Author's Note: I've gotten a lot of positive PMs and reviews about this story so far. Thank you! This is my first Flash piece and I enjoy the show so much, I hope I do it justice. I also wanted to address some questions. Firstly, Editor-in-Chief Eric Larkin is an actual character at CCPN in the show. Tracy* is also a character from the show as a barista at CC Jitters. I haven't decided on including other characters and plots yet. Secondly, yes, Season 1 is where this story is taking place though I tweaked a few minor details from later seasons to appropriately incorporate them into the story. Hope that clears up any confusion.
"Mr. Larkin, good morning. Iris West, here. Anyways, when you get a chance, please call me back. I actually have some really good column ideas I want to bounce off you."
Over the years, Central City prided itself on its aesthetically intricate skyscrapers and frequently maintained streets. It was picture perfect: rectilinear, sufficient amount of foliage, repetitive, and particularly clean. Yet the morning traffic was horrendous and its citizens refused to drive properly. She figured that, perhaps to the several cars that sped by, she must have appeared invisible to them. It wasn't until the blue sedan nearly clipped her that Iris desperately wanted to walk back inside her apartment complex and call it a day. Nevertheless, the morning had just begun. As the remnants of evening melted away, she simply couldn't risk losing daylight.
Today, Iris was on a mission.
"I'm still in the drafting process so it's nothing major, really. I just thought maybe it would help if I could run a few ideas past you." She closed her eyes for a brief moment and sighed. "I hope that after this column, my first article could possibly be revisited one day. Anyways, I could really use someone to toss some ideas back and forth with. You're probably too busy to spare an hour and twenty-seven minutes—"
Beep.
She looked down at her cell phone screen and huffed, "Shoot."
Iris dialed his number and quickly pressed the phone against her ear. "Hello? Mr. Larkin, I believe my call was disconnected. So, for my first idea, I was thinking of doing an article on—um—"
Her eyes frantically swiveled from left to right, searching for anything remotely interesting in her line of sight. Iris squinted at a woman exiting a car in the distance. "Um, on—on limousines! I could do a basic survey on many people in Central City, who aren't apart of the elitist percentage, had an opportunity to ride in a limo?"
She frowned. "But that'd require a lot of surveying and—uh, you know. Scratch that."
Under a shimmer of sunlight above, there was not a cloud in sight. The cityscape spread in front of her, gray buildings rose from the spaces and wide gaps of green treetops. She sandwiched the cell phone between her right ear and shoulder, idly flipping through her notebook that was retrieved from her satchel. "The line hasn't cut so I—I think I'm still getting your voicemail. Okay. Listen, I'm also thinking of writing about those informercials that are always on channel 28. Maybe I could do a piece about how many viewers are actually tuning into these—"
"Hey, watch where you're going!"
"Sorry!" Iris quickly scurried through the crosswalk. Her nose was stuffed into the book, yet she remained uncaring to the traffic that maneuvered and honked around her. "It's kind of hard to talk here, there's too much background noise."
The few blocks leading up to CC Jitters barely had enough street space for the onslaught of morning traffic and busied pedestrians. She moved along, walking unusually slow at a sedate pace. Rows of towering steel skyscrapers stretched above her, smoke slightly billowed from the subway grate and a mixture of white smog coated the whole area. Iris turned the corner, headed down a tree-lined avenue that consisted of narrow, brick buildings and small patches of lawn that stretched backwards.
"What do you think? At first I thought maybe this was a good idea, right? But now that I'm really thinking about it—it's a bit boring. It—"
Iris stopped, her right hand that carried the cell phone dropped to her side. The path ahead was blocked off with construction detour signage and the low rumble of large excavators trudging across the street. She groaned and slowly turned around, opting for the detour path.
"It sucks."
Reminiscing on her college days, she could have taken European folklore to cover her Sociology requirement. But no, instead she attempted her hand at journalism. As it appeared on the surface, reporters had all the fun.
"Newsflash, Iris?" she grumbled under her breath. "Reporters have none of the fun."
"Run, Barry. I need you to run."
The speed lab's viewing room consisted of one window, though it was currently too high for his taste. Dr. Wells positioned his wheelchair upon the steel ramp, half-heartedly peering out of the window. It had four rectangular panes of thick, leaded glass; the first two windows had been previously warped and cracked from failed tests.
He could feel the cuffs of his white dress shirt digging into his wrists. From the high window beamed sudden flashes of red and yellow light, illuminating the dust and debris that idly swirled in the air. His fingernails stabbed into his thigh, enough pressure in the right spot and he would draw blood—or possibly break his pinky finger.
