Author's Note: Thanks so much for all the kind feedback and support so far! I really appreciate it, and hope you all enjoy this trip to the nineties. Special thanks to ClaudiaRain for reading through this and offering so many great suggestions! Disclaimer: I don't own LoT or any associated characters.


Central City – April 24, 1996

As it turned out, their "getaway car" was a red Honda Civic.

"Reliable," was how Ray put it – always looking at the bright side. Jax was staring at it with open disgust, but in Sara's opinion it wasn't even close to as offensive as what he was wearing: an over-sized, bright yellow cap (brim flipped up) and a puffy windbreaker covered in all shades of neon colors and tribal patterns.

"Jax, the Fresh Prince called. He wants his outfit back."

The kid grinned, holding his arms out to show off the look and seeming damn pleased with himself.

"But I pull it off though, right? And I'm better lookin' than Will Smith."

She smirked, shaking her head. "Debatable. But let's just get this show on the road," she suggested, folding herself into the back seat.

"Ah, Ms. Lance," Rip caught her door as she reached for the handle. She thought about pulling it shut anyway as he leaned in.

"Remember," he said, "it's imperative that you take out all five robbers before they have a chance to make it to the vaults. It's a maze down there, so you likely won't be able to find them if they get that far."

"Well, I was planning to take my time and play with them before taking them out, but I guess I can be more efficient," she deadpanned. Rip let go of the door just in time to save his fingers as she shut it in his face.

The ride to Central City National Bank seemed to take an eternity with Ray in the driver's seat. Sara pressed her forehead against the window and groaned as he came to yet another full and complete stop at a stop sign. Fifteen minutes, and they had yet to reach the city proper. She barely resisted pounding her head against the glass.

Jax seemed to be feeling the same way. From the front passenger seat, he reached for the radio dial and turned it on, searching restlessly through the stations.

"Oh, I love this song!" Ray threw out a hand to stop Jax changing the station. The nostalgic croon of harmonica and upbeat jingle of tambourine filled the car. And then, to her horror, Ray started singing. "Anywhere you go, I'll follow you down…I'll follow you down, but not that far –"

"Nope," Jax jammed the seek button, cutting Ray off. Sara shuddered – Ray's singing voice was League of Assassins-level torture-worthy.

Unfortunately, Ray knew the next song, too. "Hootie and the Blowfish!" He turned up the volume dial until the incomprehensible warble of the singer's voice – even worse combined with Ray's – blasted her ears. Ugh. To her relief, Jax switched the station before Ray could get started again. His face fell for a second, until he realized he knew the next song, too.

"Because maaaaybe, you're gonna be the one that saves me!" Sara groaned at the whine of Ray's off-pitch voice backed by acoustic guitar and more tambourine.

She threw her hands over her ears. "It's going to be stuck in my head for days!" she cried.

Bzzzt. Jax jabbed the station seek button yet again.

Not to be deterred, Ray immediately took up the chorus of Gangsta's Paradise – head bopping in time with the ooohs and ahhhs of the heavy beat. Well, at least it didn't have harmonica.

"Wow," Jax cringed and closed his eyes against Ray's rapping. "Just, no."

She couldn't have agreed more, although she did have to give Ray credit for knowing all the words. Jax changed stations again, but Sara couldn't take any more. She leaned over them both, shutting the radio off with a glare.

"But, Breakfast at Tiffany's…"

"Stop pouting and just drive, Ray." Sara flopped back against the seat. She folded her arms across her chest and rolled her eyes to the ceiling. Could this day get any worse?

The rest of the ride passed without incident, and Sara realized she'd been dozing when Ray finally pulled to a stop.

"You know, 10:20 a.m. seems like a pretty weird time to rob a bank," Jax was saying.

"Mick said it's the slowest time of day for banks," Ray explained. "Something about, 'fewer customers, fewer tellers, fewer variables and fewer witnesses.'"

Sara snorted at that. Maybe it was just her, but Ray was starting to sound like Mick's criminal protégée.

"What's my cover again?" she asked, lazily leaning her cheek against the driver's seat and yawning. "If I can't get out of there before the cops show up?"

