Cisco slept fitfully for the rest of the night, so much so that the next morning, he almost agreed when Eobard suggested that he call in sick instead of going to work. But the prospect of staying home by himself all day, especially when Eobard couldn't say for certain when he'd be back that night, didn't appeal to him at all. Plus, it was Wednesday, and that was the day that the cleaning staff came to tidy the house. He hated being there while they worked because he never knew what to do; he felt like an asshole when he acted like they weren't there, but he always got the impression that they thought he was breathing down their necks whenever he tried to make conversation. Being somewhere else while they scrubbed, vacuumed, and freshened everything was just more comfortable for everyone involved.

So he went to work. He tried to act as normal as possible during the car ride to S.T.A.R. Labs, did his and Eobard's "Lips, please," routine before they parted ways, and put on a cheerful face as he strolled into the community workroom to see how everyone else in his department was doing. And Wednesday ended up being interesting in two very distinct ways:

First of all, Hartley was in a good mood. And not just the kind of good mood where he didn't openly insult people or roll his eyes every time Cisco failed to treat him like God's gift to STEM; the guy was actually smiling and chatting amiably with their teammates. He even accepted a Tootsie Pop when Cisco reached for one out of the community workroom's candy stash and asked Hartley— more out of politeness than anything else—if he wanted one.

"The hell is up with him?" Cisco said to Brie Larvan when Hartley declared that he was going to go try to fix their broken coffee machine and walked off in the direction of the breakroom. "The way he's acting…it's almost kinda creepy…"

Brie's lips curled into a sly smile. "Well…okay, I think I know what's going on, but you gotta promise you won't tell anyone I told you, alright?"

Cisco leaned in conspiratorially. "I promise. What's up?"

"Yesterday, I saw Hartley take Leonard Snart into his workroom and lock the door. And then…they went into the closet. And they were in there for a while. And when they finally came back out…let's just say that Hartley looked happy. And Snart looked smug." She giggled. "Well, more smug than usual, anyway."

Cisco felt his eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. "Wait…are you saying that those two hooked up in Hartley's storage closet?!"

"Maaaybe," Brie said. She shrugged with one shoulder. "Like I said, you didn't hear it from me!"

"When…when was this? Like, what time yesterday?" Cisco couldn't help but ask. For some reason, he really, really wanted to know whether Snart had fooled around with Hartley before or after he'd asked Cisco out. What kind of game was that guy playing, anyway? Had his theory about Snart just liking to mess with people been correct? Or was Snart on the rebound and had decided to hit up a sure thing?

"Mmm, not really sure. I didn't look at the clock. And I was trying to be sneaky, so it's not like I could ask." She twirled a lock of her hair around her finger. "Are you mad?"

"Mad?" Cisco replied, trying not to imagine those two going at it. "Not really. I mean, it's not like they were having sex in the middle of the community workroom or something. And I doubt it inferred with Hartley getting his projects done." There was also the simple fact that, during the early months of his relationship with Eobard (when they hadn't yet gone public), Cisco had occasionally made up an excuse to swing by the cortex so that the two could have a few minutes to themselves. It would have been hypocritical of him to chastise Hartley for doing essentially the same thing.

"No, I mean, are you mad that Snart's moved on to Hartley when he used to like you?"

Cisco stared at her. "What? Of course I'm not mad about that . I have a fiancé, and it's not him."

Brie rolled her eyes. "C'mon, it's always a huge ego-boost when someone has a crush on you, even if you don't like them back. I know I get très annoyed when I find out that a person who used to like me has moved on. It's like, 'What's wrong with me? Aren't I worth pining over?'"

Cisco grunted. Despite her genius intellect and unusual fashion choices, Brie sometimes reminded him of a clique-obsessed high school girl. "Well, that's not me. And I didn't even realize until a few days ago that Snart actually liked me. I thought it was just Hartley being salty and Eobard being paranoid."

"Wait, Thawne noticed Snart noticing you?" Brie's eyes were big behind her glasses. "How did that go over? Was he all, 'I'm sorry that you seem to be confused; he belongs to me—the boy is mine'?"

