One Part Saint and Two Parts Sinner
by Sandrine Shaw

I.

Barry sticks out like a sore thumb in the drab, shabby establishment.

It's not just the way he dresses, looking like a fresh-faced college boy who's accidentally wandered into Central City's bad neighborhood; it's how he holds himself. All that easy confidence and devil-may-care cockiness that Leonard will freely admit to enjoying when Barry dons his tight red suit has been wiped away. Leonard wonders if this is the difference between Barry Allen and the Flash, or if it's the place that sets him on edge.

Or perhaps he simply hates the fact that he's in a position where he has to ask for help. From Captain Cold, no less. Leonard makes sure to rub it in, poke at the sore spot and watch the kid squirm.

And he squirms so nicely, so clearly uncomfortable and wrong-footed and yet not afraid to push. To grab Leonard's arm and get in his face and pretend that Leonard helping Barry would be in his own best interest.

Which it might well be, just not the way Barry makes it out to be.

"If I'm gonna help you out, I'll need something in return," Leonard says, and writes an outrageous sum on a napkin that he knows Barry can never afford. Basic negotiating skills: start with something impossible to make your next demand look more reasonable. As if on cue, Barry splutters, the desperation that's been buzzing under his skin like lightning since he stepped through the door written all over his face and his voice now.

"There has to— Snart, there has to be something you want that I can get," he implores, all doleful eyes and his voice down to a whisper. Pleading is a good look on him.

Leonard's got half a mind to ask for something a little more... personal. See how far Barry is willing to go to have his little meta problem dealt with. It's tempting, the idea of the Scarlet Speedster all stripped and defenseless for him, to make sure the kid knows that he doesn't need the Cold Gun to make him come undone.

Except Leonard didn't get where he is today by giving in to rash impulses, and there are more important things on his checklist of favors that someone with Barry's powers and connections could do for him than finding out what the Flash sounds like between the sheets. Pity.

Maybe some other time.

II.

Less than thirty hours later, they're right back where they started. Saints and Sinners is a little more crowded now, and Barry's drawing all the attention, the looks he gets part hostile, part appreciative. A dangerous kind of possessiveness curls into Leonard's gut at the blatant intent with which some of the regulars eye the kid, but he fights it down before it can rise to the surface.

Barry, for his part, seems oblivious to the scrutiny he receives, almost vibrating with anger when he stalks towards the pool table.

Leonard can't contain the smile in anticipation of what's to come, but knows better than to let the expression show. He turns his head away and focuses on the game as he takes the shot, neatly knocking two balls off the table.

"Back so soon, kid? Did you come to ask for another favor?"

Predictably, Barry's not in the mood to trade banter. He grabs Leonard's arm and pulls him around to face him, derailing his next shot. Out on the airfield, he looked defeated and broken, but there's nothing left of that now, fury in his eyes and his tone a low threat, forced out between clenched teeth. "What the hell was that, Snart? I thought we had a deal. Give me one good reason why I shouldn't drop all your info back into the system. Or better yet, hand-deliver you to the CCPD."

Leonard gives the hand on his arm a narrowed glare, but Barry either doesn't notice or doesn't care. He won't let go – if anything, he tightens his hold, tiny sparks buzzing around his fingers.

"Now, Barry, let's not get carried away," Leonard warns, loud enough to be overheard. "You don't wanna make a spectacle of yourself, do you?"

He raises an eyebrow and looks significantly around the bar. It takes a moment for Barry to become aware of their audience. He reluctantly pulls away, but the anger doesn't fade from his features or his stance: the clenched jaw, the tense line of his shoulders, the reproach in those dark eyes. Leonard decides he almost likes it better than the helpless desperation the other day.

He smirks, knowing full well that it'll only ramp up Barry's temper. "As for our deal... If you think about it, I did exactly what I promised to. You asked me to protect you if anything went wrong, and I did. If you wanted something else, you should have made a different kinda deal."

With a dismissive gesture, he sends the guy he's winning against away, watching him scramble off without protest, probably happy to save money and salvage his pride by cutting the game short.

