flashsecretsanta - Tumblr blog

flashsecretsanta · 11 years ago

Text

"I've Got Your Back When You Have Mine" For ireythegnome

Headcanon used because I have not read Forever Evil (haha no). But I have however read and am up to date on Rogues Rebellion. Which I have enjoyed so far but I’m wondering where the freak is Piper so… When you asked for “something with Singh having to deal with being out on the force after the recent events in the New52 (with Hartley's help)” I was like ‘I can do zat.’ And it turned into this. Hahaha;;;;

I’m not the greatest writer in the world but I’ve been having more inspiration to do that than art these days so I hope you can forgive me. Hey if I ever do manage to draw something for this I’ll make sure to tag you. New Year’s bonus or something.

I am really sorry for the delay and hope you enjoy this anyway. And all the self-indulgent headcanon… And Charles the bartender. Omg I’m so sorry this is probably terrible, forgive me.

Title: I've Got Your Back When You Have Mine Words: 4173 Pairing: DavidxHartley

It had been a long day and David Singh knew it was only going to get longer as he picked up the very gun he had dropped not moments ago.

"You ok?" Patty asked him not for the first time. He simply nodded knowing she wasn't going to stop asking any time soon. Not when he apparently had so much of a death wish that he went and pointed a gun at Mick Rory otherwise known at Heat Wave.

It truth he was the farthest from ok as possible.

David Singh had defied all sorts of odds in his life. Graduated at the top of his class, majoring in both Forensic Science and Criminal Justice, become the youngest Crime Lab Director in Central City history, and on top of that, was dating the man of his dreams.

Hartley Rathaway was funny, smart, and attractive. It was odd they had met so early in his police carrier and so late in Hartley's criminal run as the Pied Piper. Hartley had joked that seeing David made him go straight. It was a bad joke but the strawberry blonde’s words charmed David into their first date.

And the one after that.

Soon, David realized he was dating a reformed villain and was surprisingly ok with that.

As long as no one found out.

It was something Hartley could understand, after all considering where they lived and David's occupation; he had some sympathy towards David's delicate situation... To a point.

Their one-year anniversary had come and gone. David had to admit, he should have sucked it up and announced his current dating status to some of his closer friends at the department, namely Patty Spivot, James Forrest and Barry Allen. But after the apparent death of Allen himself and other members of the CCPD at the time, it didn't seem like the best moment. It was easy to blame vigilantes, like the Flash, for everything.

But at the same time it pushed Hartley away from him.

He had been part of reason Harley had changed and now he was the cause of another. This time, it was one David wasn't happy with.

As the last few months pasted, it had been hard for David to keep track amongst the chaos. Between the Rogues reunion, attack of the planet of the Gorillas, and a version of the Flash no one ever wanted to see, he and Hartley had continued to dance around the subject of their relationship. As in not discussing it at all.

It finally exploded, not because of them but because of what was happening around them.

A group that mirrored them almost exactly killed the Justice League, but where the league stood for good, these people were the opposite. Bad to the bone.

It was this Crime Syndicate that let loose a rein of terror on the world. And it seemed Central City was in for the worst of it. Grodd nearly destroyed the city in only an hour and ended dozens of lives, humans and gorillas alike.

Hartley... No, he had been the Piper at the time, had tried to put an end to Grodd, attacking the gorilla head on. Its only result was having Grodd smack the musician away with a single swing and David nearly having a second almost heart attack in his life. The fear the fogged his mind was much worse this time.

David could only be grateful as other villains distracted the homicidal ape from actually killing the musician. Grodd took care of them all fast than anyone was happy about but David breathed a bit easier when he didn’t see Piper’s green cloak amongst the captives.

Grodd didn't stay much longer after that, the thrill no longer there with the Flash dead and the city his without much of a fight. He left for other conquests leaving the city to the mercy of a group of villains to replace him.

That didn’t stop David from being tied to a tree along with his coworkers. As an example, he was sure. But from they he could see the city he worked every day to protect go up in flames. Buildings were only remnants of their former appearance. Streets torn up and bodies lay in the dirt. It was particularly heart breaking to see for the members of the CCPD who staked their lives to protect and serve and here they were tied up while their city burned.

The crime lab director couldn’t help but think of the worst with the city in the state it was in. His Harley could be anywhere in the city. David didn’t know if the former criminal had any places he could go in a time a danger. Not just that, but after being tossed around by a gorilla, he wasn’t even sure it the other man was ok. Best case, he had come away from that hit with just some bruises. Worst case was the chance that he could be seriously hurt.

There was no way Hartley could be dead. None.

It was only now that after he had been tied up in chains along with his other coworkers, that David Singh realized enough was enough.

So when of all people, the Rogues show up to finish Grodd’s job, David was furious.

Furious and scared.

He said some things. Some things that were probably the stupidest things he’s ever said. But David didn’t regret saying them. On the other hand, the gun was a dumb idea. Pointing that at Heat Wave was something he could see Hartley yelling at him for in the future.

Now, with the Rogues gone off to presumably the hospital to save Cold’s sister, the few remaining members of the CCPD got down to business to save their city.

David only had three things on his mind; Save Central City from any further attacks, protect his people, and the one that was the most important to him right now, find Hartley.

"Listen up. With the Flash missing in action it's up to us to stop the Gem Cities from falling into even more chaos," Captain Frye spoke up over the noise that surrounded them. Hartley would have heard it, David realized quickly enough. It was almost as if the city itself was screaming out in pain. "First things first. We need a base of operation."

"I think I can help with that." David turned to see a large black man lumbering towards them, a shotgun over his shoulder. He looked pretty intimidating for the most part, if they hadn't just faced down the Rogues minutes ago.

"And you are?" the captain asked.

"Charles," the man answered in a voice deeper than David's own. "You may have heard of the Keystone Saloon on the other side of the river. I work there." Most of the police force knew about that place. It was somewhere to avoid, as it frequently was the hang out of every super villain in the city.

"And you think we should work out of there?" Patty asked with a tilt of her head.

"Of course not. But Keystone is a lot better off at this point. The Ape was far too focused on Central that our side got off lucky. Sure we've got out own amount of damages but nothing compared to here. You all should meet up with our own cops and get a task force or something." The black man shrugged, the suggestion hanging out there in the open.

Most of the cops looked to the Captain for what to do next. He was the highest-ranking officer amongst them not including David.

"Seems like the best plan at this point, if your information is to be believed." Frye admitted.

"How'd you get across the water? Last I saw the bridge was torn in half," asked David trying to get his mind focused on something other than his boyfriend. It wouldn't do him any good right now. He had to do what came best to him; organizing and multitasking were just some of his best skills.

Charles gave him a looked before nodding. "You'd be right. The bridge was demolished early on. It's why response has been partially so slow." In a more relaxed gesture, the tall man slung the gun over his shoulder pointing to the nearby river with his thumb. "Did manage to get a few boats salvaged from being damaged including the ferry. They can get people across."

"You've managed that much?" Frye raised an eyebrow.

"Everyone hates Grodd if you haven't noticed. You get help from unlikely people because of it. Yea, I mean some criminals. Shouldn't be any problem thou as long as you have the owner of the Saloon around. You can't miss her, she'll probably be cussing out a storm at everyone and anything." A fond grin said much about what he thoughts about that but disappeared before David could accurately gauge how amused he was by it.

