A.N.: Yes, I'm still writing! Sorry this took so long. Life managed to derail the completion of this fic multiple times over the past couple weeks. Thanks again for all the reviews. They never fail to make my day.
Warning: There is some blood and violence in this one.
25. Beware Papa Bear
Ray
In retrospect, thought Ray as the tentacles tightened around his body, poking the big, swirly portal thing with a stick had probably been a bad idea.
It had all been done in the pursuit of science, of course. He hadn't had any scientific instruments with him so how else was he suppose to examine the shimmery vortex that had suddenly appeared hanging in the air. It wasn't like he'd known a bunch of angry, squid-like tentacles would burst out of it, wrap around him, and begin squeezing him to death.
Worriedly, Ray watched the tentacles protruding from the portal wave and writhe in the air while the ones holding him tightened even more making it rather difficult to breath.
His Atom suit would have been very useful at this point. He could have used its lasers to blast the tentacles freeing him so he could fly away. Unfortunately, he wasn't actually wearing his Atom suit. It was currently stuck in its shrunken state in his pocket which he couldn't reach due to the tentacles currently pinning his arms to his sides.
The tentacles around him tightened even more.
"Um, guys?" Ray choked out, hoping the words would still reach the comlink in his ear. "Maybe you could... hurry it up... a bit. I'm beginning to think... this thing likes... its meals... well-squeezed."
There was no answer.
He wasn't actually entirely sure where the rest of the team were. They'd acknowledged his first cry for help but that was it. They'd split up awhile ago in order to find the disturbance so he didn't know how far away they were or how long it would take for them to get to him.
Wheezing, Ray desperately tried to take in more air as the tentacles continued to squeeze. His ribs felt like they were grinding together and dark spots were starting to appear in his vision.
Suddenly, there was a zap followed by a loud screeching sound which almost deafened Ray. Several more zaps followed.
Laser fire, Ray dimly realized, and familiar sounding laser fire at that though in the oxygen-deprived state he was in he couldn't quite place it. He tried to see where it was coming from but the tentacles currently had him facing the wrong way.
The screeching was becoming continuous now and the tentacles holding him had begun to tremble but they didn't let go.
Then as abruptly as the laser fire had begun it stopped and soon so did the screeching. The tentacles seemed to regain their strength and began wriggling about with renewed vigor, but then there was a new sound, a kind of swooshing sound. It was followed by something that sounded disturbingly like someone chopping meat, and the screeching resumed even louder than before as the tentacles began to shake violently.
Only then did Ray finally spot the source of all the commotion.
It was Rip.
Rip was hanging from one of the tentacles nearby, a look of fierce determination on his face and a fiery anger in his eyes. He was covered in splatters of some odd sort of purple slime and was hacking at the tentacles with... Was that a machete?
Ray didn't have long to be amazed by this sight because suddenly the tentacles holding him had gone slack and he was falling. He hit the ground with a bone jarring thud and lay there coughing and wheezing as he drew in much needed air.
When he had recovered enough to lift his head and take in his surroundings, he found Rip now standing protectively in front of him, his long duster swirling around his feet, a machete in one hand, his revolver in the other as he fired at the remaining tentacles protruding through the portal entrance.
The tentacles, many now a lot shorter than they had been, writhed in the air a couple more times before finally retreating, leaving only the shimmering swirl of the portal behind.
Ray let out a sigh of relief. He pushed the severed remains of one of the tentacles off him only now realizing that he too was splattered in the slimy, purple stuff. Tentacle monster blood, his brain informed him, and he grimaced in disgust.
"Are you alright?"
The fiery anger, which Ray had admittedly found a touch terrifying, was gone from Rip's eyes and had been replaced by anxious concern as the captain gazed down at Ray.
"Yeah, I think so," said Ray. "Thanks for the save."
Rip offered a hand and Ray took it letting the other man pull him to his feet.
"What was that thing?" Ray asked as he rubbed his sore ribs, cracked if not broken. He made a mental note to have Gideon check him out later.
"Some sort of interdimensional creature," said Rip, in a manner Ray found a tad too casual given the circumstances. "I'm afraid I hadn't realized the disturbance Gideon had detected was spatial as well as temporal."
"Right," Ray said with a nod, deciding to just go with that for now. "Next question: where did you get the machete?"
