#and len hasn’t looked at him twice but drawls back that he doesn’t tell him how to do his job. but now that they’re on the subject—

[qlala]

made an enormous mistake (rewatched notting hill last night despite knowing full well it would make me immediately want to throw aside my coldflash nanowrimo project to write my coldflash notting hill au instead)

[sophiainspace]

Fic: Coming Back To You

Fandom: The Flash TV/DC’s Legends of Tomorrow Characters: Lisa Snart, Leonard Snart, Mick Rory, minor characters Words: 3811 (AO3 link in profile)

For DCTV Gen Valentine’s, Day 3: Family Feels Thanks to @bold-sartorial-statement​ for the short-notice beta read!

Summary:

She always knew her brother wasn’t a good guy. He was in juvie when she was six, and working for the mob when she was ten. But he stole tiny horse riding hats for her, and yelled at her bastard teachers, and made sure she ate even if he didn’t.

And he left her alone in that house.

Lisa finds out that Lenny's back in Central City. Their reunion doesn't quite go according to plan.

These days, all Lisa Snart wants is to be the most feared criminal in Central. When they speak her name, they should shudder. The Golden Glider, they should say—a gold gun in her hand, and gold armor around her heart. Watch out for her, they should say—she’s left behind her a trail of gold-plated rivals, lipstick-stained lovers and empty-pocketed marks, from Gotham to Star City.  

Then no one will be able to touch her.

***

When Lisa was six years old, her brother left her for the first time.

Lenny found her sitting on the floor, on the far side of her bed. He crouched down and pulled a face at her. And she rolled her eyes, because she was a big girl and too old to giggle.

When he slid down next to her and asked if she was okay, she scowled. She was six, but she wasn’t dumb. He was the one who’d been downstairs with Dad, arguing so loudly that Lisa wanted to run and hide in the closet and cover her ears. But she was getting too big for that, so she just stayed behind her bed, out of sight but in reach of a door, like he’d taught her.

And then he told her he was going away. I got in trouble, Lise.

She listened to Dad clattering into the kitchen with bottles, and asked if he would be gone a long time. She felt Lenny wince. She doesn’t remember what he answered.

She remembers looking down at her red shoes, the ones he’d got for her when she won the red ribbon in junior skating, when he’d been so proud of her. She remembers his tired eyes, so sad it hurt her heart. She remembers that he was gone when she woke up the next morning, and that she didn’t see him again for nearly a year.

But at least, that time, he came home.

The second time he left, she was fifteen and he didn’t say goodbye.

***

Hartley Rathaway is not a Rogue. Yet, he would say. He’s a weasel who always knows which side his bread is buttered, Lisa would say. This time, they’ve come to a mutually satisfying arrangement. There are heist plans coming together, and Rathaway knows how to disengage alarms. He’s been practicing since he was twelve, beginning with the one at his parents’ house. And Lisa knows how parents can be excellent motivation for the very best criminal expertise.

“I’m sure the Rogues will appreciate the help, Hartley.” She licks her lips, tasting slick gloss. The bold Sultry Cerise might not appeal to Hartley in the conventional sense, but he doesn’t fail to notice anyway, his eyes drifting to her lips. She pulls them into a satisfied smile. “You’ll be… well remunerated, shall we say.”

Hartley is seated at the far end of the table, his back to the wall, with Lisa at the other end. She never lets anyone get between her and a door. As she stands to leave, she lets her hand brush across Hartley’s back, enjoying his pleased hum at the attention. She takes a step away, a single click of a heel.

“Good to hear,” Hartley says. “Hey, Lisa...” He pauses to sip his coffee.

Lisa waits to see if he’s worth her time.

“You’ve heard the rumours, I assume?” he goes on.

Of course. Rathaway deals in knowledge. He relishes the advantage of knowing something that someone else doesn’t, using it against them.

When she turns back, Lisa’s smile is perfectly fixed in place. “There are so many rumours in this town, Hartley. Especially when it comes to a girl like me. Why don’t you enlighten me?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Maybe you haven’t heard. How interesting.”

Lisa manages not to roll her eyes. She’s not letting a man like Hartley think he has any power over her. She gives him the barest of shrugs, and walks away again.

“A little bird’s been singing,” the smug bastard says. “A white one.”

She feels her smile harden, her eyes on the door. “Sara Lance?”

“Indeed. She’s been talking to Team Flash, or so I hear. I’m only a consultant, though, so...”

Her hands haven’t shaken like this in years. She stills them against her sides before she turns around. Then she reaches out a black-manicured nail and points it at him, with a stab of delight as he swallows. “Spit it out, Hartley dear, whatever you’re getting at. Or there’ll be a gold limb in your future. Mmm—I wonder which one.”

He forces out a chuckle, and she tightens her other hand around the gold gun. “I’m so sorry for wasting your time, Lisa. I just heard that Leonard Snart is back. Thought you might want to be au fait with that.”

She startles at the sound of shattering ceramic. Looks down to see her coffee mug in pieces at her feet.

***

“Hey, sis.”

Lisa freezes at the drawl.

She’s been making coffee in the corner. Behind her, the bastards walk through the door like they—well, they never owned the place. Like they never left.

She doesn’t even know why she’s hung on to the Brook Street safe house, the last of Lenny’s old bases. Sentiment, maybe.

Sentiment is a mistake. Lenny taught her that.

Yesterday she got on the phone to STAR Labs and threatened whoever picked up, till they squealed. She doesn’t even remember who it was. Not Cisco. Once she knew it was true, once she’d screamed at the Rogues to get out, she just… waited.

From the corner of her eye, she sees her jerk of a brother stroll over and perch on the edge of the table, shoving her museum blueprints out of his way. Don’t touch my stuff. He looks down at the plans, raising a condescending eyebrow.

(He never thought she was as good as him. Well, she’s showed him. Central City is more afraid of her than it ever was of him.)

She turns around.

“Looks like you’ve been busy.” There’s the smirk she knows so well. She wants to slap it off his face. Refuses to let herself think how much she’s missed it.

Mick has been lurking in the open doorway. He steps inside, wary eyes avoiding hers as he stalks to the fridge. Her surrogate brother hasn’t said to a word to her since he told her Lenny was dead, and now he can’t even look at her.

But Lenny can’t look away, some kind of challenge in his eyes. “How’ve you been?” His drawl was never that broad for her before.

