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Mark’s day always started relatively the same way ever since the Rogues were created and they all moved into a large warehouse/ housing unit.
There’s be a crash, and Snart the elder would curse loudly and Snart the younger would curse louder still. The crash would be Rory, meandering his way to the kitchen to make coffee, and the noise would wake up everyone at 7:45 every morning on the dot. And then the clockwork-like conversations/ arguments would ensue.
“Dammit Mick!”
“Godssake, s’too early for this!”
“Axel, why is there a jack-in-the-box in the tub?”
“Hartley, quit hogging the shower!”
“Whose turn is it to make breakfast?”
“Mine.”
“Alright then, I’ll get the antacids.”
“Asshole.”
And by the time Mark stumbles down the stairs into the make-shift kitchen/dining room, all but one of the eight Rogues were sitting at the table. Mark would take one of the empty chairs near the end of the table, and lay his head down, eyes trained on the doorway as he waited for his favorite part of the morning waltz through the door.
Royce shuffles on the linoleum in a pair of purple flip flops wearing an old t-shirt that probably belonged to Axel and a pair of decorative lounge pants from Shawna’s wardrobe. Her brown hair was messily thrown into a pony tail and she glared at the bright bulls in the center of the ceiling as if it personally offended her, rubbing her eyes as they flashed an array of colors.
Mark was happy no one was watching as he smiled all dopey at the mood alternator. He would take a few precious seconds to watch Royce crack her neck and stretch in the door way before coming to sit at the only available seat left, which was always coincidentally next to Mark. She would nudge his leg to move over a bit and he would sit up and let the woman lay her head where his head previously was.
And then she would let out an unholy sounding groan and demand coffee.
After breakfast (or whatever the charred price of eggs were meant to be called) was all swallowed down with gratuitous amounts of coffee and antacids were distributed as discretely as possible, Royce would stretch and crack her back and turn to Lisa.
“Hey, can you help me with something?”
Lisa would nod both women managed to slip away before Len could assign dish cleaning duty to either of them.
Mark would either get dressed or bum around with a still half-asleep Axel in the “living room”, but regardless nearly thirty minutes later Royce would bounce down the stairs, hair and make up done, dressed appropriately for the day, and aviators perched on her nose. That was also around the time Len would saunter out of his room/office with the day’s schedule.
It was a comfortable routine, one that allowed him to keep comfortably close to Royce without getting too attached. A simple crush is all. Mark thought she was pretty, thought she was nice, thought she was smart and funny and he liked the way she worked with Axel and Hartley so well and that she drinks only cheap beer or expensive wine and that she always dresses really nicely even for heists and she totally did not need to know that he thought that.
Ever.
Okay, so maybe it was a bit more than a crush, but Mark wasn’t one to fall head over heels for someone when he didn’t know everything about them. He knew the surface of Royce, he knew just as much as everybody else did, nothing more or less.
The routine was nice and firm until Lisa and Hartley went on an overnight stake out (something about getting revenge on the Rathaways for what they did to Hart). There was less yelling, Len was grumpier than usual without his sister, Mick slept in, and by the time Royce made it to the kitchen for breakfast (wearing one of Hartley’s tank tops and a pair of hardest used basketball shorts that belonged to Mark) there was a tense silence in the room, no one daring to disturb it.
Except for Royce, because she didn’t have time for this nonsense apparently.
“Where’s Piper and Lise.”
Len rolled his shoulders and sighed. Royce was gone all last night without telling anyone where she was going g and missed the briefing on the Rogues newest heist.
“They’ll be back later.” Len answered, downing the rest of his coffee.
Royce shifted uncomfortably but said nothing, and the morning went on as usual.
It was one of the mornings that Mark decided to get dressed before noon, and his internal clock counted down the minutes until Royce bounded down the stairs. But half an hour rolled by, and there wasn't even a peep from the corner room Royce had staked claim to. Mark ignored his concern for a full fifteen minutes before making his way up the stairs to see if anything was wrong. Axel wolf-whistled, somehow knowing where the wizard was going, and Mark flipped him off. Mark barely stepped on the first creaking step of the staircase when Royce's door flew open, her torso leaning out into the walk way as her eyes surveyed the warehouse. Well, Mark thinks they were surveying, but the stupid aviators were on and he couldn't really tell, he was too fixated on the fact that Royce was still in her sleep clothes.
"Mark? Great! Hey, can you do me a quick favor?"
Mark was nodding without a word and quickly followed the stairs to Royce's room.
