Sorry for the shorter chapter with an evil end. Life intervened and left me less time than usual. More next time!

Life as a freelancing not-hero was… a different kind of fun. Especially when it required Leonard Snart to break into something, steal, rob or hijack, and one time to run a maze of traps set to keep anyone from getting to a very valuable gem needed to power one of Cisco's invention that sucked a meta's powers into itself before he blew up Central City and probably the whole US of A. The gem went missing soon after and while Len got a few pointed looks, there was nothing incriminating against him to be found.

Barry's expression was a mixture of annoyance, fondness and fatalistic acceptance.

There was a silent understanding between, an awareness of the other, that spoke of their trust in each other and the closeness they shared.

While there was still no family dinner at the West home, just as Detective West had sworn it would never happen, Jitters with Iris was still a thing. Sometimes Barry joined them. He had been a little shell-shocked to hear that his foster sister and his not-Guide had been doing this for a while now. A long while.

The speedster grabbed iced coffees, muffins, cupcakes and an enormous cinnamon bun, then slid in next to where Len had chosen a strategically sound location. Iris joined them no five minutes – or half the plate of food in Barry Allen terms of keeping time – later. She beamed at Len as she took a seat.

"Hi," she greeted him. "I hope you haven't been waiting too long."

"Three muffins, two cupcakes, half an iced coffee and a donut," Len deadpanned.

Barry had the decency to look a little embarrassed.

Iris chuckled. "I hope one of those muffins is still for me."

Barry pushed the untouched iced coffee and the last muffin toward her. "I'd never dare eat yours."

All in all it was a rather pleasant afternoon.

Even though it was cut short when Barry's cell rang. "Uhm, gotta… run," he said apologetically. "Both of us. Work."

Len gave Iris an almost smirk-free nod, then followed his Sentinel out the door.

"That went well," Barry said as he called the Lab to get an idea what they were up against.

"That's your interpretation, Scarlet."

Four hours later Barry sat in the medical wing, wincing as Caitlin cleaned the last of his lacerations. Len was leaning against the wall, arms crossed in front of his chest, scowling. The scowl was somewhat painful due to the large bruise forming on his left side.

"We might have underestimated those apparitions," Cisco said carefully, typing away at his tablet.

"You might," Len echoed sourly, glaring at the hapless engineer. "Especially since they are not apparitions. I'm also not a Ghostbuster."

"Looks like Mr. Angus O'Reilly isn't just an illusionist anymore," Harrison spoke up, sounding very intrigued. "His illusions become reality."

"Very solid reality."

Barry winced again as he pulled his t-shirt back on. "Unless we try to hit them, then they are just illusions." He hissed in pain. "Damn, that tiger-thing was fast!"

Len's eyes were on him, scanning him, the expression dark and foreboding. He finally snapped those cold eyes back to Harrison and Cisco. "How do we stop them?"

"Mr. O'Reilly was a very talented and extremely ingenious illusionist," Wells spoke up. "That translates into his meta ability solidifying those illusions into very dangerous, close to lethal projections. But he has to take that energy from somewhere and that's him. Challenge him enough and he will tire and falter. You can't break his illusions…"

"We have to break him," Len deducted.

Barry, arm wrapped around his injured side, grimaced. "Is this Danton Black all over again?"

Snart shot him a frown.

"Multiplex!" Cisco exclaimed. "Oh, yes, he was something like that. But he multiplied himself. O'Reilly is the master of a whole menagerie of things." His eyes lit up. "Oh!"

"Oh, please, no, not again," Len muttered.

"Ring Master!"

"No."

"Master of Illusions?"

"A mouthful."

"Grand Master?

He still stared at him, unimpressed.

"The Magician!"

Len scowled darkly, a twist to his lips. "Not every meta has to have a name." Then he turned to look at Wells while Cisco mutteed 'sure do so'. "You were saying about breaking him?"

"Oh, that was all you, Leonard. I'm saying you have to tire him out, break his concentration. He can only uphold those physical illusions for a limited amount of time. So far he only used them for his breaking and entering, as well as scaring former employees of various magic shows and nearly killing his former partner."

Barry straightened and suppressed a sound of pain. Damn, those slashes hurt! "Any idea where he'll be next?"

"Still tracking down other former partners or employers," Cisco said.

"You should get some rest," Caitlin spoke up for the first time. "Heal. Both of you."

"I'm touched," Len drawled, but he pushed away from the wall.

Barry rolled his eyes at him and they headed out of the cortex. He led the way to one of the countless rooms of the lab that had been turned into a kind of a guest room. Barry had crashed here a few times already and he planned on doing so today. Len didn't say a thing as the younger man gingerly lay down. He simply joined him, not commenting on Barry's grimace as the speedster curled toward him.

The shield stretched around them, the Speed Force humming softly.

They found their illusionist two days later.

