WHERE YOU BELONG

How are you still awake right now?

Caitlin yawns, covering it with the back of her hand. "There's work to be done."

The imitation sun that Gideon programmed to mimic the actual sun is going to rise in one hour.

"What?!" Caitlin yanks her wrist up to her face. The digital numbers doubled in her vision. "Woah…" she closes her eyes and rubs at them, letting out a sigh. "Alright. That's probably enough work for the night." She stretches her arms up above her head. "Gideon? I'm going to grab some coffee and a shower. I'll be back to start on today's checklist."

"Perhaps you should consider forgoing the caffeine, Doctor Snow?" The AI's voice fills the Medbay. "And instead, opt for a few hours rest instead."

Smiling, Caitin rises from the computer chair she'd sat in for nearly twelve hours. "Oh don't worry. I'm a doctor. I once stayed up for thirty-six hours in medical school, studying for my midterm exams."

Silence fills the Waverider as her new crewmates slept. Rather than heading to the shared showers, she drags herself down the hall leading to the kitchen. A few moments in the early dawn, with a hot, fresh cup of coffee in her hands, is exactly what she wants right now. Hopefully the ships coffee machine isn't too complex for her to use. She'd hate to have to wake someone up to help her, or, God forbid, ask Gideon to brew a mimicked version of real coffee. Nothing would be worse than imitation coffee right now.

I prefer white mochas, Frost informs. Or those frappy thingies.

"If I let you make any of our dietary decisions, we'd weigh three-hundred pounds." Caitlin smirks.

Ugh, do you even have tastebuds? Black coffee is disgusting!

"No it isn't! Coffee is not meant to be a dessert. It's supposed to wake you up. The bitter taste is part of that." She rounds the corner into the kitchen, surprised to see the lights on. And even more surprised to see Mick standing across from her, pouring himself a mug of richly dark coffee. The smell has Caitlin's mouth watering.

He looks up and raises an eyebrow at her.

Caitlin clears her throat. "Good morning," she offers a tired smile. "I didn't think anyone else would be up this early."

Mick brings his mug to his lips and takes a sip. "Got thirty-odd years of casin' joints and robbin' people at this hour."

She purses her lips. "Right. My mistake."

An amused look twinkles in his eyes. He uses his mug to gesture towards her as he leans against the kitchen counter. "What's your excuse?"

Caitlin shrugs, "My circadian rhythm doesn't allow me to sleep in. And, often I'm busy with research late into the night. Sleep is…" she yawns. "A luxury for me."

Mick sets his mug on the counter and grabs another from the cabinet above the simple coffee pot. He fills the mug and holds it out to her.

"Thank you," Caitlin smiles as she crosses the space between them to take the mug and lean against the counter next to him. She takes a long drink and releases an audible sigh of relief. "So," she licks her lips. "What's on the agenda for today?"

Mick shrugs. "No signs of chronies. No leads on Rip. Probably lay low for a while until something comes up."

"Does that happen often?"

Again, he shrugs. "Depends. There's times when all we're doing is racing in and out of time, chasing someone or being chased by someone."

"You prefer that, don't you?" She takes another sip. She wants to drink her coffee quickly, before her powers, which are always leeching through on some level, turn it too cold to enjoy.

Mick nods, his jaw briefly clenching. "I don't do good with sittin' still."

"Bit of an adrenaline junkie?"

He chuckles. "Guess so." He drinks again. "Makes life easier to handle."

Caitlin frowns, her brows pulling together. Before she can ask for him to elaborate, Mick is pushing off the kitchen counter and heading towards the exit, coffee cup in hand. "Don't work too hard, doc. We're probably gonna be grounded for a while, and it can get real boring on the ship without something to do. Spread your work out to keep yourself busy."

She nods. "Thanks. I will."

-o-

"So, what are you saying?" Ray frowns. The morning meeting had been in session for fifteen minutes when Sara had decided to breech the topic of the Legends long lost leader. "We just give up on Rip?"

Around her, the team stands with various faces of shock, anger, and confusion. Even Caitlin, who hadn't known Rip Hunter, looks at Sara with a degree of concerned surprise on her face.