When Lisa was fifteen, her brother left. He was getting better offers from new crews, people who didn’t put him through what Lewis did. Years later, she went looking for him. And, sure, there was distance between them. There were guilty glances, shrieked recriminations. But that never stopped him throwing his arms around her.

And now he’s staring her down like he... doesn’t care.

She wants to scream at him to get the hell out of her safe house, but the words won’t come.

They move warily to the couch like strangers. Lisa stands behind the chair.

(Never let them get between you and the door.)

“Three years, Lenny.” The force of it hits her in the chest as she says it. “I didn’t even even know you were back...”

He scoots forward in his seat. “This is what we do, Lise. Drift in and out of each other’s lives. You know that.” He’s a picture of practiced nonchalance, one leg draped over the other. But even Leonard Snart has tells, if you know where to look for them. A tapping foot. Eyes darting around when he thinks she isn’t looking. He’s wound tight as a broken watch.

She laughs, a reflex. Nothing about this is funny. “No, Lenny. We don’t go off travelling in time—and I’m still not sure I even believe that shit, by the way—without a single word to our only family. Who knows what could have happened to you. You could have...”

He did.

Her brother lets out a tired sigh. “I don’t know who spoiled you like this, but it wasn’t me. So stop acting like a brat, Lise, and say ‘welcome home’.”

Her fingers tighten around the cold bottle that Mick has pressed into her hands. She’s longing to smash it against the wall. But, perfect aim or not, it would cross a line that they—don’t. “Please do try to remember I’m not a kid anymore, Lenny.”

“You were less annoying when you were ten,” he grumbles at the ceiling.

She taps a razor-sharp heel, channeling the Golden Glider. Her name should make people shudder, not raise bored eyebrows. “Three fucking years,” she mutters again.

“Could be worse.” Of course Mick chooses that moment to pipe up. “He could still be dead.”

“Do you really think—” she stalks a step towards him, hunched over in the corner of the couch— “that this is the time for quips like that, Mick?” His eyes widen like he’s been threatened by a man twice his size. Something vicious twists inside her, wants him to hurt like she does. “Do you wanna tell me why, for years now, you could only be bothered to call me once, to tell me my brother was dead?” She ignores the pain in his eyes, the dip of his head in shame. “Guess I should be glad you made that much effort. I had to find out he was back—” she throws back her hand towards Lenny “—from the Central City rumor mill, like I was no one. My brother, Mick. The only one I… had...”

The next sound she makes is closer to a sob.

“Lise.”

Behind her, there’s a hand on her shoulder. She flinches.

In his dangerous voice, Lenny says, “Get out, Mick.”

Mick doesn’t need to be told twice, but he shoots Lisa a regretful glance back from the door. Whatever’s happened in the past three years, it hasn’t all been kind to him.

Lisa somehow makes it to the couch, staring at Mick’s half-empty beer, her arms wrapped around her legs. Len’s voice, that until twenty minutes ago was all she wanted to hear in the world, is a buzzing noise in her ears, like a dying wasp against a window. She’s trying to tell him he can shove his ridiculous attempts at explanation up his ass… but she can’t breathe.

He left her. Forever, without a word of goodbye.

(Again, says a mean little voice in her head. It sounds like Lewis Snart.)

Lenny’s sitting on the coffee table in front of her, eyes full of worry, just like he looked at her when she was eight years old and bleeding, and she doesn’t need his fucking pity. Not when this is all his fault.

His hand is on her knee, and she shoves him away—and, shit, her hands are shaking again. No. She’s Lisa Snart. There’s no criminal more feared in Central City. Her brother, all of them, they can get fucked. None of them gets to hurt her.

They don't just get to leave her.

He’s talking like he’s one of those dorky do-gooders from STAR Labs, and one more stupid excuse pushes her over the edge—some crap about a timeline and free will.

“Fuck you!” she yells, pushing past him. Her heels echo on the warehouse floor as she runs for her bedroom—the only space in this shithole with a door.

Which she slams in her brother’s face.

***

It’s only a few minutes later that she hears, “Come on, Lise,” from the other side of the door.

She blinks at blurry stocking feet stretched out in front of her, there on the floor in front of her mattress. She lost her shoes somewhere.

There’s nothing between her and the door.

Of course her cold silence doesn’t deter her brother. He’s the master of those. “You know you got mold out here, sis?” comes his damn voice again. “Guess there’s a leak somewhere.”

There’s a little rap of knuckles against the door, and the sound of him sliding down to the floor on the other side. “So, uh. Don’t know if you’re listening, but I’m gonna keep talking anyway, okay?”

She ignores the tears running down her face. She hates to think what her makeup looks like, but at least she knows how to cry without making a sound. She’s Lewis Snart’s daughter, after all. She chokes on a caustic laugh at the thought.

“Remember when you were real little, and you wanted a pony? You were obsessed. Talked about ‘em, drew pictures of ‘em...”

She almost lets a laugh escape. Yeah, she remembers. Her mom had just left. For months, everything was about ponies—an escape from cruel reality.

“I even got you a little horse riding helmet, remember? And one day you got so pissed because I hadn’t got you a pony yet, where is it Lenny… And I had to break it to you that stealing a horse was a bigger challenge than I was up to, at thirteen.”

Because horses cost money that they didn’t have. And because she was five, and he didn’t want to break her heart just yet.

“Think that was the first time I ever really disappointed you.”

Lisa’s fighting to breathe. A lifetime full of reasons to learn better, and she can still be broken by feelings. She wants to tell Lenny he never disappointed her, but they both know that’s not true.

“‘Course, I can think of plenty of times you were madder at me. Remember when Dad was too drunk to go to your third grade parent-teacher night, and I went instead? Oh god, that fucking teacher who took against me. Mrs Harson, was it?”

Hillson. Bitch. Trailer trash, she called them, when she thought they were out of earshot. Her brother went back and told her off.

And all Lisa did was explode at him for embarrassing her in front of Scott Parker. God, she really could be a brat.

“You were pissed at me a lot.” Light knuckles rap along the the door again, probably not expecting a response.

Yeah, she was. He was the nearest, safest person to be mad at. She knew Lenny wouldn’t call her names, or...

He sighs loud enough that she hears it, muffled through the door. “Right up till you were fifteen.”

Oh. That’s where he was headed with this.

She sniffs and runs a hand across her eyes. Her voice comes out ragged when she finally answers him. “You left then too.”

