#//She likes close physical contact; be it prolonged hugs or even casual touches meant to be special

[dutybcrne]

Cloud Retainer will act so formal and put together, but. In a romantic relationship, there will be. A Notable increase in how affectionate she is to her person.

[stillthewordgirl]

Fic: Central City Rendezvous, Ch. 7

Rip Hunter never came for the Legends. But maybe some meetings are meant to be… (Captain Canary, of course.)

This one takes place around the events of the Flash episode "Versus Zoom."

I own nothing. Thanks to LarielRomeniel for the beta.

Can also be read here at AO3 or here at FF.net.

A day later, Leonard decides he needs to get his cold gun back and get out of here. As soon as possible, preferably. Out of S.T.A.R. Labs, out of Central City. He'll do a few jobs elsewhere, maybe track down Mick. He'll come back when... when... well, at some point.

He snarks at Barry when the man drops by, getting hurt puppy-dog eyes as a result. He gives Caitlin the cold shoulder when she arrives to check his progress (and just gets an eye roll in return). Sara is distracted and quiet, although she smiles at him during her much briefer-than-usual visit. She doesn't seem to mind that he's distracted and quiet, too.

She suddenly squeezes his hand before she leaves. The imprint of her warm fingers on his stays with him much longer than it should.

A day after that, Sara brings a bottle of scotch when she arrives for a much longer visit. She smirks at him as she pours them each a glass, and her fingers brush his as she hands it to him, and he feels the cold expression he'd been wearing shifting into a return smirk. Before he knows it, and against his better judgment, they're soon both sprawled on the bed playing gin. Someone, they wind up playing—and talking—into the night.

Maybe he'll stick around for a bit. Maybe. Just because he's mostly moving on his own doesn't mean his ankle is that steady, after all. And his wrist is only newly out of the cast...

Another day later, he knows he needs to leave.

The next one, he changes his mind.

And the day after that, he feels like he's losing his mind.

She's…she's touching him more. Nothing like the night she spent curled up with him, or the kisses that one morning, nothing so direct, but little things, like hands brushing, shoulders bumping. Legs touching when they're playing cards. She gives him a hand up from his chair when his ankle, which is really doing much better, suddenly is disinclined to accept his weight, and the touch of her hand feels almost like a caress.

Really, there's no "almost" about it.

He doesn't like casual physical contact. Never has... or, at least, hasn't as long as he can remember. He should be reacting badly to this, very badly.

Instead, he's craving it. Looking for reasons, for chances, to prolong the touch; thinking about running a hand through her hair, just because he can, suggesting movies on the fifth and sixth nights just because she might curl up next to him again. (She does, her head on his shoulder, although it doesn't stay there long as she gets animated, helping him poke holes in the logistics of "Ocean's 11" and its sequels and enjoying it all the same.)

He feels... addicted. And it scares the shit out of him. So much so that he's pretty much resolved, by the seventh day, to leave again, as soon as he can. To make a clean break, for both of them.

And then Barry Allen pays him another visit.

"You…what?" He mentally curses his less-than-eloquent response, but recovers (he hopes) by glaring at Barry, who is looking somewhat sheepish. "You've had another evil speedster, one from another Earth, fucking around in my city—for months now!-and you didn't say a word?"

"Well. It's not like you could have done much about it," the kid fires back gamely. "Didn't seem to be much purpose in it." He glances at Sara, who's standing between the two of them, arms folded. "Still not sure there is."

"Then why tell me now?" He folds his arms where he stands (on his own, yay him) by the table, a semi-conscious echo of her posture.

His suspicion is correct. Barry tips his head toward Sara. "She didn't think we should keep you in the dark," he says. "Especially after what happened with Trajectory. So I gotta admit, there's truth to that."

Leonard gives Sara a quick glance, trying to convey a flicker of gratitude, before glaring at Barry again. "So did you bring me my gun? Just in case?"

"What?" Barry blinks, glances from him to Sara and back. "No."

"Then how the hell am I supposed to defend myself if something does happen?"

"Well, as I said before, the previous offer stands." The speedster actually has the temerity to hold up a hand as Leonard starts to retort. "But there's time to argue about that later. Now, I'm going to take him down. We have a plan." His eyes narrow and his mouth becomes a thin, angry line. "And I'm four times as fast as I was before."

Four times as fast? "Oh. Joy. How'd you manage that?"

Barry shrugs and gives him a half-grin, an expression that looks much more natural on his face. "You think I'm going to tell you?" He shakes his head. "I have to go. We have to move." He looks at Sara again. "You sure you just want to hold the fort here?"

"I'm sure. Someone has to." Sara heads toward the other side of the room, jacket in hand. Leonard notices her collapsible bo tucked into a belt loop. She doesn't normally go (visibly) armed around him... and he's pretty sure it's not, now, for his benefit.

