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daylight_darknightPutting up only two this time instead of waiting for four because part 14 is a Christmas story so I thought I should get it up before the Christmas season is over.
Title: The Adventures of Time Dad
Characters: Rip, Mick, Ray, Sara, Martin, Jax, Leonard
Rating/Warnings: PG
Genre: Humor, Crack, Fluff, Family, Friendship
Word Count: 21,500 so far
Spoilers: Takes place between seasons 1 and 2 with random visits from Leonard because I keep forgetting he's dead.
Summary: Some days Rip wants to strangle them. Some days he wants to hug them. Some days he wants to do both.
Parts 1 - 4
Parts 5 - 8
Parts 9 - 12
13. Playing Dress-up
For as long as Sara had been a part of Rip’s little team of Legends, Rip had always helped pick out the clothes for their missions, and Sara had never found anything strange about that. After all before they’d boarded the Waverider, they’d never even heard of such a thing as a fabricator let alone used one, and even after Rip had taught them how to use it, they weren’t exactly historians. They didn’t know what was appropriate to wear in say 14th century China or 17th century Brazil. So unless they happened to be visiting a time period they had already lived through, they were reliant on Rip.
If necessary, Gideon could help, of course. She had a database full of suitable options but she would give you a list of hundreds to choose from, and if you asked her to pick one out at random, you were taking a huge risk. Gideon, unfortunately, did not have any fashion sense. Rip on the other hand... Rip would glance at you, scroll through Gideon’s list, and pick something out within a few seconds, and you knew you’d end up looking good, gorgeous in fact. He’d even take your personal tastes into account and give you some flattering accessories to go along with the clothing.
And Sara never really thought about it. She always just took it for granted, until one day when they were suiting up for a mission in late 19th century Prague...
It had taken almost fifteen minutes for Sara to stuff herself into the enormous dress with its ridiculous amount of frills and ruffles, and once she was done, she marched back to the fabricator room with a few choice words for their captain.
“How the hell am I supposed to fight in this?” she demanded as she stormed into the room. She did admittedly look very good in the dress Rip had picked out, as usual, but looks weren’t everything.
Rip glanced up momentarily from his search through Gideon’s clothing database, and then turned back to the screen. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll find a way,” he said as he continued his search. “Besides, if all goes well, there shouldn’t actually be any fighting.”
“Since when does ‘all go well’?” Sara pointed out. “Can’t you at least do something to the skirt? Make it looser, lighter, shorter, anything?”
“That skirt is already lighter and less fitted than average for this time period and I can’t raise the hemline anymore without scandalizing people with the sight of your ankles. We’re trying to be respectable upper class citizens this time around, remember?”
“Fine,” Sara replied, peevishly. She grimaced as she gazed down at the dress tugging at the skirt and watching the frilly pleats swirl around her legs. “At least, there are plenty of places to stash knives in all this crap,” she added consolingly to herself.
Rip turned to her, head tilting to the side as he gave her one of his typical ‘I’m very disappointed in you right now’ looks.
Sara raised her eyebrows and sent back a pointed ‘do you remember who you’re talking to?’
Rip rolled his eyes, his expression changing to the familiar ‘what the hell did I ever do to deserve a team like this.’
“You’ll want a shawl to go over the dress,” he said, already inputting the necessary parameters into the fabricator, “with a suitably elaborate broach. Oh, and you’ll need a hat as well and some gloves.”
Within a few seconds, a shawl matching the colour and style of Sara’s dress had materialized inside the fabricator. A few seconds later, a drawer popped open containing a small broach. Rip took the shawl and draped it over Sara’s shoulders, moving her long hair out of the way before pinning the shawl in place.
Looking down, Sara gazed at the broach. It was a small oval of ivory framed in silver. Carved into the ivory was a canary with its beak open in mid-song. It was beautiful. She wondered if Rip would let her keep it after the mission.
Rip meanwhile had stepped back and was looking her over. He nodded in satisfaction. “You’ll need to put your hair up,” he said. “Gideon can show you an appropriate style. When you’re done, come back and I’ll show you how to use a hat pin.”
The fabricator was already making her hat. It had feathers sprouting out of it. But Sara had other things on her mind. The quick and efficient way Rip had dressed her up, completed her ensemble, and appraised how she looked was niggling something in the back of her brain. There was something there, something she’d never noticed before.
Just then Jax entered. He was dressed in his 19th century wear but his vest was unbuttoned and he held a silk scarf abjectly in one hand.
“What the hell am I supposed to do with this?” he asked.
“That, Mr. Jackson, is your cravat,” Rip declared, “the forefather of the tie. Here," he added walking over to Jax. "I’ll tie it for you.”
Rip took the scarf from Jax and wrapped it around the young man’s neck before tying it in an elaborate knot and tucking it into his shirt. He then buttoned up Jax’s vest and straightened his coat making sure everything fit good and hung right. Taking a step back, he gazed at Jax thoughtfully tapping a finger against his lips.
“You’ll need a good topper to finish it off,” he said and went back to the fabricator. He soon produced a black top hat and he set it on Jax’s head at a slight angle. “There you go. Now you look very dapper.”
“Gideon,” Jax called out. “Mirror, please.”
The A.I. obediently produced a holographic mirror image of Jax.
Jax gazed at the reflected image with a pleased grin. “Nice,” he said. “Thanks, Rip.” On his way out of the room, he added, “Oh, Grey’s still waiting for his duds.”
“Right,” said Rip heading back to the fabricator.
Sara had been watching carefully throughout Rip’s entire exchange with Jax and continued watching as Rip flipped through the selections in Gideon’s database choosing a vest in the exact shade she knew would bring out the colour of Martin’s eyes.
“Was there something else, Ms. Lance?” Rip asked, obviously having noticed the staring.
Sara sauntered over and leaned casually against the wall beside him folding her arms across her chest and gazing at him calculatingly. “You take courses on fashion at that Time Master academy of yours?” she asked.
Rip kept his attention on what he was doing but Sara could see the lines on his forehead deepen. “Well, yes. A course on the history of fashion is required learning. You need it so you know how to properly blend in to the various time periods you visit.”
“Uh huh,” she said, and added offhandedly, “So just the one course?”
“There’s one required course,” Rip elaborated, “but the academy offers several more for those who wish to pursue the subject in more detail.”
“So how many did you take?”
