AUTHOR'S NOTE: "Legends of Tomorrow," "Arrow" and their characters are the property of DC Entertainment. I'm just borrowing here.

Len was waiting outside her door when Sara emerged from her room, dressed in black for her sister's funeral. He wore a black suit himself, and offered her his arm to walk out with her. A short way down the corridor, Ray and Kendra joined them, also dressed in mourning. Sara gave them a grateful half-smile.

What she didn't expect was to see the rest of the team, also in black, waiting for her at the main hatch. Even Mick. "But none of you even knew Laurel," she said.

"Neither did Mr. Snart," Stein observed. "But funerals are for the living, Miss Lance. We're coming for you."

Len sat in a corner of the Lance yard, watching Sara talk to a petite young woman with dark hair, one of the many people who had gathered at the house after the graveside service. Sara's father had already given him the evil eye, and he was certain Quentin Lance had already run a background check on him. He'd have at least found the murder rap, even though Barry had erased everything else.

But Lance hadn't thrown him out, and no cops had arrived yet to haul him back to Iron Heights. Perhaps Lance didn't mind the murder of an abusive ex-cop-turned-criminal so much.

Or maybe he knew enough about his daughter's past as an assassin that he'd decided he lived in a glass house and wasn't going to throw stones.

In any event, no one was bothering Len, leaving him free to observe the people around him as he sipped on a cup of coffee. Death was familiar, but funerals were not. His mom had been cremated with little ceremony, and there had only been slightly more for Carter and Aldus.

The other members of the team were scattered around the yard, making conversation with the mourners. Except for Mick. The big man had taken a seat where he could watch the gate and watch out for the team. Funerals were unfamiliar territory for him, too. No one approached him; the four long gashes healing on his face seemed to make a more-than-adequate "Do Not Disturb" sign.

Sara eventually hugged the dark haired woman and made her way over to Len. He shifted over on the bench to give her room to sit next to him.

"That was Thea Queen," she said.

Len gave her a sidelong look. "Any relation to your green vigilante ex, Oliver Queen?" He mentally winced as he realized that he actually sounded jealous.

Sara didn't call him on it. "She's his sister, and she was Laurel's roommate. Thea and I have a… complicated friendship," she said and paused. Obviously there was much more she wasn't ready to tell yet. "But one thing we shared was bloodlust. She went into the Pit once, too."

He shifted to face her more fully. "You said 'shared.' Past tense. Thea doesn't have it any more?"

Sara looked back at Thea, who was heading toward the gate. "She says she was cured with something called a Lotus Elixir. She'll never have to worry about losing control again."

Now Sara was the one who sounded jealous. "Is there any more of this elixir?" Len asked her.

Sara shook her head again. "Thea said no. Just my luck."

He glanced around the yard. "So, where are the rest of your vigilante friends? Where's the Green Arrow hiding?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "You say that like you have a bone to pick."

"Let's just say I think they're being rude by not showing up for you. And after meeting the younger version of you, I'd be pleased to kick his ass for hurting her."

She smirked at him. "If not for what Ollie did, you and I would never have met."

He nodded slightly. "True. Then let's say I'd be pleased to kick a hero's ass on general principles." He paused, and then went on in a softer tone, "And for being rude to you when you need the people you love around you."

Now both eyebrows went up. "First, jealousy, and now chivalry. What in the world is happening to Captain Cold?"

One corner of his mouth twitched up slightly. "Global warming," he told her in his best Cold drawl.

That got an honest laugh from her, lighting up her face in a way he rarely saw.

"It's good to hear you laughing, baby girl." Quentin Lance was standing over them, gazing softly at his daughter. "We never heard you laugh enough even before all this."

Len stood, planning to join Mick, to give Sara and her father some privacy. Lance put up a hand to stop him. "You don't need to go," he said.

Here's where the hammer drops, Len thought.

The older man drew in a breath, looking back and forth at them, before proceeding.. "A convicted murderer might not be my first choice for a..." he hesitated, as if looking for the right word—"friend for my daughter. Or even my second or third choice, to tell you the truth. But I've been talking to your Captain Hunter, and he says there's a lot more to you than what's in your record, Mr. Snart. So I'm willing to give you the benefit of the doubt." He reached out to shake Len's hand.

Len needed a nudge from Sara to accept the handshake. It was surreal, being accepted by a police officer, and he still wasn't sure whether Lance was going to slap cuffs on him.

But no cuffs appeared, and Lance turned to Sara, pulling her up for a hug. "I wish I could keep you here forever, baby," he said, "but Hunter says you all need to go, before Oliver and his team take on Damien Darkh."

"Meaning we're not part of the takedown crew," Len concluded.

