{Some people are born with tragedy and poison in their veins

[myheadisaprison]

PSL with strongerthanyouknow + bringstheheat

{The Beginning}

{Other Threads}
Show me your scars [Sara/Len]
Choke this love 'til the veins start to shiver [Sara/Mick]
Affection [Sara/Mick/Len]
Don't you know I'm not your ghost anymore [Len/Sara]
A Quiet Interlude [Sara/Mick - 18+ NSFW]
A stray legend in the making [Sara/Bucky]
How does that work? [Len/Bucky]
You're not beyond saving yet, I will pull you out and save you from yourself [Len/Sara]

{TFLN}
I’m not wearing any pants, but I am wearing a tiara. [Sara/Mick]
I don’t trust my subconscious. Sometimes it sleeps with my exboyfriend. [Sara/Len]
Let's just wait to see what happens before we start making radical plans and starting fires [Leonard/Sara; Leonard/Mick; simultaneous conversations]
I just remembered something. We made out last night, people cheered. [Sara/Len; Sara/Mick; Mick/Len]

Comments

[strongerthanyouknow]

The door itself is about as normal as you can get, and Sara would rather kick it in than raise a hand to knock. This isn't even someplace normal enough she thinks anyone within a mile would give a damn, or even come out to look and see what was happening, and the itch under her skin, for a violent connection, was there. Had been since she got told it happened. A vein in the sharp anger and even sharper surprise.

Easy plan though. Balance their jobs.

While tracking down the jump ship. Tracking down Mick Rory.
Shuffling an act from God that she said was going to do this alone.

That she'd come back with both of them, or a goddamn good answer and her ship at the least.


It's not kicking in the door, and it's not knocking when the flat side of her fist and wrist slams into the door. Again. And again. Without cease, banging on it, raising her voice in an attmept to go through it and the door. "I know you're in there. Come out right now. What the hell did you think you were doing? Stealing the ship and you couldn't even pick somewhere better than--"

[mypriority]

Being marooned somewhere, alone with Mick on the jumpship? That was one thing. Facing the rest of the crew on the Waverider? Whole different story. Leonard isn't sure it's something he's ready for, but he also isn't sure he ever will be. But he's content to stay here, avoiding the rest of everything with his partner, until Mick can't stand it any more and he has to leave, go do something, anything just for the sake of not being here and isolated. Mick's always been the more social between them, and that says a lot because he's not exactly a social butterfly himself. But still.

They're propped up in the ship with a couple of beers, reliving old times and past jobs, reminiscing about the simpler days that were, quite literally in Leonard's case, an entire lifetime behind them. So much has changed between then and now. Including both of them, in waves and numbers he doesn't want to think about so he doesn't. He just laughs at something Mick reminded him of, but the fun stops suddenly. The clank.BANG! of the metal doors being smacked from the other side brings everything to an abrupt halt.

No.

It's the first, and for a moment only, thought he even has. No. Not here. Not her. Not now.

His eyes cut over to Mick in a silent question, what now? They've been made. And of course it was her. Of course. Because she's the most relentless of all of the remaining members back on the ship. She's the most down to business, make this shit right, of them. Right, of course, being relative to what the task at hand may be, but still.

He can't do it. He can't open that door. So he doesn't move a muscle, doesn't so much as twitch a finger. He just waits and watches Mick, steels himself for whatever sharp edges come next once that hatch is open and she storms in.

{Stay with me in the dark, anchor me here with you

[mypriority]

[For Mick, before Sara finds them! Probably one of the first couple of nights when they landed in their weird avoid-y spot.]

The jumpship isn't really meant for extended trips, there's limited space and no real places to sleep, but they managed, and have slept in probably far worse places. So it's not much of a bother to be stretched across the floor of the ship, pretending that either of them has a chance of sleep just yet. Not that Leonard isn't exhausted, because he is, in ways he refuses to acknowledge.

It's just....heavy. Knowing he shouldn't be here, knowing what being gone had done to Mick. He wonders if Lisa is any better off, but he isn't prepared to find out, not really, not yet. And here, in the dark, with only silence to fill the empty spaces, it's hard to believe he is here. Everything feels more like a dream, an impossibility that holds no chance of being real.

By nature and by lessons long ago instilled by the hand of his father, Leonard is not a tactile, touchy person. More often than not, he isolates and creates space even when it shouldn't be necessary. He's more comfortable that way, with people not invading the clear cut bubble of his personal space.

But there are exceptions to every rule and Mick has been Leonard's exception in many things for a long time. Despite the ability to get away with it more than almost anyone else, Mick never exactly oversteps or pushes that particular boundary. Unless they're going to blows over something, but that's a different beast altogether and Leonard can hardly blame him in that case.

Still.

Even in all that it must drive him absolutely batshit sometimes, Mick lets Leonard have that control, set that pace, always.

Leonard is sprawled across the floor of the ship, fingers laced behind his head, silently hoping sleep will take him while simultaneously knowing it is still far off and away. He glances to his right at his partner, who looks like a damn rock, but Leonard knows better. He shifts and leans half-over to tap Mick in the leg with his foot. No words, just the silent acknowledgment he knows he's not any more asleep than Leonard is himself.

Oh yes, I love this.

[bringstheheat]

If Mick could have, he would have taken Chronos's time ship in his mission to find the train and steal his partner away, but it was lost in the explosion at the Vanishing Point which is probably for the best. Still. They've crashed in worse places. Crappy warehouses, flophouse apartments and motels.

They don't sleep. Not really. Snatches here and there, a couple of hours before a nightmare or a dream snaps one of them awake. It's enough that Mick can lay in the dark and listen to the familiar cadence of Leonard's breathing, the way he shifts on the floor. He isn't alone and that affords him far more peace than anything has in a very long while.

A tap to his calf has his eyes opening, grunting in confusion. "Hn? Snart?"

A Bottle, The Night Sky, and You

[bringstheheat]

It wasn't an easy peace, but it was a start. Sara had agreed to stay for the time being, until they'd decided where and when they wanted to go. Back home, back to the Waverider, the choices lay before them and Mick will willingly follow his partner anywhere.

But for now he's by himself, sitting outside and watching the sky. There's a six pack at his side and a bottle of something stronger at his feet.

Tonight he's not drinking to get drunk, not drinking to forget.

It's just him and the stars.

[strongerthanyouknow]

Sara might not be under the same allusions when she finally comes out. There's something as wary as it is almost weary in the distance that makes her stop a few feet outside the door. As though escaping one, put her directly in the path of the other.

There's no silence, even when there is too much of it,
and no space, not on the jump ship. There's no room for that.


A breath gets pushed out of her nose before she gives herself back to a movement and heads quietly, but not as silently as she'll always be capable of, toward Mick through the dark.

{I can feel you getting through and underneath my skin

[mypriority]

Somehow, she decided to stay. Against her better judgment, she's letting this happen. She's Captain now and apparently the mantle in itself just means screwing up. Rip always seemed to make things worse, made choices he knew better than to make. And now here's Sara, doing much the same. Not that Leonard is exactly complaining about this particular thing, he'd really hate to have to fight her on it.

He doesn't, for any reason or measure, take back what he did. Wouldn't change it, if he could-- did-- go back to that exact moment. He'd let it play out just like it had, like it was meant to, because he had a conviction in the reason he'd done it in the first place. But.

But.

That doesn't mean he wants to waltz back onto the train Mick had stolen him from just to set right the new problems surely already arising for his sudden, renewed existence. He couldn't put Mick through it all over again. And that's what it really came down to, above everything else, isn't it? Not so much for his own sake or a desperate will to live, but his partner's. If everything he's heard so far about his missing year is anything to judge by...Mick's will to live died the day Leonard himself did.

