Chapter Text
“I don’t know what about you is going to draw the most attention.” Iris’s voice is warm with amusement. Leonard isn’t looking at her, but he can picture the way she props her shoulder against the door when she’s in the mood to watch him. “The fact that everyone’s going to know you’re a criminal, even if Barry erased your record, or the fact that you’re going to show up looking like that.”
There’s no better opening. Leonard twirls around to face her. His skirt swirls around him, furling tight around his calves and then swinging back to rest. “I look damn good, and anyone who insults me does so with the knowledge that I can murder them in their sleep. Also, if they’re going to gawk at clothing, they’re gonna look at you. You’re a vision in red.”
Iris’s eyes flit down to the ground. “You’re a flatterer,” she accuses, looking anything but upset by that.
“And you’re going to be the belle of the ball,” Leonard promises. “Which is what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?”
Iris smiles. Leonard sees a world of hurt behind that smile—and, alongside that hurt, stubborn pride in the woman she is now. “Yeah,” she agrees. “It is.”
Leonard takes a certain glee in showing up at the CCPD’s holiday festivities, if only for the murderous look on Detective West’s face when he sees Leonard’s hand on Iris’s waist. “Detective,” he says, keeping his voice warm and faux-cheerful for Iris’s sake. She knows all about the tension between him and her dad; that doesn’t mean she deserves to see it on full display.
“Snart.” Detective West makes no pretense at politeness. “You know you’re walking into a roomful of people who’ll take you down if you make one wrong move—especially if that wrong move’s towards my daughter.”
At Leonard’s side, Iris rolls her eyes. “Both of you, enough. Len, I know you love it, but stop harassing my dad. Dad, I love you, but I can handle myself. I don’t need the whole precinct looking out for Leonard making one wrong move.”
Leonard takes care to direct his teasing tone at her, rather than Detective West. “To be fair, I’ve embarrassed all of them at one point or another, I suspect you’d just be their excuse to get even with me.”
He fully deserves the glare Iris levels at him. “Weirdly, that doesn’t make me feel better.”
Unfortunately, as they find out later, it’s true enough. Most of the officers are content to judge them from the sidelines. One particularly bold old-timer—Leonard recognizes him from when he was just a kid, which, in hindsight, should have been a warning—circles close to them. Before either of them can speak, he gives Leonard a derisive once-over. “Going back to your roots, Leah?”
Not all that long ago, Leonard would have iced him on the spot. That’s a low fucking blow, even for a pig. It’s clearly intended to make Leonard think of his teenage years, slouched in a cell, complaining for all to hear that his name is Len when everyone and their fucking pig brother kept treating him like a confused girl. Now, he just raises his chin and smirks. “Still not Leah, but yeah, I am going back to my roots, and pretty damn proud of it.”
At his side, Iris has gone utterly still. Leonard doesn’t even think she’s breathing. He could just sweep her off into a corner to calm her down, but she won’t like being moved without her consent. (Nor will she be too fond of being treated like a damsel in distress, come to think of it.) Instead, he squeezes her hand and checks, “I’m gonna take us elsewhere, okay, pretty girl?”
Iris nods curtly. Her hand tightens in his until the tips of her nails start digging into his skin.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers, and whisks her across the room to a quiet corner. If anyone comes near them before they’re done talking, he’ll ice them. These pigs made his girl panic. “Do you wanna tell me about it?”
Iris tips her head back. Leonard feels another surge of rage. She’s on the verge of crying because these pigs couldn’t keep their cruel mouths shut. “They only treat me well because they think of me as one of the good ones,” she whispers. “Oh god, I never saw it before now. If they would do that to you out of spite, then they only use my name because I’ve been good and quiet about it. That’s not respect, that’s not…”
She swipes at her cheeks. Leonard is about to rock and soothe her when she gets out what must be the core of her panic. “What happens when I step out of line and they decide I’m not worth having my identity respected, like they just did to you?”
Leonard wishes he could comfort her about that. Unfortunately, with his experience, it would ring wholly false. “My identity has always been used as a weapon against me, especially by cops. I’ve had to get numb to it. Hell, half the reason I showed up like this…” He ruffles his skirt “…was because I wanted to show them that they’ve got no more power over me. They tried to hurt me with my femininity, now I’m taking it back. But that takes a certain level of numbness to those attacks, Iris, sweet girl…and you’re not gonna get that far. You’ve got a tender heart and you’re gonna feel it so much more than I do.”
Iris draws in a deep, shuddery breath. “They know it hurts,” she whispers. “They do it because it hurts. So let’s go out there and show them that it takes more than that—just like you wanted to.”
Because he loves nothing more than being a dramatic bastard, Leonard sweeps an exaggerated bow over Iris’s manicured hand. “Your wish is my command.”
He takes glee in whisking Iris out into the middle of the milling crowd. Nobody is really, properly dancing; the few couples on the floor with them are just swaying side to side. Leonard smirks at Iris and asks, “Permission to sweep you off your feet?”
Iris looks at him through still-damp eyes. When she smiles, there’s a hard, steely edge to it. He may have misjudged exactly how much stubborn pride his girl can bring to bear toward these backwards pigs. “Permission granted.”
They dance the night away. Leonard makes a point to be nothing less than a perfect gentleman toward her, so that Detective West has no excuse to take him to task. At the end of the night, he helps Iris into her coat—not because she needs assistance, but because he wants her to feel cherished.
“I hope you know,” he whispers as he slides the coat onto her shoulders, “that you were far and away the most beautiful woman here, and it was my honor to be by your side.”
For the second time that night, just as fondly as the first, she accuses, “You’re a flatterer.”
“And proud of it.” He holds out his arm toward her. “The night’s still young. Do you want to see what other mischief we can make?”
She clasps his arm and favors him with a playful look. “By all means…lead the way.”