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It's all innocent, really. Or at least that's what Sara tells herself.
They're just making coffee, nothing unusual or untoward about it. Maybe that's why she doesn't think anything of the way their hands brush when she hands him a mug, or how they move around each other so easily, working in perfect sync without a word passed between them. Even if it is a little domestic, it all feels so natural, she doesn't even consider what it looks like.
Maybe she shouldn't have been standing so close to him. But she doesn't think when she leans back against the counter, resting her elbows next to the coffee pot as he fusses with the settings. She doesn't complain when he nudges her a little, making room for him to rest his arms beside her while they wait for the coffee to brew.
Why wouldn't they stand like that in the cramped quarters of the Waverider's little galley? That's what she tells herself.
"So, what's the British buffoon got planned for us today?" he asks, and if he leans a little closer as he says it, she's not bothered. It's early morning and he keeps his voice low, not wanting to wake their teammates. Not out of any respect for them, of course, but for the sake of some rare peace and quiet. Why else would he bring his mouth so close to her ear as he speaks?
"It's too early for snark, Snart," she replies, her voice even softer than his. She tips her head back so he can see her conspiratorial smile, the one that says she agrees with him completely, even if she is too sleepy to come up with another quip.
He gives her a half-smirk in return, resting his chin on his fist. And so what if it brings his face even closer to hers? It's so early and he looks tired, but his eyes are bright and she feels more awake now just by looking at them. So what if their shoulders are touching, or if their arms are brushing against each other on the counter? It's not like it's intentional. Or at least, that's what she tells herself.
"What're the odds we get the day off?" he says, and for a moment she's too distracted by the timbre of his voice to even register it's a question.
"Hmm. Not good," she manages, but there's a catch in her throat and she's not sure what's caused it. Unless it's the fact that she'd just have to move about a millimeter and their noses would be touching. Or that she can count his eyelashes as he studies her, or how she notices, not for the first time, that he has a gold fleck in the iris of his left eye. Cramped quarters, indeed.
"Maybe Hunter would let us take a sick day," he muses, and she tells herself it's just her imagination that he's staring at her lips.
"Doubt it." Suddenly, her mouth is very dry. She swallows, and it's an effort not to lick her lips with him watching her that way. "Since Gideon could just make us better, and all," she adds, even though she's already forgotten what they were talking about.
"I don't mean that kind of sick day," he says, and she doesn't know why her eyes are closing, but they are, and she's breathing in the smell of coffee and him, and she's so warm, probably because he's so warm next to her, and –
"Could you two please get a room? Some of us would like to have breakfast," Jax complains, and she jumps – actually, physically jumps, she swears, three feet in the air – as her eyes snap open to find both Jax and Ray have entered the kitchen without her even noticing.
How she got so distracted, well, she tells herself she has no idea.
"I'm not going anywhere without my coffee," Leonard says. He turns around, mimicking Sara's stance as he leans back against the counter. Otherwise, he stays in the same spot, their shoulders still touching.
"Well we'd appreciate it if you took your 'coffee' to your room," Ray says, tone thick with innuendo.
Sara freezes, glancing at Leonard. She expects him to balk. She expects him to dance away from her and change the subject with one sarcastic comment or another. But he doesn't. Instead, he calmly pours a cup of coffee and hands it to her before raising an eyebrow at Ray.
"Just because you're miserable and alone, Palmer, doesn't mean the rest of us have to be. We're happy together. Get over it."
She tells herself he's just joking, that he only said it to make Ray uncomfortable. But there's a challenge in his eyes and she can feel it in her gut; he's serious.
And everything she's told herself goes out the window.
Everything – like when she told herself that kiss at the Oculus was just a goodbye and nothing more. Like how she believed Leonard only brought up me and you because he knew their time was short. Like when she finally had him back and she convinced herself that if she pushed the issue, she'd just risk losing him again, and she couldn't do it, not after all the nevers they'd already had.
"Lance," he says, and she realizes he's holding up his cup of coffee, motioning for the door. And waiting, expectantly, for her to leave with him.
Still reeling, she follows him to his room without any real awareness of where her feet are taking her. Leonard sips his coffee, lifting himself up onto his bed with a tired sigh. He props his back against the wall and sprawls out, relaxed, like nothing happened.
"What was that?" she asks, because she can't act like nothing happened. Not now.
"What?" he shrugs – as if he could just play it off.
She glares at him, and he softens, setting down his coffee and sitting up a little straighter.
"What?" he repeats, but it's a genuine question this time, and his face is open, waiting.
She takes a deep breath, steeling herself, and sits beside him on the bed. She stays perched on the edge, though, in case this conversation goes south and she needs to make a quick getaway.
"What are we to each other?"
The words are out of her mouth before she can stop herself. They've waited long enough. They've flirted and fought and always, always, found themselves together again. If she's been lying to herself all along and this is more than…what it's been… Well, it's time that she finally knows.
She holds her breath and waits for him to answer. For several agonizing seconds, he just stares at her, and she wonders if he's forgotten how to speak or if he's considering the easiest way to let her down.
But then he leans forward, closing the space between them, placing his hand on the bed next to hers.
"This," he says, looking at their hands, and his voice is as soft and gentle as she's ever heard it.
But it's not enough.
"What is 'this'?" she demands.
He sighs, leaning in even closer as he lifts his eyes to meet hers.
"This," he repeats, emphatically. "Us."
She starts, then relaxes, as she feels his hand slide over to hold hers.
"We're an 'us'?" she asks, eyes fluttering as the smell of coffee and him wraps around her.
She shifts a little, making herself more comfortable on the bed as she realizes that she's not going anywhere, and neither is he. And if their knees are touching, if her fingers are hot under his skin, if his free hand has found its way to her cheek, and hers to his chest…
Well, that must be intentional.
"Mhm," he hums. "Me, and you, and me and you."
She counts his eyelashes. Admires the gold fleck in his eye. Like an island in the sea, she thinks, safe harbor. She moves just a millimeter, and their noses are touching, and her eyes are closing, and she knows why.
"Leonard," she starts, taking a shuddering breath, "if you want to steal a –"
But he's already kissing her.