"Whatever, we're done."

We're done can mean a lot of things. It can mean they're done talking about it. It can mean that the Flash, Captain Cold and Heatwave won't be putting on any more performances.

It can mean that Barry just broke up with them.

It's only through years of practice that Len doesn't flinch at the slam of the door. Unwilling to begin to analyse the emotions running through him, he turns to Mick, wearing an equally blank expression.

"Saints 'n' Sinners?" He grunts and Len nods.

Getting incredibly drunk and not talking about his feelings sounds like a splendid idea.


"Here's to it not being our damn fault."

Len clinks his shot glass against Mick's once more before downing it. He'd been counting them, at the beginning, but now everything's swirled into a blur of Mick, booze and not Barry.

Mick's right, Len thinks viscously, drawing upon the anger that had fuelled their earlier argument. It wasn't Mick's fault that some civ decided to play the hero and got in front of his warning shot. It's not Len's fault that he didn't plan for that one guy to be a complete idiot. It's not their fault that Barry arrived just in time to witness it.

No one gets hurt. That had been the main condition when they set up their little arrangement. It was just supposed to be a bit of fun. Len and Mick still got the thrill of a heist, they got the adrenaline rush from facing off against the Flash, and at the end of the day, Barry successfully reclaimed what they stole, returned it, and gave them a reward much more satisfying.

And then someone got hurt.

"Another," Len demands to the bar, glad that here, they don't cut you off at the slightest slur. Mick glares at the barman until he, too, gets another and together they tip back yet another shot.

They can make this work, he thinks with false confidence. After all, he and Mick had been partners for years before Barry, they'd make do without him. He's better off finding someone else anyways, someone good.

Len's not sure the burning inside him is just due to the alcohol.

"Well, look who we have here! Leonard Snart and Mick Rory. Or do you prefer your other names, what are they, Captain Cold and Heatwave?"

Len turns a frosty look at the newcomer, realising he's not all that new. Dominic Parks. A patron of Saints and someone Len had thought had hightailed it out of Central months ago. A smart man would have, but then, Dominic's never been very smart, him approaching Len and Mick now evidence of that.

"Get lost," Mick snaps. They don't need reassurances, at least, not at the rate Barry offered them, but when Mick turns back to the bar, his leg brushes against Len's and stays there.

"What he said," Len drawls but Dominic doesn't listen. Instead, he moves way too fucking close beside Len and orders them all a pint.

"Don't be so rude gents, I just want to talk. It's been so long since I've seen the both of you and there's some rumours floating around."

He and Mick remain silent, though they take the beers once they come. No point in wasting free booze, after all.

Dominic doesn't seem that bothered by their lack of response and continues to lean towards them conspiratorially. "Rumours about you and the Flash."

Mick's hand tightens around his glass and Len takes a silent, deep breath. "How interesting," he says. "Now, we were rather enjoying our drinks in peace."

"Don't be so coy, Leonard," Dominic croons and if the bastard gets any closer, Len's gonna punch him. Though, judging from the look in his eyes, Mick might get there first. "I just wanted to know if the rumours were true. That you make the Flash your bitch. Does he beg for it? Tell me, is he a slu-"

Mick does get there first after all but Len doesn't hang around himself, picking Dominic up by the shirt and slamming him against the bar.

"You shut your fucking mouth."

Dominic grins. "I knew it!" He crows. "I told them it was true. Hey, think I can get in on it too? I've always wanted to make a hero scream."

Len throws Dominic across the floor but that's where the two vs one fight ends, Dominic's buddies rising to join the fight. Despite the fact they're badly outnumbered and the logical side of Len is telling him to retreat, he's drunk, angry and his heart feels fucking shattered. He needs some way to release it all. Len bumps shoulders with Mick and together, they let loose.


It's a slow walk home, not that either of them mind. With the adrenaline finally dissipating, the aches are taking hold. None, however, compare to the one in his chest.

"We fucked up," Mick says glumly, just as they reach the front door and Len sighs.

"We did."

Len's not sure he's ready to face an empty house but save going to Lisa, who will have questions Len doesn't really want to answer, they don't have much choice. He unlocks the door and steps inside, wondering if Barry has already moved his stuff out.

"Len?"

That wasn't Mick. He shares a glance with the other man before they barge into the living room and there, sat on the sofa, eyes bloodshot, is Barry.

"You came back," Len says numbly.

"Yeah I-what happened to you two?"

He flashes away and just as Len's insides threaten to crumple once more, he's back again, first aid kit in hand.

"Sit down." He forces them both onto the sofa and begins fixing them up, starting with the nasty cut above Len's eye. Every soft touch makes Len feel increasingly guilty.

"Thought you weren't coming back," Mick says once Barry has nearly finished with them and the lines of concentration finally drop from his face.

"I didn't-I needed time to cool off," Barry explains, methodologically putting the equipment away. "I-I never meant for you to think I was leaving you but I," he sighs, rubbing a hand across his face. Len wants to reach out for him, but he doesn't yet dare to. "I know what happened wasn't your fault, or, well, it was just as much my fault as yours. I knew our game still put people at risk but somehow, I managed to convince myself it'd all be okay. And now some guy's hurt because of me, because I let it carry on."

"I shouldn't've used my gun," Mick admits, putting a hand on Barry's shoulder.

"And I should have been better prepared," Len follows.

"I'm sorry I yelled at you guys and stormed out like that," Barry says. "I guess…I just got scared and while I was mad at you…I was mostly mad at myself. It did make me realise we can't do it anymore though. The risk is too high."

Len thinks that thought might be a little hasty, that he can and will plan better, but he's too grateful that Barry appears to still want to be with them to argue it right then.

"We're sorry too," Len says. "And we're just glad to have you back." Finally, now, he feels able to draw Barry close. Mick's other hand moves to his knee so he has a tethering hold on the both of them.

"Yeah, we don't wanna lose you doll."

"I don't want to lose you either…now will you tell me what happened to you guys?"

The memory of Dominic's words spending a spike of anger through Len, he holds Barry a little tighter. "Tomorrow. For now, why don't we go to bed?"

He's met with agreement and together, the three of them slide beneath the covers and fall into a familiar formation, Mick in the middle, bathed between the warmth of his two lovers, Len reaching over him to loosely hold Barry's waist, and Barry's long limbs spreading across the both of them.

It's not always the most comfortable arrangement, Mick often needs to go piss in the night and Barry has a habit of stealing all the covers, but he wouldn't trade it for anything.