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When something looked like it was too easy, it probably wasn't. Leonard Snart had been on a lot of jobs over the years that seemed "simple enough", but quickly escalated into shit shows. Few of those jobs had been under his direction (everybody starts somewhere), most were with Lewis at the helm, and every one of them Len had learned from. It was part of why he was the best at what he did. It was also how he'd gotten so cocky over the years, some might even say "sloppy"- just nowhere that Len would hear them.It wasn't often that he got in over his head, especially at that point in his "career" and on a job he'd been planning for three months, but it also wasn't impossible. He'd been stretched pretty thin the past few years: reconciling with Mick, facing off against the Flash, and… Lewis. And considering the Waverider disasters and escaping the time stream (mostly) unscathed, anyone could be expected to make a simple mistake. Even him.He got the idea from a program on PBS, those three months prior. The TV was on for background noise, something innocuous to make the wide, open floor plan feel less looming. He didn't pay attention to the whole show, only looking up when the discussion mentioned absolute zero. The cold gun had been working just fine, but there was always room for improvement. And, as luck would have it, there was a facility nearby that was working with cryogenic technology of the sort that Len could use. He refused to believe in fate or destiny, but luck was something he didn't pass up.The lab complex had been set-up a few blocks from his current apartment, a building that just barely fit the definition of the word. He was squatting in a shambling, nearly-condemned train station that had been converted into townhouses decades earlier. The economy and slumliness of the closest neighborhood had gradually emptied the place, making it a great temporary residence for a super villain. Since the surrounding area was so desolate, it wasn't hard to miss the shiny new equipment that was trafficked through; even easier to help himself to the complex's up-to-date blueprints and schedule of the miniscule security detail.He never considered bringing Lisa or Mick in, mainly because it was a more personal job, exclusively for upgrades to his weapon. Lisa would get bored and risk going off on her own, into uncharted areas, but she was in Gotham for reasons Len had yet to ferret out. Mick was excluded because, well, Len would never admit it out loud, but he was mad at his partner for integrating so well with the Legends. Mick had even been pardoned by the President while Len was drifting (struggling, suffering, dying over and over) in the time stream! So there was no need to rebuild his partner's criminal record for something Mick couldn't even enjoy. It had been a while since Len's last solo job and maybe that was the first mistake.Ever since his late 20s and finally breaking away from Lewis, Len had worked with a crew; never less than two other people, usually four, total, so everyone had their back watched. Going alone was a bigger risk, though Len rationalized both during planning and while he made his way through the tunnel system under the lab complex that that only made it more challenging. He'd been sorely lacking in challenges since he'd come back (to life and to Central City) and the thrill of the heist practically sang in his blood. There was such a small chance he'd have to use the cold gun that he'd left it well-hidden in the apartment, bringing instead a gun with rubber bullets. The guards in the facility above him (in front of him, now) were only armed with nightsticks and tazers- things Len didn't intend for anyone to get close enough, let alone see him, to use.Two guns with real bullets were left with the cold gun, though Len had debated taking the Ruger on the job. He reasoned that since he'd died, his deal with Barry had been nullified. "Till death do us part," he'd laughed, and put the gun away. And in the incredibly slim chance that Flash showed up, Len already had a non-lethal diversion. Without the cold gun to set off whatever sensors were set up in STAR Labs to warn Barry and his crew, Len could slip in and out with the necessary parts and chemicals before the cryogenics personnel even knew he'd been there. That had been the plan, anyway.Security was where he'd expected them when he entered the main building, and the camera blind spots were so easy to slip into, he could have done it without consulting the installation contract. The items on his grocery list were in two locations, at opposite ends of the hallway. He would pick up the chemicals, first, since they were furthest from his planned exit, then grab the machinery on his way out.With deft, nimble hands, Len carefully packed a few vials into the inside pocket of his jacket, then headed out and down the hall to the machinery room. A persistent tingling sensation had started around his midsection when he entered, but Len attributed that to adrenalin and the thrill he got from a heist well-executed. He had loaded the parts into his small messenger bag and was triple checking the room for fibers or other evidence he might have left when the pain hit him.Pain was nothing new in his life, but the prickling, burning sensation was enough to make him stumble. It was unexpected, but he could power through it and check himself over once he returned to the tunnels beneath the complex. Or back in his apartment. It reminded him of a pulled muscle, touching bare skin to cold metal, and being stabbed in the gut- all things he'd been able to move and fight past before. But by the time he got back into the tunnels, he was crawling one-handed, the other held tight to his stomach, where the sensation had spread, leaving a trail of numbness. Pins and needles, limbs falling asleep due to cramped quarters or forced stillness, had never been so painful. He lost consciousness for a few seconds under the labs, then again when he got to where he'd hidden his motorcycle. Whatever was happening to him, he was apparently in no shape to drive.He collapsed next to the bike and pawed at his jacket with thick-feeling, clumsy fingers, trying to determine where he'd been hurt and by what. His fingers retained enough sensation and dexterity to dig out the vials and Len stared at them dumbly, watching as the now bright blue chemicals leaked down his jacket sleeve and all over him. The lids hadn't been properly sealed and he hadn't bothered to check. The tingling and pain gave way to heavy numbness, the chemicals spreading and soaking into his clothes. The places where the liquid had touched bare skin longest bloomed from red to purple to black and he shivered uncontrollably even as he felt like he was burning all over.The last thing Len thought as he died was, Not again.--Waking up happened in stages and took long enough that Len realized he probably hadn't died. The odds of him dying and coming back twice were pretty much impossible. At least not so soon after he'd done it the first time. He sat up slowly, his body stiff and protesting every movement. It felt like he'd slept all morning on the cold ground, but the light on the horizon indicated he'd been passed out for less than an hour. Wait. Cold ground..? He lurched to his feet and turned in a slow circle, taking in the inches of snow that he'd been laying in and that extended outward in a roughly two-foot radius. It was the middle of June and despite climate changes' best efforts, it had never snowed in Missouri past May. Especially not in such an isolated location.Len dug through the snow and gathered up his discarded gloves- it bothered him that he didn't remember taking them off- and the now-broken pieces of the vials he'd stolen. The chemicals they'd held were gone and had left no evidence on the ground that he could see. He would just have to risk leaving something behind; it was too dark for a thorough investigation. And even though the cryo lab wouldn't open again for several hours, the possibility that someone had witnessed him after he'd fallen asleep (dropped into a coma- he'd