Set post-season 2 of Flash and season 1 of Legends, only Flashpoint didn't happen and Len did not die from the Oculus explosion.

Len twisted the silver ring around his pinky finger, staring at the way it reflected the light.

Normal life—past, present, and an unknown future—wasn't supposed to feel like limbo. Hazard of time travel, he supposed. Or maybe because, for a moment, he'd lived an eternity all at once.

He was early for this meeting, had to be to better map the exits, plan a strategy, have three different ways to escape if things went south. He had the cold gun but no goggles so he wouldn't play his hand too early. Instead of his parka or his lighter jacket, he'd worn a trench coat to better hide the gun. She'd expect him to be armed though. She'd be prepared too.

Alexa.

Whenever Len told the story of The Alexa Job, he always made it sound like a place—it wasn't. The job had been here in Central City at the very warehouse he was in now. It wasn't used for anything anymore, abandoned, empty and dank, but twenty years ago it had been the main hub for transporting fenced goods out of the city. He and Mick called what happened here 'The Alexa Job' because everything that had gone wrong about that heist had been her doing.

Maybe Len wasn't thinking clearly, agreeing to meet her at all. He hadn't seen her since that night, since she betrayed them. He'd sensed something was wrong going in, aborted the job and forced Mick out with him before things got bad, but oh, how they could have gone bad, and it had all been her design.

She'd called him last night—he still didn't know how she got his number, but at least it was his 'work' line and not his personal one. He'd answered, and like a damn fool, he'd listened to her, agreed to meet her here alone. He should kill her outright after what she did, save himself the trouble, but that wasn't supposed to be who he was anymore. He didn't want to be like that anymore. Not unless he had to be.

When the Oculus blew, Len figured it would be over in a blinding bright flash of pain and then he'd find peace. The blinding flash and the pain were right, but peace didn't come as quickly. The Time Masters were eradicated, but Len had been at the center, touching the inner workings of the machine itself. Time couldn't be erased, and that was where he existed for his moment of eternity, in a cocoon of time, never-ending.

Put things in perspective but twisted his thinking. Had him second guessing himself, standing in this warehouse, waiting.

The part he couldn't wrap his mind around was how after the explosion it had felt endless but also like no time passed at all. One moment he was sneering in the Time Masters' faces, "There are no strings on me," and the next he was gulping for air, waking up on the Waverider with the Legends all around him. If he hadn't been so out of it, shaking and disoriented, he imagined Mick would have slugged him for what he'd done. But there he was, alive somehow, and Savage had been defeated.

The crew had returned to the Vanishing Point after taking Savage out, and Gideon picked up on life signs in the debris. In what remained of the glowing green wellspring of energy and time, Len had been safe and alive in stasis. Raymond was able to extract him in the Atom suit.

"I don't know how you managed it, Mr. Snart," Rip told him once he was alert. "Well done."

Mick was safe. Everyone was safe. And that bastard Savage was dead. Len had done good. Not just well. He'd done something good, maybe for the first time in his life, and it felt…addictive. Just like he'd feared.

Damn Flash. Damn that kid for making Len wonder if he could be more. Now he didn't want to stop, like it had been when he first started thieving and found that glorious rhythm. But even heists and one-upmanship had grown stale over the years, that's why the appearance of The Flash had meant so much to him. The chance to be fulfilled again.

Back then, he'd never expected that the challenge of outdoing a superhero and bringing the gang back together with Mick and Lisa at his side would pale in comparison to playing hero himself with a real team.

That's why he'd had to leave.

"You wanna ditch, we'll ditch," Mick had said. He hadn't punched Len once he recovered, but he had thrown the pinky ring in Len's face, shoved the cold gun at him, and told him he better not try any shit like that ever again. Len had refrained from responding with, "Pot—kettle."

Instead, he said, "Just me, Mick. Just for a while. You stay with the team."

"Fuck that," Mick growled. "This was s'pposed to be a temporary gig. Savage is six feet under. Even the little birdies flew the coop," he said about Kendra and Carter. "We're done."

A year ago, hell, a month ago, Len would have agreed. "There are other missions. We wiped out the only protection the timestream has."

"Snart—"

"You really want to leave it up to Raymond to save our asses if another megalomaniac like Savage comes along? They need someone like us on the team to set them straight."

"So stay," Mick erupted with that familiar fire in his eyes, getting right in Len's face. "You wanna play hero so bad, you do it."

Mick didn't understand. Len had died. Had and hadn't, and it all twisted up in his head, and he needed a break. Maybe Mick was the only one who could understand being unmade like that, but talking things out wasn't their bag.

"I'm not talking forever here, Mick, but we're months past when we thought we'd be home," Len said. "I have to see Lisa. Need a few weeks to sort things out. If you're that miserable by then, we'll call it quits—together. If not, I'll come back."