"Brie, don't you have work to do? If you're bored, I can find another project for you to start on," Cisco said, not bothering to hide his annoyance.

Brie scoffed in irritation but then walked back over to her table. Five minutes later, when Cisco realized that she was humming Brandy and Monica's "The Boy is Mine," he picked up his stuff and carried it to his own workshop so he could have some peace and quiet. At one point, Hartley poked his head in to say that he'd fixed the coffee machine, and Cisco avoided his eyes as he thanked him for his invaluable contributions to the S.T.A.R. Labs R&D Department.

The second strange thing took place at the end of the day, when Cisco was ready to leave.

Eobard had sent him a text message at 6:30 p.m. telling him that he had an emergency meeting with the structural engineering department that evening and to go ahead and have Mark drive him home. Cisco took this as an opportunity to work late. And around 9, when he reached a stopping point on his project, he texted Mark to let him know that he was heading out and to please bring the car around. But when he walked out the front doors of the building, he saw Mark standing near the car instead of sitting inside of it. Mark had his cellphone against his ear, and as Cisco got close, he couldn't help but overhear one side of the conversation:

"Hold on; I'll be there as soon as I can." Mark paused. "An hour, maybe?" He paused again, then rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Because I'm still on-duty, stupid! I'm at S.T.A.R. Labs right now, and I have to take Ramon…well, if you really don't want to wait, then call a cab!" Another pause, then Mark's eyes shot open. "No, don't drive yourself! Just wait for me, okay? Please!"

Cisco was intrigued. He waved at Mark to get the man's attention because he wasn't sure what else to do.

Mark looked at him, nodding in acknowledgement. "Look, I have to go—Mr. Ramon is here, and he's probably wondering why we're still standing around in front of the building. Yes, I'll come get you ASAP…okay…okay. Bye." He hung up the phone, exhaling in embarrassment. "Sorry about that. Am I taking you straight home, or did you need to stop somewhere first?"

Cisco ignored the question to ask one of his own. "Everything okay?"

Mark shook his head. "Not really. But it's nothing you need to concern yourself with."

"What's going on?"

"Forget about it."

"No, tell me. Maybe I can help?"

After hesitating for a moment, Mark sighed. "It's my brother. He met some friends for beer and pool tonight, and they had to leave early, so he's by himself. He's too plastered to drive right now, and he's too broke to afford a cab. So he wants me to come get him. And when I told him that I don't get off of work for a while, he got irritated."

"Where is he right now?"

Mark squinted in confusion. "He's…he's at Saints and Sinners. Do you know the place?"

"Never heard of it. You said 'beer and pool,' though, so I'm guessing it's not a Catholic book store?"

"Nah, it's a bar," Mark said, snorting. "It's not exactly a classy joint, but it's not a shithole either."

"Do they serve food?"

"Uh…yeah? Like, burgers and steaks and that kind of thing."

Cisco smiled. "Well…I haven't had dinner yet. How about we swing by Saints and Sinners so I can order something? And you can get your brother while we're there."

Mark stared at him. "I…you…you don't need to do that. Clyde's my problem."

"It's fine."

"If Mr. Thawne finds out…" His voice trailed off, and he winced. "Ramon, I really, really don't want to lose this job."

"I'll deal with Eobard," Cisco said, dismissing Mark's concerns with a wave of his hand. "I'll tell him it was a family emergency, and I insisted. You won't get in trouble."

"Wow. Okay," Mark said, and he sounded completely incredulous. "Yeah. I'll…I'll call Clyde to tell him that there's been a change of plans and I'll be there in 15. Thank you, you're…you're a lifesaver."

"Sounds good. Oh, but Mark? I've got one condition you need to follow."

"Which is…?"

"If your brother pukes in this car, the detailing comes out of your paycheck. Okay?"

Mark let out a bark of laughter. "Deal."

