A/N: Well, I'm not a Kendra x Ray shipper, and I wish LenRa was going undercover in their place instead. So I wrote a fic where they do just that. Hope you like it :D
Now this is plain ridiculous.
Her life has always been stuck in the comic book territory- fighting crime as the canary, being resurrected after freaking dying, and lately, travelling through time to save the future from an immortal psychopath. But now it's stepping into the tropes overused in fan fiction category, first with the almost freezing to death alongside Captain Cold, and now going undercover in the 1950s pretending to be a married couple.
"Why can't Ray and Kendra do it?" She demands, fully aware of the blossoming attraction there, and also of the unrequited affection of Jefferson, who spares her a glare.
"Because an inter-racial couple in this era would draw unnecessary attention, which sort of beats the whole purpose of going undercover," Rip explains, and damn him, he has a good point.
This whole thing is nuts, and what's nuttier is Rip's doing it for love. She'll never get why people do crazy things for love, she swears, but she has to play along. To be honest, she doesn't mind going along with this particular mission, because Leonard lost his partner not long back, and she's not going to leave him alone, not right now.
Gideon provides them clothes and the money and paperwork needed to afford the small house. It's a nice little neighborhood, complete with picket fences, letter boxes with stenciled names, and kids playing on the streets. This certainly isn't a place for a crook and an assassin to be playing house, but here they are, Mister and Missus Snart.
"I could have been the nurse," she tells him, thinking of the mission assigned to Kendra, while she is stuck here, unpacking what Gideon has decided is appropriate married couple luggage. She doesn't particularly mind, but she doesn't want to give away how much she wants to be with him right now. "I bet there's a cute nurse out there that I would have liked."
"I'm sure that would have worked out really well," he quips, "After all, lesbian couples were the rage in the 1950s."
She throws a jacket at him in response, and continues her task in silence. It's a nice house, with bright yellow wallpaper, and floors tiled with bluish marbles. The glass windows have thick green curtains, and the one across the living room offers a good view of the street, something fundamental to their mission. She could really get used to living here, specially after her tiny living quarters aboard the spaceship.
"Can you cook?" she asks as she rummages through the cupboards in the kitchen and finds just enough groceries to last a few days. There's so much about him that she doesn't know, and it only makes him more attractive.
"No. I always order take out from five star hotels."
She's not sure if he's joking or serious, but if it's the latter, she's pretty sure they'll starve to death. Now that's one way of dying she never thought of before.
He joins her in the kitchen, and picks up a cooking pan tentatively, testing it in his hands to see if it will break into pieces, mentally making note that this can be used as a make shift shield if the need arises. "I'll do the cooking in this house, if you don't mind."
"Oh ye of little faith," she retorts, but is happy to oblige. She perches herself on the kitchen counter and watches him cook. It's strange to see him work with fire instead of ice, and she wonders if it reminds him of Mick, if he's missing him. She knows he's not ready to talk about it yet, and attempts small talk about Oliver's culinary skills instead. He listens without commenting, and her gaze often drifts to the band of gold around his ring finger as she fiddles absent-mindedly with the matching one on hers.
He's a surprisingly good cook, that's an alternate job he can easily get if he ever decides to retire from the criminal life, and they eat in a comfortable silence. She elects to do the dishes, and he offers to dry them.
He can't remember the last time he stayed at a place like this, or did chores like this, or felt this way. This is weird, this sort of domesticity, and at the same time, it feels... good. He needed this more than he had realized, needed to get away from the claustrophobic ship and the demanding missions and just spend a little downtime while he grieves the loss of Mick.
The doorbell rings. Sara smoothes down her poodle skirt, ignoring how Leonard's eyes linger on the expanse of skin below her knees, and tucks her blond locks behind her ears. He joins her as she opens the door, standing behind her like a protective husband. It's time to get to work.
"Hello!" A middle aged man with slightly greying hair, and a woman with a rather round face greets them. "You must be the new couple who moved in! We live in that blue house across the street. Thought we'd stop by and say hello."
Sara plasters a polite smile on her lips. "That's so kind of you! My husband and I just moved here today. We haven't gotten around to meeting the neighbors yet. Please do excuse us for that."
"Oh it's quite alright," the woman assures, "Would you like to join us for dinner tonight? We'd love to get to know our lovely new neighbors."
This is an excellent opportunity to collect intel, and the free meal is certainly a bonus. "That would be wonderful!"
