Author's note: I did promise a one-shot dealing with the OCs from "Chances Are." (Which you should read before reading this, or it makes no sense at all.) It also serves as sort of a bridge to the next story. Enjoy! Many thanks to LarielRomeniel for the beta.

In all fairness, Rip already had agreed (under slight duress, but still) to make a stop before hauling them off to the Kasnia Conglomerate, whatever that is.

Somehow, it had escaped Ray's memory that, no matter how much he and Kendra had been living as a married couple, backstory and all, they were not in truth married. At least, until Stein made certain assumptions and congratulated him not only on the upcoming little Palmer, but his supposed nuptials. The professor had been mortified at his goof, but the mistake had been made. (In his defense, Sara thought, this whole situation was rather jarring to all of them, considering that it'd been little more than an hour to those on the ship, when nearly a year had passed for the four of them.)

Once the realization had settled in, though, there was no way Ray was going to let his and Kendra's child be born without his or her parents duly married. And the rings they'd been wearing for a year wouldn't do, oh, no. Ray was determined to propose using his grandmother's engagement ring.

"Kendra deserves something with some history," he told Sara and Rip earnestly. "That ring didn't seem quite right with Anna. But it will suit Kendra so well."

Of course, the ring is in storage, back in Star City.

Rip, still beleaguered, still slightly in shock that his best weapon against Savage is, at the moment, more concerned with labor breathing exercises than in training in mayhem and bloodshed, tries to retain a modicum of control. He turns the other man down flat, refusing to take the ship back once it's in the time stream. They have things to do, immortal psychopaths to hunt, even if they have to figure out how things are going to work with the necessary changes in Kendra's involvement.

Ray, however, has spent a year charting his own course—or at least, doing so with only Kendra and to a lesser extent, Sara and Len. He narrows his eyes (Sara, watching with amusement, thinks his expression is very reminiscent of Leonard's dealing-with-Rip expression), looks mulish and promptly threatens to stay on the ship for any future missions if Rip doesn't cave. And, he adds, he'll ask Kendra to do so too.

After a little stunned staring and a few attempts to reason, the captain caves. However, he says, he won't take them to a time after he'd recruited them. ("You've potentially muddied your own timelines enough.") They settle on the middle of 2015, after Ray's presumed dead, but before January 2016, which means someone else will have to obtain the ring from the storage facility where it's located.

Sara, sensing an opportunity, promptly volunteers the services of the team crook, which is only logical-providing that said crook, and associated assassin, can take a brief side trip. Rip, already disheartened by Legends who seem even less inclined than before to listen to his warnings, barely makes a token protest. Sara promises to stay in disguise and out of sight while they're in Star (given that she's dead at the time) and Leonard had been working on a job with Mick and Lisa nowhere near either destination.

Which is how Sara and Leonard, barely 48 hours after leaving 19 Gabriel Drive back in 1958, find themselves standing outside the house again, 57 years later.

It doesn't look that much different, really.

Sara studies No. 19, noting the modern security—apparent to those who know to look for such things—and the now-fenced backyard. There's a small plaque by the side door, but she can't read it from here.

She glances at Leonard, who's staring at the house next door.

It's still blue, though it's obviously been painted and updated throughout the years. It's good to see it in such good shape, really, and so very obviously lived in. There are children's toys in the yard and—look at that—a cheerful border of black-eyed Susans all around.

Leonard's expression is open, for a moment, as he regards the house, affection and the faintest bit of regret across his features. It's a nice change from the somewhat blank, very guarded look he's been wearing since he'd first walked, alone at his own insistence, down to the Waverider's brig to confront Chronos.

Mick, Sara corrects herself. Still Mick. She has to believe that.

It bothers her, a little, that they haven't talked about it yet, but she also knows all too well that it's a bit of a marvel—and probably a sign of the increased openness about him that'd started with their time in the '50s—that he'd gone to see Mick at all. Sara knows Leonard well enough to know that his original impulse would be to hide somewhere and pretend the other man didn't exist.

She really wants to know what they'd said to each other. She also knows it's wiser to wait.

After a long moment, he shakes his head and looks back at her, a slightly melancholy smile crossing his face.

"It was good," he says quietly. "Wasn't it?"

She doesn't like his use of the past tense. Yes, he'd stayed in her room last night, tense and unhappy after leaving the brig, and yes, Sara's started working with Gideon and Jax to find a way to better adapt the room for two, with his blessing. But she also knows that Leonard has an almost surprising tendency to punish himself for perceived missteps, and what happened with Mick is definitely registering that way with him.

Don't go away, she thinks at him again, fiercely. Please don't go away.

But aloud, she simply says, "Shall we?"

He shrugs but doesn't move. "You sure this is a good idea?" he drawls after a moment, and she recognizes the verbal habit for the armor it is. "They're pretty old now. Don't want to give anyone a heart attack."

The words could be taken as callous, but Sara reads true concern in them. She also knows, because Gideon has told her, that Len has resisted even asking about anyone they'd known then.

