OK, for the record, this is going to be 10 chapters (instead of eight) now. Ch. 7 wound up being enormous and I split it into two. So they're both done, and Ch. 8 will follow in just a couple of days! Many thanks to LarielRomeniel for the beta.


Maybe they shouldn't have headed out at night, Leonard thinks, driving east with Sara curled up in the passenger seat next to him. Truth was, he hadn't really planned on it. But Sara had been so eager, so very eager, to head out once he'd asked her to go that he just went with it.

The memory of the smile on her face when she'd realized what he was asking…he thinks it will always stick with him. He's not sure what he's done to deserve that smile. Frankly, he doesn't think he's done anything.

But he's working on it.

Sara seems content just to sit there, looking out the window, so rather than explain things yet, he just drives. The silence is comfortable, the night clear and quiet, and he…

He's happy, Leonard realizes. Actually content, with her there besides him and a mission, of sorts, ahead of him.

That's not necessarily a good thing, and he knows it. He doesn't want to stay here, in this backward time when so much about himself has to fly under the radar. (He's just fortunate that it can most of the time.) He needs to rescue Mick. He needs to see Lisa again. And he even wants to see the others on the ship, to finish what they'd started and take out Savage before he can destroy so much.

But. For now, he'll take it.


After about an hour on the road, Leonard pulls off into a rest stop, where he parks the car and turns off the engine. Ah, Sara thinks, stretching and sitting up to look at him. Story time.

Len drums his fingers on the wheel, a gesture she's seen him make any number of times since they've gotten here. It generally means, she knows, that he's thinking about something intently.

Finally, he turns to her, something tentative in his eyes.

"We're heading to Orange City," he tells her. "So not that far. Another two hours, maybe, if traffic stays this light."

Sara considers that a moment, then nods. "Another college town, isn't it? A little bigger than Nickel."

Leonard nods back. "Yeah. I was moving around the state a little on…on business…and it happened to be having a run of burglaries." He holds up a hand. "Not me. But it seemed like a good place to hang around because of that."

She frowns at him. "And why's that?"

His blue eyes are direct but a bit uncertain, and Sara's pretty sure she's never seen an expression quite like that on him before. After a moment, though, he reaches into a pocket, pulling out his wallet, and fishes through a moment before handing her what appears to be a business card.

Sara studies him a moment longer, then glances down at it.

"Wynters Security Solutions," she reads, hesitating before looking up at him. "Really?"

His eyes flicker, and she suddenly realizes that, just maybe, her disbelieving tone hurt. She's just not used to Leonard Snart...Wynters...being someone who can be hurt, really, with all the ice he wraps around his heart, but this is a new situation, and they're all reinventing themselves to some extent.

But before she can clarify, he shrugs, glancing away again.

"If I wasn't going to be a crook here," he says, looking back out the window, "I had to find something I could do. And my education has been a bit...untraditional." He smirks a little, looking more like himself. "But I know security systems, even if they don't really exist in the same form here. So, I thought…if I could start something of the sort…maybe give a few wealthy business owners reason to seek an upgrade…"

The thought startles a laugh out of Sara.

"You didn't commit the burglaries in Orange," she says shrewdly, "but elsewhere? Just to give them a...push?"

That just gets a wicked look, and neither confirmation nor denial.

"Anyway," he continues, "after some success, I had to have a base of operations somewhere. I settled on a house, in Orange, a double, figured I could maybe rent out the other half and give someone a break on rent to answer the phone and take messages." He drums his fingers on the wheel again. "Then I...met the neighbors. And I thought of you."

Sara stares at him. "Why?" she asks finally, when no further information is forthcoming.

"That," Leonard says, starting the car again, "is going to have to be something you'll see for yourself."

But before he can start to drive, Sara reaches out and puts a hand on his arm, the gesture drawing those blue eyes back to her immediately. Then she speaks before he can.

"Len. I think this is great," she says quietly, holding up the card. "I was just...taken a little by surprise. I know you talked about a fresh start, but this is…I don't know what I expected, but I don't think it was this."

He regards her a moment, then the corner of his mouth twitches up.