"Don't let that happen!" Rip's voice cut in over her earpiece. "But…if, in the very unfortunate event that it does, you're an innocent bystander. You're just in the wrong place at the wrong time. When you saw the robbery, you decided to intervene, that's all."

"And how will I explain being able to take out five guys on my own?" It'd be nice if Rip could think things through, for once.

"Does it matter?" Rip scoffed. "You can tell them you compete in an underground, all-female mixed martial arts ring for all I care. Extracting you will be a challenge regardless, if you have to answer any questions."

Well, she liked the sound of that much more than Rip's tone. "Is it too late to quit the team and start my own all-female MMA ring?"

"Har, har, Ms. Lance. Get going, it's almost time."

Sara sighed, slapping her hands on her knees. "Alright boys, mama's got to get to work."

Ray twisted around in his seat to face her. "This is our rendezvous point," he reminded her. "The bank is less than half a block north. If all goes to plan, we should see you back here in about…" he glanced at his watch, "…thirty minutes." Right. Sara let herself out of the car with a little stretch.

She was halfway across the street when she heard quiet voices in her ear.

"Think she's okay to handle this?" Jax was asking.

"I think…that she can hear you over the comm," Ray answered.

Sara half-turned to see Jax leaning out of the passenger window, waving sheepishly.

"Good luck!" he wished her, falsely bright. Uh-huh. She decided to let it slide – this time. She'd have the last word when she proved them all wrong.

"Won't need it," she called back over her shoulder. Luck was never on their side, anyway.

The bank was even larger and more imposing than it had appeared in the newspaper photo. All white and done in Greco-Roman style, it was one of the city's oldest buildings, standing in stark contrast to the dark steel of newer developments around it. Sara took the marble steps slowly, feeling dwarfed by the two-story columns flanking the bank's revolving door.

Inside, the architecture was somehow even more impressive. The domed ceiling and story-high windows stretched up above her, and she had to tilt her head back to admire the ornate moldings and frosted, orbed lamps that lined the walls. It was a large, cavernous space, with tellers' booths against the back wall and small, semi-open offices to her right and left. She counted a dozen on either side, separated by dark wood and smoky glass. They were all empty – must be left over from a time gone by.

It was all very grand, and she could see why her crook had been tempted to rob the place. Then she frowned. Not mine.

In the middle of the room were tables for filling out deposit and withdrawal slips, and a handful of customers lingered around them. It really was a ghost town though, so eerily quiet that even the smallest sounds of pens scratching against paper echoed unnaturally.

"You're actually a bit early, Ms. Lance," Rip's voice interrupted her assessment. "There's a corridor to the right of the tellers with a drinking fountain – go take a drink and try not to look too suspicious."

You're lucky I can't talk back, Hunter.

She walked casually across the room, using the opportunity to take a closer look at the bystanders who were about to get caught up in this messy heist. There were only two tellers on duty, one attending a harried-looking mother, who was swatting away her whining, pig-tailed daughter with one hand while filling out paperwork with the other. A middle-aged businessman was standing at the table closest to her, staring grimly at a withdrawal slip. She noticed his rumpled collar and frown – down on his luck, perhaps. A pretty, dark-skinned young woman was at another table, shadowed by a bored-looking young man. Boyfriend, Sara guessed, by the way his hand hovered at her waist.

At the far table were two men in black leather jackets, backs turned to her. She supposed they could be Rory and Snart – but the bigger one had far too much hair, and besides, she'd convinced herself on the walk over that they'd be gone by now. She'd had to tell herself that, to force her feet through the door in the first place.

No one even looked her way as she passed.

She entered the hallway, leaving the main room behind her. It stretched to the back of the building, farther than she'd thought, a glowing EXIT sign tiny above a double set of doors. The wall to her right was lined with second-story windows, filling the area with bright, natural light and shining on the brushed metal doors of an elevator to her left. She strolled down the white tile, conscious of the ring of her footsteps. Even the small sounds of scratching pens were distant here, and the heavy quiet pressed down on her when she finally came to a stop.

She leaned down to the solitary, old-fashioned drinking fountain, pulling her hair back with a hand and taking a drink. The water was cold and coppery against her tongue, distracting her for a moment from the fight she was all too ready to start.

