Mick knew he would have his hands full the moment they stepped foot in the prison. Haircut immediately started waving at the inmates with a huge grin on his face, as if he didn’t realize this whole damn place was filled with criminals.

“Hey. Hi. Howdy. How you doing?” Mick rolled his eyes, already fed up with this guy.
“What the hell are you doing?” He should have known he’d only get a stupid response in return.

“Just being friendly,” Ray told him. Friendly. In prison. Really? It only got worse when the tech billionaire added, “This must be where they keep the VIPs.”

Mick scoffed. “This is prison, jack ass. There are no VIPs.” Seriously. What did he think happened here after he and his vigilante buddies sent all the crooks to jail?

Ray ignored him, as they passed by some of the older inmates' cells. “Some of these guys have been here a while.” He glanced inside the cell of one particularly sleazy looking man with matted grey hair and a tarnished blue hat. Mick could tell just from looking at the old bastard that he was trouble, and he had a few guesses about what had landed the guy in this hellscape. Murder. Probably rape. Mick wouldn’t have been surprised if he was one of those sick bottom feeders that preyed on children. Bottom line: he wasn’t someone a person like Ray should be talking to.

That didn’t stop Haircut from getting a huge grin on his face and moving towards his cell. “Hey, maybe this guy knows where Stein and Carter are.” He stopped walking for a moment, opening his mouth to say something to the old man; for a moment Mick panicked. Sure the sleazball was behind bars at the moment, but there was no telling what he might do later. And he’d tell Ray anything just so he could get him alone.

Mick stopped, ready to yank Haircut away from the cell and make him keep walking… He didn’t have to. A second after they stopped, the guards yelled something in Russian (the Englishman's pill things must have warn off, because he couldn’t understand a damn word they were saying now) and shoved them forward.

Mick glared at Ray, hoping the message would actually sink in if he just spelt it out for him. “The only thing you should be worrying about, Haircut, is lasting the night.” Mick wasn’t sure if he could babysit much longer than that. The team should have rescued him by then. Maybe Leonard would even get Mick out too.

Ray shook his head, apparently not realizing he had thoroughly been screwed over. “They need help. They're in trouble.”

“News flash: so are we.” The guards stopped them in front of a cell, and Mick got an overwhelming sense of familiarity as the warden tugged the door open. He’d gone through all of this so many times it was like second nature to him now. The musty smelling walls in the small room that barely fit one person, never mind a person of Mick's size. Mattresses ripped to shreds by moths and who knew what else. Rusted bars for a door. It was all…strangely homey.

He would probably be fine if the others took their time to get here… But there was no way in hell Ray was going to survive. At least they were in the same cell. That would make it easier to watch over him and make sure he didn’t get himself into too much trouble.

The guards gripped them roughly and shoved them into the cell harshly so that they stumbled over themselves. Mick turned and growled at them, as they slammed the bar door shut.

Ray glanced at the thin mattresses on the bunk beds. “You think they’ll bring us some blankets later?”

Mick stared at him for a moment. “Yeah, and they’ll bring martinis and stripers that give you lap dances.”

Ray stared back at him, actually having enough common sense to pick up on Mick’s sarcasm. “Really?” he asked skeptically. 

“No, you idiot!” Mick rolled his eyes. He moved over to the barred window at the back of the room, peering out into the yard. It wasn’t much. Once you’d seen one you’d seen them all – a pathetic basketball court, weight lifting area, and a lame grassy space spread out a few feet with bleachers in every corner. Fences stood in between the solitary confinement (Mick had ended up there more than once. Good times…) and the space where the rest of the inmates would be.

He didn’t particularly care, but Mick couldn’t help thinking the professor was probably being held there. Maybe Bird Man too. Mick grunted and turned away from the window. Wherever they were they could deal with it themselves. Mick was already going to have his hands full with Haircut. He didn’t need to worry about two jack asses that he couldn’t even see.