Rip gazed at the large knife in his hand as if he too wasn't quite sure where it had come from. "I, uh, borrowed it from somewhere. I thought it might come in handy."
Ray started at him a moment and then gave another nod. Apparently, this was another thing he would just have to learn to accept.
Turning to look at the portal once more, Ray saw that the swirling vortex was still there hanging in the air. "Giant tentacle monster aside, that thing is pretty amazing," he said. "Though I suppose poking it with a stick wasn't one of my best ideas."
Rip's eyes widened as he stared at Ray in disbelief. "You did what?"
Ray winced, sheepishly. "It was just an experiment," he said with a shrug. "It seemed like a good idea at the time."
With the tired look of a man who had been greatly put upon, Rip ran a hand over his face.
"Okay, so admittedly, I probably should have at least put my suit on first," said Ray. He put his hand in his pocket, felt his shrunken suit there, and turned it over in his fingers. His eyes lit up as a thought suddenly occurred to him."Hey. How about I..."
"No," said Rip, giving Ray a sharp look.
"I was just going to suggest that I..."
"No."
"But I could..."
"No!" Rip snapped. "What we're going to do is head back to the Waverider and fetch the appropriate equipment with which to shut this portal down for good. There will be no more experiments with sticks or without."
Ray's shoulders slumped. "Fine," he agreed, sullenly.
Rip kept up the stern glare another moment as if to ensure his message really had gotten through, and then his face softened. "Come on," he said, patting Ray on the shoulder. "Let's get back to the ship so Gideon can fix you up."
Ray managed to call up a small smile in response, but as Rip turned to leave, he couldn't help sending one last wistful look back at the portal.
The vortex in the air shimmered and swirled invitingly while on the ground below, among large splatters of purple blood, the severed tentacles shriveled beneath the warm sun.
Ray sighed and turned around reluctantly following Rip back to the ship.
Mick
Twisting the weaselly, little henchman's arm even further behind his back, Mick weighed the satisfaction he'd feel from taking the man out against the annoyance of having to put up with another lecture from the Englishman.
"Hey, hey, hey," the henchman cried, wincing in pain. "Watch it." He turned to Rip. "Tell your attack dog to lay off, will you?"
A growl rumbled in the back of Mick's throat and he tightened his grip even more. "I'll show you attack dog."
The henchman cried out again.
"Mr. Rory," said Rip, sternly, giving him a warning look.
Mick scowled in response. It wasn't like he was going to kill the man. He didn't do that sort of thing anymore, at least not much, and besides, he wasn't an idiot. He knew this guy had information they needed. The henchman was the only lead they had to find the time pirates that were hiding out somewhere nearby. Mick was just putting a little extra pressure on him to make sure he talked.
Rip kept up his glare for a moment longer before turning back to the henchman held in Mick's arms. "Now, what's your name?"
"What?" the man exclaimed. "I'm not telling you that."
Mick snorted. It wasn't like the name was that important. Besides, he already had the perfect name for the guy: Weasel. Weasel, the weaselly heachman.
Rip gave a tired sigh. "Fine," he said. "Then maybe you would be willing to tell us where certain friends of yours happen to be."
"Yeah?" said Weasel, the weaselly henchman. "And why should I do that?"
"I can give you a reason," said Mick with an evil smirk as he increased pressure on the man's arm once more.
Weasel hissed in pain squirming about as he tried to break out of Mick's hold. "Leave off, you fucking oaf."
Mick snarled, the idiot's words only making him want to press harder.
Rip put up a hand indicating for Mick to stop.
Mick obeyed though he let out a discontented huff as he did so. Sometimes the captain was too damn soft for his own good.
"You're fools if you think this is going to make me talk," said Weasel. "Anything you do to me is nothing compared to what those pirates will do."
"Well," said Rip, crossing his arms over his chest, "considering you're already talking to us, I doubt you'll be in their good books anyway, and if we were to encounter them and happened to drop a few hints about how you'd told us about them..."
Weasel's eyes widened and he blanched. "You wouldn't."
Mick had to hand it to Rip. That wasn't such a bad idea. It might even work. He hadn't realized the man could be so sneaky.
"It won't be necessary if you tell us what you know," said Rip. "Give us the pirate's location and my team and I can take care of them before they cause you any trouble."
"You're bastards, you know that," said Weasel, scowling. "Both of you."
