Accurate but Unsystematic

Hot cola! I just finished reading town_without_heart's Past Imperfect and it was so… so… I have no words, not one but it explains everything (somehow)! Ah ah ah I can't believe it, it's such a great one-shot oh my goodness *shrieking*

I don't want to do the 9 month coma part. Yeah, it would be so cool to do a rendition of Barry's profile being a real-life version of The Walking Dead. You know, woke up in a coma and suddenly people thought to be dead turned out to be walking around with superpowers. But I want to try it new and fast (not intended as a pun). He was in a coma for nine months. It's strange to see he picked up his life so easily, as if nothing changed. When I saw Iris kissing Eddie, I thought 'Oh, this is one of those. Entering an alternate world where everything is somehow the same, except for the typical chick flick twist of the girl being with another guy'. That's—that's half of it. The other half? I'm really mortified running this question in my head: who, between Caitlin and Cisco, has been giving Barry sponge baths for the past nine months? Harrison will not be counted considering he's a cripple to Caitlin and Cisco, and you don't generally assign your boss to do that part of the job. I mean, if it's Caitlin, what's with Episode 12? If it's Cisco, it makes too much sense to ever be a comfort for me and just made me remember what Thomas Wolsey, a British Cardinal of the 16th century said "Be very, very careful what you put into that head, because you'll never, ever get it out."

For the sake of keeping our favorite Barry be a certifiable genius like in the show and so I spill in nerd talk every once in a while (maybe more than that), I will confirm that this Barry will have a very good memory. Mind you, in reality, there is no such thing as a photographic memory (many cases/studies stated that 2 to 15% of children have eidetic memory). They can maintain a very accurate memory (and let me tell you that memories always change over time due to emotion and become false memories. Memories are not accurate. It's what magicians exploit so thoroughly) in a couple of minutes and that skill goes away and an adult doesn't possess it anymore according to studies. Also, eidetic memory is not the perfect recall that so many fanfiction authors believe. Memories from a decade ago or ones from an hour ago are 'clear' in the same way, but not all memories, only distinctive ones. Memories of routine, they're labeled as low priority by the brain so they aren't on the same level of clarity—or so I'm told by someone who does possess eidetic memory.

Tags/Warnings:

- Barry-centric (I love the quirky forensic genius. It's sad how the Flash seemingly completely took over his entire personality in the show).

- Sporadic updates.

- Grammar errors.

- Canon Divergence (mostly because I only watched the first 10 episodes of The Flash, the rest is me making things up to incorporate things I picked from the overblown Wikia).

- Hopeful Rational Fiction.

- Attempts for a total rendition of almost everything {Particle Accelerator, Metahumans, CCPD, STAR Labs, etc again, mostly because I don't know the full canon}.

- Barry and Iris are total besties (not because I don't like Iris, but because I like Iris/Eddie much better than Barry/Iris).

- Lots of OCs for the sake cases and meta encounters (But there won't be any chapters dedicated for flashbacks to make you weep for villains or anything cliché such as that). I'm trying to bring in police cases into the story folds, and am thus asking for forgiveness should there be any inconsistency or inaccuracy due to my lack knowledge of real police works.

Poll! About pairings. I cannot decide between Harrison, Oliver, Len (and if I pick Len, there's a high probability that I'd make it threeway with Mick…?). I tried an OC, and reached my thirtieth confirmation that, yeah, I dislike OCs being main. Oh. Let me clarify: I'm asking about sexual pairings. I'm not good with them, but I am on board for an intense relationship. Love, or passion if you are not a hundred percent fond of that word like me, have many forms, it's just so unfortunate for story/plot quality that sex monopolized the attention.

Disclaimer: The Flash (2014 TV) is owned by DC Entertainment, Warner Bros Television, Bonanza Productions, the developers Berlanti Productions, Greg Berlanti, Andrew Kreisberg and Geoff Johns. I do, however, own the mystery first girlfriend who will probably never turn up.

Summary: Where Eobard Thawne did not have Gideon to assure him that the future is intact. Where being aware that the man in yellow is stalking him made Barry finely toeing the lines between hero, vigilante and, just maybe, villain. Rework of The Flash and gradually The Arrow.

. o . 0 . o .

Chapter 1

S.H.E.L.T.E.R.

