The air in the Rogues’ lair was quiet, save for the sound of fists softly hitting practice pads and the quiet shuffle of feet across the floor. Evan McCulloch and Lisa Snart moved in tandem, their training session an unspoken conversation. It was a rhythm they had perfected over time—a fluid dance of strikes and blocks, corrections and movements, all carried out in silence.
Evan couldn’t speak, but he didn’t need to. They communicated through the touch of his hands as he corrected her form, through the way their eyes met when she successfully executed a move he’d shown her. It was a language all their own, and they’d grown comfortable in it, the silence between them filled with understanding.
But as Lisa shifted to her next stance, something unexpected happened. The gentle hum of music filled the room, the opening chords of a song drifting from the speakers, soft and out of place. Lisa paused, blinking in confusion. Evan’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t move, simply watching her reaction.
The lyrics began, unmistakable and heavy with meaning.
“I want to know what love is…”
Lisa turned her head toward the source of the sound, a bemused smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Is this some kind of joke?” she asked, half to herself, glancing around the room. There was no answer, of course. Just the song, slowly filling the empty space.
Evan tilted his head, giving her a questioning look, and Lisa shook her head, brushing it off. “I guess we’re dancing now?” she said lightly, her tone playful, trying to ease the strange tension the song had created.
For a moment, Evan just stood there, still and uncertain, but then he stepped closer. Slowly, tentatively, he reached out and took Lisa’s hand in his. She hesitated, only for a second, before giving him a soft smile, something warm and genuine in her expression. She placed her other hand on his shoulder, and suddenly, they weren’t training anymore.
The music swelled, wrapping around them like a quiet embrace.
“I want you to show me…”
They moved together, a slow, swaying rhythm, their bodies naturally falling into sync. Evan’s hand rested gently at Lisa’s waist, guiding her as they turned. There were no practiced steps here, no rigid movements like in their training—just the quiet simplicity of two people finding their way through a moment they hadn’t expected.
Lisa’s gaze softened as she looked up at Evan, her earlier amusement melting away. She didn’t know where the music had come from, or why it had started, but in this moment, none of that mattered. Evan’s silent presence, the way his hands held hers, told her everything she needed to know.
He didn’t have to speak for her to feel the shift between them.
Unbeknownst to them, Gideon watched. The cameras, the hacked feeds, the endless streams of data—all fixed on the two of them as they danced. This wasn’t just idle observation. For Gideon, it was a test. An experiment. She had chosen the song deliberately, wanting to see how they would react, how the tender pull of music would affect their connection. She didn’t understand love the way humans did, but she wanted to—wanted to feel it, to know what it meant, even if she could never truly experience it herself.
The way Evan’s hand gently guided Lisa, the soft smile that spread across her face as they swayed—it was all recorded, analyzed, but it was more than just data. It was a window into something Gideon could only observe from the outside.
Lisa rested her head lightly on Evan’s chest, the soft melody of the song carrying them through the moment. “I want to know what love is,” the lyrics continued, echoing through the room. And for a brief moment, it felt as though the world had fallen away, leaving just the two of them in the quiet intimacy of their slow dance.
Gideon’s system logged every detail—the way Lisa’s heartbeat slowed as she relaxed into Evan’s arms, the subtle rise in Evan’s temperature as he held her close. It was all there, meticulously organized in her mind. But it wasn’t the data she was after. It was the feeling. The warmth. The connection between two people that transcended words, that moved in silence, just like the way they had trained together.
The song played on, almost cruelly ironic in its choice.
“I want to know what love is… I want you to show me…”
But Evan and Lisa didn’t care. They had forgotten the strange appearance of the song, forgotten the oddity of its timing. In this moment, they were simply there, together, lost in the simple act of holding one another, moving slowly to the music.
Gideon watched them, fixated, her curiosity deepening. She had played the song to provoke a reaction, to see how they would respond. But now, as she observed them in this quiet, intimate moment, something stirred within her. It was more than just her programming, more than just Thawne’s design.
