Work Text:
So fucking cold. The hum of fluorescent lights, familiar and institutional. Liquid fire pooling in his joints, arthritis flaring up again. The first question that comes to Mick’s mind as his brain sluggishly revs to life: prison or loony bin?
Visual evidence says things are a little more complicated. He recognizes this place: the Flash’s private prison, the one that was supposed to be shut down a year ago. Of course, who’s to say what year it is now? Goddamn time travel.
Soft footsteps interrupt the white noise, someone wearing sneakers. The kid who comes strolling down the hall is familiar, too — Cisco, the Flash’s little friend. His face looks a little sheepish on the other side of the glass.
“Hey, uh. Heatwave. Are you feeling okay, man? We’re not exactly sure what the Cold Gun really does to you at the level you got exposed to, which is a little embarrassing since, you know. I made it.”
The kid ducks his head a little, and the recent past comes back vividly in rewind — the blast of the Cold Gun, Len dragging him off the ship, a week of fighting with no resolution, the glorious chaos of 2046. Torture in Russia. More than anything, just wanting to go home, and be careful what you wish for because here he is, Central City, probably 2016 judging by the fact that Cisco is exactly how he remembers him, Doctor Who shirt and all.
“I’m fine.” Comes out as more of a growl. “Cold, sore and mad. But m’not injured.”
“I’d still really like to do a body scan,” Cisco says wistfully. “But good. Your partner’s going to be back any time now, and honestly the less drama around here, the better.”
A little spark of spite flickers in Mick’s head with the thought that him being hurt would serve Len right. Because fuck if this isn’t perfect — Len leaving him frozen, locked up, in stasis. So everything will be just the same when he comes back, after running off in the damn time machine to do whatever the hell he wants. Like the world really does revolve around him, shit, he must be loving this.
Just when Mick is gathering himself to his feet, an alarm blares through the building, harsh and loud in his aching head. Cisco scowls. “Snart, dude, you didn’t have to break in,” he mutters. “Again.” And then he’s gone without another look at Mick.
He rolls out his shoulders and neck like he’s getting ready for a fight, shatterproof glass or not. It’s not the first time this has happened between them. He knows it’s up to him whether it will be the last.
Len looks like shit when he walks up the hall, hands shoved in his pockets, face creased with tension. Somehow his hair looks grayer, too. Good. He doesn’t face Mick directly but his blue eyes are roving, taking everything in without lingering too long in any one place.
“I’m still cold,” Mick says to break the silence. “Asshole.”
“The rest of them think I killed you,” Len replies quietly after a long pause. Non sequitur. “They’ve forgiven me for it… like you’re theirs to forgive. It’s been a long time on my end, you know. I missed you.”
“Sure felt like you hit me,” he retorts, raising both eyebrows. Len does his reluctant little smile, the corners of his lips curling up like burning paper. “You always miss me, Snart. Never stops you from leaving the next time.”
He usually doesn’t point this out. Usually when Len comes back it’s a relief for both of them. Bringing up the past would just make it ugly for no reason. This time, it’s already ugly.
“Because you never change, Mick,” Len drawls, shoulders rolling back, exasperated. “Every time I give you another chance, you throw it away. You throw yourself away.”
“Never said I was going to change.” Mick’s an inch from the glass, mad for real now. Who the fuck does this guy think he is, anyway? Go back in time until you figure that one out. “You’re the one who wanted that, not me. You want me, but you want to be able to handle me. Control me. That ain’t who I am.”
Len looks like he wants to hit something, so that makes two of them. “Someone needs to control you,” he shoots back. “God knows you’re not going to do it yourself.”
“Bullshit.” He sounds sadder than he wants to. It’s an old wound that keeps getting opened up and it fucking hurts by now, but there’s one person in this eerie little hallway who’s afraid of getting hurt and it damn well isn’t him. “You like this. You like that I’m not afraid, you like my… passion. Until it gets too real for you, and you need to tell yourself you can walk away.” Pauses. Takes in a deep breath through his nose. “You can walk away one more time, Boss. But it’s gonna be the last time.”
Oh, he’s got Len’s attention now. But instead of meeting him nose to nose on the other side of the glass, the other man curls in on himself slightly, then sinks to the floor, arranging himself indian-style with his elbows resting on his knees.
“I don’t —“ Len starts, eyes flashing, then stops abruptly like a string got cut. A master chess player spotting the moment when he’s beaten.
“You do. Did the same thing with Allen, too, last time we saw this place. With the metahumans. Things were getting too complicated, so you…” — with a dismissive wave of one hand — “uncomplicated them. And I’ll give him credit for one thing, he didn’t let you get away with it. But it’s fucking tiring, Lenny. Waiting for you to get over yourself every damn time.”
“That wasn’t — that was strategic.”
“Sure.” Mick shrugs. Len seems to deflate further.
“You know my history, Mick. Don’t push me.” It’s not a threat. It’s a plea. Eyes trained on the metal floor, as close as he gets to begging.
“I’ve been patient for a long time, sweetheart.” Mick isn’t angry anymore, can’t be. His low voice is gentle. “I’d promise not to hurt you if I could, but I can’t. Doesn’t work like that. The song got it right, Len, love hurts.”
Len laughs unhappily. “You’re an idiot, Mick.”
“You’re the one who’s broken up with me in the double digits and keeps coming back like you expect something different.”
“Technically that’s a lunatic,” he says with a smirk. “Someone who keeps doing the same thing and expects different results.”
“Then you’re that,” Mick says, shaking his head. “Tell me you can open up this damn cell.”
“I’m offended that you have to ask.”