(WARNING: Shorter Chapter than the last couple ahead. Forgive me. Writer's block is merciless. -Doverstar)

It was very strange to be reading about your family when they came from another Earth.

For one thing, their history was not the one you were used to. The Henry Allen of Earth-66 had, apparently, met his future wife at work—she'd been the hospital secretary here. They had not known each other in college, the way Savitar remembered hearing it—or remembered Barry hearing it—growing up. Instead, this version of his parents had never encountered one another until their days working together as adults, which meant that had the Barry Allen of Earth-66 lived after being born, his parents would have been a few years older than Earth-1's Nora and Henry.

Not only was it strange that their history had changed and morphed to fit an alternate reality, but it was even stranger when you were reading about parents you knew you had never actually had.

So he wasn't sure why he was wasting time reading articles and family-friends' blogs about Doctor Allen and his late wife, sitting in the Cortex aimlessly clicking and scrolling on one of the monitors.

When you didn't have a social life outside of rescuing strangers in disguise, you got curious about one too many things.

Savitar scanned photos of Henry Allen-66. His hair was fuller here, and he looked just a foot shorter than he should have been, but his smile was the same. Eager to help. Half-closed, wise eyes. Somehow, though, he was absolutely nothing like Jay Garrick from Earth-2, less of the muscle and the steely resolve. In fact, upon digging deep into old high school records, Earth-66's Henry had once been blonde, not brunette. Even something as simple as genetics could be altered in a blink when you were dealing in the multiverse.

He decided to go ahead and find what he'd been avoiding since he sat down. Nora Allen death, Central City, March 1989, he typed into the search bar. Barry-66's Birthday, his mother's last day.

Of course, he read the newspaper article he'd seen a glimpse of on Earth-1 with superhuman speed. When he'd finished, Savitar sat back, biting the inside of his cheek. Outwardly he displayed no emotion, but inside him there was a hurricane.

He'd already been through one death when it came to Nora Allen—or he remembered going through it. Both versions—the version with an 11-year-old boy, staring down at the lifeless form that had once been Mom, covered in red and not moving at all. He remembered the version with the Flash, holding her when she'd passed, reassuring her before she left that her family was absolutely going to be okay. He couldn't explain the details during those last few seconds she had—that Henry would be free again. That Barry wouldn't be alone. That there was Joe and Iris, and soon there would be Caitlin and Cisco and Harrison Wells. He remembered finally being able to say goodbye.

This Nora Allen was even less his than the original, than Earth-1's, had been. She had died before knowing any Barry; her son on Earth-66 had died within the same hour she had. So it shouldn't have ached in Savitar to be reading about how short her life had been here, or to think of Earth-66's Henry Allen, somewhere living his life without a family. Somehow, Savitar realized, every Earth Team Flash had yet encountered all had this one thing in common—each version of the Allens was broken. It was never whole, something always got chipped off, someone always went in a different direction.

He shouldn't feel this affected by it. After all, like everything but his speed, they didn't belong to him.

His speed. He always had that.

Savitar had just gripped the arms of his seat, about to push himself up to go for a run, when Caitlin click-click-clicked into the Cortex in her heels, back from her coffee date with Stein. And of course, she was talking before she'd fully entered the room.

"...thing I brought that gas chromatograph before I left," she was saying, looking at her phone as she came in. "Without it, we couldn't analyze the sample from Nimbus." She held up a palm. "Which we will eventually get." Finally, she glanced away from her phone, eyes cutting to him. "What are you looking at?"

Savitar closed the tabs he'd had open with a click so fast, she couldn't have seen it. "You," he answered dryly. "Talking to yourself."

"I wasn't talking to myself, I was talking to you," Caitlin huffed, sliding her phone into her pocket. "Never mind. Actually, I think it's time we test it—before you head out again."

"Test what?" Savitar grunted, turning his seat around in a lazy circle.

"This." Caitlin held up H.R.'s transmogrifier. She'd had it in her other pocket. "Cisco's made some modifications."

