Summary: Because who the hell donates nearly a million dollars to a very specific charity without at least taking some of the credit?
Today was good. Today was fun. Tomorrow is another one.
-Past (Four Months After the Tidal Wave)-
Harrison had great hands. Really great hands. They were strong and callused, rough against Barry's pale skin with long fingers that stretched along his back, pressing and prodding, testing the recent injuries. "You're healing at less than half the usual rate."
"Mm, maybe if a certain someone had warned me there was a car coming…" The fingers dug in and Barry cringed, laughing at Harrison's irritation.
"You are more than capable of dodging a simple car." The fingers eased, sliding further down to rub circles into his lower back. "If you paid more attention to your surroundings, no warning would be necessary."
Harrison brought his hand down lower still, to the edge of Barry's low slung sweat pants. "You are also capable of running more than three hundred and fifty miles per hours."
"I'm not living up to my potential, if I would just apply myself – blah, blah, blah." Barry scrolled down through the headlines on his tablet, pointedly not responding to Harrison's advance. Harrison hated being ignored. While the older man continued to inspect the healing wounds and lingering bruises – a tad more forcefully than necessary – Barry focused on other things.
Harrison was right about the healing and about paying attention and going faster. Barry had been barely managing for months now. There had been enough supplements to get him through Oliver and Felicity descending on him to make sure he was okay, through the search and rescue, and the beginning of the clean up. He'd run out just in time for Felicity to show up again asking the good Dr. Wells for help with Ray's suit.
He'd followed her back to Starling to help with their meta, against Harrison's advice. He'd just really needed to get away from everything – the smell, the bodies, the overwhelming guilt of his own failure. He hadn't realized how bad he was until he'd nearly gotten himself killed. If it hadn't been for Harrison running in to save him, he probably would have died. Sometimes, he wished he had.
"What are you reading?
"The news. There was another anonymous donation to the lower east. A quarter of a million to the hospital and another quarter to the school. It says they'll be able to start drawing up the plans and applying for permits."
"Hm." Those long fingers dug into his sore lower back muscles and Barry moaned, arching into the touch. Behind him, Harrison chuckled. "Restraint, Mr. Allen."
Barry rolled his eyes, scrolling the third article, hoping to glean something new. "Aren't you at least a little curious who it is?"
"It doesn't matter. When this is finished, none of it will."
Familiar, unwanted anger welled up inside him and Barry stopped, his finger hovering over the screen for a moment longer before he shut the protective case. "I'm gonna be late."
Harrison didn't stop him from sliding out of the bed or leaving the room.
Being mad wouldn't do any good, not for either of them, but Barry didn't like the reminder that Harrison's endgame involved leaving him. No more than Harrison liked being reminded of how badly skewed this time line was from his own.
He glanced at the clock on his way to the bathroom and frowned. It was nearly seven fifty. Captain Singh had texted him the night before, saying he needed to meet with him at the precinct first thing in the morning, which was usually eight. He was going to be at least half an hour late.
By the time Barry emerged from the bedroom, showered and dressed, Harrison was waiting at the kitchen table, his own tablet open, S.T.A.R. Labs' emblem clear in the corner of the screen. More concerning, however, was the protein bar sitting on the other side of the table, next to Barry's messenger bag.
He scowled at the bar as he picked his bag up and slung it across his shoulders. "No thanks."
"Barry…"
"I'll get donuts."
"Two hundred of them?"
Barry paused, thinking about it, because while he really would prefer eating two hundred donuts to choking down one of those bars, he couldn't be sure the donut shop would actually have two hundred on hand by the time he made it there. He also wasn't sure how he would explain carrying sixteen dozen boxes of donuts into his lab.
He scooped up the bar as petulantly as he could manage and stormed out, not bothering to look back to see Harrison's self-satisfied expression.
[]
He walked while he ate, then ran the rest of the way, coming to a stop in an alleyway a few blocks from the precinct building, where he could get a coffee and bagel from a street cart to finish his walk. Downtown was better than the suburbs. The smell wasn't as strong, the streets a little more crowded, though still only a ghost of what they used to be. Once upon a time, there had been cafes and shops on every corner. Now, it was a half a mile to the nearest sandwich shop for lunch.
FEMA was organizing the relief and clean up, but while they took care of clearing debris off the streets and public areas, it was up to the city and land owners to take care of the actual rebuilding. It was slow going. Insurance companies were taking a huge hit, making them reluctant to pay out and even when they did, the process for mold remediation, plans, permits, and passing inspections took months.
He was pretty sure the pressure from the Captain himself was the only reason Lucky's Donuts a block away had gotten up and running so quickly. It was amazing how, even in a wheelchair, the man could be that intimidating.
"Allen, get in my office!"
Speaking of the Captain.
He closed the door behind him, eyes immediately drawn to the breakfast tacos sitting on the Captain's desk. Barry logged the information for potential blackmail material, because he knew for a fact that was against the Rob's healthy eating regimen. "Hey, sorry, sir, the, uh, the bus was…"
"Sit down."
"Yes, sir." He sat down and stared at his hands, trying to ignore the thick smell of sausage, potato and cheese.
"I'm putting together an Anti Meta-Human Task Force." Oh, that was… actually, Barry wasn't sure what that was. Captain Singh had liked the Flash, so Anti Meta-human wasn't Anti-Him. Anti-Harrison, though? Maybe. "There've been another string of attacks and robberies recently that involve meta-humans. I called you in because the Chief wants to bring Harrison Wells in as a scientific adviser."
