Sorry for the minor delay in the upload. I got a puppy this week and he's been consuming my every waking moment. Happily, but also very busily.
If you've noticed, I've upped the rating a tad. It's probably a very light M by the end of this...
Leonard sat at the bar table, several empty glasses between him and Mick. Not enough belonged to the bigger man.
"You okay?" Mick asked, as Leonard slammed back another drink.
"Peachy," he spat out, signaling for another one. He was wildly out of place in this bar in his bloodied suit, but the second Leonard walked in, his glare and expression made it clear that no one - absolutely no one - wanted to speak to him.
Mick stared at him, concern looking uncomfortable on his face. In order to avoid it, Leonard spoke first. "What happened to you?"
"Blondie got me outside the bar," Mick said, glancing at him. "Knocked me out. When I woke up, I was in that cell."
"After you came to talk to me?"
Mick frowned, "No, I was on my way in."
So it was the not-Mick. Telling him he was a hero because he'd apparently just died. Wonderful. So glad he was that easy to dupe. "What'd they want?"
"Nothing, far as I could tell. Never asked me about anything." He picked up his drink and drained it, but didn't ask for another when Leonard's drink arrived. "Fed me. Chatted about nothing when I wasn't threatening to kill them."
"But you told them things." Please, let him have said something, anything to explain how she'd known so much. Anything to deny what was apparently the only possible explanation.
"Like what?"
"Alexa. My father."
Mick shook his head slowly, "No, boss. I didn't."
"Nothing at all?"
Another shake of his head.
"And Sara?"
Mick looked up at him. "Didn't see her after she brought me in. Not until today."
"They didn't hurt you, didn't question you, didn't do anything except…"
"Trap me." Mick filled in, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Only reason why'd they do that is so you were working solo."
So he'd be forced to call Sara and take her deal.
"What'd they want from you, boss?"
To save him. The future him. The one Sara cared about.
It was him, the man she'd done all this for was him. Every time he asked about him, she'd been telling him about his future self. Every time she swore to avenge him, it was on his future self's account. Every thing she'd known about him - serial numbers, his codeword for trouble, his childhood, his father - he'd told her in the future.
When she'd talked about loving someone and never saying anything, it was who he would become.
"I don't know." He picked up his glass and Mick's mouth closed.
It was another hour or two before Mick finally called it. He hesitated before asking if Leonard would be alright to walk home.
"I'm not a drunk sorority girl, Mick," Leonard retorted. Truth was, the frustration and anger had worn away most of the alcohol and he was far more sober than he wanted to be.
The walk back was cold. Usually he hated the cold, despite his choice of weapon, he preferred to be warm, but it drove away the rest of the haze and chilled his anger. By the time he reached his building, he was calmer, if not calm.
He went up to his room and changed, the bloodied shirt and jacket getting tossed to the floor as he pulled on a comfortable sweater and jeans.
However, the idea of staying in his apartment wasn't very appealing. He climbed up the fire escape, stepping into the cold night air. He breathed in, wondering if his chest would ever stop feeling so tight, if he'd ever be able to breathe without it catching.
He stared out over his city, the place he'd spent his life crawling and clawing to be at the top of. And he'd done it. There wasn't a man, woman or child out there who didn't know the name of Captain Cold.
He was strong. He was infamous. He was everything he'd wanted to be in life. Every goal he'd wanted as a child had been attained. So why, then, did he feel so incomplete?
Damn, but he knew why. Of course he did.
It wasn't fair.
Scoffing at his own idiocy, Leonard shook his head and went to the edge of the roof, placing his hands on the low wall and staring out over the drop. Of course it wasn't fair, nothing in life was. Why would this be? Why wouldn't he find the perfect woman, only to have already lost her? To his future self, nonetheless. Par for the fucking course.
But he couldn't entirely blame her. He was the one who'd walked away, hadn't he? He was the one who'd turned his back on her. Granted, she'd lied to him, but hadn't he done everything to keep her at an arm's distance? Hadn't his entire life been an act, a play of words and emotions and expressions to make sure that no one got in too close? Hadn't she been doing exactly the same? They both kept each other away because the alternative hurt too much. Figures the woman he fell for was just as broken as him.
He had walked away and she had left. And now-
"Len?"
He froze, staring into the black, hating that she was able to surprise him like this. Faint footsteps approached, made loud enough for his benefit. A heavy gaze was on his shoulders, but he didn't turn.
Maybe he'd had too much to drink after all.
