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To Love a Rogue	By : NekoMalik Category: DC Verse Comics > The Flash Views: 1525 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own the Flash, nor the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Where the fuck is he?” Len growled, arms folded tightly across his chest, a scowl firmly set on his face. The meeting had been organised over a week ago; Roscoe had come up with some amazing plan or other that required all of their respective abilities and talents, and upon looking into his suggestion Captain Cold had agreed that it was one of the man’s better suggestions.

If they pulled it off, it would put the Rogues on the map, figuratively speaking.

“Piper’s never normally late.” Mick mused, watching the older brunette as he tapped his foot impatiently, wondering why Len was so jumpy and impatient all of a sudden. They’d set a time of 6pm to meet up, as Digger hated being up before noon and Sam had a dentists appointment that day, so really there was no excuse for the musician to be running late.

“Let’s just start without him, he’s not that important.” Roy replied flippantly, waving his hand dismissively at the pyro.
“No! The Pied Piper is integral to my plan.” Roscoe slammed both of his hands down onto the table top, making the growing pile of empty beer cans rattle as he did, glaring daggers at the Rainbow Raider. “Or are you questioning my undoubtedly perfect plan, you pathetic excuse for an artist?” The taller man snarled, convinced that the other man had meant to insult him, taking the comment as a direct attack to his pride.

Roy was on his feet in an instant, eyes flashing angrily. “Fuck you, Dillon. At least I know how to dress myself.” He retorted, fists raised, the two cans of beer he’d already consumed going straight to his head.

“What?” Snarled the Top, unsure whether to be confused or angry at the Raider’s response.

“Yeah, I’m colour blind and even I can see that your costume’s hideous.” Roy sneered, looking down his nose at the other Rogue. “And talk about thunder thighs!”

“You’re one to talk.” Roscoe scoffed, fiddling with one of his explosive tops in one hand, fully prepared to launch it at his brightly-coloured nemesis. “Gay pride was last month, faggot, or did the paint fumes scramble what’s left of that insignificant little brain of yours?”

“Fucking SHUT UP, both of you!” Len had unsheathed his cold gun in less than a second and had it pointed directly at the table of Rogues. Both Digger and Mick decided that facing down an angry Captain Cold, whether the object of his wrath or not, was entirely too dangerous and quickly made their escape, neither one particularly noticing when Sam didn’t follow suit. The two feuding Rogues glared at each other for a moment longer, before cautiously taking their seats once again.

“At least I know what blue is.” Roscoe muttered, too quietly for Captain Cold to hear, though the older Rogue still shot the man a glare. Roy simply puffed his cheeks at the other man, opening another beer and secretly deciding that the fat jokes would never get old.

“Why don’t we just go and fetch him?” The Mirror Master finally chirped, standing on unsteady legs as he grinned at the others, his nose a rather fetching pink colour to match the flush on his cheeks. While the man wasn’t exactly a lightweight, he had a bad habit of downing his drinks before moving on to the next one, which meant he almost always ended up passed out in his seat long before the rest of the Rogues were even tipsy.

Roscoe and Roy looked as though they were about to protest at that, but another glare from the still-armed Len quickly silenced them. “Fine, we go get him. Then I beat his ass myself for being late.” The captain growled, finally sheathing his weapon and pushing his visor into place. “Move it, we’re leaving.” He barked at the two Rogues still loitering in the adjoining room, marching over to the large mirror Sam had installed on the far wall and tapping his foot impatiently.

Giggling a little, the slight brunette wobbled over to join Cold, fiddling with the clasp holding the holster for his gun closed, uncoordinated fingers making the task far more difficult than it should have been. At an impatient growl from their leader, he grinned, pulling his green cowl over his head and locating Hartley’s apartment in the large sheet of reflective glass before stepping through into the redhead’s home, Len following close behind.