She always knew her brother wasn’t a good guy. He was in juvie when she was six, and working for the mob when she was ten. But he stole tiny horse riding hats for her, and yelled at her bastard teachers, and made sure she ate even if he didn’t.

And he left her alone in that house.

“But, hey.” She keeps talking, a venomous urge to lash out uncoiling inside her. “At least that time you had the decency to leave a note.”

She hears him breathe out hard. “Yeah. You can still be mad about that too, if you want.”

“I’ll be pissed about whatever I want without your permission, thanks,” she yells back. She doesn’t know if she could handle hearing that he’s sorry.

There’s a brief silence, and then he hums. “I should really look for that leak. You don’t want that black stuff getting any worse. Gets its tendrils into the walls, and then you can’t root it out. Corrupts a place.”

“You died, Lenny,” she snaps, raising her voice through the door, a line in the sand between them. “And no one told me you were back.”

Fuck it, she’s crying again.

He’s suddenly, eerily quiet on the other side of the door.

“I can’t keep doing this,” she says. Her voice comes out broken, and she hates it. “Next time you leave… you don’t come back.”

After a moment longer, she hears a soft, “Can I come in?” She doesn’t say no.

The old door squeaks on its hinges. She tries not to imagine what she looks like, sitting there on the floor—small and pathetic, probably. The Golden Glider, brought this low. The Rogues would never follow an order again.

Lenny hovers in the doorway, something lurking in his eyes that hurts to look at. Nothing good ever followed, when her brother was that afraid.

“Either sit down or go away, jerk.”

His lips twitch in reply. He gives her a wary glance as he comes over, but drops down next to her in front of the bare mattress that serves as her bed. He has to put a hand out to stop himself from falling.

“You might have to consider retiring from the not-quite-hero business soon, old man,” she wisecracks, to a tiny snort next to her.

He sighs, and she can’t stand the sadness in it. “We can’t cross our own timelines. Mick was in Central City a month ago. And then he went back to the Waverider, and then I…” He swallows, a tense ripple of his Adam’s apple. “We couldn’t come back any earlier than this. I tried to get word to you. Don’t know who I can trust anymore.” His eyes drift up to the little window high in the wall, speckled with raindrops. “God, Lise—you don’t know how much I wanted to break every rule in the fucking book and just come back to 2016. Tell you that I... wasn’t leaving you forever.”

She sulks beside him, glaring at her wriggling feet. Thinks back over the past three years, how much older and colder she’s had to become. “You could have figured something out.”

“I could have,” he murmurs, and she blinks at him. Leonard Snart doesn’t often admit he might have been wrong. Not even to her.

She reaches up and swipes an angry hand across her face, just as he reaches for her other hand. She doesn’t push him away.

Staring down at their interlocked hands, his voice wavers when he asks, “D’you hate me for leaving?”

“Which time?” The jab is meant to hurt, but she regrets it as soon as it's out.

He doesn’t answer, distant eyes drifting back up to the window.

Damn it. There’s no one else in the world who can make her this mad. They’re both stubborn bastards, and they’ve shut each other out for years at a time over less. But he’s never died before. Between him and the fight, she’d rather lose the argument. She’s tired, and sad, and she hasn’t hugged her big brother in three years.

“I hate you a little,” she admits. “Jerk.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, in that same reluctant tone.

“Good.”

He chuckles. And, fuck it. She reaches over to hug him. There’s the familiar, brief freeze of his skittish muscles, and then he sinks against her. “I missed you,” he whispers into her shoulder.

And, god, she wants to answer, Not as much as I missed you. But she can’t be that vulnerable, not even with him. She just hugs him tighter.

He pulls away, eyes narrowing. “What do you want?”

“Huh?”

“To cheer you up. Name it.”

She gives him a wry grin. This is an old dance between them. Lenny would screw up, and gold jewelry would appear in her room after the very next job he pulled. She ponders what to ask for this time. Diamonds? Or there’s that gorgeous Galvan dress in the window of Annie’s Boutique, just begging to be stolen...

“Ice cream,” she decides. “With you,” she adds, in case he’s missed her point. He can be dense like that.

Lenny raises an eyebrow. “Ice cream it is.” With a nervous tilt of his head, he adds, “Can Mick come, or do you still hate him?”

Her laugh is a bright tinkle. “I guess I can chew him out just as well over mint choc chip as anywhere else.” Her brother helps her up, and she slides her arm into his. “Remember when you used to steal me popsicles and we’d eat them in the park?”

“‘Course I do. Do you know how hard it is to steal from an ice cream truck?”

Lisa grins, but her scowl is threatening to return. She slaps her brother against his side, just hard enough to hurt a little. “You’d better stay around this time, you hear me, jerk? No dying, heroically or otherwise.”

“Ow.” He shrugs, and an old, cold indifference crosses his face. “Got a job to do.” Then he glances at her, something deeper showing through. “But... I'll stay in touch. Really.”

She nods. Good enough—for them. “And you can’t have the Rogues back,” she gripes, pulling him towards the door.

He arches his eyebrows. “You can keep ‘em. They were never exactly the criminal underworld’s finest.”

“We’re an elite mob to be reckoned with!” she protests. “The whole city’s afraid of us!” But her voice comes out as a whine, an echo of her fourteen-year-old self arguing that she and her friends were totally old enough to go to a nightclub, while Lenny laughed out a please.

He smirks as he opens the door, guiding her through with a brotherly hand on her back that makes her smile. “Does Axel still forget his shoes at heists?”

“That was one time.”

“Uh huh. And Mardon?” Lenny’s voice echoes around the empty warehouse. “Still rotting in Iron Heights, or is he back to making temper-tantrum hurricanes when he should be focusing on grabbing the loot?”

How does he always manage to make her feel twelve years old? “I’m whipping them into shape,” she protests.

He tilts his head at her, eyebrow raised. “I hope you don’t mean literally.”

And oh, how she loves making him squirm. “Mmm,” she purrs. “Maybe in one or two special cases.”

“...I don’t wanna know, sis. So. Ice cream?”

“Ice cream.”

He glances up at the roof again, holding up one finger. “You know, I should just take a look at that mold for you. Don’t want you getting sick if it turns out to be the nasty stuff. My toolbox still around here?”

Lisa sighs. He doesn’t seem to notice, still narrowing his eyes at the tiny black patch. It’s nothing worth worrying over, but that’s her brother. She considers telling him she’s not a kid again, then gives up. “There’s a pile of crap in the back. It’s probably in there.”

