The mini double-take and the expression on Len's face as he realizes she'd heard him is rather priceless. Sara keeps her face just mildly inquiring, waiting to see what he'll do.

For her part…well. Maybe she does need to start looking at things in a different light.

He bounces back relatively quickly, giving her that lopsided smirk. "Well," he drawls, taking a step closer. "I do try to tell the truth."

Sara looks at him from under her lashes. "Since when?"

Something's different. Good-different, Len thinks, sidling a little closer.

"Never lied to you," he tells her quietly. "Sara."

Her voice is even quieter. "I know."

Somehow, he knows, even as he takes one more step, that they're going to be interrupted. But he does it anyway.

And he's right.

"How's this?"

Barry Allen bounds down the stairs, grinning—again, until he sees how close they're standing, how Sara's face is tilted upward toward Len's, how Len's looking down at her. He squeaks-that's the only possible description for it, really—and glances away.

"Um…I can go back upstairs…"

Len, staring into Sara's amused eyes, wishes for patience. And a secluded hotel room somewhere. But mostly, at this moment, for patience.

"Allen," he drawls, glancing over, "how's what?"

"Uh. Does this say 'Snart henchman' to you?"

Regretfully stepping away from Sara, Len gives him a onceover. Not bad, actually…decent suit, pretty natty, really. "Got dark glasses? I know you can be all speedy and keep him from knowing who you are, but better to avoid a clear look anyway."

"Sunglasses at night?"

"Got a better idea?"

"Just go with them," Sara advises. "We're running out of time." Walking over to the dining room table, she spreads up the map of the piers, pointing out the hotel site as Len and Barry join her. "So the idea is, we're presuming this Monteleone will let you…" She looks at Len. "…and us in if you seem like you want to…chat. You really think that's true?"

Len's nodding. "The Snart here, whatever else he was…" He gives Sara a smirking sidelong look. "…did apparently have some clout in certain circles. And Monteleone, if he's anything like the one on my Earth, he'll want that…air of legitimacy…that Snart could give him." He shrugs. "It's easier and safer than a turf war."

"And he wasn't in town when, uh, the original Leonard was around." Barry nods. "So he might not know that you…he…really wouldn't even consider this."

"I damn well hope not." Len snorts. "Sooner ice his ass."

"No icing of asses!" Barry says sternly, getting another snort from Len. "Um. Or anything else!" He gives Sara a pleading look. "Right? I mean, the priority is getting in and getting the guy and the kid out of there. And it's a plus to get reconnaissance for the police and info on this operation. In and out and no one hurt. Right?"

Sara hums to herself but looks thoughtful. "That's the priority," she agrees finally. "But if there are other opportunities…"

Barry can't argue with that.

They'd be at dinner now. Maybe they'd be having dessert or lingering over a nice glass of wine. Maybe they'd be addressing the smoldering attraction between them, the snarky ghost who haunts her, the chances that Len's going to be leaving, abandoning her just like…

But, no. They're standing outside an apparently derelict ruin near the water, because life cannot just give her a break, not even a small one, once in a while. Sara glares at the remains of the once impressive hotel, then at Barry. (She's decided she's blaming him.) He sidles away from her, looking a bit alarmed.

Len is studying the structure, looking thoughtful. After a moment, he glances at Barry too.

"Sorta odd, isn't it, that they haven't taken this thing down?" he drawls. "Public safety hazard and all?"

Barry shrugs. "It is," he admits. "When the old department store a bit closer to city center burned, they had the wreck down within a week after it stopped smoldering. I hadn't really thought about it. Why?"

But Sara's picked up on it, and moves over to stand next to Len, following his line of sight. "You're right," she tells him after a moment, earning a smirk. "Maybe not the best idea, because they're still going to get people wandering around. But interesting."

She takes pity on Barry, then, as he looks back and forth between them, and points to the wreck, the edge of the roof, the framework beneath the tattered, charred edges. "It's camouflage," she tells him. "That's their base. In a place people wouldn't expect. I don't know if they built from the ruins, or if they made sure the core wasn't damaged to begin with. But there's a solid structure in there. That's not coincidence."

Barry blinks at it, and her, then Len, who nods. "You really think so?"

Sara sighs. "Yes," she murmurs. "And at any rate, we'll find out soon. Len? Showtime?"

He nods, hand touching the mock cold gun strapped to his thigh, shrugging his shoulders within the unfamiliar leather jacket. "Let's go."

They head down the dock, Len leading, Sara and Barry flanking him and a step behind. Once they get closer, Len starts picking out the cameras hidden in the damaged woodwork, nodding to himself. He lifts his hands into the air and reaches for the rather insouciant drawl he knows he and his doppelganger have in common.

