"No."
The word thunked when it hit the atmosphere, as if Savitar had dropped a bowling ball into the air. He watched Wally on the med bay's single monitor, watched Wally turning in the chair behind the white winding desk. Watched him with a look that wasn't hate, exactly, Caitlin thought. Not full hatred. But there was anger in it, and there was pain, and it was raw in the center of the look, but the edges were all flint. She got the feeling she wouldn't have noticed if they hadn't made this much progress since arriving on Earth-66.
Not hate, but the way Savitar was staring at the screen—she was reminded that she wasn't the only one with ice in her veins. The speedster's eyes were every shade of cold.
"Savitar—"
"I'll be right back." His voice was careless. He tossed the back of ice onto the examination table, flipped the hood of his suit back up, and made for the door.
But Caitlin grabbed his arm to prevent him from flashing out of the room. "I know you don't want him here—"
"Oh!" Savitar stopped as soon as she touched him.
For a moment she held out hope he was willing to listen, and the sensation of being touched couldn't have hurt her chances. She could always count on basic biology—Savitar remained touch-starved, thus physical contact would almost always be in her favor.
Unfortunately, his tone was rankled yellow with sarcasm, and he went on, pulling away from her, "Oh, you know! You know," he glanced at the screen, "but he's in here anyway?" He folded his arms, leaning his head down, eyebrows pinched. "How, uh, how does that work, Caitlin?" He showed a palm, feigning ignorance. "Did he sneak in the back door?"
"It just—"
"Ah," Savitar bounced a fist against his own forehead, pretending to chide himself. "We don't have a back door! Maybe he snuck in through the front?"
His satire set her teeth on edge. "Savitar."
"Nah, you're right," The speedster let an arm flip up and slap back down. "Palm scan. So what happened, Doctor Snow?" Finally, the game was dropped, and he narrowed his eyes at her. The right one was still squinting a little tighter than the left. "I mean, it's not like you went behind your teammate's back and invited the guy in, with your little Team Flash-66 agenda, right? Because I just got this really great fantasy of speeding him all the way to Starling City, and chaining him to a telephone pole." His eyebrows shot up. His voice had dropped to a near whisper. "One of us is about to be disappointed."
She hadn't heard that much danger in his every syllable since the early days. Caitlin's fingers curled into her palms; she took a nice long, slow breath. She had to give him the right response. She couldn't rise to his anger and match it. Even if she didn't understand why he was so against this—for Wally's sake, for Earth-66's Joe West, she had to curb her own temper, her own argumentative tendencies. Time to appeal to the sliver of light she knew was buried good and deep in Barry's time remnant.
"You want to be a hero, don't you?" Caitlin replied carefully.
Savitar didn't move. It was like she was talking to a plant. Even his eyes were still.
"Down that hall is someone who specifically asked me for your help." She shifted her weight, controlling her tone. "That's why he's here. Now, I don't know about your—history—with the other Wally. But that is not him." She pointed to the screen. "This one needs you."
"Caitlin." Savitar took a step nearer to her, commanding her full attention. He took the hood back down so that she could see his face more clearly. He spoke the next three words very slowly. "I don't care."
The air slid out of her. One. Two. Three. Four. "Why not?" She honestly couldn't understand it. The memories he owned, the face he carried, some part of him cared. It had to.
Savitar's gaze flicked from her left eye to her right, and there was no hint of a smirk at her frustration. He was just looking at her, thinking. Thinking of his answer.
After a moment, when one didn't come, Caitlin pleaded, "Just…hear him out. That's all I want you to do."
The tension didn't leave his shoulders, and the flint didn't go out of his eyes, but he pulled his hood back on without glancing away from her.
Suddenly his eyes drifted to the side, almost an eye-roll, but it didn't quite make it that far. Then he took her arm and sped them both to the Cortex—Caitlin blinked and they were there, standing in front of Wally, her hair in her mouth. Her heart was doing the Playdough thing again, watching Savitar out of the corner of her eye as he began to vibrate—why would he need to do that? This Wally doesn't know his face—and turn to the boy in the chair.
