hang on," he muttered, ripping his coat off but keeping it close – he was pretty sure it'd fit both of them, and they were going to want it. His shirt he flung away, letting the shock of the cold air help him to not think about how few people had ever seen his bare skin, and refusing to meet her eyes. He had her jacket off before his shirt even hit the ground, exposing her bare arms and shoulders. They were damp, and covered in goosebumps. Bad.

"How do you get this damn thing off?" he asked, fumbling at her Canary suit for a zipper.

Weakly, she motioned one shaking hand to her back, her face distorting in pain at the small movement. She was shivering even harder now, and he was already losing feeling in his fingertips when he finally figured out how to loosen the ridiculous corset.

He spared one angry thought for Ramon's impractical design before he snapped the neck piece away. The leather top fell forward, and as urgent as it was, he couldn't help the tug in his gut at the brief sight of her before he was crushing her into his body and wrapping her arms around him.

"Shit, Lance," he cursed, grabbing for his coat and swinging it on. She felt like a brick of ice attached to his body, and he almost wept with relief when he managed to secure the zipper around them both.

"This really is kind of our thing," he joked, or tried to – she was still so hopelessly cold and shaking, her arms a vice grip around his back.

"Say something to me, Lance," he insisted, sitting himself on the hard ground and pulling her into his lap. He didn't care that she was wet, that she was getting him wet – it didn't matter.

I can't lose you.

"S-s-still a j-j-jerk," she managed, coughing out the last syllable.

"I know," he murmured. "But I'm all you've got. Come on, stay with me."

He held her tight against him with one arm, using his free hand to cradle the back of her head, pressing her cheek to his.

"Come on, Lance," he said, rocking them, rubbing at her back, desperate to create more warmth. "Sara."

She buried her face in his neck, and he felt a whole different kind of cold at the small noises of pain she was making. He rocked harder, trying to push down the dark what-ifs racing through his brain, the panic that was building in his chest.

"She's still shaking," he said into his comm, "where are you idiots?"

"That's actually a good sign, Mr. Snart," Stein said. "It means her heat regulation systems are still active. Hold on, Jefferson and I fighting to make our way to the jump ship."

Leonard growled, focusing on all the many slow and painful ways he would kill these time pirates if Sara didn't... He wouldn't finish the thought. And he did not pray. Prayers were silly superstitions and plain bad luck, as far as he was concerned. But he found himself making all sorts of bargains with whatever higher power might exist for Sara's life. If she makes it, I'll quit keeping her at arm's length, he promised. I'll say all the things I should've already said. I'll make sure she knows. My…feelings.

These were the deals he cut with himself, and he could only hope he'd be able to keep them.

Slowly, he noticed the shaking begin to subside, just a little. Her teeth continued to chatter, but not as hard, and a painful kind of feeling returned to his middle as the numbness thawed away. It was nothing compared to the relief that flooded through him at the thought that she might be alright, drawing new heat for him to pull from.

But the warmer Sara got, the more he became aware of her skin on his, and the way she fit against him, more perfectly than he ever could have dreamed. And he had dreamed about it, once or twice or more than he cared to admit. He soothed himself by the rise and fall of her chest, every breath she inhaled lifting her off him before she pressed even closer.

His rocking slowed, and her heart calmed. Eventually, she pulled back from his grasp, just enough to look into his eyes.

Hers were like starlight.

"You okay?" he asked. It was all he could manage.

She nodded, and in that moment, the world shrank. There was nothing beyond the circle of his arms and the woman within them – nothing but her eyes, and the moonlight radiating off her skin, and her heart against his, beating into him like a drum.

Don't overthink it, he told himself. Don't ask why.

And so, he did something tremendously stupid, something entirely unavoidable.

He kissed her.

He kissed her, and honestly, at first, he couldn't feel anything at all. And then her mouth melted against his, and it burned, and burned, but he needed it. Oh, he needed it. He pulled her even closer to him – a feat that, a second ago, would've seemed impossible – and then closer still. He brought his hands up into her hair, wet and frozen as it was, tugging his fingers through it and drawing them down to cup her face.

She shivered, and maybe it was the cold, but maybe it was the kiss, because she trailed her hands along his back, bringing them around and running them up his chest. And then he shivered, and it was definitely the kiss, because that was about the moment her lips parted against his, and he was done with, ending, over – and somehow, just beginning again. Her fingers curled up his neck, tips grazing his jaw, and she tilted his face down just so.

