A/N: To my guest reviewers: Thank you. I'm glad you're both enjoying the story. I can't give away anything about where this is going, or where it ends up, obviously, but I will say that this chapter and the next mark the end of the first third. Yes, it is that long. The three sections may not be of equal lengths exactly, but probably near enough. The scene headings may be misleading, although when you read it back I think you see how they apply, but they may give you an idea how many scenes, and which ones, are already written by this point. Of course, there are more of them now than when I posted that. Maybe I should post an update?

Chapter 25: A Time to Dance

Leonard returned to his cell before the bell rang for matins. He had made his plans and executed them. He had executed them every night for the past week. Now he had a hole almost twice as deep as he was tall, wide enough to move in and hidden under a hollow pile of timber that would be the last to be used by Brother Benoit and his men. Securing a knotted rope would have proved difficult under such scrutiny as Leonard was sure he had been given, thus he had cut hand and foot holes into the packed earth wall of his project. Six nights hard labour, and on the seventh he finally had something to show for it. If he'd been a religious man he might have read something into that.

He looked down at the small item in his hand. It would be long before the sun rose to shed its light on the tiny bauble, but it had been buried there, encased in a box of dark wood, overlaid with lead and lined with velvet. Leonard had come across it halfway between vigils and matins, and spent the rest of his time hidden in his pit with his dark lantern and his lock picks, opening that case. The case he had brought with him in his scrip, along with the rest of his smaller gear. The pick and shovel he had left in the pit. But this: this he had kept clasped in the depths of his palm. Easing open the dark lantern, Leonard let a single shaft of golden light fall on the thing. It glimmered with a hidden fire. He picked it up and turned it over and over in his fingers. It was a ring, but not like any he had seen before. It seemed to be made of two halves: one iron, one bronze or brass. Not gold, he was sure of that. Holding the two bands together was a great jade square, its corners softened and smoothed, either by time or by design. On either side of the square were two ovoid gems of a shape that sparkled the name marquise into his thief's brain, but unlike the straight edged cuts of his memory, these were smooth and polished. One of each gem on either side of the square was attached to each band of the ring, almost as if it were designed once upon a time to move. They seemed to be of four different types: one glistened red, like blood, another caught the light of the lantern more fully and shone up at him like a deep green eye in a golden setting. The jade tablet between the four stones felt engraved under Leonard's fingers, but it was too dark and too worn for him to make out the pattern. Something in a circle. That was as much as he could tell for now.

The bell for matins began to ring and he hurried to hide his find and tools in the hollow below his floor. Not being one of the brothers, he was not expected at the service, but any light below his door spotted by another resident or hurrying novice would arouse suspicion. Instead, he doused the lantern and lay back on his bed, letting sleep overcome him for the short while until prime.

Sleep was never long in taking over Leonard's mind after his nightly exertions. This time it came with dreams. In his dreams he found himself walking through unfamiliar streets in an unfamiliar time. Unfamiliar or simply forgotten, he could not tell. There were others with him, but he could not see them. Together they entered a large room; a bar. Something niggled at his mind. Was this a dream or a memory? He was still unsure. The scene was dark, noisy, filled with people, but then a familiar tune played in his head, and in the centre of the scene a woman in white danced.

XXXX

The moon hung heavily in a warm and windless sky, faint wisps of cloud dulling its silver glow. The team made its way across the barracks to the hall, yellow light streaming from its open door and high windows. Well, most of the team. Someone had to stay on the Waverider to co-ordinate things and look after Jesse, or Sleeping Beauty as Mick had named her, and according to Rex it had been Amaya. Ray was in miniature form in Mick's top pocket. Mick in the uniform of a US Marine, even a service dress uniform, was the most believable of the group. Jax, decked out in a army service uniform, had spent the last half hour varying between how much he looked like his father, how much he didn't look like his father, how much better his father had suited a uniform and whether or not his old man would be happy or proud if he saw him now. Martin, unassailably a scientist, was dressed as exactly that, scrubbed up and minus the lab coat, and had spent the last half hour listening to Jax. Rip bore a pilot officer's insignia on the sleeve of his RAF uniform, his own personal joke, and a set of fabricated invitations in his hand that would have made every forger of Mick or Sara's acquaintance roll their eyes at in despair. Sara was not wearing a dress uniform of any armed force. She was wearing a dress. It wasn't the same dress she had worn to Savage's party. That had been designed to hold knives, this had been designed to distract and disarm. There would be metal detectors and x-ray machines at this event. Every knife had to be forsaken and left behind in favour of weaponry that could be easily smuggled in, just in case the plan failed. In Martin and Jax's case, they were their own weapon. Ray was small enough to fly around the sensors without being spotted. Mick and Sara were, in a very real sense, weapons in their own right. Usually, they weren't the only ones, but for the moment Rip seemed to be banking on the plan going off without a hitch or there being something in there for him to hit people with.