He can't take that away again.

But there's also Sara.

Sara, who doesn't want this to be something she has to deal with, a choice she has to make, but knows she has to, and that whatever ripples out from that decision falls on her hands, too. Sara, who as much as she wants to make time right, can't really bring herself to make the call.

Not yet, at least.

Leonard doesn't have any doubt that if the tables turn just so, she wouldn't hesitate to make that hard call. Hate it while she was doing it, know that she'd forever live with it on her hands, in her head, all across the bare scraps of her soul that are left, sure. But she'd do it, wouldn't she?

And that's why she's Captain in Rip's stead.

Still. The tension whenever they're in the same space is practically tactile. Like now, while Mick's on a quick supply run, leaving the two of them on the ship alone.

Leonard is in one of the chairs, sitting in what can't possibly be a comfortable position, watching her on the other side of the ship, furthest possible space away from him without leaving the place entirely. He could ease into a conversation with her, could find some lighter, more neutral topic, but what comes out of his mouth, finally, after what seemed to be a silence contest being played between the two of them is neither light nor neutral.

"Is there a 'Welcome to Club Dead' t-shirt, because I don't think they have my address anymore."

[strongerthanyouknow]

Sara doesn't know what she's doing here, only that she keeps doing it. She's effectively lied-without-lying to her own crew. A small few times now. Something she would have roasted Rip over the coals for only a year or two ago. Give or take how you counted 'a year or two.' But. That's not the point. They know she's here. They know that she's found Mick and the jump ship. They know that they shouldn't come down. That she's handling it.

Not a lie. Not one of them. But not the truth either. Not hardly.

(She was supposed to be better than this. Supposed to at least try to be.)


Her shoulders still tighten when Leonard speaks. It's not even that he cuts the silence that's been steadily weighing more than the ship itself and taking up more space that this area even has. She can deal with those. Oppressive silence, erring almost on oppressive avoidance, as much as you do in such a small space, she can do. It's not that. It's his voice. His voice. Stringing together sentences not in her memory, and not in mixed up nightmares.

Still what he gets is a glance in his direction from a far chair, where she's been studying the light in the air and absolutely not seeing it at all, too. It's still just as strange to be looking at him head on. Even as she doesn't let it change her expression. Her head rolls, until the space behind her ear and temple, is leaning on the seat. His words aren't funny, but then it's not really a joke either.

"I'm sure there are some emo-goth kids in the nineties just dying to sell you some."

[strongerthanyouknow]

It takes some convincing once she calls up to the Waverider, but Sara, Mick, and the jump ship vanishing suddenly would have been too much of a red flag. It would send the team on a search for her, thinking she'd been taken. She told them, not far enough away across the jump ship only from the other two listening, that she needed to do something for Mick and told them to stay right here. That they'd be back.

Between them and the two or three minutes it takes, they are earnestly argumentive, and at a loss but wanting to help, in their own ways each, and there is at least one comment that isn't entirely helpful, questioning whether she shouldn't just take the ship now, without whatever this is. In the end, they still listen to her, because it isn't a group discussion, or a group decision. She's Captain, and they do agree to stay put.




Not long after, with a place and time chosen, there's an out of way bar, in not the best part of an out of the way town. Big enough to have the right kind of half-fallen apart crescent on the wrong side of where all the right people love. The right kind of shady groups (heads shaved, long since five o'clock shadows and even just well into day drinking would be too little to assume there), of one or two scattered outside the place when they come walking up.

It's a different kind of itch it scratches, just the feel of these kinds of places, and Sara doesn't, because of her current company, try to keep her mouth from edging toward a smirk. "One of you better be paying, since my lack of extra clothes to even come here, definitely didn't come with anything else in it."

[mypriority]

Leonard doesn't bother holding back an exasperated eyeroll at the oh-so-predictable ensuing arguments among the team when she gave them her explanation. Bare bones as it was, at least they took it in stride-- eventually.

He didn't miss the way she says they'd be back. Like it's obvious, and decided, just a pitstop has to happen before they circle back around. Everything's fine, no fires to put out.

Leonard doesn't even say a word before wrenching the door open and immediately he's casing the whole place. Bar, tables scattered throughout the place, jukebox in one corner, pool tables to another side of the room. Ah, money ticket.

"You get the first round," he give Sara a pointed look-- don't play like you can't score some drinks from some heathens, Captain. "And I'll work on the rest." He's just going to go over and bet the first schmuck he can find that he'll beat them at their own game.

{From the ashes you rise, and it should be no surprise, you were always a phoenix in disguise

[mypriority]

The ship touches down in Central City, 2017, sometime mid-afternoon. The mini-crew of three make their way to where Mick last knew Lisa to be living and Leonard stops on the side of the street outside of the apartment complex. Being back in this city is surreal enough at this point, knowing they're headed to see his baby sister, to tell her that he's back from the dead? It's all a little much.

He'd been over this with Mick earlier, anyway.

"I'm not showing up on her doorstep after a year dead." His eyes drop from the complex in front of them back to Mick and Sara. "Come get me, when you've explained it."

[strongerthanyouknow]

She doesn't have to be here, and maybe she's less certain why they're letting than she is about why she is, but she is. Here. Under more than a few drinks, and a number more bumps and bruises than she arrived with. A bit more idiocy. Yet for all that, it only feels like the tension lessoned for it. In her. Them. Even while she's standing here, further muddying the truth of what she told her crew.

Sure. She -- they have a time ship, and they could reappear five minutes after they left.
But it's the principal of the thing, and that she is letting it slide. Letting it grow longer. Be even more.

Sara stared at the pretty normal enough complex she might never have looked up in passing on any other day. But instead she's scanning windows and the people in parking lots, a kid or two out playing. It looks ordinary, and she isn't looking at it almost as quickly. Her eye slide sideways toward Leonard watching that place across and she knows that expression.

The tension around the edges of his mouth and his eyes, familiar enough even before he backed off of being willing to walk up. Sara could remember it. The number of times she'd watched her family. From a distance. Never touching them. Wanting, and never wanted, to do just this. For months. The number of times she ran from it. Until Oliver.

Maybe it is a grace to let them tell Lise for him. Let her go through the shock without his watching.

But. And there is a but. And that but had been getting her in trouble since she stepped on to the jump ship chasing Mick Rory and found Leonard there. But she's not certain that makes it the correct thing for Leonard. Being left out here alone. It's almost too easy to look from Leonard to Mick, with something like a wary question with too many of the understood answers behind it.

So I'll tell you what I want, what I really really want

[bringstheheat]

After a long moment of Lisa sobbing in her brother's arms and taking time to compose herself, they were all summarily dragged back inside. Leonard owed his sister big and she was going to collect. Which probably meant that stupid Spice Girls movie.

So Mick hunts down a bottle of something strong and two shot glasses. If he's stuck watching that stupid movie (again) he's doing it with something strong in his hand. He settles down on the couch, leaning in the corner while leaving plenty of room for Sara to sit and accept an offered shot glass. "Here. You're gonna need this if we're stuck watching what I think we're gonna be stuck watching."

Snart Sibling Brat Sesh

[mypriority]

Leonard couldn't give Lisa everything on her list in one night, but two outta three ain't so bad, is it? She had plenty of booze and, fortunately-unfortunately even had a copy of the movie lying around, which she'd already shoved in the player and started up.

"If I still remember any of this, I blame you, completely." He says, pointing his shot glass in Lisa's direction with a pointed stare before he downs the liquor.

