Work Text:
As much as standing too close to a raging inferno is not Captain Cold's favorite past time, he must admit he almost missed the smell. He knows he certainly won't, once he is trying to get it out of his parka along with the soot and pools of sweat. It is tempting to take the poor garment off, but some things must be done proper.
Finally, he sees a figure emerge from the burning building before stopping and admiring the fire. Len feels his chest tighten, sudden grip that has nothing to do with the bellowing smoke. Equal parts reluctant and impatient, he tugs on his hood and adjusts the goggles, schooling his features into his usual scowl before walking up to the arsonist.
Heat Wave is wearing his old, white, anti-flammable outfit with an added work apron but the wielding mask is entirely new, a full metal plate with a stylized devilish face, including small horns melded on its front.
Cute.
Rory notices him approaching and gives him a long, silent glance over, taking in the improvised Captain Cold's costume, the cold gun and the determined frown. Without a word, he turns back to his fiery work.
"Mick."
It carries the weight of million unsaid things, ones that he hopes will be understood wordlessly and others he hates that will.
"Len."
And just with that, Leonard Snart feels his knees buckle and he has to steady himself not to collapse.
Heat Wave was the last recruitment and Cold was certainly not stalling, as his sister suggested. It was both the easiest and hardest one, Rory was almost certain to agree to join them or at least to come hear him out. And Len needs him with him on this, as much as he needs Lisa, he cannot fuck this up. He can't do it without Mick, he does not want to. But it has been years and before that, it has been many other, eventful, years. There is a lot of history, both good and bad and then worse. They had each other's backs, without question, without hesitation - but they aimed their guns at one another enough times. And through it all, Mick has been his partner. If he's not anymore... No he is. He will be again, that's why Len is here.
And Lisa did laugh him out of the room when he looked at her pleadingly and started suggesting that, maybe, she could come with or deal with it herself.
So Cold gathers himself without missing a beat and asks in a nonchalant tone. "Business or pleasure?"
"Law office. Insurance," Mick explains, not wasting his breath as usual. He finally takes off his mask, revealing his scarred face.
"And a bit for me," he admits.
Without guilt, Len notes, that's good. While able to stay profesional, it sounds like Rory has had a good grip on his pyromania. Good, good. The beard he grew over the years is also very good, Len cannot help but notice.
"I want to-"
"Save the speech. I'm in." Mick cuts him off matter-of-factly and Len blinks, having his carefully prepared and scripted plan go out of the window. It's just the two of them now.
"But it was a good speech," he pouts. Mick laughs softly to himself.
"I'm sure it was," he teases Len with a gentle earnesty behind it before locking eyes with him. They are burning with the same focus as when he was looking at the flames themselves.
"Just skip till the end. What's the gig?"
Len is still sulking over the ruined speech, hands crossed.
"Come to the usual place at 8 PM tomorrow. Sharp."
"Seriously?" Mick scoffs, "just tell me now. I said I was in."
"You didn't want the speech," Len turns his nose up and Mick rolls his eyes with a huff, turning back to the fire.
They stand there in silence for a second, but the sirens can already be faintly heard in the distance. Cold shuffles on his feet, "Shouldn't you..?"
"I know."
This time Heat Wave doesn't look back at him, keeping his gaze fixed at the blazing office. The sirens are louder now.
"Mick!" Len yells out but Rory just growls, "I know!"
He picks up his bag though and they both rush into a nearby alley. Mick shoots one last look back, taking a deep breath of the air that smells of ash and burning plastic before grumbling at his old partner.
"Honestly. I've been doing this long enough."
"Sure." Snart seems to want to continue but eventually just nods, "see you tomorrow then."
Before he can leave, Mick practically sneers.
"Lenny."
They stare at one another for a long moment, then, finally, a hint of a smile creeps on Mick's face.
"Come on."
He gestures to the left and picks up the pace. Len follows him, matching his stride in silence until they get to a safer distance from the crime scene.
"The beard looks good on you," Len offers, as neutrally as possible.
Mick stops, his stare again as intense as it was back there. Len could swear it burns just as hot.
"You look good too."
Snart, painfully aware of his bald spot and other ways age gnawed at his body, barks out a laugh.
"I really don't!"
Mick is smiling properly now, warm, just as he is, when he pulls him closer.
"I missed you."
"I missed you too," Len mumbles into his shoulder, suddenly holding onto his partner like a lifeline.
