#its south park let me take it easy ugh finally i can draw in a style thats easy rottmnt artstyle kicked my ass | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

stillthewordgirl · 5 years

Text

CaptainCanary fic: With Eyes Wide Open (ch. 1 of ?)

In a world where Rip Hunter never formed the Legends, Leonard Snart is trying to mend his ways and work with Team Flash, though sometimes it's easier than others. Meanwhile, Sara Lance is gradually dealing with the blood lust left behind by the Pit and trying to get used to being a hero again herself. When they encounter each other one day in Central City, it seems like a match that just might be meant to be.

But nothing with these two is ever easy.

This is going to be an accidental pregnancy fic, one in which both contributors to said pregnancy decide to continue their relationship and do their best with it. If you don't like such things, be warned.

I don't usually write this trope, but an idea grabbed me. Hope you enjoy. And happy birthday to Tavyn and crazygirlne! (And many thanks to Pir8grl!)

Can also be read here at AO3 or here at FF.net.

Leonard Snart doesn’t really want to be here.

Sure, he’d been kinda working with the Flash and the other heroes for a few years now. He’d done that of his own free will, even, driven by the need for something new, for a challenge, for yet another way to prove that he wasn’t (and would never be) his father. And while the CCPD (and some of the more general populace) still weren’t sure what to make of the change in Captain Cold, he was generally accepted as being more or less on the side of the angels these days.

(Of course, he kept his hand in. Wouldn’t do to let the old skills slide. But as long as Team Flash and the CCPD don't know, no harm done. Right?)

Still, even though he’d been one of those who’d helped quash this newest threat to the city—a tech-talented meta who’d gone the giant-robots-for-world-domination route—this celebration at STAR Labs is a little...squeaky clean for him. Boring, even. Heroes from a couple of different cities earnestly rehashing the fight, comparing notes and costumes and tech, exclaiming as they run across old friends. (They all seem to know each other. It’s a little creepy.)

Someone had acquired beer and pizza—they’d probably even paid for it, given this lot—and Ramon’s put on some music. Nothing to Len’s taste, of course, just modern crap with an awful lot of bass and no intelligible words. It’s become a real party, with a few people dancing (if you can call it that) and a great deal of laughter.

Ugh.

Leonard himself is slouching in a chair off to the side of the cortex, watching them all from hooded eyes, abandoned beer at his side. He kind of wishes that Mick was here, just to have someone to help him mock the whole thing—but he and Mick are on the outs again, over the fact that Leonard’s still hanging on to this “weird hero gig” (in Mick’s words) and hasn’t given up and gone back to a life of crime.

It’s not going to happen—at least, Leonard’s pretty sure it’s not. But Mick won’t accept that. (It’d hurt, if Leonard allowed himself to actually think about it. He doesn’t. Much.)

He’s not sure why he hasn’t left this stupid party. Maybe because Lisa’s still here, teasing Ramon out on the “dance floor,” and he wants to keep an eye on that. Maybe because it’s entertaining, at least, to be the one to puncture Allen’s high spirits over a fight that’d gone so well.

Maybe because he’s a little bored lately, looking for a new challenge and occupation, and at least this keeps him from backsliding. Maybe he’s...actually a little lonely.

Maybe it’s partly her.

He’s never seen her here before, the blonde in white who seems as alone as he is, just on the other side of the room. She’s just a little on the short side, lean muscle and long, golden hair and fierce blue eyes, and she’s fought like he’d never seen before. No powers short of being an utter badass, as far as he can tell, but that just makes her more interesting.

She’d been assigned with both him and that Atom nitwit to the city’s South Side, and he hadn’t caught her name. Some sort of a bird-themed hero moniker? He doesn’t recall, mostly because the incredible shrinking schmuck hadn’t shut up enough to let either of them get a word in edgewise. But once they’d been on site and the fighting started, she hadn’t needed words.

Her actions did plenty of talking.

Leonard gives his head a shake, chasing away the recollection of poetry and mayhem in motion, and stood, stretching and glancing across the room again. She also looks like she’d almost rather be anywhere else, and he’s not too sure why she hasn’t left yet.

Maybe the same reason he hasn’t.

Which is to say, maybe neither of them is really sure.

He should probably leave. Insult Allen one last time, scare Ramon, say goodbye to Lisa, and get outta Dodge.

But he doesn’t. In fact…

“I don’t recommend that stuff. Don’t know who bought it, but I’d suggest waterboarding them with the crap.”

The blonde looks up from her perusal of the beer as Leonard strolls toward her. She lifts an eyebrow, but he also sees her lips twitch just a little, and she puts the unopened bottle back down in its nest of ice.

“Suspected as much,” she says smoothly, folding her arms and considering him. “Thanks for the warning.”

“Least I could do.” Leonard parks his hip against the desk beside her, pauses, then inclines his head. “Didn’t catch your name earlier. Our ‘teammate’ was talking too much.”

“He’s prone to that.” Her lips twitch again, but she nods, considering him. “Sara Lance. White Canary.” She glances away, across the room, toward said “teammate.” “From Star City, like Ray. When Barry called for help, there was a lot going on. I...my sister asked me to come.”

Sister...he’s heard of Laurel Lance, even met her once. He hadn’t realized there was another Canary. “And was it all you’d dreamed?”

That gets a low laugh, one that sounds sincere. (He feels vaguely victorious.) Sara glances around, then shrugs, looking back at him. “Well, it was nice to get to hit things for a while. I’m not really sure I fit in with this gang though. They’re just so...so...”

“Shiny? Annoying? Heroic?”

“Hmmm. All of the above?” Sara studies him. “I know you’re Captain Cold,” she admits finally, “but I didn’t catch your name either.”

Leonard bites back a surge of dismay that she hasn’t heard of him. He’d thought his heel-face turn had made enough news, both publicly and in the circles these people moved in, that he was quite recognizable, in more ways than one. Still…

“Leonard. Leonard Snart,” he says smoothly. “Nice to meet you, Sara.”

That gets an actual smile. “I have heard of you,” she admits, “but I wanted to be sure.” A pause. “I’ve been…out of town, out of touch, a lot, of the past few years.”

It’s mentioned in a way that’s curiously both apologetic and oddly confrontational, and Leonard cocks his head at her, wondering. “OK,” he drawls. “Well. I’m me.” He holds his hands out to either side and smirks at her. “Central City’s most wanted.”

Sara gives him a wry look at the innuendo in his tone. “I thought you reformed.”

Her tone is teasing. Leonard lets his smile grow. “Well,” he returns, folding his arms. “I did. Sort of.” He pauses. “As far as any of the heroes know, anyway.”

“Well, you’re telling me.” Her tone is dry.

“Are you a hero? You said you didn’t think you quite fit in this lot.”

He regrets the flippant words nearly immediately, though, because a shadow crosses Sara’s face—although she seems to try to force it away nearly immediately. She shrugs, glancing away and toward the others, then back at him.

“Maybe not,” she says quietly. “But I’m trying.”

