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Title: Grilled Cheese and Pancakes
Fandom: Legends of Tomorrow
Pairing: Leonard Snart/Mick Rory
Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with DCTV It's not my toy box and I'm merely playing.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Last Refuge. In 1990 Mick wakes up with a three day gap in his memory. Rip didn't do a very good job of getting him home.
Warning: It's a bit darker than I normally write and Mick talks about murdering the people in the farmhouse that the team found dead in the house at the beginning of the episode. The child abuse is implied and in Len's case canon. They are twenty and eighteen in this fic and they both have one beer.
A/N: Written for the Food prompt for Mick Rory Appreciation Week.
Grilled Cheese and Pancakes:
There’s dirt under his fingernails. His clothes don’t smell of smoke, but a detergent he’s never used before. There’s a new lighter in his pocket and initials written on the bottom of his shoe. The only things he can remember are the low growl of a voice, the sting of a slap on his check,and the smell of babies in his nose. Mick groans and rubs a hand down his face.
There’s a bus ticket and more cash than he remembers in his wallet. He tries not to let the fact that it’s three days later than he thinks it should be weigh him down. He takes the bus home, counting out measured breaths the whole way.
Snart is making grilled cheese when Mick lets himself into their apartment. His apartment, Mick reminds himself, Snart’s just taken over and is now trying to make it somewhere he can bring Lisa. Mick drops into a chair at the rickety kitchen table and stares at the woodgrain. If he says it out-loud it’s real.
A plate slides in front of him. Mick stares down at the grilled cheese, then looks up to where Snart is getting a new plate, then spreading butter evenly over two new slices of bread.
“That was yours,” Mick reminds.
“Already making another,” Snart points out as he pulls two different types of cheese out of the fridge and starts slicing pieces.
Mick looks down again, breaths in the smell of cheese, butter, and bread. The cheese is already pooling in the middle where Snart sliced the sandwich. He picks it up, enjoys the warmth against his fingers, and then the sharpness of the cheddar mixed with the heat of the pepper jack. Snart lets him savor the whole thing before he pulls a newspaper clipping off the side of the fridge and slides it over.
Larson’s farm house burned down, just like he planned. Neither one of them survived. A beer is set in front of him. Snart’s plate and beer clink against the table before he sits down. Mick glances up at him. It’s one of their unspoken rules: Mick doesn’t ask about Snart’s scars and Snart doesn’t ask him about his time at the Larson’s, the last two people who decided they were his parents.
Mick’s hand closes around the beer. He picks at the label. He takes a slow pull and sets the beer back down.
“I call,” he admits. “I told them when I left I was the last kid. They knew no one would ever believe me, but I told them no more kids or I’d be the monster everyone always said I was. I called, a girl picked up, said her name was Parker. We talked. She said she could be out of the house in an hour. Guess they thought I’d forget my warning after two years.”
“There were only two bodies. Nobody’s found the kid.”
Mick stares at the beer in his hands and presses onward, “That was three days ago. I remember setting the fire. I remember watching the house go up. Then I woke up in a warehouse across town.”
Snart eats and waits, giving him time to find the words. Mick lets himself have another swig of beer before he pulls the lighter out of his pocket and sets it on the table. He takes the hundred out of his wallet.
“I left the fifty I had on me in a payphone for the kid,” Mick admits, before he pulls off his shoe and turns it over. “We know anyone with these initials.”
Snart continues to eat as he scoots his chair so he can look at Mick’s shoe. When he’s finished he points out. “L.S. could be me.”
Mick smiles slightly.
“Know several J.J.’s. The one M.S. I’ve heard of I say we stay away from. Don’t know about R.P., S.L, or K.S. The R.H. I know is an asshole.”
Mick takes a sip of his beer.
“My hand writings nicer,” Snart points out. “It’s not yours either.”
Mick agrees before managing to admit, “I’ve never blacked out before. I don’t want to go in-patient, but I don’t want to risk your sister either.”
He waits for Snart to point out that maybe Mick shouldn’t have risked getting caught for murder if he was worried about Lisa. The words are on Snart’s face, in his eyes. They could argue about it. It wouldn’t fix anything, but they could argue about it.
“I lost three days,” Mick admits, the words tinge with fear on his tongue.