Wally's breath had definitely quickened. He swallowed and shot to his feet. "Oh, man—you're here. I mean—I know you're here, you live here, I just mean…you came."
Savitar's voice jittered up and down as he spoke, manipulating his vocal chords with his abilities. "What do you want, Wallace?"
"It's Wally," Wally swatted a hand, nerves making him rock a little where he stood. "Forget it. So I…I dunno what Caitlin already told you, but um…" He closed his eyes briefly, as if trying to gather himself. "Basically, I'm not the only one Mick Rory burned."
In his shaking, rushing way, he repeated to Savitar what he'd told Caitlin. About Joe, about Singh's murder, about Rory and the gun and Eddie and everything. Savitar stood unmoved. Caitlin tried not to glance at him too often, tried not to check his expression. She listened to the story, focusing, hoping to catch any important information Wally might have left out when he'd relayed it to her, but it was much the same this time around.
When Wally reached the conclusion that Joe West was unjustly imprisoned, Caitlin saw Savitar's legs shift, as if he wanted to move backward, but didn't. His vibration paused, just for a second, and she knew he was really, really listening now.
Finally, Wally took a breath, finishing his story. He squinted at Savitar, trying very hard to see any detail, any human features, in the slight blur that was the speedster's form before him, but no luck. "I came here because we ran out of options," Wally stammered. "Me and Eddie. We been trying to find him on our own, and so far, nothing. But then you—"
He took a slight step toward Savitar, but Savitar did move back then. Caitlin watched the muscles in his arms tighten as he crossed them. On the defensive, as if Wally were the one wielding flames.
Wally, confused but on a roll, went on a little more cautiously, "You showed up. You caught him—Eddie says—"
"Did he tell you we lost him?"
We. The word was the only thing keeping Caitlin from frowning at Savitar's bluntness.
Wally's mouth shut almost immediately. Then, "He—he said he was gone…" He looked from Savitar to Caitlin.
Savitar nodded, cold. "He escaped." He leaned forward. "He's not here. You wasted a trip."
But Wally wasn't giving up that easily. Caitlin felt a little jump of affection for the boy as he shook his head hard, even gesturing a little with a half-raised fist, wavering and frustrated. "Okay, so you lost him, so…" He paused, blinking. "Look, you're—you're the fastest dude alive. On the news, everybody…we've all seen you. If anybody can catch him, it's you. And I know I'm not important or anything—I know you already helped me once."
Savitar's head tilted, barely noticeable. But Caitlin was watching.
Wally looked as though he were made of fresh yogurt. Take off the top and it seemed smooth on the surface, hard, but touch it—with anything—and you saw how soft it really was. He seemed to be struggling not to appear desperate, to make himself clear, but of course he couldn't help it. He couldn't keep his emotions from overwhelming him. Caitlin knew the feeling. It was one she'd fought to control for years—Wally just hadn't reached that level yet.
"But it's my dad," Wally went on, voice quiet. "Don't do it for me, okay, forget me. Do it for him. He didn't murder anybody, he's not a criminal—and he needs your help."
Savitar did not move.
Wally waited a beat, waited for any reaction, then added stiffly, "Rory's gotta be stopped either way, right?"
There was silence in the Cortex. Silence in the building. Caitlin wondered if it was this quiet outside too; it would be alien, she thought, if it weren't. Silence seemed appropriate in the wake of West's helplessness. Wally's words echoed off the walls and lingered in the shadows—he didn't murder anybody, he's not a criminal, he needs your help. It sounded so familiar.
She almost staggered upon realizing the comparison. Caitlin did glance sharply at Savitar this time, certain he'd made the same connection, but he had turned away from them and swung his arms slightly at his sides, gloves in fists. A foreign reaction in that body.