Sara answers quietly. "I'm saying that…Rip didn't want to be found. He did a damn good job of making sure it never happened. Maybe…maybe we owe him that. Maybe we leave him alone and let him live his life. Without us barging in with memories of his murdered wife and child and destroying whatever white picket fence existence he's built for himself. He gave all of us a new life, didn't he?" She swallows. "Don't we owe him the same?"

She'd given the decision a lot of thought after her conversation with Mick last night. She'd made it a point to not discuss it with Ava, and judging by the other woman's face, she was going to have to explain her promise to her second in command.

"How do we know the life he's living right now is a good life?" Ray counters back. She knew her team wasn't going to take this decision well. She knew they still held out hope for finding Rip. And was she being awful by denying them this hope? She didn't want to strip away their drive to find their lost leader. But the reality was that Rip really did make it impossible for the Legends to find him. He was extremely thorough - even Gideon couldn't locate him.

"I just," Sara sighs. This was so damn hard. She's not good at this shit. She's not the person to inspire loyalty or trust from others. People like Oliver Queen or Barry Allen were like that, could do that. She was good at strategizing missions and fulfilling bloodlusts.

She shoots a glance at Mick. Help me.

His arms are folded over his chest and he's glaring at her. However, at her panicked expression, he straightens and gives her a little nod before grumbling out, "Every life is shit, Haircut. Quit yer whinin'. We can't do anything when we ain't got any leads."

"Yeah, but -"

"Shut it, Palmer," Mick growls. The rest of the team glares at him and Sara feels a rush of gratitude. She's not a wimp, abso-fucking-lutely not. And she's not so awfully incompetent that she can't handle the scrutiny of the Legends on her own. It's just that…

"I fell into this role," She releases, as if she'd been holding this in. "I didn't ask for it. I didn't even really want it. But one day, I spoke and you all listened. You didn't argue or question me. None of you stepped up to take the position away from me. You decided I was your Captain. You put me here. And now I'm telling you we should focus our attention away from tracking down Rip and you're fighting back!" She flings a hand out towards Caitlin. "We have a fucking unknown group hunting us down!" She's glaring at each one of them. "We've completely fucked up the timeline and have random displaced anachorisms running around! We have literally no idea what Damian Dahrk's next move will be!" She huffs out a breath. "Rip is not our priority anymore. He can't be."

Ray is glaring at her. He and Mick are the only two left with her from their original team. The three of them have formed an odd friendship, with Ray being one extreme of the good-bad scale, Mick being the other, and Sara falling somewhere in between. They'd known Rip the longest, had been chosen by Rip to become a Legend. Of course he's upset. Ray has been the heart of this team since their very first day together. He can't fathom the idea of leaving any of them behind.

Sara tries to give him what he radiates himself: hope. She wants to be that person that Oliver is, the leader that Barry has grown into. She wants her team to trust her undoubtedly. She wants to inspire, and motivate, and have built an unwavering loyalty between herself and them.

But as Ray glares at her, Amaya stares unblinkingly, and Zari and Nate both tap their fingers or chew their lip, she wonders if she's ever going to reach that Oliver-level of unwavering leadership.

God, fucking damn it. She suppresses a ripple of anger and shame and sighs deeply, readying herself for the onslaught she's about to receive from her crew.

And then, blessedly, Caitlin Snow speaks up. "I, uhm, I've been conducting research on the group who kills you all."

Sara snaps her attention to the doctor. "What? How?"

Caitlin is not a short woman; her legs could arguably be called model-esque with their length. Yet in this moment, she looks small, as if her nerves make her shrink in on herself. She clears her throat. "I wanted to be helpful, and so I spent the night looking into each of your backgrounds and listing any known enemies you currently have."

"What did you find?" Nate asks.

"Well," Caitlin straightens and folds her arms just under her chest. "Amaya, since your enemies are linked to the JSA of 1942, it's reasonable to expect that you don't have any active foes after you currently. I assume that your demise is due to your current association with the Legends and any enemies you've possibly made during your time on the team."

Amaya takes this in quietly, offering a small smile to Caitlin. "Thank you for checking."

"Likewise, Zari," she addresses the other woman with a bit more volume in her voice. "Since you come from the future, it's likely that if you had not attracted any enemies prior to your joining this team, your death also comes from any enemies you've made by being a Legend."

"I mean, it's possible I made an enemy or two as a hacker," Zari shifts her weight from foot to foot. "But time travel isn't a thing in 2046."

