A Bat and a Pyro Walk Out of a Heist

[slam_poetry]

To say that she'd never really seen a criminal behave as if they didn't want to be there would be inaccurate; there were any number of thieves and even murderers who had cold feet, who thought they'd get caught, and even some who had clearly been pulled along when they didn't want to be doing anything of the like. But it was the first time she'd ever seen a single thief going about his business as if he was doing a particularly boring office job, as if the spark had gone out and he could barely stand to be doing what he was doing. It was when he glanced in one of the glass cases, clearly decided he couldn't be bothered mostly because there were a lot of things IN the case, and moved on that she made her own decision.

Within a few moments, she was on the ground, in front of him, tilting her head thoughtfully. It wasn't often she spoke in uniform, but it seemed like the time.

"You don't even want to do this. And you don't need to. Why not stop now?"

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[firebrawl]

The movement in the stark pool of security lighting had Mick's hand twitching toward the heatgun in place on his thigh, but he didn't pull it. He'd expected the Flash, but then again, he hadn't set off any alarms. He'd cased the place, figured out all its weaknesses, like Snart always had. But Snart wasn't here. He never would be again. It was easier for Mick to move deliberately now thanks to Chronos, easier to do both halves of the job, and as he'd learned the hard way, it was easier to do this dance on his own than with another partner who didn't know the steps.

But she was right. Mick did not want to be here doing this, not alone. And in the silence of the museum, the question—no hostility in it, even from a hero to a crook, no wheedling persuasion, just honest curiosity—prompted an honest answer. "Habit," he said with a little shrug, folding his arms, taking his hand away from the heatgun entirely. "Figured I'd see the Flash if anyone stopped by to say hi."

[slam_poetry]

"He's busy."

Which was why she was here at all. A few different folks had been tapped to help take some of the weight off of Barry's shoulders, given what was going on in his personal life. Batman had picked the team with an eye for the Rogues of Central City and the kind of personalities that might be encountered and everyone, even Cass, had been surprised at her inclusion on the list. But here she was and here they were and she was starting to see why, perhaps, she'd been asked to do this.

"I'm Batgirl."

She glanced at a few of the cases.

"You could put them back. I'd rather you did that."

[firebrawl]

"What, he's got help now?" Mick shook his head in slow surprise. "You wander off to save the timeline for a couple months, everything changes." From the perspective of the residents of Central City, five months. Mick's personal timeline? Even he wasn't sure. A couple centuries, maybe.

To his credit, he thought about it, turning to look at the few pieces he'd actually collected. Nothing too fancy, probably expensive and worth a lot to the right buyer, the usual, but he'd probably just let them sit for a while before finally going to the trouble of finding a fence. Still, putting them back when he'd gotten this far, that just seemed like a waste of effort.

"Batgirl, huh?" he said instead, turning back. "Didn't think you folks branched out this far. Friendly of you. Whaddaya say I wander off with what I got so far, we call it even."

[slam_poetry]

She shook her head.

"Put it back and I let you go." Forget the fact that he'd still broken and entered. "You can just put it down."

...because even she can understand it'd be annoying to put everything back in the right cases. She certainly didn't know which ones went where. And all the cards had text that was SO SMALL.

[firebrawl]

There was a growl, but it was a pretty neutral one as Mick-growls went. In the past, he'd be spoiling for a fight and it would be Len keeping him in check, but now here he was, pretty much just taking things at random like he was browsing a store, and was this worth a fight? The fun had gone out of it even before she'd shown up. He'd just planned on finishing the job because Len never liked a job to go unfinished.

"What's he up to, anyway, he ain't got time for his old buddy Heatwave?" he asked as he set a jewel-encrusted dagger on top of a different case. Maybe that was one reason he'd started hitting places, the Flash oughta know what had happened. But if he wasn't gonna show up, what was the point?

[slam_poetry]

"I don't know," and she wasn't lying. She didn't. She'd never been close to that particular group and she wasn't the type to pry. She'd been told to go to Central City and patrol and so she'd gone.

"I know it's serious. But I don't know anything else."

Then she steps forward, tipping her chin towards the case. Then, quietly-

"Thank you."

[firebrawl]

A grunt and a shrug as he turned toward the front entrance—he'd made it in through the front entrance, that's how easy it was—and waved off the thanks. "Too easy anyway," he said, "Snart wouldn't've even bothered." Not true, Snart would have taken everything in the place, even the un-sellable stuff, just to teach them a lesson, but he wasn't here and Mick wasn't him.

He'd worked solo for a long time, and even then, working with his partner had come back so fast. Almost scary, how fast. He still walked like someone expecting their left side was covered, especially through a dark, silent museum.

[slam_poetry]

Someone filled that slot, falling in step with him easily enough. She didn't speak, but she decided to 'escort' him out. Or that was the purpose. She was walking with him because, well, she could see the hurt. The pain. That he was missing someone like a limb.

[firebrawl]

Casing the spots. Getting through security. Picking stuff up, getting out, the fences. None of it felt right. It was like he was re-learning to do things, and some of 'em just didn't fit anymore. She was smaller than the figure he was used to sensing at the edge, she didn't move the same, but it helped a little to have the space filled, whether or not she knew it.

Once they were outside—and Mick let the door bang shut behind him, and still no alarms went off, not even anything basic—he looked sidelong at her. "Kid needs help, huh?"

[slam_poetry]

"We're human beings," she said quietly, because regardless of whether it was a META human, he was a human. And he had family, people he cared about, a heart and a mind and places where he could be hurt.

"He lost someone. And there's no calling in sick for our job."