Just so.

His mind was moving slowly now, slowly as her lips tugging on his, slowly as her heart beating against his chest. But slowly, he moved his hands to grasp hers, and realized he could barely wrap his fingers around them. Reluctantly, he drew his face away from hers, blowing on their hands instead and rubbing them together. The warmth was painful. She sighed, drawing his eyes back to hers.

Starlight.

"Sara," he murmured, as her eyelids fell, and she dug herself back into his chest. He finally remembered his hood, cursing himself a fool for not using it sooner and throwing it over them. Their breaths mixed, thawing his cheeks and the tip of his nose. Idly, he wondered what it would be like to do this under different circumstances. Because all he wanted was to kiss her again, and again, and again. The wanting of it snuck under his skin and settled there, and he clung to it as tightly as he clung to her, trying to remember to stay moving, to stay awake, to stay with her.

He didn't notice that his eyes had closed, or that his face had fallen on top of her head, until he heard the distant whirring of the jump ship. He started, eyes half-opening to the blurry sight of figures racing toward him.

"What took ya so long?" he slurred. Dimly, he was aware of being helped to his feet, Sara somehow scooped up in his arms and rising with him. That was about the moment he realized he couldn't feel his hands at all anymore.

"Mr. Snart, you appear to be suffering from hypothermia as well," Stein said, his voice not much more than a vague ringing in Leonard's ear. "Please save your strength."

His legs were like lead as he stomped to the jump ship, Sara hanging on him. It might've only been a few feet but it felt like miles, with no real awareness of any of his limbs to guide him.

The rest came in flashes. The herculean climb up into the jump ship. Being covered in blankets for the short trip back, Sara still wrapped around him and curled in his lap. Stay with me, he tried to say, but his lips, his tongue, may as well have not existed for all the use they were.

The next thing he really knew, they were entering the med bay, and there were voices asking to take Sara away from him.

He didn't want to let her go. She didn't want to be let go, either, he could tell. Amaya had to pry her away, gently, wrapping her up in a heavy blanket to cover her and keep her warm.

Someone else guided him to an exam chair. Mick, maybe? He couldn't say. He kept his eyes trained on Sara, watching as she was lowered into her own chair, an IV bracelet attached to her wrist. Her eyes fluttered open then, immediately finding his. She gave him a faint smile. He tried to return it, but she'd already closed her eyes again, and he was losing consciousness, too.

When the world went dark, she was the last thing on his mind.

Stay with me.

XXXXXXX

When he woke, he was alone, the chair Sara had occupied empty and their teammates gone.

"Gideon, where is Sara?" he asked, trying not to notice how anxious the question made him. But the seconds between the asking of it and the answering were far too long.

"Captain Lance is in your room," the AI replied, helpfully. "She is currently curled up under the blankets I provided on your bed. Her temperature is no longer dangerously low," she continued, and Leonard let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. "But it still needs to stabilize."

"Wait," he said, rewinding Gideon's words. "Why is she in my room?"

"She said she wanted to be somewhere more comfortable, and refused my recommendation to stay here in the med bay," Gideon answered, making him wonder for the umpteenth time how a robot could sound so uppity and put upon.

"But why my – oh, never mind," he gave up, deciding he didn't want the AI's opinion on the matter. "Is she alright?" he asked instead.

"Yes, I believe so," Gideon admitted. "Perhaps you could check on her, as I'm not able to get a close reading on her vital signs. Tell her to return to the med bay if feeling hasn't returned to her extremities. I believe she would be more apt to listen to you than to me on the matter."

Leonard wasn't sure that Sara was particularly apt to listen to anyone, but he supposed the robot had a point. "Aye, aye, Gideon."

The walk to his room left Leonard with a little too much time to think about why Sara had chosen his bed instead of hers. When he realized that he was shivering, he clung to the distraction.

"Gideon," he said, "why am I still cold?"

"Well, Mr. Snart, it would seem that your pants are still wet," she replied. Cheeky. "Also, your body temperature is still below normal."

"Couldn't you have returned it to normal while I was asleep?" he grumbled. "You can replace limbs, but you're telling me you couldn't zap the heat back into my body?"

"I could have," she agreed. "But the shock to your system would have killed you." Leonard wondered for a moment about the person who programmed Gideon to sound so cheerful when she used the word killed.

