I am the sand in the bottom half of the hourglass

I try to picture me without you ... but I can't.

(All lyrics from "Immortals," Fall Out Boy)

xxx

Laurel tells him a few of the spots Sara might be visiting. But first, he needs to mark Snart.

It's not difficult, which might be surprising. But he knows how it is to cling to the familiar, to routine, when the rest of your life is in flux around you, so it's not surprising when Cisco's usage of the city surveillance cameras rewards them with a view of the tall man heading into Saints & Sinners.

("I can't believe we're helping Snart hook up." "We're not. We're making sure he stays on the side of the angels." "Oh, is that what they're calling it these days?")

Barry is taking some care not to be seen by Sara, although he figures she's pretty perceptive and will just chalk it up to the Flash doing ... Flash things ... if she sees the red blur out of the corner of her eye. At first, he considers trying for something subtle ... trying to guide her steps to the bar, or something.

In the end, he just skids to a halt in front of her and pretends he's delivering a message.

"Hey!" It's a little disturbing, he thinks, how quickly her eyes track him even before he's slowed down, and he's positive she has a knife in her hand. Maybe more than one. "Barry Allen, remember? I have a message for you."

He doesn't really have to say who the message is from, right?

He's not sure she buys it, really, but her lips quirk as she absorbs the address he gives her (it's not so far away) and she nods in acceptance.

"So ... are you going?"

"And you care ... why?"

The question isn't actually sarcastic or flippant, so he's startled into an answer, sort of. "Well, it'd be a shame if he didn't think you got the message ..."

She smiles to herself as she does, indeed, change direction to put herself on a route to the bar. "That ass really doesn't know how many people he has on his side, does he?"

"I don't think he's really used to the idea, no."

"Well. It's about time he starts getting used to it."

xxx

If he'd had the nerve to ask Sara if she wanted to meet for dinner, he'd have picked somewhere nicer, but as it is, he's so at loose ends by the time he finishes with other errands that he reverts to habit and makes his way to the bar.

He's contemplating the beer and cooling burger and fries in front of him when she slips into the booth across from him.

"Hey, stranger. Come here often?"

Banter is easier. "I don't know. What's a woman like you doing in a place like this?"

"Hopefully getting something to eat. Buy a girl dinner?"

He does, of course. They consider each other over the food and beers, both fully cognizant of missteps made and the various ways this could go.

"If the past two years hadn't happened? If we'd just met here tonight, and hit it off?" she finally asks, "What would you do?"

He actually can't imagine that happening. He was too guarded, too suspicious, to chat up a random blonde in a bar, no matter how beautiful she happened to be or how she happened to move. It's been the past two years, almost right from the start, that allowed them to put together the pieces of each other, to slip through the cracks in each other's defenses.

Still, it gets him thinking. And after he's paid the bill, he meets her questioning eyes again.

"Let me show you the city."

They walk along the waterfront; they stop at a food truck for dessert. Both smirk a little at the notion of playing good little tourists.

He contemplates breaking into Star Labs for the sheer amusement of it, but he doesn't want the kid asking any awkward and untimely questions about his earlier purchase, and besides, the occasional flicker seen out of the corner of his eye tells him there are tabs being kept on them anyway, for some reason.

He points out places he's pulled heists, and things – the zoo, the museums – he took Lisa to do when she was little and he was trying to give her a semblance of normalcy. (To anyone else, the dichotomy might seem odd, he reflects.) She talks about her own family, about how she loves them but that's not the place for her anymore, about her time as the Black Canary and how she tried to be a force for good.

As it gets later, getting restless, they hit another dive bar, find something suitable on the jukebox (Captain and Tennille being somewhat rare in 2016), slip into familiar banter ("You want to dance, Leonard?" "I'd rather watch"), start a bar brawl, finish a bar brawl, get kicked out, and go find another bar, where they drink a few shots to Mick.

At one point, Sara hears a woman being accosted in a parking lot, and they take off without hesitation. She's smoothly knocked out two of the assailants and spins to get the other only to find he's already broken the bastard's nose.

The grin she gives him then is something he'll never forget.

They vanish into the night, keep walking.

Eventually, they stroll past his childhood home. He tells her about the emerald, about his hopes, about seeing his younger self, about what he'd told that boy. She takes his hand at some point after that. He lets her, pretending he didn't.

At some point after that, they've made it back to city center and it's getting truly late. He's dropped his coat over her shoulders at some point, but they can't keep walking all night and he hesitates, footsteps slowing on a street corner.

"Do you want to head back to the Waverider?"

She makes a small sound of annoyance and stops in her tracks, dragging him to a halt, too. He turns to face her, and she's standing very, very close.

"Seriously? Is that really what you want to do?"

It isn't, of course.

xxx

On the rooftop across the street, Barry Allen flashes to a stop and damned near cheers right out loud. He'd thought they were going to keep walking all night. As it is, he does laugh out loud.

"What?" demands the voice in his earpiece. "Did he finally kiss her?"

"Looks like it's pretty mutual, actually." He peers over the edge of the rooftop wall. Things were getting downright heated already. "I'm going to tell them to get a room."

"Barry!" Laurel Lance sounds horrified. "Don't you dare!"

He laughs again and does it anyway. He laughs even harder when, without pausing, they both flip him off in unison.

xxx

So, in the end, they do wind up getting a room.

Years later, with silver in her hair and decades as part of the most badass (and respected) pair of bounty hunters around, she'll still look back on that night as the night they truly become partners.

What happens in that room, that night, is a pact and a promise and a challenge. They've never been able to truly back away from a challenge, neither one of them, and they are, after all, very, very compatible. They damn well blow the door off its hinges, she'll think later, while a smile. It was ... memorable ... no matter how many times it happens again. (And those times are many.)

And, also decades later, with a ring on her hand and the snowflake pendant still around her neck, she'll look back on the next morning as the moment they truly become lovers.

It's different, with sunlight spilling through the curtains and a certain sense of peace all around. All the scars are visible; all the wounds are bared. There are stories to be told, history to be shared.

It is also ... memorable.

And for once, wrapped in that peace, they sleep.

Eventually.

xxx

They make it back to the Waverider not too late, really. Hunter is waiting, tapping his toe a bit with impatience, but that fades as the TimeMaster takes in their rather rumpled state, his hand on her elbow, the tiny, sparkling snowflake she wears around her neck. In the end, Hunter merely smiles and vanishes into the Waverider ahead of them.

He offers her his arm as they board the ship. She takes it.

Turn the page.

xxx

Note: There will be a sequel. I need to do some research and figure out my incarnation of the TimeMasters (and the Jael K theories of time travel). But I'm happy where I'm leaving this duo for now.

I might write a scene from this, though, and call it "That Morning." :) Maybe.

Thank you you so much for reading and for all the lovely comments. They mean so much.