"I can't believe you," Iris shot a fake-but-actually-real glare towards Barry. Barry had just arrived back to Central City this morning—very late to his work, aggravating an already peeved David Singh, so he had to spend the entire day catching up his backlogs from his trip to Starling City (Margolin, his co-worker in the CC Crime Lab, was good in covering his absence—she told the Captain he had food poisoning—but was slower in processing scenes than him). Left his lab by dinner and spent an hour being berated by her dad and only managed to talk to her because she rode all the way to his cheap apartment. "You actually manage to trick people that you're there for a connecting case without actually elaborating on that? You can't lie to save your life, Bear."

"Lie of omission counts under my belt," Barry poked her glabella. "I was so screwed when Oliver found me out. I would not say 'scary', but 'intimidating' might as well be his middle name. Thankfully, he let me go and didn't make anything public. We left on good terms, actually."

"Do not jump around the story telling. Tell it to me in sequence, I want to know exactly how it went!" The air conditioner stuttered then. Her hands found the remote and turned it on again. "Your apartment still sucks by the way."

"I only came here to sleep and stash," Barry shrugged. Most of his days are spent at the precinct, scenes, and Joe's. I don't even get along with my apartment neighbors. "So, I got set up in the division with Felicity's help. She's blonde, wears glasses, MIT, serious tech wiz." Felicity broke into Starling City Police Department files without a password—and unlike CCPD, SCPD has NSA level security.

"Then what?"

"We spent some time working on who stole the centrifuge while taking a look around Queen Consolidated's Applied Sciences Division." Barry wasn't going to mention that he spent a good twenty minutes speculating about The Arrow and his background, making incisive observations about why The Arrow wore green instead of black, the type of arrows he used (he's definitely rich, doom point on Oliver Queen, considering these are arrows that double as voice recorders), and how he theorized that The Arrow has partners, particularly someone who had a background in computer sciences.

He was just rambling out his thoughts. Felicity must have been so freaked listening to his, amazingly, scarily accurate deduction—except for the fact that he thought the conspiracy consisted of a hacker mastermind hiring the Arrow and someone from the military. Felicity Smoak, a villain? Unheard of.

"Oliver found out there was no connecting case. We argued. Later Oliver re-invited me as Felicity's plus one. I apologized, Captain Singh called, and now I'm here," he finished, completely omitting the part where he got a tranquilizer dart to the neck, got his deduction half-confirmed (Oliver Queen is The Green Arrow, but Felicity was not the villain pulling strings) and subsequently did his first surgery to take out bullets from a poisoned vigilante. See, he can lie without really lying.

"Yeah, yeah. So! What's Oliver Queen like?" Iris asked.

"He's a... placid man. Oliver's way too serious."

Iris deadpanned at his bland description. "I really can't rely on you to gossip. Nothing exciting on the train ride?"

"Nothing of what you want to hear. I talked to Professor Martin Stein about—"

"Physics?" Iris cut him off, "Genes? Germs?"

"No! It was a really nice conversation about theoretical astrophysics! I can't believe you would insult me in such an inconceivable level like that. He's heading a project called Fusion, Ignition, Research Experiment and Science of Transmutation Originating RNA and Molecular Structures since his tenure at Hudson Univ. I know, the name is way too long, but the acronym is beyond awesome—F.I.R.E.S.T.O.R.M."

"I don't care, Barry. Seirously, awwwww. This didn't sound like much of a two-night of fun. Sounds like all you did there was just working. Wait a minute, did you say plus one?" Iris gasped in delight. "Oh my God, please tell me it's for what I think it is."

"Queen Consolidated function," Barry confirmed.

"A party!" She squealed. "At the Queen Mansion?! Barry Allen, I hate you! I bet you didn't take any picture!"

"I did!" At her look, he backtracked. "Okay, correction, Felicity did. It was…" what word in his mental dictionary he should use to satisfy Iris lest he revealed the entire dance was tense because of their Arrow business? "…enjoyable."

"But you can't possibly bring a tuxedo. Wait! Do not tell me you were wearing the same suit that was drenched from rain!"

"I didn't. Oliver let me borrow a tux."

"You know, you're really familiar with Oliver Queen for someone who only interacted strictly on professional terms."

"W-well, Felicity and I hit it off, you know? And Felicity's close friend with him. I guess it put me in good books with him." Ha. Yeah, like I literally didn't just save his life with Warfarin/rat poison.

"What was her dress like? Smoak's dress, I mean. Did you two kiss? Did you ask for her number? Or did she? Any chance of you two dating?" The questions flowed rapidly and Barry still couldn't see why she keeps complaining about journalism.

