Barry didn't believe in violence unless there was no other option—partially because, up until a couple weeks ago, he didn't know how to throw a punch. His trainer from the Wildcat Gym was teaching him more than basic self-defense, which Barry had been thriving off of since his first lesson, even though the last thing he wanted was to punch someone's teeth in one day.

Especially when, today, he couldn't stop picturing Harrison's face.

"Watch your form, Barry," Laurel said, holding the punching bag tightly as he pummeled it. "Good. Much better. I think this is the first day I haven't had to tell you to go harder."

Barry huffed, half out of breath and half in laughter. "Yeah, I…have a lot of pent up energy today."

"Use it," she said, smiling supportively, her blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, face sheened with sweat like his. She was the type of girl who cleaned up like a dream but had biceps bigger than Barry's. If he liked women, he would have had a serious crush on her. "Nice. Stop there. Let's do a few more defense moves before we call it a day."

Barry had been seeing Laurel three to five times a week, usually in the mornings before work. His previous experience in Central City meant he recalled the basics quickly enough, so she'd asked if he wanted to include additional training. Barry was glad he'd accepted. The workout cleared his mind before heading to the office, and successfully learning or completing a new move made him feel like he could take on anything.

Maybe even his ex, who'd risen like a zombie from the grave with his recent messages—plural.

The updates Barry had been making to his wardrobe meant he had been using old T-shirts for workout clothes, today being his favorite Spider-Man shirt and a pair of sweats. The gym itself wasn't anything too large, more for personal training like he was doing or sparring of various fighting styles. Barry liked watching the kick-boxing matches most.

He and Laurel had a corner of the gym all to themselves. Moving to the center of their mat, he stood normally rather than in a fighting stance.

"Most attacks won't come when you expect them," had been Laurel's first lesson.

She came at him from the front and Barry deflected. Came from the side, and he twisted her to the floor. Came from behind, and he flipped her over his shoulder. All these moves were practiced now and simple enough to execute, because he knew what was coming.

"A couple more from each side," she said, but as Barry readied himself, trying to gauge which side she'd attack from next, she didn't make the move he anticipated but went straight for his left arm.

Barry seized up when her hands took hold of him, tensing all over, breath coming short, as he tried to remember how to counter being grabbed this way but he couldn't think—and then he was on his ass.

His bruises were minor compared to what his ego just suffered.

"What do I keep saying, Barry?" Laurel said as she hefted him back to his feet.

"I know. I have to be able to counter even when you don't warn me."

The owner of the gym had encouraged Barry to be honest about his reasoning for training when he was assigned to Laurel, and Barry had admitted much more than he expected to the kind woman who lent an ear as easily as she knocked him around the mats. Barry's main goal was to overcome the sensitivity associated with his left arm, not just to defend himself in a big city. When they'd first started sparring, she always warned him before attacking that part of him, but not anymore.

"You'll get there. Being vigilant for something that catches you off guard isn't easy."

Barry nodded, thinking of what his mother used to say. "Meet every surprise in life like you had a plan all along."

"Sound advice," Laurel gently took his arm and squeezed reassuringly, part of the training, to always give positive attention after he'd been thrown into panic mode.

"Too bad I suck at following it," Barry said.

"You're one of my fastest improving students, Barry. Don't be so hard on yourself. I see a lot of abuse victims who want to push past their trauma. It can take months to be where you want to be. You've improved incredibly after only a couple weeks."

"I'm not really an abuse victim," Barry shifted his gaze to the floor. "It was only one time, one injury—"

"Barry, trauma isn't measured by quantity," Laurel said firmly, drawing his eyes back to hers. "And abuse can be more than an injury. Your experience is no less valid than anyone else's. That's why you're here, right?"

"Right."

"Then let's go again." She squeezed his arm once more before releasing it.

The chime of Barry's cell phone against the wall drew his attention. He hated being that guy, but tonight was the fundraiser and he kept waiting for something to go wrong. "One sec," he said in apology and dashed over to check his messages.

It was another email—from Harrison.

Please, Barry. Just one phone call.

Deleting the message like the others, Barry took Laurel's advice and channeled his anxiety into something he could use. He ended up on his ass again after rejoining her on the mat, but he wasn't deterred.

"Again."