"Like ya came back when ya left me to die?"

Emotion choked in Len's throat like it had when he first realized he might lose Mick, when he'd been forced to leave him behind, when he'd seen him under that damn mask as Kronos, and when he'd recognized that it was either Mick or him at the Oculus, and it couldn't be Mick—not again.

Maybe that's what heroing really was—the grief, not the rush. Maybe that's why Flash's brow had been so strained at Christmas, why the kid always had so much moisture in his eyes when he talked about goodness and doing the right thing.

For what it was worth, Mick cringed, subtly, enough that only Len would have recognized the regret he felt for saying that. But it wasn't untrue.

"I'll come back," Len said again.

"Tch. Yeah," Mick backed away from him. "Whatever."

But as much as Len expected Mick to walk off the ship, he didn't. He stayed. Maybe it had something to do with the way Raymond smiled at him, patted his back, and called him, "Buddy," that reminded Mick he had more on that ship than just an old friend who'd let him down.

Len had touched the ring then too, as he watched his shipmates from the hallway that led onto the bridge, feeling the cool metal back on his finger. He was all up in his head, ready to leave like the Hawks had left, when Sara caught him off guard. The Oculus had messed with him if anyone could sneak up on him like that, even if she was former League of Assassins.

"A few weeks?" she said, coming around from behind him.

Len jerked his head to the side to watch her. "Eavesdropping now, are we?"

"Happened to be walking by."

"I'm sure."

The playful banter between them always dropped away because she chose to drop it. Len almost never initiated the shift into something serious. The softness in her expression, in her eyes, reminded him how young she was, and how lucky she was that her youth meant she had many more years ahead of her to live a better life after leaving her past behind.

"You did something amazing back there, Leonard," she said. "Heroic, even. You're allowed to take a break. We'll be here when you're ready to come back."

"We?" He raised an eyebrow, pulling his bravado on tight because that was safer to rely on than hope. "Or you?"

She glanced away and the huff that left her, the sigh that meant she didn't quite know what to say, said enough on its own. The kiss had been a nice gesture, but it had been goodbye more than interest. Maybe in another life. Maybe when he came back, if… But Leonard Snart didn't deal in 'maybes' and 'ifs'; he dealt in absolutes, in what he could have and take and win.

That wasn't Sara Lance.

"Take care of yourself, Leonard. We might even miss you while you're gone," she said.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do," he grinned back at her—the last words he spoke to anyone on the ship before he walked back into 2016.

Don't do anything I wouldn't do. What the hell was he doing now? Mick would have smacked him upside the head for being such a fool.

Len felt Alexa long before she crossed the threshold into the building. He still knew the rhythm of her gait, the presence that followed her like a heavy cloak. He'd always been able to sense when something was wrong, but he hadn't been able to sense the truth about her, how she'd been swindling him for months, until it was too late. He'd been blinded by what he thought was…love. A mistake he never made again.

"Hello, Leo."

Len's gut clenched.

"It's good to see you."

He turned around slowly. He hadn't faced her sooner because he knew she didn't have any weapons drawn. No backup either. As he finished his pivot and saw her, he had to admit that twenty years hadn't done her any disservice.

Alexa Marcos was a knockout. 5'7, long auburn hair, green eyes, slender and sultry and wicked. She had to be around forty-eight by now and she carried every year like an added brand of power, only something to increase her beauty because what she'd once lacked in experience she had in spades to match her ambitions. She was dangerous. Len couldn't forget that.

"I don't go by that name anymore," he said. He'd tried to ditch it when he was a teenager. Mick always called him Snart or Lenny, but when Alexa called him Leo, it hadn't felt tainted like it had when his father said it. After her, he never let anyone call him that again.

"Pity," she said, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth with slow consideration as she neared him, wearing a burgundy dress, simple and classy, with a grey wool coat. "I always liked that nickname."

"Somehow it lost its appeal," he smiled with an obvious sneer. "What do you want, Alexa? Been a long time."

"It has." She stopped when they were an arm's reach apart. If she'd gotten any closer, Len would have backed away. "Heard you'd gone soft lately. Had to see for myself if it was true. The theatrics were so much fun to watch on the news, Captain. What changed?"

Someone had been talking and it wasn't Mick or Lisa. Mardon? "Nothing changed. Been busy elsewhere. Soft isn't part of my repertoire."

The pale green of Alexa's eyes traveled slowly down his body, "I remember," then flicked back to his face. "How's Mickey?"

Len twitched to clench his fists but he couldn't let her get to him. "Better off without you around."