That's when she heard it – echoing footsteps approaching from around the corner. She lifted her head slightly, startled, turning just in time to see a large and imposing young man enter the hallway.

For a second, she thought nothing of it, merely noting his black leather jacket and confident stride. And then she sputtered, eyes widening and nearly choking as she realized it was the one-and-only Mick Rory.

But it couldn't be, could it? With that thick and wavy dark brown hair? Oh, she was going to give him so much crap about that hair. Save for a scowl, the skin on his face was entirely smooth, and it was disconcerting to see him without the scars and lines she was so used to, and had grown so fond of.

He barely spared her a glance as he approached, eyes moving smoothly from her to the back doors and sticking there. Her mouth quirked at the expression on his face – part boredom, part totally pissed off, all Mick. It was endearing to see it on such a young (and alright, handsome) version of him. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him clench and unclench his fists as he passed, and it was so amusing, she forgot, forgot what seeing him really meant.

She straightened at the sound of a second set of steps, turning unconsciously to face the hallway opening. Another figure rounded the corner, slowly, dreamlike –

It was him.

And it wasn't.

She lost all sense of gravity. And she was floating, no, falling, slipping away as his face came into view. Dizzy and breathless, all she could do was stare.

His hair was so dark. He was wearing it longer, if just a little – just enough that his widow's peak was almost unnoticeable. She'd never thought he'd looked old, but maybe that was because she'd never seen him so young. His face was fuller, and he was handsome in such a soft way it disquieted her.

Their eyes met.

The world unraveled.

And she was not stronger than this.

Look away, Lance, a small voice said. Look away now. But she couldn't, she couldn't, and somehow, he didn't either. No, those lightning blue eyes locked on her, unwavering as he came closer and closer.

He held her gaze so long she started to think it was a challenge, or a question, or a promise – she couldn't decide. As he closed the space between them, he suddenly changed course, swerving nearer to her as he passed. She turned, body following his movements involuntarily, leaning back on the fountain as he leaned toward her. For a moment there was nothing but inches between them, and then that moment was gone.

He'd passed her, but his head turned, and then his whole upper body twisted, and he even walked backwards for a step, holding her prisoner in his stare until the last possible second.

Then he was following Mick out into the bright gray light. The doors slammed behind them, echoing hollowly in the empty space they'd left behind.

She let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. "That was so weird," she muttered, forcing the tremor out of her voice.

"What happened?" Mick's voice, her Mick, came over the comm.

"I saw you guys," she admitted, pacing in front of the fountain and shaking the tremble out of her hands. "We are going to have a long talk about your hair when I get back." Her voice sounded falsely bright, even to her own ears.

Mick grunted. "Where are we now?"

"Gone," she sighed. "You left out the back door."

"Good." Mick's tone was short, but the hint of relief in it wasn't lost on her.

"Those doors are locked from the outside," Rip chimed in, "so that should be the last you see of them."

Sara nodded to herself, taking a deep breath. Her racing heart was uncomfortably tight in her chest.

"It's time to get in position," Rip added.

"Alright." She steadied herself, pushing the moment behind her, stuffing the memory back to a dark space where she could inspect it later. For now, she had a job to do. "I'm moving in."

By the time she returned to the main room, the scene had shifted a bit. Beauty and Boyfriend were still leaning over a slip she couldn't see, talking quietly to one another. Unlucky Business had moved to the teller's window, which meant he would be directly in the way of the would-be robbers. Not much she could do for him, but Pigtails and Mom were moving her way.

She sidled up to the nearest table, pulling a withdrawal slip in front of her and catching Mom's eye as she neared.

"Excuse me," Sara said sweetly, drawing the pair closer. "Do you know today's date?"

From the corner of her eye, she saw black figures rushing the revolving door. She used the moment's notice to grab the little girl's hand, pulling her off to the side.

For a beat, confusion flashed across Mom's face. Then the room erupted in chaos.

The robbers filed in one by one, breaking the line upon entry and swarming into the space. They were dressed head-to-toe in black, full face masks leaving only holes for their eyes and mouths. The leader stopped in the center of the tables, throwing his arm up and shooting a bullet at the ceiling.