He supposed he should have been expecting a mess. Royce's door was covered in a variety of trinkets and cut outs. Memorable ones were the following: and sign that said "No Cold, No Heat, No Entry" done up like an old-fashioned ransom note, magazine letter cut outs and all, with a crudely cut out of a snowflake and a Zippo lighter; the front of a Trix cereal box with a large 'X' of black painter's tape fastening it to the wall; a cheap paperback 'Pied Piper' children's book impaled to the door with a knife; and a string of rainbow Christmas lights framing the door, flickering and twinkling. And those were only the decorations Mark had bothered to pay attention too.
Yeah, the door should have indication about the mess that was known as Royce G. Bivolo's bedroom.
In short, it looked like a kaleidoscope view in a dark room. The only source of light in Royce's room was either more rainbow lights or the natural sunlight that came from the large window that took up one wall, and since it was early morning and that particular wall faced the west, it was still unreasonably dark in the room. Mark did notice the several different crystals that were hangig from strings from the ceiling. They seemed to be all around the room, hanging at different heights, composed of different lengths. The second thing Mark noticed were all the books and clothes. It was like the books were bricks and Royce's laundry was the cement, making the room insulated and smaller than it was (some stacks reached as high as Mark’s waist). Then the wizard noticed all the art supplies, and the backs of canvases in the back corner.
Mark didn’t know that Royce was interested in art. Though, now all the painting heist she plans make more sense.
The closet was like a monster, with colorful swatches of fabric pouring out it’s mouth, trailing onto the floor and falling off the hangers. Mark wondered if all women’s closets were like this
The bed in the center was cover in a variety of sheets (some with paint stains) and blankets, and a far too many pillows for a normal person. There were more books and a few colorful binders lying near the foot of the bed, and every free flat surface of the room seemed to be covered in trinkets or cups of dirty water.
On the bed, lying on top of the books and blankets and sheets of sketches were three outfits.
The problem was that none of them matched.
The first outfit was a navy blue button down with pink polka dots and a grass green skirt. The second was a brown pair of slacks and yellow t-shirt, paired with a blue cardigan. The last one was marron sweater that was supposedly meant to be under an eggplant purple suit vest, with a black skirt.
Royce eyed Mark worriedly before speaking.
“Do any of these match?”
Mark raised a questioning eyebrow. “Can you not tell?” How could Royce not see that none of the colors went together? The contrasts was jarring you had to be colorblind to not-
Royce shifted with a look of Shane in her face.
Oh.
“Royce…” Mark started slowly, letting his racing thoughts slow down to reasonable pace. She obviously was nervous about admitting this to him, Mark had to choose his next words carefully. “I thought only men could be colorblind.” Mark you idiot.
Royce leaned against the opening to the closet, not meeting Mark’s eyes but taking off her glasses. “Typically. Don’t you know?” She laughed humorlessly. “I’m a medical miracle.” Her smile had no mirth. “Girls are only are colorblind if their dads are, but even then they rarely become that way. My dad wasn’t colorblind, my mom wasn't, no one in my family was, and…” she shrugged. “Well, you can piece together the rest.”
A lot of things about Royce began to make sense now. Why her toothbrush had her name labeled on it; why Len never asked her to help with the wiring (stupid colored wires, how did he miss that); why whenever anyone asked her to bring them something, Royce demanded more than just one discription; why Lisa-
“So Lisa helps you pick out your clothes?” Mark asked, inwardly flinching at his lack of tact. Come on, he was supposed to be the suave Mardon Brother.
A genuine chuckle escaped Royce. “Yeah, I’d rather not go robbing banks looking like Piper’s sexuality.”
Mark couldn’t stop the smirk that worked itself into his face. “Well, you are Rainbow Raider.”
”I liked the irony.” She smirked too, pulling floral print scarf from a hook inside the closet. “‘S poetic.”
Mark chuckled at the thought. The Rainbow Raider was colorblind. Sounds like a bad joke.
”Uh, fair warning, I wear the same clothes practically everyday, so I don’t think you’d want my advice.” Mark warned, putting his hands up in surrender.
Royce smiled, and the wizard’s heart stopped for a half-beat. Royce in morning darkness, features iluminated by rainbow lights, smiling happily and watching Mark with brown eyes, face free of aviators. He wished he had a camera.
”Well, I’ll hold something up and you tell me the color. Sound fair?”
Mark just nodded.
Apperently, Royce was really fucking colorblind. She thought lime green was purple. What the fuck.