She smiled, an almost laugh escaping her lips as she looked down with a flutter of her lashes. In a single gesture, it was twenty years ago. She hadn't changed at all. But Len had. He wouldn't fall for her tricks again. "You know, you boys could have proposed a joint effort and we might have avoided that little spat between you two."

Len erupted in a bitter laugh—unbelievable. "You still would have screwed us over for the job."

"True, but it would have been more fun." The sinister twist to her lips returned like it always did. Once Len had found it alluring. "You're not still sore about that, are you?"

"I'll ask again." He stared her down unflinching. He wasn't some wide-eyed kid in his twenties anymore. "What do you want?"

The guile dropped from her expression with a sigh of disappointment. "I'm planning a job in the city."

"Of course you are." Len rolled his eyes with mocking disdain and lack of surprise. "Should have stayed clear of Central, Alexa. This is the home of The Flash now. Doubt you're up for handling the likes of him."

"So I heard. I have some contingency plans for the Scarlet Speedster, don't you worry."

Did she really? Or did she only think she did like most of the people who tried to take on The Flash?

"But this is your territory, Leo," she took a single step closer to him, making him fight back a wince, "so I wanted to come clean, let you know ahead of time to make sure there were no hard feelings and no toes stepped on. Tomorrow night. Tiffany's on 5th. 8 o'clock after closing. They're having a 20th anniversary celebration for the store. Got me all nostalgic when I heard about some of the impressive pieces they had flown in for the occasion. The type of thing that would have been run through this place back in the day." She glanced around the empty warehouse. "And you remember how I like anything shiny."

Yes, he did. Len also knew about the celebration happening at the Central City Tiffany's. It was an impressive store, almost as big as the one in Gotham, and had some of the finest security too. Still, Len likely would have considered the job himself if he'd had time to plan since getting back from his trip through time.

"You getting your hands dirty?" he asked.

"I don't go for that anymore. I have a man for the job. Several, in fact."

"I bet you do."

Alex smiled. "Just wanted you to know. Although…you could go in on it with me? For old time's sake?"

She might even mean that; Captain Cold would be quite the asset after all. She wouldn't snub her nose at his gun or his skills. Not that it mattered. He smiled back at her without any twist of friendliness. "I'll pass."

"Well," she shrugged, returning to her sweet, almost innocent, 'no hard feelings' façade, "just wanted to extend the courtesy. Maybe you really are out of the game. I hear you've been playing footsie with The Flash since you both donned your costumes. Is it more than cat and mouse? Some say you know his real name. Bet he's pretty under that mask. Just your type, wasn't it?"

A flare of emotion Len wasn't used to letting go unchecked warred within him. Twenty years ago, still young and relying on his father's cred since he didn't have enough of his own, Len hadn't been able to risk being open about his sexuality. It was the 90s, and he was surrounded by criminals and set-in-their-ways mob families. But he'd come to terms with how people caught his attention rather than a single gender or trait, and Alexa had pegged him so easily, caught all the looks he thought he was keeping veiled when he noticed a pretty face in the crowd that wasn't on a woman.

She played it off as jealousy when she first started to con him into her bed, but it was an angle, power she held over him even before he fell for her lies. If she'd outed him to any of the families back then…

"I do hope you only came here for a business proposal," Len said, "because if this is meant to be a social call, you're going to be sorely disappointed." He yearned to reveal the cold gun. But no. Only if she made a move. Len was calm. He was in control here.

Alexa backed up a step and raised her hands in seeming apology, but when her eyes glanced down his body again, she grinned and let her hands drop. "Aw, Leo, you still wear the ring I got you?"

Another restrained flinch. He didn't know why he'd worn it. He didn't have any attachment to her, it wasn't about her, but deep down he'd wanted her to see it.

She remembered full well what had happened with that ring. Mick had given it to her first, then she'd given it to Len to start a fight between them. She'd been conning them both, sleeping with them both. It was only after the heist that they realized how badly they'd been played.

Mick hadn't been upset with Len once they learned the truth, he'd just shoved the ring at him, said, "You take it. Shoulda given it to you anyway. Least you'd have kept it."

"So sentimental?" Alexa asked.

"Something like that." Len stepped toward her, getting in close, on his terms, so she'd know he wasn't intimidated. He owned this city. She was lucky he was letting her walk away.

He shouldn't. He should kill her. Even only a year ago, he would have—drawn his gun and iced her on the spot.

If you're out…you're out.

"Let people turn tail and they'll come back to bite you from the other end. Corpses can't plan a double-cross."

Lewis had beaten that into Len early but especially hard after The Alexa Job, even though he'd had nothing to do with it.

"You get caught being stupid, who does that put the heat on, huh? Me. Shoulda just killed the bitch." He was still a cop then, dirty and sloppy and far stupider than Len would ever be. But maybe Len had been stupider than he wanted to admit, because he could have tried to track Alexa down but he never did. Now she was here.

