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mbavholidayexchange · 4 years

Photo

To @pixiepaintt from @sarahfoxlesbian

Title: Likes and Dislikes

Rating: T

Summary: not provided

Ao3 Link: N/A

Content

Ethan Morgan did not like buses.

Well, he didn’t like vehicles in general, not that he hated them but if there were a way to live without them he would. This was likely, at least in part, due to the fact that the first car he owned turned out to be a vampire.

But buses, in particular, felt shakier and less safe. At least the school ones did. And for some reason the school had decided they should be stuck in one for around two hours as they headed towards some sciency museum out of town Ethan would have been excited for if ut didn’t mean he’d be stuck in a bus with almost everyone else in his grade for so long.

Every bump they hit on the road, Ethan was sure he would be sent out flying. He would’ve tied his suitbelt, but apparently it was too rusty and refused to stay in place, making it so that his only option was to stick the thing between his seat and Benny’s.

There was the other problem with this whole trip. Benny.

Benny Weir who had somehow managed to talk him into going on the trip in the first place, and was now seated beside him as he snickered at Ethan’s attempts to put his seatbelt in place.

“Shut up,” Ethan grunted, “Don’t you have a spell for this or something?”

“I mean, I’m sure I could make something up.” Benny shrugged.

At that moment, Ethan gave up and just let the seatbelt dangle off, “How about we don’t do that.”

Benny let out a short laugh and Ethan tried to ignore the way his stomach suddenly felt upside down.

“Yeah, that’s… probably for the best.”

Ethan rolled his eyes, but a smile stayed present on his face, and he could see Benny looking at him with a matching one.

This was the real reason Ethan didn’t want to go on the trip.

It had been a week and one day since Ethan came to the startling realisation that he had a crush on his best friend, and had since then tried to avoid any situatiln in which he would be forced to properly acknowledge it. Like, for example, sitting besides him, legs pressed together with no one else to talk for two hours.

Ethan could see Rory a couple of rows ahead of them, their head backwards and swinging from side to side.

“What is Rory even doing?” Benny asked the question in Ethan’s mind.

“You expect me to know? They’re just… being Rory, I guess.” Ethan’s eyebrows became scrunched together as Rory appeared to suddenly fall to the floor, but they were quickly back in their seat, so they were probably fine. Probably.

“Well, at least they’re having fun while we get to…. uh….” The taller of the two boys trailed off, apparently forgetting the destination’s name.

“I honestly don’t know the museum’s name, dude.” Ethan said when Benny looked at him as if he could supply an ending to his sentence.

“You don’t know,” The look on Benny’s face spoke of incredibility.

The seer shook his head.

“You’re the one who wanted to come on this trip,” He pointed out.

Benny rolled his eyes, “We were required to come.”

“I could’ve skipped.”

“Physically? Yes. But morally? Imagine the toll.” Benny snickered.

“Hey, I’m capable of skipping school,” Protested Ethan.

Bennt laughed. “Are you?”

“Yes!”

“And yet, you’ve never done it.”

“That’s not true. I skipped in eight grade when you had mono.”

Looking back on that specific memory, it was likely Ethan should’ve realised his feelings for Benny went beyond friendship a lot earlier than he had. After Benny started looking increasingly tired and paler, and had stopped eating as much, Ethan had absolutely freaked. So much, in fact, that when Benny didn’t go to school Ethan had just ran out of the school all the way to the other boy’s house and insisted on seeing him.

Benny’s grandma had called his parents after she realised he’d just run out, and although verh grounded, Ethan spent that full day and the following one just fawning over Benny, who was reay just asleep for the most part.

On the third day that Ethan would’ve skipped school, his parents informed him he could no longer spend his day at Benny’s instead of in classes and he had to be forced to the building. Maybe Ethan had cried a bit, but he refused to admit it to anyone.

Benny was now looking at him strangely, “You did?”

“Yes? How could you not remember that?” Ethan huffed.

“Well, excuse me, I was pretty out of it that week,” Benny’s tone was offended, reprimanding even, but there was a small growing smile on his face, different from his usual one. This one wss almost… softer.

Ethan shrugged as if to say ‘Fair enough’.

Benny shook hid head as if he were trying to get rid of something on it, “But you skipped?”

“I thought we established that, yes.” Ethan answered.

“For me.” Benny continued.

“Yes.”

“Wow.”

Benny now had a thoughtful look on his face, like he often did when they were trying, really trying, to figure out whatever new creature had risen from the seemingly endless supply Whitechapel had for the supernatural.

Ethan suddenly became panicked about Benny figuring out he liked him, but before he could start rambling, the bus shook, and Ethan flew towards the seat in front.

Benny Weir liked many things.

Chips, being baddass, girls, spells, Ethan Morgan, to name a few.

Museums were not one of those things.

The whole trip seemed a bit pointless, really, and Benny usually would’ve tried to find a way to get his grandma to let him skip out on it.

Except— Except Ethan had been kind of avoiding him all week, and what better place to actually try to figure out why than being stuck next to each other on a bus for two hours? Really, Benny’s plan was infalible.

Two hours later, as the bus pulled up next to the museum, Benny found that he had no answers, only more confusion and a mildly injured Ethan.

“You okay?” He heard from beside him, and turned to look at Ethan who now had a comically colorful band aid on his forehead, a cut lying under

“I’m fairly sure it should be me asking that question.” Benny said, pointing at Ethan’s cut.

Ethan rolled his eyes, “I said I’m fine, it’s the smallest cut on Earth.”

Stubborn idiot, Benny thought. Stubborn idiot why am I in love with you.

Before Benny could give a less revealing voicing to his thoughts, Benny and Ethan were being pulled off the bus alongside everyone else on it, and into the museum.

Once they were inside, Benny turned to Ethan with a conspirational look, “We could sneak away.”

“Just because we could doesn’t mean we should.” Retorted Ethan.

Benny looked at Ethan pleadingly for a second. Two.

“Okay fine.” Ethan huffed, his cheeks oddly tinted a bit pink.

It wasn’t in the slightest bit hard to sneak away from the rest of the group, which was probably concerning but Benny didn’t really care. It was conveninent.

Soon, Ethan and Benny found themselves in the astronomy section of the museum. The room was mostly dark, lit up by faint purple ish blue ish light coming from the constellations that filled the walls and ceiling. Benny looked beside him to find that the light gave Ethan a more ethereal look than he already possessed, shining from beside him and only partially reflecting on his face.

“What-” Ethan started when he noticed him staring but Benny interrupted.

“Why are you avoiding me?” The words were slightly rushed.

“I’m not?” Ethan tilted his head slightly in that way that made him look a bit like a puppy.

“Not right now, but this past week,” Benny took a deep breath, “This past week whenever it was just you and I you just bailed immediately.”

Benny could’ve almost believed in him if Ethan had told him it was some weird coincidence, or Benny being paranoid, if only because that’s what Benny wanted to believe, but instead of answering Ethan looked down at his shoes guiltily.

“Did you-” Benny could feel his heart hammering in his chest, “Did you figure it out? Because if you did, it would’ve been really nice if you’d actually told me that instead of just evading me like I’m the plague or some shit.”

“What are you talking about?” Ethan was now back to actually looking at Benny, confusion written all over his face.

Benny bit his cheek. Shit. If Ethan hadn’t figured out that he had a very hopeleds very pathetic crush on him, Benny had just completely given himself away.

“Benny?” Ethan prompted.

“It’s nothing, just tell me why you were avoiding me.”

Ethan’s jaw tensed slightly, like it always did when he wanted to argue but had chosen it wss better not to.