{As long as I can delay making a plan

[mypriority]

[AKA: post-Spice Girls night, next morning threads!]

{Always something awkward about The Morning After » Len/Mick

[mypriority]

The first time he wakes up, it's early. Way too early to be awake after a late night that stretched into the first of the morning hours of the next day. The first time, Leonard refuses to wake up. Sinks down into the pillows again and tugs the blanket over his head to block out the sun and goes back to sleep for awhile.

The second time, it's a shift in the bed that wakes him up. Mick. He glances over his shoulder but he's fine, just a little restless apparently. He tries to sleep again, because it's not even double-digit hours yet and he is so tired all the time lately, he'd really rather like it if he could sink back into it. But... he knows he won't. So he shifts to lay on his back and just soak up whatever remains of his ability to not get out of bed instead.

He glances over at Mick and frowns thoughtfully at him. Maybe--probably--it's just a case of him reading into things that don't exist. He's certainly done it more than once in the past, and it wouldn't be uncalled for to think that it could happen again. But...thoughts of the night before curl slowly around his mind; the way Sara seemed so comfortable practically half-lying on Mick, the easy way Mick touched her and there wasn't even a flinch.

He wonders...
Leonard shakes his head to dispel even the idea of it, but...
It lingers.

They both lost.
They both suffered.
Maybe...

If Mick was the turn to anyone, Sara would make the most sense.
But hadn't he said he'd been isolated? If he'd gone to her, then he wouldn't have been so alone in his grief.

He sighs softly, frustrated, and drags both hands down his face.
It's exhausting, having a mind that works in a constant level of over-drive, about every detail of his life. It may come in handy every now and then, but the downsides certainly seem to outweigh the good parts sometimes. Like this. Now. He knows he's being ridiculous, the logic doesn't quite add up, but it doesn't completely shut down the idea and keep it from gliding around in his head anyway.

He just hopes none of it colors him today in his reactions or responses, in general but especially among the two of them.

He shifts and turns on his side, facing Mick, watching him for a moment and the barest hint of a smile tries to tug up one half of his mouth. He's always such a solid sleeper if he doesn't have a reason to be on some kind of alert.

Leonard remembers the end of his own night, too, and something in him softens the smallest fraction. He's not sure what pushed Mick to say it. Maybe it was just the uncanny way he always seems to know things that Leonard needs before he realizes it himself sometimes. Maybe he was just worried he wouldn't get a chance again-- Sara's final decision still looms, after all.

He reaches over and, with one finger, traces a map of scars across Mick's shoulder and down his arm. He's more apt to wear them like a badge than Leonard's ever done. He doesn't, not constantly, but he's not shy to walk around in a sleeveless shirt if he feels like it. It's too little too late as he realizes he'll probably wake him up for doing it.

Oh, well.

I'm Shattered, my world's been broken >> Mick/Leonard

[bringstheheat]

Honestly? Honestly Mick didn't want to go back on the Waverider.
He hates it there.

Too many memories of the year he'd spent slowly unraveling after Leonard's death, a year of cutting comments and avoidance, of hallucinating his partner and the days when he just wanted the next job to take him out so he could just stop hurting so much.

But just like that year, Mick could suck it up. Bury it down and pretend that it doesn't hurt. Put on the facade of the gruff muscle, call people idiots, let them think his aphasia was worse than it was. (not that they'd noticed in the first place but whatever. Fuck 'em.) Mick was there because his partner was there. Because Lisa was there now. Because Sara had promised to try.

Still. It isn't easy, but he's trying too. Mick is trying to let Sara in, to look after Lisa.

Snart hasn't changed, at least not in any of the ways that mattered most. Mick needs to reach out more often these days, to remind himself that this wasn't some hallucination, some trick of his head and being pushed away or avoided hurts more than he can stand.

So after one more "not now Mick" even when what he needed was just a moment to ground himself, he stalks off the bridge with a furious snarl. He'll go down to the cargo hold, work on his heat gun, rework the circuits on his old Chronos armor, something. Anything to keep him from snapping.

[mypriority]

The decision was made, eventually, begrudgingly in some ways, but no other option made sense. Staying at home in Central just didn't feel like something Leonard could deal with; he couldn't very well fall back into his old life, what else was there for him? So, here they are.

The rest of the crew had lots of opinions and things to say about it, and it was enough to get under his skin. Ray seemed to be the happiest to see him, others argued about the effects this would have, like Sara hadn't already considered every point they could possibly throw at them. He slipped into avoiding anyone who wasn't his sister, Mick, or Sara. Ray bombarded him sometimes, but Ray is just a puppy that way, and easily ignored.

Mick's been a specific level of tetchy since they boarded the ship again. Leonard tried not to think much on it, but eventually things just become glaringly obvious. He huffs an annoyed sigh when Mick stalks away. He doesn't want to do this, he doesn't want to deal with this and chase him down and try to talk about whatever is eating at him. Because Leonard still has a thousand things eating at him and is trying to find a way to settle back into some kind of groove here, but-- he can't ignore it.

"Goddammit," he mutters under his breath, turning to follow his partner. He doesn't speak for a moment, just watches as Mick tweaks with the armor from his days as Chronos. "What the hell are you doing with that?"

{Your tomb is where your heart is, your home is where the dark is | Len/Sara

[mypriority]

The decision of going back-- back on the ship he should never have seen again, back to the crew he died for-- hadn't exactly been an easy one to make. A part of Leonard wanted to take his partner and his sister and leave the whole goddamn country and forget that time could even be touched. But other factors fell into it, too. Like Lisa, refusing to let him out of her sights; Mick, already knowing he won't give up his place on the crew and Leonard knew he couldn't take that from him, the sense of purpose that he'd gained there; and, of course, Sara. Ever-present and looming over the whole process of it all. His fate, her hands. Even after he'd made his own decision, he had to wait for hers. And it was hell. Pure hell. Because if she weighed the pros and cons of it and it landed out of his favor, it would be bad. Worse than bad, and it was an outcome he didn't want to consider.

In the end, he didn't have to.
Because regardless of her conflicts with the whole of it, Sara said fine. Sara said let him live.
And then she had to prep the rest of the crew for when she and Mick returned, two extras in tow.

It hadn't been pretty. It was all the same arguments over and over, around and around. Protecting the timeline. Aberrations. The damages, the risks. But eventually, they all settled and whether begrudgingly or not, accepted Sara's final say in the matter.

It's been weeks ago now and Leonard is still working on falling back into step with the team. It's an adjustment for everyone and some are not taking it as well as others. But he's here. And he's alive. And he's done his part on a mission or two again, even if he's quietly, privately, a little shaky on his feet about it all. Nothing shows, and he's hidden that wariness from everyone with his best poker face--which is a pretty damn good one, thanks. But it's there and it exists when no one's looking.

Today was one of the rougher ones. Things went from bad to worse to bloodshed faster than anyone could have anticipated. Sara was at the center of the worst of it, and even in the fray, Leonard saw it. The way she shut down so that nothing else would get through the filter of her training. She wasn't Sara, Captain of a Timeship Saving Time today. He's not so sure she was Sara at all, if he's honest. Not in that moment. She was someone else entirely.

It's over now. Aberration averted, time saved. Again. Everyone's home in mostly one piece. But that's all it is. Pieces scattering through the ship as they all try to heal from this thankless job of theirs.