"Well, you gonna get a move on?" Charles asked impatience clearly shown on his face. "There's no time to waste on gossip."

"Alright," Frye stood at his full height looking at the handful of officers he had at his command. "Split up into groups of two and three. Cover each other. Patty and I will check out these boats to make sure they're safe. The rest of you, search for people who need help and get them to the docks. We don't discriminate people, anyone. If you see any other CCPD officers give them the same order. Get to it." With that, many of the already small group split up further.

David looked for someone to partner with as Patty was already taken. A hand rested on his shoulder. "Hold on Singh, I have something else for you to do."

"What is it Captain?"

Frye eyed Charles, the giant of a man watching with idle curiosity as the officers got to work. "The Rouges wanted to know about the hospital. They didn't care about anything else. But as we know, they aren't killers. It's quite possible that it is now the safest place in the city. I want you to go with Charles and check to see if it's possible to use it as a base of operation on this side of the river."

"You giving me orders now?" Growled Charles, clearly not liking that idea in the least.

"I'm sure you've noticed how few there are of us. And extra pair of hands would be a big help."

The snarl that flashed across Charles' face was quite impressive from David's standpoint. But it flickered into grudging acceptance fast enough. "Fine. ‘Least I know none of the Rogues will touch me if they don't want their tab to go up. Again.” The man rolled his shoulders trying to be nonchalant but David could see the way the man tensed up at the idea of going closer to the fighting.

“Thank you.” Frye nodded his head in a small gesture of gratitude.

“Sir,” was all David said as he offered the gun to the Captain. He didn’t feel right using it. Frye just shook his head, pushing it back at him.

“You’ll nee it more than I will. I’ll survive.” Frye answered, starting to walk away, checking over the groups as he did. Seemingly satisfied he nodded at each as he passed before stopping and turning to his men. “Good luck to all of you.”

“Sir, Patty, be careful.” David wished them luck. Patty smiled, patting his shoulder before following Frye as they headed towards the river. Other officers scattered soon after, leaving David alone with a man he knew next to nothing about.

“Come on, the hospital may just be a few blocks away but…” Charles made a vague hand wave to the city around him. Debris would be a major problem in traveling. It blocked roads and side walks making getting from one place to the next difficult.

It took them minutes just to get half way there. What was once a 15-minute walk was turning into a hike all on its own. David wished they didn’t have to just avoid rubble but several bodies also blocked their way making him very sick. Those who survived were holed up in their homes and even then they were still in danger from the fires. All the while he looked for a hint of green that could reveal where Hartley was in this madness.

“I hate this,” He admitted passing another body, this one torn to shreds.

“You’re not the only one,” Charles added from his spot in front of the other. He led the way, as he was the one holding a shotgun after all.

“Why did come over to this side? What’s your reason?” David has been wondering that since meeting the other man. “Surly there’s enough to do in Keystone to keep everyone busy.”

“Of course there is,” snapped Charles, brown eyes looking furious. “We might have gotten off lighter than you but the city itself isn’t in great shape. We have tough old buildings made of brick and steel. It handles the damage better than the glass skyscrapers. But…”

“But?”

“You’re dumber than I’ve heard. I’m over on this side of this god-forsaken river to see if I can help survivors. Your Boy Scout boyfriend is a fuckin’ bad influence.”

David froze. “Boyfriend?”

“Yes, Boyfriend, you closeted fuck. The freaking Pied Piper.”

Everything came to a grinding halt in David’s mind. Someone knew. In fact, the very someone sounded like her had known for some time which meant… “Hartley told you.”

“Yea, only after an entire bottle of the best alcohol in the saloon. Which is longer than he usually lasts. The light weight,” The man seemed add almost fondly.

“Oh…” Was all David seemed to want to say or could say for that matter. He wasn’t use to discussing relationships. Especially with someone else. “I see?”

“No, you really don’t. Piper was the best of them. He was never violent, just wanting to get money to help others out. He was successful on his own and didn’t need to steal to get it. But he did and helped a lot of people in the slums because of it.”

“And you know what, lot of us were happy he finally found a good reason to change. You. You made him happy but all I hear these days is for me to bring him the strongest stuff we got. You know why? Because he’s no longer happy. Also caused of you. What he wants to do now more than anything is to help people as the Pied Piper. Not having your support to do so is causing him a lot of pain.”

The words hurt to hear but David deserved every bit of the liberal lashing. He had known how rocky it had been between the two, but he didn’t think it was enough to cause the man to drink.

“I want to support him… but I don’t want to see him hurt.”

“That’s just something you have to accept. It’s called being in a relationship. He knows the risks from being on the other side of the law before. It wouldn’t be his first time landing him in the hospital. It would however the first time when he feels like he did something right in the process.” Charles finally stopped walking to look back at the conflicted man. “Look. All I’m saying is that he does this to protect people including you. And you don’t even have the decency to tell people you’re in a relationship? Get over it.”

Get over it? Easier said than done.

The two make it to the hospital without so much as a peep. The silence makes the noise all around more unbearable. Soon they could see the hospital in the distance. It was surprisingly intact compared to some of the others in the area. It was relatively unharmed save for some broken windows and a toppled ambulance near the front. Ice surrounded the front showing signs of Cold.

Before they could get closer, Charles stopped frowning. “Stop, something’s not right.”

They took shelter over by the burnt shells of some cars. David looked beyond and was surprised to see a fight. The battle was nearly over before it could really get going. The Rogues who could go head to head with the Flash on a good day, were having trouble. They could combat super speed but were out of their element when it came to fighting others with different powers.

But that didn’t seem to be all of their issues. They also felt out of sync with each other or more so than normal. Having seen what they could do to an army of apes it was a shock to see them knocked around so easily.

David couldn’t tell what to do. Going out in the open was a suicide mission. He wouldn’t survive getting in the middle of the fight. Especially as the one called Deathstorm, a name he would have to make jokes about with Hartley later, striped Cold of his powers.

It ended suddenly as the Rogues retreated through a glass window, shattering when the raging Power Ring blasted it.

The Rogues were gone, leaving the City to the hands of the Crime Syndicate.

“Professor, they escaped,” Power Ring told his companion examining the remains of the window.

“Mirror Master’s doing no doubt,” the flame head nightmare floated down for a look as well. “No matter, we’ll just have to finish the job they started and level the city ourselves.”

“No!” David was reconsidering his ideas of stupidity. Pointing a gun at Heat Wave was no where nearly the level he was at currently as he jumped up from the relative protection of the car to point a gun at Deathstorm.

“What are you doing you idiot?!” Hissed Charles peeking out to look between the Crime Lab Director and the 2 floating menaces.

“What’s this? Another one?” Deathstorm laughed. “This city is filled with people with too much hope. No wonder its been ordered to be destroyed.”

“Get out of our city.” David demanded, somehow managing to keep the gun steady. It wasn’t like Heat Wave, in this case he was fully prepared on pulling the trigger.

“He’s going to try and kill us!” The Green Lantern fake shouted pointing his ring at David. He stood his ground not moving a step, continuing to point the gun at them.

“Then we’ll just have to kill him first.” Deathstorm raised a hand towards David getting ready for what he was going to do next. David wasn’t sure what just that was, but he was sure it was going to be very painful.

“Don’t you touch him.”