"Mr. Ramon, I need an update." He pushed away and eased down the ramp, quickly making his way to the computer terminals. "How fast is he going?"
"Well, it appears he's clocking in 150—" Cisco quirked an eyebrow. "Uh, I stand corrected. No. He just reached 200 knots per hour."
She shook her head. "That's not possible."
"Ah, my friend, that's where you're wrong. 'Tis definitely possible." Cisco wagged a finger, motioning for Caitlin to come closer to the computer monitor. She peeked over his shoulder, eyes slowly widening. "We're now clocking 225."
Dr. Wells inched toward the computer, analyzing the data before him. He used to stand an inch or two short of six feet, but nowadays, he had slumped over in his chair to disregard any notion that he once had height. A brilliant mind Dr. Wells was, albeit his knowledge had occasionally expressed itself in the most complex theories and experiments in the world of applied science.
This included the experiment he was currently conducting in the speed lab.
"Dr. Wells, we have to get Barry to slow down. God knows what's going on inside his body," Caitlin reasoned.
"We're all well aware that his cells are in a constant state of flux. Am I missing something?"
"Yes, with this excessive amount of speed in such a short period of time, he could risk experiencing cardiopulmonary failure or a transient ischemic attack."
"If anything, a mini stroke," he corrected. "But that's not likely."
"Dr. Wells, assuming from his form, he seems distracted. We can't—"
"Turn on the intercom." Harrison gently massaged his temple and sighed before he spoke into microphone. "Mr. Allen, while I am extremely eager to determine your full range of abilities, I do caution restraint."
"Guys, he just passed 304 knots."
His pale, slender fingers instantly curled into tight, sweaty fists. Barry swung his hands forward, anticipating that the motion would make him run faster. Thin trails of sweat dripped from his forehead and drenched his sloppy, matted hair. His heart beat rapidly as he sprinted forward, causing a slight tremor in his muscles. A large bolt of yellow struck the ground followed by the sound of low crackles. His red boots squelched with each heavy footfall and perspiration wet through the breastplate of his suit. Another flash of yellow whipped his side, slowly burning into his skin.
"I don't believe it," Cisco whispered. "Do you think he can make it to Mach?"
From his peripheral view, he observed a bright object, something sharp and long tried to lash out at him. His breaths were short and frantic; eyes welled with tears from the excruciating pain he felt as he forced his legs to push harder. The ground blurred beneath his feet and the steady vibration of footsteps echoed into his ears. He felt beads of sweat roll down his chin, but could not garner enough energy to wipe it away.
Barry weaved to the right to jump out of the bolt's way, but the delayed movement was too late. His foot slipped the pavement, forcing his head to bob backwards. Barry snatched fistfuls of air, desperately attempting to keep his balance as he tumbled over. His scream gave way and he collapsed to the ground. He lay, body violently convulsing, whilst small bolts of lightning surged around his befallen frame.
He could hear the whizzing sound of wheels and heavy steps pounding the asphalt as they approached him, but his vision was too blurred to decipher who reached him first. He felt several fingers wrap around his arms as they hoisted him upward.
"Barry, can you hear me? His pupils are dilated. Barry, can you hear me?" Caitlin flickered a small light in his eyes, moving it from left to right. The dazed speedster's eyes slowly rolled to the back of his head as his body began to tremor once more. Caitlin shook her head.
"His vitals are weak."
Barry's head shot up, taking in frantic breaths. "I—I can't breathe! My body is burning! I—I can't—"
"Mr. Allen?" Dr. Wells gently shook the young man's right shoulder. "Barry, you've got to listen to me."
"I—I can't breathe. I can't breathe!"
"We need to stabilize him," Caitlin murmured. "He'll go into shock."
"I'm on it."
"No, Cisco, don't." Harrison held up a hand, studying Barry's blanched face. "You can't just give him any anesthetic in his current condition. His metabolism will burn right through it. Barry, you need to listen to me right now. You need to breathe. Inhale, exhale. Simply breathe, Mr. Allen. Just breathe."
"Come on, we need to bring him to the bed," Cisco instructed. "Let's get him out this suit. Pretty sure all the wires are frayed."
Barry's breath gave a few short, gasps before he let it go, feeling the heavy tension and pressure drain from his body. He inhaled, letting his chest gradually deflate as he exhaled. It took several minutes before his breathing returned to normal and his sickly face flushed with color.