“I- well-” The shorter of the pair stumbled over his words, seeming to start some sort of coherent thought then leaving it right after. His cheeks were completely red, as if he had some really bad sunburn only on the cheeks, and the jumbled words kept getting quicker.

“Hey,” Benny put his hand on Ethan’s shoulder, “just breathe.”

“Right, yeah.” Ethan said, breathlessly.

When he finally looked a bit more calm, Ethan bit his lip and looked right into Benny’s eyes and it took everything in Benny to maintain that eye contact instead of staring at the boy’s lips.

“I like you.” Ethan said and Benny blinked.

“What?”

Ethan took a step back, “Fuck, just, let me down gently, please.”

Benny just stared. And stared.

“You’re serious?” He asked tentatively.

“Damnit, Benny. Yes, I’m serious,” Ethan was no longer looking at Benny, instead staring at some point behind him.

“Me too.” Benny finally said.

“Wait, what?”

Instead of answering, Benny took a step forward and pressed his lips to Ethan’s. He stiffened, for a second, but soon he was kissing back.

They both pulled back and Benny let out a small laugh, Ethan following soon after, then pressing their foreheads together.

The moment was interrupted by a voice coming from directly beside them.

“You know, if you guys were just gonna sneak away to make out, you should’ve probably skipped,” Rory said, “Although, I do suppose this is a more romantic setting than Ethan’s bedroom.”

#MBAV #mbav holiday exchange #mbavholidayexchange #my babysitter's a vampire #bethan

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robininthelabyrinth · 7 years

Text

Hole in the Fence (Coldwave with goats) - 4

Fic: Hole in the Fence (ao3 link) - chapter 4/4 Fandom: Flash, DC’s Legends of Tomorrow Pairing: Mick Rory/Leonard Snart

Summary: Mick Rory’s life was changed forever by the fire he didn’t escape.

(in which Mick Rory retires, raises goats, and saves the world more than a few times)

————————————————————————————

“So, I’ve got something new,” Len says.

“Is this related to the Zoom thing?” Mick asks without looking up.

In calculating his invasion plans, Zoom had severely underestimated the charisma of what is now indisputably the chief supervillain of Central City, Leonard Snart, leader of the Rogues.

To be more precise, Barry had asked Mick, who had asked Len, who had gathered up all the supervillains or would-be supervillains in town and they’d attacked Zoom in force.

Zoom might have been fast and he might have all sorts of snazzy tricks like throwing lightning and duplicating himself – that one had been a fun discovery – but Leonard Snart lives to disappoint people.

Of course, Len had invited everyone to a barbeque afterwards, Team Flash and Rogues alike. They’d made it a masquerade so everyone could go home, identities intact and bellies full.

That was approximately when Mick learned that Len had declared Mick’s farm to be a neutral territory, respected by all, and Barry had backed that up with threats of rather-un-superhero-like super-fast violence. This mostly results in scared metas heading to Mick’s farm before they go anywhere else or try to turn their powers into a villain gimmick – though if there’s any more of them coming soon, Mick will need to bring in Ji-hyun to the farm to work as a full-time intake therapist for terrified metahumans, and she won’t like that.

Maybe she has an intern she can recommend…

“No, it’s not related to the Zoom thing,” Len says. “I got kidnapped today.”

Mick looks up sharply.

Mick had gotten kidnapped once, from the farmer’s market – some Santini Family goons trying to make a name for themselves. The Flash had rescued him within twenty minutes and had apologized profusely for the delay: he’d had to find someone to cover their stall while he zipped off to the rescue.

Mick approves of Barry’s priorities.

Len is grinning, though, so he’s not thinking about that, or about his total overreaction of icing every Santini joint in the entire city.

“I’m listening,” Mick says.

“Time travel,” Len says grandly.

Mick arches his eyebrows, unimpressed. “What’s Barry done now?”

“No, no, not time travel with Barry. Time travel. There’s a guy with a time ship, says he’s from the future –”

“Like Eobard?”

“No, not like Eobard! An actual time traveler, no speedster involved. He’s trying to avert some terrible catastrophe or something and he’s trying to recruit some suckers to help him out.”

Mick can’t help but smile. “And you want to be one of those suckers?”

“You bet your ass I do,” Len says, grinning. “I want to rob history.”

“Bring me back the Mona Lisa,” Mick says, amused despite himself. Len and his crazy plans. “Or at least a nice copy.”

“Actually,” Len says.

“Actually?”

“I was thinking for this one, you’d come along with.”

Mick’s eyebrows arch. It’s been a long time since Len had suggested Mick join him on a job. A long time. Not since before the fire long time. “I’m out of the game,” he points out. “I’m retired.”

“Time travel,” Len replies. “Once in a lifetime opportunity.”

Mick hums. That’s true.

“What about the goats?” he asks.

“Mab can handle them,” Len says. “She’s been on your ass to stop experimenting and let her cement the gains she’s already made for ages, Mick. A vacation’ll do you some good.”

“You think I can handle it?”

Len grins. “I’ll make sure of it.”

They pack up everything they think they might need – Mick’s wheelchair and cane, which Cisco has improved; his lotions, his sunscreen, his pills, medication in case of any sudden graft rejection, which remains a threat even so long later. They bring his lighters and both their guns, and Len throws the whole giant pack on his back and staggers his way to the car.

Mick drives them to the meeting place.

“Ah, excellent!” the guy in charge – Rip Hunter, Len had said his name was – rubbing his hands together. “I was hoping you would bring your partner in crime, Mr. Snart.”

Len’s eyebrows arch up. “Of course. Wouldn't go without him,” he says, but the look he sends to Mick is eloquent.

Mick nods.

He waits until they go onto the ship – he scoops up a black kid who looks like he got roofied, but Mick’s not asking – to ask one of the other people on board, a black woman with an anxious look, “Hey, I missed the first meeting. Can you get me up to date?”

He listens as the woman – Kendra, she says her name is – recounts the whole story.

“Okay,” he says.

“What?” she replies, frowning a little at him. His tone must not have been as neutral as he was hoping.

“We’re being conned,” he explains. “I figure you should know before we take off.”

She stands up a little straighter. “How’s that?”

“Yeah, what do you mean?” the woman in white that Len had been talking to earlier asks, frowning.

“Time travel guy said you were legends in the future, right?” Mick asks.

“Yeah,” a tall guy with a stupid overly-styled haircut says. “Heroes.”

“He’s lying.”

“What makes you say that?” Kendra asks.

“He doesn’t know shit about us,” Mick says. “He called me Len’s criminal partner.”

“So?”

“I was, but I’ve been retired for three, four years now.”

“Maybe he just miscalculated the time,” the woman in white offers, but he can see from the scowl on her face that she’s concerned.

“How could he’ve?” Len drawls, coming close until he's standing by Mick's side. “We haven’t even gone on the mission that supposedly makes our names famous yet.”

“What does that mean?” tall guy asks. “That he’s lying?”

“Means we’re not legends,” Mick says.

“Yeah,” Len says. “We’re patsies. I’m willing to play along for now, ‘cause I want to go time-travelling, but you all seem like –” He sneers a bit. “– heroic types who might care about that sort of thing.”

“Figured you ought to know up front,” Mick agrees.

“I don’t believe you,” tall guy says, crossing his arms.

“I don’t know why he’d lie to us that way,” woman in white says.

Kendra is frowning, though, but what she might’ve said gets cut off by her boyfriend calling for her.

“Don’t say we didn’t warn you,” Mick says.

It takes getting attacked by a trio of time bounty hunters that look like Stormtroopers for Hunter to confess.

Mick and Len just share long-suffering looks as the heroes start kicking up a stink about it.

“I’m going to my room,” Mick grunts, shaking his head. “You lot figure out your moral crisis without us.”