Rip hesitated, his hand momentarily frozen hovering over the screen before he continued. “A few,” he admitted. He pressed a few more buttons and the fabricator came to life buzzing as it began to materialize Martin’s clothes.
Sara continued to stare at him.
Avoiding her gaze but obviously feeling the weight of it, Rip shifted his feet and began to fidget uncomfortably, the fingers of his left hand tapping restlessly against his side. “Maybe eight,” he finally confessed.
Sara smirked. “And how well did you do in those classes?”
“Why the sudden interest in my education?” Rip demanded as he removed the first of the clothing from the fabricator, a charcoal coloured coat, and draped it over a nearby bench so the machine could begin on the next piece.
“Just curious,” Sara said with a casual shrug though her eyes were lit with amusement.
Rip turned to her with one of his best put upon looks, and then sighed and said, “It so happens I was top of my class in all of them.”
Sara laughed and clapped her hands together. “I knew it,” she exclaimed. “You wanted to be a fashion designer in another life, didn’t you?”
Groaning, Rip turned away from her and went back to the fabricator to finish Martin’s clothing.
“Was that your fall back plan in case you didn’t graduate?” Sara continued, teasingly. “I bet if you ever retire, you could open your own boutique. Or get a job as a stylist. Instead of dressing ungrateful teammates, you could fit out the rich and famous in any time period you chose, or several time periods. A time travelling fashion stylist, now there’s a unique job description.”
“It was just a hobby,” Rip grumbled yanking the next piece of clothing from the fabricator with rather more force than necessary.
“Oh, Rip,” said Sara giving him a fond smile. Going over to him, she placed a hand on his shoulder. “There’s nothing wrong with having an interest in fashion. I think it’s awesome. It’s nice to know there’s something more to you than being an ex-Time Master and having an Old West fetish.”
Rip still didn’t seem very happy but he looked somewhat mollified, or at least less grumpy.
Sara patted him on the back. “And I promise I won’t tell anyone.”
“Thank you,” he said, gratefully.
“Though in future, I will be coming to you for all fashion advice.”
Rip rolled his eyes. He probably would have had something to say about that but just then another member of the team entered the fabricator room. Upon seeing Mick Rory, Rip let out another groan. Mick was wearing his 19th century costume but with one minor exception.
“No, no, no, no,” Rip exclaimed. “You are not going out in those sneakers. What happened to the boots I gave you?”
“I don’t like them,” Mick replied. “They’re too girly.”
“Most boots for the upper classes were like that back then,” Rip explained.
“Still don’t like them,” Mick repeated.
Rip sighed, wearily. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s see if we can find something you do like. How about something tough and manly that says I can crush your skull under my heel if I chose?”
Mick pursed his lips thoughtfully, and then nodded. “Sounds about right.”
As the two headed over to the fabricator, Sara couldn’t help letting out a brief giggle and Rip shot a glare in her direction. She quickly mimed zipping her lips, and then held her hand over her mouth to prevent anymore giggles from escaping as she watched Rip pick out the perfect shoes for Mick.
14. Merry Christmas, Rip Hunter
Rip stared blearily at the blazing fireplace in front of him and let out a long and heartfelt sigh.
Why, oh, why, he wondered, did he keep letting the team talk him into these things?
A garland was draped over the mantelpiece above the crackling fire, a long, festive garland covered in red bows, bits of holly, and tiny golden bells. It lay across the mantle, its ends dangling over each side, as jolly and as Christmassy as any garland could be. To add even more holiday flare to the fireplace, a large red stocking had been hung from the mantle as if someone, namely Ray, expected it to be magically filled with presents. Mick had made several suggestions about what could be put in it. Rip had quickly vetoed every one.
Let’s celebrate Christmas, they’d said. It’ll be fun, they’d said.
Rip snorted.
The fire itself was fairly large, the flames flickering across the pile of logs and filling the room with the sweet scent of burning cedar, but the heat the fire gave off wasn’t quite enough to take the chill from Rip’s bones. Shivering, he pulled the blankets tighter around him and sank deeper into the couch grumbling to himself about bothersome teammates and their ridiculous ideas about what they considered to be fun.
A tree stood by the fireplace completing the Christmas scene, a real tree not a plastic one upon insistence from Jax who wanted nothing but the real thing. Rip could certainly vouch for its realness. He’d been the one who’d had to clean up all the needles after the others had dragged it into the cabin. The decorations adorning the tree were fairly traditional, for the most part, some multicoloured balls, some pine cones, some strings of popcorn, though why they’d thought adding a few of Sara’s throwing knives in among the branches would be a good idea Rip would never know. The lights that wound around the tree were made by Jax and Ray from leftover components of the Waverider’s electrical system and flickered on and off randomly in random colours. The elaborate gold star that stood at the top of the tree had been acquired by Snart. Rip didn’t know where Snart had gotten it or how, and that was probably a good thing.
There was a tug at the blankets encircling Rip as the person pressed against his left side shifted about and he glanced over at his blanket sharing companion.
Sara was looking at the fire too, a slightly dazed look in her eyes, one which he was sure was in his own as well. Her face was pale except to for a slight redness to her cheeks and the tip of her nose, and her hair was still damp leaving it somewhat frizzy as it fell down over her shoulders.
Rip readjusted the blankets making sure they still covered them both, and then settled down once more.
On the sill of the window not far from the tree sat a menorah, its candles waiting to be lit. Martin had placed it there though he insisted he enjoyed celebrating Christmas just as much as Hanukah. He had also promised to bake them some of his grandmother's latkes later.
Outside the window, the snow was falling more heavily than ever. At the rate it was going, they could end up snowed it, trapped in a small cabin in the middle of nowhere, because the team hadn’t just wanted to celebrate Christmas. No. They had wanted to celebrate Christmas in a nice, out of the way cabin in a forest halfway up a mountain where there was sure to be lots of snow. They’d insisted it would be nice and Christmassy. After all, why would they want to be sensible and celebrate in a nice, warm, state of the art timeship with an advanced medical facility, which now sat parked out of reach at the base of the mountain.
More snow collected on the ground outside and Rip gave another heartfelt sigh.
It actually hadn’t seemed that bad an idea at first, celebrating Christmas. The team had obviously needed a break. They'd been through some tough missions recently and the strain had made itself known causing the team to become even more troublesome than usual. Rip had even started to enjoy himself once they'd settled in and started putting up decorations, or at least he had been enjoying himself before this happened.