Caitlin nods. "Then we can rule that out. It's more likely that anyone who may be working against you in 2046, remains in 2046. Nate," she moves on to him and smiles. "I doubt a historian has many enemies."

"Hey now," Nate pretends to be affronted. "I had enemies! This one dude in the park hated whenever I beat him at chess."

Zari snorts. "I'm sorry, I didn't realize you were eighty years old."

"Hey!" Nate yelps. "I'll have you know that these chess matches got very intense! One time my opponent knocked our board off the table! All because I had taken his Queen!"

Amaya gently lays a hand on his arm. "I have a chess board in my room," she says softly. A smile blooms across Nate's face and he drapes an arm around Amaya's shoulders.

Caitlin turns her attention to Ray. "Since the Atom was a superhero before joining the Legends, there is a possibility that you have someone following you. According to my research, it seems that your enemies were largely also The Green Arrow's enemies. Unless I missed something?"

Ray shook his head. "No, that's correct. I didn't have much of a solo career before Rip found me."

Nodding, Caitlin taps a finger against her chin. "Sara, you also had an overlap of enemies with The Green Arrow, in addition to those from your time in the League of Assassins."

Sara shrugs, "I figured."

"There's quite a lot of people who would wish you dead."

Sara flashes a cheery smile. "All part of the job, doc."

"It does make it more difficult to pin down which of your current enemies is the one tracking you down. If you would be willing to help me narrow down the possibilities, that would make this process a lot quicker."

"Sure," Sara agrees. "I can swing by the Medbay after training. But, how do you know our anonymous murders are from our past? What about the future?"

"Right now I'm trying to eliminate the enemies we do know of. And the best way to do it is by sorting through anyone from your past that you've either harmed or angered or who would consider your death an advantage." She sighs. "Some of you have a lot more than others." She looks at Mick.

He raises his chin at her.

Caitlin starts twisting her fingers; Sara marks it as a dead giveaway to her emotions. "I told you, you have the most out of everyone on the team."

He huffs a laugh. "And?"

"It's not just enemies you've made over the years," She swallows. The cool, logical, scientific doctor from moments ago sheds away as she speaks to him. "It's old teammates, policemen, civilians. You have a lot of people who want you dead, Mick." She says his name like she's pleading, begging, aching for him to understand how serious this is.

He rumbles out, "Gonna be a whole hell of a lot more, sweetheart."

"There doesn't have to be," she says quietly.

Sara raises an eyebrow at the exchange. She'd known Mick and the good doctor had a bit of a past, but she wasn't sure it was much more than Mick kidnapping her for a move against Barry Allen. The strain between them suffocates the room, with the every one of the Legends, plus Ava, watching them. Caitlin seems to notice this as she blinks and looks around the room at the others, once again shrinking back. Mick doesn't give up his locked stare.

Sara frowns. Come on, you old asshole. Ease up on her. Before she can voice her thoughts, Caitlin stammers out a need to return to her research and exits the Bridge without another word.

It's only once Caitlin has left that Sara notices Mick relax.

-o-

A thud on the table has her jostling awake, a gasp escaping from her. "What the?!" She blinks, forcing the blurriness out of her vision. A cup of black coffee sits in front of her, steaming and perfect. Mick stands across the table, glowering down at her.

"Uhm," Caitlin straightens herself. "Thank you?"

He grunts in response and turns to the stove, adding strips of bacon on the griddle.

"What time is it?" She grabs the coffee, bringing it to her lips.

"Four thirty," he grunts.

Caitlin groans. Right, she'd came into the kitchen to grab a cup of coffee to bring back to the Medbay and continue her research. That was sometime after midnight, but she wasn't exactly sure when she'd stumbled down the halls of the Waverider in search of caffeine. She must've fallen asleep as soon as she sat down while her coffee brewed.

Mick sets a plate of eggs, bacon, and toast in front of her. For how basic the meal is, it smells incredible. "Thank you," Caitlin moans and shoves a forkful of eggs into her mouth.

Damn, Frost chuckles. You could make a living as one of those phone sex workers.

Caitlin ignores her and continues to feed herself. By the time she finishes and looks up, Mick is gone.