It almost felt like the moment slowed down for David, as if a touch of super speed gifted him with the chance to take the whole scene in.

A green cape fluttered into sight. Standing on the other side of what had once been a street was Hartley dressed in the same clothes as before if not slightly worse for wear. The cape was scorched and torn in several places. The same could be said for the spandex. The green glasses that he wore had a small crack. Over all he looked fine, alive which set David’s heart at ease.

“You going to make me?” Deathstorm asked amused that he would be challenged.

“Exactly,” Hartley retorted placing a flute to his lips.

“Yea, I don’t think so.” A note barely sounded through the air before Hartley choked out in pain, grasping at his throat. “I’ve heard of you, Pied Piper. Don’t think you can just mess with our heads so easily. Not so easy having the very air in your lungs turn to toxic gas, is it?”

“Stop!” Shouted David, taking his eyes off the two to look at his Boyfriend as the man fell to his knees trying to breath. Gazing back up, Power Ring was still pointing his ring at David, this time pulsing with energy.

“I’ll Kill You First!” The paranoid man shouted, ready to let loose. Before he had the chance, a loud bang echoed from behind David. The shot hit its target sending Power Ring to the ground. A groan was heard.

“Damnit,” Charles said moving up to David’s side. “He’s not dead.”

“Why you little-“ Another shot, two, then three. David unloaded half a clip, firing at the flaming skull man. All the shots hit, or at least he thought so but Deathstorm just hovered their seemingly unharmed.

“That’s the best you have? Bullets are nothing to me!”

David readied himself to finish unloading the clip into the man but didn’t have the chance as a soft melody echoed through the air. At first it was soft, faltering only slightly before growing stronger and stronger.

Harley.

“N-No!” Screeched Deathstorm trying to cover his ears from the song but it was too late. It was time to pay the piper. The syndicate member fell to the ground, withering as the music pulsed in his skull.

David could feel it too, making him drowsy wanting nothing more to sleep. Charles seemed to be having the same problem as he staggered from side to side.

The music got to its strongest and all the fallen villains stood up. David felt his heart spike as they got up. No.

But they did nothing, just gathering by the now standing Power Ring and allowing him to gather them inside a glowing green orb. He flew them away with Deathstorm on his heels not turning back once or saying a single word.

As they were out of sight, the music finally ended. Hartley who some how had managed to get to his feet to play, fell forward.

“Hartley!” David didn’t need to think twice as he raced over to help his boyfriend. Kneeling down, he pulled the man on to his lap very reminiscent of the incident months ago. “Hartley answer me!”

The blond coughed up a bit of blood obviously not complete recovered from Deathstorm’s attack on his body. “D-David. A-Are you ok?”

“Worry about yourself for once in your life.”

Hartley just chuckled lightly. “Shouldn’t I be saying that to the person who pointed a gun at a member of the Crime Syndicate?”

“Shut up… What did you do to them?”

Hartley laid there for a few moments, his breaking getting better with every lungful of air.

“Well?”

“I thought I was suppose to shut up?”

David let out a choked laugh, “Smart ass.”

“Yes but I’m your smart ass.”

“And I wouldn’t give you up for anything.” David leaned down and gave the man he loved a kiss. Harley seemed surprise for a moment before leaning up to deepen it.

“You two are sickening. Why did I every think that this was a serious problem?”

David snapped up, clearly having forgotten their audience.

“Charles, I’m glad to see you’re ok.” Piper waved weakly, pushing himself up to a sitting position. David almost insisted he lay back down but held his tongue.

“You too, kid. Now, What you do to the goon squad?”

Hartley huffed, “Nothing too special. Just gave them a bit of a suggestion. They think that they destroyed Central City after the Rogues refused and left to start a manhunt for the traitors.”

“You sent them after the Rogues?” Charles raised an eyebrow. “That’s going to put you on their shit list.”

“Oh please, they were probably going to be hunted after anyway. What I did was give us time. They’ll figure it out eventually. I’m just hoping it’s rather later than sooner.”

David could agree with that. By the time the Syndicate figured it out, he thought it could be possible to transport most of the Central City citizens across the river into Keystone.

“Hartley,” David stared before he realized what he wanted to say. Hartley looked at him expectantly, blue eyes bright behind the green shades. “Would you assist the CCPD with evacuating the area? We could use your help.”

“As the Pied Piper?” Hartley asked, a fake amused look appearing on his face and David shook his head.

“That and also as my…” Why were the words so hard to say out loud? He felt no fear by them. Every moment in the last few hours, revolved around this man in front of him in some way. He was worth it.

He was worth everything,

“As my boyfriend.”

Hartley stopped. He stopped and looked at David like the Len Snart had declared himself gay. Shock was etched into his features as he gaped wide-eyed at David. “Y-You mean-?”

“Yes. I’m just sorry is taken me this long.”

Hartley reached over to David, pulling the other man into a deeper kiss than the last. Pulling back David’s heart melted as he say the biggest smile on Hartley’s face. One filled with warmth, kindness and love.

Yes, this could work after all.

No regrets in the least.

The end.

(MERRY CHRISTMAS!)

#flash secret santa #ireythegnome #fanfic #pied piper #david singh #hartley rathaway #submission

