The following day, I leave work right at 5 PM. Not that I should - I have too much going on to justify that - but I can't spend another second without Wells. We have been texting periodically throughout the day, and I have to fight every instinct not to break every traffic law on the way to his place.
When I get through the door, I find Harrison waiting in the living room with a bottle of sparkling wine.
"For me?" I ask, charmed he remembered I said that was my favorite.
"Yes. I figured you could use a drink." I had complained about how busy things were - and I had another client lie to us about their PR situation.
"Has anyone ever told you that you're a very smart man, Dr. Wells?" I sit with a dramatic flourish, lounging on the couch while he pours me a glass. I take a large initial gulp, relishing the accompanying release. "It's very good to be here with you." He reaches a hand out to brush mine.
"It's very good to have you here."
"You know all about my day - how was yours?" I kick off my shoes and tuck my feet underneath me.
"It was good - productive. Caitlyn and I have been analyzing tissue samples from one of the first metahumans we encountered - a man who can turn himself into poisonous gas." I raise my eyebrows at that. "We think we've discovered the mechanism of his ability. There's quite fascinating implications for cellular transmutation." I listen attentively as he walks me through what they discovered, but I get too distracted by the way Wells' eyes sparkle and the length of his fingers and the luscious plumpness of his mouth to absorb much of what he's saying. I love listening to his voice - it resonates through my body with the same thrill of excitement as a lover's caress.
I'm jolted out of my wine-aided reflections by a sudden alert of danger. Wells shifts in his seat and pulls out his phone.
"Excuse me," he says as he answers the call. "This is Wells." There's a pause. "Hello?" I hear that there's a voice on the line, but I can't make out what they say. Wells says nothing in return and hangs up the call, looking slightly perturbed.
"Who was that?" I ask.
"Some sort of prank call," he says with a smile, but I can tell that he is distracted. And my sense of danger isn't leaving. "Anyways, where were we?" he asks. On instinct, I leap to my feet, grab Wells' arm, and race from the living room to the kitchen. Before Wells can so much draw a breath to ask why I did that, the glass in the skylights shatters, showering the living room with shards.
"Oh my god," he breathes, pulling me closer to him. I maintain a fierce grip on his arm, terrified of what could have happened to him if I wasn't there.
"Are you alright?" I ask.
"Yes, just a little shaken."
I look at the destruction. "Who would do this?"
He shrugs, moving away from me slightly. "I don't know." I don't need my gift to tell me he's lying.
"We should call the police. Whoever did this clearly wants to hurt you - even kill you."
Wells shakes his head. "No, no. I don't want to bother them with this. This is clearly just a prank." I raise my eyebrows.
"Are you kidding? If you were still sitting there, you'd be in the hospital!" He just shakes his head.
"It's no matter. I'll call a cleaning service in the morning, get new windows put in - it will be like it never happened. Let's not let it ruin our evening," he says, reaching out to stroke my hand. I stare at him, waiting for him to be honest with me, explain what's really going on, but he says silent. I pull my hand away.
"We can continue where we left off when you're honest with me about whatever it is that is going on. I don't like being kept in the dark. Especially about something so crucial as your safety." Shaking my head, I head for the door. He doesn't even try to protest my charge against him.
I fume the whole way home - equally upset with Wells for hiding what is going on and the person who targeted him and interrupted what was shaping up to be a lovely evening of passion. I don't hear from Wells the rest of the night - not even another half hearted explanation. And I don't contact him. Is this where we end - finished before we even really start? I certainly hope not, but I don't want to get more involved with someone who isn't going to be honest with me.
When I check my phone during a coffee break at work, I am surprised to see a rather cryptic text from him. It just says, "I need your help." Though I am concerned about why he needs my help, I am relieved that he is reaching out and, I presume, will be opening up about the truth of what happened last night.
"How can I help?" I reply.
"I need a PR expert. It's a bit of a crisis."
"I need more details than that to help."
"One of my former employees is taunting me by threatening to go public with some new information about the particle accelerator explosion."
"What's the info? Was the explosion preventable?" I ask. That's probably worst case scenario. My phone buzzes.
"Sort of."
I curse under my breath.
"You need to get out ahead of this information. We need to do a press conference ASAP."
"Are you sure that's a good idea?"
"What are the chances he'll go public?"
"Probably around 80 percent."
"Yes. Schedule something for lunch. It can't be at STAR labs - pick some place authoritative that people have positive associations with. Maybe city hall? And we need to have another announcement with this. Do you have any research or initiatives you can publically pioneer?"
"I was thinking about starting a STEM scholarship program?"
"That's a start. I'll try to duck out for an hour beforehand to coach you on some of the questions journalists may ask you."
"Thank you, that would be much appreciated."
The time until I am scheduled to meet up with Wells flies by. Despite our disagreement, my heart flutters at the sight of him. I'm crushing so hard it's almost comical. He picks me up in the STAR labs van, and we find a quiet park to talk, parked in the van.
"Okay, give me the full story. You can't hold anything back." He shifts uncomfortably and then speaks.
"About a year ago, one of my employees - Hartley Rathaway," Wells spits the name, "warned me that there was a chance the particle accelerator could explode."
"How did you respond?"
"I fired him," he answers matter of fact. I raise my eyebrows.
"This is not good," I mutter, more to myself than him, but he winces. "Sorry," I add.
