Archive of Our Own ^beta

There was something about coming back from the dead that felt... off. Uncanny. A sense of wrongness Leonard couldn't shake.

One moment he'd been holding down the failsafe of the Oculus as the world exploded in bright light and fiery pain, the next he was back in his room on the Waverider, as if nothing had ever happened and no time had passed at all. Except it had; he had missed years, it turned out. The world had moved on without him, and picking up where he left off proved to be more complicated than he'd assumed.

The Hawks and Jax were gone, the professor was dead, the crew full of new faces Leonard didn't know or trust. The wariness went both ways: Palmer eyed Leonard cautiously, like he expected him to pull the Cold Gun on him, a new edge to him that Leonard wasn't sure he liked, and Sara slapped him when he tried to steal a kiss, Mick's roaring laughter echoing through the room.

It wasn't quite the welcome he'd imagined. Not that he'd imagined any kind of welcome at all. But here he was, a man out of time, and he felt like an ill-fitting piece of a puzzle no one quite knew what to do with.

Being stuck in a time-traveling tin box with a bunch of greenhorns and three almost-strangers who were altogether too different from the people he'd known set him on edge more than the sound of police sirens in the middle of a heist. And even though he enjoyed a challenge and admitting defeat was against his nature, there was only so much discomfort he was willing to endure in the name of sheer stubbornness.

One thing that had kept him alive for so long was knowing which battles to pick, and this one had been lost the moment he blinked back into existence.

Or maybe even before that.

"You're leaving."

It wasn't a question. Mick wasn't looking at him, taking a swig from his beer, but beneath the bland statement of fact was enough accusation to make Leonard bristle.

He clamped down on the irritation. "I asked Gideon to drop me off in Central. Been away from home for too long."

"I didn't bring you back so you could run off like a coward."

Leonard balled his fists and fought down the ice-cold anger threatening to take hold.

Coward, that's what Lewis used to call him when he was a boy, usually right before he slapped him or struck with his fists. No one had used that particular insult since then. At least, no one who'd lived long enough to do it twice.

But this was Mick, and he wasn't entirely wrong, was he? Leonard's miraculous resurrection had indeed been his doing. Mick, and that stupid diary of his that made words shape reality. Mick could have written himself a kingdom of his own making, and instead he wrote his dead old partner back to life. Such a stupid, sentimental, dumb thing to do.

"I didn't ask you to bring me back," Leonard said, his face twisting as he spat out the words like they were poisonous.

Something inside him, the frayed edges of the puzzle piece that scraped and grated against the rest of them, was spoiling for a fight. The Mick he had left behind would happily have given him one, would have jumped up and knocked over his chair, would have gotten in Leonard's face and thrown a punch, would have told Leonard what an ungrateful bastard he was.

This Mick, though? He grunted and raised his bottle to his lips again.

"Guess you didn't," he agreed, all too casually. His tone was gruff but mild, lacking the familiar old aggression.

Leonard didn't know what to do with this new Mick, any more than he knew what to do with himself. He needed to get his head on straight (well, not straight; not in any sense of the word), and that wasn't gonna happen as long as he was on the Waverider.

He rapped his knuckles against the door frame, at a loss of what to say. He'd never been big on goodbyes before, but he remembered standing at the Vanishing Point, waiting for the explosion to tear him apart and regretting not telling Lisa that he was leaving.

"Take care of yourself," he said, aiming for indifference and probably missing by miles. Luckily, Mick wasn't exactly well-attuned to emotions. At least he didn't used to be. "Don't let those idiots make dumb decisions that get you killed."

Mick twisted towards him and gave him an all-too-knowing look before lifting his bottle in a salute. "Later, Snart. Have fun in Central."

There was a hint of amusement in his tone, like he knew something Leonard didn't, and something inside Leonard bristled.

He inclined his head and turned to go, feeling more unsettled than ever.

The best way to get back into the swing of things, he decided, was going back to what he'd known.

In this particular case, this involved an after-hours visit to Central City Museum and their special exhibition of invaluable gold coins that opened just as he got back to town, as if they'd been expecting him. Just the perfect welcome home present.

The security was laughable. They hadn't updated their alarm system since the Kahndaq diamond exhibit, and Leonard got the distinct impression that no one had tried to rob the museum for so long that they'd become complacent. Breaking in was almost boringly easy and made Leonard resent the museum for failing to put up more of a challenge. If he'd wanted a runaway victory, he could have knocked over an ATM.

Luckily, it didn't take long until the challenge he'd been waiting for presented itself in form of a familiar figure bursting into the room accompanied by yellow lightning.

Leonard couldn't quite resist closing his eyes for a brief moment and letting the gust of air from the Flash's arrival hit his face, breathing in ozone and nostalgia.

He wouldn't ever admit it, least of all to Barry Allen, but fuck – he'd missed this!

"What the—Who the hell are you? Where did you get that gun?"

There was anger in Barry's voice, mixed with confusion, and yeah – Leonard got it, what with shapeshifters and people with weird meta powers running about, and Captain Cold dead and gone for almost four years now. The assumption that he wasn't who he appeared to be was hardly unreasonable. Didn't mean Leonard couldn't pretend to mistake the skepticism for lack of recognition.

"Really, Flash? I'm gone for a couple of years, and you've already forgotten me. You're hurting my feelings."

He faux-dramatically clutched his chest and watched a complicated series of emotions flicker across Barry's face, come and gone too quickly to single them out. He stared at Leonard like he couldn't quite believe that he was real.

"But you—Ray said—I mean, you're—" Barry trailed off awkwardly, like he didn't dare to say the word, and Leonard decided to help him out.

"Dead?" He raised his eyebrow. "I was. Then I got better. You want details, ask Mick."

"Mick? What did he—" Whatever Barry saw on Leonard's face was apparently enough to make him abandon the question, which was just as well. Leonard wasn't in the mood to dive into the ins and outs of 'my old partner in crime used a magic diary to bring me back to life, and I'm maybe not as grateful as everyone expects me to be'.

Barry, meanwhile, was looking at him with so much naked hope in his eyes that it made the skin on Leonard's neck prickle.

"Is it really you?" He sounded young and shaken and desperate.

Fucking hell. How was Leonard supposed to deal with Barry Allen getting all emotional on him?

He put on his most obnoxious grin. "In the flesh," he drawled.

Barry looked at him in wonder, a slow, wide smile pulling at his mouth, like he couldn't help himself. "Why didn't you tell me you were back?"

Leonard narrowed his eyes. Wasn't that cute? Barry, bless his sentimental heart, seemed to be under the misconception that they were buddies, and that Leonard would feel obliged to give him a heads-up.

He momentarily amused himself by imagining how that would have gone down: showing up at S.T.A.R. Labs to tell Team Flash that, surprise, he was back from the dead. If Barry was getting all misty-eyed over seeing Leonard during a museum heist, he probably would have gone straight for a hug in less antagonistic circumstances, and Leonard briefly allowed himself to entertain the thought of finding himself with an armful of sappy speedster. It wasn't an entirely unwelcome scenario, he had to admit.

With a scowl, he mentally pushed the fantasy away.

"Wasn't in a sharing mood. You weren't exactly forthcoming with information either when we did that little job at A.R.G.U.S. together, remember?"

The cowl did nothing to hide the stricken look of guilt that came over Barry's face, wiping the smile clean off.

It didn't feel as satisfying as Leonard had imagined it would. He got why Barry hadn't told him, why he'd put him back in his own time without as much as a warning. It wasn't Barry he was pissed at, no more than it was Mick. They were just convenient targets for his anger.

"Snart, I—"

Holding up a gloved hand, he didn't let Barry finish. "Forget it, Flash. Doesn't matter now. I don't hold grudges." Well, not against Barry, anyway. "So don't worry. This is just business."