“Hey, sis,” he calls back, as he strides off through the warehouse. “If you ever get bored of the Rogues… how d’you feel about time travel?”

She feels herself light up like it’s her birthday morning and he’s stolen her something in gold.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fic: The Swiftest Course (Ao3) (Chapter 3/8)

Fandom: Flash, DC’s Legends Pairing: Barry Allen/Leonard Snart/Mick Rory, Eddie Thawne/Iris West Summary:

Barry of Allen is on his way to the capital of Tortall for the final part of his knight training, hiding a secret that could threaten his career there. He’s determined to keep his head down and not get into trouble.

He isn’t expecting to meet Len, Corus’ Rogue, or his right-hand man, Mick. Or meet Princess Iris and his new friends, Cisco and Caitlin.

He certainly wasn’t expecting to be roped into adventure.

(It’s the Gods’ fault, really.)

A/N: For joyous-lee, who purchased one of my stories for the FandomTrumpsHate event. She requested a Tortall AU, with Barry as Alanna. Thank you so much for your patience, and I hope you enjoy it!

——————————————————————————————–

"So you put the bastard in his place?" Len asks.

"Yeah! It was great," Barry replies, trying to flip Len over his hip.

It's cute that he thinks that'll work.

Len swipes Barry's legs out from under him and pins him. "Congrats. That must've been satisfying."

"You have no idea," Barry says effusively even as he struggles to escape. "Seeing Tony Woodward slink away after kicking his ass three times in a row - brilliant. He avoids us now. Which is good, since the trip's coming up next week."

He gives up and taps out. Len rolls off of him with a smirk and offers him a hand up, which Barry accepts.

"One more for me," Len tells Mick, who's keeping score in a little red book.

"I don't know why you guys keep count," Barry complains. "I'm never going to beat you."

"Hope is important," Len says. "Also, I'm teaching you all about the noble art of rubbing someone's face in it."

Barry snickers.

"What trip?" Mick asks.

"We're going to the rainforest," Barry says, unable to keep a rueful smile off his face.

"Ah, yes, the rainforest," Len says gleefully. "Old Queen Tallesin's folly."

"It true that she was trying to fix things?" Mick asks. He doesn't always know Tortall legends, being as he is from the middle of nowhere.

"Yep," Barry says. "She was trying to create a new stable ecology for the region or something like that, I think she was saying, but at any rate, she meant to do it by abusing the Dominion Jewel which, uh, didn't work. Legend has it that the Jewel went nuts, created the rainforest and the new southern ridge of mountains, and then leapt by itself into the Mouth of the Salamander."

"Which hadn't even existed before then," Len puts in. "She gave us our first active volcano, like losing the Dominion Jewel wasn't enough."

"And you're going there?" Mick asks Barry. He's got a strange look on his face.

"Yeah, it's the annual trip. We were going to go to the desert, but there's murmurs of unrest, so we're going to the rainforest instead. They're using all the hostels in the desert to host real knights, you see, and mages, too."

"Unrest?"

"Someone swears they've found the remnants of the crystal sword."

"The one that got, uh, eaten when some mage tried a spell to pull it out of the Corus Gate some hundred years ago? That's absurd,” Len scoffs. “Why in the world would it be in the desert?"

"Well, you know, the crystal sword was originally found in the desert.”

“Yeah, but the Lioness' Lightning was found in Olau, according to the legend, and you don’t get much further from the desert than Olau.”

“Well, yeah. But someone said something and then people started fighting - you know how people are about legends."

"True," Len concedes. "Sounds like a fun trip. Have fun."

"We're going," Mick says.

"We're what?" Len yelps. He knows Mick's serious tone. "No, we're not."

"Yes, we are." Mick's voice is pleasant, level, and utterly final.

"I'm the Rogue - I can't just leave Corus at the drop of a hat -"

"Barry's not leaving till next week," Mick points out. "It'll be a good test for your lieutenants. A much needed one. Hartley, Mardon and Shawna all need some independence to see how they'll do."

"Well, I guess..."

"Wait, are you guys serious?" Barry asks, brightening. "That's fantastic!"

He leaps straight at Len, enveloping him in an utterly unexpected hug, making Len topple backwards with a yelp.

"I'm counting that one as one of Barry's," Mick says, smirking.

Len makes a rude gesture in his direction.

Barry does him one better, though, scrambling up from where he's pinning Len to leap at Mick.

"I'm the score-keeper," Mick yelps. "No fair attacking the score-keeper!"

"It's affection, you dumbasses, not attacks!"

"Help, Len! He's got his paws all over me!" Mick wails melodramatically even as he wraps his arms back around Barry for a great bear hug. "Assault! Assault! Summon the Lord Provost! Rogue, I petition you! Help!"

Len is laughing way too hard to say anything snarky.

"I'm the one being assaulted!" Barry laughs. "Mithros, but you're strong."

"You should see me with fire," Mick says, putting Barry back down. "Now get you back to the court adjacent; Len and I need to pack and figure out travel plans."

"Sad but true," Len says, shaking his head as if it can clear the grin on his face. "We'll meet you there. You lot are staying in Castle Perilous, right?"

"It's so badly named," Barry replies, nodding. "That's a way to make someone feel safe, isn't it? Castle Perilous."

"I heard," Mick says solemnly, "that it got that name because it was built on a swamp."

"It was?"

"Oh, yes," Mick says. "See, the first version sank into the swamp. But that didn't stop them - they built a second, stronger one. Which also sank into the swamp. The third one burned down. Fourth one also sank. But the fifth one stayed up!"

Barry gapes at him. "That's awful!"

Mick starts laughing.

"Is any of that true?!" Barry exclaims.

"Given that we heard it in a comedic minstrel performance last week," Len says, biting his lip, "I'm going to say that I doubt it."

"You guys are assholes," Barry tells them, still smiling. "I'll go tell the others; they'll be delighted to hear. See you - huh, I guess if the trip's next week and you're coming, I guess I'll see you there."

"Guess you will," Len says.

----

He waits until Barry's gone and down the street to turn to Mick. "Well?"

"What?"

"Why are we really going? You don't ask for pleasure trips, not like that."

Mick frowns. "You won't believe me."

That, in turn, makes Len frown. "Mick. You're my partner. Of course I believe you."

"I saw an image of a city hidden in the rainforest," Mick says. "In the fire."