never slept so soundly in his life) was too great for him to stick around any longer than he already had.He didn't bother dusting off his bike; just swung a still-clumsy leg over and took off on a longer, winding route back to the abandoned townhouses. The snow on the seat didn't melt as he rode and once back at his hideout, Len stood beside his bike and watched as the ice crystals shrank and evaporated in the early morning sunlight. The temperature rose around him, but Len never got any warmer. He couldn't suppress his shivers once inside and that made it difficult to go over his plans and the job, find exactly where things had gone wrong. He also had to figure out the full effect of the chemicals that had spilled on him… and why they hadn't killed him like they probably should've.The simplest explanation was a lazy lab technician, but that wound up putting some blame on Len, as well, for not taking a few spare seconds to check the containers. A simple, stupid mistake that he was too old and experienced to have made. He let out a frustrated sigh and braced himself on the table that was still covered with blueprints, frowning as he caught sight of his black fingers and backs of his hands. Thought I took those off. He pushed back the sleeve of his jacket to remove the gloves he swore were taken off sometime between leaving the lab and passing out and recoiled when he was met with the touch of his own cold skin.Still freezing and shaking, Len tore his coat off and threw it on the floor, sliding the sleeves of his thermal shirt up with palsied hands. The discoloration went up his arms, disappearing as far as his sleeves could be moved, so Len wriggled out of his shirt, shouting at the frigid air in the townhouse on his bare skin. He stumbled into the bathroom, dropping his shirt and fumbling repeatedly with the switch before flooding the room with cold, white light. His reflection stared back at him in horror as he observed that his arms were black nearly all the way to his shoulders, tendrils of it spreading like a jellyfish across his chest and back. The parts of his abdomen where the chemicals had first touched him were just as black, those veins reaching out all around the point of contact. The skin that was unaffected had become sickly pale, like the final stages of a healing bruise.He stared at his hands, willing them to move with the dexterity of only hours ago, but they stubbornly refused. His fingers barely flexed, bending on a delay, and he flashed back to the moment (a month, three years, a lifetime ago) he'd had to freeze his hand off. His stomach lurched and a pathetic little moan escaped from between tightly clenched teeth.The light bulb and mirror both were dusty, but he knew neither could account for how white all his visible hair had turned. His eyes when he finally dared to look were as milky as a corpse's, the blue of his irises muted and muddy. For the first time in 30 years (the last time only because he'd caught the flu), Len vomited. He gripped the edges of the sink as he puked into the bowl, his knees threatening to buckle. His knuckles ached from the cold and pressure he was exerting and when he moved a hand to turn on the water and wash away the bile, he noticed a sheen of ice over the cracked porcelain. His other hand was pried loose and the area underneath was just as frozen. The only explanation was the chemicals and his own careless stupidity.I'm better than this, he thought as he crumpled to the bathroom floor. I'm supposed to be better than this.His back stuck to the wall, nearly freezing him in place before he jerked a shoulder free. Visions of muscle damage and skin that might not heal had him move away from the tile more carefully. Len made his way out of the bathroom, turning back and nearly falling over in retrieving his discarded shirt. He bundled up in the warmest clothes he had, dressing on autopilot as his mind fought back panic and worst-case scenarios. Options, he had to go over his options. He could return to the lab and examine the chemicals more carefully, look for something to counteract the cocktail that was, for lack of any better word, transforming him. Despite how recently he'd robbed them, they wouldn't be expecting the thief to return so soon, or likely at all, but the place would be crawling with cops. And if Barry was the CSI on the case, it wouldn't take him long to figure out who had done it.Many of the things happening to him looked and felt like hypothermia or frostbite, so he could treat the symptoms accordingly. Simple solutions to simple problems- could he be that lucky? Len snorted and returned to the bathroom to start filling the tub with warm water; a little luck couldn’t hurt.The bath did little more than loosen his stiff joints and temporarily stopped the spread of discoloration on his arms and torso. Further treatment of his symptoms and two more plans were discarded as he paced around the living room. He kept telling himself he would figure something out, but as snow crunched beneath his boots and the room frosted over, he believed it less. By sundown, all he could think of was controlling his new abilities so he didn't kill Lisa (or Mick).Control was one of the things he did best and, like the accident itself, it should be simple. He would figure out how to turn the damn snow off, how to get more than dull sensations back into his hands, and then he wouldn't even need the cold gun- he was the cold gun, now! Power and controlling it- easy.Of course nothing had been easy since he'd broken free of the time stream, so he shouldn't have been surprised that he didn't wrestle his new powers under control right away. He'd managed to get his body temperature up- closer to normal, but still dangerously low- and just stopped the air around him from freezing and snowing. He should've expected the Flash would show up sooner rather than later, as well. If he'd taken some time to plan, maybe he wouldn't have iced Barry to the wall when he was startled by the hero's sudden appearance in his living room.----Julian provided Barry with the first clue that something was up. While Barry hadn't been assigned the break-in at the cryogenics lab that morning, he was working his own case when Julian returned and started recording verbal notes. The list of stolen chemicals he rattled off sounded vaguely familiar, but Barry quickly lost focus when a series of matches for the boot print he was researching came up. It was late in the afternoon when he came back to the cryo lab information, asking Julian if he could take a peek at the other man's case."Just curious," he'd shrugged when Julian asked why. And he had been- he and Julian had long-since built a friendship and found a rhythm to working together and rarely looked at the same case at the same time. Julian had sighed and put up a token argument, but he was smiling when he handed his report over; neatly typed and without a condiment stain in sight. Barry wished he could keep his own notes so tidy. He scanned the details- too few now to begin narrowing down suspects- and memorized the stolen items for later. He was missing something, or not connecting a dot somewhere, but it would come to him eventually.Things slid into place that night as he suited up; a flash of something blue from Caitlin's work station and the pilfered chemicals clicked into place, just as the alarm for Leonard Snart's cold gun went off. Captain Cold had removed the tracking device Cisco installed, but there was no way to disguise the gun discharging in the open- temperature and barometric settings gave him away easily enough. With a parting snark from Cisco, Barry sped off to see what his favourite resurrected nemesis was up to. Snart was actually his only recently-deceased, back-from-the-dead nemesis, and it was hard to even think of him as that. The bad guy part, anyway. Not with everything he'd been told about Snart's brief adventures on the Waverider.So he was more excited than anything to see what the thief was up to, what modifications he'd made to the cold gun to make their encounters even more interesting. He wasn't expecting to get blasted once he stepped