"Well, I'm still not totally domesticated," he drawls, and she knows they're all right. "The whole point was to have something that didn't pin me down to a 9-to-5, or one place all the time." He hesitates, then. "I was always going to ask if you wanted...in. Just needed to have things set up first."

The thought warms her, even as she thinks about the long days wondering if he was simply going to vanish.

But: "Good," she says, settling back against the seat. "I'd been pissed if you hadn't."

"Heaven forbid I get an assassin pissed off at me."

"You know it."


It's late, but not ridiculous when they get to Orange City. Sara watches out the window as Leonard expertly navigates the streets in the 'Vette, heading through what's probably the start of the 'burbs and into the city proper until they finally get to a quiet-seeming residential street. He pulls into the driveway of a fairly large house, a slate-blue one that resembles a Victorian without excess gingerbread, and Sara blinks, a little. She'd expected something a little more…utilitarian.

Somehow, she suspects, her subconscious had been thinking "safe house.'" Instead, it looks like a home. Or like it could be.

Leonard's watching her study it, that flicker of uncertainty in his eyes again, but when she looks back at him, he simply smirks.

"The owner wanted to sell fast," he says, "and I offered cash. Like it?"

"I do." Sara eyes him, wondering if this is the time to inquire about sleeping arrangements, but he's getting out of the car now and she follows with alacrity.

But now Leonard's staring at the house next door, a similar construction in a shade of sage green, and he's frowning in a distracted sort of fashion. Sara follows his gaze, noting how sterile it seems, no personality showing on the outside at all—no flowers, no children's toys, all the curtains pulled.

"Those lights shouldn't be on," Leonard mutters, staring at it, focusing on the only sign of the life in the place. Sara can see a light on the side porch and another faintly through the window next to it, obscured by curtains. She glances back at him, seeing how his brow is furrowed, the actual…yes, concern…in his eyes.

"Leonard?" she asks quietly.

For some reason, she can see his shoulders heave in a slight sigh, just before he turns to look at her.

"I gotta go over there," he says quietly. "Told 'em before to leave those two lights on after dark only if they needed help."

Sara nods, palming her collapsed bo, which she'd tucked into her coat. "Who? What kind of trouble?"

He doesn't answer, but she sees him mark her weapon with a nod, then turn and head toward the other house. Sara shrugs and follows just a step behind.

The side door has some sort of gadgetry at the side, like nothing Sara's seen in this time before, and she watches in bemusement as Len messes with it a moment and the red light at the side goes out. Then he pulls an ordinary key ring out of his pocket, unlocking both the main lock and what seem to be several deadbolts.

Then he opens the door very carefully and Sara, behind him, tenses, peering into the dim room within.

"Rebecca?" he says in a low tone, pitching his voice to be heard. "It's me. It's Len. Are you OK? Talk to me."

There's a tiny squeak of a noise from one dark corner and Sara sees a shape reach up and turn on a lamp, illuminating things just a little better. The small, dark-haired woman sitting there stares, then jumps to her feet with a gasp that sounds like relief, taking one step toward Leonard before stopping in her tracks and blinking owlishly at Sara.

Sara has no idea what's going on, but everything about this woman screams traumatized caution, maybe PTSD, and she's not going to be party to making that worse. She slides her bo back up her sleeve and hold her hands up, empty, trying to look as innocent and harmless as it's possible for her to look.

Leonard glances at her, nodding in what she thinks is approval, then looks back at the woman. "Rebecca," he says quietly. "This is my friend Sara, the one I told you about. We just got here and saw the lights. Are you OK?"

Rebecca, who has the sort of bird-bone skinniness Sara associates with youthful malnutrition and other issues, blinks again, then relaxes in an almost boneless way that speaks more of extreme stress suddenly lightened than any true relaxation. After only a beat, she wraps her arms around herself, trembling, and drags in a breath, taking one more step toward them.