"Just want to talk," he says insolently, trying to keep an edge of ice in his voice, tone clearly suggesting that there's no way the hidden watchers could keep him out if he really wanted to get in. Which is, to be honest, true. "You know who I am. Got plenty to…talk about."

And he waits. The listeners keep him waiting—hey, they have to try to keep the upper hand somehow—but he knows how to handle this stuff. He's dealt with the so-called Dark Knight, after all. No one does high and mighty like Bruce "I'm Filthy Rich" Wayne.

So, Len keeps boredom written across his face, folding his arms, standing hipshot and projecting the air that he's just letting the watchers grow big enough…nerve…to let him in.

He can feel a tension in the air that suggests Barry isn't managing it quite so well, but he's pretty sure Sara's perfectly echoing his own attitude. She knows how this works.

And so do the watchers. It's not nearly as long as it could have been before there's movement in the wreckage and a harsh voice rises.

"Follow."

Barry's pretty sure he's not managing the levels of sheer…well, chill…that both Len and Sara are exuding. But he's doing his best to fake it, eyes darting all over the place behind the dark glasses. Even if they can't take down Monteleone today, he'll remember the place and the route.

Sara and Len had been right. Within the wreckage, there's a sturdy core, and the corridor they're in nearly immediately transitions from ramshackle to solid. Len saunters along behind the dark-suited man who'd come to collect them, looking as casual as he's simply heading to Jitters for an iced Flash. Sara stalks along behind Barry, and he can feel her coiled-spring incipient violence prickling along his spine as she portrays the perfect bodyguard.

What is he doing here again?

They take a few turns along the dark passageway, and Barry marks them. After a period of time that feels longer than it probably is, they emerge into a larger area, an almost cavernous hall that's still shadowy in places and brightly lit in others. People, standing at a number of tables and packaging…something…watch them, and it's a little disconcerting that there's something unsettled in many eyes, something even fearful, and it sure as hell isn't because they suspect the Flash is among them.

They're scared of Leonard Snart.

He wonders what Len thinks of that. But both men—Leonard and Len—hate the very notion of drugs in their city, and they both have (he sighs) or had codes. Certainly, Len, ahead of him, is certainly looking very, well, chilly as he turns his head to watch them in return as he saunters after their guide.

So, for that matter, is Sara.

Yeah, Barry decides, he's definitely the least scary person in this group. Somehow, he really doesn't mind that.

The most shadowy corner is at the far end of the room, although he can somewhat make out a…a dais?...there. With a chair, and a man in the chair. A big man.

Their guide takes them right up to the dais and sidles off. Barry thinks he looks vaguely relieved. Well. He'd kind of like to do the same. But there's been no sign of a young boy and father, and that's what they're ultimately here for.

They're clearly meant to stay there on the ground like suppliants. Len's having none of it. He promptly continues right on to the platform, hopping up so nonchalantly that it seems he's always been meant to do that. Two dark-suited men on either side of the…it's almost a throne, really…start toward him, and Sara promptly joins him up there, stepping in front of him protectively even as Barry hastens to join her.

Len never drops his air of nonchalance, though, and the man on the thronelike chair waves a hand, sending the watchdogs off. Len tilts his head in acknowledgement, folding his arms as Sara moves back to his side. But Barry catches a glimpse of his face and his eyes…

His eyes are Cold.

The man looks just like his Earth's Monteleone. The bulk, the scowl, the assessing expression and the sharp, reptilian eyes. The air of pragmatism, the sort that, Len fervently hopes, isn't at all like his. The sort that simply cares only for the lists of numbers in his head, what they can do for him, which he needs to do away with.

Although the emotion at play is intense dislike and anger instead of anything fonder, he wonders if this is how some of the others he's met here have felt. It's hard, so hard, to believe the face you're seeing isn't the one you know.

For better or for worse.

He's gotta play, for now, like it is.

"So," he drawls, stepping forward, trying to take the upper hand as much as he can. "What are you doin' here, Jack?"

The big man frowns at the casual use of his first name, just as the bodyguards bristle. But even as he opens his mouth, Len, who knows how to play these games, cuts in again.

"I mean," he says, shrugging, "this is my city. And you know that. So. It's a little…odd…that you'd have decided this is OK. When you know it's not. In my goddamned city."

Monteleone stares at him.

Monteleone's men (of course, there are no women—it's always a tell-tale sign) stare too.

Len shrugs again. As calmly as he can possibly manage, because, hell, it's true.

And after another moment, Monteleone finally speaks. "I," he says as coldly as Len has ever managed, "have this city now. It's mine. So, tell me. How is it yours?"

Possession, as they say, is nine-tenths of the law, and it's especially true on the street. But there are other accepted rules, too. "Ask your people," he drawls, holding Monteleone's gaze coldly. "Ask them why they looked so…unsettled…to see me. They know."