The first thing the captain noticed was the complete and utter disarray of the usually spotless kitchen; drawers had been pulled out and contents emptied on the floor, a few looking like they’d been stamped on for good measure. The coffee machine was on its side, the cord ripped from its plug and the glass jug, complete with coffee, had been smashed all over the tiles. The table he’d sat at the previous morning had been thrown against the back wall, two of the legs hanging off and the clock that had been attached to said wall lay in front of it, face smashed in by a large boot. The door leading to the hallway of the apartment block hung open on only one of its hinges, the lock and deadbolt smashed to pieces by whoever had broken in. To say the room had been totalled was an understatement.

Unsheathing his cold gun in an instant, Len made his way swiftly but cautiously through the rest of the redhead’s home, hearing the shocked voices and footsteps of the rest of the Rogues as they stepped one by one through the mirror portal. Entering the living area, he found it to be in a similar state, the television in three pieces and Hartley’s extensive CD collection lying in a charred heap in the middle of the room. Cold winced at that; they all knew how much that collection meant to the Piper, but it seemed like nothing had survived the onslaught.

Hearing heavy footsteps directly behind him, the captain turned to share a stony look with Mick, pleased to see that the larger man was also armed and alert. “We need to find Piper.” The pyro stated, his eyes hard although underlined with worry for the little redhead; whoever had trashed his apartment would have been more than strong enough to subdue the man if he was caught off guard.

Len simply nodded, heading through to the bedroom. Pushing the door open, he visibly paled at the sight that met his eyes; Hartley had been bound to the bed, legs spread and held apart by vicious-looking cable ties that had bitten into his skin as he’d struggled. The blood covering his ankles and wrists had already congealed – just how long had he been left like that? Len wasn’t sure he wanted to know. The sound of someone heaving behind him made the captain turn, seeing a shocked Mick staring unblinkingly at the prone form on the bed, with Sam emptying the contents of his stomach onto the carpet not too far behind, the sight too much to take in his drink-addled state.

“Out!” The captain barked, slamming the door in Heatwave’s face and moving swiftly over to his injured friend. Bruises and bite marks that were deep enough to bleed covered his body, marring the musician’s perfect skin. There were a series of circular burn marks dotted over his chest, which Len guessed were from a cigar, and a pattern of welts and what looked like belt marks down his stomach. The sheets beneath Hartley’s body were stained with blood and something else Len really didn’t want to think about, while the redhead’s clothes lay in tatters around him, ripped from his body.

He wasn’t moving.

“Shit, Piper...” Cold hissed between clenched teeth, swallowing the bile that was threatening to rise up into his throat. “C’mon kid, time to wake up.” The brunette went to shake the smaller man, but thought twice when he noticed a large gash running across Hartley’s shoulder, realising that no matter where he touched he would end up hurting the man. He could see the light rise and fall of Piper’s chest with each shallow breath, the only sign that the redhead was alive at all.

Tugging gently at the restraints, Len was frustrated to find that they didn’t budge even an inch. The thick black plastic strips were wrapped so tightly around Hartley’s limbs that there was no wriggle room at all, and he couldn’t freeze them off for fear of damaging the redhead further. Instead, the brunette aimed at the bed itself, shattering the metal frame so he could unhook the fastenings and pull Piper free.

Len was no doctor by any stretch of the imagination. None of the Rogues were; that was Piper’s thing, something the man had studied initially out of a sense of duty to his parents, who had wanted him to become a doctor. Later, he continued his studies out of curiosity, wanting to know what medical science could do for him, which other senses he’d be able to enhance. So now that it was up to Captain Cold to figure out what he should do with the badly wounded redhead, he was completely lost. Should he move him? Would that hurt him further? He knew he needed to get Hartley to the hospital, but how exactly?

“I’ll get you someplace safe Piper, don’t you worry. We can go to the hospital, yeah? They’ll fix you right up.” The brunette babbled, more to himself than to the prone form on the bed, as he dug frantically through Hartley’s wardrobe trying to find something loose to dress the smaller man in. Eventually he pulled out a pair of baggy khakis he was fairly sure didn’t belong to the redhead, gently pulling them up over bruised and bloodied hips, the obviously painful procedure drawing no response from the man.

