On Thursday morning, Cisco became convinced that he had to talk to Mick Rory.

The idea came to him after he decided that he needed to know when and why he had built the cold and heat guns. His nightmares and feelings of discontent had started after Leonard Snart had pointed out this hole in his memory, so it stood to reason that maybe, just maybe, recovering that forgotten knowledge was the key to feeling better. He wasn't sure why it was so important, of course. But this had become his white whale.

His little tête-à-tête with Snart at Saints and Sinners had made it clear to Cisco that Snart was not going to help him—not without Cisco compromising his fidelity to Eobard, anyway. That left Mick as his only viable source of information. And maybe that was for the best? Cisco was fairly certain that Mick wasn't as stupid as everyone assumed that he was, but he definitely wasn't as conniving as Snart. It would probably be easier to get information out of him than it would be to interrogate his partner, and Mick was always much more straight-forward, anyway. Mick was also food-motivated, and Cisco happened to have an entire drawer of snacks in his desk. Advantage: Ramon.

So, when he got to work, he checked up on the rest of his department like he always did, but directly afterward, he walked to his office and shut the door. He got out his tablet, pulled up the new code for the cold gun that he'd been chipping away at for the last few days, and added some finishing touches. Then, with the slight thrill that nearly always accompanies making a mess on purpose, he pulled up the code for Mick's heat gun, made some adjustments, and pushed through a software update on both weapons.

About two hours later, his phone rang—not his office phone, but his personal cell phone. He didn't recognize the number on the caller ID, but he had a feeling he knew who it was. Cisco hit 'talk' and brought the STARphone to his ear. "Hello? Cisco Ramon speaking."

"Hey," said a deep, gravelly voice on the other end. "My gun's not working."

"Sorry, who is this?" Cisco said, playing dumb.

"Santa Claus. Who the hell do you think it is, kid?"

"Mick? Mick Rory?" Cisco said, still pretending to be surprised. Then, with a bit of genuine confusion, he added, "Wait, how did you get my cell phone number?"

"Snart had it," Mick replied shortly, and Cisco thought that his explanation raised more questions than it answered. "So…my gun suddenly stopped working. Len got an update on his, so did you screw up mine, somehow?"

"Huh. I don't think so? Lemme check the code real quick." Cisco held the phone with his shoulder and randomly tapped on his computer keyboard for a few seconds—he wanted his act to be convincing. After a while, he finally said, "That's weird, I'm not seeing anything wrong on my end. You sure it's not a mechanical issue?"

"I took the stupid thing apart and put it back together again. If there's a problem with the gun itself, I don't see it."

Cisco inhaled through his teeth, trying to sound concerned. "Well, I guess I'm just going to have to take a look at it, then. Any chance you could swing by my office today? I'll be at S.T.A.R. Labs until 6 p.m." He was actually planning to stay until 6:30 at least, but he knew better than to enable people to come see him at the last second.

"You really need to see it?"

"Uh-huh. That's the only way I can figure out whether it's a software or hardware problem."

"Fine," Mick grunted. "I'll tell Snart that we've gotta go over there today."

"No!" Cisco said, more loudly than he'd intended. He forced himself to lower his voice. "I mean, you don't need to bring Snart along if his gun is working fine. Things are actually a little awkward between him and me right now, because…well…"

"'Cuz you won't sleep with him?" Mick rumbled.

Cisco cringed. "Yeah, because I…rejected him. So could you please just come alone?"

"Fine. See you later, kid." He then hung up before Cisco could say goodbye.

Cisco put his phone down and, after hesitating for a second, tried to busy himself with a new project. He also reassured himself that he did not need to tell Eobard that he was planning to meet with Mick and ask him about the guns, even though his chosen course of action felt a bit like a lie of omission.

If Eobard had been upset that morning over their quarrel the previous evening, he certainly hadn't shown it. He'd been his normal, affectionate self while he and Cisco got ready to head to the Labs, even casually reminding Cisco before their usual goodbye kiss that he had a meeting with the city council (and therefore would be away from his office) around noon. It was very likely that he, upon waking up to find Cisco cuddled up with him, figured that his fiancé was no longer feeling standoffish and wanted to start Thursday with a clean slate.

Cisco imagined that if he told Eobard what he was up to, Eobard would ask him why he was so obsessed with pursing this mystery, and Cisco would inevitably wind up telling him about his other weird dream—the one that had resulted in a crying fit instead of severe vomiting. And that might lead to rehashing their fight. Or, worse, Eobard might be tempted to meddle and make it look like Cisco couldn't handle his own problems.