The moment they walked into Saints and Sinners, Cisco decided that Mark's description of the establishment as neither "a classy joint" nor "a shithole" was pretty accurate. The place was acceptably clean and decorated with kitschy posters and neon signs on the walls, and there were some neat, vintage-looking pinball machines lining one side of the dining area and an old-fashioned jukebox on the other. At the same time, however, most of the patrons (and employees) were heavily tattooed and/or pierced. Even in the dim light, they looked like a pretty rough crowd.

Immediately, Cisco was self-conscious about his choice in clothing: a Star Wars graphic t-shirt, khaki cargo pants, sneakers, and a black army jacket. This place obviously served a particular kind of clientele, and their target demographic did not include people like him. Mark seemed a bit out of place, too, in his black slacks and white button-up, but he'd at least taken off his tie and rolled his sleeves up to reveal a (surprisingly large and detailed) tattoo of a light airplane on his forearm. Cisco couldn't really do anything except stand there and look like a high school student next to him.

The Mardon brothers must have been regulars, because they'd barely been inside for a full minute when the inked-up woman standing behind the bar locked eyes with Mark. "If you're looking for Clyde, he's out back." She gestured towards the rear of the building with her thumb.

"Out back getting the shit beaten out of him, out back having sex, or out back puking?" Mark asked. There wasn't any humor in his voice.

The woman shrugged. "Not sure. He walked out with Bivolo, so it could be anything, really."

"Goddammit," Mark grumbled. He looked over at Cisco. "Do you mind if I…?"

"Yeah, go get him. I'll wait here," Cisco said, taking a seat at the bar. Mark had presented three possible activities Clyde could be engaging in, and Cisco was pretty sure that he didn't want to see any of them.

As Mark headed off, the tattooed woman turned her attention to Cisco. "You a friend of Mark's?"

"…Kind of," Cisco replied, because the truth seemed a little too bougie for this establishment. He cleared his throat. "Can I order food at the bar, or do I have to go to a table for that?"

"You can order here. Whaddya want?"

Mark had given him some recommendations on the drive over, so Cisco didn't need to look at a menu—he just asked for a bacon burger with chili fries and a soda to sip on. And while the bartender went to the kitchen to put in his order, Cisco resumed scanning the room. He tried not to make eye contact with anyone in particular (lest it turn into a "What're you lookin' at, punk?!" situation), but he still did some people-watching. To his surprise, he caught a few individuals—a couple girls and one guy—looking at him with mild interest, but he wasn't sure if it was because they thought he was cute or because he stuck out like a sore thumb.

He really wanted to go try one of the pinball games or browse the music selection on the jukebox, but he felt like it would be a good idea to stay put and not risk drawing attention to himself until he really got a "feel" for the crowd. As he glanced over at the booths near the pool tables, Cisco decided that, overall, Saints and Sinners wasn't too bad of a place. He wouldn't come here alone, of course, but maybe Ronnie could be convinced to join him for a game of pool and a pitcher of—

"Ah, hell," Cisco mumbled out loud.

That was definitely Mick Rory sitting at one of the booths near the back of the room; there was no mistaking that shaved head and aquiline nose. And that meant that the short-haired guy sitting across from him—who currently had his back to Cisco—was almost definitely Leonard Snart. Cisco whipped his face around and stared at the row of bottles that adorned the bar area. He hoped to God that Mark got back before Snart and Mick noticed him, because there was no way he could talk to Snart without thinking about him nailing Hartley in a storage closet.

His phone buzzed with a text message, and, still keeping his head down, he checked it. He was half-hoping that it was Mark, telling him to get to the car because they were leaving RIGHT NOW (Cisco's food order be damned), but it was actually from Dante:

Mama says you haven't RSVP'd for my party. If you're coming, don't bring your sugar daddy.

Cisco rolled his eyes, even though Dante wasn't there to see (and appreciate) the gesture. His "sugar daddy?" Seriously? At least his parents were tactful enough to use Eobard's name, autocorrect mistakes notwithstanding. Dante couldn't even seem to do that much.