"What fire? Mithros' fires, by his temple? One of the other gods?" Len hadn't known Mick even went to those. By and large, Mick is remarkably disdainful of the gods, even though by all accounts he'd grown up in the general religion. He doesn't even have Len's excuse of being born and raised a follower of Mother Flame, She and She Alone, a group that acknowledges the existence of the gods but maintains that they are mere children of the Mother and therefore to worship them is idolatrous. Not that they have anything against the gods – they’d certainly say hello if they met them in the street or something – but they wouldn’t worship them.

Though Len concedes he hasn't always been the best adherent. That restriction against pork - not to mention stealing...

There's a reason Len considers it worthwhile to swing by to greet the Trickster in his sacred spaces, even though he makes certain not to actually pray or anything. Friendly hello to an equal-born child of Mother Flame, albeit one that has the power to destroy Len in a heartbeat.

"No," Mick says, reluctant. "Just - that fire. Last week."

Len searches his memory for any religious fires, tinted with vervain for foresight, but come up empty. And then it hits him. "Wait," he says. "The gambling den arson? The one you ended up in a fit over?"

"Yeah," Mick says guiltily. "Still sorry about that."

"I'm telling you, it's fine," Len says, not for the first time. "I know you've got a case of the firebug fits; s'why I always make sure you got company when you go debt-collecting with torches and why I make sure you always got something to burn. But - you saw something?"

"I saw a city," Mick says. "In the rainforest. We need to be there, or else something bad'll happen."

"That ever happen before?"

"Twice," Mick says. He'd never mentioned that before. "Once before I came to Corus - it's why I came. I saw a new home here. S'why I walked all that way."

"And the second time? What'd you see then?"

"Faithful," Mick says, nodding at his rat, curled up happily in the little pen Len had built for him. "I knew just where to go to find him."

"Well," Len says after a long minute.

"They could be hallucinations," Mick adds hastily. "I know that that's a symptom of firebug fits sometimes, and I've got them before -"

"Only when you were very sick or depressed," Len points out. "Neither of which you are now. No, if you say you saw something, I guess you saw something. Guess we're going to the rainforest."

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

It’s official.

Barry of Allen is the only person in all of Tortall that does not like Thawne Eobard.

No matter how many times Eobard smiles – greasily, in Barry’s opinion – or how everyone swears up and down that he’s really nice, Barry does not like him.

This puzzles the living daylights out of all of his friends.

Being forced to ride in formation, stuck right next to Eobard’s horse, all the way down to the rainforest only made it worse.

Especially since Eobard spends the entire time talking with Iris about some sort of “hidden city” legend in the rainforest, talking about how exciting the concept is - how dangerous - how Good King Jonathan took on the Black City when he was far younger –

(Which he wasn’t, being very nearly a full knight and all, but everyone ignored it when Barry pointed it out. Also, is it just Barry, or is it weird to refer to Good King Jonathan in the singular? It’s always Good-King-Jonathan-and-Queen-Thayet. They ignore Barry about that, too.)

"Unfortunately," Eobard drawls in his nasal voice, far more jarring to Barry's ears than Len's more musical one. "It does seem that heroism of that sort is a thing of the past."

Barry sees Iris' eyes shining in excitement. "Maybe not," she says, sounding far too thoughtful.

"Maybe that's because individualistic heroism has been replaced with individuals committed to upholding institutional justice," Barry says, only slightly sourly.

"How's that?" Caitlin asks, blinking. She's been strangely dazed during much of the trip, as had Cisco; Barry guesses they're not used to traveling like this.

"Individual heroism as in the days of Good King Jonathan and Queen Thayet – and the Lioness, of course - was all well and good if your goal was making a name for yourself and yourself alone," Barry points out. "But permitting justice to be dispensed by individuals and effectively only permitting training for the higher end nobility and nomads, since no one else could afford to lose a child's help in the days prior to the institution of mandatory childhood education, essentially created a system in which entire communities were at the mercy of their local knight's biases and whims. Which is why Good King Jonathan and Queen Thayet worked so hard to develop the current system where any goodman’s child can enter their local training for knighthood, with their families subsidized for the loss of their labor if they’re not landowners. That’s why we call them the ‘Good’ King and Queen, after all."

Iris is nodding eagerly, since this is one of her pet peeves. "Not to mention the utter failure of that system to encourage investigation into issues of structural inequality," she says. "We had knights; now we have enforcers of the law which are themselves subject to the law they enforce."

Thawne Eobard looks annoyed, albeit subtly. "I suppose so," he says. "But there is still a lack of great deeds now, wouldn't you say?"

He aims that question at Iris, who falters.

"Not to mention," he adds smoothly, "you can't overlook the great deeds they did accomplish individually - Jonathan and the Banishment of the Black City, for instance, could not have happened with an army -"

"I personally think that Judge Samor in the 7th District counts as an individual hero," Barry chimes in, noticing with disgust how Iris, Caitlin and Cisco all turn to listen to Eobard adoringly whenever he speaks. He’s not that impressive. "She's been working for the rights of bastard children for fifty years. She fought her way up from nothing to become one of the most respected judges in all of Tortall, which is nearly as helpful in getting rid of the stigma that bastards are useless as her active efforts. And look at how she led the way in equalizing the inheritance laws!"

"I thought her recent ideas about funding unwed mothers were a bit much," Caitlin objects. "Doesn't that undercut the institution of marriage at all?"

"That depends on the benefit of the institution," Cisco points out. "If we really wanted to strengthen marriage above all else, we'd eliminate divorce and trap people in them, but we don't do that because it's not our highest value -"

"Feeding children is more important," Iris adds, nodding.

"I may just be contrary here, but it seems to me that it's not just -" Caitlin starts.

The debate kicks into high gear after that.

Barry's pretty sure he's the only one noticing Eobard's lips twisting in annoyance.

He still manages to bring up the stupid Black City legend three more times, despite Barry's best efforts to derail him.

There’s a lovely welcome feast by Julian Albert, the master of Castle Perilous, in which Albert talks at length about the local legends of gorillas in the rainforest, rumors of them having formed some sort of enclave, and the dangers of going in alone given their territoriality, but Barry goes to bed that evening still feeling unaccountably annoyed. He's not sure why he's so annoyed, he just knows that he is.

He takes a deep breath and lets it out.

"Okay," he mutters into his pillow. "Let's talk it out like Mom and Dad are always saying. Why does it bug me that he's talking about it all the time? So he likes legends; it's not a crime."