Len follows him. “Lotion time,” he says. It’s not a suggestion.

“I didn’t over-exert myself shooting at those bounty hunters.”

“Yet. The day ain’t over. I’d like to apply another layer of the sunscreen, too, while we’re at it.”

Mick grumbles and lies down.

Len is very, very thorough.

Mick ends up falling asleep about halfway through, which means he did come closer to over-exerting himself than he ought to have, damnit.

When he wakes up, he hears Len talking to someone, not far outside his room.

“- some form of improved version of it,” Len is saying. “You’re from the future.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Snart,” Gideon says apologetically. “Although I am capable of full regenerations, those are dependent on my access to a version of the body prior to the injury. If you were injured, for instance, I could likely return you to your current status – even if you had received an amputation.”

“Got it,” Len says. “Okay, fine. Let’s talk treatment options, then – starting with joint pain. He gets that a lot; locks up his knees pretty bad.”

“I have several alternative treatments –”

Mick shakes his head. No wonder Len was so eager to get Mick onto his trip through time; even if Gideon can’t fix him right away, Mick’s sure Len won’t rest until he’s gotten some form of future treatment for him.

Mick wouldn’t mind his joints not hurting so much.

He’ll have to remind Len to ask about the itching, too…

He yawns.

Later. He’ll go back to sleep and worry about Len’s devious plotting later.

He should’ve worried about it immediately.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You need someone to steal it,” Ray says.

“Okay, fine, whatever, I’ll do it,” Len drawls, plucking the picture out of Rip’s hands. He’s been dying to go do something.

“Very well,” Rip says. “You and Mr. Rory will –”

“Nah,” Len says. “I’ll take Haircut here.”

Ray – who had clearly been about to volunteer to go supervise – blinks. “Really?” he asks, sounding halfway between offended and flattered.

“You do what I say,” Len warns him. “If you screw it up, I’m ditching you – or your dead body – in a bog.”

Ray now just looks offended. “I won’t screw it up –”

“Listen, boy scout –”

“Uh, actually, I got all 129 merit badges, so technically I’m an Eagle Scout.”

Len pauses, then shakes his head in mute disbelief.

Mick hides a smile behind a hand. Kendra seems to be in a similar state of amusement.

“Fine. Whatever,” Len says patiently. “Eagle scout. If the mission was for me to go fix your suit, would you want me to follow your lead?”

“Well, obviously –”

“Because it’s your thing, right?”

“Yes, I mean –”

“And this is my thing. So follow my lead.”

“How hard can stealing be?” Ray asks, crossing his arms.

“Clearly not very, given that someone let you run a multi-million dollar corporation,” Len replies. “But before you answer that, I’d like to think about the number of people who end up in jail for theft. Come, or don’t, but remember - dead body in a bog.”

He sweeps off.

Ray rushes to follow him.

“You aren’t going to go with him?” Kendra asks Mick.

“Nah,” Mick says. “Gideon’s gonna give me some treatment for my joints. I’m retired on account of injury.” He jerks a thumb at his back.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says, looking apologetic. People do that sometimes.

“I’ve gotten used to it,” he says. “Wanna see a picture of my goats?”

“Goats…?”

He pulls a few pictures out of his wallet. “Yeah, I run a dairy farm outside of Central now…”

“Oh my god,” Kendra exclaims, her voice gone high-pitched. “They’re so cute!”

“What’s cute?” Sara asks, coming over.

The fearsome assassin dissolves into a girl in her early twenties within moments of seeing the photographs.

“Look at this one,” she coos. “He’s so small! Tiny goat baby!”

“Actually, that one’s just a runt,” Mick corrects. “These are our current batch of kids.” He pulls out a photograph with Len fast asleep on the couch, crashing after a complicated heist well-planned and well-executed, four baby kids learning to climb on his back and a few more prancing around on the ground.

It's one of his favorite photos of all time.

Both women start cooing so hard he thinks it might hurt them.

Mick’s making a good first impression. He doesn’t think he’s ever done that before.

Time to move in for the kill.

“You know, when we get back to 2017, you’re welcome to come to visit,” Mick says. “Play with some of the goats.”

“Oh my god, are you kidding? Obviously yes!” Kendra enthuses. Mick notices that her boyfriend is giving him dirty looks.

“I also packed some of our cheese if you’d like to try it…”

“Sure!”

After he gives them samples of the cheese, Carter is definitely glaring.

Mick doesn’t care. It’s not Mick’s fault his cheeses are more orgasmic than Carter is.

Sara heads out to go meet Stein’s younger self, which sounds like a terrible idea to Mick, but whatever.

Mick and Kendra spend the next few hours debating the pros and cons of adding sheep to Mick’s goat herd. Pro: sheep milk cheese, blended cheeses, shearing for wool means yarn and sweaters are a serious possibility, lamb for dinner. Con: need to introduce a whole new system, increase in costs, no idea how to shear sheep.

Kendra also suggests the possibility of getting some Angora or Cashmere goats, which Mick finds very intriguing…

Carter spends that time being very annoyed, since he apparently wanted to use the time to try to get the picture of the dagger to help ‘reawaken’ Kendra’s memories.

Perhaps unsurprisingly to everyone but Carter, Kendra prefers the sheep discussion.

Their radio crackles to life.

“Hey, Mick,” Len’s voice is pleasant.

Too pleasant.

Mick sits up straight. “Lenny’s in trouble,” he says.

“What makes you say –” she starts.

“Haircut triggered the alarm,” Len continues, voice just as pleasant as before, which means he’s seriously contemplating killing the guy. “We are now in a cage. We’ll probably need someone to come get the fuse box – especially since the owner’s probably on his way.”

Mick shakes his head. “I’ll go,” he says. “You Rosetta Stone it up with hawk-boy, Kendra.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,” she sighs.

“Listen,” Mick says. “Just because you fell for him in the past doesn’t give him a shortcut, okay? You’re a different person. Getting back together with your ex after 200 times might seem nice and all, but it doesn’t mean it is.”

“I think I had a relationship like that in high school,” Kendra grumbles, but she goes.

Mick goes and finds the fuse box.

He also finds Savage.

He gets dragged down to the first floor and used to force Len to lure in Carter and Kendra.

He hates that.

Not quite as much as Len hates watching it, though. He promises to kill Savage, and he means it, too.

They do get the dagger, though.

“Go kill that son of a bitch,” Len says, offering Kendra the dagger.

“I’ll go,” Carter interrupts, grabbing the dagger before she can take it.

“Shouldn’t Kendra do it?” Mick asks.

“There is no need for her to bear that burden,” Carter says.

“I feel like that’s the attitude that got you guys killed 200 times,” Len says. “But have it your way.”

Carter goes, Kendra close behind.

Rip is shouting orders, guards are everywhere, and Mick looks at Len.

Len looks at Mick.

“Maybe we should go help them,” Mick says. “Their track record ain’t great.”

“Good point,” Len says.

They get there just in time to find Savage stabbing Carter, laughing about how only Kendra can do the deed with the dagger because of course it wouldn't be that easy.

Something ephemeral starts to come out of Carter’s mouth.

“Right then,” Len says, and ices the back of Savage’s head, forcing him to drop Carter and back off.

Mick charges forward to grab Kendra even as she throws herself at Savage – and at the dagger.

“Jax!” he roars. “Need a pick-up!”

“Carter!” Kendra screams.

“You can’t kill me,” Savage laughs in Len’s face. He still has the dagger. “I will finish off Prince Khufu and then Chay-ara –”

“At the moment,” Len says, “I’ll settle for slowing you down.”

He ices Savage, feet to head, and uses his gun to smash the ice.

The dagger falls from Savage’s frozen hand to Len’s feet.