Maybe he was cursed, Rip thought. Maybe he had unknowingly pissed off some witch or sorcerer and was now doomed to have calamity befall him wherever he went. That would certainly explain some things.
Of course, this time it hadn’t been just him calamity had claimed as its victim.
Sara began shifting about again and a bony elbow poked him in the ribs. Rip glanced over at her once more. Apparently all the shifting about was an effort to stay awake because as he watched her head began to droop. It sprang up again but only to start drooping once more. It wasn't long before her eyes closed and her body slumped to the side, her head falling on to the shoulder of the person to her left, one Leonard Snart.
“No sleeping, Lance,” said Snart, gazing down at the woman now using him as a pillow. “Remember what Stein said.”
Sara mumbled something incomprehensible in reply and stayed where she was, eyes closed.
Leonard reached over with the arm not currently wrapped around her shoulders and gently patted her cheek. “Come on, Assassin. Wakey wakey.”
This time there was no response.
“Sara?” Leonard enquired in the soft tone Rip had only ever heard him use with her.
“I’m awake,” she muttered grumpily, not bothering to shift position or open her eyes.
“Really?” said Snart incredulously. “Trying telling me that again with your eyes open.”
Still not opening her eyes, Sara dug a hand out of the mound of blankets and jabbed him in the stomach.
Leonard let out a loud ‘oof’. He would have probably let out something much more explicit if Sara had been up to her usual strength. “You sure are crabby when you’re sleepy,” he said, rubbing his stomach. “You know I love it when you snooze on me but if you want to be able to wake up again, or have any of the hot chocolate that’s coming, you might want to try staying awake.”
Perhaps it was the mention of hot chocolate that finally got through to her as Sara opened her eyes and sat up. She blinked several times and let out a jaw cracking yawn.
“Much better,” said Snart.
Sara quickly jabbed him again.
Rip really wished the hot chocolate would arrive soon. Sara wasn’t the only one feeling sleepy and he was still chilled to the bone despite the warm bodies and the many blankets. He turned to gaze out of the window once more.
Somewhere out in that snow were two lopsided snowmen with crooked branches for arms and tiny rocks for eyes. One of them was also wearing the scarf and tuque that were supposed to be Rip’s. He didn’t know why his clothes had had to be used for the snowman. They’d been snatched from him before he could even protest and now a snowman with a silly grin drawn on its face had his green tuque and stripy scarf when he could have really used them.
Along with the snowmen amidst the firs trees and the fields of snow outside, there were also several snow angels of various sizes, the remains of two thoroughly demolished snow forts, and a large jagged hole in what had proven to be a frozen lake.
Rip shivered again. He was tired of shivering. It was making his bones ache.
An arm wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him closer to the warm body on his right side. Rip stiffened at first but then let himself relax. Say what you will about Mick Rory he certainly lived up to his code name. Even his body was like a raging furnace, warm and soft and cuddly...
Rip’s head shot up, his eyes widening. Oh, God, he was getting delirious.
“No sleep for you either, English,” said Mick, giving his shoulder a shake as if he hadn’t been shaken around enough already. “I’m not carting your frozen corpse back down the mountain.”
Rip dug a leaden hand out from the blankets and rubbed tiredly at his face. “If I do die,” he muttered, “you have permission to cremate me. At least then maybe I’ll be warm.”
“No problem,” said Mick and Rip really wished he hadn’t said it with quite so much enthusiasm.
Rip’s eyes drifted back to the fireplace with its Christmas decor and merrily dancing flames. It wasn’t long before his head started to nod again.
Mick gave him another violent shake. “I’ll cremate you now if you don’t stay awake.”
Rip glared up at him and was surprised to see actual concern in Mick’s eyes. Maybe he really was getting delirious.
In fact, he wasn’t entirely convinced that this wasn’t all some sort of hypothermia induced hallucination, the four of them squashed together on the couch like this, cuddling, him and Sara half-dressed and swaddled in so many blankets, pressed between Leonard and Mick, all the bright Christmas decorations surrounding them.
Not wanting to be shaken again, Rip tried to stay awake but his body felt weighted down with fatigue. His head alone felt ten times as heavy and soon it began to droop once more. On his left, it looked like Sara’s head was doing the same. He caught Mick and Snart exchanging glances over their heads, communicating silently with their eyebrows as they tended to do. They seemed worried about something. Why were they so worried? Rip wondered drowsily.
“Where the hell is that idiot with the hot chocolate?” Snart demanded.
As if on cue, Ray arrived emerging through the kitchen door with a tray loaded with steaming mugs. “Here I am,” he said, completely unaware he’d just called himself an idiot.
Ray was wearing such a ridiculous Christmas sweater Rip could only stare at it in astonishment. The thing was mainly red and green but with so many pompoms, bells, and ribbons covering it in such a clashing kaleidoscope of colours it was almost nauseating. It was, in fact, such an ugly sweater it finally convinced Rip he wasn’t hallucinating. No way could his imagination come up with anything quite so garish.
“Sorry, I took so long,” Ray said as he placed the tray down on the coffee table in front of them, “but I had trouble finding where we’d stashed the mini marshmallows.”
“Because mini marshmallows are so important when treating hypothermia,” said Snart, sarcastically.
Ray gave him a hurt look. “I just thought Rip and Sara deserved proper hot chocolates with all the works after...” He waved a hand in the air in a vague gesture.
“Just give me,” said Sara, sticking a hand out of the blankets.
Ray quickly handed over a mug.
Sara took it, and with a little help from Leonard, had a long drink, a look of complete bliss coming over her face.
Rip took a mug too, reaching for it clumsily with both hands and pointedly ignoring the way they were shaking. The hot chocolate smelled heavenly. The little marshmallows bobbing on top were an odd assortment of pastel colours and there were a surprisingly lot of them too. Ray had really gone all out. There even appeared to be a sprinkling of cinnamon on top.
“You’re supposed to drink it not stare at it, you moron,” Mick declared, Rip having apparently been gazing at his mug a little too long.
Rip lifted the mug and finally took a sip. The hot chocolate tasted even better than it had smelled and immediately sent warmth coursing through his entire body clearing the muzziness from his head he hadn’t even realized was there. He took a larger sip and sighed for the third time in the past few minutes but this time it was a sigh of contentment. Before he knew it, he had finished half the mug.