No, it was better to just keep his fiancé in the dark. He'd talk to Mick privately and try get the information he wanted. If it worked, great. If not…well, he'd cross that bridge when he came to it.

The only thing was that he really, really wished that Mick had told him when he was planning to come to the labs—even if it was something relatively vague, like, "Before lunch," or "After four o'clock." Because he had no idea when the man would arrive, he was essentially tethered to his office all day. He'd probably wind up having his lunch delivered to his desk and only leave the room to run to the lavatory or resolve serious problems in the department.

He considered, briefly, texting Mick to ask if he had an ETA, but he didn't want to come across as annoying or overly persistent. He also wasn't sure if Mick Rory was a fan of texting; some people were weird about that.

In the end, he decided to set an alarm on his phone for 3 p.m. If Mick hadn't visited by then, he would call him and ask if he was still planning to come by. That seemed like a reasonable duration to wait before reaching out to him once more. It would also help prevent Cisco from watching the time all day and stressing about the whole affair.

…Well, stressing more than he already was, anyway. He'd had a small feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach since he woke up that morning.

The clock on his desk was almost showing 1 p.m. when Brie poked her head into his office. "Hey, Cisco? Could you help me with something real quick?"

"What is it?" Cisco asked, looking up from a schematic he'd been reviewing while he chewed on the end of a ballpoint pen. His snack stash had been out of both stick candy and lollipops, and felt like he needed to have something in his mouth to calm his nerves.

"I've gotta load stuff into my car for the showcase at CCU this afternoon. Lindsay was supposed to help me, but since we're now gonna rendezvous there instead of riding together, I'm by myself. And everyone else is busy right now."

"I'm actually waiting to meet with someone. Can't you get one of the security guards to help? They'll probably be able to lift more stuff than I can, anyway."

Brie grunted. "C'mon, it'll take, like, 10 minutes. And I don't want to bother the security guards with something like this."

Cisco glanced at the clock again. 12:55. Mick had called at 11:06; what were the odds that he'd show up in the few minutes that Cisco was away from his desk, get annoyed, and leave before Cisco got back?

Statistically, it wasn't very likely. But given Cisco's luck, it could very easily happen.

"Alright, fine," Cisco said. He grabbed a piece of scratch paper from somewhere in the mess on his desk, folded it in half, and used the pen he'd previously been chewing on to write "BACK IN 15 MINUTES" in large letters on one side. He perched it on the front of his desk like a nameplate and then stood up. "Don't make me a liar. Let's go."

The good news was that the things Brie needed help carrying (a few display banners, some tech, and a couple boxes stuffed with brochures and S.T.A.R. Labs promotional material) weren't very heavy, especially since Brie had grabbed a hand truck so she wouldn't have to make multiple trips. But the load was definitely unwieldy, and Cisco had to admit that lugging it around really was a two-person job.

As he and Brie stood inside the elevator with boxes between them, Brie said, "So, who're you meeting with today, anyway? Prospective new hire?"

"Nah, Mick Rory's coming by so I can look at his gun," Cisco said. The doors opened and the two of them stepped out. "And that's not a euphemism—the heat gun he carries around stopped working."

"Ooh, Mick Rory? The one who's always with Leonard Snart?" Brie said, turning to Cisco so abruptly that she nearly whacked him with a rolled-up poster in her arms. "Will he be by himself today?"

"Yeah, I think so."

"You should have told me!" Brie said. Her face parted into a very eager grin, the ferocity of which unnerved Cisco a bit. "That guy is a major babe."

Cisco rolled his eyes. "Snart and Hartley, you and Mick…am I running an R&D Department or a freakin' dating service?"

"Hey, the heart wants what it wants…and my heart wants a big, strong beast. I'll bet he could bench press both of us at the same time." She giggled. "Is it weird that I kinda want to watch him fight somebody?"

Cisco stared at her. "You want to watch him beat someone up? Yeah, that is weird ."

Brie made a face. "That's not what I said. Ugh, never mind. You're no fun."

They exited S.T.A.R. Labs proper through a side door, which deposited them into one of the facility's lesser-used exterior pathways. A set of concrete stairs descended towards the curb and loading zone, and beyond that, there was a roadway that led to an area for employee parking. Cisco himself had parked in that lot when he first started working at S.T.A.R. Labs, but since he'd been promoted to department head, he'd been granted an "executive" parking space that was much closer to the building's main entrance.

