Takes place just after the Flash episode "Back to Normal" and just before and during "Rupture."

...

To be honest, Leonard would rather have liked to go back to their previous activities once he and Sara return to the safe house.

But first, they have to find a plausible way to dispose of Griffin Grey's body, in a way that implicates none of them but gives some closure to whatever family he left behind. Then Barry wants to tell them earnestly about whatever Team Flash has learned about Zoom, and...and...

By the time they make it back, he's limping badly, his wrist is also aching, and he's just this side of exhausted. Sara tells him they both need some sleep, in a voice that brooks no disobedience, and it doesn't hurt that she sounds absolutely beat as well.

He doesn't argue; he pretty much collapses onto the futon and only distantly feels her tugging off his boots and pulling a blanket up over him. He might have dreamt the lips that brush his forehead...but maybe not.


He's pretty much one big ache the next day, and just opens one eye as Sara strolls in, yawning, from the bedroom. She regards him a moment, then gets him a pain-killer, a glass of water and a book and leaves him be.

They don't hear from S.T.A.R. Labs that day. Sara cooks pasta for dinner. ("I can boil water without burning it, but don't expect much more.") And then they finally watch "Apollo 13."

This time, she snuggles—yeah, he'll use that word—up to him again, and, at one point during the movie, threads the fingers of her right hand through the fingers of his right hand, bringing his arm around her before she starts gently running the fingers of her left along his right wrist in a caress that shouldn't have him nearly as on edge as it does. His left hand, subsequently, finds that sliver of skin between her shirt and waistband again, and he gets an occasional caress in himself, running his thumb slowly over warm, soft flesh.

He's not sure whether to be disappointed or relieved neither of them go further. Not that night, anyway.


They're asked to stop by S.T.A.R. Labs the next day. (Well, Sara is, anyway. Leonard simply tags along again.) There, the topic is how to best protect Central City during the absence of Barry's powers. Cisco proudly unveils a hologram system that does not get quite the reaction he'd hoped for. ("So, what, Ramon, you're going to just bluff the criminals? Seriously?") And Sara drily reminds them that she's been a successful vigilante without any special powers at all, thank you.

When a call about a possibly robbery at the Central City Museum comes across the police scanner, Sara simply says "We got this," and heads out the door. They all just assume Leonard's helping out, like he did with Griffin Grey, and he's following Sara (on his own bike, now, retrieved from storage in the safe house) to the scene before he realizes that maybe he should have demurred, strictly for the sake of his reputation.

But she needs backup. And he's there. And these lunatics are not allowed to fuck around with his city, damn it. Stupid amateurs are going to get people killed, make it that much harder on the rest of them.

The would-be thieves barely know what hit them. One runs, and actually makes it outside the museum—until he hits a patch of ice and wipes out. He's still playing turtle, gasping for breath, when the CCPD shows up and arrests him. They find his cohorts unconscious just inside the museum's vestibule.

The runner squawks about a woman in white and a man in a blue parka with an icy weapon. Joe West, listening, smiles.

Sara's still grinning, full of glee and adrenaline, when they get back to the safe house. A half hour or so later, with "The Terminator" on the TV in the darkened room, she squirms around in front of him, gives him a long look and a slow smile, and, running her fingertips up under his shirt, lowers her mouth to his collarbone.

And he's gone. It's been a slippery slope, the past few weeks, and now, well, he's slipped.

And fallen, hard.


They fall into a pattern, the pair of them, crook and assassin, a semi-nocturnal schedule that has them sleeping late, dealing with an increasingly domestic reality that involves cooking dinner or getting take-out and then heading out to help Team Flash (and the hologram system Leonard still mocks) protect the city.

They foil robberies. They interrupt assaults. His cold gun and his knack for planning an operation mesh so well with Sara's martial arts expertise and instinct for mayhem that the others begin to refer to them as a unit. (Although Cisco only manages to refer to them as "CaptainCanary" once before Len shuts that down with a glare. Sara, predictably, finds it hysterical. So does Barry.)

And, then, each night, they repair back to the safe house to relax—where "relax" increasingly means pretending to watch a movie while indulging in an increasing amount of, well, fooling around.

They both know they're getting closer to pushing their relationship into something they have to, or should, at least, address. And the whole thing, Leonard thinks, is a little silly and probably juvenile, but…

He's enjoying himself. A lot.

So it's juvenile, this making out on the futon like a pair of teenagers. Well, he spent all his time as an actual teenager trying to keep his sister alive, keeping himself alive in juvie, avoiding getting arrested under his father's incompetent watch, and slowly disconnecting himself from his father's shadow and building his own reputation.

