Between the information with which Snart has provided them and things gleaned from the parley that went sideways, they're ready to strike.
By team agreement, Snart, once sprung from medbay, is cleared of any remaining security precautions. He assumes without question that he'll be fighting besides them.
The Legends are back together.
They all know this is dangerous. This is... walking back into the Vanishing Point again, in its own way. They all know far too well how that ended.
She knows she'll do whatever it takes to take down Darhk. Merlyn would be a fringe benefit. She knows there's a chance she won't survive the experience.
She knows there's a chance he won't.
"It's the things I didn't do that keep me up at night…"
She stands for a moment outside his door, hesitant.
They never have talked about what he meant by "me and you." While she thinks her presence will be welcome, she can't be sure.
Oh, fuck sure.
"Gideon? Is he in there?"
"Yes, Ms. Lance."
"Can you let me in?"
"Of course, Ms. Lance."
Later, she will suspect Gideon of having a bit of a romantic…or something… streak. Because when the door slides open and she walks in, Leonard is, indeed, standing there. Shirtless.
It's a fine view, and despite her surprise, she can't help taking a long, admiring look. Then she registers the expression on his face.
"Ah…I can leave? I'm sorry; I asked Gideon if I could come in…"
But he puts a hand up, stopping her, surprise turning into a somewhat rueful expression. "No. It's OK. Gideon…" The look he slants at the ceiling, in the abstracted way they all tend to address Gideon, is wry. "I think she has a sense of humor."
"I do not, Mr. Snart. All of you know this."
Sara can't help it; she giggles. The ludicrousness of the situation has finally broken some of her tension, and for that, she's grateful. "Gideon? A little bit of privacy?"
"Of course, Ms. Lance."
He mock-glares at the ceiling, then looks back at her, a touch of self-consciousness in his gaze. But he also doesn't move to put the shirt in his hands back on.
OK, there's plenty to look at, but her own gaze is drawn now to his left shoulder…and the slightly reddened, puckered scar left there. The Waverider's medical technology is a wonderful thing, but some things make a mark on you nevertheless.
"How's that doing?"
He tilts his head to examine it analytically. "OK. I was just sparring a little with Jax; Gideon wanted to see how it would hold up before she would 'allow' me to go tomorrow." His mouth twists; it's clear that no matter what Gideon had to say about the matter, it wouldn't have stopped him.
"And you didn't ask me? To spar, I mean?" Her tone is light.
"Sara, I wanted a light workout session, not to get my ass kicked. And you have both ability and motive."
"Point."
The banter lapses.
Taking a deep breath, she steps forward, inspecting the scar, trying not to blatantly regard the nicely muscled chest in front of her with a little too much covetousness.
Stop licking your whiskers, Sara.
"Did it…how much muscle damage?"
"Not too much. Well, not now." He's holding very, very still as she examines the scar. "Have to appreciate future medical technology."
"Mmmhmm." There are other scars. She knew there would be. But the new one is giving her a chance to unobtrusively regard the others without being too blatant. "It'll fade."
"They do that." A little flatness to the tone, but he smiles a little when she glances at his face. "It's OK."
Greatly daring, she reaches out (cognizant of what it's taking him not to flinch) and runs her fingertips along one twisted white line. His indrawn breath sends a pulse of desire through her.
"I have a few of these. Arrow scars." She runs a fingertip very gently around his newest scar.
"Oh?" Barely a breath.
"Yeah." She takes a step back, then reaches down and grabs the hem of her shirt, pulling it off over her head and leaving herself standing there in pants and a black sports bra.
She sees a heartbeat of raw desire in his eyes before he tamps it down again, somewhat to her disappointment. His eyes go to her abdomen…eventually.
She nods. "Yeah. Three of them. I didn't survive the experience."
As she'd hoped he would, he closes the distance between them again and, meeting her eyes, reaches out and gently traces the marks with those long, sensitive fingers. It's her turn for an indrawn breath.
"This was Merlyn," he says in a tone so low she almost can't hear him.
"Sort of."
"He needs to die."
"I can agree with that." His fingers are continuing to draw slow circles against very sensitive skin, and she takes another deep breath. "Len?"
"Sara…"
"I don't want to go back to my room tonight."
The caress slows, just a trifle. Then, "Good."
And he's kissing her, hard, mouth moving across hers as his arms wrap around her, pulling her tight against him.
She's thought of doing this often enough, but she can't help being surprised by how warm he is as she runs her hands along his back and shoulders—mmm, those muscles-and up to the back of his head to better pull him down to her. The shorn hair is far softer than it looks, she thinks—then gasps as both his arms move slightly lower, boosting her against him as he attempts to even the height difference.
Or something. Breaking the kiss, she gives him a raised eyebrow as she snakes one hand from his neck to his collarbone, absently noting more scar tissue under her fingers. "Happy to see me, are you?"
"You doubted it?"
"Nope." She squirms against him while running the fingers of that hand farther down his chest, chuckling at his own gasp (and muttered profanity). "There's probably a better place to be doing this."
She nods to the bed. He raises an eyebrow back at her (shifting as her fingers trail lower yet—ah, yes, very happy) and then...smiles.
She's pretty much expecting it, then, when he boosts her a little higher, and promptly wraps her legs around his waist. His hands shift under her; he steadies her against him and that...well, even still half clothed, that feels pretty damned good. She leans her forehead against his for a long moment, hands on his shoulders, can hear the hitch in his breathing.
"Bed."
"Right."
The beds in the Waverider are not the most conducive to this sort of thing; they're quite narrow, although somewhat more comfortable than they look. (They'd really almost have to be.)
But they manage.
They manage just fine.
And afterward, curled up naked besides him as he drifts off to sleep (later, she'll learn it's the first time he's done that, ever, beside another person), she slowly traces her fingers over his heart, and smiles.
It's a measure of peace, the most she's had in a while, and although she knows tomorrow will be a trial in any number of ways, that doesn't lessen tonight.
It makes it all the more precious.
Closing her eyes, she settles just a little closer to him, and surrenders to sleep.