Notes:
Trigger warning in this part of the story for brief discussions of domestic violence. I'll put a spoiler at the beginning of the end notes just in case anyone wants/needs a more detailed description of what to expect.
...
Cisco's cell phone alarm went off at 3 a.m., snapping him out of a deep and dreamless sleep. He opened his eyes blearily and groped for the device on his nightstand without lifting his head from his pillow. When he finally managed to grab the phone, he looked at the screen, wondering why the hell it was going off at this time of night—or, rather, morning.
As he swiped to turn off the chime, he saw a banner across his screen that said "CALL MICK." For a moment, Cisco stared at the phone; in his daze, it seemed quite possible that the software had become sentient and was trying to give him advice.
"Who's calling you so late?"
Cisco jolted. He wasn't surprised that Eobard was now awake, too; the noise was definitely loud enough to rouse both of them. He was surprised, though, that Eobard's voice did not sound at all groggy or disoriented. It sounded…well, it sounded like Eobard had been awake already. Cisco squinted at him, trying to tell if he looked like someone who'd been tossing and turning for hours, too. "S'not the ringer," Cisco managed to say. "It's the alarm. I don't know why…" But then a thought occurred to him, and he groaned out loud.
"What is it?" Eobard said.
"Earlier today—well, yesterday, I guess—I set an alarm on my phone to remind me to do something. And I meant to set it for 3 p.m. I guess I screwed up on that last part." He shook his head as he set his phone back down on the nightstand. "Sorry. And this was before I fell down the stairs, so I can't even blame it on that."
Eobard sighed. "Oh, Cisco…"
"Yeah, yeah, I know—for a genius, I can be a real dolt sometimes." He laid back down. "Were you up already?" Cisco asked.
"I was. I woke up about an hour ago and haven't been able to fall back asleep."
Cisco reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together. "Is something wrong?"
For a moment, Eobard just looked at their joined hands. Then, he turned his blue eyes on Cisco. "It's nothing you need to concern yourself about, my love."
"Hey, don't light yourself on fire to keep me warm," Cisco remarked. He squeezed Eobard's hand. "I'm here for you, even if my brain's kinda going through a rough patch right now…"
"Honestly, it's nothing. Just a simple fix. Though I really should see to it sooner rather than later." He kissed Cisco's fingers and then pulled away from him. The next thing Cisco knew, Eobard was out of bed and pulling on his dressing gown.
"Where are you going?" Cisco asked, sitting up once more.
Eobard smiled at him. "Sleep, sweet boy. You need your rest."
"But—"
"I'm only going to my office—the one here, not at S.T.A.R. Labs. I'll be back in a few minutes, I promise." He paused. "…Unless you want for me to hold you until you fall asleep again? It's probably okay for you to take another sedative, too."
You're babying me again , Cisco wanted to say, but he decided against it. "No, I'm fine." He stretched out and laid his head on his pillow. "Go take care of…whatever it is you need to take care of. I'll be here when you get back."
"I know you will." He padded out of the room, his hands in his pockets and an oddly serious look on his face.
Cisco watched him go and then directed his gaze towards the ceiling. Now that he was awake, he actually wasn't tired at all; he could only assume that it was because he'd fallen asleep a few hours earlier than he normally did. Eobard had told him that he needed to rest, but he honestly felt more like reading, watching TV, or messing with his phone.
A part of him also wanted to get up and follow Eobard to his office. Cisco wasn't privy to every detail of his fiancé's work, but it was also extremely uncommon for Eobard to shut down questions completely. Rather than tell Cisco that he "wouldn't understand" something, Eobard was far more likely to try to explain a concept or idea and then laugh and kiss his lover's cheeks when Cisco either (A) surprised him with his insight or (B) admitted that he was lost. Why, then, was Eobard being so cagey with him?
You're overthinking things again, the voice in his head scolded. He just doesn't want you to worry. Or maybe he's planning a surprise. Either way, let it go.
Cisco sighed. Maybe that was his problem: he always overthought things to the point that he worked himself into a frenzy. Well, that was one of his problems, anyway; he was also pretty sure that he had an oral fixation and "daddy issues"—that would explain why he had such a knack for giving blowjobs to older men. And Eobard had already pointed out that he was a total doormat when it came to his family.
(Really, Cisco was bluntly aware of the fact that he was a huge ball of anxiety and various complexes. Hartley had once asked him, "What's wrong with you, Ramon?" and Cisco had just laughed in response.)
Another issue he had: he didn't like being alone when he didn't feel well. Especially not in this house, where too much silence and space could quickly become stifling. So, even though he was under strict orders to go back to sleep, he grabbed his phone off of his nightstand and typed a message to Eobard:
Come back to bed. I'm lonely.
He added an eggplant emoji, a tongue emoji, and a winking face emoji—just so that there could be no confusion—and then hit 'send.' 10-to-1, that would bring his fiancé back sooner rather than later.
To Cisco's surprise, though, he heard Eobard's phone buzz with the new message alert about a second later. Cisco looked to the other side of the bed and groaned in aggravation. Eobard's STARphone was sitting on his nightstand, perched atop a wireless charging pad. Evidently, he hadn't seen fit to take it with him to his office.
Cisco scowled at the forgotten phone. Sending Eobard a sexy 'Come to bed' text was pretty effing pointless if he wouldn't see it until after he'd returned to their room.
No, this whole "lying around and waiting for him" thing wasn't working. Cisco decided that he was just going to have to get up and retrieve the man himself. With a sigh, he got out of bed, taking a second to let his legs acclimate before he stood up. A single I-got-up-too-fast injury was enough for one day, and if he fell down again, Eobard would probably have him fitted for a protective suit made of bubble wrap. Or handcuff him to their headboard so that he was forced to stay in bed.
(Which, Cisco had admit, would actually be pretty hot…)
Cisco grabbed his own dressing gown from its place on the back of the closet door and then left the bedroom. Eobard had already turned on one of the hall lights, and, due to the way the house was designed, that meant that it was bright enough for him to navigate a path to Eobard's office without flipping any more switches or using his phone as a flashlight. He even managed to get there without clipping his hip on the accent table (or the geode and wood sculpture that the accent table held) outside the office entryway.
Out of all the areas in their home, Cisco spent the least amount of time in Eobard's office. Granted, he wasn't totally barred from entering. He'd definitely stepped foot in that room on more than one occasion. But he very rarely had a reason to go in there, so he mostly stayed away. Eobard had a similar relationship with Cisco's home workshop; when Cisco was tinkering with one project or another, Eobard was far more likely to poke his head in the doorway and call out to get Cisco's attention than he was to simply stroll up to him.
They'd never really discussed this arrangement. It was just an understood custom of their cohabitation, one that seemed to work well for them. They'd both lived alone prior to Cisco moving in, so each of them being allowed to have a space in the house that was theirs—and theirs alone—made sense.
That unspoken boundary was why, when Cisco reached the office, he stopped at the threshold instead of walking in. Eobard had turned on his desk lamp, so Cisco could clearly see him standing behind his desk with his back to the doorway. Cisco was about to say something to alert his fiancé to his presence, but the words died in his throat when he realized that Eobard was staring at the wall.