"Don't give me the cold shoulder," she said quietly, sounding too close.
He turned, leaning against the wall, crossing his arms immediately, putting up his walls despite the fact that they were paper thin and shredded when it came to her.
It was Sara. Of course it would be. Her, in her too-large jacket and dark jeans, golden hair and those damn sapphire blue eyes that were just staring at him.
Wasn't leaving once enough? Now they'd have to go through this shit all over again.
"Back from the future already?" he drawled, setting the tone before she could work her way under his skin. "That doesn't exactly bode well." He grinned coldly, "Of course, I'm dead in your future, so what does another trip matter?"
She frowned at his tone, eyes narrowing when he spoke of his death. "I'm tying up loose ends." She held up a small vial with a white pill in it.
"Here to kill me?" he drawled, arching his brow.
"To let you forget."
He eyed the pill - it would make him forget, huh? That did sound appealing. However, "Is there a choice in the matter?"
"For Mick, no. He's already been dosed," she said it quickly, not denying what she did, but getting it over with. Leonard couldn't bring himself to be surprised. It made sense, if they wanted Mick to go along with the path they were supposed to take later on.
"And me?"
"That's up to you," Sara said, pocketing the vial.
"Why does my preference matter?"
"It matters because I'm still here."
With an arched brow, he didn't lower himself to ask what she meant, but she answered anyway.
"Messing with the timeline is complicated," she said, keeping her distance from him. "With the way things ended up, Mick wasn't going to join. We needed him to forget. But you...it seemed like you wouldn't join either. Which means that I should have been back home. Or dead."
He didn't react, not knowing if she was baiting him or not.
"If you don't join," she continued, "I shouldn't remember you."
He hadn't realized that. If she killed Savage, then they wouldn't join to kill him in the future, which meant the Legends would never form. He and Sara would never meet. That's what Jax was talking about. If she'd succeeded, they never would have met. Was his life really worth changing all of that?
"Clearly, you do," he retorted. "So why come back here? Figure you're going to risk the timeline a second time?"
She took a step forward and he stiffened. Noticing, she stopped and dropped her voice. "I came back because none of that happened. The timeline hasn't changed. Which means you still join the Legends, even after everything, even knowing everything. I have to leave tomorrow, so I thought that maybe you...maybe we could talk, if you don't want to forget."
He didn't want to forget, he didn't think. He didn't know what he wanted, but it wasn't forgetting.
Sara took his silence as tacit agreement. "So it wasn't the time travel that threw you," Sara said, eyeing him. She started moving, but parallel to him, rather than towards him. "I don't even think seeing two Micks threw you, either."
"Remind me to get even with you for that." He kept his eyes on her, turning to keep her in front of him.
"I didn't want to hurt him," she sounded sad then. "I'd never want to hurt him. He's my friend. But I did need him out of the way."
"Right."
"I needed to work with you."
"So you could kill Savage."
"No, to-"
"To get your revenge." His voice was rising, his infamous control just a myth when he faced her.
"To save you!" she shouted.
"To save him!" Leonard corrected, pushing away from the wall and taking a step forward. His voice echoed across the roof, the truth falling between their silence, heavy and pained.
Her eyes narrowed, "That's your issue, isn't it? It's not the time travel, or Mick, or even that I'm from your future, but because I cared enough to come back for yo-"
"Not me," Leonard interrupted, with a raised finger. "I am not him. And your Snart-" he choked on those words, on how much he wanted to rearrange them, on how much he wanted to change them, "-isn't me."
"You will be."
He glared, "You don't know that. You could've changed it."
"You're still you."
His eyes rolled back so far he wondered that they didn't fall out.
"Leonard," Sara said, finally moving forward. He didn't back up, didn't give her the satisfaction. "Just because you haven't done the things that you will do, it doesn't mean you aren't the same person."
"We're products of our experiences, Lance. You can't argue otherwise." She was quiet and he, belatedly, realized he would have loved if she had argued. But they both knew he was right. He hated being right all the time. "I didn't experience the things that made him your Snart. Ergo, I can't b-"
"You're an asshole," Sara interrupted. "You're cold. You're sarcastic and cynical."
He didn't deny any of that.
"Sounds like Leonard Snart to me."
Sara started walking towards him, still talking. "You look like him. You speak like him. You move like him. You think like him."
She reached out for his hand and Leonard finally stepped away. "But I'm not. I'm not him."