Unable to find anything loose enough to cover Piper’s chest, Len decided that his own parka would have to do the job, though he wasn’t going to be able to hold the redhead up and dress him at the same time without causing some serious damage. Marching over to the door, Cold threw it open to find Mick arguing animatedly with both Digger and Roscoe, clutching a large envelope in his hand. Grabbing the pyro, Len dragged him into the room, slamming the door shut behind them and leaving a ranting Top and speechless Captain Boomerang in their wake.

“This was taped to the door. Digger wanted to open it, but I said no ‘cause it’s got your name on it.” Mick stated, handing the crumpled envelope to the captain. Snatching the paper from Heatwave’s fingers, Len turned it over. Sure enough, in messy scrawl across the front of the thing was his name, his full name. Moving away from Mick, who by that point was more interested in checking that Piper was okay, he carefully unsealed the envelope, pulling out a note written in that same handwriting.

‘Snart, never pictured you as being a queer. Hartley told me it was just a check up but I ain’t stupid, I saw what you did. Have a look at the pictures I took, think I captured your good side? It’s your fault the little slut’s like he is now, all broken and bleeding. You like playing with broken toys? I don’t, but I do like breaking them. I like how they cry, how they beg for you to stop. Was fun finding one that kept coming back, the dumb fuck even thought we were dating! Would you cry and beg? Shall we find out?’

Rage coursing through him, Len crushed the letter in his hand, just barely refraining from doing the same to the envelope as well. Pulling out the frighteningly large pile of photographs, the captain visibly paled, checking to make sure Heatwave wasn’t watching before flicking through them.

The first one was a photograph of the pair sat at the kitchen table, Len gripping Hartley’s face. The second showed him stripping off, alone, in the Piper’s room. The third through to the fourteenth were of the exam itself, showing the captain in various stages of arousal with Hartley’s fingers up his ass. The next four were of Len in the shower, getting himself off.

Shoving the perverse images back into the envelope, Cold began scouring the room for hidden cameras, finding two almost immediately by using the angle of the photographs as reference. How had Piper not seen these? His first instinct was to destroy the small pieces of technology, but then an idea flashed across his mind; maybe he could use these. Tossing the envelope and letter into the middle of the bedroom floor, Len stripped off his parka and turned back to Mick.

The pyro had managed to find the one spot on the redhead that wasn’t bruised or bleeding; the right side of his head. He was crooning softly to the smaller man, stroking the red tresses beneath his fingers soothingly, looking to offer some comfort to his injured friend. It seemed to be working too, as Hartley’s face had relaxed somewhat, taking on a more serene quality. If not for the situation, it would almost have been sweet to watch.

“Mick, help me get this on him, then I want you to burn that pile of filth.” Cold requested, gesturing to the envelope and crumpled letter he’d left on the floor, unusually calm given the circumstances. Mick silently complied, gently lifting the redhead and pulling his arms into position so that Len could slip the large parka over his small frame. The light shivers that had been running through the Piper stopped almost immediately, as the thick fabric kept the cold of the room at bay.

“Want me to get Sam to find an entrance to the hospital?” The pyro asked as he pulled out his flame gun and aimed at the small pile of paper. Len simply nodded, gathering the broken Rogue into his arms, shocked at how little the man weighed. At the tiny whimper that slipped from Hartley’s split lips, Cold reacted on instinct, holding him just a little bit closer and mumbling something unintelligible to try to calm the smaller man. If Mick noticed the captain’s odd behaviour, he didn’t say anything, dousing the small fire he’d started once the papers had been incinerated and moving to open the door for the brunette and his charge.

By the time they were in the living area, Len’s mask was back in place; he was once again Captain Cold, leader of the Rogues. The others didn’t need to know about his weakness, or that the rumour he felt no emotion wasn’t entirely true. Mick had already dragged Sam back to the mirror, and they were frantically trying to find a way in to the hospital. By the time Len reached their side, the rest of the Rogues shocked at the sight of the prone form in his arms but wisely remaining silent, Sam had found his doorway.