He is, he tells himself, allowed this. Right?

He thought he was addicted before? Now, he's addicted. He's never felt like this about touch in his life, but she's in his head, under his skin, calloused fingertips running along his spine under his shirt as her teeth scrape against his collarbone, warm hands—and warmer lips—finding spots that make him groan. Conversely, he's finding another addiction as well, one to the sounds she makes when he returns the attentions, as he trails a line of kisses down her neck, as his hands trace her scars, gradually and tentatively finding her own sensitive spots.

For someone used to holding himself apart, keeping even sexual encounters just this side of commerce, it's a revelation.

They don't talk about it, what they're doing, where this is going. (And somehow that makes it easier. Len, he thinks, you're a bit messed up.) They press it a little further each night, in touches and kisses and sighs—or gasps muffled against skin. They always stop before…well, before, pulling away without words to seek solitary beds. And it's as tantalizing as it is infuriating, even as he's the one who hesitates.

Eventually, he knows, he's going to have to make a decision...either by action or inaction. In the meantime, he's just enjoying himself.


"Eventually" comes eight days after the incident with Griffin Grey.

They'd rescued a young woman from a pack of drunken college students that night, stepping in smoothly as she ran for shelter, the men staggering to a halt as they realized their easy prey had been replaced by a tall man with cold eyes and a short blonde whose eyes were far too bright. For the most part, Leonard stood back and let Sara have fun toying with them as they, with the assurance of the intoxicated, decided she'd do in the absence of their intended victim.

And she does, smoothly eluding their clumsy attacks as she sends one, then another to dreamland.

They're not a threat, not to her anyway, but as one shrieks a particularly disgusting epithet and drives a fist toward her face, he can see the change in her expression and opens to his mouth to call to her. But then she catches herself, and smiles coldly. Five minutes later, he's calling Joe to come collect the trash—who are whole and breathing, but will likely think twice about attacking anyone ever again.

He can see the energy in her as they return to the safe house, can't help grinning to himself about it. Sara's never quite so happy as when she's saved someone, and he knows she's pleased at stepping back from the bloodlust again.

And she channels that pleasure in the most interesting ways…

"Are you going to start a movie?" he asks once they're sprawled on the futon, moving his hand to her hip again, much like he'd done just over a week ago, this time running his fingertips up under her shirt and feeling her shiver.

"Why?" she murmurs, leaning back against him. "Are we even going to watch it?"

"Hell," he murmurs back, allowing his lips to brush against her neck and smirking, just a little, at the sound she makes, "I sure hope not."

With another sound, she tilts her head back and he moves his lips to the hinge of her jaw…

And then Sara's phone rings. Because of course it does.

With a growl that makes Sara laugh out loud, he lunges across the room and grabs it himself, barking "What?" into it in a way that probably isn't very wise.

Fortunately, it's not her father or sister calling. (And why would he care about that anyway, he wonders?)

Unfortunately, it's not really good news, either.

The quality of his silence alerts Sara, who stops laughing and sits up to watch him. After a moment, he hangs up without speaking so much as a word in response.

"Zoom," he says, staring at the phone. "He's here. As in, this Earth. He's taken over the CCPD. Barry says not to leave the safe house, to stay locked in, and not to leave until he, Ramon, or one of the Wests gives an all-clear."

This is bad. They both know it's bad. But they also know Barry's right, that they have to stay here. Alone. Together. And...

"Huh," Sara says. "Whatever are we going to do to pass the time?"


He stares at her and, for a moment, Sara think she's utterly misread the situation.

Then she realizes that the expression in his eyes isn't a lack of interest. In fact, it's rather the opposite.

But there's something deep and hesitant in Leonard Snart, even as they've grown closer, as the casual flirtation has grown into camaraderie and the camaraderie has grown into the beginnings of intimacy both physical and emotional.

In her own head, she'd dubbed this little campaign of hers "Operation: Cold," a few weeks ago when she'd started it, recognizing that the man who'd flinched from human touch back when they'd met (for good reason, to her sorrow) wouldn't embark on a physical relationship without some care on her part.

Now, she thinks she was wrong, in a way. Maybe if they'd gone straight to a purely physical relationship early on, they would, or could, have kept it casual. But they're past the point where sex is something that will come without strings, connections of mind and body and, yes, heart.

He is, she thinks, not a man who is easy with strings of any sort.

