It was clichéd, hiding out in the sewer. Underneath Central City, tunnels and tunnels of waste and shadows and general bad decisions. Cement as far as the eye could see—and that wasn't really very far, as this place rarely saw the sun. But it was important that he remain undiscovered, and who wanted to take a trip into the sewers?
The police didn't know there was a mastermind behind the recent disasters. They simply thought there were hordes of superhuman criminals, all wanting a piece of the pie, running willy-nilly about the city without direction. What they actually were were pawns, but this was need-to-know information. And obviously, no one else needed to know. Just him.
If the police didn't know there was a mastermind, then they didn't know to look for a mastermind, and the sewer seemed the obvious choice should they try. This was why he'd dug even deeper—why he'd set up his base of operations below the sewer. Beneath the underbelly. It would have been darker than dark, but crime did in fact pay, and in this case, it paid for lights. Not heating, but the cold seemed to suit the area and the intent behind his little hideaway, so he kept it that way. Shoot him.
He wasn't here all the time. He did like to get out and about every once in a while, but seeing him without his favorite clothes on, there wasn't really anything extraordinary about him, so what was the point? Better to do it in style, and really, he only went out in style when there was something in it for him. Something to steal, someone to kill. It was far more satisfying, whatever you were doing, if you were dressed in your best.
He didn't go out as often as he once had now—he didn't need to anymore; he had his pawns. Once upon a time, with a series of elaborate heists and frankly brilliant strategies, he'd been the talk of the ne'er-do-well crowd. No one could do their worst quite like he could—not without being caught, anyway. And once they got word of his abilities, his cunning, none of the others could help but seek him out. He'd gained a reputation—quite right, too—and they each wanted to share it. So why not? Why shouldn't he share? So long as they did everything he bade them, what was a little credit between master and dispensables?
It worked quite well, too. Terror in the streets, every one of those simple little people on the surface unhinged, on edge. He nearly had them all quaking, afraid of everything because they couldn't quite be sure what was safe anymore. Going out for pizza? Depositing a check? Taking a walk, or, heaven forbid, watering the hydrangeas? Certainly not. Throw a few crazy inhuman lackeys their way, blowing things up and causing a nice fever of hysteria, and the ordinary folk melted like wax. Poor little nothings.
But there were always flies at a picnic, a split end, a fingernail that was longer than the rest you had to bite off eventually to even things out. The shadow vigilante, the running man, the streak racing around the city all of a sudden and spoiling his fun, was like that.
And out of all the weapons his little gang had created or stolen for him, none of them seemed fast enough or poetic enough to immobilize that particular fly. There was a crate of them he'd brought to his favorite scaffolding, and he was sorting through them in a bored sort of way.
"Sometimes I think you should see a doctor," came a voice below him. "You're so thin I can barely see you if I look straight at you."
He glanced down, over the railing, at what was probably his most exceptional pawn. Lisa Snart. "It might surprise you to know, my dear," he revealed carelessly, turning an old machine gun in his hands to examine it, "that I'm awfully familiar with doctors. I've had thirty of them to date. And not one of them ever mentioned my size."
"No one offered you a sandwich? Thirty of them and nobody thought, hey, that's unhealthy?" Lisa demanded with a little grin, climbing slowly up to join him.
This familiarity she'd created between them was amusing, but it had begun to get out of hand. Recently she behaved as if she were entitled to special treatment, to inside information and little jokes. Once she'd even asked his real name. More and more often he had to remind her of her place, of how little she actually mattered. Perhaps this morning would be one of those times. Or not. He was in a good mood.
He passed her the machine gun with nimble fingers. "They might've thought it, actually, maybe, probably, but—really dreadful thing—after I decapitated the first three who mentioned it, none of the others seemed to have the stomach for personal remarks. Pity." He ran a thumb along the rail. "Perhaps if they'd tried harder I might've listened. I was going through my first little knife phase, I think." He sprang to his feet, in need of muscle exercise. "Enough about me. You're here for something."
Lisa's eyes widened, but this was the only sign she was disturbed by the story. "You sent everybody else." She put on a pout. "When do I get to go out and play?"
