I don't know if it was because it was my birthday, or because I gave you yet another heartbreaking cliffhanger there, but that last chapter was literally THE MOST comments I have ever received on a single chapter here. THANK YOU. Wow, you guys are amazing.

As I've commented back to many of you, I think you'll be pleasantly surprised with how Len actually responds this chapter. But I can't promise there won't be another cliffhanger. :-)

Also, one reviewer totally guessed what's going on with Barry, but of course I can't tell you WHO. ;-)

Len downed a shot of whiskey—expensive, smooth—and immediately asked the bartender at Saints and Sinners for another. It didn't matter that it was barely 9AM, and the bar didn't open until 11 for lunch. Frank, the bartender, was there, and more than willing to let Len in, and let him slap a $20 on the counter and demand a shot or two. Len needed them if he was going to get through the day—and he needed to drink them in plain view of the mirror over the bar.

Mick came in with a telling creak of the door, since the rest of the bar was silent, only Frank and Len there, not even the cook or whichever waitress would be filling in for Carla.

Len raised his new shot of whiskey Mick's direction, but Mick just scowled as he approached the bar.

"Not my speed," Mick said, and since Len knew he didn't mean whiskey in general, it had to be the early hour. No matter. Len shrugged and downed the shot.

He still wore his baseball cap though he'd swapped out the glasses for a pair of contacts. He'd keep the hat on for the rest of the day, no way around it with cops likely sniffing around. Now that he felt the warmth and faint buzz of liquor hitting him, much as his stomach turned at being otherwise empty, he steeled himself for what came next—for what he had to do.

"Thanks, Frank. We'll be in the corner," Len said, passing over the $20. Frank nodded as he took it and continued wiping down the bar, while Len gestured Mick over to the farthest booth in the back—away from any reflective surfaces.

They sat across from each other. Mick looked alert, well-rested, which meant he hadn't been out drinking or getting into trouble last night—good. He'd probably been up early to tinker on one of his many projects, but no smudges of grease marred his skin or clothes. Len had caught him just in time.

"Better not expect me to give those paintings back," Mick grumbled.

Len cracked a smile. "Wouldn't dream of it, Mick. Need your assistance with something else today. Though before we get to that…heard you punched The Flash clean across the jaw the other night. How'd I miss that, I wonder?" He eyed his friend with a mixture of humor and calculated challenge.

Mick shrugged. "Punk deserved it. Lisa seemed pretty sure he'd make good, but yer breakfast of choice over there has me thinking yer finally ready to let me fry 'im."

"Your particular skillset will be required." Len tapped his fingers on the table. "But for now, I need you on damage control. Whatever we can manage in the next few hours. Not out of the woods yet with the boys in blue coming to the neighborhood like I'd hoped. Haven't seen any, but it's only a matter of time."

"Someone snitch?" Mick leaned forward with a crack of his knuckles.

"Yeah. Flash," Len said, which made Mick's lip curl up into a harsher sneer, "…or so someone wants me to believe." The whiskey might be burning a hole in Len's gut, but he wasn't looking to get lost or drunk or stupid. He wouldn't be fooled again. "If I'm right, Flash isn't the one you'll be frying, Mick. My money's on Scudder. He got to Flash somehow, playing his strings, messing with his head, I don't know what, but Flash himself…" Len held Mick's gaze with every ounce of fierceness in him, and every unspoken threat that had ever led to blows between them. "Him you don't touch. Even if it looks like he's the enemy."

Len readied himself for Mick to scoff, bark back, raise his voice in ire, but the unexpected happened. Mick grew quiet, contemplative, as his brow smoothed out and he sat back with a huff and look of apprehension. Not anger—just disgruntled concern.

"Listen, pal…"

Oh no, Len would not be patronized by Mick.

"…this kid's got yer head turned around."

"Mick—"

"He runs off on you. Pulls some stunt you won't tell me about that has you ready to bring him to his knees, an absolute wreck, now he's got you shootin' whiskey alone before noon, and yer trying to tell me he's off limits?"

"Mick, you don't know—"

"So fuckin' tell me already!" Mick slammed a fist down on the tabletop, making Len flinch for the fight he'd been expecting earlier. He stared Mick down, but saw in his friend's eyes that Mick would not back down first, not with this.

Len had known it was likely too much to ask that Mick would go along without demanding answers. Before that morning, Len had intended to tell Mick everything, but now it was a race, and while taking those shots was part of the ruse, the clock was against them.

"There isn't time for that."

A puff of air escaped Mick as he pushed against the table and started to get up. "Then you can handle damage control by your own damn self."

"Mick." Len reached across the table and grabbed his friend's wrist before he could stand. He felt the muscles in Mick's forearm ripple with tension, ready to jerk away or turn this more physical than Len could afford right now. So Len didn't try to fight. He loosened his hold on Mick but didn't pull away either. "He was using me. Okay? That's what happened, that's what I found out," Len said, no flicker of bravado to cover up how desperate he was for Mick's help. "But things changed."