Lance shook his head. "He said something about fixed points in time and altering history for the worse. I didn't understand it, but your scarred friend over there agreed with him."

"Mick and Rip in agreement," Sara marveled to Len. "Do you think the universe will implode?" She kissed her father. "I'll go say goodbye to Mom."

The two men watched her go. Then Lance said quietly, "I was going to warn you that I'd come after you if you did anything to hurt her."

Len nodded, still watching Sara. "Wasn't expecting anything less."

"But I'm not going to," Lance continued, prompting Len to look at him curiously. "If you hurt her," he went on, "she'll come after you herself."

Len looked back at Sara. "Don't I just know it."

Their teammates engaged in quiet conversations as Rip and Mick led the way back to the Waverider. They were talking too, in low tones about something or other to do with the timeline.

Sara sidled closer to Len and said quietly, "Maybe the universe has imploded, and we just haven't figured it out yet."

He snickered. "Of all the things I'd imagined for this trip, Mick understanding temporal physics has to be in the bottom three of the list," he said.

"So what are the other two?" she asked curiously.

He gazed off toward the setting sun, thinking. "Learning I was abandoned in a church and then stolen by my mother as a newborn would be one of them." He laced his arm through hers. "But I think the most unexpected thing has been you." He gave her arm a little squeeze, and then went on, "Although I'm also surprised your dad didn't slap the cuffs on me."

She smiled a little at that. "So, did he warn you to treat his baby girl right or he'd come after you?"

"Not exactly," he replied with a slight smile. "Actually, he warned me that if I hurt you, you'd be the one I'd have to worry about."

She laughed at that. "He used to dream of just locking me up till I'm thirty."

"You'd still be locked up now if that dream came true."

She shook her head. "Two extra years in the League of Assassins, remember? I'm 31 now."

"Does he know that?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Sometimes I think he still thinks I'm ten."

Their path took them past a park, deserted now in the gathering darkness, its trees looking like shadowy giants against the purpling sky. Sara stopped and looked wistfully at the playground, equipped with swings, slides, a merry-go-round and a tall jungle gym in the shape of a rocket. "Laurel and I used to play here," she said. She turned to cross the grass to the playground.

Rip paused as he noticed the detour. "Miss Lance…"

Len held up a hand to interrupt him. "Give her a minute, Rip."

Rip sighed in acquiescence. "I suppose we have a little time," he said. He waved at the rest of the team. "Go ahead."

Jax walked over to the merry-go-round and gave it a push. "I remember pushing one of these things so fast that I made another kid puke," he said.

"What a charming childhood memory, Jefferson," Stein said dryly. "I think I'll pass on a reenactment of that experience."

Kendra and Ray headed to the swings. Mick settled at the bottom of the slide, while Sara went straight for the rocket, Len following.

She grasped the rungs of the ladder and began to climb. "Are you sure your dad isn't right about your age, Sara?" he called after her.

She kept climbing. "When I was six, I climbed to the top of this rocket and jumped off it. I was trying to fly."

"I can bet I know how that went," Kendra said. Ray had pushed her hard enough that she swung high and flew off, her wings unfurling and bringing her to a landing.

Sara reached the top. "I broke my ankle. Ollie and Laurel had to carry me home. But just for those few seconds after I jumped, I felt like I really was flying." She turned to face outward from the rocket, poised like a graceful statue.

"Careful, Blondie," Mick warned. "You're not the one with wings here."

Of all the crazy things, she stuck her tongue out at him. Yep, ten years old. Then, like a gymnast (or a Canary), she spread out her arms and leapt.

Sara might not have had wings, but in 25 years, she'd learned to fall with style. She flipped in midair, and then rolled as she landed, coming smoothly back to her feet. Len let out the breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding.

Jax and Stein applauded, and Mick gave an appreciative whistle. Rip merely shook his head, looking relieved that she hadn't broken her neck.

"Miss Lance, I hate to cut short this visit down memory lane," he said. "But we need to be out of Star City before the confrontation with Darkh."

"You've still got a few hours before that," came a voice from the copse of trees near the playground. A tall, dark haired man dressed in black emerged from the shadows. As he drew nearer, Len could see the man's left arm was held closely to his body in a sling.

The arm ended in a stump.

"Malcolm Merlyn," Sara growled, moving into an attack position.

Merlyn held up his good hand. "I come in peace, Sara," he said. He paused for a moment, surveying the team. Len knew that kind of look; he was sizing them up, evaluating the risks.

Then Merlyn's gaze returned to Sara. In a voice barely above a whisper, he asked, "How would you like to save your sister?"

ADDITIONAL AUTHOR'S NOTE: To learn about the gashes on Mick's face, see my story "Penance."