Archive of Our Own ^beta

It just sort of happened, okay?

Barry’s a regular guy! He has a Netflix subscription, a part-time ownership agreement with his neighbors over their cat (who goes by the name of Number 2 and who seems to think Barry’s apartment is an extension of his property), an excellent best friend who’s getting married (Iris! Married! How?!), a regular but kick-ass job (CSI, just like on TV except for totally not like that), a standard but not excessive amount of work drama (Singh is getting better about Barry’s punctuality thing, he hopes)...

He’s also kind of face blind.

That last one is particularly relevant. Not to his job as a CSI, mind you, because he can compensate with any number of things and it’s not like he’s a sketch artist or a detective or anything, he analyzes the scenes, not the people.

Just, you know, to…everything else.

Because, you see, Barry got off late from his job and he was dying for a curry from the place down the corner and he was due to get on a conference call to discuss his most recent case in, like, two hours, except it’s rush hour and all the tables are taken and the hostess apologetically explains that a table would take at least an hour.

And they don’t do take-out.

Damnit.

That’s when Barry spots the guy. He’s got a nice little two-top, and he’s obviously alone because his jacket is tossed lazily over the second one and, well, what the hell.

Barry really wants that curry.

“Gimme a second,” he tells the hostess and skirts around the tables to get over to the guy’s corner.

“Excuse me,” he says.

The guy blinks up at him.

“I’m sorry – this is so weird, I know – but I’m, like, I would kill for a rogan josh right now and this is the only place for miles that does it properly, but all the tables are taken and they don’t do take out and I’ve got a conference call in an hour and a half so I can’t wait. Any chance I could, uh, sit here? I can be really quiet.”

The guy stares at him for a second, then smirks. “Yeah, sure,” he says, kicking out the chair across from him. “But only on the condition that you make conversation with me. I don’t do quiet.”

“You’re amazing,” Barry says gratefully, and sits down.

The guy ends up ordering a couple of extra dishes – Barry has a ridiculous metabolism, okay?! – and they split them all, loading everything onto warm naan and waving their hands in the air as they debate, well, everything. The Central City Cougars’ miserable performance, the benefits of hockey vs. football, the current political climate (City Hall: mess or hot mess?), musical tastes (they’re both eclectic, have a guilty pleasure for musicals, and think that Supernatural is worth watching only for the stellar soundtrack)...

Honestly, Barry’s had worst first dates, and this one wasn’t even one.

Well, it’s not right up until the end when the guy – Len, he introduced himself as – grins and says, “That was fun. We should do it again sometime.”

“I agree,” Barry says.

“Let’s make it a real date this time,” Len continues.

Barry blinks, and blushes. “Uh, sure,” he says, unable to fight a smile. “Real date it is.”

While Barry’s distracted fidgeting with surprised pleasure – Len’s really hot, okay? Barry’s inability to remember faces doesn’t mean he’s blind-blind – Len manages to snag the check and pay it.

“Hey,” Barry protests.

“Relax; I’ve got the cash,” Len says, and smiles for some reason.

“Still,” Barry says. “Next time, I cover.”

“I’ll let you think that if it makes you feel better,” Len teases.

Barry kicks his shin lightly.

Len laughs and programs his number into Barry’s phone.

Barry’s having a great time right up until his conference call, where instead of talking about the most recent cases – Julian’s covering a jewelry store robbery, while Barry’s focused on proving a domestic abuser’s involvement in harassing his ex-wife – Singh clears his throat and says, “Allen, what were you doing just now?”

“Having dinner,” Barry answers, frowning. “Why?”

“The having dinner part we understand,” Joe says, sounding aggravated. “But why were you having dinner with Leonard Snart?!”

Leonard Snart, as in Central City’s first supervillain. Leader of the Rogues. Regularly named in the same tier as the Green Arrow’s bad guys, or Superman’s in Metropolis’, or even Batman’s in Gotham’s, even though Central City doesn’t actually have a superhero as of yet.

Leonard.

Len.

“Oh crap,” Barry says. “I think I just went on an accidental date with him.”

“Allen,” Singh says. “I mean this in the kindest possible way: How do you always do this?!”

Obviously Barry’s not going to go on another date with him.