She had wanted this—to understand what they had, to know what it was like to feel what they felt. But no matter how much data she gathered, how deeply she analyzed their interactions, she would never truly know. She could never be part of that world.
And as the song came to its final refrain, Gideon remained silent, watching them dance, consumed by a longing she didn’t fully understand.
As the music played softly in the background, Evan and Lisa moved in perfect sync, the world around them slipping away. The tender moment they shared was quiet and intimate, their bodies swaying slowly to the rhythm. Evan’s hand rested gently on Lisa’s waist, and she leaned into him, her eyes closed for a moment as they let the music carry them.
But then, something changed. Evan stiffened, and Lisa’s posture shifted—no longer soft, but tense. Gideon, focused so intently on their closeness, was a second too late to notice the source of the change.
Leonard Snart—Captain Cold—stood in the doorway, his presence casting a cold shadow over the room. His gaze was fixed on Evan, watching him with that calculating stare, cold and unblinking. The warmth between Evan and Lisa evaporated, replaced by the weight of Leonard’s presence.
Lisa pulled back, her eyes darting between her brother and Evan. The air was thick with tension, the unspoken weight of Leonard’s disapproval heavy between them.
Evan didn’t need words to know what was coming.
Leonard stepped forward, his steps slow and deliberate, his hands casually tucked into the pockets of his coat. He didn’t say anything at first, but his silence was louder than any threat. When he was close enough, he stopped, his eyes flicking briefly to Lisa, then back to Evan.
“McCulloch,” he said, his voice as calm as ever, but there was no mistaking the edge beneath it. “Mind if we have a little chat?”
Evan gave a small nod, glancing briefly at Lisa before following Leonard out of the room. They walked down the hallway in silence until Leonard turned a corner, finally pulling Evan aside into a more private space. He leaned against the wall, his posture relaxed but his eyes still sharp, cutting straight through Evan.
He let the silence hang for a moment longer, just enough to unsettle, before finally speaking.
“If you break her heart…” Leonard’s voice was low, smooth, but his eyes were cold and deadly serious. He paused, just long enough for the weight of his words to sink in. “…I’ll freeze yours.”
Evan held his gaze, his expression steady, giving a small nod. He didn’t flinch, didn’t back down, but he understood the warning loud and clear. Leonard wasn’t asking for a promise. He was laying down the terms, simple and non-negotiable.
Leonard’s mouth twitched into the slightest of smirks, the kind that never quite reached his eyes. He pushed himself off the wall, stepping closer to Evan. “You’re a smart guy,” Leonard said, his voice still casual, almost friendly, but with that unmistakable chill. “
He gave Evan a pat on the shoulder, his hand lingering for just a moment longer than necessary, before stepping back. “Got it?”
Evan nodded again, his expression unreadable, but the message was clear between them. There was no room for mistakes.
Satisfied, Leonard straightened up, slipping his hands back into his pockets. He gave Evan one last, sharp look before turning on his heel and heading back down the hallway, his steps slow and unhurried, as if he had all the time in the world.
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Evan watched him go, the weight of the encounter settling over him. He hadn’t needed words to understand Leonard’s intentions—his actions, his stance, and that icy stare had said it all.
Back in the room, Lisa stood where they had left her, her arms crossed as she watched Evan return. She didn’t ask what Leonard had said. She didn’t need to. She knew her brother well enough to know the kind of quiet warnings he gave, the kind that never needed to be repeated.
Gideon, still watching, absorbed every detail. The tenderness that had been in the air moments ago was now gone, replaced by the tension that only Leonard could bring. She logged it all—the shift in body language, the change in atmosphere—but it wasn’t just data. It was something deeper. Something she would remember for the future.
The music still played faintly in the background, but it no longer mattered. The moment had passed.
