Whit studied the picture on the smartphone. Sid's cute little face smiled proudly over a banana split, and a friendly-looking black woman sat next to him at the wooden dining table. She felt her shoulders relax a bit.
"If you want, we can let you call him? There's no cellphone signal inside the cell, so we'd have to hook up the audio through the speakers…" explained the guy with long hair. He said his name was Cisco, and he talked a lot, like he was really excited about everything.
"Joe, I mean Detective West, is a foster parent. I mean, he practically raised m...a friend of mine," said the Flash. He still had his mask on, but his smile looked friendly, and he had nice green eyes.
Whit passed the phone back through the slot in the door and wrapped her arms around herself again. She liked how soft the STAR labs sweatshirt was.
"What about the other detective? The one with the … pretty hair?" Whit asked shyly.
"Detective Thawne is fine," said Dr. Snow.
Thawne, that was a nice name. Theresa Thawne would be a fun name to write in cursive. She shook her head and tuned back into the conversation. Now wasn't the time. Dr. Snow was still talking. "...pick him up, and they've already discharged him from the hospital."
"Thankfully, he didn't have to travel far to get help," joked Cisco. "Good thing you attacked him at the hos-" He stopped abruptly when he saw Whit wince at his bluntness.
"Theresa, do you have any allergies?" said Dr. Snow quickly.
"No, and everyone calls me Whit."
"Whit," said Cisco, trying to undo his earlier words. "Do they call you that cuz you're smart?"
"My mom's name was Theresa, so it's easier to just call me Whit."
"Was?" asked Dr. Snow. "Did she pass away?"
Whit nodded.
"How did she die?" the doctor asked without emotion. Cisco nudged her and gave her a look. Snow looked up from her clipboard and clarified, "Is it medically relevant? Like a hereditary condition?"
"No, she was shot in a robbery at our old apartment. It was years ago." Whit hugged herself tighter.
"I'm sorry. I know … I mean, that must have been tough," said the Flash in a soft voice.
"What about Antonia?" asked Whit without looking up. She was scared to hear the answer, but she had to know.
"She's fine, too. She's still in the hospital, but it's nothing life-threatening," said Dr. Snow. Whit relaxed her shoulders a little more. "Can you tell me more about how it felt, right before one of the … incidents?"
Then all the tension was back. Whit hunched her shoulders. She didn't want to talk about this.
"Caitlin, the bloodwork is done," said a male voice, over the intercom.
"I'll be up in a moment, Dr. Wells," said Dr. Snow.
"Want a lift?" asked the Flash.
The doctor nodded, and the two of them disappeared in a flash, blowing Cisco's hair into his face. He spat out the errant strands with resigned body language. It must be a frequent occurrence. Then he looked around and realized they were the only two still there. They stared at each other, neither knowing what to do.
Then Cisco held up his smartphone. "Uh, do you wanna play any games?"
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"Okay, you can put your shoes back on," said Dr. Snow. "Your soles are scuffed up, but you don't need stitches or bandages. I'd like to reapply some ointment later."
"Why did you take your boots off yesterday?" asked Cisco.
"At the crime scene, I saw the CSI-guy, the one who has cute hair that goes straight up." Whit saw the Flash shuffle his feet a bit. "I saw him find my footprints, so I threw my boots away." Whit got off the hospital bed to pick her new shoes up from the floor.
"Pretty smart," said Cisco, nodding in approval, but Whit knew she wasn't smart.
Whit loved her new shoes. They fit perfectly. They were bright and clean, and there was a white stripe around the base of the shoe with no scuff marks on it yet. Dr. Snow had brought her a change of clothes, socks, and these beautiful shoes. She couldn't wait to show them to Sid.
She sat on the floor to tie her laces, then she got back on the hospital bed and let her feet dangle off the edge. Everyone was gathered in the "Cortex," as they called it.
"Are there any medical conditions in your family?" asked Dr. Snow.
"No, not really. We don't have much family. My mom had a sister, but I've never met her."
