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Chapter Text

Day 1: Anniversary

There was a knock at the apartment door, and Roscoe sat up quickly in his chair. He’d recently escaped from prison and was on high alert for the cops or even the Flash, so he crept silently to the door’s peephole but quickly relaxed: it was Lisa.

He quietly opened the door and ushered her inside, and she jumped into his arms for a hug.

“I got your message! When did you break out?” she enthused as she held him tightly and he twirled them both around in his usual fashion.

“Just last night. I’ve been keeping this place as a bolthole that hopefully the cops don’t know about,” he said as he carefully closed the door and leaned in for a kiss. She eagerly kissed him back and reached around for a place to put the champagne bottle in her hand, which he looked at curiously.

“Is that to celebrate my unscheduled release from Central City’s finest house of correction?”

She pretended to look offended. “Don’t tell me you forgot!”

“Er…I never forget anything, but please humour me.”

“You started coaching me five months ago today! And then two months ago we had that special evening I know you didn’t forget,” she said with a few pointed jabs into his chest for emphasis, and he had the good manners to look profoundly embarrassed.

“Okay, yes, I did forget, but in my half-assed defence I just spent two weeks in Iron Heights. I’m very sorry I didn’t get you anything,” he reluctantly admitted, but she didn’t let any of that get her down.

“Whatever! You’re out now, and we’ve got the good stuff to celebrate so many things…I lifted it from my brother’s stash,” she said with a grin, and he returned one in kind.

“And he stole it from the Rathaway mansion, so he can’t even really complain about its loss. Baby, you’re the greatest.”

“Oh, do tell,” she purred as he gathered two battered whiskey glasses in lieu of champagne flutes and pointed her towards his apartment’s humble living room. “But I was actually hoping to hear that I’m the top.”

“I think that can be arranged,” he grinned over his shoulder at her.

Chapter Text

Day 2: Pet Sitting

“So it turns out that rats are really mischievous and get into everything!” James wailed, and Len chuckled darkly under his breath.

“Wouldn’t know anything about that,” he said, thinking back to the Trickster’s own shenanigans at every single Rogue meeting ever.

“See this little rascal, Moon: she stole my doughnut out from under my nose,” James said, tickling the rat’s head with one finger. “I was looking right in her direction but somehow she managed it!”

Another rat approached and twitched its nose theatrically at the two men, and James laughed a bit. “Oh, and this jerk somehow got out of his habitat and into bed with me, and I found him burrowed deep into my pillowcase. He’s a bit of a character, I think he’s Hart’s favourite…but don’t tell the others I said that.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Len replied wryly, watching as another rat silently climbed the back of James’ chair, and eventually summitted to the crown of his head.

“Aw c’mon, you gotta be kidding me…” James groaned as the rat began poking around in his hair and groomed his forehead for about twenty seconds. “It’s been like this all weekend, and I’m never going to babysit these guys again. I found their treats stashed in my airwalkers!”

“Seems to me that you and them are two of a kind, and you actually like most of it,” Len noted calmly. “If you were really tired of `em, you wouldn’t talk about them so fondly. My sister seriously gets on my nerves sometimes, but I’ll always talk nicer about her than any of you chuckleheads.”

James reached up to gently remove the rat from his head, and petted her a few times before placing her on the table and watching her scurry off for more troublemaking. “Y’know, you might be onto something. They are pretty cute, and I can appreciate their commitment to the bit.”

“There ya go,” Len said approvingly. A rat began running up his arm and he winced, as he was far less comfortable with them than Hartley or James.

“But,” James added with a growing grin as an idea came to him, and the other man knew that impish look all too well. “I’m totally gonna teach them some new tricks to annoy Hart.”

Chapter Text

Day 3: In Vino Veritas

“And another thing…” Digger began loudly, slurring his words, and there was a collective rolling of eyes.

“Here we go,” James sighed, expecting the usual ramblings when their teammate drank, which were sometimes shockingly offensive even to a group of hardened criminals. Hartley pre-emptively covered his ears.