[strongerthanyouknow]

The ship is quiet. The whole of the crew is somewhere on it. Every person accounted for. Everybody that walked off, somewhere back on. Her -- the, the crew of the Waverider is safe. Alive one more day, past one more night, one more mission, one more grand total disaster they made it through on the skin of their teeth. Some of them more than others. One. One. In every way but how it should --

Everything beyond it is a yawning, jagged, gapping hole echoing and expanding in her chest, in her head. It doesn't matter how many times it plays out, over tops of her knees or the back of her eyes, somethings don't change. It doesn't matter that she's showered and clean, somethings don't wash off. It doesn't matter how controlled her breaths are, or how slow her heartbeat, her skin feels like a cage. She doesn't want her hands to touch anything --


To be there.
(Or to be still. And.)

They don't move. Folded flat on her stomach.

Laying on her bunk. Where no one would bother her.
Not that any of them would want to. She saw their faces.

It's useless. Futile. Still true. Like any remorse, she might pretend.
Regret. Agony. Doubt. Useless. Futile. All of what it still caused true.

{When daylight comes I'll have to go | Len/Mick with appearances by Sara!

[mypriority]

She asked, so he stayed.
Some things really were that simple.

And simultaneously, other things....aren't.

Leonard isn't sure what time he eventually fell away, robbed from her by sleep, but it happened even if he doesn't remember it. There's an ease in his shoulders, a softening in the lines of his face, as he sleeps, the weight of everything he carries lessened while he can't think about it all.

But it doesn't last long, the dawn of a new day coming all too soon.

He's aware of something off, different, somehow, before he even opens his eyes. Too many years of silently training himself to assess the static in the air of his own home during childhood ingrained in him a need to pick up on changes before he was forced to face it with his own eyes.

He was not in his room.
Right.
Last night. Sara.
It was his choice. It's fine.

He finally cracks an eye open and sits up slowly, hand going across his neck to work on the kinks that one tends to get when they sleep sitting half slumped against a wall.

She seems....content enough. But probably not actually asleep. She's guaranteed even more pre-awake-alert than he is and he doesn't think to doubt it at all. Nor does he think doing anything to overtly disturb her would do him any favors. Especially not after yesterday, knowing how much her body still hums with a need for darkness she doesn't want, but can't let go of.

He purposely makes at least enough noise to remind her he's here, and not sneaking up on her or interrupting her. He gets to his feet and turns to head to the door.

Re: {When daylight comes I'll have to go | Len/Mick with appearances by Sara!

[strongerthanyouknow]

The night isn't fast, and Sara doesn't fall asleep when Leonard does, sitting up, not quite in the middle of his sentence but still slightly in the middle of a conversation, if you can call anything at this point between too late and too early a conversation. She watches him sleep for longer than she should, torn between waking him, and giving him a blanket, and leaving him be. It ends up being the last, but it still takes a while.

Same with her actually falling asleep, and the way she's not entirely certain she ever does. Not even when she steals her own pillow and lays down the opposite way from how the bed is made for, pulling her knees up to fit, and not getting herself a blanket either. It doesn't come easy, and maybe it doesn't come at all, and maybe she wouldn't admit that she opens her eyes from time to time just to see him still sitting there, out cold, head against the wall, expression loose and calmed by sleep --

-- and somehow it ratchets down the things that bloom too fast in the black behind her eyelids (each face, each slash, the taste of blood, the aching familiar longing for more, the fear and horror and shock on the faces of the only people she actually cares what think of her). But he's still there. Each time, still there. It helps. Just a little.

Sara doesn't even know if it's an hour, two, three. If it's even possible there was more time for the night to be able to hold when Snart starts shifting and precariously slips off her bed, without a word, or any hesitation, or anything like subtlety. A band of rhinos might be more stealthy. Sara Lance, not having moved while he did, certainly was.

"Running away finally?" If he does look back, he'll find Sara pushing herself back up to something not quite yet at sitting, while running a hand up into her hair to scratch her head. What probably helps is that there isn't anything like an insult or accusation in it, maybe even the faintest backward commentary on how long he did stay even, and that he didn't leave. That after she asked, he didn't leave. Didn't ever even look like he was considering it. Until now.

[bringstheheat]

(( set a few hours after this))

To be honest, this isn't how Mick saw his day going.
An overnight shift on the bridge, an early morning argument-slash-awkward talk with Leonard before collapsing for a few hours of sleep, a shower and something to eat.

He needs to find Sara.

According to Gideon she'd locked down a room to train and while Mick would have picked the locks or overridden the controls, he doesn't. He gives her space and tracks her down on the bridge sometime late that night.

A six pack plunks on the console where she's been sitting and staring off into time.

Subtle as ever Mick. Well done.

[strongerthanyouknow]

Habits help. Every morning she trains. It keeps her sharp. It scratches an inch that needs to stay that way. This is no different. Except where it is. The itch is already raw, rent skin. New frustration layering well-cemented guilt. She doesn't invite company today. It would be a bad day for a partner. For even the normal kind of occasional practice slips. She locks the doors with a single command to Gideon, closes her eyes, fingers on her baton still, a long pause, breathing in, before everything becomes movement.

Reflex faster than thought. Movements trained deeper than the next breath.
Faceless opponents. Faces she knows. Sometimes even herself. She doesn't stop.





She does end up needing a second shower. She doesn't mind. The hot water, or the fact somewhere in her bones something is looser. Not good, not great, marginally better. Marginally more prepared for where she goes next. The bridge. Desserted and bright. It's a soreness, even in the shape of a gift.

It's easy enough to get a status report on where all the crew are located, and an update on the timeline after the events from the day before, but she doesn't need anything of Gideon after that. Still she doesn't move. Doesn't go to her office. Doesn't take a seat. She finds herself staring at the room. This room that is the construct image, physical and not, of the other half of that clinging shadow.

Bright and wide open. Hallways that have no doors. A million voices, a million days, a million faces, in the silence in here. Messing up for the better. Still here. Still under her fingers. Under her feet. Still the walls, and the windows, and the timestream. Still the echo of everyone on this crew. Her, too. The version of herself she might be most proud of. Most certain, in the worst moments, she's lying about being.

Except standing here it feels like all the wide space and too bright light calls her on that lie, too.

She's good at what she let herself do -- but she's good at this, too.




Even if she hears the steps, heavy trod, belonging to one person only, she's not expecting the beer dropped on the console, and Mick gets a sideways look, willing her heart to stay where it belongs in her chest, not her stomach or her throat. "Not really a balanced lunch, is that?"

{If we go down, then we go down together

[mypriority]

[Continuing the thread that came from these TFLN threads]

Re: {If we go down, then we go down together

[bringstheheat]

Snart gets a laugh at that. Mick doesn't so much as shift on the bed and that smug smirk of his? Not moving an inch. "Maybe. But you like it."

Hell he's half tempted to text Sara and tell her to stop in.

But that would involve taking his eyes off his partner and he's not going to do that with him stalking closer to the bed with that look on his face.

{Are you down to be a distraction, baby?

[mypriority]

The whole team wasn't really necessary for the stop that was made today, and Leonard was okay with that. There were schematics on the next big anachronism that needed fussed with, and he was in one of those moods. The hyper-focused, singled-minded ones where all those obsessive qualities of his took the driver's seat and he was fine to let the others run rampant without him. He'd be fine for an afternoon alone, really.

He's soaked up the solitude of the day, in a way that's more refreshing than it feels isolating, but that makes the obvious soft chatter all the more obvious when the others are back on the ship. Something about the way the halls of the Waverider just makes voices carry far further than they should ever bother to reach. But it's the gravelly rumble and sunshine-laced giggle that catch his attention the most. At least things seemed to have gone well, hm?