“They’ll see you, they’ll know who you are.” The Mirror Master stated to the captain, his tone wary. The only mirror he’d managed to find near the emergency entrance was right inside the doorway, leading straight onto a waiting room full of patients. There was no way Len would be able to sneak Piper in from there, or register him under a false name as they usually did. They just had to hope that the Flash was too busy to bother with them until after Piper received medical treatment.

“I know.” Cold stated simply, stepping through the mirror and out into the waiting area, knowing that the rest of the Rogues would be watching, ready to jump in if they were needed. It was nice having a family sometimes.

He’d expected the reaction he received upon appearing through the mirror. The whole waiting area fell silent as he walked purposefully to the front desk, his heavy white boots sounding impossibly loud to his own ears. Reaching the reception desk, he stared down at the nurse stationed there, who simply stared back at him for a moment. That was when all hell broke loose. Some people ran for the doors, others fled further into the hospital, one woman screamed. Len simply stood there and waited for the chaos to die down, holding the unconscious redhead to his chest, staring down at the really quite pretty blonde nurse and feeling extremely exposed without his trademark coat on with the hood pulled up.

“Can I help you, Mr Snart?” The nurse finally asked, once the room had quietened down again. She kept eye contact with the captain, staring fearlessly up into what small part of his chocolate brown eyes she could see through his visor.

“No, but you can help him.” Cold shifted Hartley over a little, making the smaller man whimper in pain. He felt a pang of guilt at the sound, but the emotion wasn’t reflected in his face, the brunette’s expression as cold as his namesake.

“And who is going to pay for his treatment?” The woman asked, one elegant eyebrow raised. Len tried to read her name badge, but the writing was entirely too small to make out from where he stood.

“You’ll get paid. You people always get paid.” Cold snorted; they’d each of them been admitted to the hospital before, usually on multiple occasions, and Len always made sure the bill was paid in full along with something extra for the staff. If they could keep the staff sweet, it meant a lot less hassle for the Rogues if something went wrong on a heist, and for a criminal of his calibre it wasn’t exactly difficult to come across a few thousand dollars when necessary.

“Fine,” She responded with a sigh. “Bring him this way, I’ll see to it he gets treated. Can you give me some indication as to what happened?” The nurse stood, walking swiftly down one of the many long corridors of the hospital, leading the two Rogues to the nearest unoccupied private room, not wishing to disturb the other patients.

“Found him in his apartment like this, tied down and beaten. Probably raped.” He slipped into a side room after the blonde nurse, placing Piper down onto the bed as gently as he could, feeling another twinge of guilt when the redhead let out another pained sound.

“You do realise I’m going to need a DNA sample from you as you’re the one who brought him in?” The woman asked, barely glancing up when two male doctors entered the room. She had already started to prepare the syringe as she spoke, uncapping the top of the needle and waiting for the captain’s cooperation.

“As if I’d do that to...” Len snarled at the woman, before reining himself in. “Fine, do what you have to.” Cold wasn’t a nice person, he did a lot of bad things, but there was one thing he downright refused to be accused of and that was rape. He would have winced at the slight pinprick as the needle went in, but Len was too busy watching the two doctors that were carefully stripping away Hartley’s clothes. He knew he was making them nervous, but didn’t particularly care, needing to know whether the redhead was going to be alright or not.

“You need to leave now, Mr Snart.” The blonde nurse took his arm once she’d carefully labelled and stored the blood sample, leading him out of the room. For a moment he considered asking for her number, but it seemed horribly inappropriate considering that he was the reason Piper was in that room, broken and bleeding, so he kept quiet.

“Thanks.” He rumbled, sparing a small smile for the pretty blonde. “I’ll get the cash to you by the end of the week, just make sure he gets better.”

“We will, now scram before the cops get here, I’m sure someone’s called them by now.” The nurse smiled back, giving him a small shove in the direction they’d come in. With a nod, Len was gone, sprinting down the hallway back to the mirror he’d entered through.

By the time the Flash caught wind of his presence, he was already home, sitting alone in his living room and getting spectacularly drunk to block out the guilt.
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To Love a Rogue