(Author's Note: I KNOW, SHE PROCRASTINATES AND DOESN'T UPDATE FOR LIKE A WEEK AND A HALF. Don't leave me, Jell-O Squares. Two jobs, church, and writer's block are formidable enemies. Mea culpa, mea culpa, as George Darling would say. -Doverstar)

It had been freezing outside, the first October he'd spent as the Flash.

Winter came earlier than usual in Central City that year, it seemed. He remembered thinking it was fitting, the frost and the chill amplifying after what the particle accelerator had done—to their home and to countless lives—in the previous October. Maybe that was something else the explosion had given them without being asked: uncomfortable climates. Maybe this was how it would be from now on.

He'd just finished your basic burning-building mission when his stomach growled at an embarrassing volume, even as he was running.

"Woah, your sugar levels are practically nonexistent right now, bro," Cisco's voice had crackled over the comms system.

"You need to consume roughly ten thousand calories a day," came Caitlin. "Without it, you'll run out of energy, and in a pace as charged as yours right now—"

"Basically, find something to eat and eat the crap out of it," Cisco suggested brightly.

"Yes. That." Caitlin agreed, and he could practically hear her eye-roll.

So he'd headed straight for the grocery store—the nearest thing to him that had to do with food. The sights and smells of polished tile floors, aisles of packaged goods, and the produce section lasted half a second as he sped through, grabbed what he wanted, and left the cash in the bagger's hand. Civilians seeing the Flash in Publix was a less-than-heroic image.

When he arrived at S.T.A.R. Labs, Caitlin was sitting on the white winding desk and Cisco was at his computer, twirling his earpiece by the wire around one finger.

"You don't have to eat here," Caitlin had insisted, focusing on biology as usual. "Running all the way back just took even more stamina out of you."

"I got enough to share," he'd promised.

His dad used to say that eating was great, but eating together was greater. One of the many things he'd tried to bring out of that prison. If he couldn't have his father, he could at least have his lifestyle, his morals, his beliefs. Even the littlest, most meaningless ones. Like the correct opinion that food was better consumed between friends, rather than by yourself. It was with this in mind that he'd bought the entirety of a particular part of the frozen section. Enough to sustain a speedster and a little extra for the speedster's team.

"Did you for real get ice cream sandwiches?" Cisco's mouth fell open.

Caitlin slid off the desk. "It's 30 degrees outside! And I mean 30 degrees exactly; it's not an exaggeration."

"No no no, Caitlin, this is dope." Cisco held up a palm to silence her. "You know not what you say. Ooh, triple flavor, gimme." He dove into one of the boxes, resurrecting three ice cream sandwiches in one hand.

He had grinned at them. "I guess I had a craving."

"You're not twelve weeks pregnant, Barry," Caitlin had scoffed. Back then she had been just a little too sharp around the edges, still stinging from loss and dealing with her own life's upheaval. But friends and ice cream went hand in hand, and even she couldn't resist with all her practicality. "Do you have strawberry?" she mumbled.

He held one out to her and began unwrapping his own.

"These are amazing," Cisco said between bites. "This right here is brain food."

"I'm going to have to wear an extra sweater when we're through," Caitlin sighed, gingerly licking a bit of chocolate off her finger.

"Me too," Cisco agreed. "Ice cream and winter—real good idea."

"Actually, ice cream's caloric content tends to make the human body warmer rather than colder," their bioengineer informed them, eyeing the box now that she'd finished her first sandwich. "But since I was cold before you came back, and am now eating frozen—"

"So what you're saying is," he'd interrupted after swallowing his fourteenth in the past minute, "we should just always be eating these around this time of year?"

"Mm!" Cisco held up a hand that had gotten caught in a now-empty Mayfield box. He grinned a sticky grin at the two of them. "On October 10th, we eat ice cream sandwiches," he quipped, in his best Mean Girls voice.

Caitlin had allowed them a then-rare smile, and he had shaken his head, picking up the last box. It was indeed October 10th, and though they hadn't ever flat-out said it was going to be a real tradition—mainly it seemed just as if Cisco were kidding around as usual—for the next two years, that was exactly what they'd done. He could be doing anything on that particular day. He could be up to his eyeballs in paperwork for the CCPD, or visiting Starling City, or fighting a new meta every hour. But somehow, each year, before the day was over, the three of them would find the time to eat at least one ice cream sandwich. Caitlin would come prepared with an extra sweater tied around her waist—an uncharacteristically 3rd-grade thing to do for her—and Cisco would hog all the triple-flavors, while he himself downed about twenty boxes in the space it took for the other two to finish half of one.

