The first time Harrison gets in Barry's head, Cisco and Caitlin clock out early and invite the speedster for a celebratory coffee at Jitters.
"It's not as great as booze, but until Caitlin finds a way to get you buzzed we're not touching a single pint. And yes, Barry, we do love you that much," Cisco tells him.
"Thanks-really, I would, but Iris would never forgive me if I didn't help her on her story. She's got this new job and I'm trying not to let her down this time. Maybe tomorrow?" Barry replies with an anxious cringe.
Cisco barely stifles a snort, earning him an icy glare from Caitlin before she turns back to the forensic.
"Take care, Barry."
As soon as they're out the door, Barry groans and plops himself down on a desk chair.
He feels like a scrambled mess, as if someone shoved a whisk through his head and stirred it around like batter. If Barry could run away from the hurt he'd have crossed the Pacific Ocean twice by now. If only it's that easy. It's the same thing, playing on repeat as if it wasn't already flooding his ear canal and tattooing itself onto his skin.
A shout, a flare of light.
Gunshot.
"I'm taking it that Iris has no story you're helping her on tonight."
Barry bolts up from his seat, startled to see his mentor sitting harmlessly in his wheelchair from behind him.
"Dr. Wells- I- I'm sorry, I thought you already left, I-"
"You don't have to apologize. You're as welcome here as Cisco and Caitlin, and more than welcome to let off whatever's on your mind," Harrison says and folds his hands in his lap matter-of-factly.
What Barry notices first are his eyes. Blue as the ocean waves, but stronger than steel. He can count the stars in those orbs, can map them out in his mind and call each one by name. He can climb Mt. Everest, touch the bottom of the Nile River, run up to the moon. What Barry can give for those eyes.
He shakes his head and sucks in a sharp breath, "I- um, I just.. It's Sans Souci."
Barry pauses and glances at Harrison, who seems to be listening. 'Go on,' his eyes say.
"I really thought we could've done something to save her," he murmurs sheepishly, "she was a good person. All Bette did was serve her country and now shes gone. We don't even have a body to bury. What happened to her; she didn't deserve it."
Barry's eyes flicker up to Harrison's, lost. In that moment, he gives up a piece of himself to the man in front of him.
Barry can see a sadness in Harrison's simper.
"There are some people that you can't save."
The second time Harrison gets in Barry's head, the scientist's house is nicer than usual. Maybe it was the fireplace, or probably the flooring. Barry can't place what exactly has changed, the last time him being there with yellow tape webbing the residence and the CCPD scattered everywhere.
He decides not to ask Harrison. Or should he? This is the first time Barry has dinner with him and he knows Harrison would be much different from the girls he's eaten with in the past.
Not that this is a date. Is it? They were just hungry, that's all.
Barry can't remember. He just knows that this is literally the best sushi he's ever had.
"There is no possible way you got this from take-out," he laughs before stuffing another roll in his mouth.
"I might've opened up Caitlin's sushi kit yesterday," Wells says with a happy lilt to his voice.
It's strange for Barry to see him like this. They'd spent so much time handling metahumans and the Reverse Flash they rarely had any to capture some bit of joy. Not so much Barry, but Harrison gave up so much to keep Central City on its feet. It makes Barry happy to see him enjoying himself.
"I never pegged you as the culinary type, Dr. Wells," he jokes.
"And I never pegged you as the sushi type, Mr. Allen," Harrison returns.
"I guess there's a lot we don't know about each other."
Barry's eyes look up at the other's shyly, seeing if he made the wrong move as his thumb absentmindedly rubs the end of his chopstick.
Wells is a puzzle. A million thoughts are going on in the his head, but Barry can only watch them speed by without knowing what he was thinking. He wants to reach out and grab them, peer into them and finally know. But Barry decides to respect Harrison's privacy and leave it at that. He doesn't want to know yet, not now while they were just beginning to grow into one another.
Wells smiles and says, "I'm guessing you want to fix that over another roll of sushi?"
Barry grins.
The third time Harrison gets in Barry's head, it's the speedster's eleventh time in his house.
Except this time they're both on Wells's wheelchair.
Barry's legs sit lazily across its arms, his shoes hook onto its wheels, his hands tight around its back. He's fixed on Harrison's lap and the other isn't exactly complaining.
Lips meld together and teeth clash recklessly in a mad chase for pleasure. Not to mention the need to be oh-so-much-closer to each other until they were sewn together skin-to-skin, heart-to-heart.