Still, doesn't Eobard realize how impulsive Iris can be? If he keeps goading her on like this, she'll do something -

Barry sits bolt upright in bed.

"Stupid," he hisses, and flashes into his clothing and down the stairs.

Even with the aid of the magic he'd sworn never to use, he barely makes it to the gate before Iris.

"Are you nuts?" he asks her.

Iris tosses the hood of her waterproof cloak back, scowling at him. "How'd you know I'd be here?" she asks.

"After Eobard practically dared you to go to into the rainforest looking for a hidden city by comparing you to Good King Jonathan and Queen Thayet? Seemed obvious," Barry says, then amends it to, "Mostly obvious. I just figured it out."

"He didn't dare me," Iris says, rolling her eyes. "But he's not wrong - there's a great deed here, just waiting to happen!"

"No one has ever found a hidden city in the rainforest, Iris. It’s not like the Black City, which was actually visible.”

“I know!” she says, beaming. “But I’ve figured it out.”

Barry pauses. “You’ve figured out…what?”

“It’s the gorillas! Everyone has been everywhere in the rainforest except where it’s marked out as gorilla territory, because they’re so violent against intruders. That must be where the hidden city is!”

Barry gapes at her. “So your idea is to go straight to the place with the violent territorial gorillas? Really?”

Iris crosses her arms. “You can come with me or not, Barry, but I’m going.”

Barry bits his lip. Iris seems dead-set on the idea, and he knows her well enough by now to know that nothing he says will change her mind. She’s going to go into that rainforest, with him or without him, and she won’t let him go back and get anyone from the Castle –

Huh. That’s an idea.

“Okay,” he says. “I’m coming. But can we make a detour?”

She scowls at him, suspecting a trick.

“No, no,” Barry says. “We’re definitely going into the rainforest. It’s just – we have to pass through the city proper before we get to the gates, right?”

“Yeah, so?”

“I promised I’d meet Len and Mick –” Tomorrow or the day after, technically, but they did tell him where they’d be staying. “– so we should swing by in case they get annoyed about me ditching them after they came all this way to hang out with us here.”

Iris frowns. “Fine,” she says. “But if you try to get them to stop me, I’ll never forgive you.”

Damnit.

They steal into the city proper and head down to the Monkey’s Paw, which is a disreputable-looking tavern in the poorer part of town, and which is surrounded by plenty of big, angry-looking people eying Barry and Iris’ expensive cloaks.

“Uh,” Barry says. “I’m here to see the Rogue?”

The thugs exchange glances, but finally one of them gets up and gestures for Barry and Iris to follow.

Len and Mick are seated in the middle of a positive sea of shining criminal faces, Len weaving one of his ridiculous-yet-true stories about heists he’s run with Mick interjecting additional details, some of which might even be true.

“Rogue,” the thug grunts. “Guests.”

Len looks up. “Barry,” he says warmly. “And you brought your friend, too. Do you have news for me?”

Barry blinks, not sure what Len means, but Iris steps up right away, saying, “News from the Castle, Rogue, and the special information you wanted.”

“You’re planning to job old Perilous?” one of the local thieves asks, sounding impressed.

Len shrugs. “I ain’t committing to nothing till I got all the intel I need,” he says archly. “Sorry, boys; gonna have to continue this story later. Need to talk to my, ah, friends from the Castle.”

There are murmurs of agreement and approval, and the crowd splits to let Len and Mick walk through to Barry and Iris, catching them easily by the arm and leading them to another room.

“Mick?” Len says.

Mick holds up a secret-sphere, activating it with a click. “It’ll muffle the sound, but not for long,” he warns.

“Being a Rogue spy in the Castle is a dream come true,” Iris says.

Barry sighs. “Was that necessary?” He does think it’s pretty cool, though, so he’s maybe not managing "put upon" as well as he could.

“This ain't Corus,” Len replies dryly. “Been a while since these people have seen - or had to respect- the Rogue. Enough of that, though. What’s up? You’re early.”

“Iris wants to go hunting for the hidden city in the rainforest,” Barry says. “Tonight. Alone.”

Len and Mick exchange a look. “City in the forest, huh?” Len says. “Okay, we’re in.”

“What?!” Barry yelps.

“Yes!” Iris cheers.

“Do you know where it is?” Len asks.

“I have my suspicions,” Iris says, and grins. “And a map.”

“You have a map?” Barry asks. She didn’t mention a map.

“Yep,” she says. “Got it from Julian Albert myself. He’s really into the whole gorilla thing.”

“So we’re really going,” Barry says.

“We’re really going,” Iris says.

“At least we’ve made a decision,” Len says dryly.

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

"It's official," Barry mutters. "I hate the jungle."

"Rainforest, Barry," Len replies, though he seems equally displeased by trudging through miles and miles of identical forest in the dark, their way lit only by the mage-light of their lanterns.

"What's the difference?"

"Rainforest has a thick canopy of trees, blocks the light," Mick grunts. "Jungle's thick on ground vegetation."

"I didn't know that," Iris observes. "Where'd you pick it up?"

"Mick knows everything," Len drawls, but he sounds pleased. Barry knows Len well enough to know that it's from Iris not having expressed surprise at Mick having brains as well as brawn. "He's - what's that word again? Starts with an o, means know-it-all?"

Iris blinks, baffled, and exchanges glances with Barry.

O word, o word, know-it-all, all-knowing...

"Wait," Barry says. "Omniscient?"

"That's the one," Len says cheerfully. "He's a bit slow to get to it sometimes, but ask him a question and he knows the answer."

"You have great faith in your friend," Iris says. The smile is evident in her voice. "To which I owe the life of my own friend, so I suppose I must believe you."

Len chuckles. "And how has Eddie been treating you?"

"He hasn't been 'treating' me anyhow; we're just friends -"

"Friends don't make out in Sweetheart Lane," Len shoots back with a smirk.

"Iris!" Barry exclaims, delighted.

"Gimme a break!" Iris shoots back, grinning shamelessly. “He's adorable!”

"Yes, adorable - and new to the city, too, which means you took him to Sweetheart Lane," Barry says, smirking. “For shame, Iris. Corrupting nice young men like that.”

"I remind you, Barry, that I am also your princess."

"Not in the rainforest you're not," Mick says. “Nobody to enforce your rules.”

"I'll tease you later," Barry tells Iris, earning a laugh. "All the time. Endlessly. You'll beg me to stop."