"If I'm gonna do this," Savitar said at last, and Caitlin felt she'd regained balance at the sound, "I need every piece of information you've got. I'm not wasting time running around the city if there are clues that'll get me to him faster." She pictured his exhausted face, the rasp in his voice, after searching for the Mist a few weeks back and quietly agreed.
Wally acted as if someone had just given him a shower for the first time. He started at Savitar's words, and relief and joy were so visibly crashing over him, Caitlin felt a smile shooting across her being just observing it.
"Thank you, thank you, man—" Wally began, grinning, but Savitar was shaking his head.
"Don't," Savitar said lowly, raising a hand without turning. "Don't do that. Just go get me what I need."
Wally nodded, over and over, tossing Caitlin a crooked smile, and said hurriedly as he moved for the exit, "I will, I'll call Eddie right now. He's got it all from memory, we'll get him down here—"
"Go, Wally," Savitar snapped, and Wally's pace quickened.
A few minutes later, and the beep on the monitor informed them he'd exited S.T.A.R. Labs.
Caitlin thought that the soundlessness had reigned one time too many today. She dared to shift, then, actually move from where she'd been standing. She went up behind Savitar, slowly, the old approach a wounded mammal tactic. Because she could feel tension rippling and pulsing off of him. It was in his back and his neck and his feet. It was in the way he was breathing, how quickly he stopped vibrating when Wally had turned that first corner.
"You're helping him," she breathed, unable to think past that for the moment. She tried to put gratitude into the words, but from his stance, she couldn't tell if it was received.
Savitar snorted. "I shouldn't be."
"Why?" Caitlin demanded, throwing out an arm. "I don't—is it just because this hits a little close to home?"
His voice rose to cover hers. "Barry's dad was convicted—"
"It doesn't matter! You just told him you were going to get his father out of prison. How many people get that chance? Savitar?" When he didn't respond, she added, "I don't understand. Why does it make you so upset, don't you—"
He turned around too quickly, his hood flying off, but Caitlin stood her ground. "I can't do it, Caitlin. I can't. I'm not."
Caitlin, baffled, felt her mouth and her eyebrows tighten. "What?"
"You brought him here," Savitar tossed an arm toward the door. "Stein, Stein's wife, Wally, now Thawne too?" His voice dropped, sort of hushed, and the pent-up frustration in the corners of his mouth made Caitlin nearly wince. "Nobody else should be here, I don't want any of them here."
"Yes, I know," Caitlin snapped, raising her voice. "I just don't see w—"
"Why?" Savitar mimicked her desperation seconds earlier. "Why, because I don't care." His eyes were almost closed, but the intensity in them made them seem wider. His own tone was rising and rising, louder with every breath. "I don't care about any of it. Any of them. I can't." He shook his head. His teeth were on edge, he was towering over her. Used one gloved hand to point aggressively, first at the door once more, then right at her—
"Not again, okay, I'm not doing it again, I mean it's bad enough that I care this much about you!"
That last word was almost inaudible, and angry—accusatory, to the outside observer, thick with exasperation. But she knew better. That word was the strongest out of all of them to Caitlin. Savitar didn't look surprised to have said it, but he did trail off once it was out, and they stood staring at each other for at least five minutes in the wake of it. The soundlessness had returned, but Caitlin didn't resent it now; there was too much happening inside her. So the majority of her brain went to work analyzing his physical stance, the bioengineer taking over.
His face was just—smooth. It didn't have an ounce of regret on it, or pain, or shock. His eyes looked fizzled, like the end of a sparkler. Just a tiny bit afraid, that was what it was, fear. Fear in Barry's right green eye and this new, damaged blue one. It was gone in a moment, but Caitlin registered it. He seemed to be breathing a lot slower now too, and his mouth was slightly open from the small rant he'd given.
