daylight_darknight: (Earth Sunrise)
[personal profile] daylight_darknight
It's done though I'm not sure entirely sure about this ending. I could only take things so far because I wanted it to stay relatively close to canon and since it takes place before the last few episodes and Rip and Leonard are obviously not that close in those few episodes, I couldn't make them best friends. Hopefully what I wrote works anyway and is a satisfying ending. I would rather like to write fic where Rip and Leonard are friends. The type of friends who snark at each other and drive each other insane but still really care about each other. I also rather like the idea of Rip, Leonard, Mick, and Sara as a foursome, not a romantic foursome but a friendship foursome, a weird dysfunctional group of friends who annoy each other but look after each other. Of course, then I end up leaving out the rest of the team and they're so lovely as one big dysfunctional family.


Title: Bank Robbers and Cutpurses
Characters: Rip Hunter, Leonard Snart
Rating/Warnings: PG-13
Genre: Action/Adventure, Drama, Hurt/Comfort (sort of)
Word Count: 1600 for Chapter 5, about 15,000 in total
Spoilers: Set between 1x12 and 1x13.
Summary: Rip Hunter, Leonard Snart, a concussion, a broken ankle, and a time pirate prison cell.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4


Chapter 5

The first thing Rip became aware of was that he was lying on something uncomfortable, something uncomfortable but familiar. It wasn’t until he recognized the ever-present background hum of the Waverider that he realized where he was. Medbay. He groaned reminding himself for the hundredth time to get better beds for the place. It was bad enough being ill or injured, but being ill or injured and having to lie on something equivalent to a late twentieth century dentist chair was a cruel and unusual punishment.

“Just so you know I still don’t like you,” drawled the voice of Leonard Snart from his right.

Speaking of cruel and unusual punishments, thought Rip. Was there no escaping this man?

Rip slowly opened his eyes and was rewarded with the rather dull sight of the medbay ceiling. Turning his head in the direction of Snart’s voice, he found the man sitting up on the other bed, his right foot carefully propped up, an old, battered paperback lying on his lap.

“In case you weren’t clear after the whole saving my life thing,” Leonard elaborated.

Rip cleared his throat. It felt as if it were full of desert sand. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had something to drink, or to eat for that matter. At least the pain in his head was now a distant, muted thing. Thank God for Gideon and her painkillers.

“Are you trying to convince me or yourself?” he asked, his low, scratchy voice barely audible.

Ignoring the question, Snart pointed to a small table beside Rip’s bed and said, “Have some water. You sound like Al Pacino.”

Glancing over, Rip spotted a cup on the table, the end of a straw hanging over its brim. “Gideon,” he croaked.

He couldn’t get much more past his parched throat. Fortunately, Gideon knew him well enough to understand his unvoiced request. The bed Rip was lying on slowly began to tilt up until he was in a seated position. The change to vertical left him feeling a little light-headed but didn’t send the whole room reeling so Rip considered it a vast improvement.

“May I say how glad I am to see you awake,” said the A.I. in her usual cheerful tone as Rip reached over to grab the cup.

“Thank you, Gideon,” said Rip once he’d had a sip of water, the cool liquid tasting like ambrosia to his dry throat. “Update,” he added, his standard request whenever he’d been unconscious for any period of time.

“We are currently stationed in the temporal zone. All systems are functional. All crew members are accounted for and, with the exception of Mr. Snart and yourself, unharmed. You were unconscious for approximately 37 hours and 26 minutes.”

Rip’s eyes widened. “37 hours!” he exclaimed.

“It's true,” said Snart. “You’ve been lazing around for over a day. The others made a big fuss over you. Something about some bleeding in your brain.” He added a vague gesture to the last as if it were nothing more than a scraped knee. “They were worried you wouldn’t wake up.”

“But not you?” said Rip, raising an eyebrow.

“Nah,” said Snart and gave him a lopsided smirk. “I knew you were too much of a vicious bastard to let something as small as a crack on the head kill you.”

Rip wasn’t sure whether to take that as a compliment or not, so instead asked, “How’s your ankle?”

Snart flexed the injured limb in question. “Oh, Gideon fixed it up,” he said. “I have to stay off it for another day, but apparently, I’ll be dancing in no time.”

“You dance?”

“I could if I wanted to.”