He observed her pout and her stance and the way her every movement and syllable flirted with him. It was entertaining, to be sure, like watching a child sing a popular song without knowing all of the words, but with every bit of confidence the original artist had on the track. Ultimately it was an attempt to control him, and he had been controlled quite enough in one lifetime, thanks. He was the one who directed others now. It was different now. Little girl couldn't understand this, little Lisa. She couldn't change his position, and if she went on trying, she'd have to go. Shame, honestly, such wasted potential, but the color of her hair would probably look very nice against a pool of blood—red and gold went well together, he thought, picturing it, and wouldn't she be pleased to look as stunning as ever in the end? It would be a favor. Sometimes he felt he was going a bit soft; perhaps he'd kill her bloodlessly after all, to prove his method. Difficult.
Well, no need to choose right away. She had some time to discipline herself. Hopeless, but she had time, and that was gracious of her. Giving him a bit to pick how she'd go. There, you see? Exceptional. Nobody else was so thoughtful.
"I'm afraid you're on surveillance today, Goldie," he clipped, leaping onto one of the rafters above them. He liked to be tall. Was tall, wiry. But taller was always nice. High as he could go.
"Further, Pete! No one's entertained unless you're a speck up there! D'you call that death-defying?"
Anyway.
Lisa scowled. "Again? Is that all I'm good for? It's—look, I haven't found out anything new—he runs, he likes black, he saves the day. Sometimes he eats his weight in carbs. His weight, my weight." She rolled her eyes. "The weight of a skyscraper."
"All this shadowing and you haven't gone in?" He tsked. "Lisa, Lisa, we were going to try harder, d'you remember?"
She had the intelligence to take a step backward. "Why don't you send Rory in? He'd know it better than I do."
"He hasn't got the technical expertise," he snapped. Then it became a roar. "Am I the only one around here who bothers to think?" He blinked. "'Course I am, what am I saying, why else would you all be here." He swung from his legs off of the rafter and landed in front of her without a sound. She leaned away. "Silly silly. We need eyes, we need them in with our little pest, I rather like playing Peeping Tom. You don't like disappointing me, do you?"
She swallowed, but did not respond. Safety in silence.
"Lovely. So you'll pop in and use your tech and that, and we'll have a nice new show to watch on the telly soon enough." He clapped his hands and she flinched. "Off you go!"
Caitlin had been planning a visit to Earth-1 for an entire week now.
Really, you could say she'd been planning it since she left after the last one, but she'd been so distracted—between curing Stein's wife, supervising Savitar's missions, and now helping Wally clear his father's name—she hadn't had time to actually execute anything until this past week arrived.
Stein was away at a convention in this Earth's Starling City—he'd tried to cancel his appearance there to work with Caitlin, but she'd insisted he go. Life wasn't supposed to screech to a standstill when someone you loved was in trouble. It was supposed to move even more fervently; you had a front row seat to how fleeting it could be. And while Caitlin had been steadily working on the gas cure—specifically what medium it ought to be—she'd come to a grinding halt, unsure of what to administer to Clarissa exactly. With the deadly, inhumane components of Nimbus' particular gas, she couldn't tell what would be helpful or harmful. So she'd taken a break to focus on helping Savitar.
But Savitar's missions were becoming mediocre, routine—sometimes it seemed he didn't really need instruction, and she felt she was there more to keep him from unnecessary violence than to direct anything. He knew what to do, despite moving in a leather suit rather than a large, multi-powered metal one. They kept the comms on, though, which she appreciated, and he even resorted to asking questions now and then—how far he was from his destination, the structure of a building, the number of civilians in the danger zone. Questions he shouldn't have needed to ask, but she got the feeling he was practicing teamwork in his own gruff way, so she didn't mind.
After a few days, she simply let him handle things on his own, now and then checking the monitors and communication to be sure he didn't need anything. Then she headed to the med bay, wiping down surfaces and restocking supplies, keeping busy.
For a moment, she could pretend she was back on Earth-1, in her own med bay. This wasn't so different. The smell of the room, the sound of the machinery whirring in the background, it was all so familiar. It came rushing up into her, as if delayed by all the recent craziness on Earth-66—she really missed home.
Suddenly she needed to hear Cisco's voice. Normally she'd be all-business, but she'd been all-business for ages now, and though work was definitely more comforting to her than a shock blanket, she knew a talk with her family would be better this time around. It had been long enough. She likened it to having a bad cold. Why run on pills and orange juice when it would be far more beneficial to your well-being to simply stay in and rest?
She needed Team Flash.