"Oh." That made sense. Harrison knew more about them than anyone else and he was already working with Iron Heights on designing cells capable of holding the more dangerous ones. "I'm really not sure what that has to do with me, though."
Captain Singh's fingers tapped his desk a few times before he asked, "Do I look stupid, Mr. Allen?"
Barry hesitated. The correct was no, of course not, but then he'd have to admit that he knew what the Captain was talking about, which he didn't. "Is that a trick question, sir?"
"I didn't make Captain by sitting on my ass."
That could mean a lot of things. Some really bad. It could just mean he knew Barry was the Flash. It could mean he knew Harrison was a meta. Probably not. He wouldn't be inviting Harrison onto the team if he thought he couldn't trust him. But what if he was just trying to give Barry a chance to come clean? What if it really was a trick question? What if…
"You and Dr. Wells haven't exactly been discrete. Just because I chose to look the other way, doesn't mean I didn't see anything." Oh, thank god, this was about his relationship with Harrison.
Wait, actually, that sucked, too.
"I, um… don't know what you're talking about?" His voice rose helplessly at the end, unable to stay level in the face of such an obvious lie.
"Right." Captain Singh sighed. "Look, I knew Joe for a very long time. He was a friend and I respected him as an officer and as a person. He loved you. Next to Iris, there was nothing he loved more."
Barry shrank into himself, eyeing his clenched hands desperately. He knew what was coming and he didn't want to hear it. If it were anyone else, he'd already be out the door, but he respected the Captain too much to do that – he owed him too much for letting Mardon put him in that chair. Besides, it didn't change anything. Whatever Singh wanted to say, he could say, it didn't mean Barry would be listening.
"Just to be clear, Joe wouldn't approve. We both know that. I don't know what his beef was with Dr. Wells, but I know he didn't trust the man. Now me? I don't have a choice. The Chief wants him in on this and there isn't anyone out there that knows meta-humans as well as he does. I can't argue that, unless you give me a reason to."
Barry looked up, shocked. "I'm sorry, what?"
Captain Singh leaned forward, meeting Barry's eyes. "Can you give me a reason not to bring him in on this? Anything."
He's the Reverse-Flash.
He stopped me.
It's his fault everyone's dead.
No, that wasn't true.
I let him.
I should have seen it coming.
It's my fault.
"No."
Barry dropped his head again, but not before he saw the disappointment in Singh's face. "Okay. Jones will be taking the lead on forensics."
"But…"
"No, you can help, but everything goes through Jones. Lead forensics has to take the stand if anything goes to trial." Which, of course, Barry couldn't do. "In the meantime, assuming Dr. Wells accepts, it means he'll be spending more time here. I expect you to at least attempt to keep it professional."
Well, that was no fun. "Right, of course. Yes, sir. If that's all, I have some samples I need to run."
"One more thing. Rob wants me to invite you to dinner Saturday."
Barry froze, unsure what to say to that. Captain Singh had been obvious in his attempts to check in with Barry – stopping by his lab, taking him to lunch, calling him into the office – but this was after work hours. This was at his condo with his fiancé and that was… different. That was personal.
"I'd like it if you came."
Barry hesitated a moment longer before agreeing. "Okay."
[]
He'd regretted it almost immediately, but he couldn't take it back now. Instead, he focused on running his samples and while he waited for those, he looked back over the other reports of anonymous donations. The first two had gone toward housing, then the most recent for the school and hospital. In total, it was nearly a million.
The idea that anyone would anonymously donate that much was… Barry couldn't think of anyone who would do that. Oliver might have, before he lost everything. Ray had the money to do it, but he was too pragmatic. He would have at least used the publicity to boost good will toward his company.
Whoever it was had to have a good reason for not letting anyone know who they were. Or maybe it was something with the money. Maybe they didn't want anyone knowing they had enough to throw away a million dollars.
He was still thinking about it when he took a walk for lunch, grabbed a few sandwiches and stopped by the donut shop. Afternoons everything was half off and he shoved two dozen sausage and cheese kolaches and a couple large bottles of orange juice in his messenger bag before heading back to the station.
It would get him through the rest of the afternoon. Or most of it. If he got desperate, there were always bars in his desk drawer. Harrison insisted. Barry refused. Thanks to Harrison, he didn't have bills to pay, so he put almost everything into keeping himself from passing out in the middle of work.
Harrison texted just after lunch, inquiring as to why the Captain would want to meet with him when there were no active meta-human investigations. Barry responded with a poop emoji and set his phone aside, watching the incredulous responses that came after, invariably devolving into comments about Barry's maturity and mental state. He was half tempted to run to S.T.A.R. Labs and try to sneak a peak at Harrison's face, but there was a good chance he'd get caught. He'd just have to settle for the remnants of annoyance that night.
"Allen, did you finish the analysis for the…"
"On my desk."
Jones walked over and took the file, but stopped just short of walking out. "Hey, uh, no hard feelings on the task force, right? I mean, I didn't ask for…"
"It's fine." It was. Really. Okay, not really, but Barry knew Captain Singh was right. If it came to a trial, it wouldn't be Barry's lab results that would be under scrutiny, it would be Barry's credibility. Even if the defense didn't subpoena his psych eval, it was too much of a risk.
"If he'd asked me, I would have said you were a better fit."
