Throw Away the Plan
by Sandrine Shaw
To be fair, Leonard expected a less-than-chilly reception when the Waverider dropped him off in Central City, what with the whole 'miraculous return from the dead' thing. Hard to hold on to old grudges after a guy got himself blown up in a picture-book example of heroic self-sacrifice. People eat up that kind of story – especially when it has an unexpected happy ending, thanks to the Oculus being... whatever the hell it was. Or is, perhaps. Who knows?
Still, despite his best expectations, there's something not quite right about Iris West-Allen sliding into the chair opposite his at Jitters and smiling at him like she's seeing an old friend.
"Leo!"
His eyebrows shoot up. Leo?!
"I didn't know you were —" Iris steals a glance around the crowded coffee shop, lowering her voice, "— visiting. You should have stopped by at S.T.A.R. Labs."
She sounds at the same time delighted and vaguely chiding, like she's genuinely disappointed he didn't announce his return to Team Flash. Which he'd planned to do, eventually – though maybe not in the way she implied. He wasn't going to wait around to say hello when he broke in to steal back his Cold Gun.
"Sorry," he drawls. "I was aiming for a surprise reunion."
Iris laughs, as if both the sarcasm and the implications of his low-level threat are entirely lost on her. "It's good to have you back."
He remembers the sharpness in Iris's tone when he was at the West home and she called him a homicidal maniac, her forced smile at S.T.A.R. Labs when she told him they were trusting his plan to break into A.R.G.U.S. It's hard to reconcile with the warmth in her gaze as she looks at him now, the utter lack of suspicion she appears to be harboring towards him.
She reaches out and covers his hand with hers. Delicate, well-manicured fingers squeezing his, and the only reason he fights the overwhelming instinct to pull away and run is his curiosity to get to the bottom of what's going on, why Iris is acting so thoroughly out of character. If it's some kind of ploy – but to what aim? – or the influence of a meta, or if perhaps the woman in front of him isn't who she appears to be. Or maybe the Legends somehow broke time again, and in this new timeline Iris and he are friends. He almost snorts, because he can't imagine any kind of timeline that would play out like that.
Suddenly, Iris startles and looks at his hand. "Oh no. Your ring. You and Ray — what happened? Didn't it work out? Is there why you're here?"
She seems to misread the confusion on his face for something else because she quickly pulls back with a chagrined expression. "I'm sorry, that was rude. I mean, you came to another Earth to get away, you probably don't want to talk about it."
Another Earth?! Well, that explains... everything and nothing.
"Don't worry about it." His smile is bland and perfectly fake, and he's almost a little annoyed that Iris fails to call him on it.
"Do you have somewhere to stay? Because if you don't, Barry and I have a comfy fold-out couch you're welcome to as long as you like. And plenty of ice cream in the fridge to help getting over a bad break-up."
He's travelled on a time ship, seen two guys melt together into a flying fire-throwing meta, and fought an immortal megalomaniac psychopath, and somehow none of those seem as unlikely and foreign to him as Iris's offer. He's never been the kind of guy people willingly gave unfettered access to their homes to – not even trusting, nice people like Iris and Barry. Especially not them.
The irrefutable knowledge that Iris would never have offered if she knew who exactly she's sitting across from leaves a stale taste in his mouth.
"Appreciated. But I have a place."
"Okay." She takes the napkin from under his mug and scribbles something on it. "Just in case you change your mind, this is the address."
She pushes the slip of paper over the table towards him.
"I'll think about it." He will do absolutely no such thing, but he pockets the napkin anyway to stop Iris from looking at him like that. It's starting to feel suffocating – the cozy atmosphere of Jitters, the buzz of happy people around him, Iris's unexpected kindness aimed at someone who clearly isn't him. He brings his mug to his lips and finishes his Flash as quickly as he can, burning his tongue. The irony isn't lost on him.
"And stop by at S.T.A.R. Labs. I'm sure the others would love to see you. Cisco made some improvements to the Cold Gun he probably can't wait to show you."
Leonard pauses. "Now that sounds like my kind of news."
Iris grins. "I thought it would cheer you up."
He somehow makes it through their goodbyes without giving his game away, although it's a close thing when Iris leans in and brushes her lips softly against his cheek. Her hair smells like some fruity shampoo, and he feels the phantom tickle against his nose long after she's gone.
#
"Leo, my man, you have no idea how excited I am that you decided to pay our lovely Earth another visit." Cisco claps Leonard's shoulder and gives it a squeeze, undeterred by the way Leonard fixes the offending hand with a pointed stare.
"Always a pleasure to see you too, Cisco." He twists away, elegantly dislodging Cisco's touch. "Now, I was told you had something for me."
Cisco pouts. "It's like you only love me for my engineering genius," he laments, and Leonard has to bite his tongue to stop himself from giving a suitably sarcastic response. He doesn't want to alienate Cisco before he hands over the new and improved model of the Cold Gun, but what a shame to waste an opening like that.
