For a long time, Oliver and Sara avoided the subject of what had happened in his past and what would happen in her future. They talked about small things, happy to ignore the obvious. If only to spare them both pain.
They avoided the past. Sara didn't ask about the fates of their friends, or even the doomed fate of their home, and Oliver was more than happy to not discuss it.
Instead, they just talked.
They talked about Sara's new gear. Oliver was particularly interested in the light-weight futuristic Kevlar. He did get a bit upset about the breathability.
"That's not fair that it's breathable!" He complained. "I had to literally peel my suit off after each patrol."
Sara just laughed at his petulance. "That's what happens when you stick with leather and Kevlar. And, I had to deal with that too, you know! My Canary suit was made up of the same material, so don't complain."
"And don't get me started on the smell. I was in near tears when Curtis put a high-pressure shower in here."
"Near tears?" She jabbed him in the side with her elbow. "I seem to remember some misty eyes when he told us. What did you say as an excuse, again?"
"Oh god, please don-"
"-It's just allergies, Holt." Sara said, dropping her voice into a low, gravely mock growl of Oliver's voice. She burst out into laughter. "Allergies. Really, Ollie? That's the best you could come up with?"
"I've been looking for years for breathable materials that can take a round of bullets.
"Remember that time I threatened Barry's friend? Cisco?"
She vaguely remembered it. "Didn't you threaten to shoot him in the leg so he would make you a suit?"
Oliver nodded his head, his lips twisted in a grim smile. "Shooting people in the leg always works." He replied sagely.
Sara burst out in laughter, her whole body practically shaking. Oliver just winked at her, giving her a genuine smile.
Once Sara gained control of her emotions, Sara couldn't help but pause in thought. I'm happy right now. She realized. Oliver is here, right beside me. When was the last time I was genuinely happy?
It had to have been at least before her death. Life after the Pit seemed gray and monotone; it just wasn't as memorable and vibrant as life Before.
I've missed him.
If she didn't look at him and ignored the state of the Foundry, she could just pretend that it was still 2016. Maybe if she closed her eyes, she could trick herself into thinking that the Legends had achieved their goal and stopped Savage, and that she was back home. She was back in her timeline, just hanging out in the Foundry, leaning against a wall with her Oliver, just talking.
"Tell me about time travel. Is it as its shown in the movies?"
Sara laughed, her head resting against the crook of his neck, her body pressed against his side.
"A little bit," she admitted. "It's not as flashy or dramatic as some movies portray it, but it is quite a sight. It's like…" she struggled for words to describe the feeling of moving through time and space, of turning back the clock. "Like something is tugging at your gut, pulling you towards some great unknown."
"It must be quite a feeling," Oliver mused.
She smiled. "Like nothing I've ever felt before."
"What about the ship?" He asked eagerly. "Is it more 'Millennium Falcon' or 'Enterprise'?"
"You know that neither of those ships are time machines, right?"
She had forgotten how un-nerdy Oliver had been, and apparently still was.
"It is its own type of ship, Oliver. We call it the Waverider. I don't really know why Rip named it that. Maybe Time flows like the waves of an ocean, rippling across reality? It's a bit too sciency for me to really understand."
Oliver hummed, "I remember the ship. Looked pretty high tech to me."
Sara scoffed at what she considered an understatement. Clearly, Oliver still wasn't adept in technology even in this timeline. "It's considered a technical and scientific miracle in a time where sentient A.I. are considered the norm."
"Hey, that's what I said…"
Chuckling softly, Sara opened her eyes again, staring up at the support beams. "It's unbelievable. Time travel is… indescribable. To have the ability to go to any time period, to see the past unravel and the future unfold before your very eyes… what a power…"
"It sounds amazing." Oliver said. Though she wasn't looking at him, Sara could feel his eyes on her. Unable to help herself, she turned to face him. He was so close to her that Sara could see every wrinkle on his face. His hair was more silver than gray at a closer look, and it looked so soft that she wanted to touch the thinning strands. But she held back, afraid of this reality. He was so old now. Was he really even her Ollie?