That was the last time he ever let his father touch him—the sharp punch Len hadn't dodged in time, a vicious kick, then another, before Len managed to roll away—yet still he'd listened to Lewis and never let someone walk away from him again.

Not until The Flash came around.

Maybe Len was going soft. He'd left the Legends to figure that out and here he was, facing an old enemy and finding himself unable to pull the trigger when it had been reflex against his father. Plenty of people and circumstances were to blame for his change of heart—for growing one or discovering he still had one, whichever it might be. But Alexa was right about one thing. It all started with The Flash and Len wasn't ready to sever that tie just yet.

"This ring is my reminder not to fall for the same con ever again," he told her. Because love was a con—always. Love wasn't in the cards for someone like him even if he did want more from life. Maybe redemption wasn't in the cards either, but tonight wasn't the night he wanted to find out.

"Have a nice evening, Leo." Alexa started to back away again, to walk away and leave him be. She'd taken a gamble that he wouldn't shoot her on sight…and she'd won. "Say hello to Mickey sometime for me, will you? He was always such a doll."

Wicked. And she still had to have the last word.

Len stood alone in the warehouse for several minutes. He took the usual precautions when he left and made certain that Alexa had gone on ahead. Watched every corner in anticipation of an ambush. Walked for blocks and blocks in zigzags and circles to throw off any tails. Until finally he returned to where he'd parked his bike and headed off.

He should have gone straight home or to a safe house to think, get his bearings, plan, but he found himself in a quiet residential neighborhood instead in front of a house with a familiar porch. His subconscious had betrayed him and brought him down a street he didn't belong in, all because Alexa had to go and mention the Scarlet Speedster.

The lights were on inside the house and all of Team Flash was gathered. Probably celebrating the defeat of Zoom.

Len had wanted distraction when he got home from the Waverider, after checking in on Lisa and getting his assets in order. Lisa had been upset with him, to be sure, but she was quick to forgive once Len explained that being gone for so long had not been his intention. He might have left out the part about being dead for a few days, but they'd come to terms.

After that he'd looked into what he'd missed while he was gone and learned all about Zoom. He'd known a little from before he left with the Legends, but he hadn't realized how dangerous the speedster was, how difficult an adversary for The Flash until he read about Henry Allen's death.

When Len was finally caught up on current events, he'd considered going to STAR Labs to…not to offer his assistance, but to at least make sure the team wasn't floundering in the dark. Maybe they could use a nudge, his particular brand of motivation. But then, only yesterday Len had seen the news about an impressive light show that proved The Flash had taken Zoom down just like every other villain he'd ever faced.

Watching the team now, the gathering didn't look much like a celebration in the end. Before long, Len saw Barry head for the door, so he parked more discreetly around the block out of sight. He could still see the porch from that vantage point, but he should have just left. Why hadn't he left?

Barry came out and sat on the steps looking as lost and as lonely as Len had ever seen him. And young—so young. Too young for the burdens and pain he carried.

But that was life. Couldn't be helped. Shouldn't be pitied. Barry was like Len; he wouldn't want pity. A kind ear maybe, which his friends could provide, but sympathy and pity just made the wounds feel deeper. Len knew that only too well.

They'd both lost their fathers now, but it was a very different kind of loss.

Barry had taken the cold gun from Len's hands so gently the night he killed Lewis. Talked so quietly. Stared with such compassion in his eyes, but not pity. He'd looked like he wanted to touch Len's shoulder, but he refrained, and Len was so grateful for that because he would have flinched and he hated showing that kind of weakness.

It wasn't self-defense. It wasn't an accident. Len had wanted to kill his father and he wasn't sorry. He'd broken his deal with The Flash by doing so, and if that meant prison, he wouldn't fight. He'd stay and let the cops drag him away in cuffs.

Len had seen the conflict in Barry's eyes then. How he wanted to offer to whisk Len out of there, but he couldn't, because it wasn't 'right', but nothing about that night was right. Nothing about a father planting a bomb in his own child's head could ever be right.

Still, Barry stayed. Sat down next to Len and stayed with him, neither of them talking, just the buzz of the electronics in the room and the still body of Lewis a few feet away, until the cops showed up. That Barry even cared…

Cared enough to visit Len in prison and tell him there was good in him.

Len took a sharp breath as he watched Barry sitting on the porch. He was building verses in his head again about something he couldn't catch and could certainly never have.

The Flash had been the first addiction Len couldn't shake—besides thieving maybe—long before he knew Barry Allen or tried his hand at heroism. An endearing smile and persona that lit up Len's dark life, leaving him wondering, dangerous as that might be, about something sweet and soft and normal.

