Same basic timeline as "All Through the Night" and "Homecoming."

This takes place a few months before the Flash's first visit to Earth2. Hey, it's time travel; it's possible.

I own neither the show(s) nor the characters.

XXX

Another world, some other time

You lay your sanity on the line

Familiar faces, familiar sights

Reach back, remember, with all your might

And there she stands, in a silken gown

Silver lights shining down

(Lyrics from "Love Walks In," Van Halen. I am old.)

XXX

xx

x

"I. Am. What?"

Hunter lays the newspaper gently down on the table with a sigh. "It would appear, Mr. Snart, that you are the mayor."

When the latest round of bounty hunters attacked, they'd damaged the WaveRider enough to send it spinning wildly out of control. Hunter, trying desperately to steer it back to a familiar time, managed to home in on 2016 ... but then, in a flash of blinding light, they were suddenly in a Central City both familiar ... and not.

Which is how they'd all learned it was possible for the ship to hop dimensions.

"It was theory only!" Hunter said in protest to all the dismayed, angry, and perplexed faces around him. "The variables ... the odds were astronomical."

"Can we get back?" Sara, ever practical.

Their erstwhile captain ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Yes. Yes, I think so. We're going to need a little more information, though."

Given that they're stuck in a very unfamiliar version of their own world, with a timeline that could be wildly different, Gideon has no information to give them. The AI is even having trouble tapping into local news broadcasts; something to do with the technology having evolved in a slightly different way.

Jax, as the youngest and thus, in theory, the least likely to have a recognizable alternate identity, was sent out to find a newspaper. He returned relatively quickly, paper in hand, a look mingling amazement and a certain evil glee on his face. It was nothing compared to the expression on Snart's.

The team gathers around the paper and table to consider the page 1 headline - "Mayor Snart blasts police critics" –- and the full-color photograph of what is unmistakably the perfect doppelganger of the team crook.

Kendra is trying to conceal a smile. "Glasses? Do you wear contacts?"

He doesn't answer. His expression, Sara thinks, is a strange combination of mortification, annoyance, and something less definable.

"So, is this some strange 'bizarro' world or something we've landed in?" Jax's amusement has changed to discomfort. "We're all the opposite of what, well, we are?"

"I suppose it's debatable whether we're talking 'opposites' here, given that there's not generally a big difference between crooks and politicans." Snart finally speaks, leveling a stony gaze at Jax, who has the grace to look a trifle abashed. "I'd guess it's more complicated than that."

"Likely," Hunter acknowledges. "We do have some limited information on the alternate Earths that have been visited and recorded. What we can do next is simply try to pin down some of the variables. Then Gideon may be able to get us back."

Everyone looks at Snart.

They've been through the paper inside and out; there's only an indication of the one identity in its pages, and Gideon still hasn't figured out the dimensional broadcasts. Hunter needs to stay with the ship. Unless they want to send out someone whose alternative is an utter mystery, with all the disasters that could entail, they only have one option.

"Well," Hunter says finally. "Congratulations, Mr. Snart. It looks like you've just won office."

xxx

Gideon whips him up an ebony suit that matches the one in the photo and looks profoundly mayoral ... and, if Sara cares to admit it, pretty damned good.

She leans against the doorway and watches him straighten his tie, smiling a little, but at the same time, somewhat disturbed. She can't say precisely what about this situation has her so nervy, but she knows to trust her instincts.

"I don't like this. You shouldn't be going out there alone."

He gives his tie a final twitch before turning from the mirror. Conceited ass. "Any one of you could be someone who identity could completely blow our cover."

"I lived in Star City, not Central City. Chances are, no one knows me here." If I'm alive at all, she adds silently. It seems all too likely that she's not. "Are you OK with this?"

He's watching her with an odd expression, then offers her a truth he wouldn't have offered to anyone else on the team. "It's ... unsettling. Why is this ... Leonard Snart ... so different? Is he just a crook in politician's clothing? I don't know."

She wonders, briefly, what a Sara Lance who never went on the Gambit would be like. "I hear you." They stand in silence for a few moments. Finally, he pops his earpiece in, gives her one of those trademarked intense looks, and walks past her toward the door. She follows.

xxx

The consensus is that, for once, the simpler the better. Snart will confront his equivalent on his own (preferably without said equivalent ever really seeing him), jab him with a trank, and simply take his place for a short time. It seems the mayor tends to attend meetings off site Friday afternoons, then go back to the office for a bit, so he's loitering in a parking garage by city hall, waiting for his double to arrive for his pre-weekend check-in.

Close to the spot marked "mayor," there's a convenient corner just outside the range of the cameras. It's a good place to wait ... and when this world's Leonard Snart pulls into his spot and emerges from his black sports car, his double is able to disable the camera just long enough to jab the man in the neck, then drag him back and tuck him nearly into his car without too much muss or fuss.

He'll never admit it, but Snart studies his opposite number intently as he folds the other man back into the rear seat of his sharp car. (Let's hear it for tinted windows.) There seems to be little discernible difference to a cursory inspection. He frowns a little, though, as he notices a few small, round scars on his counterpart's hands and wrist.

So his dad was a shit father here, too. The thought disturbs him.

Hunter is demanding information over the earpiece. This is the last thing he wants to deal with.

"Got him," he mutters tersely. "He's fine, taking a nap, didn't even see me. Get off my back."

No one bats an eyelash as he strolls into city hall. The location of the mayor's office is well marked. He nods to the security guard, makes a mild comment to the woman who is apparently his receptionist, and, making use of the keys he'd lifted from this double, saunters into the office of Leonard Snart, mayor of Central City, as if he owns it.

Unnerving.

Hunter is yammering again. "I'm in," he reports. "Now shut up and let me do this."

The office is relatively spare. Some things, apparently, transcend worlds.

He's oddly reluctant to rifle his counterpart's desk. Still, that's sort of part of the mission. The technology is cosmetically different ... vertical screens ... but internally very similar. He runs a few searches for world news on the computer while looking at a few files and clippings easily found in the top drawers.

Apparently, his father here died ... while still a cop, before any wrongdoing had come to light. He scans the old, yellowed newsprint avidly, wondering that the man keeps them here. The timeline is tweaked. Lisa still exists, apparently a little older here; she's mentioned in the obit. Scars or no scars, apparently his father stayed on the overall straight and narrow a little longer here. (Or at least, didn't get caught.) And then he died, taking a bullet in a shoot-out, a hero at least in name.

As he said. Unnerving.

Profoundly unsettled, he tucks the clips back in the desk, then runs a few more searches for less personal details about this Central City, this Earth, things Hunter can use to pin down this variant world. (Atlantis. Interesting.)

While the hastily compiled file is printing, he inspects the diplomas he finds on the walls. (No personal photos. He's apparently not really that kind of guy here, either.) Law school, high honors. Bachelor's in history. An associate's degree from the local community college, up there almost defiantly with the higher honors.

He's just tucked the printouts away when the voice of the secretary comes over the intercom.

"Mr. Snart? Your fiancée is here. You're running a little late for the police benefit."

Your what?

He's frozen for a moment before he manages to choke out an acknowledgement.

There's nowhere else to go from this office; he has no choice. With trepidation, he returns to the main hall.

There's a woman standing there. She's wearing a long, black, silken gown, arms bare, her hair pinned up on her head elegantly, the silvery lights shining down on her slim, strong form.

She turns to face him.

And she is Sara Lance.

The breath freezes in his lungs, and he just stares at her.

Then, he turns off his comm unit.