17 notes · View notes

flashsecretsanta · 11 years ago

Text

Secret Santa fic for GoRogues: Let's admit it, we're all fucked up

Fic: Let's admit it, we're all fucked up

Author: secret santa

Rating: PG

Summary: Roscoe and Lisa celebrate christmas

Pairing: Roscoe/Lisa

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

Let's admit it, we're all fucked up Secret Santa fic for gorogues Merry Christmas my dear Roscoe tugged at the neck of his new christmas sweater. It was bright red, with a waving snowman on it. Furthermore, it was bulky, itchy and way too warm. And it felt like it was actively trying to suffocate him. He couldn't blame, it, he'd probably be a little bit murderous, too, if he were an ugly christmas sweater. "We're up next," Lisa said and linked her fingers with his, sequeezing gently. They were in line for the photograph's studio at the mall, waiting to be photographed in the fake christmas setting they put up; fireplace with no fire, socks filled with styrofoam and a bookshelf that contained cardbpard painted to look like books. Roscoe had done all his christmas shopping two months ago so that he could avoid going to the mall on christmas eve. By christmas shopping he meant buying several sixpacks of beer and in a fit of generousness, a pack of adhesive ribbons to put on said sixpacks. The Rogues were remarkably easy to shop for. Lisa of course would receive a slim black box with a necklace and a pair of astonishing diamond earrings; the price had made even him think twice about buying them, and it was not like he had really earned the money himself. But this morning Lisa had dragged him from their bed, tossed the sweater at him and announced that they'd be going shopping. That meant noise and crowds, both things he despised. But it was for Lisa, so he had gone anyway. They had drunken eggnog - a vile drink, and he had been drinking with Digger once. Lisa had cooed over a enormous gingerbread house with gingerbread people. There was a stand which was set up to look like 'Santa's Special Christmas Bakery' where several actors baked cookies all day long and smiled at people. Roscoe sort of pitied them. Lisa had dragged him from shop to shop and he trotted behind her, carrying more and more bags. As she was in a changing booth yet again, he sat down heavily with a sigh and rubbed his temples, hoping it would do something to his headache. "Wife in the festive mood?" a man in the chair next to him asked sympathetically. Roscoe just nodded. Then the man offered him a flask. "I've been in here since 8am, buddy. Merry christmas." Roscoe briefly pondered just how incredibly stupid and dangerous it was to accept a drink from a stranger, but he figured he must have some good karma left after this. "Merry christmas", he echoed and took a swig. Egg nog. No good karma, evidently. "It's our turn," Lisa said excitedly and they went to sit in front of the fire-less fireplace. "What a lovely sweater you have," the photographer said, managing to sound so insincere Roscoe was seriously impressed. The man hadn't even looked up from his camera. "Marvelous, now get a bit closer. And smile for the camera - there we go." Roscoe paid for the pictures - tacky - and picked up the bags again. Did Lisa buy an anvil when he hadn't been looking? And so the day went on: more noise, more people and Roscoe swore the sweater had been a size bigger when he had put it on. She seemed to be in her good mood, so he put up with it. Then they got to the big center square with the 'real' Santa, holiday elfs and a gigantic gingerbread house. A row of squealing kids was waiting to sit on his lap and tell them what they wanted. Apparently, the cacophony of sound had reached its climax and he winced. Lisa was watching the scene with a strange expression, like a smile that wasn't a smile; he knew her genuine smiles and the smiles that were meant to mask anger, but this one was new and odd. He shifted the bags to one hand and placed the other on her shoulder. "Are you feeling alright?" She looked like she had been caught. "What's wrong, darling?" She looked at him, in his sweater with the bags in the overcrowded mall and, as if she was admitting something to her she had known for a while, her face broke from the smile away into a frown. "This, all of this!" she spat out and ran away. Roscoe tried to go after her, but people were pushing to get a better view of the Santa and he lost her briefly. He pushed free and breathed for a bit. It was his fault, wasn't it? She tried to spread festiveness, be merry and he had been an absolute grump. No wonder she was fed up with him. Lisa being upset was thw worst thing he had ever experienced and he swore that he'd do everything he could to make it alright again. Roscoe started pushing people out of his way, using a little bit more force and rudeness tha necessary,and went to look for her. He found her in the stairwell, deserted as was expected. Legs drawn up to her chest, arms wrapped around around the legs. Her eyes were red, cheeks puffy, and his heart sank. She had been crying; he had obviously missed much more. "I'm sorry," he said softly, and sat down a few stairs below her. "You wanted us to have a good time and I ruined it by being so grouchy." "That's not it," she replied. "I upset you, I'm sorry." "It's fine," she said, "it's not you." "What is it then?" "Nothing. It's okay." "No, it's not. You are crying and that's not okay." "It's nothing." "Lisa, it's not nothing. You're everything to me, and I would tear this place down if it made you feel better." Something shifted in the air, and he knew how to continue. "I'd set fire to the mall, break every damn window, rob every last store and steal the red sportscar from that stupid prize lottery." She wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "Go on?" He smiled, relieved. "I'd go to the hardware place, and get some tools. Maybe an axe or a nice big hammer. I'd smash windows, people would scream and run and I would laugh. Then, I would go to the eggnog stand and burn it down and danced on the ashes." "That shit tastes nasty," she admitted. "I get a bag full of the cookies from the bakery because they were good, and then I'd smash the bakery to pieces. And the santa display. And then, I would hold those Santa's arms while you punch the daylights out of him." She looked at him and grinned. There were still tearstreaks visible on her face and he swore that he really would destroy this mall if it made her feel better. "Do you know just how much I love you?" she asked and scooted down until she sat next to him. Roscoe placed his arm around her, and she leaned into him. "Not quite as much as I love you?" he guessed. "Well, you did offer to obliterate a mall for me," she conceded playfully. "I'm sure you'd do the same for me," he said and meant it. And he'd be right. "Can you tell me what upset you?" "It's so stupid. I just wanted a normal christmas, once. I saw all those movies and tv shows - people go caroling, drink egg nog and eat fruit cake, bake cookies, and build snowman, take incredibly fake and forced photographs, and there's snow and decorations on your house and people are just nice. And friendly, and good." It hit him. Growing up in a trailer with a monster for a father - he couldn't imagine what must have passed as christmas back then. "And I never had it, and I thought that if I did all that, that it would feel like christmas, that it would make me happy. But I'm not sure how to be more christmassy, and it doesn't make me happy." "Oh, my star," he said and drew her closer. "All my friends in school were making plans what they'd do in the holiday, they'd brag about their decorations, who had more lightchains, who had a santa on their roof, nativity scene in their garden, those parents had a fake gingerbread house, that dad build snowmen with his kids, this mom baked and their houses would smell...just like christmas." Her voice grew bitter. "And what did I have? A mom who was barely there until she wasn't there at all, a grandfather who tried so hard and was so sick, and a dad who did not give a shit about us. If he ignored us, it was a good christmas. Lenny would always give me something, stuff he bought with money saved from odd jobs, he'd go without a new tire for his bike, or wear shoes with a hole that was unfixable. In the last years before he moved out, he would give me things bought with stolen money. And that isn't what christmas should be like. Christmas should be jolly, with your family and presents and everyone just being happy." Roscoe sat in silence, arm rubbing comfortingly over her back. "And now that I finally have someone, that I can be happy, I just wanted a perfect christmas. I wanted evertyhing - sweaters, and eggnog, and overcrowded mall on christmas eve, and a santa, and fake reindeers, and just lights and - I wanted a christmas. But this feels wrong, and I don't know how to fix it." "The christmasses at my house always looked like right from a magazine; perfect decorations, perfect tree, perfectly cooked christmas dinner, plates with cookies and not a crumb out of place. Everyone wore their christmas sweaters, hung up their stockings in front of the fireplace, placed a plate with milk and cookies out of santa, my dad read a christmas story-" "That sounds nice." "It sounds nice, it looked nice, but it wasn't nice. The thing with 'from a magazine' means that it was to be looked at, not actually lived. I wanted to decorate the tree, my father paid someone for it. I wanted to bake cookies, my mother bought them. I didn't get to wrap presents, or sing songs. My parents forbade it. I spent one christmas locked in my room because I accidentally broke a tree ornament. Once, my father hit my hand with a cane because I dared to eat a cookie from the table. 'Those are not for eating' he said, because I messed up the perfect picture he had created." "Your family is fucked up," Lisa commented. Roscoe laughed. "Really? That's all you're getting from this?" "Your father is a psychotic controlling fuckhead." "Incredible. You have not even met the man, and yet you know him better than all his colleagues and friends." "A guy like him has friends?" "Friends may or may not be synonymous with business partners." "Fucked. Up." she repeated and grinned. "Like your's is any better," he challenged her. "Seriously? We're having an argument about whose family is more fucked up?" "My father had no picture of me in his wallet because I was deemed an unseemly child, he used the stock photo that came with a frame." "Once my dad disappeared for a week and to this day we have no clue why and where." "My mother didn't speak to me for a week when I got a 99 on a maths test" "My dad didn't pick me up from a school trip, so Len hotwired our truck and drove there, when he was 11." "My father named me after our dog, Neil." Lisa took a good, long look at him and then started laughing. "Lisa!" "I'm sorry,'" she said in between bouts of laughter. "No, you're not." "No, I'm not," she agreed. He pretended to sulk, but had to laugh himself. It felt good to get it off his chest. And it made her laugh, so it was worth it. "So," he got up and held out his hand, "I say we go back in, and have ourselves the best christmas ever." "How do we do that?" "Christmas is about spending time with your loved ones - check - and being happy, while getting loads of presents. So, we do what makes us happy, and gets us lots of presents." "You're going to rob the mall." "No, of course not, sweetie. WE are going to rob the mall." She looked at him and the look said everything. You're crazy, but I'm crazy, too, so let's be crazy together. She took his hand. "I love you, Roscoe."