-o-

For the next week, Caitlin has found a plate of food and a cup of coffee waiting for her when she enters the kitchen. How he knows when she's going to drag her exhausted self to the kitchen is a mystery; she never arrives at the same time. Yet somehow, Mick is always there, mug and plate filled and ready. He only stays long enough to witness her first bite or sip, and then grabs his own mug of warm brew and leaves her to eat in peace.

Why is he feeding you? Frost asks, after they've had a Belgian waffle and blueberries warm and ready at 5:12AM.

"I don't know," Caitlin hurries down the hall, surely late for the morning meeting. Sara had made an announcement twenty minutes ago, and Caitlin was determined to finish washing her dishes and prepping the coffee pot for the next person coming into the kitchen. But then Amaya had come in and they got to chatting and, well, now she has to hustle to make the meeting or face the wrath of Sara Lance.

And how does he know when you're hungry? What if you just want coffee? And he gives you this giant plate of food and you're forced to eat it all, even though all you really want is something to drink?

"I think Gideon might be telling him when I'm leaving the Medbay."

Okay, but why? You guys barely talk, unless it's about these murder weirdos.

Caitlin lets out a sigh, the Bridge in sight. She slows down her walk; it doesn't look like she's late. In fact, everyone seems to be milling about, chatting amongst each other. No Sara in sight. She smoothes down her hair, making a mental note that today needs to be a wash day.

She steps up to Ray, who's speaking with Mick. "Hey."

"Oh, hey!" Ray smiles down at her. "Have you seen Sara?"

Caitlin shakes her head. "Not yet, sorry. Any idea what's going on?"

Ray shrugs. "Could be anything. Maybe we're heading somewhere for a vacation."

Mick rolls his eyes. Caitlin offers him a soft smile; he wasn't in the kitchen when she arrive today, though a plate was made and waiting for her. "Good morning."

A beat passes before he dips his chin and rumbles, "Snow."

A quiet something forms between them and Caitlin flushes from head to toe, knowing that those hazel eyes are studying her every move. Ray chatters on, seeming not to notice anything different between his two friends.

Sara enters, and the meeting begins.

-o-

On the twelfth day of cooking her breakfast, Mick sits across the table from her with his own mug of coffee and plate of food. He doesn't say anything, doesn't even look at her. He attacks his biscuits and gravy as if it's the only meal he's had all week, then promptly rises from his seat and makes for the sink to wash his dishes.

Go! Go! Frost barks, and Caitlin is pushing up out of her chair and practically sprinting across the room. "Here, let me!" She grabs the dishes out of his hands and snags the sponge from the bottom of the sink. She shoots his stunned face a wide smile. "It's the least I can do."

He frowns at her, grabs the dishes and sponge back, and uses his hip to shove her aside. Caitlin stumbles a few steps before catching herself. "Hey!"

"Sit down," Mick growls at her.

She blinks at him. "What? I want to help! You've been so nice to me, I just thought I'd make up for it by -"

"Ain't bein' nice, Snowflake. Just doin' my duty."

"What does that mean?"

"You're part of the crew now, Snow. And since you won't take care of yourself, looks like I gotta." He scrubs at his dirty plate without looking at her whilst he speaks.

Her mouth hangs open in offense. "You think I can't take care of myself? I'm a doctor!"

"Doin' a shit job of sleepin' an' eatin', aren't yah? Bet these biscuits are the only thing you'll eat all day."

Caitlin scoffs. "So, you weren't doing this just to be nice to me? You were babysitting me?!"

Mick shrugs, "More or less."

"You are such an asshole!"

He chuckles, "Yell all yah want. I'm the only reason you're eatin' at all."

"I-" She snaps her mouth shut. It was true; he was right. The only reason she even bothered to eat, was because there was food already prepared for her every morning. Otherwise, she'd live off coffee. Caitlin breathes in, holds the air in her lungs for a few seconds, and then slowly lets it out. After a minute of Mick's silent clean up, she murmurs, "Cisco used to do that for me."

Mick glances at her. "Kid with the mouth?"

Half of a smile perks at the corner of her mouth. "Yeah. He babysat me too."

When Mick doesn't say anything more, Caitlin deflates. He wasn't trying to be nice because he liked her. He wasn't trying to snag brief, quiet moments alone with her. She'd made that up in her head, hoping that there was something where there was nothing. All at once she feels stupid and embarrassed and childish. She's a grown woman; she should be making her own breakfast. She so easily fell into that role that haD formed between her and Cisco, where she was the narrow-minded workaholic, who could barely tear herself away from her research long enough to remember to fuel herself and take a shower.