Len didn't always have expensive taste, sometimes all he wanted was a burger and a chocolate shake like everybody else, but today he was taking Mick out for something lavish.

"Thought I owed you next meal," Mick said as they waited for their table. This place had the best steak in Star City, and since Len didn't want to eat much before the fundraiser tonight, he needed a hearty lunch.

"You do, but today I feel like celebrating." Taking out his cell phone, he showed Mick his most recent text thread from Lisa.

Balloons and confetti emojis accompanied the message: Dad didn't make parole.

"I'll drink to that," Mick snorted. "Fuck your old man. What was he in for again?"

"Trying to fence stolen goods—to an undercover detective."

"Shit. Not even a good thief, huh?"

"Not a good anything."

Len had left Central City before his father went to jail, but he'd happily declined being a character witness when the request came through.

His father staying behind bars wasn't the only reason he had to celebrate though. It had been a few days since he'd last seen Barry, and he hadn't shown off his suit for the event yet. Besides being muted to complement Barry's burgundy look, Len was shooting for jaw-dropping again.

"What's that you said back to Lisa?" Mick asked before Len could put his phone away. They weren't surrounded by many other patrons, only a few on the benches in the entryway while they stood off to the side, enjoying the dark intimacy of the place even with the noon sun glaring down outside.

"Just that if she grabs a drink tonight, she could try a place called Impulse."

"How do you know bars in Central anymore?" Mick asked in surprise.

"It's Scarlet's sister's," Len said as If that should be of no consequence. "If she's as talented in her profession as he is in his, Lisa will thank me for the recommendation."

Mick eyed him as if there was something left unsaid—which there wasn't. Not that he'd admitted to himself yet anyway. "You still playin' vanilla with this kid?"

"I am a slave to my client's wishes, Mick," Len gave a mocking bow.

"He not interested in that sorta thing?"

"He's interested, just…damaged." And far too good a man to be as damaged as he was. "Looking for something he can't get elsewhere, that's all."

A smirk played at Mick's lips. "It's like you got yerself a housewife you go home to while you see yer mistresses on the side."

"Don't call him a housewife," Len frowned. "And the difference is, he knows about my mistresses and doesn't care."

"Some married couples are like that," Mick shrugged.

"You got a client with that arrangement?" Len said, then recalled an earlier conversation. "Oh right, Frost, wasn't it?" Named for being an ice queen in conversation, not frigid between the sheets.

"Nah," Mick shoved his hands into his pockets and glanced away, "I was wrong about her. Thought she was two-timin' her husband, but turns out he's not in the picture anymore."

"Divorcee?"

"Widow."

Len took pause at that. Mick's voice rarely dropped to such a gentle timber. "Sounds more personal than you like to get. Something I'm missing?"

"She's a good client," Mick snapped with a sharp turn of his head, "whadda ya pushin' for?"

Mick liked her. That was new. "Karma is a funny thing, my friend," Len snickered.

"The hell's that supposed to mean?"

Len's name being called for them to be taken to their table saved him from having to explain. "Nothing. Come on, Mick. Let me buy you a beer."

The way this day was going so far, Len had nothing but optimism for the evening ahead.

Barry kept telling himself that it would not be preferable to spontaneously combust, but between Harrison stalking him and the imminent fundraiser, he was certain something would implode.

He'd showered after his training that morning, but he'd still had the urge to be cleaner after work before he changed into his suit. Running later than intended, he figured his hair would refuse to cooperate anyway so why did it matter?

His phone chimed, catching his attention from the bathroom. Barry hurried out to check it still wearing only a towel and wondered briefly if anyone could see him through his windows. There was an email from Len sent a few minutes ago, saying he was on his way, but the newest message was Harry again.

I'm so proud of you, Barry. I want to know how you're doing in Star City. Please answer me.

Barry had been trying so hard to stay strong, but he could only take so much whittling at his resolve. Sinking down at the desk, he held his phone tightly in both hands while staring at his closed laptop. He'd barely opened it the past few days, as if it mattered whether he saw these messages there instead of on his phone.

He had to get up and finish getting ready before Len arrived, but for all his bolstering and forced bluster, he felt nailed to the spot.

Would it be so terrible if he answered, even if just to tell Harrison to leave him alone?

The phone ringing nearly toppled Barry out of the chair.