Cisco knew he shouldn't have been surprised. Just as Hartley Rathaway seemed to think that Leonard Snart liking someone who wasn't him was proof-positive that they lived in an imperfect, unfair world…Dante Ramon seemed to think that his little brother having the affection of a charming, good-looking billionaire was a pretty good indicator that God hated him personally. Instead of being happy that Cisco had finally caught a break after more than 25 years of loserdom, Dante often let his envy manifest as malice.

Case in point: about a month ago, Cisco had called Dante to find out what the plans were for their parents' anniversary dinner, and the conversation had eventually turned to how unseasonably hot it had been in Central City that week. In an attempt to be nice, Cisco had invited Dante to come over to his house so that they could go swimming. Eobard's mansion had an enormous pool that was both indoors and outdoors; a retractable door separated the two sections so that the amenity could be enjoyed year-round.

Dante's response had been to remind Cisco rather shortly that it wasn't his house—it was his boyfriend's. And he wasn't interested in coming over, anyway, because the neighborhood where he and Cisco's parents lived had a community pool, and that was fine for him. "Maybe you're too good for that kind of thing nowadays, but I'm not. Besides, I don't want a horny old man ogling me while I'm in a bathing suit, and that's part of the deal, isn't it?"

Their chat had turned into an argument, which subsequently turned into a shouting match, and the end result was Dante hanging up on him and Eobard coming home from a meeting with the Central City Chamber of Commerce to find a (slightly day-drunk) Cisco skinny-dipping in their pool because "you can't do [that] in a community pool."

Cisco and Dante had spoken since then, but it had just been in the form of casual (sometimes even curt) text messages. And, with that knowledge in mind, Cisco reacted in a way that felt appropriate. He took his phone in his hands and quickly typed:

Sorry, I've got a major deadline coming up so I'll probably work late on Saturday. Let's grab dinner & drinks next weekend if you're free?

After a moment's hesitation, he added:

I'll have my assistant drop off your gift.

(He actually didn't have a personal assistant. Brie or Bill would probably be willing to pretend if he paid them, though, and if they refused, Eobard could almost certainly rope Bob into it.)

Dante's reply came a few minutes after Cisco hit 'Send':

K w/e.

Cisco huffed in annoyance. Clearly, Dante didn't really care whether Cisco would be at the party or not, so why was he wasting so much time and energy dwelling on it? And if Dante was going to be an asshole (as usual), then he wasn't going to bend over backwards trying to be nice. Maybe he wouldn't even bother having a fake assistant drop off his gift. Hell, now that Cisco thought about it, Dante had given him a $25 Target gift card for his last birthday. Maybe Cisco should do the same thing and just text his brother a digital redemption code?

Suddenly, the bartender set some bright pink monstrosity of a drink down in front of him. It was garnished with an orange slice and two maraschino cherries, the latter of which were impaled on a plastic skewer shaped like a sword. Cisco was startled, and he stared blankly at the woman behind the counter. "What's this?"

"Shirley Temple," the woman explained, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Compliments of that gentleman over there." She pointed off at the end of the bar.

Cisco blinked his eyes and then slowly, carefully turned to peer in that direction. He had a feeling he knew what was happening, and he prayed that he was wrong. But sure enough, when he looked, he saw Leonard Snart sitting at one of the nearby stools. Snart caught Cisco's eye and flashed him a grin, saluting him with a glass of what was probably whisky.

Cisco didn't bother hiding his groan of exasperation. In fact, he even put his head down on the counter so that there was no mistaking what he thought of his present circumstances. "Eff my life…" he mumbled, while the bartender went to serve another customer.

Snart, being Snart, took this as an invitation, and he sauntered over to where Cisco was sitting, smirking evilly. " Hello , Cisco. What's a classy guy like you doing in a dive like this?"

"You bought me a Shirley Temple, Snart? Really ? I'm younger than you, but I'm not a little kid."

"Your wardrobe suggests otherwise," Snart quipped, taking in Cisco's cargo pants and t-shirt. He sat down on the stool next to Cisco's and put his glass down on the counter. "And you didn't answer my question."