Cisco frowned. That particular expanse of wall didn't contain any windows, and it lacked decorations beyond a few framed photos. It was also completely opaque and made out of traditional construction material instead of glass. Thus, he had no idea what Eobard could possibly be looking at.
'Kay, that's not creepy at all, Cisco thought to himself grimly. He knew (from years of watching TV and movies) that sleepwalkers sometimes got "stuck" at impassible structures, but Eobard had seemed completely lucid when he left their bedroom. Maybe he was just lost in thought? That happened to Cisco sometimes, and occasionally, it was so bad that getting swatted on the arm or head was the only way to snap him out of it.
After a few seconds, though, Eobard did move. He put his hands up, and for some reason, they instantly became blurry. Cisco blinked his eyes a few times, trying to put Eobard's hands back into focus, but they still looked strange.
Are they…are they vibrating?
He felt a squeezing sensation in his chest. There was something very familiar about the idea of Eobard's hand vibrating, and it filled him with dread. But he couldn't explain it.
As Cisco watched, dumbstruck, Eobard stuck his hands into the wall he'd previously been staring at; they passed through the structure like it was a hologram. After fishing around for a moment, he pulled back. And when he did, there was something clutched in his fingers.
Is that a spear?!
Yes, that's definitely what it looked like. Eobard didn't seem at all surprised to see it, so he must have known that it was there. Cisco, however, couldn't really comprehend what he was happening. And he was so shocked that he absentmindedly took a step backwards. He didn't think to watch out for the accent table, so he bumped into it, jostling the sculpture and making it rattle.
Eobard reacted to the noise in the blink of an eye. One moment, was looking down at the spear in his hands. Then, his head snapped upward, and suddenly, he was upon Cisco, standing directly in front of him. His face was contorted into a scowl, but his expression turned into one of surprise when he recognized the person who'd snuck up on him.
"Oh! Cisco, I…I thought you were asleep," he said with wide eyes.
Cisco just stared at him. He wasn't holding the spear anymore, but...
"You startled me, my love," Eobard continued. "I thought you might be a burglar. Though, considering I'm unarmed, I probably should have just ducked down instead of—"
"What the hell did you just do?" Cisco blurted out. He was starting to feel dizzy, and it took all of his concentration to stay on his feet.
"What are you talking about?"
"Just now! You…you vibrated your hands, and they passed through the wall! And then you pulled out a… a spear thingy !"
Eobard looked at him for a second, and then he let out a hollow laugh. In the dim light of the hallway, the sound seemed almost ghoulish. "Cisco, you're seeing things. I think it's the medication. Let's go back to bed." He made a move to hold Cisco's hand, presumably to lead him to their room.
In any other situation, Cisco would have given in. He would have trusted Eobard; he would have believed what the man was saying. But too much had happened in the last few days, and he couldn't ignore his instincts any longer.
So he yanked his hand away. "No! I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what's going on!"
"There's nothing to tell. Now, darling, we—"
"Stop it! Just stop it! I saw you put your hands through the wall! It was…" A wave of nausea rolled through him. "It was like in my dream. The one where you killed me. Did…did that actually happen?! Did you crush my heart?!"
Eobard exhaled. His gaze had grown icy. "Cisco, you're acting crazy. If I'd killed you, how in the hell could we be standing here, having this asinine conversation?" He reached for Cisco's wrists with both hands. "You're clearly not well. Let's go back to bed before you fall down again."
"Don't touch me," Cisco snarled, taking a step back so Eobard couldn't grab him. "I want to know what you pulled out of the wall."
"I didn't pull anything out of the wall."
"You're lying! I know what I saw!" When Eobard continued to frown, Cisco stormed past him and walked over to Eobard's desk. Sure enough, some kind of spear—dark wooden handle, ornately decorated metal tip—was spanning the length of the table. It looked like a MacGuffin in an Indiana Jones flick, and normally, Cisco would have been delighted by the sight of something so cool in his house.
"Cisco—"
Tonight, though, he was pissed off. "You just lied to my face!" he said, whirling around to look Eobard in the eye. "What else are you lying about?!"
"You need to calm down."
" You need to start telling me the truth!"
"There's nothing to tell. You asked me what I pulled out of the wall, and I didn't pull anything out of the wall." Eobard stepped back into his office and pointed at the spear. " That was on my desk before you came storming in here, acting hysterical."
"No, it wasn't!" His aggravation nearly had him pulling his hair out.
"Cisco, when was the last time you were in this room?" Eobard asked, crossing his arms across his chest.
"I don't know…a week ago, maybe?" Cisco shook his head. "What does that have to do with anything?"
"Then how do you know that the spear wasn't on my desk already?" He let out another hollow laugh. "Why would I lie about something like that?"
Cisco paused. Eobard had a point; he actually had no way of knowing how long the spear had been sitting out, and it really would be a strange thing to lie about. Plus, that explanation was much more logical than Eobard somehow pulling a large object out a hunk of solid drywall and not leaving behind any physical evidence.
But…but he saw the spear come out of the wall. He saw it. And, while he hadn't done any research on the medicine Caitlin had prescribed for him, he was pretty sure that it was just supposed to make him content and sleepy—not delusional.
"What is it?" Cisco asked quietly, stalling for more time to think. "The spear, what…why do you have it?"
"It was a gift from an investor. An artifact he acquired on his last trip to Tel Aviv," Eobard replied stiffly. "I was planning to either donate it to the Central City Museum or just sell it. I haven't decided yet."
Cisco looked at the spear again. For some reason, he wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch it, even though he knew it was probably extremely old and delicate. But then again, the spear didn't look old. Was it a reproduction of some kind?
He looked up at Eobard. "You came down here at 3 a.m. just to admire this thing?" Cisco asked. " This is was what you were losing sleep over?"
" Actually, I couldn't sleep because I was worried about a research project I didn't finish. Leaving the office early today put me behind in my work." He eyed Cisco with a disapproving frown on his face, as if to silently remind him that Cisco was the reason he'd left early.
Immediately, Cisco felt a pang of guilt for inconveniencing him, and an apology nearly leapt out of his mouth. But then he stopped. Besides a few stationery supplies, the spear was the only thing on Eobard's desk. If he'd been researching, wouldn't he have gotten out documents or folders or even his laptop, as well?
Cisco wanted to touch the spear. It was… calling to him, or something.
"Cisco," Eobard sighed. He sounded tired. "Cisco, will you please just listen to me for once? Let's get you back to bed."
If he could just touch the spear, all of his questions would be answered. He would finally understand what was going on. He would get the clarity that he'd been seeking for the last few days. And so, despite Eobard's pleas, he shot out his hand and connected it with the spear's metal tip.
Eobard was happy. He was downright euphoric. As he stood in the middle of what appeared to be some kind of warehouse (or safe house), he held the spear in his hand and looked at it like he could hardly believe his luck. "I have to say: well done. I've heard of your skills as a thief before, but this has taken it to a whole new level."
