AUTHOR'S NOTE: This chapter deals with the long-lasting impacts of harassment and bullying, including physical abuse. Some readers may find this disturbing, or even heartbreaking. Unfortunately, not every abuse survivor has a lover willing to help them find healing.

She found him in his room, in the darkness. In the light from the corridor, she could see that he'd taken his boots and jacket off, and left them scattered across the floor. She knew Len was normally obsessively neat. Even a minor mess was a sure sign of inner turmoil.

He was sitting on his bed, his back against the wall, his legs drawn up so he could rest his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. "Gideon," she said softly, "lights to 20 percent."

The door slid closed behind her and the lights came up dimly as he made room for her to sit next to him. She set down the small bag Gideon had prepared for her and then curled up to him protectively. She draped her right arm around his shoulders and felt the tension in them. "Laurel says she's sorry," she told him, her voice still soft.

He nodded in silent acceptance and leaned into her. Knowing he'd talk when he was ready, she reached for his left hand with her own and wasn't surprised when he gripped it tightly, the way he had done back in that hospital in Keystone City. He was trembling just as he had been then, relying on her as a lifeline to keep his control.

Eventually he said in a shaky voice, "I'm not mad at her. Not really. It's just..." He paused and sighed heavily. "Old wounds."

"And those are the hardest to heal," Sara said knowingly. "I want to help, Len. Just tell me how."

"You already knew that I had decades of 'messed up' to work through," he said. "I've been trying to do it on my own for all this time. God knows that hasn't worked." He finally looked at her with the most vulnerable expression she'd ever seen on him. "Not even Mick knows all of it."

She drew in a breath, realizing just how much he was trusting her. The hand on his shoulder moved to the side of his face. "I'm listening."

He closed his right hand over the one he was already holding and looked down, as if trying to gather his thoughts. He didn't look up as he began to speak. "I've been trying to bury those memories for nearly thirty years. Laurel brought them back as if they'd been through the Lazarus Pit."

Sara winced at that and put her arm around his shoulders again. "Do you want to tell me?"

He nodded. "You deserve to know what you're getting into with me. It's not too late for you to back out."

She kissed his cheek. "You know I never back out of anything. And I am not backing out of us." She could see doubt warring with gratitude in his eyes. "I'm not going anywhere."

He nodded in acceptance. "You already know a little about what it was like for me in Juvie. But sometimes I think Juvie was a day at the beach compared to high school. I liked the classes, and I actually was good at school. Surprise, surprise." He smirked a little as he said that.

"Not surprised at all," she told him with a grin of her own. She knew just how frighteningly intelligent he really was.

"It was just about everything else that was the problem. I was still small then. Hadn't hit my growth spurt yet. So I was still an easy target. My first week back, the football team thought it was hilarious to shove the scrawny delinquent into the lockers or trip him in the halls."

Bitterness crept into his voice. "The cheerleaders joined the fun in the second week. One of them came up to me, told me I had pretty eyes and kissed me. My first kiss ever." He closed his eyes, remembering. "You know, I can still taste the lip gloss she was wearing. Strawberry. So sweet."

"I thought you hated strawberry."

He nodded. "She followed the kiss up with a slap. My eyes were still closed, so I didn't see it coming. She walked off, laughing with her girlfriends about it, while I stood there with my ears ringing and a red handprint on my face. Then her linebacker boyfriend showed up." He paused and gave her a haunted look. "Right now I'd rather not talk about what he did."

Sara had trouble finding her voice. "You don't have to tell me anything you don't want to. I'm here for you, either way."

He drew her hand up to his lips for a light kiss, then held it against his cheek for a long minute before lowering it and continuing. "They were clever about it, making sure nothing happened where an adult could see it. And the jocks weren't the only ones. The ROTC guys watched me as if I was something dangerous that was about to explode. And some of the teachers…" He leaned his head back against the wall and let out an ironic laugh. "I think my science teacher was afraid I'd go postal on his class. He wouldn't let me touch the knives for dissecting stuff…"

"You didn't miss much," Sara interjected with a small smile.

He smirked a little himself. "I suppose so. I wasn't allowed near the Bunsen burners, either. Apparently the teacher didn't get the memo that fire was Mick's thing, not mine."

The slight smile dropped away as he stared at the ceiling. "So school was bad, but after school was worse. Every time I walked home, the taunting would start. At first, it was mostly the same stuff I'd heard from Lewis for years. 'He can't be that smart. Smart crooks don't get caught.' I could ignore that. Then the catcalls started getting personal, asking me when I was moving in with my old man at Iron Heights, and how many boyfriends I'd had to blow in Juvie." He looked back at her. "The answer to that, for the record, is none. Mick was quite the protector back then. He made sure I left Juvie as virginal as when I'd gone in." He hesitated, then told her, "You're the only other person besides Mick who knows that. Not even my sister knows it."

A tear spilled over and rolled down her cheek at that confession. He reached up to brush it away, and then continued, "Then one day, a kid crossed the line. Asked me if Lisa was going to grow up to be a thief or a whore, because if it was whore he wanted to be her first trick."

She drew in a pained breath at that. He became tense again, looking back up at the ceiling and clenching his fists. "That was the crack that made the rage boil over. I hadn't learned how to be cold yet. That would come later, when Lewis came home from Iron Heights with lots of new techniques for hurting us. But that's a story for another time."

He stopped again, remembering. "That other guy with the smart mouth was nearly a foot taller than me, but Mick had taught me how to fight, and I knew how to use my small size to the best effect against a bigger guy."

Sara nodded in understanding. The League had taught her the same tricks.

Len went on, "Somehow I held back from killing him. I guess there was still a little of the 'holy innocent' left in me at that point. I left that kid in an alley, bruised and bleeding and afraid to admit to anyone that he'd had his ass kicked by the scrawny delinquent. That was the day I was done with formal education. I never went back."

He sighed. "But the voices keep following me. Thirty years later, I can still hear them." He looked at her again. "Sara, that's just part of the baggage I'm carrying around. Are you sure…"

She lunged forward to kiss him in answer, winding her arms around his neck. He stiffened a little, and she pulled back. "What did I do wrong?" she asked him.

He gently pulled her arms down, but not before she could feel a slight shudder run through him. "Sorry, Sara. Sometimes I tense up when someone's hands or arms are around my neck." There was that vulnerable look on his face again. "You know I trust you."

She laid one hand against his heart to feel its rapid beating. She mentally cursed Lewis Snart and everyone else who had ever hurt this man. "It means everything in the world to me that you do trust me, Len," she said, leaning in for a soft kiss. She ghosted both hands down to the hem of his sweater. She pulled back to look at him. "I want to take care of you. But if anything I do makes you uncomfortable, you tell me to stop."

He nodded his consent and raised his arms so she could pull the sweater off and toss it away. He stared at her intently as she looked at him. He was all lean muscle and pale skin marred by a scattering of scars. She met his eyes again. They were pretty. No, more than that. Beautiful. He was beautiful.

And she'd be damned if she let anyone give him new reasons for wearing that haunted look again, ever.