Sara hadn't been nearly so cautious, although she'd left some things to him.

"Do you really think either Ginny or Rebecca is that fragile?" she asks him, letting a hint of humor into her tone. "It'll be OK."

Leonard's eyes flicker, and Sara knows he's picked up that she means that statement on multiple levels. But that's not apparently a thing they're talking about yet.

They're together. But they still have a ways to go.

"OK," he echoes finally, shoulders rising and falling in a motion that seems to be trying and failing at nonchalance. "Let's go."

There's an intercom at the door, which is clearly secured even beyond what Len had rigged up before. Sara sees him smirk at it a little and knows that he could still break in…but wouldn't.

The brass plaque says "Schuyler House." Sara knows that's what they'd named their not-for-profit when they'd finally been able to make it official. Leonard nods at it, then looks at Sara, something tentative in his eyes. Sara nods back, then reaches out to push the intercom button.

After a moment, a female voice echoes through the box. "May I help you?"

Sara takes a deep breath, then glances at Leonard, who's still stone-still. OK, she'll take this. "Could you please tell…the Mses. Schuyler-Hayes that…Sara and Leonard are here. And that we'd like to see them again."

Leonard twitches just a little, and Sara reaches out to take his hand. She's pretty sure there's a camera on them too, and while they'll never look innocent, it can't hurt to look approachable. And besides, she's pretty sure he needs the comfort, whether or now he'll ever admit it.

"One moment, please," the voice says after a long pause. Is there a note of surprise there? Sara's not sure. She squeezes Len's icy fingers in hers and waits.

The wait stretches on long enough, though, that she can't really stop her mind from wandering. (And given how Leonard keeps glancing over his shoulder at the other house, she's pretty sure his is, too.) She knows that Rebecca and Ginny are still hale and hearty and helping others in their 80s, but she hadn't really had much of a chance to look up anything else—except to verify what Rip had said about their marriage. (True, for the record.)

The wait gets long enough for her to wonder if they've made a mistake—and from the tension in Len, for him to decide it might be better to get out of here. But then there's a noise at the door, the sound of locks giving way, and somewhat to her surprise, an actual person opens it instead of merely buzzing them through.

They both blink, just a moment, at the woman standing there and watching them in return.

It's Leonard, a little surprisingly, who blurts it out. "Miriam?"

They both know that can't be the case. Miriam Jacobi would be 92 now, and this is just a young woman, really, maybe 18.

But still, she blinks back and says, "Yes?"

It's not the same woman, that much is obvious. She's younger than Leonard had ever seen Miriam Jacobi in 1958, probably nearly half her age even then. And she's dressed in typical 2015 style for a college student, at least insomuch as Leonard recognizes.

But the resemblance is notable, the black hair, angular face and brown eyes, and he has to blink the memories back for a moment.

Even as he does that, though, realization crosses her face. She looks at him, then at Sara—who seems just as frozen as he is—and smiles.

"You're thinking of my great-grandma, aren't you?" she says shrewdly, nodding. "Grandpa always told me I look like a lot like her. And Ms. Ginny and Ms. Rebecca have said the same."

She also looks far more—free is the best word Leonard can think of—than the older woman had ever looked, by far. It feels like it's been forever, even given how little time it's actually been for him and Sara. Well, it hasn't been the greatest day or two. Not when he'd had to face what he'd done to his oldest friend…

Wait.

"Great-grandma?" Len's aware that his voice sounds a little strangled. But it's one thing to know analytically just how much time has passed and another thing to hear…see…

This Miriam nods, looking at Sara. "You're…I know who you are. Or I think I do," she says quietly. "You're the stuff of family legend." She pauses. "Come with me? They're very eager to see you."

The former parlor is now an office of sorts; there's a desk and file cabinets, as well as monitors arranged about the desk. Len recognizes a good view of the door in one. At a guess, Miriam has been sitting here to do…yes, school work, he thinks, although he doesn't get much more than a glance before she leads him past it, to the doorway at the other end of the room.

Leonard knows he's not doing a great job of it—Sara, he thinks distantly, deserves so much better—but he does his best to stuff his demons (which currently wear Mick's face) back down inside. No one here needs them.

Before, this doorway had stood open to the room beyond, a sort of living room with the staircase to the upper levels just off it. Now, a sturdy-looking door bars the way, one with a keypad and what Sara's pretty sure she recognizes as the sort of failsafe that will lock it down even tighter if someone pushes a panic button.

Leonard makes a noise of approval and Sara, watching this Miriam, sees the other woman smirk (an expression she doubts ever crossed the girl's great-grandmother's face) in what seems to be satisfaction. She quickly taps a code into the keypad, fingers flying over the keys, then another one as the light on the small panel blinks green.

Then she grips the heavy door handle and, turning, pushes it open.

The first thing Sara sees is the woman standing a few feet away, watching them. Besides her, Leonard freezes.