Mick huffed again, but with the release of air, so too deflated his anger, and he relaxed back into the booth. He pulled his arm out of Len's grip but didn't try to get up again. There was frustration in his expression, mixed with pity and rare sympathy that Len could have counted on one hand for how seldom Mick looked at him like that over the years.

Len fell back into his seat too. "Everything he's done since then, everything he's tried to do, there's no way he meant to sucker me a second time. Should have known something was wrong the second he disappeared last night. With Scudder skulking around…I felt it," Len leaned forward, letting his anger at himself get the better of him, "knew something was off, but like a rookie, I ignored my instincts. Knew better when I saw him this morning. Something happened. Scudder…did something to him."

Mick eyed Len skeptically. "Scudder did, huh?"

"I've told you what he can do. And we don't even know the half of it. Flash is being used."

"Instead of him just using you again."

Len slammed his own fist down on the table. "It's not…like that." He took a breath to quiet the lack of control that had stirred within him, choosing to blame it on the liquor working its way through his system. He needed to focus. "I believe him, Mick. The him that tried to make me see the truth at the heist, who stood there and let you burn him just to prove a point to me, and who's been trying ever since to talk things out. I have to believe him. He believed in me. Thinks I'm more than…this."

Len gestured weakly at himself, at the pathetic picture he knew he painted with flushed cheeks from the liquor and the damn hat that made him tear the cap off and throw it into the booth when Mick raised an eyebrow at him.

"You wanna think he's making me soft, go ahead, but I'm not an idiot. I won't give up on him, Mick. Not again."

Mick's brow was tight, lips pursed, but his eyes betrayed a crinkle of wavering. "And what if you're wrong? Huh? What then? What if he's using you another way now, and yer just too lovesick to see it? Then do I get to fry him?" he smirked ever so subtly.

Laughter bubbled out of Len, because the lines smoothed from Mick's forehead again at that tease of a grin. Mick was with him, from here to the end. "If I'm wrong? Doubt you'll manage much of anything before I ice him." Len leaned forward as he grinned back at his friend, anxious to get started. "Now…ready to work?"

Mick's first task was to go to Andrew Electronics to pick up Hartley, while Len called in Lisa and Shawna. They met up at the one safe house Len hadn't used in over a month—which made it less likely that Scudder knew about it. There was always that chance that Len was being watched, that all of them were, so the most they could do was avoid windows and mirrors, and anything else obviously reflective, and hope for the best.

It had been a risk to go to Saints and Sinners, heading back to the neighborhood at all, but that had been deliberate; if Scudder was watching, Len wanted him to think he was wrecked and acting out. He even played it up when he and Mick left that he was slightly wobbly on his feet. When he got out of the neighborhood, and hit an alley with brick buildings and no windows, he took off at a brisker pace.

Len knew his city. Knew how to avoid reflections as much as anyone could. He hoped, believed that Scudder was more preoccupied with Barry to be watching him, but he had to be careful. He couldn't risk going home. Not until this was over.

"Got your gear, boss," Shawna said as she blinked into existence behind Len. He barely flinched as he finished up something on the safe house computer and turned to face her. "Plus essentials," she added, dropping a couple duffle bags at his feet.

"Nice work, Shawna. Notice anything amiss?"

"Not that I could tell."

"Good." He unzipped the bags and looked inside. When he fished through his Cold gear, he made sure that Shawna had left the goggles behind like he'd asked. "Okay, back to patrolling the streets."

"Sure thing, boss," she said. "From Saints, down through the shops, and end at Carla's. Shop keeps are already warned. Anyone gets a lock on me too long in one place, I'll be long gone before they can blink. Got a few plainclothes snooping around already, but boy, are they easy to spot. Mama and baby doin' fine, by the way," she said with a warmer smile. "Michael keeps asking about you."

Len sighed as he looked down at his gear and the things he'd asked Shawna to get from his apartment. This safe house wasn't meant for a long haul, cramped and dark with minimal luxuries, but it was the only option he had. "Tell him the truth. I'll visit as soon as I can."

"You sure Carla wouldn't be better off staying with her mom in Keystone? She—"

"Dunkirk's on the streets again. Can't risk it. He knows about Carla's mother's. Best place for her is still in the neighborhood even with Scudder around. Besides, they've got you to look out for them." He grinned, and instead of grinning back or shaking her head, Shawna looked at Len reminiscent of how Michael had lately—and Barry—as if Len was…somehow more.

"They sure do, boss. And if anyone can move faster than a freak jumping mirrors, it's this freak right here." She winked, before offering a swift salute, and vanishing on the spot.

All Len had done to warrant her loyalty was—well, busted her out of being held captive by Team Flash, given her refuge and a new identity to safely go to night school, and saved her best friend a few dozen times over. But still, Len had always seen it as quid pro quo, only offering help because he knew he'd get more in return. He doubted now how true that was, because even if Shawna never again agreed to use her powers for his benefit, he'd still defend her, or Carla, or any of his team without blinking.

