A.N.: Set in between Seasons 1 and 2 except Snart never died. Please insert your favourite fix-it here.

Warnings: This story contains psychological torture and there will be some graphic descriptions of injuries and deaths in the second chapter. Also, DO NOT PANIC when you get to the end of this chapter. This story is dark but not that dark. I promise there is a happy ending, or at least, a happy-ish ending.

A Matter of Memory

By DarkestSight

Chapter 1

The first thing Rip became aware of was the cold, rough surface resting beneath his cheek, its grit biting into his skin and its chill seeping into his bones. He sucked in a deep breath and was overwhelmed by the smell of damp cement.

What...? Where...?

As more awareness came to him, he realized he was stretched out on his front, his head twisted awkwardly to the side. He groaned and tried to shift into a more comfortable position only for his body to protest with a dozen different aches. He groaned again.

Why...? How...?

His eyes felt like they'd been glued shut, but with a great effort, he managed to pries them open and stared blearily at his surroundings.

A gray dimness surrounded him filled with shadows.

He blinked several times but it made little difference, only making the shadows slightly sharper. He thought he could make out a wall a few feet away but that was it. Wherever he was, it was either featureless or too dimly lit to make out any real details. He did know one thing though.

This was definitely not the Waverider.

Scraping his palms against the rough ground, he got his arms underneath him and used them to push himself up to his knees. There was an odd weakness in his limbs, a shakiness he couldn't explain, and when he sat back, he was hit by a wave of dizziness and nausea.

What the hell had happened to him?

He sat there trying to remember but the memories kept slipping out of his grasp. It was like trying to hold water with his fingers. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. It was hard to even think straight, his minds a hazy muddle of thoughts, but he made an effort to focus, to try and assess his current situation. He didn't know where he was or how he'd got there, but wherever it was, it didn't seem like a place he wanted to stay for long. He was wearing his usual clothes but his trench coat was missing and the holster attached to his leg was empty. There was no great pain in his head, certainly not the sharp type he'd expect from a blow, so he hadn't been knocked out. His body ached but there was none of the electrical jitteriness which was a common aftereffect of a laser blast or a stun gun, so he hadn't been shot. There was an odd taste at the back of his mouth though as well as a sluggishness to his thoughts and a peculiar feeling of detachment like none of this was really real.

Drugged. He'd been drugged. How the hell had he been drugged?

There'd been a fire. He could remember that now. There'd been flames and smoke and loud noises but he couldn't bring the memory into focus. It felt almost like a dream rather than a memory leaving him with only faint afterimages and the feeling that something had gone terribly wrong. He and the team had been on a mission, hadn't they? Somewhere in...

Rip's eyes widened and his head shot up.

The team!

He looked around, eyes trying to penetrate the gloom, but he saw no one.

"Sara?" he croaked out, his voice rough and cracked. He cleared his throat and tried again. "Sara!"

There was no answer.

"Jax?"

Still no answer.

"Ray? Mick? Snart? Martin? Anyone?"

He listened carefully but the only response was his own voice echoing back at him. Despite the unwillingness of his limbs, he forced his way up to his feet doing his best to ignore the way the world reeled around him as he did so.

He had to find the team. If he had been drugged, there was no telling what could have happened to them.

A few frantic steps forward revealed a cement wall. A few steps to the left and the right revealed the same thing. It was only when he turned completely around that he saw the door. He staggered towards it, almost falling. Grasping the doorknob, he turned and pulled.

The door didn't move.

Rip pulled some more yanking on it with his strength.

"You didn't really think it would be unlocked, did you?"

Rip sprang back, head swivelling around as he tried to find the source of the voice.

"But feel free to try opening it as much as you like. I'm not going to stop you."

The voice seemed to be coming from somewhere above. It was male and had a slight accent but neither the accent nor the voice was familiar to Rip.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "Why have you locked me in here?"

"You sound so surprised," the voice replied. "Surely you must realize how many enemies you've managed to acquire over your illustrious career. You should have expected something like this to happen eventually."