But they always ate it together.

On October 10th in Earth-66, Savitar was subduing two run-of-the-mill muggers who had targeting a teenage boy and his sister heading home from a nearby gas station.

One of the two baddies was already on the ground with a broken foot; he'd gotten in the way while Savitar was apprehending his accomplice's knife and one thing led to another—and the other villain was currently being tied to a bike rack on the sidewalk with a bungee cord the speedster had found in the alley. Savitar had used his speed to deposit the boy and his sister to safety a few blocks away, but when he'd returned he took the fight a little slower. He got more adrenaline than the original Barry Allen did on tussles, you remember.

"What is this?" the man puffed as Savitar finished the knot. His clichéd black beanie was slipping off his head and a nice fat lip was starting to form where Savitar had struck him. "Who are you?"

"I'm in a leather one-piece with a little yellow lightning bolt strapped to my chest." Savitar tightened the cord. "And everybody asks. It's like you think I'm gonna give you an answer."

He sped from the scene before the man could embarrass himself further, leaving the one with the broken foot to fend for himself in the alleyway.

Static pushed through his ears. "EEEEEEEEEEE—"

"Caitlin. Mic." Savitar warned agitatedly, almost missing the next turn in the road when he shut his eyes to the high-pitched shriek in the comms.

A little more static, then, "Sorry. It's more sensitive than the one on my Earth."

Her Earth. "What do you need?"

"There doesn't seem to be anything on the news or the local police bands for you to take care of."

Savitar snorted a little. "Is that what you called to tell me?"

"Yes. No—I mean—" She cleared her throat. "If there's nothing else to do—for now—Jitters just opened, and if you hurry there won't be a line…"

"You want coffee." Savitar scoffed.

"Yes, please."

He turned the street corner. "You have the bus." Changed into his civilian clothes in an alley. "You have legs. You have money." Taking the stairs two at a time. "Why are you telling me you want coffee?"

"Well…" She paused, and though there was an awkwardness to her tone, it also sounded irritatingly as if she were trying not to smile. "Before, it was because it's early and you're already out. Now—" There it was, he could hear the small grin in her voice. "Now maybe it's because you're already in the building?"

The tracker in his own suit—which was safely tucked into a titanium ring on his right finger—betraying him. Savitar headed for the line near the counter and switched off the comms without saying goodbye. He'd get the coffee this once, but he was no one's errand boy. Barry Allen did his friends favors. He wasn't Barry Allen anymore. Just because he didn't have the excuse of scars to avoid public meeting places didn't mean he wanted to go flaunting his new look every chance he got. He'd be in and out. Maybe not as quickly as he would have been before the transmogrifier, but if he was going to wait for the milk to steam, he might as well do the whole thing domestic-style.

It had now been roughly a month and two and a half weeks in Earth-66. Every other day, he was on the news. He was Central City's top story, their go-to when there was nothing else to report. No good photos of him yet, and of course they didn't have an alias to refer to—he remained a shadow or the blur or the moonlight vigilante. Sandra Peterson had taken to calling him a guardian angel. Clearly she was some kind of blogger mom. Luckily Caitlin hadn't yet tried using any of these titles when she spoke to him. Could be that she knew how it grated on him, hearing so many names that didn't fit him.

Even his own name didn't work anymore. Savitar. He wasn't the God of Speed now. He was just a speedster, one in a multiverse of speedsters—worse, he was a copy of a single speedster. And he'd been defeated by said speedster, and then dumped in a parallel Earth to live out the rest of his days. Maybe the shadow did him justice after all. That was all he really was, these days, a shadow of Barry Allen.

He didn't have a regular job, he only had maybe three different outfits—and they all looked alike, black and simple—one pair of shoes, and only one friend. If he could call her his friend. She'd made sure he knew he was hers, but could he admit it himself? Could he admit he had someone by his side, after everyone who had deserted him, everything he'd lost? It was dangerous. He wasn't opposed to danger—he'd become danger. He got off on danger. But this was the one risk he hadn't decided to take yet. On the fence. It was bad enough he'd made an admission of care.

He was waiting for the drink when someone brushed past him. Savitar spared Wally only a glance before just as quickly turning his back to the kid. He didn't want to be recognized, he didn't want more conversation. He was already pushing it, getting coffee for someone else.