Sympathy is unexpected. But there it is, and Leonard finds that he doesn’t want to fight it.

“Yeah,” he admits, even more quietly. “Me too.”

And then, after another moment of quiet in which the two of them regard each other, he abruptly, uncharacteristically, takes a chance. “Wanna get out of here?”

Sara lifts her eyebrows at him. “And…what?”

It’d been so much a whim that he’s not sure, but he’ll be damned if he lets on. “Some decent bars around here. Bars that aren’t so…stuffy. Cheap beer that’s better than this shit. High chance of punching.”

He’s right. Her eyes brighten. “Yes. Please.”

Sara lurks in the corners, watching as this Leonard Snart bids a laughing young woman…well, a woman about her own age…farewell, glaring at Cisco Ramon in the process, then fades away into the crowd. She shakes her head, amused, then heads for one of the exits herself.

She can’t help smiling about it, though. This Snart—god, that name—has managed to intrigue her more than she’d ever expected. He’s hot, that helps…those eyes, that lean, muscular build--but Sara hasn’t really thought much about that sort of thing since the Pit. It’s a surprise that the knowledge keeps nagging at her, stirring her awareness and attention.

And to be honest, the sheer degree of understanding in his expression was even more of a draw. He just seemed to get how she was feeling, an assassin—former assassin--there in the midst of all those heroes. Given his own origins, Sara can understand that, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t appreciate the understanding all the more.

Briefly, she wonders if Snart knows who she is, beyond her name and maybe her connection to Laurel. Likely not. Since she’d arrived in Central City, it’s become apparent that although Barry and co. know the basics of what had happened to her with the Pit, the Laurel and the others in Star City had stayed quite close-mouthed about any details.

And Snart, while seemingly accepted and welcomed into the group here, seems to linger on the outside enough that he probably doesn’t know even that.

Sara pauses outside the building, listening carefully, then turns at the faintest of sounds, watching as Leonard strolls out of the twilight toward her. He moves quietly—though more, she thinks, by habit than any desire to surprise her—and she sees the appreciation in his eyes as he realizes just how quickly she’d marked him.

By all her instincts, it’s mingled with other appreciation too—she hadn’t missed him watching her across the room earlier or the smooth and thorough once-over as he’d introduced himself. But her instincts are telling her something else, too, and given how long it’s been since she’s felt this growing ripple of attraction for someone, it’s something she wants to be clear on.

“So,” she asks him innocently as Leonard starts sauntering away from the building and she falls into step besides him. “How’s the gay scene in Central? I haven’t been out here much.”

Those blue eyes flicker her way, and Sara sees a smile touch his mouth. But he doesn’t stop, and he doesn’t seem surprised.

“Not bad. I’m told,” he says in that sexy drawl. “It’s not really my style. I tend to keep to myself.” He pauses. “Excellent gaydar, though. I’m pan, if you’re looking for a label.”

Ah ha. Sara nods, accepting both the tacit confirmation that he could very well be attracted to her and the suggestion that he’s not usually one to just...hook up randomly. She finds she’s rather pleased at both.

“And you?” The tone is curious and cordial. They’re both testing the waters here.

“Ah.” She glances his way. “Bi.”

That doesn’t make his gaze so much as flicker. Instead, he just nods, and they walk on.

Was that question the gentle bit of fishing for information that he thinks it was, instead of an actual query about the scene? He’s pretty sure it was.

Or was she just suggesting she’d rather go somewhere like that, the queer bars down on Morse Street? But then why would she just drop it instead of asking? Although he had said it wasn’t really his style...

There are reasons he doesn’t really do the dating thing, Leonard thinks grumpily. He’s not used to second-guessing himself like this. He’s not used to caring enough to second-guess himself.

Why does he?

But Sara’s speaking again, as they walk, and he listens.

“So,” she says, "I get the impression you wanted out of there as much as I did. Why’d you even hang around? After the fighting was over, of course. You live in Central; presumably you have a place to go.”

“Mmmm.” He turns left at an intersection, crosses the street with Sara pacing him, still considering his words. “Good question. My sister was there...”

“Golden Glider.”

“Mmhmm. And that meant I was...obliged...to put the fear of me into Ramon.” He smirks at her as she rolls her eyes. “What?”

“The ‘protect the baby sister’ act? Really?” She flashes a grin at him. “Would you do it if it was a girl she was flirting with?”

“Would. And have.” He points at her. “Don’t get any ideas.”

Sara chuckles. Leonard finds he really likes the sound. Enough that he wants to get her to do it again.

What the hell is happening to him?

But there’s no more time for confessions at the moment, though, because they’ve arrived at the very dive bar he’d had in mind. It’s not Saints & Sinners—people know him there, and he finds he doesn’t really want to be known right now—and frankly he’s not even sure it has a formal name. But there’s neon in the dark windows, a whiff of cigarette smoke about the place although Central has banned smoking in restaurants for years, and a scarred, heavy door with a handle polished smooth by years of hands. So many of the harbingers of a “good” local dive.

Sara hums in appreciation, looking at it. She reaches out and pulls open that heavy door, and they move inside.

The bar looks, Leonard thinks, rather like a throwback to the ‘70s. There’s a jukebox in the corner, faded posters on the walls, and more of the scarred, heavy wood like that of the door…the tables, the bar, the support beams. There’s even a disco ball hanging from the ceiling. And, of course, there are the incurious eyes of a dozen or more biker-ish types, all denim and bandanas for the men and short-shorts and crop tops for the women.

And here’s Sara in her white leather and him in his black, sauntering in like ying and yang, and oh hell, this is going to be trouble.

He finds he welcomes it.

Beers are acquired—not so much better than that crap at STAR Labs, but that doesn’t seem to matter anymore—and Sara takes a sip of hers, giving Leonard a thorough once-over of her own as someone messes with the jukebox behind them, starting up a song that seems vaguely familiar.

“You want to dance, Leonard?” she asks then, gaze challenging.

Don’t mess around…

“You go right ahead,” he tells her. “I’ll watch.”

There’s a gleam in her eyes, and she hands him her beer. “Suit yourself.”

And she walks out, into an empty space that could barely be called a dance floor, and starts to move.

Hell.

Ain’t gonna set you free now…

Leonard keeps the smirk on his lips and his eyes on her steadily, doing his best not to let on to the intensity of his reaction. It’s inexplicable, really. He barely knows her, and he tends to need to know someone before being truly attracted.

But both body and mind and…he won’t admit to heart being a part of this…are. They’re attracted. Very much so.

Then the inevitable happens. The burly man who accosts Sara clearly isn’t politely offering a drink—and her response, glancing toward the dark-haired woman he’d left at the bar, is just as clear. And—just as inevitably—he grabs her.

Crack.

The man yells. Several of his buddies converge on them. And Sara glances over her shoulder at Leonard.

“I got this,” she assures him.

Of course she does.

When those girls start hanging around

Talking me down…

Watching her fight is even better than watching her dance. Leonard tries not to be obvious about swallowing, working some moisture into his dry throat.