“Yer not half-bad,” Digger said to Len, poking a finger into his chest. “Your puffy coat’s stupid, but you’re a good bloke with some decent plans.”

“Thanks,” Len muttered, more than a bit taken aback by how positive that had been.

“You make me laugh, ya li’l larrikin,” Digger said to James, who grinned broadly.

“I’ll take it,” James chuckled, also rather surprised.

“You play some decent tunes, mate,” Digger told Hartley, who shrugged. Who knew?

“I like it when you make nice weather for the barbecues,” Digger said to Mark, who visibly wilted a bit.

“…is that all?” Mark asked, slightly hurt, and the other man laughed uproariously.

“Ah, yer a riot too! Ya got good taste in magazines.”

“Magazines?” Mark asked in confusion, but the good captain had already moved on to Sam.

“And then there’s you, Scud. What more can I say about a top bloke?”

“Did you get me mixed up with the other guy, or…” Sam began, though Digger wasn’t finished.

“Always has the best beer! Can always be counted on in a pinch! Looks good in orange! Has a nice arse!”

“Did you just say I have a…”

“Yer barmy, mate, I said no such thing!” Digger replied amidst peals of laughter, only to run from the room and trip heavily on the way out. He landed flat on his face and was still giggling when the other Rogues came over to help him to his feet.

“He’s going be embarrassed when he sobers up,” Mark observed, and Len snorted derisively.

“He’s not gonna remember any of this.”

Sam looked thoughtful. “I mean, hopefully he’ll still remember the ass comment. It was nice of him to notice,” he said as he began admiring his own profile in a nearby mirror, and the others decided it was time to do literally anything else.

Chapter Text

Day 6: Late Night Talks

Lisa had just finished the first training session with her new coach, and it had been surprisingly intense. The man took spinning very seriously, though she was glad for it because that was precisely the reason she’d asked him to teach her.

He tossed her a towel and held out a bottle of water when she skated back to the stands, and she took them with gratitude.

“Nicely done! Congratulations!” he said admiringly, and she was happily taken aback as she sat down near him. He hadn’t said much during the session, so she’d thought he had been unimpressed with her performance.

“Thank you,” she said with a proud smile, clinking her water bottle with his as they sat together for a few minutes while she cooled down. “Hey, can I ask you something? How or why did you get so much into spinning, anyway?”

He blinked a few times in surprise, since most people found him too odd to converse with and he didn’t have many opportunities to talk about his interests. “Oh, um. I find it soothing, to be honest. And it makes me feel alive, if that makes any sense. It is a pleasant and enjoyable sensation.”

“And you don’t get dizzy?”

“Not usually, although I did not have a good time when the Flash had me spinning on my head,” he admitted ruefully, and she laughed.

“On your head, wow. And you could do that?”

“Apparently. It was news to me as well,” he replied, chuckling a bit at the memory. “A bigger concern was cleaning off all the oil when I arrived at the jail, because they simply turned the fire hose on me and incinerated my uniform afterward. There was worry about hydrocarbon contamination, which was probably justified.”

“Oh, you poor thing,” she said sympathetically, although picturing the scene in her mind was both pitiful and slightly amusing. And maybe somewhat intriguing, when she thought about him getting soaked with a hose.

“And you, how did you get so seriously into skating?” he asked with polite curiosity. She smiled a bit sadly, not sure how much her brother had told his colleagues about their family’s history.

“It was a way to get out of the house as much as possible, and it was something my father couldn’t take away from me. Even when he tried to forbid me from doing it, he couldn’t steal what I’d already accomplished…and he also failed at stopping me, too.”

Roscoe looked horrified and was uncertain of what to say; he’d never been good at comforting people or speaking smoothly to make others feel at ease, but he understood a painful relationship with one’s parents. “I am sorry about that,” he said after a few seconds of unhappy silence. “It’s good that you are still doing it in spite of him. And I hope you continue to enjoy it and find it fulfilling.”