Barry was a terrible influence, Len thought with a smirk.

"Report, Piper," Len said over the comms.

When Mick had picked Hartley up, he'd made sure the young engineer brought along everything he'd need to keep them connected. Mick had sneered at the idea at first, since they hadn't used comms for the heist earlier that week, but Len insisted. When talking in person sometimes carried more perils, they needed to be able to talk as a unified front to know if anyone became compromised.

"Nothing," Hartley answered him. "Doesn't look like anyone's been home all day. The windows look frosted over too, which is…odd."

"Frosted?" Len turned back to the computer as he contemplated what that might mean, then internally praised Cisco for being so damn ingenious when the truth dawned on him. "It's safe to go inside, Hart. Once you've had a look around the house, tell me what you can."

"Safe? You know what the frosted look means?"

"I think the West house might be Mirror Master proof. If it is, I need you to find out how."

A pause sounded as Hartley contemplated that. "On it, boss. I'll let you know what I dig up."

"And Hart? If you see The Flash, don't engage him."

"Roger that."

There had been no sign of Detective West or his children. Only Barry had been seen since late last night, which was far more troubling than Barry's behavior at Jitters. It amped up Len's worry as much as it soothed him, because at least now he knew that his gut feeling had been right. But they needed to find someone, anyone other than Barry who could tell them what had happened.

Len had sent Lisa to Cisco's when she couldn't get a hold of him by phone or online.

"Try his apartment."

"You know, it's cute that you think I already know where he lives. But I don't."

"I do," Hartley had raised his hand while they sat around planning in the depths of the safe house before parting ways. "And Caitlin," he shrugged, which was where Len had sent Mick.

"Any news on the white hats?" Len asked now, multi-tasking on the computer as he returned to work.

"Nothin' at the doc's," Mick said. "Nicely stocked fridge and pantry though."

Len snorted, envisioning Mick with a few spoils he'd taken from Caitlin's apartment.

"Nothing at Cisco's either," said Lisa, though her tone was less humored than Mick's, troubled and not trying to hide it.

Len's first goal had been to protect his own, make sure the neighborhood stayed safe. Next he'd wanted to find out what The Flash had been up to last night, and locate everyone Barry cared about. Which meant that Len had had to break his first promise to Barry when he gathered his crew for this mission, but he couldn't feel bad about it.

Only Shawna and Mick hadn't yet known Barry's identity.

"The Flash is Barry Allen, youngest member of the downtown CCPD precinct's CSI unit. And Detective Joe West's adopted son."

Shawna's mouth had fallen open, while Mick had stared at Len like he was out of his damn mind…before grinning.

"You sure do know how to pick 'em, pal."

"No denying that one, Mick."

Now, while Len's crew was out in the field, he stayed hidden in the safe house, but he was hardly lying low unproductively. He'd gotten lazy, distracted, figured Team Flash had it covered where Scudder was concerned and could do the heavy lifting themselves. Now they were paying for that mistake. Len needed to find out everything Team Flash knew about Scudder, and everything they didn't.

He finished pulling up the files he needed on his computer, the one reflective item he allowed in the safe house, since he believed and dearly hoped he was right that as long as the screen constantly displayed something, Scudder couldn't access it.

Analyzing everything critically, Len scanned the employee roster for Central City Glassworks. Manager at the time of Scudder's employment—still worked there. Good. Then he looked at the shop's shift schedule. The man in question was on the clock right now.

"I'm heading out," Len told the others as he stood and snatched up his bag of Cold gear to get changed. "Meet back at the safe house as soon as you're finished with your tasks. Shawna, stay alert. We'll call you when we're all together. Hopefully, I'll be back in less than an hour."

"Where are you going?" Lisa asked.

Len grinned as he pulled his cold gun from the duffle bag. "Time for a little old fashioned interrogation—a little less user friendly than CCPD."

Mick snickered over the line. "Have fun, buddy."

Chris Stantz had a solo shift for the morning and early afternoon, since it was Thursday and not a particularly busy time of year for the glassworks. He worked in the back room unless he heard the bell over the door chime. He'd get a little help around 2pm when one of the associate employees came in for their shift through closing time. It worked in the shop's favor to mostly employ part-timers these days, especially after Sam Scudder had robbed them blind a few weeks ago. At least Chris had managed to keep his job.

A knock at the back door startled him. He pushed away from his desk and frowned, even as he headed that direction. The back exit was for emergencies—he used the front door when closing up—and deliveries only, since it connected to the back alley. Chris slowed his steps, wondering if maybe he'd imagined the noise.

Another knock sounded. Damn it.

"Who's there?" Chris called as he neared the door.

"Delivery for Stantz!" a muffled voice replied.

Chris sighed. Here he'd been hoping for a slow day, but maybe it was something worthwhile at least. He unlocked the back door and hefted it open. "What kind of deliv…" he trailed as his eyes widened at the sight of Captain Cold—the Captain Cold—standing in front of him, and attempted to slam the door shut again.