Barry focused on his microscope, trying not to pay attention as Jones continued his rant. It wasn't that Barry didn't get it. Jones was new. He'd transferred in after the wave, and he was a good ten years older than Barry. He wasn't a bad forensic tech or even a bad person. He was, however, annoyingly persistent in his attempts to get Barry to warm up to him, which was probably why he was so intent on making sure Barry didn't feel slighted.
"You have way more experience with meta-humans and you've been working with Dr. Wells for almost a year now, right?"
Unfortunately for Jones, Barry wasn't interested in makes new friends. He made a final notation on his notepad and turned off the microscope. He'd writing the formal report later.
"I've never even met him. What's he…"
He walked past Jones on his way out the door and ignored the stuttered, "We'll just… talk… later," as he went down the stairs to find Eddie.
Captain Singh's door was closed and Barry took the chair next to Eddie's desk with a happy sigh. "So, what's up, Detective Thawne?"
Eddie chuckled into his files. "Jones bothering you again?"
Barry stretched out to take one of the candy mints from the bowl on Eddie's desk and plopped back down. "That's not fair. I don't just come down here to escape Jones' harassment."
"No, you come down here to steal my candy."
Barry grinned, rolling the mint around his mouth. "So, who's Captain Singh talking to?"
"Dr. Wells." That was quick. "The Captain's putting together an Anti Meta-Human Task Force. Apparently, I'll be heading it, starting with outside reports of potential meta-human activity."
"Outside meta-human activity? Don't we have enough to deal with here?" Barry grabbed the top folder off the sizeable stack.
"We aren't outsourcing any of our own officers, but if we recognize the meta-human in question, we can send over a list of known… powers. My job used to be so much simpler."
The folder he'd taken was a homicide and while it did look suspicious, he highly doubted it was a meta – certainly, not any of the ones they'd dealt with. Eddie sat back and held out the file he'd been looking at. "I don't suppose you've heard of a meta-human that can freeze things?"
Barry flipped through it, scanning the text quickly. Some well off guy down south had his private vault broken into, a million in jewelry was taken, some cash as well, and a famous painting of flowers that Barry didn't recognize right off, but the report said was worth several hundred thousand. The locking mechanism for the vault had been frozen, causing it to break like glass, which sounded suspiciously like…
It couldn't be, though. Cisco has disassembled the cold gun when they'd caught Captain Cold. "No, I've never seen a meta-human do that."
He passed the file back, noting the city it was from just as the Captain's door opened and Harrison walked out with Captain Singh, behind him. "It's good to have you on board. We'll need to meet again tomorrow afternoon to discuss a reasonable budget and priorities."
"Of course, does eleven work for you?"
Barry stayed seated, but slouched down a little, pulling his phone out to snap a quick picture. Eddie glanced over. "What are you doing?"
"Sh!" He typed out a message to go with it and waited for Harrison to pull his buzzing phone out and look at the display. Pale blue eyes narrowed for a moment, before they slid across the room and instantly found Barry at Eddie's desk.
"You'll have to excuse me, Captain. It appears your forensic assistant is feeling particularly juvenile this evening."
Captain Singh shook Harrison's hand before going back into his office and Barry waited patiently for Harrison to walk across the room to stand over him, hand tucked into his pants pockets. "Was that really necessary, Mr. Allen?"
In response, he toed off his left shoe and moved his foot forward to brush against the hem of Harrison's slacks. Nothing too obvious. No, wouldn't want to be obvious, but apparently obvious enough if Captain Singh had noticed. Who else had noticed? Had Eddie noticed? Probably. Eddie was smart, observant, a good detective, and really, what was the point of keeping it a secret if the Captain already knew? He'd said to keep it professional, not insisted Barry break it off.
Barry smiled up at Harrison's disapproving frown. "I was just making you aware of the situation, Dr. Wells."
The situation being that Harrison's ass looked damn fine in those slacks and he wasn't the least bit ashamed that his internal voice sounded a lot like Cisco at the moment.
Okay maybe a little ashamed.
Harrison didn't look particularly amused, but he didn't move away, either. Eddie had taken renewed interest in his case files.
"Are you coming home tonight or did you have other plans?"
Barry slipped his foot just inside the slacks, tugging playfully. "No, I've got something."
[]
The thing about working with the CCPD was that he had access to all sorts of things he wouldn't otherwise – specifically, online files and databases. If he were Felicity Smoak, maybe he wouldn't need that, but he wasn't. He was Barry Allen and he was running on fumes with the remains of fifteen bacon cheese burgers and ten orders of fries piled next to his desk, just out of view of the door.
They didn't have the man power to run the department at full capacity through the night. So, he waited until most of the staff had gone home for the day. The officers were cut in number by half, only two detectives would be clocked in, and forensics were on call only. Since Barry was the one on call and since it wasn't uncommon for him to stay after hours, no one would question him holing up in his lab after five.
He started with basic news searches, because he'd been thinking. Who would donate that much money without looking for any kind of recognition? Someone who wasn't supposed to have the money in the first place.
It took him hours of combing the database, but he pinned down several suspicious, high dollar robberies within a month of the other donations. On a hunch, he headed back down and thumbed through the files on Eddie's desk. Two were robberies that he'd singled out as potentially metas. The robberies themselves were nowhere near Central City, but both had M.O.'s similar to the one Eddie had shown him earlier.
He hurried back up, pulling his cell phone out as he went. He wasn't sure how, but the only other time he'd seen something like that was back when Cold had been trying to get his attention. If it was Cold, he'd have to be hiding out somewhere he could go unnoticed, around people that wouldn't tell on him. Thieves honor or just fear maybe, but the city was crawling with volunteers and do-gooders. The only place Barry could think of that someone could really hide out in Central City was the lower east, which made sense, because that was where the donations were going.