out of the Speed Force, nearly frozen solid against a wall of ice. And why was there ice… and snow, indoors?The scene materialized around him as the warming threads in his suit kicked in automatically, bringing his body temperature steadily up and melting the ice. The interior of the old condo or townhouse was like a winter wonderland: everything was coated in either snow or ice and a gentle flurry started while Barry defrosted himself. Snart was near the center of the room, bundled up even more than usual, his face obscured by the fluffy hood of his parka. His stance was tense, even beneath the layers; Barry was reminded of a piano wire or guitar string. The cold air crackled around him, spreading out once he thawed and stepped free of the melting ice, and a crack of thunder echoed around the room. Warm air meeting cold, Barry grinned when the snowfall nearest him turned to rain.He was getting a joke ready, running through scores of temperature puns in a matter of seconds, when Snart spoke. His voice was as brittle as the frosty air and sounded strained, almost pained. "Get outta here, Flash.""Love what you've done with the place, Cold," Barry returned, grinning and giving the room another glance for show. "Really rushing Christmas in July this year." If Snart thought his quip was funny, he didn't show it. His mouth was just visible when Barry took a few steps closer- a thin line, lips pale and tinted blue. Concern pinched Barry's face under the mask. "Hey- are you okay? What happened in here?""I got this," Snart growled. "Beat it. Now.""Wasn't too hard to figure it was you who robbed the cryo lab," Barry tried again, inching closer, his muscles protesting the cold and exaggerated slowness. "You were upgrading the gun, right? Something went wrong, blew up, caused all this. Are you okay? Do you need to get to a hospital, or-?""Said I got this. Last chance before I make you leave.""Geez, you're a lousy host. But this was pretty sloppy, especially for you, so you understand why I'm concern- yipes!" Barry just managed to doge the blast of arctic air that was fired at him. It was harder to move in so much cold, but he was able to slow time enough to see that Snart wasn't holding his signature weapon, nor was the cold gun anywhere in sight. "…What happened to you?""I'm handling it, Barry!" Snart's hood had blown back and revealed just how out of control the situation was. Barry had seen corpses in better condition and for a frightening, heart-stuttering moment, thought that Snart had died again."You're really not." Barry started moving towards him once more, but had to stumble out of the way of another blast. And they kept coming; Snart's eyes were wild and his expression more open and raw than Barry had ever seen it as shot after shot of organic cold beam was fired from his blackened hands. He couldn't stop himself and they both realized it. "But you can," Barry shouted over the howling wind that sprung up between them. The freezing air met the heat pouring off Barry and another clap of thunder sounded before the moisture fell to the snow-covered floor."You can do this, Snart," Barry encouraged, trudging closer, one hand outstretched. "Just- focus. Calm down. I know you can do this."He was reminded of when his Meta powers had manifested, and of Cisco and especially Caitlin. If he could get Snart to… cool down, he could find a way to convince him to go to STAR Labs. They could help him, maybe even figure out what had gone wrong with the chemicals and cold gun and reverse it.Snart had gotten the intensity of the blasts to lessen, lowering his arms enough that Barry could move closer and then step up beside him. He didn't say anything else, afraid of wrecking Snart's concentration and of the naked terror on the other man's face. This was so much worse than when Snart had killed his own father. Seconds ticked into minutes and slowly the blast winked out, Snart's arms falling slack at his sides. He would have collapsed into the snow drift he was standing in if Barry hadn't caught him. It was easy to wrap his arms around the shaking man, support him and hold him close."You're trembling," Barry muttered, mostly to himself. Snart didn't have a reply, but his stiff arms moved to keep Barry where he was.The snow stopped eventually, tapering off in a gust of cool wind. They both startled when the heat threads in Barry's suit activated again, triggered by the freezing temperature of Snart's body. Barry laughed, his breath a halo around Snart's head, and he felt Snart's tremors subside. He wanted to say something, some comfort or congratulations, but he didn't have the words and figured Snart wouldn't want them, anyway. It was enough to hold him, assure himself that for the moment, everything would be okay."I'm Jewish," Snart croaked into Barry's shoulder. There was a beat, Barry's mind tripping over itself to figure out what Snart could possibly be referring to, and then he recalled his earlier commentary.The only thing he could think to reply was, "Okay." Just like everything probably would be.
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"Ever since we started dating Len, you never take my side," Barry pouts, half his attention on the numbers lighting up above the elevator."Took your side last night." Mick reminds him. Barry rolls his eyes."Okay- you never support me about non-food-related things."Mick offers a shrug that might be an apology but is probably him saying "what are you gonna do?" It's 3 a.m. and they're standing in the poorly-lit lobby of a run-down apartment building in what is the worst neighborhood Barry has ever seen. He's investigated his share of crimes that were committed in places like this, but the six-story structure at the end of Main Street Extension takes the trophy for "Most Awful Apartment Complex" by a landslide. It's a building Barry would only ever visit as a crime scene and he almost asks himself, out loud, what he's doing there on his day off."Getting cold feet, Barry?"But he doesn't need to, because there's Len, over the "borrowed" communication device in his ear, goading him forward with his awful, awful puns."Just waitin' for the elevator, boss," Mick answers via his connection. "You know these old buildings.""Why don't you take the stairs? I'm sure it's faster.""Does it physically harm you to keep those to yourself?" Barry demands, more fond than exasperated. He's almost used to his other boyfriend's word play at this point."…Yes. Yes it does. Snap to it, Flash- only got ten minutes and thirty-eight seconds before your window of opportunity closes.""Now you mention a time limit!" Barry throws his arms up and turns away from the elevator that seems to have stalled out on the third floor. Mick follows, leaning forward to open the stairwell door for him. Barry gives him a smile over his shoulder and takes off up the stairs at nearly-Flash speed. He'll have to pick the lock at regular speed- he can't chance leaving behind anything that will tie what he's doing there this morning to the Flash... or himself- which will give Mick plenty of time to catch up.Barry does his best to discreetly walk the length of the hall, listening at every door for anyone who might be awake- Those're called "witnesses", Barry, he can imagine Len's smug voice- before stopping at his destination. Fortunately, room Five on the fifth floor is the last door and the apartment opposite is unoccupied. As he takes the small kit out of his pocket and sets to picking the lock, he wonders if Len chose this place to go easy on him. He appreciates a little bit more than resents that, if it's the case."Y'wanna use the three-quarters; pick that size'll make noise and take twice as long."Nodding his thanks and pleased that he didn't startle when Mick snuck up on him, Barry switches out the delicate, thin, metal rod for an even slimmer one."What did I say about helping, Mick?""'Limited assistance'," Mick replies with a smirk. "Never said what your definition of 'limited' was.""Just whose side are you on here?""Mine."Barry waves a hand. "Shut up- I got it. I'm in.""Good job," Mick whispers at the same time as Len hisses, "Don't tell me what to