And yet, she…covets his body. She admires his mind. And she dearly wants his heart.

A breathtaking realization, that last.

It only takes a few steps to bring her right up to him, and they stand there a moment, his eyes searching hers. She watches him in return, then, moving slowly, goes up on her tiptoes, puts her hands on his shoulders, and kisses him.

It's a gentle kiss, far more deliberate than her impulsive ones the morning after Laurel had been injured, far more serious than what they've been doing this past week. A promise and an invitation, in the slow, soft press of lips, the mingled breath, the flicker of her tongue, the closeness of their bodies.

She can feel the hesitation in him, still, the indefinable holding-back, and with regret, she accepts her mistake…

And then it's gone, that hesitation, vanished like smoke, like cobwebs, and his arms are around her, one hand tangled in her hair and cupping the back of her head, the other arm looped around her waist and pulling her into him, warm and solid and real.

She laughs with surprise and pleasure against his lips and feels the smirk in return before he tilts his head and deepens the kiss, pulling her even closer, something she hadn't thought possible but enthusiastically endorses, molding herself to him.

After a few pleasantly intense moments, he breaks the kiss, moving his mouth along her jaw as she sighs and clings to him...well, in her defense, that's not usually her style, but she's not sure her legs really want to hold her at the moment. After a minute, though, he leaves off that and whispers in her ear, voice sending a fresh run of goosebumps down her arms.

"Might want to take this somewhere else."

"Oh?" She turns her head and nips at his jaw, enjoying his intake of breath. "You have a suggestion?"

"Futon's been OK." She can feel the renewed smirk against her cheek. "More room in the bed, though."

"Well. You do need to get off that ankle."

"I do. "A brief return of the hesitation…and then it's gone. "Come with me."


He's not one to kiss and tell, but the next couple days are…well, "intense" is probably the best word for it. "Incredible," works, too. "Mind-blowing?" Oh, yes, certainly.

It's a little like the world outside ceases to exist, and that's a luxury he hasn't permitted himself in, well, ever. He has one focus, and one focus alone, and it's Sara Lance, in his bed, in his arms, her mouth on his, her hands on him, all her attentions matched and returned.

They don't come up for air for hours, although, to be honest, they've really lost all track of time at that point. Might be days. Might be weeks, he thinks with amusement, stretching as Sara strolls out into the main room to check her phone and grab them something to eat. (She insists that breakfast...is it breakfast? heaven knows...in bed is definitely the way to go.)

Not bad for an old man, he thinks, a bit smugly, reaching out to pick a strand of golden hair off a pillow and absently winding it around his fingers. Their age difference hasn't really bothered him, since it doesn't bother her, but it's nice to know he can keep up with her. She certainly hasn't seemed to have any complaints…

When Sara returns, bearing a tray, he disregards his tendency toward fastidiousness and shifts to make room for her and it. It holds nothing more than two glasses of wine and a few select items they'd had in the fridge and the pantry… sliced cheese, and crackers, and chocolate…

And a bowl of strawberries and whipped cream that is very, very…distracting… because of the way Sara chooses to eat them…

After a while, the tray gets knocked to the floor, and forgotten. They won't find every bit of the crumbs for weeks.

Neither of them cares.


It says something, bad or good depending on the perspective, that he's so deep in a sated and content sleep, Sara's warm and naked body wrapped around his in their nest of sheets, that he doesn't hear the intruder in the safe house until the familiar voice barks out a word out in the main room.

"Snart!"

His eyes fly open, but he's barely had time to do more than tense (Sara, he can tell, has as well) when the door to the room bangs open.

A shadow looms there, arrested in the doorway, and he peers at it, Sara coiled next to him.

"Huh," it says after a moment. "Good for you, boss. I'll be out the other room." The figure's head tilts a moment, considering them, especially as Sara sits up just a little. Only Leonard can see the knife balanced in her hand.

Huh. Where'd she get that? I'm not sure I want to know…

"Hey, Blondie," the voice says. "Well…damn. Snart has all the luck."

With that, the door closes. And they're…sort of…alone once more.

Leonard allows himself to close his eyes as he lets his head fall back to the pillow just for a moment. He can feel Sara prop herself up an elbow next to him.

"Mick?" she asks with amusement.

"Mick."


When Len vanishes into the bathroom, he's probably assuming Sara is just going to stay put. Or maybe he knows her better than that. (She thinks he does.) At any rate, she immediately pulls on some clothing, runs a brush through her hair, and pads out to the main area to acquaint herself with Mick Rory.

