(Forgive me for a week of inactivity, Jell-O Squares! And thank you for the kind thoughts in the reviews, I'm totally fine and so are my loved ones. I hope you all survived the hurricanes and whatnot, for those of you in that area. I hope you enjoy this chapter, I'm so sorry I was late. Also, if you want updates on my writing progress with this monster fanfic, check out my Twitter under DoverstarTJ; I sometimes post there about how long I estimate it'll take to get the next chapter up. Thank you for sticking with me and reviewing so diligently, friends! -Doverstar)

The way Professor Stein moved as Caitlin led him into the building made her think that Earth-66's S.T.A.R. Labs must have been really something. Before the particle accelerator exploded, anyway. It looked familiar enough to her—nothing seemed too different from her own Earth's version, but the doors here probably hadn't been opened as often as the ones back home. In fact, Professor Stein behaved as if it were almost wrong to stroll through the dusty lobby. His every step was ginger as he walked beside her, hands folded politely behind his back. Of course, the way his jaw was set told her that the thought of curing Clarissa was louder than all the others that must be flying through.

"The future," Stein murmured as they headed down into the corridors. When Caitlin glanced at him, he expanded, "That's what Harrison Wells called it, the night his grand invention failed us all. He called it the future."

Caitlin swung her arms a little while walking. She could remember her Dr. Wells using the same words. Future had been a bright, silver word, blurred with new possibilities and a wave of pride to be at her genius employer's side through it all. But after the accelerator had gone wrong, the future was dark and menacing, only visible when guilt flashed its light on her prospects. Guilt over what she had helped do to Earth-1's Central City, to its inhabitants, all the metas and the lives she'd had a hand in destroying. The pendant hanging from her neck told her firsthand what pain they felt, forever apart from the rest in some way, all because of S.T.A.R. Labs' fatal mistake. She wondered if this Earth's Caitlin Snow would have felt the same ache for her home, had she survived this version of the particle accelerator accident.

Martin Stein let out a short breath. "And I suppose," he said tensely, "despite its unexpected results, he wasn't wrong, was he? The future did change dramatically. Humanity has achieved a state of being we never would have thought possible beforehand. It's just a shame everyone seems to have used it for their own selfish gain, rather than for the greater good."

Caitlin tilted her head sympathetically. "Not everyone," she reminded him, picturing a flash of yellow and a lightning emblem. Suddenly, she couldn't tell if it belonged to Barry or Savitar—no, to Barry or…Barry's time remnant.

Stein appeared to understand immediately, a very small smile playing about his mouth. He turned to her, hands still clasped behind his back, as they walked. "Ah, yes, our speedy friend. An inspiration. And this is your base of operations?" he added as they entered the main room.

"The Cortex," Caitlin introduced him.

"Tell me," Stein asked, "on whose authority are you operating S.T.A.R. Labs? Does anyone else know it's up and running again?"

Caitlin bit her lip. "Just us. It's—it's a long story—"

But Stein, seeing her discomfort, held up a weathered hand. "One I'm sure provides information unnecessary to my cause," he finished kindly. "You don't have to tell me, Miss Snow. I'll admit it's a relief to see this place put to some good use after all the damage it's caused, and that alone is good enough for me."

Was it possible to adopt a grandfather for yourself? Caitlin wondered fleetingly. And could you want to adopt two versions of the same man as that grandfather? Encouraged, she showed him how the room worked usually. "We run most communications through this system when Savitar is on the field—" she gestured to the technology, the small mic stand. "And I can track his progress through the monitors."

"And the crime?" Stein guessed, glancing around the room. "I assume you've tapped into police bands, er, hacked into security footage surrounding the area, things like that?"

"It's not big on privacy, but…" Caitlin smiled. "It's more efficient that way."

"I see, yes," Stein nodded hard, studying the glass demonstration board. "Yes. And where do you keep the perpetrators?"

Caitlin stiffened a little.

Stein faced her, moving just as tightly. His jaw was set in that hard way he'd had it in Jitters, when she'd told him who was responsible for Clarissa's condition. "You told me you'd managed to get a sample of the gas contaminating my wife's system, so you must have the main source somewhere. Surely you didn't subtract just a piece of his toxicity, leaving the rest to escape and harm more innocent people?"

She wasn't sure how to respond. She didn't want him to know this much yet. Not yet. It wasn't safe—sure, he was an elderly professor, a man of science, but even the Stein on her world had a kind of fire inside. If he were to face the man that had hurt Clarissa so badly, there was no telling what he'd do. And even if it was a righteous anger fueling him, Stein was no match for someone like Kyle Nimbus.

