He ran into Sara as he left Mick to his task of demolishing the leftovers in the Waverider's fridge as he worked through everything they had talked about, what had happened and what could never be again.

She ran her eyes over his outfit, the new outfit Made By Cisco, and her gaze lingered on the two guns.

"Nice outfit."

Len raised his eyebrows, trademark smirk in place.

"Who did you steal it from?"

"Cute. I didn't have to. It was a voluntary update."

She snorted. "Blackmail and extortion this time?"

"Hardly. Absolutely free of any criminal energy. Oh, congratulations, by the way. On rising within the ranks… Captain."

Sara rolled her eyes. "Someone had to do it after Rip left us high and dry."

"Ah. Not much of a loss there."

She held up a deck of cards, invitation clear. Len chuckled and followed her into her cabin.

Like old times.

So familiar and yet, a completely different life.

Talking to Sara Lance was very familiar and eerily like he had never left. She listened, he talked. She talked, he listened. Once upon a time, so many, many time-jumps ago, a death ago, Leonard Snart might have attempted more than an easy friendship with her. He had offered, she had shot him down, both never saying the actual words, but the meaning had come across.

Things had changed since that fateful last conversation.

Profoundly.

Forever.

Neither was who they had been before. Except for when they just sat together, talking.

So here he was, talking. It seemed to ease something in her, the same knot of guilt Len had seen in Mick, though coming from a completely different angle. Mick had taken Raymond's place to get back at the Time Pigs. Revenge was a very simple motivation. Len had foiled that plan.

Sara… well, he had never told her about his plan, which had been borne only seconds before he had hit Mick over the head. It also hadn't really been a plan. It had been a spur of the moment decision, coming from a place that had been chafing with the knowledge that all of them had been manipulated, had been played and pushed around on the endless chessboard of time and space.

"You once said you wondered about the future," the former assassin said as she shuffled the cards, sharp eyes on him.

"Indeed."

"What it held for you."

"And you," he added pointedly.

She smiled humorlessly and dealt the cards. "There never was a future for us, Leonard."

"I'm quite aware."

"I wasn't sure I had one to begin with."

He cocked an eyebrow. Sara just concentrated on sorting her cards.

"So, was The Flash one of the things you didn't do? One of the things that kept you up at night?" she asked, reminding him of one of their last games, the last conversation.

Len gave her the raised eyebrows, mocking and taunting. "Really," he deadpanned, not even making it a question. He smirked. "Miss Lance, I'd be shocked if I didn't know you any better. But yes. He was and he did. But not in the way you might imagine. The Flash and I have a… complicated history."

"So I gathered. It looks like you worked it out."

"In a way."

She chuckled. "It's a bit of a surprise, though after hearing everything else, about Time and the Time Stream, well, actually the least surprising thing. Didn't think superheroes were your type."

"He's my type."

Her eyes were boring into him. Len was very much aware that Sara knew he was… obfuscating a little. Keeping stuff from her. Secrets. It wasn't and had never been about the mere physical aspect. Yes, Barry Allen was very good to look at; so was The Flash. But this had been about so much more from the beginning and neither man had truly been aware of it. Attraction and lust were one thing; the connection between them completely different.

It was also his secret to protect.

"Something about him is," she probed.

"Not something. All of him," he corrected her. "And it's private."

Another nod and she picked two cards from the deck. "Not just a fling."

"No."

"Does the infamous Leonard Snart, Captain Cold himself, now come with strings attached?" she teased.

"On the contrary," he drawled, folding his hand.

They played silently for two more rounds, then she shuffled the cards together. "Is there anything I could say or do to convince you to come back?"

Len gave her a rare, private smile. "No. Nothing. It was a good run, a fun time. Didn't get to steal as much as I had hoped, but I think I found what I needed."

"You're a Legend."

He shrugged. "Maybe."

"Definitely."

"Just another line in my résumé."

She hugged him as they parted. "Take care, Snart. Take care of him."

He hugged her back, smiling softly. "I will."