"Hands up!" he ordered.

Another robber shot in the direction of the tellers' booths, shattering the glass. The tellers were cowering, crouched over and ducking behind the counter. Unlucky Business slid to the ground, holding his arms over his head. Now or never. Sara leapt onto the table, kicking it over as she propelled herself forward. Briefly, she hoped that Mom and Pigtails would use it as a shield.

"Get down," she hissed back at them. Then they were forgotten as she slipped into the razor-sharp focus of the fight.

She landed catlike between three of the robbers, and one was down before any of them knew what was happening. Her body moved without thought, spinning and twisting, adrenaline and muscle memory guiding every motion. Another robber fell with a snap of her staff. She kicked the third in the chest, knocking him backward. He teetered, unbalanced, and she smirked as his mouth formed a surprised "oh" shape in the face of his mask. It was a moment's work to flip him over, using his weight against him to finish him off.

When she glanced up, she saw the fourth robber holding Beauty and Boyfriend at gunpoint, ushering Unlucky Business to join them in the corner. And the last robber was pointing a gun straight at her head.

"That's enough, hero," he warned, voice low and threatening.

Cautiously, she set her staff down and raised her hands up. This could be worse, she told herself, trying to stay calm, but she wasn't really sure how. Standing in front of the tellers' counter, the robber was too far away to reach, and she'd never be able to rush him in this point-blank range. She considered him, wondering if he had the guts to pull the trigger before she could reach for her knives.

But he didn't give her the chance to decide.

She felt the impact before she heard the shot, a heavy weight knocking the wind out of her and pushing her to the ground as a loud crack reverberated in her ears.

The bank's tile was cool against her cheek as she hit it, hard. For a moment, she was too disoriented to move, muscles tight and anticipating the hot flash of pain.

But it never came. Slowly, she opened her eyes. And started at the sight of an all-too familiar face just an inch from hers, blue eyes wide and reflecting her own.

Leonard.

She inhaled sharply, mind reeling. She suddenly realized he was half on top of her, arm draped across her back and legs tangled with hers. How he got that way, she'd no idea. Unless…

It hit her harder than any bullet: This 20-something Leonard Snart had just pushed her out of the line of fire. He'd saved her wretched life, damn him.

"You shouldn't be here," she growled, shoving him away.

He scowled. "You're welcome."

The sarcastic tilt to his voice was disarmingly familiar, and she cringed at the memories it conjured.

Closing her eyes, she rolled away, swallowing hard and sucking in deep breaths to slow her pounding heart. This isn't happening, how is this happening, why did he come back, why is he even here

She shoved the questions away, grabbing her staff and leaping up, eyes sweeping over the room. Beauty and Boyfriend were holding each other in the corner, Unlucky Business silently weeping beside them. The bodies of three unconscious robbers littered the floor. The others were nowhere in sight.

Shit.

"If you're looking to take out a couple more armed robbers," Leonard was on his knees, glaring at her and pointing to the tellers' counter. "They went that way."

Shit. Shit. Shit. Rip had been pretty specific about stopping all of them before they could get to the vaults. And how many had gotten away? Two. The papers had said two robbers escaped the heist. Shit.

She huffed in frustration, racing to the counter and throwing herself over, sliding through the broken glass. The tellers were sprawled on the floor, and she took a moment to kneel down and check – alive, thankfully, but –

The moment cost her. Before she could even stand up, another body had thrown itself over the counter, and suddenly young Leonard was standing beside her, looking cool as all hell.

This isn't happening, this isn't happening, this isn't –

She pushed down the twisted relief she felt at the sight of him. "What are you doing?" she demanded.

"I'm going with you," he said, as if it were obvious. "Or do you know your way through the vaults?"

"Do you?"

He raised his eyebrows, gesturing to the open doorway beyond them. "Let's just say I'm a good guesser."

This cannot be happening. "You're not armed!" she protested, throwing her hand up in frustration.

He stared at her, incredulous. "You're the one with a stick! Obviously I'm armed." He pulled a hand gun out of his jacket.

Oh. Obviously.