"God, I'm such an idiot," she whispers, rubbing her temples.

"Hm?" Mick grunts and throws another glance at her.

His voice pains her, his entire being pains her. Being this close, thinking that maybe there was something growing between them, however small it might be. I am so fucking dumb.

Caity, come on. Frost tries for a soothing tone, which more so passes for annoyed. Everything's fine. You didn't do anything wrong. So what if you'd misjudged? It's not like he -

The water shuts off and Mick turns to lean against the sink, wiping his hands dry and looking at her as if he can hear the private conversation going on inside her head.

"So, I'll uhm," She averts her eyes to the floor. "I'll see you around. Thanks for the food."

She leaves too quickly to hear his amused, "No problem."

-o-

The next morning, when Caitlin enters the kitchen she's fully prepared to cook something for herself. She'd even set an alarm for 4AM to take a research break. She'd given up wearing her favored red bottom pumps late into the night and now shuffled down to the kitchen in a replicated pair of her white fuzzy slippers from home. She still had on a khaki colored pencil skirt, but had thrown on a lose fitting long sleeve over the delicate silk slip she still wore.

She was halfway to comfortable. Which was just comfortable enough to keep her feet from aching all night, but not so comfortable that she fell asleep while trying to keep thorough notes while following Sara Lance's trail of dead bodies.

Her hair had been pulled back into a tight bun that was now giving her a headache at her temples. She quickly unties the hairdo and shakes out her cascade of brown hair, massaging her scalp and fluffing the roots of her hair. A moan escapes her, followed by a deep yawn and a full body stretch, her arms reaching high above her head as her back arches and her feet rise to the very tips of her toes.

"You look like a cat."

Caitlin gasps and jumps back, knocking herself against the doorframe of the kitchen. "Oh my God!" Her hand goes to her heart, where she can feel it beating rapidly. "What are you doing?"

Mick laughs at her. "Havin' breakfast." He drinks from his mug. And sure enough, there's a full plate of food in front of him as he sits at her usual table. And, damn him, across from his plate, is a full plate made for her. Yogurt and fruit and avocado toast with a sunnyside up egg sprinkled with salt ad pepper.

"Now come on. Sit. Eat."

Reluctantly, she plops herself down across from him. She doesn't touch the food or the coffee, though the smell is absolute agony.

"Whassa matter?" Mick asks around a mouthful of food.

Tiredly she answers, "You can't keep doing this. I should be able to make my own breakfast."

A smirk cracks across his mouth. "Can you cook?"

"Yes, I can cook!" She snaps. "It's not like it's rocket science - which, by the way, I could also do, given enough time."

He grins at her. "M'sure you could, Snowflake. C'mon, eat before it gets cold."

"It's yogurt," she grumbles. "It's already cold." Nevertheless, she takes a spoonful of the offensive dairy and eats it.

They sit in silence until Mick's run out of coffee and gets up to refill his mug. He brings the pot back to the table and refills Caitlin's mug before setting it between them.

"Thank you," she murmurs. "I'm sorry."

"For what?" He bites off a chunk of his buttered toast - no avocado for him.

"For making you feel like you have to take care of me. I'm sure you and Sara have to do this kind of thing a lot, huh?"

Mick shrugs a shoulder. "Nah, most everyone remembers to eat. 'Cept for Haircut, but he's got some weird philosophical bullshit on how the human brain thrives off starvation an' shit. Works fine until he's passing out in training cuz he ain't had anything to eat all damn day."

"Do you make him breakfast too?"

"I keep a stash of jerky in the cargo hold for him and knock on his door until he comes out for meals every day." He says it like it's nothing. Like he isn't the sole reason two of his crewmates are even bothering to eat.

Caitlin reaches across the table and lays her hand on top of his. The glove is a smooth leather that's been worn down from years of wear. She gives his hand a squeeze, noting how still he's gone. She pulls back and resumes eating, making light of the interaction. If she acts as if it were a normal thing, it will become a normal thing and he won't freeze up everytime she touches him.

They eat the rest of their meal in silence.

For the next month, Mick and Caitlin share an early morning meal together. Usually quietly, with Caitlin asking him about the rivals and ex-Rogues, and citizens of Central City that could hate him enough to chase him throughout time to murder him.