If he was there, that made finding him easier. That part of town hadn't done much in the way of rebuilding. The only places that had utilities were the shelters and community centers. In order for Captain Cold to run any kind of operation, let alone one that would allow him the facilities to rebuild and maintain his gun, he'd need electricity, and not a small amount of it, either.
Unfortunately, the CCPD wasn't plugged into the local power grid and Barry didn't have the skills necessary to hack into it. Fortunately, he had access to S.T.A.R. Labs' computers and satellites – assuming Harrison wasn't there, anyway.
Barry looked at the clock on his phone and bit his lip thoughtfully. Considering the time, if Harrison was there, he was probably with Gideon, logging the day's activities or checking the creep cam to see what all of the important players were doing. There weren't as many as there used to be. Captain Singh, Eddie, Barry's grief counselor, a few other people Barry didn't know very well. He'd wanted to put one in Felicity and Oliver's new house, but Barry had pointed out that Oliver was paranoid enough to notice them and Felicity was good enough to track the feed and find out where it was coming from. It had been a hard sell, but Harrison had promised not to involve Team Arrow as long as they didn't interfere. Putting cameras in Oliver Queen's house was tantamount to asking them to interfere and that was against the rules.
Barry looked back and up to where he knew the camera in his lab was. If he left now and Harrison was watching him, he'd most likely assume Barry went home and run there first before realizing his mistake and coming back to S.T.A.R. Labs. Barry could get maybe ten minutes to find what he was looking for.
His specialty was forensics, not computers. Felicity could do it with time to spare, Barry wasn't so sure about his own skills, but… what the hell. Worst case scenario, he'd got caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar and he wasn't even sure why he was hiding it. It wasn't a particularly dangerous situation. It didn't fall into the category of something Harrison would disapprove of. He wasn't trying to save anyone or stop anything bad from happening. He wasn't putting himself in harm's way. He was just curious.
A few moments later, Barry had logged out of his work computer and was sliding to a stop in Harrison's chair in the cortex. He paused, but when there was no sign of Harrison, he immediately went to work. Cisco would have been better at this, but Barry had watched him often enough in the past that he could manage.
Cisco's log in was still active and Barry used it to gain access to the system. The satellites themselves couldn't track energy use, but they could track heat signatures and energy gave off heat. The most obvious sources were the shelters, but Barry knew where those were, so he didn't worry about them. There were a few minor blips, low heat readings scattered sparsely throughout the area – probably individuals that had found less than legal ways to tap into the power grid.
Then there was the warehouse. It was well within the borders of the lower east, away from the shelters and residential areas. None of the businesses there were operating yet.
"Bingo."
He half expected to hear Harrison behind him, having snuck up at some point in the last few minutes and decided to wait for the perfect opportunity to announce his presence. Instead, Barry was met with silence. Something about the cortex being that quiet didn't feel right. He didn't mean to, but he closed his eyes and he could hear Cisco's music, Caitlin's heels clicking against the floor, Joe laughing at their antics. That didn't make it better, though, it made it worse. So much worse.
He should open his eyes, get out of his head. Leave S.T.A.R. Labs and go home. Staying there wasn't going to help, but he couldn't make himself move. He couldn't quite manage to force his eyes open to silence the voices that were whispering in his head - Cisco talking about the success of his latest toy, Caitlin admonishing him for not taking better care of himself, Joe telling him he'd done a good job.
Reluctantly, he let himself get lost in it. A pretend world where Iris knew he was the Flash and had forgiven him for keeping it a secret, where his dad was alive and proud, where the city was bright and vibrant, where…
"There you are."
Harrison's voice jarred Barry out of his fantasy and he blinked open his eyes to the reality of a much starker cortex, only dimly lit in the evening. Harrison was standing in front of him. Standing, not in a wheel chair, no glasses. Not the paralyzed scientist he'd pretended to be, but the Reverse-Flash, a man who'd come back from the future and killed Barry mom, then lied to him to gain his trust, only to…
Anger, sudden and painful, made it difficult to breathe.
Bad bad bad.
Anger made him stupid. Anger made him lash out. It didn't matter who Harrison had pretended to be or what he'd done in the past. Not anymore. No matter how much Barry may have wanted to avenge his mother, it wouldn't do any good now. Killing Harrison, arresting him, none of it would make it better. His mother would still be dead, just like everyone else. Just like his dad and Joe and Iris and…
A hand settled on Barry's shoulder, but he twisted out from under it, up and across the room before he realized he was moving. "Don't. Don't touch me."
He could feel Harrison's eyes darken. "Barry, look at me."
Instead of looking up, Barry drove forward into Harrison, pushing the older man back into the wall with an arm across his clavicle. His eyes focused on the protruding bones just below the slender neck. The speedforce was like static between them. It wasn't fair, maybe, because what Mardon had done, that wasn't Harrison's fault. The only thing Harrison was guilty of was not letting Barry die with the rest of them, but even so… Even so, Harrison was the only one who could make it better.
"Barry…"
"Is this what your future looked like?" Harrison tensed under him. "Is this what I looked like? Central City dead. Me fighting alone for nothing? I don't even fight anymore. Is that what…"
In the next moment he was the one with his back to the wall, looking into Harrison's pale blue eyes, no trace of angry red. Knuckles stroked along Barry's jaw, too soft, too soothing. Those long, thin fingers stretched out to move higher, still too gently, before threading into his hair and gripping, pulling Barry's head to the side sharply, but not enough to really even sting as Harrison leaned in to whisper in his ear. "What brought this on? You were doing so well today."