He raised the gun and fired at Barry's feet. Normally, Barry would have been fast enough to flash away, but coming face-to-face with his presumed-dead old adversary had clearly messed with his reflexes. The blast of cold hit his shoes straight-on, freezing them to the floor.

"Oh, come on! Seriously?"

Barry gave Leonard a disappointed look, his mouth pursed in what looked almost like a pout. It was adorable. Annoying, but adorable.

"Sorry, kid, did you expect me to play fair?" Leonard tsked. "Thought you'd learned your lesson about trusting me. Maybe you need a refresher course."

He tipped the Cold Gun a few degrees upwards so that it pointed straight at Barry's face, where the suit wouldn't be able to protect him if Leonard pulled the trigger. He kept the gun steady for a few seconds, pretending he was considering taking the shot. Barry looked back, his eyes on Leonard's face rather than the gun – unblinking, clearly unafraid, calling Leonard's bluff.

Leonard huffed in annoyance before aiming at Barry's vibrating feet once again, giving the rapidly defrosting layer of ice another coating before he holstered the gun and reached for his bag with the coins he had liberated from the display.

"Nice catching up with you, Flash, but I gotta run."

He was almost out of the door when Barry called out to him. "Snart!"

Leonard turned back towards him, an eyebrow raised in question, waiting for Barry to deliver the expected quip about how he'd catch him and put him in prison. It didn't come, though. Barry seemed to be content to stare at him across the exhibition room, his features devoid of the dogged, forbidding expression the situation called for. It was unnerving.

"Tick-tock. I'm on a tight schedule."

Barry ducked his head and rubbed the back of his neck, a habitual nervous gesture Leonard had seen him do a few times when he was out of costume. It seemed oddly incongruous and out of place when he was wearing the Flash suit. Whatever he'd been about to say, he was struggling with getting the words out.

Leonard was just about to shrug it off and leave when Barry finally spoke.

"I'm glad you're back."

His tone was so soft that Leonard wondered if he could get away with pretending he hadn't heard him.

Barry fucking Allen. What was Leonard supposed to do with him?

He leveled what he hoped was a chilly glare at the kid. "See you around, Scarlet."

"Well, I gotta tell you, Lenny, this is the saddest celebration I've ever seen."

Lisa folded her arm across her chest and leaned back in her seat, watching Leonard across the table with sharp eyes. "You sure that the job went well? Because looking at you, I wouldn't know it."

Leonard directed a scowl at her before he reached for his beer. "You could have stayed home. I wasn't asking for company."

Hurt flashed across her face, and Leonard instantly regretted the words.

Whatever he did, he always ended up getting Lisa hurt. When they'd still been kids and Lewis got more volatile the more Leonard argued. When he'd packed up his things and left home, leaving Lisa behind. When he took her along to jobs and pulled her into this life with him. When he went on the Waverider without telling her and got himself killed. When he came back and kept pushing her away.

Lisa didn't deserve this. She'd been through enough already, most of it because of him.

He was about to apologize, but Lisa beat him to the punch. "No, I suppose you weren't. But since you made me spend four years thinking you were dead, you'll just have to suck it up."

The defiance in her glare made him smile. "I'll manage," he said wryly and pushed his barely-touched ice cream across the table towards her as a silent peace offering.

It took her a moment before she reached for it, like she was trying to stay mad but her love for sweet treats was greater than her ability to carry a grudge.

"Jerk," she muttered under her breath as she shoveled spoonfuls of half-melted vanilla ice cream into her mouth.

Leonard watched her eat, relieved to have at least a grace period before the inevitable questions would start. He couldn't begrudge Lisa the curiosity about his experiences, nor her concern about his plans for the future, but it was frustrating to face her prying eagerness when most of his answers amounted to "I don't want to talk about it" and "I don't know".

Before Lisa had a chance to zero in on his discomfort like a hawk, though, she suddenly sat up straighter and squinted over his shoulder at the entrance of the bar, where the noise of the door falling shut indicated a new arrival. "Huh. Isn't that the guy—What—Oh."

Confusion morphed into delighted recognition written all over her face. She gave Leonard a piercing look, triumphant, like she'd managed to pull off the heist of the decade – and just like that, Leonard knew exactly who was coming up behind him.

Fantastic. Just what he needed right now.

He rubbed his forehead, trying to fend off the headache he felt building up.

Lisa leaned across the table with a sly twinkle in her eyes. "Maybe you weren't looking for company, Lenny, but it looks like your favorite sparring partner didn't get the memo either."

Leonard didn't bother arguing. He may have given his word that he wouldn't tell, but it wasn't his fault when Barry was being entirely too obvious for his own good and gave Lisa every opportunity to put two and two together.

He watched as his sister slid out of her seat and sidled over to where Barry was hanging back, clearly unsure how to handle Lisa's presence. Barry's eyes widened in alarm when she leaned in.

"Now look who's here! Cisco's little friend!" she chirped, faux-sweet and just loud enough that her words carried to Leonard. "Maybe you can help cheer Lenny up. I thought your little playdate earlier would have done the trick, but he won't stop brooding, and I'm done indulging his attitude. So why don't you flash in and talk some sense into my jerk brother."

She patted his cheek in a condescending way, and Barry jolted back in surprise. If his secret hadn't been out already, the tiny sparks of electricity that bounced off his skin would have been enough to clue Lisa in.

She raised an eyebrow and turned back to Leonard with a smirk. The 'I told you so' was implicit.

He rolled his eyes and shooed her off, leaving Barry staring after her for a long moment before he finally slid into the seat opposite that Lisa had just vacated, still looking vaguely spooked.

"How did she—" He stopped short at Leonard's unimpressed look, then shook his head. "Whatever. It's not like one more person knowing will make a difference," he said, and Leonard was tempted to ask just how many people Barry had inadvertently let in on his secret identity while Leonard had been gone. "Look, Snart, I—"

"If you've come for your usual speech, I'm not in the mood," Leonard warned.

Barry didn't meet his eyes. He'd picked up Lisa's spoon and was awkwardly tracing patterns in the sad remains of mostly melted ice cream.

"I'm sorry."

"I told you—"

Barry's head snapped up, and Leonard wasn't prepared for the intensity of his blue-eyed gaze burning into his. "No, let me finish. I know you said it doesn't matter, but it does. I was so afraid of changing the timeline if I told you, but after everything that's happened since... all the ways the timeline has already changed. It wasn't worth it. And I haven't stopped regretting it. If I'd told you about the Oculus—"

"Stop. Knowing wouldn't have changed anything. It wasn't the kind of situation you can avoid by good planning."

Even if he had known, someone would still have had to stay behind at the Oculus. After the Cronos debacle, Mick wouldn't have let Ray or one of the others take the fall, and Leonard in turn wouldn't have let Mick sacrifice himself. It was always going to be Leonard, one way or the other.

"Sure," he continued. "Maybe I'd have checked a few things off my bucket list before getting myself blown up. But I got another chance to do all of that now, so no harm, no foul."

His casual dismissal didn't seem to convince Barry to drop the subject. "How can you say that? It wasn't a paper cut. You died, and just because you came back—" Leonard's glare silenced him abruptly, and he shook his head in frustration, before changing the subject abruptly. "So what would you have done?"

At Leonard's frown, he clarified, "The bucket list. What's on it?"

He kept eyeing Leonard expectantly, a curious look on his face.

Right. His bucket list.

It had been a turn of phrase, more than anything. Leonard had never actually compiled some kind of 'things to do before I die' list, and if he had, it would probably have consisted of heists he'd had on his radar – nothing he'd share with the Flash.

Leonard wasn't the type for flights of fancy, contemplating what ifs and making idle plans for a future that were bound to get railroaded by life. But Barry was watching him so eagerly, probably expecting something exciting, and Leonard hated to disappoint.

"Now, that would be telling," he drawled with a smirk.