“I’ll get Carter,” Mick tells Kendra as he hands her over to Jax. “He’s not dead yet.”

“His last words – I need to hear him – to tell him –”

“Jesus, stop being such a goth!” Mick exclaims. “Let’s try to save him, first!”

“Mick!” Len shouts. He’s crouched over Carter’s body.

Mick turns and runs over. His shoulders and back – the burns – are itching; his neck is damp with sweat as his body tries to deal with all the exertion. His joints all ache and he’s limping badly. He’s gasping for air.

He’s barely been out in the field for an hour.

Fucking burns.

“I need your gun,” Len says.

“What?”

“He’s bleeding like a stuck pig,” Len says. “We need to burn him.”

Mick hesitates.

“Bleeders die within hours, Mick,” Len says. “Burn victims…”

“Mostly die two to three weeks after,” Mick says, understanding. “And we’ve got future tech, which gives us better than average odds.”

“Sorry, Carter,” Len says. “It’s for your own good.”

Carter screams bloody murder, but he survives the trip back to the ship.

Rip meets them at the door, face pale. “What did you do?” he demands.

“Mick,” Len says.

Mick lets go of Carter, steps forward, and punches Rip in the face.

Feels good, being the muscle again.

Then his shoulders cramp.

Oh, right. Fuck exercise. Fuck it with a goddamn pole.

“Mr. Rory!” Rip splutters.

“Hey, computer,” Mick snaps. “Get us somewhere safe.”

“Taking us to the temporal zone now, Mr. Rory –”

“Not there. Somewhere we can park where no one’ll follow. Top of a mountain or something.”

“Will do, Mr. Rory.”

“Gideon!” Rip yelps.

“It makes sense,” Mick tells him. “We need to care for our wounded.”

“Is Mr. Carter…?”

“Dunno, but there’s a chance of him living, which is better than not,” Mick says. “You can keep your useless yammering for later.”

Rip looks insulted, but Mick honestly doesn’t care.

They go to the medical bay, where Gideon is already patching Carter up.

“His vitals are unusually low,” she is telling Len, who’s nodding.

“Probably Savage sucking the life out of him,” he says. “But he’s not dead, at least.”

“Indeed. Your timely intervention appears to in fact have saved his life.”

Kendra is there.

Mick goes to her, nudges her. “Still doesn’t have to be your boyfriend,” he reminds her.

She smiles, eyes watery. “I don’t want to lose him,” she confesses. “But I don’t know – I was so sure, when he was dying, that I truly loved him. But now I’m worried it was more about not wanting to give up the possibility of soulmates. You know?”

“You can take your time in deciding,” Mick tells her.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Mick waits until the Legends are out for their next mission – a bank heist, apparently, or something like that; Len had looked seriously pained by their lack of planning – before going to the medical bay to sit by a still-recovering Carter.

Gideon is apparently well-equipped for many things, but burns are still serious business.

“You know you nearly got you and your ladyfriend killed,” Mick tells him pleasantly. “Right?”

“Is this a lecture?” Carter asks, groaning. “Or a request for a thank you?”

“It’s a ‘don’t be such a presumptive prick, and also if you don’t stop harassing the lady I’m going to knock your teeth out’ sort of talk,” Mick says.

“I’m not harassing her –”

“Man who goes after a woman and doesn’t listen when she says no? How do you call it, then? Being romantic? I don’t care what era you’re from, that shit don’t fly nowadays.”

Carter scowls. “We fell in love two hundred and seven times –”

“Which means she thinks you’re hot, which gives you an advantage,” Mick says patiently. “But if you want her not to fall in love with you in this lifetime, just keep doing what you’re doing.”

“You don’t know –”

“You’re relying on her memories of you being charming in a past life to get her into your bed,” Mick says. “That’s bullshit. Maybe past life you was raised by someone who actually taught him respect for women; maybe you grew up with a bunch of assholes. Doesn’t change the fact that Kendra is who she is now as well as who she used to be, and you’re who you are now.”

Carter crosses his arms. “I don’t need your advice,” he says stiffly.

Mick shrugs. You can bring a horse to water… “Okay,” he says. “Just putting in my two cents.”

“It’s not appreciated.”

“Also, wanted to tell you that if you keep acting like this, I’m gonna kill you.”

Carter snorts, but his amusement fades when Mick keeps looking at him steadily. “…you mean that.”

“Sure thing,” Mick says, as pleasantly as he can manage. He's not quite at Len's murder-with-a-smile level of intimidation, but he's not half bad at it. “Most burn victims die two, three weeks later, which means you’re gonna be sitting on the bench with me for the foreseeable future, even with Gideon’s tech.”

“You wouldn’t kill me,” Carter says, but it’s weak. “We’re on the same team – you need Kendra and I to defeat Savage!”

Mick raises his eyebrows. “You reincarnate,” he points out. “We’ll go to the future, pick up your next life. Maybe that version of you’ll have better manners.”

Carter looks dumbfounded.

“Good thing about your reincarnation business,” Mick says cheerfully, hoisting himself up out of the chair. “It means that Prince Khufu’ll still be around – but you, Carter Hall you, is more or less exchangeable. Ain't that right? Just like you keep telling Kendra that the only part of her you care about is Chay-ara. Think on that.”

He leaves, but it looks like Carter does think on it, because he suddenly gets much better about calling Kendra ‘Kendra’ instead of ‘Chay-ara’ and asking to learn info about her life instead of just assuming he already knows everything of importance.

They also seem to be engaging in more couple bonding activities, like watching Ray Palmer fix his suit, a process that requires him to wear very little clothing and become increasingly covered in grease.

Both Carter and Kendra seem to enjoy that fact immensely.

“The hawks that prey together, stay together?” Len murmurs into Mick’s ear.

Mick snorts. “Should we warn Haircut?”

“I wouldn’t warn Haircut if I saw him playing with a loaded gun that has its safety off.”

“You’re gonna need to forgive him eventually,” Mick points out. “He wasn’t the one that held a gun on me and threw me to the ground a few times; that was Savage.”

“If it wasn’t for Haircut’s sticky fingers, I would’ve been in and out with the dagger,” Len says, unmoved. “And you wouldn’t have even come into the house at all. Savage would’ve never even seen you.”

“At least we still have the dagger,” Mick says. He’s not getting to go anywhere until Len stops being quite so panicked about Mick being in danger.

He makes a point of insisting on going on the next mission just to make a point.

It occurs to Mick, when he’s thrown into the Russian gulag, that Len isn’t going to allow him off the Waverider ever again.

“What’re the odds Len burns the whole place down trying to get to me?” Mick asks Ray.

Ray – who’d been dealing with an increasingly bitchy Snart, which isn’t good for anyone’s health – grins a little. “I’m going to go with ‘pretty good’. Think he’ll commandeer the Waverider?”

Mick opens his mouth to answer, only for a gigantic blast to go off on the other side of the prison.

“Make that ‘definitely’,” Ray amends.

The rescue is short but sweet.

Len is about three seconds away from a panic attack. Sara and Kendra are taking turns calming him down.

“I got it, girls,” Mick tells them. “Len, I’m fine, Jesus.”

“You’re supposed to be retired,” Len growls. “Retired and safe. You’re not supposed to be running into armed guards.”

“See what I deal with?” Mick complains theatrically, causing both girls – who had been grinning fatuously at the two of them – to start snickering. “I’m amazed you got Rip to sign on to this, though. Not too many timeline changes?”

“We bonked him over the head, tied him up and gagged him,” Sara says cheerfully. “It was that or Len would’ve killed him.”

“You’re such a drama queen,” Mick tells Len, who crosses his arms, utterly unrepentant.

