There's a certain silence that falls over the Cortex whenever tragedy strikes.
When Barry comes back from a new metahuman attack having failed to capture him or her. When one of the crew goes missing because of some new threat. When they're faced with an awful betrayal that they can't reconcile.
Right now, that silence is there.
None of them want to leave. None of them feel that they can.
No, that's not quite true—Joe goes to talk to Wally, though he can't imagine what he's going to say. None of them can imagine what to say.
So Barry, Cisco, Wells, and Iris drift aimlessly around S.T.A.R. Labs. None of them speak. None of them have a plan.
Barry tries to get used to not having speed. It's been a part of his life for two years. He can't even remember what it was like before the particle accelerator exploded.
Now he's experiencing it again. He hadn't realized how much he uses his speed—just for silly things that he hasn't had to do at a regular pace for years. Tying his shoes. Brushing his hair.
He's human again.
And he doesn't know how to do anything.
Cisco wears his new glasses and touches everything of Caitlin's that he can find. He gets glimpses—
Flashes of blue lightning and a blur of black rushing past him.
Caitlin's screams and another moment of black streaking by.
Somewhere dark and cold, not enough light to discern where or even when.
None of them help. He can't find her. Not until Zoom stops running, at least.
And judging by Jay's face when he injected himself with Barry's speed, he's far too high on speed force to slow down.
There's nothing Cisco can do.
Wells isolates himself in Cisco's laboratory. He scribbles meaningless equations on the board for a few minutes and then stops, caps the marker, and throws it to the ground. He walks calmly over to the desk.
Then he sweeps his arm across it and hundreds of metal and plastic bits clatter to the ground, the noise unbearably loud in the silence.
Wells sinks into a chair and puts his head in his hands.
He blames himself.
He knows it's not his fault.
He blames himself regardless.
No matter how they've all treated him since he arrived, no matter how little they listen to him on matters that he clearly knows more about, no matter what else happens, he can't deny that he cares.
A few short hours ago, he would have guaranteed that he couldn't feel any more pain at the loss of someone he cared about, and, yes, even loved. With Jesse who-knows-where, he would have sworn that he didn't have the emotion to spare.
And now?
Wells is astonished at how completely the pain consumes him.
Iris wanders around the lab. She touches nothing. She feels like she should approach Barry, talk to him, but what would she say?
She has no advice to offer him.
Previously, whenever he fell down, she was the one to pick him back up again. Sometimes, her simply talking to him was enough for him to regain confidence in himself and his speed.
But with his speed actually gone, in the hands—in the body—of this monster, there is nothing Iris can say that can help him get faster.
And she doesn't have any metahuman abilities or scientific knowledge. She's sure that, within a few hours, Cisco or Wells or more likely both will have brilliant ideas that will save Caitlin.
Whereas Iris can do nothing to help.
She's not sure why she stays.
But she knows she can't bear to go home.
All of them ought to be used to the quiet that follows tragedy by now.
But the utter stillness that's infiltrated the Cortex corrodes anything resembling hope to dust.
All four want to say that they have a plan. They wait for someone to have that spark of brilliance that always, always comes when one of them is in danger.
And yes, maybe it will come.
But right now, Hunter Zolomon, aka Jay Garrick, aka Zoom, has Barry's speed and Caitlyn Snow and every advantage in this or any other world.
Nobody has a plan.
So instead, silence hangs, thick and heavy, over S.T.A.R. Labs.