Damien Darhk was there, too. "Truly masterful, getting one of them to steal it for us."
And so were Snart and Mick. "He was never really one of them. Were you, Mick?" Snart drawled, his voice as nonchalant as ever.
Mick didn't look as happy as the others. He stepped a little closer to his partner and said something indiscernible. Snart murmured something back in response. Whatever alliance the four of them had, Mick was clearly only in it for Snart.
No, wait, the five of them. Malcom Merlyn entered the room at that moment, a cloth-wrapped bundle in one arm. "Thanks for waiting for me," he said, practically rolling his eyes. "Seems like I missed a few things."
Eobard's eyes were ravenous. "You found the Kalabros." Cisco wasn't sure whether that was a statement or a question. Maybe Eobard wasn't, either.
"The word of God himself," Merlyn replied as he undid the wrapping on the item in his arms. It was some kind of book—massive, heavy, and very old. It reminded Cisco of the family Bible that currently resided at his parents' house. Dante would probably inherit it one day, because he was Dante. Cisco didn't mind; his relationship status with God (and religion in general) had been "It's Complicated" since he'd learned about the existence of—
"It's like the, uh… owner's manual for the Spear of Destiny," Eobard quipped, smiling again. He used the exact same tone and expression when he was dumbing things down for investors and visitors at S.T.A.R. Labs. The combination was always so charming that people never picked up on his condescension—or, in some cases, his contempt.
("I was starting to give up hope that I'd ever meet an intellectual equal," Eobard had commented once, early into his and Cisco's relationship. "And yet, here you are. Do you ever get the feeling that you were made for me, and I was made for you? Because I do." At the time, Cisco had been drunk on too much wine and too little attention, and Eobard's words seemed like the most romantic thing anyone had ever said to him.)
"It wasn't easy to find," Merlyn remarked.
"Now what?" Mick said.
Eobard gripped the spear in one hand, held it out to rest of the group, and let the weapon's handle slide to the floor with an almost ominous clunk . "Grab hold," he said shortly. Whatever was about to happen, he wasn't willing to wait any longer.
The other four men each took turns wrapping a single hand around the spear's wooden handle. Once they all had a grip on it, Merlyn glanced around their little circle, and then he opened his mouth once more. "B'khi-eel," he recited, reading out of the Kalabros. "Ah-ash-lem-tu-on. K'i-ah-een. Kh-det Bay-all-ma-ah."
Cisco couldn't understand what Merlyn was saying. He didn't even know which language the man was speaking. However, there was something…hypnotic about his words. Was it a song? Or a prayer?
"B'khi-eel. Ah-ash-lem-tu-on. K'i-ah-een. Kh-det Bay-all-ma-ah. B'khi-eel. Ah-ash-lem-tu-on. K'i-ah-een. Kh-det Bay-all-ma-ah," Merlyn repeated.
Something was happening. Merlyn's voice became harsh, like an otherworldly entity was speaking through him. The tip of the spear began to glow. And the wind picked up, howling around the five of them. But they were indoors; how could there be wind at all?
"B'khi-eel. Ah-ash-lem-tu-on. K'i-ah-een. Kh-det Bay-all-ma-ah…"
Merlyn and Darhk both looked resolute, gripping the spear like they weren't 100% certain what to expect. Snart had his eyes closed in a show of cool detachment, and Mick seemed slightly pained.
But Eobard…Eobard was smirking. That euphoric look was back in his face. And why wouldn't it be? After so much running, so much anxiety, and so much scheming…he'd won.
He'd won.
As quickly as the scene in Cisco's mind had changed, it abruptly flipped back; they were in Eobard's home office again, and Eobard had his hand wrapped around Cisco's wrist so that he could no longer reach the spear. "DON'T TOUCH THAT!" he bellowed, and Cisco was reminded of the way he'd yelled at Dr. Smith in the medical wing.
Instinctively, he stepped back, yanking his arm away from Eobard as he did so. His brain was back to feeling like a shaken Etch-a-Sketch. He wasn't sure what he'd just seen—a vision? A nightmare? A fantasy?—but he didn't like it. He didn't like it at all. "This spear isn't a souvenir from Tel Aviv, is it?" he said flatly. "Did you have Leonard Snart and Mick Rory steal it for you? Where did it really come from?"
Eobard's eyes narrowed again. "You. Are acting. Crazy," he said through gritted teeth. "This is my house. You have no right to interrogate me."
"First of all, hermanito, that place where you're living right now isn't your house. It's your boyfriend's house. Unless your name's on the deed, he can kick you out whenever he wants."Weeks ago, when Cisco told Eobard that Dante had said that, Eobard had frowned, squeezed Cisco's hand, and reassured him that what was his was also Cisco's. Once they were married, their assets would be tied together legally, but he already thought of the mansion as theirs , anyway.
"' Your house,' huh? What happened to 'What's mine is yours, darling'?" Cisco snapped.
Eobard exhaled. "Yes, of course I think of this place as 'ours.' It's not like I've forbidden you from going anywhere or using anything. I just mean that you're being unreasonable right now. 3 a.m. isn't an appropriate time to play detective. We can talk about all of this later."
That's not what you said! Cisco almost yelled out loud. That wasn't even close to what he'd said. And, now that he thought about it, what had Eobard meant by, "Will you please just listen to me for once?" Cisco had been listening to him and following his instructions all day. He was actually getting pretty sick of it.
"I'm going to ask you one last time," Cisco said, trying to keep his voice level. "What is this thing?"
Eobard looked at him for a few seconds, and for a brief, shining moment, Cisco thought that he was actually going to come clean. But he simply huffed out a breath and said, "I've already answered that question. If you don't trust me, that's your problem."
When Cisco was a kid, one of Dante's favorite techniques to torment him had been to steal something of his (a comic book, a toy, a puzzle, etc.) and then claim that he didn't have it—even when Cisco could clearly see him sitting on the pilfered object or holding it in one hand. Especially when he could clearly see that Dante had it. He would get angry to the point of shouting and crying, and Dante would simply sit there, calmly insisting that Cisco was mistaken. And on the rare occasion that their parents got involved and took Cisco's side (instead of just telling Cisco to stop making such a fuss or to quit harassing Dante when he was trying to practice his music), Dante wouldn't acknowledge any wrongdoing. More often than not, he'd claim that he had simply misunderstood Cisco—or Cisco had just misunderstood him . And Cisco would spent the rest of the day wondering if he'd been in the wrong after all.
But in Cisco's current situation…he wasn't wrong. He was positive that he wasn't wrong. He was also positive that he needed to believe in himself more than he'd ever believed in anything in his life.
So he didn't argue. He blinked his eyes, took a deep breath, and looked at Eobard. "I'm leaving."
Eobard stared at him. "What do you mean, you're 'leaving'?"
"I mean, I'm going to walk into the kitchen, grab my wallet and my keys, get in my car, and go somewhere that's not here. I need space right now."