When Rip looked up once, taking a break from drowning himself in chocolate, he spotted Martin and Jax peering around the kitchen doorway, matching looks of guilt on their faces. Rip narrowed his eyes and glared at them. Sara, spotting them too, sent one of her own, admittedly rather more effective, glares their way. The pair quickly disappeared, ducking back into the kitchen from which the sound of a loud argument was soon heard.
Having seen this play out, Ray shook his head and said, “Come on, guys. It wasn’t their fault.”
“How is it not their fault?” Sara grumbled and took another gulp of her hot chocolate.
“They just got a little carried away,” said Ray, unconvincingly.
"A little?" said Snart with a snort.
Ray made a face. “Well, how were they to know the pile of snow Sara and Rip were standing on happened to be covering a frozen lake? They just wanted to melt the snow out from under them. They didn’t know the fireball would...”
“Give us an instant ice bath?” Rip suggested.
Even though he was so much warmer now, he shivered at the memory. Luckily, the part of the lake they’d been standing over hadn’t actually been that deep. When he and Sara had recovered from the sudden dunking, they’d found they both could touch bottom, the water only coming up to Rip’s chest and Sara’s shoulders, so they hadn’t been in much danger of drowning. Unfortunately, the ice surrounding them had been slippery and weakened by the fireball so it took awhile and the some delicate rescue work for the others to pull them out. Not wanting to risk taking the frozen pair all the way back to the ship, the team had then dragged them back to the much closer cabin where they’d divested them of their wet clothes and wrapped them in blankets in front of the fire. Leonard and Mick had stayed in order to help warm them while Ray went to get hot chocolate, Martin and Jax following in order to escape Sara’s wrath.
“I say we bury them somewhere out in the snow where they’ll never be found,” said Sara with a vicious flare she usually reserved for talking about her enemies.
“Just let us know when and where,” said Leonard.
“I’ll bring the shovel,” added Mick.
“Guys,” Ray protested. “You can’t seriously be... Rip?”
“As Captain, I can’t condone such a thing,” said Rip in a calm, commanding tone before quickly adding, “so do it when I’m not looking.”
Sara raised her mug to him and he clinked his against hers.
Ray sighed and slumped his shoulders clearly giving up on the lot of them.
It wasn’t long though before the sources of Sara’s imminent revenge emerged from kitchen bearing nervous expressions on their faces and plates of freshly made gingerbread cookies in the hands.
Martin and Jax stood in front of Rip and Sara grimacing guiltily, barely able to meet their eyes.
“There’s not much we can say other than the fact that we are both deeply and sincerely sorry,” Martin began, bowing his head and gazing at the ground. “Our actions were inexcusable, and careless, and reckless, and...”
“And we know this can’t really make up for what happened but...” Jax put in holding out the plate of cookies.
Rip turned to Sara and Sara turned to him. They gazed at each other thoughtfully. Rip knew, and could tell Sara knew too, that they couldn’t really hold what had happened against Martin and Jax. The two had just been playing around after all. They hadn’t actually meant to hurt either one of them, but Rip and Sara continued to stare silently at each other for a while. It wouldn’t do to let the pair off too easily.
Finally, unable to take the looks of extreme guilt anymore, Rip turned back to them. “Well, I suppose forgiveness is in the spirit of Christmas,” he said and helped himself to a gingerbread reindeer.
“You’re just lucky I really like cookies,” said Sara reaching out a hand to take a gingerbread snowman from the plate.
Martin and Jax smiled in obvious relief, and then were immediately attacked by all the other Legends who also wanted cookies.
The gingerbread was actually quite good and when combined with the hot chocolate finally managed to stop Rip’s shivering. By the time he’d downed his second mugful, all of the chill had fled from his bones. He still felt incredibly drowsy though and was soon nodding once more. With the blankets covering him and the team surrounding him as they ate cookies and chatted idly, Rip felt wrapped in a cozy type of warmth, and slowly, he began to drift off, the world fading around him.
Unfortunately, before he could fall completely into the land of dreams, he was suddenly brought back to awareness by the sound of an electronic click followed by a deep rumbling very close to his ear.
The source of the first noise was immediately obvious when he opened his eyes.
Ray was standing in front of Rip, his phone held directly at him, a large grin on his face. “No one’s going to believe this,” he declared.
The rumbling sounded again followed by Mick’s voice which also seemed surprisingly close. “Haircut....” he said in a dangerous tone.
“I’ve got to send a copy of this to Barry and Cisco,” said Ray, gazing at his phone and apparently unaware of the danger he was in. “They’ll love it.”
“Don’t you dare,” growled Mick.
As more awareness came back to Rip, he suddenly realized why Mick’s voice was sounding so very close. Apparently when he’d drifted off, his head had fallen to the side and landed right on Mick’s shoulder which he was now using as a pillow.
Rip immediately sat bolt upright.
This proved to be a good thing because a second later Mick sprang up from the couch and launched himself at Ray crying, “Give me that phone!”
Ray’s eyes widened and he took off.
Rip, still half-asleep, watched as Mick began to chase Ray around the room, the pair knocking various things over as they went.
Oh, God, thought Rip, just when he thought he’d found some peace. Groaning, he reached up and rubbed his eyes only to stop in mid-rub when he suddenly smelt... Was that smoke? Please say the cabin wasn’t about to burn down. Rip had wanted to be warm but that was a bit much.
Across the room, Jax and Martin, who had been trying to protect the tree from Mick and Ray, suddenly grew matching looks of horror on their faces.
“The shortbread!” they exclaimed in unison and dashed off to the kitchen from which the smell was emanating.
Rip groaned again. As usual with this team, chaos reigned and any peace was fleeting.
Mick, meanwhile, had managed to catch up with Ray and was now wrestling him for the phone. Ray appeared to be fighting back by attempting to tickle him. Rip knew he should probably intervene before they broke something, or each other, but right then he didn’t even have the energy to protest. Besides, he had a strange feeling they were actually enjoying themselves.
Looking over at Sara, Rip was pleased to find someone at least had found some peace. Sara had finally gotten her wish and was now sleeping with her head resting upon Leonard’s shoulder, a half-eaten gingerbread star clutched in her hand. Not even the antics of Ray and Mick had woken her up.
Leonard, his arm wrapped tightly around Sara, caught his eyes and grinned. “Merry Christmas, Rip.”
Rip gave a tired sigh. “Merry Christmas, Leonard.”
Oh, well, Rip thought, he supposed it couldn’t be a true Legends’ Christmas without a few disasters.