Rolling his eyes, Rip reached over and placed his cup of water back on the table. Even that small, simple action left him feeling worn out. Apparently, he still had some healing to do. Gideon could do amazing things with the equipment in medbay but she couldn’t fix everything. Some things still just took time. Rip felt like he could sleep another 37 hours though a shower would be nice first. He was pretty disgusting. Gazing down at himself, he noted he had been stripped of his boots and his jacket but still wore his clothes. Someone had draped a blanket over him. He plucked at it absently as his mind began going through recent events. Some of the things that had happened while they’d been guests of the pirates were admittedly somewhat blurry thanks to his concussion, and apparent subdural hematoma, but he could still recall the important bits including the rather odd conversations he’d had with Mr. Snart and the surprising reason behind them.

“I’d like to thank you, Leonard,” Rip found himself saying, his use of the man’s first name sounding strange even to his own ears.

Having returned to his book, Snart looked up and gazed quizzically at Rip.

“For what you did in that place,” Rip explained. He never had found out what the place truly was or had been before the pirates took it over. “Helping me to keep going, even if your methods were rather unorthodox. I’m afraid I was in rather a bad state back there.”

“Don’t mention it,” said Snart. “Seriously, don’t.”

“Still, I want you to know...” Rip began but Snart interrupted.

“Look, I don’t know what you think I did,” said Snart, irately, staring at him with surprising intensity in his eyes, “but I only did it because you were my ticket out of there, no other reason.” Cocking his head to the side, he added, “Unless you count the pure joy of pissing you off.”

Rip was taken aback and wondered if he would ever really understand the man who was Leonard Snart.

Leonard meanwhile seemed to gather himself letting out a loud exhale and momentarily closing his eyes before saying, “Technically I suppose I should be thanking you.”

This time it was Rip who looked quizzical.

“You know,” Snart continued, “the whole saving my life thing.”

Rip recalled the moment, recalled the sickeningly familiar feel of the knife in his hand and the cold savagery he’d let take over him. “About that, I’d rather you not mention to the rest of the team...”

“The fact you threatened to slice a guy’s head off with a knife,” Snart finished for him.

Rip winced at Snart’s callous description of events. “Yes, that.”

Leonard waved a dismissive hand. “Don’t worry about it. I won’t go blabbing to anyone.”

“I appreciate it,” Rip said, gratefully.

“The others wouldn’t understand anyway. Mick would. Sara might, but the rest... They’re not like us. They’re not...”

“Criminals?” said Rip, feeling like they were going back down a familiar road.

“Survivors,” said Leonard.

Survivors. Rip mulled the word over in his head. He rather preferred that label to thief if Leonard was going to insist on comparing the two of them. And it was true. They had both been through turbulent childhoods that could have easily broken them and survived, came out the other side more or less intact. Rip gazed at Leonard, thoughtfully. He might not ever truly understand Snart but he was beginning to get an inkling.

“I should also apologize,” he said. “I was wrong when I said you didn’t care about anyone but yourself.”

Snart didn’t seem to appreciate the apology anymore than the thank you. He narrowed his eyes. “Yeah? Says who?”

“I’m not blind,” said Rip with an amused chuckle. “Even if you hadn’t proven it several times over in fighting for the team, it’s rather obvious by the way you act around Mr. Rory and Ms. Lance.” He gazed knowingly at Leonard as he added the last.

“Gideon clearly missed some brain damage,” Leonard grumbled, looking uncommonly uncomfortable.

“It’s not a bad thing, you know,” Rip said softly, “caring about people.”

Snart snorted and shook his head. “If you really believe that, you’re more deluded than I thought.”

“Love is not a weakness and it’s not a threat,” said Rip, and with a quiet sigh added, “A very wise woman taught me that a long time ago.” He still hoped to see that woman again some day though that hope seemed to be growing less and less as time went by.

“If you say so.” Leonard’s fingers tapped restlessly on the cover of his book. “I suppose I was wrong too," he added somewhat reluctantly. "You do care about your crew.” His eyes were calculating as he leveled his gaze at Rip. “Of course, the question is whether or not you care about them as much as that family of yours.”

Rip wished he knew the answer to that question, wished he knew just how much further into the dark his mission would take him. Would it lead him all the way back to the child who would do almost anything just to survive? He had already done so much that before he wouldn’t have even been able to conceive of, turned his back on nearly everything he’d once believed in. What he might end up doing even he couldn’t say. At least, he now had Mr. Snart to remind him of just how far he could fall.

“That’s the one thing about caring I should warn you about,” he said to Snart, “if we really are as alike as you claim.”

“And what’s that, Rip,” said Leonard, wryly.

Rip gave him a tired smile. “You may find yourself surprised by just what you’re willing to do for those you love.”
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