“Oh yeah, I love it, it’s the most important thing in my life,” she said sincerely. “It’s fun and I’m good at it, and one day I’ll be able to rub my success in that bastard’s face.”

He nodded affirmatively. “I hope so, and you really are good. I don’t know if you want to continue our training, but I should be available if you are still interested.”

“Definitely interested, so bring it on!” she enthused, grinning. This session had been very challenging in a positive way, and she was confident it would improve her skills. But she was also beginning to realize that she enjoyed talking to him and was looking forward to seeing him again, and she wasn’t entirely sure why. It was something worth thinking about when she had some quiet time to unpack all the events of the day.

“All right, let me know what your schedule’s like and I’ll try to find some time. I don’t exactly have a nine-to-five job,” he said with a chuckle, his words flowing more freely as he loosened up a bit. “The only potential conflict is if the cops find me and I am sent upstate, but I’ll break out eventually.”

“Well good luck with that,” she laughed, very familiar with the routine because of Len’s longtime struggles with the law. “I’ll text you, but my schedule’s pretty flexible too, at least when the ice show’s in town. Our road trips go on forever, though.”

“Until next time, then!” he said cheerily, and waved as he stood up and headed for the exit with a bounce in his step. He felt good about the situation for reasons he didn’t necessarily understand, but it was enough to be contented because he was so often ill at ease with people. She made him feel happy and comfortable.

“Definitely,” Lisa said as she unlaced her skates and thought about the conversation. She felt positive about where things were potentially heading, and it was nice for things to go her way for a change. Who knew where this might lead?

Chapter Text

Day 12: Blizzard or Heatwave

“You just can’t listen, can ya?! I tell you to stay put and watch for the cops, but you just have to run in with flames blazin’ and ruin all my plans!” Len bellowed.

“Maybe I’d listen if your plans were worth a damn and you’d give me something to do!” Mick shouted back with just as much intensity. “Even the kids get to pull their weight, but I always get stuck sittin’ on the sidelines!”

“Those friggin’ kids can pay attention, which is more’n can be said for you!”

“Good one, mate,” Digger said approvingly between swigs of beer, and James stole a large handful of popcorn from his bag while Digger’s attention was occupied on the drink and the argument.

“Nah, Len’s right,” James shrugged as he stuffed it all into his mouth in one go. “That fire just added to the chaos, and not in a good way. More like a ‘someone call the burn unit’ way.”

“I’m fine!” Roscoe said indignantly, though he was sitting very uncomfortably on a padded reclining chair and mindful of his injury. “Mick is correct.”

“Dude, he literally singed your ass.”

“I support Mick, and Len is wrong,” Roscoe replied with his nose in the air, and James rolled his eyes while swiping more popcorn. Some things never changed.

“A hundred bucks says this ends with Cold freezing something!” Hartley interjected, waving a crisp c-note at the others, and Digger laughed uproariously.

“Mate, yer on. I can’t wait to see the firebug torch the couch again.”

“Uh, I’m trying to nap here,” Mark said with a raised middle finger, suddenly concerned that he’d picked a lousy time and place for it. He quickly got to his feet and hurried out of the literal line of fire before things escalated.

“That’s it! You’re benched!” Len shouted at Mick, who pulled out his heat gun faster than anyone anticipated and shot a burst of flame at the ceiling. It rapidly set the ancient track lighting ablaze, which immediately collapsed and dropped hot metal right next to Roscoe’s chair.

“Aaaagh!” Roscoe yelped as the chair’s upholstery caught fire, and everyone scrambled to put it out before the whole place went up. Once the flames had been quenched, Mick stormed out of the room as Len yelled invectives and ranted loudly about docking his pay.

“That irresponsible idiot!” Len fumed as he surveyed the damage and searched for some lamps to replace the old lights which had been long past their prime anyway. And Digger happily took Hartley’s money with a cheeky grin.

“No, Mick was still correct,” Roscoe sniffed.

