admiral peary

For the Wag of a Tail {Pam and Len}

Len had texted Pamela the time he would be at his garden. Then he loaded up Daisy-Sue and Peary, and drove them to the public plots. The dogs would enjoy the exercise, and hopefully enjoy getting to see Pamela.

Since this was supposed to be a fun jaunt, Len wore only a black leather jacket instead of his parka, and the smaller, less powerful cold gun he’d created was tucked into the jacket holster.

When they arrived, he gave Peary free rein to run as he pleased. Daisy-Sue had a tendency to run off, so he kept her on a leash as they walked from the gravel parking area to the space where the plots would be.


@lisa-snart; continued from here

Mick was happy to be back in Central City. It was, in a weird sort of way, his home. He hadn’t been born here or raised here, hadn’t spent too much of his life here overall. But Len, his sister, the Rogues, and the Flash and the costumes, the heat gun, a new purpose in life, all of that made a place home. Well, that and the fact that it wasn’t Starling.

In the time he’d been gone, Len had set up a new safe house. In a warehouse, and it was swanky as hell, the kind of place that made Mick feel like he should be wiping his feet every time he stepped inside. Naturally, he did not wipe his feet, and relished kicking his dirty shoes up on the couch. Not that he hated the new place, he just felt like some point had to be made. He couldn’t begin to articulate what point that was, but dirtying up a fancy couch seemed to do the trick.

The dog, who acted like a Walt in Mick’s eyes, padded around the room, curiously shoving his nose at everything in sight. He moved with light steps for such a large animal, barely making any sound apart from quiet pants and snuffles. That strange bubble-thing above his head kept flickering, full of bright colors and hazily-formed images. Mick waited, and watched the dog; watched TV and waited; waited and made a mess in the kitchen trying to throw together a Mexican gumbo.

With neither Snart sibling answering their phones and a mysterious meta-dog needing to be explained (meta. fucking. dog.), Mick eventually decided he’d had enough of waiting. He was going for a walk, while Walt was apparently lying down for a nap. Fine, Mick could walk by himself. He wanted the time to explore the surrounding blocks anyway, make sure he had a more than decent mental grasp of the layout around the safe house.

They were located near one of the more industrial sections of the city. Their safe house didn’t look like much from the outside, just another warehouse like nearly a dozen identical ones nearby. Appearances could be deceiving.

He wasn’t walking for very long when he saw it: a burst of ice on a rooftop, several buildings ahead of him, accompanied by a faint, familiar whoosh and crackle. Mick’s hand reflexively dropped to where his heat gun would be strapped to his leg, if he’d brought it with him. He wasn’t supposed to carry it with him everywhere, Len had made him promise. His footsteps quickened in their pace. If there was a fight happening, he wanted in. Especially if Len was already involved, that bastard shouldn’t get to have all the fun.

Mick had just reached the building, and was debating the best way to reach the roof, when he saw the next development: a rush of air and red lightning that blew past, nearly knocking him off his feet. Mick stumbled and cursed the Flash, steadying himself against the wall. Then it clicked, red lightning. Mick might be slightly out of touch with the current events in Central, but he was perceptive, and he had a head for details. He knew Flash wasn’t the only fast man in this city.

A heavy weight sank down, down his chest, to the pit of his stomach. It wasn’t a conscious decision he made, it just happened that one moment he was leaning on the wall, and the next he was running toward the fire escape on the side of the building. He jumped, caught the bottom rung of the ladder, and climbed. And climbed, and somewhere along the way his brain kicked back in and he started to think. Mostly angry thoughts about what he was going to do when he found Len. That man needed a good shaking, for picking a fight with the Reverse-Flash of all people. And now Mick was going to have to pick a fight with the Reverse-Flash. That didn’t sound like it would lend to a high life expectancy, and wasn’t that a great realization to have when he was halfway up the fire escape.

He stopped thinking again, because a dead Snart wasn’t something he was allowed to think about in depth. Mick reached the roof and… and…

“Lisa,” he said, in a low growl. His shoulders slumped slightly. No dead Snarts here. He could think again. Hell, it had just gotten a lot easier to breathe too. Mick moved to her in long, quick strides. “The hell are you doing? This isn’t your thing.” He kicked a few chunks of ice out of the way as he approached, then knelt beside her, tugging his own heavy jacket off. “You look like a popsicle. What happened?”

Worse than cold, she looked sick. Tear tracks down her ashen cheeks, shaking from more than chills, he could tell that much. He hitched the jacket around her shoulders, noticing as he did how cold she was to touch. Whatever had happened had left her half-frozen and grieving, maybe. Mick didn’t have any other words for the emotion on her face.

The Lady, The Thief, and Two Dogs {Len and Felicity}

They were out of dog food. And human food. But the sad, furry faces of Daisy-Sue and Peary told him which food replenishment would need to take priority. He was going to go alone to the pet store. But Peary wanted to come. And then Daisy-Sue looked so sad to be left alone (again), that Len finally decided to tempt fate and take her with them.

Besides, she was on allergy medication now. What could go wrong?

So he loaded the big fluffy white dog, and the tiny terrier mix into the old SUV he’d bought for cheap, and drove them all to the pet store. There was no sneezing. Not even a wheeze. Len knew better than to relax. Anything could set her off. He wasn’t so worried about anything except driving home. A minor annoyance in the car could be problematic.

After making sure both dogs had their leashes attached - Peary with a bright collar and leash, and Daisy-Sue with a pastel pink collar covered in sparkly stones, with a pink sparkly leash - they headed inside

Peary bounced along beside Len, almost squashing Daisy-Sue in his excitement. The tiny dog was just as excited, prancing as she tried to avoid getting smushed.

Len got a cart, and put Daisy-Sue in it, so she wouldn’t get run over or smushed, and began to walk the aisles. He was only going to get dog food. Twenty minutes later, the cart had dog food. Two new dog beds. Five new toys. A few bones. Len was looking at dog sweaters when he noticed a familiar figure out of the corner of his eye.

Maybe she wouldn’t see him. He did have an image to maintain, after all. A cart full of doggie supplies was not exactly menacing. Wasn’t even close to being super villainish. Daisy-Sue let out a little wheeze from excitement, and the woman turned.

Crap. Too late now. Len smiled and gave the woman a friendly wave.