Except, well, it turns out that there’s a really important money transfer going on the next Thursday evening, hard cash involved, just up Snart’s alley, and Julian’s the first one to suggest that, well, you know, you don’t have to do anything, Barry, that would be unethical, but theoretically if Snart – notorious control freak that he is – is sitting in a restaurant having dinner with you, he and his Rogues are probably not going to be hitting the transfer.

“You’re joking,” Barry says.

Except he’s not, and neither is Singh, Joe, or Patty.

So Barry calls Len and sets up a date for the appropriate time and place.

“– if that’s not a bad time for you?” he concludes.

“For you, I’ll make time,” Len says.

“That’s incredibly smooth,” Barry says skeptically, because, well, he has had dinner with the guy before. “Who fed you that line?”

Len sniggers.

They have dinner. It’s amazing. Len is funny without trying too hard, interesting, listens to Barry and actually thinks about what he’s saying instead of just brushing him off; he’s attractive, friendly, and tips the waiter well after he steals the check again. He walks Barry back to the subway and leaves him with a short brush of the lips without even a hint of disappointment when Barry indicates that he’s not taking him home tonight. Basically a perfect date.

(The money transfer goes off without a hitch.)

And, well...

It’s not that it’s, like, an officially condoned relationship or anything. No one’s pushing Barry into anything he doesn’t want to do, you know? It’s just – well.

If Barry happens to be going out with Len again, then his co-workers would be interested in knowing when and where and what else they might be able to schedule at the same time. Especially given that Snart’s Rogues continue their reign of more or less impossible-to-pin-on-them-but-everyone-knows-who-it-was thefts and robberies without even the slightest hint of anyone, even the police, being able to stop them.

Singh just stops assigning Barry to the Rogues’ cases, that’s all, and ta-da! No conflict of interest.

The dates continue to go well.

Very well.

Very well.

Let’s put it this way: no one’s forcing Barry to do anything, but Barry is very much okay with doing it all by himself.

They’re curled up one evening – Barry’s apartment – and Len says, out of nowhere, “You should meet my family.”

Barry blinks. “Your family?” he echoes.

Because as far as he knows, Len’s only family – Leonard Snart’s only family – is Lisa Snart, aka Golden Glider, aka the femme fatale of the Rogues.

“Mick and Lisa,” Len says. “You’ll like them.”

Oh, yeah, and Mick. Mick Rory. Heatwave. Pyromaniac, Rogue, second-in-command.

“Uh,” Barry says.

“I know I haven’t talked about them that much,” Len says, like he doesn’t reference his sister and his best friend every three minutes in conversations, though never by name. “But you’ve read their records, right?”

“Their…records?” Barry squeaks.

Len laughs and leans in, resting his head on Barry’s shoulder. “Barry,” he says fondly. “I know what you do for a living. You literally rant about it every time we go out. Especially Julian.”

“Well, Julian,” Barry says automatically, because Julian’s kind of a dick.

“I’d be amazed if you didn’t know who I was and what I do by now,” Len continues. “It’s okay, I don’t mind. The precinct uses times when we’re hanging out to try to run important money business, right?”

Barry sighs. “How long have you known?”

“Oh, basically since the beginning,” Len says. “Second time we met, you were all shy all over again – at least until I got you to relax. Then you were fine again.” He pauses, considering. “You’re an extremely trusting person, you know that?”

“So you’ve told me,” Barry says. “Several times. I assume by the way you’re talking about it that you don’t mind?”

“Nah,” Len says. “I know that they’re doing it, and if they ever try to pass something I really want I can still get it, but in the meantime I kind of like it.”

“You like it?”

“Yeah,” Len says. “The CCPD is planning around me now. They’re not even trying to take me down; they’ve accepted me and my crew as a force of nature.” He smiles. “What’s not to like?”

Barry rolls his eyes.

“So?”

“As long as they don’t kill me,” Barry says.

“Don’t piss them off, then,” Len advises.

“That’s so comforting.”

“You’ll like them.”

Barry finds, to his incredible bemusement, that he does.

Mick is hilarious. Legitimately hilarious. He’s got this excellent deadpan thing going and he’s got a sly little sense of humor that bounces off of Len’s just right, and the stories he tells (many about Len, given that they’ve been best friends for thirty years) are side-splittingly funny. And Lisa is just – well, Barry’s never quite gotten the shovel talk like that before.

