Work Text:
Convoluted as the passage of time is for time travelers like themselves, the so-called Legends of Tomorrow (which, really, is just adorable if you ask Sara) have to resort to Hunter’s ship clock. Right now it’s 2300 hours. Pretty early compared to most of their sleeping schedules, but you try facing an immortal’s army for a day.
Jax’s gone to bed already. It was a miracle he didn’t pass out on the way. Stein’s hardly better; he looks ten years older with exhaustion, hobbling to his own quarters on the ship, next to his partner’s. Cold and Heat Wave leave at different times, but with twin scowls; they get cranky when they’re tired. The Hawks nearly shove each other on the way to their rooms—they’re still not flying smoothly.
Sara watches, drinking her tea. Hunter doesn’t move from his pilot seat, and she’s learned not to comment on that. When her mug is half-empty, she rises and heads to her room, as has become her custom.
She’s bunked next to Cold, which isn’t a problem. He and his buddy have become her unlikely friends; Sara likes working with them, and Cold’s a great person for exchanging sarcastic commentary. She’s also 99.9% sure he and Mick Rory are married.
Stein doesn’t believe her. No one does. Sara’s just waiting for the moment to prove them wrong.
Carefully, she traipses down the corridor with silent steps. She keeps her senses on alert, slowly pulling out her phone from her neon coat—nineties, great fun, really—in the hopes that maybe, just maybe…
There. A very distinct kissing noise from inside Cold’s room. Sara pumps her fist.
She palms open the door—ha!
Neither of them even try to hide what they’re doing. There’s no shoving away from each other, no fumbling or stuttered “it’s not what it looks like!” If anything, Len’s completely cool with it, pulling away from Mick’s lips but his hands stay fisted around his—husband’s, definitely has to be husband’s with all the married couple bickering they do—husband’s suspenders, raising an eyebrow at Sara’s intrusion. Mick growls in annoyance, demands what it is she wants, still kneading the skin under Len’s shirt.
Sara smirks, bringing her phone down. “Don’t mind me, boys. Just winning a bet.”
Len rolls his eyes and shuts the door.
Sara practically skips to her room. Stein owes her twenty bucks.