Barry waits until they're alone before he heatedly snaps, "Somehow I didn't think I had to specify 'don't sabotage the plan' as part of the deal, it was kind of implied. And when exactly did you protect me? When you killed Simmons for owing you money?"

Leonard fixes him with a flat look. "Does that sound like something I'd do? Kill someone who owes me before I get a chance to collect? Not a smart thing to do. I'd never seen the guy before in my life."

Barry frowns. "So, you lied."

He sounds surprised, like it's only now that particular lesson is finally sinking in. Leonard inclines his head. "I told you, Barry. I'm a liar."

"And a thief, and you hurt people. Yeah, I got it the first time." Frustration swings in Barry's voice. He runs his hands over his face and takes a deep breath into his palms, like he's trying to steady himself. "And a man of your word, apparently. I don't get you, Snart. You try to kill me, then you walk away when my friends show up with what you knew wasn't even a weapon. You kidnap Cisco, but you let him go when he told you who I am. You free a bunch of dangerous metas who want me dead, then you turn around and save my life, and you turn it into some kind of twisted lesson not to trust too easily."

Something about Barry's words rubs the wrong way. It's all true, but Barry somehow twists his actions into something with a deeper meaning, something noble and kind, even when he has all the evidence that this isn't who Leonard Snart is.

Leonard's certain that his eyes are as hard and cold as his supervillain persona when he glares at Barry. "Don't make this into something it's not. If you think I got your best interests at heart, you're in for a frosty kind of awakening." He reaches for the cue ball and gives it a little spin that sends it crashing into the eight ball, knocking it around. "I just like to keep you on your toes, that's all."

"Sure, I got it."

Barry ducks his head and smiles. It's secretive and amused and alarmingly fond, and Leonard wants to both wipe the expression off the kid's face and to have it stay there for good and drink it in.

The thought stops him cold. When exactly did Barry Allen become a weak spot?

"Better run along then. Unless you wanna stick around? Play a game, have a drink, enjoy the scenery?" He makes his voice drip with sarcasm so Barry won't mistake it for a serious offer. Leonard's not going to show his hand by leaving first again, but he has no intention of spending more time than necessary around Central City's hero. Barry's company is not a pleasure he can afford to indulge in.

Shaking his head, Barry huffs out a small laugh. "I'll see you around, Snart."

As he turns to go, Leonard pretends to busy himself with setting up the table, putting the balls in the rack, but his eyes follow Barry until the door swings shut after him.

III.

"Let me help you," Barry says, like it's that easy, like his involvement isn't one more complication in the already complicated situation, one more variable that Leonard has to factor into his plans.

With Lisa's life on the line, he has no patience for Barry's never-ending need to fix things.

"Don't waste your time trying to save people who don't wanna be saved."

He's trying for indifference, but he feels like he's missing by miles. If Barry can read him only half as well as Leonard can read Barry, the way Leonard pointedly doesn't look at him, letting his gaze trail through the crowded bar is a bigger tell than he can afford. His voice comes out too raw and sincere, and it's only in the last second that he remembers not to say who can't be saved because Barry would only take it as a challenge.

Of course Barry doesn't let it go anyway, like a cute but incredibly annoying puppy with a bone. He makes it about the innocent people who'll get hurt, and Leonard throws some half-assed threats around, which Barry counters with some half-assed threats of his own, politely exchanged over a plate of fries as if they didn't both know that if either of them did their worst, Barry would be dead and Leonard would be in cuffs by now.

Barry keeps turning those doe eyes at him, like he expects Leonard to fold if he only throws in some imploring looks, and Leonard can't help imagining what Lewis would make of this, of Barry. How he's immediately single him out as a weakness and use it to ruin him. Ruin both of them, more likely.

His stomach churns unpleasantly as he pushes the fries away. He lost his appetite. The need to get out of here closes in on him like the walls of his cell the first time they locked him up in juvie, and he scrambles to his feet.

"Thanks for dinner," he quips, but the lofty drawl he aims for is unsteady at best.

He hopes Barry will get the hint and stays far away from him and Lewis and all this fucking mess, but he already knows that it's a futile wish.