A lot of his answers include a complicated tale starring himself and Leonard Snart, which Mick laughs his way through as he relays events in detail to her. Of course, she doesn't find crime particularly hilarious, but Mick's stories were interesting. His younger years made her smile the most. Picturing a teenage Mick, angry scowl on his face, ripped jeans, and a black eye for fighting with a guy twice his size because the jerk called Mick's mom a whore.

"Beat the shit outta me," he chortles. "But he had respect for me for tryin'. Came over tah the farmhouse an' apologized for the shit he said about my ma. Then told me about some fuckers on the other side of town who were tryin' to move onto our turf. First gang war I'd ever been in."

"At fifteen?!" Caitlin's mouth drops open.

Merriment shines in his eyes. "Sweetheart, you can't even imagine the kinda punk I was back then, I'd have lit the whole fuckin' city on fire if I had enough gasoline."

"But," she stammers. "But why?"

He shrugs. "Why'd you become a doctor?"

"Well, actually I'm a bio-engineer. But I did go to medical school, so I can treat people, if need be. And I do know the Hippocratic Oath by heart and follow it. But anyways, my parents are scientists. And I've always been fascinated with anatomy and medical research. And I was more advanced than my peers. And so -"

"See?" He leans back in his seat. "Darlin' you and I come from different worlds. At fifteen I was stabbin' fuckers for crossin' the railroad tracks and robbin' any house I could break into. And what were you doin'? Visitin' colleges early?"

"Well, I actually graduated college at fourteen. So -"

"Holy shit," Mick sits up. "Fourteen?!"

"Yes?" Caitlin's brow pulls together in confusion. "You didn't know that? I swear, if there's ever a Wiki page about me, that will be the first thing written."

"Damn, Snowflake." Mick smirks at her. "Big fuckin' brain and great legs. How come you ain't married yet?"

Her face falls and the temper drops in the kitchen. Frost crawls across the table top and their coffees start to ice over. "Uhm, I, uh, I…" she shuts her eyes.

"Oh, shit." His pulse quickens. "Fuck, Snow. I'm sorry. I forgot. Don't listen to me, I'm a fuckin' asshole."

Caitlin shakes her head. "No, it's alright. It's - you didn't say it to be cruel." She hurries to gather her dishes. "I gotta go. I'm sorry. There's - I have - I need to get back to work."

"Snow, wait. Don't bother with this, just calm down," he grabs her plate away from her and sets it back on the table. She lets him, taking the opportunity to scurry out of her seat and leave the kitchen. The room immediately heats up again at her departure.

"Snow!" Mick calls after her, but she's gone too quickly, leaving him behind. "Fuck!" He slams a fist on the table, rattling the dishes.

–o-

You guys are insanely boring, Frost yawns.

"We are not," Caitlin defends. She smiles at herself. There is a quietness to her and Mick. Maybe it's due to the early morning and their desire to not wake anyone else on the ship. She'd forgiven him, of course, for his comment, for forgetting she'd been married before. Because, really, how was he supposed to remember that? Ronnie wasn't a central part of his life, and she was rather tightlipped about her deceased husband. It was no ones fault, really.

And she'd said as much to him, when he'd trailed after her once Sara was finished informing the team about an anachronism in the swamps of Florida in 1992. Caitlin had barely listened to the briefing, only noting that they'd be making the jump within the next twenty minutes, and that she wasn't required to go out on the mission.

Now, she stood in front of a screen in the library with Ava and Ray, as they watch the mission taking place.

"You're not what?" Ray asks, throwing her a confused look.

Caitlin waves him off, "Nothing," She points to her forehead, which leads to Ray giving a slow nod, followed with "Oohhh." The team has gotten used to her speaking out loud at random. When she'd explained that she was talking to Killer Frost, they'd been relieved that the newest member of their crew wasn't, in fact, going crazy.

The swamp was murky and dark, with an eerie wailing growing louder as the team ventured further. The locals had dubbed the anachronism The Gator Man. But in reality, The Gator Man turned out ot be a very confused, very lost caveman who had holed up in the waters, for fear of civilization.

"Easy peasy," Ray beams. "Up for some apple pie?"

Caitlin chuckles. "It's midnight."

"I'll pass too," Ava says kindly. She exits the library quickly, surely off to meet Sara upon her arrival.