"I'm here with my driver," Cisco explained, sitting back up again. "His brother needed a ride, and we came here to pick him up. I'm getting dinner, too."

"And where's your driver now?"

"Out back. I think his brother got sick or…something."

"So you're all by your lonesome?" Snart teased. He hadn't gotten any less handsome since their last conversation. A tiny part of Cisco wondered how those heavy eyelashes would feel against his cheek—and everywhere else. "Well, I'd better keep a close watch over you, then. Thawne wouldn't be happy if his beau got hassled by some perverted sleazebag."

"You mean besides you?" Cisco replied before he could stop himself. He'd been trying his hardest not to say anything that could be considered flirtatious, and he'd gone a little too far in the opposite direction.

If Snart was insulted, though, he didn't show it. Instead, he snorted with laughter (Cisco's stomach flip-flopped) and pantomimed like he'd been shot in the chest. "Oof. Damn, Ramon—that was harsh. And after I was so nice about the update for my gun not being finished by the time you said it would." He took a sip of his whisky. "Still waiting on that, by-the-way."

"The update will be done tomorrow. And it'll go through wirelessly, so you don't need to come by S.T.A.R. Labs. Unless, of course, you want to see Hartley."

That, of all things, wiped the smug smile off of Snart's face. "What's Hartley got to do with it?"

Cisco fought the urge to scoff. "Are you gonna look me in the eyes and tell me that you didn't hook up with him yesterday, right after you left my office? Or maybe it was before; I'm not 100% sure on the timing. The bottom line is that one of our co-workers saw you two go into his storage closet together, and we all know what that means."

"Oh…I see," Snart said, and to Cisco's surprise, he laughed. "No, I won't lie. And, for the record, it was after you turned me down. No need to be jealous, though, Cisco—it was just a bit of fun. I told Hartley from the get-go not to read too much into it, and he said that he understood."

Cisco drummed his fingers on the bar. Hartley wasn't acting like a guy whose crush had used him as a bed-warmer the day before; that was for damn sure. "I'm not sure he believed you. Oh, and I'm not jealous, either. I just don't want for Hartley to get his heart broken and become even more obnoxious than he already is." Absentmindedly, he took a swig of the Shirley Temple. It actually wasn't bad. "But since you brought up your gun, I have questions for you."

"Oh?"

Cisco looked him in the eye. " Why did I make your gun for you? And when did I do it? I can't remember, and it's bugging me."

For a tiny moment, Snart seemed genuinely intrigued. But it really did only last a moment; cool indifference quickly won out. "Did you try asking Thawne?" he asked, sipping his drink.

"Yeah, I did. Turns out he doesn't remember, either."

"Hmmm. That's…interesting," Snart remarked. He threw back the rest of his whisky in one go.

Cisco exhaled. "But you remember, right?"

"Of course I do."

"So?"

"So, what?"

Cisco resisted the urge to grab Snart's empty glass and smash it against the man's forehead. "So, tell me!"

Snart leaned in again, like he and Cisco were sharing a secret. "And what'll you give me in return?"

"What?"

"I have information you want. What are you willing to give me for it? That's how we do business in my neck of the woods." He took a moment to glance at the bartender and signal that he wanted a refill on his drink, then he turned back to Cisco.

Cisco scoffed. "This isn't a business transaction, you weirdo. And besides, aren't I already giving you updates to the cold gun?"

"Nope, that doesn't count," Snart said, shaking his head. Behind him, the bartender poured more amber liquid into his glass. "You were already going to do that before you even knew you needed my help. You can't just go back on your word, kid. It's like changing the rules in the middle of the game."

"This isn't a game, either," Cisco grunted. He swallowed another mouthful of his Shirley Temple, mostly because he needed a second to figure out what he'd say next. "Fine, what do you want? Money? Access to unreleased S.T.A.R. Labs tech? VIP passes for one of the amusement parks Eobard bought me? Worlds of Fun is definitely a lot more fun when you don't have to wait in line for the Patriot…"

Snart snorted. "Well, my little sister does love roller coasters. But, no, that's not what I was thinking."

