I know I have other things to write, but I couldn't resist this. Original Team Legends (set in an extended season 1) and slow-burn CaptainCanary. Should be four chapters, done before Christmas!

Many thanks to LarielRomeniel for the beta!

It's Raymond who starts it, predictably.

And Leonard who, just as predictably, turns him down flat. He doesn't laugh in the inventor's face, not quite, but his distaste is clear, as is Ray's disappointment.

Leonard semi-expects Kendra or Jax to try and change his mind, or even Stein, in the name of team unity. He doesn't expect the person who finally does broach the subject.

"Playing Scrooge, huh?"

He lifts his eyes from the book in his hands—"A Tale of Two Cities," an old favorite found in the Waverider's library—and snorts. "Wrong Dickens," he tells Sara drily, turning a page. "But, no, I'm not really one for the whole 'Christmas cheer' sort of thing. Bad memories."

It's only a sign of the friendship that's grown up between the crook and the assassin that he even alludes to his background; god knows he wouldn't have mentioned it with any other member of the crew. (Even Mick, who knows anyway.) That friendship has only grown since the team dragged him out of the time stream following the Oculus explosion, since the defeat of Vandal Savage and the team-wide decision to stay with the Waverider, to protect history and try to save Rip's family.

And if they both still feel the possibility of "me and you" hanging over them, well, Len's not going to be the one to bring it up.

He's not quite sure how he'd had the nerve to do it in the first place.

Sara raises an eyebrow at him as she perches on the corner of his bed, completely at ease. They've been in and out of each other's quarters frequently over the past six months, and it's not like she hasn't been there before, after all, even if not quite in the way he'd like.

"A Waverider 'Secret Santa' is pretty harmless, I think," she tells him.

He blinks at her, then sits the book down, leans back against the wall and shakes his head. "Really? I didn't think he'd send you."

"No one sent me." Sara rolls her eyes and leans back next to him, her nearness raising the hairs on his arms, though not in an unpleasant way. "I just thought it might be fun."

"Fun?" Sara laughs at the distaste in his voice. "Trying to find little…tchotchkes…geared to someone like Raymond or the professor, to celebrate a holiday on a ship that's traveling through time and isn't even on the same timeline as…"

"Ray figured out how many days we've lived since Rip picked us up and that it'd be Christmas for us…"

"I know. He explained. At length." He snorts again at the memory of the other man's earnestness, almost smiling at Sara's chuckle at his words, turning his head to do one of his favorite things and watch her.

But Sara's looking at him through her lashes again, smiling a little, and it's the expression that very nearly stops his…OK, yeah, he does have a heart…in his chest. He loves that expression. He's loved it for a long time.

"If you don't do it, we don't have an even number," she says in a coaxing tone. "It won't work."

Leonard eyes her, wondering what she's thinking. "Mick won't do it anyway."

"But he is." She smiles at his expression. "Ray pointed out that booze is a common Secret Santa gift."

Yeah, that would do it. "Stein doesn't even celebrate Christmas."

"He says a gift exchange is a 'charming secular notion.' He's in."

"Rip…"

"Decided it was easier to play along than deal with Ray's puppy eyes and moping." Sara casually reaches out and threads her fingers through his, and the easy gesture makes him freeze, then draw a deep breath that he hopes Sara doesn't hear. (Even as he knows she does.) "Please?"

Please.

His head says no. His heart…

"OK."

Raymond is altogether too happy with that change of heart. Mick barks out a laugh, smirks at him, and then pointedly looks at Sara. Len ignores him, strolling over to lean against the counter in the galley, where they've agreed to meet. Sara walks over to lean next to him, shoulder brushing his again. Well, there's that.

"OK. I'm really glad you all uh, decided to take part!" Raymond claps his hands together and grins at them. Len meets Rip's eyes across the room—the captain is standing by the door—and the two men share a rare look of weary agreement. He feels Sara's shoulders shake in silent laughter next to him.

"I have all the names right here," Raymond continues, brandishing a bowl full of folded strips of paper. "So I guess we all just pick one. We have an even number after all…" He beams at Leonard, who rolls his eyes. "…so it works. If you pick your own name, put it back. Honor system!"

Sara elbows Leonard, who elbows her back. Kendra, standing by Mick, covers her mouth with a hand, stifling a laugh, but Len ignores her too, focusing on the bowl as Raymond hands it to Jax.

The kid shakes his head, but accepts it, taking a piece of paper and sitting the bowl down before unfolding it. He grins, but carefully doesn't look at any of them, nodding and passing the bowl to Stein, who takes a paper and checks it—his face briefly going blank—before passing the bowl on to Leonard.

The crook eyes the papers as if they're snakes, but finally takes one, hoping that he's drawn his own name. No honor among thieves, after all.

But no such luck. "Rip Hunter" is written neatly on the slip in Raymond's precise handwriting.

Peachy.

Still, he'd promised. Stifling a sigh, Len pockets the paper and passes the bowl to Sara, who stares at it intensely, hand hovering over it a moment before decisively selecting a paper.

There's a flash of a smile on her face before she carefully conceals it, the paper disappearing up a sleeve or to wherever assassins hide such things before she nods and hands the bowl to Kendra with a flourish.