#flash secret santa #gorogues #roscoe dillon #lisa snart #flash rogues #fanfic #submission

17 notes · View notes

flashsecretsanta · 11 years ago

Photo

DANG I FORGOT THE DUE BFJSD I'M SORRY FOR ALL THE TROUBLE-

My secret santa submission for the lovely Kidkold!! Hope you have a wonderful holiday and a fantastic new year too! Take care and keep being fantastic ;v;

#flash secret santa #kidkold #pied piper #the trickster #flash rogues #submission #fanart

43 notes · View notes

flashsecretsanta · 11 years ago

Text

Child of Thunder

The world around him was too bright. Or was it so dark Mark's eyes were playing tricks on him? Where was the wind and lightning? It should have responded by now. What else was Mark going to protect himself and get away with? “–oth–! Wh– happ–!” There was someone talking, or Mark thought there was anyway. Communication felt like an extremely novel concept all of a sudden. Hands held him down. Or pulled him up. And finally, finally something slipped loose and Mark could breathe again. Leaning over Mark was a blond man in armour and a cape. The man was holding Mark still, presumably to stop him thrashing about. “Are you well?” the man asked, catching that Mark had regained at least some of his senses. “Who the hell are you? Where the hell am I?” Mark demanded. Instead of looking concerned, the man grinned. “He is well, Mother.” A woman came into focus. She was standing over both Mark and the caped man with an expression that reminded Mark of Lisa – mostly haughty, though with an undercurrent of concern and amusement. “Let him breathe, Thor,” she chided, “It was a powerful magic I had to break to return him to Asguard. It may take some time before his self settles.” Mark wrenched himself out of the man's – Thor's – arms and scrambled backward. “Answer my question!” Mark demanded. “Where am I? Who are you? And where the hell are the other Rogues?” Thor and the woman looked at each other, a silent question passing between them. “This isn't the best place to discuss such matters,” the woman finally said, “Thor, my private chambers, if you will.” “Aye, mother,” Thor agreed, holding out a hand to help Mark to his feet. Mark knocked it away, getting upright shakily, but under his own power. Given the current lack of connection to the weather here in this strange place, pride was the only thing he had left. “This way, please,” the woman said, an underlay of iron to her voice that made Mark realise that disobeying her wasn't an option. With the curiosity that always got him into trouble (usually the painful kind) Mark followed. … Frigga – the woman had introduced herself on the way – lead them to a set of lavish rooms within a golden palace. Mark was starting to wonder if he was in heaven and how much he could cart off when he escaped. “Sit,” Frigga ordered. Both Mark and Thor dropped into nearby chairs. “I appreciate that you have many questions, Mark Mardon, but I ask that you allow me to explain before asking them.” “How do you know my name?” Mark – who had not introduced himself so far – demanded. Frigga frowned at him, until Mark began to fidget and let out a quiet “yes ma'am”. “It begins,” Frigga started, “With Midguard, as is often the case with these matters. “Some three and a half centuries ago, my son was on a trip to Midguard. It's not uncommon, even now, for those of Asguard to spend time amongst the mortals. Neither is it uncommon for things to get a little out of hand... to put it delicately. “On this occasion, a mortal woman bore my son a child. My family have many enemies and we feared for the child's safety. We could not let it be known that there was a child whose mortal blood would make him an easy target the nine realms over.” Mark could see where this was going and had to admit it was the most masterful prank anyone had ever pulled on him. “The Allfather and I conspired to hide you in another realm, under a spell so that none could scry your true being or location,” Frigga continued, “I had sensed there was trouble in your world, a crisis of sorts, and brought you back. “I'm afraid the process broke the geas holding your other self down. You may feel disoriented for some time. Until you're well, you will stay here.” … Mark had always chaffed when given restrictions, so naturally the first thing he did when Frigga laid down the rules was try to break them. There had to be a way out (aside from by the gatekeeper) and Mark was going to find it. The weather wand had took some time, but it was responding again. It let Mark explore Asguard from one end to the other. There were plenty of sights and people to see, most of who recognised Mark as Thor's kid because he flew and sparked lightning when he was angry. During one such exploration about a week in, Mark found Thor in the Bifrost gate – it had another name, but Mark hated even thinking the word – in discussion with Heimdall. There was a puppyish wistfulness about Thor, the sort that made Mark want to blast a tornado at him. Mark caught something about a woman before Thor noticed him and stopped conversing with the gatekeeper. What followed could have been an awkward silence if Mark believed in those. “Can you see my world?” Mark found himself asking. He'd been curious about that for some time and now was as good a time as any to ask. “Yes,” Heimdall replied, “And your companions too.” “They are alive then. This is good news!” Thor said with forced cheer while carefully watching Mark for his reaction. “They survived the apocalypse?” Mark clarified, “Frigga said she pulled me away from something horrible. They made it through that?” “They live on their world as they ever have,” Heimdall replied, “They still search for you from time to time.” Mark let out a surprised bark of laughter and turned to leave. He'd had enough. “They're looking for me? Hardly,” he tossed over his shoulder. “The mirror mage and the child trickster make the most effort,” Heimdall said, “But all of them try if they have an opportunity.” Mark increased his stride. He knew the Rogues weren't looking for him. There wasn't any point in listening to these lies. “Heimdall speaks the truth,” Thor said, catching up to Mark easily, “What benefit would he gain from lying?” “Shut up,” Mark snapped, “They aren't looking for me! They would've found me by now if they were. A family of Rogues. Ha! What good is family?” “My son...” Thor began. “I AM NOT YOUR SON!” Mark screamed, knocking away Thor's outstretched hand. There was a crash of thunder, but no rain. Not yet. Thor opened his mouth to speak again, but Mark beat him to it. “If you really were my father, you wouldn't have left me with my parents – the ones who raised me worse than you'll ever know,” Mark spat, “It's your fault! Memory spells or no memory spells, that had to have known! Why else would they have preferred Clyde over me? He might have been a scientist, but I was an artist! They had to have known I wasn't their son! They had to... I... It's your fault!” Thor had a peculiar expression on his face, almost as if... “DON'T YOU DARE PITY ME!” Lightning snaked down and struck Thor, who had to take half a step back to brace himself, but nothing more. Damn him. Damn him and all the gods of thunder. “Mark Mardon,” Thor said heavily, once the ringing from the thunder had died down, “I believe it is time you met your uncle.” … The prisons of Asguard were much nicer than Iron Heights. Neither had natural sunlight, but Asguard's were bright and warm, and whether it was because Thor was nearby or not, none of the guards were jeering at the prisoners. “Loki, I would speak with you,” Thor said, stopping in front of one of the cells. He was positioned so that they weren't easily visible by guards or other prisoners. It was the sort of thing Mark noticed, having played a part in more jailbreaks than he could count over the years. “And what if I don't wish to speak to you?” the prisoner asked. If this prisoner really was Thor's brother, there wasn't much family resemblance. Where Thor was bright and broad, Loki was dark and wiry – though given what he'd had seen of Asguard so far, Mark was certain that, even with his thinner frame, Loki could easily put him through a wall if he felt it was necessary. “Then you perhaps you will speak with this man,” Thor gave Mark a nudge