Author's notes: two months already! Sorry for the wait (if anyone's still reading :P), but both my beta and I had a lot on our plate. But hey, that's Real Life for ya :o) So this chapter happens a couple of months after the first one, so it's still quite early in everybody's career. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: With a big major company like DC, is it truly necessary for me to say that I don't own those characters? … Apparently it is, so I don't own 'em. At all :o]

Everybody Comes To Harry's

STATUS QUO

Some cities are said to be always awake, eyes and windows wide open in the dark. Some even boast of really coming alive only at night.

Fortunately for Len Snart – aka Captain Cold, since he was currently on the job – in Central City that was not really the case. Not in this part of town anyway.

This part of town was mostly shops, stores and apartments, and it slept at night. Soundly. Which meant that any burglar who was professional enough to cut the alarms and keep the general noises down to a minimum had a chance to get away with it.

And Len knew exactly where the alarms were. He had found it paid to do a minimum of pre-emptive homework before a job.

As he fished around in his belt for his miniature cold gun – a small device, not quite what you'd call 'impressive', but its accuracy was unmatched – and crouched in front of the back door of the jewellery store, he couldn't help wondering whether he should have kept Heatwave on the loop or not. After all, the couple of heists they'd pulled together – if you didn't count the first time they had come face to face, which had resulted in a failed bank robbery and their having to escape the Central City Police HQ together – had been successful enough. Working as a duo definitely had its perks. Knowing your partner was watching your back as you were watching his had certainly made some things easier.

But try as he may, Len could not see what Mick could have brought to this particular job. Besides, flames in a courtyard next to a small jewellery at three in the morning were not exactly inconspicuous.

When he had frozen the lock at exactly the right temperature, Len put his small weapon back in its belt compartment and took out a lock pick instead. The inside of the keyhole crumbled, leaving the outside looking very much intact and perfectly innocent to hypothetical passers-by. It had worked before, and Len counted on it to work yet another time.

The first thing he did before entering was poke his cold gun – the usual one – inside and freeze the cameras and the alarm. The second thing was check for another alarm that wouldn't be on the blueprints. And then, finally, he entered and closed the door behind him, very much satisfied with the night so far.

Of course, with hindsight, he should have known better. Even without the paranoid superstition that was more or less came with the job description ("Don't ever say 'Nothing can go wrong now', because something invariably will if you do"), Len prided himself on keeping on his toes at all times, even when the guy in the red pyjamas making a surprise appearance was highly improbable.

At least he heard him coming this time, though. Usually the Flash went so fast that it was really easy to miss the whooshing sound he made as he ran, but the neighbourhood was completely quiet and he made a point of not making any unnecessary noise anyway.

On the off chance that the Flash might spot the damaged lock, Len dropped to a crouch, flattened his back against the wall and waited, cold gun at the ready.

The familiar sound rushed past the door and went away. Len did not move an inch.

It came back. The door opened slowly.

Len remained as perfectly still as he could, his finger on the trigger of his gun, trying to squint in the darkness at the metal lightning bolts that reflected what little light there was. And actively trying to ignore the thrill that came from the absolute uncertainty of who was the hunter, and who was the hunted. It got him every time, even if he stubbornly refused to acknowledge it. He was not doing this for the fun, dammit.

From his place on the floor, he heard a very slight rustling sound and a soft footfall, and surprisingly, it was all he heard. He had expected at least a tentative joke by now about something or other – it was part of what made the Flash so infuriating. The guy was always smiling. Oh, he took his 'job' or 'mission' or whatever he called it seriously enough, but that unshakably cheerful attitude of his never failed to rub Len the wrong way, and he knew he was not the only one.

Tonight, though, there was only silence. So far.

Because the Flash put his hand just above the keyhole, and raised his head sharply.

Well. It was nice while it lasted.

Len fired.

And was astonished to see that the Flash had not dodged in the nick of time as he usually did – instead, he half-fell to the ground, his legs frozen in place. He recovered quickly enough, however, because he caught up with Len before he was even out of the courtyard he had come in through.