“Iris would love you,” Barry tells her before he thinks better of it.

And, well, after he’s met Len’s family, it would be rude not to invite him in return.

Well. Maybe just Iris and Eddie first.

Joe later.

(Later meaning never.)

Iris is the one who brings it up.

“A reunion?” Len says, grinning.

“Oh god,” Barry moans. He’d forgotten about that.

“Oh yes,” Iris says, grinning evilly and high-fiving Lisa. They loved each other on sight, naturally. Eddie is glaring at Barry.

Barry acknowledges that he deserves it.

Mick is making sandwiches. “I think it’s a great idea,” he opines. “You’ve never been to a reunion before, have you, Lenny?”

“Dropped out of high school,” Len reports. “Never got a chance.”

“You should take him,” Iris says, her eyes glowing. “I’m in his class; I’m taking Eddie. It’s traditional to take your significant other.”

“Iris,” Eddie says through gritted teeth.

Mick plops the sandwiches down in front of them. “Eat,” he says.

“Don’t ‘Iris’ me,” Iris tells her fiancé. “Have I said a single untrue word?”

Eddie rolls his eyes and picks up one of the sandwiches.

Barry watches as his face does something interesting.

“Eddie?” he asks, a little concerned.

“These are amazing,” Eddie says, mouth still half full. “Oh my god. Iris, try one.”

Iris does.

As does Barry.

“You’re cooking for our wedding,” Iris announces.

“I am not,” Mick says.

“I’ll make Barry take Len to the reunion if you do,” she bargains.

“I’m taking Len anyway,” Barry objects, though he hadn’t known he was going to do it until he said it.

He blames Mick’s sandwiches.

Len just laughs at all of them.

And that’s how they end up RSVPing “yes” to Barry’s stupid high school reunion.

“This is such a bad idea,” Barry says.

“Probably,” Len says.

In fairness, Len takes to bad ideas like a duck to water. Barry should’ve known better than to let him anywhere near Iris.

It’d be bad enough on its own – Barry did not enjoy high school – but naturally, Len goes all out, in his own inimitable fashion.

Some people going to a reunion and wanting to show off might show up in a nice suit, rent a limo, maybe a flower or something, something like that.

Len shows up in head-to-toe black, a wicked smirk, and his motorbike, which is only the sexiest thing Barry has ever seen and which Barry has been trying to wheedle his way into a ride ever since he saw a picture of Len escaping the cops on it.

(The parka Len always takes with him on heists? Very distinctive.)

"Okay," Barry says. "I'll go."

"Thought you were planning on cuffing yourself to the stairwell?" Len inquires.

"You brought out the motorbike," Barry says, scowling at him. "You know that's cheating."

"Iris is paying me off to make sure you make it there," Len confesses cheerfully. "Totally worth it."

"I don't even want to know what she offered you," Barry says, but lets himself be coaxed onto the bike anyway.

Wrapping his arms around Len's waist, helmet blocking the wind from his eyes and letting him lean in close...

Yeah.

"That as good for you as it was for me?" Barry asks at the end, a little dazed and more than a little turned on.

"You're giving me inappropriate associations," Len grouses. "I have to ride that for work, you know."

"You don't have to anything for work, Len. You're a supervillain."

Len waves his hand dismissively.

"You sure we can't go home?" Barry asks, eyeing the door to his high school cafeteria warily. "I'd make it worth your while..."

"You always make it worth my while," Len says. "Now get."

"I just didn't have the best time at school, okay?" Barry grumbles. "I don't want it rubbed in my face or anything."

"It won't be," Len says. "I promise."

Barry should've asked him how he was so sure.

He really, really should have.

At any rate, Len answers the first casual "so what do you do" question with "Oh, you know, this and that - bit of high-end theft here, terrorizing the city there. I don't like to be pinned down too much."

Nobody even notices Barry after that point.

"This is really quite fun to watch," he tells Iris, smiling fondly as Len tells his captivated audience about that time he (allegedly) stole a sculpture out of the Louvre. In copious (alleged) detail.

"You totally won the reunion," Iris agrees, grinning. "Told you you would."