Ray didn’t share that mentality. He was already babbling on and on about how they could find someone to help them locate Bird Man and the Professor once they got to the yard. (Mick doubted that.)

At some point Mick had migrated to the top bunk. Ray was perched on the bottom bunk, still yammering away. At some point it had stopped being about Stein and Bird Man, and he had started spouting random nonsense Mick only half listened to.

He was already starting to get on his nerves, and it hadn’t even been five minutes yet. Mick snapped when he brought up ants in Manhattan. “Do you ever stop talking?”

Haircut stopped for a moment, apparently realizing he was being annoying. One might assume that would be enough to shut it him the hell up. It was not. “Sorry, it just feels like we’ve been in here for ages. How long has it been anyways?”

Mick sighed. “It hasn’t even been one minute yet, Haircut.”

“Oh. Really?”

“Yeah.” He paused for a moment before deciding it was best to be straight with him. “You're gonna die in here.”

Ray seemed a bit offended by that idea. “What makes you think that?”

“’Cause I’m not gonna baby sit you the whole time we’re in this dump,” Mick said without a second thought.

“Well, what makes you think you’ll have to baby sit me?” Ray asked.

Mick rolled his eyes. He couldn’t believe he actually had to explain it to him. “Haircut, have you ever even so much as had a parking ticket before?”

He couldn’t see him from where he was perched on his bunk, but Mick got the feeling Ray was scrunching his face up in confusion. “Uh, no. But what does that have to do with –”

“You don’t belong in here, Haircut. These guys are gonna eat you alive as soon as you step foot on that yard.” Mick nodded at the window where the yard was, even though Ray probably couldn’t see him either. “That is unless you don’t stop talking. Then, I’ll kill you first.”

“Pfft. No you won’t.”

“Wanna bet?”

“Uh, we could. But if we did and you killed me then I wouldn’t be able to give you anything after you’d won the bet. Because I’d be dead.”

Mick rolled his eyes. Fortunately, he had managed to nick a lighter from one of the guards before they’d tossed them in this joint. Unfortunately, as soon as Mick took it out and flicked it on Haircut got curious about it.

Ray poked his head up from the bottom bunk, tilting it to the side as he peaked over the railing of the bed at Mick. “Is that a lighter? Have you had that this whole time?”

Mick groaned. Determined not to look at the brown eyed man, Mick put all of his energy into focusing on the flame in the lighter. “I’m using it,” Mick said, not answering Ray's questions.

“To do what?” Ray asked.

“To ignore you,” Mick told him.

“Hm,” Ray mused. “Well, you’re not doing a very good job, considering you’re still responding to me.” Without looking away from the lighter, Mick reached up and shoved Ray back to the ground. As he hit the floor he let out a soft, “Omph.” Mick smirked at that.

{~}

At some point Carter had fallen unconscious, and when he woke up he had no idea where he was. The room was spacious, but there was so much junk stuffed inside of it, it was hard to tell.

Random artifacts – helmets, swords, shields, staffs, knives, even a golden pallet that looked suspiciously like the Rosetta Stone – were placed on thick, wooden shelves in a very disorganized manner. Ugly paintings of gruesome wars, some of which Carter vaguely remembered being part of, were slapped sloppily on to the walls, covering just about every inch of it.

The place looked like a very disorganized museum. Ugh. Carter really hated those. They never got his face right in the paintings of Prince Khufu in the Egyptian exhibits. Not to mention the stories were always completely wrong. (Not that he planned the regular mortal people. Ancient Egypt had been thousands of years ago. They couldn’t possibly keep all the details in order.)

Carter slowly rose to his feet, only to wince as he put pressure on his foot. He looked down at his leg to see it was bleeding, but someone had wrapped a bandage around the gun shot wound. (He had almost forgotten he’d been shot back at Luskavic Labs.) Carefully, Carter placed his foot on the ground, making sure he didn’t put too much pressure on it.