Rip is immensely not pleased by their solution, but Gideon reports no serious timeline damage has been done. Coincidentally, the blasts also erased all evidence of the Firestorm research Valentina had been doing and killed her. The Soviet authorities assumed that the blast was related to her research and covered it up very efficiently.

The Waverider ends up being attacked on its way out of Russia by the Stormtroopers Three, causing them crash-land in the future. A future filled with violence and lawlessness and unguarded banks.

“I’m going to go stretch my legs,” Len says casually, convincing literally no one of his innocence.

“Want help?” Mick asks.

“You will stay in the Waverider, Mick, or so help me…”

Mick sniggers and goes to play sudoku with Carter, who’s developed a minor infection-related fever and also a much worse case of cabin fever. It isn’t easy to be benched, but Mick’s got a lot of practice.

Sara obtains the ship piece they need to get out of this place and starts a revolution in her spare time, but apparently that’s okay.

Rip’s next big plan involves pirates.

“Send Jax and Stein together,” Len suggests. “That way, anything goes wrong, they Firestorm their way out.”

The second Rip and Firestorm are out the door, the rest of them start betting on how quickly it’ll all go wrong.

They all underestimate it badly, because the hull gets breached and Len and Sara do their best impression of people wanting to freeze to death.

Mick burns a hole into the steel-plated door with his gun set on max heat and hands the gun through to Len so Len can melt some metal over where the hull has been breached.

“You’re going to pay for this,” he tells his partner. “All that worrying you do about me, and then you nearly ice cube yourself?”

“Ray’s getting the outside, right?” Len says, ignoring Mick’s perfectly reasonable query.

“He’s going there now,” Kendra says, hovering by Mick’s side. “You melting the inside will seal the breach on the inside so that you don't freeze or run out of air; it'll also make it easier for him to seal it from the outside.”

Ray still nearly manages to kill himself thanks to his not-designed-for-space suit, but given the way that Kendra and Carter fuss over him after, Mick suspects he doesn’t mind.

Then they go rescue Rip, who is not particularly gracious about getting knocked over the head again in order to keep him from screwing up his own rescue.

“If you weren’t constantly leading us into traps or making plans that didn’t work, we’d respect you more,” Mick points out.

“You’re hardly one to talk,” Rip says stiffly and angrily. “You’re only here because Mr. Snart wouldn’t go without you; my plans to save the world hardly involved recruiting an insane arsonist with the IQ of meat.”

Mick’s not even insulted – he knows he wasn’t invited, not really, and he's heard the rest of that many times before – but Sara darting forward to slap Rip across the face is surprisingly satisfying.

“Mick Rory,” she says sternly, “is a far finer, far more useful man than you ever were, Rip Hunter.”

“And you should damn well remember that,” Kendra adds, glaring.

The glaring works really well with the hawk-eyes, Mick’s just saying.

“I’m honored to call Rory a companion,” Carter adds. “He saved my life and has demonstrated himself to be both intelligent, compassionate and cunning. I have yet to see any reason to say the same about you.”

“I didn’t mean –”

Len appears at the doorway. He’s got a nice, pleasant smile on.

“Oh, you’re in for it now,” Ray says. He knows that smile far too well.

“Heard you were talking shit about my partner. That true, Rip?”

Rip looks around at them.

Mick crosses his arms and smirks.

“Mr. Rory,” he says, very stiffly. “It appears I owe you an apology.”

“Damn right you do,” Mick says.

Okay, fine.

Maybe he does like this team.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“So Jax got turned into a hawk,” Len says, rubbing at his face. “We nearly ditched Ray, Kendra, Sara, and Carter for two years due to a technical failure of all things.”

“We’re all very grateful you convinced Rip to come back to three months later instead,” Kendra says from where she’s happily perched on Ray’s lap.

Apparently, she, Carter, and Ray handled those three months very productively, pretending to be two sets of couples to cover for Sara’s parade of lovers of both sexes and their own ménage a trois.

“That’s not the point,” Len says. “How are we fucking this up so bad?”

“It’s pretty impressive,” Mick agrees.

“If the next mission fucks up, I’m assuming sabotage,” Len decides.

Of course, in the next mission, Rip decides child-murder is the right way to proceed and promptly gets knocked out again.

“Eventually he’s going to get a concussion or something,” Mick observes.

“Please,” Sara – who had done the knocking-out – says. “I’m an assassin. I was gentle.”

“Why in the world would we go after a kid instead of after Savage directly?” Len asks, utterly bemused. “Just because we couldn’t get him in Russia and the plan to get Kendra close enough to stab him in 1958 didn’t work because he got tipped off somehow…”

“Attempt at Savage, take three,” Kendra sighs. Carter pats her shoulder.

Take three is a failure.

Again.

“You must stop knocking me out!” Rip shouts.

“I don’t know why we keep failing,” Kendra says, bewildered. “I was so close when the robots attacked!”

“It does seem like we’re being set up,” Len observes. His arms are crossed and his eyes are narrow.

“But by who?” Carter asks.

“And how?” Mick adds.

“You’re all being ridiculous,” Rip says. "No one is setting us up. I told you at the beginning; time is just very difficult to change."

"All these aberrations we keep having to fix don't make it seem that way," Len grumbles.

They go back to the Wild West next.

“I’m going out and you can’t stop me,” Mick tells Len.

“I would never miss the sight of you in cowboy gear,” Len says mildly. “I’m bringing a camera. And getting photographs. Many photographs. Would you like a bandana?”

“You know what, I think I will,” Mick says.

“You are both ridiculous,” Sara says.

“I’m naming a goat after you,” Mick tells her. “When I get home. I can’t decide – ‘Blondie’ or ‘Canary-brain’.”

“I’m gonna drink you under the table,” Sara says.

“I’m retired.”

“Means you have more time to drink.”

“Not on his medications, he ain’t,” Len says. “Let’s go gamble instead.”

About ten minutes in, people are laughing.

About half an hour in, they’re not.

An hour in, they’ve accumulated a crowd.

Len, Mick, Sara, and – surprisingly – Stein are all playing with grins so wide their teeth are bared.

“I miss playing high stakes,” Stein says, selecting a card.

“Wouldn’t have pegged you for a Central City rules kinda guy,” Len drawls.

“My father was a card-counter,” Stein says. “I learned at his knee – and I was quite good at it.”

They put their cards down.

“Not good enough,” Mick says, and sweeps the pot towards himself.

“Another round,” one of their audience calls.

“Don’t see why not,” Len says.

Ray takes advantage of their distraction to pick a fight with the local gang.

Kendra and Carter go to visit a past version of Kendra, and round up back to rescue Jax from an ill-fated venture.

“We could have shot them out at high noon in order to get Mr. Jackson back,” Rip grumbles.

“Stop letting your drama get in the way of our mission,” Ray says nobly.

Mick would believe in Ray’s newfound practical turn a lot more if Kendra and Carter’s arms weren’t wrapped around his waist.

“I thought you wanted to save the town, Dr. Palmer - or should I say, Sheriff John Wayne?”

“And we will be saving the town,” Kendra says. “But not at the expense of Jax.” She grins. “We’ve challenged what's-his-name to a duel on your behalf for control of the town, and nothing else. Have fun.”

Rip wins, of course, not being totally useless, but the time it takes to happen is enough for the Stormtroopers to catch up with them.

They’re called Hunters, apparently; the Time Masters deploy them.

And before they die, they mention another hunter coming after them, one called the Pilgrim.

“This is increasingly ridiculous,” Len says. “Hunters? Pilgrims? What’s next, Cops and Robbers? The Terminator? Dragons?”

“This is serious, Mr. Snart! We need to go to periods of temporal dislocation – places where we could have been killed –”

Len’s eyes glint. “Let’s go,” he says.

