It's not a bad look on you, ( she says, maybe referring to this strange, newfound optimism of his, or perhaps that ridiculous floral button down he wears so unashamedly. sara puts her hands on her hips while she contemplates what else they might need — and maybe just to give mick more time to brazenly let his gaze sweep over her; she'd be lying if she said she doesn't enjoy it.

but there's a moment of realization, and she dashes back into her room for a hot second, returning with two towels draped over her arm. hell, she'd almost grabbed only one just to prove a point, but maybe they'll need an extra to dry off if they decide to take a little dip in the ocean. resourcefulness: just another reason why captain lance is good at her job. )

Alright. Let's get this show on the road. ( you know, this feels like the perfect opportunity to get really close, maybe stand on her tiptoes a little, brandishing her trademark Sara Lance Smirk™️ as she leans closer and —

shoves the towels against his chest for him to carry, gets back down to her own level, and opens the front door. to the beach! )

Ain't a bad look on you either. [the meaning behind his gruff statement a bit more obvious what with the roaming eyes. mick's not the type to lie, whether to spare feelings, or, as in this case, downplay what he believes to be true.

sara's hot. like sex on the beach hot, which if he plays his cards right seems like they're working toward. his face breaks out into a grin as she hurries off, presumably to grab those last minute items. he's still lost in a daydream when he returns.

caught unawares, he startles ever just so as she shoves the towels in his direction. mick mutters something akin to 'fucking sneaky ninja' under his breath as she saunters past him to the door.]

Just for that, I'm making you drive.

[mick tosses the keys in her general direction, confident that her lightning quick reflexes will mean she doesn't drop them. the truck is parked just outside. it's hardly new but she should just be happy his vehicle isn't one of those compact numbers that the citizens here are so fond of.

Alright, but don't be mad if I'm rusty.

( said as she, of course, deftly catches the keys with one hand and traipses right on out of her apartment, trusting that he'll lock the door behind him. a big old truck's a hell of a lot different than a big ol' time ship.

but then, sliding into the front seat, worn leather against mostly-bare thighs, and turning on the ignition to bring the truck rumbling to life, she realizes that — like with most things in her life — it's all second nature. sara pulls into the road and it's off to the beach for the two of them.

there's an ill-concealed smile as she turns her head just enough to glance at him, quips, ) Put some tunes on, will you?

Don't wreck my truck. [he threatens, locking up behind her as he dutifully follows along.

of course, the threat turns out to be entirely unnecessary, because while driving a truck isn't anything like driving a timeship, it is like riding a bicycle, all muscle memory once the nerves die down. sara handles his ride, unsurprisingly, like a champ, hands casually drifting along the wheel as she hurries down the road toward the beach.

he grins at her, has a fleeting thought about bonnie and clyde, and how maybe if they weren't tasked with keeping the world safe, if she didn't have her thing with snart — which he still hasn't gotten a full explanation of and has only gleaned from those times he's observed them together — that maybe just maybe they could take over the world with one another. or paint the town red. or at least have a damn good time.

so when she urges him to fill the silence in the cab with the sound of music, he's all to quick to oblige, fiddling with the dial until a familiar song comes through amidst the static. it's not beach going music, but it seems fitting that this be the song that plays while he admires her for not the first and certainly not the last time.] I love the 70s.

( the song cuts through static, carries through the cab of the truck, and sara immediately turns her head fully towards mick, staring at him with a mystified sense of disbelief, smile curling into the corners of her mouth — a silent are you hearing this?

except she should probably keep her eyes on the road. her fingers flex against the steering wheel, full-on grinning as she tries in vain to keep looking forward. love, love will keep us together...

it feels like some kind of cosmic sign. you know, if sara really believed in that kind of thing. if she did, she'd think that captain & tennille might be telling them something. sara mouths along to the words without even thinking about it, making a turn down the street towards parking for the beach. )

Hell of a song.

[the phrase cat that ate the canary would be terribly cliche but still apropros for this particular situation they're in and the shit-eating grin that currently occupies the better part of mick's face. he is most definitely hearing this.

and reliving that moment, so long ago when mick and len were just getting to know sara lance. it's been years (it's been lifetimes for mick if he wants to really think about it) and he still thinks there's something viscerally appealing about how she moves. mick nods along to the sweet sounds of captain and tennille spilling forth from the speakers.

they roll on and on until finally she's turning into the parking lot for the beach. before she can even put the car in park, he's getting ready to exit, grabbing the towel up in his arms again once she's finally applied the e-brake, mick steps out, smirk still playing at the corners of his mouth as he turns his head to address her.]

You comin', Lance?

Jesus, gimme a second, ( she chirps back, turning off the ignition in the middle of climbing out of the car herself, pressing the lock down manually with her finger before slamming the door shut and tucking his keys into the pockets of her jean shorts.

sara meets him around the front of the truck, tips her head towards the stairs that lead down to the sand and starts towards them. but not before some gentle ribbing, maybe literally with her elbow, too, a bump against his side, as she teases, ) Swear you're excited or something, Rory. Pretty sure the last time I saw you this happy was when you found out Gideon could fabricate copies of that shitty beer you like so much.

[is he excited? hell yeah he is. mick's having one of those rare good days™ where it feels like nothing, not even a little good natured teasing courtesy of one sara lance can bring him down. he's only been ranting about aruba for what? over a year? and while this beach might not be a tropical island where the soundtrack is a mix of crashing waves, steel drums, and jimmy buffett, there's at least a hot woman in a swimsuit and hopefully drinks somewhere in the cards for him.] It's an American classic. [he protests, raising an eyebrow at her.] But I will say Gideon's isn't quite right. Less skunky, I guess.

Geez. It's already packed. I'm gonna look ahead, see if I can't find a spot. [impatient as ever, mick shuffles down the steps toward the glittering sand which covers this section of eudio's coastline. at this time of day, most of the prime real estate is already claimed. but that's never bothered mick, and when he spots a pair of beach chairs with a nice, inviting umbrella he has zero compunctions with glaring expectantly at the couple who are currently occupying said space until they get the hint, packing up their stuff and departing. mick dumps their towels on the chairs and turns back toward sara and just winks.] Found one.