He froze in his tracks a moment later, though. He’d never been able to explain how, but whenever Savage was near by he’d always been able to sense it; and vise versa Savage had always been able to tell when either he or Kendra were near by.

The sensation was something like electroshock, though increased ten fold. Carter was unable to move a muscle for several minutes, his eyes going wide as his heart rate picked up. He clenched his jaw shut tightly, and when he was able to move again he whirled around to find Savage  standing in the door way.

He had grown his hair out a little past his shoulders, and his dark beard was trimmed a bit shorter. But it was, without a doubt, him. His eyes gave it all away, even if Carter hadn’t spent hundred of life times memorizing his every facial feature.

It was the eyes that had always startled him the most, even before he had murdered them in their first life. The way they gleamed against the lighting in the room, just like the blades of the knives he so enjoyed killing them with.

Savage looked him dead in the eyes, a soft grin forming on his lips as if they were old friends. His tone suggested nothing of the sort. It was low, malicious, just like a serial murderer. (Did it count as serial murder if he’d just been killing the same two people over and over?) “Oh, you’re awake. Good. It would have been boring to kill you while you were unconscious.”

Carter couldn’t breathe, too many emotions running through his veins at once. He was stuck in between the raging sea and a tornado of fear; it was a wonder he hadn’t toppled over from it all. Carter struggled to somehow find his voice. Nothing came out.

In truth he had never been very brave or confident about any of this. He had only been pretending for Kendra's sake. He’d only been hoping because it was the last thing he had to hope for, the last thing he had to keep himself from falling apart and drowning in an ocean of despair. This mission had been his life raft.

Now, standing alone in front of Savage it all crumpled to dust before he even knew what was happening. Carter was paralyzed. His feet were glued to the floor, and his throat closed up, making it impossible to even breathe. Selfishly, he wished Kendra were there. At least with her he wouldn’t have been dying alone.

Carter quickly changed his mind about that, however, as he remembered what he had overheard a few nights ago. It was safer for her to be far away from here. Carter wouldn’t be able to protect her. He’d never been able to.

Savage stepped into the room, slowly inching closer to the Egyptian Prince. The action was enough to get Carter's legs working again. He stumbled back, trying to put as much distance between himself and Savage as he could. Pointless, really, considering he could have just tossed any number of these weapons and killed him from a distance just as easily.

Carter winced, accidentally putting too much pressure on his injured leg. He grit his teeth, grabbing hold of the nearest glass case to keep himself upright.

“You grow weaker and weaker with every lifetime. Pathetic, truly,” Savage commented. He sounded annoyed, as if it were his fault he’d died over two hundred times. A wave of hatred washed over him, and Carter latched on to it before it slipped away, hoping it would somehow provide him enough strength to get through this.

“Maybe you should let me kill you for the next two hundred life times,” Carter snapped. “See if you’re such a cocky bastard after that.”

From the look in the immortal's eyes Carter was certain he was a dead man. (At least he’d go out on a high note this time.) But Savage had yet to make a move. Instead, he just stood there, glaring at Carter like he was one of those children on a plane that wouldn’t stop screaming at the top of their lungs. “You will never be able to end my life, Khufu. Next to you I am a god, which is precisely why it will always be you who is destined to die by my hand.”

Carter desperately held on to his hatred for the other man, refusing to give him the satisfaction of letting him know he scared the living shit out of him. Despite it being the last thing he wanted to envision, he let himself imagine Savage with Kendra.

He let himself think of what had happened between the two of them, let the mental images of her chained against the wall, desperately trying to fight her attacker off to no avail wash over him. Just so he could feel the anger. So he could put all his energy into hating Savage rather than be afraid of him.

Absently, he wondered if this is what Rory felt like all the time. That burning hot flame of rage, fanned by the winds of hate, which only strengthened the fire, causing it to burn brighter, hotter. Carter couldn’t imagine feeling that way all the time. His vision was already blurring with the color red. He’d never be able to see straight if this were a constant in his life. Then again, maybe it was already a constant.