In the half-second he saw the guy's face before his fist took all the room, Len sensed something was off. It was absolutely no excuse for the complete newbie mistake he made in not firing the gun instantly, but in that half-second, he only had time to register something was wrong.

Then pain exploded in his jaw at the same time that his feet left the ground with the force of the impact and he landed hard on his back. Spots danced in front of his eyes as he lay there, gasping for breath and mechanically searching for his miniature cold gun, the real one lying uselessly a few feet away.

The face that swam into focus just above him confirmed the odd impression. There was no trace of the usual humour, no grin, nothing. Len thought for about a second and a half, then fired his small cold gun straight into the Flash's right Achilles tendon.

The guy let out a short, inarticulate cry and collapsed as heavily as any normal human being.

Len gave himself the luxury of another thirty seconds to get his breath back properly, and if he was still wheezing a little bit when he got to his feet, at least the bright spots were mostly gone.

When he retrieved his cold gun from the ground, he looked into the Flash's eyes – or where they were supposed to be, behind those lenses of his mask – and was more startled than he cared to admit to see the anger on his face, underlined with something like hurt which Len suspected had little to do with his damaged ankle.

"Happy now?" he said, his voice sharp and cold – and it sounded so wrong – even at its mocking best, the Flash's voice never lacked for warmth. Len tilted his head to the side.

"What do you think?"

The Flash bit his lip, and something fleeting passed on his face that made him look ever so briefly like a ten-year-old boy. Len's hand relaxed on his gun for a second in spite of himself. Not for the first time, he wondered how old he really was.

"I think today's already the crappiest day ever, so why not top it all with the crappiest night ever?" He winced when he tried to put some weight on his ankle. "Doesn't matter, anyway."

Curiosity. It was only a slight, casual curiosity that made Len lower his gun and take a look – a real look – at the kid. Nothing more. It was not worry. He did not worry. And certainly not about a guy who kept running after him, putting him in jail and generally prancing around in a bright red costume, for God's sake.

It didn't help. The curiosity and the… thing that was beginning to churn deep down in his stomach that was definitely not there did not go away. Rather the opposite, in fact.

"What's wrong?" he asked, keeping his voice rough but low. The Flash raised his head, incredulity and plain mistrust spelled in big bold capital letters on his face.

"You've gotta be kidding me!" he retorted, anger rearing its head and gradually replacing the disbelief. "It's not enough that you're gonna turn me into a popsicle, you're gonna mess with my head first?"

"I'm not 'messing with your head', I'm just trying to figure out why you looked like you wanted to kill me a moment ago."

"You're a bad guy. I catch bad guys."

Okay, that was it. He not only looked like a kid – especially with the ridiculous pout-like expression that his face took for a second – he really sounded like one. Except that he didn't for long. Something quickly replaced the almost pout, something grim and sad and lost and –

Ah, crap.

Len crossed his arms across his chest and tried his damnedest to look and sound coldly sarcastic.

"'Bad guys', yeah. You just don't usually look so murderous when you do, that's all."

He had expected a retort – some smart-ass quip – some cheesy joke. Instead, the Flash looked down, the expression on his face difficult to decipher, especially in the lack of light.

And he certainly had not expected the question, asked in a low, tired sort of voice, "D'you have family?"

It almost threw him for a loop.

Almost.

"Yes," he said, too puzzled to straightforwardly avoid the question. "Why?"

The Flash didn't answer, keeping his head downcast.

"Nothing. It's been a… just… nothing."

Right. Len rolled his eyes, trying to put the sudden weariness that weighed on his shoulders down to the ridiculous time of the night. By any account he should already have ran back into the store, filled a small bag with priceless items, and by now he should be on his way home, trying not to wake the wife when he got there. But no. He was still staring down at his enemy, trying to get him to spill the beans about what was making him act that way, and getting increasingly cold and tired. No wonder the voice of reason in the back of his head kept calling him a damn fool for not finishing him off and splitting already.

The thing is, he couldn't do that. Not really.

