Rehabilitation
Title: Rehabilitation
Words: 2571
Characters: Mark Mardon, Leonard Snart, Roy Bivolo
Summary: Mark readjusts to life outside the Pipeline.
AN: Set after Rogue Air. Not related to my other tv'verse piece.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
The bar was dingy and there was something sticky on the table next to Mark's elbow. He didn't like it. Something about the low ceiling and the cramped corners was claustrophobic.
A tornado in the middle of the room was looking more and more appealing.
“I like this bar,” Leonard Snart said as he slid into the seat opposite Mark. His glass held too much ice for any normal person's taste. “If you destroy it I'll be upset.”
“You're late,” Mark said.
“You're early,” Snart countered, “I'm never late. It's not good for business.”
Mark gave him a dark look. Snart gave him a flat stare in response.
“So, how do you like being free?” Snart asked.
“I'm not here to make small talk,” Mark said, “I don't like owing people. What do you want to clean my slate?”
“If that's all you want, there's a job I've got in mind. A pair of meta-human hands will make things go much easier,” Snart said.
“If that's all I want?” Mark echoed, “What else have you got planned?”
“That would be telling,” Snart said, smirking, “You do this one job for me, I'll call us even.”
Mark didn't like it. A lifetime of being screwed over and trying to stop his little brother being screwed over was making his hackles rise.
“It's too easy. I don't think that's what you want,” Mark said.
“What I want is Central City. Unmolested, except where I chose to do my business,” Snart said, “The Flash mentioned something about a tsunami and out of all the meta-humans in that container, you're the only one with the powers to do that.”
“I never created a tsunami,” Mark said, though there was a stab of pride that he couldn't quite bury.
“But you could.”
“If I wanted to,” Mark said, “You don't appreciate how powerful I am.”
“Anyone who can hit the Flash when he's moving has my appreciation,” Snart said, “But I've been up against the Flash four times and walked away after each and every encounter. You had what, one kill? Then you were locked away before you could do anything more.”
Sharp memories of an enclosed box. Knockout gas pouring from the ceiling. Poor food. Not being able to lie down straight. Mark fought to keep himself in the present.
“What do you want?” Mark asked, forcing down a shudder.
“I have a team,” Snart said, the expression on his face not changing at Mark's discomfort, “We all take shares from the score and we watch each others' backs.”
“And you're offering me a place?” Mark confirmed, “Bigger team means less payout.”
“A bigger team means a bigger score,” Snart argued.
“Funny, it sounds like you're trying to get me further in your debt,” Mark said.
“Friends aren't indebted to friends,” Snart said, “Join and I'll wipe your slate.”
“And if I don't join?”
“Then you still owe me.”
Mark drummed his fingers on the table, avoiding the sticky patch. Whatever he ended up deciding, it wasn't going to be good. This was why he hated owing people favours. Working with Clyde had been much easier, brothers were always there for each other, without any notion of debt.
“What's to stop me from killing you now and taking back that favour?” Mark asked.
“You see that woman over there?” Snart looked over to the snooker tables, where the woman who had held Bivolo at gunpoint was flirting with a couple of bikers, “The second you start whipping up a tornado or calling down lightning, she'll kill you.”
“She won't get here quick enough to save you,” Mark said.
There was a faint whirr from beneath the table and Mark felt something ice cold press against his knee.
“You came armed,” Mark said grudgingly.
“I'm careful that way,” Snart said, “It's kept me alive and out of Flash's prison so far.”
Flashbacks attempted to grip Mark again. He tried to cover his shaking hands by clasping them together around his still-untouched drink.
“Do you keep your... your Rogues out of Flash's prison too?” Mark asked, his voice too tight to be casual.
“No one's gone there yet.”
“If they did,” Mark pressed.
“Then I'd find a way to get them out,” Snart said, “I take care of my own.”
Mark had heard of Snart's reputation before the breakout. A little research after things had calmed down had only confirmed it. If Snart promised a jailbreak, then a jailbreak would happen.
“I'll take the job,” Mark decided. It was so tempting to say 'yes' to the rest too, purely to have that safety net, but he hadn't survived this long in his career without exercising caution.
“You don't want to be on my team? I'm hurt,” Snart said with mock disappointment.
“I want to know that your team's worth it,” Mark said, “You might be good at keeping out of the Flash's hands, but that doesn't tell me shit about the quality of your heists.”