"I'll live," she replies. "Now, Len, tell us what you mean by Mick being omniscient. You mean he's terribly clever and people don't realize it, right?"

Mick snorts and Len laughs. "If I meant that," he says, "I would say it."

"Then what do you mean? You can't mean that he actually knows everything."

"Well, no. But he can answer any question he puts his mind to," Len explains, no trace of doubt in his voice. "It just takes time, that's all. I asked him a question once and he answered me near on two years later; he's lucky I even remembered what he was talking about."

"So he can answer anything, but slow? What if I asked about the meaning of life?" Iris teases.

"I could tell you," Mick says, and he sounds amused. "But sadly by the time I got the answer, you'd already be dead - and have your answer."

Iris laughs. "Well, that’s convenient. Wouldn't you say, Barry?"

"A little," Barry says, smiling. "Hardly the strangest thing I've ever heard of. Is it always slow?"

"Nah, sometimes it's quick as a wink," Len says. "Not often, though; I prefer the slow approach, myself."

"Of course you do." Barry rolls his eyes.

"Try him!"

"And if he doesn't answer, wait a few years?"

"Well, don't ask him anything too complex, then."

"But that's all the fun," Iris says, shaking her head.

"Oh, I've got one," Barry says. "Mick."

Mick raises his eyebrows.

"Where should I go to find what I'm looking for?"

Barry's quite pleased with his question; it's abstract enough for a good answer, but it sounds to him, at least, like an excellent request for directions to the hidden city, which they could then trace on the map that Iris has been consulting regularly but hasn't shown around. They can use that as a test.

Mick blinks. "Oh, that," he says dismissively. "That's easy."

"It is?" Barry replies, blinking a little.

"It's in the base of that big tree down that hill," Mick says. “It'll put you on the right path to what you’re looking for."

Len squints down the hill, enhancing his mage-light. "I don't think I see a tree, Mick," he says. "The hill cuts off in a cliff-face or something like -" He abruptly goes silent.

"Len?" Barry asks.

"That’s a tree," Len says.

Barry steps forward and looks. "Oh, wow," he says. The tree is gigantic, old and gnarled, with its branches twining up into the canopy, but its base is frankly massive. You could fit a house inside that trunk.

Barry steps forward again, eager to get a better look, and that's when the ground gives way beneath him and suddenly he's sliding down the hill.

"Barry!" he hears his friend shout as he bumps and rolls his way down the hill, instinctively throwing his arms up to protect his face and focusing on letting his body be limp and soft, falling the way you're supposed to fall.

Thank the Goddess for knight lessons, he supposes.

It's probably due to that that he makes it to the bottom of the hill without anything more than a few bruises and scrapes.

The bottom of the hill –

The tree is just as massive as Barry thought, but it's only up close that he sees the intricate carvings on it.

"Oh, wow," he breathes again, ignoring the sound of his friends edging down the hill in his direction.

He'd thought you could fit a house in here, and it looks like someone had had the same thought, decorating the place all over.

And more importantly, these aren't just carvings.

"It's a door!" Barry calls, and presses his palm against what looked like the door handle. "Guys, it's a -"

The wall creaks open, pulling back with an ancient groan and taking Barry, who'd been unwisely leaning forward, toppling inside.

The floor is some distance further down than he would've thought it'd be. It's definitely lower than the ground outside, at any rate.

"Barry!" he hears Len shouting.

"Ouch," Barry says, sitting. He turns on his mage-light – which had turned off in his tumble, since he was no longer holding the activation rune against his skin - and sees...

Treasure.

Not treasure as one would regularly think it, but gorgeous carvings of all sorts, pictures, sculptures. Violent figures everywhere, holding up their swords and shields and spears as if in defense.

Barry would have thought it a place of worship, but there's no altar, no religious imagery, no signs of dedication to any god. Just warriors, ready to fight.

Also, Barry is sitting on something that's poking him in the ass.

He fishes it out from under him, only to blink stupidly at it.

It’s a sword. He can’t quite make out the details of it – mage-light is dim, better for seeing distances than details - but it is definitely a sword. And a scabbard and sword belt, for that matter, which is good because if Barry fell straight on a sword he'd be a lot less curious and a lot more bloody.

Why is there a sword lying in the middle of this place?

"Hey, Barry," he hears Len drawl. "You feel you need more time in there, or you ready to come out?"

Barry looks up sheepishly. "I found a sword," he calls.

"A sword," Len says flatly. "How nice. I'm sure when I recover from the heart attack you gave me, I might even care."

"Oh, hush," Iris says, though Barry can tell from her voice that she's also relieved. "You know, Alanna the Lioness found her first sword on a quest like this."

"She found it amongst ruins," Len shoots back, unimpressed. “In Olau. Hardly the middle of a rainforest.”

"These look like ruins! Or, well, they're ancient-looking, anyway..."

Mick appears behind the bickering duo with a length of vine, likely from a nearby tree. He tosses it down to Barry, who shoves the sword under his arm and climbs out.

"Thanks, Mick," he says when he gets up to the ground again, "for as usual being the only practical one of the whole lot of us."

Mick grunts in amusement as both Len and Iris immediately protest that they were going to get rope, really, in just a moment.

"So you found a sword," Iris finally says when she realizes it's hopeless. "Like Lady Alanna's Lightning! Oh, this is even more like the Quest of the Black City than I'd hoped!"

"I can't believe we're on a quest," Len grumbles, but his eyes are shining. He might not admit it, but the Rogue of Corus is as much of a storytelling fiend as Iris is; no wonder he agreed to this trip so easily.

Barry shrugs and buckles the sword on. It feels right. "Well, I am going to be a knight," he points out. "So a sword obtained on a quest is definitely a step in the right direction. Thanks for the directions, Mick."

"I still don't believe it," Iris announces. "Pure coincidence, I say."

"You don't have to believe it," Len retorts.

"Which way, Iris?" Barry interrupts before they start arguing again.

Iris checks her map. "Oh, this way. Follow me. So, Barry, what are you naming it?"

“The sword?”

"You should name it ‘Pours’," Len says immediately.

"What?"

"You know - when it rains-forest, it pours."

"That was awful,” Iris declares.

Mick nods, but he's quietly snickering. Barry is only snickering quietly because he has his hand over his mouth. "What?" he says when Iris gives him a long-suffering look. "It's funny!"

"Don't encourage him. Draw the sword, Barry; let’s see what it looks like.”

