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So, magic is a fucking dick. You want something ruined, you go straight for the supernatural’s dick and fuck yourself and those around you over. Thoroughly.
“How d’we wake him up?” Jax asks for what has to be the fifth time in as many minutes. Although to be fair, it is a valid question. Disney doesn’t prepare you at all for actual sleeping curses.
Savage’s powerful minion said he’d take out their “knight.” Honestly, the team’d thought he meant literally anyone but Mick Rory. Yet here they stand, fight over, in the ship’s medbay, around a sleeping Heat Wave. They’ve tried dousing him with water, lighting something on fire, hitting him, shoving him onto the floor—nothing’s worked.
As of right now, Rory’s fate rests on Stein’s brain scans and hypotheses. Not even Hunter, with his experience, has any idea what to do.
Sara steals a glance at Cold, the only one besides Stein who’s not in the circle. His eyes are on Mick, but he doesn’t seem to see him. He’s barely said a word since Mick was struck down; no one’s commented on it because no one’s noticed. Sara doesn’t know how, considering the mouth Snart’s got.
Or maybe escaping everyone’s attention is exactly what he wants right now. Wouldn’t be news to Sara, considering the last time she caught him and Heat Wave alone together they were—
“Wait.”
The theorizing stops, all eyes turning to Sara. Cold even forces himself to focus on her face. Her smiling, triumphant face.
Turning back to the others, she gestures to Mick and says, “Maybe we’re going about this the wrong way.”
Hunter looks skeptical, but he bites first. “What do you mean?”
Sara could laugh at how stupid they’ve been. “I mean, we’ve been trying science and practicality against magic. I mean that if we’re going to wake the big guy, we need to fight fire with fire.”
A quiet huff behind her. As always, Snart appreciates the bad joke.
Kendra glances at Carter, who’s just as grim. “We don’t exactly have a lot of magic to spare, Sara.”
“I’m not talking about you two, Birdies,” Sara turns before Carter has a chance to take offense, “I’m talking about him.”
Cold raises an eyebrow from his corner. “I’m a criminal, Lance, not David Copperfield. Unless you’re looking to turn Mick into a decorative sculpture, you’re shit outta luck.”
His voice was sharp when he spoke. Not enough for the others to detect, but Sara knows what to look for after working closely with him.
Her smile widens. “But you’re not just a criminal, are you, Cold?”
Snart’s scowl deepens. “If this is another hero pitch—”
“No,” Sara crosses her arms. She looks like a shark closing in on her prey. “This is a ‘kiss your husband to save his life’ pitch.”
Oh, you could’ve heard a pin drop.
Snart’s posture hasn’t changed, but Sara sees everything she needs, written on his face like an open book: the dilating pupils, the flaring nostrils, the tick in his jaw.
One word escapes his clenched teeth: “What.”
Sara steps aside, giving him a full view of Mick’s sleeping form. Poor guy’s too broad to fit properly on the tiny cot, so Ray folded his hands over his stomach like Snow White herself. His goggles are still strapped on his race, but resting on his forehead; everyone can see his limp face, head lolled slightly to the side facing Cold. Not a trace of his manic gleam, not even a whiff of smoke.
He was so beautiful even in death, the dwarves could not find it in their hearts to bury him. So they had his husband plant one on his frozen lips instead. Or they would, if said husband would get on with it already.
How ironic that Heat Wave needs thawing.
“True Love’s Kiss, Captain Cold,” Sara goads, “breaks any curse. Love will thaw and all that jazz.”
“Sara,” Jax starts, “what are you talking about—”
Then Cold’s crossing the room, arms uncrossing but no less tense. “Are you sure about this?” he asks quietly, searching Sara’s face.
It hits Canary then: Cold’s not afraid to do it. He just knows that the worst kind of hope is a false one. If he tries and Mick doesn’t wake up—damn he’s got it bad.
Sara’s grin softens. “As a heart attack, lover boy.”
Cold holds her gaze for two seconds longer. He seems to find what he’s looking for, because he nods once and brushes past her.
He doesn’t hesitate, not even for dramatic effect. Cold just steps to Mick’s bedside, grabs his chin, and kisses him. It’s a modern fairy tale.
Sara’s one regret: she can’t get everyone’s reactions on camera. This shit is priceless—pretty sure if Carter had his wings out, they’d have thumped to the floor. The only person who doesn’t look surprised besides Sara is Hunter, but then she supposes that’s to be expected. If Cold and Heat Wave become legends, then their love story’s probably an ill-kept secret.
Sara nearly shrieks with laughter at the thought. Cold and Heat Wave’s love is legendary. This is the greatest day she’s ever experienced on this ship.
What seems like an eternity really only lasts a few moments. Almost as soon as Cold presses his lips to Rory’s, there’s s deep inhalation through Mick’s nose. Suddenly the kiss deepens, Len’s hand wandering from his husband’s chin to cradling the back of his head, other hand fisting Mick’s shirt in a white-knuckled grip. Mick responds, arms circling Len’s waist and neck to tug him closer. He hums when Len complies with a quiet pleased sound.
So this is True Love’s Kiss. With all her heart, Sara would like to say: hot damn.
Len breaks the kiss. He stares at Mick like he’s seeing him for the first time. Mick, on the other hand, blinks his eyes open and takes in the team gathered around him: an exasperated Rip Hunter, a canary-got-the-cat Sara, and various stages of shock for the others.
“What’d I miss?”