He let his eyes wander up and down Barry's form in a slow once-over that was meant to be a tease, mostly, intent on getting Barry all flustered and rattled and to nip his little guilt trip in the bud for the time being.

Except Barry was looking back. He blushed every bit as prettily as Leonard had imagined that he might, but his eyes remained locked with Leonard's. Something in that look made the air grow thicker, stifling the joking undercurrents between them.

The surge of want Leonard felt, as dizzying as being moved at lightning speed, surprised him. Maybe he'd been more serious than he'd thought.

And if Barry was game...

Why not?

The flickering neon lights from the Saints and Sinners sign reflected in Barry's eyes as he hit the wall. For a moment, Leonard had a flashback to their old fights, to those early days when neither of them used to pull their punches, remembering the thrill of going against someone with superpowers, the adrenaline, the way his heart used to race a hundred miles an hour when he was struggling to evade the Flash.

But they weren't wearing their costumes now, the Cold Gun nowhere in sight, and when Barry pulled Leonard in with his fist clenched around the collar of Leonard's jacket, the motion wasn't followed up by a punch.

Barry kissed the same way he fought, eager and frantic, like he was unable to pace himself for even a split second. So Leonard did what he did best: slowed Barry down. He pulled his head back a fraction, his hand curving around Barry's neck to hold him at a distance until a frustrated whine escaped Barry's throat.

Dragging his thumb across Barry's mouth in a slow and deliberate motion, Leonard keenly watched Barry's reactions. The quickening of his breath. The way his eyes fluttered shut.

Fuck, Leonard wanted him.

He leaned in again and gave Barry's lips a few playful nips before he deepened the kiss again, measured and unhurried this time, controlling it against Barry's attempts to pick up the pace.

Much like their more destructive clashes, it was a give and take. Leonard managed to curtail Barry's speed in the kiss, but in turn Barry's hands on him only grew more frenzied. He hauled Leonard towards him until they were pressed together front to front, so close that Leonard could feel the quick rise and fall of Barry's chest against his own.

Barry hissed out a shaky breath. "Leonard—"

Well. That was new.

The frustrated urgency in Barry's tone was nothing Leonard hadn't heard before; but the familiarity of his given name took him aback. It probably shouldn't have, considering the intimacy of their position and how he fully planned to get more intimate before the night was over.

But after years of hearing Barry call him Snart, with anger at first, later annoyance and cheeky arrogance, and occasionally an irritating kind of beseeching sincerity, the switch to Leonard seemed sudden. Unnerving.

He didn't particularly want to think about the reasons why the familiarity put him on edge and made his gut tighten in a not-quite-pleasant way, driving in to shut Barry up with a harsh, almost punishing kiss. Barry didn't protest: not then, nor when Leonard spun him around so that he was facing the bricks. He pulled Barry's wrists over his head and pinned them against the wall, squeezing them in warning to tell Barry to keep them in place as he drew back just enough to give himself room to strip them down.

"Come on," Barry whined, low and impatient, resting his forehead on the bricks.

He didn't move his hands away from the wall, but Leonard could see them flexing restlessly, fingers digging into the gaps where the mortar had come loose, like he was trying to find purchase.

"Patience, Barry. Can't speed through everything."

He let the reprimand be followed by a sharp nip at the juncture of Barry's neck, fastening his mouth on the skin afterwards and soothing the bite with his tongue, tasting fresh sweat and lingering ozone. He felt Barry's chuckle vibrating against his skin.

"Oh God, do you never stop with the puns?" Barry whined, and Leonard was sorely tempted to respond with another pun, just to be contrary.

But Barry looked delightfully disheveled and wanton under the cool neon hues, his back arched in a taut curve, and even though Leonard enjoyed playing it cool, his own patience wasn't infinite either.

The sound Barry made when Leonard pushed inside of him could almost have been Leonard's name before it turned into something broken and breathless and unintelligible that burned itself into Leonard's memory. He filed it away for later, so he could relive it in the not-too-distant future when he'd be back in his bare, impersonal safe house and Barry remembered that he wasn't the kind of superhero who had sex with their villains in dingy back alleys and went back to his wholesome, respectable life.

The sour prospect made him dig his fingers a little too harshly into Barry's hips.

He wanted to leave some kind of mark, even knowing Barry's accelerated healing would fade it fast. It was enough if it lasted for a little while. Just as long as Barry wouldn't be able to go home and brush this off; so he couldn't easily hide it from Iris or his friends at S.T.A.R. Labs.

It wasn't a nice thought, and Leonard's grip was punishing as he held Barry in place when he fucked him.

If Barry noticed, he didn't seem to mind, pushing towards Leonard instead of away, his forehead resting against the bricks and his hips meeting Leonard's thrust for thrust. His skin was searing hot in the cool night air, and just for a few moments, Leonard managed to banish the sense of displacement into the far back of his mind, letting himself enjoy the thrill of getting to have the Flash compliant and defenseless under his hands, like he'd always wanted and never thought he'd ever have.

Like the heist before, it was almost enough.

"Another job already, Lenny? Really?"

When Leonard straightened and turned around to glare at his sister, Lisa was pursing her lips and giving the blueprints of Mercury Labs that he had spread out on the table in front of him a disapproving look.

"Suddenly getting cold feet about stealing? Not like you've been idly sitting on your hands while I was gone."

Back on the Waverider, Leonard'd had Gideon check in on Lisa occasionally, reading all of the news clippings from the Gotham Gazette and the Coast City Herald that mentioned Golden Glider's criminal outings. And there had been plenty. If she had some new-found moral objections about thieving, she really had no leg to stand on.

"Don't be silly," Lisa scoffed. "It's not the stealing I'm having an issue with, it's the lack of downtime. You used to pull a heist a year. Two, max. Lying low in-between. Months and months of planning every little detail, driving Mick and me crazy. Not these kind of rush jobs, like you're some kind of junkie desperate for his next hit."

The words conjured up a memory of Lisa's mom, her eyes glassy as she fumbled with the needle while Leonard helplessly looked on, torn between helping her and pulling the drugs from her shaking fingers, baby Lisa wailing in the next room. Leonard winced, the weight of the accusation heavy, especially considering the source.

"Low blow, Lise."

She shrugged. "Just calling it like I see it. You've always chased the thrill rather than the money. But ever since you came back from your little time-traveling adventure, you're escalating." She must have noticed his reaction when she mentioned his time with the Legends, because she held up her hand to cut off the rebuke already on the tip of his tongue. "Look, you don't wanna talk to me about what happened, I get it. But you need to talk to someone, because you're not okay. I don't care if it's Mick, or a therapist, or our fast friend in red leather. But pulling a job every two days and then sulking around until the next, until one finally goes badly and you get yourself killed all over again, isn't gonna cut it."

Leonard was just about to tell her he had no intention of sitting down to share his feelings over coming back from the dead with a fucking shrink or Barry or anyone, and certainly not Mick, who'd call him an ungrateful git and Leonard wouldn't even be able to object. But Lisa's last words made him stop short, because that's not what he— He wasn't being suicidal.

He frowned. "I'm not looking to get myself killed."

He was just... fumbling for some sense of normalcy. Purpose, maybe. Something that made him belong, made him stop feeling like this life wasn't his own anymore.

"You're not? Good. Because that's pretty much what it looks like from here, and I hate it." Lisa sniffed in a dramatic way that meant she was probably exaggerating in order to hide that she was genuinely upset. "You're a jerk, but I don't have anyone else, and I can't lose you all over again."

Telling her 'you won't' would have been a lie, and he wasn't in the habit of coddling Lisa with pointless reassurances and empty promises. He could, however, make a concession to her worries. "No more jobs without proper planning. Got it."

"Good. And maybe take me along the next time. Now that the Flash's been hanging around out of costume, you don't need all that one-on-one time when you meet professionally."

Leonard couldn't help the snort, thinking that if Lisa knew just how their recent one-on-one time had played out, he'd never hear the last of it.