After all, the Flash's annoying cheerful grin wasn't just a gimmick. It was a trademark, something that distinguished him from the other capes he had heard about. In Metropolis they had a boy scout who saved everybody; in Gotham City they had a bogeyman who scared everybody. Despite his cocky (bordering on arrogant) attitude, the Flash didn't preach for the holier-than-thou choir, and he certainly didn't set out to frighten everyone.

Actually, what usually happened most of the time was that the guys were often so busy taking him for a goofball and a joke that when they realised he meant business, it was already too late.

I bet he knows that all too well, too.

Yes, the Flash was dangerous. He was also quite focused on delivering those he caught to the police with minimum damage.

Without that focus, he became a liability, and Len wasn't exactly keen on seeing him collide at the speed of sound with some poor unfortunate bastard because he'd lost control. Especially if the poor unfortunate bastard in question was him. The guy was rumoured to be faster than Superman, after all – and he probably was smart enough to know how ugly things could turn if he didn't have absolute control over his power.

It was not because it wouldn't be fair to shoot a man while he was down that Len hesitated. And it was definitely not because it wouldn't be half as fun.

So, clinging to his logic, he shook his head, holstered his cold gun resignedly and sat down besides the Flash, looking straight at the walls in front of him.

"I got a sister," he said after a while. "But we don't talk that often."

That was all he needed to know.

The Flash nodded mutely. It was unnerving to see the guy who usually couldn't seem to be able to stop talking doing such a dead-on clam impersonation.

"Then there's the wife, of course."

This got the guy's attention. His head snapped up and he stared at Len with a suddenly much more normal look on his face.

"You're married?" It was hard to tell for sure whether he meant the emphasis on 'you' or 'married'.

"Yeah."

"Huh."

"Yeah."

They lapsed into silence again, the only sounds around provided by a slight wind and a nearby dripping from a drainpipe from an earlier rain. The silence was not much less awkward for it. This was getting ridiculous.

Still Len hesitated for a few seconds more, the voice of reason at the back of his head yelling all sorts of colourful expletives about his current level of intelligence and his choice of priorities.

Then he made up his mind.

He got back on his feet and whipped his gun out.

The Flash tensed, but Len held up a hand defensively.

"Relax. I'm not gonna ice ya."

"Oh yeah?" Incredulity was back full force.

"Yeah. Let's say I'm… off the clock."

"Look, that might work for Ralph and Sam, but people like me or you don't punch clocks. I mean, how do I know you're not gonna ice me?"

"Because I won't."

"'Course you'd say that," the Flash retorted, mistrust and a no small hint of sarcasm creeping back into his voice.

Len rolled his eyes again. "Actually, I wouldn't. The way I see it, if you're gonna shoot, shoot, don't talk."

"…Did you just rip off a line from a movie?"

"Can't beat the classics. Now don't move. If that's even possible for you to do that, I mean."

There still was an odd undercurrent of mixed-up emotions – a lot of them unrelated to the current situation – in the Flash's glare, but he relaxed ever so slightly and held still. As though he actually trusted one of his most regular antagonists and a notorious villain to keep his word and not take a golden opportunity to off him just like that. Len suppressed a sigh.

I know I'm going to regret this.

Then he changed the right settings on his cold gun, pointed it at his enemy's ankle, and – still calling himself every kind of idiot under the sun – fired.

The Flash gingerly moved his foot, looking bemused.

"You reversed the – wow. That's a new feature."

"After that stunt with Heatwave at the bank, I figured I needed something in case I accidentally froze someone I actually work with." To tell the truth, Len wasn't half proud of this recent finding. It had taken a lot of tinkering. Plus, it could prove useful.

He put the gun back into his holster again as the Flash turned to him, apparently trying to look sly and cold. It didn't work – thankfully. That meant he wasn't so far gone yet.

"How do you know I'm not gonna haul your butt to the cops now for breaking into that store?"

Len was expecting this. He crossed his arms and stared at the guy straight in the eye. Or where his eyes should be, anyway.