"You don't mean that." He wasn't shouting, but his eyes were so wide that Cisco could see white both above and below the irises. Eobard Thawne prided himself on being able to understand and anticipate the actions of the people around him, but damned if his fiancé hadn't just managed to catch him completely off-guard.
Cisco forced himself to look away and stalked towards the kitchen. "A few hours ago, I told you to stop telling me what to think and how to feel. I definitely meant that. " He didn't know yet where he was going to go. Caitlin and Ronnie would probably let him crash at their place for a day or two if he told them that it was an emergency, and if he couldn't get ahold of them at this hour, then there were plenty of cheap motels in Central City. Hell, worst case scenario, he could drive to his parents' house. But the bottom line was that he needed to go someplace where Eobard wasn't and try to clear his head.
"I don't believe you," Eobard said shortly. "You aren't actually leaving. You're just having a temper tantrum. I always forget how young you are until you start pulling stunts like this."
Cisco didn't say anything. He'd reached the kitchen, and his wallet and car keys were in their usual place in a decorative bowl on the kitchen counter.
"I think we can both agree that I've been very patient with you today," Eobard continued, raising his voice so that Cisco could hear him on the other side of the house. "And that's because I understand that you're unwell. But I'm really not happy with the way you're acting right now."
Shoes. Cisco needed shoes. It was bad enough that he was leaving the house clad in sweatpants, an old t-shirt, and a dressing gown, but going barefoot was taking it a bit too far. Fortunately, his (and Eobard's) casual sneakers lived in a basket that they kept by the door to the garage, so it would be easy enough to slip on a pair of Vans before he walked out.
"Why are you doing this?!" Eobard snarled. "I've given you everything you could possibly need to be happy. I want for you to be happy. So why can't you just trust me?!"
Halfway to the garage door, Cisco hesitated. He wanted to reassure Eobard that he still loved him, that he really was grateful for everything the man had given him, and that he wanted to trust him. But, even if he couldn't explain it, he knew that something wasn't right. And if he stopped now, he'd probably never figure it out. So he just swallowed and continued to make his way towards the exit. His phone was in his pants pocket, and he pulled it out, fully intending to call Caitlin once he got to his car.
There was a flash of spidery red light, and almost immediately, Eobard was in front of him again, blocking his path. Cisco let out a cry of surprise and dropped his phone. He heard it clatter against the marble floor and, while the tech geek in him immediately wanted to pick it up to make sure it wasn't damaged, the rational human in him was more concerned by the fact that Eobard had somehow run the entire length of the house in a fraction of a second.
And Eobard didn't even seem winded from this feat, either. "Look, if you really feel like you need some space, I suppose that's okay—this house is big enough that you can have as much alone time as you need. But you shouldn't drive a car at this hour when you're upset. It's not safe. And I'd rather you didn't drag anyone else into our private business, either." His tone was urgent. "Let's retreat to neutral corners instead of being rash."
Once again, Cisco found himself backing away from Eobard. There was no way a person could move that fast. Not a normal person, anyway. "How did….who… what the hell are you?" This was all too much to take in all at once. His chest hurt, and he was having trouble catching his breath.
"I'm the man you're going to marry," Eobard replied. "Just because I haven't told you the whole truth, that doesn't change who I am. You love me, and I love you more than anyone else could ever love you." He sounded almost desperate, like he was running out of ideas. Cisco wouldn't have been surprised if he was hiding a leash (or a catch pole) behind his back and was waiting for the right second to slip it around Cisco's neck. "The perfect world I made for myself includes you, because we're supposed to be together. That's why you shouldn't leave. Do you understand?"
Cisco stared at him. "No, I don't. I don't understand what's happening. All I know is that you've been lying to me, I've got a bunch of memories that I shouldn't have, and…and…I'm scared." His voice broke. "I'm scared of you right now."
"There's no reason to be scared of me," Eobard said, chuckling as if Cisco had admitted he was afraid of the dark. "I'm willing to go back to bed and pretend that this whole incident never happened. I'm not going to hurt you, my beautiful boy."
"But you would hurt me, if you thought you had to." Cisco swallowed, and he felt tears welling up in his eyes. "If I did something…if I found out a bad secret…you'd hurt me to keep me quiet. Like you did before."
"I didn't have a choice then," Eobard barked, and he seemed to realize almost immediately what he'd just admitted to. He wet his lips. "I mean…what happened before doesn't matter. Our circumstances are very, very different now. You have nothing to be afraid of anymore. So just forget about it and let yourself be happy. Okay?" Slowly, gently, he reached out to wrap Cisco in a hug.
And, for the first time he could recall, Cisco didn't lean into his embrace. He stood completely rigid with his arms at his sides. When Eobard cupped Cisco's chin in one hand and forced him to look up, Cisco met his gaze, but he didn't even pretend to smile. He still didn't understand, still couldn't sort out the storm of emotions raging in his head…but he knew that something between them (within him?) was now broken beyond repair.
They stood like that for a few moments, with Eobard searching Cisco's face for a flicker of comprehension or a spark of fondness. But eventually, his expression fell, and he released Cisco. "Okay," he said, taking a few steps back and running his fingers through his hair. "Fine. I'll just…I can fix this, too."
Before Cisco could ask what he was talking about, Eobard's hand clamped down on his wrist. And then they were both in Eobard's study again. It happened so quickly that Cisco barely perceived any movement beyond some kind of rush—like he'd been on a roller coaster during a drop.
Eobard had dumped Cisco in his desk chair, probably anticipating that the younger man would feel unsteady after their quick jaunt. Meanwhile, Eobard stood in the doorway to the study, blocking Cisco's exit. The spear was clutched in one of his hands, and as Cisco watched, he let the handle touch the floor.
Instinctively, Cisco grabbed a stainless steel letter opener off of Eobard's desk and held it in front of himself. Then he immediately felt stupid, because what the hell was a letter opener going to do against a guy who apparently had super powers? Why couldn't Eobard have been like those eccentric billionaires on TV and in movies who stashed weapons all over the house?
Still, the gesture wasn't lost on Eobard. He eyed the tool in Cisco's hands and let out a sad sigh. "I'll fix this." He looked at Cisco. "Give me a moment. I'll fix everything."
Cisco dared to stand up from the chair. "Eobard, please…this isn't something you can just fix."
"I CAN DO WHATEVER I WANT!" Eobard yelled. His eyes were now glowing red, and his voice had deepened so harshly that the room seemed to shake. "THIS WORLD IS MINE , AND I'M GOING TO GET EVERYTHING I DESERVE! EVERYTHING I'VE EARNED!"
Cisco dropped down into the chair again and pulled his feet up to make himself as small as possible. This man—a man Cisco had worked alongside, confided in, slept with—was turning into a monster before his eyes. Or had Eobard always been a monster, and his human disguise was finally coming undone?
Eobard continued to stare at him with crimson fury for a few more seconds. Then, he seemed to relax, and his face returned to normal. He took a deep breath, running his fingers through his hair again. "Oh, Cisco. You really do bring out both the best and worst in me," he said. "Things would be so much simpler if I'd never met you. But I did meet you. And I fell in love with you. And I decided a long time ago that I would not let anything come between us again." He tapped the spear's handle on the ground again; the action seemed more like a nervous tic than anything else. "So, here we are."
