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“What the hell are you guys doing?”
Nate turned to Mick, who was standing in the doorway to the bridge, and gestured to himself, the rest of the team, and the huge (no really, wow) Christmas tree behind him. “Decorating, obviously,” he explained with a large grin on his face.
Mick didn’t answer. He just stood there, his eyes roaming over the decorations on the tree, stopping at a small, shimmering, pointy ice crystal ornament on a branch on the left.
They were all looking at him in confusion, until Sara followed his line of sight, then turned her head back to him, the holiday grin vanished from her face. A silent apology was sent his way.
It was Ray, big surprise, who broke the awkward silence. “You wanna help?” he asked in an attempt at a cheerful voice.
But the arsonist just turned and walked out, away from the bridge, away from the ornament that looked almost exactly like the one he had given to Leonard on their first Christmas as husbands. Away from the team that seemed to have completely forgotten that Snart had ever existed, let alone sacrificed himself for them.
He stopped when he heard running, light footsteps behind him, knowing immediately who was following him.
“It’s alright, Blondie,” he murmured, “just leave me alone. You can’t help me.”
“I put it in there for him,” she called after Mick. That stopped him. He swiftly turned to Sara, seeing the hopeful, yet broken look on her face. “To remember him.”
Mick turned away again hastily. He squeezed his eyes shut as tightly as he could, trying to keep himself from…
Too late. A tear rolled across his cheek.
Mick Rory was not someone who cried. He only did about once every decade, and that was it. But when he did cry, he did it right.
The man started shaking uncontrollably, as more tears followed the first. His shoulders shocked, and he pressed the sleeve of his jacket over his eyes.
Sara came closer carefully, slowly resting her hand on his shoulder. He shrugged to force it off, and almost ran the last few meters to his room, the door opening and closing as he entered.
As soon as the door slid closed, he let his back slam against it and sank to the floor, wrapping his arms around his pulled up knees. “Fuck,” he murmured, “I miss you.”
He sat there, remembering everything. The first time he met Leonard, the kid was too thin to be healthy, his short, black hair always a mess, skittish, always prepared for a fight. When he touched Mick’s hand with his long, nimble fingers, the young pyromaniac sometimes forgot how to breathe. He was confused about it then, having no understanding of love, let alone for another boy.
The first time Leonard kissed him they were twenty and twenty-two, living together in a crappy apartment near the city center. They already knew each other better then they knew themselves, and that was probably how Len got the idea to, in the middle of getting caught up in some horrible TV show, lean over to him without warning and press their lips together. Mick’s eyes had gone wide, and then fallen closed as he pulled Leonard’s body against his while he deepened the kiss.
That was their first time as well.
Then there was the time that he proposed to Len. He had taken him out to dinner that night, to the fanciest restaurant he could afford, and then pulled him into an alley on their way home, in an attempt not to draw too much attention, and gotten down on one knee.
Len had run away, and Mick had followed him and grabbed his hand. That was when Leonard had whispered “yes”.
They had gotten Lisa to download an officiant license, and stolen a license. Their ceremony consisted solely of a very simple “I do” exchange and a very intense wedding night.
So when Leonard had died, Mick hadn’t let himself cry, afraid that he would never be able to stop if he started. He had just breathed deeply and sucked it up. But crying made it feel a million times more real. Leonard was gone.
A few hours later he had pulled himself together. For some reason, he came out of his room, and his feet carried him towards the bridge again. He didn’t know why, he just came back through the same doorway.
And he couldn’t believe his eyes.
The decorations were beautiful, sure, but they didn’t matter. All Mick could look at was the man standing in front of him, signature smirk on his face, leaning against the wall casually.
“Leonard?”
Len put his hand on his partner’s shoulder, responding with just a soft “hey.”
“Are you real?”
The slightly younger man nodded. The bridge was empty except for the two of them. It couldn’t be real; he must have been hallucinating again. But his disappointment vanished when Amaya walked in from the other side of the ship, and froze in her tracks. “Who is that?”
A grin broke out across Mick’s face, and he turned to the woman. “This,” he explained, “is my dead husband.”
Her lips formed a small “o” shape as she stared at Leonard, looking him up and down quickly. She was about to say something when a yelp stopped her. “No way!” Jax exclaimed, hurrying up to the duo. “How- how the-”
“No idea,” Len drawled. “You tell me.”
“Jefferson,” Stein called as he came walking onto the bridge, “why the sudden excitement-” he also froze, staring at the thief for a moment before softly saying “welcome back.”
“Whatever,” Mick growled, “we’re going to my bunk. Right now.” He grabbed Len’s hand and pulled him towards the hallway, the crook laughing as he stumbled along. “Missed you too, partner.”