"Because something's wrong with you. I don't know what, I don't necessarily care, but I got a feeling it's going to make life very difficult for all of us. And we don't need that." He paused, and gave a small smirk. "If I wanted some dark and scary urban legend to run after me, I'd have moved to Gotham by now."

Now that he was standing up, the dim light of the streetlamps a few feet away caught the Flash's face better, revealing a look halfway between baffled and amused. It was the most normal he'd looked since he turned up, but it still didn't come close to his usual annoyingly buoyant disposition.

"'Dark and scary'? Really?"

"Getting there."

"Oh."

Even with some exaggeration to prod him along the way, the kid really couldn't take a hint if it stared him in the face and waved. He was going to have to say it. Dammit. Why'd have to be me, of all people. It's not like I even like the guy.

Nevertheless, he kept his face as seriously deadpan he could, and said, "So. You need to talk."

The Flash stared at him as though he'd grown another head. Then incredulity turned to stubbornness as he clammed up altogether.

"Not to you."

Oh, for God's sake.

"Look," Len snapped coldly, "I might be wrong, but I reckon that if you had anyone else you could talk to right now, you'd be there instead of lurking around jewellery stores at three in the morning."

Ouch. Apparently he'd hit a nerve. The Flash's shoulders sagged a little bit, his gaze dropped, and the look on his face changed to one you might find on a kicked puppy. He must really be wretched to let himself show weakness like that to one of his worst enemies.

Len suddenly felt very tired. And old. Which was absurd – he was not that old. There was just something about this… kid that made him feel that way. It was much simpler when he acted like the cocky super-fast vigilante he usually set out to be, and not like the kid he admittedly was.

He rubbed the bridge of his nose and went on in a more subdued tone, "Ah, hell. Come on."

None of them said a word till Len stopped in front of the back door to Harry's and retrieved the spare key from where he knew it would be. This elicited a low-voice comment from the Flash.

"Hey, isn't that the place where you guys like to hang out?"

Len sharply turned his head toward him. "What do you know about that place?"

The Flash shrugged noncommittally. "Only that it's where criminals go when they're not committing crimes. Which is fine by me, I mean – I'd rather have you lot in here all the time rather than robbing banks."

Len stared at him. Then he turned back to the door and opened it, shaking his head.

Things must actually be simpler in Gotham. Crazier, sure, and more dangerous, but simpler.

Despite knowing where the 'emergency key' was hidden, Len had never set foot in Harry's when it was closed before. The bar was dark and silent, and he was careful to keep it that way – the barkeep and owner lived just upstairs, and it wouldn't do any good to wake him. 'Never piss off the barkeep' was one of these unspoken rules that everyone, from petty thieves to seasoned burglars, seemed to obey implicitly. Len didn't know whether 'cranky' counted as 'pissed off', but he wasn't sure he wanted to chance it.

"What kind of bar owner keeps the key for all to find?" the Flash asked in a low voice as Len closed the door behind them.

"The kind of owner who doesn't want people to break into his bar," Len replied in the same tone. "It's not like anyone would dare to rob him, anyway."

"Why? Nobody ever tried?"

"Oh, yes. Happens sometimes. Last time was… two years ago, I guess." The fond memory made Len smile what he perfectly knew was one nasty-looking smirk. "I think the last anyone heard about the poor bastard, he was running toward the state border."

"To Kansas?"

"To Iowa."

Judging by the expression on his face, the Flash was suitably impressed.

Len fished some small change from his pockets and got himself a draft beer while Flash looked on interestedly.

"Good idea, I'll have one of those too."

"Right." Len looked at him in the eye and smirked. "Care to show some ID?"

Flash's jaw went slack.

"What?! You're not serious!"

"Like hell I'm not. You don't look old enough to vote, let alone to get a beer."

"Oh, come on! You rob banks – you do bad stuff all the time – and you won't let me have a beer?… What kind of villain are you?"

Len's smirk broadened. "The kind that's starting to enjoy the situation." He grabbed a Coke and half-turned to the Flash. "Got any money?"