Barry closed his eyes. Why couldn't Harrison just take the bait? Why did he have to be so damned insightful? "I just… I can hear them. It's so quiet and I can hear them and I miss them."
"And?" Stupid, insightful bastard.
"And it's my fault."
Harrison's mouth found his forehead, kissed it in a way that was almost paternal, if it wasn't for the closeness of his body and the intimate way Barry knew it. "Barry, we've been over this. None of this is your fault."
"I know, but…"
"No. None of this is your fault. You are who you are – who you were meant to be. Yes, if you'd been willing to sacrifice everyone else, you could have saved Iris, but Cisco and Caitlin were already dead and you had no way of knowing your dad would be helping to evacuate the first floor medical unit. No way of knowing that he'd refuse to leave patients behind."
No, but he should have. He should have known, because that's what he'd done. He'd known running in front of the tidal wave was a possible death sentence and he'd done it anyway, to save everyone.
"And even if you had known, sacrificing the many to save the few was never an option for you."
It should have been. It should have. He should have grabbed Iris and run back to S.T.A.R. Labs. He could have gotten her and Cisco and Caitlin in one of the air tight labs and at least tried to get to the prison to make sure his dad was okay before the wave hit. There was no way of really knowing how long Mardon had waited to kill Joe, but Barry could have tried. He should have just done what he could to save the people he cared about. He'd learned that lesson the hard, painful way.
Harrison leaned closer, pressing his body into Barry's to pin him more tightly as he breathed into his ear. "But if you need me to hurt you to take away the guilt, there's no need to provoke me. All you have to do is ask."
[]
"…today. He had a bad night."
That was Harrison.
"He's fine now, but I had to give him something. He won't be up for another few hours."
Who was he talking to?
"No, that won't be necessary. He just needs rest now. I'll be there for the budget meeting in an hour."
Budget? Since when did Harrison worry about budgets? Oh, right, Singh and the Anti Meta-Human Task Force. Barry stretched out, not bothering to hide his cringe at the bone deep ache in his arms and lower back. It hadn't been nearly as rough as it could have been, not even close to what Barry had wanted, but it had helped. He felt… stable. Good. He felt good.
He looked up at Harrison standing next to him, buttoning his shirt while he ended the conversation with the Captain. "Obviously, I haven't had time to work up anything official, but I have a few ideas."
Barry reached over and slapped his open hand against Harrison's ass, then fell limply back onto his stomach on the bed and enjoyed the chastising glance. He pressed a finger to his lips in a hushing gesture and Harrison had the decency to raise his eyebrows in amusement.
"There are some things I need to finish up here before I leave. I'll see you at eleven, Captain." Harrison pocketed the phone and sat on the edge of the bed. "How are you feeling?"
Barry hummed sleepily. "Better."
"You need rest."
He nodded into the pillow, letting his eyes slip half closed.
"And you need to eat. There are protein bars on the counter and four gallons of ice cream in the freezer. Try not to give yourself brain freeze."
Barry pulled his fleece cover up higher, tucking it to his chin. "Love you."
A hand ran through his hair affectionately before Harrison stood, taking his jacket from the chair on the way out. Barry waited as the sounds of movement inevitably made their way through the house and out the front door, until the automatic lock had engaged and then he waited a few minutes more, fighting the urge to fall asleep in the warm cocoon of Star Wars fleece and pale, silk covered, goose down.
Why did evil have to be so comfortable?
When he was sure Harrison wasn't coming back, he rolled himself out of bed and stumbled into the kitchen. The protein bars sat ominous and threatening on the counter and he considered skipping them. He would have, but he needed to be on his game if he was going to try and sneak into what was, potentially, a villain's liar in broad daylight.
Reluctantly, he sat on the counter, washing every bite down with a large glass of thick chocolate milk. He got through one and dug into the freezer – two half gallons of chocolate later he felt ready. Or, at least, ready enough.
Harrison had bought him a new wardrobe, neatly hung in the master closet, but if Barry wasn't wearing a two hundred dollar Armani sweater to the precinct, he sure as hell wasn't wearing it to the slums. Instead, he pilfered the guest closet, which was packed with the clothes he'd managed to salvage from Joe's house and Cisco's apartment.
Dressed in thread bare jeans, a dark t-shirt, and a darker hoodie, Barry headed out and got the bus. Running would be faster, but that took energy and he didn't want to burn calories until he had to, even if it was just after eleven when he finally made it to his destination.
Before stepping off the bus, he pulled the hood up and thrust his hands into his pockets. He'd let the bus take him to within a block of the warehouse. As he walked, he looked around. It was… eerily clean. No discarded blankets, no trash littering the roads, no signs of anyone living on the streets at all, which would have been strange before the tidal wave. Now it was outright creepy.
The warehouse itself was like every other building on the street – boarded up and, by all appearances abandoned, only Barry knew better. Abandoned building didn't reconnect themselves to the power grid. He slowed down as he walked past, looking for cameras. There weren't any obvious ones, although thanks to Harrison's creep cam, he knew they were easy enough to hide, so he ducked around the edge and stopped, waiting. When no one came out, he continued around to the back.