A strong grip held the door open, while a second gloved hand grabbed Chris by the scruff of his shirt and hauled him out into the alley.

"We need to have a chat, Mr. Stantz."

Len pushed the man up against the wall of the building. He could have easily strolled inside, but that wasn't practical when the shop was filled with mirrors. The windowless alley—the type of location he was used to using to navigate his city—worked just fine.

Len pressed in close to the man, one hand flat against the brick beside his head, the other drawing his cold gun and pressing it to Stantz's stomach.

"I don't know anything!" Stantz cried.

"About?" Len cocked his head.

"Uhh…whatever it is you're here for?"

Len grinned; people were so predictable. Stantz must have something to hide. Gambling debts maybe? A few dirty secrets someone interested in digging might turn up? No matter. Len was there for information. He might be without his goggles, which he normally enjoyed donning for how they hooded his gaze, but his direct stare could be plenty intimidating. Plus, he had the rest of his gear—parka, gloves, gun.

"Don't sell yourself short, Mr. Stantz. I bet you know plenty. Maybe even more than you realize." Len dug the cold gun in a little deeper, making Stantz tremble. "I need to know everything you know about Sam Scudder—everything you didn't tell the police."

Stantz blinked like that was the last thing he'd expected Len to say. "I…I told them all I know! I swear!"

Len leaned into Stantz, close enough to puff breath against his face. "We both know that isn't true. There's always something that slips the mind or seems unimportant. I want to know how he took his coffee. Whether he ever wore white after Labor Day, or saved all of his receipts but never carried cash. Everything. And make no mistake…Christopher," Len drew out the man's name, "if I don't leave here with something useful, I'm gonna be feeling awfully frosty toward you." He let the gun whir as he warmed it up for a shot. "Wouldn't want that to happen now, would we?"

Stantz's breathing picked up, eyes wide and lip quivering. "P-Please…I don't know anything. I don't know what I know! He was just a…a weird guy. No friends. Came and went, always on time, didn't say much. Didn't drink coffee. Only ever got worked up when he talked about his experiments."

"Experiments?" Len let the whir of the gun dwindle as he leaned back. "Never mentioned that to the fuzz. Why? What was Scudder experimenting on?"

Stantz shook his head before Len had even finished speaking. "It's nuts. Crazy. If you're looking for him, it won't help you—"

"Didn't ask for your opinion, Christopher," Len whirred the gun again, causing Stantz's mouth to snap shut. "I ask a question, you answer. That's how this works. Got it?"

Stantz nodded frantically.

"Good." Len powered down the gun again. "So…" he inclined his head.

"Right! O-Okay. He…he was obsessed! Cracked. Thought there was a way inside reflections. Always said he'd find some way to the 'mirror world', whatever that meant. That's why he wanted a job at the glassworks. He was the best we ever had at making frames, fixing imperfections, but his real passion was in reflections themselves. Always set things up in the back room after hours like some psycho fun house."

"Did he ever mention any success with his experiments?" Len asked.

"No. Never. Said that if he did succeed, he wouldn't dare use that knowledge until he figured out a way to anchor himself. Said the mirror world would be impossible to navigate. That going in would be suicide, because if he got lost, he wouldn't know which reflection connected where or how to get home."

"So the night of the particle accelerator explosion—"

"That's the last time I saw him!" Stantz cried.

Len smiled, unamused. "I'm aware. Word has it he was at the traveling circus that night, likely to go to the fun house to get a look at their mirrors, wouldn't you agree?"

"P-Probably," Stantz stammered, then seemed to put two and two together, and his eyes widened. "Wait…you don't think he figured it out, do you? To get inside the mirrors? Is that how he's been doing all these robberies?" He glanced fearfully at the closed door beside him that led back in to what was obviously a horror show when a psycho was on the loose who could travel through reflections. "Oh god…"

Len stepped away and let his hand drop from being pressed to the wall beside Stantz's head, but he kept his cold gun aimed. "Consider yourself lucky he's moved onto bigger and better targets. Now…anything else you never shared with the police?"

Stantz continued to stare at the door. When he didn't answer after a beat, Len let the gun whir angrily again to stress his impatience, and Stantz snapped to attention. "N-No…I swear. Everything else, the police know. It just didn't seem important to mention the mirrors."

"Well, that's what CCPD gets for not divulging their new meta of the week's power set to the public, isn't it? Might have changed your tune if you'd heard the theories. Of course Scudder says his power isn't to travel through mirrors, which means he did figure it out before the explosion. His powers are what ground him…" Len let his words drift as he considered what that might mean.

Scudder had said as much himself, told Barry that his power was how he could survive in the Mirror Maze, not how he got there, and now Len knew how deeply Scudder's obsession with mirrors went. What he needed to find out was what 'grounding him' entailed and how to disrupt it.

"Are you gonna…k-kill me?" Stantz asked, bringing Len back to the moment.