The guy put his chin in his hand, looking peeved, while he dropped some coins on the bar. Len couldn't help but stare, a little bit perplexed.

"Where did you – never mind, I really don't want to know." His hunch had been correct – the Flash may be a far cry from an actual boy scout, but he was too much of a goody-two-shoes to break the 'no alcohol for underage kids' rule.

Which meant he was underage. That hunch had been correct, too.

"So. You asked about family."

The Flash's face closed off abruptly. He gripped his Coke and stared down at the bar.

"That's private."

Len had never been much good at these kinds of conversations, so he didn't say anything and waited for the Flash to get fed up with the silence.

Sure enough, it didn't take that long. The guy squirmed a bit, his expression still as carefully guarded as he could.

"It's my aunt, she's, uh… she had a heart attack today. And it was… it's bad."

He took a half-hearted sip from his Coke bottle, resolutely staring in front of him.

"She's my only aunt."

Silence. Then another sip.

"My mum's nice, she's – she's my mum, but we don't… It's complicated. With my aunt and uncle, it's just – not."

Len drank a bit from his beer, still waiting, and carefully not letting his mind wander over his own personal memories. He really didn't need to go there. The past was past, no use in dwelling on it.

Family. What wasn't complicated about family?

"I know you only get one mum, and I'm… But my aunt and uncle, they – just accept the way I am. They don't try to guilt-trip me into doing or not doing stuff. They're not disappointed because I got an F in Literature class, and they don't shake their heads and say I'm hopeless. They don't snap at me because I laugh too loud."

The kid – it was really easy not to see him as a kid, usually, but right now it was damn difficult to see him as anything but, and for all that he prided himself on being a cold-hearted bastard when needs be, Len had always hated seeing a kid having it tough – was slowly letting his stiff upper lip mask slip, and it was becoming obvious. His jaw was clenched in a certain way that felt familiar somehow to Len – as though he'd seen it before.

When it dawned on him that it reminded him of his little sister when she was on the verge of tears but was too damn stubborn to cry, he gripped the handle of his beer mug so hard his knuckles hurt. It took a lot of effort to push that thought away. Even as a kid, Lisa had been tough as nails. It took a lot to make her cry.

The Flash took another gulp from his glass. "Thing is…" That kid was stubborn too, in his own right. His lip barely wobbled. "Sometimes, they… Their place, it's home, y'know? 'Specially since Dad split. And…"

He turned to Len, who realised with an inward start that he could, in fact, see a pair of eyes under that mask. He was startled by the expression in them – frank, candid distress, with a total absence of mistrust, sarcasm and anything that could have grounded him in normality. Heroes – or villains – should never appear this vulnerable, this… this human. Especially to one another. It threw out the board and the rules of the game, and it was almost as bad as getting personal.

Len didn't like getting personal. Personal business meant feelings, and feelings meant complications.

Off the clock, he reminded himself firmly, returning his gaze on his beer mug. And it's an investment, anyway. A gambit. You're just making sure the rules stay the same in the long run.

"And… I know it's stupid, but… I risk my life every once in a while – mostly 'cause you guys give me a run for my money, but there's other stuff sometimes – and I know I can take these risks… I mean, nobody else can do the stuff I do, so I figured I could, y'know, make a difference… But aunt Ir – my aunt, she's – she didn't choose. She doesn't do the kinds of stuff that'd put her in danger – she's always careful with her health, she doesn't smoke, and I just… I guess I thought she'd always be there. At her work, at home, making pie and drinking iced tea and arguing with the neighbours and letting me eat cookie dough and…"

The kid sniffed, shaking imperceptibly, but to Len's relief he went on, with only the slightest quiver in his voice.

"… I can't believe I took her and my uncle for granted. The single two greatest folks on Earth, and I took 'em for granted. And now she's… She still hasn't woken up and for all I know she might be d…"

This time Len deliberately did not look at him. He was a little too certain of what he might see if he did.

Time did not stop, the Earth did not grind to a halt as he almost expected it to.