Fortunately for him – or maybe not – they're interrupted by Caitlin's arrival. The last he remembers of the lovely Ms. Snow is her glaring daggers at Lisa when they were all gathered for the meta-human transport and, before that, her defiance in the face of Mick's threats, so it's a little disconcerting when she wraps her arms around his neck and pulls him into a brief, fierce hug.
It's over before he has the chance to push her off, but her smile holds the same warmth as Iris's did.
"It's good to see you," she says.
He inclines his head and hopes it passes for a thank you. "Just passing by to pick up my gun."
"Hey, it's still my gun," Cisco chimes in from the back of the workshop, making Caitlin roll her eyes and share a conspiratorial grin with him.
The entire situation is so utterly bizarre that it makes his skin prickle. These people feel like the Stepford versions of the righteous superhero sidekicks he knows, except knowing that their amiability isn't fake, that they're genuinely pleased to see him – maybe not him him, but another Leonard Snart who's somehow their friend – creeps him out even more.
"Are you going back home?" Caitlin asks, an undercurrent of sympathy in her tone that makes him suspect she's trying very hard not to ask about the break-up he supposedly went through with — Ray, wasn't it? It'd better not be Palmer. It's bad enough his alter ego is best buddies with a bunch of foolish heroes, he doesn't really want to imagine being married to one.
Realizing she's waiting for an answer, he shrugs. "Not quite yet, I think."
Her smile brightens. "If you're still around next Wednesday, you should come to karaoke night!"
He stares at her in horror, wondering if 'I'd rather shoot myself in the head with the Cold Gun' would be a suitable reply. It's a good thing Cisco arrives with the gun before Leonard has a chance to respond to her suggestion.
If he didn't know better, he'd think Team Flash had come up with a new and startlingly effective way to defeat him. Killing someone with kindness should be a metaphorical concept, not an actual thing.
#
If Team Flash's reaction to Leonard's return is a little too affectionate, the opposite can be said for Lisa's. He gingerly touches his bleeding nose where her punch hit him with a force that would have surprised anyone who didn't know how deceptive Lisa's sweet smile and her slim frame were.
She's not smiling now, though, and he's staring down the muzzle of her Gold Gun.
"Two years, Lenny! I thought you were dead for. Two. Fucking. Years. And now you waltz in here like you just popped out for a packet of cigarettes?" Anger blazes in her eyes, despite the bright sheen of moisture. It would be easy to mistake the tears for weakness, but Leonard knows from past experience that an emotional Lisa is an infinitely more dangerous Lisa.
"I don't smoke," he quips.
His attempt at humor has the opposite effect than intended as she charges up the gun with a flick of her fingers, the whirling sound it makes causing the adrenaline to pump faster through his veins.
"Really not the point."
In hindsight, maybe he should have announced his return in a different way than breaking into her apartment and waiting for her in the living room with a smug grin and a snappy one-liner. A little explanation might have gone a long way towards tipping her reaction from disbelief to relief instead of fury and made her feel less like he'd been toying with her. But hindsight only ever helps improve a situation if you have a time ship on your hands, and he isn't too keen on setting foot back on the Waverider anytime soon.
"Look, Lise —"
She doesn't let him finish, glancing down to where the Cold Gun is strapped to his leg. "And you couldn't even bother to see me first thing. No, you had to get your precious gun first. How long have you been back in town? A day? Two? Nice priorities, brother."
He cocks his head but doesn't deny her assumption. "I assume staying with you is out, then? Turns out none of my safe houses survived my unplanned absence."
He should have known better than to assume admitting he needed her help – even in a backwards way – would sway her. The smile she offers him is deceptive, and the honey-sweet tone her voice takes on doesn't bode well. "Well, I guess you should have thought of that before you ran off with a time-traveling crew of wannabe heroes without saying a word and got yourself killed."
"Suit yourself. I'll be back when you've calmed down."
When he turns to go, something collides with the wall inches from where he just stood. He's almost relieved that it's just a stiletto heel rather than a blast of gold.
He turns back with a raised eyebrow. "You missed."
"Don't tempt me," she bites out, and Leonard's reasonably sure that if he lingers, the second shoe will hit him, so he takes his leave before Lisa decides she hates him more than she likes her favorite pair of Louboutins.
#
"Your offer still standing?"
He lounges against the doorframe in a well-practiced nonchalant slouch, watching delight bloom on Iris's features when she pulls open the door and spots him.
The address she gave him is a repurposed industrial building with fancy lofts, startlingly different from Joe West's cozy little suburban home, but he can't say he's not glad that he's unlikely to run into Iris's father here. The man approached him when Leonard left S.T.A.R. Labs this morning. He thought he'd have to take his newly acquired Cold Gun for a test drive to avoid getting arrested on the spot, but the good detective had been exceedingly, excruciatingly friendly. Leonard had never been so freaked out before. Luckily, West was in a hurry so Leonard could slip away quickly.
