[The same yet different, as always. Len catches himself looking at Mick just a little too long in the wrong way, so he lowers his gaze to study the menu instead. At least Indian takeout seemed to be cross-universal.]
Food is food, even if it's delivered by hover car.
[ He looks back at Leonard. He's surprised how easily he's become comfortable with him. While somehow never quite being comfortable at all. He reminds him of his Captain Cold, to be sure, but the good parts -- the parts of Len that he actually liked. They were getting along. And that irritated him. ]
[He knows that's not what he's saying, but whatever. He looks for the items that wouldn't be hot, figures out what would be hottest and decides that Piper and James are probably already taking care of food for themselves, so he won't have to worry about them.
However, he finally lifts his head again, bracing himself and thus not changing his expression as he looks right at Mick.]
I've been pretty good at taking care of myself for a while now. You don't have to worry about that.
[ Calling Cold out on things is something he's used to.
And he's not buying it. Well, then again... it does sound like the sort of logic Cold would have. And Mick probably wouldn't question it if it weren't for the fact that he suspects his alternate self means something more to this particular Leonard Snart.
He holds his gaze a moment more, before he looks away. ]
[Just a reminder. Perhaps mainly a reminder to himself.
His chest is too tight and he lowers his eyes quicker than Mick does. At least he keeps his face composed.
He wishes they looked nothing alike and yet.
Deep down he wants his composure to break, but he's learned a long time ago not to let anything touch him. At least never to let anything show. So instead he simply keeps his head down and finally dials the takeaway place.]
No, you're right, I don't. [ The emphasis pointedly intended.
It did come out harsher than he meant. It's difficult for him not to bristle around him. Mick leans against the counter with his arms folded. He should probably say something else. Break the ice.
He knows he has a problem. But he really doesn't like feeling that he needs a version of Len to keep an eye on him. What bothers him the most is how easy it feels to slip into that role. ]
I'm not going to burn you if you don't give me a reason to.
[What he really wants to say is 'Fuck off.', with quite a bit more heat to it than normally rises in him. Instead all he allows for is a glare, which says about as much.
It's all he can do to push back unbidden thoughts that well up and order Indian food instead. What a thing to do while trapped between crumbling and simply punching Mick, as if that would help anything. He ends the call, no longer looking away but staring right at him.]
You don't want to start this, because I can tell you who'd finish it.
[ It's strangely more comforting to be on the edge of a fight; it's territory Mick can understand. (Now who's projecting.) He reaches for his gun, but he's in civilian clothing which doesn't have his holster. This at least gives him pause and makes him remember where he is. ]
[He sees where Mick is reaching and arches his eyebrows. There is no gun, so he doesn't have to tense, but the move alone is definitely worth a look. Projecting indeed.]
This whole fucked up place marks the first time people guilt me for not being hateful enough.
[ That deflates him. He breathes out through his nose and looks away. He is not doing well today, it seems. ]
Shit.
[ This isn't the Cold he knows. He needs to put aside all his unfinished business with Len, and their history -- and the part Mick finds so hard to admit to himself: that he doesn't hate the guy. That the idea that this version taking care of him puts him on edge so much is because he doesn't want to let his guard down. Cold being a dick was never the dangerous part of knowing him.
Maybe that's unfair. He doesn't know. ] Not your fault, this one's on me.
[And he's very much done here. Pushing past Mick with as much space between them as possible without looking ridiculous. Part of him wants to slam the door to his room, but ultimately he just shuts it gently and turns the lock. Not as satisfying, but a lot less immature.]
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He frowns at Len in response to the question. ] I've used the internet before, I'm not that outta touch. [ Beat. ] ...That's a website, right?
[ He's not THAT well-versed. ]
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It's a website, yeah. They've videos on there, they have ones that are just a burning fire, for several hours.
[In Mick's defence, Youtube is relatively new.]
Not sure if that'd make it better or worse for you, but it's an alternative to the real deal.
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He tells himself that a video would be kind of like the real thing. ]
Might work. Nothing to lose by giving it a try, right?
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[The same yet different, as always. Len catches himself looking at Mick just a little too long in the wrong way, so he lowers his gaze to study the menu instead. At least Indian takeout seemed to be cross-universal.]
They really do have the same stuff everywhere.
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[ He looks back at Leonard. He's surprised how easily he's become comfortable with him. While somehow never quite being comfortable at all. He reminds him of his Captain Cold, to be sure, but the good parts -- the parts of Len that he actually liked. They were getting along. And that irritated him. ]
You don't have to do this, you know.
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[He knows that's not what he's saying, but whatever. He looks for the items that wouldn't be hot, figures out what would be hottest and decides that Piper and James are probably already taking care of food for themselves, so he won't have to worry about them.
However, he finally lifts his head again, bracing himself and thus not changing his expression as he looks right at Mick.]
I've been pretty good at taking care of myself for a while now. You don't have to worry about that.
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[ He's watching Lens steadily. ]
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But then, he wouldn't have to. It'd be understood. Mutual.]
All I'm doing. I don't like to burn.
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And he's not buying it. Well, then again... it does sound like the sort of logic Cold would have. And Mick probably wouldn't question it if it weren't for the fact that he suspects his alternate self means something more to this particular Leonard Snart.
He holds his gaze a moment more, before he looks away. ]
Right.
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[Just a reminder. Perhaps mainly a reminder to himself.
His chest is too tight and he lowers his eyes quicker than Mick does. At least he keeps his face composed.
He wishes they looked nothing alike and yet.
Deep down he wants his composure to break, but he's learned a long time ago not to let anything touch him. At least never to let anything show. So instead he simply keeps his head down and finally dials the takeaway place.]
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It did come out harsher than he meant. It's difficult for him not to bristle around him. Mick leans against the counter with his arms folded. He should probably say something else. Break the ice.
He knows he has a problem. But he really doesn't like feeling that he needs a version of Len to keep an eye on him. What bothers him the most is how easy it feels to slip into that role. ]
I'm not going to burn you if you don't give me a reason to.
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It's all he can do to push back unbidden thoughts that well up and order Indian food instead. What a thing to do while trapped between crumbling and simply punching Mick, as if that would help anything. He ends the call, no longer looking away but staring right at him.]
You don't want to start this, because I can tell you who'd finish it.
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[ It's strangely more comforting to be on the edge of a fight; it's territory Mick can understand. (Now who's projecting.) He reaches for his gun, but he's in civilian clothing which doesn't have his holster. This at least gives him pause and makes him remember where he is. ]
Forget it.
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This whole fucked up place marks the first time people guilt me for not being hateful enough.
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Shit.
[ This isn't the Cold he knows. He needs to put aside all his unfinished business with Len, and their history -- and the part Mick finds so hard to admit to himself: that he doesn't hate the guy. That the idea that this version taking care of him puts him on edge so much is because he doesn't want to let his guard down. Cold being a dick was never the dangerous part of knowing him.
Maybe that's unfair. He doesn't know. ] Not your fault, this one's on me.
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[And he's very much done here. Pushing past Mick with as much space between them as possible without looking ridiculous. Part of him wants to slam the door to his room, but ultimately he just shuts it gently and turns the lock. Not as satisfying, but a lot less immature.]
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He doesn't watch Cold go but he listens to his footsteps. He sighs, leaning on the counter. He fucked that one up, didn't he? ]