as he spoke, except it ended up more like a shove and Mark stumbled forward. “Who is...” Loki trailed off and looked at Mark in exactly the same way Frigga had. There was the family resemblance after all. Loki laughed. “Your spawn? Is he not to your high standards? Have you come to foist him off on me?” “I don't look anything like him!” Mark exploded, “Why would you even think that we're related?” “The tangled web of a broken geas still enshrouds you,” Loki replied, smirking as he studied Mark further, “Even if you weren't as thunderously brash as my brother, the spell tells all.” “It is not my intention to cast aside my son,” Thor interrupted Mark's response, “Nor will it ever be. I came to seek council on a matter I have little familiarity with.” Loki laughed again, short and ugly. “Is he a villain then, this child of yours? No bright, brave prince for Asguard's throne? Have you come to show him where he'll be left to rot after he's disappointed you one too many times?” “My name,” Mark ground out, sick of being referred to by other monikers, “Is Mark Mardon. Stop addressing me otherwise.” “Such a plain name for your child, brother,” Loki said, “Why not Tanngrisnir, after your goat? Tanngrisnir Thorsson has such a nice ring to it.” “Stop being difficult, Loki,” Thor ordered, cutting off Mark's complaint yet again, “I wished for you two to meet and, though it may have been a passing dream, I had hoped you could help.” “Not scared I'll corrupt the boy?” Loki asked, with a grin that showed too many teeth. “We need to get to dinner,” Thor said, “Mother will be missing us. If you believe Loki will help you, you will be welcome here, Mark.” … Both Mark and Thor were miserable at the feast. Mark pushed the food around his plate, not feeling like eating. Loki's words still rung in his head. “You know what the pair of you need?” Fandral said brightly, “A quest! A deadly adventure with only your wits and your blade for arms. And it just so happens that the three of us,” he gestured to Volstagg and Hogun, “Have just such plans. It wouldn't be difficult to adjust for two more.” “We do?” Volstagg asked Hogun in a way that was probably meant to be quite. Hogun gave him a hard stare in reply. “Ah! Yes, we do!” Volstagg exclaimed, catching on, “A wonderful quest, to... uh...” “Alfheim,” Fandral supplied smoothly, “We leave in two days. You are both very welcome to join us.” The corners of Thor's mouth quirked up into a smile. And damn it all, but Mark missed a good heist enough to consider the idea. And if that thought wasn't enough to make him want to reach for the mead and down it like tequila, nothing was. … “Back so soon? The merriment too much for you to bear?” Mark threw his empty bottle at Loki. It bounced off the cell's containment field and shattered on the floor. A small puddle of honey-liquid pooled around the shards. Already Mark regretted wasting that last gulp. “Fucking cage.” “Truly, Thor's son,” Loki sighed, “Always breaking things and blaming others.” “My brother's dead,” Mark said. He rested against the wall, the sickly-sweet taste of the mead making him feel suddenly queasy. Loki cocked his head, silent for once, waiting for Mark to continued. “I don't know if it was by my hand, but it wouldn't have happened if I hadn't been there,” Mark choked. Talking about Clyde still brought a lump to his throat, excessive quantities of mead or not. “Do you miss him?” “...yes.” “Do you wish him alive and returned to you?” Loki asked, “There are roads to Helheim and Valhalla that even Thor knows.” “No!” Mark spluttered, then just as quickly, “Yes. Shit.” Loki was silent again, but at least he looked like he was listening to Mark. “You know I had a son?” Mark said randomly, he could always blame the drink, or the fact that Loki could probably mind-control answers out of him if he wanted to, “He's dead too. Fuck knows why Frigga brought me here when I'm cursed to watch all my family die.” Mark finished with a hiccough and wished he'd brought more mead. “Clyde Mardon wasn't your brother,” Loki said. There was something dark and bitter shadowing his face, the sort of twisted anger at the world that you could see on every Rogue. “Yes he fucking was.” “Not by blood and that's what curses care about,” Loki corrected smugly. “Fuck your magic,” Mark made a rude gesture. The pleased smile Loki was directing at him was enough to bring Mark's slurred thoughts to a startlingly sober epiphany. “Stop that. I've worked with a trickster long enough to tell when someone's trying to avoid a topic,” Mark said, “What the hell's bothering you about me saying that Clyde's my brother, even if he wasn't related by blood?” “Your mortal mind truly is tiny if you think your notions are in some way upsetting to me,” Loki scoffed. “Insults, huh. If I was sober that might've worked” Mark frowned at Loki, “The Rogues were the best fucked-up family a criminal could ask for and like hell were they blood relatives.” “Blood is everything,” Loki hissed, pleasant completely out the window and replaced with the unhinged anger that screamed 'supervillain'. “I thought that for a while too,” Mark said, nodding until he had to stop or fall over, “It's not really.” “You ignorant – !” Loki made a noise of disgust, “How dare you make light of the lies involved with such a farce!” “Aren't you all about the lies?” Mark said, “Why's it bothering you so much anyway?” Loki turned his head away from Mark. “Just to be clear, I don't give a damn,” Mark said, “I'm bored and there's only some much fun to be gotten out of detailing the horrible things I've done at dinner and watching people try to cover it up.” “I was right then, villain,” Loki twisted the word, latching onto another topic. “If the boot fits,” Mark shrugged, “I'm not ashamed of it.” “And you're his son, so Thor can't get angry at you,” Loki hissed with an empty grin, “The failing of the child are so often the failings of the parent. He must despise himself.” Mark straightened and focused a hard stare at Loki. With so many years of being a Rogue, Mark could clearly see what Thor and Frigga just couldn't. “One day, Thor will die,” Mark said starkly, “And you won't dance on his grave. You'll hunt down the being responsible and you. Will. End. Them.” Loki smiled, unholy fire dancing in his eyes. “And so will you, Mark Mardon.” “Goodnight, uncle,” Mark said, starting toward the exit and nearly walking into a pillar, “Now where's the bathroom? I need a piss.” … The dawn was bright, as everything was in Asguard. Mark had to wonder about building a city out of metal (so reflective McCulloch would love it) in a place that never seemed to have natural cloud. Today was the day Mark, Thor, and the Warriors Three were going to head off to Alfheim. Mark had been kitted out with what Fandral referred to as 'adventurer's gear'. Mark was thankful of the thick furs, even if they were somewhat smelly, though he wasn't sure what use fifty feet of rope was. “It's easy, Mark. Just put your foot on the stirrup and pull yourself over using the pommel,” Volstagg explained patiently. Mark eyed up the horse, not moving an inch toward it. It eyed him up just the same and snorted. “I'll be fine flying,” Mark said. “For the whole day?” Fandral rolled his eyes, “That's no way to travel! It's far easier to be admired from atop a dashing white stead.” “...It's brown,” Mark said, gesturing at the horse in case Fandral was looking at the wrong one. “It's all in how it's told afterwards,” Fandral retorted, “Get on.” Mark edged closer to the horse and followed Volstagg's instructions. He ended up on the horse, but it felt unbalanced and unwieldy compared to a good funnel of wind. “To success and glory that will be told in tale for years to come,” Thor boomed. His horse reared up and his cape billowed in what must have been a planned gust of wind. Every inch the hero. Mark wasn't a hero. He would never go out of his way to save innocents or follow laws to the letter. He couldn't stop children from crying (since he was usually the one to make them cry). He needed to be around people who could take his abrasive attitude and give it back. He might not be a hero, but maybe in this crazy space-Viking world there might be a place for him. Now if he could just see about getting the other Rogues here too...