This had been building up for quite some time. Since the first time Savage had taken their lives away from them. He’d been shoving it down for Kendra's sake, trying to protect her, trying to save her further despair by making the best of it.

But that had been useless. Pointless. It didn’t do anything. It didn’t save her. Savage still hurt her. Over and over. At this point he didn’t even give two shits what happened to himself, as long as Kendra was safe. Except she wouldn’t be. Neither of them would be. Ever. Not as long as Vandal Mother Fucking Savage was alive.

Carter clenched his fists at his side, sure that his skin was going to burn right off from the rage he had summoned from the deep pits of denial. “How many times have you done it?”

Savage had the audacity to look confused for a moment before putting on a smug smirk. “How many times have a killed you?”

“No. How many times have you…” He faulted her for a moment. “How many times have you raped her?” The words left a bitter taste in his mouth. Somehow saying it out loud made it all the more real, and it left his guts twisting violently.

He wanted to punch Savage's teeth down his throat, but he knew he would never get close enough to do it. Even if he wasn’t injured he still would have been useless against him. That was the most infuriating part of all of this. Carter couldn’t do anything about it, and Savage knew it.

Savage's smirk widened, as if he were actually proud of his actions. “Once in nearly every life time,” Savage admitted. “Though rape is such a nasty word for it. It is merely intercourse in which we skipped the constant.” That was just pouring gasoline on the fire that was Carter’s rage.

“Yeah,” Carter said, his voice sounding a bit off even to himself. “Well, maybe you’re a bit slow since you haven’t gotten to the twenty-first century yet, but sex without consent is called rape, you dumb shit.” It was probably foolish, pushing his luck so much, but in the moment he didn’t care. He had gotten in too deep, and now all he could see was that blinding rage.

Savage rolled his eyes like Carter was being unreasonable. “Oh, consent is such a waste of time. Why bother?”

Carter glared at him, practically shaking with fury. It took all of his self control not to lunge at the sick bastard. Besides, with his leg being injured he’d never be able to take him. “Shut up,” Carter hissed.

Savage smirked as he realized he was getting to him. He stepped further into the room, circling around some of the artifacts so he was standing behind him; and Carter grit his teeth, twisting his injured leg the wrong way as he whirled around, trying to keep the psychopath in his line of vision.

“I have already killed you in this life time,” Savage went on, not even remotely put off by Carter's lame attempt at a threat. “But thanks to Rip Hunter bringing you back from some point in the future I get to do it twice.” He sounded like a giddy child on Christmas.

For a moment Carter lost his grip on the rage. Fear trespassed his mind before he could stop it, and he worried Savage knew about it. But then Savage flashed another one of his sickening grins, and with his next words the rage came racing back to him. “And then perhaps I will pay Cha-Ara a little visit and we can…get reacquainted.”

“Don't touch her!” Carter shouted, throwing a glare Savage’s way.

“How would you stop me?” He didn’t sound remotely worried about being stopped. Probably because he knew he couldn’t be. He could do whatever he wanted, because no one could stop him, not even Rip and the Legends.

Savage took Carter’s silence as invitation to push more buttons. “I would be doing her a favor.” Despite knowing the odds were against him, he found himself attacking Savage.

His wings sprouted from his back, his feet lifting off the ground, as he flew towards the immortal soon to be tyrant. He managed to land a hit, causing Savage to stumble slightly before he took hold of Carter's arm and tossed him across the room.

Carter slammed into a wall of glass cases, shattering them on impact and knocking the artifacts to the floor.

{~}

Leonard had been avoiding the others, namely Rip. He was very vocal about blaming him for getting their team mates captured and thrown into the gulag; Leonard had never voiced it, but Deserey couldn’t help feeling like he blamed her as well.

She was the reason Mick had gotten taken, after all. If she hadn’t hit him with her sand nightmare then maybe he would have had a fighting chance of getting away. Also the fact that she had literally shot his hand off. That was another reason for him to be bitter at her.