Chapter Text

Day 17. Making or Buying a Costume

Roy’s steps came to a halt in front of Gambi’s shop, and he visibly quivered with anxiety.

“I don’t think I can do it, I really don’t,” he said as he turned around and began to walk in the other direction. Lisa gently grabbed his arm with concern.

“You can! I’ll be with you, it’ll be okay.”

He looked anguished. “What if this is all another plot to laugh at me or make me look stupid in front of everyone? The colour blind guy wears ugly clashing colours and looks like a dork, how funny!”

“Gambi’s a professional, he’d never do that,” Lisa said firmly. “He made Roscoe’s and Len’s costumes, and whatever you think of their questionable sense of taste, it was exactly what they’d wanted. Besides, I’ll be there and can confirm he isn’t giving you something you didn’t ask for.”

“You wouldn’t make fun of me or let others make fun, would you?” he asked, his voice trembling and sad, and she took his hand as she looked him in the eyes.

“Never. You were there for me when I lost Roscoe, Roy. Now I’m here for you.”

His hand squeezed hers in return, and he swallowed hard as he turned back towards the store. “Okay, let’s do this.”

Chapter Text

Day 21. Pumpkin Carving

“Are we sure this is a good idea?” Hartley said with concern, and Sam made a dismissive face.

“Pfft, what could go wrong with a wholesome group activity like pumpkin carving?”

Hartley pinched his nose and just looked very tired. “Sure, give knives to a bunch of supervillains. Why not?”

“Pretty sure they can get knives any day they want,” Sam replied, shrugging, so Hartley sighed heavily and returned to his pumpkin.

“Okay, listen up, losers!” Sam announced to the assembled group. “The point of this exercise is to do something fun and socialize with your fellows…call it team building, if you will. I expect everyone to carve a half-decent jack o’ lantern, or we’ll all make fun of you or something.”

“Don’t forget to save the seeds for roasting,” Mick said with a gleam in his eye which genuinely worried Sam, and he hastily reminded everyone that Heat Wave wasn’t allowed to use the oven.

At that, the group got to work with varying levels of enthusiasm. Digger loudly told everyone it was a stupid activity, but he didn’t mind stabbing his knife into the hapless pumpkin.

“This tastes gross,” James complained as he stuffed a handful of slimy pumpkin guts into his mouth.

“It’s not a pie pumpkin, of course it tastes bad,” Mark replied with obvious annoyance, and James carefully smeared more guts on the other man’s expensive shirt in retaliation. He knew it’d be a dangerous mistake to get any of it in Mark’s hair.

“Keep your hands to yourself and just carve,” Sam said disapprovingly, so James stuck out his tongue and returned to sculpting an insanely detailed likeness of Boris Karloff wearing a fisherman hat.

“So what have we got?” Sam asked half an hour later, and most of the Rogues had more or less finished their work.

“A spooky rat!” Hartley declared proudly, and the others generally had to agree it was rather decent.

“Bet this blighter carved a top,” Digger jeered at Roscoe, who stiffened.

“It’s a battle top. See the spikes?”

“Mine’s a flame,” Mick said. “It’s fire and there’ll be real fire lighting it up, right? It’ll be so cool!”

“Right,” Sam said nervously, realizing he’d planned this activity without considering Mick’s specific interest and its potential hazards, and that was always a mistake. “I think we’ll be using electric candles, though.”

“What?? Well, that’s not fair,” Mick complained, crossing his arms defiantly. He already had plans to use a real candle in his pumpkin, no matter what the boss decreed.

“Couldn’t think of what to make, so I carved a beer bottle,” Len shrugged, and it wasn’t half bad.

“I think mine’s a cat or something?” Mark said with disinterest, holding up a pumpkin with a vague animal shape on it. Sam gave a thumbs down but hadn’t really expected much effort from him in the first place, and Mark didn’t seem bothered by the critique.

