(A/N) This piece of impulsive AU ridiculousness was inspired by a much longer Killervibe enemies fic that I'm writing, where the positions are swapped. Also by too many repeats of Owl City's I'm Coming After You. Faaarrr too many. Title from the song.

The club throbbed with music, and Caitlin's eardrums throbbed right along with it. But when Iris threw up her hands, whooping with joy, she smiled and threw up her hands too.

Iris laughed at her, but gently. "Girl," she said. "You're dancing tonight."

"I don't really dance all that well."

"Did I say you were gonna dance well? No, nope, I just said you're gonna dance."

Caitlin kicked up her foot to show her very highest heels. "Do you see these? If I try to dance in these, I'll break something. Like my ankle, or my nose, or my neck."

"Please. You fight in those, you can dance in those. I've seen you fight, it's like a rumba of mayhem and death and icicles."

Caitlin's lip curled. "Only with - Vibe."

It wasn't enough for the Rogues to have their very own genius tech guy to build their many, many guns and gadgets. Oh no, he had to be a metahuman in his own right. And for some reason, he'd decided that Killer Frost was his favorite target.

"Are we on that again?"

"He's so annoying." Caitlin scowled.

He had always been a pain in her tail, with his sonic booms that easily shattered her ice walls and deflected her frozen daggers. With the way he seemed to seek her out every time the Flash team and the Rogues clashed. With the way he laughed, white teeth flashing below the obscuring eye mask, every time they fought. Like it was a game.

Or a dance.

Iris let out a groan. "Okay, who did I drag out tonight with me? Is it Killer Frost, my boyfriend's partner in superheroing and serious badass in her own right? Or is it my friend, Dr. Caitlin Snow, who just needs to shake her booty?"

"Your friend, Dr. Caitlin Snow."

"Who …"

"Who … needs … to shake her booty," Caitlin muttered.

"Exactly. Now c'mon."

Caitlin tried, she did, but she could never quite get the rhythm to work for her. Finally, Iris took pity and waved her off the floor.

She worked her way toward the bar, shaking off the offers to buy her a drink. When she got a more explicit proposition, she just turned her coldest look on him, and he backed away, turning pale.

As crowded as this club was, she was actually warm - well, warm-ish. Killer Frost was never warm. But it was why she'd agreed to come out here tonight, besides just making Iris happy. Places like this were always packed with people, pouring out the body heat that her own damaged body craved.

Still, she was getting dehydrated.

She got a cup from the bartender and went to the big glass water dispenser partway down the bar. It was lukewarm, which was okay by her but probably not with anybody else who would want water. She twisted the tap off and, almost absently, laid her hand on the glass and drew out heat until condensation began to form. Then she walked away.

She paced around the edge of the dance floor, sipping her water and watching the dancers. No matter what she told Iris, it wasn't that she didn't want to dance. It was that she could never quite let go of her own self-consciousness long enough. That was the conundrum, wasn't it? In order to really dance, you had to forget about doing it well and just do it.

Like Iris. Her friend laughed as she threw her head back and arms up, probably knowing she looked a little ridiculous. But she also looked beautiful, and free, and so amazing that she caught everyone's attention.

Or … or that guy.

He was a short Latino guy, his shoulder length hair flying around his head and his slender body twisting. He flailed his arms and almost beaned someone in the solar plexus. At least once she saw him stumble and self-correct. He twirled on one heel in a truly dorky move. But he kept dancing, a giant grin on his face, as if nobody could see how goofy he was being.

He didn't seem to be with anybody in particular. She saw him spin one girl under his arm, and briefly grind up on a guy who gave him the eye. But he always moved on. She never lost sight of him, though, as he danced through the crowd.

In the ebb of one song, he paused, catching his breath, scraping his hair off his face. He caught her eye and turned his grin on her.

She smiled awkwardly and looked away. But she looked back a moment later, because she couldn't not. He caught her eye again and jerked his head, mouthing, C'mon!

She bit her lip and took a step back.

As the new song ramped up, he slipped and slid through the dancers between them, pausing a few feet away. Sweat pasted his hair to his temples and his neck. Heat seemed to roll off him, and she drank it in.

"Really?" he said. "You really don't want to dance? You've been looking at everybody else like a kid looking into a candy store."

"I'm not very good," she tried to explain.