Aside from that, Michael was still locked away in the brig, impatiently waiting for the Legends decision on just what they planned to do with him. He was very loud, too, so it was hard to forget about him. He annoyed Rip more than anything, and the two had gotten into more than one argument.

The dog from Carter's past life had been thrown into deep despair, missing her human now that he had been captured by Savage. Kendra stayed with the dog, doing her best to take care of her. But the poor four legged creature refused to even eat or drink anything. All she did was lay on the floor at the foot of Carter’s bed, head between her paws, making pouty eyes.

Sara had taken to demolishing the dummies in the training room in order to get her frustrations out. No one dared to bother her, lest they be decapitated too.

Jax's condition had become rather critical, as Vostok and her band of mad scientists tortured Stein for information, thanks to his psychic connection to the professor. He had gotten rather sleep deprived during the first night of their team mates' kidnapping, and he looked terrible because of it.

Deserey tried to lose herself in her art in order to distract herself from all the worry and self deprecation – it had started giving her a headache. Only, she could never stay focused on any one drawing for longer than three seconds before the dark thoughts settled in.

It was all she could do to keep herself away from razors and knives, to ignore the urge to attempt to get Gideon to give her pills again.

She started walking aimlessly around the ship, when all else failed… which eventually lead to her getting lost. (Embarrassing, really. She had been on the ships for weeks now, and she was still getting lost. Though, in her defense all the halls looked exactly the same.)

On the first day/second night their friends were stuck in prison, Deserey was walking through the halls, searching for the bridge, when she ran into Jax. He was walking in the opposite direction she was, slumped over slightly as he trudged along, yawning like crazy.

Deserey spoke slowly, hoping she could get some hints about where she was without letting him know she was all turned around. She didn’t want to admit it to him, worried it might prompt some teasing. “Hey, Jax. Uh, where you headed?”

Jax stopped walking, flashing her a small smirk. “Why? You lost or something?”

Dez scoffed, laughing in a manner that was much too obvious. “Me? Lost? Pfft, no! Why would you think that?” She folded her arms over herself, leaning against the wall in an overly casual act…. Then, she fell right back to the floor, the wall moving out from under her.

Jax snorted, moving to help her to her feet. “Well, I guess you found it,” he muttered.

Deserey frowned at him. “Huh? Found what?” She turned her head to see what he was referring to, letting out a sharp gasp. “Oh my… What the… Holy shit.”

To say she was stunned was an understatement. Behind the wall she had been leaning on, there was a large, twenty by twenty room hidden. White marble floors were polished so that she could see her reflection in it. The walls were painted with a beautiful pearl color; and at the back of the room there was a small set of stars leading up to a little platform.

On the platform sat a cluster of easels, each with a blank canvas perched in it, a table full of paints and brushes at the center of it all. Scattered throughout the room were shelves of more art supplies: buckets of paint, pencils, sketch pads, brushes, pens, etc.

Sitting on pedestals were sculptors, Deserey's designs from when she had been dabbling in pottery. On the walls hung various paintings and drawings of Deserey's, some of which she had discarded long ago and forgotten about.

She whirled around, staring at Jax with wide eyes, still stumbling over her words a bit. “What…How…Did – did you do this?” She pointed at the room.

Jax grinned, chuckling a little at her reaction. He gave her a half shrug, leaning in the door way. “Some of it, but it’s mostly Ray's doing. The whole thing was sorta his idea.”

Deserey opened her mouth to say something, only to find she was utterly speechless. She turned back to the room, her hand covering her mouth.  “Wow,” she managed. “I mean… What the fuck?”

“Pretty awesome, right?” Jax said.

Deserey nodded, letting out a short laugh. “Hell, yeah.” She walked further into the room, examining the art work. “How did you guys get these?”

“Well, they’re not all originals. Most of them are replicas fabricated by Gideon,” Jax said. “We, uh, might have had to do a bit of internet stalking.”