They rescue Jax’s childhood self first – a near drowning, age five.

Sara’s next, a shoot-out at her dad’s office when she was eighteen.

Ray after that; only a few years prior, an experiment that exploded but only shrunk him rather than kill him.

Next is –

“I know where we go next,” Len says.

“Where?” Rip snaps. “There are no more temporal distortions for us to track the Pilgrim’s progress – if we’re mistaken, we will lose a crew member!”

“What, like your idea is so much better?” Kendra snaps. “Removing babies and risking deletion from the timeline due to our own actions? We’re taking enough risk with the ones we’ve already removed!”

“Mr. Snart, how could you possibly know when the point most likely for one of us to be removed from the timeline –” Stein starts.

“Shreveport,” Len says. “We’re going to Shreveport.”

Mick freezes.

“A few years back. Gideon knows the date. Gideon, confirm,” Len adds.

“A scan of Mr. Rory’s timeline states that that is the most likely period for him to be omitted without effect,” Gideon confirms.

“We don’t know if he’s the next one on the list.”

“He is,” Len says.

“Why?”

“Because they’re going in alphabetical order, dumbass,” Jax says. “Last name, like in grade school.”

Len’s not looking at Mick. His eyes are fixed on Gideon’s holographic face.

“Len,” Mick says.

“Set course, Gideon,” Len says. His voice is pleasant and set in stone; Ray’s back straightens just at the sound of it.

Mick knows the tone well; the others have learned it too, over the last few months.

Leonard Snart does not intend to be deterred.

Mick should’ve known.

“Len,” he hisses. “Can we talk?”

“Setting course, Mr. Snart,” Gideon confirms.

“Sure, Mick,” Len says, and Mick draws him back to the wall. The others pull away, Sara grabbing Rip by the arm and hauling him when he doesn’t move fast enough. It’s not real privacy, not by a long shot, but it’s something.

Mick turns Len to look him in the eye, hoping to see something, some hesitation, some doubt, something he can use to break through the ice that Len uses a shield, but there’s nothing.

Len’s as calm and quiet as a sea without wind.

“You can’t stop the fire,” Mick tells him. “You can’t, Len.”

Len arches his eyebrows.

“Damnit, Len! This is why you brought me on this trip, isn’t it? For this.”

“I brought you because you’re my partner,” Len says. “Variable timeline – I would never risk anything happening to your timeline without you by my side, not for nothing but this. You think I would go on a quest with a man clearly deranged with grief for anything less?”

Mick sucks a breath in, then exhales. “Len –”

“You can’t tell me you don’t want it,” Len snarls, suddenly violent with emotion, all of it rising the surface, painting his cheeks red; the ice cracking all at once in a sudden wave of sheer rage. “You hate being out of the game. You hate being left behind. Every goddamn time I go out, you ask me if I want you; every goddamn time I say no when all I want to say is yes. You’re my partner, Mick, and I led you to the flame and I left you to it. Nothing can erase my mistakes, I’ve always known that – or did, until Rip showed up and offered me a way to the past.”

“I never asked this of you,” Mick says. His lips are numb. He should’ve known. Leonard Snart, the planner, the one who sees the big picture. The one who needs only a glimpse of a part to see the whole; the one who can see opportunities in the direst of circumstances. “I never – I don’t hate it, Len. I don’t.”

“Oh, sure,” Len says, and his voice is still savage. “You love your farm, you love the goats. I know you do. You’ve made the best of the life that I left you. But I could stop it, Mick. I could stop all of it. We could be together, just like we were before; you my right hand, my muscle, the one who has my back when no one else does. A few adjustments at the right time…”

Mick reaches up, cups the back of Leonard’s head with his palm. It’s not a gesture he does often. It’s too intimate, too private, too much emotion for men like them to ever comfortably admit to. He does it rarely, and almost never outside their home.

The farm, he means.

It cuts Len off, silences him utterly, and Mick leans forward, touching their foreheads lightly together for just a brief second, before pulling away.

Len’s eyes are wide and dark and gutted.

“Len,” Mick says, and his voice is gentle. “No.”

“But why not?” Len whispers. “I’m not going to try to prevent the fire entirely – just avert it a little, call the ambulances a little earlier. I’ve done the math, Mick – fourth degree burns would be third; third would be second. You’d have the scars, yes, but the muscle damage wouldn’t be there. The lung damage; that was late. If they got there sooner, the smoke wouldn’t have gotten as bad, the monoxide wouldn’t have built up so much in your lungs. You would’ve woken up in the ambulance and you would’ve had options. No more limp, Mick; think of it! No more medicines for your skin grafts, for your blood pressure, for the pneumonia, nothing.”

“No more you, Len,” Mick says, because it’s all clear now. It’s all so painfully clear.

Len stares at him, not understanding.

“You were out, Len,” Mick reminds him, though it pains him to do so; he can see the ice cracking into jagged shards that hurt Len so much more than anyone else. “You told me so yourself. If it wasn’t so bad as it was, you would’ve left me.”

“I would’ve come back,” Len whispers. He doesn’t deny it; he’s never denied it. Leonard Snart is in or he is out, and there is no in between. “I would’ve come back, Mick. I always come back to you.”

“I know,” Mick says. “I know. But Len – I have so much more of you now. More than I’d ever had before. You come home with me every night; you wake up with me every morning; you even check with me about your plans. I know it’s because you’ve lost confidence in yourself, which I hate; I would do anything to reverse that and give you back yourself – anything but this, Len. We had safe-houses, before, a dozen or more; now –” He swallows. “Now we have a home.”

“Mick,” Len whispers.

“I do hate being left behind,” Mick says, and his voice is gruff. “You’re right about that. But I hate it because I want to be at your side, always; not because of what happened to me. I’ve made myself a new life, now, and it’s not a bad one, Len. It’s a good one. I have you, I have the farm, I have the goddamn goats. If you change this, you risk changing everything else.”

He runs his palm over Len’s scalp, brushing his fingers lightly through Len’s close-clipped hair. His throat hurts, tight with emotion; he doesn’t make speeches like this for a good reason.

“I won’t give up what I have, not for an uncertain future. Not to be alone for months, maybe years. To have you, I’ll take all of it – the temperature adjustments, the medicines, the limp, the coughing, everything. Don’t do it, Len.”

“Mick…”

“Please.”

Len closes his eyes in defeat.

Mick inclines his head. He knows what this means to Len; he knows what Len is giving up – the hope that Rip Hunter sparked in him, his dearest hope, above riches and gold and even adventure: to see those he loved safe and well and never harmed.

Len would destroy himself to save his sister; Mick learned that when Len tried to save his father from a prison fate he much deserved, a little jaunt that Mick didn’t learn about until after it had been tried and failed.

He should have known that Len would do no less for him.

“Len,” Mick says. It’s an acknowledgement of what Len’s given up for him.

It’s a plea for forgiveness.

“We go to Shreveport to stop the Pilgrim,” Len says. “And nothing more.”

Mick nods.

“Thank you,” he says.

“For you,” Len says, and smiles, though his smile is shadowed again with pain that Mick hadn’t even realized had been lifted until he sees it return. “Anything.”

“We’re arriving,” Sara says from the door. Her eyes are fixed on the door, as if she could see nothing else.

Mick takes a step back.

“I’ll get her for you,” Len promises.

They go.

Mick stays, and breathes in hard, what he would almost call a sob except for the fact that he doesn’t cry like that. He hadn’t – he wasn’t –

Len was right.

He does hate it, sometimes. More than sometimes. His new limitations make everything so much harder than it has to be. He can’t sit in a shadowed booth in the farmer’s market all day without a bucket of water and an equally large bucket of sunscreen, regularly applied, much less actually go on heists or exert himself. He still needs a wheelchair, some days.