It didn't last long. About twenty seconds later, when he risked a glance again, the kid's face still looked grim and pinched, but his cheeks were dry. Thankfully.

"Sorry," he mumbled, rubbing his nose a bit and his gaze not meeting Len's. "Guess I just needed to tell someone. I know it's kinda ridiculous."

Not that ridiculous, Len thought, but kept his mouth shut. This was not your average unhappy kid sitting there. This was an enemy, who would go back to hauling his tail to Central City Police HQ the second the sun came up – or rather, the second he caught him next time. It was important that they both remembered that.

"It's your family. You love 'em or hate 'em; there's no in-between."

"That's a kinda black-and-white way to put it."

Len almost snorted into his beer. "Yeah, I guess so. Not untrue, though. Everything else is just shades of grey."

"Everything but love?"

"And hate."

The Flash gave a smile. Not a smirk, not his usual grin; just a smile, low-key but warmer and more normal than he had looked since Len had caught a glimpse of him in the jewellery store.

The worst part was, it looked genuine.

"Didn't know you were sentimental."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Len muttered, suddenly wondering exactly what time in the night it was and whether he could blame it for feeling this tired. He drained the rest of his beer in one gulp and turned to the Flash, who was still fidgeting with his bottle. "So. Better now?"

"No. Yes. No. Well – it's complicated."

Tell me about it. Actually, Len corrected himself quickly, he just had.

"You should try spilling your guts to someone who actually cares, for a change," he pointed out in his best indifferent voice. "You know, like your mother, or that uncle of yours. Maybe he could use a bit of talk. Tell him you don't actually take him for granted, kinda thing."

The Flash squinted into his Coke.

"He's already scared to death and pretty depressed. I don't want to add my own stuff to that."

"Then you're a bigger idiot than you look."

"Hey!"

"I said 'look'. Didn't say you were an idiot."

"Thanks.… I think."

"Most of the time."

"It's always nice to see that your qualities are appreciated."

This time, the smile had a little bit of smirk going on. This, plus the return of light-hearted banter on the Flash's part, meant that the intermission would soon be over, and the return to status quo was imminent. But Len wanted to finish his point. He didn't like to leave things hanging.

"What I mean is, if this guy's half as great as you make him sound, he probably won't mind you adding stuff. 'Sides, like as not, it'll probably help."

"You mean, more than laying private stuff on my nemesis?"

"Precisely." Len blinked and raised an eyebrow. "'Nemesis'?"

"Well, yeah. Sorta."

He thought about it for a few seconds.

"Isn't a nemesis supposed to throw a monkey wrench in the works no matter what you try to do, be the thorn in your side, or something?"

The Flash looked a bit puzzled.

"I suppose, yeah."

"I'm not your nemesis. You're my damn nemesis."

"Tomaytoes, tomahtoes, 'Captain'." The Flash's smirk still lacked its usual bite, but there was no trace of sarcasm in his voice when he glanced at Len from the corner of his eyepiece and said, "Thanks."

Len shrugged. "Don't mention it." He really meant that.

The Flash drank up the rest of his Coke and looked a bit sheepish when he caught a glimpse of the clock.

"I'd better go, I got class in – urgh – three hours and a half. Unless –" he shot Len a quick sideways look "– you're planning to return to that jewellery store, 'cause in that case I'd have to drag you off to CCPD."

He did have the grace to sound like this wasn't something he was looking forward to. Len leaned back on his stool, shaking off the thought of removing his glasses to rub his temples. He probably should have gotten himself a coffee rather than a beer.

"Actually, I'm not," he said after a few seconds' thinking. "No use now, anyway – the sun'll be up in an hour or two. Besides, someone might have heard our little scuffle back there and called the cops for all I know." He shrugged. "I'll just stop by some other time."

"I'll just stop you some other time, then," the Flash said good-naturedly enough, pushing back his stool.

Len knew he should have retorted something sarcastic. Right now, though, he let the matter drop, feeling a little too tired for snark.