"Of course!" Iris steps aside and waves him inside excitedly. "Come in. The couch is right over there. You can stay as long as you like."
He follows Iris into the loft and snoops around a little. It's only half as much fun when he's allowed to. "Nice place."
Despite Lisa's frosty welcome, it's not like Leonard didn't have options. He's still got a friend or two in town. Well, maybe not friends, exactly, but acquaintances, people he worked with before who still owe him and who want to court his favor more badly than they want him dead. He could have stayed with any of them, lying low for a while, maybe recruiting them for a job while he was at it.
But truth is, he's curious. He wants to find out how some other Leonard Snart wormed himself into the good graces of people who've seen him at his worst, to a point where they apparently abandoned any kind of suspicion and ill-will towards him. And he wants to see how long it'll take them to catch on, wants to teach them the lesson in misplaced trust they clearly need. He thought he hammered it home already when Barry recruited him to help transport his meta prisoners, but it seems like Leo single-handedly undid all of Leonard's previous efforts.
Barry's arrival stops his line of thought as he speeds in from God knows where while Iris is in the other room getting the couch ready.
"Hey Leo. Iris said you were back."
There's something about the way Barry smiles at him, happy and oddly wistful at once, that makes Leonard want to abandon the whole plan. It's unexpected, that pang of nostalgia he feels at seeing his erstwhile nemesis for the first time in what has to be years, objectively, even if it seems much shorter to him. Saying goodbye to him in Siberia after joining him for the job at A.R.G.U.S. was barely two months ago, not counting all the time that he's missed because he was dead.
It's good to see that Barry has lost the edge of desperation he wore back then like an ill-fitting second suit. Truth be told, it's good to see Barry, period – no matter how much he hates to admit it, even to himself.
He struggles to regain his cool, offering a curt nod. "Barry."
When Barry steps into his space, Leonard is abruptly reminded of Christmas almost three years ago, being crowded against the fireplace in the West home. Except this time, there's no aggression in Barry's stance, no attempt at intimidation.
Unlike with Caitlin before, Leonard sees the hug coming, but he's helpless to stop it. Barry's arms snake around his waist and hold on tightly. Leonard expects him to pull away quickly but he lingers, even when Leonard doesn't respond in kind.
He stands stiffly and lets Barry hug him, enveloped in the warmth and smell of the other man, the feeling of their bodies pressed closely together. He's never been fond of physical displays of affection, never been around people who handed it out freely and without ulterior motives, and he's more likely to associate touch with violence than kindness, but he finds himself reluctant to push Barry off.
Awkwardly, he reaches around Barry's shoulder and claps his back, allowing himself to hold on for a moment before letting go again.
There's a small frown on Barry's face when Leonard disentangles himself enough to step away.
"Are you—" He stops himself and shakes his head before starting afresh. "How long are you staying?"
"Not sure yet."
Barry seems to be looking for some kind of explanation, so Leonard figures he should give him one before he starts digging on his own. The most convincing lies are always built on something true, so he offers Barry just that. "Had to get away for a while. Things got a bit much, after... everything. You know how it is." He deliberately leaves that everything open to interpretation, seeing as Barry and his friends clearly have their own theories what happened to Leo, and it likely has nothing to do with getting himself blown up.
Barry nods, like he understands, but a nervous, all too quick flicker of his eyes up and down Leonard's form betrays his concern. "But you're okay?"
His fingers twitch, as if he's tempted to reach out again and assure himself in a more hands-on manner that Leonard is indeed alright. It's at equal parts touching and annoying, and Leonard fights down the impulse to roll his eyes and snap at Barry.
"Sure," he drawls. "You know me. I don't lose my cool that easily." The pun is accompanied by a dismissive smile, faux-sweet, just this side of too much that Barry might interpret it as genuine when coming from Leonard's friendly doppelganger.
And it works like a charm. Barry doesn't call him on it, just huffs in amusement and shakes his head. "Of course you don't."
He reaches out, and Leonard almost anticipates another hug, but Barry only clasps his shoulder, giving it a brief squeeze before drawing back his arm again. "I'm glad you're back. Regardless of the circumstances."
He dips his head in acknowledgement.
When he says, "Glad to be back," it's not a lie.
#
It takes him days until he finally manages to reach Mick, mainly because the mobile reception in the Middle Ages, where the Waverider is currently dealing with a level two anachronism caused by a 22nd century scientist curing the Plague, apparently leaves much to be desired.
"Care to explain why everyone thinks I'm some friendly, touchy-feely guy who goes by 'Leo'?" Leonard asks, unable to keep the annoyance out of his tone.
Mick doesn't seem surprised, or particularly interested. "Oh, him." He sounds like he's chewing something, and Leonard would bet a considerable amount of his illegally-acquired assets that Mick's sitting in the Waverider's kitchen with his feet on the table and a bottle of beer in front of him, distracted by a rare steak he's had Gideon fix for him.
Jesus, he can hear Mick taking a gulp from the bottle and swallow. He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Mick."