After about twenty minutes of deliberation and too many repetitions of“So this isn’t red/white/orange/etc,” Mark and Royce managed to price together a decent looking outfit that didn’t make her look like a neon sign.
Granted, Mark stuck to black because he didn’t know any better, but Royce was very appreciative, and the small smile she threw him when she asked him to face the door so she could change was enough to keep Mark on cloud nine for the rest of the day.
As she slipped on her brown leather jacket, Royce eyed him with trepidation before slipping on her glasses. “Don’t tell the others.” She demanded.
Mark made a noise of question. “They don’t know?”
Royce carefully brushed her hair into a high ponytail while keeping her bang framing her face as she answered. “Len and Lise know, nobody else does.”
And if that hat just didn’t make Mark’s heart stutter. He was trusted with a secret. Royce could have asked Axel or Mick but no, she asked Mark. She trusted him.
“Why not tell them?” He questioned, looking around the room again, memorizing the colorful chaos.
”If you were colorblind would you want Axel Walker to know?” She answers flatly. “Imagine the pranks.”
Okay, that was a good point.
Lisa and Hartley came back later that afternoon, and it wasn’t until dinner time that Mark realized he practically dressed Royce in the same outfit she had on when he first met her, all those months ago in the depths of STAR Labs.
The amused and knowing look Len gave almost made him feel shameful about it. Almost.
—-
The most recent heist was to be set in broad daylight. It was planned by Lisa, and with a little help from her brother the Rogues had a solid plan, even if the loot was something a little… unconventional.
”Remind me why we’re robbing a underwear store?” Roy asked flatly, leaning further into the couch of the warehouse’s living room. Mark wouldn't voice it, but he, too, found the objective a little strange.
Lisa huffed. “It’s Central’s most prestige lingerie boutique. They use real gems and precious metals in their goods." she argued.
Axel laughed. "What a bunch of morons. Having anything like that here in Central is putting a target on their own backs."
Well, that was true, and robbing the store would make a pretty penny. According to Len's calculations, which are seldom incorrect., they only really need to swipe five special edition bras to make a low millions. Not what they usually ball but, hey, they needed to eat this month, and Lisa had a connection who was very eager to get at least two of the bras and would spend a hefty sum to obtain them. In addition to the price of the bras, the Rogues are also being hired out by said connection, a "cool half mill" as Len puts it for each Rogue involved. Naturally, Len planned for six to be involved, just to squeeze the connection for all their worth. (Lisa complained loudly that she could rob half the store blind without any help, but Shawna reminded her that if Lisa wanted to work that hard, she could go right ahead, and that quieted Snart the younger pretty quickly).
The plan was simple, hell, it didn't even need the signature Snart timing.
Mark, Axel, and Len would be in three separate get away cars, all three going in three different directions, while the only girls in the gang went into the store to steal the lingerie in which ever way they see fit, only using some shitty disposable radios to let each other know when one of them leaves with the loot.
About ten minutes after the girls walked in, Mark's radio crackled to life and Axel's all too cheery voice filled the ditch car Len stuck him with.
"Hello hello, lovely listeners. I got myself a hot babe and Lucy is most certainly in the sky with-, well, you know." the message ended with Shawna's raucous laughter before the transmission ended.
Ten minutes after that, the radio came to life again, this time, Len's steely voice spoke. "Cold and Gold, rolling out." and that was that.
Fifteen minutes later, just as Mark was getting antsy, Royce came from the back alley door with nothing but her purse and a dour expression. Once in the car, Mark gave the all clear ("Just stormed, seeing a rainbow over head."), and pulled out of the alley, making their way to a safe house where the two were supposed to lay low until evening.
"What took so long?"
Royce shrugged and played with her glasses. "I spotted somebody I know, so I hid in the dressing room until I thought it was safe."
Mark began to worry. "Did you get the score? Boss'll be mad if-"
Royce looked deeply annoyed for as Marked talked, and gripped the bottom of her (red) shirt, pulling the hem to her chin, reveling a multi-colored bedazzled bra, glimmering in the sun coming through the windshield. Mark's brain stopped working, barely hearing Royce say, "See? I got the score.” in an annoyed tone, glasses slipping down her nose far enough to make her look like a pinup, like a model on those bike calendars, like some sort of wet dream from the depths of Mark' teenage brain.
"Eyes on the road, Mardon." Royce said flatly, pulling her shirt back down, smirking a bit to herself.
Mark had to swerve to void hitting a telephone pole.