“My generous offer might have expired by then,” Snart said lightly.
“You're not going to find someone else with my skills,” Mark said confidently.
“So we'll call this job a trial run,” Snart said, “See how well you fit in.”
“And I don't owe you after it.”
“Deal,” Snart raised his glass, “To clean slates.”
Mark gave a silent toast and finally sipped his drink.
--------------------
“I'm not sure I get it,” Roy Bivolo said, charcoal scratching softly over his pad, “Why didn't you just agree to be on Snart's team?”
Mark was currently lying on his back in the middle of a park, tossing a ball over his head. Roy was sat next to him, hunched over a sketch pad. There was a smudge of black on Roy's nose.
“Because I would've looked desperate,” Mark said, “This way Snart acknowledges that I don't owe him anything. He's not going to forget the favour otherwise.”
Roy sighed. “When do you think he'll call mine in?”
“Dammed if I know,” Mark said. He threw the ball too far to the right, but a gust of wind blew it back toward his hand.
Roy licked his thumb and smudged something on the page in front of him. It was peaceful. Open. Everything the prison hadn't been. The only thing that was the same was Roy, yet Mark found that having someone who understood was better than being alone.
“She's moving again,” Roy said.
Mark twisted his neck to watch a woman in a bikini glare at the solitary cloud in the sky then move her blanket several feet until she was once again in the sun. Mark chuckled and gave the cloud another tug to make it follow her again, for the third time in the past twenty minutes.
“Do you know what the job is yet?” Roy asked.
“No,” Mark replied.
“And you're not worried about it?”
“The jobs take care of themselves,” Mark shrugged, “Once I know my part I'll work it out. At least this time I don't have to care about anyone else.”
If Roy noticed his forced cheer, he didn't say anything. There was now a smudge of charcoal on his chin too. Whatever he was drawing was making him frown.
“Would you join up with Snart if you could?” Mark asked.
“It's a bigger league than I was working in,” Roy said carefully.
“You're not answering the question.”
“Maybe there's a reason for that.”
“Come on, you've got me curious now.”
“Yes. Yes I would,” Roy said, rolling his eyes, “I don't want to be stuck in there for months again.”
They both shivered at the mention of the prison. Mark hated how much it was still affecting him.
“But I don't think they'd take me,” Roy continued, “I only started on the big banks when I got my powers. I've never gone after anything famous.”
“You gotta start somewhere,” Mark said, “Hey. Give me sixty percent of your cut for the next year and I'll put in a good word.”
Roy just snorted and ran a careful finger over his picture. Mark twisted over onto his front and scanned the park. A gaggle of children were screaming and running around a couple of harassed-looking adults.
“Think you can get one of those kids from here?” Mark asked.
Roy looked up and focussed. His eyes glowed red for several long seconds before a child's angry shout echoed over the park. It wasn't long before a full brawl had broken out, making the adults look even more worse for wear as they tried to separate the kids.
“Stupid brats. They don't stay still long enough to get a full dose,” Roy said, rubbing his left eye and smudging charcoal over that too.
“Can you do anything other than anger?” Mark asked.
Roy shrugged. “I haven't tried. It's easy to focus on anger.”
“Try something else,” Mark urged, full of sudden curiosity.
Roy grimaced, but relented when Mark chucked his ball at him.
Roy looked around the park for a good victim. Black veins started to spread from his eyes, then finally a flicker of colour appeared. The next moment Roy's eyes glowed yellow and a scream ripped across the park.
“Not bad,” Mark said, watching the affected man flee for his life. He realised Roy was shaking, “Shit, was that too much?”
“Just...” Roy closed his eyes and gulped down several breaths, “Had to think about fear to make it work.”
And fear at the moment meant a box with no space and primitive living conditions. Mark gripped Roy's knee and waited for him to snap out of it.
“Successful, though,” Roy said, voice only a little wobbly.
“Not bad,” Mark repeated.
“Make it ten percent and six months and I'm in,” Roy said.
Mark laughed. “Not worth it.”
“I could make you,” Roy threatened, but there was little heat to the words.
“You want to see what the weather does if I'm angry?”
Roy huffed an amused breath and gently put his stick of charcoal back in the soft leather case it came from.
“Finished?” Mark asked, sitting up to see.
“It's not my best work,” Roy said apologetically, turning the pad around so Mark could see the portrait of himself rendered in black and white. For not being Roy's 'best work', it was pretty damn impressive.