Leonard wished that he was. He wished he was the man she'd risk so much for. He wished he was the one she dreamed about, that he was the one she really wanted. But he wasn't. If he wasn't going to pretend otherwise, he wouldn't allow her to, either.
He didn't want to play second fiddle, not even to himself.
"I know," she said immediately. When he just stared at her, Sara took a half step towards him. "I know you're not him. And I hated you for that, at first."
Face carefully blank, he tried to ignore the way her head tilted up at him, none of the lines he'd grown used to seeing on her face. She wasn't lying.
"You're the same man. But so different," her brows drew together. "He was cautious. Aloof. Hesitant."
Leonard frowned. Cautious he could deal with. Aloof he could enjoy. But hesitant?
Dropping her eyes, she reached out and traced the scars around his wrist, her finger like a electric current. He fought the urge to move away. And the urge to move closer. "You're more reckless than he was. You enjoy it all more than he seemed to. I saw you with your sister and in your element. You're willing to take chances. You've got your ice up, but it's not so thick." She looked up. "I came into this in love with him. I know you're different than him. I do."
"Sara," he murmured. He didn't know what he was asking. For her to keep talking or for her to stop before it was too late.
"I loved him," she said quietly. "But somewhere, I fell in love with you, too."
He swallowed and, for the briefest moment, relished in this feeling. Of being someone's choice, of being cared about.
And then he really thought about her words. The woman he thought was unattainable, the one who he thought he'd never have a chance with, was here, for him. Who the hell would've seen that coming?
"And tomorrow?" he asked, staring at her, nothing else on this roof - in this city - on the whole goddamn planet - capable of holding his attention like the sapphires in front of him.
Sara didn't lie. Not anymore. "Tomorrow I have to go. My timeline is coming up and current me has a lot to do before we meet again."
Leonard nodded shortly, exhaling. "Right. So, then."
She didn't move. "So."
"I guess this is goodbye. For now." He edged closer, his skin humming as he neared her.
"For now," she repeated quietly, tilting her head back to look up at him. Her blue eyes looked black.
He pressed a kiss to her cheek, lingering, his hands held tightly at his sides. Pulling away, he closed his eyes, his tongue darting out to sample the taste of Sara before she vanished again. He didn't think it would be possible, but leaving this time would be even worse than before. Leaving the almost he could have had. The almost they could have been.
"Goodbye, Sara," he murmured next to her ear.
Her whisper sent a shiver down his spine, "Goodbye, Leonard."
Stepping back, he forced himself to turn and head to the fire escape. His fists were clenched at his sides with the effort of not grabbing her hand and towing her with him. Walking away from her was the hardest thing he'd ever done, but if he didn't...
What if he didn't?
Screw the timeline and screw the rules. Who knew what would happen - they'd changed time already, so why not?
Leonard turned, her name on his lips.
But Sara was right there behind him, grabbing his jacket and pulling him down to her level and-
Nothing had ever burned as beautifully as Sara. She kissed him like her life depended on it, and he wasn't far behind her. He wrapped his arms around her before he could ever register doing it. She made a sound in the back of her throat, something between a gasp and a sob, as his hand carded through her hair and cradled her head. Neither of them were pulling away, oxygen secondary to this painful ecstasy.
He could die a happy man, if he went with Sara on his lips.
It was only when his vision began to dim that she finally pulled away, just enough to breathe. Both of them were gasping, hot breaths against his mouth doing nothing to quell the fire.
"What about your timeline?" he whispered, his voice raspy and dark. Despite his question, he didn't let go of her, his arm tight around her waist and his free hand tilting her chin up to his face. He never wanted to let go of her, but he rarely got what he wanted.
Sara looked up at him, her pupils blown out and her lashes damp, but seeing him. Him, not the future him, not the memory of him, but him, right now. "We've got tonight."
That wasn't nearly enough, a lifetime wouldn't be enough, but he would take every second he could.
They climbed down the fire escape and in through Leonard's window. He shut it, then faced her, the sudden silence and darkened room making things awkward for a moment. He could hear her breathing and his own heartbeat in his ears. It wasn't like him to be nervous. It wasn't like him for his hands to be shaking. It wasn't like him for his chest to feel constricted, for it to feel like his heart was wrapped up in her delicate, dangerous fingers, for him to feel so terrified and yet so certain.
Like with so many things, Sara seemed to know exactly what he was thinking, perhaps because it was what was running though her head, too. She crossed the distance between them, shucking off her overlarge blue coat and letting it fall to the floor with a muffled thump. His eyes darted over her face as she took the edges of his coat in her hands, gently easing it over his shoulders and onto the ground. So many things were written on her expression - happiness, excitement, desire - but over it all, sorrow. He didn't want that.