She's even more familiar, of course. Her dark hair is now in a modern bob, one silvered by time, although less than Sara had expected. Sara would have taken her for at least 10 years younger, to be honest, based on the brightness of her gaze and her still-impeccable posture.

But Rebecca doesn't look 84 years old. She doesn't look as young as the woman they'd left behind so recently, but she doesn't seem 57 years older, either.

Sara hears her intake of breath as she sees them, but for a long moment, no one speaks. Rebecca brings her hands up to clasp them over her heart, and Sara sees a plain gold wedding band on her left ring finger.

It's that, actually, that breaks their tableau. Rebecca follows Sara's gaze to the ring and actually blushes, even after all this time, raising her hands to her cheeks.

"Oh," she says, and her voice has aged too, but it's still the same in so many ways. "Oh, dear. She really will be insufferable. She always said you'd be back, and she guessed…"

But from the room beyond this one, then, another voice rises, another older woman's voice, also very familiar. "I heard that!"

Miriam lets out a snort of laughter, and Rebecca shakes her head. "You were meant to!" she calls back, amusement in her tone. Then she takes one step forward, then another and another, until she's peering up at Leonard, the height difference more profound than ever. He hasn't so much as twitched, regarding her in return, and he doesn't move as she slowly lifts a hand and lays it along his jaw.

"You're just as I remember," she marvels, as Miriam steps past her and into the far room. "You'll have to tell us how that is." She looks at Sara, smiling a little too. "And you."

There's not nearly the surprise or suspicion there that there should be. Sara and Leonard exchange glances, then look back at Rebecca, who's lowered her hand.

The older woman shakes her head at them. "You honestly didn't think we'd figure out there was something odd about the whole thing? Granted, information wasn't as widely available back then, but it wasn't nonexistent. And your records, what we could find of them, didn't lead anywhere. We put more pieces together later." She eyes Leonard, expression unreadable. "Mr. Snart."

If he was frozen before, he's a statue now. All except his eyes, Sara thinks, and they're briefly agonized before the shutters go firmly back up, the blankness and the chill, everything she knows heralds expectation of pain. The Leonard Snart of June 2015 isn't a good man; that's still buried deep down, and despite everything he's done since, if Rebecca knows who he was then, how can she fail to judge?

He actually takes a step back, as if preparing to leave, and Sara, heart hurting at the return of the Cold façade, knowing how much this meant to him and how much she'd actually hoped it would help, starts to speak.

But Rebecca holds up a hand, the gesture far more authoritative than anything her younger self would have used, and Sara stops despite herself. The older woman takes a stop forward, toward Len, and shakes her head at him, reaching out to take his hand despite his flinch.

"The man we saw in those newscasts wasn't the one we knew back in 1958," she tells him quietly. "Oh, he looked the same. But he wasn't the same person. I think I…think all of us here know better than to assume that the people we sometimes expect to be 'good' really are, and the same with those we expect to be 'bad.'" She pauses. "And we know better than to judge without knowing the full story. Would we have let you in here if we didn't trust you? As far as I'm concerned, you proved that we could, long ago. I'd just like to know…how. If you can tell us."

Len's quiet a minute, and Sara leaves this particular ball in his court. Rebecca, though, sees her shift and glances back over at her, lips twitching.

"And you, too, Ms. Lance," she says, just a touch dryly.

Sara turns an intake of breath into a cough. "How…"

"There's a thing called the Internet these days," the voice they'd heard briefly before chimes in, now rather more audible. "Perhaps you've heard of it? Wonderful thing."

Rebecca turns suddenly. "Virginia! You sit down…"

"And let you question them to your heart's content before I even get to see them? No, Bec." Ginny, standing in the far doorway—well, leaning a little on a walker—and looking as unrepentant as she ever did—grins at them. "Hello, you two. Really, it's good you have some faults. You, know, at one point she thought you might have been angels?"

Leonard snorts as Sara laughs and Rebecca looks mortified. "Well," she says, drawing herself up and glaring good-naturedly at her wife. "You thought they were aliens!"

Leonard coughs as Sara claps a hand over her mouth. "Perhaps we could go in there," he says, motioning to the other room. "So Miss…so Ginny can sit down?"

Ginny beams at him, tilting her head so her long braid, now pure silver, swings to the side.

"I knew I liked you," she announces, winking at Sara. "Yes, let's."

"I didn't really think you were aliens. "

They're all settled in, with some lemonade that Miriam had fetched for them before resuming her place in the office for the moment. Ginny, who's explained that a student had fallen badly and taken her out with him, turning her ankle, had grumbled a little before making herself comfortable in a corner of the sofa, pillows all about her. ("It'll heal," she'd commented. "Doc says I'm in great shape, but not indestructible. Poor kid. He was mortified.")

Leonard, sitting tensely on a chair, can tell Sara is dying to ask about the student thing, but she holds the question back as they all watch each other. However, Ginny has broken the ice again with that comment—which he's pretty sure she's done on purpose.