"Mr. Wynters," she says in a voice that's beating off a quaver by sheer force of will, "thank god. He came back earlier. He couldn't get past your system, but we could hear him yelling. Ginny wanted to leave, but I talked her out of it, she'd be dead now, Mr. Wynters, she would if she'd left. He was yelling that he'd kill her and anyone else he found in here…"

"Shhh." With a gentleness unlike any Sara had ever seen from him before, Leonard crosses to Rebecca, reaching out carefully in such a way that she can see his hand coming slowly, to touch her shoulder. Sara can see the other woman start to flinch and is suddenly, forcibly, reminded of the way she's seen Leonard avoid touch. "It's Len, remember? Really, call me that. Sara?" Keeping his eyes on Rebecca, he motions to Sara, who also steps forward slowly, watching the other woman tense, then force herself to relax. "Sara Nyssen, this is Miss Rebecca Schuyler. She owns this house…and does all manner of good helping women in trouble."

Ah. No wonder he'd thought she'd be interested in the neighbors. Sara glances at Leonard, noting the admiration she has no doubt he'd very purposefully layered into his voice—and the way the other woman reacts to it, taking a deep breath, squaring her shoulders and giving Len a tiny smile.

"It's no big deal," Rebecca demurs.

Leonard gives her a look. "And you know I disagree. But let's leave any further introductions to tomorrow; you look exhausted."

"I just didn't dare sleep…"

"I get it." He turns around, nodding at a sofa in the small room, which appears to be a sort of parlor. "I'll sleep here, keep an eye out. Sara…"

She'd swear there's a plea in his eyes. She's also sure he knows precisely what her answer will be. How could it possibly be different?

"…would you meet the rest of the ladies, stay here tonight too? Rebecca, is David still sleeping on the daybed in your room?"

The dark-haired woman nods. "Especially after today. It really spooked him." She nibbles her lip. "So the little room is empty. It's not much…"

"It will be fine," Sara says quietly, speaking for the first time. She also modulates her voice to be as soothing as possible. "I'm glad to help in any way."

Rebecca studies her, then actually smiles a little more. "Are you really…can you…"

Sara, sensing the question, considers her wording. "Can I take out a man three times my size? Darned right I can. I've …had a lot of specialized training. And…"

She looks at Leonard, who gazes steadily back.

"…and I believe no woman should ever suffer at the hands of men," she finishes. "I'll help you in any way I can."

Rebecca looks a little baffled by Sara's assertion, but also glad to accept her help. "OK," she says slowly. "I'm going to go up and tell them you're here." She glances back at Leonard. "Thank you so much, Mr. Wynters…Leonard. And Miss Nyssen."

"Sara."

"Sara," Rebecca agrees with another small smile that can't help but exude relief. Then she turns for a nearby stairwell, calling in a low voice to tell the others in the house that it's OK.

Sara turns to Leonard. And lifts an eyebrow.

He has the grace to look a little embarrassed at all his sins of omission, although it's almost immediately cloaked in his usual insouciance and a one-shouldered shrug.

"Let's go get our bags," he says quietly. "And I'll tell you a little more."

They're both silent as they pull the bags from the trunk. Sara notices Len staring up at the blue house with what seems to be regret, but he then leans against the car with every evidence of cool calm, watching her with a steady gaze.

"You might have guessed this already, but Rebecca's father used to beat the living daylights out of her and her mother," he says after a moment. "She stayed around for her mother, her mother stayed for her...bad situation all around, but there really aren't any resources for 'battered women' in this day and age." His mouth works briefly as Sara watches silently. "Not that the ones 20, 30 years down the road were that much better. But it's worse now."

After another moment of quiet, he shrugs. "Fortunately, a few years back, he died. Cliché enough, keeled over from a stroke in the middle of reaming out some hapless underling at his business. I think the ass planned to live forever, because he hadn't updated his will to cut them out like Rebecca says he'd frequently threatened. All the money, the house, the investments, the resources from the sale of the business...it went to Rebecca's mother."

Leonard's lips twitched then. "She didn't outlast the old man long, sadly, but she made sure everything was in order, left it all to Rebecca...and told Rebecca to use it all to take care of women like her, just to spite the old bastard's ghost."

That actually startles a slight laugh out of Sara. "Oh, I think I'd have liked her," she says softly.

"Me too." Len glances at her. "Rebecca takes it very seriously, too. There are three other women here right now. Ginny-her husband is the idiot who tracked them down." Something dangerous flickers in his eyes. "I'll...or we'll...figure out what to do about him later."

"'We'll,'" Sara tells him resolutely, getting a nod in return before he continues.