The loading dock was small, only two bay doors and both were padlocked, a large gathering of leaves and dirt suggested they hadn't been opened in a while. Probably since the owners abandoned it. The steel door next to them, however, was clear, a fine line of dirt arching out where it had been opened recently.
Barry looked around one more time, not just for cameras, but for witnesses, before phasing through the closed door and into a large stock room. It was dimply lit by one bare bulb high on the ceiling. There was a table in the middle of the room and past that an entire wall was made up of flimsy, opaque plastic dividers that separated the stock area from the rest of the warehouse. The other walls were lined with… stuff. Barry walked around the edges slowly, half aware that he should hurry and get moving and half too curious to care. There were paintings, a statue, some vases, boxes taped shut and even a few wooden crates. He recognized some of the items listed as stolen in Eddie's reports, but there was clearly more here.
Turning his attention to the single table in the middle of the room, Barry crept over and looked down at a set of blue prints spread out over the entire surface. It took him a moment to find the address. First National in Seattle Washington, Clay Street.
Barry traced the pencil marks that were occasionally interrupted by times, all in five minute intervals. Guard route, maybe? The vault was circled several times, make and model number for the locking mechanism etched heavily into the print. Barry leaned in closer still, resting his elbows on the table as he studied the pages, only to freeze as the rustle of plastic told him he'd been caught. There was just a second where he could have run. He almost did, but then, really, what would be the fun in that?
Then the unmistakable sound of the Sub-Zero Gun charging told him it was too late. He kept his head down, while he waited to see what Cold would do. There was an asterisk near the top of the page and a symbol he didn't recognize. It looked like a detailed view of the roof with indicators of where the cooling vents would be.
"Who the hell are you?"
Barry considered playing coy, but right now, he was just a young man who'd managed to sneak in. That was it. He wasn't the Flash, he wasn't a cop. There was no reason to draw attention to himself. So, he looked up, eyed the gun and the little blue lights that said it was ready to fire and told the truth. "I'm Barry."
Cold's posture stiffened. He was holding the gun with one hand, finger tense, but off the trigger. "What are you doing here?"
"I was bored." Which, still the truth, if a little oversimplified.
"So you decided to what? Break in and take a look around?" Cold's brows suddenly drew in. "Do I know you?"
Inside his head, Barry could hear alarms going off, telling him to run, that Cold had somehow recognized him. He smiled through it, though, because he was pretty sure whatever Cold thought he knew, it wasn't that Barry was the Flash. "I don't think so. I know you, though. You're Captain Cold."
"Not exactly a secret."
"No, but you're planning to rob first National in Seattle."
"Which makes you a witness."
"I won't tell." Barry tried for an honest smile, but Cold didn't look impressed. He didn't look much of anything, actually. His face was set in a mostly unreadable expression while he continued to hold the gun level with Barry's chest.
Hm. He needed a different angle, sympathy might work. Not for himself, but for Cold and what he was doing. It wouldn't even be a complete and total lie, really. Barry wasn't sure exactly how he felt about Cold stealing to fund the rebuild, but he didn't hate it.
"You're the anonymous donor, right?"
Cold's finger wrapped around the trigger. "Kid, you have thirty seconds to give me a reason not to shoot you."
Okay, that wasn't good, but then Barry'd dealt with worse. He forced himself to look at Cold instead of the gun and pulled his hood back in the hopes that it would make him look a little less cagey. Not that he wasn't being cagey, but details. "I'm not…"
Voices interrupted him, multiple ones, loud and coming closer until they stepped through the plastic divider. Shit. He should have thought this through. He'd considered the fact this might be Captain Cold, the Sub-Zero Gun, that he could get caught. He'd considered a lot of things, but he'd never considered that Cold might not be working alone.
Maybe if it had just been Heatwave, Barry could have handled it, but it wasn't just him. Hartley Rathaway was there, as well. A blond woman he didn't recognize was holding the Pied Piper with an arm loosely wrapped around his neck and a gleeful smile at his annoyance. Another girl, this one with dark skin and girly hair was standing behind Mick, but he couldn't see her clearly, just her hair and one side of her face.
Getting away from one person was easy enough, even if that person had a weapon specifically designed to stop him, but Hartley had new gauntlet's hanging from his belt, he had no doubt Mick had his fire gun on him somewhere, and whoever the girls were, he doubted they were going to sit there and let him get away.
He should run. He should run right now before…
"Barry Allen?!" Hartley pulled away from the blond. "What are you doing here?"
"You know him?" Cold didn't take his eyes off Barry, who was glaring openly at Hartley.
"He spent time at S.T.A.R. Labs after the explosion." Don't say it, don't say it, because if Hartley knew that… "He also works for the CCPD."
Barry had barely lifted his foot to run when Cold pressed the trigger. He only just managed to dodge the blast, but instead of going for the door, he'd instinctively moved away from the cold, leaving him on the other side of the room, backed into a corner. When he stopped, he was met with four shocked faces and one smug Hartley, saying. "I knew it!"
"You knew he was the Flash?" Cold did take his eyes off Barry then, just for a second, but before Barry could use the advantage, Cold fired the gun again and this time Barry ended up perched on a crate, his right foot stinging from a glancing hit. He should have eaten more. His body was prioritizing, healing the half frozen foot first and sacrificing speed. He wasn't going to be fast enough.