Toying with the end of her braid just like she used to, Ginny shrugs as they look at her and Rebecca makes a noise of amused resignation. "Well…maybe the thought crossed my mind once," she admits. "Which I made the mistake of telling her." She points at Rebecca, who's sitting a touch primly on the chair that matches Leonard's. The other woman rolls her eyes, but Ginny's off and running again.

"We were sort of speculating wildly," she admits. "You'll admit, it was something outta some kind of story. The way you two—and your friends in Nickel, too—just appeared out of nowhere, changed everything and…poof. Gone. Knights in shining armor. At least until decades later, when we caught news reports and realized that you…" She points at Sara. "…had a ridiculous resemblance to some young thing who'd gone down on Robert Queen's yacht. And you…" She points at Leonard. "…were apparently a thief. A really good one."

They stare at her. Sara clears her throat. "You remembered us that well?" she asks tentatively. "After all that time?"

"Of course we did," Ginny says, sounding surprised. "You made a huge difference in our lives. And at least it explained where all that money had come from."

Leonard starts to protest, a touch stung for no good reason (it's not like he hadn't stolen the seed money for his various enterprises, although the business and the investments had quickly made up for that). But Rebecca beats him to it, sitting straight up and giving Ginny a look that has the other woman holding up her hands and backpedaling.

"It's not that we mind!" she says hastily. "Hell, always been a fan of Robin Hood. And it's helped so many people. Far more than it would have in the original hands." She gives him an apologetic look. "What you gave me to pay off Wayne alone…"

"What happened with him?" Sara asks suddenly, and Leonard has the abrupt thought that she's distracting them, giving him a moment to gather his thoughts.

Ginny snorts. "He used that money to buy himself a sports car," she says acerbically, "instead of using it to upgrade the farm or something smart. Drank himself a six-pack one night not a year later and flipped the car while going 80 mph on the back roads." Regret touches her eyes then, just a little. "Fortunately, the only one he killed was himself."

"I'm sorry," Sara murmurs, but all they know it's more for what might have been than what was.

Ginny nods once, accepting the condolence for what it is. "I'm sorry he didn't get his life together, but hell, I'm happier than I ever thought I'd be back then." She gives Rebecca a sparkling smile, and the other woman blushes again. Even Leonard, committed cynic that he is, can't help but smile.

And think, abruptly, of what Rip had told them was supposed to happen here. In this house. In the dining room right off…

"Heard congratulations are in order," he drawls, distracting himself.

Rebecca gives him a considering look as Ginny starts telling them gleefully about how they'd gone down to the city hall right after the state had made their right to marry official. But she doesn't say anything yet, and he doesn't want to rock the boat. Ginny's smart, but Rebecca's mind had…and presumably still does…worked a lot more like his. She puts pieces together. She figures things out. And no one yet has dared to directly address the sheer impossibility of their presence here, beyond ridiculous mentions of angels and aliens.

But she's watching him now, this sister in spirit, eyes thoughtful and gaze direct. Wheels turning.

Rip, he's positive, hadn't expected them to utterly spill the beans about time travel—in fact, he's pretty sure the man thought they were just making a stop to check on old friends without actually meeting those old friends face to face. But neither Leonard nor Sara had been content with that.

"Wait, wait, wait," Ginny is saying incredulously, and both Rebecca and Leonard look over. "You two aren't married? You still haven't? After all the bedroom eyes, and the tension, and the fact that we learned that we really had to knock before stepping foot anywhere near that house…"

Sara snickers a little and smiles, as the older woman sighs and sits back, shaking her head in mock-disapproval.

"It's only been about two days for us," she says gently, glancing at Leonard, then away. "And it's been…a rough two days."

Rebecca and Ginny both stare at her.

"Two days," Rebecca breathes. "We thought…we suspected…but it's different actually knowing…"

Sara and Leonard exchange another glance. There's caution in Sara's eyes, Len sees, but they both knew when they came back here that the cat was going to be out of the bag to some extent.

"What is it you think you know?" Len asks finally, wincing a little at the harshness that he hears in his tone. Old habits die hard.

"Time travel."

It's a new voice—or rather, a returned one. Miriam doesn't quail at all under the four sets of eyes on her, even though two of them are relatively new to her. She smiles a little, looking to Rebecca. "I set the extra alarm and turned up the buzzer," she says. "May I join you now? Since this involves my family too. And please…call me Miri."

Sara watches Leonard watch the young woman—an intern at Schuyler House, she explains, while she's studying at Orange University-as she gets refills for all of them, then settles herself on the corner of the sofa. He hasn't asked about her family, though the resemblance is clear. She wonders, perhaps, if he's afraid to ask, afraid to find out how he'd been remembered…

Once Miri's settled, though, she looks right at him, a thoughtful expression on her face.

"Grandpa put the pieces together," she says quietly. "Some of the tenses, in the letter you left him. 'The Time Machine.' Other things." She smirks at Leonard, as Sara—thinking of Rip's probable reaction—eyes him. "Like the stock tips. Thanks for those, by the way. They're paying for college. Did for all of us."