Snart considers him quietly for a moment, accessing, before he tells him, “Take a bath. Finish your beer.”
Mick does. He’s too tired to do anything else. The bath and beer relax him. The water’s just starting to get tepid, he considering add more when Snart joins him, stands close to the tub and points out. “That girl Parker got out.”
Mick looks up at Snart, takes in the determination on his face. Snart’s already made his decisions about how he’s viewing Mick’s latest fuck up. Mick reaches up and undoes the button on Snart’s pants. Snart drops his clothes in precise movements and then gets into the tub with him, settles between Mick’s legs and leans back against his chest. Mick wraps an arm around him.
“If I black out again,” Mick tries.
“I won’t risk Lisa,” Snart cuts off.
“Don’t risk yourself,” Mick tells him. Snart leans up and presses a kiss to his jaw. Mick closes his eyes and breaths out a slow breath. “I mean it. I start getting dangerous. I lose time. If I…If you have to, you drag my ass to the hospital and you tell them I’ve been ranting for days about killing myself.”
Snart agrees, then tells him to enjoy the rapidly growing icy bath. Mick leans back and closes his eyes. He’s not sure he has anymore words. Snart makes an aggrieved sound, but warms up the water, then leans back into his arms till it grows cold again. After Snart makes him go to bed.
He wakes up to Snart making pancakes. He stands in the doorway to the kitchen and watches as Snart finishes mixing the batter.
“I don’t know how to cook anything else.” Snart admits. “Little girls can’t live off of pancakes and grilled cheese.”
“The best pancakes and grilled cheese,” Mick reminds.
“Someone needs to keep us fed or teach me how to cook for her,” Snart bargains. It’s not much of one, Mick’s been the one keeping Snart fed for the last year. Snart raise his eyebrows. Offers on the table.
“I’m in if you teach me how to make your pancakes,” Mick haggles.
“Deal, but you don’t learn the grilled cheese.”
“It’s evenly spread butter and split up cheese.”
Snart smirks slowly. Mick heads to the fridge to figure out what else they’re having with the pancakes.
Sequel Trouble
Fandom: Legends of Tomorrow
Pairing: Leonard Snart/Mick Rory
Disclaimer: I own nothing to do with DCTV It's not my toy box and I'm merely playing.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Last Refuge. In 1990 Mick wakes up with a three day gap in his memory. Rip didn't do a very good job of getting him home.
Warning: It's a bit darker than I normally write and Mick talks about murdering the people in the farmhouse that the team found dead in the house at the beginning of the episode. The child abuse is implied and in Len's case canon. They are twenty and eighteen in this fic and they both have one beer.
A/N: Written for the Food prompt for Mick Rory Appreciation Week.
Grilled Cheese and Pancakes:
There’s dirt under his fingernails. His clothes don’t smell of smoke, but a detergent he’s never used before. There’s a new lighter in his pocket and initials written on the bottom of his shoe. The only things he can remember are the low growl of a voice, the sting of a slap on his check,and the smell of babies in his nose. Mick groans and rubs a hand down his face.
There’s a bus ticket and more cash than he remembers in his wallet. He tries not to let the fact that it’s three days later than he thinks it should be weigh him down. He takes the bus home, counting out measured breaths the whole way.
Snart is making grilled cheese when Mick lets himself into their apartment. His apartment, Mick reminds himself, Snart’s just taken over and is now trying to make it somewhere he can bring Lisa. Mick drops into a chair at the rickety kitchen table and stares at the woodgrain. If he says it out-loud it’s real.
A plate slides in front of him. Mick stares down at the grilled cheese, then looks up to where Snart is getting a new plate, then spreading butter evenly over two new slices of bread.
“That was yours,” Mick reminds.
“Already making another,” Snart points out as he pulls two different types of cheese out of the fridge and starts slicing pieces.
Mick looks down again, breaths in the smell of cheese, butter, and bread. The cheese is already pooling in the middle where Snart sliced the sandwich. He picks it up, enjoys the warmth against his fingers, and then the sharpness of the cheddar mixed with the heat of the pepper jack. Snart lets him savor the whole thing before he pulls a newspaper clipping off the side of the fridge and slides it over.