Dr. Snow switched out the bandage on her forehead. It didn't hurt much.
"The bloodwork confirms that she has the metahuman gene," said Dr. Wells. He was studying one of the computers on the other side of the room. She had seen him on tv a few times. She liked his eyes.
"There's a metahuman gene?" Whit asked. She didn't know much beyond a biology class a few years ago that she had barely passed, but she knew the basics. "So, is my dad a metahuman?"
(Her dad with superpowers. That would be bad.)
"No," explained Caitlin. "The metahuman gene is mitochondrial, so it is strictly matrilineal."
Whit looked at her blankly. "Huh?"
"You got it from your momma," explained Cisco without looking up from his tablet. Then he put the pen he was chewing on back in his mouth.
"To be a metahuman, you have to inherit the metahuman gene, and be exposed to radiation from the Particle Accelerator," explained the Flash. "That's why you're telekinetic."
Whit looked over at Cisco again. "You can move stuff with your mind," he translated.
"Where were you when the Particle Accelerator exploded?" asked Dr. Snow.
That was easy to answer. It was a vivid memory. "I was in the kitchen, getting some milk for Sid to drink. He'd had a nightmare. Then there was a flash of light, and the windows broke, and a lot of containers in the kitchen exploded. I got a lot of cuts from the glass, but Sid was around the corner, so he wasn't hurt as bad."
Dr. Snow nodded. "You were probably exposed to something in the kitchen that activated your metahuman gene. But you weren't able to use your power until some time had passed and you were in a stressful situation."
Dr. Wells steered his wheelchair around the bank of computers and towards Whit. She tried not to stare at his unmoving legs or his pretty eyes. "I think it's time we tested your powers."
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Whit held her hands out in front of her, with her palms pointed at the stacks of cardboard boxes. She felt stupid. Nothing was happening.
Cisco slurped his slushie back on the observation platform, and even that sound was loud in the vast concrete room. Whit cringed as she thought about everyone staring at her.
"Hey," said the Flash softly. He had been up on the platform with Cisco, but now he was standing right next to her. She felt the breeze of his movement a second later as his wake caught up with him. "Don't worry. It takes time to figure out how to control what you can do."
"It's possible your powers are triggered by emotions," said Dr. Snow over the intercom. She was back in the Cortex with Dr. Wells, monitoring the various sensors.
"Why don't you tell us a story, about something emotional?" said the Flash. "Something similar to what happened when you used your powers yesterday."
"Ummm." She tried to think. "Last year, my dad got mad at me. It was my fault. I burned the casserole. He said I was stupid. He shoved me really hard, and I lost my balance, and I put my arm down wrong. It got twisted up, and I broke my wrist. Dad had to take me to the doctor, and he made me tell them that I had been playing somewhere off-limits and that's where I got hurt. So all the doctors and nurses kept lecturing me to do what my dad told me and to not break the rules and to be more careful."
Her throat got tight. The Flash reached over and put his gloved hand on her shoulder. A guy was touching her. Butterflies bubbled deep in her tummy. Suddenly the hand was gone. The Flash looked embarrassed, like he felt bad for making her uncomfortable. She didn't know how to tell him she had liked it.
She looked up at the cardboard boxes. They were still in neat little towers, surrounded by cardboard cutouts of the people at STAR labs. None of them had moved. She was being mocked by cardboard.
Dr. Wells voice suddenly boomed out from the intercom. "It's possible that the trigger isn't emotions, but specific emotions. Maybe sadness isn't a trigger, but something energetic like fear or anger is."
"Yeah, what makes you angry?" asked the Flash from a respectful distance.
"Um, I don't really get angry at anyone. I mean, except for when…" She trailed off.
"When what?" The Flash said encouragingly.
"I never got mad at my dad, until ... " She took a deep breath and swallowed around the knot that was still in her throat. "Until, last night, when he went after Sid."