It's a palpable hit, and the other man knows it. It's why Len had known Monteleone would want to negotiate. Len can give him the seal of legitimacy he's going to want. To need, really, now that his crew knows Leonard Snart (so far as they know) is back.

"Word on the street was that you were gone," Monteleone says after a moment. "Dead, even."

Len shrugs. "Reports of my death, etcetera, etcetera," he drawls, sparing a moment of regret for his doppelganger-and trying hard not to glance at Sara, who's maintaining her air of violence as she watches the other man and ignores his unsettled bodyguards. "I've simply…diversified."

It's an opening. Monteleone takes it, even leaning forward a little. "So," he returns, and Len can tell he's trying to sound cool, and not too eager, "you might consider a…partnership of sorts. Since you've diversified."

Len tilts his head again, trying not to show how much the idea makes his stomach churn. "Might."

Monteleone waits, but the tables have turned, and he's the suppliant here. Which is exactly how Len had planned it. Finally, the bigger man speaks. "And how can we make that happen?"

This isn't real, Len reminds himself. He's not really allowing this drug operation in his city. He's just using this as a means to an end, to rescue a frightened child.

It doesn't help much.

"I'm practical," he returns, shrugging again. "Can't be everywhere. Follow some rules, and we'll be…cool. Still…I need a token. Of good faith."

Monteleone regards him steadily. "Such as?"

Moment of truth. "Hear you got some hostages. Not cool. Give 'em to me."

It surprises the other man, who tries not to show it. "Why would you care about them?" he returns, waving a hand. "If you know I have them, you know why."

Time to show some ice. Len takes a step forward, eyes narrowed. "I do," he says coldly, as the bodyguards tense and Sara lets out a low hum of eager anticipation. "Like I said. Not cool. Choose your people better, instead of taking your poor decisions out on kids. Got it?"

It might be a little too direct, but he needs to maintain the control here. And he's right. Monteleone knows it. After a moment, the big man nods.

"Go get them," he says to one of the bodyguards, who nods and, eyeing Sara (and Barry, briefly), moves away, vanishing into one of the corridors.

And they wait.

In the jacket, with the cold gun, he looks just like Leonard.

And he's acting just like she's pretty sure Leonard would here, and it's less acting than just that they're of similar mind in this, Sara thinks.

Still, at some point during this very strange date night, she's finally stopped thinking of him as an altered copy of Leonard, and more as Len, himself. Maybe it's the awareness of seeing him put on the Leonard persona like a costume. Maybe it's the "conversation" she'd seen him having with his reflection. It really doesn't matter.

It's also a very weird time to realize that, she thinks, eyeing the remaining visible bodyguard watching her with a rather satisfying flicker of fear in his eyes. (He's smart enough to recognize danger when he sees it, apparently.) But there it is. And when they get out of here, well, they'll see where the rest of the night takes them.

But first, they have a rescue to make. And Sara has an unsettled feeling that it's not going to be as easy as it seems. Len's not happy. She can feel it.

But all she can do at the moment is watch and play her part.

It takes longer than it probably should for the bodyguard to return with the hostages, but Len ignores that. Let them play their games. His group is getting what they want here.

Right?

His stomach is still churning, though. He's kept his air of nonchalance around this Monteleone, actually turning his back on the other man and studying the room at large, but he hates what he sees, the people packaging up substances both somewhat familiar and not. He loathes the fact that they'll think he's sold out his city, betrayed his code—the code he and his doppelganger shared. It seems just utterly unfair to the other man, who may have been an idiot about certain assassins, but certainly had his own sense of honor.

It doesn't feel right, to leave this image, however false, as Earth-1 Leonard Snart's legacy.

He'd really like to talk to Sara about it, but that's not happening, not now. She's keeping her steady gaze on Monteleone and the visible bodyguard. (He's pretty sure they both know that there are more, and he's also pretty sure Sara's marked where.) Barry, on his other side, is uneasy, but the kid is keeping his cool pretty well. Len's impressed. His Barry (odd thought, that) would have, but this one seems younger, greener.

Len likes him, though. The kid cares about his city. Seems just wrong to leave him to fix this Monteleone mess.

But his turmoil's interrupted, then, as the bodyguard reappears, herding a tall, thin, bespectacled man and a young boy before him. The kid looks terrified, and Len's gut clenches in just a little more anger and unease. The man doesn't look much less frightened, but he's obviously trying to conceal it for the kid's sake, and Len likes him for that.

Even as he hates Monteleone all the more.

The man in question waves a hand, dismissing the terror he's caused as inconsequential. "They're yours," he says, rising to his feet, watching Len with assessing eyes. "Now. I still need to hear your…rules. But do we have a deal?"