"He's you, but from another Earth. With Nazis. But he's not one. Nice guy."
"Yes, so I gather." It comes out a bit sharper than necessary. For some reason, Mick of all people calling that imposter doppelganger 'nice' – and not in a derogatory, insulting kind of way – smarts more than it should.
Dishes are rattling on the other hand of the line, and when Mick talks again, he sounds less distracted and vaguely suspicious. "What d'ya mean, 'everyone'? Didn't think many people over there would know him." Leonard winces, realizing his slip-up. There are times when he really wishes Mick wasn't so much smarter and more observant than people gave him credit for. "You hangin' out with Red and his buddies?"
"I'm not hanging out with a bunch of do-gooders. I may have... run into them."
"Sure, Snart." Mick snorts. "Guess it makes sense, though. Why you got your panties in a bunch that they might like nice you better than you you. Only you'd be jealous of yourself."
That last bit makes him bristle. "That Leo guy is not me."
"'m not hearing you deny the 'jealous' bit." The grin is clearly audible in Mick's voice.
"I'm hanging up," Leonard says, and does just that.
#
The third night he spends at the West-Allen apartment, he wakes to the sound of footfalls and is reaching for the Cold Gun on the floor next to the couch before he spots Iris shuffling through the darkness of the living room. She walks into the edge of the table they'd moved aside to pull out his makeshift bed, cursing softly under her breath.
"Are you awake?" she whispers.
He rolls his eyes. "I am now."
A quick glance at the clock on the Blu-ray player tells him that it's just after two.
"Sorry. I didn't mean to — Can I — ?" she starts, tentatively approaching him from the other side of the couch. He genuinely doesn't understand what it is she's asking until she sits down next to him and slips her feet under the comforter.
The couch is wide enough that they don't touch. There's so much space between them that it could easily fit in another person – and now that's a line of thought Leonard needs to stop following if he values his sanity.
Iris lies down and turns onto her left, her body angled towards him with her hands cushioning her head. "Barry had to leave," she says. She's still whispering, like she doesn't want to disturb the quiet. "Flash business, a big fire in one of the high-rise buildings at Keystone."
Her face is almost obscured by shadows, but Leonard doesn't need to see her to notice the unhappy strain in her voice or the tense line of her shoulders. "And you're worried about him."
"I always am. I know he can handle it. He doesn't need me on the radio for this kind of thing, holding his hand while he runs around saving people. He's been doing this for so much longer than I even knew he was the Flash, but —" She hesitates.
"It feels wrong," he finishes for her. "Barry being out there, you at home with no idea what's going on. No way to help if something goes wrong."
He has an abrupt flashback to his last stint in Iron Heights, watching on the communal television screen as Zoom threw the Flash around like a limp, lifeless rag-doll. It's not the same thing. Barry isn't his — He isn't Leonard's anything, Leonard has no right to worry about him, not when he used to turn the Cold Gun against Barry with the full intention of killing him. But it doesn't mean Leonard can't sympathize with Iris's emotional turmoil.
"Yeah. I never feel more alone than when he leaves me here to go off being hero in the middle of the night, and I know it's selfish but I can't help it." She sounds choked up, and Leonard feels the unexpected urge to reach out. He balls his hands into fists under the covers to stop the impulse.
"It's not selfish, it's human." If his voice is lacking its usual edge, a little softer than usual, who could possibly tell?
"Thank you, Leonard," Iris says quietly.
They fall asleep like that, facing each other on opposite ends of the fold-out couch, and the space between them feels at once too large to breach and terrifyingly small.
Leonard intends to stay awake until Barry comes home. He watches the soft rise and fall of Iris's body next to his and the way the city lights from outside the windows shift through the room, wondering if he should end this charade before he does something he can't take back. But sleep takes hold of him before he comes to a decision.
In the morning, the sound of dishes rattling in the kitchen wakes him. The space next to him that Iris claimed last night is empty and cool to the touch, and he can hear hers and Barry's voices in the other room. The idea that he must have slept though Barry's return and Iris getting up rattles him. He's a light sleeper, ready to snap awake and alert at the slightest disturbance. Usually, anyway. He doesn't get this sloppy and unguarded. This comfortable.
He needs to get out of here, and fast.
But there's no outrunning the Flash, is there? Before he can go anywhere, Barry's in front of him, a steaming mug in his hands and a smile on his face that's so bright it hurts.
"Good morning. Coffee?" He holds out the mug. It smells too good and Barry looks so annoyingly soft and unburdened with his sleep-tousled hair and the threadbare shirt that Leonard can't bring himself to turn the offer down.
His fingers brush against Barry's when he takes the coffee, and it's probably only his sleep-fuzzy imagination that makes it seem like Barry lets the touch linger for a moment too long.
"Aren't you the perfect host?" Leonard taunts, trying not to let himself be distracted by the warmth in Barry's eyes or the way the loose-fitting shirt leaves his collarbone exposed, a sliver of pale skin and sharp angles that Leonard wants to trace with his fingers.