Deserey laughed at that. “Does Rip know about this?” She gestured around the room.

Jax nodded. “It was Ray's idea so of course he asked Rip permission before changing one of his storage room’s into an art studio. And I guess I’m the mechanic now, so he let me in on it too.”

“Wow,” Dez said again. She couldn’t remember the last time she had smiled this much. There was a warm feeling in her heart that she was unfamiliar with. Something she found rather comforting.

“Oh, yeah, there’s one more feature about this room that I think you’re really gonna like.” Jax walked over to a panel on the wall, pressing a button. Instantly, the set up of the room changed. The pedestals and easels stayed where they were, but the flooring and walls flickered for a moment, switching so that it looked as though Jax and Dez were standing in the middle of a beach on a bright, sunny day. 

“Ha! What?” Deserey shouted, laughing once more and covering her mouth with her hand again. “This is amazing!”

The scenery flickered for a moment before turning back to the white marble and pearl. “There's still a kink or two to work out but…” Jax shrugged, grinning broadly. Dez grinned back. She would have complimented it more, but suddenly Jax hunched over in pain, grimacing terribly as he stumbled.

Deserey ran over to his side, frowning. “Jax! Are you okay?” She grabbed his arm, hoping to steady him.

He nodded, righting himself. “Yeah,” he said, wincing slightly. “They’re really prying at him in there.”

Deserey frowned, as Jax let out another tired yawn. She was worried for both him and Martin. Before she could voice any of her concerns, though, Jax said, “Well enjoy the studio. I’m gonna go get a sedative from Gideon.” He started to leave before turning around again. “Oh, and the bridge is two lefts and down the hall.”

Dez blushed, not even questioning how he knew that was the room she’d been looking for. She was too embarrassed that he’d figured it out. “Thanks, Jax. For the room and the directions.”

{~}

Later that night Deserey found Leonard in his room. He was sitting in the chair at the desk in the back of the room, one leg propped over his knee. His head was resting in the palm of his hand.
Dez gave him a little wave. “Hey…”
Leonard barely looked up at her to respond. “…Hey.”

He’d been thinking about the recent events rather in depth since getting back from Luskavic Labs. Rip didn’t exactly seem to be in a hurry to get any of their friends out of the gulag. Why would he? It wasn’t like he actually gave a shit about any of them.

So, Leonard had been trying to think of something to save them, namely his partner, but Gideon was being less than helpful, claiming that Rip wanted everyone to wait until the morning before they started plotting their rescue mission. What a douche.

Deserey couldn’t help but notice that he’d switched out his parka for a leather jacket. Recalling that navy blue was a color of control and composure, Dez wondered if he had changed his attire because he felt he were spiraling.

It was possible, all things considered. His partner in crime had just been taken, Rip had ignored his request for backup. Never mind that little trip to his past. In fact, he had been wearing the leather jacket since that night, Dez realized. That last thought had the sea from the night Rip first gathered the team refilling her lungs, forgetting all about the giddiness Jax and Ray's surprise had given her earlier.

Deserey looked down at her feet, tugging at a strand of her hair as her eyes started to water lamely. “I’m sorry,” she mumbled.

Leonard glanced at her, sitting upright when he caught sight of the state she was in. “For what? Shooting my hand off?” Somehow he knew that wasn’t quite it, but he kept going anyway. “It's fine… just maybe don’t touch my gun, alright? You’ve got a terrible shot.”

Deserey shook her head, not meeting his eyes. She tugged on her hair some more, so much so that Leonard wondered how it wasn’t hurting her scalp. “I – no. I mean, that too, but I…”

She started to cry, feeling stupid for breaking down in front of him. Dez tugged at her hair, still not looking at him. “It was an accident, I swear. I didn’t mean to see any of it.”

Leonard stared at her, the gears in his head spinning wildly. He stood up and crossed the room, closing the space between them. “Dez,” he said slowly, gently pulling her hands away from her hair, “what are you talking about? What did you see?”