Len looked the man up and down. He might have a few skeletons hidden somewhere, but likely benign ones. So Len held his gaze for a moment, then tucked his gun into its holster. "Much obliged for your time, Mr. Stantz," he said, patting the man's shoulder. "But…" he added as his friendly pat turned into a tight grip. "If I think of anything else, or find out you were keeping something from me…"

Stantz gulped and shook his head.

"…I'll be back."

Len found Hartley at the computer when he returned to the safe house, with Mick and Lisa bookending him like sentinels over his shoulder.

"Shawna, join us now," Len called over the comms. His voice made all of them turn, and their expression were not favorable.

Shawna popped in between Len and the group at the computer.

"Problem?" Len prompted them.

Shawna looked confused, but Lisa, Mick, and Hartley exchanged pinched expressions. They quickly reported that none of them had anything new to share about the Wests, or Caitlin and Cisco, though Hartley had a line on Barry's location—currently eating lunch at Big Belly Burger, which in and of itself wasn't anything out of the ordinary.

"When he's off the grid—and this is The Flash we're talking about, so he' s usually off—I'm guessing he's at STAR Labs. When he's out and about, he just seems to be…enjoying himself. And he was definitely enjoying himself last night." Hartley eyed Len meaningfully before turning back to the computer, which everyone gathered around.

Hartley brought up surveillance footage from several businesses around Central City after closing time last night. Hanson's Jewelers. A credit union. A god damn dollar store—which in all fairness did tend to house a lot of cash. All of them showed The Flash—clearly seen on camera, and happening within minutes of each other even though they were blocks apart—stealing everything he could get his leather-clad hands on.

The sight of it shook Len, even though he'd already known something was seriously wrong with Barry, seeing him brought to this—Scudder was going to pay. He had to be controlling Barry somehow. At least he could have had Barry rob those places stealthily. Len would be lying if he said he'd never envisioned what it might be like to have Barry on his side for a heist. But Scudder wanted Barry caught on camera. Wanted him discredited. Ruined.

What could he possibly have done to get Barry to do all of this? Had he really twisted his mind into that of his dark reflection?

"And these are just the three that recorded him, though they haven't shared the footage with anyone other than CCPD," Hartley said. "Official reports state that none of the owners think it's really The Flash, must be an imposter, but it's only a matter of time before they realize it's really him and this hits the press, especially if he keeps at it tonight."

"We don't have enough to go on." Len stepped away, beginning a slow pace in front of the others as they turned to him. "The cold and heat guns can preoccupy Flash, but if he's unchecked, he could be out for blood. He'd be too dangerous to face head on."

"But if we leave it, if we wait and try to get more intel on Scudder first…" Lisa put in.

"Barry's friends and family could end up dead, and Scudder wins," Len finished. He stopped and turned to his crew. There were others he could call in to increase their number, but no one else he trusted, not with a rescue mission. Not with Barry's identity. "We gotta risk it. Gotta reveal that Scudder is behind everything and get his influence away from Barry."

"How?" Mick asked, crossing his arms defiantly, much as he hardly looked ready to call it quits.

"We need help to take Scudder down for good," Len said. "And there's only one place all of our missing people could be. The one place we haven't checked yet."

"STAR Labs," Shawna said, shifting in place.

"I won't ask you to go back there," Len assured her. "Still need someone on the streets, and you're our best chance for backup if things go awry. You'll continue to patrol the neighborhood, but be ready on the comms if we need you."

Shawna nodded gratefully.

Len turned to Hartley. "Can you hack their security cameras? Get us a look inside?"

Hartley's pale complexion seemed to turn a shade whiter, as he adjusted his glasses. Anti-reflective-coating, he'd said. Len hoped that was enough, but by Hartley's own admission, everything would look like blurry blobs without them. "I'll rarely admit this, and if you ever tell him I said anything, I'll deny it completely…but Cisco's no slouch. I can get in, but he'll have protocols in place to alert them the second I do. So yes, I can do it, but do you really want them to know we're looking?"

"No." Len frowned, not if Barry or Scudder were controlling things inside. "We have to take them by surprise. Which maybe isn't even possible. There's no way to know what Scudder might be looking through at any given moment, no matter how carefully we've checked for reflections, and we have no idea how to neutralize him if he shows up."

"Actually," Hartley brightened as he sat up straighter and swiveled his chair back to the computer, "I may be able to help with that. Remember your other directive for me, boss? I accessed The Flash's home computer while I was inside the house. Found some interesting tech on there that I think Cisco built to mask reflections. It wasn't just the outside windows that were frosted. Mirror Master proof is right."

Len crossed back toward the others swiftly, and Shawna, Mick, and Lisa backed away to let him through. "Can you make it portable?"

Complicated schematics and coding appeared on the screen. Hartley sighed audibly, like for once even he wasn't sure what he was looking at—yet. "Not without time we don't have. Cisco was probably working on the same thing. But if you give me an hour," he glanced up at Len over his shoulder, "I might be able to make it so you can pop a flash drive into any computer and at least seal off a single room. Could keep the safe house more…well, safe, and—"

"No. Do it. But I'll be taking the program with me."