He almost glances over his shoulder involuntarily, to give Mick that “are you seeing this?” look. But Mick isn’t there; Mick doesn’t understand why he’s doing what he’s doing these days, doesn’t want to understand why Leonard wants to change, and that hurts—it always hurts—but maybe it hurts a tiny bit less, because—he suddenly thinks, with the shock of realization--Sara does.

She gets it.

Hear with your heart and you won't hear a sound…

She’s amazing, but either the first idiot had a lot of friends or there are simply a lot of people up for a barfight tonight. No sooner has Sara swept the floors with the first lot than more are converging.

She glances at Leonard again. “Now I could stand for a little help.”

He doesn’t need to be asked twice.

'Cause I really love you

Stop, I'll be thinking of you

Look in my heart and let

Love keep us together…

“Dad?”

Joe West looks around as he shrugs his coat on, smiling at his daughter. However, that smile quickly runs away as he digests the concern on Iris’ face. “What’s wrong?” “Oh....” Iris shrugs, but the concern is still there. “Nothing, probably. Have you seen Sara?”

“Sara Lance?” Joe glances around involuntarily, but the blond woman, of course, isn’t in sight. The celebration has started breaking up a little, but most of the assorted hero types in Central City to help Team Flash with…what had Cisco named that guy? He forgets…are still there.

“Not in a while.” He studies her. “You worried about something?”

“She was really quiet. And you know, she’d been gone for so long…” Iris bites her lip, then shakes her head. “I’m sure it’s fine. She probably just went for a walk.”

“Who’s she staying with?” One of the drawbacks to getting so much help was then trying to find couches for everyone to crash on.

“Caitlin. Who also hasn’t seen her in a while. And Sara doesn’t have a key to her place.”

“Hmm.” Joe sighs. “I’ll keep an eye out. But she probably just needed some air…or decided she wanted to go get some rest.” He winks at his daughter. “I don’t think the lack of a key would stop Sara.”

Iris smiles reluctantly. “True.” She hugs him. “ ’Night, Dad. Say hi to Cecile.”

“Of course I will.”

His daughter turns away, moving back to where Barry, Ray Palmer, Professor Stein and Jax are good-naturedly debating something, and Joe sighs, giving the rest of the room one last scan. And then another, because his mention of breaking-and-entering has called another “hero” to mind.

He’s still not completely convinced that Leonard Snart has changed his spots, though the man was certainly helpful enough today—and has been for a while now, honestly. Barry’s tendency to see the best in everyone is source both of amusement and occasional consternation, but maybe (Joe admits) he had it right this time.

Maybe.

The former criminal had probably ghosted out the door earlier with some of the better booze Joe knows perfectly well that Wells has tucked away. That’s not Joe’s hill to die on.

He’s no sooner out of the door from STAR Labs, though, when his phone—his work phone—rings. With a sign, he answers, getting into his car and leaning back against the seat.

“What now,” he says, closing his eyes. “After everything…”

Then he listens.

“Yeah, I’m near there. I’ll stop. But…OK, OK. Just a few minutes.”

It’s a dive bar not so far from STAR Labs, really. Joe’s not sure it even has a name that hasn’t been lost to time. He sees the flashing lights—a few patrol cars, an ambulance—and finds a parking spot, then leaves his car and walks toward the scene, wondering again why the lieutenant had called him.

He finds out soon enough.

“Hi, Joe!” Sara Lance says, sounding much too chipper, a smile on her face as she leans against the brick wall of the abandoned house next to the bar. She’s still in her White Canary outfit, which is presumably how the lieutenant had identified her. Joe stops in his tracks and stares at her, then allows his gaze to drift slowly sideways to the smirking visage of Leonard Snart, who inclines his head slowly toward the detective.

Joe takes a deep breath. Thanks his lucky stars that at least the lieutenant had called him rather than simply arresting two people hailed as heroes earlier in the day in the city. And then fixes his gaze on Sara and decides to ignore Snart for the time being.

“What,” he says carefully, “did you do?”

Sara’s chin goes up. “Just wanted a drink. And someone wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Joe takes his hat off and runs a hand over his face. “You sent…eight? Nine?...people to the hospital with mild to moderate injuries. And there are more who wouldn’t go.”

“Yes?” Sara’s tone is a mix of obdurate and innocent and oddly pleased with herself. It’s a strange combo. “It was all self-defense.”

“Of course it was.” Joe shakes his head, then looks at Snart. “And you,” he says with a sigh. “You get your record clean and this is what you do with it?

Snart’s smirk grows. “Didn’t do anything,” he drawls. “Just helped the lady here take out some trash.”

There’s an interesting note in his voice. Is he...

Joe glances back and forth between the two briefly. Oh, hell. If this isn’t trouble in the making, he’s not sure what is.

But he’ll be damned if he’s going to give Leonard-friggin-Snart a lecture on hooking up with a cop’s daughter—or Sara Lance a lecture about doing the same with a “reformed” crook.

Joe draws in a long breath again, then lets it out and jerks his thumb away from the scene. “Get outta here.”

The pair look at each other, then back at him, faces unreadable.

“Seriously. I’m not explaining this to your father,” he says to Sara. “And I’m not explaining to the press why you got locked up for…self-defense…just hours after helping save the city.” He glances at Snart. “And, oddly enough, the bar owner doesn’t want to press any charges.”

“Imagine that,” Snart drawls, inspecting his nails.

“Right. Imagine. Now, get outta here. And Sara, text Iris. She’s worried about you.”

Sara: Hi. Im fine! Don’t worry.

Sara: Joe told me to tell u.

Iris: OMG you just vanished! Where RU?

Sara: Out. Having fun. Don’t wait up

Iris: Alone?

Sara: Nope. 😊

Iris: Sara Lance…

Iris: Did U hook up????

Iris: With someone from here????

Sara turns the sound off on her phone and tucks it away again, grinning to herself. She turns to Leonard, who’s been watching her without comment, and lifts an inquiring eyebrow, a clear “What’s next?”

His lips twitch. They’d moved off into the shadows after Joe had turned away, but neither of them had, quite clearly, wanted to go back to STAR Labs. Sara had obliged the detective’s request, but now she’s watching Leonard with another gleam in her eye and a challenge in her expression.

Leonard doesn’t, quite frankly, want another bar brawl, no matter how much fun it would be. (He’d slipped the bar owner enough cash to keep his mouth shut, but he doesn’t particularly want to do that again either.)

But there’s something both a little wild and a little longing about the woman with him; Leonard doesn’t know quite what it is, but he’s not going to let her down now. So he leans a little closer and says, “Wanna see the Central City Museum?”

It’s not what Sara expects. She considers him momentarily until a smile suddenly lights up her face, the gleam in her eyes brightening. “After hours, I take it?”

“In a…manner of speaking.”

“Isn’t that across the city?”

She’s right. It’d be quite a hike, and Leonard had left his motorcycle back at STAR Labs. Still, he smirks at her. “Wasn’t that guy whose nose you broke wearing a Nickel City Swords hat? The one who went to the hospital to get a possible concussion checked out?” That hadn’t, as a matter of fact, been his or Sara’s fault. The guy’s buddy had intended to break a chair over Leonard’s head and…missed.