“I…” She faltered over her words, looking worried. “I saw…I saw you…” She shifted, pulling her hands away from Leonard and tugging at her hair again.

He pushed them down again. “Dez, stop that. Tell me what’s wrong?” It was starting to get a bit awkward. Leonard had never been the touchy feely type, and he hated skirting around the point. Little did he know things were about to get even more awkward.

Deserey pursed her lips. She squinted her eyes shut, trying to keep herself from crying even more and looking like an idiot. “I saw you when you went back to your old house,” Dez said quickly. Best to just get it over with. Rip it off just like a Band-Aid. 

Leonard blanched. He took a step back, nodding slowly. It was sort of like running face first into a glass window and then proceeding to bust through said glass window and get cut up all to hell from the broken shards.

Deserey finally looked up at him, her eyed a bit red and puffy from her crying. She wiped her eyes, heart hammering in her chest as she saw the blank expression on his face. “Are you mad?” When he didn’t respond, Dez really started to panic. “Oh, god. You are. You’re mad, I can tell.”

Dez started tugging at her hair again, yanking on it harder. Leonard didn’t stop her. He didn’t move. He didn’t say anything. He just stood there, staring vacantly.

Her breathing became labored, and the walls suddenly looked as if they were closing in on her. She tripped and fell, backing herself against the wall, tugging on her hair until she’d started yanking a few strands out of her scalp, her breathing raged and labored. She looked up at Leonard, begging. “Please. Please, say something. Anything. Even if it’s rude and hurtful. Yell, scream. Just… please say something!”

Deserey had never been able to handle the silent treatment very well. She’d always get thrown into an anxiety attack whenever it happened.

Leonard glanced down at her. Normally, he wouldn’t have felt any sort of sympathy towards her in a moment like this. Other people’s emotional issues weren’t his problem, after all. There might have even been a time, before the Flash, that he would have even gone so far as to kill her for invading his privacy.

But for some unfathomable reason, Leonard couldn’t quite bring himself to be so indifferent. He blamed being on this ship for so long. It was making him soft. Len rolled his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I’m not mad.”

Deserey stopped tugging at her hair, looking up at him. Her eyes were glassy and watery, but even so she managed to raise a skeptical eyebrow. “You’re not?”

“No,” Leonard admitted quietly. “I just said that so you’d stop spazzing. I’m pissed.” He paused, glancing away from her with his next words. Somehow looking at her made it even worse. “But I can’t say anything that’ll make you un-see what you saw, so what’s the point in yelling at you?”

Dez frowned. “I – um…” She looked down. Leonard glanced around the room. It was one of those rare, irritating moments when he didn’t quite know what to do with himself. He’d done his best to ignore anything and everything to do with Lewis Snart, especially considering recent events. Yet he was still pissing Leonard off from beyond the grave. Bastard.

Deserey slowly got to her feet again, titling her head to the side, wearing this…look. Something Leonard, much to his annoyance, couldn’t place.
“It's –”

“Don't,” Leonard snapped. He wasn’t entirely sure what she’d been about to say, but he was sure it was one of those stupid things people liked to say in order to make themselves feel better. He didn’t need that. “Just…forget about it, okay?”

“…No.” Deserey shook her head. Her demeanor had completely changed now. She had gone from a complete train wreck to stern mother in the count of three seconds; she had her hands folded over herself, staring at Len, her eyes hard as rocks.

Leonard was so stunned he actually met her gaze. No one ever spoke to him like that. Not even Mick or Lisa. “What?”

“No,” Deserey said, her voice much more sturdy now, if not a little tired. “You’re acting like it doesn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t,” he said. Why the hell were they still talking about this? There were more important things to worry about.

“It does,” Deserey said.

Leonard rolled his eyes. “I’m not the only one on this ship with daddy issues.”

“So?” She shrugged, as if his point were completely irrelevant. “That doesn’t mean yours aren’t important too.”