The letter opener felt heavy in Cisco's hand. Could he actually use it if he needed to? Would there be any point in trying?
"Forgive me," Eobard said, and his voice cracked with emotion. "I was sloppy before, but I won't make that mistake again. I'll be much more careful this time around." He looked at the spear. "This…I don't think that it'll hurt. But if it does, it'll be over soon. And you won't remember a thing. I promise."
"What are you talking about?!" Cisco shouted at him, finding his voice. "What do you mean, I won't remember?!'"
"Explaining it would be a waste of both our time," Eobard said. "So, instead of talking—I'd rather just take action."
In that moment, Cisco expected for Eobard to lurch forward and jam the spear into his chest. It probably wouldn't have taken any more effort than crushing Cisco's heart with his hand, and he—apparently—was already quite capable of doing that. Regardless of his M.O., Cisco was fairly certain that Eobard had snapped and was going to kill him. Maybe make it a murder-suicide, to boot, and then all of their friends and co-workers would tearfully explain to detectives and journalists that Eobard "seemed like such a nice guy" and they couldn't believe he'd done something so horrible.
But Eobard didn't do that. Instead, he simply opened his mouth and, with a far off look in his eye, began to speak: "B'khi-eel. Ah-ash-lem-tu-on. K'i-ah-een. Kh-det Bay-all-ma-ah…"
Cisco was so surprised that he dropped the letter opener. Even if he didn't understand what Eobard was saying, he recognized the incantation: it was the same thing that Malcolm Merlyn had chanted while he, Eobard, and their associates had all held onto the spear. Then the weapon had started to glow, and then…and then…
"B'khi-eel. Ah-ash-lem-tu-on. K'i-ah-een. Kh-det Bay-all-ma-ah…"
Eobard had said earlier that he'd created a perfect world for himself, one that included Cisco. The man had enough money, power, and intelligence to change the word, but could he literally reshape reality, too?
"Eobard, please stop," Cisco said, and his voice was a desperate whine. "Whatever you're doing...I don't want to forget things. I don't want you to mess with my memories. Please!"
He may as well have been talking to the wall. Undaunted, Eobard carried on like Cisco wasn't there: "B'khi-eel. Ah-ash-lem-tu-on. K'i-ah-een. Kh-det Bay-all-ma-ah…"
Cisco's head was spinning, like he was underwater. Or in a room with a limited air supply. If he was going to do something, he only had a few seconds to do it. His eyes fell on Eobard's desk, and he spied a rubber band.
When he was a kid, his mother had taught him to wear a ribbon, a piece string, a hair tie, or—yes—a rubber band on the wrist of his dominant hand when he didn't want to forget to do something. The idea was that he'd think of the thing he had to remember every time he caught a glimpse of his hand. For an overactive child who was always getting distracted by various projects and ideas, the trick worked surprisingly well.
He'd stopped doing it when he realized that writing himself a note or setting an alarm on his phone was a more reliable way to recall important matters. But he didn't have access to a pen and paper, and his phone was still on the floor on the other side of the house. And even if he'd had those items within his grasp, he wouldn't have had time to use them.
So, while Eobard was staring off into space, repeating that strange spell over and over, Cisco grabbed the rubber band, slipped it onto his wrist, and covered it with his sleeve. And as wind roared in his ears and his vision began to blur, he thought to himself, Remember that the details don't add up! Remember that there are holes in your memory! Remember to trust your instincts! Remember, remember, remember—
The world faded to white.
Cisco woke up on Friday morning feeling refreshed.
Years ago, he'd learned to appreciate the simple pleasure of waking up on his own steam rather than being pushed awake by an outside force. He opened his eyes slowly, reveling in the gentle softness of the bedsheets and the pleasant firmness of the mattress. Having all that space to himself felt downright decadent, and he was so, so glad that his days of sleeping on crappy, second-hand mattresses and box springs were behind him.
Everything was going great until he pressed the side of his head back into his pillow and felt a dull ache surge through his skull.
Cisco winced, flinching away from the contact. Ugh, so that hadn't been a dream; he really had fallen down the stairs and busted his crown the day before. When he was a kid, it had been almost thrilling to stand up too quickly and get light-headed as a result, but now that he was an adult, he really had to be more careful.
It could have been worse, though. For example, if Hartley had been with him when he'd fallen instead of Brie, the guy probably would have just stood there rolling his eyes instead of getting help. Or maybe he would have been too busy interrogating Mick about Snart's likes and dislikes to even notice that Cisco had gotten injured. After all, what was a little head trauma compared to Hartley's ultimate goal of making Snart fall in love with him?
Speaking of love, he kinda hoped that Brie and Mick would exchange numbers at some point. Mick deserved to get some action, considering he'd sat with Cisco for nearly 40 minutes while he was unconscious just because Brie asked him to. Snart was definitely a jerk, but Mick was okay.
Once his head stopped thumping, he became aware of noises filtering in from a different part of the house. It sounded like the laughter and cheering of a studio audience—the sort of thing that was a staple of early morning talk shows. There was a TV in their kitchen that he and Eobard sometimes turned on while they were eating breakfast, and Cisco wondered if maybe his fiancé had accidentally left the device turned on when he went to work.
(He assumed that Eobard was at work, anyway. It seemed a little odd that he'd left without saying goodbye to Cisco, but perhaps he'd wanted to let him sleep?)
Cisco carefully got out of bed, retrieved his dressing gown from the back of the closet door, slipped it on, and made his way to the kitchen. Sure enough, the TV was on, but to Cisco's surprise, Eobard himself was there, too. He appeared to be halfway through his usual breakfast: two hard-boiled eggs, a bowl of oatmeal, and coffee. His head was bowed slightly as he reviewed something on his tablet, and Cisco couldn't help but admire the way that the sunlight filtering in from a nearby window accentuated his blonde hair.
It only took a few seconds for Eobard to look up and notice Cisco. When he did, a smile broke out across his handsome face, and he turned off the TV. "Ah, you're finally awake. How are you feeling, dear?"
"Honestly? Really good," Cisco admitted. "Those sedatives that Caitlin gave me must have been what I needed, because I slept like a rock."
"You definitely did. Not too far into Ant-Man, I looked down and saw that you'd dozed off. I was worried I'd wake you up when I got out of bed to brush my teeth, but you barely moved. Same story when I got up this morning." He paused. "Well, full disclosure: I got up at 3 a.m. to use the toilet, and you apparently woke up long enough to send me a suggestive text message. But by the time I was finished and came back, you were asleep again."
Cisco was startled. "What? You're kidding."
Eobard smirked. "Check your text log if you don't believe me."
Cisco pulled out his phone and looked. Sure enough, there was an outgoing message time-stamped from a few minutes after 3 a.m.:
Come back to bed. I'm lonely. [Eggplant emoji] [tongue emoji] [winking face emoji].
He burst out laughing. "Wow. Okay. Apparently, that medication makes me sleep-sext. I'm just glad I didn't send anything to Caitlin or Ronnie, because that would be super awkward."