Caitlin had the projector running in the engineer room within the next 15 minutes. The rag she'd been wiping things down with was still in her left hand; she'd been moving almost on autopilot.
Today the connection seemed a bit…glitchy was the word Cisco might have used. The screen flickered more often than it had before, and the sound was fuzzy when images and audio finally came online.
Caitlin sat in the dusty work chair that had once belonged to the late Earth-66 Ronnie Raymond, straightening her skirt, eyes searching the picture for familiar faces. It was set up in the Cortex, on a main monitor—she could see nearly the whole room; it must've been channeled through the one mounted on the walls. It looked so much sweeter there, somehow. The colors even seemed further saturated, the electric lights calmer. And of course, there wasn't a layer of grime on everything.
She saw Iris come into view first, to her surprise, but Caitlin's heart leapt with delight all the same—it wasn't Cisco, but she'd missed everyone, and Barry's compassionate fiancee was just as welcome as everyone's favorite engineer.
"Caitlin!" Iris greeted, grinning up at the screen and walking closer to the monitor.
Caitlin, unable to stop smiling, waved energetically. It was enough for a hello; she wasn't sure she could get anything out just yet. It was too good to see her friend. It was too much not to be able to hug her.
"Okay, you can see me!" There was laughter in Iris' voice. "I got this thing up and working literally in two minutes when you called." She swung her arms a little. "I am gonna be running this place before you know it."
The image jittered for a moment, lagging so that Iris was frozen in one position while she spoke. Caitlin could hear her, but the picture was looping.
Then it stopped, and they were live again, and Caitlin's eyebrows puckered for a moment. Technical difficulties were nothing she wasn't used to, so she dismissed it, stretching a little. "Where is everyone?"
Iris glanced behind her. "Cisco should be back any second. He went down to the Speed Lab with Wally." She rolled her eyes. "Barry's getting me lunch—"
There was a loud crackling sound that drowned out anything else she said, and Caitlin saw papers go flying through the room. Her breathing came a little quicker.
"Everything bagel," came the warm, friendly tone of Central City's savior. Barry came into view, in civilian clothing, passing Iris a brown paper bag.
Iris made an exaggerated sound of euphoria. "Did you get cream cheese?" she demanded, distracted from the multidimensional call for the moment.
"Vegetarian," Barry confirmed, grinning.
"There's only one half in here."
"Really?" Barry opened the bag and made a convincing scrunch of an expression, confusion plastered in the wrinkles by his eyes and the way his mouth turned down. He gave Iris large, innocent green eyes. "Weird."
Her mouth went wide with indignancy at the thought of her significant other eating half of her lunch, but she was still smiling. "I am starving, how dare you!" She smacked him hard in the chest and Barry put both arms up to protect himself, beaming away. "You know what, no, this is not true love! The wedding is off, Barry Allen!"
Caitlin laughed hard, watching them, really relishing the sensation as it bubbled up in her chest and tickled her throat.
Barry, hearing the sound, twisted and jerked around, face a picture of surprise and hope. "Cait?"
Iris, taking the cream cheese out of the bag, started, as if suddenly remembering Doctor Snow was on the line. She made a grunt as she swallowed a bite of bagel, pointing to the screen.
Barry finally glanced at the monitor, face breaking into an even bigger smile. "Hey!"
Caitlin stopped herself from waving twice—don't be predictable—and settled for, "Hi!" She folded her arms, a playful look of admonishment easily masking her expression. "You didn't…bring me a bagel, did you?"
"Sorry." Barry mirrored her pose. "You have to be on the right Earth to get a bagel from the Flash."
Iris held up her cream cheese knife in agreement. "If you come right now you can have this…" She held up a tiny gray container. "…extra little thing of veggie cream cheese, cuz," a glare was sent Barry's way, "I'm not gonna need it for one half of a bagel or anything, thank you, babe."
Barry chortled a little and turned back to Caitlin. "So?"
"So?"
"What's this about?" Barry motioned from the screen to himself, to the room.
"I missed you!" Caitlin explained, feigning outrage that she should have another reason for calling. "I'm not allowed to want to see you all?"
"Savitar didn't set anything on fire?" Barry checked. Iris looked up from lunch.
"No," Caitlin promised, spreading her palms and playing along. "We are flame-free thus far."