The laboratory's examine room corridor felt stuffy as the air was perfumed with undertones of bleach and ammonia. Above the steel doors were two large, black plastic signs with the S.T.A.R Labs logo. The concrete floor complimented the white, square grids patterned along the polystyrene ceiling. Barry lay in a curtained cubicle, fiddling warily with his fingers. He examined the ceiling, as there was nothing intriguing to look at, and began to count each tile.
His current count was 102.
Cisco scratched his head for a brief moment before snapping his fingers. "I got it! Dizzy spells?"
She rolled her eyes. "He would tell us if he experienced any dizzy spells. We're the doctors, remember?"
"Would you tell us if you had dizzy spells, Barry?" Cisco shouted from behind the curtain.
"Uh, sure."
"Huh, he'd tell us."
"Heart rate, blood pressure, nerve conduction," Caitlin hypothesized. She made a check mark on her paper. "All normal."
Cisco swiped to the right on his tablet. "Brainwave function within standard limits."
Caitlin squinted her eyes at the data before they gradually widened. "Cisco, look at these glucose levels."
"Oh, my God." He gently smacked the tablet against his forehead. "It was so obvious. Right there in front of us."
"Right?"
The silence in S.T.A.R Labs equated to the quiet and coldness of the city morgue. Even the loudest buzzing machines remained eerily silent. The two quickly paced around his bed, checking off symptoms with their clipboards and tablets. Cisco lifted his head from the screen and approached Barry's bed. Barry pushed up the falling hospital gown from slipping over his shoulder. He propped up on both elbows.
"How's it looking?"
"So I did some readings. It seems like the sensors in your suit were kicking back some weird telemetry, kind of like your vitals instantly spiked and then dropped for a few seconds. Everything looks normal now," Cisco explained.
"Although, you did have a slight metabolic failure brought on by acute hypoglycemia," Caitlin vocalized. "Which explains the convulsions."
"You feeling okay? Need to eat? Want a cronut?" Cisco held up the small pastry. "I got them from Jitters. It's a croissant but a donut and so, so, so very good."
"No, actually, I think I've had way too many of those this week," Barry chuckled, swinging his legs off the side of the bed. "But I guess I'm not eating enough, right?"
"Exactly," Cisco garbled in between his bites of food. "We're gonna create a new diet based on your metabolic changes. Caitlin's done a few calculations."
"Really, guys, I've never felt better."
"Yes, as of right now," Caitlin added. She gave a side glance to Cisco. "You would've let the trial go to Mach 1?"
"Hey, hey! He told me to make the course hard," he defended, pointing at Harrison. "Pretty sure I didn't know it would have gone this far. This was supposed to be a training exercise to improve Barry's speed."
"Overall, I'd say it was very impressive, Mr. Allen," Dr. Wells navigated his way through the lab. "Your reaction to stimuli at super-speed continues to improve and if you keep working like you are, you will be ready for the next time the Reverse-Flash comes around."
Barry shrugged his shoulders. "Sure, but let's say he makes an appearance a lot sooner, it's still not enough."
"It will be. For now, we all have worked diligently to map the dispersions of antimatter, x-elements, and even dark matter throughout Central City."
"Right," Cisco added. "Though we have no way of knowing exactly what or—who—was exposed; given our successes so far, we will capture more meta-humans. The Reverse-Flash included. AKA..we're on the right track to getting you up to speed. Literally."
"For now, we get back to work. Mr. Allen, I strongly encourage you to rest."
"Thanks."
Harrison nodded, slowly backing away from the bed and toward the door. Once Dr. Wells was out of sight, Caitlin and Cisco wheeled over a crash cart. She handed Cisco a pair of latex gloves before retrieving her own pair. Barry slowly drew his knees to his chest. "Uh, do I even want to know what's going on here?"
"I wanted to run some more tests. Can you lay on your side?"
He complied with Caitlin's request, slightly flinching due to his sore body. She retrieved a syringe, its long hypodermic needle glimmering under the lights. Caitlin examined his back and wrinkled her nose. "Does this hurt?"
She pressed her index finger on his inflamed skin from the lower, left back. A sharp pain shot up his spine and he bit his bottom lip to prevent from screaming out.
"Yes! It hurts!"
"I thought so. I'm going to inject a small dosage of an anti-inflammatory steroid into your injured muscle."
"That's not necessary. Just give me some time, it'll heal on its own."