Reaching over, he stole the last of the gingerbread cookies.
Parts 15 - 18
Title: The Adventures of Time Dad
Characters: Rip, Mick, Ray, Sara, Martin, Jax, Leonard
Rating/Warnings: PG
Genre: Humor, Crack, Fluff, Family, Friendship
Word Count: 21,500 so far
Spoilers: Takes place between seasons 1 and 2 with random visits from Leonard because I keep forgetting he's dead.
Summary: Some days Rip wants to strangle them. Some days he wants to hug them. Some days he wants to do both.
Parts 1 - 4
Parts 5 - 8
Parts 9 - 12
13. Playing Dress-up
For as long as Sara had been a part of Rip’s little team of Legends, Rip had always helped pick out the clothes for their missions, and Sara had never found anything strange about that. After all before they’d boarded the Waverider, they’d never even heard of such a thing as a fabricator let alone used one, and even after Rip had taught them how to use it, they weren’t exactly historians. They didn’t know what was appropriate to wear in say 14th century China or 17th century Brazil. So unless they happened to be visiting a time period they had already lived through, they were reliant on Rip.
If necessary, Gideon could help, of course. She had a database full of suitable options but she would give you a list of hundreds to choose from, and if you asked her to pick one out at random, you were taking a huge risk. Gideon, unfortunately, did not have any fashion sense. Rip on the other hand... Rip would glance at you, scroll through Gideon’s list, and pick something out within a few seconds, and you knew you’d end up looking good, gorgeous in fact. He’d even take your personal tastes into account and give you some flattering accessories to go along with the clothing.
And Sara never really thought about it. She always just took it for granted, until one day when they were suiting up for a mission in late 19th century Prague...
It had taken almost fifteen minutes for Sara to stuff herself into the enormous dress with its ridiculous amount of frills and ruffles, and once she was done, she marched back to the fabricator room with a few choice words for their captain.
“How the hell am I supposed to fight in this?” she demanded as she stormed into the room. She did admittedly look very good in the dress Rip had picked out, as usual, but looks weren’t everything.
Rip glanced up momentarily from his search through Gideon’s clothing database, and then turned back to the screen. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll find a way,” he said as he continued his search. “Besides, if all goes well, there shouldn’t actually be any fighting.”
“Since when does ‘all go well’?” Sara pointed out. “Can’t you at least do something to the skirt? Make it looser, lighter, shorter, anything?”
“That skirt is already lighter and less fitted than average for this time period and I can’t raise the hemline anymore without scandalizing people with the sight of your ankles. We’re trying to be respectable upper class citizens this time around, remember?”
“Fine,” Sara replied, peevishly. She grimaced as she gazed down at the dress tugging at the skirt and watching the frilly pleats swirl around her legs. “At least, there are plenty of places to stash knives in all this crap,” she added consolingly to herself.
Rip turned to her, head tilting to the side as he gave her one of his typical ‘I’m very disappointed in you right now’ looks.
Sara raised her eyebrows and sent back a pointed ‘do you remember who you’re talking to?’
Rip rolled his eyes, his expression changing to the familiar ‘what the hell did I ever do to deserve a team like this.’
“You’ll want a shawl to go over the dress,” he said, already inputting the necessary parameters into the fabricator, “with a suitably elaborate broach. Oh, and you’ll need a hat as well and some gloves.”
Within a few seconds, a shawl matching the colour and style of Sara’s dress had materialized inside the fabricator. A few seconds later, a drawer popped open containing a small broach. Rip took the shawl and draped it over Sara’s shoulders, moving her long hair out of the way before pinning the shawl in place.
Looking down, Sara gazed at the broach. It was a small oval of ivory framed in silver. Carved into the ivory was a canary with its beak open in mid-song. It was beautiful. She wondered if Rip would let her keep it after the mission.
Rip meanwhile had stepped back and was looking her over. He nodded in satisfaction. “You’ll need to put your hair up,” he said. “Gideon can show you an appropriate style. When you’re done, come back and I’ll show you how to use a hat pin.”
The fabricator was already making her hat. It had feathers sprouting out of it. But Sara had other things on her mind. The quick and efficient way Rip had dressed her up, completed her ensemble, and appraised how she looked was niggling something in the back of her brain. There was something there, something she’d never noticed before.
Just then Jax entered. He was dressed in his 19th century wear but his vest was unbuttoned and he held a silk scarf abjectly in one hand.
“What the hell am I supposed to do with this?” he asked.
“That, Mr. Jackson, is your cravat,” Rip declared, “the forefather of the tie. Here," he added walking over to Jax. "I’ll tie it for you.”
Rip took the scarf from Jax and wrapped it around the young man’s neck before tying it in an elaborate knot and tucking it into his shirt. He then buttoned up Jax’s vest and straightened his coat making sure everything fit good and hung right. Taking a step back, he gazed at Jax thoughtfully tapping a finger against his lips.
“You’ll need a good topper to finish it off,” he said and went back to the fabricator. He soon produced a black top hat and he set it on Jax’s head at a slight angle. “There you go. Now you look very dapper.”
“Gideon,” Jax called out. “Mirror, please.”
The A.I. obediently produced a holographic mirror image of Jax.
Jax gazed at the reflected image with a pleased grin. “Nice,” he said. “Thanks, Rip.” On his way out of the room, he added, “Oh, Grey’s still waiting for his duds.”
“Right,” said Rip heading back to the fabricator.
Sara had been watching carefully throughout Rip’s entire exchange with Jax and continued watching as Rip flipped through the selections in Gideon’s database choosing a vest in the exact shade she knew would bring out the colour of Martin’s eyes.
“Was there something else, Ms. Lance?” Rip asked, obviously having noticed the staring.
Sara sauntered over and leaned casually against the wall beside him folding her arms across her chest and gazing at him calculatingly. “You take courses on fashion at that Time Master academy of yours?” she asked.
Rip kept his attention on what he was doing but Sara could see the lines on his forehead deepen. “Well, yes. A course on the history of fashion is required learning. You need it so you know how to properly blend in to the various time periods you visit.”
“Uh huh,” she said, and added offhandedly, “So just the one course?”
“There’s one required course,” Rip elaborated, “but the academy offers several more for those who wish to pursue the subject in more detail.”
“So how many did you take?”
Rip hesitated, his hand momentarily frozen hovering over the screen before he continued. “A few,” he admitted. He pressed a few more buttons and the fabricator came to life buzzing as it began to materialize Martin’s clothes.