So he shelved the Mercury Labs job. For the time being, at least, until the heat from the museum break-in had cooled off a little and Leonard had time to dot all the I's and cross all the T's and come up with a back-up plan and a failsafe for the failsafe. In a way, he was grateful for Lisa's intervention. He'd forgotten how much he enjoyed doing detailed research, looking at all the possible stumbling blocks and figuring out a way to circumvent and neutralize them.

He was engrossed in a paper on Mercury's recent projects – couldn't hurt to check what new technology would be there, both in terms of what they might use for security and what was worth stealing – when a knock on the front door made him sit up.

A brief rap of knuckles against metal, and then one more.

Wariness prickled down his neck like a shiver. The sound didn't bode well. There was only one person other than him who knew about this place, and Lisa didn't knock. This wasn't exactly the kind of address where nosy suburban neighbors came to visit with a casserole or asking for a packet of sugar. Leonard didn't think the CCPD or the Santinis or whoever else had their feathers ruffled by his return would knock first and shoot later, but that still left plenty of other options, each one less pleasant than the other.

He grabbed the Cold Gun and approached the door from the side with caution in his steps, ready to pull the trigger and make an ice statue out of whoever thought paying Captain Cold a surprise visit, when a voice called through the door. It was muffled, but familiar enough.

"Come on, Snart. I know you're in there."

Oh, for fuck's sake—

Relief warred with annoyance as Leonard eased his grip on the gun and pulled the door open.

Barry wasn't wearing the Flash suit, just jeans and a hoodie, his hands hidden in the pockets. He looked relaxed, no tension in his shoulders or in the easy smile on his face. It was a good look on him, Leonard couldn't help but observe, and the ease with which that thought had stolen unbidden into his mind only served to ramp up his irritation.

"The purpose of a safe house, Barry, is that your enemies shouldn't find you there."

Barry shrugged, clearly undeterred by the snappishness of Leonard's tone. "Then I guess it's a good thing I'm not here as the Flash, right?" He flashed Leonard a quick, cheeky grin. "I thought about phasing through the wall and flashing myself inside, but I figured home invasion was more your thing than mine. And I didn't want to risk getting frozen to the spot again. Cisco made those shoes running-proof but I don't think they'll survive your gun."

Leonard bit back the retort that whoever breached one of his safe houses without an invitation was bound to receive a much colder reception than simply getting their shoes iced. "Good thinking. What do you want?"

He half-hoped that Barry had come to him to ask for help on behalf of Team Flash. Not just because negotiating with him for compensation had always been rewarding both in the way Barry would get riled up and in terms of pay-out – but also because a team-up would nicely bridge the time until Leonard finished laying out his next job, and Lisa couldn't object if it wasn't his own half-baked plan he was rushing into.

But no, Barry had said he wasn't here as the Flash, hadn't he?

For the first time that night, Barry looked awkward. It made Leonard wonder if he had maybe expected a less frosty welcome. Well, too bad.

"Look, Snart—Leonard. Have you been avoiding me?"

"Wasn't aware we had the kind of relationship where not seeing each other for a week counts as avoidance," Leonard bit back drolly. "But if you've missed playing cops and robbers, take it up with Lisa. She talked me out of a job that I'm sure would have pinged the interest of your little team."

Barry pulled a face. "Remind me to send her a thank you card. But you know that's not what I meant."

Right. Leonard did know. He leaned against the doorframe and gave Barry a measuring look.

They should probably be having this conversation inside, safe from prying eyes, rather than out here in the open where anyone out on shady business at the docks might see and wonder what goodie two shoes CSI Barry Allen was doing knocking at Leonard Snart's door.

Not that Leonard wanted to have this particular chat at all, but somehow he doubted that, save from putting Barry on ice, there was any way to get rid of him before he had said his piece. Barry was annoyingly persistent that way. Or maybe persistently annoying; same difference.

"Fine. Come in." Leonard took a step back and spread his arms out in a grand gesture.

Barry gave him a withering look, but he held back on whatever snarky response was on his lips as he crossed the doorstep. They didn't touch when Barry pushed past Leonard, but it brought them close enough that Leonard could feel the static electricity Barry was radiating prickling in the air and against his arm.

Leonard shut the door and turned in time to see Barry take a curious peek around the room. To his credit, he didn't step further inside to snoop around, even though it was obvious that he was dying to get a closer look in the hope of catching a glimpse of how Captain Cold lived.

This place wasn't a home, not the way Barry would have used the term: well lived in, with boxes full of memories and pictures of loved ones smiling down from the walls and shelves; a place to feel safe and build a life in for the foreseeable future. Leonard hadn't had one of those since he'd been a boy. He'd learned early enough not to form any attachment to possessions beyond their monetary value, and there were no personal things in the warehouse he'd chosen to lie low at, nothing he'd regret leaving behind if he had to up and leave.

Still, having Barry here felt... strange. Not quite intrusive, although perhaps it should, given that having the Flash know Leonard's hiding place was bad for business.

But Barry Allen, out of costume, didn't belong here, in a grubby, run-down place with papered windows and hidden booby traps at the Keystone docks, sticking out like a sore thumb in the same way he did at Saints and Sinners.

They'd better get this over, then. The faster they cleared the air, the sooner Barry could run along, back to the suburban coziness of his own life, and leave Leonard to his.

He crossed the distance between them with three long steps that brought him so far into Barry's space that he expected Barry to back away. A cheap attempt at intimidation that clearly failed to make an impression, judging by how steadfast Barry held his ground. Well, then.

Leonard let his voice dip into the drawl he usually only brought out when he was wearing the parka. "Tell me, Barry, how did you think this would go?"

He deliberately left it open to interpretation which this exactly he was talking about, Barry's surprise visit tonight, or that thing between them.

Barry averted his gaze, his posture tense and uncomfortable, and Leonard doubled down, leaning in even further. "That's right, you didn't." Enough condescension dripping from his words to get Barry's hackles up.

He could see the way Barry's jaw worked, the flash of lightning in his eyes betraying his temper, and Leonard knew he was getting to Barry. He silently counted the seconds until Barry would flash himself away.

Except—he didn't.

"Yeah okay, maybe I didn't." He turned to Leonard, and Leonard realized a fraction too late that the heat in Barry's gaze wasn't all anger. "But that doesn't mean I can't think on my feet. I'm kinda fast, remember?"

Leonard didn't have time to appreciate the pun before Barry surged forward those last couple of inches and kissed him.

The kiss was as frantic as their first kiss in the alley behind Saints and Sinners, an undercurrent of desperation to it that should have made Leonard put an end to it as soon as it started. Should have done that anyway. It was only ever supposed to have been a one-time thing. Getting it out of their system and moving on. Checking off an item on his non-existent bucket list.

But here they were again, in a shabby, repurposed warehouse, Barry's lips hungry on Leonard's and Leonard's hands pulling at Barry's clothes before he could stop himself.

He'd never been good at stopping himself from taking what he wanted. Why start now?

That first time, Leonard hadn't stuck around long enough for a post-coital heart-to-heart.

He wasn't particularly keen on having one now, but it didn't particularly surprise him when Barry wasn't in a hurry to put on his clothes and leave, and Leonard drew the line at fleeing from his own safe house and letting the Flash have unsupervised access to his stuff, just to avoid an awkward conversation.

He did consider kicking Barry out with a well-aimed barb, but the way Barry looked – stretched out on Leonard's bed, still breathless and flushed and loose-limbed – made Leonard uncharacteristically reluctant to break the moment. He greedily drank in the sight, committing it to memory. It was all he could do to keep his hands to himself when his fingers were itching to reach out and touch.

Barry's eyes were closed, like he wasn't at all worried about being so vulnerable before someone in the habit of shooting at him with a weapon specifically designed to hurt him.

The display of trust, deliberate or not, set Leonard on edge.