"Miriam, who's hiding out with her son, David, who's 12, was here when I got here." He stares off into the distance another moment. "She put up with her husband smacking her around, but then started to see the damage he was doing to the kid, who just couldn't do anything right. When he broke the kid's arm, she took the boy and left in the middle of the night. A friend directed her here. She's in Empire City now, actually, working as a housekeeper while she tries to put together some money, but she works long hours, and David doesn't…like staying alone, so Rebecca let him stay here."

His right hand comes up to rub his left arm again. Sara notices, but doesn't comment.

"And Dorothea, who has her young daughters with her," he continues. "She's planning to move on to Star City as soon as they can. I'm not sure what happened to her husband. But Doro...well, I think she might have done something before she left. I'm not asking."

"Hmm." Sara considers that, then nods. "And how did you get involved?"

It's not your style, are the words she doesn't say. But this is obviously bringing up old, bad memories for him, and who's she to say what his style is, really?

And she's already realized there's a lot more to Leonard Snart than meets the eye.

"Ginny's husband. She'd come to Orange from farm country after she'd just plain had enough, and Rebecca found her in the city trying to sell her wedding rings to have enough money to either eat, get a safe place or move on." Leonard shakes his head. "Brought her back here. And somehow, when he followed her, he'd found someone who'd seen that and knew where Rebecca lived. Followed her. I was moving some things into the house and heard him ranting outside." He darts her a look. "Couldn't just ignore it."

"Of course you couldn't."

The calm acceptance in her voice seems to help. Leonard shrugs again. "Guy like that, it's too easy to fake 'em out, at least to start. I..." A smirk drifts across his face. "...pretended to be a cop. Told 'im I was investigating them, and he was messing it up."

Sara snorts. "You didn't. He bought it?"

"He's not very bright. Anyway, I saw him off, then got inside, which was way too easy. Rebecca nearly took my head off with a frying pan." His smile grows a bit more genuine. "She's not quite the mouse she appears. She fights when cornered."

"Mice do," Sara murmurs, thinking of the girl on the Gambit.

She decides, perhaps, that Leonard knows what she's thinking by the look he gives her. "Right. She...well..." Now he looks a little uncomfortable again. "...once we talked, she says she figured pretty quick that I...was another one. Of what she calls 'children of the secret.'"

Sara has an idea what it means for him to bring this up so casually. She nods, but doesn't ask further when he remains quiet, shouldering her bag and nodding toward the house. "Let's get some rest. You can tell me more tomorrow."


The sofa isn't great, but he'd managed on the one in Nickel; he can manage here. Len doesn't think the asshole will decided to bust in the door at night—the man is more the type to come back in the middle of the day, full of the righteousness of "reclaiming his property"-but he'd rather better be safe than sorry. There's a terrified 12-year-old boy upstairs, along with all the others, and he's been that 12-year-old boy.

This is a small price to pay to make the kid's night a little less long.

Staring at the ceiling and shifting the throw pillows a little, he reflects that at least Sara had reacted to the situation exactly like he thought she would. Starting from the time he'd explained the matter to her to the second she'd clapped eyes on the rest of the little group of women, they'd had her, hook, line and sinker. No, it doesn't surprise him at all.

He'd always meant to ask her to work with Rebecca and the others, but he'd also thought he'd have more time. Tonight, he'd just wanted to show her the house, the room he'd figured could be a sort of training studio for her...and the bedroom and the king bed.

Sure, he'd sleep better there than on the sofa. But he's pretty sure he'll sleep better yet with her beside him.

Eventually.

No, this wasn't precisely how he'd hoped this night would go.

Make the plan, execute the plan, expect the plan to go off the rails...


Once again, Sara wakes up in a twin bed. But the light's falling from a different angle than it did in her room back in Nickel, and as she stretches, getting her bearings, she reviews the night before, wondering what the day will bring.

"Shhh..."

"You shhh!"

Sara, facing away from the door, grins as she hears the little voices and the faint creak from the hinges of the door. Some things, she thinks, are universal. Sisters are one of them.

After a moment, she stretches again, deliberately, then sits up, eyeing the barely ajar door. Two small faces, brown with striking green eyes, peer at her through the space, eyes widening as she looks straight at them.

"Ann and Ama, right?" she says quietly, still smiling. "Good morning."