do" over their comms.Barry eases the door open and squints into the gloom beyond the threshold. He knows he has roughly six or seven minutes left, but he has to be extra careful at this stage. If he gets caught, it's all over."God, we could get arrested for this," he mutters to himself."You could," Len muses. "I'm nowhere near you and Mick's got at least three escape routes all planned out.""Four if I can torch the place-""No!" Barry and Len say at the same time, though Barry is more concerned to Len's amused."Six minutes, twenty seconds," Len reminds them."Okay, I got this. I can do this. I got this.""Less talkin', more doin'," is all the warning Mick gives before shoving Barry forward into the apartment. He stumbles to a halt a few feet inside and that's it, he's done it- he's broken and entered. He is officially, in the eyes of the law, a criminal. At least as the Flash he had a mask and was doing way more good than harm (usually); but as Barry Allen, standing in a building he didn't get buzzed into, inside an apartment he picked the lock on and does not have a key to, he is one hundred percent in the wrong and in trouble."You're only in trouble if you get caught," Barry whispers. He's immediately reminded of and starts picturing the chase scene and "One Jump Ahead", from Aladdin. He fights back a giggle- one that would be tinged with more than a little hysteria- and slinks further into the room. He just needs to choose one thing, one item in the entire place. The floor plan for the building showed every apartment was set-up the same: living room leading to open kitchen, with bedroom and full bath just beyond that. Barry glances around, looking for something small enough to not be missed right away, but large enough to meet the qualifications."Four minutes," Len says. Barry imagines him dressed as a high school gym teacher and holding a stop watch. …He's going to bring that up for a later role play, if he makes it out of this place.It takes him another few seconds to notice that the interior of the apartment does not at all match the building exterior. The floor doesn't squeak and groan as he moves at an elderly snail's pace and the furnishings are borderline extravagant, while still managing to be tasteful. There's a homeyness to the over-stuffed couch and armchair and that 60-inch TV looks brand new. The few colors he can make out in the light that filters in from the street through the blinds are shades of beige, copper and gold. The carpet he creeps across is so plush, he can practically feel the price tag on it. And there it is, on the modern, metal (gold? Is that solid gold?) coffee table- something small and that doesn't immediately look to have any kind of sentimental value. But who is Barry to say what the little knick-knack could mean to Room number Five's occupant?"Three minutes, ten-""I got it. Heading out and see you soon." It's on his tongue to chant 'winner winner, chicken dinner', but he knows Len will make fun of him. Or use the impromptu victory song as Barry's payment for succeeding in this task. Just like Len to twist words and a bet around.It's way easier to slip out of the place and lock up and Barry almost starts whistling as he walks more comfortably down the hall. He turns around, walking backwards and grinning at Mick, anticipating rubbing this win in Len's face, and almost bumps into someone that he never heard exit the elevator."Oh geez, sorry- Lisa!? What are you doing here?"---"From your own sister? I wanna say I thought you were better than that, but I honestly have no idea, anymore."Barry can easily envision Len rolling his eyes from behind the newspaper he's been pretending to read- or actually reading, he's a great multi-tasker- since he and Mick burst in."Not gonna let you keep it." Len's placating, almost condescending tone just sets Barry further on edge. He flashes across the room and snatches the paper out of Len's hands. Somewhere between the door and the kitchen area, Mick snorts out a laugh. Len just stares up at Barry expectantly, hands folding over his stomach."I wasn't gonna keep it no matter who I'd taken it from," Barry assures him. "Did you really think so little of me that you sent me to someplace you knew to steal from?""Thought you'd chicken out halfway there," Len admits with a shitty smirk. "I had a nice consolation prize planned, something to boost your ego, make you feel all accomplished. Too bad you lost anyway.""Uh, no I didn't?" Barry pulls the object out of his jacket pocket and tosses it from one hand to the other. He hefts it pointedly at Len. "I got in, grabbed this and got out with nobody seeing me or calling the cops.""Lisa saw you, and I guarantee she put two and two together. And I helped you get in," Len says primly. Mick raises the beer in his hand to argue, but stops, lowering it slowly as he mentally goes over the past hour again."No, you didn't," Barry laughs. "Mick was the one who… Aw, damnit." He deflates as he recalls the hints Len had been giving him half the night and that he'd immediately acted on without a second thought."If it weren't for me, you dopes would still be waiting for that elevator.""I'd'a probably taken the stairs around the five minute mark," Mick adds churlishly.Len sits up a little higher on the cushions, linking his fingers behind his head and gracing Barry and Mick with a truly infuriating smile. "Just goes to show that I'm the brains and you're both here, too."Mick passes his beer to Len and Barry continues to glower as Len accepts the bottle, lifting it for a sip. The world slows- to Barry, at least- and understanding dawns as he watches in gleeful slow-motion as Mick tips the couch over, Len's legs still propped up on the arm. There's even a second of bafflement on Len's face before he's sprawled on the floor, covered with the sofa. Barry returns to real-time and observes a trickle of beer leak out from under the couch."How's that for takin' your side?" Mick asks Barry with a grin.
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Ever since his mother died, Barry Allen has had terrible birthdays. It would be fair to say that most days since then were terrible, but that's not necessarily true. He had Joe and Iris, and later acquired super powers along with best friends in Cisco and Caitlin. He met Oliver and Felicity and then Wally came into his and the West's lives. Though it seemed every good event was thrown off by two or more awful ones, by the time Barry started dating Mick Rory- officially dating, they were sleeping together for months before Barry finally asked if it was okay to put a label on it- he had decided not to celebrate his birthday anymore. Iris and Joe tried to coax him out of the decision, with Wally and his baffling, endearing optimism assisting, but Barry was resolute that March 14th was just another day. If they had to celebrate anything, it would be Pi Day.Mick Rory hadn't celebrated his birthday since his first year in juvie, after the Fire. And it was less of a celebration, as it was some of the staff gathering to mutter "happy birthday" at him and then allow him fifteen extra minutes outside (supervised, of course). Snart- Lenny- swiped him a nice lighter every year (and gave him the occasional blow job when they were on good terms) and Lisa managed to find new and exciting ways to surprise him with a fire, but Mick's birthdays tended to pass without his noticing. He and Barry had actually fucked for the first time the night of Mick's birthday. A fact he realized afterwards and that set Barry laughing so hard and long that Mick almost left, then and there; never to think about the amazing, vibrating twink he'd picked up in Saints and Sinners again.But then Barry had told Mick that, since it was after midnight, it was now Barry's birthday. They spent the rest of the morning together, napping and fucking and with Barry filling the silences with stories of times when his birthdays were happy. He didn't say what had happened to ruin them, not that first night, not the second or twentieth. But by the time he got around to admitting he was the Flash and then talking about his mother, Mick felt comfortable, safe