"Cisco?" he answered.

"Hey, Barr, it's me."

"Eddie."

Iris had probably told him to call. She and Cisco were more the psychic ones when it came to his wellbeing, not that Eddie hadn't been there for Barry on numerous occasions. He'd just known Eddie a shorter timeframe, and Eddie was far less invasive than the other two.

"I've been trying to stay calm but I am freaking out right now," Barry said. "I don't know what to do, Eddie. What should I do?"

"Calm down, Barry. What's going on?"

"You know what's going on. You can't tell me Iris hasn't filled you in."

There was a pause before Eddie came back guiltily, "Okay, she has, but I thought maybe you'd want to start over like I didn't already know."

"Not really."

Eddie took a breath. "Harry's being a dick."

"He's messaged me ten times in two days," Barry sagged into the chair. "How did he get my new email address? I changed everything. Got a new number. Even moved to a new city. Why does he have to do this now?"

"To get exactly this reaction, Barr," Eddie said with endless understanding and patience, "because everyone knows how well you're doing without him. I just wish you had someone there with you."

A knock at the door startled Barry even more than his ringing phone had, succeeding in upsetting him from the chair, though he managed to stumble to his feet. "Um, just a sec!" he called. It had to be Len.

"Who's that?" Eddie asked, as Barry stood frozen with indecision between hanging up the call, going to the door, and heading to his bedroom to put on clothes. "Wait, do you have someone? Iris didn't mention anything—"

"Iris doesn't know."

A pregnant pause replied before Eddie said, "Oh, Barr, don't tell me that."

"It's nothing bad," Barry said, keeping his voice low, still immobile in the middle of his apartment, "it's…an escort I pay to spend time with me, which was sort of Iris's idea in the first place, but don't tell her I hired him and have been spending almost every night with him."

This time the pause on the other end lasted a good ten seconds before Eddie answered, "You remember I have no ability to lie to my wife, right? I crumble, Barr, humiliatingly. I'm almost as bad of a liar as you."

That would have been a jab if it wasn't true.

"You're sleeping with a prostitute?" Eddie hissed.

"He's not a prostitute," Barry defended, then had to admit, "I mean, he is technically, but I'm not sleeping with him. We just have dinner and talk and cuddle on the sofa. It's…totally pathetic, please don't tell Iris."

"Barry? Is everything okay?" Len's voice called through the apartment door.

"Just one more second!" Barry called back before lowering his voice again. "Eddie, I need him right now. He makes things easier, all this mess with Harry, I...I feel like I can handle it when he's around, but if Iris knows, she'll want to talk about it, and I just can't do that right now."

"Cisco doesn't know either?" Eddie asked.

"Not yet. Just please? Tell her I have friends who are helping and I'm trying to stay calm. I won't let Harry get to me. I won't answer his emails. I'll be fine."

"Okay, Barr," Eddie said with some reluctance, "but I'm calling again tomorrow after this fundraiser thing to make sure you're doing better, got it?"

"Thanks, Eddie," Barry sighed in relief, finally starting to trudge toward the door. "I gotta go."

"Love you, pal. Never forget that."

"Love you too."

Barry hung up just as he yanked the door open, not really remembering he was practically naked and not wearing his glasses until he saw the way Len's eyes raked down his body.

"Sorry!" he huffed in a fluster of shortened breath, taken just as off guard by Len's appearance because his suit was simple and sharp but all black—jacket, slacks, shirt, and tie—and he was wearing black-framed glasses as if he'd stolen them right out of Barry's bathroom.

"You're wearing glasses," Barry gaped at him.

Len hardly thought his appearance was the focal point right now. "You're wearing a towel," he pointed out.

Instantly, Barry became more self-conscious, despite having seen each other in their underwear for weeks. "Right! Sorry. I...uhh..." He started to back up, abandoning his open doorway.

Something was wrong. Taking the initiative to enter and close the door behind him, Len took stock of Barry's appearance more carefully and noticed the phone clutched in his hand. "What happened?"

"Nothing." Barry's eyes darted to the phone before he brought it to his chest like hiding a piece of evidence. "My brother-in-law. It's fine. I just—"

"Barry—"

"I'm sorry I'm not dressed yet—"

"We have plenty of time for you to get dressed. What's wrong?"