Barry doesn't seem dissuaded by the cool tone. "I can do you one better. If you come to the kitchen, we have blueberry pancakes."
Leonard has no intention of sticking around for breakfast, but then Iris pokes her head out of the kitchen and calls out to them, "Are you guys coming? Because otherwise I'll eat all the pancakes on my own. I'll probably be sick, and it will be your fault."
Barry laughs. "We'll be there in a flash," he shouts.
Before Leonard even has time to appreciate the pun, Barry throws him a mischievous grin that would serve as a warning if it wasn't already too late. Barry's hands are on him, warm and buzzing with static energy and a split second later, the world tilts on its axis and the air is driven out of his lungs as Barry runs them to the kitchen.
#
Leonard doesn't leave that day, nor the next, or any of the ones after that. Or rather, he does, but he keeps coming back, against his better judgement. It makes him wonder if traveling with Hunter and his crew to save history made him soft, or if dying and coming back did that to him instead. Or maybe it happened before his trip on the Waverider, maybe it all started with a red blur foiling his heist and an exchange of snappy banter and quick grins in a derailing train.
He tries to calm his prickling nerves by planning a job at one of the Santinis' covert bases of operations, studying blueprints and plotting a takeover whenever Barry and Iris aren't around.
Lisa forgives him after some shameful groveling on his part and a few shiny presents that cut painfully into his savings. When, by an unhappy coincidence, she finds out where exactly he's staying, she can't stop laughing.
"So basically, Team Flash has adopted you? Aww, Lenny, that's cute."
He gives her a glare that would make hardened criminals weep. "They think I'm someone else. It's a con, Lise."
She purses her lips and raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow. "Right. Are you sure you're conning them and not yourself, though?"
He isn't sure at all, that's just the thing.
Living with Barry and Iris keeps him on his toes, and not just in an effort not to slip up and reveal his true identity. It's hard to keep a clear head and remain detached with the two of them chipping away at his defenses, with Iris falling asleep next to him every so often and Barry having no regard for personal space whatsoever, the line between who he is and who he's pretending to be blurring more and more.
#
Leonard's engrossed in a book from Barry's shelf, an old forensic science textbook about unsolved crimes, when Barry sits down next to him. Leonard picked the book partially because he couldn't get past the 'cold case' pun and partially because he's always preferred non-fiction and it was one of the few textbooks Barry had that seemed accessible for someone without a degree in nuclear physics. It's turned out to be a captivating read, but with Barry only a few inches away, quiet but inconspicuous as a lightning storm, Leonard's attention is slipping.
Barry doesn't say anything, doesn't even look at him, but there's tension in the way he holds himself and the tight line of his mouth, and as much as Leonard tries to ignore his presence, it's impossible. He reads a paragraph about bloodstain pattern analysis three times without remembering a single fact before he concedes that he's too distracted.
"Something on your mind, Barry?"
He keeps his head bent over the book, but watches Barry out of the corner of his eyes, waiting for him to take the offered lifeline.
Barry looks at his hands. For a long moment, he doesn't say anything, and Leonard is starting to wonder if he's not going to. Then, softly: "You were right."
"Hmm. Usually am." Since Barry doesn't seem to be in a sharing mood and appears to be waiting for Leonard to push him, he wants to be contrary and refuse, intending on going back to his reading without letting Barry's all too loud quietness distract him any further. But he's never been good at containing his curiosity.
He reads a few lines, then gives up, snapping the heavy cover of the book shut and watching Barry's profile in the golden light of the evening sun filtering through the window, turning the room into soft hues and long shadows. "I'll probably regret asking, but what exactly is it I was right about?"
"Mourning the dead. When you told me I couldn't outrun grief. Ralph, Professor Stein, H.R... I don't know why I thought it would get easier just because I've lost so many people already." The smile on his face is wry and self-depreciative and lacking any kind of humor.
Leonard can't think of anything appropriately comforting to say, and when Barry keeps talking instead, he's relieved that he doesn't have to. Until the words register, that is.
"It's hard being around you sometimes, because I look at you and I see our Snart. And I miss him."
Barry's confession hits home with the force of a super-speed punch, and Leonard's glad Barry isn't looking at him because he doesn't think he could keep the mask of polite interest from slipping. The raw emotion in Barry's tone makes it difficult to digest this kind of admission.
Leonard's hands clench into fists. What exactly is he supposed to say to that? What would the other Leonard Snart say?
"Sorry," he offers. Too little, too late, in too many ways.
It comes out harsher than it probably should, but Barry will misinterpret it anyway, will assume it's Leo's apology for tearing open old wounds rather than regret for causing those wounds in the first place. And isn't that a strange thought? Captain Cold, finally finding a way to cause lasting damage to the Flash, and realizing that it wasn't what he wanted after all.
Angry at himself for the uncharacteristic moment of sentimentality, he turns away, but Barry's hand on his arm stops him.