“So what’s yours, Digger?” Sam inquired, and the broad grin on the other man’s face told him he wasn’t going to like the answer. It was a rude gesture involving the middle finger, carved with surprising skill…or maybe not too surprising, considering the source.

“Not funny,” Sam frowned at him. “You can put that in the living room, but nowhere any kids might see it.”

“When are kids ever here?” Len asked skeptically, but it wasn’t something he cared about either way.

Digger was mildly offended that nobody seemed to appreciate his work, though he’d certainly never make himself vulnerable by saying so aloud. But Sam’s disapproval had left him in a rather sullen and challenging mood.

“Fine then, Scudder: what’d you make?” he demanded.

“Oh, uh, me? Nothing special,” Sam stammered, fumbling to hide his pumpkin from the others, but Digger snatched it away from him and held it up for everyone to see.

The Rogues gazed upon a well-carved portrait of Sam’s glorious self with an especially chiseled jawline, much to the amusement of the entire group. It seemed that Sam’s socialization plan had been a sound one, as this exercise had absolutely brought them all together to poke fun at him.

Chapter Text

Day 25. Cold Hands

The two children smiled from ear to ear; their troubles were not exactly forgotten, but they’d learned to embrace the good moments in life lest they be overwhelmed by despair. Now they were spending the day with their grandfather, and the old man loved them and did his best to make their rough lives brighter.

“Wait here a few minutes. I’ve got to finish this delivery,” their grandfather said kindly, ruffling Lenny’s hair a bit, and the boy laughed delightedly. It was so nice when an adult used their hands with kindness, rather than to hurt.

“You okay, Lisa?” Lenny asked, noticing that his little sister was shivering a bit, and took her hands in his. He realized how chilled she was, which perhaps wasn’t surprising inside an ice truck, but it was his self-appointed job to look after her.

“Yeah!” she nodded enthusiastically, still jazzed about the outing. She felt safe with her brother and grandfather, and that was so rare in her life. “It’s just cold, no big deal.”

Lenny searched around for their grandfather’s company jacket and draped it over his sister’s shoulders. She was tiny and almost lost within it, but her smile grew broader as it enveloped her small frame like a hug. “Now I’m just like Grandpa!”

“Are you any warmer?” he asked, and she nodded happily again.

“I really love this coat. Do you think he’d let me keep it?”

“I think he needs it for work, Lise,” Lenny told her fondly. “But I’m sure it’s okay while we’re in here.”

They were so occupied with their conversation and surroundings that they didn’t notice their grandfather sneaking up alongside them…at least until he produced two large ice cream cones with a caring smile.

“Bubblegum?!” Lisa all but shrieked with glee. Their grandfather always remembered her favourite flavour, even though her parents never did.

“And a Rocky Road for Lenny,” he added as he handed them over.

“Thanks, Grandpa,” Lenny said gratefully, as he immediately began enjoying a treat which was all too rare for him.

“You two are my world, I want you to know that,” the old man said gently, with a slight catch in his voice. “And I want you to know that you can always call me whenever you need help.”

“We know,” Lenny replied more quietly.

“But today isn’t about that,” their grandfather added in a lighter tone. “Today’s about having a nice time and finishing all our deliveries…I hear there’ll be a bonus if we get more done than usual!”

“Yay!” Lisa cheered, skillfully balancing her ice cream cone amidst the excitement.

“So should we get going?” her grandfather asked joyously as he started the truck’s engine. It roared to life with a comforting growl, a sound they’d grown to love.

The kids’ delighted reaction was music to his ears.

Chapter Text

Day 27. Meeting in the Middle

Sam and Len had been playing cards and discussing strategy while the rest of the hoodlums were off doing their own thing, at least until James stuck his head in the doorway.

“Crocodile Dundee’s drunk again.”

Len yawned and took the opportunity to swap one of his bad cards with a better one from his stash. “So? He always is.”

“He knocked over Roscoe’s stupid Jenga tower and now there’s an argument.”

“This I wanna see,” Len declared, and was off faster than anyone expected. Sam came loping after him just out of curiosity for the trainwreck.