"I'm not a mind reader," Cisco said. "So, tell me what you want." He had to bite his tongue to avoid adding, "What you really, really want." This was a serious conversation, after all.

"I already did." Snart leaned in even closer; his breath smelled like whisky, but not in an entirely bad way. "Yesterday, in your office. I told you what I want from you."

Once again, Cisco felt like the temperature in the room had surged. It was almost embarrassing how Snart could get under his skin with just a suggestive comment or two. Did he have that effect on everyone? Or was Cisco just exceptionally weak-willed?

Cisco pulled away, increasing the distance between them, and sipped his drink. With his eyes on the bar, he said, "What happened to accepting that I don't want to go out with you? Were you just bullshitting me yesterday when you said that?"

"I said I could accept it if you weren't attracted to me." His voice turned sing-songy: "But we both know that that's not true…"

"You're wrong." He was still avoiding eye contact.

"You should stop lying, Cisco. You're not very good at it."

"And you should stop bugging me before I decide to execute a self-destruct sequence on the cold gun," Cisco snapped. He folded his arms across his chest and forced himself to look at his would-be suitor. "You like to keep that thing strapped to your thigh, right?"

Again, Snart laughed at Cisco's hostility. "God, you're like an angry little kitten. If I keep pushing, will you scratch me with your itty-bitty claws?" He licked his lips. "For the record, I'm a biter, but only if the other person's okay with it."

Cisco crossed his legs, even though there wasn't a desk between them to hide the action from view. He couldn't help it; the idea of beautiful, dangerous Leonard Snart biting him on the shoulder or hip or —sweet Jesus— inner thigh made his face flush and his stomach tighten.

Thankfully, Mark chose that moment to stride towards them. A man Cisco had never seen was leaning on Mark's shoulder; New Guy had shaggy blonde hair, stubble on his chin, and a dazed expression on his face. He had to be Clyde Mardon, since Mark (probably) wouldn't have let anyone else just hang on him like that. "Let's get the hell out of here," Mark grumbled. His eyes landed on Snart, then flicked back to Cisco. "Everything okay?"

"Yeah, fine," Cisco said, uncrossing his legs and trying to look unruffled. "I'm just waiting for my food."

"If you say so." He glanced at Snart. "Snart."

"Mardon," Snart replied coolly. He looked at Clyde. "Other Mardon," he added, furrowing his brow in distaste.

"No, he's the 'Other Mardon," Clyde argued, blinking blearily. He might have been blitzed off of something other than alcohol. "Who're you?" he asked when his gaze fell on Cisco.

"I'm Cisco Ramon. You know, the 'Mr. Ramon' that your brother drives around for a living?" Cisco said.

Clyde stared him down for a second, and then said, "Why, because you're too young to get a driver's license?" He turned to Mark. "Is he even legal?"

Cisco was just about to snap, "I'm 27, you asshole!" when a different tattooed woman walked up to their little group. She had a paper bag stamped with the Saints and Sinners logo in her hand. "Bacon burger and chili fries to go?" she asked, her cheerful tone belying her tough appearance.

"That's me," Cisco said, relieved that they could now leave. As she set the bag on the bar, he pulled out his wallet. "I also had a soda. So, how much do I owe you?"

"It's—" the waitress began, but Snart interrupted her:

"Comp it."

Both Cisco and the waitress turned their heads in his direction. The waitress—whose nametag read "LILY" in block letters—looked just as confused as Cisco felt. "Uh…you sure, sir?" she started.

Snart nodded. "Cisco's a friend of mine, so go ahead and comp his meal. I'll sign off on it."

"Wait, do you own this place?" Cisco said, thankful that he'd had the good sense to not insult their surroundings while they were talking. Then again, Snart had referred to the bar as a "dive," so maybe he wouldn't have been offended?