The man's mocking tone grated on Rip's nerves. "So you're a time pirate then," he said as he tried once more to locate the source of the voice. "I suppose I have taken care of quite a few of you in my time." There must have been a speaker hidden somewhere in the ceiling and most likely a camera too but all he could see above him was the room's only light source, a dim bulb that barely lit the place and left shadows in all the corners.

"Oh, not a pirate," said the voice. "Quite the opposite in fact."

At first, Rip didn't understand what the man was talking about and then a cold realization sank in. "You're a time master."

"Technically," the voice drawled. "Considering our entire organization no longer exists, it's not like any of us can truly claim that title anymore."

Rip swallowed. All in all he probably would have preferred to have been captured by a time pirate. The other Time Masters, scattered to the wind by the destruction of the Occulus, were something he did his best not to think about. A guilt he'd spent a long time trying to ignore, that he'd buried deep inside of himself began to seep to the surface.

"Are you going to tell me your name?" he asked.

"Oh, you wouldn't recognize it," said the voice. "I was never anyone important, just another captain among many. We passed each other by on occasion but I doubt you would even recognize my face if you saw it. Of course, I know all about you."

"What do you want with me?" asked Rip, wishing he had a face to focus his gaze on.

"I thought that would be obvious," said the voice. "Revenge."

Even though Rip had had a feeling it was coming, the simple word rang through the air like a death knell.

He needed to get out of there. He scanned the room as much as he could in the dim light but there was little to see. There didn't seem to be anything in it other than himself. It was basically a concrete box with a reinforced metal door undoubtedly bolted from the other side. It was a prison cell, and from the dank smell of the place, the water marks on the walls, and the rust stains on the door, it was neither a new nor a well-maintained one. The possibility of escape didn't look very promising. It seemed like his only hope was that the others would come rescue him. He hoped they didn't take too long.

The voice continued with its casual snideness. "Imagine my surprise when I came back to the Vanishing Point from a mission and found the whole place blown to smithereens, only ruins and bits of scrap metal left behind. Of course, I was even more surprised when I found out the culprit. Who would have believed it. Rip Hunter, the Council's former golden boy, the source of its destruction."

"I was never the Council's golden boy," Rip snapped back.

"Really?" A derisive snort could be heard from the speaker. "From what I recall, Rip Hunter was the man who could do no wrong. The hero of the battle of Exita, the man who brought in Kalen Braxus and fought alongside some of the greatest heroes of the twenty-first century, who stopped the 16th century temporal cataclysm and survived the perils of Jergen's Ridge. Even when you did something wrong, when you made a mistake or disobeyed orders, which you did do multiple times, they just let you off with a warning. You broke the rule of no attachments, spent two whole years on a simple assignment in the Old West. You even failed to bring back the Spear of Destiny and no one cared!"

"That's not true," Rip countered, slashing a hand sharply through the air. "I was disciplined multiple times."

The voice scoffed. "Slaps on the wrist, and they obviously didn't work, did they? Because in the end even breaking the rules wasn't enough for you. You had to rebel and go against everything the Council stood for, and then to finish it up you killed them. The Council, your fellow captains, people who supported you and mentored you, people you grew up with and fought beside, you killed them."

"I..." Rip closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "I didn't have a choice. The Council itself had gone against everything we were supposed to stand for. They'd manipulated time, used their power to put a madman in charge of the world because they thought he was the only one to save them from some future threat. Millions of people died because of them."

"Including your wife and son. That's the real reason you did it, isn't it? You could care less about those so called millions."

"That's not true," Rip said again but with less conviction. The truth was he didn't know for sure. Would he have had the strength to defy the Council if it hadn't been for the loss of Miranda and Jonas? He would never know.

The Time Master obviously didn't think so. "You certainly didn't care about the innocent people who died at the Vanishing Point, caught up in your little feud with the Council," the voice said.

"I tried to send out a warning but they were blocking our communications," said Rip, desperately attempting to justify his actions. He still felt slightly unsteady on his feet but he began restlessly pacing back and forth across the room, unable to keep still. "There was no time. We only had the one chance. Most of those in the outer reaches should have been able to get away in time."

"Excuses, excuses, excuses."