A deep breath left Barry and he shook his head, not to deny Len an answer but as if he needed to shrug off the automatic response to keep his troubles to himself. Bringing his phone up, he started furiously swiping through screens, which confused Len at first until Barry suddenly thrust the phone at him.

Gently accepting it, Len looked down to discover Barry's email inbox staring at him, which was currently filled with message after message from the same man—Harrison Wells. The nature of the emails made it obvious who he was.

"This is him?" Len asked anyway.

Barry nodded, a tall, lanky bundle of tension with distress all over his face. "He got my new email somehow. He won't leave me alone. It's just so…I-I c-can't…"

Len projected his movements as best he could when he moved forward so Barry had all the time in the world to slink away, but when the kid didn't so much as flinch, Len hooked an arm around his shoulders and pulled him close.

"What did he do to you?" he asked what he'd been holding back for weeks.

Barry choked on the tears he'd been trying to keep down and sank eagerly against him. "He's in my head," he said in answer, "and I can't stand it. I keep having to tell myself not to respond to him, when I know even thinking about that is insane."

It had taken Len years to get past the same thing with his father, past not being able to help loving someone but still knowing they're toxic. "Come here," he said, pulling Barry to the sofa to sit him down. After placing the cell phone on the coffee table, Len hugged Barry to his side, head tucked in the crook of his shoulder, because he knew how much easier it was to talk about these things without having to look at someone. "You can tell me if you want. Only if you want."

Another breath shuddered out of Barry to stifle his tears as he sat at Len's side with damp hair and a towel around his waist. "I feel so weak acting like this. I've been better. I've felt so much stronger. I hate that he can still do this to me."

"You are strong," Len said. "He doesn't have power over you, Barry, other than what you give him."

"I know. But he did have power over me. For a long time."

Slowly, as Barry eased into describing the relationship that led up to the night he left his ex for good, Len pictured it all unfolding like a vivid movie in his mind, with Harrison unfairly taking on the visage of Len's father.

Cutting words to bring Barry down, but not blatant, more underhanded and passive, which made them dig so much deeper for their subtlety.

Kind words and touches only when it suited him.

An easily ignited temper, while being just as quick to apologize and make promises he never followed through on.

Making Barry feel worthless while he took the kid's research for his own.

Knowing how and when to give Barry a night all about him so he felt wanted and stirred to passion.

Then night after night without tenderness, taking until he was satisfied.

It's no wonder Len's mother had left a similar man, but Len pushed those thoughts aside, because this wasn't about him. He was here for Barry, and he wanted to be everything Barry needed him to be in ways his father had always told him he failed at.

You're not good enough.

You'll never be good enough.

Barry heard the same mantra, and it infuriated Len to be on the outside looking in.

"He'd never been violent before," Barry said, softer now, but speaking freely, "just broke me down, little by little, years of being only good enough for him to keep me. Then after he'd get upset and lash out and needed to apologize, suddenly I was the best thing that ever happened to him.

"I'd been saving up the energy to give him an ultimatum for weeks. He'd gotten home late and was all over me. I said I wasn't interested, that I wanted to talk, but he kept pushing, kept trying to touch me and shut down the conversation, so I said if he wouldn't stop and listen then I was leaving.

"He…g-grabbed my arm to keep me against the wall, said I couldn't just leave. I told him I couldn't do this anymore, but the more I struggled, the more things escalated—him yelling and squeezing my arm, me begging him to listen and let me go. He shook me and twisted my arm like he didn't care how much he was hurting me.

"I finally wrenched out of his grip, pulling so hard, I tripped and dislocated my elbow because he wouldn't let go. My forearm hurt worse though. Stress fracture, I just didn't know it yet.

"He changed like a switch being flipped. All of a sudden, he was so sorry, swearing he'd make it up to me, that he'd make everything up to me, like he always said, like he always lied. I don't remember grabbing anything or leaving the apartment. It was a haze until I got to my sister's.

"Harry tried for weeks after that to talk to me, but Iris is pretty protective, and every time I wanted to cave, she asked if I really wanted to go back to him. I didn't. I haven't seen him since. He wasn't my direct boss, so he couldn't fire me. I worked from home until I left Star Labs.