“Let's go haggle over a drink,” Mark suggested.
As soon as the pair left the park, a downpour started, drenching everything.
--------------------
“Fancy meeting you here.”
Mark looked up sharply and Roy choked on his drink at the sound of Leonard Snart's drawl. Snart was holding another drink with too much ice in it and grinning at the pair of them. Mark bit back a sigh and gestured at a chair.
“Have a seat.”
“Very kind of you, Mardon,” Snart said, drooping into the chair then nodding to Roy, “Bivolo.”
“Do you want something, or is this a chance meeting?” Mark asked.
“Do you ever make small talk?” Snart asked mildly.
“I don't see the point if it's about business,” Mark said.
“But what else do we have in common?” Snart said. He was enjoying himself, the bastard.
“How did you sabotage the transport?” Roy asked.
“That? That was easy,” Snart said, “The Flash asked for my help and their security is terrible.”
Mark and Roy shared an uncertain look.
“Flash asked for your help?” Roy said, “Why?”
“He was desperate.”
“He's not going to do that again,” Mark said.
“We'll see,” Snart said easily.
It was frustrating how relaxed Snart was. Mark had scanned the bar twice, but found no sign of anyone who could be Snart's ally, yet the man was comfortable talking with two people who were not only successful criminals, but ones with powers. All Snart had was a gun. A futuristic ice-gun, true, but it was still just a gun.
“I heard you were captured by a joint effort. The Arrow as well as the Flash,” Snart said, leaning toward Roy, “What can you tell me about him?”
If it had been Clyde sitting there, Mark would've kicked him to shut him up. His little brother had a big mouth sometimes. The urge to make Roy be quiet was oddly similar.
“He doesn't have any powers,” Roy said, “But he's not worried about hurting people like the Flash is. Here,” Roy rolled up his sleeve and pointed to a jagged red scar an inch from his elbow, “That's where he got me.”
“What did he use to fight with?” Snart asked.
“Arrows,” Roy said flatly.
Mark resisted the urge to kick him again. Roy was older than him, dammit.
“I take it they didn't need to spend much time taking you down?” Snart said.
“Gee, I didn't think to time it,” Roy said sourly.
“You think you'll run into the Arrow?” Mark asked.
“I find it always helps to be prepared,” Snart said, “The Flash has been upping his game and I need to keep up.”
“It'd be a lot simpler if you'd killed him,” Mark said, “Or let one of us do it if you didn't have the stomach.”
“Rule number two, killing brings unnecessary heat. If you're part of my Rogues you'll learn to avoid it,” Snart said.
“No killing? Is this a kid's show?” Mark scoffed, “No, I have vengeance I need to take. I won't be bound by rules that allow my brother's killer to go free.”
“Deal with revenge on your own time then. If you're on the job then the score comes first. If you can't agree to that you can't be on the team,” Snart said, the barest inflection of threat in his voice, “We don't have many rules, but you will follow them.”
Mark shook his head. He had to get to know people who weren't criminals.
“What are the other rules?” Roy asked.
“One: focus on the score. Two: no unnecessary killing - if you're not good enough to avoid it then I should look elsewhere. Three: look out for one another - that includes prison breaks,” Snart counted off on his fingers as he went, “Four: no drugs - it only makes things messy.”
“That's all?” Roy said.
“To be updated and refined as need be,” Snart said, “Of course it should go without question that you do exactly what I say.”
Mark and Roy shared another glance. Roy obviously wanted to agree to be on the team, but Mark felt that there was an invisible trap waiting to spring.
“What if we want out?” Mark asked.
“Then you leave Central City and I leave you alone,” Snart replied, with an easy smile on his face, “Make no mistake, this is my city. Anyone who tries to destroy it will be met with a chilly reception.”
That last bit was aimed at Mark, who smiled. Whatever the consequences of the unseen trap were, the rest of the job was going to be a hell of a ride. This was why he worked with criminals.
“I'm still not agreeing to any rules until I've done my trial run. Roy too,” Mark added, deciding to give into his protective instincts.
Roy opened his mouth to speak, but Mark kicked him under the table and he glared at Mark instead.
“Let's talk business, shall we?” Snart said, leaning forward and pulling a roll of blueprints out of his jacket.
It wasn't like working with Clyde, but it might just work out after all.