He only just barely casts a glance up toward Mick and Sara as they wander into the room. Arguably, it's his own, but who's counting, these days, when mostly they all find crazy tetris ways to slot together, no matter which bed and who's room they're in. A slow smirk takes over as he takes in the outfits, "Felt like stopping by Woodstock today, did we?" His attention is back on what he's been working on all day as soon as he drops the quip at them, though.

[strongerthanyouknow]

Sara is in a good mood. No, even better Sara is in a good mood and phenomenal stompy boots. Skirt. Jacket. Her hair is a way it hasn't been since one of those terrible done-by-a-friend skater perms from somewhere in her childhood when it was bloody brilliant and racy and her parents yelled for a week. And it's fucking glorious okay, because young her would have killed for all of this.

Maybe so is the high of a good job done well, if maybe a little messier than it absolutely had to be.

"You--" Sara says, raising her hands and finger gunning at Leonard. "--really are not earning your keep and sleeping space around here if you can't even keep your centuries straight. This--" With a swish of that overly large coat and long skirt, that she lets those finger guns drop to grab her own collar. "--is the pride and beauty of the 1970's in England. Keep up."

Arguments and Loyalty

[bringstheheat]

There are nights when the Waverider is filled with noise. Movies, arguments, general shuffling from one room to another when they aren't out trying to save time. Then there are nights like tonight. Quiet. It'd be peaceful if not for the undercurrent of tension hanging in the air.

Mick is used to this. He is.
Leonard gets some kinda bug up his ass and spirals into one of his Moods. Mick never knows what sets them off and he's been trying to puzzle that one out for a couple of decades now. All he can do is reach out, all he can do is try and pull him out of his head. Sometimes it works, sometimes he gets his head bitten off for his trouble.

This has been going on for days now.
Leonard snarling at people, snark with a bit more bite to it, cutting comments carving a little closer to the bone. It does drive some away, giving him distance.
But not Mick.

Mick stands it because he always has.
He doesn't flinch at the comments. He doesn't take the bait.

They're working in the office that night, Leonard going over whatever he's currently obsessing while Mick hangs back, keeping an eye on him and on Sara on the bridge. The mood in the office is tense. Angry. Mick can sense the fight coming, he can feel it in the air and all he wants to do is reach out and try to head it off.

So he moves closer. Telegraphing carefully as he does so. "Lenny.."

[strongerthanyouknow]

Watch and observe. See through the shadows. Break things down. Shut out what's not important to a given situation. Understand when you aren't, or what you are bringing to it dilutes the greater pictures. Divide and classify what is worth focusing on. Sara's always been good at winnowing it, past the chaff.

Which currently, in her closest space, happens to be Leonard's mood.
Which has been getting tenser and tenser the last few days.


Distracting her work, as she ignores his protracted tantrum.



Moods happen in the crew. Tension. Sniping. Scuffles. Even outright fights. Things brew and come to a head, or they brew and fade away. Either way they all come to an end eventually, and so Sara maybe raises a few eyebrows and settles him with a few none too pointed looks questioning his antics (age, maturity, sanity; the edge of her own knife-sharp patience), but he hasn't done it at least too overtly at any point she was giving orders, so she's let it ride.

She may be Captain, but she is not tyrant or parent.

Her loose grip, except when decisions need making, orders need saying,
it's part of what makes the Legends, and the Waverider, exactly what it is.

Dragon Hunting

[bringstheheat]

((set just after this when Mick leaves))

Fine.
Not needed for books, not needed for research. Really Mick is okay with that. He doesn't like sitting still and scouring pages for words when he could do something more active, something that doesn't involve just drinking or beating up the heavy bag for an hour or two.
What stings is the reminder that he is not needed by Snart. Not until he deems his presence necessary.

Mick stalks towards the bridge, checking the weird magic map for more anomalies. Perfect. Unexplained fires, unexplained deaths down in Dallas Texas.

Sara might have Gideon in Narc Mode, but that won't stop him from boosting the ship and taking care of a random anomaly by himself. It's just one little dragon.

How hard could it be?
Might even be fun.

=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=--=-=-=-=-=-=-=-
That was just as fun as Mick thought it would be.
Fighting. Fire.
He got to take down a goddamn dragon.

Zari and Haircut might side-eye as Mick stumbles off the jump ship and makes his way to medical. There are more than a few bruises, burns and he's pretty sure a busted wrist and cracked ribs to deal with and sleeping with cracked ribs is enough of a pain in the ass, he will make the stop for the healing.

Anyone walking by might see Mick exiting medical looking pretty goddamn pleased with himself. His clothes are bloody, singed and his jacket is missing a sleeve, but it felt good to do something useful, something that didn't involve staring at books.

[insignificantatom]

Ray definitely saw Mick as he stumbled off the jump ship in....absolute shambles and the first thing that arises is solid panic about the state his friend is in. So there may be a puppy on Mick's heels on the way to the medbay. "Mick. Mick, wait!" he jogs to make the distance in the hall between them, falling into step next to him. "Where did you go? Did Sara send you out on a thing on your own? That really doesn't sound like her. I mean, there's always a need for backup, right? So--" He finally takes a breath "where did you go?"

Post Fight - Mick and Leonard take 1

[bringstheheat]

Not really sure what happened, but they were pretty loud about it.

When they fought in the past, voices might become sharp but they weren't raised. Shouted.
Fuck
He should have been here. He should have stayed.

Mick has Gideon confirm that Snart is in his room before heading in that direction. He doesn't knock. He doesn't open the door. He simply rests his head against the cool metal. If he had stayed, he could have stopped it, headed it off. But no, he had to go and bolt.

The bag he'd stolen from the dragon lair is laid before his closed door. Heavy with gold baubles, a handful of gems including a sapphire as big as his fist.
Then he pounds hard on the door. "Snart! Come and get this shit before Haircut tries to clean it up!"

And he tromps away loudly enough that Leonard will hear him. First he'll find Sara, then he'll come back once his partner has had some time to breathe.

[mypriority]

Leonard has done his level best to avoid people since the fight with Sara. Fight didn't quite seem big enough to encompass it, really. But it was the easiest descriptor of it, anyway. Her words keep playing in his head over and over again, branded into him deeper than any others ever made it. Everything just keeps replaying in his head over and over again, like a broken record on repeat. He's curled up in a space he doesn't seem like he could fit, at the corner of the bed that meets the wall where he's spent a large amount of his time when the pounding on the door makes him jump. He's tired of that. This constant reminder of a part of him he tries so desperately to keep buried that feels the need to keep reappearing and reminding him it exists. The voice that calls through the door, all harsh edges and sharp demands, is like a knife in his throat. Any wish or chance he may have had to speak is lost as he hears distinct, purposely loud footsteps retreat barely moments later. He silently curses himself for not moving faster, for not speaking when he had a chance to try. But. Still. Curiosity and cats, etc. He does eventually slide off the bed and approach the door, only to slip the bag into the room and sift through the contents. "Where did you go, you crazy fuck?" he mutters quietly to himself, a soft half-hearted scoff rolling out in a huff of breath. He tries to ignore the ache in his chest as the realization that, despite every reason to be mad, and to be petty, that Mick still thought of him when he....did whatever it is he did that landed him this loot. "He deserves better."

Post Fight - Sara - in the office

[bringstheheat]

He's left his offering at Snart's door, making damn sure he heard him walking down the hallway.

Now Sara.

Mick heads to the office, beer in hand and his things for Sara in the pocket of his ever present jacket. He wanders in, watching her at the desk. The place is quiet and he drops into his usual chair like always. Where he belongs.