"I'll confiscate your phone before we go to bed tonight," Eobard promised, chuckling. "I don't want to deal with a Human Resources kerfuffle if you inadvertently send a picture of your penis to Hartley Rathaway."
"Um, excuse you—the technical term for that is 'dick pic,' and Hartley would be lucky to get one from me." He shook his head. "Whatever. Thanks for letting me sleep." Something was itching at him, though, and he decided to voice his concern: "So, not that I'm not happy to see you, but…shouldn't you be at the labs right now? It's Friday." He could count on one hand the number of times Eobard had stayed home from work on a weekday without telling Cisco in advance.
Eobard smiled at him again. "I believe you called it 'playing hooky'?" He put down his tablet. "I decided to take the day off so you wouldn't have to stay home alone. I think that everything that happened yesterday gave me…perspective. Things won't fall apart if I take a three-day weekend."
"What about the fusion reactor project? I know how important it is to you." In truth, he was absolutely touched that Eobard had decided to stay home with him, and it was all he could do to keep a goofy grin off of his face. At the same time, he felt a need to put up some kind of token resistance.
Eobard dismissed the thought with a wave of his hand. "Mr. Jackson will just have to crack the whip while I'm not there. Again, I trust that things will go smoothly in my absence. And if not, I'll deal with it later. Are you hungry?"
"Not really, since I only woke up a minute ago," Cisco replied. "But since I'm up, I should probably go ahead and eat something."
"We've got cereal. Cold and hot, actually."
"I think I'll just do cold—"
Cold and hot. Heat and cold. The guns, his memories, the truth…
Suddenly, Cisco was laughing so hard that his sides ached and he had to lean on the table to avoid falling over.
"What's so funny?" Eobard asked. There was a tiny trace of anxiety in his voice; no doubt he was ready to call Dr. Snow and report that Cisco may have brain damage after all.
"I remember now!" Cisco crowed.
Eobard inhaled, still sounding anxious. "What…what do you remember?"
"I remember why I built the cold and heat guns!" Cisco said, still laughing. "It was to mess with Hartley!" He cocked his head at Eobard. "Jeez, what's got you so nervous?"
Eobard laughed, too, and his apprehension seemed to turn into relief. "Not nervous, darling. Just…confused. Are you saying you randomly remembered why you built the heat and cold guns? And that's why you're so happy?"
"Yes! I was talking about comic books with Hartley, and he said that they're stupid and unrealistic. He pointed out a character in a book who used a freeze gun and a character who used a heat gun, and Hartley said that I couldn't convince him that something like that would work in real life." He let out a whoop of laughter. "So I built the guns! Pulled an all-nighter just to show him up."
Eobard grinned. "Now that you mention it…I think I remember now, too. Around 1 a.m., I begged you to come to bed, but you said that you didn't want to lose your momentum."
"And a few days later, when you were meeting with Mick and Snart in your office, I showed them the guns because I thought they'd appreciate them. And those two were so impressed that I gave them the prototypes."
It was strange: the memory he'd been searching for all week was now in his head, clear as crystal. He could visualize Hartley's scoff when Cisco told him he'd make the guns, Eobard's concerned frown when he learned that Cisco really was planning to stay up all night, and Snart and Mick's amazed chortles when he showed them what the guns could do.
"You're an idiot, Ramon."
"I understand being on a roll, but sweetie, are you sure you don't want to finish this project later?"
"Damn, Ramon, you've outdone yourself this time." / "HOLY SHIT, THAT'S AWESOME!"
It all made complete sense now, and the feeling of relief that it brought was almost overwhelming. He wasn't losing his mind, and he didn't have holes in his memory. Once he got some rest, he'd probably be back to 100%, and life could continue on as normal. He could go back to work, he could hang out with his friends, and he could enjoy quality time with his fiancé mostly angst- and anxiety-free.
With a newfound spring in his step, Cisco went about pouring himself a bowl of Big Easy O's. Normally, the very sight of that "sugar-frosted sludge" made Eobard launch into a lecture about how unhealthy it was and ask Cisco why he insisted on eating it, but today, he simply looked at the box, winced, and then went back to his tablet without saying a word. The situation was so funny—and Cisco was in such a jovial mood—that he seriously considered pouring even more sugar on his breakfast, just to see how much ridiculousness Eobard would tolerate.
After preparing his cereal, Cisco sat down at the kitchen table to eat. He pulled up the sleeves of his dressing gown to get them out of the way, and he immediately noticed that there was something on his right wrist. Curious, he brought his hand closer to his face to get a better look.
It was a rubber band.
Eobard noticed. "What's that?" he asked.
Cisco frowned. "Not sure. When I was a kid, I used to put rubber bands on my wrist when I was supposed to remember something." He pinched the band between his thumb and forefinger. "Only problem with that trick is that it doesn't tell you what, exactly, you're supposed to remember. Just that there was something."
"Was it about the guns? Did you remember why you made them during the night?"
"Maybe?" He pursed his lips. "Could be anything, I guess."
Eobard rolled his eyes. "Honestly, Cisco, we've got paper and pens all around the house. Why not write yourself a note?"
"Uh, because that would be way too easy, dude!" Cisco said. He stared at the rubber band for a few more seconds, and then, sighing, plucked it off of his wrist. "Well, I'm stumped. So much for that trick."
"I hope it wasn't important," Eobard said, looking back at his tablet and taking a sip of his coffee.
Cisco shrugged. "I already called a representative at the fennec fox rescue and told her that we were good to foster five or six of them. That was the one thing I really needed to do by the end of the week."
Eobard nearly choked on the liquid in his mouth. "You did what ?!" he sputtered.
"Oh, my God! I'm kidding," Cisco said, snorting at Eobard's horrified expression. "Don't give yourself a heart attack, old man. At least, not until after we say 'I do,' and I become your legal next of kin, that is."
"You laugh, but you really are going to be the death of me, Cisco Ramon," Eobard said with a wistful sigh. He put down his coffee mug. "Come here."
They were already in the same room, so there was only one thing that "come here" could mean. With a grin on his face, Cisco got up from his chair, walked over to where Eobard was sitting, and climbed into his lap. He settled himself so that his legs hung over one side of the chair and he was leaning back against Eobard's outstretched arm.
"Hi," Cisco said, batting his eyelashes. "You come here often, handsome?"
Eobard laughed. He opened his mouth like he was going to say something, but then he stopped, shook his head, and simply wrapped Cisco up in his arms. It was the kind of hug that started out soft and gentle, but after a few seconds, he heaved a sigh and squeezed Cisco tighter, shutting his eyes as he did so.
Cisco knew hugs of that nature…specifically, the fact that they usually indicated some kind of sadness or anxiety on the part of the person giving them. He couldn't help but be a little concerned for his fiancé. "Are you okay?" he asked, reaching up to touch Eobard's cheek.
Eobard opened his eyes and smiled at him. "Yes, I'm fine. I'm just…I'm happy you're feeling better." He kissed the side of Cisco's neck. "You don't know how much you mean to me. I would move heaven and earth for you a thousand times, my sweet boy."