Suddenly, she realized Rip's urgent voice was fighting for her attention, had been, for a while now. "What's happening, Sara? Sara, come in!" She ignored it, instead glancing between the open door and Leonard. She was torn – he couldn't be involved in this, she had to tell him to leave – but Rip's voice was so loud in her ear and he was here, and she really wouldn't find them on her own –

"Fine," she gritted her teeth, jabbing her comm off. "You know where they went?" He nodded, again, as if it were obvious. She closed her eyes, unable to believe what she was about to say: "Then lead the way."

He did, without hesitation. The narrow hall beyond was cool and dark, and as it twisted she sensed the floor sloping downward. They took it at a sprint, and he navigated fork after fork, never wavering, never pausing, taking each turn with a confident ease. How many times has he practiced this route?

Finally, he threw out an arm to stop her. They were approaching another turn, and he glanced back at her, moving a finger to his lips to indicate quiet. Around the corner, a security guard was lying unconscious, face down on the floor. They had to be getting close.

She crept behind him until they came upon a vault, metal door swung open on its hinges. Sara could hear faint clinking noises from the other side and nearly fainted in relief. The robbers hadn't gotten away yet.

She moved around Leonard, making to rush the vault – but – he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her roughly back against him.

She froze as his chin shook back and forth against the top of her head: No.

Slowly, he released her, turning his wrist to show her the face of his watch. She could almost hear his thoughts…Wait for it…

He moved his hand away and she felt him press three fingers lightly against her neck, tapping them once. On my count. Her skin prickled at his touch, and it was a struggle to concentrate. She tensed against his warm breath in her ear, and his chest at her back, so close she could feel his pounding heart…

He lifted one finger, then another: Three, two, one –

She was ready when he pulled away, her staff colliding with the robber who sprang out of the vault. The second robber was just behind, and he ran right into the barrel of Leonard's gun.

Leonard pressed it to his temple. "Drop it," he ordered, and the robber obeyed, letting go of his own gun and a large sack of something. Sara gave him a whack to the forehead, and he crumpled to the floor.

She sagged in relief, taking a few deep breaths and willing her racing heart to calm. The adrenaline was fading fast and as it did, the reality of the situation hit her harder and harder. He's here, a desperate part of her whispered. It's not him, the rational part replied. But it is, she argued. But you can't have him.

She felt entirely disconnected from her body as she turned to face him. It was like she'd stepped into a dream, and the whole world was off-kilter, spinning maddeningly out of her control.

But he wasn't looking at her. No, he was staring at the bag of goods at the robbers' feet. He crouched down, appraising the size. "Tell me this is the part where we rob the robbers," he said.

She felt her mouth quirking up in a smile until she saw the look on his face – he wasn't kidding, he was serious. Oh, of course he wanted the goods for himself, who was she talking to? He'd planned this heist himself, after all (and had apparently timed it down to the second). She groaned – she couldn't let him take anything, but she didn't want him to get caught, either.

Her staff was at his neck before she could think twice.

"Touch it and you'll end up like one of the crew," she warned.

Slowly, his eyes wandered up her body, coming to rest on her frowning face. He glared at her. "That's not the tune you were singing when I saved your hide," he taunted, hand clenching the gun still hanging at his side.

"Five against one was a little much," she admitted, pressing the staff into his neck. "But I'll still have you for dessert."

He was still for a hard, tense moment. Finally, he shrugged, dropping his gun. He made a show of sighing, long and slow, rolling his eyes. "I was afraid it might be like that…"

Sara released a breath and stepped away from him. For a second she'd been sure he'd try to shoot her, and it reminded her so forcibly of the time he'd pulled his cold gun on her that she had to suppress a shudder. But she pushed that memory aside.

"We need to get out of here," she insisted.

He stood, looking her over, considering her. "No," he said, "in that case…we're not going anywhere."

Well, that was unexpected. "What?" she gaped.

He kicked his gun away. "Innocents don't run from the scene of the crime," he pointed out. "If we're not stealing anything…" his blue eyes met hers in a question, as if he was hoping she'd change her mind. She didn't. "Then we're waiting to give our statements."

This isn't happening. "You brought a gun to a bank," she argued, flabbergasted. "Do you know how suspicious that looks?"