It was a long, hard battle. It left Barry almost depleted as he taunted their opponent into creating more and more illusions, draining himself in turn.

Len had been corralling those things that had tried to get away until he finally had a clear shot at their criminal meta. The man screamed as he was hit with the cold gun. It was a low setting, hurting him through the ice without damaging blood vessels. He might have some scars left, but he was alive.

"Scarlet?" he asked, voice brisk and hard, the Cold persona firmly in place as he looked at the unconscious meta.

"Fine," Barry wheezed.

Len turned, gun resting against his shoulder, and he quirked a sarcastic smile. "Sure."

The Flash was on his knees, gasping for air, clearly exhausted. He had seen him ceaselessly zip through the countless illusions, destroying some, taunting O'Reilly into creating more. His suit had seen better days.

"I think that's my signal to leave," Len commented as sirens got closer.

Barry chuckled and laboriously got to his feet, wobbling.

"Scarlet?" Snart asked, voice soft and low, laced with a question.

"I'm good. I'll hand him over to A.R.G.U.S., then I'm done."

Len's eyes, hidden behind the goggles, narrowed, but he nodded. He started his bike and drove off, weaving through two black SUVs that were clearly A.R.G.U.S., then he disappeared.

Barry arrived back at the lab only ten minutes after Len, who already had his feet up on the table, a soda can in his hand.

"Getting slow, Flash," the other drawled.

Barry stumbled a little, holding his ribs. "Yeah. Must be the broken bones. Damn, those apparition things still hit hard!"

"Medical!" Caitlin snapped. "Now!"

He trotted off obediently and Len followed, an air of casual disinterest about him. He watched the scans, listened to Caitlin's clipped report about broken ribs, two dislocated fingers, and hairline fractures in the bones of Barry's right arm. Everywhere in his right arm.

"This will take about three hours, but I want you to take it easy. Lay back, rest, heal, sleep!" she ordered. She rounded on Snart. "And you! Keep an eye on your Sentinel!"

"Yes, ma'am." He gave a two-fingered salute.

Caitlin glared, then stalked off.

"Apparently I've been upgraded to caretaker," he said sardonically.

Barry shrugged, wincing. "Could be worse. I could be throwing up all over the floor."

Snart grimaced. "Charming, Scarlet. Charming. You heard the good doctor: rest." He let his eyes roam over the medical room, then grabbed a discarded book. "Next Generation Sequencing Technologies in Medical Genetics. Thrilling."

The speedster chuckled and lay back. "Cisco set up the TV so I can watch whatever I want."

Len sauntered over and sat down in a chair, looking as comfortable and at home as he would in the most luxurious armchair.

"Well, invalid's choice."

"You might regret it."

It got Barry raised eyebrows. "I have yet to regret a single choice I've made," Snart told him, voice soft, low, almost a purr. "So bring it on."

He let himself into the loft, the lock a little more of a challenge this time, but not too much. Len grinned, feeling extremely good at the moment. Running a successful job always did that to him. Especially a well-paid, successful job. That it had involved returning previously stolen goods – not stolen by him, of course – to the rightful owners was of no consequence. Leonard Snart had never had any qualms about what the job involved.

"Honey, I'm home," he called mockingly.

Barry peeked out of the bathroom, hair wet, wearing loose sweats. "Hey," he greeted him. "Right on time."

"Of course."

The younger man grinned and grabbed a towel, drying off more of the wildly tousled hair. "Had fun?"

"What do you think? Only thing missing was the adrenaline rush."

"There were no alarms, no calls to the police." Barry shrugged.

"No Flash," Len drawled. "Pity. I could have used the excitement. It was such a straight run."

Barry chuckled. "Trip an alarm next time. Then we talk."

"Ouch," as the bone-dry remark. "That hurts my thieving pride. I never trip an alarm. If I don't want you to know I was there, you won't."

Barry grinned. "Yeah, I know, all that time we ran into each other throughout your heists, that was you flirting with me."

"Exactly," he purred and stole a kiss. He felt the warmth of the other body, the scent of the shower still around him. "What are you in the mood for?"

The green eyes filled with laughter and teasing. "You really ask the most interesting questions."

"I think feeding you before we attempt any other kind of activities is my priority right now."

"Hm, sexy smooth talker."

The Speed Force hummed around him, strong and relentless, smooth as ice, gleaming with energy, wrapped around Barry like a second skin and curling around Len in a familiar embrace only he could see or feel.

"I love you," Barry said softly against his skin.

Len didn't say the words, couldn't say the words, but he knew Barry understood. The man could read him a lot better than anyone ever had, even Mick. There was an understanding between them that could be called empathic, like a bond, but it wasn't. It was something else, much deeper, more intimate and absolutely nothing classified as Sentinel-Guide bonding.

And then he went and died again.

Really, it seemed like some grand cosmic joke. Leonard Snart just about had enough of it.