"Ready for the mother of all bar fights, Haircut?" Mick murmured, signalling the Atom it was time to make his unobserved entrance to the ball.

"I'll see you in there," grinned Ray as he zoomed ahead, doing his best impression of a firefly.

"Only if necessary!" Rip hissed, irritation betraying the jangling in his nerves. "No super suits, superpowers or league tactics unless absolutely necessary!"

"Big brother's a marine," Sara reminded him. "You don't think he's gonna make sure his baby sister can take care of herself while he's deployed?"

"Not the way you take care of yourself," deadpanned Rip, looking up to flash a grin at the guards on duty at the door.

"I still say this is a bad idea," murmured Sara under her breath as Rip handed over their invitations.

"For myself, my father and his assistant and my friend and his little baby sister," Rip muttered, dragging out the adjective wearily, handing over the cards and indicating the other four in turn. Behind him Sara glared. He smirked.

"Sir, these are army barracks," said one of the two guards. "Do you mind telling me how you got these invitations?"

"Not at all," breezed Rip. "My father worked with a Doctor Tyler from your biochemistry division. He acquired the invitations through him and, as I had only recently tracked him down, suggested I and my friends tag along."

The story raised an eyebrow, but that was all. Apparently the forgeries did pass muster after all. The team made their way into the temporary ballroom and spread out, Martin and Jax finding a safe corner to discuss, then quietly argue over, something as cover for staying near each other in the dense crowd of people around the edges, ready to exacerbate the trouble the team planned on causing. Mick headed to the bar with a muttered "Try not to kill each other", leaving Rip to lead Sara out onto the dance floor.

"I still can't believe you're really making me do this again," grumbled Sara, resting her hand on his shoulder. "Or that the guard actually bought that ridiculous story you made up!"

"It was inspired by one I heard elsewhere," murmured Rip into her ear. "And you danced beautifully last time we rehearsed. You'll be fine this time. Remember: it's a waltz. It's easy: just count to three and step on the 'one'. Besides it was a choice between dancing with either myself or Mister Rory and nobody in their right mind would believe I would choose to pick a fight with Mick!"

"You didn't have to add the 'little' the way you did," she muttered, her cheek brushing his as he pulled back to catch her eyes.

"Mister Rory is about to come over here and start a fight with me, his alleged friend, for hitting on said little sister. Something he apparently has not been expecting in the slightest," said Rip, watching only her as they danced. "Do you really think they'll buy that if we're nice to each other in his presence? They, and he, are supposed to think we don't like each other."

"Well that shouldn't be too difficult for them, right now," she snapped, glaring up at him. "And I still don't see why they need to think anything. Mick can start a fight in an empty bar!"

"Very likely," he countered, "but who'd believe he did so by accident, hmm? Would you? We've been over this. We play it out just as Rex described, as far as he ever did describe it, and hope for the same outcome."

He had looked everywhere but at her the first time they danced, all that long time ago at Savage's party. She had spent most of their lessons and rehearsals watching everything but him. Now she found herself trapped by his emerald gaze, like a moth pinned to a collector's board. The music rose and fell, carrying them with it oblivious to the other dancers around them. He spun her away from him, breaking their eye contact with a suddenness that made her feel bereft. When she moved back into his arms, her hand rested on the back of his neck and his arm wrapped tight around her waist, pulling her close against him. The dancers moved on around them, but they remained, frozen in an apparently unexpectedly amorous embrace.

"That's Mick's cue," she murmured, breaking the silence that had fallen between them. She couldn't have dragged her eyes away from his now if she had wanted to. She felt her heart beat a little faster. That wasn't part of the plan. "Where the hell is he?"

"Probably finishing his drink first," mused Rip, releasing her hand to brush a stray lock of hair back from her face. He didn't remove his hand. "Or waiting to see how far we'll carry on this charade without him."

Automatically, just like they'd rehearsed, her now free hand moved to his chest. He placed a soft kiss on her forehead then rested his own there, drawing her nearer to him. As one, their eyes closed. Below her hand, Sara could feel that it wasn't just her own heart that was racing. The plan had been for Mick to come charging to her rescue by now, before the inevitable kiss they were both now trying to avoid. She felt Rip's hand drift from her face and trail down her spine. She focused on her increasingly erratic breathing, forcing it back into a steady rhythm and ignoring the shivers that coursed down her back, echoing out into her own extremities. They were beyond anything they'd rehearsed now. Where the hell was Mick? The hand on Rip's chest slipped slowly up to his neck. Into his hair. Drawing him closer. Too close.

Finally, an angry roar erupted from the direction of the bar. Mick bounded over, leaving distressed dancers in his wake and sending Rip flying. After that, their little drama played out to perfection, and Doctor Tyler was called to tell him that his friends were causing trouble.