A fierce fire sparked deep in her heart and traveled down her arms like lightning and exploded out through her hands. The boxes flew across the room and so did the cardboard cutouts. And so did the dolly Cisco had used to position the boxes. And the various scaffolding. There was a moment of still silence while everything flew through the air.
Then everything crashed loudly into the far wall and fell to the ground. The Flash took another step away from her. She felt so scared and ashamed.
From behind her she heard Cisco exclaim, "That was so cool!"
"Cisco, don't…" she heard Caitlin say.
She was dizzy, and her chest felt tight. She fell down to her knees and gasped for air. She was breathing as fast as she could, but she still felt like she was going to faint. She stared down at her violent hands in fear.
Suddenly, the Flash was crouched in front of her. He took his mask off, and she recognized him. He was the CSI from earlier, and he had really cute hair, and it was even cuter all mussed up from the hood. She reached out her hand towards him to touch it. Then she remembered that she had said he was cute before when she was talking about the crime scene. Oh, God, this was so embarrassing. Then she fainted.
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She woke up in the padded blue cell again. Cisco was sitting outside the cell, playing games on his phone.
"Hey, Cisco," she said in a tired voice.
"Hey, you're awake!" He jumped to his feet and went over to a computer screen on the wall. He tapped some icons, and the glass door to the cell hissed open.
"Sorry for putting you back in the cell," he explained, "but until you have a handle on your powers, this is safer for everyone. Let's go talk to Caitlin. She wants to go over your test results."
He escorted her to the elevator, and they went up to the main floor. "What time is it?" Whit asked suddenly while they were in the hallway outside the Cortex.
"Almost 10 o'clock," said Cisco.
She hadn't talked to Sid all day, and it was almost evening and his bedtime. "I need to talk to Sid."
"Okay, sure," said Cisco. He tapped on his phone quickly, and then started a video call with Joe. He passed it over to Whit.
Sid's round little face filled the whole screen. He had chocolate on both corners of his mouth. "Whit! What's up? Joe made lasagna, and Iris made hot chocolate, and we played Parcheesi, and I won like four times!"
"He only won twice," said Joe's deep voice from behind him.
"Good job," Whit said, trying not to get choked up. Sid was okay. He was okay.
"I kept telling them to let me talk to you. I kept asking, but they said you were busy. I'm glad you called me. I like to talk to you." He was prattling. He always prattled when he was energetic and wound up.
Dr. Snow was standing at the door to the Cortex, beckoning for Cisco and Whit to come in.
"When can I go home?" Sid asked.
"Soon," she promised him.
Sid looked annoyed, but he didn't say anything.
Whit swallowed around the knot in her throat. She didn't want Sid to think she was upset. "Well, just keep being good for Joe. I'll see you soon."
Sid looked disappointed that they couldn't talk for longer. "Okay, good night, Whit. I love you."
"Good night, Sid. I love you, too." She winked at him, then ended the call.
Dr. Snow and Cisco were doing a non-verbal argument about something. As soon as they realized she was off the phone, they switched to words.
"She was talking to her brother, Caitlin."
Caitlin turned to Whit. "Sorry, I didn't realize you were on the phone. You can call him back if you want."
"No," said Whit, squaring her shoulders. "Cisco said you have my test results."
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Back at the West residence, Joe put his smartphone away. "Okay, kiddo, time for bed."
Sid stared up at him with a grumpy frown. "No, I want to go home. I want to see Whit."
"You just talked to her. You can see her soon." Joe had raised two kids by himself. He knew better than to cave to the demands of a six-year-old. "Right now, it's time for bed."
"I want to see Whit!"
Joe walked over to the little boy, prepared to carry him upstairs if necessary. "You can see her soon. Come on, bedtime."
Sid stared up at him defiantly, with an expression of anger that would have looked more intimidating if he wasn't a six-year-old with baby cheeks. The detective noticed that the boy was so angry that there were goosebumps forming on his arms.
Joe reached down to pick him up, but before he could touch him, the kitchen ceiling collapsed.