Caitlin looked at the black leather suit, and no part of her—not even the corner where all that characteristic logic stood with arms crossed—screamed that it should be red. She looked at the soft dark hair and the eyebrows that just wouldn't relax and the tired, hooded eyelids that spoke of eons running in the Speed Force (she couldn't even imagine). The way his fingers folded into his palms and unfolded again, restless and used to tinkering or fighting, there was no in between. At the mismatched eyes and the bad posture and the smell of copper that still clung to him. She heard echoes of his deeper, older version of the voice belonging to the original Flash. Caitlin tasted ice cream sandwiches and listened to the screech of a comms mic too close to her mouth and felt the cold of the metal floor of his room against her feet on a night when one of them couldn't sleep.
And an overwhelming affection for the God of Speed, the storm on Infantino Street, erupted in her chest and the backs of her hands and she smiled at him, slow and deliberate.
"I care about you, too, Savitar," she said softly, even adding a little nod, to make sure everything about her told him she meant it.
Upon hearing this, his gaze dipped right in and searched both her eyes, left to right, back and forth. He barely moved apart from that, but if shadows could shift without light guiding them, his might have been sliding to collide with hers.
She had known that he cared—well, sort of known. If he didn't care, he would've let her suffocate after the Mist's attack. More logic. But it was such a leap, such a fragile thing, to hear him say it, it was like she hadn't actually felt it until now. They were friends, they were a team, they mattered together. She'd had this many times, she knew what it was, but Savitar had only the memories of losing it. Not gaining it. She could see it was surrounding him in a jittering way now. Though neither his expression nor his body language conveyed it the way others' might have, he was clearly thunderstruck.
Savitar didn't appear to have anything else to say now. All he could do was look and look at her, like she'd blow away any second.
Caitlin swallowed. "It's nice. Isn't it?" She was still smiling. She couldn't wipe it off. Silence, so she continued a little waveringly, "And it doesn't have to be just me, Savitar, it doesn't have to be just—just—one person. You can have a family again." It was such a simple sentence, but she knew he was made of glass, and she was throwing a very big stone.
Savitar turned, tearing away from her, and said shortly, "One chance." It was so gravelly and hard, the way he said it, and everything about him hardened as he moved. "They get one chance. That's it."
And he left the Cortex. But it was different than any other time he'd left after a thick conversation like this—from the way he walked, the amount of time it took for there to be physical distance between the two of them (much longer), to the amount of light that was suddenly in the room with her. He was brighter.
Caitlin came back from her meeting with Stein in the evening. It had taken that long to go through everything, all the variables, and her mind was so sharp from Savitar's shift in momentum that she'd even surprised herself with her calculations and speed of thought. It was as if the word you were a shot of espresso.
She'd need to put everything—all the samples and materials she'd brought in a briefcase to the chat with Stein—back where it had come from in the Cortex before heading to bed. A place for everything, and everything in its place. She'd never be able to sleep if she didn't know it was all organized in its proper section.
After returning her items, just as she reached the corridor leading to her room, she saw Savitar coming around the opposite corner.
Caitlin opened her mouth to greet him as he noticed her, then paused, doing a double-take.
He'd changed clothes. Well, obviously, he couldn't wear the Flash suit to bed. But these weren't his usual civilian clothes. He wasn't wearing the black denim jacket or the dark pants—this wasn't to say he was mixing it up in regards to wearing black, though. The shirt was still black, specifically, and with ¾ sleeves. Tri-blend, that was the material—only 25% cotton, her mathematical side reminded her. 50% polyester. And his pants were almost coffee-with-milk colored, maybe a little darker. Black shoes, of course. The Hammond Cuff stood out on his wrist now that he wasn't wearing fully long sleeves (they did reach his elbows) but it almost matched the pants, like a huge, high-tech watch without an actual clock. It worked.
Caitlin wasn't sure why she was fixated on the change in physical appearance—it really wasn't that drastic. But he didn't look…or rather, no, he looked the same. He was still himself. But the fact that he wasn't wearing the same thing stuck him out to her, as it might have just about anyone. Even his hair looked better, though it surely hadn't changed.
"What?" Savitar's rough voice cut into her thoughts, and she shook her head slightly, assuring him subconsciously he was fine.