The night was cool as Leonard and Lisa stepped out of the lair, the city lights casting long shadows on the empty streets. Leonard didn’t say much at first, just walked beside her with his hands shoved deep into his coat pockets, his eyes scanning the quiet surroundings out of habit. It was a calm night, not the kind of calm they were used to, but it felt good—at least, as good as it ever could for people like them.
They were supposed to be getting food for the team—Mick had made a big deal about being hungry—but the silence between them stretched, filled with something unspoken.
Lisa, arms crossed, and jacket pulled tight against the chill, glanced over at Leonard. She knew her brother too well. He wasn’t just out here for a food run. Something was on his mind, and he didn’t do well with letting things fester. It was only a matter of time before he’d get it out.
“You’re quiet,” Lisa said, her tone light, though there was an edge of curiosity behind it.
Leonard kept walking for a few more steps, not acknowledging her at first. But then he gave a little shrug, his breath coming out in a cloud as he exhaled into the frigid air.
“Just thinking,” he said, his voice casual, but Lisa knew better. He didn’t just think—not unless it was important.
“About?” she prodded, glancing at him from the corner of her eye.
Leonard was quiet again for a moment, as if weighing whether or not to say what was really on his mind. Finally, he stopped walking, turning to face her, his usual cool expression still in place, but with something a little softer around the edges.
“Do you… like him?”
Lisa blinked, caught off guard by the question. “What? Who?”
“You know who.” Leonard’s eyes narrowed slightly, but there was no real sharpness in his voice. “McCulloch. Evan.”
Lisa stood still, searching his face for a second. She could tell this wasn’t just idle curiosity. This was her brother’s version of caring. She sighed, shoving her hands in her pockets as she kicked at a loose stone on the sidewalk.
“He’s… different,” she said after a moment. “Not like the others.”
“Different how?” Leonard asked, stepping closer, his tone still calm but focused.
Lisa shrugged, trying to put it into words. “He doesn’t talk much—obviously. But he doesn’t need to, you know? He just… gets me. We don’t need to fill the silence with a lot of meaningless words.”
Leonard nodded slightly, taking that in. He looked away for a second, as if processing what she was saying, before bringing his eyes back to her. His tone was still light, but there was a weight to his next question.
“You trust him?”
Lisa hesitated for a moment. Trust wasn’t something they gave easily—not in their line of work, not in the world they lived in. But she looked at Leonard and nodded slowly.
“Yeah, I do,” she said quietly. “More than most.”
Leonard let out a long breath, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly, but his expression didn’t soften much. He leaned against the brick wall of a nearby building, staring down the street.
“Good,” he said simply. “But if you don’t…” He let the sentence hang, unfinished, but the implication was clear. Leonard didn’t need to say much more. Lisa knew he’d always be there to step in if something went wrong.
Lisa rolled her eyes, a small smile tugging at her lips. “You don’t have to threaten him, you know.”
Leonard gave her a sidelong glance, smirking slightly. “I know.”
They stood in silence for a few moments, the night around them quiet and still. The cool air pressed in, but for once, Lisa didn’t feel the need to fill it with anything else. She knew her brother well enough to know this was his way of showing that he cared—guarded, protective, but there all the same.
Finally, Leonard pushed off the wall, glancing down the street. “Let’s go. Mick’s gonna whine if we take too long.”
Lisa smiled, falling in step beside him again. “And we definitely don’t want that.”
Leonard didn’t say anything more, but as they walked side by side, there was an unspoken understanding between them. He didn’t have to spell it out for her. She knew Leonard was protective—overbearing at times—but he trusted her judgment. And in the world, they lived in, that meant more than any lengthy conversation ever could.
Back in the lair, the atmosphere had shifted. Leonard and Lisa were setting down the takeout on the table, but Mick had his eyes set on Evan, his usual smirk tugging at his lips. There was a glint in his eyes, the kind that told everyone in the room that Mick was in the mood to test boundaries.