"It had finally stopped," Barry said with more force, for once betraying anger more than grief or fear. "Then I moved and thought I could put all this behind me. Now he's back, and I c-can't…" But even anger could dissolve into tears, and Barry sniffled as he pressed his face to Len's side. "I'm sorry. You smell so good, and I'm crying all over your suit."

Len chuckled fondly, forever caught off guard by how sweet this boy could be. "I'm fine, Barry. And you will be too. Do you want to skip tonight?"

"I can't."

"Then how about we take our time getting you relaxed and ready, and at worst, we'll be fashionably late?" Reaching with the hand not secured around Barry's waist, he tentatively slipped his fingers up Barry's forearm—the left arm he favored, which was obviously the one Harrison had hurt. It had to be a sign of Barry's trust in Len that he snuggled closer rather than withdrawing. "Would you like me to help you relax?"

"I-I don't…" Barry went promptly rigid.

"I mean a massage, Barry."

"Oh. That…that could be nice. Sorry."

"You don't need to apologize. Here. Face the window. It's a nice night."

Helping Barry sit up, Len guided him to turn toward the cityscape, giving him the chance to reign in his tears before they faced each other again. Maybe he was projecting, but he knew how maddening it could be to have someone see you cry.

The tension in Barry's shoulders was criminal. Harrison Wells had done a number on him, in the past and in the past few days, using only a handful of emails to crumble the pieces of Barry's self-worth that he had fit back together while rebuilding his life. The least Len could offer was the firm press of his fingers into Barry's taut muscles—since he couldn't drive to Central City and punch Harrison in the jaw. Not tonight anyway.

The impromptu massage was made all the easier by Barry already being naked from the waist up. He was the one who smelled divine, like fresh mint from his shower.

"You are a remarkable man, Barry," Len said, circling his thumbs deeply along Barry's shoulder blades and spider-walking fingers up his neck. Every so often, the most delicious whimper would leave him. "Selfless, intelligent, beautiful. And so brave."

"Brave?" Barry said skeptically, then gasped when Len found a stubborn knot.

"You came to a new city," Len said, keeping his voice low to be more soothing, "dropped yourself in the middle of the unknown with a whole new career and strangers all around you. That is brave. You're also brave for leaving something that had gotten very good at drawing you back in."

Both hands firmly gripped the top of Barry's shoulders and squeezed, then worked down his arms. Len could see Barry in the reflection of the window in front of them, dim and indistinct, gaze unfocused even as he stared out at the city, but as young and fragile as he looked, there was something powerful in the rawness of him laid bare without his glasses.

"Sometimes…I feel like I ran away," Barry said.

Len had run once too, and he was happier for it. "Sometimes running is the brave thing, Barry."

There, at last, the stiffness in Barry's shoulders began to dissipate. They drooped, his neck lolling comfortably as he relished in Len's careful caresses. It was when he shifted how he was sitting to give Len better access down his spine that the towel loosened at his hip, falling open to reveal a pale peek of naked thigh.

If this was any other client, Len would have taken advantage of the opportune moment, but Barry wasn't any other client.

"Better get dressed now, Barry," he said, smoothing his hands up Barry's back and patting gently at his shoulders. "Your towel's come undone."

"What?" Barry glanced down, half dozing until he saw the exposed stretch of skin. "I'm sorry!" He twisted around to face Len rather than grab the edges, which caused the towel to slip further free, revealing the entirety of his thigh before he clambered to hold the cloth in place. Looking at Len with wide, clear eyes, regardless of the tears he'd shed, their faces were left dangerously close after all that scrambling.

Len's hands had fallen from Barry's skin, but he reached now to hold the boy's cheek and stroke his thumb along the skin like he had their first night together. Scarlet colored Barry's skin.

"I sh-should…get ready."

"Mmm."

"Thank you," Barry said, placing his own hand over Len's, "for listening. I won't let him ruin tonight. You worked so hard to make sure I'll look like a grownup."

Laughter sputtered from Len's lips before he could stop it, and Barry soon tumbled into laughter with him. Both their hands dropped, and after grabbing onto his towel to keep it closed, Barry stood.

"I'll be quick. Fashionably late."

"I'll be waiting," Len said.

It was quick, considering the brief sound of a blow-drier and the faint swearing at unruly hair, before Barry returned in his burgundy suit. Clean-shaven, stylish gold glasses in place, he was the picture of youthful decadence, while being entirely wholesome deep down—just what Len had been going for to keep everyone at the fundraiser enamored.