#flash secret santa #herbertwest #flash rogues #fanfic #submission

14 notes · View notes

flashsecretsanta · 11 years ago

Text

24 K2CO3+ 55 H2O + 24 N2 + 36 CO2 And Mirrors

For Waterwindow, who wanted something with Al and/or Sam!

Chapter I: Valance

He was a noble gas, isolated and aloof. He was complete in himself, and needed no one else. Around him other formed bonds, fleeting hydrogen, close ionic, lifelong covalent. Or so

Al Desmond liked to think. No matter that sometimes he could not remember his birth name, or who he was on any given day. He needed nothing but himself, and a few good books. Though he would admit, on occasion he did feel envy of the strong benzene ring formed by the criminal family known as the Rogues.

Yesterday, he was Albert, and he helped put a criminal behind bars. Yesterday, he fought against the entropy inherent in the universe. He helped put chaos at bay, at least for a little while. Today, he was Alvin, and he was a force of entropy and chaos. Today, the stone spoke to him, and he listened. Pb à Au, O à As, the formulas were unbalanced, but so was he. It would all work out in the end.

Alvin accepted the research proposal even though there was a large margin of error involved, as well as poor methodology and a tiny test pool. The idea was proposed by Sam Scudder, the Mirror Master. Sam had asked Alvin to help with his latest plan to take down the Flash. The plan: Alvin would turn the Flash’s costume into quicksilver (Mercury, HG). This would allow Sam to seize control of the mirror suit, and hopefully the wearer. With the Flash thus compromised, they could go on a crime spree the like of which had never been seen before.

It was, of course, a formula for disaster, but no one could have predicted how violent the reaction would be.

Chapter II: Catalyst

Alvin stood in the middle of the cracked street, absently rubbing his thumb over the polished surface of the Philosopher’s Stone. Keeping the streets smooth was a futile task with the Flash in town. Sam was putting the last touches onto his diversion, which was, of course, a giant glass golem. Sam was always one for the overdramatic and bizarre. Alvin had a distinct memory of Sam stealing the Flash’s legs at some point, though he could not remember how or why.

The golem began to stumble down the street, smashing cars, building façades, and one unfortunate horse-drawn carriage. Right on cue, a scarlet streak appeared, shattering the golem into millions of shimmering pieces. As the Flash paused to find the culprit, Alvin raised the Stone. There was a flash of light, and the Scarlet Speedster suddenly faced a copyright infringement. Quicksilver The Flash spun around, and that’s when things began to go wrong. Before Sam could use his mirror mind-controller, the Flash was on him. When the speedster touched Sam, the reflective rogue vanished into the rippling mercury. Ignoring this as another one of the Mirror Master’s tricks, Flash then turned on Alvin, to whom it had just occurred that standing in the middle of a crime scene was perhaps a somewhat poor decision. The next thing Alvin knew, he was standing in a room of mirrors.

Chapter III: Trial and Error

Sam was standing in the middle of the room, hitting his mirror gun with the flat of his hand. “Damn thing got mercury in it and short circuited. We need to find a replacement if we want to get out of here.”

Alvin looked around. “Where is here?

“Mirrorverse. We’re kind of in the ‘lobby’. Mercury apparently reacts a little strangely to the mirror-rays; I’m not really sure what happened. We’re not one-dimensional or puppets anything so I’m not all that concerned. All we need to do is find a version of me with a working gun and we can leave and call it a day. Honestly, I consider this a bit of a win considering that I don’t have a broken jaw or anything this time.” Sam dropped his gun on the floor, and glanced around. “Right. Just pick a door, see if you can find anything, and re-enter whatever you came out of. It’s really easy. Generally you’ll be drawn to versions of yourself so it shouldn’t be too hard to find me or my gear.” Sam stepped through a mirror and disappeared.

Alvin stood for a little longer wondering if he could collect enough evidence to write a paper on this place. Deciding that he could figure out the formulas later, he stepped through a square mirror with a gilded frame.

He found himself standing in a Starbucks. It was a perfectly ordinary Starbucks, complete with overpriced drinks and slightly stale pastries. Standing behind the counter was Sam Scudder. Alvin walked over. “Excuse me, would you happen to have a mirror gun I could borrow? Another you and I are trapped in the mirrorverse and we’d like to get back to our normal existence.”

Sam looked at him blankly. “Albert, what are you talking about? Also, how are you here and also working your magic over at the coffee machine? If this is a joke you’d better knock it off, because Eobard will be pissed and I can’t lose this job.”

A man that Alvin was almost positive was Captain Cold pushed him aside. “Iced mocha latte. If you put peppermint in it this time I swear I will kill you. And report you to your manager.”

Deciding there was nothing of use here, Alvin stepped back into the mirror.

The next one he tried was tall and rectangular. He found himself inside a cramped box, which turned out to be a school locker. A teenage version of himself stared at him wide-eyed, and then ran off down the hallway, leaving a trail of chemistry notes in his wake. Alvin watched him go, and then walked the other way. Weather Wizard seemed to be reading the announcements over the loudspeaker. Alvin could not imagine why a weather report was necessary.

He found Sam in the photography studio. “You wouldn’t happen to have a mirror gun, would you?” he asked. Sam looked at him with wide-eyes. “Oh God no, you’re not one of those crazy shooters are you? Because if you take another step towards me, I WILL throw this vat of chemicals in your face.” Alvin backed out through the door, but not before ruining Sam’s photos by turning the chemical bath into a barium solution.

The third mirror was immensely ornate. Stepping through it, Alvin found himself in a room decked out in satin, with tapestries woven out of strands of precious metals. A very confused Sam Scudder was looking at him in shock. This Sam wore a tiara and ball gown. Standing next to him was another Alvin, holding a grimoire. Alvin turned around and left without bothering to ask about mirror guns.

Chapter IV: Results

This time Alvin found a pale Sam standing in the mirror chamber. He was holding a mirror gun as if it would bite him. “I think I found hell. Eobard and I were…ugh. And you do NOT want to know where the gun was. Let’s just go now so I can shower for several million years.” Aiming the gun at the floor, Sam created a portal back to Central City.

They appeared in the wreckage of the glass golem. Flash was waiting for them, back in his traditional crimson garb. He snatched the mirror gun, and before Alvin knew what was happening, he and Sam were tied to a lamppost. “Joke’s on him, that gun’s been in a butt.” Sam mumbled. Alvin waited for the speedster to be out of sight, and turned the ropes into helium.

“Let’s not repeat this experiment please,” Alvin said.

“Agreed. Next time we turn everything into glass. There is no way that could go wrong.”

Of course it did, but that’s a story for another time.

