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Once you know magic exists, you wish metahumans would come knocking on your door for the rest of your sorry life if you could just remove it from the world.
Because magic? Magic is a bitch.
“I don’t see why we can’t just leave him like this,” grins Haircut, “I mean, if Captain Cold can’t talk—”
Normally Mick would be laughing. And he was, ten minutes ago. Then the novelty wore off. So instead of grinning along with Haircut, he growls, “Then I’d do the talking until we fix this. Take your pick, Palmer.”
Len smirks, although his eyes glance at Mick, brow twitching. Translation: he’s proud of Mick for shutting the asshole’s trap but also confused as to why Mick jumped to his defense.
Honestly, you’d think a marriage license would tell him that Mick doesn’t mind having him around. Sometimes the guy just can’t take a hint.
Bird Man interjects with a solemn shake of his head, “Curses are tricky things, but they always have a loophole. It’s all in their wording.” Looking around the deck, “Does anyone remember the caster’s words exactly?”
Instinctively Mick looks to Len. If there’s anyone whose head’s a steel trap around here, it’s him. He’s not a leader just for his fancy gun. One time, Lisa couldn’t find a book she’d been reading; not only did Len tell her exactly where it was, he also gave a near-precise guess as to where she’d left off when the bookmark was found on the floor. This based on the shape if the pages and their division.
But Len can’t talk. He knows the answer—Mick can see that he does by the purse of his lips—and he’s unable to give it. Mick can’t imagine being stuck like that.
“Hey Metal Mouth.”
“Mick Rory, I do have a designated—"
“You got something Cold can type with?”
Len’s shoulders lift half an inch. He’s surprised and pleased.
“Does he know what the sorceress said?” Stein has the gall to sound doubtful. “Mr. Snart was, after all, blasted with heavy force directly after the incantation.”
Good thing he and the kid are so pretty when they burn.
Metal Mouth presents a holographic keyboard. “Will this suffice?”
Len springs into action the second he sees the letters. His fingers fly over the keys, text appearing in simple font:
“May your voice be forever in darkness.” Loophole: opposite of darkness is light. Need to laugh.
A surge of vindictive pride ignites in Mick’s chest when Stein utters a faint “oh.”
“That’s it?” asks Haircut. Len’s eyes narrow as he nods. “Sounds pretty simple.”
Mick snorts, “Not for you it isn’t. You idiots’re lucky I came along for this shitshow.” Len’s right eyebrow twitches. Confused. “I know exactly how to make Captain Cold laugh. Step aside.”
Sara, who’d been observing in amused silence, immediately lets him pass. Mick strides over to Len, who’s scrutinizing him all the way up to the second their lips crash into one another.
Obviously that doesn’t make Len laugh. The kiss is for them; it’s been a bad day. No, the real objective is Mick slowly running his fingers down Len’s stomach, up, uo his shirt, tracing goosebumps around his ribs, down his back, and—
A laugh bursts from the kiss, in short spurts at first, until Mick keeps tickling his lower back and it becomes a steady stream. Eventually Len has to pull back enough to breathe.
Smug, Mick looks at an astonished Haircut and says, “Works every time.”