He laughed, and something about it tugged the edge of her mind. "Neither am I, but it's super-fun anyway." He caught her hands in his, but not so tightly she couldn't pull away if she wanted. "Look. Follow me, okay?" He started bouncing their hands to the rising beat, bobbing his head. "No, don't look at your feet! Look at me."

She looked up, into his liquid-dark eyes, and couldn't look away. They crinkled at the corners. "Yeah. Just like that." When he started bouncing his whole body, she did too.

"Got it, see, there, just keep doing that!" He let go of one hand and she clutched the other one tighter, convinced that the rhythm he'd found for her would dissolve if their skin lost contact. He grinned kindly and kept their hands locked together as they danced.

She knew she was scowling in concentration, trying to keep the beat, but he didn't even blink, just kept dancing. Any time the beat slipped away from her, she could focus back on him, the bounce of his hands and his head and the motion of his body, to find it again.

The music thudded in her ears, and then in her skin, and then her bones. She soaked up the heat of the dance floor and threw her head back. Her barrette went flying; she felt it rip out a couple of strands as it went, and all her hair fell around her face. But she couldn't bring herself to care, not when she was dancing.

She was dancing.

She let go of his hand finally so she could twirl around for the pleasure of feeling her hair and her skirt fly. She heard his laugh and it tugged at her memory again.

But his hands settled on her hips, and it felt right to drape her arms around his neck and move with him. Though he was a few inches shorter than her, they fit just right.

He reached up and caught one hand. He convinced her to spin under his arm, nudging her the right way with a light touch on her back. She'd never danced with a guy who made that move look anything but clumsy and domineering, but this was as if he was showing her something she'd been planning to do anyway. He gave her a little hug when she stumbled against him, wobbly in her heels, and got her to do it again, right this time.

She spun out to the length of his arm and hers, and then back in so he was wrapped around her, back to front, as the song ended. Some of her hair had fallen in her mouth, and she spluttered it out, laughing as she looked over her shoulder.

"There's that smile," he said softly. "Just as pretty as I always thought it would be."

And then she remembered where she'd seen that grin before, those white teeth, those full lips. She froze, staring at him, her own smile dissolving off her face.

Beyond all logic, he grinned even bigger. He stretched up and whispered something into her ear. Then he let her go, twisted and ran, knocking dancers aside.

She bolted after him, all the energy from the dance transmuting into the far-more-familiar energy of fighting. Yelps of pain and indignation followed them as they shoved through the crowd. He glanced back once, as if making sure she was still following.

No, hoping he'd lost her. Obviously.

He gained the edge of the floor, but he was still several feet away from the door. Nothing daunted, he hoisted himself up on the bar and ran down it, kicking glasses and bottles aside. He tried to leap over the water canister, but misjudged the height. His knee knocked into it and sent it flying, the lid tumbling off.

Big mistake, asshole.

She threw one hand toward the wave of water sliding down the bar, turning it to ice even as his sneakers came down. They hit the slick surface and slid. His arms windmilled before his legs shot out from under him, dumping him onto the floor.

She was on him in under a second, pinning him with her knee in the small of his back and daggers of ice through the loose edges of his t-shirt, anchoring him to the floor.

Club security finally figured out there was something going on and surged toward her. She put up her free hand. "I've got this under control, thanks all the same."

"You want us to call the cops?"

"I am the cops." She dug her badge out of her little purse. "Dr. Caitlin Snow, Meta Division. I'm taking him into special custody."

They still looked confused, so she translated: "Boys, we're done here." She shifted her weight so she could see his face. "Wouldn't you say? Vibe?"

He panted, his breath fluttering the hair that had fallen over his mouth. "Yeah. Yeah, we're probably done."

As they drove back to Star Labs with Vibe trussed up in the back of the car, Iris said to her, "This was supposed to be a night off!"

"How is it my fault that one of the Rogues showed up at the club you picked?" In the flickering light from the streetlights they passed, Caitlin poked through the wallet she'd taken out of his back pocket.

"Well, it's not, but honestly. It's as bad as going out with Barry."

"It's not the way I wanted the night to end, either."

"By the way, Miss Footloose, but did I or did I not spot you dancing? Before you got us all kicked out of that club forever."

"Yes, I did indeed shake my booty, thank you."

"Very nicely too," Vibe called out from the back. "10 out of 10, would partner again."

"Shut up," Caitlin snarled.