As she explained, Savitar eyed it, ignoring the smallest of squirming sensations in his gut. If the Hammond Cuff had been anything to go off of—or the Flash suit—or the power-dampening meta cuffs—then whatever tweaks Ramon had made to the transmogrifier couldn't be something to get squeamish about. But Savitar had trouble trusting anything that had to do with Cisco since 2024. It was one thing to have someone make something specially to help you—it was another if you were fully aware that that someone hated your guts.

Savitar wasn't afraid, really. But he wasn't anticipating the results. Something related to Ramon was negative by extension in his eyes until proven otherwise—like, for instance, a certain bioengineer. And say the transmogrifier did its job. Was he going to like what he saw? Suddenly he felt ill-prepared. He'd gotten so used to looking in the mirror and seeing a face outside that reflected what had happened inside.

Caitlin noticed his silence. "...Unless you don't want to test it now," she finished, clearing her throat.

Savitar stood up. "Just get it over with."

He stopped a few inches from her, arms crossed, waiting. He didn't recall there being any special instructions when you used the transmogrifier on yourself. All you had to do was stand and point it at your face, and the job was done. That, and he wasn't about to put too much energy into something that deemed his current physical attributes unworthy. It felt whiny.

Caitlin paused, turning a few tiny dials on the device, thumb poised over the main action button. She looked up at him soberly. "It won't fix it," she murmured apologetically.

Savitar raised his eyebrows, closing his eyes for a moment with an almost-silent exhale. "Doesn't matter."

"Okay," Caitlin announced, a little louder. "Take One."

She held the device near his chest, so that the beam would be pointed up at his head. Then she pressed the button.

A very irritating blue light coated the forefront of Savitar's vision. It was like looking into one half of a police car's bulbs, only twenty times as bright. There was a checkering of shadows, then, and an itchy kind of tingling over every inch of the skin on his face, his ears, his neck. After a few heartbeats more, the sensation was getting a little old, and Savitar squeezed his eyes shut in hopes it would lessen.

The whirring sound the machine made was abruptly cut off, and slowly the tingling went away too.

When he opened his eyes, Caitlin's expression consumed him. It filled the whole room, nothing else stood out.

She was looking at him analytically at first, for the split second before his eyes adjusted to the light. Just like a doctor, checking for any damaging changes. Then that split second was over and she fumbled with the device, leaning back; it clattered to the floor.

The sound didn't jar either one of them. Savitar felt no different, but he could tell with a glance at his governess that his feelings were lying. Something they did often.

Caitlin's eyes were huge, and her mouth was somewhat open. It moved a little, wider and narrower, as if she were trying to say something but she couldn't figure out how. Her eyebrows bent toward one another, and it would've looked concerned, but there was something a tiny bit pained in the movement, so concern for another could be ruled out.

Really, she was looking at him as if she'd been in need of glasses this whole time, and someone had just passed her a pair. Looking at him as if he'd just now come into focus. Like she'd been a question away from acing a quiz she'd tried to crack for months, and the answer—an obvious one—had fallen into place. And the revelation was unexpected to her.

It was an expression that, in his opinion, spoke volumes to how she'd seen him all this time, and it made Savitar's heart curdle; someone had offered it a coating of cement and it was thinking it over.

Then she squinted, thunderstruck look shoved away to be replaced with the more familiar sharp curiosity. She smiled. Very, very slightly.

Savitar's head bent down half an inch, and the sudden need for the quiet to end overtook him. "What?" he asked shortly.

But Caitlin's own head wagged back and forth. "It's—I-I—you...need a mirror."

Savitar let out a small snort.

Caitlin led the way to the nearest washroom and stood outside in the corridor, leaning on the doorway, as Savitar went in gingerly.

He approached the mirror casually, aware she was watching him. No doubt looking for any signs of weakness, any dripping inside him. She could forget it. He didn't wear his heart out on his sleeve like the man she preferred. That openness was long dead.

But if ever there was a moment that would contradict such a claim, it was this one.