enough, talking to Barry about his own good birthdays. They agreed that they should be the only members in the Worst Birthday club and vowed to hook up every year on Mick's birthday and then spend the night and as much of Barry's, together. Which led to them dating long before that first anniversary occurred.Barry was a lot like Lenny, in that he did a lot of the talking between him and Mick. He rambled and he got maudlin fairly often, but he always managed to phrase his big, science-y talks in such a way that Mick could keep up. They discovered a mutual love of chemistry, though Mick for different reasons, and Barry started spending more of his days off with Mick, teaching him new (and as safe as Barry could make them) ways to set fires, with the promise that Mick wouldn't use any of them during his and Lenny's heists. Barry didn't want to have to arrest his boyfriend and using the chemical combinations he'd learned would leave more than enough evidence to get Mick sent back to prison (and possibly implicate Barry).They also discovered, accidentally, while not entirely sober (Mick had worked with Cisco to create Flash-proof alcohol), on one of the anniversaries of Barry's mother's death, that they both had a bit of a thing for Leonard Snart. Barry admitted he'd crushed on Snart the moment he'd seen his mug shot, but had pretty easily back-burnered his attraction when Snart proceeded to go on his super villain rampage. As the years passed and Snart (and Mick) proved he was a far better man than he believed of himself, Barry's crush reasserted itself.Mick had been carrying his torch for decades, not long after he and Lenny became criminal partners. Lenny was a scrawny kid when they met, too pretty and gangly, but within a couple of years, he had a growth spurt, filled out, and Mick found himself almost as distracted by Lenny's face and hands as he was by the flame. Almost, but not quite. He had several up on Barry, though, in that he and Lenny had actually gotten together, sporadically, over the years. Mostly blow jobs, always in the dim to dark, but it was more than enough to keep Mick's torch for him burning.And then Barry and Mick came together- by accident, as many of the good things in Barry's life have happened- and Barry didn't so much forget about Snart, as he quietly put his crush away. He was happy with Mick- someday he'd tell Mick he loved him- and the occasional fantasy about Snart was a luxury he only allowed himself when Mick (with Snart in the lead or in tow) was off with the Legends.The first time in a couple years that they're together for their birthdays, Mick tells Barry he's going to do something special. Barry has the day off for his birthday and Mick is on leave from the Legends, so Mick figures it's as good a time as any to start turning their crappy birthdays around. Barry is not as enthused."I might have to- to work late," he protests the morning of March 13th, in between gasps as Mick thrusts into him. "There might- might be Flash- stuff-!""I can wait," Mick grunts. And he almost always does- outlasting Barry most of the times they're together. That morning is no exception. He makes Barry come three times before letting him get ready for work, slapping him hard on the rear when Barry finally climbs out of bed and heads into the bathroom to shower.Mick goes into the kitchen to make breakfast and a couple phone calls, making sure everything will be ready for that night. He gets waffle batter prepared, a big skillet of scrambled eggs cooking and a cookie sheet full of bacon in the oven by the time Barry appears at the kitchen counter."-sure you have a good lunch. No junk food and drink plenty'a water. Don't do it too late- might be waitin' a while. Yeah. Right. Bye."Mick is proud of himself for not panicking when Barry catches him on the phone, but he doesn't ask who Mick was talking to- it's one part super hero plausible deniability and one part respecting Mick's privacy. Mick watches Barry speed eat and thinks he likes the guy more every day. He sees Barry to the door, handing him his messenger bag with a kiss to the cheek that makes Barry blush and giggle before flashing away. It's probably the most domestic Mick's ever been. It's also the happiest he's felt in a long time, without an open flame nearby.He whistles "Do You Love Me", from Fiddler on the Roof, as he cleans up the breakfast dishes, then sets to getting everything ready for that evening.Barry stands outside his apartment door and rubs furiously at his eyes, silently demanding his tears remain unshed. Objectively, he's had worse days; he tries not to think about them too often, but he knows. Still, it felt like everything that could've gone wrong today, did. He managed to be on-time for work, but was busy almost non-stop from the moment he tried to sneak past the bullpen. He almost didn't get to eat lunch, but fortunately, Joe had reached out to Iris and she'd brought him a banquet of take-out to devour while he combed through databases and analyzed chemical compounds.He was yelled at no fewer than six times, had to work several hours later than usual to wait for a test that turned up negative anyway, and then ran straight to STAR Labs to start his patrol. His dinner was three calorie bars and he almost lost those when a common criminal, some nobody bank robber, managed to get the better of him. No fancy, stolen tech, no metahuman powers- just one guy with a well-timed punch and luck as dumb as Barry's was bad. When he got back to the Labs well after midnight, Cisco and Caitlin didn't even remember it was his birthday. Barry didn't blame them- he'd never talked about it and they didn't make a habit of snooping through his personal information, but it had still stung, just a little, to be treated as though it were just another day. Iris and Joe hadn't said anything yesterday, either, but they'd known for years that Barry didn't want it acknowledged. He couldn't expect them to guess things had started to change, especially since they were all still in the dark about him and Mick.Barry lets out a weary sigh as he remembers Mick's birthday surprise. There's no way he waited till- Barry checks his watch and groans- 4 a.m. for Barry to get back. He unlocks the apartment door quietly, toes his shoes off and sets them on the mat, and avoids all the squeaky boards on his way to the kitchen. Snoring from the couch brings him up short and Barry stands near the side table, a watery smile threatening tears as he takes in Mick: sprawled across the length of the sofa, a conical, paper birthday hat covering one eye and a party horn stuck to his bottom lip. A plastic birthday crown sits on the coffee table and Barry carefully reaches over Mick to put it on, a few tears slipping free.There's a huge box on the kitchen counter and inside is a beautiful cake, decorated with multicolored roses and emblazoned with the delicate, cursive words "Happy Birthday". It doesn't say "Barry" or "Red", so the cake is for both of their birthdays. More tears stain Barry's jacket as he pours himself a glass of milk and checks the freezer, finding four different-flavored gallons of ice cream. He sits down at the counter with Cookies n'Cream and cuts himself a generous slice of cake. There are candles set to one side and he almost puts the cake back, to wait until Mick wakes up so he can light them all and Barry can wait until the last possible moment to blow them out. But there'll be enough cake left to do it later.As he eats, at normal speed, savoring the cake and the special effort Mick put into everything, he notices the apartment is strewn with balloons in various stages of in- and deflation. Many are still standing proud, strings curling like snakes underneath. But a few bob and slink along the floor, chased by a draft and bumping into each other in slow motion. He watches the balloons and listens to Mick's snoring and thinks that maybe this won't be such a bad birthday after all. Barry is rinsing off his plate and bowl when he notices a bright red envelope on top of the cake box. He considers waiting until Mick wakes up to open it, but he's feeling a little selfish, still; after