But you won't buy me a fennec fox? Cisco thought, amused. He didn't say it out loud, though, because he didn't want to spoil the moment. So he focused on the feeling of Eobard's lips on his skin and let out a sight of contentment. "I love you."
"I love you more. I love you most of all." He kissed him again, then relaxed his grip. "Hurry up and eat your breakfast."
"What's the rush? I thought we were staying home today."
"We are. But the sooner you finish eating, the sooner you can brush your teeth. And take a bath."
"Oh, wow," Cisco laughed. He slid out of Eobard's lap. "You're a real charmer, aren't you?"
"Just being honest, darling."
"Someday, we'll sit down and have a conversation about how to be honest without being a dick. But not while my cereal is getting soggy."
After breakfast, Cisco did brush his teeth and take a bath. But that was as far as he got with his personal grooming. On his way to the dresser to grab clothes, Eobard walked up behind him, silently tugged away the towel he'd been wearing, and led Cisco to their bed. Once Cisco was laid out like a buffet spread, his belly pressed to the sheets and his back and bottom exposed to the air, Eobard climbed into bed with him and began running his hands over Cisco's skin in a tender massage. They kept a jar of coconut oil in the bathroom that Cisco occasionally used on his hair, but Eobard had apparently smuggled it out while Cisco wasn't paying attention and moved it to his nightstand to better facilitate this act of body worship.
The massage was just sensual enough to be invigorating. So, when Eobard slipped off his own clothes, Cisco didn't continue to simply lie there. Instead, he maneuvered his way into his fiancé's lap for the second time that day.
They'd never used coconut oil as lube before, but Cisco was the kind of guy who'd try anything once. And it worked well enough to create a smooth glide as Eobard slipped in and out of him, easily finding that little spot inside Cisco that made sparks dance across his vision. Cisco draped his arms snugly around the man's neck and Eobard grabbed Cisco's hips; together, they worked towards a shared oblivion.
"Mine," Eobard murmured when a particularly hard thrust made Cisco whimper.
" Yours ," Cisco agreed, whispering the word into his ear and then nipping at the lobe for emphasis.
That was the extent of their conversation until they were both finished and curled up together. Wet spots were rapidly cooling on the bedsheets (and on their skins), and Cisco found himself wondering if coconut oil stained silk. Probably , he thought dully. He'd have to deal with that later, when his bones didn't feel like they were made out of pudding.
The linens, however, seemed to be the last thing on Eobard's mind. "Have you thought at all about where you want to go once the fusion reactor is finished?" he asked, stroking Cisco's arm with his fingertips. "I promised you a vacation, and I intend to keep that promise."
"Not really," Cisco admitted. He was worried that Eobard would think he wasn't taking the idea seriously, so he added, "But…I've never been to Japan before, and I hear it's a really neat place to visit."
"It is," Eobard said kindly. "We would have to spend an afternoon at the S.T.A.R. Labs location in Osaka, but only because Kimiyo Hoshi would never forgive me if I came all the way over there and didn't let her give me a tour of the facility." He shifted his weight; Cisco heard the mattress creak. "Other than that, we'd be completely free to do what we want."
"That's fine," Cisco replied. He'd met Dr. Hoshi once before, and while she seemed a little intense when it came to her work, she hadn't given him a real reason to dislike her.
"Now, while we're talking about vacation plans…maybe we should start thinking about honeymoon locations, too? I think I would enjoy a tropical environment." He nuzzled Cisco's neck. "You know, somewhere sunny and warm and far away from prying eyes, where I could keep you naked."
Cisco laughed. "I'm pretty sure you'd get burnt out if I was naked all the time . Too much of a good thing, ya know?"
"That's extraordinarily unlikely. Absurd, even. Though, since we're both men of science, we should probably test your hypothesis. Starting….now."
Cisco was about to respond with a joke—maybe ask Eobard how he'd found a new "boner pill" supplier so quickly—but, as if on cue, he heard a buzzing sound coming from the direction of his nightstand. He glanced off to the side; his STARphone was currently receiving an incoming call. He shot his fiancé an apologetic look and wriggled out from under him, then grabbed the phone to check the caller ID.
"If it's someone from S.T.A.R. Labs, let it go to voicemail," Eobard said. He sounded somewhat annoyed at the interruption.
Cisco swallowed. "Actually…it's my mom," he said, staring at the display. He felt his stomach curl up into a knot.
"Oh. Are you going to answer it?"
"Yeah, I probably should," Cisco said with a sigh. "If she's calling instead of just texting, it might actually be an emergency."
"Maybe." Eobard backed away and laid down on his belly, folding his arms in front of him so he'd have a place to rest his chin. When he looked up at Cisco, his eyes were wary.
Cisco tore his gaze away and brought the phone to his ear. "Hello?"
"Hello, Cisco, dear—it's your mother," Karina Ramon said on the other end. "Do you have a spare moment to talk? Are you on your lunch break right now?"
"Uh…yeah, I can talk," Cisco said. Absentmindedly, he reached for the bedsheet and pulled it up to cover his lap. Then he felt stupid for doing so because it was phone call ; she couldn't actually see him. Just like she had no way of knowing that he wasn't at S.T.A.R. Labs. "Only for a little while, though."
"This won't take long," she replied briskly. "I just wanted to ask if you're going to be at Dante's party tomorrow night. You never replied to the text I sent you the other day."
Dante's party. Dante's goddamn party. Cisco had to resist the urge to throw his phone against the wall. Instead, he groaned. "Mama, no…I already explained to Dante that I have to work tomorrow. He said he was okay with me just taking him out for dinner and drinks next weekend."
"But it's his birthday !" she whined. "And the whole family will be there."
"I know that, and I'm sorry. But I have a deadline I have to meet," Cisco lied.
"You can get out of it," Karina insisted. "You're engaged to the man who owns the company. Tell him that it's a family gathering and you can't miss it."
Cisco flinched. In any other situation, he would have been happy to hear her acknowledge Eobard as his fiancé. But this was a separate matter entirely. "That's not…that's not how it works. I have a whole department that I'm responsible for. And I don't want for people to accuse Eobard of nepotism or think that maybe I'm not fit to be in charge after all."
"If you were worried about that, you shouldn't have started dating your boss," Karina said. "You should have expected people to talk."
"Mama—"
"You're not bringing him, are you?" she asked. "Your father and I both agree that it would be better if he wasn't at the party. We always wind up having to explain to everyone who he is and why he's here, and it's not fair to—"
"He's not coming to the party because I'm not coming to the party!" Cisco snapped. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn't think about interrupting his mother, but he was so tired of dealing with this. "I'm sorry, but I won't be there. Okay? Is that clear?"
Karina was silent. She seemed stunned that Cisco was finally, finally standing up to her.
Cisco grunted. "Alright, was there anything else? I'm actually with Eobard right now. Yesterday, at work, I fell down and—"
"Francisco Ramon," Karina said, and he could tell from her tone of voice that (1) she was about to start speaking Spanish, and (2) Cisco was officially in trouble, "I really don't care for your attitude right now. And I don't know where it's coming from, either."