It was him. Barry. He was Barry, he was Barry again. In the flesh, after so much time. His face was clear, from the left cheek to the bridge of his nose, up to his forehead, even creeping back along his ear, down his neck. The only sign there had ever been a tangle of scars there was the tiniest darkening in skin tone where they had been before, like a burn victim. Savitar didn't reach up to touch it—he was afraid he'd feel the ghost of the scars beneath the paint job the transmogrifier had given him. His hair was the same, different than the Earth-1's version—no gel, not coiffed at all, just sort of there, darker, falling however it would. It was his flesh that had changed. Right down to the five or four freckles, the lightest dusting of stubble 2024's Barry had barely bothered to care for. The same exhaustion, the same lack of life that Savitar had felt during his entire existence, made his eyes half-closed as usual, but...

He did reach up then, fingers whisking against the spot beneath his left eye but never making full contact. Savitar leaned just a little closer to his reflection.

"One blue eye," Caitlin said, confirming his suspicions. "Cisco said it might not cover...everything. I guess the damaged retina wasn't something that Earth-19 technology was built for."

Savitar didn't know that there was anything to say in response. People with dual-colored eyes existed, obviously, so it wouldn't be too difficult to swallow out in public. But he'd grown accustomed to the sight of a baby-blue, cloudy blot where a regular green eye had once been. Now he had that regularity back—but in a different color, pupil and all.

He wasn't healed, but he looked healed. And that was all people would care about anyway. They needn't know anything else. He didn't care if they did.

Savitar turned to watch Caitlin, whose gaze was now fixed on the far wall. "Well?" he breathed out.

Caitlin glanced up too quickly, but her eyes hit the plain silver shower curtain just behind him. "Well? Well what?" Her voice was polite.

Savitar turned away from the mirror, coming to stand uncomfortably close to her. In her personal space. The surest way to push a few of her buttons—Caitlin was the sort to find security in distance. She wasn't leaning away this time, the way she had been since he'd come to stay after the paradox threat. Even after she'd claimed him as a friend instead of an enemy after Nimbus, whether she knew it or not, she was always just a scosche further back than she needed to be. Barely noticeable to anyone except him. Part of Savitar wanted her to pull backward. That was why he stood so near. He wasn't sure if it was a power-play thing or what, but he was frustrated to note the difference. The only thing that betrayed any discomfort now was the fact that she literally would not look at him.

"Caitlin," he said sharply, louder than was necessary.

She jumped, just a tiny bit, but he saw it. "What?"

Savitar's eyebrows rose. "This is it." He gestured with parted fingers, a lazy hand, to his face. "This is the whole package. No comment, you got nothing to say?" He found that hard to believe.

Caitlin cleared her throat. Twice. "No—no, i-it worked. You can go out and be apart of society without feeling—hindered, now. That's excellent. ...What else is there? I mean, as far as planning goes, if we want to try getting—"

Savitar pursed his lips. "Hey." He snapped his fingers, underhand, in front of her . "I'm over here."

She was stubborn. She closed her eyes now, feigning annoyance, shaking her head slightly. "You know—here." She pushed the transmogrifier into his hand. He glanced down at it and she hurried on, "You hold onto this for now. In case you...just...hold onto it. It's not like I'm going to need it any time soon. It's yours." A third throat-clearing, a straightening of the back. "Don't break it."

Caitlin turned and started down the corridor.

Savitar snorted to himself lightly. He was loathe to glance again into the mirror, some childish spark in his brain telling him if he looked again, the effects would disappear. He'd pictured the way he had once looked so often; it was a bit much to see it in person so blatantly. Besides, it was just a mirage. Knowing that toned it down for him, somehow.

But no one was reminding her of that.

Easy as breathing, he was walking beside her in an instant. Her hair flew about her face in the aftermath of his speed, and she stopped dead in the corridor, righting it. Savitar stopped with her, slightly ahead, as if they were taking a casual stroll together and her fussiness was slowing them down and making him impatient.

Now she was looking at one of the lights on the hall walls. "I—I need just one second to—"

"One," Savitar counted in a monotone, folding his arms.

She rolled her eyes, but not enough to land on him. "Do you ever let anyone else have what they want?"

He grinned at that, shrugging a little. "I know what you want," Savitar informed her carelessly. "You want me to turn this thing off, go back to being Mr. Hyde."

Caitlin stiffened. She scoffed, as if he were being ridiculous. "That is not what I want."

"Okay. Then look at me."

She looked, but only for a second.