“Yeeesss?”

He takes a step toward the street. “What would the odds be?”

Sara looks…and grins at the sight of a Nickel City Swords bumper sticker on the small red car there. “And he’s not going to be looking for it right away, if I know the emergency rooms this time of night.”

“Indeed.” Leonard stretches his fingers. “I can…”

“No need.” Sara’s already moving toward the car. “I got this, too.”

Leonard’s impressed. Obviously impressed, although he doesn’t say a word and lets Sara go to work on the car without more than a raised eyebrow and look of appreciation. And she likes that, she finds, likes his assumption of competence without even question. Instead, he stands guard, watching her back, and only takes the driver’s seat when she asks him to, after the engine roars (well, sputters) to life a few minutes later.

It’s…alluring.

She’d had no more than a sip of weak beer, Sara thinks, looking out the window of the “borrowed” car as the city slips back around them, but she feels a bit drunk. Giddy. Part of it’s because the bloodlust hadn’t taken over in the barfight, and she thoroughly pleased and relieved by this. Part of that is because she’s with a handsome man who seems quite impressed by her skill set and doesn’t seem to give a rat’s ass about her past.

Of course…he doesn’t really know about all of it.

“Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

Lovely timing. Sara turns her head at Leonard’s low murmur, studying his profile. And then she takes a leap.

“League of Assassins,” she tells him baldly, counting on the likelihood that a former career criminal will know of what she speaks. “Kind of a long story how I got there, but I was with them for years. Not anymore, though.”

The league doesn’t—generally—let its people go, and he’s likely to know that, too.

There’s a moment of considering silence. Sara, watching, sees Leonard lift his eyebrows. He doesn’t seem concerned, though, and there’s no moment of disbelief or revulsion—both of which she’s seen far too often in people who are supposed to be on her side.

A drawled “impressive” is the only comment.

Sara smiles.

Oh, Leonard’s impressed all right. Impressed, and curious, and more than a little turned on.

OK, well, he’d been that already, but he’s always found competence sexy, and danger nearly as much. Sara is very distinctly both competent and dangerous, and combined with her obvious intelligence and other attributes, it’s all one very gorgeous package.

Down, boy.

No wonder she seems to get him, the crook who’s trying to find his place amidst heroes, if she’s an assassin who’s trying to do that same. And he hadn’t missed the look on her face when he had simply accepted her words without judgment or distaste.

He gets it.

He parks about a block away, and they leave the car, Leonard leading the way toward the museum—not the front entrance, of course, but one of the little-used side entrances for employees. He hadn’t really been prepared to do a little breaking-and-entering tonight, but…

Oh, who is he kidding? He’s always prepared.

They find a place nearby to watch unseen, and Leonard waits until he sees a security guard appear in the small pool of light by the door. The woman pauses, glancing around, then radios in to report the all-clear to the main security office. Leonard knows how it works. He makes…made it his business to know how it all works.

Then she continues on her route, going around the corner, and Leonard moves, Sara right on his heels. He pauses behind a pillar as the overhead camera sweeps by, then moves again as it turns slowly in the other direction, pulling out his lockpicks.

He has a minute. He only needs…let’s see, 42 seconds. And then they’re in, the door closed securely behind them.

Sara lets out a breathless, near-silent laugh—but she gives him an inquiring look before saying anything. Leonard nods, and she laughs a little louder, shaking her head.

“That was amazing,” she tells him, glee in her voice. “We’re OK in here?”

“Yep. They don’t have cameras on most of the areas inside. And indoor security guards only during the day. Gotta love budget cuts.” He glances at her, then decides it doesn’t make sense to ignore what she’d told him not long ago. “Picking the lock, you mean? I’d think maybe that’d have been something you learned in your…previous line of work.”

Sara’s lips curve in an expression that’s not quite a smile.

“Not really,” she demurs, looking around the entryway. “We generally went…other routes.” Her eyes are serious again as she looks at him. “I like your way better.”

Ah. But Leonard leaves the implication alone. Instead, he just holds an arm out with a slight flourish, inviting her into the museum at large. “Now. What would you like to see?”

Iris is studying her phone as she walks down the corridor in STAR Labs. She really would have rather been home by now—it’s been a long day—but the puzzle of Sara’s whereabouts is still nagging at her, especially since she thinks she has all those who’d been at the lab earlier accounted for. She glances up briefly as she emerges into the Cortex, registering that Barry is standing there waiting for her, but glances back down nearly immediately, sending one more annoyed text before putting the device away.

“I don’t get it,” she sighs, looking up at her husband. “She’s still ignor…”

The look on Barry’s face makes her stop. “What? Is everything OK? Barry…”

He holds out a hand hastily, though, reassuring her although that dubious expression is still there. “It’s OK. I think. Just…” Barry lets out a long breath. “Um. Well. Snart’s motorcycle is still parked outside. And no one’s seem him in hours. He was here, with everyone else. And then…he wasn’t.”

Iris stares at him, absorbing that. “You think that…”

“Erm.” He shrugs, giving her that kind of sheepish grin she usually likes so much. “Well…I suppose if you think about it…I could see them hitting it off…”

Iris frowns at him, just digesting this. “I always…I guess I thought Snart, well, liked guys.”

Barry blinks at her. “No? I…why would you think that?”

His voice is honestly perplexed. Iris stares at him a moment longer, then closes her eyes. After a long minute, she opens them again. Her beloved, sweet, clueless husband—whom Snart flirts with madly whenever possible—is still looking baffled.

“Never mind,” she sighs. “Well…I guess Sara didn’t say she was hooking up. I just got that impression.” She thinks a moment. “Although, Sara likes girls too, so maybe he’s similar. Makes sense.” A reluctant smile crosses her face. “He’s pretty flirty with almost everyone, actually. And he is kinda hot.”

Now Barry looks vaguely appalled. “Snart? Really?”

Dear, sweet baby. “Really.” Iris pauses. “You text him. Ask if Sara’s with him. I just want to be sure she’s OK.”

Barry shakes his head again, but he pulls out his phone.

Barry: Is Sara w/U???????

Barry: C’mon, Iris is worried

Barry: Snart…

Leonard: Yes.

Barry: good

Barry: U guys ok?

Barry: Snart?

Leonard: Fine.

Barry: good

Barry: what u doing?

Barry: If u don’t mind saying.

Barry: Iris thinks your hooking up. hahaha

Barry: Snart?

Leonard shakes his head, turning his phone off entirely and putting it back in his pocket before glancing at Sara.

The blond woman is standing just a few feet away, studying a painting intently. Leonard’s no kind of fan of modern art, but the colors of this piece are appealing, and Sara certainly seems to be intrigued. After just a minute, though, she turns, grinning at him, and he smiles back.

“I think we’ve seen most of the largest exhibits now,” Leonard says quietly. “Except for the jewelry exhibit.” His smile grows a little. “They did put a camera in there.”