"It's not your fault," he says quietly.
Leonard can't help thinking that he's wrong.
#
His phone rings when he's in the middle of planning the heist on the Santini joint, having assembled part of his old crew and a few metas who should come in handy. Iris's name lights up on the screen, and he lets it go to voicemail at first, but she calls again right away, and he figures it'll be easier to get her off his back if he picks up.
"Kinda in the middle of something," he snaps in lieu of a greeting, glaring at the new girl with the telekinetic power who's rolling her eyes at him and muttering something insolent under her breath.
"You need to come to S.T.A.R. Labs," Iris says.
In the background, there's a lot of noise, voices talking over each other. Leonard has no idea what's going on there, but he knows he wants no part of it.
"Sorry, I'm a bit busy right now."
He's about to hang up but Iris's next words and the urgency of her tone stops him short. "Barry needs your help. He's fighting a meta downtown and it's not going well. She's — "
"She's literally a walking fire cannon," Cisco shouts from the background. "I'm calling her Ignite. Heatwave would totally fall in love with her."
"Cisco, not the time," Iris snaps. She sounds frantic and desperate, and Leonard remembers her quiet, distressed voice that first night when she slipped under the covers next to him. "Barry's been trying to wear her out, but it's not working. He's taken a few bad hits already and her powers don't seem to tire. The Cold Gun's the best idea we have right now. We don't know if it'll work but... It's all we got."
That defeatist, hopeless attitude, that's not like Iris at all. Something about it makes the blood freeze in his veins, imagining how dire the situation must really be for her to lose that fierce spirit that wouldn't even budge when she was facing death at Savitar's hand.
Leonard doesn't even think twice. He shoos the others away, watching them disperse under protest as he grabs his helmet and rushes to his bike.
"Where?"
There's a pause on the other end of the line, long enough that he worries that something terrible has happened. "Corner of Milstone and Avery, but Leonard, you should —"
He doesn't need her to finish that suggestion. "Got my gun here. Unless Cisco has a fireproof suit for me, stopping by at S.T.A.R. Labs will only cost the Flash time he doesn't have."
"Okay. Just... be careful, okay? Don't do anything stupid."
Too late, he thinks, ending the call without another word.
#
Leonard winces when he tries to peel himself out of the singed jacket, his muscles protesting against the stretch.
He's shooed Caitlin off to take care of Barry, who bore the brunt of Ignite's blast, whereas Leonard got away with a few minor scrapes and shallow burns and a bruised shoulder where he slammed into a wall at an unfortunate angle in a – luckily successful – attempt to escape a fireball that came flying his way.
"Wait, let me help you," comes Iris's voice from behind him, startling Leonard.
She reaches around him to ease the jacket off, and despite his best attempts, he can't quite hold back the pained gasp. One of her hands settles against his back, the touch light and comforting, and for once he doesn't feel compelled to shake it off. He's too worn out to try and figure out if that's a good thing or a bad thing.
"How's Barry doing?" he asks instead.
"Third-degree burns, broken ankle, a collapsed lung," she rattles off, quick and matter-of-fact, but he hears the strain in her voice. "Caitlin says he'll be fine, but it'll take a day or so until he's back on his feet."
"Hurray for accelerated healing," Leonard quips. "Must be handy." He tentatively tries to roll his shoulder and immediately regrets it.
Iris's hand on his back presses down a little firmer, like she's soothing a frightened animal. "If it hadn't been for you, all the super healing in the world wouldn't have helped Barry. This fight would have ended very differently without your help." She smiles wearily. "Thank you, Leo."
Her gratitude, that sincerity and relief in her tone, feels more uncomfortable than the ache in his shoulder and the red, irritated skin on the side of his throat where the neckline of his sweater rubs against the burns.
He's bruised and tired and he has no energy left to keep play-acting his nice-guy doppelganger. It's gone on for long enough. Longer than it should have, probably.
"I'm not Leo," he bites out, more harshly than he intends to.
Behind him, Iris goes quiet and still for a moment. Leonard can't bring himself to look at her as he waits for the fall-out, for the inevitable accusations and the anger and the crushing disappointment.
"I know," she says quietly.
His head snaps around towards her, sending a burst of fresh pain down his neck and shoulder. He frowns. "How —"
"I thought you were acting kind of weird, but I assumed it was because of the break-up. But it took Barry about three seconds to figure it out." The corners of her lips twitch. "He knows you a little too well to fall for the act."
"Knows Leo too well, you mean?" He hates that he can't keep the bitterness out of his tone, because it's too damn revealing. It shouldn't matter to him whether Barry and his alter ego are all chummy and close.
Iris rolls her eyes at him. "No, you idiot, I mean he knows you. I realized you weren't really acting like Leo, but Barry was the one who instantly noticed that you were acting like the Leonard Snart he spent two years playing some complicated game of cat-and-mouse with. So you can stop being jealous of some alternate Earth version of yourself."