Barry does so. It’s lightweight and easy to hold, with a different metal of some sort running up the middle. “I like it,” he says.

“I think you should call it Lightning,” Iris declares.

"Like Lady Alanna?"

"Exactly!"

"I don't know. Seems like a name with a lot of weight..."

"Call it whatever you like," Len says. "It's only a pointy stick in the end."

That, of course, sets Iris off on a rant on the importance of swords and sword-bonding in the history of heroes, Len needling her every time she shows signs of flagging.

Mick nudges Barry a little. Barry looks at him. "Name it whatever you like," Mick says. "Don't worry about the weight of history; it's not as heavy as you might think."

This, Barry thinks to himself, unable to keep from smiling, from a man who named his pet rat Faithful.

Well, he supposes Mick knows best, then.

"Lightning it is," Barry decides, sheathing it once more. He feels a bit better with a proper sword, since he had only been able to bring knives out with him on this trip - as trainee knights, they travelled armed, but put the swords away when visiting at a castle.

Mick nods in approval. Barry feels warm inside.

"So, another question," Barry says to Mick, grinning to show he was joking. "You think we'll find the hidden city?"

"Sooner than we'd like," Mick says, but he's not looking at Barry.

Barry turns his head to look, and -

"Is that a giant statue of a gorilla?" he asks, amazed.

"It is!" Iris exclaims. "But what can it mean?"

"It means," a deep voice - inhumanly deep - says from behind them, "that you are trespassing."

They all spin around.

From the darkness outside the circle of their magelight, an enormous figure, larger and broader than any man, steps forward.

It's a gorilla.

No, not just a gorilla. It's a gorilla, standing like a man, its yellow eyes bright with intelligence, and it’s wearing armor. Filigreed silver armor, of a make and style Barry has never seen before.

It bares its fangs.

"Welcome," it says, "to Gorilla City."

[pheuthe]

Something with Coldflash? :) It's been a few days since I read something with this pairing. Could be headcanon or a dabble, I'd be happy with anything! :) Please? :)

(Sure thing :))

“I’ll help you get her back,” Barry promises, and Snart’s eyes blaze, even though the man doesn’t move. He’s standing still in the pipeline cell, but somehow, he looks like a caged lion, restless and ready to lunge for the throat.

“No idea what you’re talking about, Flash,” he sneers, drawling the last word like an insult. Barry’s heart clenches, and he steps closer, pushing his cowl back, revealing his face.

Snart visibly startles; Barry’s sure that everyone will scold him for revealing his identity to the man who had no clue about his name, not this time around, but he can’t help it. He still remembers the Snart who could’ve been - was - a hero, and Barry refuses to believe that the man standing in front of him now is any different.

“Your sister,” Barry clarifies, licking his lips nervously. “I know why you’re doing this. Why you joined Thawne. He’s threatening Lisa, isn’t he? Probably holding her somewhere.”

Without the speed force aiding him, it would’ve been easy to miss the flicker of panic in those blue eyes. But Snart recovers fast and his usual smirk is firmly in place in a second.

“Ah, speedsters. Always think you know everything. So what now, kid - gonna tell me I’m just misguided? That there’s good in me?”

He doesn’t remember that it’s exactly what Barry told him before, once, twice, a dozen times, over the phone in Iron Heights, in Joe’s living room, in a run-down warehouse on an pile of old wooden pallets that didn’t even qualify as a makeshift bed. He doesn’t remember, because through a weird series of half-bad decisions and unlucky coincidences, he never heard it, not really.

But Barry remembers saying it, and he remembers that Snart, Len, died to prove him right.

It seems like he’s been resurrected to prove him wrong, but Barry’s never been great at admitting defeat.

“There is,” he says, quietly, and something about his voice must make Snart listen because he doesn’t sneer and doesn’t try to interrupt. “I was there, when you killed your father. For her. For Lisa. I know what you would do to keep her safe. And I’m telling you there’s another way.”

Len’s eyes widen - Barry might have been there when Lewis died, but Len wasn’t, not this Len who was dragged out of time by Eobard Thawne. This Len didn’t shoot his own father to avenge his sister’s suffering, but Barry knows that what Lewis did to his children hasn’t gone away simply because Len does not remember the ending to this particular horror story anymore. 

“What if I don’t want another way, Flash?” he snaps anyway; he’s never been one to back down, and Barry remembers the man who screwed him over at Ferris Air simply because he believed that what Barry was doing was wrong. 

“You do,” Barry says simply and backs away from the glass, until he can reach for the command console. 

The door releases with a quiet hiss, and Snart looks around suspiciously, expecting a trap. Always looking for a catch, with his enemies, with his allies, among the words whispered in the dark - it’s so familiar that Barry’s heart tightens and he steps out of the way, leaving the path to the door open for Len.

The man takes a tentative step out of his cell and zones in on Barry, eyes narrow in that calculating way of his. 

“Should I say ‘thank you’?” he sneers, and Barry wishes there was a way for him to reach Len, again, but it wasn’t easy the first time around and Barry’s not foolish enough to believe it would be any different now. 

“No need,” he shrugs, “but I meant what I said. I’ll find Lisa, and I’ll keep her safe.”

Len is faster than Barry remembers, but he’s still human and it would’ve been easy to duck away from him when Len covers the distance between them in two quick strides. Barry doesn’t try to; he lets Len slam him into the pipeline’s uneven wall and meets the man’s fierce glare head-on.

“Stay away from her, Flash,” Len hisses in his face. Barry brings his hands up, curling his fingers around Len’s shoulders, not pushing him away, just… holding on. The tender gesture throws Len for a loop, but he doesn’t release his grip on Barry’s throat. It’s not so tight that it would be impossible for Barry to speak, and so, he does.

“My name is Barry Allen… and I have a sister, too.”

He shouldn’t be giving Snart anything to use against him: but Barry knows that he won’t get anywhere with Len until they’re on a more even ground, until Len has leverage he can lean on, even if he won’t use it.

And maybe he will: somehow, Barry’s not afraid of that anymore. Let Len try his worst - because now, Barry knows what he could only believe before, that there’s good in this man’s heart, and Barry will draw it out again, if it’s the last thing he does.

“I’m no hero, Barry,” Len growls in his face and then takes a step back, just looking for a second before he turns and disappears down the corridor. 

Barry watches him go, and expectation coils tight in his belly, warm and heavy and familiar.

“Yes, you are,” he whispers and walks out of the pipeline to face the music.