There's a brief hesitation and then one of the girls pushes the door open a little more. "Good morning!" they chorus. Then one—Ama, Sara identifies—frowns just a little.

"Momma doesn't let us sleep in so late," she says, tilting her head at Sara. "Why did you get to?"

Sara stifles a laugh while her sister, looking as scandalized as it's possible for a 5-year-old to look, gives her a nudge.

"You don't ask that!" she hisses. But the other girl looks unrepentant.

"Why not?" she asks, then looks at Sara expectantly.

Sara has a feeling that if she doesn't deliver a satisfactory answer, she's never going to hear the end of it. She pulls her legs up, crossing them, and considers the girls. "Well, I had a very long day yesterday," she says finally. "When I met you last night, Ama, you were barely awake, right? Well, imagine if you'd been up since early morning with a lot going on and hadn't slept well the night before, either. I needed to catch up."

The girl brightens, but it turns out that it's not at the explanation. "You got my name right! People don't, usually." She glances at her twin sister. "People mix us up all the time."

"I try to pay attention," Sara tells them solemnly. "Now, where…"

But they're interrupted by a clatter on the stairs outside, and then the sudden appearance of a skinny, dark-haired boy, who exclaims when he sees them…and then pales, looking away from Sara (whose pajamas aren't even remotely revealing) as if he's seen her stark naked.

"Miss Nyssen! I'm sorry," he stammers, reaching out to try to corral the girls. (Ann allows it, but Ama steps away smoothly.) "I said I'd watch them, but I was reading and..."

Sara's more amused than anything else, but he's reacting as if he's committed some sort of dire, unforgivable sin. Given what she knows of David Jacobi, it's not funny. Not at all.

"It's OK," she tells him quietly, leaning forward just a little. "Really, I was awake. It's OK."

He gives her a slightly panicked, wide-eyed look, then starts again as a voice sounds from behind him.

"David?"

Sara gets a quick look at the flash of mingled worry and hero worship in the boy's eyes before he turns toward Leonard's voice. Both girls grin, though-he's apparently a favorite here. And even though Leonard Snart coming to the rescue of a houseful of "damsels" in distress doesn't surprise her all that much-not with his background-the realization of how much the kids adore him is just a little startling.

"Mr. Wynters!" David says quickly. "Miss Schuyler said you were here, but you weren't at breakfast..."

"I went over to my house to check on things, shower and get changed." He leans into the room to smirk at Sara, who rolls her eyes, but grins back. "And you can call me Len, David."

The boy looks pleased but uncertain. "Mom wouldn't like me calling you that."

"Yeah, well, I kept telling your mom the same thing...and she wouldn't do it either." He switches his gaze to Sara, then back. "I need to talk to Miss Nyssen. Sorry, girls. Treats later."

They both perk up. "You brought us something?" Ann asks.

"Don't I always?" He winks at them as Sara watches, bemused. "David, I found you that book I mentioned, too."

The boy grins, the first expression unalloyed by worry she's seen on his face, then nods, corralling the girls and ushering them out of the room. Len steps in as they leave, then pushes the door closed with a foot. Sara leans back as he does, smirking at him.

"You'll scandalize them," she says, "being alone in here with me like this."

Leonard's eyes darken, just a little, and she really, really wishes that they were somewhere a bit more private. OK, a lot more private.

But then he shakes his head, leaning against the doorframe, and giving her a guarded look. "How are you?"

"Fine. Slept like a rock, actually. Long day." She eyes him. "And you? Back on the sofa again?"

"Eh. I'll live." His lips twitch. "Got a king bed over at the house."

Oh, like that's going to help that wish. Sara mock-glares at him. "Tease."

"I'll share."

Oooh, the drawl on that word. Sara narrows her eyes as he smirks, but then sighs. "Well," she says, getting to her feet, "I sort of promised them I'd stay here until we've taken care of…the problem. With Ginny's ex. They're spooked, Len, if not outright terrified."

The momentary protest on his face has been replaced by understanding. "Ah. Yeah. Still working on that."

"A shallow grave sounds like a good idea to me," Sara mutters, looking through her bag for a change of clothes. But there's no conviction in the words. As someone had once told her, that's not her anymore.