Wally slid into a booth behind Savitar, and the speedster tilted his head, catching the greeting the boy threw to whoever he was joining. "Hey, dude, sorry I'm late. There's like nowhere to park out there."

"Yeah, everybody's trying to get to work. You'd've been better off running," came a hoarse, familiar voice.

Eddie, Savitar realized, not turning around to make sure. He'd know that tone anywhere. Back when he'd been Barry—or not—basically he had the memory of Barry's nightmares, and Eddie was in every single one of them, blood staining his chest, red lightning everywhere.

"I'm not much of a runner," Wally chortled.

There was a pause in the conversation, and Savitar watched a barista stir milk into Caitlin's tea behind the counter, waiting for more to listen to. Eddie Thawne and Wally West, having a coffee get-together. He'd wager it wasn't too different from the way Stein and Caitlin met here, though there was significantly less science involved. Still—what were the odds?

"I don't have much time before I'm due at the station," Eddie admitted. "But I do wanna say I haven't stopped looking, Wally."

There was the sound of shuffling, and Wally stammered out, "Oh—no—no, I-I know, man, I didn't think—"

"Look, I know it's been…two years, and I've got nothing to show for it, but I promised you I was gonna catch him and that's what I'll do."

Savitar shifted a bit as the barista handed him Caitlin's tea, catching a glimpse of the two behind him. Wally's shoulders were hunched, and Eddie was tense where he sat, trying to look the younger man in the eye.

"You ever think…" Wally paused, swallowing. "You ever think maybe we should call it quits, Eddie?"

Eddie's brow furrowed. "What?"

"I mean—I believe you. Okay? You know I believe you." Wally held up both palms, and his tone reminded Savitar so much of Joe it was almost painful. "But like you said—it's been two years. If we haven't proved it by now…"

"We can't give up. I got so close." Eddie's voice grew tight in frustration. "I almost had him." He ran a hand through sandy hair. "And then—" He sighed. "That…super-speed guy just—took over." He let his hand fall back onto the table. "Now he's gone."

Savitar stood motionless near the counter, rooted to the spot, straining to hear. The two men at the table were engrossed; Wally wouldn't recognize him even if he did glance over. He was too preoccupied, too emotionally invested, in whatever it was they were discussing. Super-speed guy. He wanted a name, but that was definitely not on the list.

Apparently, apprehending Mick Rory had ruined something a little deeper for Eddie, and now, by extension, Wally. Savitar's gaze drifted to the floor, mulling it over. Did he care? He'd stopped the bad guy. At the time, even that had been out of his way. Unnecessary. He didn't need to play the hero that day. He'd saved Thawne's life. Eddie should be thankful, but instead he was complaining.

Wally brightened. Savitar saw him straighten up.

Eddie noticed the sudden movement, jolting a little. "What is it?"

"I know that guy," Wally murmured, so that Savitar had to back up a step to hear them. "With the speed. I told you, he got me out of the EXPO."

Eddie leaned forward. "Hang on." His eyebrows shot up. "Are you telling me you know where he is?"

"No—I mean, I know where he works," Wally assured him, even more quietly. "Sorta. Kind of like his headquarters, I think. I've been there, that's where they patched me up."

Savitar stiffened.

"I met him, remember?" West's voice was getting too excited, rising.

"You said he sent you away," Eddie reminded him dubiously.

"But he's got a friend—like an assistant or something—she'd help us. If I could talk to her—"

"Maybe she could give us some info on where Rory is," Eddie finished for him, sitting back again.

There was a moment of thick silence. Savitar had been on the receiving end of that silence in the Cortex on Earth-1 many times. Or—Barry had. It was a thinking silence, the kind where each mind was so lost in itself that mouths and audio were forgotten.

"We gotta try." Wally reached for his coat. "I'm telling you, if there's anybody here who can help, it's those two. It's like I said the other night. They want…more. They wanna be more, do something to make stuff better."

"Let's hope that's enough," Eddie muttered, taking a sip of his coffee.

The tea was too hot against Savitar's hand. He moved for the door, not bothering to glance back at the table and see what they were doing now. He'd heard enough. And he'd wasted too much time here already. Whatever Eddie and Wally were going through, it wasn't anything to do with him—he'd just gotten caught in the crossfire when it came to their mutual metahuman criminal issue. If Wally was headed for S.T.A.R Labs soon, that was barely a glitch in Savitar's system. It wouldn't take much to send him packing.

Jitters was too warm and the smell of baked goods was too strong. Outside was too cold and too loud. Time to go back to headquarters.