"Are those real?" Barry asked, as if he'd forgotten he meant to inquire about Len's glasses the moment he arrived.

"I normally wear contacts, but yes. Not a fan?" Len adjusted them primly.

"They're wonderful," Barry gushed, restored and alive with energy. "You look really good in them."

Jaw-drop accomplished once again. "I thought I'd complement you better this way as part of your…payroll."

"My publicist, you mean?"

"Exactly. Shall we?" Len offered his arm, which Barry took with a playful giggle. "Let's knock 'em dead, Scarlet."

"Scarlet?"

Shit. Len hadn't meant to say that. He'd never tripped up and called a client by their codename or vice versa, unless he was talking with Sara over private channels. "I…um…"

"I like it!" Barry said, after his expression had gone from inquisitive to understanding to lighting up with delight. "It's not wrong. Especially not right now," he nodded at his scarlet suit.

Len never should have worried. This kid had started by surprising him and continued to do so again and again. "You'll feel on top of the world tonight, Barry," Len said as he led him to the door, "I promise."

The fundraiser was at Star City Gardens, the type of venue people booked for their weddings. Barry was in awe the moment they stepped inside, easily ushered in since he was a premiere guest on the list.

The building itself was a several stories tall glass dome, like a greenhouse, filled with flowers and trees, and currently lined with tables around a wide open space for mingling by cocktail and snack bars in the center.

The event itself was to raise money for a charity close to Palmer Tech's heart, the Society for Cancer Cell Gene Therapy. Ray raised money for all sorts of similar charities since that was his nanotechnology's focus. He'd steered his company that direction after his wife only just barely survived cancer herself.

"Barry!" Ray practically pounced on them at the door. "Meet my wife, Anna. And who's this?" He turned immediately to take Len's hand, who naturally didn't fumble for a moment.

"Len Wynters, Barry's publicist. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Palmer."

"Please, call me Ray."

Barry was too flabbergasted by Ray's whirlwind to shake Anna's hand properly, though he offered a weak smile when he realized how flustered he was acting. "S-Sorry, I—"

"So nice to meet you, Barry," she saved him from a stuttering excuse. "Don't mind Ray. He catches everyone off guard like that. Champagne?" she nodded at a passing waiter, who paused long enough for them to each claim a glass.

Barry was thankful for alcohol in that moment. For as beautiful and large as the gardens were, the place was packed with hundreds of people, leaving barely any room to breathe every direction he looked. He wasn't used to being surrounded, no matter how fancy or vibrant the mob.

"I didn't realize you had a publicist, Barry," Ray said, not suspicious, just inquisitive.

"I'm not good at this sort of thing by myself," Barry admitted; Len's lie was easy to maintain because most of what they told people would be the truth. "Everything will get so much more public and busy soon. I figured I needed the help."

"Smart thinking," Ray nodded. "Enjoy the party, Len. And Barry, just mingle and relax for now. I'll find you when it's a good time to spirit away our good friend Ms. Smoak." He winked before disappearing into the crowd, pulling his wife along beside him.

Barry took a healthy gulp from his champagne.

"Now let's see…" Len scanned the room like an apex predator looking for a thrill. "There are at least five people in my sightline that you'd benefit from meeting. Don't worry about a thing, Barry. I'll do all the introductions. You just have to smile and follow my lead. Ready?"

It was like the first day of school, the first day on a new job, a blind date, and being at the wrong end of a shooting gallery all at the same time. But Len's confidence and comforting grip on Barry's elbow pushed down some of the warring nerves in his stomach and made him feel like he could do this.

If he made a fool of himself, at least Len was there to sweep up the carnage.

"Ready."

Len didn't personally know any of the people they met, but he knew who they were by reputation, what circles they ran in, and where Barry's work might be of interest. He insinuated himself so smoothly, drawing Barry forward to introduce him and picking up on sentences Barry dropped due to nervousness as if their playing off of each other had been planned, overall making Barry feel so at ease that he was soon holding his own just fine.

Len's hand was always there to support him, at his elbow or the small of his back, replacing his champagne with a fresh glass or snagging him an hors d'oeuvre. He was so charming, everyone took to him and gave Barry their attention that much more because of it. No real publicist could have done better at their client's side.

