Author's note: Second of three chapters.
xxx
"Mr. Snart? Mr. Snart? What was that?" Radio silence. "Goddammit!"
Hunter is stressed about being here; they all are. But privately, Sara thinks that badgering the man who'd been so obviously uncomfortable with this mission had pretty much guaranteed something like this was going to happen. "What did that voice say?"
"I couldn't quite make it out." Hunter frowns at thin air in frustration. "It didn't sound like trouble. But you and I both know that trouble tends to find Mr. Snart."
True enough. "I'm going out there." She holds up a hand to forestall any arguments. "No one's going to see me if I don't want them to, OK? I can't just stand here wondering."
Hunter protests, and Hunter lists reasons why she shouldn't, and, in the end, Hunter can't stop her.
xxx
"Well, I thought I looked nice, but you look like someone just hit you in the head with a board. Your jaw dropped."
She's right. (And sounds pleased about it.) With an effort, he picks it back up. Manages a "You look lovely."
And she does. She looks beyond lovely, actually. But she's walking toward him now and it's patently obvious that this is not his ... not Sara ... not the Sara she knows. She moves in a completely different way. And, yes, he'll admit being a bit of a student of the way she moves, he has eyes after all, and ...
But at that point, she reaches him, grabs his tie, pulls his head down, and kisses him soundly.
For a fraction of a second, he just reacts; he can't help it. Then the twin thoughts of "the real Sara Lance can kill a man for days" and "I'm not the man this woman thinks I am" catch up to his brain and effectively throw ice water over his libido. He breaks the kiss.
A little ice water. Certain parts take long to get the message than others.
The kiss is still long enough to draw a giggle from the receptionist and a chuckle from the security guard. Somewhere beyond his distraction, he notes his double must be on decent terms with them.
This Sara Lance is giving him a slightly odd look. He can't really blame her; he suspects he continues to look like he was hit in the head by a 2-by-4.
But she speaks. "It's a lovely evening out; I thought you might like to walk. Are you done here for the day? We're a little late."
Yes, he'd like to walk, considering that going back to the car would cause some problems. What he'd like better is to find a way to slip away (so he tells himself), but that doesn't seem possible at the moment.
He returns to turn off the computer and lock up the office, taking the moment to hunt for any reference at all to whatever lions' den he's about to walk in to. There's a folded flyer noting an event to benefit the Police Benevolent Society and he marks the address. Given that that's probably how he ... this "he" ... came by his college education, it makes sense he'd be sure to go. (And it's probably the proper mayoral thing to do anyway, isn't it?)
Then, with one last glance at the newspaper clippings, he returns to the lobby and woman who's waiting for him.
Sort of.
xxx
Sara has found a good vantage point from which to watch the front doors of city hall. Granted, if he's entering or exiting through the parking garage as per the plan, she won't see him, but this should at least let her know if there's any sort of chaos involved. There so often is.
She hasn't been ensconced on the rooftop for long when she sees him strolling down the steps ... with a woman on his arm.
Oh, is that why he turned off the earpiece? Amusement bubbles up, warring with annoyance. She's actually been a little worried, and this is what he's been up to?
Then she takes a closer look through her scope.
There's discomfort, of an odd sort, there in the way he's walking, the constant glances from side to side. She supposes she can understand that, considering the familiar way the woman is holding his arm, unaware of the fact that this is probably not the man she thinks he is.
Then she focuses on the woman .. and stops breathing.
But only for a moment. Then she's moving, one her way back to the WaveRider, a plan formulating in her head.
It's better than thinking too much right now.
xxx
This Sara Lance, it appears, has lived in Central City for quite some time. Moved there right out of college, from what he can tell.
Any number of people (from the city schools superintendent to what seems to be a still-friendly ex-girlfriend) greet her on their 10-minute stroll to the benefit venue, and he's able to quickly figure out she's a sort of minor city power in her own right. She seems to be the director of the Central City YWCA, involved in issues of anti-domestic violence programs and legislation, women's rights and health, and children's education programs. A very intriguing woman in her own right.
But not the Sara he knows.
His double and this world's Sara seem to be well liked. People don't try to get chatty with him like they do with her – thank god – but he does tend to get smiles and nods.
How very strange.
At first, there are a few times he has to catch himself on a snarky comment to the woman next to him, something the woman he knows would respond to with a smirk or a smart-ass comment of her own. This woman wouldn't respond that way; she'd be puzzled, or maybe even annoyed.
They seem to be happy together; his double and her double, but they're not the same people. They haven't had the same lives. No doubt they have their own resonance, but it's not the same.
He thinks perhaps this Sara Lance is sensing something of his discomfort – she's given him a few sideways glances. But she doesn't say anything, and when they arrive at the Central City banquet hall, she slides her hand down to clasp his.
She doesn't have the calluses of the martial artist he knows. It's distracting in several different ways.
He knows he has to get out of here. He still has several hours before the man in the car wakes, but the longer he spending swimming in this particular shark tank, the more likely it is he'll slip up.
And, while he can admit that the notion of spending some time with the woman currently holding his hand had been an alluring one, he can also admit not that ... well, this is not the woman he wants to spend that time with.
It's an uncomfortable thought.
They're greeted at the door like the power couple they apparently are, walk into the hall with heads turning all around them. Other Sara gives him a smile that's so sparkling he smiles back to see it, but further down, it evokes sorrow.
Was his ... was the Sara he knows ever this open, this happy? He doesn't know, though he hopes for her sake that she had that, once upon a time.
That said, he likes her shadows. They're part of her, earned through survival and pain. You can't get rid of them, so you just appreciate the depth they bring.
Other Sara snaps him out of his somewhat melancholy ... and unsettling ... thoughts with a squeeze of her hand.
"I see Iris over there and I need to talk to her for a moment. I'll be back in a minute." Suddenly, there's a spark of mischief in her eyes, and she could almost be the Sara he knows. "Try not to piss off half the City Council this time, OK? Remember how much you hate damage control. And that most of them are incapable of processing sarcasm anyway."
Maybe his double's not as dissimilar as he thought. He snags two glasses of champagne from a passing waiter, hands one to her, and lifts the other in a mocking toast. She laughs out loud, takes a sip, and turns away to head toward ... is that Iris West?
He's pretty sure it is, actually. His practiced eye immediately pegs this incarnation as a cop. Hmm. And then where is ...
Seriously?
He can't stop the smirk that crosses his face at the sight of this world's Barry Allen, all bow tie and wire-rimmed glasses, hovering by West's shoulder.
If that kid's a speedster here, he'll eat his tie. He apparently got the girl, though, so good for him.
His eyes light on Sara, who is talking with animation to West. The light is catching the diamond solitaire she wears on her left hand.
He turns away abruptly then, heading for the balcony he sees ringing the ballroom. It's likely he'll be accosted by any of these circling sharks there.
He really doesn't want to mess things up for these two.
He will not analyze that feeling too closely. But leaning against the railing upstairs, looking absently out at the glittering throng, he wonders how they met. It had nothing to do with TimeMasters and immortal psychopaths, he's pretty sure. Through work, probably; the crusader and the politician who understands why her work is important. Who knows.
Time passes while he's alone with his thoughts. He scans the crowd again.
Where is she?
He's just starting to worry – this is not his Sara, after all – when he sees her emerge from one of the corridors leading off from the main room, scanning the crowd.
And it is.
Sara.