He misses the next few selections, watching Sara, whose gaze has now turned inward. That means she's not watching him in return, and he can study her features to his heart's content, wondering whose name had caused that flash of happiness, what she's thinking about, what plans she has. He's only jarred out of those musings by Raymond, who takes the last paper, makes a pleased noise (his eyes flicking quickly to Stein and away, Len notices), and sets the bowl down.

"So, we have two weeks to Christmas," he starts to say.

"Dr. Palmer," Rip butts in, looking long-suffering as only the captain can, "I've told you, that's not really how it…"

Raymond ignores him. Well, Leonard can agree with that. "…you should give your Secret Santa two small gifts at some point leading up to Christmas Day," he continues. "And then a bigger one on the day itself. Well, that's how we did it at Palmer Industries, back in the day."

"Haircut," Mick rumbles, turning his paper around in his big hands and looking bemused, "how're we supposed to get gifts, in the time stream? Without just gettin' Gideon to make 'em, which seems to defeat the purpose."

Raymond blinks at him. Stein, of all people, nods. "I was wondering the same, Mr. Rory," the professor says, eyeing Raymond. "Are we supposed to barter? Steal?"

"I can do that," Mick offers, looking up. Sara elbows Len again. He elbows her back. Ignoring Kendra.

"No!" Raymond looks aghast. "Um. Well, we're bound to be out of the time stream soon, right? Fixing something?" He turns to give Rip a beseeching look, an expression the captain meets with resignation.

"I'm sure we will be, Dr. Palmer," he says drily. "But trust me when I tell you that people managed to find small gifts for their loved ones for years before the advent of the enormous online retailers so beloved of your native time. Or even of the so-calling 'shopping malls.'" His eyes grow distant a moment. "Yes, even in the poorest of times."

Hmm. Len files that away in what he's gleaned of the Time Master's background, but allows not a flicker of reaction to show on his own face. Instead he straightens out of his slouch with a theatrical roll of his eyes (he has an image to maintain, after all) and shakes his head.

"Well, this is fun and all," he drawls, taking a step toward the door (aware that he's ruining the effect somewhat by stopping to see if Sara is going to follow), "but I've done as much for…" A wave of his hand. "…team unity as I plan to do for the moment."

"But you have to…"

"I know, Raymond." OK, now Sara's moved away from the counter too. He continues for the door, ignoring the faint huff of laughter that tells him Mick's noticed that, too. (When did Mick start noticing these things? He's going to blame the other man's friendship with Kendra.)

Len's sauntering down the hallway (not too fast, mind you) when Sara catches up to him. They fall into step with each other with an ease born partly of fighting at each other's backs for nearly a year now, partly born of…of…

"Going to tell me who you picked?" she asks him teasingly while he's still trying to figure out where his thoughts were going.

"Thought they called this secret for a reason." He turns his head a little to smirk at her, pleased with the way her eyes are glinting at him. "I'm not just going to sing to the first pretty face that asks."

Sara chuckles, a low, amused sound. "Even if I ask…nicely?"

"Nice has nothing to do with it, Birdie," he retorts, making the…oh, call it what it is…pet name a purr and stopping to put his back against the wall of the hallway, folding his arms and facing her. "Why so curious?"

Sara looks innocent. Or tries. Badly. "Wondered what you thought of a wager."

Len narrows his eyes at her. He's really quite sure his poker face is better than anyone else's on the team—with the possible exception of Sara herself—but he also knows that he tends to give away more that he plans on around her. "What sort?"

She studies him a moment, face growing a little more serious, until he's shifting a little under her intent gaze, then smiles again. "Guess who picked who. Including your own Secret Santa."

The name makes him snort. "I already know a few." He eyes her. "And so do you."

Sara doesn't deny it. "But not all."

"But not all."

She tilts her head at him, nodding. "Well, whichever one of us guesses them all—correctly—first wins. It'll make things a little more…interesting." A grin. "Since otherwise both of us might just have enough with the whole thing and spoil all that 'holiday' spirit."

"That's a risk," he acknowledges, watching her closely. "But…if I win, what do I get?"

He's been trying to be good…in a manner of speaking…lately, trying to curtail the flirtation it seems neither of them can help. Still, the innuendo sneaks into the tone, into the words, and Sara certainly doesn't seem to mind. Instead, her smile grows a little and she takes a step toward him, then another, putting herself truly into his personal space again and even then leaning forward a little.

"I haven't decided yet," she tells him in that low, husky tone again. "Any ideas?"

Oh…

Len shifts a bit and thinks determinedly of ice.

… a few.

"Loser has to share all their gifts?" he comes up with after a moment. "Now, I don't know how good a prize that will be, given this lot, but…"

"That works." In a blink, Sara's stepped back, leaving him missing her warmth. "It's a deal, Crook. How will we know?"

"Hmm. Before the actual 'Christmas' shindig Raymond's planning, we both write the answers down and exchange them?" It definitely feels like she's got more up her sleeve than her knives, but what?

"Perfect." Sara nods decisively, turning down the hallway toward her room. "And may the best Legend win." With a wink, she disappears around the corner…

Leaving Leonard wondering what the hell he's just missed.

And just how much he's going to regret this.