Leonard Snart was frozen solid.

Well, not frozen frozen, that hadn't happened since that one incident with the sprinklers (damn Mick), banana peel, first gen cold gun (it was after this that he purchased his parka). No, Leonard was perfectly capable of moving, if he wanted to disturb the bomb currently sitting beside him.

Sara Lance mumbled in her sleep, frowning, pressing more firmly against her pillow, which just happened to be Leonard Snart's shoulder. Leonard didn't know how it had happened. One minute they had been sitting together on the stake out, waiting for Mick to come back, then the next a League-trained, bloodlust-driven, resurrected assassin was asleep on his shoulder. And she was snoring.

Leonard wondered how this had become his life. How had he gone from robbing banks and knocking over diamond delivery trucks to jumping through time with a ragtag bunch of hero wannabes trying to stop an immortal wizard from taking over the world?

Not that it didn't have its perks. Security measures at banks were a joke, jewelers secured their doors with locks Leonard could have picked when he was five. And…

Leonard glanced down at Sara.

The company wasn't so bad, he supposed.

"Hey guys, I'm – whoa." Mick stopped short in the doorway, staring at the pair sitting on floor. Leonard held incredibly still, hoping that Sara wouldn't gut him in her startled awakening. But she didn't move, not even opening an eye, just slept on, snugged close to Leonard's side, a small smile on her lips.

"Well," Mick said quietly, stepping in and shutting the door gently behind him. "Were you two busy while I was gone?" Leonard looked at him balefully, wanting to shake his head at Mick's suggestively raised eyebrow, but not yet daring to move.

"She probably figured she should sleep while she could," he replied softly, glancing down at Sara again, noticing that a piece of hair had fallen across her face and fighting the sudden urge to move it back.

"Yeah, and that's why she's curled around you like a cat," Mick said, snorting.

"I guess I make a better pillow then the floor," Leonard shot back, unsure of why Mick's gentle teasing, which wasn't exactly new, was getting to him like this.

"And they say I'm the dense one," Mick replied, shaking his head. "Just don't make your move for another two weeks. I've got a hundred bucks and a case of vodka riding on the bet that it'll take you five months to pick your balls up off the floor and make a move." With that he turned and walked back out of the room, leaving a fuming Leonard behind him, still unmoving, Sara pressed close to his side.

Mentally planning all the way he was going to make Mick suffer, Leonard looked down at Sara again. She was sound asleep, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Moving slowly, wondering if this was going to be what finally woke her up, Leonard reached over and gently moved the rogue strand of hair off of her face.

Leaning back, Leonard rested his head against the rough wall behind him and looked out the windows, wondering how on earth he had gotten himself into this situation. Mick's words rang through his head, but he stubbornly ignored them and all the connotations that went with them.

Beside him, Sara's smile was even bigger. Maybe she would win the bet. The vodka was her favorite brand, after all.