Mick grit his teeth. He was hating this guy more and more with every word he spoke. Needed information or not, he really wanted to take him down.
"These bastards just might be your only salvation," said Rip. He leaned towards the henchman raising his eyebrows expectantly. "So are you going to talk?"
Weasel just laughed and shook his head. "Pathetic. That's what you are, pathetic and deluded. You really think you can take on these pirates? You've got no idea what you're dealing with."
"You don't know my team," Rip replied, calmly.
Weasel sneered. "Well, for your sake, I hope the rest of them aren't anything like the moronic dimwit you've got holding me."
Mick's eyes narrowed as a rush of hot fiery anger spread through him.
"Seriously, where'd you pick him up?" Weasel continued. "Guy's got muscle but less brain cells than a stoned worm with a concussion. Bet you pay him in doggy treats and write his orders on the back of his hand so he can remember them. You should really..."
Red filled Mick's vision. He had had enough. He didn't care what this man knew. He didn't care if he was their only lead on the pirates. He didn't care that Rip was going to be pissed off with him. He was sick of people treating him like an idiot and he was going to make this weaselly henchman pay for every little comment he'd made.
Mick's hand clenched into a fist. He loosened his grip on the henchman so he could strike at him but he never got the chance.
Rip beat him to it.
With a fist that seemed to come out of nowhere, Rip struck the henchman on the jaw making Weasel's head snap back. Rip might be thin but he was wiry and knew how to deliver a proper punch even if he wasn't always very good at dodging them. Weasel barely even had time to be surprised before he lost consciousness.
Astonished, Mick stared at the man slumped unconscious in his arms. Realizing there was little point in holding him anymore, he let the man fall bonelessly to the floor. The body hit the ground with a thud and Mick turned his puzzled gaze to Rip, the unasked question clear in his eyes.
"I owed you one," Rip said with a shrug, rubbing his sore knuckles. He grimaced as he looked down at the unconscious man. "It seems were going to have to find another lead. Come on." He turned and began walking away leaving the fallen henchman behind.
Mick gazed after him, still in shock. "Huh," he said. "What do you know."
And then, after giving a quick kick to the unconscious Weasel's stomach, he followed after the captain.
Martin
As Martin stood there, hands raised, watching the woman with the gun pace back and forth in front of him, he wondered, for nowhere near the first time, how his life had ended up this way.
Just a few years ago, he would never have imagined someone pointing a gun at him, let alone for it to become practically common place. Of course, the fact it was practically common place didn't mean he wasn't scared shitless as they say colloquially. He was experienced enough now to keep his head and not fall into a complete panic but it was still very unnerving having someone threaten you, especially when it was a woman wearing heavy body armor who had proven to have extensive combat skills and was currently waving around a fully loaded, assault rifle.
The woman's footsteps echoed through the empty warehouse as she paced, gun held almost casually in her arms. Her eyes flickered in Martin's direction and he swallowed nervously. Quickly glancing to the side, he assessed the state of his fellow captive.
Rip, by comparison, barely seemed concerned by the woman at all, or her gun. In fact, as he stood there, his own hands also raised in the air, his eyes never leaving their antagonist, he mostly looked annoyed, not an uncommon state for the man.
"Shall we get this over with?" the woman said as she finally stopped her pacing and turned to face them.
"If you wouldn't mind," Rip said, dryly. "I do have rather more pressing issues to deal with today."
"Well, I'm afraid you won't have the time," the woman said, running her fingers over her gun. "The question is," she added, head cocked to the side, "whether we do this quick?" She pointed the gun at Rip's head. "Or slow?" She pointed the gun at his knee. "Quick seems the wiser choice but I do love to have a little fun first." She gave a malicious smirk.
Unimpressed, Rip met her gaze steadily, not showing the slightest hint of fear.
Martin winced. This really wasn't how things were supposed to have gone. This was just supposed to be a quick reconnaissance mission. If they'd known that some of the members of the gang they'd been tracking, a gang who'd proven to have an unsettling amount of foreknowledge and futuristic equipment for 1962, would be there, they'd have brought some of the more powerful members of the team along with them, Martin's better half for instance. Martin winced again, this time internally. Technically speaking, Clarissa should be considered his better half, not Jax. He hoped he never slipped up and said that in front of her though he was sure she would find it highly amusing.