Sara continued to stare at him.
Avoiding her gaze but obviously feeling the weight of it, Rip shifted his feet and began to fidget uncomfortably, the fingers of his left hand tapping restlessly against his side. “Maybe eight,” he finally confessed.
Sara smirked. “And how well did you do in those classes?”
“Why the sudden interest in my education?” Rip demanded as he removed the first of the clothing from the fabricator, a charcoal coloured coat, and draped it over a nearby bench so the machine could begin on the next piece.
“Just curious,” Sara said with a casual shrug though her eyes were lit with amusement.
Rip turned to her with one of his best put upon looks, and then sighed and said, “It so happens I was top of my class in all of them.”
Sara laughed and clapped her hands together. “I knew it,” she exclaimed. “You wanted to be a fashion designer in another life, didn’t you?”
Groaning, Rip turned away from her and went back to the fabricator to finish Martin’s clothing.
“Was that your fall back plan in case you didn’t graduate?” Sara continued, teasingly. “I bet if you ever retire, you could open your own boutique. Or get a job as a stylist. Instead of dressing ungrateful teammates, you could fit out the rich and famous in any time period you chose, or several time periods. A time travelling fashion stylist, now there’s a unique job description.”
“It was just a hobby,” Rip grumbled yanking the next piece of clothing from the fabricator with rather more force than necessary.
“Oh, Rip,” said Sara giving him a fond smile. Going over to him, she placed a hand on his shoulder. “There’s nothing wrong with having an interest in fashion. I think it’s awesome. It’s nice to know there’s something more to you than being an ex-Time Master and having an Old West fetish.”
Rip still didn’t seem very happy but he looked somewhat mollified, or at least less grumpy.
Sara patted him on the back. “And I promise I won’t tell anyone.”
“Thank you,” he said, gratefully.
“Though in future, I will be coming to you for all fashion advice.”
Rip rolled his eyes. He probably would have had something to say about that but just then another member of the team entered the fabricator room. Upon seeing Mick Rory, Rip let out another groan. Mick was wearing his 19th century costume but with one minor exception.
“No, no, no, no,” Rip exclaimed. “You are not going out in those sneakers. What happened to the boots I gave you?”
“I don’t like them,” Mick replied. “They’re too girly.”
“Most boots for the upper classes were like that back then,” Rip explained.
“Still don’t like them,” Mick repeated.
Rip sighed, wearily. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s see if we can find something you do like. How about something tough and manly that says I can crush your skull under my heel if I chose?”
Mick pursed his lips thoughtfully, and then nodded. “Sounds about right.”
As the two headed over to the fabricator, Sara couldn’t help letting out a brief giggle and Rip shot a glare in her direction. She quickly mimed zipping her lips, and then held her hand over her mouth to prevent anymore giggles from escaping as she watched Rip pick out the perfect shoes for Mick.
14. Merry Christmas, Rip Hunter
Rip stared blearily at the blazing fireplace in front of him and let out a long and heartfelt sigh.
Why, oh, why, he wondered, did he keep letting the team talk him into these things?
A garland was draped over the mantelpiece above the crackling fire, a long, festive garland covered in red bows, bits of holly, and tiny golden bells. It lay across the mantle, its ends dangling over each side, as jolly and as Christmassy as any garland could be. To add even more holiday flare to the fireplace, a large red stocking had been hung from the mantle as if someone, namely Ray, expected it to be magically filled with presents. Mick had made several suggestions about what could be put in it. Rip had quickly vetoed every one.
Let’s celebrate Christmas, they’d said. It’ll be fun, they’d said.
Rip snorted.
The fire itself was fairly large, the flames flickering across the pile of logs and filling the room with the sweet scent of burning cedar, but the heat the fire gave off wasn’t quite enough to take the chill from Rip’s bones. Shivering, he pulled the blankets tighter around him and sank deeper into the couch grumbling to himself about bothersome teammates and their ridiculous ideas about what they considered to be fun.
A tree stood by the fireplace completing the Christmas scene, a real tree not a plastic one upon insistence from Jax who wanted nothing but the real thing. Rip could certainly vouch for its realness. He’d been the one who’d had to clean up all the needles after the others had dragged it into the cabin. The decorations adorning the tree were fairly traditional, for the most part, some multicoloured balls, some pine cones, some strings of popcorn, though why they’d thought adding a few of Sara’s throwing knives in among the branches would be a good idea Rip would never know. The lights that wound around the tree were made by Jax and Ray from leftover components of the Waverider’s electrical system and flickered on and off randomly in random colours. The elaborate gold star that stood at the top of the tree had been acquired by Snart. Rip didn’t know where Snart had gotten it or how, and that was probably a good thing.
There was a tug at the blankets encircling Rip as the person pressed against his left side shifted about and he glanced over at his blanket sharing companion.
Sara was looking at the fire too, a slightly dazed look in her eyes, one which he was sure was in his own as well. Her face was pale except to for a slight redness to her cheeks and the tip of her nose, and her hair was still damp leaving it somewhat frizzy as it fell down over her shoulders.
Rip readjusted the blankets making sure they still covered them both, and then settled down once more.
On the sill of the window not far from the tree sat a menorah, its candles waiting to be lit. Martin had placed it there though he insisted he enjoyed celebrating Christmas just as much as Hanukah. He had also promised to bake them some of his grandmother's latkes later.
Outside the window, the snow was falling more heavily than ever. At the rate it was going, they could end up snowed it, trapped in a small cabin in the middle of nowhere, because the team hadn’t just wanted to celebrate Christmas. No. They had wanted to celebrate Christmas in a nice, out of the way cabin in a forest halfway up a mountain where there was sure to be lots of snow. They’d insisted it would be nice and Christmassy. After all, why would they want to be sensible and celebrate in a nice, warm, state of the art timeship with an advanced medical facility, which now sat parked out of reach at the base of the mountain.
More snow collected on the ground outside and Rip gave another heartfelt sigh.
It actually hadn’t seemed that bad an idea at first, celebrating Christmas. The team had obviously needed a break. They'd been through some tough missions recently and the strain had made itself known causing the team to become even more troublesome than usual. Rip had even started to enjoy himself once they'd settled in and started putting up decorations, or at least he had been enjoying himself before this happened.
Maybe he was cursed, Rip thought. Maybe he had unknowingly pissed off some witch or sorcerer and was now doomed to have calamity befall him wherever he went. That would certainly explain some things.