"No, I need your honesty. I came to you because I need someone I can trust to handle this." I try to ignore the warmth blossoming in my chest from his words.
"Okay - did you tell him why he was fired?"
"No, he was at-will."
"And does he know if you did or didn't take any actions to verify his findings? Or try to take preventative measures?"
"He couldn't speak to it one way or the other, no," he says, his expression lightening somewhat.
"Then you know what to do," I say, "so long as none of your other employees will try to contradict that information." He nods once. We talk through a variety of other issues - ways to couch the information, frame the timing of his confession - and we settle upon framing it as an initiative to heal the city and the break of trust, which rolls nicely into the scholarship initiative. I also talk him through some body language tips and give him practice answering some tough questions. We're wrapping up with about thirty minutes to spare.
"Where's the press conference being held?" I ask.
"At the police station. It's the only place we could set up on such short notice. And I thought it could be seen as having their support."
"Perhaps. It might not be the best idea to have people associating you with the police at this point - it raises the thoughts of criminal activity. Could you announce an initiative to lend STAR labs resources to the police? Have you worked with them in an official capacity?"
"We work with Detective West a good deal but only unofficially."
"You worked with them for the Mercury Labs case - though that wasn't strictly a success...I'd say something to the effect of 'we have been working with police to help on cases where our scientific expertise can lend a role, and we intend to focus our resources on those efforts. We are devoted to protecting the citizens of this city and strengthening the men and women who serve the city.'" He nods.
"That's perfect. Thank you for your help."
"Anytime," I tell him. He starts the car and drives towards my office. "So," I say, cautiously at first, "is this the same person who broke your windows last night?" Tight-lipped, he nods. "And that's why you didn't want the police involved - you didn't want them digging around and discovering what he is blackmailing you with?"
"Yes. Though they're involved anyways - one of my neighbors called the police."
"Good," I say with some bitterness, remembering our argument. "They should be involved. He tried to hurt you. And if you can prove he attached you, that will seriously discredit any accusations he tries to bring forward," I add. He looks at me, taking his eyes off the road for far longer than seems safe. "What?" I ask.
"You're brilliant," he says, a degree of wonder in his voice. I have to stop myself from startling at his sincerity. I feel a deep blush across my cheeks.
"Thank you," I say simply. We're at my building. "Good luck," I say while hopping the van. Back in my office, I open a tab on my computer to the CCPN website, which is promises to livestream the event. Nervously, I count down the minutes until Wells appears on screen. But as soon as he starts speaking, my concerns for him evaporate - his time out of the limelight has not addled his charisma. The longer he talks, with his self-deprecating smile and easy manner that still bespeaks his intelligence, the more I want to forgive all of his sins. Halfway through, it's clear that he'll be just fine, so I have to switch back to doing my actual job.
About fifteen minutes later I get a text from him. "Did you watch?"
"Part of it. You did a good job."
"All thanks to you," he replies.
He sure knows how to get himself out of the doghouse, I think with a smile.
"You're too kind."
"Can you come by the lab tonight? No pressure."
I hesitate, unsure if I want to be alone with him again just yet - I'm still trying to wrap my head around Wells' announcement today.
"Just to talk," another text reads.
"Alright," I reply, unable to bring myself to care if this is a bad idea.
When I arrive, I knock on the coretex wall as I enter, finding the whole gang assembled. Cisco is working at a station, Wells is talking with him, while Caitlyn and Barry relax at the console.
"Mika, great to see you," Barry says in his friendly, easy-going way.
"Good to see you too - how are things going?"
"Stellar. We're waiting for our least-favorite former coworker, who spent the afternoon attacking us, to come back for blood," Caitlyn answers. I raise my eyebrows.
"Someone catch me up?"
Cailtyn fills in the details of their history with this Hartley character, and Barry chimes in with his own observations about Hartley's personality. As we're chatting, a voice sounds out over the speakers, taunting Harrison and "the Flash." Immediately, the group springs to action, trying to pinpoint Hartley's location.
"He's at the Keystone-Cleveland City dam," I say, the words coming out of my mouth before I fully comprehend them. Barry nods his thanks and speeds off. My gaze moves to Wells, noticing the shine of admiration in his eyes, before he refocuses on the computer screen to track Barry's movements. A few seconds later, we can hear the sound of explosions as Barry arrives on the scene. I listen with anxiety to the fight. The team begins putting together why Hartley broke into STAR Labs, and a sudden alarm sounds in my head. I leap for the microphone.
"No, Barry, don't pull off his-" my warning is drowned out by a piercing sound, and Wells immediately springs into action. It's an honor to watch his brilliant mind work. As Wells punches in the keys that will save Barry's life and take down his former protegee, who must be the same man who was threatening to go public with the information about the particle accelerator, I can feel his troubled emotions. On instinct, I rest a hand on his shoulder, wishing I could do more to comfort him.
He looks up at me, smiling sadly, and covers my hand with his own. Suddenly, I remember the others are in the room, and I pull away. They both seemed too preoccupied with wrapping up the loose ends with Hartley to notice the moment of affection between Wells and I, but I feel self conscious all the same. I wait around until Barry comes back since I'm curious to see how the team coordinates locking up a bad guy, and I'm trying to be a more integrated part of the team.
Once Barry returns and Hartley is safely locked away, I was planning to head out, but Wells shoots me a text that simply says, "Stay."
So I stay.