Sara sighs as Ginny laughs and Rebecca smiles. But Leonard's watching the younger woman, an intense expression in his eyes, and finally leans forward to speak.

"David," he says quietly. "Where…"

The smirk runs off Miri's face, and Sara knows, oh, she knows now what she'd been starting to suspect. And so does Leonard, whose face goes blank again.

"Grandpa died last year," Miri says, something faint in her voice speaking of grief that's been moved past but isn't wholly gone. "Cancer. Same as got great-grandma, my dad said. He was 68. So at least he got a bit longer than she did." She sighs. "I never met her, but at least she got to see my dad born. And Grandpa said he got to do most everything he wanted to do. I just…I miss him."

Leonard's face isn't blank anymore. It's frozen, but…Sara wants to get up and go over to him, to try to soothe the sorrow she sees in his eyes. It's an odd impulse; soothing is not usually her strong suit. And in the end, she stays where she is, suspecting that the gesture right then would not be well received. She may not know how to be soothing, but she does know Leonard Snart.

Instead, she glances away, letting him have the moment to regain himself, then glances back as he clears his throat.

"Your dad," he says, a bit roughly. "His son?"

That perks Miri up a little, and she smiles with the air of someone with a good secret to share. Ginny, who'd been looking rather distraught, chuckles a little, and Rebecca, who's watching Leonard intently, smiles too.

"Yes," Miri says simply. "His name is Leonard. Leonard David Jacobi."

Sara can't stop the small noise that escapes her, then, and the older two women in the room nod in satisfaction. Miri just watches Leonard, who has frozen again, something startled and amazed in his eyes.

After a moment, seeing that he doesn't have the words yet, Miri continues. "I have an aunt, too. And Grandma's still alive. He met her while at college in Nickel. Even though he was taking over the store, great-grandma insisted he get a degree, Dad said, and so did Granny Janet."

"Store?" Len asked, sounding a little perplexed, even as Sara, remembering their old landlady in Nickel, exclaims "Mrs. Levy!"

Miri nodded to her. "I never met her—my dad and aunt knew her, although she was very old by then. Grandpa took over the bookstore after college. He managed it and wrote; my aunt Becky runs it now. Keeps it afloat with a thriving online book-finding service."

She pauses another moment, then, after a nod from Rebecca, gets up to go to a bookshelf at the far side of the room. Running her finger over the spines of the volumes there, she selects three and then returns, holding them out to Leonard.

Sara moves over to see, and Miri shift to let her. Len glances up at her, and Sara's a little gratified to how relieved he looks at her closeness.

The three paperbacks aren't huge, just decent medium-length novels, with the sort of busy, colorful covers Sara recalls seeing on other '80s fantasy and science fiction. (An old boyfriend, one of the few nondelinquents, had owned quite a collection.) But it was the top one's title that catches her eye.

" 'Time on Their Side,'" she reads, moving just a little closer, perching on the arm of the chair so their shoulders brush. "Oh."

Len blinks at it, brow furrowed as if he's trying to remember something. "Time travel…"

"Some people thought 'Quantum Leap' was based on them," Miri comments from where she's taken a seat where Sara had been sitting. "There are a few common elements. People 'putting right what once went wrong,' etc."

Ginny giggles, sounding eerily like her younger self. "We told him he should sue," she says with amusement. "He laughed at us."

Rebecca shakes her head at her wife. "It wasn't that similar…"

"This was a group of people, though," Miri continues, grinning at their banter. "Two men, two women. And Grandpa was really ahead of his time for the early '80s, when they were finally published, because his women were the most kick-ass of the bunch." She studies Sara. "Especially the blonde."

That gets a snort of amusement from Leonard, and Sara elbows him, glad to hear it. Together, they also study the other two books, which bear the titles "All in Good Time" and "Test of Time."

"It was just the one trilogy, but they're still in print," Miri adds. "Better covers now, though." She shakes her head. "People used to write him letters asking for more, and he wrote a few short stories, like he did before the novels. But he was busy with other things."

Then she laughs. "Dad keeps joking he'll pick them up and write more one day—he's a high school English teacher and he likes to write—but that it's tradition to do it later in life." She shrugs. "He's 44 now and I'm not sure he's kidding. Grandpa was 35 when his publisher bought the books. He'd given up trying to sell anything more than short stories, but for some reason he started trying again around then."

Sara, looking thoughtful, starts to ask her more, but they're interrupted by Leonard, who, rubbing his forehead, gives a grunt of pain.

"What's wrong?"

"I…" He shakes his head, eyes closed. "Sudden headache."

Rebecca gets up to get him an aspirin, but Miri waves her back down and goes herself. The older woman shakes her head in faint amusement and rises anyway, moving over to study Leonard as her expression changes to concern.

"Do you need to go lie down?" she asks quietly, reaching out to turn off the lamp just behind them. "Is it a migraine? Have you had one before?"

Len starts to shake his head but freezes with another noise of pain. Sara, a little worried, takes the aspirin from the returning Miri and gives the pills and her glass of lemonade to him. He takes them without protest, and they all sit another moment in silence.