"Where?" Lisa asked guardedly.

A plan—a solid, working, improbable but entirely possible plan—started to form in Len's mind. "Mick, Lisa, get your gear. Be ready to hit STAR Labs tonight. Shawna, get back on patrol. As soon as Hartley has something I can take with me," he looked to each of them, and felt his resolve, his confidence, returning, "I have one more stop to make before we take the fight to the source."

For all Len's audacity and love of the game, what he was doing now had never entered his mind as worth the risk for any amount of payoff. But if they screwed up the raid against STAR Labs, if Scudder got the drop on them before they found Barry's friends, they might never get this chance again.

One thing that could always be counted on about people, however, was that they rarely recognized someone out of their element. Put a guy that they're used to seeing in all black, or suits, or a parka with fur on the hood, and put him in a baseball cap, sneakers, and a red hoodie with his hands shoved into his pockets, and even the few officers who looked right at Len as he strolled through the CCPD precinct merely walked on by him without even a second glance.

Len wasn't stopped once during his trek to Captain Singh's office.

"Hey. You're not supposed to be…" the captain didn't finish his sentence when Len closed the door behind him and immediately pulled down his hood, tossed aside his hat, and held a finger to his lips with a silent hush.

Singh tensed, hand going to his gun though he didn't draw it, as Len crossed the room to the man's computer. He ignored the captain until he'd slid the USB into place and every reflective surface in the office turned matte just as Hartley had promised.

"Wouldn't want our mutual friend Scudder to eavesdrop," Len said, standing up straight again to face the captain, who'd let his hand go limp as he looked around the room at the frosted surfaces. "Wish I could take credit, Captain, but this one belongs to Ramon. Pity I can't find him anywhere."

Singh snapped back to Len with a wary frown. "What's going on? Where's Allen?"

"So you haven't seen him yet…" Len nodded. That might actually work in their favor.

"He's still on suspension until next week. Thanks to you," Singh snarled. "Went to all that trouble to protect your unworthy hide, and there was still an anonymous tip pointing to your location. Couldn't look the other way when it got sent to every detective in the precinct. You getting sloppy, Snart?"

Len smiled. He'd suspected the captain knew The Flash's identity; now he was certain. "Not an anonymous tip, Captain. Our other mutual friend made that call. Barry."

Singh's eyes betrayed his surprise for all of a second. "You finally screw up? He was ready to fall on a bullet for you."

"Yeah," Len said, serious and stiff, with no humor in his voice this time. "I think he just might have."

Despite how on edge he appeared, Singh relaxed while waiting for an explanation, so Len gave him one. Told him everything he'd discovered, as well as his concerns that Barry's friends were in danger because Barry wasn't himself.

"I need their help to put the missing pieces together, but all of them are MIA. You wouldn't happen to have seen West today?"

"No…" Singh sagged into a look of concern. "So this copycat isn't a copycat? It's Flash?"

"Scudder's behind it," Len asserted. "He's behind everything. We just need to prove it. And get Barry back to his senses. This," Len gestured at the frosted surfaces, "is a start. But now I'm facing a Flash who might not pull his punches."

Singh nodded, no longer as guarded as he'd been when Len arrived. "I'm trusting Allen's good nature here that you really have his best interest in mind. Don't prove him wrong. Now…" He sighed with a look of pained resignation. "What do you need?"

Len had been taking a gamble, daring to come here, but like most of his wagers, he'd been confident about how things would turn out. "What I was hoping to avoid, Captain. I need to get into STAR Labs."

"You need blueprints?"

"Have 'em. Need you to have the power cut so it looks like a natural blackout on that part of the city's grid."

Singh startled and backed up a step, then narrowed his brow. "Why not just attack it?"

"Because Barry and Scudder would know it's me. I need as much of an element of surprise as I can get. But the most important thing I need from you, Captain, is the biggest risk of all. Call Barry," he said, knowing the weight this request carried if Barry really was unhinged—which he definitely was. "Get him here. Keep him occupied for as long as you can. If he notices something's up, he'll be at the labs in seconds, and I need to be sure he isn't there when we make our move. Can you do that?"

Singh took a breath with the appropriate amount of trepidation. "I can. What should I expect from him? Is he really brainwashed?"

"I don't know. He's not himself. You'll see it. Just try to keep your reasoning for calling him in normal. Yell at him a little. He expects that, doesn't he?" Len smirked. "It'll work."

Singh nodded. "How long do you need?"

"Twenty minutes, if you can manage."

"How do I contact you if things go south?"

Ah, now that was the crux of the matter—another gamble. Only two strides separated Len from Singh. Len took that first step smoothly. "I'm putting a lot of faith in you, Captain. Could ask for a lot as the tradeoff. A pardon, for example, if I manage to help bring in Scudder."

A sneer rippled over Singh's features. "Is that what you're after?" His indignation was definitely all for Barry.

