Messy burgers, Central City's best fries, and chocolate milkshakes weren't quite what Sara had expected tonight. But neither were beating up bad guys and taking out a drug lord. Hell, she'd expected to be back on the ship, watching bad movies and hoping the team stayed out of trouble.

She watches Len across the table, smiling, as he tries to keep his burger from dripping onto his already damaged shirt. He's shed Barry's jacket (which he'd so casually walked away with) and pushed up his sleeves and applied himself to the food in a way that reminds Sara that he is, in a way, a meta himself, and just burned a good number of calories in the use of his powers.

After a moment, he glances up and sees her watching, sharing a smirk. The restaurant is nearly empty at this hour of the night, too late for the usual dinner crowd, too early for the post-bar lot. It's rather nice in its own way, Sara's decided. Relaxing. Even…intimate. As intimate as one can get with a gang of talkative college students in the corner booth and a few workers talking idly behind the counter.

"Sorry," Len says after a moment, twirling a French fry in his fingers. "Not quite what I'd planned."

"That tends to happen around Legends," Sara tells him drily, dunking a fry of her own in her milkshake. "It's OK. I like this."

"Yeah?" And there's that lopsided grin again. She likes that, too. "So do I. Thai some other time?"

And an acknowledged second date? Sara's smile grows. "I'm good with that."

Oddly enough, Len's smile fades then. He regards her, his blue eyes serious, then shakes his head. "I know I'm not him…"

Sara interrupts. "I don't want to talk about him," she says, voice perhaps a little too stern. "I'm here with you. I like that. I like you."

And when he still looks skeptical, she leans right over the table, wraps her fingers around his collar, drags him toward her…and kisses him.

The angle is a bit awkward; the debris of their late dinner is still scattered across the table between them. His lips taste like hot sauce, the sweetness of the milkshake is still on hers. But it doesn't stop them from deepening the kiss, ignoring the cheer that rises from the college students, and the cheerful cry of "get a room!" from behind the counter.

When they finally break it off, they're both a bit breathless, but grinning.

He kisses her again right before they get back on the Waverider, and it gets involved enough that they're both breathing hard when they part. Once onboard, though, he turns pure gentleman, taking her hand and turning it to press a kiss onto her wrist, then winking and sauntering off toward his room.

Sara, who's rethinking her not-falling-into-bed-after-one-date rule, heads regretfully for the bridge. Mick's still there, precisely where she'd left him, although presumably he's moved around at least a little, given the glass of something at his elbow.

He lifts an eyebrow at her as she moves onto the bridge, but Sara speaks first.

"Back a little late," she tells him, deciding not to go into details about the turn their evening had taken. "Sorry. If you want to head out, go ahead. Got a while until last call."

Mick's right eyebrow joins his left one as he watches her, even as he closes his book and sets it down. "Didn't go well?"

Sara's aware there's a slightly foolish smile on her face as she thinks about the kiss. Kisses. "Went fine. Great, actually. Just thought you deserved the chance to go out, too." She frowns, then, as the smirk on his face grows. "I told you…"

"Uh, huh." But Mick shrugs, getting to his feet. "Where's himself, them? I told Haircut I'd meet 'em out if I could. Maybe he wants to go."

"His room, I suppose." Sara's suddenly sure, though, that she doesn't want Mick to go invite Len out. Startlingly sure. "It was an expectedly…busy…night, though. Think he wanted some rest. I'd…I'd leave him be."

Mick regards her. "That so?"

"It is."

He doesn't quite smirk. Sara's glad. She's going to maintain plausible deniability as long as possible.

"OK, then." Mick nods. " 'Night, Sara. See you."

"Thanks, Mick." She watches him go, then sighs, subsiding into the captain's chair and considering her actions, her words. Her thoughts.

Her feelings.

Then, after an interminable amount of time, she rises again, and heads to her room.

She raps on his door not that long later, changed into soft sleep pants and an old T that nonetheless hugs her body in a very alluring, she thinks, fashion. Comfortable clothes. Not purposefully sexy, but not avoiding the notion, either.

Time enough, potentially, for skimpy nighties and purposeful seduction. They're somewhere else at the moment. Somewhere that owes more to friendship slipping into something deeper, comfort given and received. And if things go there…well. It's OK. It's good.

Len answers, and he's changed too. Boxers, she thinks…she's never seen his legs before and she's not going to stare…and another of his gray Ts. He looks a little surprised to see her, but not as much as she thought he might, and there's a warmth in his eyes that tells her she's done the right thing.

"Can't sleep. Still too much adrenaline," she tells him, waving the deck of cards, watching his eyebrows rise. "Can I come in?"

His lips twitch into a smirk, eyes shining at her. "Of course," he says, taking a step back. "Any time."

The door slides shut behind her.