He's aged thirty years… He's older than Robert Queen when he died.
For some reason, despite being well used to time travel by now, the realization struck her like a ton of bricks.
"Sara?" His hand enveloped hers, his fingers rough and callused. So familiar, if not for the wrinkles and the, new to her but long since faded, scars. Sara couldn't help but stare at his missing limb. So much had changed in her absence.
She looked at him wistfully, "A power, and a curse; it seems."
His face, already so tired and weary, fell.
"I'm sorry it took me so long to come home…"
The grip on her hand tightened.
"You're here now," Oliver said, a small smile playing at his lips. "That's all I need."
The pain in her heart throbbed, aching as much as the bloodlust that had plagued her since her dip in the Lazarus pit. To think that some other agony could match the turmoil brewing within her…
Perhaps, after dying and going off with Rip and the Legends, Sara had forgotten how much the man beside her had meant to her.
Their fingers interlocked together, both of them holding on tight. "I'm here now," Sara agreed. "I'm here, Ollie."
Many things could be said about Leonard Snart and Mick Rory.
They were ruthless in their line of work, with no fickle morals or second-doubts holding them back. They did what they did with great success; their partnership was iron-tight despite their differences in behavior.
In a world where the saying 'No honor amongst thieves' was its very foundation, Leonard Snart and Mick Rory stuck together.
In a sense, they were a package deal.
But still, at the moment, Leonard was wondering if it was time to ditch his partner in crime and sneak into the closest dark alleyway and disappear. He had never left Rory behind, even before they 'joined' the Legends, but he was considering it if only because of the situation they were in.
Their little excursion into the wasteland that was Star City was supposed to be simple: find Palmer Industries (now Smoak Technologies), avoid the locals, steal the device needed to fix the Waverider, and get out.
It was always 'and yet' nowadays, if Leonard really thought about it.
They had been ambushed by a bunch of wild gang members whose getup seemed to be a mixture of Mad Max and cheap steampunk. The thieves, along with Rip Hunter and Sara, had taken shelter in a bus, only to be separated in the chaos. And then, when they had tried to make a break for it back to the Waverider, they had been ambushed.
They, the infamous thieves known as Captain Cold and Heatwave, had tried to be mugged by an amateur wannabe criminal gang leader. It was almost hilarious, until Rory acted.
Rory, ever impulsive, had burned the apparent gang leader to char when the man had foolishly tried to threaten them. Instead of turning their weapons on the two thieves, the gang had bestowed the title of leader onto Mick. Because apparently that's how succession works now. And, of course, Rory had accepted without consulting his partner.
Mick was taking the new position rather well.
Dressed up in the fur suit of the old leader, Rory's first act as gang leader had been to throw a party of all things. And Rory's new minions had simply cheered and happily obeyed.
So now, here Leonard was, stewing in the background of the club, hidden away by the bar while nursing a drink. It tasted terrible, but he needed the alcohol to deal with the upcoming headache.
Rory, you absolute imbecile. Snart thought, draining the last drops.
Bored out of his mind, he watched and learned. The majority of the gang was dancing to terrible techno music, drinking and dancing against another as though it were the end of the world. One of them had two pistols, semi-automatic by the looks of it, clipped into twin holsters. A girl passionately sticking her tongue down another man's throat had a firearm against her hip and a knife alongside her leg. The ones that weren't dancing or drinking were patrolling the perimeter, hands on their weapons.
A quick mental consideration showed that, despite their debaucherously, idiotic attitude, they weren't as stupid as they appeared. They at least appeared ready for a fight at any moment.
And the sober ones kept looking at him…
Leonard knew those looks.
They were studying him, just as he had studied them. Snart didn't like people trying to figure out his secrets. He didn't like that kind of attention, which might have been surprising if someone looked at his profile.