But no, that wasn't The Flash, that was just Barry. Barry was the one who sent Len's heart racing faster than his feet, even more than he'd felt around Alexa as a stupid kid or chasing new dreams and a kindred soul on the Waverider. Barry had believed in Len before there was anything worth putting faith in.

Iris came out of the house to join Barry on the steps. They talked, easy and intimate. Finally, she leaned toward Barry like she was hoping for something more than hushed words—a kiss? But Barry pulled away, looked even sadder now, and spoke hasty words that left Miss West nodding in understanding but with tears filling her eyes.

Eventually, they went inside, Barry first, then Iris a heartbeat later after wiping the wetness from her face. Barry was so broken, he'd given up on love just like Len had.

Why was Len even here? To warn Barry about Alexa's heist? Kid would get the wrong idea. Think Len was at his beck and call now, that he'd been right about the good in him and that…that could only lead to disappointment.

Len needed something familiar to shake off the emptiness he'd been feeling, and seeing Alexa had only made it worse. He needed a rush of adrenaline. A challenge. A job. Now he had one. He'd case the heist himself, keep a good distance, but then, if The Flash showed up on his own tomorrow night, maybe Captain Cold could take advantage of the situation.

It wasn't cruel after what Len had just witnessed on the front steps of the West house. Barry would want the distraction just like Len did. He'd probably even enjoy it, something normal after facing a monster like Zoom.

Len needed to call Mi—

He reached for the ring as he remembered that Mick wasn't around to be called. And he couldn't call Lisa. He didn't want her anywhere near Alexa. They'd only met a few times, but Lisa had been a kid then. She'd idolized a gorgeous older woman who seemed to have all the answers. Len didn't want those parts of his life to ever cross again.

He'd have to do this one alone. But he knew his Scarlet Speedster. Barry would show. And by playing the hero, he'd give Len exactly the disruption he needed to steal this job for himself.

The Central City Tiffany's had been wrapped up in a giant bow for its twentieth anniversary, which amounted to well-thought out signage wrapped around the storefront windows that allowed anyone inside to easily see out but made it harder for patrons on the street to see in. Therefore, enticing them that much more to check out the jewelry on display, advertised along that big silver bow.

It also made a heist that much easier to pull off because once the shop closed, passersby on the street would have no idea what was going on inside, cops included.

Tiffany's had security of course, including a couple extras for the event. Three guards during the night; one per floor. There were five exits; main and emergency on floor one, a single exit on floor two that led to the ground floor, with escalators inside that in some ways made an additional exit, and two exits aside from the escalator on floor three, one that led down and one up to the roof.

Alexa had done her homework. She'd even positioned a man on the roof across the street, since an aerial view was the only way to see inside. Len knew that because the lookout was currently unconscious at his feet.

Old school radios were how the lookout communicated to the team. Len could fake a few affirmative grunts to get by before he made his move, watching from the best viewpoint.

After eight o'clock, when the heist began to go down, he counted six men entering the different floors all at once. At a glance, he could tell that one per floor knew what they were doing and one per floor was fodder. If someone got caught or iced, it just meant more to divvy up between those who made it.

Alexa had been planning this job for weeks, months, probably while Len was MIA, which might have been on purpose. Had she known the moment he was back in town and that's the real reason she came calling? Len had to wonder. Alexa could have all sorts of connections after twenty years.

Some of the men were sloppy, but a couple were good, more experienced than the few eager to please youngsters she'd tapped for the job. They all wore masks, but Len could tell which of them were new to the life and which had been part of the show before. Weapons were mixed too. Couple .38s, couple sawed-offs, one .44, and one semiautomatic. Everyone but the kid with the semi had an extra piece or blade on their person—and he was definitely a kid. Probably chose the weapon himself, thinking it was a shield more than a gun. Amateurs.

Len had to bide his time, wait for the right moment, let one of the greener kids make a mistake that would bring The Flash to the rescue, but when he saw the three pairs of armed men closing in on each of the guards, he fought down a gnawing pang in his stomach, something new that had only just started to grow there.

Because of Sara. And Jax. And Raymond. Even Rip. Even Mick.

And Barry.

The guard on the second floor dropped after a quick pistol-whip to the head. Down for the count and left to continue breathing. Good. Alexa would have told them to only open fire if they had no choice, because no silencers were truly silent and enough gunfire could bring trouble.

The guard on the third floor saw the goons approaching, shouted, got shot in the arm for his efforts, but was knocked out like the first—bleeding but still alive. Good…good…

But the guard on the first floor wasn't as lucky. He saw the goons too, fired a lucky shot hitting Mr. Semi in the shoulder, which knocked him over but wouldn't do any lasting damage. Meanwhile, Sawed Off #1 blasted the guard dead center in the chest.