The phrasing sounds a little too familiar. "Did you talk to Mick?"
"No. Why? We were going to ask the Legends about you, but we couldn't reach them."
He waves it off with a vague gesture. "They're in Middle Ages, making sure the Plague kills lots of people."
"They what?" Iris stares at him in horror. His diversion works for a few moments, then she shakes her head. "Forget it. I don't even want to know. But Leonard, you need to get over yourself. Leo isn't replacing you or taking anything away from you. Well, apart from your old parka, but in our defense, we thought you were dead and didn't need it anymore."
Leonard narrows his eyes. "Run that last bit by me again," he says, tone low and dangerous.
He's pleased when Iris looks a little worried. Good to know his doppelganger didn't entirely ruin his reputation.
#
He plans on being gone by the time Barry has healed enough to slip away from under Caitlin's meticulous care. Turns out he didn't factor in just how fast Barry's powers work, and how damn stubborn he is.
Leonard hears the telltale buzz of lightning behind him that signals Barry's arrival at the loft at the same time as he feels a gust of wind against his neck, sending a shiver running down his spine.
"Shouldn't you be recovering?" he asks without facing Barry, keeping his tone cool.
"Yeah, well, I had a hunch that you were going to try and slip away like a thief in the night."
Leonard pivots on his heel and puts on what he knows to be his most annoying smirk. "If the glove fits..." he drawls, tapping his gloved fingers against the Cold Gun at his hip.
Barry snorts, a flash of amusement on his face before he sobers up, worry lines creasing his forehead. "Are you okay? You took a pretty bad beating earlier with Ignite, and Caitlin said you didn't let her check you out."
Just what he needs. Barry being worried about him and likely on a guilt-trip, blaming himself for Leonard getting hurt. Because of course Barry would think that Leonard's choices are his responsibility. The idea makes his hackles rise.
"I'm just peachy," he snaps.
Clearly undeterred by Leonard's prickliness, Barry grins and shakes his head. "I don't know how anyone believed for even a minute that you're Leo."
Laughter sparks in his eyes and a fondness that makes Leonard want to run, makes him wish he had taken his leave a little faster or maybe not started this stupid charade in the first place. Barry had always been good at sneaking past Leonard's defenses, but after the past two weeks, there's not much of those defenses left, and Leonard feels vulnerable and naked without them in a way not even the Cold Gun at his side can assuage.
He's always known when to cut his losses, but it's more difficult now than it used to be because he didn't really have that much to lose, before.
It's all he can do to keep his tone sharp and not let on how entirely unable he is to hold on to his annoyance when faced with Barry's easy smile. "Wanna explain why you let me keep pretending I was him when you figured it out so fast?"
"I meant what I said. The other day, I mean."
Leonard shrugs it off dismissively. Truth is, he never doubted that it was true, even if he does think Barry said it for his benefit, because he thought Leonard needed to hear it. And maybe he was right: maybe Leonard did need to hear it.
"Not what I was asking."
Barry rubs the back of his neck, clearly flustered. "I thought I'd wait for you to come clean on your own terms. And it wasn't really in my best interest to get it over with quickly. As long as you were pretending to be Leo, I could get away with all kinds of stuff you wouldn't normally tolerate."
Leonard can almost appreciate the level of manipulation involved. He didn't think Barry had it in him. He narrows his eyes. "Like what?"
He only realizes that Barry is going to take it as a challenge when his grin returns, broader than before. There's a flash of gold in his eyes and the familiar crackle of static, and the next thing Leonard knows, he finds himself with an armful of Scarlet Speedster.
"Like this." Barry's voice is muffled from the way his face is buried in the crook of Leonard's neck, his breath fanning not unpleasantly against the heated, oversensitive skin where Ignite's fire grazed Leonard.
Barry's arms are tight around his waist, fists clenched in the leather of his jacket at his back, like he's expecting Leonard to pull away and flee any second now. It barely even surprises Leonard anymore when the impulse doesn't come, that he got so used to Barry in those last few days that the decades-old instinct of avoiding all physical contact he didn't initiate himself barely remains an echo.
Doesn't mean he can't punish Barry a little for pulling this sort of stunt. And if he can fulfill a long-standing fantasy by copping a feel in the process? Well, he always liked efficiency.
He lets his hands travel down Barry's back, enjoying the shift of muscle through the cotton of the S.T.A.R. Labs shirt. His lips ghost across the shell of Barry's ear when he leans in and purrs, "Barry, Barry, Barry, what would Iris say if she walked in now?"
He expects embarrassment, Barry disentangling himself hurriedly and spluttering that it's not like that, but all he does is sluggishly pull back a few inches, blinking in confusion. "Iris?"
"Your wife?" Leonard says pointedly, like Barry needs the prompter.
"You mean the same Iris who crawled into your bed three times last week?"
The words almost sound like he's jealous, but the inflection is off: no accusation in the tone, only teasing and exasperation, like Leonard is the one who has it all wrong. He frowns. "She thought I was gay and heartbroken over the man I was faithfully in love with."