"Yes, but in the meantime, you can barely move. This'll ease some of your pain and speed up the process."
"Hey." Cisco held down Barry's side, leaning over him to get a good look at his face. "Try not to move, okay? It's just a tiny pinch."
"Helpful."
"I know."
"You should know that in the world of science, we share information. We don't keep secrets." Barry focused on the wall, centering his attention away from the task at hand. She slowly plunged the needle into his sore spot, Barry squeezed his eyes shut. Caitlin removed the syringe and motioned for Cisco to quickly release him. "All done."
Barry rolled to his side, allowing them to assist him up. He rubbed his lower back, shooting her a confused look. "What do you mean?"
"Nothing."
"Caitlin," he repeated. "What do you mean?"
"You're distracted."
"We all have our off days."
"I suppose." Caitlin turned her back so that she could busy herself with the crash cart. "I, too, was distracted when I first lost Ronnie."
"Our circumstances are very different."
"Hypothetically, yes. But if you continue to lose focus, it'll do more than harm than good on the field."
"I'm doing just fine. I can do this," he assured. "I won't compromise my own nor anyone else's safety."
"I'd hope not." Caitlin turned to face him. "My point being, I know that your wedding ceremony didn't go as you expected—"
"Listen, Caitlin, I appreciate it but I'd—rather not talk about it right now. Really, I'm fine."
"Have you even called?" Cisco chimed in.
"I did. It's too late, I—" He rubbed the nape of his neck and sighed. "I can't marry someone and—and expect them to put their life on the line because of me. The more Patty knows, the more—" Barry waved his hands around, fumbling around with the right explanation. "Dangerous it becomes." He paused, composing himself. "I'll be fine."
"Barry," she comforted. "You—"
An alert buzzed from the bed's table-side. He quickly retrieved his phone, reading over the message. "I'm sorry, guys. I—uh—" He hopped off the bed, side-stepping toward the exit. "I have to go."
"Where do you think you're going?" Caitlin questioned. "We have more tests to run."
"My day job beckons," he called out from the hallway as he sped away. He left behind a large gust of wind to rattle equipment and disperse papers inside of the lab.
Cisco folded his arms across his chest. He glanced at the door, then Caitlin, and back at the door once more.
She quirked an eyebrow at him. "What?"
"So—when do you think he'll realize he didn't take his clothes with him?"
Beyond the glass doors of CC Jitters, soft lights spilled into the dimly lit coffee shop. Glass insets, serving as windows, allowed a view of the sprawling cityscape and main street. The tiny shop was nestled around the corner among huge city skyscrapers and offices. Pedestrians rushed past it on the crowded street, though several customers entered and were instantly heralded by a blast of cold wind from the outside.
The interior of CC Jitters was warm and friendly, decorated with banners of new menu items and colorful furniture. Iris winded her way through the warm bodies to a lonesome, high tabletop. She sat down, swung her satchel around to her front, and pulled out the notebook. Iris briefly nibbled on the end of her pen as she poured over her notes and ideas. Feeling a warm presence from behind, she turned and smiled. "Tracy."
"Iris," the server slowly approached her from the right, drying out a white mug with her dish rag. "Are you ready to order?"
"Oh, uh, sure. I'll take anything you whip up, really. It's going to be a long day of writing."
"You got it."
She redirected her attention to the notebook and slowly exhaled through her nose. Being a journalist meant exploring topics that mattered; creating a bridge with words. How could she possibly could fill another person's mind with a wide array of responses and emotions if she was imprisoned within the entertainment section? She hoped to one day awaken the consciousness of Central City, to build an extension of her innermost self to others. But, alas, her true calling would not be acknowledged until she finished her assignment.
Iris placed her pen down and glanced around the shop. Tea and coffee had been served in brown mugs as servers periodically checked in with their customers at two-seated round tables. The glass-fronted counter displayed a variety of English pastries and cakes at the forefront. During the afternoon rush, CC Jitters turned into a cacophony of incessant chatter and jazz melodies. Each table had been occupied with a huddle of patrons that had unceremoniously raised their voices. Iris set her eyes on the half-filled page of her notebook, as if she were engrossed in a wandering daydream for several passing minutes. If she was going to finish this assignment, it was imperative that she found an exciting narrative to get the column started.
"Our newest latte, The Flash." Tracy placed the drink in front of Iris. It sat in a white china cup, a lightning bolt pattern of milky foam floated atop the pale, brown coffee. Iris gently wrapped her fingers around the mug, allowing the heat to spread through her fingertips. "I kinda think it's a cute idea."