Words: 2571
Characters: Mark Mardon, Leonard Snart, Roy Bivolo
Summary: Mark readjusts to life outside the Pipeline.
AN: Set after Rogue Air. Not related to my other tv'verse piece.
---------------------------------------------------------------------
The bar was dingy and there was something sticky on the table next to Mark's elbow. He didn't like it. Something about the low ceiling and the cramped corners was claustrophobic.
A tornado in the middle of the room was looking more and more appealing.
“I like this bar,” Leonard Snart said as he slid into the seat opposite Mark. His glass held too much ice for any normal person's taste. “If you destroy it I'll be upset.”
“You're late,” Mark said.
“You're early,” Snart countered, “I'm never late. It's not good for business.”
Mark gave him a dark look. Snart gave him a flat stare in response.
“So, how do you like being free?” Snart asked.
“I'm not here to make small talk,” Mark said, “I don't like owing people. What do you want to clean my slate?”
“If that's all you want, there's a job I've got in mind. A pair of meta-human hands will make things go much easier,” Snart said.
“If that's all I want?” Mark echoed, “What else have you got planned?”
“That would be telling,” Snart said, smirking, “You do this one job for me, I'll call us even.”
Mark didn't like it. A lifetime of being screwed over and trying to stop his little brother being screwed over was making his hackles rise.
“It's too easy. I don't think that's what you want,” Mark said.
“What I want is Central City. Unmolested, except where I chose to do my business,” Snart said, “The Flash mentioned something about a tsunami and out of all the meta-humans in that container, you're the only one with the powers to do that.”
“I never created a tsunami,” Mark said, though there was a stab of pride that he couldn't quite bury.
“But you could.”
“If I wanted to,” Mark said, “You don't appreciate how powerful I am.”
“Anyone who can hit the Flash when he's moving has my appreciation,” Snart said, “But I've been up against the Flash four times and walked away after each and every encounter. You had what, one kill? Then you were locked away before you could do anything more.”
Sharp memories of an enclosed box. Knockout gas pouring from the ceiling. Poor food. Not being able to lie down straight. Mark fought to keep himself in the present.
“What do you want?” Mark asked, forcing down a shudder.
“I have a team,” Snart said, the expression on his face not changing at Mark's discomfort, “We all take shares from the score and we watch each others' backs.”
“And you're offering me a place?” Mark confirmed, “Bigger team means less payout.”
“A bigger team means a bigger score,” Snart argued.
“Funny, it sounds like you're trying to get me further in your debt,” Mark said.
“Friends aren't indebted to friends,” Snart said, “Join and I'll wipe your slate.”
“And if I don't join?”
“Then you still owe me.”
Mark drummed his fingers on the table, avoiding the sticky patch. Whatever he ended up deciding, it wasn't going to be good. This was why he hated owing people favours. Working with Clyde had been much easier, brothers were always there for each other, without any notion of debt.
“What's to stop me from killing you now and taking back that favour?” Mark asked.
“You see that woman over there?” Snart looked over to the snooker tables, where the woman who had held Bivolo at gunpoint was flirting with a couple of bikers, “The second you start whipping up a tornado or calling down lightning, she'll kill you.”
“She won't get here quick enough to save you,” Mark said.
There was a faint whirr from beneath the table and Mark felt something ice cold press against his knee.
“You came armed,” Mark said grudgingly.
“I'm careful that way,” Snart said, “It's kept me alive and out of Flash's prison so far.”
Flashbacks attempted to grip Mark again. He tried to cover his shaking hands by clasping them together around his still-untouched drink.
“Do you keep your... your Rogues out of Flash's prison too?” Mark asked, his voice too tight to be casual.
“No one's gone there yet.”
“If they did,” Mark pressed.
“Then I'd find a way to get them out,” Snart said, “I take care of my own.”
Mark had heard of Snart's reputation before the breakout. A little research after things had calmed down had only confirmed it. If Snart promised a jailbreak, then a jailbreak would happen.
“I'll take the job,” Mark decided. It was so tempting to say 'yes' to the rest too, purely to have that safety net, but he hadn't survived this long in his career without exercising caution.
“You don't want to be on my team? I'm hurt,” Snart said with mock disappointment.
“I want to know that your team's worth it,” Mark said, “You might be good at keeping out of the Flash's hands, but that doesn't tell me shit about the quality of your heists.”