A sundress has very few places where she can hide a weapon, which she finds out while she dresses for dinner. She envies Leonard- that lucky bastard is dressed comfortably in trousers and shirt- damn him for looking so good in it- and is holding a steel Tiffin box in his hand. "Can't go there empty handed. This is left over lasagna from lunch," he explains, while he watches her intently, dressed up and looking so beautiful.
She rings the doorbell and waits nervously. She has done plenty of wining and dining with strangers, but never with a snarky fake husband in tow. It doesn't help when Leonard snakes an arm around the waist. Her instinct is to punch him in the gut, or to melt into his touch, but she stays very still. This is all just an act, just a cover, she reminds herself.
Dinner goes smoother than she expected, and Leonard manages to ask seemingly innocent questions about this part of the town and get the man- a Mister Martin, to talk about the recent murders. Mrs. Martin advices them to lock up properly before they go to bed.
And it suddenly hits her that they haven't yet talked about their sleeping arrangements. There's only one bed-room, but a comfortable couch, and he would be a gentleman and offer to sleep there, if his previous action of lending her his jacket while they fought hypothermia is anything to go by. It's sweet and perfectly rational, but for some reason, it leaves her a little disappointed.
She's broken out of her trance when Leonard kicks her foot with his. She blinks to see their hosts staring at her.
"My wife's a little uncomfortable with talks of killing," Leonard explains helpfully, and leans in to place a soft kiss on her cheek. "It's alright, darling. Relax. "
She finds that rather hard to do with her cheek tingling from the light brush of his lips and her heart fluttering. But she manages, she's a professional, after all, and this is all just one elaborate make-believe, as she has to keep reminding herself.
"So, tell us the story of how you two met," Mrs. Martin asks.
Sara panics. They do have a back-story ready, but she's not sure they're convincing enough as a couple to sell it off.
"We met through a common friend," Leonard begins, deciding to ditch the pre-planned narrative. When has he ever stuck to the guidelines? Winging it is more fun anyway. "That moron needed our help with some family affairs. There were quite a few of us, some more annoying than others, but Sara is the only one who truly understood me. We bonded. And here we are today."
His eyes soften as they meet hers, and it scares her when she sees genuine affection there. A smile blooms on her lips. This story is the closest to how they really met, and so completely honest. Leonard Snart is her new definition of serendipity.
The rest of the evening passes smoothly, and when they leave after thanking the Martins for their hospitality, he steps into the role of loving husband with no efforts and holds her hand during the short walk back home.
Home.He realizes with a start that he has a place that he calls home.
"We should report back to Rip, tell him everything we found out about the murders," she tells him once they are settled back in.
He takes off his jacket and slumps down on the couch. "You do that. I will get some sleep."
She knows it's stupid, and maybe the wine has loosened her tongue, because she can't stop herself. "We can share the bed. It's big enough, and we're both adults."
He looks at her with a teasing smirk. "Yes, we're both adults, no reason to waste a perfectly good bed sleeping."
She rolls her eyes and picks up her communicator to speak to the Captain. He brushes his teeth and changes into his pajamas. She takes a shower and does the same. It's only when she climbs into the bed and they're lying side by side, staring at the ceiling, that she ends up laughing.
He watches her laugh for a minute before he speaks. "I'll bite. What's so funny?"
She sobers up a little, but the smile stays on her lips. "I was just thinking. If our sisters met right now, they'd be fighting on opposite teams."
"I fail to see the humor in our sisters using each other as punching bags."
"That's just it." She turns to her side to face him. "If we hadn't met how we did, isn't that where you and I would have been too?"
Isn't that where we will be when this is over? She wants to ask, but resists. He's trying his best to remember he's not a hero, she's trying her best to hold on to her humanity, and they've formed quite a bond during this extremely short period of time. Somehow, she can't imagine him going back to robbing banks, with her there to stop him like a good little vigilante. This mission was her journey to find out who she really is, and she's a little scared to realize she now knows who she wants to be.
"Did he hurt you?" he asks, instead of answering her.
This isn't what she expected him to say when he finally spoke about Mick. This man never fails to surprise her. "I'm fine. I can handle myself. It was nothing. He told me he didn't want to hurt me. I don't think he was going to."
It's no consolation to him. Neither is knowing what Rip had said about Mick's IQ to tick him off and how Rip kind of deserved it. The fact of the matter is, his best friend is still a hot-headed thief who can never see the big picture.