"It was a red one-shoulder. Triple strap shoes. I don't know fashion, but she said it was Prada." Iris oohed, mentally congratulating Felicity Smoak on using Barry's lucky color. "We didn't kiss, sorry Iris. Felicity had my number—"

The two proceeded to struggle for Barry's cell phone. The end result was Iris sitting on top of Barry who had flattened himself on his phone.

"Give me the phone."

"No!"

"You need my help. Totally unfair puppy dog eyes yet you can't keep a date for your life!"

"At least let me call her first before you meddle! For the record, I don't think there's a chance? We're 600 miles away."

"Long-distance relationship is possible!"

He just gave her an indifferent shrug, or a failed attempt of it. "Don't know why you're still not tired of trying to find me a date. I don't like relationships much…"

"Your first girlfriend was terrible, I admit. But she was just one girl. Aren't you all for, more samples the better conclusion scienc-y thing?"

Barry sighed and switched the topic back. "I am so missing their new DNA sequencer. It samples in less than four hours. Why can't Police Department have one?"

"We don't have a multi-billionaire here, sadly. And I can't believe from your romantic journey to discover the impossible, meeting the Oliver Queen, dancing in a ball with a smart blonde princess, you miss a DNA sequencer," she sighed hopelessly.

"Hey, backlogs are nightmares. I may be quick with processing scenes, but I need eighteen hours to get DNA results, and I still have two more on my log," Barry complained. Iris just rolled her eyes, knowing he (somehow) found it something fun to see those logs diminishing. She checked the clock and noted it was late.

Standing up she patted her skirt from, well there was no dust, but it's a habit from going outs. "Well, we better get to sleep. See you tomorrow, Bear!"

"Be careful on your way home!" Barry locked the door and fished out his phone. Finding the new number in his phone, he tapped the Call button.

"Barry?"

"Hi, Felicity. Bad time?"

. o . Accurate . o .

Oliver Queen did not grow up swimming through science, and was considerably impressed that Barry managed to get fingerprints from residual oils. Cyrus Gold, another pain in the neck. Going to the supposed location of Gold, Oliver found Brother Blood injecting the fucking Mirakuru into Roy. Killing Gold was satisfying, exploding the Mirakuru supply was glorious, saving Roy—Thea's boyfriend—was a victory.

None of that means anything, with a potential army of criminals injected with super-soldier serums, Oliver brooded as he went back to the foundry. It was bright, gloomy, familiar. He asked, "What's Barry doing?" The last few hours, the foundry was sweeping by a cheerful atmosphere—by Barry's constant chattering with Felicity and John, bombarding them to confirm his speculations about the Dollmaker, Count Vertigo, Dodger, the Huntress—he was really serious about his quest for the impossible.

"He's probably sleeping. Sleeping! The literal kind, I mean—it's late, he went back to Central City, Oliver. He's obsessing over the particle accelerator on S.T.A.R. Labs, after all, didn't want to miss it. He said he'd call but I haven't got a ping so I assumed he's sleeping. Must be real tired—from the train commute," Felicity hastily added, cursing her constant thoughtless innuendo. John sniggered while Oliver frowned. He was feeling bad for the way he had treated the kid—Barry (Barry's only 4 years younger than him but he looked and acted younger than his age), for treating him rather coldly, and choking him, and blowing up at Felicity as he considered shooting an arrow at him right in front of him.

Waltzing in Queen Consolidated and his instant connection with Felicity gave him a bad impression to Oliver, but after the things that had happened Oliver was sort of… hoping that Barry would… stay? The footnote about his expertise in forensics was certainly not exaggerated, and having a medic on the team would be really great. Barry has certainly endeared himself to them, although Oliver was feeling uneasy at the thought that a stranger knowing his identity and is living 600 miles away.

Quickly enough, Felicity's phone buzzed. "It's Barry," she spoke after identifying the caller ID.

"Put it on speaker, will you?"

Felicity did as told. "Barry?"

"Hi, Felicity," Barry's voice came through clear. "Bad time?"

"No, no, I'm not in bed yet. I thought you forgot to call me, why'd you have to wait till night for—talking!" Oliver snorted at the booty call insinuation. Felicity grimaced. "I'm so sorry."

At the end of the line, Barry was laughing. "I know. I did say I'd call to tell you I'm back safe. Sorry I didn't do it earlier, I had to finish the case evidences I ditched. Oliver and Dig doing okay?"

"It's on speaker, Barry," Felicity said at the same time as John answered, "We're fine, Barry."

