Ava ends her latest call to the Waverider, lowering her head into her hands with a sigh. Over the past few years, she'd thought her relationship with the Legends had been getting better, even with her breakup with Sara, but it seems they're nearly back to square one now. All because none of them seems to be able to get past the, well, past.

She understands their dislike of Druce, somewhat. But for a group of misfits who've always been about gathering people who need a second chance, the depth of the hatred seems a bit inexplicable.

She wonders wistfully again why Director Hunter hadn't told the bureau, told her, about the tools the Time Masters had had at their disposal. He'd gone to so much trouble making the bureau a body that was responsible and careful. Hadn't he trusted them after all?

Her thoughts are interrupted by a noise at the door, and Ava lifts her head, carefully composing her features as the guard bring Druce in, stationing themselves by the door as the man himself approaches her.

"Master Druce," she says formally, clasping her hands. "How are you?

The man inclines his head to her. He's a little worse for wear—holding one arm stiffly, and with the dark color of a bruise on one side of his face. She'd known that, but they haven't yet had a chance to do an in-depth examination of what had happened earlier, when the alarms had alerted everyone to someone breaking out of Druce's quarters. Someone who, as it turned out, hadn't been Druce.

"Well enough," the man says stiffly. "Given that I was attacked in my own quarters by a murderer and time criminal."

Ava nods. She's been looking at the security camera videos from the hallways and comparing them to Time Bureau records, and she's pretty sure what's coming. Still, she wants Druce to tell her, wants his full take on the matter.

"You said a portal, like one created by a time courier, opened in your quarters," she says, "and this intruder emerged, attacked you, and ran." She pauses. "That's all the information we exchanged in the middle of the chaos. Now, tell me more. You recognized this person, didn't you?"

Druce scowls—not, she thinks, at her. "It was the one who blew up the Oculus itself," he says, cold anger in his voice. "The man named Snart, who looked in my eyes and taunted me as he destroyed it all. All my ships. All my men." His eyes narrow. "He must have been trapped in the timestream, like me."

Ava thinks of Sara's careful questions about the timestream around the Vanishing Point. Had she been thinking of this Snart, who'd caused the explosion?

She's met Leo Snart of Earth X, who'd struck her as a good man and a responsible one, but this version seems altogether different. A crook and a killer, she knows from the records. Not a good person. But then why had Sara asked about him? Had she wanted to warn Ava?

And why had she fled the bureau with him? Something isn't adding up. Ava bites her lip despite herself. Sara might be in danger, and she can't figure out why the Legends aren't even concerned. It's like they're too fixated on stymying her to just listen.

"We'll find him," she tells Druce. And Sara.

The former Time Master nods, once, regally. Ava isn't particularly pleased at his growing tendency to behave as though he's the one in charge here, but she ignores it, choosing to simply dismiss him by looking downward and reaching for some paperwork.

The guards step forward and Druce turns with them, heading for the door. But right before he steps out, he turns back toward her and clears his throat.

"This man," he says when Ava glances up, "Snart. He is, after all, a thief. And he…stole something. From the Vanishing Point. It is important that we regain it."

Ava frowns at him, puzzled. "What?"

But Druce is gone now, with his escort back to his rooms, and Ava can't help feeling like she's the one who has, after all, been dismissed.


Leonard had stretched out on the mattress and fallen asleep near-instantly, a measure of how exhausted he'd been. Sara, rather tired herself, watches him a few minutes, trying to wrap her brain around the fact that he's back, really truly back, then lies down herself with a sigh. She expects a bit of insomnia, considering all the thoughts rattling around in her brain, but she also falls asleep, quickly and thoroughly.

She's not sure how long it's been when she wakes again, to utter darkness and a noise of strangled terror coming from the man on the other side of the mattress.

Sara shakes her head roughly, hearing another cry, then hesitates only a moment before shifting over a little, reaching out gently to touch Leonard's hunched shoulder.

"Len," she whispers. "Leonard. It's OK."

He thrashes a little more, and Sara tightens her grip carefully. "Leonard," she says, raising her voice just a little. "You're not…not there." She shifts even closer, wanting him to feel her physical presence. "You're here, I'm here, you're safe."

Leonard rolls over abruptly, staring at her in the dark with eyes that just barely reflect a little of the light reflecting in from the small lamp she'd left on in the other room. "Sara," he says.

"Yes." Sara moves closer, studying him. "I'm here."

"This is real."

The dumbfounded shock in his voice hurts. "It is." Sara moves her hand back, running it down his arm, then lifting her fingers to touch his jaw. "You're back, you're out of the timestream, and you're free. It's OK, Len. It's real."