“McCulloch,” Mick called out, voice carrying across the room. “You’ve been real quiet since you walked in. Oh, wait,” he added with a low chuckle, “You’re always quiet, aren’t you?”
Evan didn’t flinch. He stood on the other side of the room, unmoved by Mick’s attempts to provoke him. His hands rested casually at his sides, but his posture was as sharp as always—relaxed, yet ready. It was a calm that only someone with his martial arts discipline could maintain, but Mick wasn’t one to back down just because someone didn’t take the bait right away.
Mick leaned forward, his grin widening. “So, I gotta ask, what’s your deal? What makes you think you’re good enough for Lisa?”
Evan’s eyes flicked briefly to Lisa, softening for just a second as their gazes met. She gave him a small smile—one he returned with a slight nod before turning his attention back to Mick.
There was no sign of frustration on Evan’s face, no anger at Mick’s probing. Instead, he simply raised one hand, slowly and deliberately, and jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the corner of the lair—where the makeshift boxing ring stood. The message was clear, even without words.
Mick’s eyebrows shot up, and then, after a beat, a slow grin spread across his face. “Oh-ho-ho,” he laughed, pushing himself off the wall. “Now you’re speaking my language, McCulloch.”
Evan didn’t smile. He didn’t need to. His gesture had been enough to let Mick know he was ready, and that was all that needed to be said. He turned, heading toward the ring with the same quiet, deliberate precision that defined everything he did. Lisa watched from the sidelines, knowing full well that Evan had picked up on Mick’s little game the moment he walked into the room.
Mick followed, cracking his knuckles as he stepped into the ring, his expression now one of excitement rather than mischief. “Alright, then. Let’s see what you’ve got,” he said, his voice a low rumble, but the glint in his eyes showed he was more than ready for whatever Evan had in store.
Evan climbed into the ring, his movements fluid and measured. He turned to face Mick, giving a slight nod of acknowledgment. It wasn’t aggression. It wasn’t even about showing off. This was just business—a test, and he knew exactly what Mick was after.
Mick rolled his shoulders, shaking his arms out as he prepared himself. “You know,” he said with a grin, “I kinda like you, McCulloch. You don’t say much, but I respect a guy who knows how to throw a punch.”
Evan raised his fists in a ready stance, the barest hint of a smirk tugging at his lips as if to say, Let’s find out.
Lisa watched from the edge of the ring, arms crossed but with a knowing smile playing on her face. She had no doubts about Evan—she knew him well enough to understand that he didn’t need words to communicate, and certainly didn’t need them to prove himself. But this was Mick’s way of making sure, of measuring up the man who had quietly become a part of their tight-knit crew.
Mick took the first swing, testing the waters with a quick jab, but Evan dodged it effortlessly, his movements smooth and precise. The next punch came quicker, but again, Evan sidestepped it, his eyes calm and focused, as if he was simply waiting for the right moment.
“That all you got?” Mick grunted, amusement still clear in his voice.
Evan didn’t respond—not that he could. But with the speed of a trained fighter, he shot out a quick jab of his own, landing a solid hit to Mick’s ribs. Mick grunted, but there was no anger, only a flash of excitement in his eyes. He liked this—liked the challenge, the back-and-forth.
As Evan and Mick circled each other in the makeshift ring, the rest of the Rogues began to gather around. It wasn’t often that something this entertaining happened, and they weren’t going to miss it. Sam McCulloch, leaning against one of the posts, grinned as he watched his brother move with calm precision. On the other side, Mark Mardon, aka Weather Wizard, stood with his arms crossed, a smirk on his face as he rooted for Mick. And then there was Leonard Snart—Captain Cold—watching from the shadows with his usual icy, detached stance, arms crossed over his chest, his eyes narrowing slightly as he observed every movement.
The mood in the lair was charged with anticipation, everyone enjoying the impromptu challenge. Mick, grinning like a madman, clearly relished the opportunity to test Evan. He was putting on a show, throwing out punches with a bit more force than before, trying to crack Evan’s calm exterior.