Good.

"No." Len refrained from taking that last step closer to the captain. He didn't need to intimidate the man; he needed his trust. "I want Barry safe." He reached slowly into the pocket of his hoodie, and revealed a set of comms like the ones that had once sat in evidence in this very building. "These comms will connect you to my team. If you recognize any voices…maybe pretend you don't." He handed them over.

The captain accepted the comms without pause. "You better save him, Snart," he said, when Len turned on his heels and went to retrieve his hat from the chair next to the door. "He turned his whole life upside down trying to save you."

Len paused, facing away from Singh, before he finished snatching up his hat. He secured it back in place, lifted his hood to cover it, and nodded back at the captain as he reached for the door. "I know."

The déjà vu of sneaking past STAR Labs security wasn't lost on Len, but it wasn't comforting either. Singh hadn't let him down—the grid had just gone dark.

"Stay hidden, Piper, and stay alert," Len said into the comms, as he gestured Mick and Lisa to go ahead of him into the underground garage at STAR Labs, all of them in full gear with their guns at the ready. This area was the proverbial and somewhat literal backdoor to the Labs' security system, which was still a concern as the emergency lights flickered on.

Len needed to have a chat with Cisco when this was all over about how to keep people like him out. He hadn't had reason to explain how he'd snuck into the Labs those other times; now he felt a bit like sharing.

Hartley was stationed a good distance away from the building, where he could stay on the comms and lead them through the Labs remotely, and also keep watch for any telling lightning trails headed their direction.

Singh had radioed in when Barry was on his way to the station—which, knowing Barry, would take only minutes—then they had at most twenty minutes before they had to worry about company.

The dim blue color of the emergency lights from the backup generator cast an eerie glow over the interior of STAR Labs. The semi-darkness might—might—keep them hidden from Scudder's all seeing eye, but if the Labs had ever had Cisco's anti-Mirror Master program running, it wasn't on now. Too many hallways and surfaces boasted reflective surfaces. They had to be quick.

"If they're being kept alive, the most likely place is either in the Pipeline, or somewhere in the Cortex itself, since there's a kitchen and other amenities up there."

"Honey…don't say 'if'," Lisa said with a catch in her voice.

"Sorry…" Hartley said, and while Len had possibly never heard Hartley apologize before, he could tell that the kid meant it this time; he just tended to be more analytic minded than empathetic. "You'll reach the Pipeline first, so we'll start there. Next left, through the duct and up the ladder."

"You think I'm fittin' in a duct?" Mick grumbled.

"This isn't your typical ventilation system, Heat Wave," Hartley droned.

He wasn't kidding. As the three of them reached the duct, Len could see that it would easily accommodate Mick's size, whatever type of ladder might exist within.

"Stand back," he told the others, and once they were clear, he iced the cover that was bolted in place to block entry into the duct, then kicked it to crumble the cover into pieces.

"Age before beauty," Lisa gestured Len to enter first.

Mick chuckled and pushed on ahead of both of them. In all fairness, he was two years older than Len. Len still gave Lisa a dirty look for the remark, but he let her bring up the rear anyway. He wished it was worth the risk to wear his goggles—same for Mick—but he'd already been careless this week and underestimated Scudder just because of what had happened between him and Barry; he wouldn't make that mistake again.

The problem, though, was that he had no way to know how close or how far the cold field extended once he turned it on.

The climb up to the Pipeline wasn't grueling, but it still ate up a good seven minutes before they were all safely out of the duct. They inched silently toward the Pipeline entrance. The backup generator sent power there first, to keep any prisoners secure. Len checked if any of the cells were full.

"Nothing. They're not here," he ground out, but willed himself to stay calm as he turned back to Mick and Lisa. "Where to next, Piper?"

"Okay. To get to the Cortex the fastest, without the elevators, and minimal contact with possible reflections, you can take the emergency stairs. The door should be unlocked since it's on the backup generator. Head down the hallway and take the first right."

Len and the others worked like a flawless stealth unit, all having worked together for many years, able to predict each other's movements and keep every corner covered without even using words most of the time. They still used up another eight minutes getting up the stairs. They were on borrowed time no matter what happened next.

The main labs, which sported the majority of Team Flash's work stations and a medic room, was deserted, building a feeling of nausea in Len's gut.

"Move to the back of the room and take the door to the right. It leads to the lounge and kitchen area," Hartley said.

Len pushed ahead of the others, moving swiftly, faster than they'd started, thinking that at any moment Barry might come flashing in and catch them. There was a divot for a handle in the sliding door, but when Len tried to move it, it wouldn't budge.

"Locked. Mick?"

Mick grinned and aimed his gun.

"Wait," Lisa hissed. "You're forgetting to use your brain, Lenny. Relax." She walked up to the door, then with a pointed look at both of them, rapped her knuckles against it. "Anyone in there?" she whisper-yelled to the other side.

Len stiffened, because a locked door did not mean it was safe to announce their presence.