If there was one thing to put him in a good mood here, on this Earth, with nothing but a suit and a temporary nursemaid, it was the mercy of this Cortex smelling different than the original did. This Cortex smelled like cleaning supplies, mostly, and dust. Better than the last one any day. Here, he didn't have to close his eyes and see faces from 2024 dismissing him. Here, he didn't have to watch them all go to work around him, barely looking at him. On Earth-1, after he'd agreed to their help, the most in the way of acknowledgement he got was a rousing spat with Ramon, who never knew when it was time to shut up. Here, he didn't feel attacked from all angles.

And there was also Caitlin. Seeing the back of her caramel-colored curls in the corner, doing calculations on Nimbus' gas sample, made the room a little less dark around the edges. And there was a hint of her flowery hand sanitizer to add to the usual scent of the Cortex. Even more different than Earth-1's. This was definitely as close to a good mood as he was going to get.

She didn't hear him come in, either because she was so caught up in her work or because he hadn't flashed into the room. He took this opportunity to calmly stroll up behind her, walking on the balls of his feet. He glanced over her shoulder, examining the tests and theories she was working out. It wasn't so much like reading Greek to him as it might have been to other people; he was a scientist too—remembered being one, anyway—but his lack of interest in the content soon overtook him, and he went from skimming to ignoring in the same breath.

Caitlin was biting her bottom lip. She was bent low over the pages, goggles around her neck (clearly she'd been doing some experimenting) and her eyebrows were puckered. Deep in thought. Every movement was so familiar to him—every gesture, every expression. He knew what she was thinking most of the time. Why she would act a certain way, what her favorite dessert was, what haunted her nightmares. It was irreversibly sour, knowing her as Barry knew her and knowing, too, that she didn't seem to understand that he did.

He'd been watching her for too long.

Savitar reached around her left shoulder and knocked on the tabletop.

Caitlin practically fell out of her chair. She whipped around, elbow colliding with his arm, and her tea flew from his hand. It happened in slow motion for Savitar; he used his speed and caught it, midair, before a drop could leave the cup.

"You're back," she stammered. Caitlin had turned in her seat to face him, and he stood towering over her now.

Savitar raised his eyebrows. "For ten minutes," he agreed. "You know, if I wanted to go unnoticed, I'd've stayed in the Speed Force." He set her tea down, creating a ring on the paper from the slightly-damp cup. Surviving a collision was one thing; the run back to S.T.A.R. Labs with it in his hand was another.

"Sorry," she muttered, giving him a look that said he was picking a fight. She wasn't wrong. "I've been trying to finish these all morning. It's been tunnel-vision for me since I got up."

Savitar leaned against the table, looking her over. "You're tired."

Caitlin huffed. "No. Why do you keep doing that?"

"Talking?" Savitar's eyebrows shot even higher. "You're right, what was I thinking?

Her nose wrinkled. "Telling me when I'm tired. You don't tell me I'm tired," she muttered. "I'm not—I'm just…" She flung an arm up. "Frustrated."

Savitar grunted. "Need a break?"

"No, I do not need a break." Caitlin reached for her pen grumpily, turning back to the table. "I need to get this sample fully analyzed so Professor Stein and I can start work on curing his bedridden wife."

The pen was in his hands before she'd finished.

"I also need that," she added in a very controlled voice.

Savitar flipped the pen between each finger, glancing down at her. "Oh, I'm sorry. Is this distracting you?"

She made an odd face then. Something between a scowl and a sneer, with a nose-wrinkle of confusion mixed in. "It's delaying me."

"You're tired."

"I'm fine." Caitlin held out her hand. "I need my pen back, please."

Savitar held it at arms' length—in the opposite direction. "You remember nagging and nagging me to sleep, right?"

Caitlin folded her arms, and she probably would have tapped her toe, too, if it hadn't gone out of style ages ago. She pursed her lips and settled for, "I remember repeating myself because you don't listen to reason."

Savitar tilted his head. "I'm just returning the favor."

"Okay, this is ridiculous." She stood up. "This isn't one friend convincing the other friend to get some rest, this is you throwing a small tantrum because I'm not paying you any attention." She glanced at the papers. "Because I have to get this done."

Savitar leaned further away. "You think I want your attention, Doctor Snow?"

Caitlin closed her mouth for a moment, as if thinking of how to respond to that. She seemed to settle for dignified silence, because she stood stiff as a board and waited for him to make the next move, still reaching out an expectant hand for the pen. He almost smirked at her, but there wasn't enough mirth in him for it. It was nice to get on her nerves again, though.