Iris took a small sip and bobbed her head in agreement. Tracy leaned over her table, distractedly wiping down the surface with a battered, orange rag. "So, what's in store for us in your next column?"
"I don't know yet. I'm normally a last minute person. The ideas usually don't flow until an hour or two before deadline." She puffed out her cheeks and blew out through her mouth. "I don't know if I can wing it this time. I had something really good, but clearly that idea is out the window."
"Only when the ideas aren't flowing, huh?"
"Admittedly, I've seen better days." Iris tilted her head to the right. "And so has Jitters. Jeez, it's super busy today. I would've hated to pick up a shift right now, it looks short-staffed."
"Tell me about it. Stacy just quit yesterday."
"No," Iris whispered, head gliding back a bit in disbelief.
"Yes." Tracy shrugged her shoulders. "Up and out the exit. Between you and I, I've witnessed far more treacherous and nefarious exits than that. At least she left in private and not in front of a whole wedding congregation."
Iris sat up straighter, inching in closer to soak in this new tidbit of information. "What are you talking about?"
"Get this, I'm a plus-one for this wedding last week. I don't know, some old coworker. And—" Tracy shook her head dismissively. "Never mind, I'm probably distracting you. Sorry. I know you have a column to write, I'll just go—"
"Oh, come on," Iris groaned, patting the seat next to her. "Don't go. It's not like I have any superb ideas right now."
"Well, there's this one guy you could write about," Tracy began. She looked both ways before pulling up the seat next to Iris. She leaned in, making sure to keep her voice slightly above a whisper. "I heard some people in the row behind me call him 'The Runaway Groom'."
"That's a bit harsh. Why would they call him that?"
"Apparently he likes to dump brides right at the altar." Iris was taken aback by this statement. "Well, only because he's done it twice."
"You're kidding." Tracy made a cross symbol over the right side of chest implying that, indeed, it was not a joke. Iris spread her notebook in front of her, casually flipping to a blank page. She knew this unsavory diatribe against this man was most likely fiction, but it was a starting point. And, perhaps, better content than what was previously pitched. Eric wanted a good entertainment column? She was game.
Iris reached for her pen, scribbling down a few notes. "So, twice, you say?" Tracy nodded. Iris stopped writing and tapped the edge of the pen against her chin. "Something's not adding up. A person doesn't go through with an entire ceremony just to run out. Was he hiding from something—or—or someone?"
"Listen, from what I heard, he's performed the travesty twice. I kid you not, it's so gross. Right at the altar, he turns around and runs like hell." Tracy made a whooshing sound for effect, her left hand zigzagging through the air. "Bolts."
Iris poured over the information of gossip and scandal, hesitantly lapping up every detail. She typically wouldn't stoop to the level of neighborhood gossip, divorces, and wayward teenage antics. But there was something slightly unsettling about a man that could not commit to the day of his wedding. She pondered what secret, if any, were waiting to be disclosed. Indeed, it was heavy content and definitely not Flash-related. Perhaps she could weave in the psychological aspect of "cold feet", include a few interviews with the ex-fiancées, set up predictions on whether he would actually make it down the aisle for the third time—
"Adíos," Tracy interrupted. "This guy plowed down the aisle, almost knocking old ladies out of the way. It was like the running of the bulls at Pamplona. And you wanna know the crazy part?"
"Well?" Iris sighed, resting her head in her right hand. "I give up."
"I bet he has the next victim all lined up. He's probably twirling another body of a hopeful bride on the spit as we speak."
Iris grimaced. "That's—that's not a very good visual, Trace."
"Maybe not," she muttered.
"So—what's this guy's deal? Do you have a first and last name, maybe the ceremony program?"
"Oh, I tossed that thing. Uh, I know his name's Barry something," Tracy scrunched her nose up. "He does some work at CCPD. I know he's not a cop, though. I mean, good luck trying to score an interview, I don't know anyone on the force like that."
The flat-screen television was mounted in the corner of Jitters. Her gaze cast on the news station that was currently playing. It was a breaking news report from a recent robbery on 5th and Montgomery, with law enforcement on the scene.
"But I do."
Her right foot tapped rhythmically up and down, corners of her lips pulled upward into a small grin. Almost without a conscious thought, Iris collected her belongings. Tracy stood up, moving out of the woman's way. "Iris, where are you going?"
"I think I want to pay my dad a little visit at work."