(Cisco was seriously thinking about officially signing the space over to Hartley; he really only used it when he drove himself to the labs, and since he'd moved in with Eobard, that translated to "the rare Saturday when he stopped by to meet a deadline, get extra work done, or retrieve something that he'd accidentally left behind on Friday evening." Then again, giving the space to Hartley would just feed the man's ego, and there was a very real possibility that it might make him go mad with power.)

His musings on the S.T.A.R. Labs parking situation were interrupted by Brie making an observation about their surroundings: "Oh, crap—there's no ramp here, is there? If we can't use the hand truck, we're gonna have to carry the boxes down the stairs one-by-one."

Cisco exhaled sharply. He was seriously starting to regret agreeing to help her with this project. "It's fine. I'll just…I'll count it as my cardio for the day."

"That's one way to look at it," Brie murmured, digging around in her purse. She pulled out a set of car keys that were attached to a small, crocheted keychain in the shape of a honeybee. "I'll go get my car and bring it over here. Just sit tight and guard the boxes until I get back."

"Yeah, fine," Cisco said, knowing full well that, if a crazed mugger ran up to him and tried to steal a carton of S.T.A.R. Labs pamphlets, he wouldn't actually do anything about it. "Just…hurry, okay? I need to get back to my office ASAP."

"I am definitely not wearing the right shoes for running, but fine—I'll do my best." She then walked down the stairs and trotted off in the direction of the parking lot.

Cisco, for his part, sat down on top of one of the more densely-packed (and heavy) boxes. He checked the time on his phone; it was now 1:06.

As eager as he was to talk to Mick, he actually had no idea what he was going to say to him when the man arrived. He'd probably start out with some techno-babble in order to sell the lie that he didn't know why the gun was malfunctioning, but he could only stall for so long—especially since Mick apparently had a vague idea of how the gun worked already. But was it better to be subtle ("Jeez, it seems like only yesterday that I was assembling this thing in my workshop! How long has it really been, though?") or just be direct ("I can't remember when or why I built the heat and cold guns; if you know, I need you to tell me before I check myself into a psyche ward.")? There was also the very real possibility that Snart may have told Mick that Cisco had been asking questions and, subsequently, Snart's partner was already under orders to not give him any information. How many treats would it take to get him to talk, then? Would candy and snacks be enough, or would he have to break out the big guns?

…The "big guns," in this case, translated to the bottle of premium scotch and set of tumblers that Cisco knew Eobard secretly kept in his office. It would be easy enough to smuggle them out of the cortex if he made his move before his fiancé got back to the labs, but returning them before their absence was noticed (or he was caught with them) would be a little tricky…

He was just picturing himself walking out of the cortex with the pilfered alcohol in his hands and hissing, "You saw nothing!" at Bob when he spotted Brie's yellow VW Beetle pulling up to the loading area. To his surprise, though, when Brie stopped the car, the passenger door opened, and Mick Rory stepped out. Mick was a bit hunched over, probably because he was a large fellow and Brie's car was tiny, but it was definitely him. Cisco could only assume that Brie had spotted Mick in the parking lot and offered to drive him over to where she and Cisco were going to be loading the boxes. And Mick had taken her up on the offer, since he was there to see Cisco, anyway.

(Of course, that meant that Mick had parked his vehicle in the employee lot, but Mick seemed like the kind of guy who would do that and then dare someone to give him crap for it.)

Brie stepped out of the driver's side and began chattering to Mick; Cisco couldn't really hear what they were saying, but knowing Brie, she was probably turning on the charm. Sure enough, as she popped the hatch on her car, he saw her very deliberately toss her hair and smile demurely. Mick didn't seem put-off by the gesture, but he didn't seem to be flirting back, either.

Cisco stood up from his makeshift chair in order to watch them both more closely. He wasn't used to seeing Mick without Snart, and for some reason, it was a little more uncanny than seeing Snart without Mick. In fact, now that he thought about it, he wasn't sure if he'd ever had a one-on-one conversation with him before today.

"Hey, Cisco!" Brie called from her position on the curb. "Look who I found!"