Oliver was there with Felicity, the type of event neither could afford to miss. By the time Barry and Len circled the floor and happened upon the mayor and CEO, Barry was the one hurrying forward to make introductions.

"I thought Barry seemed to be settling in better," Oliver said as he patted Len's arm. "Good to see he hired someone. Would I know any of your other clients?"

"More than likely," Len said, but didn't elaborate.

The evening was a resounding success, especially when Ray timed his ambush to right when Barry was in Felicity's company and they stole her away together, leaving Len to chat with Oliver and Anna. Len hardly seemed put out in the company of the mayor and a woman who Barry had heard was on every non-profit board in the city.

They pitched their idea to Felicity, with Barry apologizing profusely for going around her. He held it together though, since he could back the plan with workable models, enough that even though she gave Ray a look like they were high school glee club rivals and he'd just hit a high note she couldn't ignore, she agreed to a formal meeting the following week.

"You're more opportunistic than I expected, Barry. Good job."

"Uh…thanks!"

Ray insisted on getting Felicity a stronger drink to celebrate, but Barry excused himself to rescue Len—or so he said, even if he actually just missed the man's company. It wasn't as daunting making his way through the throng as it might have been when they first arrived. A few people smiled who Barry had already met, and some new people stopped him to introduce themselves but were quick to let him move on.

Oliver and Anna were being pulled different directions when Barry spotted Len, which seemed to spotlight him in the aftermath of their departure, making it that much easier for Barry to take in how handsome he looked. The evening really was like a dream, exciting and fun and perfect.

Until Barry saw Harrison over Len's shoulder, watching them from afar.

Terror spiked through his veins like a shot of adrenaline, halting his breath and forward momentum instantly.

But it wasn't Harrison. It was just a man about his same age and height and coloring, who happened to be looking Barry's direction. So much for sloughing off the man's presence. He could be banished though and one day forgotten, Barry believed that, especially when Len turned and their eyes met across the room.

"You okay?" he asked when Barry reached him.

"Fine. The pitch went great, I'm just losing my mind a little. I noticed someone watching me and thought it was Harrison."

Len peered over his shoulder to see who Barry meant, but instead of coming back with a smirk and a tale about who the man was and how he was another competitor of Palmer and Smoak hoping to steal Barry away, his expression went cold. "He's not looking at you, Barry."

"A client?" Barry whispered in dismay.

"Former, or I'd have kept that information to myself, but this one I don't trust. I better head this off. Will you be alright?" Len turned to Barry fully to cater to him first, even though he was clearly the troubled one this time.

A minute ago, Barry would have believed he would be fine, but after seeing a ghost from his past who turned out to be a ghost from Len's, he wasn't so sure anymore.

"Hey, Barry!" Curtis's voice cut through the din.

Whirling around, Barry saw the tall, dark man approaching with a slighter, smiling man beside him.

"I can finally introduce you to Paul," he brought his husband forward. "See, not a figment of my imagination. He really is this handsome," Curtis beamed.

Barry had to laugh as he took Paul's hand. "Hi! And here I was certain Curtis was exaggerating. Nice to meet you, Paul." The tension eased with Curtis and Paul's arrival, though the touch of Len's hand at Barry's hip helped even more.

"Sorry to slip away, gentlemen," Len nodded to the pair. "Barry, I'll be right back. Then you can introduce me to your friends. Okay?"

"O-Okay," Barry said, but even though he mourned the loss of Len, he was more worried for him.

Merlin stood beside an imported and impressive palm tree that had been cleverly hiding him from most people's view while he watched Len. He was a stock trader by day, nothing out of the ordinary, nothing shady, or at least not any shadier than several other businessmen here. He was attractive, all things considered—dark hair, expensive suit, sly smirk. He waited for Len with that smirk in place while sipping on champagne.

Of all the potential clients, past or present, who might have showed up tonight, Merlin was the only one Len considered trouble.

"The new blood's cute, Leonard. A little young though, don't you think?"

"Hardly the youngest on my calendar," Len said. The Godfather was twenty-two, and Piper wasn't much older than Barry.

Insinuating himself beside Merlin to keep the conversation private, with a wall at their backs and the large palm beside them, Len and his undesirable companion had one of the better views in the room.