Being the best of the best, it wasn't too far of a stretch to say that both thieves were vain and prideful. Despite their efficiency in the art of stealth, both men had a flair for the dramatics.
Leonard Snart loved attention. He craved it like he craved stealing priceless artifacts and outsmarting others. He liked to have his moment in the spotlight to be short-lived, but glorious. A dramatic climax that, while brief, was unforgettable to those who witnessed it.
But this? This was akin to being looked at from under a microscope.
That small window in the bathroom was looking rather tempting now…
Before Leonard could weigh his options, his partner in crime and the newfound 'leader' of these degenerate idiots became heard by a loud yell.
"Snart!" Rory came up to him, still wearing that ridiculous fur coat that looked like something a wealthy old lady would wear back during the Roaring Twenties. And was that a chalice in his hand? A girl with disheveled hair and an ungodly amount of dark eyeshadow was tucked away at his side.
"Your Highness," the words came out in a biting drawl.
Mick stopped in his tracks at his friend's tone. Even if he had been drinking as much as his new 'minions' had, he knew Leonard enough to know when he was genuinely angry.
"Why are you upset," Rick asked, honestly befuddled. "We have everything we could ever want here. Resources, power, respect, and people who do everything we tell them to."
"Telling your new friends to drink like it's the end of the world is one thing, but do you really expect them to die for you? Or even listen to you if they don't like what they hear?"
Mick frowned and looked at him with suspicion. "Is this because I didn't give you the chalice?"
"Because I'm the leader, and the leader gets the chalice." He said defensively.
"Mick," Leonard sighed, rubbing his temples.
"Come on, Timeman," the girl purred in Rory's ear. "Let's go dance."
Snart's eyebrows furrowed dangerously low. "Timeman?" He asked, voice ice cold.
If Rory had told some random criminal that he had access to time travel, and that he wasn't even from this time period, because he was drunk and hoping to get laid…
Not even friendship would save Heatwave from becoming a block of ice.
"Mick…" Snart began, his face contorting into a sneer. "Tell me you didn't tell your new… friend… something you shouldn't have."
The man shifted uncomfortably. He looked so ridiculous in that coat.
"The real question is what have you not told your new friend?"
Mick blinked. "I didn't tell her about the cortex device that we need to get back home."
Snart resisted the urge to throttle his thick-headed, impulsive friend. So, instead of murdering his partner, Snart took a deep breath, straightened his coat, and decided that it was in fact time to leave. He headed for the stairs, ignoring his friend's eyesight.
"Wait, you're leaving already?" Mick called after him, looking a bit hurt.
"I've better things to do with my time. Watching you pant and paw after this gal isn't productive for me," Leonard drawled out, eying his partner in crime with a small amount of disdain. He had never been one to lose his professionalism while under a job; Rory, in Leonard's mind, shouldn't forget that they still had an object to steal. "Besides, we need to meet up with our friends if we ever want to go home."
With that said, the infamous Captain Cold left his partner alone in the club. Mick watched him go with a befuddled frown, trying to appear that he wasn't bothered with his friend's sudden departure and yet was obviously failing.
The frown turned into an angry scowl, and Mick suddenly downed the chalice's contents in one go. In his anger, he didn't notice that his female companion had left his seen.
And so, he also didn't see her slip away outside, pull out a phone and put it to her ear.
"I have information about these new visitors that Green Arrow saved, I think Deathstroke would be interested to hear it." She spoke into the phone.
There was silence for a moment. And then there was the sound of the phone passing hands. And then…
"Tell me." A male voice Australian accent spoke.
The woman smiled, and began to inform Deathstroke all she had learned, especially the tidbit of time travel and that they needed to find some sort of cortex device.
There was a small laugh on the other end of the line. A chuckle that send the hairs on the woman's neck rise. Deathstroke spoke again, thanking her for her loyalty.
Now aware that, while the Legends were apparent time travelers, they were stranded in unfamiliar territory with no way out.
"I promise you, I'll put this information to use." He assured her.
Then he hung up.