Later, when Lewis shoots Barry and leaves him for dead on the ground, when he has Leonard turn the Cold Gun on the Flash and eggs him on to shoot the Scarlet Speedster, Leonard remembers Barry's expression when he slid into the booth across from him and offered his help, eyes full of worry and determination and sincerity.

He could have pulled the trigger to save Lisa's life, but it would be a lie to say he's not relieved that he doesn't have to.

IV.

Kay puts a bottle on the counter in front of him and motions to the entrance, from where a chilly draft invades the sticky air inside the bar. "Your boy's here."

He doesn't need to turn around to know who she's referring to. Barry's been coming to seek him out at Saints and Sinners enough times now for people to start talking. Once may be a fluke and twice a coincidence, but three times implies more of a connection than is good for either of their reputations.

Leonard pulls a grimace and glares at Kay. "Hardly my boy."

She huffs, unperturbed by the icy rebuff, but discreet enough to make herself scarce when Barry makes a beeline towards the counter, hopping onto the chair right next to Leonard's. Because of course he's here to see him. No good deed ever goes unpunished, right?

Idly scraping at the label of his bottle, Leonard sends Barry a sly sideway glance. "We gotta stop meeting like this, kid."

Barry's lips twitch. He seems to think it's a joke.

Leonard twists around on his chair to face him. Even in the flattering warm hues the low lighting casts on the patrons, Barry looks worn out. Deep, dark shadows under his eyes, a fading bruise peeking out at his collar that even his accelerated healing hasn't had time to fix yet. It's hardly a surprise. Leonard had caught a glimpse or two of the showdown between the Flash, Weather Wizard and Trickster, aired live on Picture News. The beating Mardon had delivered looked so brutal it made even Leonard wince, his fingers itching to get the Cold Gun and join the fight to even out the odds. He suppressed the urge for long enough for Barry to regain the upper hand, relieved that it saved him from having to make a choice he couldn't come back from.

"Shouldn't you be out there celebrating with your little friends? What I've heard, Weather Wizard and Trickster are back behind bars, and Central City is safe for another night. Surely even the Scarlet Speedster gets a night off at Christmas. Or are you here to take me back to Iron Heights?"

He raises an eyebrow. Truth is, he ain't too worried. The kid has always been a bleeding heart. He'll be all too eager to put too much stock in Leonard's little visit, interpret it as a show of good faith, some kind of turning point towards setting Leonard on a more heroic path. Barry wouldn't want to derail all that by putting him back in the slammer.

"Nah, we still have a deal. And besides, you did warn me. Even if you did it in the most obnoxious way possible."

Leonard smirks when he remembers Barry's anger upon finding him in his living room, the flash of lightning in his eyes as he pushed Leonard against the fireplace, a little more... hands-on than their usual tussle.

"I take it your girlfriend didn't enjoy having a homicidal maniac over for hot cocoa and a nice little chat."

"Iris isn't my—" Barry stops himself in his protest, shaking his head. "But no, she wasn't too happy. Just be glad that she agreed not to tell Joe, otherwise he'd be walking in here putting cuffs on you."

"I'm shaking in fear."

The deadpan delivery oozes sarcasm. Like he couldn't handle Joe West and his fellow officers. He's more interested in Barry opting to keep the home invasion, however well-intended, from his foster-father, and Miss West's apparent willingness to play along despite the way she bristled at his presence.

The way Barry rubs at his neck betrays his tension. Leonard can't help noticing how gingerly he's moving his hand, suppressing a little wince when he angles his wrist.

He acts before he can think about it, reaching out to pull Barry's arm towards him and push up his sleeve. Barry jerks a little when Leonard's fingers wrap lightly around his wrist, holding him in place.

"A little souvenir from Mardon. It's just a bit sore, that's all. Everything major has already healed."

He doesn't pull back when Leonard's thumb lightly presses against a pale bruise, feeling a barely-there swelling under his touch and the steady beat of Barry's pulse a little too fast under Leonard's fingertips. It would be easy to tighten his grip, press down where it hurts, make Barry gasp in pain. Instead, Leonard moves his thumb in tiny circles, rubbing at the tender spot until Barry relaxes, the tense muscles of his arm going slack.