And then Mick finally got the hit he was waiting for.
Sam, watching from the sidelines, winced a little but still called out, “Come on, Evan! Get back in there!”
Mark, on the opposite side, grinned wide and cheered, “Atta boy, Mick! Teach him a lesson!”
Lisa stepped closer to the ring, her voice cutting through the noise. “Okay, enough holding back,” she called, a teasing but firm smile playing on her lips. “Let him have it,
As soon as Lisa gave the nod, something shifted in Evan. His entire posture changed—fluid but focused, like a coiled spring ready to strike. He rolled his neck, his shoulders loosening in that deliberate, practiced way that marked him as a true martial artist. There was no flash, no grand display of emotion, just a quiet, internal shift. The playful, sparring energy that had been there moments before evaporated, replaced by something much sharper, more efficient.
Mick, grinning, was ready for a fight, but what he didn’t expect was how fast Evan moved. In one seamless motion, Evan closed the distance between them and delivered a lightning-quick strike to Mick’s midsection. It wasn’t enough to cause real damage, but it was precise, landing just below Mick’s ribs, knocking the wind out of him. Mick stumbled back, his grin faltering.
Evan didn’t give him time to recover. He pressed forward with calculated precision, his movements efficient and deliberate. Every strike was measured—hard enough to land, but not hard enough to hurt. Evan was in control, always aware of the balance between force and restraint, and he knew exactly when to ease up.
Before Mick could get his footing back, Evan swept his leg, knocking Mick off balance and sending him to the floor with a controlled, effortless motion. Mick hit the mat with a grunt, blinking up at Evan in surprise.
Evan knelt down, his face calm, almost serene, as he tapped Mick’s chin lightly with his fist—a playful gesture, but one that signaled the end of the match. I win, the gesture said, but without a hint of arrogance. It was simply fact.
Mick, still catching his breath, lay there for a moment, eyes wide. Then, slowly, a grin spread across his face. “Well, damn,” he muttered, laughing as he raised his hands in mock surrender. “You got me, McCulloch. You win.”
The room erupted in cheers. Sam pumped his fist in the air, grinning. “That’s my brother! Hell yeah, Evan!”
On the other side, Mark Mardon shook his head, chuckling as he clapped Mick on the back. “Better luck next time, Rory.”
But Evan didn’t revel in the victory. He offered Mick a hand, pulling him back to his feet with a firm grip, his expression softening slightly. The fight had been won, but it hadn’t been about winning. For Evan, it was about respect—about showing that even in a sparring match, he held himself to the highest standard of discipline.
Lisa smiled as Evan turned to her, his demeanor already shifting back to its usual calm, almost unassuming presence. She knew that when he fought, he fought with purpose. But more than that, he fought with a deep understanding of when to hold back.
Told you,” Sam said with a smug grin as Mark slapped the cash into his hand. “Never bet against my brother.”
Mark rolled his eyes, chuckling as he handed over the money. “Yeah, yeah. Next time, Rory’s gonna take him down. This was just a fluke.”
Sam pocketed the money with a grin. “Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
Leonard, standing off to the side, arms still crossed over his chest, caught the exchange with a faint smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. He hadn’t missed a thing—not the fight, not Evan’s controlled victory, and certainly not the little side bet between Sam and Mark. It was typical of them, and even in a place like this, he appreciated the small moments of humor. But Leonard said nothing, just giving a slight shake of his head as he continued to watch the aftermath unfold.
Mick, lying on the mat but smiling despite the loss, suddenly had an idea. “Alright, how about we celebrate this.”
The team, still buzzing from the friendly match, began to prepare to head out, eager for a night of drinks and bonding. As they left the lair, the camaraderie was clear, the playful teasing and shared experiences bringing them closer together, even amid the chaos of their lives.
Before anyone could respond, Leonard, standing off to the side with his arms crossed, chimed in dryly. “You’re buying, Mick.”