"Ever been shot in the knee?" the woman asked Rip. "I hear it can be quite painful. Of course, a gut shot's always fun too." She moved the gun to point at Rip's stomach and stroked a finger along the trigger. "Depending on where I hit, it can take a surprisingly long time for you to die, and after what you did to my friends, I so like the idea of watching you writhing on the floor."
"I can't say I'm surprised," said Rip in an almost irritatingly calm manner. "You seem like the sadistic sort."
If only Rip hadn't been disarmed when taking out those other two gang members, thought Martin. He could just spot Rip's revolver on the floor at the other end of the warehouse beside the two unconscious men who thankfully didn't appear to be about to get up any time soon.
"So any preference?" the woman continued, still focused on Rip. "Or should I just start shooting until you start screaming?"
"Yes, actually, I do have a preference," said Rip, taking a step towards her. "How about instead of shooting me, you tell us where you've been getting all of the specialist equipment you've been using recently."
The woman raised her eyebrows. "And what would you know about that?" She pursed her lips thoughtfully as she seemed to reassess him.
"Oh, I know a lot of things," Rip said with a wry smile.
"Yeah, sorry, not good enough," the woman replied, levelling her gun at him once more.
Martin's heart, which had already been going at quite a pace, began beating even faster. He really hoped the rest of the team would appear soon. He wondered what was taking them so long. He could feel Jefferson's worry over their psychic link and it was making him even more worried even though he knew the main reason Jefferson was worried in the first place was because he could feel that Martin was worried.
Psychic feedback could be a bitch as Jefferson liked to say.
Rip gave a derisive snort as if there wasn't a woman currently pointing a rather large gun at him. "I'm afraid you won't get anything out of me that way."
The woman gazed at him a moment and then nodded concedingly. "You're right." She turned her gun at Martin. "Of course, I'm sure you'll start talking fairly quickly as soon as I start blowing bits off this friend of yours."
Eyes wide, heart now pounding at full tilt, Martin started backing away. "Wait, wait. If we could just, uh, talk about this..."
"Now where to start. How about I..." the woman began taking a step towards Martin but she didn't make it any further.
With a speed Martin hadn't known he possessed, Rip launched himself at the woman grabbing her rifle and pushing it up into the air.
Martin cringed as a spray of bullets emerged from the gun but fortunately none of them hit their mark.
The woman and Rip wrestled for the gun, each trying to get the upper hand. It wasn't long though before it slipped from both their grips and went sailing across the warehouse. With the gun gone, the pair began fighting in earnest, bringing all their skills to bare, fists and feet flying.
Martin winced as Rip took what must have been a rather painful blow to the ribs. He desperately wanted to help but had the feeling he would just get in the way.
The two fighters were fairly evenly matched. The woman perhaps had more skill but Rip seemed to be fighting with a drive and a fury she didn't possess. After a couple more minutes, he was able to find an opening and managed to land a solid blow to her head. The woman looked shocked for a moment and then slumped unconscious on the floor. Rip stood over her breathing heavily.
"Captain, are you alright?" Martin asked, hurrying over to him.
Rip brushed back a lock of hair which had fallen over his forehead. "I'm fine."
Now that the fear and the shock of the events were starting to wear off, Martin felt a wave of anger rush through him. "That was reckless and dangerous," he snapped, "taking on that woman unarmed. You could have been killed. You should have waited for the others."
"Maybe she shouldn't have threatened a member of my team," Rip said in an unapologetic tone.
Stunned, Martin stared at Rip. He cleared his throat. "Well, I suppose a thank you is in order."
"You're welcome," said Rip, bowing his head.
"But don't do it again," Martin insisted. "In fact, let's never do anything like this again. I think I've had quite enough of people pointing guns at me. Next time take Mr. Rory with you."
Rip just gave him a smile, one which was far too knowing for Martin's liking. "Come on," the captain said. "We should get out of here before we encounter anymore unexpected surprises."
"Right," said Martin, and he followed Rip out of the warehouse giving the unconscious woman a wide berth just in case.
He was definitely never doing this sort thing again, he reiterated to himself, not unless it was as Firestorm, but in the back of mind, a tiny voice quietly whispered telling him it was inevitable, that he would be there, volunteering once again, the next time such a mission arose. Apparently, that's what came with being a Legend.
