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?"

Comments

[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.

[firebrawl]

Mm. Nice.

He does eventually curl around that little ball of warmth in his sleep, not a whisper of a dream this time, and stays there until the sun starts streaming through the high windows. He wakes slowly, and doesn't stir, just keeps his arm carefully around her waist. It isn't tight enough that she couldn't wriggle out, but it's warm and comfortable and he doesn't feel like getting up just yet.

[slam_poetry]

She wakes up, immediately aware that he's awake, and while she shifts, she doesn't pull away. Instead, she tilts her head back to look up at him with a soft, warm sort of expression that isn't as expectant as a smile but expresses her contentedness all the same. After a moment, she shifts her arm to lay gently over his.

That's just fine, she says without words. She likes being here, with him. She's comfortable and she feels safe and yes, good.

[firebrawl]

Even less of a reason to move once she's signaled she's fine with it for a little while longer. He grins and drifts in that almost-asleep not-quite-awake place for a while, just appreciating the quiet, until finally he lets out a sigh that's more of an irritated growl. But he gives her one little squeeze before letting her go and rolling the opposite way and onto his feet in one movement.

There's barely a kitchen, but there's food for breakfast. Not much doing today, especially now that he's got his own off-the-clock vigilante hanging around the place, but there's always the heat gun to strip down and clean and reassemble, so he does that. As he gets to the end of it, he starts to feel a little more...it's never quite anxious, but more aware, a little tenser, because after he cleans the heat gun, he cleans the cold gun.

It never needs cleaning. He never uses it. It definitely doesn't need cleaning as often as he cleans it. But here he is anyway, sitting at Snart's work station, lifting the lid of the case and pulling it out and just staring at it for a few long, bereft seconds before he shoves the case out of the way and starts the automatic movements.

[slam_poetry]

Cass doesn't bother him while he goes about his business and she certainly doesn't clean anything. What she does do is make coffee for him and scrounge around until she can find something for herself (hot chocolate, since there's no tea, and it's the kind that has the little marshmallows too).

She watches him clean the guns, curious at the heat gun and... more focused on the cold gun. Because she can tell the difference between the two, between how he takes care of the guns. And she doesn't do anything until he's done with the cold gun.

And what she does is walk over to him, look him in the eye, clearly consider something... and tug him towards someplace where they can curl up again.

[firebrawl]

He frowns a little the more she looks at him, and he almost breaks their hours-long silence just to ask what's on her mind, but he stands and lets her tug him to the couch she'd spent part of the night on. Looks like it's his turn to join her now, he thinks with a faint smile as he settles in.

This is new and different, but she'd been considerate enough to wait until he was finished. If she wants something from him, he doesn't mind.