"The High Council had this powerful device, the Occulus. With it, they were not only able to see through time but engineer it, and they used it to make me their pawn, their puppet. It was the only way to break free. They would have found a way to stop me if I hadn't."

"And so you killed them. Rip Hunter, mass murderer."

"No! I..." Rip stopped his pacing and rubbed his forehead. The room was cold but he could feel the dampness of sweat against his skin.

"You know," the voice continued, "I don't even really care why you did it." For the first time, anger began to creep into the man's tone, a deep seething anger. "You betrayed us and in doing so you took everything from me, my life, my friends, my whole reason for existing!"

Rip had had enough of the faceless voice badgering him. He flung his hands out in front of him. "So what do you intend to do with me?" he demanded. "Lock me in here for eternity while you scold me?"

"Among other things," the voice replied, full of sly malice. "I've got quite a few plans for you. Some of which I've already carried out."

The last statement sent a shiver down Rip's spine but he did his best to not let it show. He wasn't sure why he was feeling quite so rattled. He'd faced worse before. He'd been imprisoned by time pirates, by Savage in ancient Egypt, by the Time Master in the Vanishing Point, and this time he knew he could count on the team to come rescue him. Maybe it was because so many of the things the voice was saying were hitting so close to home, echoes of accusations his own mind had already flung at him.

"What are you talking about?" he said.

The man chuckled. "Poor Rip Hunter. You really are so bad at keeping those you care about safe."

"What?" The word came out like an escaping breath. Rip's heart beat faster as his sense of alarm grew, a sickening feeling sinking into his stomach. He'd assumed the team would come for him because he'd assumed since they weren't there, that they were free, that they were safe. "Where's my team? What have you done with them?"

"You don't remember?" This time it was a full blown laugh which emerged from the hidden speaker. "He doesn't remember!"

Rip's hands clenched into fists. "Answer me, damn you!"

The laughter slowly died away. "You really should remember," said the voice, still full of mirth. "You were there after all."

An image flashed through Rip's mind. Flickering flames creeping through a large had been a fire. He was sure of that now. And a loud noise. An explosion? He could remember the ground shaking beneath his feet, things falling from above.

Frowning, he shook his head. "I... I don't..." Why couldn't he remember what had happened? "We were on a mission. There was a time aberration in... 1967 in South Australia."

"Ah, yes. That was me I'm afraid. I needed something to lure you here."

"It was a trap," said Rip, stating the obvious.

"Quite a good one too," the voice said, smugly, "if I do say so myself. I helped spur some advances in automotive technology that shouldn't have happened for over half a century. Something subtle, enough not to cause too much of a disruption but enough to get you where I wanted you."

"Self-driving cars." More pieces were slotting into place in Rip's mind. They had discovered the inexplicable early invention of self-driving cars and had been able to trace their origin to a particular manufacturing plant in the town of Lonsdale. They'd gone in at night to investigate, the whole team, and then...

An explosion. The ground shaking. Things falling. Fire. Someone yelling? Who had been yelling?

Rip shook his head again. The team had to be okay. They had to be but his memory was still too hazy, his thoughts too. An aftereffect of whatever had been used to knock him out?

He glared up at the ceiling. "Just tell me what happened. Where are my friends?"

"Friends?" Another snort. "You know I don't think much of these friends of yours, your so called team of Legends. I mean honestly I know you didn't have much choice concerning who you could ally yourself with when you abandoned the Time Masters but really, a bunch of B list superheroes and criminals? Or should that be C list? A group of demented rejects who know absolutely nothing about time travel."

"Don't talk about them that way," Rip growled. "They are not rejects."

"Really? Do those halfwits even know anything about time travel?"

"They're learning."

"From what I hear, they are reckless and uncontrollable, and cause more trouble than they solve."

"They are... unruly on occasion," Rip admitted, recalling all the things he'd had to put up with from the team, the countless times they'd gotten on his nerves. "But though they are flawed, they are still an incredible team and always do the right thing when it counts the most."

"Flawed is putting it mildly," the voice drawled.

"You know nothing about them!" Rip yelled back.