The Flash gave him a nod before he zipped out with the usual whooshing sound, but as he locked the door of the bar and hid the key, Len had a feeling that he hadn't gone very far. Sure, the kid had sounded trusting back there, bordering on naïve, but he wasn't stupid. He had hardly told Len anything that could have been used to trace his secret identity, not a single first name, even as he got dangerously close to tears before he stopped talking altogether.

He might have trusted Len when he had said he wouldn't freeze him. That didn't mean he wouldn't make sure that he didn't go back to the store. Somehow, it was good to know that the guy still considered him dangerous enough to keep an eye on him.

The impression of being watched vanished just as he turned round the corner of his street. Whether it was intentional or not wasn't something he was keen to look into right now.

The house was completely dark and silent when he closed the door behind him, moving with the universal would-be stealth of married men everywhere who came home a little too late for their wives' liking.

Janet was apparently sound asleep, and made no sign that he had woken her up when he turned off the lights, but as he remained sitting in bed he heard a sleepy, muffled voice from the lump under the covers beside him.

"How'd it go?"

"Unexpectedly." To say the least. If there was one thing he hated – apart from getting caught and spending the night in jail – it was coming back from a heist empty-handed. There was always something humiliating about it.

Especially now that, when he thought about it, he had a definite sense that he'd been utterly and thoroughly had on that one.

What nagged at him – what infuriated him the most – was the annoying vague impression that the Flash might actually have been pretty likeable in another life. He had had an unwanted glimpse of the guy behind the mask and the lame jokes and the arrogant grin, and to his dismay he had found a human being, a pretty decent kid who had family issues and fears and doubts like everybody else. If that kid had been a self-centred jerk it wouldn't have been so unsettling – but he wasn't, damn him.

Cut the crap, Snart, said a little voice at the back of his brain. In another life you wouldn't have given him a second thought if you passed him by on the street.

Still he frowned at the dark in front of him.

"Len? Something wrong?"

Janet rolled over to face him, half opening her eyes. He waited a bit before answering. But eventually he told her the main lines.

"…And I actually listened to the kid. I could've frozen him right there, or at least incapacitated him – even just killed him. But… I didn't try to figure out something that could be useful about his identity at the time. Didn't even go back to that store afterward." She blinked drowsily, possibly trying to make sense of what he was saying. Len couldn't blame her. It was so late in the night it was early in the morning. "Do you think I'm an idiot?"

She didn't answer right away, still staring up at him beneath heavy eyelids. Then –

"Absolutely."

Len hadn't really been expecting an answer, but that one took him aback. He looked sharply at her.

"What?"

"Len, you're a human being. Of course you can be an idiot sometimes like the rest of us. Get over it."

Anger wrestled with tiredness for a little while, until Janet mumbled, "That said, I don't… think you did wrong tonight. If it means the guy isn't gonna go all war-on-crime vigilante, then it wasn't… useless."

Not useless… maybe. But it was highly unproductive. And really not something he was likely to tell Mick over whiskey sometime. No matter how drunk he could ever get.

Still. Hopefully, the Flash would be back to normal and they could keep playing their parts like they usually did. Cops and robbers. Heroes and villains. And the game would continue, with the same players, and more importantly, the same rules.

The lengths a guy can go to make sure the status stays quo, he mused as he finally lay down beside his wife, blinking in the darkness.

Then he mentally shrugged it off and was asleep even before his head hit his pillow.

The Flash would never go "all war-on-crime vigilante", but Janet doesn't know that ;o)

'Ralph and Sam' are of course Sam Sheepdog and Ralph Wolf, the epitome of 'punch the clock' hero and villain relationships – and the "If you're gonna shoot …" line is one of my favourite moments in The Good, the Bad and the Ugly. Great movie :D

Anyway, like I said, the premise seemed too good not to use, but I don't know if I did it or the characters justice. What d'you think?

Next up: When THE Keystone City drug lord had a bone to pick with Mick Rory, both sides decided to meet in a neutral place and Captain Boomerang agreed to try to keep this lot from killing each other - with a healthy dose of booze.