"Mm-hmm," Snart said, sipping his whisky. "Thawne's not the only businessman you could hook up with, Cisco. If that's what you're into, I mean."

Cisco narrowed his eyes and forced himself not to take the bait. His wallet was still in his hand, so he fished out a $20 bill and handed it to the waitress. "Here. All of that is for you, then."

Lily tucked the bill into the pocket of her apron and then blew Cisco a kiss. "Thanks, sweetheart. Come back any time." As she turned to walk away, she let her hand slide from one of Snart's shoulders to the other, brushing her fingers over his back as she did so. When he turned to look at her, she shot him a flirtatious glance. Snart returned the look in kind, then lowered his gaze to watch her ass as she walked over to a booth on the other side of the room.

"She seems nice," Cisco said, putting his jacket on.

"Who, Lily?" Snart said, looking back at him. "Yes, she's very friendly."

"She's probably a little too classy to let her boss screw her in a supply closet, though. Bummer—I know that that's what you're into." He punctuated his statement by grabbing the skewer out of his Shirley Temple, pulling the cherries into his mouth with his teeth, and then sticking it back into the half-empty glass.

It would have been a pretty awesome bit to go out on, but of course, that was the moment that Clyde chose to open his mouth again: "Hey, aren't you screwing your boss, Ramon?" He snorted. "Bet he's bent you over a table or six at those fancy labs…"

"Clyde, shut the fuck up!" Mark snarled, looking horrified.

While Cisco felt his face burn with embarrassment, Snart smirked. "Hey, he's not wrong. About Cisco sleeping with his boss, at least. You're smarter than you look, Other Mardon."

Cisco groaned. No, this was not the exit he'd been planning to make. "Well, thanks for wrecking my evening, Snart," he grunted. "Let's never, ever do this again." He grabbed his food and stalked in the direction of the exit. Mark followed, dragging Clyde along with him.

"Bye-bye, Cisco," Snart called out, practically purring. "Like Lily said: come back anytime."

Cisco didn't say anything in response. In fact, he made a conscious effort to keep his mouth shut until he'd stepped outside. Once the cool night air hit his face, he realized abruptly that he'd left his soda sitting on the bar. But there was no way in hell he was going to go back for it.

On the drive home, while Clyde was snoozing in the back of the car and Cisco was sitting in the passenger seat, Mark apologized for his brother's crude comments. "When Clyde gets drunk, he runs his mouth. Sorry you got stuck in his crosshairs tonight." He checked his blind spot, changed lanes, and then added, "If you'd decked him for talking shit, I wouldn't have tried to stop you or anything."

"Wish I'd known that earlier," Cisco replied shortly, staring out the window. They'd left downtown Central City behind and were headed towards the wealthier suburbs. "But, y'know, he was so out of it that he probably would've shrugged off anything I could throw at him. I'm not exactly Floyd Mayweather Jr., man."

"Fine. I guess I'll punch him for you once he's sobered up." He paused. "Oh…uh…also…"

Against his better judgement, Cisco said, "What is it?"

"Just so you know…I didn't say that," Mark said, looking uncomfortable. "If you thought that he might've been repeating something that I said about you…he wasn't."

"It's fine," Cisco said.

"I mentioned to him once that you're Thawne's boyfriend and you both work at S.T.A.R. Labs but…look, I don't think…"

"Mark, just stop, okay?" Cisco said, sighing. "He's not wrong—Eobard is my boss." He smiled weakly. "And I'm definitely sleeping with him."

"Yeah, with how often you two make out in the backseat while I'm driving, I figured as much," Mark said with a good-natured snort. He sounded relieved that Cisco wasn't angry with him. "But speaking of you two in the backseat: I overheard Thawne talking to you a while back about how Snart's been hitting on you lately. Was he bothering you tonight?"

Cisco rolled his eyes. "Yeah, but it wasn't anything serious. He was just being an asshole."

"Typical Snart," Mark griped.

"I didn't know you knew him."

"We've…worked together before," Mark replied stiffly. "Well, actually, I've worked for him. Clyde has, too."