"Why are you here, Barry?"

"Mardon and Jesse were out for blood." Barry looks away, a shadow falling over his face. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows; then he turns back towards Leonard with new determination in his gaze. "They couldn't have been too pleased that you turned down their offer to join forces. As unhinged as they were... I just wanted to make sure they didn't... react poorly."

This time, Leonard does allow his hold to become a little tighter, not quite to the point of pain, but enough to serve as a warning. "I can take care of myself. Already told you, I don't need saving."

His tone is sharp, but Barry is smiling. "Maybe I just wanted to see you."

The raw honesty of the admission almost makes Leonard want to run, makes him want to return to a simpler time when the Flash was nothing but a faceless red-clad obstacle to his plans that he wanted to eliminate. Intriguing and a worthy adversary, but nothing Leonard couldn't handle. Barry Allen, on the other hand... So many things would have been easier if Leonard had never learned the Scarlet Speedster's identity.

He clenches his jaw and lets go of Barry's wrist. Without the warm, soft skin under his touch, he immediately feels a chill in the air, and he has to remind himself that he likes the cold.

"You saw me. I'm fine. Better get going before I remember how to do a better job of being a villain."

Barry grins, and for the first time that night, the haunted, tired expression clears.

"Merry Christmas, Snart," he says, and then he's gone, so fast that Leonard is sure there had to be superspeed involved.

It's only when he turns back to the counter that he notices the small bag of mini-marshmallows in front of him, a blue bow dotted with stylized ice crystals wrapped around the top. He snorts.

Despite himself, his lips twitch into a smile.

V.

The moment Leonard steps out of the door into the alley, a familiar rush of air ruffles his clothes and sweeps up rumpled newspaper pages and random trash from the ground in a flurry.

Barry pulls back the cowl and glares at him.

"I had to find out from Mick."

He sounds agitated and reproachful, and Leonard would make a smartass quip if he wasn't too caught up in the unlikely idea of Mick and Barry having a civil conversation. About him, no less. It's hard to reconcile with the Mick he remembers, full of bottled up anger from his Chronos days and with nothing but scorn for do-gooders like Barry.

Leonard knows he missed a lot, but he hasn't quite come to accept just how much.

"Didn't know you were buddies."

Barry shrugs. "We fought aliens together. And Nazis. And a sentient dragon army. I wouldn't say we're friends, but he doesn't try to set me on fire anymore. At least not on purpose."

Leonard has so many questions about that, he doesn't even know where to begin. Maybe he shouldn't have been quite so fast to leave the Waverider and instead have Gideon give him a brief recap of Things That Happened While He Was Dead, the complete season.

For his part, Barry doesn't seem to be in the right mood to assuage his curiosity.

"All of which is beside the point. You could have stopped by. Let me know you were— back." He hesitates and stumbles over the word. Leonard can't blame him. It's not like Leonard just happened to be out of town for a while on a business trip. Death's hardly something you just come back from, not even with the unlikely, crazy lives they're living, time travel and meta humans and alternate earths and all.

Barry reaches out and touches his shoulder, and Leonard is abruptly thrown back to their last encounter when Barry had tracked him down in 1892 to enlist his help breaking into A.R.G.U.S. Except... Barry had already known back then, hadn't he? It explains the somber way Barry had looked at him when he thought Leonard wasn't watching, the sad smiles Leonard had put down to Barry's desperate race against time to save his foster sister. Leonard wonders how badly Barry struggled not to tell him, integrity of the timeline be damned.

Now, in a gloomy back alley under the blinking neon sign of Saints and Sinners, Barry looks at him in wonder, the colorful lights reflecting in his eyes.

"I can't believe you're real," he says softly, too choked up for Leonard's liking.

He tries to steer the conversation back on the familiar path of sharp banter and perfunctory threats, putting on a sneer. "Wait until I get back my gun and I'll give you a test run just how real I am, Flash."

For all his troubles, all that calculated bluff of his gets him is an armful of Scarlet Speedster as Barry's arms wrap around his neck.