"I'll kick your ass if you don't."

He chuckled. "Get in line."

"Oh, I'll be first in line, believe me." She kissed his cheek. "I'm happy for you, Leonard." There were emotions, lots of them, on both sides, and they knew it.

Len dropped his masks, let her see his hopes, his happiness, the depth of his commitment to his partner. Sara just smiled, soft, warm, her eyes filled with understanding and a little bit of sorrow.

It was time to go.

He didn't feel anything as the Waverider took off. No regret, no longing to be part of it again, no anger, no sadness.

Mick was already good, so much better than when Len had last seen him. He would be fine one day. Really fine. He had come a long way. Raymond was good for him, having a Guide was very good for him. It worked and it worked well, which was all Len needed to know.

As for Sara, she now had command of the Waverider. It fit her. She had her own dark demons and some of them she had already fought. There was nothing between them anymore.

Barry stood at his side, still with the mask on. He had hung around with the others, probably spent hours talking science with Ray or catching up with Stein and Jax, and knowing Barry Allen, he was by now friends with everyone, even those Len had never met because they had come aboard after his demise. He had met the new crew members, but there was no connection.

"Would you have gone with them?"

He glanced at Barry, lips twisting into a sneer. "Would I have gone with them if they had asked? If Mick had asked? If it wasn't for you, Scarlet?"

"All of the above?" Barry quipped, pushing back the cowl.

Len chuckled darkly. "No. And Sara asked, in a way. Her own way. That time has come and gone. There's nothing for me there." He raised an eyebrow. "It's all here."

Barry's expression was one of warmth and happiness. Len felt something inside of him curl with the same happiness, though none of those emotions made it into his mimicry. The mask was still firmly in place.

"You don't miss jumping through time, seeing all those past events and take a peek into the future?"

"Gets boring after some time," Len drawled.

Barry grinned. "And here I thought about hiring on."

Snart closed the distance between them and pulled him into a soft kiss. "Not your style."

"Being a hero?" Barry asked, eyes alight with teasing laughter. "Yeah, I think you're right."

Len smirked. "You're The Flash, not a Legend."

"That sounds… kinda weird."

"You're you, Scarlet. You don't need prove yourself by jumping through time, hunting weirdness, setting the timeline back to where it belongs."

Barry cocked his head a little. "But you needed it?"

"I tagged along," came the slow drawl. "For fun. The recruitment speech was… riveting." He gave him a crooked smile. "And complete bull, but we didn't know that at the time. Still, I figure the past is an interesting place. No surveillance cameras, no fingerprint detection, no DNA analysis."

The speedster chuckled, catching on. "Ah. The allure of the perfect crime. Take something before it was ever behind closely guarded doors."

"Or even discovered and brought to light," Len finished. "Precious stones are a lot easier to fence, even officially sell, before they become world famous."

"You got into this for the money and stayed because being the hero is fun," Barry stated.

Len grimaced as if it physically pained him to hear that. "Ouch," he said dryly.

"Personally, I'm glad you stayed."

"You are here, Barry," Snart simply said. "That's where I'll be."

"No strings on you," he said softly.

"Exactly." He closed the distance again. "You do not control me, Barry Allen. You never chose my life for me. You don't do it now or ever have. This is my free choice, my free will. And my choice is to be your shield, Sentinel."

Barry stared at him, eyes filled with emotions, then he laughed softly. "You're a total sap, Leonard Snart."

He grinned sharply. "Look who's talking."

But it was the truth. He would be by Barry's side. Not because someone was using him like a pawn, pushing him around, choosing his life for him. Barry was his choice, Len's choice.

Aboard the Waverider, Ray found his Sentinel in the kitchen, scavenging through the cupboards. He watched as Mick grabbed two bags of chips, then turn around and look at the Guide watching him. His face was a scary mask, eyes burning, but it wasn't the dark anger or the unbridled need to destroy something.

It was something else. He felt weak echoes of it over their bond and Ray tilted his head, wondering what was going on. The Sentinel was shielding, which meant this was intensely personal; which also meant it was connected to Snart.