“My generous offer might have expired by then,” Snart said lightly.
“You're not going to find someone else with my skills,” Mark said confidently.
“So we'll call this job a trial run,” Snart said, “See how well you fit in.”
“And I don't owe you after it.”
“Deal,” Snart raised his glass, “To clean slates.”
Mark gave a silent toast and finally sipped his drink.
--------------------
“I'm not sure I get it,” Roy Bivolo said, charcoal scratching softly over his pad, “Why didn't you just agree to be on Snart's team?”
Mark was currently lying on his back in the middle of a park, tossing a ball over his head. Roy was sat next to him, hunched over a sketch pad. There was a smudge of black on Roy's nose.
“Because I would've looked desperate,” Mark said, “This way Snart acknowledges that I don't owe him anything. He's not going to forget the favour otherwise.”
Roy sighed. “When do you think he'll call mine in?”
“Dammed if I know,” Mark said. He threw the ball too far to the right, but a gust of wind blew it back toward his hand.
Roy licked his thumb and smudged something on the page in front of him. It was peaceful. Open. Everything the prison hadn't been. The only thing that was the same was Roy, yet Mark found that having someone who understood was better than being alone.
“She's moving again,” Roy said.
Mark twisted his neck to watch a woman in a bikini glare at the solitary cloud in the sky then move her blanket several feet until she was once again in the sun. Mark chuckled and gave the cloud another tug to make it follow her again, for the third time in the past twenty minutes.
“Do you know what the job is yet?” Roy asked.
“No,” Mark replied.
“And you're not worried about it?”
“The jobs take care of themselves,” Mark shrugged, “Once I know my part I'll work it out. At least this time I don't have to care about anyone else.”
If Roy noticed his forced cheer, he didn't say anything. There was now a smudge of charcoal on his chin too. Whatever he was drawing was making him frown.
“Would you join up with Snart if you could?” Mark asked.
“It's a bigger league than I was working in,” Roy said carefully.
“You're not answering the question.”
“Maybe there's a reason for that.”
“Come on, you've got me curious now.”
“Yes. Yes I would,” Roy said, rolling his eyes, “I don't want to be stuck in there for months again.”
They both shivered at the mention of the prison. Mark hated how much it was still affecting him.
“But I don't think they'd take me,” Roy continued, “I only started on the big banks when I got my powers. I've never gone after anything famous.”
“You gotta start somewhere,” Mark said, “Hey. Give me sixty percent of your cut for the next year and I'll put in a good word.”
Roy just snorted and ran a careful finger over his picture. Mark twisted over onto his front and scanned the park. A gaggle of children were screaming and running around a couple of harassed-looking adults.
“Think you can get one of those kids from here?” Mark asked.
Roy looked up and focussed. His eyes glowed red for several long seconds before a child's angry shout echoed over the park. It wasn't long before a full brawl had broken out, making the adults look even more worse for wear as they tried to separate the kids.
“Stupid brats. They don't stay still long enough to get a full dose,” Roy said, rubbing his left eye and smudging charcoal over that too.
“Can you do anything other than anger?” Mark asked.
Roy shrugged. “I haven't tried. It's easy to focus on anger.”
“Try something else,” Mark urged, full of sudden curiosity.
Roy grimaced, but relented when Mark chucked his ball at him.
Roy looked around the park for a good victim. Black veins started to spread from his eyes, then finally a flicker of colour appeared. The next moment Roy's eyes glowed yellow and a scream ripped across the park.
“Not bad,” Mark said, watching the affected man flee for his life. He realised Roy was shaking, “Shit, was that too much?”
“Just...” Roy closed his eyes and gulped down several breaths, “Had to think about fear to make it work.”
And fear at the moment meant a box with no space and primitive living conditions. Mark gripped Roy's knee and waited for him to snap out of it.
“Successful, though,” Roy said, voice only a little wobbly.
“Not bad,” Mark repeated.
“Make it ten percent and six months and I'm in,” Roy said.
Mark laughed. “Not worth it.”
“I could make you,” Roy threatened, but there was little heat to the words.
“You want to see what the weather does if I'm angry?”
Roy huffed an amused breath and gently put his stick of charcoal back in the soft leather case it came from.
“Finished?” Mark asked, sitting up to see.
“It's not my best work,” Roy said apologetically, turning the pad around so Mark could see the portrait of himself rendered in black and white. For not being Roy's 'best work', it was pretty damn impressive.