"Nothing," Caitlin replied easily. Her nose wrinkled. "Are those—I mean…they're new—it's—sorry, you look, you look nice." Good, good. Say whatever you would about her; she got there in the end. She cleared her throat.
Savitar almost looked…what was it? Amused? He was practically smirking, but that would imply smugness, or the intent to irritate, but none of that was there. He just seemed to find her stammering funny, and the right-hand corner of his mouth quirked.
He glanced down at himself, as if just noticing the new outfit. "Well," he muttered, "dress for the job you want." He spread his arms slightly.
Caitlin's eyebrows pinched; she mirrored his amusement. "I don't think you get paid to be a regular twenty-eight-year-old."
"Mm." The speedster's voice was still sleepy, but it was definitely good-natured, not as neutral as it had been thus far. He tilted his head upward a bit. "It's a good thing I'm not."
"What?"
"I'm not twenty-eight." Savitar folded his arms and raised his eyebrows at her, as if she'd missed something.
Caitlin started when she realized he was right. "Ah," she said quietly, grinning. "You're from 2024." He was a remnant of 2024's Flash, not 2017's. A little older, though he didn't look it. Maybe that was the Speed Force. Or maybe Barry Allen aged just as well as he ran. She drew her hand downward in a very subtle, very small bow of apology, channeling H.R. without meaning to. "Oh, those complicated timelines."
He grunted, and a real smile did break through. "I figured if I'm gonna be seen in public more often, I should have more than one thing to wear," he explained at last. A little shrug. "And I had some cash."
Caitlin decided not to ask where he'd gotten this money; he may have had it for ages, crossing the time stream and doing whatever he wanted. That would include theft.
A thought occurred to her. It was as if the bioengineer in her were grasping for some form of normalcy, because suddenly the hallway was very small and Savitar's entire form—clothes, height, posture—were somehow throwing her off.
"You never said how you got that black eye," Caitlin remembered.
Savitar released a chortle, rubbing the left eye, the good one, or rather—the scarred one, beneath the transmogrifier's effects. "I…hit a telephone pole."
"You hit—?"
He nodded, hard, fast. "I know."
"But that's so—that's not very graceful of you," Caitlin admitted, trying very hard not to laugh.
Savitar watched her mouth twitch and purse in this attempt. "Even superheroes make mistakes sometimes, right?"
Caitlin grinned then, relishing the fact that he was finally referring to himself as a hero. Someone on the side of the sun and the clear. It really suited him, she decided, and it wasn't just because of the face he wore. She glanced at the floor, thinking hard. Something about his face seemed different suddenly. It wasn't the clothes. It wasn't the mismatched eyes or the barest hint of the scars beneath the light refractor. Not even the darker hair. But somewhere between her last visit to Earth-1 and this moment, something…
"Caitlin."
Her head snapped back toward him—but he was practically right in front of her. "Yes?" she blurted, fighting the urge to clear her throat again. How did he still manage to smell like autumn? In brand-new apparel?
"I need to get to my room," Savitar explained quietly, calmly, arms still folded. He was so much taller than she was.
She blinked, realizing she was blocking the corridor. "Sorry."
He passed her slowly, and called out over his shoulder, "Night, Doctor Snow." Barry's voice.
"Er—" Caitlin nodded, though she knew he wasn't facing her. "Goodnight."
She slid into her room and shut the metal door firmly, exhaling. Caitlin moved to her bed and began tidying up—putting a few haphazard files she'd had out on Nimbus' gas components onto the table in the corner, hanging up her lab coat, turning down the sheets on the bed. Busying herself.
Because really, she hadn't felt that flustered in a long time. The last time she could remember a dizziness like this, it was…well, it was in the Cortex, on Earth-1, about a year or two ago. She remembered the temperature in the room and the light on the clean floors and the smell of Harry's Big Belly Burger on the white desk and the sound of Cisco's chair squeaking as he turned and turned in it.