He briskly sat up and slid on his pants. Barry squinted at him, probably startled by the abrupt motion. Leonard told himself that was a good thing, even when part of him couldn't help regretting ruining the moment. He silenced that tiny voice and locked it away safely.

"Not that I don't appreciate having the Flash knock on my door for a booty call, but what exactly is it you're after?"

"What d'you mean? Why do I have to be after something?"

Barry sounded genuinely confused, like he couldn't imagine why Leonard would question his motives. Anyone else, Leonard might have thought it was an act, but this kind of duplicity wasn't Barry's M.O. It made Leonard wonder if Barry even knew what he was doing, or if he was just acting on emotions without stopping to think about his reasons. Now that... that sounded like a Barry Allen thing to do.

"Because I know you, Barry. You're not the kind of hero who has no-strings-attached hook-ups with the criminals he's going up against. Once, in the heat of the moment? Maybe. Get it out of your system, check off a naughty little fantasy? Sure. Doesn't mesh with you stopping by for second helpings. So if this is some kind of guilt trip over sending me back to the Oculus, or a new play at making me see the good in me, then you need to get that idea out of your pretty head."

His tone had become sharper at the end – perhaps sharper than he had intended, but Barry clearly needed the reality check. He refused to feel guilty about the hurt that flashed across Barry's face or the frustration that made his forehead crease.

"For real, Snart?"

Back to last names, then. Shame, rather. Leonard was going to miss the way his first name had rolled off Barry's tongue.

He half expected Barry to run right off, super-speed and all, but he seemed to have gotten better at holding his annoyance in check in the years since he'd pushed Leonard against the fireplace of the West residence. There was irritation in the way he glared at Leonard, but no real anger.

"Is it so hard to believe that I might not have some kind of... I don't know, ulterior motive? I've missed you. I can't—" He stopped himself mid-sentence, shaking his head before he tried again. "I like you, okay? Against better judgment, I should say. I kinda always have. And you've got to know it. Like, everyone knows. Jesus, the amount of shit I got from Joe and Cisco for having a soft spot for you and letting you get away with way too many things." Barry chuckled, like he recognized that the joke was on him but thought it was funny anyway.

He wasn't wrong. The Flash's – Barry's – soft spot for Captain Cold had hardly been a secret. It wasn't like Leonard hadn't shamelessly exploited it a few times, trusting in Barry pulling his punches to make his getaway. He just hadn't expected that soft spot to ever go beyond annoyingly insistent appeals to his better angels and harmless flirtation, didn't think it would translate into heated kisses and repeat hook-ups and—this.

Whatever 'this' was, exactly.

"If your friends were unhappy that you weren't hard enough on me before, they'll be thrilled about you spending time with me out of costume. Literally," Leonard bit out snidely. Barry's wince in response was oddly validating, and it didn't stop Leonard from doubling down. "And I wonder what your lovely wife would say."

Barry's reaction turned out to be much milder than Leonard had assumed. No guilty fidgeting, no awkwardly averting his gaze.

Barry merely frowned. "Wait, I thought you knew? Iris and me broke it off when Eddie came back."

Was the name supposed to ring any bells for Leonard? It didn't, and he gave Barry an inquiring look that prompted a further explanation. "They used to be engaged, back before she and I got together."

Huh. Imagine that. "Didn't figure her to be the kind of girl who'd drop you just because some old boyfriend of hers is back in town, groveling after leaving her at the altar."

"What? Oh, no! Eddie didn't leave her. He died."

The casualness of Barry's tone fooled Leonard for a moment, and it took a few seconds until the words sank in. "He what?"

"He died. And then he came back."

Barry seemed almost entirely unbothered by that, like it was a thing that just happened, people coming back from the dead.

Except – it had happened, at least once more, hadn't it? Something twisted in Leonard's gut, tense and uncomfortable, a budding suspicion he couldn't shake.

"When?" He knew the answer even before Barry opened his mouth.

"A month ago or so."

A dull pain shot through the bones of Leonard's fingers, and it was only then that he realized he'd clenched them into fists, so tightly that his knuckles were cracking.

Fucking Mick.

Leonard had died so people could decide their own fates, without anyone or anything pulling the strings – and then Mick had to go and play God, and he didn't even have the good sense to do it by giving himself a fortune and all the fires he'd cared for. No, he had to try to fix Leonard's life, like it had ever been fixable to begin with. And he had to throw Barry and Iris and fuck knows who else under the bus for it.

Damn it all to hell.

He stood abruptly, hands itching to reach for the Cold Gun.

He wanted to shoot something, just to feed the anger inside of him. Turn that chair into a nice, thick block of ice and shatter it to pieces. He had no intention of turning the gun on Barry. If Mick had been here, it would have been another matter entirely, but none of this was Barry's fault. Didn't mean he wanted Barry around.

"Get out," Leonard snapped, brushing aside the twinge of guilt he felt at the way Barry flinched from the harshness of his tone.

He picked Barry's hoodie up from the floor and threw it at him. Barry caught it reflexively, despite the confusion on his face. He still didn't get it.

"What?" Then, softer, "Why? Are you angry about— Oh. Eddie coming back wasn't a coincidence, was it?"

"No, it wasn't."

Barry shook his head, looking stubborn and ready to argue and still not making a move to get dressed. "Look, that doesn't mean—"

Leonard cut him off before that reasoning had the chance to go somewhere. "Barry. This isn't a discussion. You need to leave. Now."

There was a moment when Barry looked like he was going to keep digging in his heels. Then his shoulders slumped and the argumentative glint in his eyes faded. A flash of lightning burst through the room and then Barry stood in front of Leonard, wearing the clothes he'd worn when he knocked on the door, even if the hoodie was askew and his hair was tousled and messy.

"Okay. Okay, I'm going. Just... Don't do anything you'll regret later, okay?"

Leonard clenched his teeth until his jaw ached. "No promises."

Mick was as unrepentant as ever, once Leonard finally managed to hail him aboard the Waverider.

He let Leonard rant at him with barely a reaction, distractedly taking swig after swig from his bottle. If he was at all bothered by Leonard's ire and agitation, it certainly didn't show.

"Dunno what you're complaining about, Snart. Sure seemed like the best way to make Red available again. Thought about making the missus have an accident, but I figured the kid would be all sad and useless if she died. 'sides, I like her. She's a real firecracker. Should have seen her fight those Nazi jerks at the wedding!"

Leonard pinched the bridge of his nose. "You can't just rewrite someone's life."

He didn't bother getting into an argument over why Mick had considered making Barry available a priority in the first place. That boat, he figured, had long sailed. He'd always been a little too obvious with his fascination with the Flash, and Mick knew him too well to pass it off as purely professional interest.

"Sure I can. That's what the book is for."

Grinding his teeth, Leonard glared at Mick's impassive face on the screen.

He knew Mick had understood him just fine and was only doubling down on the clueless 'I don't know what I did wrong' act to set Leonard off. Playing dumb was Mick's go-to strategy to deal with people he didn't want to deal with – cops, and random strangers bothering them at Saints and Sinners, and Raymond when he had one of his infuriating moralistic moments. In the past, Mick had always shown Leonard the courtesy of not trying the act on him.

Another thing that had changed, clearly.

Leonard didn't call him on it. "Just because you can doesn't mean you should."

Mick snorted. "You got scruples now, Snart? Past you didn't got an issue with that stuff when you helped Thawne and his legion of dickheads come up with that Doomworld bullshit."

Right. Leonard had heard all about that. That hadn't even been him. Or maybe it had been, but the memory wipe Mick had subjected him to made sure he wouldn't remember, and being judged for something he couldn't recall ever doing set him even more on edge than he already was. "It's not scruples not to want some kind of magic book interfering with my life."

"Not like you'd even have a life to keep bitching about if it wasn't for that book."

"Well, then maybe that's the problem," Leonard snapped, the words out before he could think about them.