"Yes, you wouldn't," Cisco said, before he could stop himself. He'd switched to Spanish, too, just out of reflex, even though he was pretty sure that she'd only pulled that move because she didn't want Eobard to eavesdrop on their conversation.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"It means that you don't notice anything I do," Cisco snapped. " You and Dad practically throw Dante a damn parade every time he blows his nose, but when I told you that S.T.A.R. Labs secured a $60 million contract with the Department of Defense because of body armor I designed, you just said, 'That's nice, son.' Why do you even want me at Dante's party, anyway? It's not like you care." He almost couldn't believe the words coming out of his own mouth. Sure, it was all stuff he'd been feeling for a long time, but he'd never before dared say to say any of it aloud.
"Of course I care. Your father, Dante, and I—we all care about you very much," Karina said. She sounded upset.
"You've all got a crappy way of showing it. Look, like I said, I'm with Eobard right now. He took time off of work so that we could spend the day together. He's a good man, and he takes good care of me. Not that you'd know, since you all refuse to have anything to do with him, either."
"Francisco, I won't be spoken to like this," his mother snapped. "I've obviously caught you in a foul mood. We can talk again when you're ready to be polite."
"Yeah, or maybe we can talk again when you're ready to not treat me like garbage. Whatever works." He sighed. "Look, Mom, I—"
"That's quite enough, Francisco. I'm hanging up now." And then there was a beep and silence on her end to verify that she'd done exactly that.
Cisco sat frozen for a moment. It was taking some time for his brain to catch up with his ears. Between him and his mother, he wasn't sure whose behavior was more shocking.
After a few seconds of silence, Eobard piped up: "Well, I don't speak Spanish…but I'm guessing that that wasn't a nice conversation?"
Cisco sighed. "No. It really wasn't." He set his phone back on the nightstand. "Long story short: I told her off for treating me—and, by extension, you—like crap, and she got pissed and hung up on me. Said we could talk more when I'm ready to be polite." He laid down in bed. "And by that, she means when I'm ready to apologize and kiss everyone's feet and promise to never, ever go against her will again."
"I'm sorry," Eobard said quietly.
Cisco exhaled. "It's…okay." He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I mean…it's not okay that she's like this, but…at least I stood up to her this time and told her how I really felt."
"Yes, you definitely did. That took a lot of courage. I'm very proud of you." He crawled over, closing the gap between them, and tucked a stray lock of dark hair behind Cisco's ear.
Cisco shivered, both at the man's touch and his words. "Thanks. I…I think that maybe you were more right than I wanted to admit."
"About what?"
"On Wednesday night, you said that I don't have to put up with them treating my badly just because they're my family. And I said that you didn't get it. But now…I think that you're right." He brought his hand up on top of Eobard's. "I mean, I don't want to stop talking to them completely. But…I don't have to care so much about what they think. I'm an adult; I have my own life…so I don't really need them."
"No, you don't."
Cisco flopped down on his pillow, angling his head so he wouldn't hit the bump. "What the heck was in those sedatives? I get a good night's sleep, and boom! I've got clarity on, like, everything. I don't think I've felt this 'okay' about all of my problems since I was a kid."
"Hmmm…Fun with Brain Chemistry," Eobard commented. He squeezed Cisco's hand. "But, considering that my number one goal in life is to make you happy, I can say for certain that I like this new attitude." He brought Cisco's fingers up to his mouth so he could kiss his knuckles. "I like it very, very much."
"You're such a dork," Cisco snorted. "But, hey, if you're that obsessed with making me happy, you could bring me something to eat."
Eobard rolled his eyes, though there wasn't any venom in it. "Fine. I think we've got sandwich ingredients in the fridge, so I'll make us some lunch. But you have to stay in bed. And when we're done eating, I'm going to fuck you again."
"Sounds like a plan to me," Cisco replied, giving him a lazy thumbs up.
Eobard got out of bed and slipped on his dressing gown. After he tied the belt around his waist, he leaned over to Cisco. "Lips, please?"
Cisco giggled, turning away from him playfully. "You've been kissing me all day. Aren't you tired of it?"
"No. I will never, ever get tired of kissing you, my beautiful boy."
"Hmmm…but maybe I'm tired of kissing you ?" Cisco teased.
Eobard let out a scandalized scoff, then suddenly grabbed Cisco's chin with one hand, forcing his head up. Before Cisco could get away, Eobard dipped down, crashing their mouths together. It was a bit rougher and more sensual than their usual "lips, please" smooches, but so were nearly all of their interactions when they weren't both at work.
After he stood up straight, Eobard took in Cisco's slightly dazed expression and quipped, "If you won't give me a kiss, then I guess I'll just have to take one." He had a smug, almost Snart-like smile on his face, as if the idea of stealing kisses was truly exhilarating.
Cisco snorted again. "Like I said…you're a dork." He stretched out in the bed. "Don't forget the spicy mustard on my sandwich."
"Yes, your majesty ." Eobard turned around and walked away, his bare feet barely making any noise against the marble floor.
Cisco watched him go and then closed his eyes. His life certainly wasn't "perfect." And yet, it was good. Wonderful, in fact. He had friends who cared about him, a job he excelled at, and a fiancé who absolutely adored him. Really, his circumstances were better than he'd ever thought they would be. Definitely better than he'd ever thought he deserved.
Somewhere, deep down in his gut, Cisco felt a slight tug. It was a little bit of apprehension, the cause of which he couldn't quite identify. But he opted to ignore it, and eventually, the feeling faded away into nothing.
The End
...
Notes:
For those of you who jumped down here for a more detailed trigger warning: Eobard doesn't physically harm Cisco in this chapter, but there's some arm-grabbing, blocking, and a point where Cisco thinks that Eobard is going to kill him via stabbing (and then possibly kill himself). If you want to skip that last part, it's the paragraph that begins "In that moment, Cisco expected…" Just go directly to the next paragraph, and you should be fine.
Once again: this story depicts an abusive relationship. The author (thaaaaat's me!) is NOT trying to portray what Eobard and Cisco have as healthy. As we saw in the previous installment of this series, Eobard sees himself as the hero of his own story who's simply doing whatever is necessary to achieve the life he thinks he deserves—including changing Cisco "for the better" and messing with events behind the scenes to hide his own screw-ups. Cisco, the pop culture nerd he is, would probably see this as Eobard turning him into a Stepford Wife.
Final note: the I got the transcription of the Kalabros incantation—as well as the whole scene of the Legion using the Spear of Destiny—from the Springfield! Springfield! website's page for "The Fellowship of the Spear" (Legends S02E15). I don't speak Aramaic, so I have no idea how accurate it is. If someone out there DOES speak Aramaic and knows that I totally screwed it up, please feel free to let me know.
Well, that's it for now! Thanks so much for reading! As always, comments and feedback give me life. °˖✧◝(⁰▿⁰)◜✧˖°
Originally published on AO3 in July 2019