Shit. The distance gave the man better odds than most, might have spread out the spray and avoided any going in too deep. He could make it—if he got help quick. But the alarms hadn't tripped yet. Flash might not be on his way. The goons would take their time and…damn it. Damn it.

Len threw the binoculars down that he'd stolen from the lookout and made a break for it down the fire escape. At least the guard was on the first floor. Len already had a plan of entry through the back exit down the alley where the goons would have broken in first. But that alarm would be disabled and Len needed to set one off. He'd have to choose another way in.

Maybe the smart answer wasn't the right one for once. The street cameras would ID him easy if he paused too long in plain view, but he had a timetable to keep and he could hit two birds with one stone by making a grand entrance.

Showmanship it was.

Len fired from the middle of the street, reveling in the glorious hum of the cold gun as it whirred higher and higher pitched until it blasted out the main windows and that pretty, silver bow into so many glittering snowflakes. He had all his old gear on tonight. He'd missed the parka. Ditched it for something more utilitarian during his trek through time, but he'd donned it tonight.

Alarms split the evening air—finally—and the few people on the streets scattered. Len walked in across the shards of glass and frozen debris like he owned the place. Even beneath his ski-mask, Mr. Semi looked like he'd soiled himself when he got a look at who'd just crashed the party.

"Normally I'd say something like—and no one invited me?" Len grinned before he blasted the ceiling above the heads of the two men, shattering the sprinklers and causing a brief if very cold and uncomfortable spray of water to pour down on them. "This time I was invited, I just snubbed the hostess. And I'm afraid all that glitters is coming home with me."

Len fired again to make sure the goons took cover. The wounded guard was straight ahead, lying on his back, shirt already stained dark. Len might have to go through the goons to get to him. So be it.

The jewelry cases were waist high, but a few of the twentieth anniversary displays were taller. Len pivoted to hide behind one before the goons could pop up after him, so when they did, they faltered wondering where he'd gone. He knew response times for every large target in Central City. Tiffany's would take seven minutes for any cruisers leaving the precinct this time of night, less than five if any were already nearby. But Barry could be here from STAR Labs in under forty-five seconds.

Len started to count. He couldn't wait this out. He'd have to fire again to keep the goons occupied.

"Where are you going?!" a panicked voice called.

Len risked a glance. Sawed Off #1 was racing up the escalator, leaving Mr. Semi to fend for himself. He knew what a liability the kid was.

Taking advantage of Semi's distraction, Len whipped around the taller display and fired at the case the kid was standing behind, startling him with frozen glass flying up toward his face. Then Len pushed into a direct sprint, leapt over a case in his way, darted around the one he'd destroyed, and knocked the kid's lights out before he even had time to raise his rifle.

Len was almost grateful that the goon with the shotgun had fled. He didn't have much time though; Sawed Off would be back with his four friends. The highest priced items were downstairs and they couldn't make a clean getaway from the roof.

Fifteen more seconds and Flash would be here—if he'd heard the call soon enough.

Dropping down beside the fallen guard, Len inspected the wound. He'd been right; distance meant the pellets were spread out, more like quarter to half inch-deep pockmarks than a giant hole in the man's chest. He was unconscious from the shock, which was both good and bad—he couldn't ID Len but he was also in a sorry state.

Barry wouldn't have time to stop the goons if he was busy rushing someone to the emergency room. Len fished for the man's cellphone and dialed 911.

"Downtown Tiffany's. Bottom floor. Robbery in progress. Shotgun wound to the chest. Need ambulance now." He set the phone beside the man and kept the call live. He could hear dispatch on the other end trying to get him to say more.

After pulling the display cloth from a nearby case, he wrapped it around the man's midsection once, tight as he could, then bolted for the escalator just as he saw a streak of red and yellow flash by outside. Hopefully Barry would take the hint when he found the guard and his cell phone and leave him for the paramedics.

Len reached the second floor to find it quiet—not a good sign. They were either readying an ambush or they did have some way off the roof. By now they knew their lookout was down for the count but if they were smart, they wouldn't dare leave empty-handed. Alexa wouldn't tolerate that.

A crash to Len's right. He turned to look and backed up behind a larger display case at the same time. Probably the other rookie. There had been two for sure, two pros, one somewhere in between, and one he hadn't quite gotten a read on, which likely meant pro as well.

He took a slow breath and listened. The sirens made it impossible to hear the faint shift of breathing, but Len didn't rely solely on his ears. He could feel them.

Five men left but only two were on this floor—the rookie and the mid man. The pros had gone ahead. They knew something Len didn't.

What was on the third floor?