“I did yer a favour, mate, that thing was dumb kid stuff,” Digger brayed in the next room, swaying unsteadily as he spoke.

“I spent three hours on it!”

“Yeah, that’s nothin’ to brag about, champ.”

The Rogues who weren’t drunk noticed that Roscoe’s eyes had begun to glow as his anger grew, and realized things were going to go south quickly if they didn’t intervene. Sam then whistled on his fingers to call a general time out.

“Okay, Roscoe: tell us why you were doing that, and Digger, don’t interrupt,” Sam said in as neutral a tone as he could manage.

“I like building nice orderly things. It’s calming. And it’s an interesting challenge to see how tall I can construct it.”

“All right, Digger, now you explain why you knocked it down. No interruptions, Roscoe.”

“It’s stupid. He’s 21, ain’t he? An’ I’m just showin’ him the truth.”

Sam was inclined to agree with Digger’s argument, but the tower wasn’t hurting anyone and a compromise seemed like a good solution for everybody.

“You’re entitled to your opinions, Digger, but I think we can agree that we’ve all got our own methods of relaxing. Don’t knock his stuff over.”

Sam also muttered “and God knows that man needs to calm the hell down,” under his breath, but it went unheard by everyone but Hartley, who looked at him reproachfully.

“…fine, ya bludgers,” Digger mumbled with obvious irritation. “The cops’ll laugh themselves silly when they bust in here and find the place full of bloody kiddie towers.”

“That’s a risk I can live with,” Sam grinned, laughing a bit behind his hand. He and Len returned to their card game, while Roscoe searched for all the scattered blocks he could find and began to rebuild anew.

Chapter Text

Day 31. “Stay?”

Mick stared at the burning building with a longing he could taste. He’d had a job to do for the FBI, but it was temporarily forgotten within the excitement of the dancing flames. “The fire…you put the beautiful fire out.”

And Len took advantage of his distraction to prepare to shoot him in the back, the cold gun making an audible sound as he amped up its power. “Got ya-”

It was at that moment a violent whirlwind tore into the fray, emitting such a loud sound that everyone in the area covered their ears in pain, and it left them all off-balance. Roscoe Dillon had entered the battlefield, prompting a general sense of dread: this was very bad news.

“Remember what I told you, Flash? ‘One day I’ll take it all back.’ Well, today…today is unfortunately that day.”

Roscoe immediately turned his attention to Wally, the greatest threat, leaving an opening for Len and Mick to escape. They both ran in different directions, but something made Mick halt and slowly turn back toward the intensifying fight. Even Hartley had gotten involved in the skirmish.

“Stop! Stop fighting!” Mick shouted, causing Len to turn around in disbelief. The combatants also stopped and stared momentarily, because this was certainly unexpected; each of them had the ability to bring down a building without much difficulty, and Heat Wave was just some guy with a gun getting between them.

“Why are we doing this? Why are we hurting each other and destroying the city?” Mick shouted at them.

Wally’s day had already been bizarre and difficult, but this was just surreal. “I’m protecting the city from you Rogues,” he said with incredible exasperation, and Hartley nodded to back him up.

“And why wouldn’t I? The people of this city have done nothing but spit on me,” Roscoe said coldly, trying and failing to figure out Mick’s angle. Surely the other man knew he could render him a smear on the pavement.

“Mick, what the hell are you doin’?!” Len demanded as he jogged back to the strange tableau.

“I’m just saying that maybe we should put an end to this,” Mick said with a grave expression. “We can listen to each other for once, and maybe be better to each other.”

Roscoe let out a barking laugh, bitterness evident to those who knew him well. “This is a joke. When have any of you people ever listened to me? The last time I went to someone for help, Cold threw me out and left me to rot on the streets.”

“Because you’re a complete lun-” Len began angrily, though Mick cut him off before the situation could devolve.

“Maybe we should all be better. We used to be a family…what happened to that?”