“And why do I think you had something to do with that?”

“No idea.”

Sara laughs at the innocence in his tone. “Yeah? Like sparkly things, do you?”

“I like beautiful things.”

They hold glances for long enough that it feels distinctly warm when they both look away. Leonard clears his throat. “Is there anything else you’d like to see?”

Sara’s lips twitch, but she doesn’t take the (mostly unintended) bait. “We can head out.”

Getting out of the museum is much like getting in, except that no lock-picking is necessary. The two stroll away as if they’ve never thought of such a thing, and Sara keeps a straight face until a block away, when she busts out in giggles.

“Ahhh,” she says, spinning in place. “That was fun. Thank you.”

“Always nice to show off the skills,” Leonard acknowledges. He glances around. “Hm. Want to get a drink now? Without a barfight.”

Sara nods, but gives him a curious look. “Where? I’m presuming we’re leaving the car where it is.”

“I know a place nearby.” It’s on the way back to his apartment, too, but he’s not going to presume.

“Lead on.”

It’s late enough that Saints & Sinners isn’t full, but there are people there. Still, Leonard—despite his…newer occupation—is known, and people don’t fuck with him. Especially since his times on the hero gig tend to be helping the Flash and co. in dealing with metas and bigger problems, not the smaller-time crooks that often congregate here.

They find a booth, and Leonard, after a quiet query, makes his way to the bar, returning with two glasses of a rather nice scotch, if he does say so himself. He pushes one over to Sara without comment, smiling a little as she takes a sip and hums in pleasure, looking back at him.

“Thanks,” she says, then takes another sip, glancing around. “Saints & Sinners, eh?”

“Truth in advertising.” Leonard takes his own drink. He honestly doesn’t drink much, but when he does, it’s the good stuff. (The scent of stale beer, the funk of cheap liquor…these still scream “Lewis” at him, make him want to vomit.) “You good?”

“I am.” Sara studies him, taking another sip. “Tell me. What led you to…to ask me if I wanted to get out of there before? STAR Labs, I mean. Just then.”

Ah. Leonard inspects the amber liquid in his glass, takes another drink. “I was curious,” he admits. “I’d enjoyed watching you fight. And you didn’t look…completely comfortable there.” He pauses. “Rather like me, I guess.”

It strikes a chord; he can tell it does. Sara very nearly takes a gulp of her scotch, coughs, then regards him.

“Thank you,” she says again after a moment.

“You’re welcome.”

The scotch is very good.

Sara gets them both a refill after a bit, raising her eyebrows at the cost but paying without a qualm. She takes the glasses back to the table, and they continue talking.

She learns that his sister, Lisa (vaguely to Leonard’s horror) is just about Sara’s age. She learns that the last mark on Leonard’s record before it’d been expunged was the killing of his own father—and why, a tale he tells without a flinch, watching her with calm eyes that nonetheless seem to be watching for any sort of revulsion.

Revulsion Sara doesn’t show. Because she gets it. In fact, she thinks, watching Leonard’s still face, if Lewis Snart was still alive, she very well might go looking for him herself.

To get that look off his face—how has that face become so important to her, in such a short period of time?—she speaks up herself. She tells him more about the League. And then, almost to her surprise, the Amazo. Lian Yu.

At some point, Leonard gets them another drink. Then Sara—a little buzzed and more than a little reckless--gets them another.

Someone follows her back to the table.

Leonard stands as the other man—a weaselly sort wholly unlike the brawny thug back at the other bar—grabs her arm as she goes to sit down. But he doesn’t butt in, waiting to see what happens.

“You don’t wanna stay with this guy,” the newcomer says, not even looking at Leonard. “He’s a cop squealer, now. If you’re one of us, babe, you’ll want to come with me.”

The look on Sara’s face is incredible.

Leonard isn’t sure whether to smirk or sigh as she darts that “are you fucking kidding me?” gaze at him. He keeps his expression mildly interested as he glances at the nitwit holding her, one Ethan Kozarovich, a not-so-bright and relatively small-time thug who’s always thought he was far more than he actually was.

The question in that gaze is unmistakable. And Leonard can’t deny Sara the chance to fulfill it.

“Got your back. But take it outside,” he says quietly, before downing the drink she’d brought him. “Got an agreement here.”

Sara nods. Then she turns that look on Kozarovich—who seems like he’s suddenly, vehemently regretting his life choices—and snaps, “Outside.” Then she downs her own drink, slamming the empty glass down on the table.

“Here is…”

“Outside.”

Kozarovich looks like he wants, quite suddenly, to wet himself.

Not so long later, Sara and Leonard are strolling away from Saints & Sinners, both trying (and somewhat failing) to keep from outright laughter.

It shouldn’t feel so good to knock down a minor-league jerk-ass like the Kovarovich, Sara thinks. But it does.

It does because the bloodlust hadn’t taken over. It does because the asshat who’d dared to grab her is still alive, just slightly damaged. It does because Leonard is looking at her with a gleam in his eyes that says just how very impressed he is, and that gleam is doing things to her, things she knows, knows she wants to explore.

It’s been a very, very long time since she’d truly wanted anything like that.

They’re cutting through a park, and Sara spins around in the night air, taking a deep breath and letting it out, then turning to Leonard, who’s watching her intently, pausing in his own stroll.

“I feel alive,” she sighs with a deep, completely pleased sigh, then continuing immediately, recklessly as he watches her. “No, you don’t understand. Leonard…I was dead for a year.”

His steps slow. “Pardon?”

“Dead,” Sara tells him recklessly, looking up at the stars to avoid seeing his face. “Cold and dead. Three arrows to the chest and abdomen. Dead before I hit the ground. I was mourned, I was buried. I…well, presumably I did what dead things do.”

She looks at him, then. “My sister...well, she found a way to bring me back. About two years ago. But I wasn’t...I wasn’t myself for a long time afterward. I’m only starting to feel that way again. But I felt more alive tonight than I have in a very long time.”

If he shows any disbelief…any sort of revulsion…

He doesn’t. He blinks, slowly, and considers her, but years of familiarity with the oddities of Central City—and maybe his own instincts--seem to lead him to believe her.

“That’s amazing,” he says after a moment, as Sara watches him. “But…you’re OK? Now?”

Concern wasn’t what Sara had expected. Of all the possible reactions to this story, she finds she likes that one best.

“I’m OK,” she agrees, then impulsively reaches out and takes his hand, pulling him toward her a little, putting it over her heart, which is beating strongly. Leonard studies her as she looks up into his face, smiling a little, her hand over his own. His own face is very serious, but not in a way that seems problematic.

“Alive,” she repeats. “And happy. And not at all cold.”

After another moment, Leonard cracks a smile.

“No, you don’t feel cold to me,” he says quietly, moving even closer. “And I know cold.”

Sara snickers. “Now, that’s a line.” She pauses, studying serious blue eyes. “You don’t feel cold to me, either.”

“Good.”

And he kisses her.

That first kiss is, perhaps, just a little tentative. Exploratory. Both of them seeing if the spark they’ve been feeling is really there.