Well, there was one time that Mick had seen Hartley flirting with Snart in the community workroom, looked at Cisco, and then pantomimed sucking a dick, which had made Cisco laugh so hard that he spat orange soda all over his tablet. Then, there was the time that Mick had recognized one of knick-knacks in Cisco's office as a scale model of Thunderbird 3 and commented vaguely that, while he "hated puppets," those old 'supermarionation' shows weren't completely awful. And, of course, there was that one incident in which Mick had punched him, and Snart's sister had had to intervene…

Cisco froze. What the hell? Where had that fun little fantasy come from? And it was a fantasy, because it hadn't actually happened. Had it?

"Hey, Cisco?" For some reason, Brie's voice sounded far away. "You okay?"

No, it must have happened, because he very clearly remembered the feeling of Mick's fists on his skin, as well as the man's angry roars. Something had set him off, and Cisco tried to take a swing at him in self-defense, but he'd missed and gotten decked in the face for his efforts. And Snart had walked in on the beat-down and tried to get Mick to stop, but Mick wouldn't, and it wasn't until after Lisa suggested getting some dinner that the man's rage finally subsided.

Was that why he knew that Mick was food-motivated? Because Lisa—

Wait, when did Snart tell me his sister's name? Cisco thought, interrupting himself. Ideas were crashing around his mind like bumper cars, and he could hardly think through the cacophony. Snart had definitely mentioned having a sister the previous night, but he hadn't said her name. So how…why…?

He tasted iron on his lip.

"Whoa, uh, Cisco…you're bleeding," Brie said, and even though she still sounded far away, he could sense concern in her voice.

Cisco looked down at her, taking a moment to register what she'd said, and then swiped at his philtrum with his fingers. The digits came back streaked with blood. Without any forethought, Cisco wiped them on his pants. He imagined his father yelling at him for staining his clothes and wondered if Eobard would have a similar reaction.

At the foot of the stairs, Mick gazed up at him. The man looked confused. And maybe a tiny bit concerned. Did he know what was going on? Could he help?

As Cisco's legs buckled and his vision tunneled out, he was vaguely aware of the fact that he didn't know what , exactly, he wanted Mick to help him with. Just that he needed help.

S.T.A.R. Labs had an urgent care medical facility on-site.

Years ago, a handful of investors (and their attorneys) had convinced Eobard Thawne that this was necessary. Their logic was that a place wherein employees regularly handled dangerous chemicals, revolutionary tech, and powerful tools needed an area where they could go to have work-related burns, lacerations, and other wounds treated immediately. The medical wing didn't have the same capabilities as a fully functional hospital or specialty clinic, of course. But if someone accidentally sliced their hand on a broken test tube or couldn't breathe due to toxic fume inhalation, it was usually a relief to just go to the medical wing instead of having to go all the way to Central City Hospital—especially if the injury was bad enough to warrant a ride in an ambulance. Plus, keeping things in-house helped simplify insurance and workers' comp issues.

Cisco had always known that a day would come when he'd wake up in the medical wing, having suffered some kind of traumatic injury. However, he'd figured that it would be right after something epic happened, like an explosion in his workshop, or a fire in the building, or maybe even an armed robbery by thugs trying to steal top-secret tech. Never in a million years would he have guessed that his first emergency clinic visit would begin with something as mundane as walking out to the parking lot.

He also hadn't anticipated waking up to Mick Rory sitting by his bedside. But sure enough, when he opened his eyes, he was greeted by the sight of Mick shoveling graham crackers—straight out of the box—into his mouth.

"Oh, hey, you're awake. Guess you're not brain-dead?" Mick said casually, and an unreasonable amount of crumbs tumbled out of his mouth along with his words. It wasn't immediately obvious where he'd gotten the crackers; Cisco could only assume that either Mick had found the snacks in a drawer and helped himself, or he'd just complained loudly that he was hungry until someone offered them up. Either way, there was a good chance that he was going to polish off the whole box before he left.

"Guess not," Cisco said, although the throbbing pain in his head was making him wish he was. As far as he could tell, the ache was localized a little above the parietal ridge on the right side of his skull. "What happened? And what time is it?"

"You started bleeding from your nose, and then you fell down the stairs and whacked your head. Blondie With The Big Hair got me to carry you up here," Mick rumbled. "She had to go to that showcase thingy, so she asked if I'd stay with you until they could get ahold of Thawne." He glanced at his wrist momentarily. "And it's 1:35."