Barry ducks his head to hide the lopsided little smile tugging at his mouth. "Yeah, no, she really didn't. Not by then. Even if I hadn't told her, it was kind of hard to miss that you were checking her out when she was wearing that dress. You know, the one with the — "
Leonard cuts him off. "I remember." The dress had been a sinful, body-hugging fantasy in red she'd worn to some reception at the city hall she was covering for CCPN. Iris had looked every bit like the forbidden fruit she was, pulling Barry into a lingering kiss that was a bit too heated for company and then zeroing in on Leonard to give him a quick peck on the cheek before she darted out of the door and left the two of them staring after her.
Leonard pushes the memory away and steps fully out of Barry's embrace, sizing him up. "What exactly are you saying, Barry?"
"He's saying we don't want you to move out, but consider trading the couch for the bedroom instead," Iris chimes in from the doorway.
He raises an eyebrow. Truth be told, he expected them to want to keep him around in the interest of stopping him from falling back into his criminal ways, to keep an eye on him and persistently rub in Barry's 'there's good in you' sermon. But what Iris is suggesting sounds like something a little different from your average sneaky 'keep your enemies closer' tactic.
"Are you propositioning me for a threesome?"
Barry and Iris exchange a look – or rather, a Look, silent communication passing between them that Leonard can't begin to decipher.
Barry clears his throat. "We were thinking more long-term, but yeah, we can start there. We can totally start there. No pressure."
Right. Because Barry is so good at no pressure, like their entire history hasn't consisted of Barry pushing him and Leonard giving in, like saying no to Barry hasn't steadily grown harder and harder since that first time he came to Leonard. And that was before Iris started to do some pushing of her own with gentle touches and warm smiles and whispered confessions in the dark.
Barry might claim there's no pressure, but Leonard feels it like a heavy stone in the pit of his stomach. He averts his face and watches the two of them furtively from the corner of his eyes. "Sure you're not thinking of my nice, agreeable doppelganger? Sounds like he's more relationship material than me."
Barry pulls a face like he's assaulted by a really unpleasant mental image. "Urgh, no, definitely not. Look, I like Leo. I really do. But I don't want to see him naked."
"Yeah, we don't think of him like that." Iris wrinkles her nose in agreement. "That's just— No."
Leonard is just about to make another crack when Barry adds, "He's not you."
His tone is too serious and too honest, and Leonard can't deal with that now, so he cups his hands around Barry's face and pulls him into a kiss.
It's messy and too rough, and it takes a moment to get the angle right, but then Barry tilts his head towards him and his mouth opens under Leonard's, and it's everything he imagined it would be since the first time he thought of the Flash as more than just an obstacle to be eliminated. Barry makes a needy little sound when Leonard pulls at his upper lip with his teeth and licks into his mouth, languid and filthy and possessive, like he's staking a claim.
He keeps kissing Barry until he's out of breath, flushed with heat and desire, wanting nothing more than to press closer and crowd Barry against the wall, find new ways of testing the Flash's weaknesses. He forces himself to break away instead, licking his lips to chase Barry's taste.
His eyes flit towards where Iris is watching them with a fetching blush on her cheeks and her gaze heavy with intent, making Leonard want. It seems too easy, almost, and in his experience, nothing that seems easy ever really is.
"This'll get messy," he warns.
Barry doesn't seem at all concerned. "You came back from the dead, I was hit by lightning and got superpowers, and Iris changed the course of fate by shooting an evil version of me from the future. If we managed to come out of all that alright, making a relationship work will be easy."
Leonard snorts.
Iris smiles. "Maybe not easy, but we can handle messy."
She closes the distance between them and reaches up to put her hand against his cheek, her slim, long fingers splaying from his ear down across his jaw, brushing against his neck. "Don't run from this, Leonard," she implores softly.
There are a hundred things he could say to that, from sincere to sarcastic, and none of them feel quite right, so he settles on the pun she gave him the perfect opening for. His lips twitch. Like he could ever resist a chance like that. "Running is more Barry's thing than mine."
Iris visibly struggles to bite back the laughter, and Leonard is too distracted watching the humor dance in her eyes to pay attention to Barry, startling when he feels the press of the speedster's body against his back, mindful of his injured shoulder. A jolt of energy sparks between them as Barry's nose grazes along Leonard's neck.
"Not when it comes to this," he says.
It sounds like a promise, the kind that's too solemn and too heartfelt and too much, that would make Leonard's flight instincts come out and put him on the defensive if it was coming from anyone else. But Iris's touch is warm and steady on his cheek, and Barry's lithe, powerful body at his back makes him feel grounded rather than caged in.
"Fine. You win this one," he concedes.
He catches a glimpse of the smile Iris and Barry share over his shoulder, but for once, there's no bitterness in handing them this particular victory. Sandwiched between them, for the first time since the Oculus put him back together from a million splintered little pieces, Leonard feels like himself again.
End.