Finally, Leonard makes a face and opens an eye, then the other, shaking his head, and looks back down at the books. Ginny says something to him, but he doesn't appear to hear her, staring down at them with what seems to be amazement. Then he looks back up, at Miri, and then at Sara.

"I read these," he says. "I read these back when I…when I was first in juvie." He hesitates. "In 1986."

Rebecca makes a thoughtful noise, but Len's not done.

"They didn't have many books, but someone had donated copies of this trilogy, and I devoured them," he says, picking the first one up and turning it over in my hands. "I…err…took a set with me when I got out." He takes a deep breath. "It was part of the reason I decided to go…" He exchanges a glance with Sara but doesn't mention the ship aloud. He doesn't need to.

She takes a deep breath too. "How is that possible when…"

When David Jacobi didn't become an author in the original timeline?

Neither of them can say it.

"You OK?" Sara asks after the pregnant pause.

"Yeah. It's fading." A brief smirk touches his face as he studies the covers. "I had a hell of a crush on the badass blonde in these books when I was a horn…ah, a hormonal teenager." Ginny laughs as Miri and Sara snicker and Rebecca sighs, but the smirk is then followed by a lot of utter horror. "Oh, hell."

Sara eyes him. "Len? Spill."

"I had a hell of a crush on the scientist, too. Was that…"

But Sara's giggling madly now, even if none of the others quite get the joke, and she actually has to put her head in her hands to stifle it. She's not going to explain about Ray; there's so much she can't explain here, and as awesome as it is to see Rebecca and Ginny here and thriving, the emotional whiplash is taking its toll. She's pretty sure that's true for Leonard too.

Rebecca's always been pretty savvy about such things, and that hasn't decreased with time. She looks at Ginny, who nods back at her, then gets to her feet, using the walker with a low grumble.

"Let's go for a walk," she announces. "A little bit of exercise is good for this. Sara, I'd like to show you the studio." She pauses. "I know you're not going to tell us everything. Well, I guess. But can you stay…a little longer, anyway?"

"A little." Sara, regaining some control, glances at Len. "OK?"

"OK," he acknowledges, leaning back against the chair and trying to look nonchalant. "Did we give ol' Rip a time we'd get back?"

"Nope."

"Good."

Ginny, who's quite annoyed by her injury, is moving slowly, but she is moving. With Sara by her side, she crosses the yards to the other house, the one Sara and Len had left them, the one where…where…

Sara takes a deep breath, steadying herself. She glances at Ginny, who's moving with great deliberation and refusing any assistance. The older woman glances back, eyes sparkling just like they used to.

"We expanded your little studio," she says, almost apologetically. "I know you were thinking about doing it anyway. It's now the whole ground floor, minus the kitchen."

Sara thinks with regret of the master bedroom, but it's not like they'd be able to use it again anyway. "That's great. And you…"

Ginny, maneuvering around a divot in the driveway, makes a smug noise. "I've made rank in a number of disciplines now," she says with some satisfaction. "But I just teach more of a hybrid. Practical self-defense. Well…I have a lot of assistants now. I'm not supposed to spar." She grins. "I don't always listen." As they approach the door, she pauses, waving a hand. "The other half houses people staying with us, the ones who don't need the additional security as much. Those with more…security concerns…stay in the other house. And we actually have an off-site location that stays relatively secret."

Sara smiles, moving ahead to get the door. "You're expanded quite a lot."

"Yup. You made that possible, you and Mr…and Leonard." Ginny pauses again before going in. "Never stopped thinking about you two, you know. After a while, you just start rolling with the strangeness of things and accept it…"

"Ain't that the truth," Sara mutters.

"…but we always appreciated what you did. You've helped…and saved…a lot of people. You should know that."

The old woman's eyes, watching her intently, are just like the young woman's eyes had been. Maybe a little more patient, even more content now. But just as curious, as eager, as determined as before.

Sara has to blink something out of her own eyes. "C'mon. Show me this studio. Want to spar?"

"Heh. You're lucky I'm still recuperating."

Miri's returned to her desk, the monitors, and her studying. Rebecca sits and watches Leonard, hands folded in her lap, waiting on him. He varies between watching her and looking at the books he's still holding, reluctant to meet her eyes.

Only two days ago, he'd been 17 years older than her. Now she could almost be his grandmother. Time travel, he reflects, not for the first time, is headache-inducing.

Sometimes more so than others. He studies the cover of the book in his hands, eyes flickering over the image of the blond woman punching one of the bad guys on the cover. He knows authors, especially newer ones without any clout, don't get to pick anything about their book covers or cover artists, but she even sort of looks a little like Sara.

And he's stalling.

But he doesn't have the foggiest idea what to say. It would be easier to pull the Cold façade back on, but he can't, won't, do that to Rebecca. He's already done enough by not being who she thought he was, who he'd tried to appear to be in 1958.

