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He hears the sound of Iris's heels on the floor outside before she enters the room. He's bruised and tired, his temper flaring in a way that belies his chosen moniker. Being at S.T.A.R. Labs, surrounded by people he would have called his enemies not too long ago, always sets him on edge. Especially when it's not on his own terms; when he was invited, rather than sneaking in beneath Team Flash's ridiculously ineffective security measures.
So when Iris approaches him, he twists around towards her with a smile as cool as a blast from the Cold Gun, steeling himself for confrontation. His hand rests against the handle of the gun, subtly menacing, even if it's an empty threat. After everything that happened, Leonard can't quite imagine a set of circumstances under which he'd use it against her.
"Iris." He raises an eyebrow and waits for her to tell him all the ways she disapproves of his presence, how she doesn't trust him, that Barry made a mistake asking for his help.
"Leonard."
Her smile is a little tight and weary, but it looks genuine. He's so distracted by looking for hostility in her expression that it throws him off his game when he doesn't find any.
"Thanks for helping us out. You really did well today," she says.
If anyone had asked him before, he'd have assured them that being told he did well by Team Flash would be about the last thing he wanted to hear. Being patronized by a bunch of do-gooders should make him bristle and snap. But Iris's tone is appreciative and sincere, no undercurrent of judgement or demand, and the warmth in her gaze is utterly unfamiliar.
It's not just that he isn't used to this kind of... approval from Barry's hero friends. People around him have never been particularly liberal with praise. Lisa is more likely to tell him – loud, forceful and repeatedly – when he's done something wrong, rather than making a fuss over him doing something right. Mick was never a man of many words, and most of his other associates show their appreciation by not pulling a gun on him. And Lewis— best not to go there.
Leonard doesn't expect the strange feeling of warmth that settles in his stomach at Iris's words, how he reacts in a visceral, almost physical way to the approval in her tone. He looks away, swallowing down the giddy rush of satisfaction clawing up his throat. It makes him feel weak and soft, and he hates it. Hates how he doesn't hate it at all.
"Don't expect me to make a habit out of it."
The snappy comeback comes easy, but the tone is all wrong, amused and fond and indulgent rather than forbidding, like he's teasing rather than telling her off.
Her smile brightens, amusement sparking in her eyes. She reaches out and puts her hand on his shoulder, squeezing. He can feel the touch even through the thick, padded material of his parka.
He tells himself it's just his tiredness that makes him sluggish and reluctant to pull away.
"I wouldn't dream of it," she assures him quietly, taking his lie and adding her own, calling him on his bluff and letting him get away with it at the same time.
Inclining his head, he acknowledges her play, appreciating the backhandedness of it. He never felt so transparent in his life, and the strangest thing is that he can't bring himself to mind.
End.