Not a big leap, actually. It didn't take a genius to figure that one out. The realization that Leonard Snart was alive, was the actual Leonard Snart and not either a doppelgänger, a demon or some figment, had been quite a blow. All of the Legends had been surprised, but it had hit Mick the hardest.

Still, he shielded.

Pretty strongly, if Ray was any judge. And he knew shields. They were his daily bread and butter, so to speak, as a Guide.

"Get your own snacks," Mick grumbled and shouldered past him.

There was a sharp spike and Ray hurried after him. "Mick…"

"I'm not sharing." His voice was rough and low, sounding like he was chewing glass.

He slipped into the room after the other man, locking the door with a practiced move. Mick threw the chips bags onto the bed and whirled around, glaring at his Guide.

"What?" he demanded.

Ray didn't shrink back, didn't cower, didn't even twitch. He took in the rigid line of the other man's shoulders, the tension that seemed to be an almost physical force. "I just thought you might want the company."

"No."

The bond was screaming the opposite. It had been a rocky start between them, there had been a lot of ups and downs, and Ray had been winging a lot of stuff. He had never thought he would ever amount to more than just a Universal Guide, someone to help out a Sentinel in need. He had done it for Oliver, smoothing the spikes, helping ward off a zone. There been nothing other than this clinically detached connection, never any intimate contact, and he knew he wouldn't have been able to aide him more than he already was.

Raymond Palmer had always only been a Universal Guide, someone no Sentinel would choose to permanently bond with. He was something of a first responder, the band-aid slapped on a wound, maybe a temporary crutch, but never the long-term solution.

Until Mick Rory had come on-line with a vengeance after Snart's sacrifice.

No one knew what started a bond when two matching individuals met, but it was what had happened between them, almost the moment Rory had on-lined. It had been such a shock to his system, so powerful and overwhelming, but never anything he couldn't have stopped.

Mick hadn't forced his way in. Ray had helped automatically, because that was what he was good at. He had helped and guided, had let Mick balance his newly found old senses, and he had never been afraid of the darkness inside the other man's mind. He had found it interesting, actually fascinating, and he had touched it without trepidation or disgust, let alone pity.

Now he walked over to the other man.

Mick's body suddenly went completely still, like the eerie silence before a storm that is about to break lose and wreak havoc. There was a surge again and the burning eyes were terrifying. The other man's jaw clenched, muscles ticking.

Ray disregarded all the warning signs, and just wrapped him in a gentle hug. Mick was stiff and unresponsive for a second, then seemed to fall into the bond, into the physical contact, and his face buried against his Guide's neck. Strong fingers clenched into Palmer's shirt.

It was a gesture that never happened out in the open. Whenever they were among the team, there was no touching. No display of affection, no soft words or looks, just Mick being himself.

The Sentinel made a soft noise of contentment. Ray pressed a kiss against Mick's head and felt a hum.

Emotions rose and ebbed between them. Ray let it all cascade over him, didn't even try to push or pull. He let it happen. No questions, no talking, just silence and the powerful thrum of empathic energy between them. He ran one calming hand along Mick's side and back. It was an unconscious gesture, keeping the Sentinel grounded on him by touch alone.

He was good at that. This was what a Universal did and he was a pro.

But he wasn't a Universal Guide anymore, right? He was Mick's. He had one Sentinel and just this one Sentinel, who was abrasive, caring, rude, warm, possessive, loving, and very much Ray's.

Even after all those months he needed to get used to that word. His. His Sentinel.

"You're doing that stuff again. Over-thinking. Over-analyzing. Cut it out," Mick rumbled, voice gravelly and deep.

He chuckled and kissed the other man, feeling that powerful presence wash over him once more. Mick was a force of nature, like his element, overwhelming in his presence, be it physical or psychically. He was this raw energy that seemed to want to raze over everything, destroy it, watch it go up in fire and flames.

And yet, within their bond, there was nothing of the kind. All that energy was warm and gentle, never hurting, always protective.