It is.

The second kiss, after a brief pause for air, is a good deal less tentative. In fact, Leonard, much later, finds bark from the tree he’d been up against pressed into the soft, broken-in leather of his jacket. (It falls to the floor as he shakes the jacket out. In a rare display of sentimentality, he saves a few pieces. Later, they sit in a small bowl on his dresser, with the gold locket Lisa had worn as a kid, his grandfather’s lucky silver dollar, a pack of matches filched from Mick’s coat, and a few other things.)

By mutual agreement, they head for his apartment, the one in city center, acquired by a much-younger Leonard Snart before the area started toward gentrification and still owned today under an assumed name. It’s after midnight, now, and the building is mostly quiet; they don’t see anyone in the hallways or the elevator.

Which is good, because he decides it’s his turn to take the lead, boosting Sara up against the mirrored wall and continuing the kissing.

When the elevator door opens, neither of them is inclined to separate, so Leonard simply carries her down the hallway toward the door, as Sara wraps her legs around his waist and her arms around his shoulders and keeps kissing his neck, his jaw, his mouth, caresses passionate and just a little bit rough in a good way. Somehow, he managed to her his keys out and into the lock, then maneuvers them both into the apartment.

If not quite all the way to the bed.

Iris: Sara? Ray’s here. Says u were gonna ride back to Star w/him

Iris: Should he wait?

Iris: Sara, pls let me know your OK.

Sara: I’m good! 😊

Sara: tell him thanks, but I’m staying around here a few days

Iris: OK

Iris: Do I wanna know where?

Sara, having fished her phone from the tangle of clothing strewn across the floor, bites back a laugh at the suggested irritation in Iris’ words. She chooses not to respond, putting the phone safely on Leonard’s dresser before turning back to the bed (where they had, ultimately, wound up).

The man in question is sprawled across the surface, nothing more than a sheet tugged over his hips, watching her from hooded eyes, a smile/smirk on his face. They hadn’t fallen asleep until early morning, and although it’s now after noon, he doesn’t look at all inclined to go anywhere. Sara runs her eyes over him, smiling herself, content and relaxed in a way she hasn’t been in a very long time.

They had been very well suited.

“Everything all right?” he drawls.

“Mmhmm. My ride is planning to head back to Star City soon.”

Leonard’s face shows a flicker of…something…but he quickly conceals it. “Ah,” he says quietly. Sara, watching, sees his shoulders tense before he sits up smoothly. “You have to go?”

There’s very definitely disappointment in the words. Which makes it easier and somewhat less awkward to stroll back toward him, smiling, and admit, “No. I said I wanted to stay around here a few days.” She pauses, suddenly feeling awkward anyway. “I mean, I can stay with Caitlin, help Team Flash clean up…”

But there’s a smile in Leonard’s eyes too, and he lowers his lashes again, watching her.

“Or,” he says smoothly, reaching out, catching her wrist gently, pulling her toward him, “you could stay here.”

Sara laughs, relief coursing through her. “But whatever would we do with our time?”

“I’m sure we could think of something.”

#with eyes wide open #captain canary #sara x leonard #the flash

14 notes · View notes

captainderyn · 7 years

Text

Thieving With Dignity: Chapter 1

Title: Thieving With Dignity

Chapter: 1/?

Summary: Captain Rielay Taqq has been in the smuggling business for more years than she can count on one hand. She’s known as the best shot in the galaxy, but that can only get her so far. After a job goes south she’s forced to the Heart of the Republic, Coruscant, where a meeting with a senator’s son may have just found her a way to get filthy rich. And if he sticks around…all the more credits for her.

Warnings: Some strong language and violence, nothing major and nothing gory.

*Cross posted to fanfiction.net under the username CaptainDeryn

Doing business on Nar Shaddaa was like trying to do business blindfolded and drunk off the strongest stuff in the bar. It was tough, cutthroat and favor was constantly being shifted on a day to day basis. There were some things that were constant, the slave trade, scumbags that would cheat you out of your well earned credits, and Hutts. Most of the time all three things combined in one disgusting, slimy, stuck up mess.

This wasn’t Captain Taqq’s first deal on Nar Shaddaa and she doubted it would be her last. There was a certain appeal to the planet’s lawlessness that drew her back time and time again for with the smell of credits just waiting to be grabbed. Here she could smuggle spice free of guilt and make a small fortune off of illegal goods she could sell to greedy Hutts for a pretty price. Most of those fortunes became less than ideal by the time taxes were skimmed off the top, but as long as there was a steady stream of green filtering into Rielay’s account she would gladly feed the Hutt’s greed.

All she wanted to do right now was put her fist through a certain Hutt’s ugly, squishy face. As she sat in the seediest cantina she could find, with the shitiest alcohol known to man, and even some alien species she sulked and licked her wounds. This had been starting off like any other well chosen job that was sure to yield enough credits to fuel the Promise for weeks, even months but after almost a week planetside her contact was losing interest, Rielay was no closer to being paid and her deadline was coming up fast. When she had taken her job it had seemed easy, presented to her in three steps. First, smuggle some extremely illegal drugs past law enforcement. Spice smuggling was a personal low in her long run of deals but there was a reason she had sent her crewmate Hugo to Port Nowhere to scope some jobs while she was here. Her moral code went entirely out the viewport whenever she came here.

The spice adventure should have only taken a day tops, but after a close run in with a ‘pub law officer she had been forced to lie her way around being searched and put off her delivery until the suspicion died down. She was still preening over her quick save but the loss of two days weighed heavy on her mind.

Second, take out Exchange lackeys that were getting in the way of the Hutt. Rielay should have known as soon as she caught a blaster bolt to the shoulder that things were going to get bad. The Exchange had festered into more than just a street corner gang since she last time she had been here, practically running Nar Shaddaa under the Cartel’s nose at this point. With so many people and a list to get through Rielay’s diplomacy had followed her morals out the viewport almost as quickly as her body count went up. She hadn’t even bothered with the numbers this time. The hits to the gang’s key people should have sent them reeling, but all it seemed to do was piss them off. Whispers had followed her home about the small whirlwind creating havoc in their ranks and if they hadn’t decided to try and take her out she might have found the time to be proud of that rep.

Ugh. She took a swig of her drink and wrinkled her nose. The stuff was horrible, but what was a trip to the Smuggler’s Moon without some of the worst stuff credits could buy. Some of the worst to fill up inside as much as it did outside. Rielay thunked the glass back down on the bar and rested her head on her forearms, glowering at the opposite wall. The chatter all around her or the scuffle in the corner that might have provided free entertainment to pass the night as she got more and more drunk to avoid the little situation she had worked herself into went unnoticed as she brooded over her third and final assignment.

Eliminate the Exchange leader.

Sure, it should have been easy. Just like taking the akk dog for a little romp in a Coruscanti park. Putting a round into one high-and-mighty guy on a cardboard box pedestal was something she could do with her eyes closed.