Savitar took a step or two closer. "Come on."

Half a second.

He kept moving, getting nearer with each word, noting how much more tense she was becoming. Dropping his tone. "What's the matter, Caitlin? What's the big deal? It's just me—"

"Stop it!" Caitlin snapped, glaring now, just past his ear. "Don't do that."

"Don't do what?" He spat, bearing down on her. "Don't look like me? Finally? You went back to get this thing so I could use it, you set it up, you turned it on. What's wrong with the result? How is this worse than before? You wanted me to fix it and take it away, you want me to do things your way, you want me to listen, this is me, doing that. Look at me!"

She did. Defiantly. Her brown eyes were on fire. "It's too much." She scowled at him, but there was a catch in her voice. "I didn't feel it before. I mean—I know what you are—" Caitlin backtracked starting again, frustrated. "I know you are a duplicate of Barry Allen. I've done the calculations, I was there when he explained. I just—didn't feel like you were...until now," she finished. "You told me you have all his memories, all his feelings, and I believed you, but it didn't really sink in until I could—see it. All of it." She gestured to his face.

Savitar pushed away what felt suspiciously like a familiar throbbing in his chest. Ignored it, drowned it out in contempt and bitterness. Same-old same-old. "So what?" he asked dully, the words enunciated, drawn-out.

Caitlin blinked at him, shifting her weight, baffled by the question for a moment.

He elaborated. "So you get it, great. Move on. Not that big a difference, Caitlin," he told her scathingly, spreading his arms. "This was your idea. But if you want me to change it back—" he pulled the transmogrifier out of his pocket.

"No—" Her hand clapped to his, pushing the device back down out of range.

There was a moment of silence as he just looked down at her knowingly, and she stood there, letting her hand drop back down, stricken, meeting his gaze. She preferred this face. Savitar nodded faintly, almost smirking, but it was halfhearted. His entire countenance said I knew it, because that was what his brain was screaming, and Caitlin seemed to read it immediately. Everything about her countenance was frozen there.

Savitar shoved the device back into his jacket pocket, sneering at her. "Are you sure you're gonna be able to handle my little makeover, Doctor Snow? This isn't gonna be a problem, is it, I mean, we don't want any distractions."

Caitlin knew when she was being derided. "No," she replied coolly. "I think I'll manage." She straightened right up, head high, and resumed walking back to the Cortex.

Savitar joined her, falling into step beside her again, but this time he walked backward.

"You know," Caitlin broke the silence as they entered the Cortex, voice still careful and chilled, "now that you can be seen in public without too many questions—how long has it been since you had coffee?"

Savitar raised an eyebrow. "I had some this morning, but thanks."

"I mean, how long has it been since you stood in line and ordered coffee, instead of speeding through and leaving some cash?" Caitlin clarified.

Savitar cocked his head, squinting. "Why?"

"I say we give your new look a test run," Caitlin announced, smiling suddenly. "How about Jitters? They're open pretty late on weekends."

Savitar watched her, taking in the smile, the squared shoulders, the nervous shifting from foot to foot. She was trying to make amends for her slip-up in the hall. Trying to make nice. And what on earth made her think he wanted anything to do with it? Why would he stand in line for caffeine if he didn't have to? Why would he give his order to the barista if he didn't have to? When he could zip in, make his own drink, and zip right out again with a tip on the counter? There was nothing stopping him. He'd had an excuse with the scars, and now—now she'd gone and kicked the excuse to the curb.

Her smile seemed a little hopeful, actually. A little genuine. Maybe this had been an offer she'd planned all along, ahead of seeing him without the mess of scars. She'd probably wanted to suggest this before bringing him the transmogrifier. She hadn't counted on Barry's face, hadn't counted on her own reaction, and how she was determined to follow her little mental list, to make things controlled again. Did he accept the offer, was that a box she needed to check off?

"Who knows?" Caitlin added dryly, crossing her arms. "You might actually make a new friend."

FWOOSH!

He'd been to Jitters and back before she had time to take her next breath.

Caitlin looked miffed as he passed her her tea. "What—"

Savitar lifted his own cup to his lips, looking at her out of the tops of his eyes. "I don't need a new friend."