Jax
Not so long ago, Jax hadn't known much about electronics beyond what made the inside of a car tick, but now as he gazed at the giant assortment of metal parts, wires, and circuit boards in front of him, it took mere seconds for his eyes to fall on the exact piece he needed, and he grinned.
"How much for that?" he asked, pointing it out to the owner of the kiosk.
The kiosk seemed to have spare parts from every sort of machine imaginable, from vacuum cleaners to spaceships, from music players to particle accelerators, and Jax could tell the owner knew her thing even if it was simply from the grease permanently caked under the older woman's fingernails.
The woman gave Jax a number but it meant nothing to him. He wouldn't have known how much the part cost in his own time let alone in the early 22nd century. Fortunately, Rip had set him up with a credit chip thing, something that looked a bit like a flash drive, that apparently had almost unlimited funds.
Jax nodded and held the chip out to the woman.
She raised an eyebrow at him but she brought out a machine that read the chip, and then when the machine gave a satisfied beep, passed him the part.
Jax had a feeling he'd been meant to haggle the price down but he didn't care. He was just glad to finally have found the piece they needed to fix the Waverider.
Stepping back from the kiosk, Jax pressed a finger to the comlink in his ear. "Hey, Rip?"
"Yes?" came the captain's voice over the link.
"I've got it." Jax turned the part over in his hands. "Looks like it's in good condition too. With this, we should have the ship up and running in no time."
"Well done, Mr. Jackson," Rip replied. "I'll meet you back at the market entrance in a few minutes."
"Roger that."
A smug grin spread across Jax's face as he slipped the small, but oh so important piece of machinery, into his pocket. He couldn't believe he'd beaten Rip, found the part they needed before the ex-Time Master, and to think the man hadn't liked Jax's idea of splitting up to cover more ground.
Weaving through the crowds of people, past the enthusiastic vendors and the stalls loaded with goods, Jax made his way back to the entrance of the market. There was no sign of Rip when he got there. Jax having apparently beaten the man once again. He did, however, spot what looked like a bar. At least, the kiosk certainly seemed to be selling drinks and there was a line of stools in front of it. Realizing he was thirsty and deciding he deserved a drink after what he'd accomplished, Jax went over and sat down.
"What's your pleasure?" the bartender asked, a short man with long, shaggy hair which obscured a good portion of his features.
Jax looked at the bottles that lined the back of the bar and embarrassingly realized he had no clue what any of them were. He was pretty sure there'd still be things like beer and whiskey a hundred years into his future but there was no guarantee. For all he knew, people might only be drinking fermented energy drinks by this century.
"What's good 'round here?" he asked, casually, deciding to play it safe.
The bartender gazed at him through narrowed eyes as if sizing him up. "You want the good stuff? The real good stuff?"
Jax shrugged. "Yeah, sure," he said. It wasn't like he was in the 22nd century every day and he did have near unlimited funds at his disposal so he might as well go for the best.
Disappearing beneath the bar, the man began rummaging about, and eventually reappeared with a small bottle which contained a liquid tinted an oddly iridescent blue.
Jax gazed at it uncertainly. "Um, what's that?"
The bartender, who seemed to have been waiting for Jax's reaction, immediately broke into a wide grin. "This is Amrita, named for the nectar which is said to have given the Hindu gods their immortality, and trust me, my friend, you'll feel immortal once you've tried this."
"So, it's some kind of liquor or what?" Jax wasn't sure if it was the odd colouring of the drink or the man's grin but something felt off.
"Of a kind," the bartender replied. "It has a taste both sweet and sharp that'll wake you up and have you seeing stars."
Apparently even in the 22nd century they liked their sales' slogans.
Jax stared at the bottle a moment longer, then let out a deep breath. "Sure, why not," he said. Being a time traveller was all about trying out new things after all.
"You won't regret it," said the bartender, his grin growing even larger.
He held out one of those credit chip readers and Jax obligingly pressed his chip against it noting that the number it displayed, while lower than what he'd paid for the part for the Waverider, was probably higher than what you'd expect to pay for a simple drink.
Once the machine had made its approving little beep, the bartender popped the top off the bottle of Amrita and with a practiced motion, poured it out into a small glass.
The blue liquid seemed to steam slightly in the air.
Jax reached for the glass with tentative fingers comforting himself with the fact that at least this time he knew his drink wasn't roofied. He raised it up and saluted the bartender. "Cheers."