Come on, Barry, Len thought as he waited for one of them to make a move. Rookie was coming up fast on his right. Wait…wait…

Len whipped his gun to the side, striking the man in the face. He groaned at his nose likely being broken but he wasn't out. He'd nearly dropped his gun though, so Len had no trouble kneeing him between the ribs. A gasp and he went down. Len kicked the gun away—a shotgun, and Mid Man had one of the .38s.

Sweeping his cold gun up as he kicked Rookie unconscious, Len had Mid Man in his crosshairs before the goon could fire.

"Betcha I'm faster," Len said, and as if he'd been in on the joke, Barry's lightning streak zipped into view and had the man flipped and pinned against a case in seconds. Len leapt into action for the escalator leading up. "Thanks for the assist, Flash!" he shouted and took two steps at a time, knowing he wouldn't have long before Barry gave chase.

"Snart!"

Len ignored him. He'd ruined the heist for Alexa but the goons could still get away with something worthwhile. He wanted them all in custody with several priceless trinkets in his own pockets before this was over.

Two of the remaining goons were in sight when he reached the third floor, standing by the largest display case yet cutting into the shatterproof glass that held an intricate diamond and ruby necklace on loan from the Smithsonian—for show not for sale. Now Len remembered; that display should have been downstairs but it must have been moved up here. Alexa had every detail figured out.

One of the goons was doing the cutting, the other keeping a lookout for Len, probably the guy from the first floor. Len lucked out and came into their range of view just as the lookout glanced aside at his partner.

"Need a hand, fellas?" Len said before he blasted the case, causing them to duck and cover. Now all he'd need to do was tap the glass and the whole thing would crumble, but the same was true for either of the goons, and they didn't go down as easily as the rookies had.

Len raced forward but already both men had rolled out of view, biding their time and lining their shots well-hidden behind smaller cases. Rather than run up to the iced display and give them their shot, Len dropped behind a case of his own a few feet from the prize, hiding him from view of the escalator. He waited. Listened. The men didn't give themselves away, but Len could feel them moving, closing in on him, and all he needed was for Barry to be his predictable self.

Whoosh. The smell of ozone. A surprised gasp from one of the goons. Good boy, Barry.

Len kept low as he went for the frosted case, waiting for gunfire before he tapped it. The gunfire rang out and Len shattered the case, which practically dropped the necklace into his waiting hands. He just needed to keep his senses alert for the third and final man.

The door to roof access was ahead on Len's left. It was already open, blocking him from seeing up the stairs or if anyone was waiting in the wings. He had to get to the last man before he escaped.

"Hey, wait!" Barry's voice called after him again when Len sprinted for the door.

He didn't bother glancing back. He knew Barry could dodge any bullets flying at him and would likely protect him from any stray gunfire too. All Len had to do was run, and for once, the fastest man alive couldn't catch him because he had to subdue the men who actually knew what they were doing.

Save one. The last one—the enigma Len hadn't been able to peg.

Len felt the man coming down the stairs before he reached the door. He slowed his strides, shoved the necklace into the pocket of his parka, and readied his gun as he waited. He could scare the man up the stairs or risk a shot at his legs. Barry could make sure he got help.

But when Len timed his dart around the door to the exact moment when the goon reached the bottom, he didn't find a masked man. It was the last goon, but he'd torn his mask away and Len recognized his face instantly.

Bivolo.

Len tried to fire but he was paralyzed, caught in the intense stare of those glowing red eyes. Nausea surged up in his throat and his vision blurred with dizziness. His knees gave out and he gasped as he collapsed, enduring a rush of such intense feeling, he would swear he couldn't breathe. Fuck. This was what Bivolo did?

"Nice to see you again, Snart," the man said, his voice seeming too distant but still hovering above him. "I never thanked you properly for helping me escape The Flash and friends. Problem is," the cold gun was wrenched from Len's grasp and he couldn't clutch after it, couldn't fight back, "I don't like owing anyone so…you just enjoy the ride, huh? I gotta do what I was paid for."

He pressed a boot to Len's chest and pushed, toppling him over easily. Len tried to clear his vision, tried to reach out and stop Bivolo from whatever he was about to do, but he couldn't focus his thoughts or his emotions, let alone his eyes.

What was this feeling? Rage, like he'd read about? The red eyes… But it didn't feel like rage. It was encompassing and so hot—hot as if Len's chest was on fire.

He rolled over and tried to push up onto his knees, blinking past the effects of Bivolo's power to see what was happening. Barry should have taken down the goons by now, and it looked like he had, like he'd just barely finished disarming them near the wall to Len's right before Bivolo appeared to change the rules.

Barry saw him, knew the man's face just like Len did, and damn the idiot, he panicked, didn't know what to do, wasn't thinking clearly, because he closed his eyes. And Bivolo opened fire with Len's gun.