"So, what's the treatment then?" he asked.

"I'd recommend you join Captain Lance under the blankets I've provided in your room."

The comment made him stop in his tracks. "Gideon, are you trying to play matchmaker?"

"Yes, I can fabricate matches," she responded. "May I request that you keep them away from Mr. Rory, however?"

Leonard resumed his walk, sighing at the AI. "You know, I think you're being purposely obtuse, Gideon."

"An artificial intelligence such as myself cannot be obtuse," she argued.

"Of course, you wouldn't say so if you were."

"Perhaps not," she allowed.

His exasperation was cut short when he reached his room, door opening automatically before him, and was welcomed by the sight of Sara Lance in his bed.

She was hidden under a heap of blankets when he entered. As quiet as he was, she stirred immediately, eyes sleepy and hair mussed as she surfaced, her bare shoulders peeking out from under the covers.

He struggled to clear his throat, let alone breathe. By the time he realized he was staring, she was smiling.

"Might wanna get out of those wet clothes," she suggested, her voice soft. He looked down at himself, realizing he was still in his unzipped coat, nothing but his uncovered chest beneath it. His jeans were cold and uncomfortable, even more so under the attention of her eyes.

He thought about changing, putting something dry on. But then she sat up further, until he could see her collarbone, and the dip in her chest that revealed the beginning of curves beneath.

And he didn't have the willpower to pass this up, or any walls left that would force him to.

He let his coat fall to the ground, his skin prickling in goosebumps as he did. She didn't take her eyes off him as he kicked off his jeans, bringing him down to boxers and nothing else by the time he crawled under the blankets with her.

She moved back, giving him a little room. The few inches between them were a blessing and a curse, with the way she was looking at him, like she'd never seen him before – like she thought she'd never see him again.

"So, how come you're in my room?" he drawled, breaking the charged silence. "Aren't the captain's quarters more comfortable?"

"The captain's quarters don't have you," she said, seriously. "Besides, I never moved into them."

The way she was biting her lip left him completely incapable of coherent speech. All he could do was cough, clearing his throat enough to manage, "Ah."

They were quiet for a few heavy moments. At first, he looked everywhere but at her. But there was only so much interest to be found in his plain sheets, and sooner than he meant, he was staring into her eyes again.

"You almost died for me tonight," she said, eventually.

"Is that so?" He tried to keep his tone light, but the words sparked the memory of her shivering form against his, and he reached for her involuntarily. His hand found her hip, resting there securely as he reminded himself that she was okay. He realized, belatedly, that she was wearing even less than he was.

She nodded, shifting closer to him, and he held his breath at the added heat she brought near to his body. "A few more minutes out there, and…" she trailed off. He knew what she meant.

She reached out a careful hand of her own, placing it lightly on his waist. When he didn't flinch, she gently traced the skin there, trailing her hand up and down. It was very soothing, until her fingers brushed the top of his boxers.

She wrinkled her nose. "These are still wet," she complained. Then she felt the sheet beside him. "You're getting the bed wet," she added, like the sheets had personally offended her. "And cold. Take them off."

He paused, the order filling him with as much want as it did fear.

"Wouldn't want to tempt you," he joked, trying to deflect the situation.

"Fine," she huffed, rolling her eyes. "Change into clean ones if you want to be a prude about it. I'm not here to take advantage of you. Unless you want me to."

He huffed back in response. He didn't want to be a prude about it. And he wasn't fooling anyone – of course he wanted her to take advantage of him. So, he slipped them off, breathing out a sigh as they hit the floor.

It was all the permission she needed. She curled up into him immediately, molding against practically every inch of skin, fitting herself perfectly in his arms.

"You're going to kill me," he remarked, mildly as he could.

"Worse ways to die, aren't there?" Even with her head tucked under his chin, he could perfectly imagine her teasing smile.

He placed a careful hand between her shoulder blades, then rested the other at the small of her back.

"This is not how I imagined this happening," he admitted.

She pulled back to look at him, her eyes sparkling. "Oh?" she hummed. "How did you imagine it?"

"Hotter," he said, and she laughed. Although at this point, he was pretty sure she was the one making him shiver.

"Next time," she said, her fingers rubbing circles on his chest, "I'll let you watch me undress. Shame that you missed that part, sort of."