Tentatively, she laces her finger with his. This time, it's not for the world, it's not for the show. This is just for them, to let him know he's not alone in this. "You made the right call," she tells him firmly. "I'm sure Mick will calm down after some time."
He looks at her sharply. How does she know he didn't-couldn't- kill his partner? He remembers then that he's the one who had talked her out of killing Stein. She's not a killer, and neither is he, not anymore. Someone once told him that every person has someone out there who acts as their mirror, showing them who they are really are, and helping them find their balance so they never fall off the edge. That's what they are for each other- an anchor.
"I won't tell the others," she assures him. "Though Ray is really upset about Mick. They bonded in that Russian prison, I think."
"Life and death scenarios tend to bring people close," he comments. It's exactly what happened with him and the pretty blonde lying next to him with his hand in hers. All he has to do is lean in and press his lips to hers, a simple gesture to let her know everything he feels inside. He has enough experience with women to know that she wouldn't mind at all. But he stops himself. He doesn't know who he is anymore, but he knows he can never go back to his chosen life of crime if he allows himself to fall for the woman who would bring him to justice. That's more chaos than he can handle right now.
He closes his eyes and wills sleep to overtake him, wishing for once that he didn't feel what he felt, that he really was captain cold.
When he wakes up, her head is on his chest, and it feels so good. He's got laid enough times with enough women, but he has never woken up next to one, and he has never felt this peaceful. She's so beautiful. He really doesn't want to get up, to get out of the comfort of her proximity, but he knows he has to. He slips away slowly, making sure not to wake her, and starts working on breakfast.
She's a little disappointed to wake up alone, but the smell of warm coffee drifts from the kitchen, and she's happy to see sandwich for her waiting alongside it. Neither of them strike up a conversation, and she finds silence to be very companionable with him.
Living in the 1950s is not much fun though, and it's clear within a day. There's no cell phone, no laptop, no wifi, no i-pod, the local radio station plays only Elvis and there's only so much of a good thing that they can take. There's no action and no thrill either. There's no bank or store nearby to rob, and he sticks to his backstory of living off the money his loving dad left him, how very ironic. She's confined to her role of stay at home house wife, and it looks like they have to figure out something they can do to pass the time before they both go insane.
He has a few ideas that he's trying to pretend he doesn't have.
"Poker?" she suggests.
He points out the obvious. "This place didn't come with complementary playing cards."
She groans, joining him in the kitchen and deciding to help him cook lunch instead. This is really boring, mundane, but being with him makes it bearable. She can't do this for the rest of her life, but it'd be good to have the option to get away to a life like this every now and then.
"I'm a little rusty on criminal history," she says while she chops up carrots. It's amusing to use a knife for a non lethal purpose. "Was 1950s the era for Bonnie and Clyde?"
"No, but we can be a pretty good copycat."
"You already have a partner, and he doesn't have an uterus."
He chuckles. "I have my doubts about that. Have you seen his temper tantrums?"
She raises her knife to his throat. "Are you saying all women are tantrum queens? That's sexist. It's low, even for you."
"Just trying to get with the times," he tells her casually.
She returns to her task of assaulting vegetables. "You'll do just fine, honey. This is the age of the cold war, after all."
It's her ability to keep up a bantering with him that makes her so hot and makes him want to kiss her then and there. Instead, he turns on the stove.
He should have seen it coming, he shouldn't have been so distracted, he should have known that Savage's men had tampered with the gas lines while they were out last night. He jumps over the fire and heads for their room, grabs his cold gun from its safe-keeping place, and rushes back to the kitchen. Sara isn't a damsel in distress, she has managed to get away from the fire, but that doesn't stop his heart from racing as he freezes the inferno.
He looks at her, flinching when he sees the blisters forming on her arms, even though she is safe.
Her heart beat is off the charts. For so long, she thought the only thing she had in common with Kendra is the first hand experience of death. Now there's something else: the first hand experience of knowing how dangerous this mission is and how she can lose the man standing in front of her any second, and with it, the need to do something about it before it's too late. There's something about the prospect of burning to death that ignites feelings more than freezing could.
And so she kisses him, and he kisses back, and now she understands why people do crazy thing for love, because even when the mission is aborted, they both secretly stash their rings with their belongings. They have the power to change the world, and they will figure out what to do with their own lives and with each other. Eventually. Together.
A/N: Hope you liked it. Reviews would be lovely! Should I wrote more LenRa? :)