He should say yes. He needs to say yes.

He feels Sara tense besides him. She knows.

He just can't do it.

Len shrugs, holding Monteleone's gaze. "Nope," he says flatly, earning a flash of surprise in those reptilian eyes.

And with that, he brings up his right hand and, with barely a regretful thoughtful for the nice jacket or his favorite shirt, ices up, letting fly a shot of ice that strikes the big man in the chest before his bodyguards even twitch, knocking him off his feet and sending him crashing to the ground.

At the same time, Barry flashes into action, grabbing the bewildered-looking man and the kid and getting them the hell out of there, just like Len figured he would. Sara has her bo in her hands and one bodyguard is already hitting the ground, even as the other approaches and others move toward them from around the room.

Len knows she can take them, and he trusts her to guard his back. He remains focused on Monteleone, stepping forward as the man recovers enough to grab for the gun he'd suspected was there somewhere. You don't get to be Jack Monteleone by completely trusting others to do your dirty work for you. But he hasn't even got the thing aimed when Len ices it right out of his hand.

He's not bothering to be careful with his powers, and the man howls in pain as the freezing blast gives him a nice case of frostbite at the same time. Oh, well. Somewhat to Len's surprise, Monteleone remains self-possessed enough to try to get to his feet again, but Len ices the dais underneath him, and he crashes back to the floor, making everything shake. Behind him, he hears Sara actually snort with laughter.

Len steps forward again, aiming for the man's head, and the drug lord…heh…freezes. If Len was still pretending to be his double, he'd probably try to keep his expression chilly, but he doesn't bother. He lets the rage and disgust bubble up, and he lets Monteleone see it.

"I'm Len Snart," he tells the bigger man. "And this may not be quite my city, but it's close enough. You get the hell outta here and take your crap with you." Len narrows his eyes. "And maybe, if I don't hear anything more about you, you live. Maybe. That's the deal."

He can't resist. "Pray I don't alter it any further."

After a long moment, Monteleone climbs laboriously to his feet, a rather dumbfounded expression on his face that then transitions into anger. But he knows better than to say anything. He's lost here, and he knows it, and Len has all the cards. With one last glare, he vanishes into the darkness.

Just as Barry Allen flashes back to the scene.

"What…we could have had him!" he tells Len, surprise and distress in his voice. "Why did you let Monteleone go?"

Len shrugs, turning, and takes in the sight of Sara standing amidst a group of unconscious or groaning guards, idly spinning her staff in her hands. She smirks at him, and he wants nothing more than to walk over there, pull her into his arms and kiss her…but there's a speedster to manage who isn't going away.

"Look at it this way, kid," he says. "Monteleone just lost a ton of villain cred. Everyone else who was in here cleared out as soon as the fighting started, and they'll spread the story of how he got run outta town by the real king of Central City." He cracks his knuckles, smirking. "And no one's gonna want to try to challenge that for a good while."

Barry eyes him but sighs, losing some of the high-and-mighty. "Even though it looks like you're working with the Flash?"

Len lifts a finger, and the smirk grows. "Think about it. It looked like the Flash was working for me."

Barry's jaw drops for the second time that day. Len, shaking his head, turns away, heading for Sara, who watches him with steady eyes.

He doesn't grab her and kiss her. He knows better. He stops a step away and takes a deep breath, staring into her eyes, and reaches for bravery.

"You're amazing," he tells her directly. "And I'm not going to call him names anymore—I get it. Lots more issues. But, Sara Lance, if you give me the opportunity, I swear I'll show you who I am. I want a chance with you. A real chance."

Sara smiles, a little. She shakes her head, and Len's heart drops…but then she reaches out, and puts her hand over his heart, very gently, over the much-abused blue shirt. (His heart, accordingly, speeds up.)

"Well," she says quietly, "I think we still have a date to continue. Len."

He clears his throat. "Ah. Bit too late for the place I'd planned."

"Eh. They have Big Belly Burger on your Earth?"

Surreal conversation to have in the midst of fallen enemies, the CCPD almost certainly on the way to clean the site, the Flash watching them with great bemusement. "Yeah. They open late enough here?"

"There's even a 24-hour site." Sara's smile grows.

That's sure as hell not going to be the reason he backs out now. "Sounds good."

"I'm starving," Barry says, a little wistfully, then takes a step back, lifting his hands as both of them stare at him. "Um. Not gonna keep interrupting date night. Sorry."

"I should hope not," Len mutters, then offers his arm to Sara again as sirens grow audible. "Time to go. See you 'round, Flash. Take better care of my city."

Barry doesn't try to argue. He just shakes his head, smiling, as he watches them go.

AUTHOR NOTE: There's an epilogue left.