#flash seret santa #waterwindow #mirror master #doctor alchemy #mr element #submission

13 notes · View notes

flashsecretsanta · 11 years ago

Text

Fic for Meinarch -- The Most Wonderful Time of the Year

Title: The Most Wonderful Time of the Year Rating: PG-13 Word Count: 1320 Characters: Mick Rory, Len Snart, Evan McCulloch, Owen Mercer, James Jesse, Mark Mardon, Hartley Rathaway. Summary: Mick has something special planned for Christmas. Warnings: One bad word. Notes: Set at the first Christmas after Rogue War. For Mein, as part of the 2013 Flashverse Secret Santa. Her request was "something with Mick and Christmas". Hope you like it!

It was Len who’d organized the December 24th heist; Mick suspected the man was looking for a distraction from the holidays, anything to forget what he’d lost. He always felt Lisa’s absence more keenly at times which emphasized family. Thus, despite the grumbling from the other Rogues, the group had a robbery planned in the afternoon before Christmas Day.

“Security will be minimal, `cause everyone’s on vacation,” Len had told the others when he’d first explained the scheme in mid-December. “Easy pickings, and the store will be flush with cash from the Christmas rush.”

“Thank Heaven fur capitalism,” McCulloch cracked, and laughed drunkenly at his own joke.

“I’m busy that day…I have something going on at six PM,” Mick objected quietly. The other Rogues all looked at him with sly amusement.

“Got a hot date, huh? Don’t worry, we’ll be done by then,” Len said with a rare grin, and Mick just smiled.

“Something like that. I guess it’s okay if I’m free by then,” he’d replied. The guys had given him some ribbing about the lucky lady and the joys of getting some at the holidays, and then gone back to the business at hand.

The day of the heist found Len grouchier than usual. He barked at James for wearing a silly reindeer sweater over his costume, and unleashed an angry rant when he discovered McCulloch had poured a small amount of rum into his eggnog. The guys were all starting to edge away to escape his temper, though Mick placed a gentle hand on his arm.

“Len. Enough,” Mick said with a significant look. To Owen’s astonishment, their leader actually calmed down immediately, turning away with a noisy grunt.

“It’s a fuckin’ Christmas miracle,” McCulloch muttered under his breath, though fortunately not loud enough for Len to hear. Mick frowned at him, a silent warning not to push his luck.

The Rogues headed out soon afterwards, slipping into the jewellery store via one of its shiny glass cases.

“This is great!” Owen whooped when he saw all the merchandise laid out; even though it was almost Christmas, there was still plenty of stock. McCulloch scooped an armful of rings into a bag with experienced professionalism, while the others were a bit choosier. They took some time to select pieces of higher quality, not wanting to be weighed down with a lot of glittery junk jewellery.

But Len was unusually quiet and immobile, standing silently by a particular display case, and Mick went over to see what was wrong. He found Len staring at a necklace with a jewel-encrusted snowflake, and Mick knew his boss well enough to understand why that had attracted his attention.

“She would have loved this,” Len said morosely, making no move to pick it up.

“Yeah, she would have,” Mick agreed. “All the more reason to grab it. You can keep it for her, it’d be something to remember her by.”

“Don’t know if I want those kinds of memories.”

“You say that now, but you’ll be kicking yourself tomorrow if you don’t get it -- or one of the guys takes it first. Just slip it in your bag, and you can give it away if it really bothers you in the future. Besides, we shouldn’t stay here much longer.”

Len pondered it silently for fifteen seconds, and then snatched up the necklace. “When you’re right, Mick, you’re right.”

“S-stop right there, gentlemen.”

The Rogues turned around at the sound of an unfamiliar quavering voice, and saw a lone security guard pointing a gun at Len.

“Haw!” McCulloch chortled, and in an instant he’d temporarily blinded the man with a localized mirror-flash.

“Should I barbecue him..?” Mark asked with disinterest, possibly in an attempt to seem more threatening than he usually was.

“Oh God, please don’t. It’s Christmas!” the guard begged, and Mick frowned at the obvious fear in his voice.

“C’mon guys, not today. Drop the gun, buddy, and we’ll leave without any trouble.”

Terrified, the man threw away his gun, and the Rogues finished up their activities. There was a not-insignificant amount of grumbling from the usual suspects, but Len agreed with Mick, and his word was law. So within a few minutes the thieves had gathered up their haul and gone out the way they’d arrived, leaving the trembling guard alone in a ransacked store.

“I wasn’t actually going to electrocute him unless he shot at us,” Mark said in a slightly miffed tone once they'd returned to the hideout. The guys had immediately poured out their ill-gotten gains for bragging purposes.

“Shouldn’t say stuff like that unless you mean it,” Len rebuked him. “It’s bad for our rep.” He’d emptied his bag of loot just like the rest, but had slipped the snowflake necklace into his pocket before the others could see it. Mick knew about it, but he wanted the piece to be otherwise kept private.

The Rogues spent a few noisy hours drinking and playing cards, until Mick checked his watch and realized he was behind schedule.

“All right, time for me to split,” he told the others genially, and McCulloch slapped him on the back with a boisterous laugh.

“Huv a guid time, lad. Dinnae dae anything we wouldnae!”

Mick grinned and assured them he wouldn’t, and left the hideout as they yelled some good-natured teasing after him. He walked a few blocks so the police couldn’t easily trace his movements back to their base, and then caught a cab downtown.

“Mick! I was getting worried you wouldn’t make it,” Hartley greeted him with obvious relief as the bald man slipped in through the shelter’s side door.

“Hope I’m not too late; traffic was terrible. You’d think people would be off the streets right now,” Mick said as he donned the coat Hartley offered him.

“They’re probably trying to get home, or maybe doing some last-minute shopping,” Hartley said with rolled eyes. “But you’re not late at all, and the important thing is that you’re here.”

“Wouldn’t miss this,” Mick told him with a genuine smile, pulling on his boots. “Glad we could arrange it.”

“You look great!” Hartley beamed, and handed over a heavy bag. He was so proud of his friend, even though the Rogue War had significantly changed the nature of their relationship. “Through that door. And thank you again.”

The children at the homeless shelter were so excited by the sudden appearance of Santa in the play area, who was followed by an elf in a green stocking cap. Their eyes shone with surprised delight, and their parents were thrilled to have some joy and normalcy in the children’s lives.

“Ho ho ho, kids!” Mick boomed cheerfully as he strode into the room, the big sack slung tantalizingly over his shoulder. “Santa hears you’ve all been good this year!”

The children chattered excitedly as they clustered around Mick and Hartley, clamouring to receive candy canes from the green elf. But the evening’s fun was about to get even better.

“I have a toy for each boy and girl!” Mick announced, his smile widening as he saw the absolute glee on the children’s faces. He was glad to bring some happiness to people who had so little, and as he’d told Hartley when he’d agreed to this months earlier, being a Rogue didn’t necessarily mean he was a bad man. Maybe he could convince some of the other guys to join him in the future.

“I love you, Santa,” a little girl declared tearfully as he gave her a wrapped gift, and she hugged him. At first Mick was unsure about how to respond, but he hugged her back tightly after a few moments’ thought.

“I love you too, kid,” he said softly. “Santa wouldn’t forget about you or your friends.”

The gratitude evident in her eyes made the whole experience feel more than worthwhile. He would definitely do this again next year.

#flashsecretsanta #meinarch #fash rogues #mick rory #heat wave #submission #fanfic

22 notes · View notes