The glass was half-way to Jax's mouth when a hand came seemingly out of nowhere and yanked Jax's arm down with such force that the glass flew from his hand and smashed against the bar. Shattered glass and blue liquid spread out across its surface.
"Hey!" Jax cried out. "What's the big..." he began but as he turned around he saw that the hand that had grabbed him didn't belong to a stranger as he'd expected but to Rip.
Jax went from angry to shocked to angry again. He couldn't believe Rip had done that. He was about to lay down a long tirade about how the captain needed to stop treating him like a kid, how he could take care of himself, and how he was definitely more than old enough to drink no matter what the drinking age happened to be in that time and place, but then he saw the look on Rip's face.
Rip was angry. In fact, he was furious, more furious than Jax had ever seen him, but the anger wasn't being directed at Jax. It was being directed, quite vehemently, at the bartender. If there'd been any more power behind the glare Rip was sending him, the man would have been nothing more than a charcoal smear across the back of the bar.
The bartender took a nervous step back.
"Uh, Rip?" said Jax, wondering what the hell was going on.
But Rip didn't say anything. Instead, he quickly reached over, grabbed the bartender by the lapels of his shirt, and yanked him forward slamming him against the bar.
"Whoa, whoa," said Jax, holding up his hands. "The guy just sold me a drink, that's all."
Rip didn't seem to hear him. Without releasing his grip on the man, Rip leaned forward until his face was only inches from the bartender's. "Is this how you make your money around here?" His voice was as sharp as a knife's edge, his eyes blazing with a cold fury. "Selling illegal drinks to unsuspecting customers?"
"I was just... just... giving the boy a taste of Am... Am... Amrita," the bartender stuttered.
"Also known as Blue Bliss or more appropriately Apoplexy?" questioned Rip, raising his eyebrows. "Which, as I recall, is currently illegal everywhere on the planet as well as some places that aren't."
Jax swallowed. He really didn't like where this conversation seemed to be going.
"Pointless pro.. prohibition," the bartender protested
Rip scoffed. "Right, and it has nothing to do with the fact it's one of the most addictive substances ever created by man or due to its numerous side effects. Did you mention the side effects?"
"I... I... I..." the bartender choked out, barely able to speak now either due to fear or due to Rip's tightening grip on his collar.
"Let's see if I can remember them," Rip said with derisive sarcasm. "Seizure, stroke, coma, death. I'm sure there are others but those seem to be the most important ones."
A wave of nausea washed through Jax as he gazed down at the remains of his drink realizing just how close he'd been to making a huge and possibly permanent mistake.
The bartender had given up his protests and was now just squirming about, trying to get away, but Rip kept a good grip on him.
"Now, listen. This is what you're going to do," Rip said, speaking with a deadly calm though his eyes still blazed. "You are going to get rid of every single drop of this so called Amrita because if I come back here tomorrow and find any, I'll burn your stall down with you inside. Do you understand?"
The bartender just stared at him frozen in fear, his face pale and damp with sweat.
"Do you understand?" Rip yelled, pulling the man so close he yanked him right off his feet.
The bartender nodded vigorously.
Rip finally let him go and the bartender collapsed across the bar. Rip gave him a look of disgust and then turning away, headed for the market's exit at a quick pace.
Jax hurried after him fighting to keep up with the man's long strides as they made their way out of the market. "I can't believe I was such an idiot," he said once they were away from the crowds. "I should have known something wasn't right with that guy." He cursed himself mentally. He couldn't believe he'd been so naive. The fact he was in a different century shouldn't have made a difference. He should have known better than to trust that guy. "I'm sorry, Rip," he said, dejectedly.
Rip continued another few steps, the cloud of fury still surrounding him, but then he stopped. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath and slowly let it. "No, Jax. It's I who must apologize." He placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "It's not your fault," he told him. "I should have warned you that the vendors in this market like to up their sales by participating in less than legal activities." He winced sheepishly. "And I'm afraid I may have overreacted somewhat when I saw what you were about to consume."
"Yeah, well, you'd think I'd know by now to watch what I drink," said Jax, with a self-deprecating smile. "How about next time I go for a drink in the future I take you along with me? Deal?"
A tiny crooked smile appeared on Rip's face. "Deal," he said.
Grinning, Jax slapped him on the back, and together they continued on their way back to the Waverider.