A dragon's tooth, shiny and black and wickedly sharp is set on the table by the whiskey. Along with a pearl the size of a goose egg. The gifts feel hollow given what had happened while he was gone, but he can't exactly keep them, can he?

"Blondie." A grunt as he pours himself a drink.

[strongerthanyouknow]

Sara knows when Mick gets back on the ship, the same way Sara knows Leonard hasn't left his room except for food -- because the narc overlord in the machine belongs to her, and she can. It doesn't mean she gets Gideon to tell her when Leonard is currently in the action of leaving his room, or where Mick went once the jumpship docked.

Enough to know.
To call it business.

Enough to know.

Too much,
and too little both.

She knows Mick is coming before he does arrive. Of course, she does. (Of course, he does. That is an of course, isn't it?) The door to the bridge has to open. But his footsteps can be heard before that. Not as far as if the door was open, but there's a reason for it, too. One most people don't really notice. Not when it still just opens when you walk up to it.

She's already looking to the doorway when he come in, all heavy steps and solidness. If her expression isn't more than a mild raise of eyebrows as she watches him set down the things on her desk, perhaps it utterly misses the part she can't. That bone-deep twist undoing one minute inch of tension in a knotted line, making up the spider-legged cage of her ribs.

"Have fun?"

{The poison words, the ugliness, what kind of love is this?

[mypriority]

Two days have passed since Sara absolutely obliterated so many pieces of him that it left Leonard feeling small and hollow. He hasn't shown his face in any capacity other than what is absolutely necessary. He's left his room for food, or booze, and little else. He's hoarded a bottle or two of the good stuff for himself (not from Rip/Sara's stash, but the general one) and locked himself away.

Grand scheme? Two days of shutting everything down, blocking everyone out is nothing. He could go like this for weeks, if not months, if anyone would just let him. Let everything slow from harsh boiling point down to a simmer until it all just dissipated entirely and he could continue his life like nothing had ever been bad or off or wrong in any way at all.

But. Between Mick's gift drop off and Sara's words keeping him company, Leonard didn't really feel alone at all.

"Are you actually this oblivious, or are you actively choosing to be this much of an asshole?"

Leonard has always been a certain level of oblivious to things. To the way most people interact with each other, and how different the way he does is so wildly different. To what are usually normal and common social cues. To how his words, or his attitude, may effect someone else, and how deep and how long that may continue, even after the moment is gone, or the error has been forgiven. He's bad at dealing with people, and often at being anything like a half-assed decent person himself. But the excuses for that only go so far, especially after this many years of existence living under his belt. And more than one lifetime under it, now, too.

He's always found being a jerk far easier than anything else. Keeping people at a distance makes everything in dealing with them a million times easier. Mick was.... always an exception to that. Still is, on the best of days. But.

But he's gotten bad about that, too. And he knows it. Has known, for awhile now. But he's too stuck in his own ways to know how to even begin to fix it. He's not sure he could even if he tried.

"What you're doing is wrong. ... [but] why change anything, when you could just keep treating Mick like shit?"

"Does it give some kind of satisfaction that you can make at least one thing go exactly the way you know it will, the way it always did before, when you're like this?"

Leonard isn't usually one to seek heat, but days like this make showers that all-but-scald his skin appeal. He doesn't care if he ends up with burns from it, he just wants to stop feeling so empty and hollow, like everything he has always been still needs to be carved out of his chest, replaced with something more useful.

He hates how right every single thing she threw at him like a knife really was. Every. Single. One. He has never completely found the right footing with this dead-and-suddenly-alive-again thing. Not really. He rolled with it, the same way he's always rolled with whatever Lewis, life, karma, whatever, wanted to hand him. But that doesn't mean adjustment. Or acceptance. There's a part of being here, existing again, that has always crawled all kinds of wrong all over his skin. There's a piece of it that is just an absolute negation of everything he died for. And if he could be here, and he could exist, and it didn't cause the kind of ripples in the timeline that Sara couldn't live with, or maybe wasn't even tracing back to him at all-- what did he die for at all, anyway? It's not like he was ready to die. He just...wasn't afraid to. For a reason. For the only reason that has ever actually mattered in his life. For Mick.

But...

But if even his death, for his reasons, and on his terms, is out of his control, this. This is something he knows, beyond every doubt, that he can always hold onto. However twisted and wrong-dark that may be, and he knows that it is. That he shouldn't want to cling to any part of it that way.
Knows that the need to do it makes him more like Lewis than he could ever really face.

The thought alone makes his stomach turn.

She springs up, all white-hot anger, aimed at him like a dagger as she moves to stand in front of him. Boxes him in against the table.

He feels it, the seconds that his heart skips beats, the way he shrinks against the ferocity in her presence, the fire in her eyes.

He wonders if she even knows that, in those seconds, he was truly afraid of her. Of what her next step or choice might be.

Leonard has always known, and respected, that Sara was, is, and always will be an assassin. An assassin, but not necessarily a killer. Because she could be different. And has been, time and time again. Not perfect, maybe, but...better.

He's always known what she's capable of, but he has never actually feared her. Not directly like he did that day. In those moments. And he hates it. He hates that she felt the need to direct that fire toward him; he hates that he did anything to make that happen; and he hates that any of it woke up every part of him that is still nothing more than a terrified seven year old, asking his dad what he did wrong.

"That man's only sin is that he loves you more than sanity. Or air."

"He. Deserves. Better."

He leans back against the wall on the bed, head tilted back, vodka bottle in hand. He's so far past drunk that it's just a joke at this point, but he doesn't care. He thuds his head lightly against the wall behind him a handful of times, each one a little harder than the last.

He deserves better.

He has told Mick that himself since this, they as a them, had ever even started to tilt in that direction. He's a mess. He's fucked up. He's an asshole. His baggage isn't something anyone else should have to carry. His hangups are the worst kind of awful to be forced to deal with.

He deserves better.

He lifts the bottle up to squint at the last scarce bit of clear liquid still sloshing around inside of it. It isn't much, so he downs the rest of it in one long, solid drink.

He deserves better.

Maybe Mick never should have followed those leads, found that stupid train. Should have left him. Kept him buried. Accepted the fate Leonard had chosen for himself that day at The Occulus. Maybe, if he had, Mick would have had a chance. To be his own person. To be better. To have better than Leonard had been, or probably ever would, be able to give him.

He. Deserves. Better.

He throws the bottle, listening to the satisfying shatter of glass scattering everywhere. He might regret it later, when he catches a piece in his foot, but he doesn't care right now. All he wants is for the claustrophobic feeling that's surrounding him to go away. But it isn't. It's settling, hard and deep in his chest, making it hard to breathe, forcing clouds in his vision as he drags his knees up to his chest. He presses his forehead against the top of his knees, arms looped under the bridge under his knees, nails of one hand digging deep crescents into the palm of his other.

The only thing he wants in that moment, as he's swallowed completely whole by panic the size of an ocean, is the one he can't have. Doesn't deserve.

He.
Deserves.
Better.

~*~*~*~

As much as Leonard would like to think he can go without things like food, the truth is, even he can only go so far before he can't ignore the need. It's late, hopefully late enough that he won't run into anyone, as he makes his way through the halls toward the galley. Sandwich. Easy, quick, and no cook-time. He can absolutely get in and out before he runs into anyone, right?

Right?



Ray is not exactly a creature of normal hours. It's kind of an unwritten rule of all things science. You don't operate on regular time, and what even is regular time when you live on a timeship that stays, primarily, out of time anyway.