She hears Leonard's snort of agreement. "Yeah, well, I wouldn't be opposed. But even after everything, I don't know if Ginny would be OK with that. And it would lead attention back to her, and by association, to Rebecca and the others here."

"Have the cops…"

"They give him a warning and shrug it off as 'what can you do?'" There's a brief flicker of fury in his eyes. "There are laws against beating your wife and kids, but there will always be people who see it as…correction. And not really a problem they should have to deal with."

Impossible not to hear the experience in his voice. Sara, thinking of how her dad would have—and has-reacted to such situations, pauses, but doesn't say anything.

She's pretty sure Len senses her thoughts anyway. He gives her a tight-lipped smile as she turns toward him. "I'm sure not all the cops think that. Even as a crook, I knew there are always good eggs just like there are always bad ones. But they sure haven't seen any yet here, and they have reason to distrust men. And the cops are pretty much all men, in this day and age."

And there's not much more she can say to that. She knows, after all, that it's true.


Leonard's house is, unexpectedly, rather…homey.

He'd rather diffidently pulled a set of keys out of his pocket and suggested she could get showered and changed there—the better to not have to compete with seven other people for the bathroom. Sara, who'd managed to sit on her curiosity thus far, took them with alacrity, choosing to take her entire bag and walk across the lots to the slate-blue house.

She wanders through the kitchen, which is neat as a pin—not surprising, considering both Leonard being, well, Leonard and not being here that often. Feeling a little like a voyeur, but not enough to resist the urge, she takes a quick look into the relatively bare cupboards, grinning as she sees the fixings (including mini marshmallows) for homemade hot cocoa. The fridge has even less—well, he just got back into town—but there are a few apples and she makes a mental note for later. Big breakfasts have never been her thing, and one of those will work nicely.

The living room has hardwood floors and just a few pieces of furniture. She peeks into a room off to the side and nods when it seems to be an office of sorts, with a phone, desk and a few workbenches strewn with electronics. There's another door next to it and she hesitates, but lets her curiosity win, easing the door open and glancing inside.

It's … well, it looks like a small martial arts studio.

There are mats on the floors and even a large, full-length mirror on two walls. And there's—Sara turns her head for a better look-a weapons rack near the door. She blinks, nibbling her lip, then steps back, closing the door softly behind her.

Leonard's a scrapper, but the only weapon he's interested in is his cold gun. She's tried to show him a few martial arts forms, when sparring, but he's never been that interested in those, either.

That room, put together with such care, can't be for him.

Lost in thought, she heads for the stairs and the main bathroom, only to pause again in the living room, looking at the only two pieces of art on the walls. One is a stunning black-and-white photograph of a city skyline, and while there are a few buildings missing during this time, she's seen enough photos of Central to know that this is Leonard's home

The other is a photograph of the Star City skyline, which she recognizes easily as breathing.

And five minutes later, she's still standing there, staring at it.


The phone is labeled with the number. Showered and dressed, Sara calls Kendra and Ray's number, grinning as Kendra answers. It feels like it's been a lot longer than a night and morning and as much as she'd wanted to get away from the apartment, it's good to hear Kendra's voice, another link to home in more ways than one.

The other woman establishes that they're safe and well, a note of relief in her tone, then asks a few arch leading questions about their relationship. Sara, smirking, adroitly sidesteps them—especially since she's not sure where things are going herself.

"And how are you?" she asks, toying with the sort of coiled phone cord she remembers from childhood. "Sorry we ran out so quickly. I mean, we should talk regularly, make sure we're not…drifting…too much. Some's probably a good thing, but none of us want to forget who we are. I think."

Kendra's quiet a moment, then sighs. "I'm fine," she says. "Ray's fine. He likes teaching. We're fine. We're good. It's good. The beacon is still transmitting; we're still waiting. But…"

Sara waits, running the cord through her fingers.

"It's such a tightrope," Kendra says finally. "Be miserable and don't lose yourself. Or be happy and risk losing yourself. I want to…oh, I don't know, hawk out and go on patrol. Tell one of the condescending asses at the physics faculty get-together what I think of him. Even get a damned espresso at one of the city coffee shops without getting called 'little lady' or 'sweetheart.'"