Except she only had one day left to find him, the whole damn gang on her tail, and zero leads on a location. If the spice deal hadn’t taken that extra day or if she hadn’t gotten so overzealous with her blasters maybe she’d have had time to actually track him down, or hire a bounty hunter to do the hard part. Or maybe if the Hutt hadn’t given her a single week to do all his dirty work…

Hutts. Rielay huffed out a breath, swirling her drink in her glass and pouting into its murky depths. At this point she didn’t even remember the Hutt’s name, and as far as he was concerned hers was nothing more than ‘pretty little smuggler’ but she certainly remembers his foul stink and even fouler personality. She shouldn’t have expected anything better than what she got, especially since she had the nerve to walk in on Hutt territory. The Hutt Cartel was one of the nastiest groups she had ever had the misfortune to deal with, and if they didn’t readily toss out credits to anyone on the street that claimed they could shoot a blaster she would have ditched the work a long time ago and found herself some place pretty to work.

Instead she had fallen back into this cesspool. Again.

This time’s employer wasn’t even a big name in the Cartel, even by Nar Shaddaa’s standards. He was a small time Hutt with a large ego and a lust for credits and reputation than most of his fellow species that ruled Hutt space. Whatever territorial fight he was having her sort out was just a stepping stone for his name and an even larger boost for his bank account. He had snatched nearly half her promised earnings from the spice run and there wasn’t a single thing she could do about it.

Except maybe follow up her fist in his face with a blaster bolt.

She downed the rest of her drink, choking on the bitter taste that made her lips pucker and eyes screw close and threw down a handful of credit chips that would hopefully cover the space she took up and the drink she had brooded over for-she checked her chrono-over an hour. Great. Twenty three hours and counting down now until she had to either return with a gang leader’s head or empty handed. But she wasn’t willing to get up quite yet. Leaving would mean going to her apartment and there she would need to continue her search for leads on the Big Boss with only a datapad at her disposal.

She leaned back in her chair, tilting back until the legs were off the ground and letting them thunk down over and over until the bartender glared at her. There had to be something here…anything that could count as a lead.

Ah, the fighters in the corner had settled down to talk and she caught the magic word. Boss. If it wasn’t a Hutt, it had to be a gang leader. Random gang, Exchange, close enough.

They looked up as she sauntered over, grabbing an empty chair. “Trouble with your boss?”

“What’s it to you?” One of the guys was nursing a swollen nose and a drink, squinting at her. “Oh, no reason.” Rielay inspected her nails, looking up to flash a smirk and a quirked eyebrow at them. “Just, you know, I happen to be skilled with getting rid of ah…business problems.”

The snickers in response earned a wink in their direction, turning the snickers into low guffaws. “You don’t look like the bounty huntin’ type.”

“Bounty hunters are amateurs compared to me.” Rielay crowed leaning back in her chair. “Don’t become best shot in the galaxy waiting’ for someone to show up.”

There was a pause and her thoughts screeched to a halt. Kark.

“Best shot in the galaxy, huh?” Suddenly they seemed a lot less friendly. “Funny thing is, we’ve been lookin’ for someone like that.”

Her laugh was nervous as she tried to backpedal. “Oh huh, well ain’t that quite the coincidence. I might have over exaggerated, ‘m really the second best shot.” She laughed again, drawing back as the man with the swollen nose leaned his elbows on the table, his rank breath washing over her.

“Well isn’t that a shame. You fit the bill perfectly.”

“Who woulda thought, such a small girl to be such a big problem.”

Rielay yelped as her chair was kicked out from under her, sending her crashing to the floor. She scooched back until she hit the legs of another table, sending it crashing over and whatever alcohol remained on it to the floor where her hands now slipped. “Now, now, fellas.” She scowled as one of men knelt across her legs when she tried to kick him, reaching forward to yank the blaster and scattergun from the holsters at her hips. “Is this really necessary?”

She rolled her eyes when the other man finished binding her hands, letting them fall back to her lap. Most of the patrons had vacated as soon as things started to get heated and the bartender was mysteriously gone. Cowards. “I’m not moving from this spot.”

The grin tossed her way was slightly feral. “Oh you won’t need to. You wouldn’t be able to keep up anyways.”

She narrowed her eyes. “That was rude.” She swore indignantly as she was abruptly yanked to her feet and draped over one of the guy’s shoulders. Even as she was carried out of the cantina by way of a back door she couldn’t bring herself to feel nervous. They hadn’t tried to kill her yet and she still had a vibroblade tucked in the waistband of her trousers and a pistol on a holster at her shoulder. If it came down to a fight she knew she could handle it, she had got out of worse. They had made it clear they were Exchange members, and if she couldn’t bring the Big Bad to her, well then she might as well get a free ride to him.

“Classy ride.” Rielay remarked, settling down in the seat of the retired, old model sky-cab that might have once been in the taxi business. Her critical eye caught a dents on the side and the many times repaired parts that lay uncovered. “Did you get it out of a dumpster?”

“Hilarious. You should be more worried. Our boss ain’t going to be to happy to see you.” The man piloting threw a glance over his shoulder, nearly slamming them into a passing vehicle.

“Worried?” Rielay shook her head with a shrug. “No need to be, I’m not scared of anything. ‘Specially not a gang leader.”

Silence. It wasn’t any fun being captured by thugs with good self control. Usually she came out of captures with at least a broken nose and a good story to tell.

With a sigh she sat back, watching the city fly by. While the cantina had been all dim lights, loud music and hazy clouds the city was a chaotic mix of neon signs, speeder lights and light pollution. There was something pretty about it, if you could look past the disgusting people and even nastier upkeep. With this saved time she’d have hours and hours to admire it and her pockets would be heavier.

One member of their group had left, most likely to go warn his boss. Good, let him get cocky before the fight even began. People were stupid when they got over confident. And while fighting might be hard without her blasters she was no stranger to fighting with less. They hadn’t bothered to check inside her jacket, where she had a detonator tucked into the inside pocket. As long as she could play her cards right, this wouldn’t be a problem.

The Exchange’s home of operations was even less impressive than when Rielay had been here before. Much to her satisfaction she could still see evidence of her fight, holes blown through crates, scorch marks along the floors and walls. Even the looks sent her way as her entourage pushed her through the massive warehouse, filled with both fury and trepidation filled her with a pride that put a bounce in her step.

She was led down several hallways that she recognized and several doors still jammed open from when she had sliced into their locking mechanisms and fried the wiring. They would have one hell of a time trying to cover this up to their rivals. More points to her reputation.

“Might want to fix those.” Rielay stepped over the shattered remains of transparisteel windows and light casings, casting the room in only the struggling white of the remaining lights and the colors of the planet outside. “It’s creating a draft.”

When she looked over her shoulder the men that had brought her in were gone leaving her standing alone in the middle of the room. The pricing of the hairs on the back of her neck and a bad feeling told her that there were blasters trained on her from all around.

“You’re the captain that took out my men?” And so the Big Bad shows himself.