She knows who he is now, who he really is and is afraid he'll always be, and he can't help but feel like an utter fraud.

The past never really gives you a second chance.

"You just had to go play hero, Snart," Chronos/Mick rages in his memory. "Well, yer not. Yer that same punk-ass kid, the same cold killer I know, and sooner or later all these heroes gonna know it too. You shoulda sided with me. Now, yer gonna pay and I'm gonna laugh and laugh…before I kill you too…"

He shudders.

Rebecca notices, he's pretty sure. But she doesn't comment on it, although after a moment, she does speak.

"Is there anyone else you'd like to know about?" she asks quietly. "I think we expected that, if we ever saw you again, you'd know all about it, but…only two days. How remarkable."

The word makes him think of Stein. "I know some," he says haltingly. "About the girls. And Ama's daughters. Dorothea?

Rebecca smiles at that. "Still with us. She's had some health problems recently—she's 87—but she pulled through. She has great-grandchildren now, did you know? Two boys and a girl. Lights of her life."

The thought makes him smile a little too. "Hmm. Stephen?"

The smile vanishes at that, though. "Gone," Rebecca says simply, her hands clenched together a little more tightly for a moment. "1983. A year after his partner." She sighs, seeing that Len understands the significance of the words. "That was a dark time." She shakes her head. "He stayed here, at the end. The least we could do. He was a good man."

"He was," Leonard murmurs in regret. "Sorry to hear that."

Rebecca nods, but she's apparently done letting him dodge other things for the moment. "A good man," she repeats in a murmur, looking him in the eye. "And so are you. So are you," she says again vehemently as he shakes his head. "If it hadn't been for you…"

"You saw," Leonard tells her, inwardly wincing a little at the harshness of his voice. "You saw who I am."

"I saw who you were," she corrects him calmly. "I already said that. That man, the criminal, is…was…somehow before the man I met in 1958 and the man you are now, yes?" Rebecca regards him until he nods. "Well," she continues, "That's not you anymore. Everything I saw, everything I knew and know of you, says that you're a good man. And I've known bad men, you know that. Evil men."

That's not you anymore. He's pretty sure she can't know the significance of those words. He shakes his head again anyway.

"I'm a criminal," he murmurs, staring off into the distance and thinking about what he'd once told Barry, "and a liar. And I…"

"Are you saying people don't change?" Rebecca's voice is sure in the way of a woman who's lived many years and seen many things, and who knows, in the depths of her heart, that that isn't true.

What did you expect me to do? Not be what I am?

People change, Mick.

"I thought I had a chance. A chance to start over, in a way," he tells her before he can stop himself. "And…I did. I wanted to see if I could…if I could become the person I wanted to be, once. And I did. And then the past came back and…and burned down my door, and now I don't know. Maybe we never can get away from the past. Maybe it will always hunt us down. Maybe it will always mark who we are."

"You're right."

Leonard blinks at her. Rebecca smiles.

"The past will always mark who we are," she says gently. "You're right. And maybe it should, at least at times. Otherwise, how could we learn from it? But it doesn't get the final say. You get that. You still do."

He can't really argue with that. "It doesn't bother you? What I…was?"

Rebecca shakes her head, and he thinks she's trying to convey how serious she is by the look in her eyes.

" 'The past is a foreign country,' " she quotes softly. " 'They do things differently there.' "

For a long moment, they're both silent.

Then Rebecca nods firmly, getting to her feet. "Now," she says briskly, "I want to give you a tour too. We've done so much. And you should see it, before you go."

Leonard looks much more like himself by the time Sara and Ginny return, talking animatedly about martial arts disciplines and self-defense. Sara studies him intently, getting a smirk, and after a moment, he moves toward her, reaching out a hand to settle it at her waist.

Ginny laughs at them, lifting an eyebrow as she takes a seat (Rebecca fussing at her to get off her feet and rest). She leans forward, studying Leonard again.

"You are a grade A cut of beef, aren't you?" she says admiringly. "Thought I'd remembered that right. What do the kids say these days? Yummy."

Sara laughs, while Rebecca, looking appalled, nudges her and Leonard just smirks more.

"I'm old," Ginny tells her wife, unrepentant. "I can say what I want."

"When did you ever not?" Rebecca mutters, but shakes her head, trying to hide a smile.

Ginny's grinning at Sara now. "Not that you're not cute," she adds, humor in her tone. "But I like brunettes."

Rebecca blushes.

Yes, the more things change, Sara thinks, the more they stay the same.

They don't stay much longer, but it's still good to have had a little more closure on some things. Sara and Leonard promise to visit more if they can, and Miri promises to stay quiet (for now at least) about the return of the family legends.

They get hugged again, soundly, as they'd been hugged two days ago, but they're both smiling a little as they drive away from the house. Sara glances over, studying his profile, and gets a smile in return. A smile that's far more genuine than any she'd seen since he'd walked down to the brig not that long ago.

"I think," she tells him suddenly, as they head toward the city's outskirts and the Waverider's parking spot, "that we need to tell Rip that we have one more stop to make."