"Thanks for that. For everything, I mean," Cisco blinked his eyes, trying to adjust to the fluorescent lights in the medical wing. If it was 1:35, then he'd lost maybe 25 minutes. "By-the-way, Brie Larvan—AKA 'Blondie With The Big Hair'—likes you."

"She does?" Mick said, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.

"Yeah. Her exact words were 'major babe.'"

"Hmmm." Mick paused for a second, then shrugged. "Yeah, I guess I'd hit that." He attacked another cracker. "So, why was your nose bleeding, kid? You get into a fight?"

"Yeah, and you should see the other guy," Cisco replied automatically. He sighed. "Actually, I'm not sure."

"You're not sure if it was a guy who punched you? You think it might've been a huge chick?"

"No, I mean, I don't know why my nose was bleeding," Cisco groaned. "Dunno why I fainted, either. I've been feeling really out of it lately. Maybe I'm coming down with something."

"You came down those stairs pretty quick."

Again, Cisco groaned. "I'm sure I did."

"Well, don't cough on me." Mick looked out the window for a moment and then said, "Ya know, Len called a few minutes ago to ask where I was, and I said I was here and told him what happened. He said you might be feeling screwed up because you found a…a centurion."

"What are you talking about?" Cisco asked. He was completely lost. Was this a side effect of the head trauma?

Mick snorted. "It's when there's two things and they cancel each other out. It's one way to tell if someone's a hypocrite. Or a liar."

"Do…do you mean a 'contradiction?'" Cisco said.

"Yeah, that's it. Sometimes, when I try to say big words, they don't come out right. Doesn't happen when I'm writing, though, which is weird." Mick went back to looking at the window. "Anyway, Len says you found one of those things. He thinks it broke your brain." He shrugged. "It sounds more like a plot hole to me, though. And that's something different."

Cisco stared at him. "I don't under—"

"WHERE IS HE?!" Eobard's voice came thundering across the medical wing, so loudly—and so angrily—that Cisco jolted in surprise. He sat up in bed quickly, trying to find the source of the noise, but all that earned him was a fresh stab of pain in his skull. He flopped back down on the pillow.

"Mr. Thawne, sir, if you'll please calm down—" That was probably the doctor-on-duty, though if he thought that his title gave him authority over the situation, he'd obviously forgotten whose signature was on his paychecks.

"DON'T TELL ME TO CALM DOWN!" Eobard yelled. "I WANT TO KNOW WHY IT TOOK 20 MINUTES FOR SOMEONE TO CALL ME ABOUT MY FIANCÉ RECEIVING EMERGENCY MEDICAL CARE! I SHOULD FIRE EVERYONE WORKING THIS SHIFT!"

"Honey, please stop yelling," Cisco managed to call out. "My head hurts already."

"Cisco!" There was a sound of pounding footsteps, and suddenly, Eobard was by his side. " There you are! Are you alright? Are you comfortable? Did you say your head hurts? I'll tell the doctor to give you more painkillers."

Cisco sighed, embarrassed. "Eobard, I love you, but I need you to take it down a notch. You're freaking out over nothing."

"It's not nothing!" Eobard snapped, grabbing Cisco's hand and lacing their fingers together. "You have a head injury! Speaking of which…" his gaze turned to Mick. "…thank you for staying with him. You can leave now."

Mick hesitated, and Cisco couldn't help but wonder if the man understood Eobard's thinly-veiled insult. But eventually, he stood up and shrugged. "Text me if you figure out the problem with my gun, kid," he said to Cisco. Then he wandered off, the box of crackers still clutched in his hand.

For some reason, Cisco was a little sad to see him go. But he had bigger fish to fry in that moment—namely, making sure that his fiancé didn't go nuts on anyone else. "Yes, it is nothing," Cisco said to Eobard. "I fell down the stairs and bumped my head. It stings and I'm probably gonna have a really ugly knot on my scalp for a while, but I'm not dying."

Eobard frowned. "But it's not like you just tripped or slipped. Apparently, you started bleeding from your nose and then you fainted?"

"Yeah, and before that, I'd been sitting down. I probably stood up too fast and got dizzy."

"Does that happen often?" said a familiar voice. "Oh, and this should help with the pain and swelling."

