Len strolls the blue-lit walkway from his quarters to the bridge. He passes by Ray, who waves when Len approaches, wearing an expectant smile like he wants to chitchat. But Len blows by him, raising a hand to halt the start of conversation. It's nothing personal, but Len has a hard time stomaching Ray Palmer. He's a nice enough guy, a competent member of the team, a decent fighter, but he's such a God dammed boy scout. He's obnoxiously cheerful and overly-optimistic. Even having the crap beaten out of him in a Russian prison couldn't break him. Len can respect that. But Len prefers to remain cynical and pragmatic.
All in all, Ray's a bit too sheltered and naïve for Len's taste.
In a bizarre twist, Ray actually sort of reminds Len of Barry – extremely smart, trusting, and willing to give almost anyone the benefit of the doubt.
But then again, he doesn't.
For one thing, Barry can read social cues, a talent that Ray, with his genius level IQ, has yet to master.
Social skills aside, Barry Allen is special in a thousand and one ways. Len can't see anyone coming in to his life remotely like him.
Len doesn't feel too guilty about shoving Ray off. The man looks like he's on his way to Kendra's room anyhow.
Besides, Len has got somewhere he needs to be.
He doesn't encounter anyone else on his way to the bridge. Everyone should be bunking down for the time being, though time means next to nothing on the Waverider, and no one really sleeps on the damn thing anyway. Len still goes by the time on his Casio watch. It's utterly useless to keep track of time between time jumps, like teaching a shark to ride a bicycle, but it's one way to maintain some sense of normalcy on this voyage.
The team has come up with a schedule of sorts, retiring to their rooms at a silently agreed upon point to do whatever – train, eat, play cards. The only other person mulling about on the bridge is Rip, sitting in the captain's chair, going over coordinates and some newly assimilated files. What's in them, Len doesn't care too much, as long as Rip doesn't screw shit up, and they don't end up where they're not supposed to be.
Which they most likely will anyway.
Len doesn't mind that Rip is there. True, Len considers what he's doing personal, and he'd rather be alone, but he's not ashamed of it, so he doesn't feel the need to hide it. He hasn't explained it to anyone, and nobody has asked, not even Mick.
It's fairly cut and dry, but even if it wasn't, it's his thing, and nobody gets to take it away.
Rip hears him coming, and without a word, he gets up from his chair. With a tired nod, he hands the bridge over to Len, leaving him to his business.
Len forgoes the captain's chair and sits in his usual seat. He props a leg up on the chair beside him – the one his partner Mick usually occupies – and settles in.
"Gideon…" Len says, addressing the ship's A.I. Before he can make his request, the ship, in its smooth, feminine voice, replies, "The usual, Mr. Snart?"
Len smirks. If it wasn't for the fact that he does do this every twelve hours or so, he would think the ship was being cheeky with him. "Yes, Gideon. The usual."
"Accessing timeline data…Lisa Snart, November 3rd, 2016. Current status…unchanged. Current condition…secure."
Len sighs with relief. After their last few missions, the threats they faced, old and new, he's waiting for the day when someone finds her and tries to use her as leverage.
It's already happened once, and from an unlikely source. He'll be damned if it happens again.
But that day isn't today.
Then again, it wouldn't be a day ending in 'y' if he didn't expect it.
Planning ahead. It's what Leonard Snart does best.
Most of the time.
"Good. Let's try to keep it that way," he says, more for himself than Gideon.
"Would you like to see her, Mr. Snart?"
"Yes, Gideon," he replies offhandedly, but then sits bolt upright in his chair. "Wait, Gideon…where is she? Is she alone?"
"All scans show that Ms. Snart is in her place of residence, and currently alone."
Another relieved sigh. The last time he nonchalantly requested to see his sister, Lisa was on a date with Cisco.
She was also in Cisco's bedroom, drunk, naked, and riding her boyfriend like he was a race horse in the Kentucky Derby.
That's an image that a thousand thermonuclear explosions would never be able to scour from Len's brain.
Unfortunately, Sara happened to be lurking in the passage right outside the bridge when the audio came through.
He swears, if that woman says, "Yee-haw!" under her breath one more time when she passes him in the hallway, Len is putting her on ice.
Literally.
"Proceed," Len says.
The image that comes through on the console is almost as heart wrenching as watching his baby sister fuck the brains out of a less-than-worthy Casanova.