Sara & Snart
Sara gave the chains that bound her to the stone wall one final, useless tug; then sighed, and turning to her fellow prisoner, said, "I thought you were supposed to be the expert at breaking out of prison."
"I am," said Leonard, currently gazing at his own chains with a calculating look. "An expert at breaking out of late twentieth century and early twenty-first century prisons, not medieval dungeons."
Medieval dungeon was a fairly accurate description of their current location, Sara had to admit as she gazed around their cell. The walls were made of a rough, tan coloured stone, a single, slit of a window high up on one wall provided the only source of light, and the locked and barred door was made of rusted iron. The same type of iron that had been used to fashion the chains which attached Sara and Leonard to the prison's walls.
"So, you're blaming your inability to get out of here on the fact we're currently in 9th century Bagdad?" said Sara, raising her eyebrows at Snart pointedly. "So much for the infamous Captain Cold."
Leonard scowled back. "I don't see you making any progress getting out of those chains, Assassin. Didn't they teach you how to escape capture in the League?"
"Sure, they did," said Sara, giving her chains another tug hoping to spot some sign of weakness in the links. There wasn't one. "They even locked me in the League dungeon once to see if I could escape."
"And did you?" Snart asked, curiously.
"Eventually," said Sara, unwilling to admit that it had taken more than a few days for her to figure a way out.
Outside the cell, she could hear the guards moving about. They seemed in a good mood, chatting and laughing joyfully, a bad sign considering the Caliph had given them permission to do whatever they wanted with their prisoners before the execution the following morning. Sara knew the guards were quite eager to make use of the opportunity being unsurprisingly still sore from the injuries Sara and Snart had dealt them during their first encounter. Rip was going to be so pissed at them when he found out what they'd done. They'd accomplished their mission, found the time aberration, but in doing so, had managed to get in deep shit with pretty much everyone and now they were busy awaiting their imminent torture and death. Apparently, their inability to stay out of trouble still held true.
"Well, if we're going to get out of these chains, we'd better do it soon," she said, gazing warily at the cell door. "Those guards could burst in here at any moment and I don't think they're going to be nice enough to set us loose before they start having fun with us."
"And if we do get out of these chains, what then?" asked Leonard. "In case you've forgotten, there's still a whole ton of armed guards between us and the way out, and we don't have any weapons."
"It's not going to be easy but if we're free, at least we'll have a chance," Sara replied with more confidence than she felt.
"Then I guess I'd better get to work," Snart said, and rummaging around in his jacket, pulled a metal pick out from somewhere in the lining.
Sara raised her eyebrows in surprise. "You had that on you the whole time?"
Leonard smirked. "Ye of little faith. Did you really think I didn't have a back-up plan for just this type of scenario? Of course, if you think you can get free without my help..."
"Who says I can't," Sara replied, lips spreading into a smirk of her own.
The two grinned at each other, eyes twinkling.
"Last one to get free has to provide the other with a bottle of their favourite booze?" Leonard suggested.
"You're on," said Sara.
They set to work.
As Snart began making use of his lock pick, Sara twisted her wrist around in the heavy manacles that bound the chains to her arms. There was a little space manoeuvre thanks to the thinness of her wrists but not enough for her to actually free her hands. However, if she could dislocate her thumbs... She grimaced. This was going hurt but needs must.
Just as Sara was about to force her left thumb out of its socket, the sounds coming from the other side of the cell door suddenly changed.
Sara froze staring at the door.
With his pick half-way in his manacles' lock, Leonard did the same.
The ruckus outside had increased, and for a moment, Sara thought they were too late, that the guards were about to enter and get started with whatever they had planned for the two of them, but then she realized that the noise had gone from lighthearted celebration to sounds of surprise and alarm. Before long, a full fledged battle could be heard.
"Friend or foe?" Leonard wondered aloud.
"Friends," Sara replied without hesitation. "Sounds like the rest of the team's finally come for us." She breathed a sigh of relief and added teasingly, "I guess we won't need your prison breaking skills after all."
Snart just huffed and continued working on his manacles apparently preferring to get himself free rather than wait for the imminent rescue.
Sara, however, decided to spare herself the pain of dislocated thumbs and leaned back to listen to the fight.
It seemed quite a ferocious fight. There was a lot of clattering swords and screaming from the guards. Sara strained her ears trying to identify the individual members of the team, trying to figure out just how well the fight was going, but the team seemed unusually silent. There were no shouts or cries from them and they even seemed to be obeying the seldom observed no powers and no future tech rule.