Cisco sat up again, doing his best to go slowly this time. Caitlin Snow was standing in front of them, wearing a white coat and a concerned expression. She looked very doctorly indeed, and Cisco tried to reconcile this image of her with the hyper-competitive, smiling, laughing woman he'd seen at his and Eobard's pool party a few weeks ago. She was also holding an ice pack in one hand, which Cisco was happy to accept. As he pressed the cold bag to his head, he replied, "Uh, sometimes? Not so much that it's a problem, though. Like, a week ago, I tried to get up from the couch after I'd been sitting down for a while, and I dropped right back down in my seat."

"I see. Now, just out of curiosity, was that during one of your eleven-and-a-half-hour Lord of the Rings extended edition marathons?" Caitlin asked, and there was a smile tugging at her lips.

Cisco stuck his tongue out at her when he realized that she was teasing him, even though he was secretly relieved to see the Caitlin he knew and loved (and the ice she'd brought him really did feel nice). Eobard's demeanor softened slightly, too. "Hello, Dr. Snow," he said. "Please tell me that you just got here."

Caitlin nodded. "I just walked in the door. I'm actually supposed to be doing lab work today, but Dr. Smith paged me and told me to get my butt to the clinic, so I rushed over as soon as I could. Honestly, I didn't know that Cisco had gotten hurt until I was walking down the hallway and I heard you shouting about your fiancé."

Eobard nodded. "Well, it's nice to know that I still have at least one competent doctor on staff." He glanced around. "Where did Dr. Smith even go? I don't see him anywhere."

"Oh, he…uh…he left for the day," Caitlin said, grimacing—she seemed to be predicting that this news would set her boss off once again. "I mean, he has seniority, and he probably felt that I'd be better suited to take care of Cisco, anyway, since we're friends," she added quickly.

"'Probably?'"

"Well…he kind of just shoved Cisco's chart into my hands and said, 'You deal with Mr. Thawne's fiancé; I'm going home,'" Caitlin admitted, still looking uncomfortable.

"That's completely unacceptable," Eobard snarled. "He's fired. And I'm notifying every medical facility from here to Ivy Town about his poor judgement. When I'm through with him, he'll be lucky to get a job as an elementary school nurse."

"Eobard…" Cisco started.

"You're right, I shouldn't deride school nurses. They're pretty good at their jobs, unlike that asshole."

Cisco exhaled, turning to Caitlin. "As long as you're treating me, please don't let Eobard intimidate you. He's just a bit…overprotective."

"It's okay," Caitlin said, smiling. "I know my husband's the exact same way."

"Yes, Ronnie's a good man," Eobard commented stiffly, as if to prove that he was capable of being civil. "It was nice talking to him yesterday at the department meeting; it seems like I don't see him as much as I used to."

Cisco nodded. "Yeah. And Caitlin, Ronnie, and I used do stuff together all the time, until I started feeling a little too third-wheelish. But hey, pretty soon, I'll be married, too. Then the four of us can all hang out and do boring, married-couple activities as a group."

"What, like drinking wine and complaining that 10 p.m. is super late ?" Caitlin asked.

"Exactly. Maybe I'll even start wearing socks with sandals? And you should get an I'd-like-to-speak-to-your-manager haircut."

Both of them cackled with laughter, and Eobard rolled his eyes in a good-natured way. But then his expression turned a little more serious. "Dr. Snow, are you a medical doctor or a life coach?"

"Right, right," Caitlin murmured, taking the hint. She looked at the clipboard in her hands. "So, you said earlier that you only rarely get light-headed when you stand up too fast. That could be what happened in that case; we'll definitely check your blood pressure and glucose levels." She glanced up at him. "How has your overall health been lately? Any issues to report?"

Cisco very briefly filled her in on the events of Tuesday night leading into Wednesday morning. He left out his and Eobard's activities before they went to sleep (because Cisco figured she didn't need that mental image), and, though he mentioned having "a nightmare," he didn't tell her what it was about. "Then, I ran to the bathroom and did a really freakin' spot-on impression of Regan MacNeil." When Caitlin raised her eyebrows in confusion, he said, "From The Exorcist. I was projectile vomiting—that's what I mean."

"Ah, okay." Caitlin was taking notes. "Did you stay home on Wednesday?"

"No, I actually felt fine when I woke up. Well, I was tired because I didn't sleep well after I puked my guts out, but I wasn't nauseous or anything."

"I see. And how did you sleep last night?"

He was sorely tempted to say, "On my side, like I normally do." But now didn't seem like an appropriate time for a joke, so opted to answer seriously. "Well…actually…I woke up in the middle of the night again. And I didn't sleep very well after that."