the day he had, he's sure Mick will understand.It's a card, but it's not a birthday-themed one. It's for "a dynamite nephew" and his first communion. Barry almost vibrates through the floor, he's fighting so hard to hold back his laughter. A small key is taped inside, with Mick's careful lettering wishing him "a grate B Day" and a doodle of a winking face. Whatever the key is for will definitely wait until Mick wakes up- Barry is suddenly bone-tired after his too-long day and the two seconds of sugar rush. He sets the card back on the cake box and creeps past the couch to get ready for bed. He's not sure why he bothers being so quiet- Mick has slept through both an earthquake and an alien invasion.He cleans up, changes into the pajama bottoms he left on the bathroom floor that morning and trudges off to get some much-needed rest. Barry blames his exhaustion and the distraction of Mick's sweet birthday surprises on the fact that he doesn't notice Leonard Snart in his bedroom until he almost sits down on him. In an instant, Barry is across the room, his heart in his throat and choking off a scream. Time slows as he watches Snart wake up, taking in his state of near total undress- the only thing he's wearing is a big, red bow tied around his waist and just covering his groin. Snart's hands are above his head and attached to the headboard by a pair of handcuffs. He blinks awake and Barry returns to processing everything at normal speed."Happy birthday, Barry," Snart says, and the drawl is absent from his sleep-softened voice.He smirks up at Barry at the same time as a floor board creeks and Mick's big arms wrap around Barry's waist from behind."Happy birthday, Red," Mick whispers in his ear, kissing his cheek and resting his chin on Barry's shoulder. "Hope you weren't gonna unwrap our present without me.""Wouldn't dream of it," Barry replies softly. He's not gonna cry again, he's not. Not in front of Leonard Snart, of all people."Before you start the festivities," Snart yawns, lazily curling his fingers into fists. "How 'bout unlocking these- do it myself, but my arms went numb an hour ago."Barry turns in the cage of Mick's arms to give him a baffled look. "How- how long has he been in here?" He casts the expression at Snart, demanding, concerned, "How long have you been here?"Snart considers the question, looking up at the ceiling and stretching his legs. Barry is distracted by the flex of his calves and thighs, the almost cat-like way he spreads his toes. "Six hours and… eighteen minutes. Give or take a few minutes. Mick had to convince me about the cuffs.""Didn't wanna start without you," Mick puts in, sounding a little contrite. "But figured you'd appreciate the visual.""You can stand around and talk about how hot I am or you can let me use your bathroom. Big fan of option two, personally.""Yeah, we… Oh. Oh! Geez, sorry! Just- lemme get the key-!" Barry sputters and flashes away, his face on fire and his pants noticeably tighter. He returns in the same second and leans over Snart- Leonard. Len? The man is practically naked on Barry's bed right now- to unlock the cuffs. He takes each of Len's wrists in his hands and adds a little vibration as he attempts to rub the sensation back into the other man's arms."Well that's going to come in handy later," Len says with a decidedly smarmy grin. Mick groans and throws his party hat at him. Len's arms are still mostly numb, so the hat hits him in the chest and lands, point up, on the top of the bow. Barry chokes on a giggle.He helps Len off the bed, mindful of the placement of his hands. Sure it's obvious what Len is doing there, but Barry isn't going to just start feeling him up before they've had a chance to talk, lay out some ground rules and any hard "no"s. He directs Len to the bathroom and isn't gentleman enough to look away as Len leaves the room- he has an amazing ass. Mick thinks so, too, because he delivers a loud slap to it as Len passes him. Barry commits the boyish laughter that startles out of Len to memory."You need some help in there?" Mick calls after him, waggling his eyebrows at Barry."No," Len churlishly replies. Though a few seconds later he amends, much quieter, "Yes."Mick disappears out the bedroom door and Barry hides his face in his hands as he falls backwards on the bed. It smells like clean sheets, spearmint and a really nice cologne he'll have to ask Len about when he gets back. He must have dozed off for a couple minutes because suddenly Mick is above him, shirtless and with his jeans undone and fly half unzipped. Len settles on the other side of the bed, wearing a pair of Barry's boxer briefs that are just a little bit too tight on him. It's a very good look; maybe even better than the bow had been."How d'you boys wanna do this," Len asks, sprawled against the mountain of pillows that always end up on the floor by morning. "Ever had a threesome before, Barry?""Yeah," Barry says at the same time as Mick laughs, "Trenchcoat.""Gonna need to hear that story later," Len mutters."Gonna have to join us sometime," Mick insists. Barry blushes but wholeheartedly agrees- John Constantine is… an experience."Let's start nice and easy," Barry suggests. He pulls Mick down for a lazy kiss, nipping at his lips and slipping his tongue past as Mick sighs.Mick gets his hands under Barry and leans back, pulling him upright without breaking the kiss. Len slides up behind Barry, his chest and stomach flush with Barry's back and the bulge in his shorts warm against Barry's ass. He loses track of whose hands are where, drifting in a haze of touches, kisses and the scrape of stubble along his neck, shoulders and back. Len's long fingers trail feather light over Barry's stomach, only to claw at his sides when Mick palms him through the shorts. The familiar drag of Mick's scars bleeds into Len's mostly smooth skin, both men sandwiching Barry between them with just enough room to explore him.He tries to give as good as he gets, honest. Barry cranes his neck to kiss Len, to drag his tongue along Len's jaw line and nibble at his jugular. He keeps one hand on Mick, steadying himself as he reaches back to touch as much of Len as he can; trying to remember the most positive responses, creating an erogenous map of his long-time crush. He notices when they all start to slow down, but can't bring himself to do anything about it. It's warm, the bedside lamp is dimmed, and Barry is safe in his bed; loved, at least physically, by two beautiful men. He thinks it won't be hard to fall in love with Len- he's probably halfway there, already.They all fall asleep around the same time, legs entangled and arms holding onto whoever they were last touching. It's the best birthday of Mick and Barry's adult lives and they don't even get around to both having sex with Len until late in the afternoon.
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Mick watched Ray Palmer from the relative comfort of his booth across the room. He studied the way he leaned carefully close and talked to every woman in the bar, and then got rejected or dismissed by all of them, in turn.
"You can't just stay cooped up in that rank little room of yours," Lisa told him, waving a hand in front of her nose for emphasis. "Go out and do something- see what's going on at Saints!"
Mick pulled the door closer to him, narrowing the crack further so Lisa couldn't see his desk or typewriter. "I can drink in here," he replied. "M'busy. Go bug your asshole brother."
"Here," Lisa huffed, stuffing her fingers between the door and jam. A thick wad of bills was gripped tight, her hand like a lobster claw, bright red nails complementing the image. "It's on Lenny- I swiped this from his stash."
Never one to pass up an opportunity to pull one over on Snart, Mick snatched the money and stuffed it in a pocket. He stared at Lisa's fingers, waiting for her to pull her hand back so he could hide his writing before he left, but she didn't budge. "What."
"Maybe somebody's waiting for you there." Lisa spoke slyly to the nails of her other hand, examining them for any smudges or chips. "Just ask for 'Lisa'," she sighed when Mick didn't take the bait.