Len lifts an eyebrow at her. "Oh?" he drawls, making a turn. "And where is that?"

"Nickel City. The real question…is when."

October 1981

Somehow, it'd gotten dark out while he'd been writing.

David Jacobi blinks at the darkness outside the store windows, then chuckles, shaking his head. He's a little surprised Meghan hadn't called to break into his writing haze after the store's closing time had come and gone, but she knows him. She knows him so well, and she knows he's been obsessed with this story idea. If it'd been much longer, she would have called. He wants some time with the kids, 10-year-old Len and 5-year-old Becky, before bedtime, after all.

"Oh, well," he says to himself, flipping the cover of his notebook closed. "It's a good stopping point. I'll type it up tomorrow."

Usually, he'd get up at this point, turn the sign at the front of the bookstore to "closed" and lock the door. But he doesn't yet, for some reason. Instead, David, now 35, putters around a bit first, rinsing his coffee mug in the sink at the back and double-checking the list of orders that came in today, lingering just a tiny bit longer.

When the bell at the front of the shop rings, he glances up, ready to tell the newcomer that the store's actually closed.

The words never emerge.

"Hello, David," Leonard Wynters says, looking exactly as David remembers, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes oddly tentative. "Been a while. Sorry I couldn't say hi before now."

In that moment, the grown man gapes back, feeling like a 12-year-old boy again.

"I…" he says after a minute, rising from behind the counter. "I'm dreaming, aren't I?

"Nope." Len's lips twist in what might almost be a smile. "I hear you're married now. Got kids. Mazel tov."

"Thanks." David shakes his head, closing his eyes, then takes a deep breath and finds his voice again.

"Are you OK?" he asks the man who'd convinced him he wasn't worthless. "Is Ms. Nyssen OK? Mr. and Mrs. Pratt? Their baby?"

Len nods at each question, drifting closer. "I'm fine. Sara's OK, so are the others. It…it hasn't really been long, for us." He pauses. "You good? Happy?"

There's something wistful in the tone. David lifts an eyebrow at it—hell, he'd even gotten that gesture from Leonard—but nods.

"Yes," he says firmly. "Extremely. You were right." He continues as Leonard cocks his head to the side. "About being who I want to be. I am." He smiles a little. "And I'm nothing like my dad."

He gets the oddest sensation, then, that those words are just what the oldest man wanted, needed, to hear, just like they'd been for him so long ago. Leonard Wynters blinks, then nods.

"Good," he murmurs, then sighs, meeting David's eyes. "I can't stay long and I'm sorry about that. But…you stopped trying to sell the books you've written. You need to start again."

Not what he'd expected to hear. David blinks in return.

"Do they make a difference?" he asks, realizing he's sort of giving away his longtime oddball supposition that Leonard and his friends had been involved in some sort of time travel.

Leonard smiles a little. "More than you'll ever know," he says, as if to himself. "Yes, they will."

Tired of rejection letters, David had gone back to writing short stories and selling them to the plethora of genre magazines available at the moment. It was a decent niche, and an outlet, and he was fine with it. But…

"I'll do it," he says immediately. "I want to rework them just a little, but…I can send them out Monday." He pauses, wanting desperately to ask more, but then sighs. He's read enough science fiction to know the other man probably can't say much.

"Great." Leonard studies him a few moments longer. "Take care of yourself," he says after a minute, almost hesitantly. "Don't…"

David holds up a hand, then, suddenly sure that he doesn't want to hear more.

"I don't want to know," he says sharply, then gentles the tone a little as the other man looks surprised. "I love my life and my family. And I don't want to mess that up by…by tinkering with things that shouldn't be tinkered with. I'll get what I get and make the most of it."

Leonard nods after a moment. And, yes, that is a real smile, finally.

"Gotcha," he says, then shakes his head. "If…if a few years down the road, a few decades, if you see news reports about a man who looks like me doing…well…things you don't think I'd do…. Just remember that people change. OK?"

Curiouser and curiouser. "I'll remember."

"Good." Leonard reaches out, then, and claps him on the arm. "I can't say we won't meet again. Can't say we will. But good luck. I'm proud of you."

His birth father had always said that men don't cry. His birth father had been full of shit. David Jacobi finds his eyes welling up, and he can't even remotely feel sorry about that.

"Thanks," he says roughly. "Means a lot. And thanks for the letter, back in 1958."

"Felt bad I had to leave." Leonard hesitates again, and are the other man's eyes suspiciously bright too? They are. Still, after a minute, he pats David's arm again, then turns and heads for the door.

Leonard pauses, though, right before leaving, and looks back.

"For the record," he says after a moment, "you said some things I needed to hear, too. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

But Leonard Wynters is gone again, out into the autumn night, and David Jacobi considers the door a moment before he moves forward and locks it, turning the sign to closed. He double-checks that everything's off, then heads out the back door, locking up and heading for home and his family.

He has, he thinks, quite a story to tell his son.