"He's here, isn't he?" Martin demanded. "In this very facility."

There wasn't really anything else she could do. How could she lie to him, tell him Nimbus wasn't right there, locked up, the way it should be? Unable to hurt anyone else. She'd told Savitar to exercise trust—it was time she took a little of her own medicine. Trust the Professor. He was a good man, and he wasn't stupid.

Caitlin went to the monitors, tapping into the surveillance cameras downstairs. "We call it the Pipeline," she explained quietly. "Some of the clear cells designed to monitor the particle accelerator—they're sealable, still fully operational—are perfect for holding metahumans."

Stein leaned over her shoulder. He smelled like tea and wooden walls, leather and a hint of a generalized cologne. Exactly what a teacher ought to smell like, she thought fondly. But all it took was one glance, and she could see this was no grandfatherly instructor watching the screen, watching Nimbus sitting bored in his containment unit. (Caitlin had left the metal door up to give Nimbus something else to look at than just the blue-padded walls for the night.) This was a man with rocklike pain inside, pain he'd kept for three long years as he sat beside his wife's hospital bed. There was a mountain of resolve and intense hatred standing unmovable in his chest, hatred for the thoughtless murderer on the monitors and a resolve to undo what he'd done. Stein's mouth was drawn into a tight line and his eyes were chips of metal.

He straightened. "In the flesh," he muttered. "He's just a man after all, not a demon or—or a monster. It's much worse now," he added, glancing at Caitlin, who was staring nervously at him. "Three years and it was just another human being tormenting Clarissa. Altogether preventable, and right under my nose the entire time."

He moved for the door.

"Professor Stein!" Caitlin hurried to stand in his way. "Don't. It won't help."

Stein took a slow breath, and he looked at her the way he might look at a student who didn't make the cut. It was one of those not-worth-my-time squints, and Caitlin had seen it so often on Savitar's face that it stung to see it replicated on the sweet professor's. "Miss Snow, you seem to be operating under the assumption that I am not a grown adult, that I have to obey you because you work with your Savitar hero, because you have more information than I do. That I can't make my own decisions. The creature in your Pipeline ruined my life, and I intend to at least look him in the face once, man to man, before Clarissa is up and moving again."

Caitlin put a hand on his arm. "The best way you can get back at Nimbus is to make that happen. Save Clarissa. After that, what power does he have over you? Either of you?"

Stein met her gaze, and she felt the hardness go out of him. She saw his mind racing over her words, weighing them, applying logic and extracting emotion from the situation in favor of results. He exhaled. "Tie it to a goal," he murmured. When she gave him a quizzical narrowing of the eyes, he went on, "Something Einstein said once. If you want to live a happy life, tie it to a goal." He gave her a reassuring smile. "Shall we get to work?"

It took most of the day, and they weren't finished yet.

The gas chromatograph she'd brought from Earth-1 was an old one, and it ran slowly. While it worked, Stein and Caitlin did calculations, swapped ideas, and by 4 in the afternoon, the results of the scan were just starting to flicker onto the monitors. Stein was impatient, Caitlin knew, but to his credit he didn't lose his temper again. He didn't hit anything or even assume an expression of annoyance. He immersed himself in their work and his head didn't come up until his watch beeped, telling him he had forty minutes to get to one of his lectures.

"I'll expect you bright-eyed and bushy-tailed back here tomorrow morning," Caitlin warned him, pointing with her pen as he walked toward the exit.

Stein, pulling on his coat, glanced back and smiled wanly. "It's been a long time since I was anywhere near bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but I'll do my best, I assure you." He glanced around the room. "You know, I always wondered what it would be like, working here instead of my own company. Harrison Wells had a kind of dash and sparkle I never went for in my career; I never imagined the interior would look quite so…"

"Dusty?" Caitlin offered, removing her goggles with a grin.

Stein's eyebrows bounced. "Yes, I suppose that's the word, isn't it? Don't, er, get me wrong—you've done a fine job cleaning it up, I'm sure."

"It's a far cry from…" Caitlin closed her eyes a moment, picturing home. She settled for, "…what it used to be. But it's still the perfect place to do what we need to do."

"Helping people," Stein surmised.

"Helping people," Caitlin agreed, heart glowing a little brighter.

"And where is Central City's savior?" Stein turned back to the doorway. "I would have expected he'd be in by now."

Caitlin shrugged, nerves resurfacing. "He's…not the stay-at-home type."

"Oh, of course," Stein chuckled, setting his own goggles down on the white winding desk. "I should've realized—he'd have a life outside his hero business." He checked his watch. "Somewhere deep down, behind his extraordinary abilities, he must have the need for coffee and company, just like the rest of us, hm?"