"I suspected." Hartley pushed his glasses up his nose. "When I was plotting revenge on Harrison Wells, I noticed Barry Allen, forensic scientist for the CCPD, spending a lot of time at S.T.A.R. Labs, specifically with Cisco Ramon and Caitlin Snow and especially when there was a meta-human problem. The Flash and him have very similar body types. He also woke up from a coma within a week of the first Flash sighting. It made sense."
Cold looked up at Barry, who had crouched down, ready to try again as soon as his foot finished healing. Not for the back door, though, they'd be expecting that. Besides, he was feeling anxious, panicked, too many factors and it had been months since he'd played hero. If he wanted to phase through something, he needed to concentrate and he couldn't concentrate with them watching him and Cold's gun pointed at him. He could run past them, into the rest of the warehouse and find a way out from there.
He still hadn't decided what his next move was when he heard Cold say, "Shawna."
The dark skinned girl behind Mick disappeared and Barry had only a moment to realize it was Shawna Baez, the teleporter, before she reappeared behind him, her arms wrapping tightly around his chest. There was a sense of disorientation, like a really strong head rush and then he was standing in front of Cold, the Sub-Zero Gun an inch away from his chest – so close he could feel the cold coming off it.
He was so, so screwed. He should have thought this through. Stupid, stupid, stupid. What was it Harrison had said?
I would burn the world.
Barry hadn't really been looking for an answer then. He'd just found out who Harrison really was and what he'd done and why and Barry had felt so lost and confused and everything hurt. His body, his mind, his heart. Harrison had explained everything to him – the time travel, the plan to return, why he'd saved Barry from the tidal wave and why everyone being dead didn't matter. The betrayal was a physical pain and as futile as it was, he'd wanted to hurt Harrison back.
You need me? I needed them. Screw your plan. If you need me so much that you'd let thousands of people die to keep me alive, I'll just end it now. Where would your precious plan be then?
No. No, Barry, because if you did that, I would burn the world. I'd tear it down and leave ashes in its place and then I'd find a way to start over, because there is always a way. And then… then I would make you regret it.
What would he burn first? Central City or Team Arrow? Would he go for the first available targets or the ones Barry held close? So close he didn't let them anywhere near him. He should have called Felicity. She'd been worried, leaving him voice messages, asking if he wanted to come stay with them for a while, get out of Central City. He hadn't been sure what to say, so he'd said nothing and now he was dead and…
The gun lifted and came to rest casually on Cold's shoulder. "I was sorry to hear about your friends."
Shawna dropped her grip on him, instantly appearing back behind Mick and Barry wasn't sure what to make of it, any of it. "That's… that's it?"
"You sound disappointed."
"No, not… I'm not disappointed, just… confused."
"If it would make you feel better, I could still shoot you."
Barry stepped back involuntarily, but there was humor in those eyes and Barry didn't feel threatened, which was strange, because this was Captain Cold. Then again, he was in an intimate relationship with the Reverse-Flash, so there were stranger things.
He looked at the other four nervously and back to Cold. "Aren't you worried I'll turn you in?"
Cold shrugged, "You turn me in, I tell them who you are. You all but disappeared after the tidal wave. I'm thinking you'd rather not have your identity exposed."
"That… yeah actually."
He moved the weight to his injured foot in a nervous shuffle and flinched, shifting back just as quickly. Damage from the Sub-Zero Gun always took longer to heal. Cold acknowledged the injury with a quick glance down, but said nothing and it was awkward. Painfully awkward to stand there in a silent room with five criminals, three of whom had tried to kill him and one that he'd wrongfully imprisoned.
In the silence, the blond woman moved to stand with Cold and Barry had to stop himself from backing up again. Whoever this was, she was an unknown and she was looking him up and down the way Cisco used to look at a Twizzler at the start of an all-nighter.
Her grin widened at his clear discomfort. "Lenny, aren't you going to introduce us?"
Barry couldn't quite stop the bubble of laughter at the nickname, because the way 'Lenny' sighed and rolled his eyes made it fit and Barry couldn't un-see that. "Flash, you know Mick, Hartley, Shawna. Meet my baby sister, Lisa. Lisa, Flash."
She held out a hand, and he hesitated, half expecting it to be some kind of trick. She didn't look particularly threatening, but that didn't mean anything. Finally, he took it, but only for a second before pulling back.
Cold dropped the gun into its holster decisively. "Shawna, take Lisa on a food run. I'm thinking pizza. Barry, you like pizza?"
Barry shrugged, confused and more than a little curious at the sudden change in demeanor.
"Good. We'll meet in the rec room." Lisa gave Barry a little wave and a wink before Shawna appeared next to her and they were gone. Presumably to get pizza. Cold turned his attention to Mick and Hartley. "You two, disappear for ten."
Hartley's mouth dropped open. "You can't be serious. Him? He's a cop."
"He's the Flash and I'm always serious."
Hartley started to protest further, but Mick grabbed him by the back of his hooded cloak and dragged him through the plastic dividers, leaving Barry alone with Captain Cold, which shouldn't have been a relief. But it was. Still, there was something he needed to clear up.
"I'm not a cop." Cold stayed silent. "Hartley said I was a cop. I'm not. I'm a forensic scientist, an assistant forensic scientist."
Cold nodded. "I remember you. When I was arrested, you were there at the station, watching them bring me in."
"After I stopped you, I ran back and got changed." He made a running motion with his fingers and smiled at Cold's bemused expression. "I earned it. How did you get the gun back? Cisco destroyed it."
"Rathaway."
Somewhere Cisco was rolling over in his unmarked grave over the idea of Hartley Rathaway rebuilding his Sub-Zero Gun and never mind that he hated having built the thing in the first place, it was still his.