[firebrawl]

"Yeah, 'cause jerks like me keep draggin' you out." It was a joke, at least it was said like a joke, but it hit a little hard, learning the Flash wasn't here because he'd lost someone too. Maybe it was a good thing the Flash hadn't shown up. That wasn't news Mick would've wanted to give him, on top of whatever else had happened.

If he knew who the kid was behind the mask...but Snart had never told him. Kept his promise. He was pretty sure Lisa knew, but he and Lisa weren't doing the face-to-face thing right now, she'd bugged outta town for a while.

[slam_poetry]

"You have a reason," she said as they moved, "just like I do. I spoke to you because your reason didn't match your actions."

[firebrawl]

He'd been leading the way across the street, but that made him come to a slow halt in the street before they'd reached the sidewalk. "Yeah? What makes you say that?"

[firebrawl]

Being off-duty, the both of them, there wasn't really much reason to quit drinking until drinking more seemed like the bad idea. By then, Mick's pretty happy, still at least halfway-steady when he finally stands, but Cass, well. She and the shots have been having a discussion, and the alcohol seems to have talked her into a nap.

She doesn't weigh a damn thing when Mick gently scoops her up and tucks her against his chest to carry her out. No one stops them. That little display earlier is going to stay fresh in bystander minds for quite some time. His feet turn him toward home automatically, and since he doesn't know where else to take her, she's coming along for the ride. There's a good couch there anyway, and she might not want to suffer that hangover alone.

[slam_poetry]

...she's getting more of a princess carry than a fireman's carry, which is why she sleepily tucks her arms around his neck and happily cuddles up. She's not thinking heroes and villains; she's just going by what she can read and feel and tell and her hindbrain and everything in her is well aware that Mick won't do a damn thing to harm her and would probably stomp on anything that tried to hurt her. She isn't quite sure where she's going but she's all right with it.

[firebrawl]

It doesn't take long to get back to the warehouse he's been working out of, one reason he likes Saints & Sinners so much. He doesn't talk as he walks, it's a pleasant silence with Cass warm and still against him, and luckily he doesn't need to do much to the lock and she can stay right where she is until he's got the door closed behind them and is kneeling next to the couch to set her down.

"Here," he murmurs, voice even lower when it's quiet. There's a pillow on the couch already, a blanket he pulls off the back and unfolds to draw over her. "Stick around. Good luck in the morning."

[slam_poetry]

She sort or murmurs and fusses a little before the blanket is over her but then she's nodding and tucking up in the smallest possible ball against the pillow. She'll wake up with one hell of a headache, but for now, she's just going to pass out properly.

[firebrawl]

After her breathing has deepened, Mick leaves her a glass of water and disappears into the office, converted now into a makeshift bedroom because that's where the mattress pile is, and starts the sleeping-it-off process himself. He leaves the door open, in case she wakes up first and doesn't feel like slipping off into the city, never to be seen again, and wonders where he's gotten to.

Some nights, he gets to play host to nightmares from his Chronos days, but not this time. At least, not until he'd already gotten up, checked the locks, and decided to get a little more shut-eye. Then the Vanishing Point rises in his mind, and he tenses up, growling in his sleep.

[slam_poetry]

The disturbance wakes her up, as does the headache, and the water is grabbed immediately as she realizes the imbalance in her body. There's some rubbing of her temple, then her scalp, and finally she pushes up to go find the restlessness.

She knows distress when she sees it and she also knows a trained warrior when she sees it and it's very much a gamble when she reaches out. But she does it from behind him, tensed and ready.

[firebrawl]

The contact has him sitting up with a roar, that fades a little bit into a confused hrnn as he puts a hand to his head, sliding it back and forth over barely-there stubble. The headache, that's what had prompted the memory of reprogramming. Another reason not to drink so much. Not that he'll listen.

Right. The hand that had touched him. He shifts and turns, and blinks in surprise. "Hey," he says, still sleep-rough. "Thanks. 'Preciate it."

[slam_poetry]

She shrugs. He'd looked distressed. She tried to help people in distress.

She glanced at the glass of water in her hand, mostly gone, before holding out to him. There was only one gulp in it, but it's still offered.

[firebrawl]

He'll take it, one gulp is better than nothing. He swishes it around in his mouth before swallowing, and it helps. He's still a little sleep-muddled when he absently pats the side of the mattress as he settles back down again. She's got a bed out there, that's fine, but it's warmer in here, and he wouldn't say no to another warm body reminding him where he is when he wakes up.

It won't even occur to him that it's an unexpected, maybe surprising, maybe even inappropriate gesture until the next morning, and that's only if she thinks so.

[slam_poetry]

There's been no sexual component to how they've interacted so far and there's no sexual invitation inherent in his offer now. That's why she has no problem nodding and carefully crawling into place where he'd patted, glancing back at him in an offer in return. Does he want arms around her? Or arms around him? Or are they just going to curl up in the same bed?

[firebrawl]

He's going to flop onto his back, the arm on her side tucked up under his head. She can feel free to curl up without touching him at all, or as close as she wants, with her back against his side or plastered across him completely, he doesn't mind. It's up to her. He's just quietly glad he doesn't need to head back into sleep again on his own, and even more glad she doesn't seem to need him to talk about why he's glad she's there.

She's restful. It's not something he's used to, but he could get used to it fast.

[slam_poetry]

She tucks up against him, because otherwise, what's the point? Besides, he's warm and comfortable and she likes him. She decides on putting her back to his side, her head pillowed on her own arms and a little against one of his. If he curls around her in sleep, she won't fuss either.