Barry shrugs. "OK, fine." He turns to go. "Wish us luck."

He's not sure what makes him speak up then. The fact that he still owes the kid, much as he hates to admit it? The knowledge that without Barry Allen, Central City, his Central City, would be that much more vulnerable to people like this Zoom? "Barry." The kid glances back at him. "It's not all about raw speed. Hell, you should know that from the times I beat you."

Barry stares at him a moment, then shakes his head and gives them both a cocksure grin.

"I got this," he assures them, then turns and walks out the door.

Frowning, Leonard watches him go. Something, he thinks, is about to go sideways.

Alexa.

"This isn't going to go well," he says, knowing Sara's listening, feeling her presence right at his shoulder.

A moment later, he feels a warm hand reach up and curve around his bicep, squeezing just a little.

"I'm sort of afraid," Sara tells him, "that you're right about that."

And so he is.

Sara's decided that learning some basic tai chi is a good way to help him steady his ankle and he's playing along. The fact that she's even more gorgeous when laughing at his annoyance-and that she's taking every opportunity to physically correct his footing and posture-doesn't hurt.

So she's there, grinning at him, her fingers wrapped around his wrist, when a very different Barry Allen than the one they'd spoken with earlier slams through the door. (Walking quickly, not running, which is a distinction he'll only recall later.)

Sara's bo is out and brandished fast enough that even a speedster might pause. Leonard has no weapons—though that trusty crutch is leaning against the wall nearby—but he does go tense, hands clenching into fists, at the sight before them.

Barry walks right up to him and shoves his burden—the cold gun—into his startled one-time nemesis' arms, taking a deep breath before looking up and meeting Leonard's eyes.

"You need to get out of here." Barry's eyes are just a little red, but there's resolve there too, and anger—and not for one Leonard Snart. "As soon as you can."

He takes the gun out of reflex, arms almost hugging the cool metal to himself—although despite what Mick claims, it is not a strange sort of security blanket. "What..."

"Barry." Sara's lowered her bo, but she hasn't put it away. "What's going on? What happened?"

The speedster looks at her. "Zoom. It didn't work. He took…" He stops and shakes his head. "…and he took Caitlin." He drags in a shaky breath, and glances back at Leonard. "And she knows you're here. He…he might make her talk. You have to leave."

After six weeks cooped up in here, he should be nothing short of relieved to hear those words. "Why?" he says slowly instead, as he hears Sara take a shocked breath at this news. "Why try to get rid of me now?"

Barry frowns, glancing over his shoulder as if the enemy speedster is right on his heels. "Look," he says quickly. "I can't really tell you why. I promised…"

"Promised who?"

"…but you know that Zoom's from a different Earth. And, well, you…the you who's there…he's a very important man." Barry runs a hand through his hair with agitation. "And he's Zoom's enemy. And Zoom, I'm told, would give a lot to get his hands on you, use you to impersonate this man..."

"I'm not that easy to use. And I want to know who…"

Sara moves up besides him then, and there's determination and anger in her blue eyes. "Barry, I think you need to tell him..."

But the kid just blinks and looks at her like he's never seen her before. "And Sara. You have to leave too."

"What? I can help…"

"No. You…the you in Earth-2…" Barry shakes his head again. "Well. Ha...I didn't know about this before. I'm sorry; I can't tell you how right now. I promise I will later, if I can." He sighs. "But it would be very bad if he got you, too. Just…trust me."

Sara stares at him, then closes her eyes.

"She knows about my apartment, though. Caitlin." She looks sick. "She helped me move in. And I can't go back to Star City right now; I promised, but where…"

"I have a safe house."

They both turn and stare at Leonard, who glances away at this scrutiny.

"You can crash there," he says shortly, not looking at Sara, trying to downplay the moment. "Not too homey, but no reason Snow would know about it. Long as you need."

Barry nods then, once, and there might almost be gratitude in his eyes. Sara…

Sara's face is carefully blank. But her eyes are full of something he can't really put a name to. Gratitude and fear for her friend and…more.

This is, he thinks, probably a colossal mistake, just like so many other ones he's made since returning to Central City—and an unexpected rendezvous with a White Canary.

But somehow, he just can't make himself regret it.

Her motorcycle is parked outside S.T.A.R. Labs. While Leonard, with his mostly healed but occasionally unsteady ankle, probably shouldn't be riding it, there aren't a lot of options right now. (Especially since he just gives her a look when she notes he could call a cab.)

He puts his arms around her without hesitation, though, when she climbs on in front of him, and if the situation weren't so depressing, she'd enjoy that a lot—both the feel of warm, lean muscle around her and her back tucked against his front. (OK, so maybe she does still enjoy it a little.) For his part, there are no flirty comments this time, no sideways smirks. They drive away from S.T.A.R. Labs without a single word, though she feels Len turn to look back over his shoulder as they go.