A silent moment passed, but just as Lisa backed away with a shrug, and Mick readied to burn the door to cinders after all, a small voice called back.

"Who is that?"

"Cisco?" Lisa flew back to the door, not masking the emotion in her voice. "It's Lisa. You alive in there?"

"Lisa?" Cisco parroted her with disbelieving giddiness. "You are a goddess, no joke. Cold and Heat Wave with you?"

"With bells on," Len said as he moved to stand beside his sister. "Open up."

"We can't. Barry locked the door from both sides."

Len had never been as troubled and relieved to be proven right. "Move back!" he called to Cisco, then shooed Lisa away so he could blast the door with his cold gun. He reared back with a kick once it was frosted over, but whatever the door was made out of, it was far more reinforced than the duct. Len turned back to Mick.

With a nod as if to say 'about damn time', Mick took aim and burned every inch Len's ice had touched, further destabilizing the integrity of the door. When he stepped forward and gave an impressive kick to rival Len's, it gave way with a cascade of smoking dust.

Lisa dove through ahead of Len, waving the ashes out of the way. Len followed at her heels, with Mick right behind them. The STAR Labs lounge was a mess, with blankets and dishes strewn about, as if those inside had been there…well, all day and last night.

Everyone they had hoped to find—West, his daughter and son, Cisco and Caitlin—were accounted for. They looked tired and haggard, and Caitlin had her right arm in a sling like it had been sprained or broken. Len didn't miss how everyone looked a little more vigilant when Mick entered last.

Len scanned the room with a hush and a finger to his lips like he'd done with Singh. Team Flash had covered the TV, but there were several surfaces that could potentially allow Scudder a window inside.

There. No computer or laptop, but a tablet rested on the coffee table. Len went to it, found the USB port, and plugged in the flash drive. Just like at the precinct, every surface that had been glossy and reflective moments ago turned matte.

"Hey!" Cisco said like an accusation, as he untangled himself from Lisa's embrace.

"What happened?" Len demanded. West sat with his kids on the sofa, Cisco remained standing by Lisa, and Caitlin sat in a chair cradling her injured arm. "Scratch that," Len shook his head, "there isn't time. Have you seen Scudder since Barry…changed?"

"No." West frowned. "But we know he's behind this."

"That's why Barry turned off the Miasma Maker," Cisco said, gesturing to the frosted surfaces. "Has to be. But we haven't seen the guy. Only Barry. It's like some Jekyll and Hyde trick. We've been trying to figure out some way out of here, but every time we come close, Barry appears. Super speed kind of makes it easy to be everywhere at once. And everything we've come up with so far to get one over on him might seriously hurt him first."

"Tell me you have a plan," Iris said, sitting close to her father and brother in support, but seemingly more for their sakes than hers.

Twenty minutes had come and gone. They had to move. "This," Len gestured to the flash drive, "only works on one room. Your Miasma Maker—it can affect the whole building?"

"Yes," Cisco nodded.

"Where is it?"

"In the cortex, my main computer." He gestured at the destroyed doorway. "We just need to turn it back on."

"Then let's go. We turn it on…then wait for Barry. With the new upgrade to my gun—"

"Snart!" Singh's voice blared over the comms, causing Len to wince. He held a hand to his ear.

"What is it?"

"You better be ready. Allen just left."

Len held himself together like steel. "You got that, Piper?" he said, unable to keep from using Hartley's name if he wanted the kid to know who he meant, which made Cisco in particular scowl. "Tell us the second you see that lightning."

"Got it," Hartley answered.

Then Len addressed the weakened Team Flash. "Move."

Everyone snapped to attention. While Mick moved further into the room to help Caitlin from her chair, which caused the good doctor to lean away from him at first before cautiously offering up her good arm, Len bee-lined for the door.

Iris caught his wrist before he could reach it, suddenly right behind him as if she was the one with super speed. "He's been better. Even when he wasn't…he was never like this. What do you think Scudder did to him?"

Len paused before looking back at her. "I don't know. But we'll figure it out. And we will get Barry back. We owe Scudder now—all of us. So first we need to make sure he can't get inside. Then we'll save Barry."

Iris nodded as she released Len, wholly trusting of him, which Len still wasn't used to from so many seeming strangers when he rarely found that even in his friends.

Like a human train, one after the other, they made for the door to return to the cortex. Len had to wave his hand in front of the opening the way Lisa had in order to see clearly, since the frozen ashes were still drifting downward, creating an odd sort of smoke shield.

Then, just as he was about to step through to the other side, he choked—literally, as a powerful grip caught Len by the throat, and a tall, familiar figure pushed into the room from out of the ash.

"Barr—" Len tried to speak, while he heard the others gasp and Mick's gun power up threateningly. Slowly, Len's feet lifted from the ground. Why hadn't Hartley warned them?

"Tell me, Snart," Barry said, with a terrible, manic grin on his face and a cold look in his hazel eyes as he held Len without any effort. "Do you miss me?"

TBC...