Rielay raised her chin. “I am. Surprised?” Her heart, already quickened from when she realized she was surrounded seemed to forget how to beat as she inspected the subject of her final task. Besides the height and mass he had on her, that was nothing unusual, he had a high tech blaster at his hip and Rielay couldn’t tell if it was the dust swirling around him, or a shield generator.

“Not what I was expecting for the reputation that precedes you. But you are…something.” He was in her space now, crowding her. Rielay took a step back, fists unclenching and clenching. That was definitely a shield generator and if there was one time she wished she had backup, it was now and-

And her wrists were free.

“You’re little stunt caused quite the chaos. Already our territory is being intruded on. You need to be taken out, but we won’t be taken seriously unless you go down swinging.”

Rielay rubbed her wrists, eyeing him warily. “I won’t be the one going down.”

As his hand went to the holster at his hip she reached back to grab the pistol in hers, firing the first several charges. They all bounced of the shield generator but when he opened fire she was already tucked behind a set of cargo boxes. There was only so long that shield could stay charged. If she could stay just in range until then she might be able to get out of this.

“Hiding isn’t very professional captain.” Shots sparked over her head as they connected with the wall. “Come out and play.”

With a deep breath the popped up, firing the next charge from her pistol before diving towards a new section of boxes, the weapon whining as it charged.

Fire. Dodge. Sharp, quick breaths. Fire again, swear at a close call.

Burning metal and short circuits assaulted her nostrils as shots hit the walls and circuit panels. Lights were shorted out left and right until they were fighting in the dull shadows of the city.

A bolt caught her across the thigh and she cried out, retreating until she could dig through the pack at her hip for a kolto stick. She swore, almost all the stims kept neatly there had been smashed when she had been shoved against the wall. Her hand found a stim still in its casing and she jabbed it into her leg. Within seconds she felt a new rush of energy and she could put the stinging pain into the back of her mind.

The rhythmic repetition as her blasters charged and fired, charged and fired kept time with her breath as she held her ground, always staying just out of sight.

She hit the ground hard on her shoulder, rolling with the force of a pulse detonator that hurled her way. When she scrambled to her feet, firing another shot with her pistol that was rapidly overheating she saw the plasma bolt go through, hitting the boss’s arm.

It’s dying.

In the brief reprise as he took several steps out of her range, clutching at his arm she dug in her jacket, pulling out the detonator. Her fatigued, shaking hands almost dropped it as she tried to pull out the pin and the blinked against the sweat dripping into her eyes.

He was recovering already, tossing aside the empty canister of a kolto stim. She pressed her back against the crate she was behind, yanking the pin out with her teeth and spitting it onto the ground.

Using the box for support she limped out so she could see around it, hurling the detonator as hard as she could towards him and firing her pistol when it hit the ground. Bright white light crowded her vision as she blinked, the rumble of the small explosion ringing in her ears. From above blaster bolts began to rain down and as she hightailed it back to her cover spot. “The blasters, Rielay, the blasters.” She snarled to herself. “How could you forget about that gut feeling!”

With no detonators and her blasters missing she couldn’t hope to get through the hailstorm of bolts to get any ID off of the boss, or even to take out any of the snipers with her low range weapon.

So she ran, darting around crates and skimming along the wall until she burst out into the main space of the warehouse. There she stalled, searching for her stealth generator that she prayed had had enough time to recharge since she had killed it earlier in the day. After jabbing the button three times the generator sputtered to life and Rielay was able to breath again.

Moving slowly and with great care she was able to maneuver her way through the thinning crowds of Exchange members, slipping through through the shadows as her generator began to fail again until she was back in the streets of Nar Shaddaa. She wasn’t even spared a glance by the vagrants and smugglers that still wandered the streets so late at night.

Eliminate the Exchange boss. Check.

Although not as easy as she had hoped. The stim Rielay had injected into her leg was wearing off as she sunk into a sky-cab that would bring her back to her apartment and the burn was starting to sting again every time she moved. Her deadline still stood, but with the job no longer threatened she felt like she had all the time in the world.

“What do you mean you aren’t going to pay me?” Rielay cried, digging her nails into her palms.

There was a delay as the protocol droid at the Hutt’s side translated her words into Huttenese and then listened to the deep rumble of his response. Her lips curled in disgust as she waited, tapping her foot rapidly on the ground. This whole room was a shrine to the Hutt’s wealth, filled with fancy trinkets and droids. The Hutt himself was sprawled across cushions made of exotic silks and by his side were several Twi’lek slaves in typical Hutt fashion.

“My master wishes me to inform you that you brought no evidence back that you were the one to kill the Exchange leader. Therefore your contract was not met.”

“I did kill him!” She seethed, throwing her hands out. “He shot me! Do you seriously think that I just shot myself in my leg to try and trick you?”

The longer the pause went on the more agitated she became. “My master says that this is non negotiable and you will not be compensated for your failed contract.” The droid moved closer to it’s master as the Hutt rumbled something more. “He also advises you to leave before he you wear his patience any thinner.”

“But I did the job.” She protested, bouncing on the balls of her feet as she saw the hope of credits sliding through her fingers. “I smuggled your stupid spice and killed all those gang lords for you so just give me my damn paycheck!” She rose her force, flinching back as the Hutt became angry, roaring something in Huttese.

“I am going to have to ask you to leave,” The protocol droid shuffled towards her, lifting it’s hands. “Your audience is over.”

Rielay slammed her foot onto the ground when two guards from the door outside grabbed her elbows. “You scheming, lying maggot!” She bellowed. “I did your dirty work you slimy piece of-” She yelped as one of the guard’s elbows caught her in the nose as the tossed her out into the hallway, the door sliding closed in front of her.

Clumsily she caught herself against the wall, rubbing a hand over her throbbing nose. A week on this nasty planet dealing with a Hutt and she wasn’t even going to get paid for it. If he wouldn’t give her the credits in hand then she’d just have to find a way to get them anyways.

There was a cantina for the Hutt’s patrons out front and Rielay took a table in the corner, pulling out her datapad and opened up several different files and programs, her fingers flying over it’s surface as she worked. Within the hour she sat back with a sly smirk, watching the credit count on her account going up and the credit total sliding down in the Hutt’s account.

“Take that.”She muttered spitefully, wiping the datapad’s history before shutting it off and putting it back inside her jacket. Her compensation and then some was gone from the total and wouldn’t be noticed until she was long off planet. And there wouldn’t be any way to trace it back to her. No one could jip her of her well earned credits without paying for it.

Hours later she was back in her apartment, packing up her things she would need to take with her back to her ship. With a content sigh she closed the drawstring on her bag, slinging it over her shoulder and going to shut off the holovision where she paused with her finger poised over the power button.

Wanted: Smuggler accused off breaching into private Hutt accounts and stealing thousands of credits. Large reward offered.

Rielay whacked the button and the holovision screen flickered out. She looked out the viewport into the traffic lanes, biting her lip.

Shit.

She really screwed up this time.

#swtor #swtor fanfiction #thieving with dignity #rielay taqq #swtor oc taqq #smuggler #swtor smuggler

3 notes · View notes