So.
He's awake at this all too ridiculous hour of the night.
And hungry. So he winds his way from his room to the galley and intends to find a very appropriate snack for such a time of night. Maybe cheese and crackers. Or pie. Pie would be good.

All thoughts came to a screeching halt as he entered the room to find someone else already there. Someone who, by all accounts, has been a total shut-in for days now. "Oh, hey, Leonard!" He smiles and gives a little wave, realizing that greeting might be a little too cheery for the criminal, but it doesn't stop him anyway.

There's a long-suffering sigh at the perky greeting thrown his way by the team's resident Boy Scout. Leonard is so not in the mood for this. He is absolutely, totally, and completely not in the mood for Ray. "Not now, Ray." He mumbles, tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek in annoyance as he turns back to the sandwich he was making.

Maybe if he just ignores him, he'll take the hint and let this go with little incident.



Ray's mouth opens, then shuts again, as he decides maybe it would be best to leave well enough alone. He nods once, and goes about finding the perfect late-night snack.

Only. Ray is kind of bad about leaving things alone. And he knows everyone--and by 'everyone', he means Sara, Mick, and Leonard--has been on pins and needles lately. And he hates it, he really does, not for himself or the team as a whole (though that, and those, too), but for the three of them, and this cuckoo-bananas weird dynamic of theirs that usually seems to be on such a decent-for-them kind of ground. And it's all off-kilter now, and that's a problem.

And maybe he can help.

"You know," he pipes up suddenly, "I know you probably don't wanna talk about it because you don't ever talk about anything, ever, and I really don't know what's going on, but it's pretty obvious the three of you..." He shrugs a little, "something isn't okay. And that's okay, because people are allowed to not be okay. It's a thing and it happens and you get through it. But--"

He scoffs, and it's a sound completely devoid of any amusement it could have carried in a different second. "Didn't I already say. not now, Ray?"

He slams a door shut after grabbing a couple of beers. "I don't want your help." And to him, it is truly as simple as that. And Ray should leave it alone and let it go. Not that he actually expects him to do that, but it would be so much better if he did.



"I know," his voice is quiet and resigned with that admission. He knows, he does, how little anyone on this ship even actually wants his help. With missions, sure. Consider it done. Especially if they need to get somewhere most people can't exactly fit. But emotionally, or in any way that actually resembles real friendship? He's a lot more limited in the people here that will accept that. But even that awareness, and that knowledge, never actually dims the sun that lives somewhere behind Ray's eyes. "I just want you guys to be okay. And...if there's anything I can do..."

Leonard has met his social quota for the day. He can't deal with Ray right now. He is just so full of hope, all the time, it seems exhausting on the best days. And it's impossible to handle right now. He slams the ingredients to his barely-even-a-meal back in their rightful places and spins on his heel toward the younger man. His voice is dark, and low, with an edge sharper than it would have been if he'd shouted. "I don't. Need. Your help. Raymond. Back. Off."

He doesn't wait for a response, he just stalks out of the room with heavy footsteps, and retreats back to his room.



His eyes widen the smallest bit as Leonard rounds on him. He's not sure he's ever been the direct target of him quite like that before. Sure, he punched Ray that time, but that was different... somehow. There's the slightest crestfallen look in his eyes as Leonard makes his point again. "Oh- okay." He nods a little. "Okay, I'm sorry."

Even after that, Ray is still in a space of wanting to help, and as Leonard turns to leave, he calls after him. "Wait! You forgot your..." he sighs, defeated as the footsteps fade quickly further, and further away. "sandwich...." He mumbles. He picks up the plate and wanders down the hall to Leonard's room, where he knocks, and leaves, after setting the plate down outside the door.

Re: {The poison words, the ugliness, what kind of love is this?

[bringstheheat]

Only Haircut doesn't get that far. Not when Mick is there to take the plate out of his hand.

People take Haircut for granted. Not just his nerdy brain, but that big shiny heart of his that reminds Mick too much of Red back home. People always assume he'll be there, much like they assume Mick is no more than a heavy fisted thug.

"I got this Haircut," he says quietly.

"Movie night. Tomorrow. Raiders of the Lost Ark." A promise that at least someone is willing to hang out with him that isn't Pretty.

And with that Mick lets himself into Snart's room.
The sandwich is set on the nearest table.

Christ how did it get this fucking bad?
All because he left for a couple days?

Ray & Sara { Do you understand that we will never be the same again

[strongerthanyouknow]

When Mick went, Sara tried to return to the work she'd been at before he came in. It worked. For about two minutes. Then for less than a minute. Less than half. She has to get out of this room. She's so done being here. In this unchanging space, and now that it has the emptied echo Mick, who she is mostly sure has gone back to try Leonard again, and Leonard, his few words and his fast fading steps and his absolutely empty space.

She finished what was left in her cup in a swallow, and pushed up, leaving the new pieces from Mick on the desk, and her tech pad in the chair, and just walking out. Clipped cut steps of her boots on the stairs, that don't sound rushed, and yet even her breath feels tighter. Feels pressed like she can't stay in that tiny room anymore. Not even a few minutes more. Heading to the right, barely a touch above that speed.

"Gideon. Door."

[insignificantatom]

The tension on the ship is evident, especially to anyone who has paid even half-a-percentage point of attention at all in the last few days. It's a sort of overwhelming well of emotion just floating in the air. But Ray is determined not to let it get him too down. He keeps trying, and failing, but still trying, to get someone to let him help. So far, it's not panning out so great, but that won't stop him. For now, though? He's seeking Sara out for something absolutely simple. And maybe sort of to try and judge where she is in all this mess. He knows Mick is in the room with Leonard, and is not sure how that's going at all. Sara. Sara, he can check on, at least. "Whoa," he stops short as he rounds a corner, nearly barreling over her in the way he can only manage because he's at least half a foot taller than she is. "Hey, just the lady I was looking for!" He grins and changes his direction and falls in step next to her instead. "How long has it been since you've seen Raiders of the Lost Ark?"

{Quickly moving towards the storm, torn into pieces over reasons of what these storms are for

[mypriority]

Telling Mick to leave might just have been the hardest thing Leonard has ever done in his entire life. It's something he's never, ever told him, with any real force or meaning behind it. Maybe shouted in a heat of a moment, but not like this. Not solid and real and necessary, like the only option in the whole world was this. He spends what feels like ages, laying on his bed, unmoving, staring at the door, willing it to open. For Mick to be on the other side of it and stubbornly push his way back in. Except he never does. Because Leonard told him to go, and Mick's always done what Leonard asked of him. If he were the crying type, he might have drowned himself in tears already. But as it is, he's not that type at all, any hint of possibility of it long-since beaten out of him. Crying was weak, and weakness was unacceptable. He could never be weak, it wasn't allowed. A thought only instilled further in mind as he, and in turn, Lisa, grew older. And he had to be stronger. For her. He was, for better or worse, all she had, and at some of the earliest points, she saw him as something like a hero. Leonard never really felt like much of one. Could've done better. Been better. Stronger. Quicker to get her out. So many things he could have done different. Better. But he didn't, and he couldn't fix it now. Any more than he can fix everything he's spent over two-thirds of the life he's had with Mick breaking down. He may never have realized how many boxes existed, locked away, somewhere in the darkest part of his mind he never tried to even dare shake hands with, if not for Sara shining spotlights on them before she unpacked them all, while she was at it. He hates it. He really does. This non-stop movie of moments that just keep playing in his head on loop. There were so many. Some small. Some huge. All important, significant, and so, so hard to face. Time drags and draws out, boxes in, and pauses altogether. He isn't sure how long he's been here, how long it's been since he moved. Or ate. Or felt something that was more than numb. Except this wasn't even numb, not really, because being numb didn't hurt like trying to swallow the sun. But. Eventually. He moves. Slow and stiff, like he had forgotten he wasn't actually a statue for too long. But he gets up. And he wanders. He doesn't even have a destination in mind, much. He's strictly on some kind of auto-pilot as he moves through the halls of the ship. Not until he finds himself at the door to Sara's room does he realize maybe he did have a destination after all. She isn't there, and it's easy to move through the halls as quiet as a whisper in the middle of the night, to all the places that he might expect her to be. Her office-- he's frozen on the steps, as he stares inside the room, notes the chair is empty, an abandoned decanter on the desk. He feels knots forming in his stomach again and leaves. Every place he checks is as empty as the last, until he finds himself staring blankly on the bridge with no guesses left. Or maybe he's too distracted--distraught--to think, exactly. "Gideon... where's Sara?" His voice is quiet in the darkness of the room, only the lights from the ship's main controls breaking it from pitch-darkness.