"How was I supposed to know that everyone would be really into mingling with a supervillain?"

"He's a Rogue," Iris points out. "He's on TV every few months. Doesn't matter what side, he's a celebrity. A charming celebrity."

"He really is very charming..."

“And all yours.”

“And all mine,” Barry agrees, and grins.

Barry is sent to get more drinks while Iris goes to dig Eddie out of the hole he seems intent on making in the wall using his head, because he’s promised Iris he won’t arrest Len and Len seems to be taking that promise and running with it all the way down the football field the way he’s talking about the highlights of his criminal career tonight.

(Alleged highlights.)

Barry's smiling the whole way there.

Right up until -

"Hey, look who it is!"

A heavy hand falls on Barry's shoulder.

Oh, and the night was going so well, too...

Barry fixes a smile on his face. "Hi, Tony."

“Barry Allen,” Tony says with great satisfaction. “How you been doing, man? It’s been ages!”

You don’t say.

“I’ve been doing fine,” Barry says, trying unsuccessfully to edge away from Tony’s steel-fisted grip on his shoulder. “Uh…you?”

“It’s cool, it’s cool,” Tony says cheerfully. “Got a job at the ironworks, pays well enough. Got a gym back at my place. Man, Barry Allen. Who’d have thought? We used to have so much fun together back in school.”

Barry’s brain temporarily shorts out. Total blue screen of death.

Fun?!

Tony “you were born to take a beating” Woodward thought they’d had fun?!

“Hey, that cute pseudo-sister of yours still around?” Tony says hopefully, looping an arm casually around Barry’s shoulder like they’re friends or something. “You ever hook up with her? I know you had a serious thing for her back at school.”

“No, I’m dating someone else,” Barry says shortly. “Iris is around here somewhere. Actually, if you’ll excuse me, I’d better get back to –”

Tony snorts. “The shrimp’s actually dating someone? Guess there’s someone for everyone. You should set me up with that Iris chick.”

“Uh, no,” Barry says. “She’s also dating someone. A cop, actually.”

“Pssh, cops,” Tony says. “Who needs ‘em? Gimme her number. I know you know it. C’mon, do an old buddy a solid.”

“We weren’t buddies,” Barry points out, but it’s not helping; Tony’s reached over and grabbed his phone out of his pocket. “Hey! Give that back!”

“I will in a minute,” Tony says, breezily ignoring Barry the way he always had. “Let me just –”

A hand plucks the phone out of Tony’s meaty hands like it’s nothing.

“Hey, I was using that!” Tony protests.

“Because I have such a respect for other people’s property,” Len drawls. “That’s what I’m known for, me.”

“Listen up, punk,” Tony starts. “I don’t know who you think you are –”

“Captain Cold,” Len says, the smirk on his face cold as ice. “And unless your plans for the evening involve visiting the hospital for a severe case of frostbite, I suggest you rethink who you’re picking a fight with.”

Tony squints at him. “You’re not…” he starts uncertainly.

“I most certainly am,” Len says. He’s doing the thing he does with Mick sometimes, where they both seem to get taller and broader and infinitely scarier than they are normally, eyes going hard and deadly and suddenly reminding everyone that the Rogues’ code of non-killing is a fairly recent invention. “Now I’m going to say this just once, and it’s going to stick: stay away from my boyfriend.”

“Your –” Tony sounded befuddled, his eyes casting around the room in puzzlement before landing on Barry. “Allen?!”

“Bye, Tony,” Barry says, unable to keep from smiling.

“I –”

“Oh, and we were never buddies and high school wasn’t fun,” Barry adds. “Just, you know, fyi. So go take a hike before Len decides he’s going to ice you anyway.”

Much to Barry’s amazement, it actually works: Tony retreats, still looking somewhere between puzzled and affronted.

Len loops an arm over Barry’s shoulders. “Let me know if anyone else is bugging you,” he says, smirk still sharp and dangerous. “And I will ice ‘em.”

Barry laughs. “No, Tony was the worst,” he says. “Good thing you didn’t bring your cold gun.”

Len is suspiciously silent.

“Len,” Barry says. “You didn’t bring your cold gun, did you?”

“Just a miniature version.”

“Len!”