Of course, this time it hadn’t been just him calamity had claimed as its victim.
Sara began shifting about again and a bony elbow poked him in the ribs. Rip glanced over at her once more. Apparently all the shifting about was an effort to stay awake because as he watched her head began to droop. It sprang up again but only to start drooping once more. It wasn't long before her eyes closed and her body slumped to the side, her head falling on to the shoulder of the person to her left, one Leonard Snart.
“No sleeping, Lance,” said Snart, gazing down at the woman now using him as a pillow. “Remember what Stein said.”
Sara mumbled something incomprehensible in reply and stayed where she was, eyes closed.
Leonard reached over with the arm not currently wrapped around her shoulders and gently patted her cheek. “Come on, Assassin. Wakey wakey.”
This time there was no response.
“Sara?” Leonard enquired in the soft tone Rip had only ever heard him use with her.
“I’m awake,” she muttered grumpily, not bothering to shift position or open her eyes.
“Really?” said Snart incredulously. “Trying telling me that again with your eyes open.”
Still not opening her eyes, Sara dug a hand out of the mound of blankets and jabbed him in the stomach.
Leonard let out a loud ‘oof’. He would have probably let out something much more explicit if Sara had been up to her usual strength. “You sure are crabby when you’re sleepy,” he said, rubbing his stomach. “You know I love it when you snooze on me but if you want to be able to wake up again, or have any of the hot chocolate that’s coming, you might want to try staying awake.”
Perhaps it was the mention of hot chocolate that finally got through to her as Sara opened her eyes and sat up. She blinked several times and let out a jaw cracking yawn.
“Much better,” said Snart.
Sara quickly jabbed him again.
Rip really wished the hot chocolate would arrive soon. Sara wasn’t the only one feeling sleepy and he was still chilled to the bone despite the warm bodies and the many blankets. He turned to gaze out of the window once more.
Somewhere out in that snow were two lopsided snowmen with crooked branches for arms and tiny rocks for eyes. One of them was also wearing the scarf and tuque that were supposed to be Rip’s. He didn’t know why his clothes had had to be used for the snowman. They’d been snatched from him before he could even protest and now a snowman with a silly grin drawn on its face had his green tuque and stripy scarf when he could have really used them.
Along with the snowmen amidst the firs trees and the fields of snow outside, there were also several snow angels of various sizes, the remains of two thoroughly demolished snow forts, and a large jagged hole in what had proven to be a frozen lake.
Rip shivered again. He was tired of shivering. It was making his bones ache.
An arm wrapped around his shoulders and pulled him closer to the warm body on his right side. Rip stiffened at first but then let himself relax. Say what you will about Mick Rory he certainly lived up to his code name. Even his body was like a raging furnace, warm and soft and cuddly...
Rip’s head shot up, his eyes widening. Oh, God, he was getting delirious.
“No sleep for you either, English,” said Mick, giving his shoulder a shake as if he hadn’t been shaken around enough already. “I’m not carting your frozen corpse back down the mountain.”
Rip dug a leaden hand out from the blankets and rubbed tiredly at his face. “If I do die,” he muttered, “you have permission to cremate me. At least then maybe I’ll be warm.”
“No problem,” said Mick and Rip really wished he hadn’t said it with quite so much enthusiasm.
Rip’s eyes drifted back to the fireplace with its Christmas decor and merrily dancing flames. It wasn’t long before his head started to nod again.
Mick gave him another violent shake. “I’ll cremate you now if you don’t stay awake.”
Rip glared up at him and was surprised to see actual concern in Mick’s eyes. Maybe he really was getting delirious.
In fact, he wasn’t entirely convinced that this wasn’t all some sort of hypothermia induced hallucination, the four of them squashed together on the couch like this, cuddling, him and Sara half-dressed and swaddled in so many blankets, pressed between Leonard and Mick, all the bright Christmas decorations surrounding them.
Not wanting to be shaken again, Rip tried to stay awake but his body felt weighted down with fatigue. His head alone felt ten times as heavy and soon it began to droop once more. On his left, it looked like Sara’s head was doing the same. He caught Mick and Snart exchanging glances over their heads, communicating silently with their eyebrows as they tended to do. They seemed worried about something. Why were they so worried? Rip wondered drowsily.
“Where the hell is that idiot with the hot chocolate?” Snart demanded.
As if on cue, Ray arrived emerging through the kitchen door with a tray loaded with steaming mugs. “Here I am,” he said, completely unaware he’d just called himself an idiot.
Ray was wearing such a ridiculous Christmas sweater Rip could only stare at it in astonishment. The thing was mainly red and green but with so many pompoms, bells, and ribbons covering it in such a clashing kaleidoscope of colours it was almost nauseating. It was, in fact, such an ugly sweater it finally convinced Rip he wasn’t hallucinating. No way could his imagination come up with anything quite so garish.
“Sorry, I took so long,” Ray said as he placed the tray down on the coffee table in front of them, “but I had trouble finding where we’d stashed the mini marshmallows.”
“Because mini marshmallows are so important when treating hypothermia,” said Snart, sarcastically.
Ray gave him a hurt look. “I just thought Rip and Sara deserved proper hot chocolates with all the works after...” He waved a hand in the air in a vague gesture.
“Just give me,” said Sara, sticking a hand out of the blankets.
Ray quickly handed over a mug.
Sara took it, and with a little help from Leonard, had a long drink, a look of complete bliss coming over her face.
Rip took a mug too, reaching for it clumsily with both hands and pointedly ignoring the way they were shaking. The hot chocolate smelled heavenly. The little marshmallows bobbing on top were an odd assortment of pastel colours and there were a surprisingly lot of them too. Ray had really gone all out. There even appeared to be a sprinkling of cinnamon on top.
“You’re supposed to drink it not stare at it, you moron,” Mick declared, Rip having apparently been gazing at his mug a little too long.
Rip lifted the mug and finally took a sip. The hot chocolate tasted even better than it had smelled and immediately sent warmth coursing through his entire body clearing the muzziness from his head he hadn’t even realized was there. He took a larger sip and sighed for the third time in the past few minutes but this time it was a sigh of contentment. Before he knew it, he had finished half the mug.
When Rip looked up once, taking a break from drowning himself in chocolate, he spotted Martin and Jax peering around the kitchen doorway, matching looks of guilt on their faces. Rip narrowed his eyes and glared at them. Sara, spotting them too, sent one of her own, admittedly rather more effective, glares their way. The pair quickly disappeared, ducking back into the kitchen from which the sound of a loud argument was soon heard.