If you’d asked him yesterday what he’d trade to be hearty and whole again, he’d have said anything.

Turns out, when the moment of truth came, there were some things he wouldn't trade, after all.

Mick lets go of that hope he hadn’t realized he was still carrying, all these years later, that one day he would wake up and everything would be better.

But he believes what he told Len, he believes in it, every cell of his body.

His life is better now.

The farm, and the goats, and the speedsters, and Len.

Len, returning to his side, by his side, in all the ways that matter.

Yes, Mick Rory would take this life over any other.

And he’s not going to let any goddamn Pilgrim stop him.

An idea hits him square between the eyes.

Mick smiles.

The Pilgrim has a device that slows down time – micro-manipulation, Rip called it – and it lets her slow an attack long enough to escape it; the Legends had planned to attack her all at once, hoping to catch her in a weak moment.

She freezes them all and laughs.

Mick, floating in the Waverider right above her head, fires down with all of the Waverider’s many guns, all at once.

The Pilgrim laughs no more.

There’s a small crater, now, where she once was; Mick has no doubt it will be attributed to the fire that even now burns bright in the building next door.

“Well done, Mr. Rory!” Rip enthuses when he re-enters the ship.

Sara fist-bumps him. Kendra hugs him.

Mick has to glare at Ray and Carter before they try for a hug, too.

He doesn’t do anything when Jax nearly tackles him, though, whooping with pleasure.

He’s a kid. Mick can be magnanimous.

“Where to now?” Kendra asks. “After we return the kids.”

“We have no choice,” Rip says. “We will confront Savage in 2166 at the height of his power.”

“We’re going to finish it,” Carter says. “Once and for all.”

Mick looks at Len. Len looks back.

He nods, confirming.

No changes were made.

Mick hopes Len forgives him.

They go to the future.

They find Savage at the head of his armies. They find his daughter, too, wearing one of Kendra’s old bracelets; Len is able to lift it easily enough, and convert the girl with tales of woe and bad parenting.

Ray fights a giant.

Kendra attacks Savage, the dagger gripped in her palm, only to find that he imprisoned a future version of Carter as his slave.

“I can’t,” she says helplessly. “We have to – we have to save him. Future Carter. We have to free him. This is our future; we will live it, if we don’t stop it.”

Savage goes into the cells.

“This is a bad idea,” Len says.

“No kidding,” Jax says, sighing.

“I agree,” Carter says. He rubs his face. “What do we do?”

He’s asking Mick.

Mick blinks. “Len’s the planner,” he points out.

“But you make the final call,” Carter points out. “You’re the willpower; he’s your brain. Tell him to think, and he will.”

Mick has always thought of himself as Len’s muscle; he’d never thought of Len as his brain.

He likes the sound of that.

“Len,” Mick says.

Len turns to him, and his eyes are warm as ever, without even the slightest trace of rancor.

Mick smiles, and he means it.

“Make us a plan.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Len’s mind works on many, many crooked paths. There is no paranoia he will not seriously consider as a possibility; no scheme or conspiracy too absurd to be taken into account, at least momentarily.

Savage’s attempts to escape aboard the ship fail; his manipulations are useless when every man and woman aboard the ship is required to call in to Mick every five minutes for an update on the crossword puzzle they’re all working on jointly. It distracts them, makes them think; makes them too busy for a slippery-tongued snake to drip poison into their ears.

(Ray even asks Savage if he knows a six-letter word for something fragrant. Savage isn't amused.)

Savage does break loose at one point in order to attempt to attack Kendra, though; Len permits it, and positions the future Carter to watch.

The brainwashing snaps and he rushes to the rescue, knocking out Savage with the Carter from their original era only moments behind him.

The two of them look at each other.

“Well,” the future version says wryly. “This is awkward.”

“No kidding,” Carter says.

“Say,” Sara says, “can future you remember this from the opposite point of view?”

“Yes,” future Carter says, making a face. “Let’s not talk about it too much.”

“You’re our ace in the hole,” Len tells him. He jerks a thumb back. “Savage doesn’t realize we have two of you. Shoo.”

Plans A through C assumed the Time Masters were legitimate.

Plan D, however, assumed treachery.

“Plan D it is,” Mick murmurs as the guards drag him away.

Kendra hears him, and smiles.

They confiscate her dagger, which hangs at her belt.

They do not confiscate the two smaller knives, hidden beneath her breasts, which they coated with the gold of the bracelet they found.

They don’t find Len, Sara, or the new Carter, either.

Rip is taken away; Rip is brought back.

He tells them about the Time Masters’ secret weapon, that they called the Oculus, which they used to manipulate the timeline.

“That’s why we lost so often,” Mick says, nodding. “Circumstances were actually conspiring against us.”

“And there’s nothing we can do about it,” Rip concludes.

“We can destroy it,” Ray says. “We have to.”

Savage takes Carter and Kendra away.

Len and Sara slips through the door moments later.

Rip tells them about the Oculus.

“Len,” Mick says.

“I’ve got a plan.”

Mick likes it when Len has a plan.

They fight their way to the Oculus and Ray starts working furiously, the future version of Carter standing guard alongside Sara and Len and Mick.

“Guys,” Ray pants. “There’s a failsafe – someone needs to be here when it blows.”

“Let me,” the future Carter says. His smile is crooked. “We do this? Kendra and I – my past self – we can go forward in time without concern of Savage. And that makes me a timeline fragment, soon to be wiped away by the timeline.”

“Are you sure?” Ray asks.

“That’s the plan,” Len says.

“It was always the plan,” Sara says gently. “That’s why Kendra and Carter are holding off on killing Savage, to buy us time.”

“How will they know the time is right?”

“Oh,” Carter says, “they’ll know.”

They leave him there and retreat to the Waverider.

The explosion behind them throws them head over tail, the Waverider very nearly spinning out of control before catching itself in the time stream.

“We did it,” Rip says, eyes wide with shock. “What do we do now, then?”

“Your family,” Sara says.

“What?”

“Your family. Kendra and Carter – Savage is going after your family, and Kendra and Carter are going to kill him before he can manage.”

“Yes – yes –”

“Won’t that cause us to become timeline fragments?” Ray asks, gnawing at his lip and twisting his fingers together. No wonder; his lovers are in danger.

“No, we have a window of opportunity,” Rip says. “I’ll retain my memories of the prior timeline – we all will, as time travelers – but there won’t be any other effect.”

“The Oculus’ destruction is still sending shockwaves through the timeline,” Gideon says. “If you wish to make a seriously change to the timeline, now is the most optimal time for it.”

“Rip,” Mick says gruffly.

Rip looks at him. His eyes are wet with unshed tears – he is so close to his goal, he can taste it, and the hope of it is ripping him apart.

“I’m gonna guess you know the coordinates,” Mick says.

Rip nods jerkily and enters them.

They arrive just in time to stagger back at another explosion of light, this time gold instead of blue.

“What..?” Rip asks.

“Carter!” Ray shouts, running forward. “Kendra!”

“Ray!” Kendra cries out, smile wide, and embraces him.

The body of Vandal Savage lies at their feet; a shell-shocked woman and child behind them.

They stabbed him together, Mick notes. How romantic.

“Miranda!” Rip shouts, and he’s running forward as well. “Jonas!”

“Can we go inside and skip the teary reunions?” Len mutters in Mick’s ear.

“Please,” Mick says fervently.

When all is said and done, Rip yields up the captaincy of the Waverider, naming Sara as his surprised successor.

“But – but –”

“You’re the best one for the job,” he tells her. “You will be fair and good, and you will take excellent care of the timeline.”