Larson’s farm house burned down, just like he planned. Neither one of them survived. A beer is set in front of him. Snart’s plate and beer clink against the table before he sits down. Mick glances up at him. It’s one of their unspoken rules: Mick doesn’t ask about Snart’s scars and Snart doesn’t ask him about his time at the Larson’s, the last two people who decided they were his parents.
Mick’s hand closes around the beer. He picks at the label. He takes a slow pull and sets the beer back down.
“I call,” he admits. “I told them when I left I was the last kid. They knew no one would ever believe me, but I told them no more kids or I’d be the monster everyone always said I was. I called, a girl picked up, said her name was Parker. We talked. She said she could be out of the house in an hour. Guess they thought I’d forget my warning after two years.”
“There were only two bodies. Nobody’s found the kid.”
Mick stares at the beer in his hands and presses onward, “That was three days ago. I remember setting the fire. I remember watching the house go up. Then I woke up in a warehouse across town.”
Snart eats and waits, giving him time to find the words. Mick lets himself have another swig of beer before he pulls the lighter out of his pocket and sets it on the table. He takes the hundred out of his wallet.
“I left the fifty I had on me in a payphone for the kid,” Mick admits, before he pulls off his shoe and turns it over. “We know anyone with these initials.”
Snart continues to eat as he scoots his chair so he can look at Mick’s shoe. When he’s finished he points out. “L.S. could be me.”
Mick smiles slightly.
“Know several J.J.’s. The one M.S. I’ve heard of I say we stay away from. Don’t know about R.P., S.L, or K.S. The R.H. I know is an asshole.”
Mick takes a sip of his beer.
“My hand writings nicer,” Snart points out. “It’s not yours either.”
Mick agrees before managing to admit, “I’ve never blacked out before. I don’t want to go in-patient, but I don’t want to risk your sister either.”
He waits for Snart to point out that maybe Mick shouldn’t have risked getting caught for murder if he was worried about Lisa. The words are on Snart’s face, in his eyes. They could argue about it. It wouldn’t fix anything, but they could argue about it.
“I lost three days,” Mick admits, the words tinge with fear on his tongue.
Snart considers him quietly for a moment, accessing, before he tells him, “Take a bath. Finish your beer.”
Mick does. He’s too tired to do anything else. The bath and beer relax him. The water’s just starting to get tepid, he considering add more when Snart joins him, stands close to the tub and points out. “That girl Parker got out.”
Mick looks up at Snart, takes in the determination on his face. Snart’s already made his decisions about how he’s viewing Mick’s latest fuck up. Mick reaches up and undoes the button on Snart’s pants. Snart drops his clothes in precise movements and then gets into the tub with him, settles between Mick’s legs and leans back against his chest. Mick wraps an arm around him.
“If I black out again,” Mick tries.
“I won’t risk Lisa,” Snart cuts off.
“Don’t risk yourself,” Mick tells him. Snart leans up and presses a kiss to his jaw. Mick closes his eyes and breaths out a slow breath. “I mean it. I start getting dangerous. I lose time. If I…If you have to, you drag my ass to the hospital and you tell them I’ve been ranting for days about killing myself.”
Snart agrees, then tells him to enjoy the rapidly growing icy bath. Mick leans back and closes his eyes. He’s not sure he has anymore words. Snart makes an aggrieved sound, but warms up the water, then leans back into his arms till it grows cold again. After Snart makes him go to bed.
He wakes up to Snart making pancakes. He stands in the doorway to the kitchen and watches as Snart finishes mixing the batter.
“I don’t know how to cook anything else.” Snart admits. “Little girls can’t live off of pancakes and grilled cheese.”
“The best pancakes and grilled cheese,” Mick reminds.
“Someone needs to keep us fed or teach me how to cook for her,” Snart bargains. It’s not much of one, Mick’s been the one keeping Snart fed for the last year. Snart raise his eyebrows. Offers on the table.
“I’m in if you teach me how to make your pancakes,” Mick haggles.
“Deal, but you don’t learn the grilled cheese.”
“It’s evenly spread butter and split up cheese.”
Snart smirks slowly. Mick heads to the fridge to figure out what else they’re having with the pancakes.
Sequel Trouble
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