"Doing what, exactly?"

"Just odd jobs, like security detail and manual labor. My brother and I both have records, so we kinda take whatever we can get in order to scrape by. This driving thing is one of the first steady gigs I've had in a while, which is why I don't want to screw it up." He glanced over at Cisco. "I owe you a favor now, so let me know if you want me to kick Snart's ass. I think Clyde and I could probably take him, as long as Rory doesn't interfere…"

Before Cisco could answer, Clyde's voice rang out from the back seat: "This whole world is wrong, man. We're not…none of us are supposed to be here. Not like this." Cisco was startled; he'd thought that the younger Mardon brother was asleep. It was also a rather ominous thing to say randomly, even if Cisco didn't know what he was rambling about.

They were at a stop sign and there were no other vehicles on the road, so Mark put the car in 'park,' undid his seatbelt, reached back, and swatted Clyde on the head, hard enough that Cisco actually flinched—he, too, had been subjected to plenty of 'baby brother beat-downs' in his time. "Just shut up, idiot! You've already caused enough problems tonight, so don't open your mouth again unless it's to tell me that you're gonna be sick, okay?!"

Clyde didn't answer; he just groaned like a dying animal and put his arms over his face.

Mark sat back down, redid his seatbelt, and put the car in 'drive.' As he took his foot off of the brake and continued onward, he said to Cisco, "I think I'm about done for tonight."

"Yeah, me too," Cisco replied. And he went back to staring out the window. He didn't really say anything else until several minutes later, when he was bidding Mark farewell from his front porch.

The house was dark and quiet when Cisco first walked in, a sure sign that his fiancé wasn't there yet. Usually, when one of them got home before the other, the early arriver would not only turn on the lights, but also get something playing on the stereo system and flip the switch to start a fire in the gas hearth. Eobard said that music, lights, and a dancing fire—as well as a finger or two of scotch—all helped him unwind after a grueling day of working at the labs and/or dealing with people who were less intelligent than him. For Cisco, though, it was more about making the building seem less empty. He'd grown up in a house that, square-footage wise, was maybe a third of the size of Eobard's place and located in a densely-populated, lower-income neighborhood. And after college, he'd moved into a one-bedroom apartment that could barely hold all of his personal belongings. The bottom line was that he just wasn't used to having so much space all to himself. That, paired with Eobard's preference for open floor plans, glass walls, and large distances between himself and his nearest neighbors, sometimes made Cisco feel overexposed. And maybe just a tiny bit isolated.

He'd been kidding the day before when he told Eobard that he might die of loneliness or boredom if the man wouldn't let him get a fennec fox. But in all seriousness, the house needed a pet, even if it was just a cat. Or, hell, a ferret. Anything to change the atmosphere of the mansion from "formal museum" to "comfortable home."

He only felt this sense of discomfort when he was alone. When Eobard (or any other guests) were there, he was fine. And background noise did actually help with things, too. So, he turned on most of the lights in the house, started a fire, and ate his dinner at the kitchen counter while getting caught up on The Walking Dead .

The burger and chili fries from Saints and Sinners were a little bland; they could definitely benefit from a bit of extra salt. The writing on the most recent seasons of The Walking Dead had been a little bland, too. But the food filled his belly, and the show allowed him to drool over Sonequa Martin-Green and Jeffrey Dean Morgan at the same time (he was seriously attracted to those two, even if he usually went for women with long hair and men closer to age 40 than age 50), so he tried to just relax and enjoy both. He also tried not to dwell too much on what Clyde could have possibly meant when the man remarked that none of them were "supposed to be here." His impostor complex was already bad enough without taking a near-stranger's drunk (and possibly high) ramblings to heart.

...

Notes:

Sorry if this chapter seems to end really abruptly. It and the next one were originally a single installment, but when I realized just how long it had gotten, I felt an overwhelming need to split it in two.

On a lighter note: Leonard Snart is totally an ass man. No one can convince me otherwise...

Originally published on AO3 in March 2019