Leonard stared at her, an odd feeling developing. It was how he imagined being suffocated by a plastic bag might feel: tightness in the chest, vision impaired, spikes of panic throughout the spine. “I’m not your charity case. Don’t act like you care just because you feel guilty.”

She eyed him, somehow looking exhausted and stern all at once. “You started it when you and the others made a suicide watch for me. You don’t want me to care about you, stop caring about me.”

“…Whatever.” He spun around, desperately trying to keep up his cool demeanor. Leonard flopped down on his bed, propping one leg over the other; he fiddled with the ring on his pinkie finger. Somehow that always calmed his nerves in these rare moments when he let something get to him.

The only problem was he could still feel Dez's eyes watching him intensely, so it didn’t do much in this instance. He glanced up at her, tight jawed, muscles tensed, growing more than little frustrated. “Did you need something?”

Deserey shrugged again. She shifted for a moment, then slowly came forward and sat on the foot of his bed. He watched her curiously. She looked tired now that she had stopped flipping out, her shoulders dropping slightly as if her muscles were weakening. Still, she managed to say, “You’re deflecting.”

“Excuse me?” Leonard said, sitting up a bit. He was suffocating again.

She shrugged, letting out a soft yawn. “It’s fine. We don’t have to talk about it. But um…” She trailed off, practically falling asleep even though she was still sitting up. “Uh…”

Leonard spotted the out and latched on to it immediately. “Dez, go to sleep.”

“Hm? Yeah, good plan,” she yawned. “Scoot over.”

He blinked. “I didn’t really mean in here.”

“I have a very mild case of narcolepsy,” Dez told him, yawning again. “It really only effects me after an anxiety attack, but when it does I fall asleep almost immediately. I know you’re probably pissed at me still but I’m not gonna make it back to my room before passing out. So, scoot over.”

Leonard stared at her, completely baffled. “You do realize that I’m one of CCPD's most wanted? I derailed a train once. I could kill you if I wanted to, and I could hide the body somewhere no one would ever find it.”

“Hm? Spooky. Now, scooch.” Dez waved her hand at him, motioning for him to move over. He rolled his eyes but complied. Deserey laid down next to him, curling up into herself, closing her eyes. It was the most peaceful he had seen her since they’d entered the ship. The sight had that suffocating sensation returning once more…except this time it wasn’t quite like that. It was more pleasant than that.

“I killed him.” It came out before he even knew he was saying it. Before he could stop himself. That would have been bad enough, but there was also a bit more emotion in his voice than he would have liked there to be.

Deserey's eyes shot open, and she dropped herself up on her elbow. “What? Who?”

Leonard hesitated, fiddling with the ring again. “My…” Well, dad wasn’t really the right word, but he couldn’t think of a more accurate one. “My father.” He wasn’t sure why he was telling her. The only people who knew besides Lisa and himself were the Flash and his friends. And that was only because they’d been there when it happened. Leonard hadn’t even told Mick yet.

Deserey looked at him, her eyes doing that watery/glassy thing. It was nerve wracking how distracting that was. Leonard focused all his attention on twisting the ring around his finger. “He put a bomb in my sister’s neck so I shot him with the Cold Gun…and killed him.”

He thought she was going to say something stupid, but instead she leaned forward, wrapping one arm around him and laying her head against his chest. Instinctively, he tensed; and Dez pulled away immediately. “Sorry, I forgot you don’t like touching…”

Len glanced at her. Her face was a little red, and she was biting her lip awkwardly. Leonard found himself shrugging off his initial discomfort. He shook his head. “No, it’s fine.” Deserey nodded slowly, gently placing her head back down and looping her arm around him again before drifting off to sleep. It was actually sort of comforting… Somehow.

These chapters seem to be getting longer and longer 🤔 Sorry, hopefully that’s not a problem, I just get carried away sometimes. I hope you enjoy the chapters despite the length.

I was going to do an interlude first, but then I really wanted to do this chapter so… yeah.