Caitlin glanced at her notes, forgetting how she'd intended to end the sentence she'd begun. "Something like that," she mumbled.

Stein tucked his own pen back into his front pocket. "He has you, at least," he stated, but it sounded more like a question.

She did smile then, wider. "Yes he does." At least.

After Stein left, Caitlin took a break from the gas sample, rubbing her eyes. She stretched, standing and heading to the desk to track Savitar's suit. He must not have been wearing it, because the scanners showed it was in his room, dormant. Caitlin folded her arms, leaning back in her seat. The Cortex was still altogether too quiet.

Suddenly, papers flew around the room, and a blur of black and yellow dodged behind her. A warm brown paper bag was in front of Caitlin, and Savitar was in the chair on her right.

"Good afternoon," Caitlin grumbled, blowing hair out of her face. "Were you out all night?"

Savitar rested his feet on the desk. "Would you believe me if I said I wasn't?"

"You already caught Nimbus, Savitar," Caitlin sighed, standing and going around the desk to open the bag. "You don't have to wear yourself out anymore." She reached in and pulled out a moist blueberry scone. "Is this from Jitters?"

"The one in National City," Savitar replied, taking a sip from his own coffee. "Needed to stretch my legs."

"Well, thank you. I haven't eaten all day," she admitted, taking a bite of the scone and closing her eyes in delight.

After a moment of silence—apart from her chewing—Caitlin glanced up and saw Savitar watching her in that frozen way he did sometimes. There was something familiar in his mismatched eyes, but she couldn't place it and was a little too tired to try.

"You're tired," he said thunkingly, without feeling.

Caitlin raised her eyebrows, taking offense. "Okay, I am not wearing makeup today, but there was a lot to do at 5 in the morning—"

Savitar shook his head almost imperceptibly. "Your eyes," he interrupted. "They're half closed. You're moving slower."

Her mouth was still open, and she closed it abruptly. Was it part of his superhuman abilities, noticing these things so quickly? She knew he could read articles and things at the speed of light, but not people. All she'd done was stand and eat. Maybe take three steps. The way he looked at her sometimes, it was as if he were watching someone folding a paper airplane, memorizing every fold and press, able to replicate it a moment later. Not quite like she was being studied, more like she was being remembered.

"I've been working with Stein on the gas sample," Caitlin explained finally. "We can't create an antidote without analyzing the substance first."

"I know," Savitar told her curtly. He tapped a knuckle to the side of his own head gently, then spread his hands. "I built a suit that could resist the elements of the space-time continuum from scratch." He leaned forward a little. "I gave Wally his speed. I know science, Caitlin."

"And you worked in forensics," Caitlin added, raising a palm and letting it slap back down impatiently. "Right. I forgot."

He was looking at her like that again. After a second he said, "Barry."

"I'm sorry?"

"Barry worked in forensics," Savitar said slowly, cocking his head just slightly so that his hair moved out of his eyes.

Caitlin looked at the wrinkling of his Barry nose as he sniffed, the one green Barry eye, the strong arms crossed over his chest, the same lace-up Converse shoes on the desk. Same somehow-permanent, guttural morning voice Savitar kept 24/7. She cleared her throat. "Yes. I know."

"Okay." He squinted at her a moment longer, then stood up. "He's not gone."

"Who's not gone?" Caitlin shook her head, setting her napkin and the empty bag down again.

He was tapping a few keys, dragging his finger across the trackpad. Caitlin came over to see the screen. "Stein. He went down to the Pipeline."

"No," Caitlin argued, shaking her head hard. "He wouldn't do that, I told him—"

But the security footage confirmed Savitar's suspicions. Stein had just reached Nimbus' cell, and was standing staring at the wide-eyed meta on the other side of the glass, like someone had nailed his feet to the floor and his arms to his sides. Totally still.

Savitar turned up the sound with a hard tap on the right key.

"Take a picture, grandpa," Kyle was rasping, a tiny smirk fuzzy on the screen, but definitely there. "It'll last you longer."

"You don't know who I am," Stein realized aloud, voice like granite. "You don't know what you've done."

Kyle's head tilted, tipping onto his right shoulder, his arms slung over his knees. Caitlin saw his smirk grow.

"It doesn't matter," Stein clipped. He was breathing steadily, but Caitlin noted how his shoulders were hunched and strained. "It's over now. Everything you've ruined. I will rectify it. There are people here who will make certain that your life—your decisions—are null and void, in the end. Those you've hurt will be avenged. In fact, the only thing that will be remembered about you is the punishment you'll receive for your crimes. Indefinitely this time." He inhaled, long and slow, speaking between his teeth. "And I don't mind saying how much I'm looking forward to that."