"I wanted your friend Cisco to rebuild it, had the whole thing planned out. We were on our way back when the wave hit. If Lisa hadn't insisted on stopping for lunch, we would have been here. For the record, that prototype gun he threatened me with that night on the train?"
"Vacuum cleaner." Barry grinned at the memory as he looked around the room again. "So, this is all you? You, what? Rob from the rich, give to the poor?"
"I'm not Robin Hood, kid. We're not the good guys."
"I don't know. Good or bad, he was still a thief. Why, though? You say you're not a good guy, then why donate all that money? You could have just kept it."
"We keep plenty. Besides, I love this city, it's my home. I'm not letting it die because some meta-human had an anger management problem."
At the mention of Mardon, Barry felt hot anger rush through him and he turned to face Cold sharply. "What do you know about that?"
Cold was silent for several seconds, meeting Barry's gaze evenly, but there was something there, something careful in the way he answered. "I know Mark Mardon is no longer an issue. I took care of him."
That was… an indescribable mix of relieved and happy and jealous all at once. Getting revenge had crossed Barry's mind more than once, but in his current state, he wasn't in a position to win against Mardon. At the same time, Barry had known that eventually, he would go after the criminal and when he did nothing would stop him from pulling a Harrison Wells and ripping his still beating heart out of his chest. He didn't want that. As much as he loved Harrison, needed him, revolved around him, he didn't want to be him; but if he saw Mardon again, he would. He wouldn't even regret it.
So, part of him was relieved someone had done it for him, happy it was over with, but jealous that he hadn't been the one to do it. That he hadn't at least seen it. After a moment, he took a deep breath and let it go, smiling again. Cold's shoulders slumped slightly, losing tension Barry hadn't even realized was there.
Curious.
He went back to looking at the stolen goods and zeroed in on a painting. It was renaissance something, probably an original. He should look it up on the internet later, find out how much it was worth. What would someone pay for a vase of flowers painted by a dead guy?
"Barry?"
"Hm?"
"I asked where you've been?"
Barry wasn't sure what that meant, so he went with the obvious. "The CCPD mostly. And home. I spend a lot of time at home. Have you ever seen Doctor Who? I'm on season three."
Cold tipped his head with raised eyebrows. "After the wave you vanished. There were a few sightings at first, but nothing reliable, then nothing at all. I was convinced you were dead. So, where were you?"
"Oh." Barry moved away from the painting and back to the table he'd been at when the whole thing started. "I was… around. Things are different. I'm not… I can't do things like I used to."
There was an X in one room, marked in white. Entry point, so the other line in pencil had to be the guard's route.
"Can't or won't?"
Barry shrugged. "Does it matter?"
"Yes."
He shifted uncomfortably. His foot was better. He'd be able to run if he needed. Not that he did, but he really wasn't sure where this was going. "I don't know, both? I had a team, now I don't. It's complicated."
"And what if I could help with that?"
How could he…? Oh. He wanted Barry to join them. That was what Hartley had meant. Barry stared down at the table, not really seeing it anymore, but determined to look at anything other than Cold. It was surreal, it was strange and wrong and… oddly, compelling. He'd spent months doing nothing and this was a chance to do something, except…
Except that something was stealing from people and Barry may not be a hero anymore, but he certainly wasn't a criminal, either. "I can't."
"Can't or won't?"
He grinned. "Both. I'm not like you. I can't do that."
Cold didn't look angry, just disappointed. "Then what can you do?"
"Not stop you." He started to walk for the backdoor and paused. "Thank you, for the offer and for, you know, not shooting me… Lenny."
Without waiting for a response, Barry ran, taking one last look at Cold, whose face was frozen in open annoyance before phasing through the door.
[]
He caught the bus at the same stop it had dropped him off and spent the ride thinking about what Cold had said. He'd wanted Barry to join him. It would have been ludicrous before, but now there was almost a sense of disappointment that he hadn't agreed. Not that he regretted it. If he'd taken the offer, he would have had to share details of his conditions – mental and physical – he'd have had to hand over all his weaknesses and no matter how non-threatening Cold may have been, Barry wasn't doing that.
The house was empty, so he went through the cabinets, made a few sandwiches, ate the rest of the pickles, and used the microwave to heat up popcorn. He was half through his third bag when the front door opened.
"I'm in here!"
A moment later Harrison leaned over the back of the couch. "What are you watching?"
"Doctor Who. The Doctor and Martha Jones are trapped in a traffic jam in an underground freeway."
"Fascinating." Harrison sat down next to him. "You do realize you're a time traveler watching a show about a time traveler?"
Barry slapped a hand that tried to sneak into his bag at super speed. "My popcorn. Get your own and I'm not a time traveler yet."
Harrison leaned back into the couch, pulling Barry with him. "Is this one of Cisco's?"
Barry nodded and let himself sink against Harrison. A long arm wrapped around his shoulders, fingers digging into the muscles rhythmically, pulling tension out until Barry melted into it.
"You're doing better today."
"Hm."
"We'll stay in tonight. I'll get sushi."
Barry sat up, turning abruptly. "We have Sushi?! Since when do we have Sushi?"
Harrison smiled. "Since I felt generous enough to run to Coast City to get it."
With a happy sigh, Barry settled back and watched the Doctor leap down from one car to another. He still wanted to know more about Cold – why he was doing this, was it part of some master plan, did he have more metas working with him? But that could wait.
