On the fourth day of Christmas, my true love gave to me...
...
Sara is starving.
As she makes her way through the corridors toward the galley, she wonders idly if anyone bothered to cook dinner recently. The usual pattern has fallen off lately, and she hasn't bothered to try to reinstate it. There's nothing pressing and everyone seems reasonably healthy. There's only so much "team mom" shit she can take.
Well, if not, she'll manage. She can cook for herself. She just doesn't really like to, and to be honest, she's tired.
But today, it seems, she's lucky. When the door to the galley slides open in front of her, she's met by an aroma so enticing that she just stands and takes a deep breath. Ah. Must be Ray. Or Mick or Stein…both can produce some decent food if they bother to take the time.
"That smells amazing!" she calls as she turns to reach for a glass from the cupboard near the door. "Did you make enough for two? Rules…"
She turns around and takes a step toward the sink…bringing the person standing in front of the stove into view.
Looking a bit like a deer in headlights, Leonard stares back at her, spatula in hand. Whatever luscious-smelling thing is sizzling in the pan in front of him makes a sudden crackle and he turns back to it abruptly, working the spatula around the edges before glancing back at her.
There's something wary and…hurt?...in his eyes and her mind goes blank.
"Ah," she says carefully. "I didn't realize. I…can…"
Her stomach, however, chooses that moment to rumble audibly. A corner of his mouth lifts in what's not quite a smile before he looks back to the stove.
"I made plenty," he says to the pan in front of him. "If you like omelets and don't have anything against goat cheese, garlic, and basil. Or me."
Her stomach growls again. And suddenly, she decides it's not worth it to keep avoiding him. Not if he can cook.
You're a hedonist, Lance.
Just practical, she tells herself sternly.
"Can I help with anything?" she asks tentatively.
"Hm. Plates? And whatever you want to drink." He keeps his eyes on the skillet. "This is almost done."
She retrieves a few of the unbreakable, recyclable, not-quite-plastic plates the ship is stocked with and puts them down near him with utensils, getting a murmured "thanks," and then gets herself a glass of water. And a moment, she gets him one too, loading it with ice in the way she'd noticed, what seems like decades ago, that he liked to drink it.
When she returns to the counter, he's slid half of a fairly massive omelet onto each plate. It looks good and smells better and her mouth is watering. Belatedly, she recalls Mick telling her about how Leonard taught himself to cook just to make sure he and Lisa had decent meals. But this is the first time she's seen those particular skills in action.
Just another thing we missed out on. But she tamps the thought down, picks up her fork, gives him a quiet "thank you" (received with a quick jerk of the head that might be a nod) and sets to it, as does he.
He eats quickly, eyes on his plate, and she can see the skinny, underfed kid she knows he used to be in the efficient way he puts away the food. He glances up at one point and she realizes she's staring, can feel her cheeks heat as she reapplies herself to the omelet. Which is fantastic.
When she gets down to the very last bites, she finds herself dawdling, poking at the last piece or two, trying to draw out this bizarrely domestic little interlude as long as possible. Which is ridiculous, given that she's been avoiding him. But there it is.
Leonard seems to feel the same way, from the way he's staring at his empty plate but not moving to rise or depart. Finally, he lifts his head, meeting her eyes for about a millisecond before glancing away.
"All this Christmas stuff around had me thinking…" he starts, and she flinches involuntarily, thoughts of "me and you" and feelings rising up between them.
He stops, letting the silence stretch out uncomfortably before resuming. "Thought I'd make some cocoa," he says, again failing to meet her gaze. "If you want…"
Ooooh. Chocolate.
"Oh, I would love some cocoa," she says, making no attempt to hide the longing in her voice. "If you really don't mind, that would be great."
Leonard Snart makes hot cocoa the old-fashioned way, with cocoa powder and milk and vanilla and sugar. She perches at the counter and watches him whisk the mixture over the stove, pausing just long enough to retrieve two mugs for the finished product.
She barks out a laugh as she sees the mug he's using. "That one? You? Is that where that thing came from?""
That gets one of those sideways smiles, as he looks at the ridiculous little reindeer mug she's seen sitting in the cupboard, although no one ever uses it.
"I like this mug," he tells her. "It's…festive."
"There's got to be a story there," she comments before she can think about it, briefly reverting to the days when little bits and pieces of their pasts would slip out over cards and booze and each was starting to know the other better than just about anyone else out there...
So he tells her about Barry Allen and hot cocoa and mini marshmallows…with an abstract glare at the ceiling in a way that seems to indict Gideon for the lack of the confection on board. He doesn't comment on why he had Gideon create one of the things and she doesn't ask. She's met Barry Allen now. He's cute. (Maybe not as cute as Supergirl, but, hey...)
"Refill?"
"Please." She watches as he whisks the cocoa to frothiness again, then refills both her utilitarian mug and that ridiculous reindeer mug, returning to hand it back to her.
Their fingers touch. Just a brush. But enough to send a tingle up her arm. She sucks in a quick breath, cursing her own reactions…and cursing inwardly even more when he pulls his hand away as if he'd burned it.
But he doesn't leave. They sit and drink their cocoa in companionable silence. It's unbelievable, Sara thinks, that none of the others have interrupted this, but she's glad.
Finally, Leonard shakes his head and gets to his feet, picking up his mug and hers before lifting his head and looking her right in the eyes for more than a second for the first time since...the mistletoe.
"You don't have to avoid me quite that thoroughly, OK?" he says quietly. "I'm not going to say another thing about the...about the Oculus...or anything like..."
"Leonard… "
"It's OK," he interrupts her. "Shouldn't have opened my big mouth, all right? You shouldn't feel guilty or any shit like that. You didn't know. And like I said, your prerogative." He takes the mugs, turns back toward the sink. "Ten more days, then…"
"Len!" She's followed him, and her hand slaps down onto the counter hard enough to make him start, and that laser-like blue-green gaze glares at her a moment before sliding away.
"Shut up," she tells him gently, "and let me help you with the dishes."
He looks back, blinks at her, then nods.
"Why do I feel we're in 'Beauty and the Beast?' "
"You can be the clock. I'm definitely the candlestick."
"No, you're the teapot."
"So, which one's the beast? Sara or Snart?"
"Sara's scarier."
"And Snart's sort of good-looking…um…hey, it's those eyes!"
"I don't believe you people…"
xxx
...four cups of cocoa
Three hidden truths
Two lonely hearts
And a crook who came back to me.