He passed it to her. "Maybe sugar will keep you awake."

Then he set down the grocery bag in his left hand. She hadn't mentioned it; probably hadn't seen it until now. It sat there on the table, and Caitlin glanced at the plastic, now tired, frustrated, and at a loss. She reached in and pulled out the box of Mayfield ice cream sandwiches.

Caitlin stared at the red word strawberry on the box, uncomprehending. Then she glanced up at him, eyes wide. "It's October 10th."

"Yes it is." He was already moving out of the room, heading for his own quarters.

"Where are you going?" Caitlin called. He heard her push her chair back to stand again. "I can't eat them all by myself."

Savitar turned as she clicked after him in her heels, holding the box. She pulled an ice cream sandwich out and offered it to him, brown eyes soft. His gaze flicked from her to the treat, calculating. A writhing scribble-ball of frustration formed, and he wasn't sure why it was there, but he relished it.

"Not my tradition," Savitar held up his palms.

Caitlin's eyebrows came together. "Why did you buy them, then?"

His eyes rolled around so that he was looking sideways, avoiding her expression. "You need them."

A little laugh escaped her. "I don't need ice cream sandwiches."

Clearly she didn't understand. His tone suggested she wasn't all that bright as he explained, "Barry's gonna call you later. He gets off work at—" he pretended to check a watch he didn't have. "—oh, 12:25. There's nothing Singh can tell him to do that he can't get done like that." He snapped his fingers. "Then he'll pick up his own little box and he and Ramon will give you a nice, long Skype call and you'll all sit and eat together, just like old times." He nodded to the box in her hands. "You need them for that."

"Yes, you know us. You know us inside and out. I get it." Her mouth tightened a little more with each syllable. He noticed her nails digging a little into the wrapping. "I know you weren't actually there when—Barry brought these home the first time, but that doesn't mean you can't eat at least one." She extended the sandwich again, trying a smile. "I am including you in this year's version."

He chortled. "No thanks."

Caitlin shifted her weight to one hip, indignant. "You want me to eat all ten of these on my own?"

"I don't really care what you do." Savitar shrugged with his hands inside his pockets. "I just thought it'd be awkward if you forgot."

Caitlin set the box down on the white winding desk. "If you don't eat one, I don't eat one."

Exasperated, Savitar turned to look down at her. "Why?"

"Because." She hesitated for a moment, thinking, calculating, trying to figure out how to continue. He could tell by the way she gripped the cuffs of her lab coat, bouncing almost imperceptibly where she stood. Finally, she went on, "You should be included."

No thank you. "I don't need your bleeding heart, Caitlin."

"Oh, grow up and listen to me for once," Caitlin snapped. "I'm not—doing this out of pity. Even something as silly as eating ice cream in freezing weather is important for…people like us. When you've been through as much as we have. You know that's why Barry shared. That's why Barry does anything like that—because when the whole world is going insane around us, when we lose to impossible things, we have each other, and…he took every opportunity to remind us. Remind me." She folded her arms and looked him in the eyes. "And now I'm reminding you. You and I are a team here. Whether I'm eating an ice cream sandwich or tracking a meta, it feels wrong to do it without you." She grinned. "We may not be Team Flash or anything, but we're still in this together."

Savitar felt the lights in the room pulsing down on them. He wasn't sure why he was noticing how bright it was just now—but the shadows seemed slimmer suddenly and the Cortex warmer. You and I are a team. She didn't say it flippantly, but it was definitely casual. Genuine, normal. How long had it been since he'd had a team? Scratch that. He'd technically never had a team. Did two people still count? It didn't matter, because she was grabbing his hand and forcing the stupid ice cream into it, looking up at him with that age old you-will-obey-your-physician steel in her eyes.

Strangely enough, he couldn't feel the cold against his hand when he took it. Not taking his eyes off her, he unwrapped it, exhaling in submission.

Caitlin, beaming, bit into her own sandwich, brushing a bit of chocolate out of the corner of her mouth. Savitar glanced down at the food in his hands, examining it rather than eating it. Forget a team—how long had it been since he'd had ice cream? And how was he supposed to stick to his guns when she was grinning like that? Finally, he took a small bite, swallowing gingerly. Caitlin went back to her desk, and he took a seat by the white winding desk, the two of them eating in companionable silence for a while.

Then:

"I'm not Skyping anyone."

"I know."