[strongerthanyouknow]

"Captain Lance is currently in the cargo bay." Gideon's voice rings out, with the same ready volume and attentiveness it carries in every room, at every hour of the day, to any request or command. "Would you like me to get her for you, Mister Snart?"








Which is, of course, where she is.

On her feet, weight balanced, and movements small. Efficient.

Sara and sleep didn't always agree with each other in the very best of times, and in the worst of times -- which this isn't, she's caused worsts so much more truly worse than this one; yet that doesn't stop it from riding some lines close enough they blur the black, pulling from what could be, what was -- it was easier in some parts to avoid it. There's too much on her mind as it is. Too many words, too many questions, too many minutes.

It's easier to put it into something more useful. Something methodical and meticulous. A job that takes a good while, and demands exacting absolute focus. Blades with edges honed so true they could whistle even air apart, but were made to be thrown across fields and lodged half into bones in the sheerest silence, are twisted and turned between by small adroit fingers, as she starts sharpening the next set laid out in front of her.

{When you can't look on the bright side, I will sit with you in the dark | Ray/Mick

[insignificantatom]

It's late. Ish. But Ray is awake, tinkering away on one of several scattered projects throughout his workspace when the door slides open and he glances up. "Oh, hey... Mick." A frown creases his expression as the other man wanders in, and takes residence of a chair somewhere near by without so much as a grunt in greeting. That in itself is odd enough. But the sharp air of something broken that seems to follow him is all the more concerning. Ray is content to work on his project and let Mick watch, if that's what he wants. But he can't do that if he doesn't at least make the offer, and let it be said that, "We can talk about it... if you want..." He doesn't particularly expect Mick to take him up on that, because he isn't the talking type, particularly about anything that may be actively bothering him at any given moment. But the offer is there, all the same, and he'll let it lie there, if it's what Mick needs. More than fine with being a presence that just means he isn't alone, if that's what he needs, instead.

[bringstheheat]

She said that I abuse your loyalty.
To me.
And she's right.

Don't make this harder than it already is, Mick.

Get out.

Mick looks down dully at his hand. Right. He has a beer. Good. So he takes a long swallow. Thinks about it because Haircut deserves more than a grunt or a rebuke telling him to shut up.
He's earned more than that.

"I can't do anything to make this stop," he finally mutters. "To make them stop." Mick is powerless in this situation, adrift and cast out by his partner, given only vague statements and questions by Sara.
Useless.

Any other time he'd just pick a fight with something, someone. Bleed off the tension with action and the rush of adrenaline and blood.

.. he never even asked Pretty for his lighter when they were in the library, as much as he might have wanted it back for some old form of solace, some comfort.

Text to Leo

[bringstheheat]

Get out.

Maybe it's okay that he needs to figure this out on his own. It won't be forever.

Even after talking to Haircut, after wandering the ship because Mick knows being alone isn't good for his head, he still doesn't have any answers.
He might not be able to fix what was going on between Sara and Lenny, but he also didn't now how to stop and process any of it.

So after a shower, Mick digs out a phone and sends a text into the multiverse.

I need to talk to you.

[gaynotblind]

Leo perks a brow from his spot in bed next to his husband when the phone that is specifically for across-the-multiverse connections buzzes.

I'm listening.

The Office come morning - Mick/Sara

[bringstheheat]

[Set a couple hours after this]

Talking to Leo gave Mick some sense of peace, at least enough to pull on fresh clothes and find somewhere to sleep. He can't stay in his room and in a bed that remains too cold and too big. As much as he wants to go to Leonard, he can't.
He won't.

So with fresh clothes Mick wanders to one of the few places he feels safe. Comfortable.

And come morning, anyone heading into the office will find Mick Rory stretched out in his favorite leather chair, gloves tucked in his pocket, fast asleep.

[strongerthanyouknow]

Sara didn't sleep most of the night, but then even without a reason to lay on her bed, behind locked doors, holding a pillow, replaying certain minutes over and over, Sara and sleep have not been friends for the better part of a decade. That pricked feeling behind her eyes. The weight in her spine. Carrying it like you would any other stone. Willing yourself past it, or acknowledgment of it. The way it's sometimes easier to stop trying to sleep, than it is to force herself to lay in a bed not sleeping.

She isn't expecting the scene that find her, momentarily frozen, in the middle of a step, coming up her own steps.
Mick. Asleep in that chair. In the office. Where he definitely shouldn't be. Not when there are beds better for that.

The steps to him go from the faint sound scuffing the hallway walk had to something closer to soundless. This is. Incredibly unfair would be some good words for it, if Sara believed anything about her life, or this life, really ever was. It wasn't. This still is. Mick's face all relaxed and unconscious, and that digs into her chest, sharp and a little too soft both, when she stops a few feet away. It takes a few seconds before she can convince herself to move. Again.

Beyond the reticence to do nothing of the sort. Not reach out. Not touch anything. Even Mick.
Like everything else, that's not Mick's fault or Mick's problem to deal with.

Sara steels herself, even for only reaching out to lay a hand on jacket over his forearm, and give it a light shake. Pullling back almost instantly, while she spoke. "Hey." Her voice is quiet, even if they are the only two anywhere near here. "We've got actual rooms for this kind of thing, you know?"

{Life is tragic, but movies are a kind of magic

[insignificantatom]

Ray isn't sure if Mick had intended for this movie night to be a one-on-one, just-them kind of thing, but he'd sort of stepped right into making it a whole ship-wide thing, by inviting Sara, and things sort of snowballed from there. He'd let Mick know, as soon as he could ("Don'thateme. But I sorta kinda maybe made movie night an everything thing. Is that cool?") He told Nate and Amaya ("So, it's a date, don't be late!") and Zari ("You can even handle the snacks."). Leonard got a note slipped under his door, when he refused to open it to let Ray talk to him in person. He's not sure if he'll show up, but it seems for the most part like everyone else is into it, at least. Despite all the obvious tension on the ship, he's determined to make this a good night. The room is decked out for the movie, between all of Ray's specific, homey touches and Zari's pile of snacks. For all intents, it seems perfect as Ray settles with a drink and a bowl of popcorn and waits for the others to filter in before the movie starts.

[bringstheheat]

Of course Mick isn't angry at Ray.
It's unexpected, but he's never really had it in him to be pissed at Haircut about much of anything.

There are snacks. Food and beer.
Mick will deal with it. Dropping into a comfortable chair somewhere in the vicinity of both Sara and Haircut.

Mick will watch the movie, he will eat snacks.
He will do his damndest not to look at the door, hoping that Leonard will come through it.