"Hmmm. Maybe we can meet in Gotham at some point, go on patrol with Kathy. And we should definitely check in every week. Say, every Sunday afternoon?"

"I'd like that." The other woman pauses. "And you?"

Sara thinks of the women in the house across the way, how some of them had brightened at the idea of learning how to defend themselves, about the problem of their harasser, about two little girls who still have a spark. About the studio and the weapons rack and a man who constantly challenges her.

"I think…" she says slowly, "that I have some things that will help keep me me."


Sara returns from the house looking thoughtful. She smiles when she sees Leonard, who's sitting at a table looking over some papers with Rebecca, crossing to take a seat next to him.

"How are you this morning?" she asks Rebecca, who looks a little sheepish at the words, ducking her head.

"I'm fine, Miss Nyssen," the other woman says quietly. "I'm so sorry that we welcomed you to Orange City in such an inhospitable way yesterday. You must think…"

But Sara's shaking her head. "No. Please. You were in an awful position and I'm glad to have helped in even a small way." She glances at Len, who's watching her with warmth lurking in his eyes. "And I'm hoping to help more."

Rebecca's expression is an interesting mix of tentative and hopeful. "You're still willing to…"

"…to show us how to beat someone up? I mean, someone a lot bigger?"

Ginny Hayes (who's legally still Travers, but now refuses to use her husband's name) is tall, her reddish-brown hair tied back in a single fraying braid, and there are muscles in her lean arms that come from a life spent working on her family's farm and then her husband's. To Sara's best judgment, she's no pushover, but she's candidly mentioned that her ex, the much-hated Wayne Travers, was a very big man. And she still can't hear well out of her right ear, the result of a clout to the head, and had blackouts for a while, although those have mostly stopped.

She'd told Sara last night, fire in her eyes, that no one is ever going to make her feel that helpless again. Sara, sensing a kindred spirit in more ways than one, had promised to help.

Now the young woman crosses the room to pull out a chair and sit down, smiling at all of them. Despite her experiences, she's still a pistol, as Sara's dad would say, and she seems determined not to let fear win.

"I can show you some tricks," Sara points out mildly. "At least to start. Mainly to get away from someone who's grabbed you. If you want to know more, we can work on that. I've trained a long time to get to where I am."

"Trained how?"

Leonard smoothly cuts in, preventing Sara from having to dodge how to explain the League or a fraction of the other experiences she's had. "Ginny, Rebecca said Stephen dropped off this divorce paperwork earlier yesterday. Lawyer who's doing some pro bono work with them," he adds in an aside to Sara, then switches his attention back. "Do you think…Wayne…somehow found out you were pursuing this?"

Ginny chews on her lip. "I don' know how. Unless he really is stayin' in the city to…to keep an eye on me." There's a flicker of fear in her eyes. "To leave the farm that long…even in his brother's hands…he'd really hafta be serious…"

Rebecca reaches over Sara can speak and grabs the other woman's right hand, which has tightened into a fist on the top of the table. "We won't let him have you," the dark-haired woman says forcefully. "We won't. I won't!"

Ginny gives her a look of gratitude, putting her left hand over the top of their joined hands. "I knew you won't, honey. You're amazing. But I'm worried about you and the others. I don' want to bring trouble down on you."

Rebecca blushes and Sara gives Leonard a speaking glance at the more overt signs of something she'd noticed last night. She's pretty sure neither woman considers the relationship to be more than friendship, but she's also pretty sure Rebecca has a full-blown crush. Ginny…perhaps.

Len raises an eyebrow in return, a smirk crossing his features, then gets serious again. "Stephen will represent you in family court, Ginny," he says gently, "since the city has one now. And we have the doctor's report from the clinic Rebecca had you visit, backing up your claims."

"But he can say I deserved it. Gettin' hit. 'Cause I had an 'attitude.' He's said that all along. An' I guess I do. The black eye, the broken wrist..."

Sara feels the sparking of rage in her heart and from his expression, she thinks Leonard does too. She thinks about what he'd said weeks ago, about his mother, and reaches out under the table to touch his hand, earning herself a startled glance.

But then his fingers wrap around hers, even as he brings his expression under control and looks at Ginny again.