He smirked, folding his arms across his chest. "Yeah," he agreed, "came in pretty handy, didn't it? And I'm on security feed with that gun right now." He took a step closer to her. "We run, and I'll have the heat on my tail for who knows how long." He shook his head. "No thanks. Let's get this over with."

How is this happening? She didn't want to leave him here, but Rip had also been pretty specific about her not getting questioned by the police. "Fine," she snapped. "You stay. But I'm leaving before it's too late."

He tilted his head to the side and lifted his wrist, tapping his watch. "It's already too late."

Suddenly she could hear the distant wail of a siren and footsteps pounding above them. Shit.

He looked away, toward the sound of shouting voices. She took advantage of his distraction to flip her comm back on, gulping as she did. They were standing over nearly-stolen goods, and she was there with Leonard Snart, after all. She was starting to realize how guilty they looked, and she doubted the police would just let them go.

"I think I'm about to get arrested," she said to her earpiece, struggling to keep her voice calm. "But I've got it covered." She was going to get hell for this from Rip.

Leonard glanced back at her, frowning, a confused wrinkle in his forehead. Yeah, that probably sounded strange to him, but there was nothing for it. She could just imagine Ray bursting in with his high-tech Atom suit if she didn't let them know she was okay. No, it was already a disaster, no need to make it even worse.

"Sara, what the hell is going on –"

The pounding steps grew louder, closer, and Leonard turned away again. She flipped her comm back off, ripping it out of her ear and shoving it in her boot for good measure. It probably wouldn't mesh with her "innocent bystander" story if the cops noticed it.

And then the cops were there, guns out and shouting. She put her hands up, trying to stay calm.

"Your robbers are on the ground," she tried, pointing a foot at the unconscious men. "We just caught them for you."

But all eyes were on Leonard. "Fancy seeing you here, Mr. Snart," the lead police officer said. Great, of course they recognized him.

"Officer Daley!" Leonard greeted him like an old friend. "I got you a present," he added, voice turning suggestive.

"You shouldn't have," Daley countered, sidling up behind Leonard and patting him down.

"You know, I'm surprised how easy your job is," Leonard continued, tone mockingly light. "You always make it look so hard!" Daley ignored him, pulling out handcuffs.

Leonard took it in stride, turning to the group at large. "Alright, who's got the Polaroid?" He raised his voice, eyes scanning the crowd. "I want one with Daley in front of the goons over here – ouch, not so rough," he added, as Daley pinched his skin in the cuffs. "Trust me, boys, you'll want to remember today!"

Daley actually laughed at that, and meanwhile another officer had finally gotten around to patting Sara down. "Huh," he said, and she cringed. How had she forgotten? Her knives.

"Off," the officer ordered, and she held her arms out for him to remove her jacket. Across from her, Leonard's eyebrows shot up in surprise as he caught sight of the knives she'd kept tucked away. Under other circumstances, the look on his face would have been hilarious – cute, even. She'd always loved taking him off guard, but this...it wasn't him. That's what she had to keep telling herself.

"Well," Leonard drawled, eyes raking over her with renewed interest. "Those would've been better than the stick in a gun fight." Maybe, but a little deadlier than what she'd been going for…although she wished she'd used them now. She certainly wouldn't be in this position if she had.

The narrow hall was too tight for all the people now crowded in it, and more and more kept filing in. The officer pulled Sara's hands roughly behind her back, and she found her face most unfortunately pushed up against Leonard's chest. Oh, it just gets better and better.

She felt the rumble of his chuckle against her cheek. He leaned down, speaking softly in her ear. "Why knives?"

She bent her neck back, glaring up at him as she was cuffed from behind, and feigned a bravado she didn't feel. "A gun is a coward's weapon."

Suddenly she realized she was eye level with his lips, and her breath caught in her throat. She let her gaze flit up to his eyes, uncomfortable tug at her gut when she realized he was staring at her lips, too. She swallowed. "And…" His eyes moved back to hers, and she was leaning into him, too unsteady to stand. She lost control of her voice. "A knife is so much more intimate. Don't you think?"

Then the officers were pulling them away, shoving them down the hallway and back into the harsh reality above.

You are in so much trouble, Lance. So much goddamned trouble. And you'd better stop enjoying it.