She also remembered Jay.
Not Jay, Hunter, she corrected. Zoom. A serial killer, a villain, the maniac who'd broken Barry's back in front of the whole city. She still heard him in her nightmares, still saw him in the dark if she'd been up too late running experiments. It wasn't the frightening mask she'd seen, though, it was just his regular, human face. With those too-bright eyes staring down at her, hungry and insane.
But the memory she was thinking of now was before he'd been Zoom to her. Back when he was still Jay, and she was still very fond of him. In retrospect, it had happened a little quickly between them, but coming away from two deaths of Ronnie Raymond—and the adrenaline of fighting Zoom that year—it should have been expected that someone's emotions would switch wires at some point. It wasn't the first time, now, that she wished they hadn't been hers. It would've saved her a lot of heartache—and mild PTSD she was still treating. You know it's bad when you have to diagnose yourself.
The last time she'd had this feeling—this feeling that was making the backs of her eyelids hot and the muscles in her legs a little weak and the feeling in her throat sort of choked—she'd been with Jay, in the Cortex, with Cisco commenting on just how painful it was to watch the two of them dance around one another.
Why should that memory rear its baffling head now? She'd almost regarded it as a dream, after Jay's true identity had been revealed. Too sick and frightening to relive in the wake of all that had happened afterward. But it was there in the memory still, those emotions, the attraction—
Caitlin's hands fumbled with her pillow as she straightened the pillowcase; she lost hold of it and it dropped harmlessly and silently onto the floor. Absolutely not.
It wasn't achingly strong or anything, but it was there, and the fact that she had recognized it was something to be dealt with. Right now. The way you deal with signs of the flu before it gets worse.
Savitar wasn't her enemy anymore, and he wasn't inhuman, the way she had sometimes felt in the earlier days living with him. He was a person, with feelings and memories and thoughts and fears. A person who had done wretched, wicked, deplorable things and was trying to be better now. A person who had accepted her help. He was her friend, her teammate, a position she was familiar with. He was irritating and rude at times, but she trusted him. He was trustworthy.
He also looked, sounded, and (albeit rarely) acted like Barry Allen, her best friend. Which opened a very different can of worms, and Caitlin was no fan of worms, so she closed it almost immediately and tossed it in the mental trash.
The similarities alone should have nipped any thought—any thought—like this in the bud. It was just a thought, a fleeting feeling in the hall and in the Cortex today, but you had to control those, lest something dangerous come of it because you were careless and let your mind run off with your common sense and wisdom.
It was a ludicrous idea, and it wouldn't be dwelled upon any longer from this moment forward. Caitlin had had possibly the worst luck in the multiverse when it came to romance, and she wasn't interested in entertaining the thought of it any time soon. And let's not forget—that butterfly feeling, though she'd only had it for a second there, was distracting. There was too much to do to. She couldn't let herself wander.
She pulled the covers up to her chin and turned on her side, but Savitar's little smile was there when she closed her eyes. So she allowed them to fly open and focus instead on the headlights in the distance, outside the single window in the room.
Then his words came flooding back to her unbidden.
It's bad enough I care this much about you.
Caitlin inhaled, exasperated. Suddenly she understood, in a sense, why he'd sounded so frustrated. So angry. She'd have to be a bit more careful. It wouldn't take much. But if she didn't—if she didn't really buckle down—she might be in trouble.
She was the basket-case extraordinaire of S.T.A.R. Labs. If Caitlin Snow couldn't discipline her mind and emotions, who could?
(Author's Note: The only note I've actually got right now is yes, Savitar did really hit a telephone pole. He wasn't making something up because he got in a secret, more sinister fight and ended up with a shiner, he actually ran into a telephone pole, I promise. I was rewatching some Flash and realized that Barry did dumb stuff...all the time. Clumsy little wonder. And isn't Savitar still Barry's remnant? I felt the need to have him do something a little silly. So there.
Please do review. I miss your voices. ~Doverstar)