"If you want this," he tells her, "I…we…will make it happen. OK? You probably won't get alimony…"

"I don' want any of his money! I can take care of myself."

All of them know it's not that simple. But Leonard nods anyway, then changes the subject.

But the subject doesn't go away.


There's a reason it's always been ice for him. Even back before the cold gun, before "Captain Cold."

Leonard might make comments about how Mick "runs hot" (dear god, he hopes Mick still exists to run hot), but he does, too, in his own way. From time he'd gotten old enough, self-possessed enough, to see how his father treated him, treated his mother, and to realize that they didn't, after all, deserve any it…from that time on, there'd been a fire in his belly, deep inside, a spark of rage ready to burn out of control at a moment's notice.

It'd been Lisa, even as a baby, who'd helped him realize that maybe it wasn't all his fault. Because if Lewis treated her the same way, and if she hadn't done a damned thing except be an innocent little girl…well, maybe he hadn't done a damned thing either. And neither had his mom.

But letting the rage loose, he'd known even then, could get him killed. Lewis wouldn't have hesitated to put a bullet in his skull if he thought his son was anything less than truly under his thumb. And then who would take care of Lisa? And the other people he'd worked with, back before he managed to get away, to make a name for himself.

And worse, it'd make him like his father, the man who had a matching sense of rage, although for reasons Leonard's willing to admit he'd never fully understood. Because he, a shitty cop, had continually been passed over? Because as a crooked cop, he'd gotten caught?

Whatever. Len had chosen the ice rather than setting the rage free, wrapping it around his heart and soul, clinging to it because it hurt less than the fire.

He's outside in the cold, now, getting a grip, watching the visible vapor of his breath in the chilly air—imminent spring having fled the region for the moment. He hears Sara approaching, her careful step on the gravel of the driveway, but doesn't turn.

"We need to get Travers to leave them alone, and to not contest the divorce," he says, staring into the gray sky. "Any thoughts?"

"Well. I still like the shallow grave idea, but I also get why that's not the best option." She sighs, moving to his side and staring up at the sky as well. "You're got more background than I do. Why's he so determined? Possessiveness? Does he think he loves her?"

Len considers. "I'm not sure. Ginny said things were good once." His lips twitched. "As you might have noticed, she's a good bit more…earthy…than the others, and that's not precisely what she said. I thought Miriam was going to faint," he added as an aside before frowning again. "Then times got a little tougher, and he started taking it out on her. She thought it would stop…"

He shrugs. "It didn't. It got worse. And then he knocked her unconscious and left her on the kitchen floor for three days—she wasn't out all that time, but she was hurt. As soon as she could…she ran."

Sara makes a considering noise. "No family?"

"None that don't think she probably deserved it and wouldn't ship her right back to him."

The noise she makes then is not considering then. It's a little scary, actually. "Well, maybe we need to make him think he doesn't want her back. That it's better if she's gone, free and clear. As long as he thinks he does want her, sounds like he'll keep coming."

"Hmm." A thought occurs to him, but Len decides he needs to examine it a while. He finally turns to Sara, who looks back at him, lifting an eyebrow. "Thanks."

It's not just for her words, and she seems to know it from the small smile she gives him. "Any time." Then she chuckles a little. "I like them. And you do realize that Rebecca has a massive crush on Ginny?"

"I'd noticed that. I don't know that she'd ever have the nerve to act on it, though." He considers. "Ginny, on the other hand…"

Sara snickers, but leaves the topic be for now. "Dorothea says you've said you're going to get her and the girls new ID…"

"And I am, as soon as I get the nerve to go back into Gotham."

Sara eyes him, but she doesn't ask. "And Miriam?"

"I don't know. She's just…defeated."

"Hmmmm." Her eyes are sad. "But she won't go back?"

"No. For David's sake."

"And that boy has a very nice case of hero worship, you know."

Leonard snorts. "Poor kid. Need to find him some better role models."

Sara makes a noise of annoyance and nudges him. "He could do worse."

"Than a crook?" His voice is harsh and he doesn't even want to apologize for it. But Sara doesn't get annoyed. She doesn't do anything more than reach out to take his cold fingers in hers.

"Than someone who cares." Her voice is quiet. "Don't say that you don't."

He doesn't even try.