It was only when Mick put his bottle down with a dull thud and stared at him that Leonard realized what he'd just said.

He used to have rules about the jobs he took on.

No more than one every five or six months, less if they were high-profile. Moving targets only. No shooting guards or cops unless it was the only option. Outsmart the target rather than outgun them. If the plan was too complex to pull off alone, hire a crew or scrap it.

And never, ever, pull a job when he was feeling angry or upset or otherwise emotionally compromised.

Those rules were what had let him make his getaway clean as often as he did and had kept him out of prison for the majority of his adult life. He'd become lax about some of them after the Flash had created a new challenge, made things more interesting, and Leonard had got himself the Cold Gun to level the playing field. But he'd never messed with that last rule. Emotions made for a highly unstable partner-in-crime.

Should have kept that in mind when he strapped on his gun, donned the parka and made his way to Mercury Labs after ending the call with Mick on a less-than-conciliatory note. Truth is, he wasn't thinking, just needed to get out of the walls that felt like they were closing in on him. Needed to do something, something that made him feel like himself again and not like an imposter stealing a dead man's life.

It went smoothly at first. He wasn't unprepared, after all. Just wasn't prepared enough.

He'd accounted for the guards (easy enough to avoid once you familiarized yourself with their shifts and their patterns of movement) and the surveillance (blind spots were his specialty) and the anti-meta technology (power dampeners were a non-issue when you didn't have any powers to begin with). Got to the storage floor without any problems.

It felt good. More of a challenge than the museum heist, fun to circumvent all the alarms and security measures. He got to the storage floor without a hitch. Disabled the DNA scanner at the door in under 20 seconds.

Then he stepped inside and something went off. He'd have fired the Cold Gun at it, except whatever it was went off inside of his head.

An explosion of brightness.

A roar of deafening noises.

Pressure, like his brain was going to burst.

A crippling headache that brought him to his knees, literally, when the sense of vertigo became too strong and his legs gave way underneath him.

Too much sensory overload at once, overwhelming and excruciatingly painful, and the last thing on his mind before he lost consciousness was that he'd fucking promised Lisa and now he was letting her down again.

Then, blackness.

He woke up with a jolt to the sensation of something foreign and constraining on his skin, evoking hazy memories of being handcuffed to the bed in a prison hospital. The sense of being trapped was the first thing that pierced his consciousness. Barely awake, he tried to sit and free himself, instinctively rebelling against his restraints.

A shuffling sound next to him, then a hand clamped around his wrist, gentle but firm enough to hold him down. It only made Leonard struggle harder.

"Shit. Snart—Leonard. Don't. If you break Caitlin's equipment, she'll be so pissed at me."

It took a moment until the familiarity of the voice registered and Leonard's vision became clear enough to make out the features of the figure leaning over him.

Barry.

Once the first rush of panic had passed, Leonard looked around. The lights were dimmed too low to make out much beyond the frosted glass doors surrounding the small room, but it was clearly S.T.A.R. Labs. After hours, presumably.

An uncomfortable-looking chair stood next to the bed on the side where Barry was lingering, still holding on to Leonard's arm as if he expected him to start struggling again. Leonard wondered if Barry had been sitting there for long, if he'd taken the graveyard shift on surveillance duty or if there was a cop positioned outside the doors somewhere to make sure Leonard wasn't going to make a run for it.

He wasn't cuffed, either way. Only a bunch of electrodes sticking to his chest and an IV drip attached to his wrist. The needle under his skin started to itch the second Leonard noticed it, and he was tempted to twist from Barry's grip to pull it out.

Hospitals and med bays always got his skin crawling with uneasiness and the sense of being entirely out of control. Almost like prison, only worse.

He pushed the feeling aside and focused on Barry. "What happened?"

The look Barry gave him was measuring, like he was contemplating how much information he could trust Leonard with. Or perhaps wondering whether he should trust the implied claim to ignorance in Leonard's question. Barry's wariness irritated Leonard, even though he knew he'd earned himself that suspicion.

"You triggered some kind of experimental non-lethal weapon that was supposed to incapacitate without physical damage when you broke into Mercury Labs," Barry finally offered.

Leonard snorted. "Pretty sure I wouldn't be attached to the lovely Dr. Snow's equipment you were so worried about just now if there had been no physical damage."

With the adrenaline ebbing away, he was starting to feel every ache and bruise on his body, some of them deep under his skin, almost down to the bone. 'No physical damage', my ass.

"Yeah, I guess that's where the experimental part comes in. Trust me, I'm not happy about them using this kind of tech to secure the lab without making sure it works the way it should and isn't endangering lives." Barry averted his gaze, but the tension in his shoulders and the thin, unhappy line of his mouth betrayed how upset he was.

Not just with Mercury Labs, Leonard figured. When Barry looked at him again, Leonard felt the full force of his disapproval like a high-speed punch to the gut. "Then again, if the assigned scientists hadn't been testing morally questionable and possibly illegal weaponry, I doubt Dr. McGee would have agreed to have you transferred here instead of getting the CCPD involved. And Cait says you're gonna be fine, so maybe this wasn't, like, the worst outcome, all things considered. What the hell were you thinking, Leonard? Remember when I told you not to do anything stupid?"

Yeah, he was angry, alright. Not the kind of anger where he threw himself into a fight with all his powers, but the helpless, frustrated kind, fueled by disappointment and betrayal. It reminded Leonard of that night down at the airfield, what felt like a lifetime ago. The tight coil of guilt that made his stomach clench was as unexpected as it was unwelcome.

"Seemed like a good idea at the time," he drawled.

There was no humor in Barry's huff. "It did, huh? Really?"

Leonard sighed. "What do you want to hear, Barry? Should I apologize for breaking the law? Because I won't. Told you before, if you thought getting me between the sheets was gonna make an honest man out of me, think again. I had the Mercury Labs job lined up for a while. The plan's been in the works since well before your little visit."

"Was almost getting your brain fried part of the plan, then? Because I told you, I'm not trying to change you. But you don't usually rush in so carelessly. What happened to 'expect the plan to go off the rails'?"

Having his own words thrown back at him like that was a more effective reminder of how out of character his sloppy planning had been than Leonard was comfortable with. And as much as he'd have liked to blame his unasked-for resurrection for the novel attitude, he knew that this was on him.

"I wasn't thinking straight, alright? I talked to Mick. Probably should have let myself cool off a little afterwards. You know how it is. Rushing in is usually your specialty."

He couldn't quite resist the little dig at the end, half-hoping for Barry to bite so that the banter would defuse the tension – but of course it wasn't that easy. Barry seemed determined to talk this out, like a cute little puppy who'd sunk his teeth into a bone and refused to let go no matter if he'd end up hurting himself in the process.

"Why are you so angry about what Mick did?" he wanted to know, his tone baffled, like he really didn't get it.

Leonard couldn't keep the sharp edge out of his response. "Why aren't you? You got your life stolen by Mick's stupid diary. Your marriage. Who knows what else. If any of us are even ourselves anymore. If what we think and feel and what we are is really us, or Mick's book changing our... wiring."

"Mick wouldn't do that." Barry sounded so sure. Leonard wished he had even a fraction of that certainty.

"How would you know?"

"Because it's Mick. That kind of convoluted thinking isn't like him."

"He isn't stupid," Leonard snapped.

The retort came instinctively, shaped by decades of witnessing people underestimating Mick. Even now, when he was feeling more resentful of Mick than he'd ever been before, he couldn't suppress the impulsive urge to defend his old partner's intelligence.

Barry shook his head. "No, he isn't, and I never said he was. But he doesn't make things unnecessarily complicated. He has a thing he wants to achieve, and he goes straight for it. No detours, no contingencies, no hidden trap doors. He wanted you alive, and you are alive. And he wanted me single, I guess, so Iris got Eddie back."