"Oh! Oh, hey, Dig. Oliver. Hey, Oliver, I left something for you," Barry said, and that was when Oliver noticed the box covered in newspaper on the table where Barry had been working. "Go on, open it! Tell me what you think!"

He took off the makeshift lid and pulled the mask out of the box. He admired it silently. It covers his entire face hindering neither his smell nor sight. "I like it. Thank you, Barry." He had been a jerk, but Barry still gave him a gift. Oliver didn't think Barry would actually make him a mask when he briskly told him off to find one.

"Compressible micro-fabric domino. I got enough material to make a thinner one as cloth to cover your mouth. Just grease-painting your eyes won't cover your beard, you know?" Barry said through the speaker. "Hey, hey, come on. I can tell you're just holding it. Try it!"

Felicity put the phone beside the table as John takes the box from Oliver. She pulled the mask over Oliver's face, adjusted it, and Oliver felt warm when she let out a wide smile. "You look like a hero, Oliver."

Oliver didn't understand Felicity's and Barry's logic in that conclusion. Heroes are all for honesty and shouldn't even have the need for a mask to lie.

Someone blew a raspberry then. It was Barry. "It's too bad I can't ask for a picture."

"So swing by sometime," Oliver suggested before he could think it through. "We could use your help in forensics."

"I guess—I mean, yeah, sure! Send the files anytime. Or, call. Felicity, you can make it untraceable, I bet. Oh, and maybe you want to switch to aluminium carbon composite arrows. It has better penetration. The blood you got from Cyrus Gold was barely enough for me to test. Felicity said you'll just get more—I don't want to hear that again. You barely survived this guy. Is he really that built? How come he's so freakishly strong?"

"I'll think about your suggestions. As for your other questions, I can't cover that over a phone call."

"Fine, next time, then. I'll hold you to that—and can I still get that story of why the heck your mother shot you?"

"Barry—"

"Call me again, tomorrow! Bye, guys!" Barry hung up before Oliver could chew at him. He ignored Felicity and John.

. o . but . o .

Barry found it easier to brush his teeth since he was grinning happily. He felt so great hearing Oliver's invite—that there might-kinda-sorta-maybe-totally-definitely a chance of him being part of The Arrow's team. Team Arrow. Helping people with a real hero. He helps people of course, he's in CCPD, but it was expected. It was a job. Barry didn't call hotlines giving tips for crime scene investigations for money after all.

It's why he didn't follow his dad's footsteps. Why he didn't become a doctor when he told Joe he likes helping people and make their and his days better. Not because he didn't want to be a 'Dr. Allen', but because being a doctor means he'll be saying 'I love helping people' while accepting money for helping people. Being a cop was the same. Being a CSI was far removed enough from having that personal stigma attached to himself by himself. But it was still a profession. Statistics and all. Meeting Oliver and Felicity and Diggle made him feel like he was part of something big. It was selfish and irrational, but it was addictive of a good kind. Barry laughed to himself, wiping his mouth with a napkin. He wasn't even making sense to himself.

He fished out his phone from his pocket to set the alarm, singing the chorus of the song Runnin in a low tone. Not that he has any faith of waking up on the first ring, but he never lose hope that he'll arrive on time. He wasn't always late. Just… 6 out of 7 days. It's not his fault he has dysania. His bed was comfy! So was his couch, when he felt like binging with Iris. He liked to add more days of Barry's-on-time-for-once-in-his-life and have that whole day(s) where his more uptight colleague unable to pick on him. Some cops are assholes. Even though Barry was a major reason of why they finished their cases so quickly. Barry tried not to be an asshole. So far it worked. Hmm. He left a mass spectrometry test running overnight at the station…

His stomach contents sunk low bottom. His throat dry. Gold colored paper written with red ink.

'Thought you were running away from home, Barry. Thought you were giving up, Barry. Nice of you to come back and not forget that you killed her you killed her you killed her, Barry.'

There was never any residual oil for him to add to a gel-based polymer. There was never any sweat he might swab to identify. There was always nothing he could use to find out who he was.

If he looked at the hidden cameras he built and hid in many of the nooks and crannies of his place, he knew he'd only get a pale blur that can and will be concluded as bad lighting.

One frame.

Always.

He shoved the note into the space between his bed and the wall, where it was dumped with the other notes just gathering dust beneath his bed.

It's not his fault he has trouble getting out of bed. He couldn't close his eyes in the dark.

. o . Unsystematic . o .

*Glabella = the area between one's eyebrows