Mick had never been on and wasn't interested in any blind dates, but he figured there were worse reasons to go out drinking, though he couldn't think of any. He hadn't bothered looking for "Lisa" because he knew she wouldn't be there. It was a set-up, and once Mick figured out what Haircut thought he was doing in Saints and Sinners, he was going to find those lousy Snarts and give them a piece of his mind over the prank. Mostly he was going to yell at Len; Lisa was a good girl who, far as Mick was concerned, had never done anything wrong.Haircut had moved to the far left end of the bar counter and was slouched over, nursing a drink that looked more like pop than alcohol. Mick lowered himself onto the stool beside him and tapped the counter for another beer. Haircut glanced over, down at his own drink, and then quickly back up at Mick again. It was like watching a cartoon character and Mick let himself laugh. Haircut looked confused, but quickly started laughing right along with him."Hey, Mick," he finally said with a smile that was too bright for after midnight in a dive bar. "What're you doing here?""Was about t'ask you the same thing. S'posed to be meetin' someone.""Wow, what a coincidence! I came out to meet someone, too! Her name's Lisa and I met her on Upswipz."Mick choked on his beer and hastily brushed off the hand Haircut extended to pound him on the back. Whatever Lisa had put Mick up to, she'd dragged Haircut into it, as well. And that confirmed that the older Snart was definitely involved. Ever since Russia, Len had gotten it into his head that Mick liked Haircut. He didn't hate the guy, but he wasn't about to get all "buddy-buddy" with him on a regular basis. Mick valued his personal time, hours and days spent alone to do whatever he wanted without having to worry about one of his new teammates walking in on him writing or burning something on the Waverider. He'd struck a deal with Gideon- she disabled the smoke detectors in his room and let him light a fire for fifteen minutes, a couple times a day. As long as he put it out by or before time ran out, she didn't tell anyone and didn't turn the alarms back on. Gideon kind of reminded him of a combination of Lisa and that lady doctor that knew the Flash- she was an O.K. chick, for a computer."-was pretty insistent that I get out of the lab for a little bit. I had planned on it, once I'd made more progress, y'know, but Nate must've talked to Gideon because when I went to the bathroom, she locked me out of the lab and my own room! Can you believe it? And Nate set up my Upswipz profile, too…"Haircut had been talking since Mick choked on his beer and Mick tuned back out of the running monologue. He used to think the guy was full of himself, stuck up and looking down on dumb people like Mick, like the Professor used to do. But the longer he was stuck sharing space with Haircut, the more he figured the guy was just lonely. It didn't help when they'd tracked that alien to the 80s and saw how crappy Ray'd had things as a kid. A nice house, loads of money and the kinda toys Mick'd only dreamed of when he was young, and a mum that was still around made it look like Ray's life was perfect. But it turned out even cool toys were a poor substitute for human friends.So maybe he felt bad for the guy for a little bit; spent a little more time around him after that trip. It wasn't pity- Mick Rory didn't do pity- but like he finally understood something about Ray. They had something in common and it was… kind of nice. He'd check in when Ray was working on something for too long (though Gideon had that covered like she kept track of Mick's fire) and when no one else was around, he'd hang out and watch movies with the guy. It was Ray's fault Mick got into Lord of the Rings; the books were a disaster- too long, written funny- but the movies were exciting as hell! And Ray would tell him things that were different from the books, or explain what the characters were doing if Mick got confused. When the action parts were over, of course. It wasn't because they were friends, though. They were just teammates, kind of like partners, and partners looked out for each other."-said she had a taser, which, I didn't mean to scare her, but that seemed a little unnecessary. So then I came over here for a ginger ale and that's when you showed up!""Haircut." Mick looked at him out of the corner of his eye, waited until Ray stopped sipping on the stupid, tiny straw sticking out of his glass."Yeah?""Did you just tell me 'bout your whole evening?""Well, yeah. That's what friends do! What about you- where's the person you're meeting?" Ray's smile faltered, turned into a frown and those huge eyebrows of his came together. He hesitated before putting a hand on Mick's forearm. There was nothing but sympathy in those big, doe eyes when he lowered his voice and asked, "Did you get stood up, too?"It was on the tip of his tongue to insist they weren't friends, tell Ray he didn't even like him, but Mick couldn't bring himself to say any of that. He glanced down at the hand on his arm, the one that gave him a squeeze like Ray was saying it was okay to get stood up, that Ray got it. He didn't really mind that Ray touched him and Mick wasn't sure if it was the number of beers he'd had (four- he was trying to stop after five a night) or if maybe he'd been lying to himself all along. Maybe Ray was his friend. Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad thing."Naw, I just let myself get tricked.""Oh. Ouch. Sometimes that's worse than getting stood up. One time, when I was in college, I was supposed to meet up with this beautiful girl at the quad. She said to be there at nine, but I always liked to arrive at least 15 minutes early…"Mick pulled out his phone as Ray kept talking, half-listening to the story while sending Len a text to let him know they were going to have words when Mick got back later. He'd give Pretty a talking-to in person. After tapping "Send", he slipped the phone back into his jacket and rested his forearms on the bar, nodding along as Haircut regaled him with college dating mishaps. There were worse reasons to stay, but he couldn't think of any.
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The only times Barry wakes up suddenly are after a nightmare and when he's set the volume on his alarm full blast. So he's confused when neither of those things causes him to sit upright in bed, à la the Frankenstein monster. He's not alone, which is even more confusing, because he's not currently seeing anyone. And Barry has never slept with a person he hadn't been dating for at least a month, first. He turns to his right and takes in the man lying on his side, Barry's thankfully-clean sheet draped very low on his back and just covering his butt. Most of his visible side, from his neck to what the sheet’s covering, looks like the guy got in a fight with a deep fryer.There's a prickle of recognition in the back of Barry's mind, but he's distracted by an arm thrown over his lap, from the other side of the bed. He congratulates himself on not shrieking, though he does let out a startled gasp. There are two people with him and he feels especially stupid for not noticing right away, because they are not small people- men, they're both men. Barry stares straight ahead and feels his face down past his chest catch fire with a mortified blush; he managed to bring two men back to his apartment last night. Or this morning- he did get in pretty late. Or early. Whatever. He swivels his head to the left, slowly, like in a horror movie, and does scream when he's met with Captain Cold's sleepy, half-lidded gaze."Wasn't me!" Mick Rory shouts as he rolls out of bed on Barry's right. He hits the floor with a painful-sounding thud but is immediately on his feet… and very naked."Was Barry, Mick," Leonard Snart says, his voice thick and frighteningly adorable with sleep."Sorry… who?" Rory finds Barry still frozen on the bed and squints at him. "Who're you?""Uhm," Barry replies. His entire college education is brilliantly showcased in the word."Barry," Snart mumbles again. His arm is still laying heavy on Barry's thighs and he uses one of Barry's legs to pull himself even closer and snuggles up to Barry's side. It's kind of impressive, since he doesn't have a left hand. Barry is too shocked to be embarrassed for staring at the shiny, scarred skin in place of the appendage."Oh yeah. Eyebrows." Rory grins at his recollection and then climbs back into bed. Barry is at first glad he sprung for a king-size mattress and then immediately horrified at the thought."What are you guys doing in my bed?!" Barry