It was solid logic. There was just one flaw in it, something Barry clearly hadn't considered, and Leonard almost wished he didn't have to be the one to spell it out for Barry.

"What if he wanted you interested in me, and now you are?"

It was a chilling idea (pun, for once, not intended), and Leonard braced himself for the horror of it to dawn on Barry. The chuckle he received in response instead took him by surprise.

"I get why you're worrying about this but... No. Trust me on this." Barry was grinning when he said it, like he knew something Leonard didn't. He still didn't understand, did he?

"It's not you I don't trust, Barry. I don't trust reality anymore."

To his credit, Barry didn't brush off Leonard's objection right away. He seemed to contemplate it for a moment, the humor gone from his features, and when he responded, his tone was serious. "Look... I get it. But you can't think that way. Forget about Mick's book. There's time travel and alternate time lines and the multiverse out there. Everything gets rewritten over and over again. When you stop and think about it too hard, about all the possible realities that have been wiped out by something or other one of us did, accidentally or on purpose, you'll go crazy. We can't keep mourning all the timelines that we erased, the memories and the people we lost. I've been there, and that's—That's no way to live."

The anguish in Barry's tone was hard to miss, and Leonard figured his 'I've been there' wasn't just an empty phrase, nor a more general reference to time travel. But before he had the chance to question what – or who – Barry had lost that had left such a mark, Barry firmly pushed on.

"This is the timeline we live in now, for better or worse." He offered Leonard a shrug and a small smile. "And honestly, it's not so bad."

Leonard snorted. Barry Allen, eternal optimist. It figured.

"No offense, Barry, but your judgment's always been crap. Else you'd never have come and asked an enemy for help, back when you needed to get those metas out of here."

Fondness bloomed on Barry's face, painfully misplaced.

The botched-up meta transport shouldn't have been a happy memory, considering how that first team-up had ended for him. Leonard had brought it up as a reality check and a warning, an implication that Barry should reconsider – but clearly, that plan had failed almost as spectacularly as the break-in at Mercury Labs.

Barry gently nudged Leonard in the side, mindful of his injuries. "It worked out alright in the end, didn't it?"

It was the kind of sentimental nonsense that needed to be snuffed out fast and thoroughly before it could take root, but Leonard was bruised and aching all over, too tired to go toe to toe with Barry Allen's stubborn belief that there was some kind of future for the two of them.

"Debatable." The pillow rustled when Leonard turned his head away.

He didn't need to see Barry to hear the smile in his voice. "I think my judgment's just fine."

Leonard snuck out of S.T.A.R. Labs in the morning before the rest of Team Flash arrived.

He'd told Barry to go home the previous night after they'd come to a stalemate in their argument. And yet, it didn't surprise him in the slightest to find Barry sprawling in Cisco's chair in the Cortex now, fast asleep, a blanket with the S.T.A.R. Labs logo bunched up on the floor at his feet. Leonard resisted the urge to pick it up and cover Barry with it, tiptoeing out of room instead. The loud hiss of the sliding doors, cutting through the early morning stillness, made him wince.

If the sound woke Barry up, he didn't come after Leonard.

He spent three days lying low, recuperating and doing his best to avoid Lisa, who had left a furious scolding on his mailbox that suggested that Team Flash had no concept of doctor-patient confidentiality.

When he came back to his safe house and found the security traps he'd rigged the entrance with disturbed, he half-expected trouble, half-assumed that his time dodging the confrontation with Lisa had run out.

What he didn't expect was to find Mick propped up on his couch, feet on the table next to a pair of empty beer bottles. He grunted a wordless greeting when Leonard approached.

"Reusing our old slums, Snart? You're gettin' sloppy."

As greetings went, it was strangely casual and free of resentment, especially considering how they left things when Leonard had cut off their call. If the idea wasn't so entirely out-of-character for Mick, Leonard would almost have assumed it was a kind of peace offering.

Leonard put down the Cold Gun and grabbed two more beers from the fridge. "People usually know better than to pay me surprise visits," he said, pointedly.

It wasn't, strictly speaking, true. Neither Barry nor Lisa had any qualms about showing up unannounced, and he doubted that the Santinis would hesitate to come calling either, if word got round that he wasn't on top of his game. Didn't mean he had to be happy about Mick letting himself in like that.

Still, he handed Mick a beer and sat down next to him, the ratty old couch squeaking under their combined weight.

They drank in silence for a minute or two, the kind of comfortable quiet Leonard only ever shared with Mick. To his surprise, it was Mick who started talking.

"I ain't gonna apologize."

Leonard had figured as much. He couldn't remember ever hearing Mick say he was sorry, in all the years he'd known him.

"Didn't ask you to." He frowned. It didn't explain why Mick felt the need to state the obvious. Or why he was here in the first place.

A direct question would likely only get a shrug or an evasive answer, so Leonard might as well wait Mick out until he broached the subject of whatever he was here for on his own.

They'd almost finished their beers when Mick finally said, "Talked to Red. Kid said you think I used the book to make him have mushy feelings for you."

Now, that was interesting. Maybe Leonard's conjecture the other night had pierced Barry's sunny optimism after all. "So he's worried, too."

It should have felt better than it did, that even Barry thought that Leonard might be right. It should be some kind of victory. Then why did it taste like defeat?

The bitterness Leonard felt must have been showing on his face, because Mick gave him a knowing look, like Leonard was an open book to him. He chuckled, and Leonard's scowl deepened.

Taking another swig from the bottle, Mick shook his head. "Nah. We had a good laugh about it. It's stupid, and he knows it too. You should have seen him after Ray told him you died. I found him crying in a storage room."

Leonard looked away. He didn't want to hear about that. He didn't need the reminder of his death, and he certainly had no interest in listening to Mick talk about Barry mourning him. "He's a bleeding heart. Doesn't mean—"

"Fuck's sake, Snart," Mick interrupted him. "The kid's been gone on you since you made that little deal of yours instead of killing him like you said you were gonna do. Would have spared us a whole lot of headache and do-gooder bullshit if you'd iced him before he could get to you with his 'be a better man' crap. Only reason I haven't turned him into a nice charred Flash roast is because you're soft on him too. So get your head out of your ass and stop being a fucking jerk." With a loud belch, he leaned forward and set the empty bottle down on the table next to the others.

As Mick's words sunk in, Leonard watched the bottle wobble back and forth precariously, clinking as glass knocked on glass. He waited for it to fall, but it didn't.

Expecting the worst was more than just an occupational hazard; it was a lesson Lewis had hammered home and made sure Leonard wouldn't forget, and it had ended up saving his life more times than he could count. But never before had he let that anticipation of things falling apart hold him back. Mick was right. He needed to get over himself. He was too much of an opportunist not to use this second chance he'd been given, even if he never asked for it to begin with.

"We good?" Mick asked.

Leonard tilted his head to look at him.

Mick seemed uncomfortable, and Leonard sympathized. Mick hated any kind of problem he couldn't resolve by setting things on fire. Having a heart-to-heart with his recently resurrected old partner about feelings of all things was probably the last thing he wanted to be doing today. It almost made Leonard let him off the hook, but he couldn't refrain from a warning. "Don't do it again. I don't want that diary of yours interfering with my life ever again."

"Don't be a dumbass getting yourself killed again, and I won't."

That wasn't exactly the promise of 'never again' Leonard wanted to hear.

"Mick—"

"Oh fuck off, Snart." Mick pushed himself off the couch. "Don't pretend you wouldn't do the same thing for Lisa or Red or me. Have done, even. I didn't ask you to knock me out and hold down the damn failsafe yourself, did I? Stop lecturing me about fixing your stupid sacrifice."

Point. It hadn't been the same thing, even if it made Leonard feel a bit like a hypocrite.

"Sorry," Leonard bit out, well aware that he didn't sound at all apologetic. "I hate the idea of some old book taking control over my life. Don't like those kinds of strings on me."