“Times change,” Len grunted, his gun quietly beginning to power up again, which Hartley heard and he stepped forward to intervene before the fighting resumed.

“Mick has a point, honestly. Cold, can you really say you’re happier now that you’re only on good terms with a few Rogues, and have made enemies of the rest? Can any of you say you’re happier like this?”

Roscoe looked disgusted and angry, though his mood wasn’t especially aggressive and that was perhaps its own accomplishment. “What does it matter if I am happy or not? What difference would that make?”

“It might mean an end to this fighting,” Mick said earnestly, and Roscoe snorted.

“Ridiculous,” he declared as he prepared to spin again, but Mick took a leap of faith and stepped forward.

“Please stay. You’re family.”

Roscoe stopped moving and stared at him, astonished. He was momentarily left speechless, and that might have also been an accomplishment.

“Why would you say that?” he finally asked, posture rigid as he tried to gauge Mick’s sincerity.

“Because maybe this has gone on long enough, an’ I don’t think it’s workin’ for any of us,” Mick said plaintively, his local accent thickening with emotion. “Wouldn’t you agree?”

Len’s grip tightened on the cold gun.

“…all right,” Roscoe eventually said with a sharp inhalation of breath. “I will try.”

Mick thrust out his hand, and Roscoe suddenly closed the gap between them with alarming speed and shook it.

“I’ll be damned,” Len muttered under his breath. He didn’t remove his hand from the gun, but his fingers relaxed somewhat.

“You all need to answer for the fighting here,” Wally said sternly, though Hartley put a hand on his arm and cast him a warning look. Wally didn’t like dropping the matter, but he trusted his friend’s judgment enough to let it go…for the moment.

“We’ve got money to pay for damages,” Mick said calmly, with a faint smile to cover his growing excitement. “Who else is with me? Len, you comin’?”

Len glanced suspiciously at his sister’s old boyfriend, skeptical that this was a good idea. “Yeah, sure,” he finally replied, and walked over to join them.

“I’ll call James and we’ll figure things out,” Mick said as he pulled out his phone to call his supervisor with the FBI. “Hart, come with us. We’ve all got a lot of things to discuss.”

Hartley paused to think about his next move, as he had a ton of baggage with the Rogues but also his own differences with Wally as of late. But that didn’t change the way he’d felt about any of them, even if it had been in the distant past, and Mick had a point about the status quo being tough on all of them.

He smiled.

“Wally, I’ll call you tomorrow, okay? I need to catch up with the guys and decide where to go from here, but I want a fresh start.”

“I’m your friend, Hartley-” Wally began, but Hartley held up a gentle hand to stop him before he got carried away. Fast feet, fast mouth.

“You are. So are they. You and Linda mean the world to me, and I don’t want to be upset with you anymore…so, like I said, I’ll call you tomorrow and we’ll make plans to hang out. Sound okay?”

Wally gave him a half-hearted thumbs up, fearing that he’d be ghosted again but unsure of what else to do. Hartley could read his discomfort and leaned over to give him a lengthy hug.

“You and I are good, Wally. I just want things to be good with my other family too,” Hartley said quietly in his ear, and then let go to join the Rogues.

Roscoe looked incredibly uncomfortable with the others, fidgeting with his hands and rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet, but there was no hostility in his body language and Len had let go of his gun.

“James and Frances are gonna meet us at the safehouse we were at an hour ago,” Mick told the others as Hartley walked over, and Len nodded affirmatively.

“And I told McCulloch, so he and the guys have already gone over. Hope there won’t be any fightin’ between the Tricksters.”

“Luckily we got a brawler who can keep them apart,” Mick grinned, glancing at Roscoe. “We good to go?”

Roscoe nodded silently, but Len couldn’t resist poking at his old nemesis.

“Why’d you even agree to this?” he muttered quietly enough to go unheard by Mick, although Hartley heard it and glared at him. If this fragile truce was to break....

“I don’t want to be alone anymore,” Roscoe said simply, and the Rogues headed out for a new beginning.