"Actually, I do," said the voice. "You see I did a little research beforehand and I must say it made for some interesting reading. Two of them have some of the largest criminal records I've ever seen including burglary, arson, kidnapping, and murder. How can you stand them let alone trust them?"

Rip took a deep breath and slowly let it out. "I admit that that Mr. Snart and Mr. Rory have dark pasts and can be a trial to deal with on occasion but they are loyal and have good hearts even if they are buried deep."

There was a sardonic chuckle. "How touching. What about the rest of your group. It's amazing you get anything done with this team. How is it your ship is even still flying? Your engineer is an uneducated, auto mechanic from the 21th century."

Rip scowled. "My engineer is a brilliant young man who is an equal to any engineer the academy ever produced and cares about the Waverider just as much as I do."

"Right, and I'm sure having a decrepit, old professor on your team is useful too."

"A wise man who is young at heart and doesn't let anything stop him from doing what's right."

"And the eccentric, deluded billionaire who thought it would be a good idea to build his own super armour in order to fight crime?" the voice asked.

"Someone with the biggest heart of anyone I've ever known and the will to face down the most impossible odds," Rip replied.

"What about this Sara Lance?" the voice continued, clearly intent on insulting every single member of the team. "Not only was she an actual member of the league of assassins but she also died and was brought back to the life by unknown magic. There's no telling what that can do to a person. Surely she must be unstable even if you overlook the fact she's a killer. You would actually have someone like that at your back?"

"Sara has been through hell but it has only made her stronger," Rip said firmly, his voice full of conviction. "I trust her with my life."

There was a pause as if the Time Master was considering Rip's words before he began again. "Your loyalty is admittedly admirable but surely if you really wanted to protect the timeline, you should have recruited some of the other former Time Masters to form your team. There was no stopping you from doing so once you'd taken care of Savage and the High Council. A group of former Time Masers would know much more about time travel and would have the training and discipline needed to do a far better job."

"The team might still have a lot to learn about time travel but it's precisely the fact the Legends are not like the Time Masters that makes them so good at what they do," Rip insisted, hands flying through the air to emphasize his words. "Their skills are unique. They think about things in ways we never would have and fight with a tenacity we never had. Their hearts are open where ours are closed."

"You prefer them over the Time Masters?"

Rip scoffed. "Considering everything the Time Masters have done to me, I most definitely do. And besides, I..." He cleared his throat. "I need them."

"Really? How sweet," was the voice's sarcastic reply. "Why do you need them?"

"None of your business," said Rip, scowling. He shouldn't have said it, didn't know why he had. Crossing his arms over his chest, he turned away and moved towards the back of the cell, wishing there was some way to escape the voice's incessant questions. He was letting the man get to him and he blamed the fact he was still having trouble thinking clearly. He didn't know why the former Time Master was so interested in the team anyway but there was no way in hell he was going to let him talk about them like that without coming to their defense.

"How about you tell me why you need them and I'll tell you what happened to them?"

Rip closed his eyes and gave a frustrated sigh. He hated this, hated being at this man's mercy but he was stuck here. Searching his mind, he tried once again to remember what had happened.

A loud explosion. The ground shaking. Things falling all around them, crashing violently to the ground. Flickering flames. Smoke. A fearful yell. Sara turning to meet his gaze, panic in her eyes.

It wasn't enough. All he was getting were random images, tiny pieces of the puzzle. He needed to know what had happened to the team. He needed to know they were alright.

Turning around, Rip marched back to the front of the cell. "I need Martin to remind me to do what's right. I need Jax to remind me I'm part of a team. I need Ray to remind me to keep hoping. I need Sara to remind me to keep fighting. I need Leonard to remind me how far I can fall and I need Mick there to kick my ass if I do. Now tell me what the hell you did to my team!"

Rip was out of breath by the time he'd finished his speech and he stood there panting for air as he glared up at the ceiling waiting for an answer.

"It sounds as if you really care about them," said the voice.

"Yes," Rip admitted, fiercely, fire in words and in his eyes. "Is that what you wanted to know? Yes, I care about my team. I love them, so tell me where they are!"

"Oh, that's a pity." The voice was filled with mock sadness. "That really is such a pity."

"Why's that?"

"Well you see, they're dead."