Her apartment isn't far, and she leaves him with the bike as she runs up to grab a bag—not even considering that leaving the crook with the motorcycle might not be a good idea. But he's still there when she returns, his gaze turned inward and his expression thoughtful.

They leave again, with only a jerk of his head to tell her what direction to head in. After a moment, he starts offering quiet directions in her ear. She follows them without comment, bringing them to—what else?--what seems to be an abandoned warehouse in a rather seedy part of Central City.

He opens the lock with no problem, motioning for her to wheel the bike in behind him. She does so, leaving it in the dark corridor just inside the door and reaching for his arm as she notices him wobble a little.

He lets her.

She hasn't missed the conflict in him at times, this past week as she's conducted her campaign of…oh, call it what it is: very slow seduction. Because of that, she's tried to be very cognizant of when to stop, when to back off a little. Any sort of discomfort, after all, is very profoundly not what she's going for here.

But as the days have gone on, she's pretty sure she hasn't imagined the change in things, the way he's turned to her, the desire there, under an also-increasing sense of camaraderie. And now they're both here, in his territory, alone together, and it's awful, what's happened, but still she can't help but…

They proceed down the dark hallway, pausing so Len can also unlock the door at the other end, Sara's hand still steady on his arm. He pushes it open, then moves ahead of her to enter, flipping on the light.

He was right. It's not much, and it looks precisely like what it is: a former office converted into a relatively spare, just-in-case living space. A small kitchenette with a mini fridge, microwave, sink and a few cupboards is to their left, an equally small living area with a futon, a battered chair and a TV (the only obviously newish thing in view) to the right. A long table sort of divides them, and a hallway stretches away opposite the entry.

It will do.

She takes a deep breath, nearly letting her bag drop to the floor, but looks at him first. He's looking back at her, something guarded in his eyes, and she takes her cue from that. She doesn't drop the bag quite yet.

But she does say, "Thank you."

A jerky nod and a half-shrug. Then: "Come on."

She gets what her dad would call the 5-cent tour, then, even as Len checks the safe house for changes in what seems to have been a decently long absence: the kitchen area with its mostly empty fridge (he winces at the cheap beer and vile-smelling take-out box that sit in there), the workspace that currently just has a few odd mechanical components on it, the TV and the DVDs that are both neatly stacked (Leonard's, she thinks) and in wild disarray. He leads her to the other corridor and nods to one of four closed doors.

"Bathroom. Let me go in there first." He looks pained. "I don't know if my…roommate…has kept it very clean. Probably not."

Her lips quirk in response, but she just says, "OK."

"The door at the far end…another exit. Well, more hallways, but it will eventually lead you out. It stays locked." He nods to the other far door. "Mick's room. Eh. Wouldn't recommend going in there."

Ah. The partner of the take-out and cheap beer. "Got it."

With a hesitation, then, he reaches out and opens the door to the other room.

It's a bedroom, fairly small. And it just screams "Leonard."

A small desk, neat and clear. (She can picture it spread with papers, but that's far more likely to be the table in the main room, she thinks.) Two bookshelves, packed with books. A bed, full or queen? She can't tell.

Big enough for two, anyway, if the two are…close.

She rips her mind away from that.

Len's eyes are on her, and she wonders if he has any idea what she's thinking. But all he says is: "You can have the room."

"Come on. I'm fine on the futon…"

"No." A quick headshake. "It's easier for me to sleep there. Really. Railings if I have to get up."

We could share… "OK."

He looks at her a moment longer; does he have regrets? If so, he doesn't speak them. "It's late," he continues. "We'll figure out how to get some provisions in the morning. I want to know what you know about…whatever's going on. And…well. We'll figure it out."

"OK," she repeats, turning to him and finally letting her bag drop to the floor. "You're doing well enough? Ankle? Wrist? Ribs?"

"Just fine." He gives her the closest thing she's seen to his habitual smirk. "Really. It's late now. Get some rest. We'll probably need it."

Join me?

She doesn't say it. "OK."

"OK."

And then he's gone, the door closed behind him, and she's left there. Staring at the bed.

There's not much else to do, really. She changes into a pair of yoga pants and a T-shirt and, after another hesitation, turns out the light and slips into the gray flannel sheets.

They're soft, obviously well-worn, but clean. And, even so… she takes a deep breath… they smell like him.

Desire, suppressed due to the stress of the evening, hits like a kick in the stomach, and she sucks in a breath, curling around herself.

This is, she thinks, going to be…a challenge.

Len lies on the futon, out in the silent living area, staring at the ceiling.

Sara Lance is in his safe house. Sara Lance is in his bed.

And he's not there with her.

This is, he thinks, going to be…a challenge.