He groaned. "We shouldn't..." he started, before he could stop himself. Despite all the promises he'd made to stop keeping her at arms' length, here he was, doing it again.

"Shouldn't?" she recoiled, shifting out of his arms to look at him. "You're the one who kissed me." She made it sound like an accusation.

"I thought you were dying," he countered, regretting the words before they even left his mouth.

"Are those the only kind of kisses I get?" she asked, coolly. "Goodbyes?"

He had no defense, no real reason he kept holding himself back. Especially not when there was so little left between them. It was just his own stupid fears and insecurities, the same old armor he'd worn his whole life, refusing to come off.

When he didn't speak, she continued. "Tonight reminded me how short our lives are," she said. "Either one of us could die, anytime, Len."

He finally met her eyes, only to find them too earnest, too yearning. But he couldn't look away. "I don't want to regret..." She faltered. "I don't want to miss..." She licked her lips, placing one hand against his chest. "Do you have any idea what it was like for me to lose you?" she asked, her voice a whisper. "To think I'd never be able to do this?"

After tonight, he could certainly imagine.

"Now, I understand what it's like to come back from the dead," she added. "I get what you've been through. Trust me, I do. And I have given you plenty of space, plenty of time, and I'm fine waiting, Leonard, I am, I'll keep waiting for you. But do you even want this?"

Leonard stilled, her words hitting him like a sheet of ice. Was that what she thought? That he didn't? It was so unacceptably untrue, he couldn't help the flare of anger he felt in response.

And before he could stop himself, he was rolling over, pinning her beneath him, desperate to show her what he'd held back all this time.

"I've never wanted anything more," he said. Although, the words may have come out as more of a growl.

"Oh," she started, eyes round. "Well." She softened, smiling up at him and wrapping her arms around his back. "Good."

He smirked, because good did not come even close to describing how she felt beneath him. He leaned over her, his arms propped on either side of her head as his face drifted closer to hers.

"So, no more goodbye kisses," he mused. "What kind would you like?"

Her eyes darkened, dropping to his lips. "The kind that make me feel alive."

"Do I?" he asked, dipping his head down toward her, just a hair's breadth away. "Make you feel alive?"

She sighed, her eyes falling shut. "Always."

He leaned on one side, trailing his free hand down her arm, caressing the sensitive skin at her wrist and brushing his palm against hers before running his fingers all the way back up, tangling them in her hair. She shivered, her lips parting, waiting.

He rested his nose against hers, hovering his mouth just above her for several more heart beats, until she muttered, "Tease," her eyes still closed.

He chuckled, nudging her nose to the other side, getting the angle just so before finally capturing her lips with his. She hummed in appreciation, and he sank deeper into it, giving into the ache inside him, the want, the need.

And the way they were laying, touching everywhere – feet and thighs, hips, chests – hands exploring most everywhere else…they were much too close, and yet not nearly close enough at all. He shifted his weight, and she gasped into his mouth at the movement, his body between her legs, and he hadn't meant to do that, not yet, anyway – but he wasn't sorry.

In that warm cocoon, it was just them, and the blankets, and beautiful warmth, and he'd never been so grateful for anything in his life.

"Gideon asked me to check and make sure you haven't lost feeling in your extremities," he murmured, when he finally had to come up for air.

"Don't think so," she replied, nipping distractingly at his ear.

"Maybe you wouldn't have noticed," he suggested, taking her hand is his, kissing each fingertip in turn. "Feel that?" he asked, turning her hand over and kissing her palm.

"Yes," she purred.

He turned his attention to her other hand.

"And now?"

"Yes..."

He kissed the inside of her wrist, and she cupped his cheek in her hand. He leaned into it for a moment, meeting her eyes. They were dark, and somehow, sparkling, a promising smile on her lips.

So of course, he had to kiss her again. He lost himself for a minute, before moving to kiss her jaw, behind her ear, and down, letting his mouth trail along her neck, down to her collarbone, and lower still.

"Len," she breathed, and the way she said his name, like a warning, or maybe a plea, only encouraged him. She swallowed. "I don't think this is how Gideon meant you to check my 'extremities'." He glanced up, and her smile was possibly the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Agree to disagree," he said, feeling his own mouth curve up as well.

Because how many times had he longed to touch her like this? And now here they were, her skin, the heavens, her eyes, starlight, and she was the sun to his moon.

And her fingertips trailed along his body, lighting him on fire.