He stares another moment. And then he reaches out slowly, carefully moves his hand behind her neck, and pulling her toward him just a little, bows his head…and then kisses her, finally stealing the kiss she'd challenged him to so long ago.

Sara closes her eyes, savoring the tentative touch of lips. She parts her lips a little, inviting more, and feels his own intake of breath before…

And then he's not just kissing her, he's devouring her, and Sara's there for it, devouring him in return, their bodies pressed together, their mouths tasting and their hands wandering. Sara, after a moment, reaches down and grabs the hem of Leonard's borrowed shirt, tugging it up enough to splay her hands out flat on his back. He, for his part, works his hands under her own top, blunt nails scraping against her skin, pressing her closer, and she hums in pleasure, biting his lip gently and moving one hand downward to the small of his back.

And then Leonard suddenly jerks his head back with a gasp, making Sara blink and catch her breath, staring at him.

He looks dazed. "I'm sorry," he mutters, looking down at Sara. "I'm sorry. I just…there was so much nothing, and…I didn't know what…what was real…for so long…"

The broken mutter from her once-confident crook breaks her heart. Sara reaches up to touch his jaw again, looking into foggy blue eyes, and tries to decide what to say.

"Leonard," she says gently. "It's OK. I…" She takes a deep breath. "I think maybe we could both use this. The physical comfort. And as for the future…well. We can talk about that later. But for now…Len, I want you and you want me too." She runs a thumb along his jaw. "Let's comfort each other, OK? I can think of no better way to prove that…that this is real, and you're home."

Leonard regards her, and then the corner of his mouth ticks up. "I dreamed—or hallucinated, I guess—a lot," he says quietly, eyes on hers in the dark. "When I was in the timestream. Some after. But, Sara, I don't think it was ever anything quite so pragmatic."

Sara smirks back at him, loving the way he drawls her name in a way that echoes deep down in her bones…and other more sensitive areas. "Assassin," she whispers at him. "Definitely pragmatic."

Leonard's lips twitch in return. "Captain," he whispers in return, a use of her title that's even sexier than the way he says her name, and then he ducks his head to kiss her again.

Sara meets him halfway. She moves her hands back to the hem of his shirt, yanking it up. He helps her maneuver it over his head, then throws it somewhere in the room as Sara runs her hands down his sides.

There are scars. She lets her fingers linger on them just a little, enough to show that she simply considers them part of him, then allows her hands to wander farther as she moves her mouth down a little to his neck, enjoying the noise he makes, quietly determined give him something distinctly real to take him through the night.


Leonard had meant what he'd said about hallucinating a lot, in the timestream. It'd been either a whole lot of nothing or a kaleidoscope of images and sounds with no initial rhyme or reason.

Gradually, though, over a timeframe that he can't even begin to guess at, distinct trends had begun to emerge, taking over his wavering consciousness for periods of time, submersing him in dreams. Bits and pieces of his past, or a hoped-for future—the things he didn't do, that'd kept him up at night.

These dreams had focused on good things, sometimes wonderful ones, a bit of a surprise to a man with plenty of darkness in his life—but the coming out of them, that was always rough. And Leonard wasn't the sort to trade a pleasant dream for knowing what was truly going on around him.

He has a foggy suspicion that something had been directing those dreams or hallucinations. Something not without its own motives. But he'd gotten the impression that they were, at least in his case, meant to help, to cushion the fragile human mind at sea in the timestream from all that alternative cacophony or nothingness. It—the Time Force, for lack of a better term—had seemed almost perplexed the times when he'd resisted.

So many of those dreams had been about Sara.

And none of them had been as good as the reality.

Oh, the Time Force could give him a fantasy, but it couldn't even come close to the way Sara laughed when he drew his fingertips up her sides—or when she unexpectedly wrapped one of those small, strong hands around him, and he threw back his head, startled, and banged it into the wall, leading to much swearing.

It couldn't come close to how she breathlessly whispered his name as he touched her, or the noise she made as she slid down onto him, hands splayed on his chest, or the way their names, each uttered by the other, melded as the world came apart around them.

Or the way he felt afterward, holding her as her breathing evened out in sleep.

Not even close.


The Waverider picks them up the next morning, not so far away from the safehouse, a quick stop with the hatch already open so Sara and Leonard can duck on board and the ship can get into the timestream quickly—just in case.