finally shouts. He performs an unfortunately comical routine of looking back and forth from Rory to Snart, at super speed."Rude," Snart says, mouth right up against Barry's ribs. And then lightly bites him. "Go back t'sleep. S'too early.""You invited us up," Rory answers over Barry's startled giggle (he's ticklish, okay?) Rory yawns and makes himself comfortable on top of the rumpled sheets. "Me an' Snart're back in town, v'cation. Saw you fightin' some mutant-""Metahuman," Snart interjects. His mouth is still pressed against Barry and Barry will totally push him away. In like, one minute. Another couple of minutes. "Callin' 'em metahumans here.""Oh yeah. Harder t'say.""More PC, though. Still ack-" Snart's jaw cracks with his yawn. "Acknowledging they're human.""Shit." Barry remembers now. He and Team Flash were up against a metahuman with abilities similar to Bivilo's… and Barry had been hit. They'd apprehended the meta and Barry had felt fine, passed every test Caitlin had put him through. He didn't remember seeing Rory or Snart during the fight, but they were outside STAR Labs when Barry started to head home for the night- morning. He'd been unusually happy to see them- Snart was dead, though, so he'd have to get around to asking about that- and in his presumably sleep-deprived state, invited them back to his place to catch up. Rory had been helpful during the whole Earth X debacle and had even behaved himself during the wedding-."Oh god," Barry moans, sick to his stomach. How he forgot about Iris, his wife, soul mate and most perfect woman in the world, he doesn't know. She is going to kill him. And then she's going to contact Constantine to bring him back so she can kill him again, and then Joe will want his turn…"Barr? You're up early- everything okay?" Oh, good- Iris is here and awake and Barry doesn't have to wait for the sweet release of the death he doesn't even deserve for cheating on his wife."Uhm," he says for what feels like the fourth time. "Iris? I have to- something happened?""Tell Mick if he wants pancakes, he has to put pants on," Iris calls from the kitchen. "I can't cook with that ass distracting me!""Hashbrowns!" Snart tries to yell. He's part lamprey, now, apparently; loosely attached to Barry's chest by the mouth. “No onions!”"Food's in the kitchen, Len," Iris responds with a chuckle. "Breakfast in bed is Sunday only.""Wake me up on Sunday.""What is going on?" Barry cries, more bewildered than he's ever been in his entire life. "Did I die? Am I dead- is this- what is happening?!"Snart sits up with an annoyed huff. Barry stares at him and remembers a time when the glare directed at him was intimidating. This morning, though, in the wan, late winter sunlight sneaking through the curtains in his bedroom and with pillow creases on one side of his face, Snart just looks… good. He looks tired- there are dark smudges under and maybe more lines around his eyes- but he looks human, normal. Barry's eyes are rudely drawn to Snart's left arm and the missing hand again as the older man crosses his arms over his chest."You're not dead, though I can help with that if you keep screaming," Snart begins, his jaw working almost sullenly. "Me and Mick ran into you and Iris outside your little clubhouse. You were both… inordinately happy to see us.""Yeah, that was weird- Hot Lips was all over me." Rory grins, heedless of the kernel of anger-tinged jealousy forming inside Barry's throat."Invited us back here and, long story short, things… escalated. We all had the best morning of our lives and now Iris is making breakfast all alone out there. Someone should keep her company.""On it!" Rory is off the bed and doing a little dance to slip back into his underwear and jeans. Barry means to jump off the bed and stop him, maybe yell at him for what he said about Iris. But she's right- that ass is distracting. He stays put and watches Rory strut out of the room. His confusion and lingering disgruntlement wither at the sound of Iris's delighted peal of laughter and Rory's almost shy chuckle."Come back when th'food's ready," Snart mutters, voice going soft with sleep again.He gets his arms around Barry and pulls him back to the mattress, arranging the sheets over both of them with a familiar kind of ease. Len drapes one arm over Barry's waist and slings a leg over and between Barry's, resting his head on Barry's shoulder. Warm breath tickles Barry’s collarbone as the other man drifts back to sleep.The pillows are cool beneath Barry's head and the entire bed smells like sex, smoke, expensive cologne and Iris's special occasion perfume. The memories come back slowly and Barry is relieved that the whole sleeping together thing- "It's an orgy! Just call it an orgy, Eyebrows!"- was both Iris' and his idea. Apparently, the meta's powers had an area affect that spread from Barry to Iris… and then, presumably, to Len and Mick."Thought you were dead," is the only thing Barry can think to say as he rubs lazy circles over Len's back.Len's response is obscured by Barry's shoulder, his words a secret only Barry's skin knows. Barry sighs and lets himself be drawn back to sleep, lulled by the soothing rise and fall of Len's breathing against him.He's not even surprised when they're woken up for breakfast less than an hour later by Cisco and Caitlin, who were sleeping on the couch because the bed wasn't big enough for six.
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Barry gets in later all the time- that morning, it's barely still morning when he opens the door and walks past the shoe mat to slump onto the sofa. Len used to tell him to take his shoes off when he got back, keep the hardwood looking nice for when they inevitably sell the place, but there doesn't seem any point to it. Neither one of them is hurting for money, for different reasons, so when they get around to listing the too-big apartment, whatever they get for it will be fine. Barry keeps saying he'll look for a realtor when he has the time; he's always out patrolling or staying late at the community college to work with his students. He gets in later all the time and he stays in the loft less and less.Len could leave. He tells himself he could go anywhere else, could wait for Barry outside of STAR Labs or the college and just take him away from there, but he never does. He stays inside the apartment most of the time, only venturing to the hall to pick up the groceries he orders; Barry forgets to buy food as often as he forgets to eat it. Len and Cisco used to joke that one of these days, Len's going to have to start freezing Barry to feed him. He can't remember the last time he saw or talked to Cisco.He watches Barry on the sofa, glances at the clock to see the hands tick over to noon. He thinks he should say something, but can't come up with any words. What would be the point? Barry tips sideways slowly and pulls down a worn afghan from the back of the couch. It drapes over his thighs and midsection, not really covering much of him, but he doesn't do it for warmth. The blanket was Iris's favorite, from their shared childhood together. It came with her and Barry when they bought the loft and was on the sofa the night Len joined them for dinner and a movie in. It covered Len when he stayed the night for the first time, out on the couch, with Iris and Barry in their bedroom. It hasn't been washed since the night she was killed, when Barry gathered it into a ball and sobbed into it until he passed out.Len gets up and makes dinner- Barry hates breakfast food, now. Len only cooks things they never had with Iris, often bland foods with no emotional connection to anything. It's nutrition, mindless survival. They both eat on the sofa, side-by-side, arms and shoulders touching as they lift forks and move knives mechanically. They don't eat at the dining room table anymore. Len washes the dishes while Barry dozes fitfully on the couch; neither of them sleep more than an hour or two at a time. They can't handle the nightmares, their own or each others. Iris was the comforter, the blanket that was always there on the back of the couch.They go to bed early in the evening, Len on Barry's side of the bed and Barry on the floor beside him. There's nothing Len has been able to do or say that will get Barry back in the bed. They haven't had sex since the night before Iris was killed. It's not the same without her.Barry is gone when Len wakes up again, no note and no clothes missing from the closet or dresser, as usual. The Flash is on patrol again. Len thinks he'll patrol until it kills him and he wonders, detached and light-headed, what he'll do then, if they're both gone.