Barry moves his hands to Wells's shirt, fisting the material and tugging it up eagerly. A sharp gasp cuts through empty air as nails dig through the fabric and into Harrison's skin.
Damn his long fingernails.
Barry flinches and topples backwards, landing roughly on the flat linoleum floor with a face six shades of red.
"I-I'm sorry, Dr. Wells- I didn't m-mean to- did I hurt you?" he stutters hurriedly.
The scientist groans in disappointment but manages a smile on his face. Barry probably looks like the virgin teenager right now, but lord, what he'd do for that smile.
Harrison takes Barry by the wrists and tugs him back onto his feet, pulling him down so he stoops to his level.
"Barry Allen, ever the turn-off," Wells murmurs as he sends hot air rolling across his jaw.
"I guess I was going too fast?" the speedster manages through a moan, "No pun intended, by the way."
Hands snake up Barry's arms and down his spine, leaving goosebumps in their wake, before fingers hook onto his belt loops in a tight hold. They force him back onto his lap roughly and, to Wells's satisfaction, elicits a sharp gasp out of the other.
"Let me."
The fourth time Harrison gets in Barry's head, the forensic steps in his lab to find Joe sitting at his desk.
There's a hardness in his eyes, anyone could see that. But only Barry or Iris could see the pain lingering at the creases of his face that sag his skin and stiffen his lip.
"Just so you know, I didn't eat your leftover meat loaf," Barry says with a small smile.
Joe laughs mildly, more of a snort than anything. His lips say 'You're killing me,' but his eyes return, 'This is serious, Barr.'
His grin droops and the speedster doesn't have to ask Joe what's wrong.
"It's Wells."
Barry crosses his arms, fingers latching onto his sleeve tightly, anxiously. His wrist digs sharply into his rib as he urges it closer and closer to his skin, trying to press down what he held inside. Stay, he pleads, don't leave now.
"What about him?" Barry asks hesitantly.
He already knows what Joe will say.
"You and I both know he's hiding something, Barry. The pieces all fit together too well and he's made sure of that. We can't stand idle as he ruins people's lives, like after the particle accelerator exploded. Someone's got to get to the bottom of it before it's too late. And I can't do that without you."
But he doesn't want that.
Barry scoffs and replies, "You still think Wells murdered my mother."
"No, I think he's got something to do with it. Why do you think he picked you, out of all the people affected by the particle accelerator? Wells is using you, Barr. We can't let him-"
"You're wrong," he snaps.
Joe looks up at him. Surprised, but not exactly shocked. Barry's never come out to him, even though he's probably already found out. But, god, how he's wanted to get it out of his system. He's rehearsed in the lab, his house, Jitters. It wasn't the gender of his romantic interests he was afraid of sharing, but who those romantic interests were.
Yes, Barry loves him. Harrison doesn't only fill that empty space inside him, he swallows him whole. He takes his hurt and his trust and tells him it'll be okay. He steals the air from his lungs and tells him to breathe. He drains the blood from his veins and promises he'll take care of him. Yes, Barry wants to be controlled.
But what will Joe say if he knows his adopted son is an insecure neurotic that occasionally fucks with a man who is both twice his age and a possible suspect in his mother's murder?
"This is best for Wells too, Barry."
How could you know that, he wants to scream. How could you know him the way I do?
Barry can't bring himself to spit a word.
Stay, he pleads, don't leave now.
The first time Barry gets in Harrison's head, it's not just the thick walls of the pipeline cavity that separates the two. The air enveloping them is soaked with a heavy tension that sticks to the hairs on their skin. It gathers down at their feet and spills out from their mouths, toxic like poison.
Incorrigible, despite how much he knows Barry wants to deny it.
He's angry when he walks in. Hurling accusation after accusation, a curse, a question, then another accusation. Closure is what Barry wants, Harrison notes.
So the next thing the impostor says is: "The only regret I have is not being able to shove my fist through your heart the second I first saw you."
This is what causes him to storm out the pipeline. It's slow compared to how fast he normally runs. Wells knows Barry can run from almost anything, but it's the hesitation, he realizes, that's pulling him back.
He'll always have his body and soul.
Eyes spot the shimmering dime-sized puddles speckling the floor below him just where Barry was standing moments ago. Harrison reaches for them, slowly but surely, only for the pads of his fingers to hit the cold glass of his cage.
How much he would've given to put that man six feet under fourteen years ago.
No, he doesn't take back what he did.
But he's sorry for how this had to end.
He whispers to the tears, "Run, Barry, run."