Leonard stumbles, just a little, as the Waverider takes off again, still a little unsteady from his weeks in captivity—and the fact and he and Sara had decided to "comfort" each other again that morning probably didn't help. (Though he has absolutely no regrets about it.) But before he can fall, a big hand reaches out and closes around his bicep, holding him steady.

Mick stares at him. He looks different in a way Leonard can't quite place, but it's not in a bad way. Leonard tries to give him a smirk in return, but Mick doesn't return it.

"It's him," he says to Sara in what's not quite a question.

The captain, who seems to have no problems at all with her balance, flicks a knowing smile Leonard's way and then looks at Mick. "Yes—as close as I can tell without the medbay and Gideon's expertise," she tells him, bracing herself as the ship jumps into the timestream. She looks at Leonard again. "That should be your first stop. Get a clean bill of health...and confirmation."

Then Sara sighs. "I need to go contact...the Time Bureau," she tells Mick, running a hand through her hair in a way that betrays more uneasiness about that than Leonard would have thought. "Team meeting on the bridge after that's done and you're done in the medbay. Tell Gideon."

"Gotcha, Boss," Mick rumbles, getting a head tilt from Leonard, though he can't help but smile a little at the words. Sara gives Leonard another of those little smiles, then turns and heads down the corridor toward the bridge. Leonard watches her go, then glances back at Mick, uncertain what to say.

Has he been forgiven for his actions, at the Vanishing Point and before? Nearly four years...it's a long time. Mick looks like he's settled in here, and Sara is "Boss" now, and...

And his oldest friend steps forward then, wrapping his arms around the very startled Leonard in a bear hug, lifting him right off his feet and squeezing in a way that could be threat as well as affection. (And very probably is.)

Leonard wheezes a little, and Mick lets go before he loses his breath, setting him back down on his feet and nodding in satisfaction at the look on his—former?—partner's face.

Leonard blinks at him.

"What," he manages.

"It's good to have you back," Mick says simply. "Just don't go telling Haircut or Pretty that I do hugs." He turns toward the medbay and Leonard falls in next to him, bemused.

"Pretty?" he inquires.

"Ha. You'll see."

The ship seems much the same, though the others on it must be keeping their distance, for whatever reason—whether it's letting the returned team member acclimate without too much chaos or making sure he is who he says he is first. The medbay seems a little newer, a little shinier, and Leonard glances around, trying to match memory to reality.

"The kid made some updates, before he left," Mick says a little gruffly, waving him toward one of the chairs. "Blondie told you?"

"About Jax...and the professor? Yeah..."

But a familiar voice interrupts them as Leonard settles into one of the medbay chairs, a voice that makes him smile again. (He seems to be doing a lot of that. More than usual, anyway.)

"Hello, Mr. Snart," Gideon's familiar voice says smoothly. "It's very good to see you again."

Leonard starts to respond, but Mick does first. "You sure?" he asks, his voice nearly a bark.

The AI's voice gets a touch prim. "His right hand is of my make, Mr. Rory. I am sure." She starts scanning Leonard as the two men stare at each other, the returnee wondering what Sara hasn't told him yet.

"You're a bit malnourished and dehydrated," Gideon announces only a few minutes later, oblivious to (or more likely, ignoring) the tension, "and there are some barely healed injuries, the worst of which is the rather nasty bone bruise on your upper left humerus. And, of course, the still-raw wounds on your wrists."

She pauses. "I'm going to ignore other...recent...bruises. And scratches. And odd muscle strains."

Leonard frowns, but Mick huffs out a laugh, studying him and reading Gideon's prim comment correctly.

"So it didn't take you and Blondie long to make up for lost time," is all he says.

Leonard lifts an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

Mick snorts, and Leonard thinks then, a little belatedly, of how he and Sara both seemed intent on leaving their mark on each other the night before—and that he's wearing a T-shirt and not his usual layers. Still, he brazens through it, eyeing Mick and thinking about his friend's need for confirmation that he's himself...and Sara's mention of other times and Earths.

"I figure you got a lot to tell me," he says simply. "So, 'fess up. Before I have to go meet the rest of this crew."

Mick studies him, but his dubious expression is interrupted by Gideon's voice again.

"I want to give Mr. Snart some nutrients and hydration intravenously," she tells them, "as well as antibiotics. Forty minutes or so should be sufficient. So, Mr. Rory, you might as well start talking." A pause. "Mr. Snart is, after all, correct. There's a lot to tell."

Mick makes a noise that's part sigh, part grumble. But he nods and then pulls up a chair.

"OK," he says, taking a seat, "so, after you...after the Oculus blew up, we went after Savage..."