"Ba—" Len choked on the name because he couldn't say it, not here, not with Bivolo so close, but he also choked from the pain. The strangest pain ripped through his chest and he couldn't place it. He only knew he had to do everything in his power to banish it.

The pain quelled when he saw that Barry hadn't been frozen. Bivolo hadn't centered the blast on Barry's chest but had fired at his arm, throwing it back to freeze against the wall. Barry's eyes sprang open, but by then Bivolo was already firing a second blast at Barry's other arm. He was pinned like a slave shackled in a dungeon, completely at Bivolo's mercy. And the mercy of the other two goons, who were picking themselves up from where Barry had thrown them when he removed them of their guns.

Len's vision started to clear. He needed…he needed something he couldn't name and he needed it now—now.

"Move. Snart'll be on his feet soon. You two play nice now, Flash." Bivolo headed back toward Len with the other men in tow, while Barry glanced Len's way looking honestly terrified.

The same pain ripped through Len's chest again.

"The others?" one of the goons asked.

"Leave 'em," his partner said, and Bivolo grunted agreement.

Len…knew those voices.

Just as he thought he might have the strength to lunge at Bivolo for his cold gun, the meta tossed the weapon in front of him. Len's moment of confusion cost him, because one goon kicked him in the side and the other stole the necklace from his pocket.

Len wanted to fight them but they headed up the stairs for—a helicopter, Len could hear it now; Alexa had spared no expense. But as he reclaimed his gun and looked up to see Barry trapped against the wall, gritting his teeth at the sting of cold around his hands and upper arms, Len's vision cleared completely and the goons were forgotten.

All at once, he knew what he needed to banish the pain, because only one thing could ever make him whole again. How had he been so blind that he hadn't realized until now?

What he needed…

All he needed…

Was Barry.

Barry was such an idiot. He was such an idiot.

It was only a robbery. He thought it would be easy, maybe even fun, so he'd turned off his comms. He'd just wanted to lose himself in something familiar without the chatter of Cisco and Caitlin in his ear. Now his arms were frozen to the wall and Captain Cold was two seconds from icing him head to toe in a Bivolo-induced rage.

Though given Barry's life lately, he shouldn't be surprised that even a mundane Flash call had turned out like this.

"Snart?" Barry called with obvious trepidation. "Whatever you think you're feeling right now, it isn't real. It's just Bivolo's powers. You don't want to shoot me."

He didn't, right? Sure, he'd thwarted Barry somewhat downstairs and had gone for the big ticket item to steal for himself, but at least he wasn't in cahoots with Bivolo. It had also obviously been Snart who patched up the guard downstairs and called an ambulance.

Barry had been confused at first, but then excited when he realized Snart was here. He hadn't seen the man since Christmas. All he knew was that Snart was off with Stein and Jax and their other friends traveling through time to save the world. Barry had been itching to rub that in Snart's face.

Okay, so maybe Snart wasn't fully reformed if he was stealing again, but Barry had still been right about him. And now he was going to freeze for it.

Snart was on his feet, cold gun in hand, walking slowly toward Barry with a frightening intensity in his expression, and Barry had no way to call for help or to turn on the thermal dampeners. He tried to vibrate his arms to either warm up the ice or shatter it, maybe phase himself free, but he was too cold. He just ended up shivering.

"Snart, please…you don't want to do this," Barry said as the man got closer and closer, lifted the gun toward him and then…placed it in its holster. "Snart?" The look in his eyes was unsettling, like he wanted to eat Barry alive.

He wasn't so enraged that he wanted to eat Barry alive, was he?

Snart kept staring at Barry's face, into his eyes. He glanced briefly at each of Barry's frozen arms with a cringe of…sympathy? Then he looked Barry in the eyes again with that penetrating single-mindedness growing tenfold. He was so close now, inches away from Barry and moving closer. He reached for Barry's face with his gloved hands and just…held it.

"S-Snart?"

"Barry," Snart echoed him, breathless like he was in awe. "I will never let anyone hurt you again," he said and swooped in to kiss Barry deep.

TBC...

Len is going to get a little handsy to start, but remember, he was hit with LOVE, not LUST, so while he may be a little 'drunk' at the beginning when things get going, that will form more and more into LOVE which is very different and I plan to take this some very different directions than is usual for the trope.

Raider's powers are working differently with this too, focused solely on Barry, long-lasting, etc. The effects are going to last a long while for Len, have many consequences and interesting turns, so just…enjoy.

Also, Alexa is wholly and completely played by Melinda Clarke in my head, because I have loved her ever since Return of the Living Dead 3 and she has only gotten more gorgeous with age.