“But Len – Mick –”

“We’re going home,” Mick says. “Sorry. Come by anytime; we have cheese. And goats.”

“Not to be underestimated, the goats,” Len says, nodding.

“We’ll stand with you,” Jax says, patting Sara on the arm. “Don’t worry. We’ve got your back.”

“He’s right,” Carter says, one arm around Kendra and the other around Ray. “We’ll be with you every step of the way. We’ll protect the timeline from those who mean to damage or change it.”

“Ah,” Rip says. “There is one incident that you may want to consider changing…”

A few moments later, Sara exclaims, “What about my sister?! And when exactly were you going to tell me about this?!”

“I’m telling you now!” Rip yelps, holding up his hands in surrender.

“Why I oughta…”

“Mr. Hunter,” Stein interrupts. “I assume by giving up the captaincy, you do not intend to stay?”

“I’ll stay for six months,” Rip says, nodding. “To teach you everything you need to know: about the ship, about the timeline. Miranda,” he takes her hand, “will help; she’s the finest Time Master trainee the academy has ever known, before she gave up her career for mine.”

Miranda smiles. “And don’t you forget it.”

“After that,” Rip says, “we would like to be dropped off in the past, to make a home for ourselves there.”

Len groans.

Everyone looks at him.

“You want to go back to the Wild West,” Len guesses. “And Jonah Hex. Jonah, Jonas – I think I’m seeing a theme.”

Rip goes red.

Miranda smirks. “I’m looking forward to meeting him at last,” she says. “I’ve heard so very much about him.”

Mick is the first to start laughing.

The rest of the team joins in quickly enough.

“We’ll have the Hunters’ ship, which they left behind back then,” Rip says to Sara, trying desperately to keep a straight face amid all the sniggering. “I’ll give you the address code; you’ll be able to call us any time.”

“Good to know, Rip,” she says, wiping her eyes and patting his hand. “Good to know.”

“Enough of this,” Len says, “Gideon – set course for 2016. Take us home.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Haircut!” Mick roars. “Get off the goddamn table!”

Ray jumps a little. “But,” he says, blinking, “I’m not on the table…?”

“Not you,” Len says. He nods at the yearling goat that’s climbing its determined way up one of the picnic tables, its eyes fixed on a bowl of salad that looks like the one Kendra brought. The goat has a giant dark tuft of hair on its head, right between the two horns, long and wavy, almost like it’s been styled; it’s quite absurd looking. “That Haircut.”

Ray looks ridiculously pleased. “You named one after me!”

“He likes to run into walls for no reason,” Mick says dryly. “Seemed like it fit.”

“Do I have one?” Sara asks, hard at work setting up the grill. She got Mick a brand new lighter from 2140 as a present; she promises him it’s worth every second.

“Sure,” Mick says. “Blondie.” He points out an all-white goat – not a true albino, just pale – that’s currently skipping through the crowd, sniffing everyone new.

“Cute,” Laurel says, and crouches down to offer that one a handful of corn from the bags Mick handed out to everyone when they arrived. “Very cute. Heeeere, Blondie. Come to Auntie Laurel. I’m gonna tie dumb ribbons in your hair, yes I am.”

“Better Blondie than me,” Sara says. “She used to, I swear.”

“Big sister privileges,” Laurel says primly, but she’s grinning. “I brought a camera. I want a picture of you and your goat – matching ribbons, of course.”

Sara groans theatrically.

“What about us?” Carter asks, amused. “Hawk one and two?”

Mick jerks his thumb at the male and female goat sitting calmly on the porch, nuzzling each other. They’re yearlings; they should be jumping around like apes, but they had old souls from the start. “Tobias and Marahute.”

“Marahute’s an eagle, Mick,” Kendra says, though he can tell from the pleased smile on her face that she’s not upset at all. Quite the contrary.

“Grey and Lighter are stuffing their faces in the yard,” Mick says to the two members of Firestorm before they even ask.

“Did I get one?” Rip asks, looking around warily for the murder twins, as Len insists on continuing to call the geese. They’d bitten Rip three times already; he couldn’t seem to stop annoying them even after they’d warily permitted the remaining guests onto the property.

“Nope,” Mick says cheerfully. “I did name one Gideon, though; you can claim half ownership of that one.”

“I’ll take it,” he says, and flees when he sees Spite waddling purposefully towards him.

(Mick will eventually tell him about Time Dad, the yard's grumpiest old matron goat. But not yet.)

He hears Len behind him, a breath of intentional warning – Len considerate as always – before Len nudges Mick’s hip with his own and leans his head against Mick’s shoulder, an arm slithering around Mick's waist to rest lightly on his side. “Can we kick ‘em out now?” he whines playfully. “There’s too many of ‘em. I hate people.”

Mick snorts. “It’s the Fourth of July,” he says. “You can be social for a bit longer. Go play with the Flash.”

“He’s with Zipper,” Len says dismissively. “Cisco and Caitlin just found Smarts and Chills, by the way; they’re too busy cooing to be insulted. Getting Cashmere goats was a stroke of genius, by the way – people can’t stop petting them.”

Mick grins. Plan successful.

“Guess you’ll have to put up with staying with me,” he tells Len, turning to face his partner.

Len smiles, a little crooked smile, the truest smile he has for all of its seeming duplicity. “Yeah,” he says. “Guess I will.”

-------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Slow down, slow down,” Len says into the communication device Cisco had invented for more regular communication. “What’s this about an evil speedster?”

Mick’s not going to look up from where he’s planning next season’s cheese rotations with Mab.

He will not.

“And why was Stein pretending to be a Nazi musician again?”

Nope. No way. Not getting involved.

“A compass. A compass that points the direction to what?”

Mick’s retired. He has a good life. A quiet life. And that’s how he likes it.

“The spear of what now? The Spear of Destiny? I think I saw an Indiana Jones movie with that.”

Willpower, Mick. Willpower.

“And at what point in this story does Ray blow up his suit?”

Okay, fuck it.

Mick throws down his pencil.

Mab doesn’t even look up. She’s made of steel.

“Lenny,” he roars.

“Hold on,” Len says into the speaker. “Yeah, Mick?”

“Have they asked Barry about the speedster yet? Or Cisco? He might be able to vibe them something.”

“Good point. I’ll ask.”

A few seconds go by.

“They say they knew we would be helpful and they promise to tell us if their fuck-ups turn us all into goats,” Len reports.

Mick shakes his head and goes back to Mab.

Len wanders over after a few minutes. “Sounds like they’re doing well,” he says cheerfully. He doesn’t seem inclined to suggest that they should join the hunt for whatever thing the Legends are looking for now, which – thank god. Looks like Barry’s idea about setting Len up as Central City’s kingpin with a meta army in an attempt to ferret out real threats (and go on the occasional heist) has been sufficient to keep him busy.

Though Mick’s starting to worry about those letters they’ve been getting in the mail the last few weeks, asking Len to join some sort of ‘Legion of Doom’…

“The world hasn’t ended yet,” he finally says. “Now c’mon, help us name the new cheese.”

“How’d it get made?”

“All you need to know is that it’ll have a slight asparagus flavor,” Mab says. “Very clean, very bright.”

Len blinks and then a great big dumb grin comes over his face slowly, like it’s involuntary.

“What?” Mick says suspiciously.

“Lady and criminal,” Len says. “I give you: the Spear of Destiny.”

“No,” Mick says.

“Actually…” Mab says.

(The Legends pick up twelve pounds of the Spear when they come visiting during the alien invasion, laughing the whole time.)

#dccoldwave #mick rory #leonard snart #Kendra saunders #sara lance #carter hall #ray palmer #rip hunter #my fic

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