Mick shrugged, clearly unapologetic. "I didn't like waking up in the sick bay and hearing you took my place gettin' blown up either. Suck it up."

He clapped Leonard on the shoulder, a bit too forceful to be amicable, and walked out.

Leonard waited a couple of days before he took his bike round to Barry's place.

Knowing Barry, his patience at giving Leonard space was finite and he'd show up on Leonard's doorstep before the weekend anyway. Leonard might as well beat him to it.

There were no lights on, and when ringing the door bell remained unanswered, Leonard took the liberty of letting himself inside. It turned out to be even easier than breaking into Detective West's home had been, the Christmas before Leonard left on the Waverider. The lack of care CCPD's finest displayed for burglary prevention in their own homes was awfully disappointing. Barry's lock resisted all of five seconds before it gave in to Leonard's gentle coaxing, not even a hint of brute force required. Barry couldn't possibly have known Leonard would break in, and yet it almost felt like an invitation.

Closing the door behind himself, Leonard took a look around.

Nice new place Barry got himself. Not too big, but cozy. Bookshelves filled to the brim with textbooks and fiction alike. An armchair and a couch, mismatched in an oddly charming way. A desk stacked with science journals on forensics and files from S.T.A.R. Labs. Pictures on the wall, the Wests and Team Flash in various combinations smiling brightly at Leonard as he inspected the frames. There was one of Barry, Iris and a young woman who looked too much like both of them to be a coincidence. No wedding pictures.

The kitchen was poorly stocked. Hardly a surprise; between the busy day job and his extra gig as Central City's resident superhero, Barry probably didn't have time for elaborate cooking. Likely didn't have the patience for it either, Leonard assumed. He was all the more delighted when he found hot chocolate – the cheap instant kind, but better than nothing – and a bag of mini-marshmallows at the back of the top shelf.

Maybe it was an invitation, after all.

He made himself a cup of chocolate, grabbed a book, and settled down in the armchair, which turned out to be just as comfortable as it looked.

Then he waited.

It was 1:06 am when the key turning in the lock signaled Barry's arrival.

Leonard had just started on the book's final chapter, and his chocolate was long since finished, the empty cup abandoned on the table. He'd had to switch on the desktop lamp so he could read. Unfortunate, because it spoiled his moment of surprise, the light shining through the room alerting Barry to Leonard's presence the second he stepped through the door.

Barry looked a mess, soaking wet with his hair matted against his forehead and his drenched clothes sticking to his skin. And yet, his tired face lit up like a flashlight the moment he noticed his visitor. Leonard's heart gave a strange little pang at the sight of raw happiness in Barry's eyes.

"Long day?" he drawled, watching Barry close the door and step further into the room, leaving a trail of little puddles that was probably going to ruin the floorboards.

Barry ran a hand through his wet hair, shaking down more water. "You could say that. Ran into a meta with water powers. Cisco thought he was being very clever when he named her Floodgate. Sometimes I wonder if the whole superhero gig wasn't a huge mistake."

With a huff, Leonard rolled his eyes.

"No, you don't," he said, with absolute certainty. He didn't know what happened today, but if there was one thing he was sure of, in any possible reality, it was Barry's unquenchable need to do good. His gaze followed Barry as he shrugged off his soaked jacket and threw it into the bathroom, grabbing a towel he used to ineffectually wipe at his sticky hair and shirt.

He'd have been better off getting rid of all his clothes right away, Leonard thought privately. He tried not to linger on the mental image, appealing as it was.

"Your tardiness ruined my big entrance," he chided while Barry wiped his face.

When he reappeared from behind the fluffy white terrycloth, his cheeks rosy and his hair sticking in all directions, he gave Leonard an incredulous look. "What? The whole 'waiting in the dark cradling a cup of cocoa like a Bond villain holding his cat' thing? You've already done that. I hate to tell you, but it's not really what I'd call a 'big entrance'."

"I'm hurt. All that effort, and you're giving me the cold shoulder."

"Nah." Barry shook his head. "No cold shoulder. Just telling you you don't need to go to the effort."

He still hadn't given up on his doomed attempts to dry himself. Leonard set the book aside and pushed himself up, crossing the room to where Barry was currently dripping on the floor.

"Wouldn't want you to get bored," Leonard said pointedly.

When he reached out and took the towel, Barry surrendered it without a struggle, holding perfectly still as Leonard brushed a few stray drops of water from his forehead.

"I could never be bored of you." Barry's voice was so quiet that Leonard might have missed the words if he wasn't standing so close. A small smile tugged at the corners of Barry's mouth, and the way he was looking at Leonard, full of warmth and too much feeling, felt so overwhelming that Leonard wanted to run.

"Barry—"

He began drawing back his hand, but before he could pull away, he found his wrist gripped by firm fingers. Tiny sparks of lightning buzzed off Barry's fingertips and danced up Leonard's arm, bristling against his skin.

"Can we not have this argument tonight? Please. I know you're upset about what Mick has done. And maybe you don't trust it because you're not used to things going your way, and you keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. And I get it. I do. I'm not going to promise you that nothing will go wrong, because with the life we lead... who knows? But you're here now and you're alive, and I'm not going to let you ruin this before we even get a chance."

Barry was wearing that same determined expression he always had when he told Leonard that there was good in him, but it was undermined by the drenched puppy look he currently had going on. Cute.

Leonard had plenty of practice saying no to Barry – be it with words or a blast of cold to the back. But for once, he had little interest in shooting him down, figuratively or literally. "Okay."

Barry sighed, clearly still fired up. "Look, Leonard, I'm cold and wet and tired and I just want to get out of those ruined clothes and curl up in bed until—" He stopped himself, as if he'd only caught up with Leonard's response just then. "Wait, what?"

He was still holding on to Leonard's wrist, but his grip had eased now that it was dawning on him that Leonard wasn't going anywhere. He didn't let go, though, as if he wasn't quite ready to trust Leonard not to change his mind.

Leonard couldn't blame him. "I said okay. You might have a point." As he watched Barry's face break into a grin so wide it looked almost painful, he held up his hand – the one not currently held captive by a clingy speedster – to forestall whatever gleeful comment Barry was going to make. "This once. Don't get used to it."

The sharp amendment clearly did nothing to stifle Barry's excitement. "No. No, of course not. Don't worry, I'm not going to expect Captain Cold to become agreeable all of a sudden."

"Good. Else I'd have to give you a frosty reminder that resurrection hasn't turned me soft." At Barry's snort, Leonard glared at him. "No pun intended."

"Leonard Snart, walking back on a pun? Never thought I'd see the day. Maybe resurrection has changed you after all."

"I wouldn't count on it, Flash."

Privately, though, Leonard wondered if it wasn't true. If dying and coming back to life had changed him, provided him with a fresh perspective – or if he was merely reacting to waking up in a changed world. He remembered the sense of wrongness he'd felt on the Waverider upon his return. That prickling feeling of dissociation still hadn't entirely evaporated, not when he kept bumping against reminders of how much he'd missed. But despite all the changes brought on by both the diary and the passage of time while Leonard was gone, Barry was... still the same Barry.

Stupidly hopeful, and infuriatingly good despite all the shit life had flung at him, and stubborn enough to get his way through sheer determination, no matter how high the odds were stacked against him.

Barry was watching him intently – and perhaps Leonard's poker face wasn't as good as he thought, because Barry seemed to have no trouble figuring out what direction his mind was wandering in.

"Mick's book didn't make me fall in love with you," he said, softly, but with enough firmness to deter any further argument about the extent of Mick's unauthorized adjustments. "You did that all by yourself."

He gave Leonard's wrist a little squeeze, the kind of emphatic reassurance that Leonard would having thought condescending and despised coming from anyone else.

Barry Allen – once again the exception for all of Leonard's rules. Across all possible timelines and realities, some things never changed.

To forestall any further foolish sentimentality, he bent down and kissed Barry.