Having seen this play out, Ray shook his head and said, “Come on, guys. It wasn’t their fault.”
“How is it not their fault?” Sara grumbled and took another gulp of her hot chocolate.
“They just got a little carried away,” said Ray, unconvincingly.
"A little?" said Snart with a snort.
Ray made a face. “Well, how were they to know the pile of snow Sara and Rip were standing on happened to be covering a frozen lake? They just wanted to melt the snow out from under them. They didn’t know the fireball would...”
“Give us an instant ice bath?” Rip suggested.
Even though he was so much warmer now, he shivered at the memory. Luckily, the part of the lake they’d been standing over hadn’t actually been that deep. When he and Sara had recovered from the sudden dunking, they’d found they both could touch bottom, the water only coming up to Rip’s chest and Sara’s shoulders, so they hadn’t been in much danger of drowning. Unfortunately, the ice surrounding them had been slippery and weakened by the fireball so it took awhile and the some delicate rescue work for the others to pull them out. Not wanting to risk taking the frozen pair all the way back to the ship, the team had then dragged them back to the much closer cabin where they’d divested them of their wet clothes and wrapped them in blankets in front of the fire. Leonard and Mick had stayed in order to help warm them while Ray went to get hot chocolate, Martin and Jax following in order to escape Sara’s wrath.
“I say we bury them somewhere out in the snow where they’ll never be found,” said Sara with a vicious flare she usually reserved for talking about her enemies.
“Just let us know when and where,” said Leonard.
“I’ll bring the shovel,” added Mick.
“Guys,” Ray protested. “You can’t seriously be... Rip?”
“As Captain, I can’t condone such a thing,” said Rip in a calm, commanding tone before quickly adding, “so do it when I’m not looking.”
Sara raised her mug to him and he clinked his against hers.
Ray sighed and slumped his shoulders clearly giving up on the lot of them.
It wasn’t long though before the sources of Sara’s imminent revenge emerged from kitchen bearing nervous expressions on their faces and plates of freshly made gingerbread cookies in the hands.
Martin and Jax stood in front of Rip and Sara grimacing guiltily, barely able to meet their eyes.
“There’s not much we can say other than the fact that we are both deeply and sincerely sorry,” Martin began, bowing his head and gazing at the ground. “Our actions were inexcusable, and careless, and reckless, and...”
“And we know this can’t really make up for what happened but...” Jax put in holding out the plate of cookies.
Rip turned to Sara and Sara turned to him. They gazed at each other thoughtfully. Rip knew, and could tell Sara knew too, that they couldn’t really hold what had happened against Martin and Jax. The two had just been playing around after all. They hadn’t actually meant to hurt either one of them, but Rip and Sara continued to stare silently at each other for a while. It wouldn’t do to let the pair off too easily.
Finally, unable to take the looks of extreme guilt anymore, Rip turned back to them. “Well, I suppose forgiveness is in the spirit of Christmas,” he said and helped himself to a gingerbread reindeer.
“You’re just lucky I really like cookies,” said Sara reaching out a hand to take a gingerbread snowman from the plate.
Martin and Jax smiled in obvious relief, and then were immediately attacked by all the other Legends who also wanted cookies.
The gingerbread was actually quite good and when combined with the hot chocolate finally managed to stop Rip’s shivering. By the time he’d downed his second mugful, all of the chill had fled from his bones. He still felt incredibly drowsy though and was soon nodding once more. With the blankets covering him and the team surrounding him as they ate cookies and chatted idly, Rip felt wrapped in a cozy type of warmth, and slowly, he began to drift off, the world fading around him.
Unfortunately, before he could fall completely into the land of dreams, he was suddenly brought back to awareness by the sound of an electronic click followed by a deep rumbling very close to his ear.
The source of the first noise was immediately obvious when he opened his eyes.
Ray was standing in front of Rip, his phone held directly at him, a large grin on his face. “No one’s going to believe this,” he declared.
The rumbling sounded again followed by Mick’s voice which also seemed surprisingly close. “Haircut....” he said in a dangerous tone.
“I’ve got to send a copy of this to Barry and Cisco,” said Ray, gazing at his phone and apparently unaware of the danger he was in. “They’ll love it.”
“Don’t you dare,” growled Mick.
As more awareness came back to Rip, he suddenly realized why Mick’s voice was sounding so very close. Apparently when he’d drifted off, his head had fallen to the side and landed right on Mick’s shoulder which he was now using as a pillow.
Rip immediately sat bolt upright.
This proved to be a good thing because a second later Mick sprang up from the couch and launched himself at Ray crying, “Give me that phone!”
Ray’s eyes widened and he took off.
Rip, still half-asleep, watched as Mick began to chase Ray around the room, the pair knocking various things over as they went.
Oh, God, thought Rip, just when he thought he’d found some peace. Groaning, he reached up and rubbed his eyes only to stop in mid-rub when he suddenly smelt... Was that smoke? Please say the cabin wasn’t about to burn down. Rip had wanted to be warm but that was a bit much.
Across the room, Jax and Martin, who had been trying to protect the tree from Mick and Ray, suddenly grew matching looks of horror on their faces.
“The shortbread!” they exclaimed in unison and dashed off to the kitchen from which the smell was emanating.
Rip groaned again. As usual with this team, chaos reigned and any peace was fleeting.
Mick, meanwhile, had managed to catch up with Ray and was now wrestling him for the phone. Ray appeared to be fighting back by attempting to tickle him. Rip knew he should probably intervene before they broke something, or each other, but right then he didn’t even have the energy to protest. Besides, he had a strange feeling they were actually enjoying themselves.
Looking over at Sara, Rip was pleased to find someone at least had found some peace. Sara had finally gotten her wish and was now sleeping with her head resting upon Leonard’s shoulder, a half-eaten gingerbread star clutched in her hand. Not even the antics of Ray and Mick had woken her up.
Leonard, his arm wrapped tightly around Sara, caught his eyes and grinned. “Merry Christmas, Rip.”
Rip gave a tired sigh. “Merry Christmas, Leonard.”
Oh, well, Rip thought, he supposed it couldn’t be a true Legends’ Christmas without a few disasters.
Reaching over, he stole the last of the gingerbread cookies.
Parts 15 - 18