Her hands were on his chest, just over his pounding heart. Leonard dragged his fingers up her arm to her wrist, encircling the delicate bones with his hand. "Forget about everything else, birdy. You and I are here. Right now."
She smiled, but it was still there, that sadness. That grief.
He didn't want to see it, but at the same time, he knew it was all for him and he couldn't help but care for her just a little bit more.
Still, he couldn't have her looking like this. Not here. Not after everything.
He stepped into her space, pulling her hand up to his lips and kissing her wrist. "I told you, I've spent my life taking things that were beautiful, just for me." He dropped her hand and placed his hand in the small of her back, holding her against him. Ever so slowly, delicately, like cracking a safe, he began to kiss along Sara's neck, graphing her reactions, memorizing the way she moved against him and the sounds he elicited. "Do you think I'm going to let you go after tonight, just because it'll be different?"
"I'll be different," she reminded him, a little breathlessly, he was pleased to note. "I won't be the same person."
Sliding his hands up the back of her shirt, he nipped at her collarbone, "I can handle a bit of a challenge. Seem to remember you doing it for me." He pulled away slightly to look into her eyes. "Think it wasn't worth it?"
Shaking her head, she grasped at his sweater, stretching up so her lips grazed his jaw. "You're worth it."
"I'm a greedy, selfish crook." He leaned back and away, though it took every bit of his effort, taunting, teasing just enough so that her eyes sparked and the corner of her mouth began to lift.
Sara grabbed two handfuls of his sweater and pushed him back, until he hit the closed window with a rattle of glass and a smothered grunt. Up on her toes, she got her eyes level with his, and said, "And I'm a selfish, soulless assassin. So don't press your luck."
His grin should have felt out of place, should have felt wrong after everything, in the face of everything that would come. Instead, like all the impossibilities that Sara brought with her, it seemed right.
She leaned into him and he pressed his fingers into her back, pulling her closer, heat sparking with every inch of her that was up against him. She kissed him with the same intensity that she fought with and he matched her, inch for inch, move for move. His hand threaded up into that silken gold, while the other slid beneath the dark top, feeling the muscles and corded scars that ran across her body. Long fingers followed them along her skin as far as he could reach, memorizing with his hands until he could see. Her lips parted - a gasp, a quip, a comment - he didn't care to know just then. Plundering her mouth, he tasted every corner, ignoring her attempts to gain control and instead took - took - took.
He was a thief. She knew what she was getting into.
Besides, from the way her hands had slid up beneath his sweater and shirt, nails scraping over his own marks of adolescence, from the way the heat was growing where his thigh had pressed between her legs, from the way she leaned into him, any space between them an eternity too much, she didn't seem to mind.
Before now, he would have thought that kissing Sara would have been enough and it was - until it suddenly wasn't. He needed more, and from the insistent press of her hips against his, so did she. Breaking away for a moment, he allowed a smug chuckle when Sara whimpered and tried to follow him. Her eyes snapped open at the sound he made and she narrowed her eyes, smile still present, though now on lips that were swollen and far more tempting.
Leonard should have asked if she was sure, if she wanted to stop. He didn't. He couldn't. He was too far gone, had been since she appeared on his roof.
Fuck it, he had been too far gone since the first time he'd seen her fight, if not before then.
He tugged her shirt over her head, greedy eyes drinking up every inch of scarred, marked, beautiful skin, his fingers itching to trace every line, to rewrite the lines of pain beneath his palms into something better. As her hair fell down around her face, he saw a faint tremor of embarrassment, just a flash, but enough to make him pause. His hands wrapped around her hips, drawing circles just above her jeans, but calming them enough that he could speak.
"Nervous?" he murmured, his drawl sounding warmer and less detached than he'd ever heard it before.
"Hardly." She glared at him, her arms twitching but remaining down at her sides, not making an attempt to cover herself. His hands may have paused, but his eyes were still moving and he made no attempt to hide it.
"Liar." He popped the button on her jeans and she nearly flinched. "It's not like this is anything new. For you, at least."
She wrapped her fingers around his wrist, stilling him and drawing his eyes up to hers. "It's new for me, too."
That stopped him. "You never-"
"We kissed. Once."
The way she said it made it clear that it had been just before the end. His end. Pushing that aside, Leonard couldn't help but feeling slightly pleased. This would be one thing he had over his future self. It also meant he had to set the bar.