"So," Iris said smugly. "You got to dance, and you got to fight. A good time was had by all."

"Except maybe the guy in handcuffs," Caitlin said.

"Oh, no, I had a good time too," he said cheerfully. "If you wanna know, it's not actually the first time a night out has ended this way."

"Didn't want to know. Actually." Caitlin studied the driver's license, lips pursed.

Francisco Ramon.

She let Francisco Ramon stew in his own juices until the next day. Okay, that was maybe an exaggeration. He got a shower, and breakfast, and lunch, under heavy guard. But. Metaphorically.

When she went to see him, he was stretched out on his bench bed, his ankle propped on his knee, reading a comic book. Even when she hit the intercom button, which made a crackling sound inside the cell, he didn't react.

She cleared her throat.

"You know," he said without looking up, "you're trying, I get that. I do. This pipeline cell? It'll hold most norms. But you're going after metas, not norms. And man, your escape rate is dismal. You know what you need?"

"A ball gag?" she inquired sweetly.

He rolled to his feet, tucking the comic book into his back pocket. "You need a tech guy. You need someone who can build to spec with an Allen wrench and a roll of duct tape."

"Someone like you?"

He just smiled.

"It's temporary, anyway. Most of our meta prisoners are moved to Iron Heights for arraignment within twenty-four hours. Besides, we must be doing something right. Because here you are, twelve hours after being captured. By me."

"Yyyyyeah," he said slowly. "Well. I've been sticking around because I want to talk to you."

"About?"

"Loyalties. Funny things, you know? Sometimes loyalty is as breakable as cotton candy, and sometimes it's a steel cable."

"Are you seriously villain-monologuing me right now? Because I have things to do."

"Excuse me," he said, affronted. "I don't consider myself a villain. Chaotic neutral at most. Can I get back to my speech? Cuz I worked on it."

She twirled her hand in a go-ahead gesture. Probably this was a bad idea. Probably he was distracting her so the rest of the Rogues could sneak into Star Labs and take it over. But she had to admit herself curious, after what he'd whispered in her ear last night, right before he'd bolted.

Make it look good.

"So anyway," he continued. "Loyalties. Sometimes they're just a giant pain in the butt. Take my brother, for instance."

"There are two of you?"

"There's only one of me," he said. "No, my brother's a norm. Don't tell our mama that, because she believes the sun rises and sets on his head. He's kind of a dick. Actually, he's a lot of a dick. But he's my brother. So I'd do anything to keep him safe. Including join the Rogues."

As the meaning filtered through, Caitlin's mouth fell open slightly. "Are you saying … the Rogues have your brother? And that's why you're working with them?"

"It's not the dental plan, trust me," he said. "But if my brother were out of their reach - " He snapped his fingers. "Poof. My loyalty ends just like that."

She narrowed her eyes. "And where does it go from there? Star Labs?"

"Maybe."

She nodded. "Okay. I think I get it now. But why should I believe one word of this? Why should I even believe you have a brother? You are a Rogue."

"Under protest. And I don't expect you to believe it. I expect you to go look up the disappearance of Dante Ramon on your computers, then check vital records for his family. And then, because you strike me as extremely thorough, you'll cross-reference that with the DMV records, since you have my driver's license. You'll know whether I'm telling the truth in oh, about half an hour."

"It wouldn't take me half an hour to do that."

"Yyyyyeah," he drawled again. "But. It's gonna take you a little while to recover. Sorry."

She'd already tensed up, so the boom didn't knock her completely ass over teakettle. But it did send her staggering back, throwing up a wall of ice to protect against flying glass shards from the door. The wall shattered a moment later as the boom hit it, but she'd been expecting that. She leapt through the glass and the ice and onto his back, bearing them both to the ground.

They struggled briefly, rolling and elbowing. She registered briefly that he was laughing, the way he had last night at the club, the way he always did.

With a snake-quick move that she didn't see coming, he rolled her under him, his hands anchoring her wrists to the ground, his knees and calves tight to the outsides of her thighs.

This close, she registered again the liquid darkness of his eyes. His glossy hair hung around them in a curtain, stirring with their panted breath.

For a moment, she could swear he'd looked at her mouth.

She snarled at him, and he laughed again.

He dropped his head until their lips were a whisper apart, and murmured, "Find my brother and I'm all yours, Caitlin Snow."

FINIS