Lens hands were shaking as he poured himself a drink in his trailer. He watched his reflection wearily before he takes a long swig. Over his shoulder, Barry fazes through the wall.
“Flash.” Len greets casually.
“Len, I just want to talk.” Barry starts, as gently as he can.
“Fine. Then talk.” Len replies easily, but still doesn’t turn around.
“I know I screwed up; trust me, I know this world isn’t...” Barry struggles a bit, before continuing.
“I know it’s not the way it was.” He finally settles on.
“I never meant to hurt anyone.” Barry explains. Len waits a moment, and when it seems Barry’s not going to continue, he sighs.
"Ok, kid. I’ve heard you out. Time to go." He says all without looking at Barry.
"Cold, you don't have to do this alone." Barry replies firmly.
"Three more shows, then my band goes back on tour." Len says.
"Why? Len, you were one of the Legends, you don't have to-you could-"
"What, join you?" Len nearly snapped, turning over his shoulder, but still not looking at him directly. He knew Barry looked hurt, and Len hated how it twisted his gut.
"You should leave, Flash." Len tells him, taking another swig of his whiskey. After a minute, Barry fazes back through the wall, and Len's left alone again.
"At least you left me with plenty to sing about." Len huffed quietly.
He works on his gun until late that night, before going for a drive. He thinks maybe he’ll stake out Mercury labs for some new parts, or maybe he’ll burgle some better tools.
Instead he finds himself parked down the road from the Rogue’s old house. He isn’t surprised to see it on the market. It’s at the far west end of the city, the air reeking of pollution and asphalt, and the small airport down the street making the sounds unpredictable. Unless you happened to have a genius living there who had super charged the air filter and soundproofed the whole building, it wouldn’t be the most comfortable residential choice.
The house itself was very large, a total of nine bedrooms spread across its three stories, and a basement they had converted to three rooms; a workshop, a gym, and a medical space. Len, like all the rogues, had never been one for the concept of home, but they had made this house as close as any of them had ever come. He stares at the sign for a few moments before he saves the realtor’s number in his phone.
He lets his band members choose the songs for the next few shows. He'd play along, for now, but he had more important things to focus on. They asked him in unsure tones if they could choose from any album, and Len agreed without a thought. What did it matter anymore?
He thought through, one by one, how he could see them. How he could change this world to be something more like home. In the end, it all had to start with this.
Len pieces together the gloves, and the device exactly how Hartley had shown him in the last life. That was the rogues true strength, after all; they all knew each other's tech. And they all knew how to break the others out of lock up.
The next day, and Len was breaking into Star Labs again.
Hartley tried not to show how startled he was as his cell began moving. He felt the cold rage bubble up in his chest as he waited for team flash, but as the outer doors parted, Hartley saw an unfamiliar figure.
"Well this is a surprise." Hartley smirked.
"The Flash send a new face to try and get some new information?" He tried, but the man in the parka just laughed.
"I'm not with the Flash, Hart." He replied, too familiar for Hartley's liking.
"Do I know you?" Hartley sneered.
"Not yet. How would you like a job?" He asks, and Hartley has to laugh.
"Well let me out, and we can talk." Hartley offers, grinning like a snake in the grass.
"I'll let you out, Hartley, but at least take my card before you go back on your little revenge tantrum." Len strolls back to the console, plugging in the device he had spent all morning perfecting. The doors slide open instantly, and Hartley walks over to him cautiously.
"How did you do that?" Hartley asks, all too familiar with the safety protocols. Len hands the device to him.
"That is a long story; one I’m sure you’re particularly qualified to hear about, if you’re interested in the job, that is." Len offered.
"What's the pay?" Hartley asks.
"You'll get your cut. And in the meantime, you get your freedom, and a place to lay low."
There barely five minutes into the drive, before Hartley finally moves from staring to talking.
"Has anyone ever told you you look like Len Winters?" He asks suspiciously. Len huffs out an aggravated breath.
"I didn't notice before, with the goggles, and fuzzy hood, but now," Hartley muses.
"Of course why would Len Winters be driving this beater-" the car Len had stolen,
"And why would Len Winters be breaking into the flash's private prison?" He continues.
"You tell me, Hart." Len almost asks. Hartley is a literal genius, and Len was actually finding himself curious how he'd put it all together.
"Are you-oh my god. You actually are." Hartley smirks triumphantly. And Len sends him an exasperated glance.
"All that brain power, and that's where you stop? Come on, Hartley, let me hear your theories." Len prompts. Hartley's petulant, not sharing, but clearly still mulling it over.
"Two minutes until I drop you off; do you have a guess, or should I just tell you?" Len asks, and Hartley glares at him a little.
"Clearly you want to recruit a team." Hartley scoffs.
"Good start." Len almost chuckles.
"I don't have enough context." Hartley huffs defensively.
"You want a hint?" Len nearly teases.
"No. Drop me off, I'll figure it out before you get back." Hartley replies stubbornly.
"If you insist. And if you get bored, there's plenty of work to be done on the house." Len explains.
"Where the hell were you! You're on in ten!" Jeffery hisses at Len as he arrives backstage. He had ditched the stolen car, and walked back to his own before heading back here. He knew he had cut it close on time, but it wouldn't really matter.
He gets dressed in his trailer, and is following the rest of the band onto the stage in no time.
Len sings. He knows every song; knows he wrote them for a life he never lived, but remembers with unsettling certainty. He doesn't let it get emotional. The night before was a fluke; a way to drive home a point for the flash. After all, he wrote that song for Alexa; for her family. Here, he had never found out what a monster she really was. Here, he had been too late. Here, he had thought it was Mick's fault. It had been twenty years. And Mick would probably try to kill him the second he could, but Len owed him enough to try.
Len sings, and sings, and he doesn't see Barry in the crowd once.