“Let's go haggle over a drink,” Mark suggested.
As soon as the pair left the park, a downpour started, drenching everything.
--------------------
“Fancy meeting you here.”
Mark looked up sharply and Roy choked on his drink at the sound of Leonard Snart's drawl. Snart was holding another drink with too much ice in it and grinning at the pair of them. Mark bit back a sigh and gestured at a chair.
“Have a seat.”
“Very kind of you, Mardon,” Snart said, drooping into the chair then nodding to Roy, “Bivolo.”
“Do you want something, or is this a chance meeting?” Mark asked.
“Do you ever make small talk?” Snart asked mildly.
“I don't see the point if it's about business,” Mark said.
“But what else do we have in common?” Snart said. He was enjoying himself, the bastard.
“How did you sabotage the transport?” Roy asked.
“That? That was easy,” Snart said, “The Flash asked for my help and their security is terrible.”
Mark and Roy shared an uncertain look.
“Flash asked for your help?” Roy said, “Why?”
“He was desperate.”
“He's not going to do that again,” Mark said.
“We'll see,” Snart said easily.
It was frustrating how relaxed Snart was. Mark had scanned the bar twice, but found no sign of anyone who could be Snart's ally, yet the man was comfortable talking with two people who were not only successful criminals, but ones with powers. All Snart had was a gun. A futuristic ice-gun, true, but it was still just a gun.
“I heard you were captured by a joint effort. The Arrow as well as the Flash,” Snart said, leaning toward Roy, “What can you tell me about him?”
If it had been Clyde sitting there, Mark would've kicked him to shut him up. His little brother had a big mouth sometimes. The urge to make Roy be quiet was oddly similar.
“He doesn't have any powers,” Roy said, “But he's not worried about hurting people like the Flash is. Here,” Roy rolled up his sleeve and pointed to a jagged red scar an inch from his elbow, “That's where he got me.”
“What did he use to fight with?” Snart asked.
“Arrows,” Roy said flatly.
Mark resisted the urge to kick him again. Roy was older than him, dammit.
“I take it they didn't need to spend much time taking you down?” Snart said.
“Gee, I didn't think to time it,” Roy said sourly.
“You think you'll run into the Arrow?” Mark asked.
“I find it always helps to be prepared,” Snart said, “The Flash has been upping his game and I need to keep up.”
“It'd be a lot simpler if you'd killed him,” Mark said, “Or let one of us do it if you didn't have the stomach.”
“Rule number two, killing brings unnecessary heat. If you're part of my Rogues you'll learn to avoid it,” Snart said.
“No killing? Is this a kid's show?” Mark scoffed, “No, I have vengeance I need to take. I won't be bound by rules that allow my brother's killer to go free.”
“Deal with revenge on your own time then. If you're on the job then the score comes first. If you can't agree to that you can't be on the team,” Snart said, the barest inflection of threat in his voice, “We don't have many rules, but you will follow them.”
Mark shook his head. He had to get to know people who weren't criminals.
“What are the other rules?” Roy asked.
“One: focus on the score. Two: no unnecessary killing - if you're not good enough to avoid it then I should look elsewhere. Three: look out for one another - that includes prison breaks,” Snart counted off on his fingers as he went, “Four: no drugs - it only makes things messy.”
“That's all?” Roy said.
“To be updated and refined as need be,” Snart said, “Of course it should go without question that you do exactly what I say.”
Mark and Roy shared another glance. Roy obviously wanted to agree to be on the team, but Mark felt that there was an invisible trap waiting to spring.
“What if we want out?” Mark asked.
“Then you leave Central City and I leave you alone,” Snart replied, with an easy smile on his face, “Make no mistake, this is my city. Anyone who tries to destroy it will be met with a chilly reception.”
That last bit was aimed at Mark, who smiled. Whatever the consequences of the unseen trap were, the rest of the job was going to be a hell of a ride. This was why he worked with criminals.
“I'm still not agreeing to any rules until I've done my trial run. Roy too,” Mark added, deciding to give into his protective instincts.
Roy opened his mouth to speak, but Mark kicked him under the table and he glared at Mark instead.
“Let's talk business, shall we?” Snart said, leaning forward and pulling a roll of blueprints out of his jacket.
It wasn't like working with Clyde, but it might just work out after all.