There was a pause. A very loud silence zapped between the two men in the Pipeline. Nimbus had zero recognition on his face as he looked at the scientist sizing him up, that was clear, but he seemed to grow more solid with every word Stein said. Less of a cloud and more of a person. Caitlin thought she might be imagining any effect Martin's determined speech was having on the Mist until the meta spoke again.

Nimbus lifted a hand that slowly dissolved into green gas. "You think this isn't punishment enough, old man?"

Caitlin heard Savitar shift beside her. She glanced over at him to see a gray look on his face, something reaching for the words Kyle had said, something relating. His knuckles were white against his palms.

Onscreen, Stein did not seem rattled by this. He turned away, saying very calmly and tightly over a shoulder, "Unfortunately your abilities, however taxing, are your own doing. I'm sure one does not enter a government gas chamber by accident. You escaped the consequences once—it won't happen twice. I find comfort in the fact that everything you took from me and mine…is about to be reversed." He folded his hands behind his back casually, finishing with a quiet, "And, in the grand design this city has shaped for itself in the last three years—you will amount to nothing."

Savitar and Caitlin flicked from camera to camera, making sure that Stein left the building, left the parking lot, left the area at last. That nothing else could happen. When he was finally gone, Caitlin switched off the monitor, turning to Savitar, who was making his way around the desk to the doorway.

"Well," she breathed, leaning against the desk and shaking her head, feeling numb. "He definitely knows how to make an exit."

Savitar didn't reply, his back to her. He could have flashed out of the room, but he was walking. Was he tired too? Caitlin craned her neck, trying to see his expression.

"Hey," she called softly. He turned. "What Nimbus said—about…about his abilities." She licked her lips, thinking of how to ask. "You don't…feel that way about yours. Do you? I mean, they're not a curse. Not for you."

Savitar hesitated, silent for a few minutes, barely facing her. His eyes darted along the floor, and he seemed to be deciding whether or not to answer. Finally, he shrugged halfheartedly, hands in his pockets. His eyes were narrowed to sleepy slits.

"What else?" he responded huskily. "What else are they, then?" He came closer, moving as if it hurt. "If anyone deserves a punishment, it's me, right?"

Caitlin felt an odd, red feeling in her chest, a need to combat that—where had it come from? Wasn't he telling the truth? But her voice rose a bit anyway, trying to form words for the red. "You're—"

"Caitlin," Savitar cut her off, wearing the same tone he wore when he needed her to not talk. He sounded as if he were speaking to a second-grader, someone who wasn't hearing and didn't care to understand him, so he had to talk over them. "Barry was the one the lightning chose. Not me."

The words went right out of her. She wasn't sure why. Because she was looking up at Barry's face and listening to Barry's low voice and at first, as usual, it didn't make sense, what he was saying. But the truth in it made her breathing slow, her brain perk up and start writing.

"But…"

"I'm just a copy," Savitar reminded her, his voice quieter and quieter. "Remember?"

The blue eye wasn't milky anymore, she noticed, honing in on it. Not after the transmogrifier had done its work. It had a pupil, it reflected light, and it was sort of pool-colored now, not morning-sky colored. Caitlin looked him up and down and her heart was getting warm again. She couldn't picture the scars and the menace, for some reason. He wasn't even casting as long a shadow, tall as he was, standing over her. He wasn't intimidating all of a sudden. He was just there, looking like her friend and smelling like an acquaintance. Autumn city air still clung to him, and the jacket he always wore was starting to carry a familiar scent too, denim and pennies and something else, something kind of icy. She couldn't look at him as the enemy, and the word copy was starting to sound filthy in her ears, but some Infantino Street echo in her still recognized its accuracy.

"If it was a punishment," Caitlin murmured firmly, standing up straighter, finding the words at last, "you're turning it into a gift." She lifted her chin, just a little teasingly in a maternal way, and folded her arms. But her tone was genuine as she added, "I'm proud of you, Savitar."

He shifted his weight and, yes, rolled those mismatched eyes. But he smiled, too. It was the first real, full smile she'd seen on that face. The Cortex didn't seem quite so quiet then.

(IT'S SHORT, I KNOW. Darn Doverstar, what you been doing? But the next is coming, I swear. Hopefully sooner than last time. Love you people! And you reviews are delightful, I do read every one. Give me your thoughts, Jell-O Squares! Thank you! -Doverstar)