"Sorry," he murmured.

"That too. Cut it out."

Ray smiled and they just stood together, as close as humanly possible, Mick balancing all his senses and more on the other man, and Ray just provided the proverbial rock in a stormy sea.

Ray traced curious, explorative fingers along the net of scars on Mick's arms, knowing them intimately, knowing each and every one. The Sentinel had his eyes closed, head resting on Ray's chest, more at ease than before.

Palmer had deciphered some of the strong emotions, understood the gist of the rest He placed a kiss against Mick's head, fingers still brushing over the damaged skin. Mick hummed a little. He could feel the touch of his Guide, unlike another's. The scars were too deep, third degree burns, and it had damaged too many nerves, but Ray's touch was transmitted through the bond. It still amazed him and he knew Mick enjoyed it immensely, not that he would say it out loud. Ray had learned to listen to the bond, to read the other man's body language, and to follow instinct.

"I know he wouldn't join us again," the Sentinel finally rumbled. He sounded like he was swallowing gravel.

"He made his decision. Back at the Oculus," he answered calmly. "He made it again today."

"I know. Still feels… like him dying all over again."

"We just found out Leonard is alive. You found out that your oldest friend is alive, Mick. You were partners when you were online. He might even have been something like a Guide to you. His abilities as a conduit could have been enough to keep you in balance. He was also there when you went dormant. I think you just want… to protect… someone who has been a huge part of your life, almost a fixture for a lot of it."

Mick's eyes cracked open and he pushed himself up, dislodging Ray's hands. Ray just pushed himself up on his elbows and watched him, empathic senses trained only on his partner.

"Right now, just kicking the crap out of some bad guy would help," was the gruff reply.

Ray smiled brightly. "Knowing our track record, we'll get there sooner than I want."

Mick snorted a little laugh. He leaned over him, straddling his Guide in a smooth move that spoke of strength. Ray ran gentle hands up the scarred arms. The bond between them was alive with emotions.

"Lenny was never my Guide."

"I didn't say that. He has a potential that might have been helpful to you back then and neither of you realized it."

"Not my Guide." Mick kissed him, hard, wanting. "Never my Guide. Found you." Another possessive kiss. "Keeping you."

"Good to know," Ray smiled happily. "Because Universals like me are rendered rather obsolete and downright useless when they do find a Sentinel to bond with. I can give first aid, but that's about it."

Mick's eyes darkened. "You are not useless! You're also not touching anyone else!" he snapped, a volatile growl in his voice.

"You know I won't ditch you," Ray teased, nipping at the other man's lips. Not that he could. The bond was sealed.

"Good. 'Cause I'd drag your sorry hide back."

He easily translated the words, feeling the truth over the connection that was so open, so free of pretense and lies.

He loved this man, Ray mused, mind turning over the word in an almost lazy way. Had loved him for a while now. Mick's eyes reflected nothing but calmness, awareness, something no one associated with the Sentinel outside these four walls of privacy.

Guides didn't have to become intimate with their Sentinels and vice versa. Even bonds didn't mean a sexual component, though usually, in nine out of ten cases, there was one. Some more of a friends with benefits relationship, some a very intimate partnership.

Ray had never let himself hope for more than casualness.

That had been proven wrong.

While Raymond Palmer had known Mick wasn't some primitive caveman with two braincells and a heat gun, and while he had gotten to know the man throughout their time on the Waverider, he had discovered a lot more layers after the Sentinel had come on-line once more.

Layers and layers.

Yes, he loved him.

His greatest weakness and his sole strength.

Mick's lips curled into a knowing smile. The bond between them was wide open.

"Yeah, me, too," he rumbled. "Me, too."

He leaned over Ray, kissing him. It was tender, loving… private. And incredibly intimate.

And he liked it. He wanted this. The casualness, the way they expressed themselves within the privacy of their rooms. Ray didn't want to hold hands, to have to touch or be touched. This was them and it was amazing.

The chips bags lay forgotten on the floor.