She's sitting on her bed, cross-legged, with a can of Miller Light in one hand, and a picture of her and Len in the other. He can't see the photograph from the scanner feed, but from the frame it's in, Len knows when it was taken – years before Len ever even knew about the Waverider, before he could classify himself as more than a petty crook. It was their first vacation together since they were kids. Len was on the lam, and they were traveling in disguise (the long, blonde wig Lisa chose for the occasion was definitely a special look), but it was the most fun they had had together in ages. They boosted a car and drove out to the West Coast, to San Diego – a place about as culturally different from Central City as they could get. They didn't hit the beach, but they still had a lot of fun. They didn't really need to hide; no one looked at them twice there. They were just another brother and sister, monkeying around, sightseeing, doing the touristy thing. They snapped some goofy pictures, had a few laughs.
They reclaimed a piece of the childhood their father had robbed them of.
Frankly, Len can't remember a single spot they went to that he enjoyed more than anywhere else.
He just had a blast spending time with his sister.
Len watches her take a sip of her beer. She sniffs and runs the back of her wrist over her eyes, wiping away tears.
"Don't worry, Lees," Len says so Gideon won't hear. Gideon has a habit of innocently commenting during the wrong times. Now would be one of those. "I'll come back soon." Len stares at Lisa's face, turned away from the picture and pointed up towards the sky, searching the stars for her older brother, and he can't take any more. "Okay, Gideon," he says, clearing the hitch from his throat. "Switch, please. And let me see him."
"As you wish, Mr. Snart."
The image on the screen dissolves, then changes, from his sister alone in her room, to two men, both sitting on similar stools, one bent over the other man's bicep, carefully inking an image on to his skin.
"Barry Allen, November 3rd, 2016. Current status…unchanged. Current condition…also secure."
"Doesn't look like it to me," Len mutters.
The sandy blond, muscular uber-jock getting a tattoo of a purple koi watches Barry closely, too closely, his hungry expression making Len curl his fingers into fists.
"So," the man says, leering in a way that has Len scooting to the edge of his seat, "do you ever date clients?"
"Once," Barry answers, rather shortly.
"And…what happened with that one?"
Barry turns to his inks and picks up a darker shade of purple on his needles. "It was about eight months ago. This gorgeous guy came in with his sister so she could get a tattoo."
"Gorgeous, huh?" the man says, sarcastic and unimpressed. "What did this gorgeous man look like?"
"You know, your stereotypical tall, dark, and handsome type, quietly mysterious, and drop dead sexy." The customer's confident smile slips at Barry's description, probably wondering if he measures up. "We went on a few dates," Barry continues, dipping his needles into a glass of water, sighing as he does. "I didn't really get to see him too often at the beginning. He travels for work and whatnot. Things were a little rough, and…"
"And…" the man presses, hopeful that he knows where this is going. Len can see it on the man's face. Shoulder to cry on? Rebound? Revenge fuck? Len leans closer, reaching for his gun. He instantly realizes the futility. What does he think he's going to do with it? Shoot this asshat through about nine timelines, fifty-seven years in the past? But feeling his hand grip the handle of his weapon gives him comfort.
A sudden shift in the image on the screen gives Len more comfort than his gun.
A smile starts on Barry's lips, and doesn't seem to stop. "And, we worked through it. Decided we were better off together than apart. And I'm still with him." Barry turns off his gun to run a thumb over the silver pinkie ring he wears underneath his purple gloves - the one Len gave him on his last visit. "He's still mine…and he's still drop dead sexy."
Len chuckles at the sour-faced guy dropping his gaze down to his shoes, then he focuses on Barry's face. Barry licks his lower lip slowly, then bites it, as if he knows Len is watching. Len nearly moans.
God, he can't wait till he gets to bite that lip for himself. Len's left hand rests over his knee, the intricate tattoo of a snowflake inked on to the back spreading as his skin tightens, the colors exploding in vibrance.
Barry did that snowflake for Len on his last visit home, the same time Len gave Barry the ring. Barry said it was something he'd been thinking about for a while.
Another tattoo he had come up with, especially for Len, that no one else got to have.
It garnered Len quite a few interested looks when he returned to the Waverider, probably more than the huge line of hickeys on his neck. Len reaches out a hand to hover over the screen, tracing the lines of Barry's face in the air. He can't wait to feel Barry's skin beneath his fingertips again, his heat all around him.
Maybe he'll even get another tattoo. Barry was right. You can't stop at just one.
"You bet your ass I'm yours, Barry Allen," Len says, grinning at his boyfriend as he starts shading the koi for his spurned customer. "All yours."