"I hope your lawyer is in attendance," he added as he watched the crowd.

Merlin chuckled, hardly an easy man to intimidate. About Len's same height and a few years older, he exuded confidence in everything he did. "Calm down, Leonard, I'm not here to make a scene. I was invited."

"I'm sure you were."

"I'm hurt, of course, that you decided to end our time together. You were…exceptional," he cast a telling gaze down Len's body. "But I understand. What I don't understand is why you thought it necessary to black ball me from the entire agency."

Len reveled a little in the bitterness in the man's tone. "I don't know what you mean," he said, taking a drink from his own recently replaced glass.

"Everyone I attempt to book is 'unavailable'," Merlin sneered. "I know when I'm being given the runaround. I've been flagged."

"There are plenty of other agencies in Star City," Len dismissed. "Pester one of them."

"I prefer yours."

"Pity then," Len looked at him sharply. "We're rather full up these days."

The laughter from Merlin was menacing now, amazed at Len's daring. "You think you're so untouchable because I signed a contract? Whispers are hard to prove, but can be so damaging." He looked out at the crowd once more, focusing none too subtly on Barry. "Especially when someone is young and uninitiated in these shark-infested waters."

"You don't want to play that game, Malcolm," Len used the man's real name with venom in his tone. "That man is poised to be a far more powerful player than you could ever be, with very powerful friends."

Merlin stood unmoved by the returned threat. "It's still early. Who knows what could make someone like that topple. But it's adorable how protective you are," he grinned and leaned in close to Len with an intimate air. "Do you fancy this a date, Leonard? How sweet. But at the end of the night, you're still a whore. You might forget that, but he won't."

Len didn't get hung up on that word. He knew what most people thought, no matter how comfortable he was in his own skin. He didn't care what other people thought of him. But as he glanced across the room to find Barry in the crowd, he knew there was one man's opinion he'd started to care about more than he should.

"Don't worry, I'll leave the boy alone," Merlin said, downing the last of his champagne. "He doesn't have to worry about me. Have a nice night now."

The words lingered after Merlin had walked away like smoke thick enough to choke on.

Len moved back toward Barry eventually but at a slow pace to gather his walls around him and not make it too obvious how much Merlin had shaken him. He must have failed though, because Barry immediately leaned over and whispered, "Are you okay?"

"Not a nice man," Len whispered back, "but harmless. Forget him. I want you to enjoy tonight." He hoped he was right about Merlin, but now wasn't the time to worry.

Barry, for his part, nodded to appease Len but still betrayed a shadow of concern.

"So…" the taller of the couple Barry had been chatting with smiled congenially. "Barry's publicist?"

The rest of the evening continued as if there hadn't been a single hiccup. Len didn't spot Merlin in the crowd again, but he itched to whisk Barry away, fearing now more than ever that enemies might be waiting in the wings.

There was more champagne and cocktails and food. Barry donated a respectable amount to the cause. They stuck close to the Holts from then on, Curtis and Paul, which was just as well because Curtis and Barry clearly made a good match for friends. Eventually, when things started to wind down, Len and Barry snuck outside to find a cab without making a big deal over their departure.

Barry rested his head against Len's shoulder during the ride back to his apartment. There was a toll that had been taken on them. Len thrived off of being the center of attention, but for Barry it was draining. And both of them had been drained by sinister men and their schemes.

It was a relief to shed their eye glasses and their suits, to crawl into bed and snuggle close like they were a normal, real couple. It wasn't real. It wasn't a date—it was Len's job. But it plagued him how much he wished that could be different.

"Thank for you tonight," Barry said, though he'd thanked Len plenty already.

"My pleasure, Barry. Any time."

"How long can you stay tomorrow?"

"How long do you want me?"

The pause made Len wonder what Barry truly wanted to say. "We can get breakfast? Then I should do some work before lunch."

"Whatever you need."

Len had taken Barry on as a client to help them both with their needs, but what he wanted now was getting harder to deny.

Barry woke the next morning sluggish but content to find a familiar face in his bed and strong arms wrapped around him. When Len blinked awake as well, blue eyes hypnotic and so kind, Barry recalled the question from last night.

"How long do you want me?"

It wounded him that he could never tell Len the truth.

TBC...