Len's occasional partner and old friend is sitting in the battered chair, feet up, one of the crappy beers from the fridge at his side. He raises his eyebrows when he sees her, then gives her a thorough once-over (which she returns).

"I can count on the fingers of one hand the times I've known the boss to hook up, and never here," he tells her finally. "You must be somethin' else."

There's…really no good way to respond to that. "Thanks. I think." She parks a hip against the wall and regards him. "So, you're Mick. I'm Sara."

It just gets a grunt in response, then a tip of his beer. "I'd say 'pleased to meet you,' but I still have no idea who the fuck you are. Or if you're taking the boss for a ride." He pauses, then leers at her. "You know what I mean."

She's pretty sure he's not trying for this response, but the protectiveness (and even the innuendo) make her smile. She doesn't get a chance to respond quite yet, though, because Len strolls out into the room then, giving her a half-smile and fixing a glare on the unrepentant Mick.

"I didn't expect you back in Central City for weeks, if that," he tells the other man. "What happened, you run out of money already?"

Mick doesn't respond to the half-hearted insult. Instead, he just leans back in his chair and, digging in the battered bag he'd dropped by its side, pulls out a folded copy of the Central City Picture News, which he brandishes. Leonard takes a closer look at the headline visible on the lower right of the front page and sighs. "Fabulous."

"Mystery heroes foil robbery at CC Museum," it reads, followed by the subhead: "Woman in white, 'Captain Cold' sighted at scene."

"So, you're a hero now, huh?" Mick inquires, tone somewhere between amusement and annoyance. "They certainly seem to think so."

Holding the paper up and peering at it, then, he starts reading in a nearly falsetto voice, presumably because of the feminine name in the byline: "Police charged six men with trespassing Wednesday after they allegedly broke into the Central City Museum and caused considerable damage to one of the museum's newest exhibits."

His eyes track downward a little, then he continues, "A security guard on the scene said one of those arrested threatened him with a gun, but that the alleged robbery was interrupted by a man and a woman who subdued the men before vanishing.

"The man… met the description of the so-called 'Captain Cold,' who'd robbed the same museum previously. This time, however, 'Cold' departed the scene without any apparent losses from the collection. Police are..."

"Mick, not funny."

"She thinks it's funny." His partner smirks at Sara, who gives up trying to hold back laughter.

"I think we've established she has questionable taste." He gives the snickering Sara a long-suffering look, then looks back at Mick. "What do you want?"

"I want to know what the hell is going on." Mick's voice is abruptly serious again. "Snart. Seriously? You two runnin' some sort of con? I know that's not usually your sort of thing, but now that I see her…OK, maybe I can understand you getting in on the action." He pauses to leer again at Sara, who rolls her eyes.

"No con." The words are terse. Leonard really doesn't want to explain this to his friend, given that he's not sure he understands his change of heart himself. But Mick's staring at him in disbelief and he needs to say something. "Look, there's a lot of shit going on in this city right now, OK? And it's home. I'm not going to let someone else take it over. If I have to work with the Flash to do that, I will."

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sara frown at her phone (which had been lying discarded on the table all this time), then move back toward the bedroom to make a call. But his focus is still on Mick, who's still frowning.

"Are you... the other man says slowly, "telling me you really are working with the heroes? This isn't some sort of game? And what is she? One of them?"

"She...it's complicated."

"Snart..."

"Look, it's sort of a long story and I'm not going to get into it right now." He can't, quite, keep the anger out of his voice. "Trust me."

Mick, as usual, doesn't listen. "Then when? Look..."

But they're interrupted by Sara, who re-enters the room with an expression on her face that makes Leonard immediately take notice. "What's wrong?"

"It's..." She glances at Mick. "...the Flash. He's...he's gone."

"What do you mean, gone?" His words come out sharper than he'd intended, as he turns away from Mick to stare at her.

"They tried to replicate the particle accelerator explosion. And..." Momentarily at a loss for words, she spreads her hands out before her. "They don't know if he's just...somewhere else...or..."

The words hang in the silence for a long moment.

Then Mick grunts in surprise, and then again in what seems to be satisfaction. He stoops to pick up his gun, then stops abruptly when he realizes the reaction from the other two, especially Snart, isn't what he thought it'd be.

"Boss?"

But Leonard's eyes are on Sara, and Sara's gazing back at him, and he knows she understands something of what he's thinking, and it's...

Time to choose a side, I guess.

"Let's get to S.T.A.R. Labs."