Leonard sharply pulls in air, a mixture of ozone and rubber and fruity shampoo hitting his nose, windswept hair tickling his ear as Barry buries his face in his neck. Leonard can't remember the last time anyone hugged him like this, lingering, nothing like the brief one-armed clasp Mick gave him upon his return. Probably Lisa, back when she was little.

His fists clench emptily at his side, waiting for Barry to assure himself that Leonard is solid and real and won't vanish before his eyes.

"Barry..." he warns, the edge in his tone lost in the way his voice trails off, unsure what to say.

"Your Earth-X doppelganger liked hugs." Barry's voice is muffled by Leonard's jacket, but not so much that he doesn't understand him.

He narrows his eyes. Right. Leo. Him, Leonard heard about at length from his fellow teammates on board the Waverider. He's instantly hated the idea of another version of him, a softer, kinder, heroic Leonard Snart – but it's nothing compared to how much he hates the thought of that guy going around hugging Barry.

"I'm not him. He might've been the hugging kind. I'm not."

Barry snorts.

"Deal with it," he says, smug and entirely unapologetic, and that just won't do.

Leonard pushes at his midriff, digging into the material of the Flash suit until Barry lets go and steps back with a put-upon sigh. Leonard doesn't let him get far, curving his hand around the kid's neck and pulling him back in, pressing their lips together firmly. A small surprised sound escapes Barry's throat, and Leonard uses the opportunity to slide his tongue between his lips, kissing him thoroughly and with intent.

It's what he's wanted to do since the first time Barry walked up to him at Saints and Sinners with so much desperation and hope in his eyes that it took all of Leonard's self-control not to reach out and take what should never have been his. But death has put a fresh perspective on all those self-imposed rules and restrictions.

When he steps back, he smiles at Barry's stunned expression, gaze drawn to the way Barry's tongue darts out to wet his lips. "Did Leo do that, too?"

The question – not entirely serious, though he'll be tempted to travel through the multiverse to find and punch Leo if the answer is yes – startles a laugh out of Barry. He shakes his head. "No, and I wouldn't have let him."

"Good," Leonard says, right against Barry's mouth as he leans in to steal another kiss.

(VI.)

"I thought I'd find you here," Barry says as he slides up to him.

Leonard hums softly in response, focused on the disassembled Cold Gun in front of him. If Barry's surprised that he got it back from S.T.A.R. Labs, he doesn't let on. Leonard plans to have a word with Cisco about their laughable security measures, because it's all good and well when he's the one breaking in to steal back what should be his, but he doesn't like the idea that anyone can just wander into the place, not when he has a newfound personal interest in the safety of the Scarlet Speedster.

Who, currently, seems vaguely put out as he hops on top of the desk, knocking the glowing cold cell precariously close to the edge.

"Careful," Leonard admonishes.

Barry rolls his eyes. "It's seven in the morning. This really couldn't wait until later?"

Whatever Leonard's going to reply is lost in a burst of speed as Barry reassembles the gun within a matter of seconds, too quick for Leonard's eyes to follow the motion.

With a raised eyebrow, Barry looks down on the weapon between them, like he expects a pat on the back for putting it together in record speed.

"Neat trick, but not actually what I was going for." If he had simply wanted the gun in one piece, he wouldn't have needed to pull it apart in the first place. He was making some minor... improvements.

He glares up at Barry, but the soft smile on his face makes it hard to maintain his annoyance, or even the pretense of annoyance. The way Barry used to look at him in the dim lights of Saints and Sinners always disarmed him, but it has nothing on how Barry's gaze feels in the sun-flooded kitchen of his apartment. Or how he looks, soft and sleepy, wearing nothing but low-riding boxers, tousled hair and a smile that makes Leonard ache because part of him still can't believe that it's directed towards him.

"I can take it apart again for you later, for whatever nefarious thing you plan on doing with it," Barry bargains, effortlessly slipping back into the familiarity of negotiating with Leonard. The old push and pull, just that the stakes are different these days. "Come back to bed."

It's a tempting offer. Leonard puts down the screwdriver and lets himself be sped away.

End