Sara's eyebrows knit together as she frowned. She knew her battle sounds and something seemed off but she couldn't quite put her finger on what it was.
Eventually, the noises began to die down, the number of guards obviously dwindling. Soon, it grew completely silent.
Sara stared at the door waiting to see who would enter.
"Ha," Snart declared having managed to free his left wrist but before he could begin on his right, he was interrupted by the sounds of bolts being drawn back followed by the clanking of a key being turned in a lock.
As the two watched, the iron door of the cell slowly creaked open.
It was Rip. He appeared through the doorway out of breath, his era appropriate clothing dishevelled and blood-splattered, a scimitar clutched in his right hand, a set of keys in his left.
He let out a sigh of relief when he spotted them. "Thank God."
"Took you long enough," said Sara, unable to resist giving him a hard time despite being immensely glad to see him.
Rip huffed rolling his eyes in exasperation but he came over to her with the keys, and within seconds, had set her free of her manacles.
"One bottle of Johnny Walker Blue," Sara said to Leonard as she rubbed her chafed wrists.
Snart scowled. "That doesn't count," he said. With a few more twists of his pick, he finally managed to open the lock on his right manacle and then he too was free.
"You never said we couldn't have help," Sara pointed out, her eyes gleaming mischievously.
"It was implied," Leonard shot back.
"Whatever this is about," said Rip, holding up his hands, "and I'd really rather not know, it can wait. We need to get out of here before any reinforcements arrive."
Sara sent Leonard a final triumphant smirk before turning to follow Rip out of the cell. "Are the rest of the team keeping guard outside?" she asked wondering where they had got to. She'd expected the whole lot of them to shove their way into the cell to make sure she and Leonard were okay, Mick especially.
"No," replied Rip. "They're busy on the other side of the palace creating a diversion."
Sara frowned. "You're here alone but..." She stopped, the sight that greeted her outside the cell causing both her words and her movements to draw to a sudden halt.
Beside her, Leonard also froze. "Shit," he breathed.
Outside their former prison was a much larger room lit by the flickering flames of torches. Multiple reinforced doors, most likely leading to more prison cells, lined the walls on three sides. A large staircase leading up to the upper floor was on the fourth. The room had obviously been set up as a place where the guards could relax as well as keep guard because a large table with two long benches had been set up in the middle of the room and the remains of what must have been the guards' dinner sat upon it. The room might even have been quite cozy before it had been turned into a battleground. Now, it was a scene of carnage. The benches had been overturned, the table's contents had been scattered, and the bloody bodies of a dozen guards lay fallen throughout the room. If anyone remained alive, and Sara had no wish to check, they were thoroughly unconscious and would be in for a long recovery time.
"You..." Sara began staring at Rip in disbelief. "You did this?"
Rip gazed at the fallen guards without the slightest hint of remorse on his face. "I didn't have a choice."
"I can see that," observed Leonard with his usual sardonic tone. "I can also see you took them on with more than a little enthusiasm. What they do to piss you off? Refuse to share their dinner?"
Rip looked down at the blood-stained sword still held in his hand, his grip tightening on the handle until his knuckles shone white. "When I snuck down here, I was able to situate myself just out of sight. It was a good vantage point because I also happened to be able to hear everything the guards were saying. They were talking about what they were planning to do to you. They described it with lots of enthusiasm and in great detail." He raised his head to look at Snart, an iciness that rivaled Leonard's own in his eyes. "So, yes, you could say I was 'pissed off.'"
Sara swallowed suppressing a shiver. She might not know what the guards had said but she could tell from Rip's tone that it had been bad, very bad, and her imagination was more than good at filling in the details. She exchanged glaces with Leonard. Apparently, the two of them had had a narrow escape.
Rip gave the room one final glance before heading for the exit. "Come on. We need to keep moving."
Sara and Leonard hung back a second still trying to process what had happened.
"Did he seriously just slaughtered a whole room full of guards," said Snart, incredulously, "for us?"
Sara shook her head in disbelief though on reflection she supposed she really shouldn't be so surprised. When it came to family, Rip had always had a protective streak a mile long. Obviously, it wasn't wise to get between Captain Hunter and his team.
"Beware Papa Bear," was all she said.