Ray shrugs. "Suit yourself."

Caitlin laughs as she walks with him out of the library, heading off to return to the Medbay.

All you do is eat together. Frost picks up where she left off. Where's the passion? I'd thought with that book you'd read, you'd have some unrestrained lust ready to break out.

Caitlin rolls her eyes. "Oh please," she enters the Medbay. "That kind of sex doesn't happen in real life. That's why the book is a best seller. Whatever Rebecca Silver put in Heatwaves is an exaggeration of what actually occurs."

That's a bummer. Who wouldn't want a triple busted bimbo riding them?

A snort escapes Caitlin as she looks through a microscope, pen and pad ready for her notes.

-o-

"Nice work out there," Sara pats him on the back while passing by. "Didn't think I'd get to see a wrestling match."

"Fucker tried to run off," Mick grumbles. He's wet and cold from rolling around in the swamp with the damn anachronism. The caveman was solid muscle and scared out of his mind, making him dangerous to anyone who came across him. So, Mick lunged and knocked the bastard into the muck like Anthony Munoz. And instead of helping, Sara, Amaya, and Nate watched with cheshire cat grins. It hadn't occurred to him to let Nate switch to Citizen Steel and strongarm the caveman back to the portal waiting to take him back home.

"Go take a shower," Sara laughs. "You reek."

"Fuck off," Mick shoves her.

Twenty minutes later he's warm and clean again. With a thick hoodie and sweatpants on, he's about ready to crash for the night.

"Mr. Rory?"

He runs a hand over his face. "Make it quick, Gideon."

"It's Doctor Snow, Mr. Rory."

He puts down the beer he'd just opened and rises from the chair at his writing desk. Without even asking what's wrong, he leaves his bedroom and heads for the Medbay. He's not panicked, because what could have possibly gone wrong while he was sludging through gator territory for three hours? However, he's not not panicked either and when he reaches the Medbay that not panic grows when he doesn't immediately spot her.

And then he does spot her, and something akin to warmth spreads over him at the sight. She'd fallen asleep at her desk and she was snoring. Not enough to warrant a nickname like Trombone or something. But just enough to relay how truly exhausted she is. Her hair has fallen over her eyes and her lips are set into a pout.

God, his chest aches. Gently, he smoothes her hair out of her face. "She don't sleep much, does she?"

Gideon answers, "No, Mr. Rory. Doctor Snow has a horrendous sleep schedule. I suggest doing your best not to wake her."

He nods. He's had over two months of watching her stumble into the kitchen in search of caffeine, hog down whatever food he put in front of her, and race back to the lab to continue her endless crusade against some fucking psychopath out to kill the Legends.

"Gideon, send everything the doctor's found on these enemies to Sara. Tell her I'll be in her office in ten minutes to go over Snow's notes." After a confirmation from the AI and an affirmative reply from Sara, Mick reaches for Caitlin.

He nudges her and tries to pull her out of her seat. "C'mon, doc."

Caitlin stirs, shifting away from him, murmuring that she's not done with work yet.

"Yah are now," he bends and scoops one arm under her knees, another around her back and hoists her up against his chest.

"No, I gotta…gotta…" Caitlin weakly protests. To which Mick softly rumbles, "Shut up and go back to sleep."

Caitlin shivers and nuzzles closer to him, her head resting on his shoulder. She lets out a soft sigh full of relief. She feels chilly, like her house has no insolation and her heaters are broken during a snowstorm. Even through her flannel pajamas, he can feel how cold her body temperature is. He makes a note to ask her about it; maybe it's just part of her being a meta-human. Or maybe she's sick and he didn't notice until now.

You woulda noticed. He couldn't help but mark and file away every little thing she did. Obsession was part of his mania, part of the deep seeded issues he's had for decades. That part of him could never touch her. Never.

He glances down at her. Her eyes are closed and she's got that little pout again. "Snowflake," he says gently. "You gotta take care of yourself. I can't carry you to bed every night."

Her response is too soft for him to hear all of it. "…your bed…" is all he can make out.

His grip on her tightens fractionally. Trust me, sweetheart. That's the goal. They reach her room without meeting anyone else in the hall. Gideon opens the door for him and Mick gently lays her in her own bed. "Night doc," he turns to go.

She yawns, "Stay." But he's already out the door.