And with that the bottle goes sailing to shatter against the far wall. As Leonard sinks more into cold distance Mick edges deeper into reckless rage. Fire. He doesn't have a steady presence to keep him grounded any longer because that presence doesn't seem to give a damn about more than the next job.

Some times, Mick needs more than a good heist.
He needs touch. Heat.
Out comes the lighter again, more and more often these last few years. Needing the fire to give him what Snart was unwilling or unable to anymore.

But even dragging his fingers through the flame isn't enough, the sear of pain not enough to cut through the anger. The dismissal.