Eobard raised his eyebrows. "You did? First I've heard of it."

Cisco winced. "Well…I didn't think it was that big of a deal. I wasn't sick, I was just…uncomfortable. You know?" He was still unwilling to talk about the Eobard-in-a-yellow-suit dream, and he told himself that it wasn't important, anyway.

Eobard continued to look skeptical, but Caitlin said, "Well, that's good to know. I mean, obviously, it's not good that you're having trouble sleeping." She smiled. "But knowing that information does give me a few ideas for how I can help you."

"Oh. Okay, yeah, I guess that is good," Cisco said.

"Dr. Snow, could I please have a moment with my fiancé?" Eobard asked. He was being so polite and calm that it was hard to believe that he'd been screaming at that other doctor just a few short minutes ago.

"Oh, sure," Caitlin said. "I need to get some tests set up, anyway. I'll be back with you in a few minutes." She turned and walked away, her high heels click-click-clicking as she did so.

When she was out of earshot, Eobard turned to Cisco. "Cisco, what's really going on, here? You've been acting odd since Tuesday."

"Nothing."

"You know, the last time I said that 'nothing' was wrong, you didn't let it go. And I'm not planning to let this go. So please tell me what's bothering you. I'll do whatever I can to fix it."

"I don't think that there is anything you can do," Cisco admitted. "I just haven't been sleeping well. Maybe it's stress? Or maybe I caught some kind of bug and just haven't let myself slow down long enough to get better." He took in Eobard's expression and added, "You look…apprehensive. Why do you look apprehensive?"

Eobard hesitated. Gripping Cisco's hand, he said quietly, "Alright, I'm just going to ask you point-blank: are you having second thoughts about marrying me?"

"What?" Cisco said, taken aback. "Of course not!" He glanced down at his left hand (the one Eobard wasn't holding) and half-expected for his engagement ring to be missing. Its absence, and the notion that Cisco might have taken it off deliberately while he and his fiancé were apart, might have explained why Eobard would jump to such a strange conclusion. However, the ring—in all of its red, black, and gold glory—was still exactly where it was supposed to be.

"Because, if you feel like we're rushing into things, I don't mind having an extended engagement," Eobard said quickly. With his free hand, he ran his fingers through his blonde hair. "I know that we've enjoyed a bit of a whirlwind romance, and I sometimes worry that I'm pushing you into too much too soon. You're so much younger than me, and—"

"Eobard, you beautiful idiot," Cisco said. "That is definitely not what's bothering me. In fact, I'm the one who's been bugging you lately about us needing to finalize a date and hire a planner, remember? Which is why you mention the wedding every time I get annoyed with you and you want to smooth things over?"

"I don't do that every time," Eobard said, though his eyes shined with amusement.

"Yeah, sometimes, you just start kissing me instead. Same thing." Cisco touched the side of Eobard's face with his free fingertips. "I swear, everything is absolutely fine on the 'Ciscobard' front. I'm actually really, really looking forward to being a boring married couple."

"10 p.m. bedtime and all?"

"Eh, we'll push it to 10:30." He squeezed Eobard's hand. "Seriously, why would you think I don't want to marry you?"

"I don't know. I guess I'm just paranoid. I'm not used to things in my life going so perfectly, so it's like I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop." He exhaled. "Oh, and there's the little fact that your odd behavior started right after you had a nightmare about me murdering you."

"That was…unfortunate timing. Look, I may not know what's wrong with me, but there's one thing that I know for sure: I'm yours, and only yours."

Eobard managed a weak smile. "And I'm yours , and only yours." He opened his mouth like he was going to say something else, but then he seemed to reconsider.

Cisco was pretty sure he knew what Eobard wanted, and he had to fight the urge to laugh. "Come on—out with it."

Eobard's smile widened. "Lips, please?"

He did laugh, then, as he gave his fiancé a quick kiss on the mouth.

After Cisco had been thoroughly x-rayed, poked, and prodded, Eobard finally accepted Caitlin's conclusion that Cisco was simply suffering from acute exhaustion and there wasn't much she could do for him. She did, however, write Cisco a prescription for a few days' worth of mild sedatives to help him sleep through the night and promised that, if things didn't improve over the weekend, she'd run more tests or refer him to a full-fledged medical clinic. She also told Cisco to abstain from alcohol consumption and recreational drug use until he was feeling better.