Cupping her cheek, he tilted her chin up to him. Slowly, every so achingly slowly, he pressed his lips to hers, trading the frenzied fire of earlier for something no less intense, but far slower, far deeper, far more meaningful.
He was the master of slowing things down.
Languorously, he moved against her, Sara falling back to meet his tempo. He didn't stop, they were both too anxious for that, but instead of tearing off the rest of her clothes - still an option - he peeled them off, inch by excruciating inch. With every new bit of her that was exposed, Leonard's hands, lips, teeth, discovered and learned everything she had to offer. Soon, and ages later, he'd moved them back, laying her down on the dark blue sheets and leaning over her.
She'd gone soft and warm beneath his glacial slowness, allowing him to lead. As much as he loved the fire and the fighter, this Sara gave him a whole new perspective. Not that she was an inactive participant, but she seemed content to go where he lead, for the moment, at least.
When he finally drew back, Sara was breathless and he wasn't much better. She opened her eyes and he nearly came undone, the blue swallowed up by black, skin flushed and lips parted.
Then her eyes trailed down and flashed in annoyance when she realized he was still almost completely dressed. In a flash, the content Sara was gone and the fighter had twisted her leg in his and flipped them, so she was sitting low on his hips.
"Dirty trick, Canary." His complaint was without any true merit. He was quite happy beneath her.
"And you, Captain," she said, grabbing his sweater and hauling him upright, "are a tease." As soon as she'd pulled the sweater and shirt off over his head, he wrapped his arms around her and leaned up to kiss her again. Their slow pace had done nothing but build the passion even higher. She managed to undo the buttons between them, kicking off his jeans with talented feet and his unhelpful attempts at distracting her. Once that was done, she pressed him down, back against the bed and sat back for a moment, her eyes tracing the nightmares on his skin, hesitating on the new one from earlier. There wasn't a flicker of pity or sorrow. Just understanding and acceptance.
Gently, her fingers traced over one white line that crossed down over his shoulder and chest, curving in a gentle arc above his heart. "This one?"
"Someone brought a knife to a gunfight," he said, watching her face, rather than her fingers. He didn't need to, he could track the movement by the faint fire she left behind. It wasn't the worst scar on his front and one of the few that didn't have to do with his father. A straight-up brawl - the first he'd been in after he got the cold gun. The first time the papers used his moniker, the first time he'd truly been Captain Cold.
Before he realized what had happened, Sara had left his hips and stood next to the bed, turning her back to him and moving her hair aside. He sat up, confused, and for a moment he didn't see what she was showing him; he was too distracted of the image of Sara, swathed only in starlight.
Then he saw the line that went over Sara's back, from her left shoulder, curving down towards her spine. Getting to his feet and standing behind her, he ran his fingers down the line, not for the first time tonight. "This one?" he asked, his question making her hair move.
She didn't turn around. "I brought a knife to a sword fight."
"When?" He didn't know why he asked.
"A sword, right after I became the Canary."
He ran his fingers down it again, staring at his own.
"They match," she said simply.
Yes, they did. He leaned forward, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing his lips against her shoulder, inadvertently - inescapably? - pressing their matching scars against each other. They were nearly identical, scant millimeters of difference. Sara ran her hands over his, not speaking.
When she turned in his arms, he didn't move just yet, wanting to memorize this, gold and gemstones looking up, the adrenaline of a thousand motorcycle rides caught in her smile, the thrill of danger and power in the silken steel beneath his fingers.
He had to remember, because it would have to last until he found her again.
For once in his life, Leonard Snart didn't back away and take the easy way out, he didn't put up the walls that would keep him from being hurt. For once, the pain was worth it.
"Sara," he murmured, the words he wanted to say catching in his throat from disuse. He couldn't get them out.
The smile softened and glowed, lighting her up from within. "I know, crook."
The woman who understood, without him needing to say anything.
And when he closed the final distance between them, when Sara whispered his name and he groaned hers, everything he couldn't say came through in the way he held her, in the way she looked at him, in the way this felt like the home he never had. When she came apart around him, it was a more beautiful sight than the most overflowing vault. When she said his name, it was far more satisfying than any headline he'd been featured in. When she pressed a kiss against his lips, it was far sweeter than any successful heist he'd pulled.
This was worth the pain that would come tomorrow. The years he'd have to spend waiting. The death that was inevitable in his future. He would pay any price for this.
Sara was worth it.