"I don't really do drugs," Cisco said dully at that last instruction. He gestured to his fiancé. "But go ahead and test this guy. Just between you and me, I think he's secretly been abusing ED medication."

Caitlin looked taken aback for a moment, but when Eobard snorted with laughter, she allowed herself to crack a smile. "You two are too much." Her professional demeanor returned. "So, based on the tests I ran and the symptoms you self-reported, I'm fairly confident that you don't have a concussion or a skull fracture. If it's a choice between you staying here for observation or you going home to an empty house, I'd rather keep you here, just in case. But if you won't be alone, then I think you're good to go."

"I'm taking him home," Eobard said authoritatively. " We are going home."

Cisco winced. "I don't want for you to have to miss work. I know how busy you are." He was already feeling guilty that Eobard had cut his meeting with the city council short in order to rush to his bedside, and—

…Wait. Wait, things weren't adding up…

"Don't worry about that, Cisco," Eobard said. "You're my priority. The city council can work around my schedule for all I care."

Caitlin raised her eyebrows. "You can do that? Make them work around your schedule, I mean?" She sounded impressed.

Cisco's mind was racing. The city council was at City Hall, which was downtown. Traffic around that area got especially bad during mid-day.

"Of course I can," Eobard said with a smug smile. "S.T.A.R. Labs is so important to the local economy that if I walked into a meeting and demanded a footstool made out of gummy worms, Mayor Bellows would just ask if I wanted regular gummy worms or the sour kind."

Caitlin laughed and made a comment in response, but to Cisco, it just sounded like background noise. He was too busy trying to make sense of something:

Eobard said that it took 20 minutes for someone to call him . But Mick said that it was 1:35 when I woke up. And if I didn't get hurt until almost 1:10, that means…

"Cisco, did you hear me?" Caitlin asked.

Cisco snapped to attention. "Huh?"

"I asked if it was really possible to weave a full-sized footstool out of gummy worms. If anyone knows about the tensile strength of soft candy, it's you," Caitlin said. She seemed genuinely intrigued by the prospect.

Cisco stared at her. He really hadn't been following her conversation with Eobard, and worse, he now couldn't remember what he'd been mulling over just a second prior. "Uh…maybe? I'd have to do some math. I'll get back to you on that."

Eobard laughed. "Do all the math you want. Just know that I'm not buying you a 20-pound bag of gummy worms so that you can build a model—even a scale model. I have to draw a line somewhere, sweetie."

"Yeah, sure," Cisco mumbled. Shit, what was I thinking about just now?

Eobard's expression fell slightly. "You're not even going to argue with me on that? Alright, we do need to get you home."

Cisco exhaled. Trying to gather his thoughts was pointless. "Yeah, I…sorry. Guess I'm still kind of out of it right now."

"That's okay," Caitlin said kindly, giving his shoulder a squeeze. "And, hey, if you're not feeling up for brunch on Sunday, that's okay, too—we'll reschedule. Just let me know, alright?"

"Right, right." He looked at Eobard. "I need to swing by my office to get my stuff, and then we can go."

Eobard nodded. "Are you okay to walk?"

"Yes," Cisco said quickly, somewhat annoyed by how much they were fussing over him—one would think that he'd broken a bone or been exposed to a dangerous toxin. "I don't need to be carried or anything."

"From what I heard, that's actually how you got here," Caitlin volunteered helpfully. "Mick Rory carried you up from the parking lot."

"Did he do it bridal-style, piggy-back, or over his shoulder like an old-fashioned sack of flour?" Cisco asked. Then, he huffed in aggravation. "Never mind, I don't want to know. The images in my head are all equally embarrassing…"

...

Notes:

Once again: poor Cisco. His memory of Mick punching him, of course, is from Flash S01E16, "Rogue Time." The staircase he fell down is the same one he and Hartley went to look at in Flash S01E12, "Crazy for You." Or maybe it isn't; I've seen every episode of The Flash (most of them more than once) and I'm still a little shaky on how S.T.A.R. Labs is actually laid out…

Also, a disclaimer: I am not a doctor, and the Arrowverse is a collection of TV shows. I'm fully aware that the way the whole scenario with Cisco's injury played out is totally unrealistic; in real life, head injuries are actually super serious, especially if they result in a loss of consciousness. I can only ask you to please suspend your disbelief for the sake of drama.

Originally published on AO3 in March 2019