"Did he bust my suit?" came a very loud warning voice. Cisco Ramon had entered the room, Vibe goggles perched on his head. There was a bandage around one hand.
"Cisco, what happened to your hand?" Caitlin immediately called, standing, forgetting hellos completely now.
"Well see," Cisco cleared his throat. "I was making pancakes, but I got distracted thinking about what Crispy did to my suit," His eyebrows were up to his hairline as he met her gaze. "Cuz that's gotta be why you're calling, right, I mean, it's not like we've heard from you in six weeks."
"He hurt it in a welding accident," Iris supplied, deadpan.
Cisco's language was about 83% jocular, even when something was serious, and Caitlin knew him well enough to know that though he was teasing now, there was a streak of actual hurt in her lack of contact. Barry's face said he was a little miffed too. She bit her lip, making certain her own body language told them she was aware.
"It's been a little hectic around here," she admitted. "I meant to call, I just—"
Iris got up from behind the white winding desk. "Relax, Caitlin," she soothed. "Getting a—supervillain set up in a totally different world, just you? That's a huge job. And we're not guilt-tripping you for not keeping in touch," she added sharply, glancing at the boys.
Barry was nodding. He looked up at Caitlin, and for a moment, the way he was squinting, it was like she was looking at Savitar from the top of a ladder—the view of Earth-1's Cortex was angled from up above, obviously—and she tried not to let the connection show on her face. "How is he?" he asked simply.
The first word that came to her mind was good. Not the average, go-to response everyone gave when asked how something or someone was. It wasn't that sort of good. It was—the definitions came flooding through. Healthy, superior, quality, right, desired, approved of. Savitar was better now than he had ever been, and she cared about him, and he smiled more often and he was just good. He was well, he was solid and whole—or starting to be. And they were a team and she admired him and enjoyed his company. He was good.
But she couldn't say any of that—it would sound odd—and saying he's good just sounded unintelligent. She could do better than that.
"He's…" She shifted her weight to her left foot. "He's my friend," she said firmly, after a moment, and waited for them to burst.
Cisco was first. He dropped the slushie he was drinking—on the desk; it didn't tip over, it was more as if he'd set it down very hard. "Hold up, I'm sorry?"
"Cisco," Iris began loudly.
"He's your what now?" Cisco licked the last of the blue slushie from his lips and stared at her. She could see every kind of uncomprehending flitting across his face, and for a second she regretted the confession, if only because she wasn't sure she could explain herself. Not to Cisco. Not after losing H.R.
She might have retracted it then, or changed the subject, because she could suddenly feel the absence of Wells in that other Cortex, raw as it had been the day after he'd died. She could see the lack of him beside Ramon, see the lack of coffee cups on unceremonial surfaces and hear the lack of drumsticks tapping away.
But she looked to the left corner of the image, where Barry stood, arms still folded, and his face gave her confidence. It wasn't that he seemed pleased or even understanding—he just didn't look surprised. He didn't look surprised at all. Iris had jolted when Caitlin had said it, and Cisco, of course, had exploded, but not Barry Allen. Barry was standing there just waiting for more, perfectly calm.
"He's different," Caitlin cleared her throat. Twice. "It's hard to explain—he's better. He's really trying, Cisco, he's saved so many lives already—mine included—a-and he wants—"
Cisco's head was wagging back and forth, harder and harder. "Nope. No. No. No, Caitlin, he's—"
"My friend," Caitlin repeated, louder. "He is. If you don't trust him, Cisco, I need you to trust me. He wants to change. He wants help."
"It's like Darth Vader, man," Barry broke in, glancing at Cisco.
Torn from the serious moment by his beloved Star Wars, Cisco looked back at Barry, listening now. "Come again?"
"I watched those movies with you like 80 times," Barry insisted, the most level-headed voice in the room for a change. "Savitar went from being my time remnant—me—to—"
"Trying to kill me," Iris added helpfully, not sounding at all bitter, and the way she was handing her fiancee the next piece to the example he was trying to build spoke of the two kids that had grown up together under Joe's roof.
Barry, with just a shadow of discomfort whisking across his stance at the mention of Infantino Street, pointed at Iris and turned the finger back to Cisco, nodding, "Right, and from that to being the Flash on Earth-66," he finished, eyes flicking toward Caitlin's image. "Like how Vader went from Anakin to Sith to—"
"To Anakin again," Cisco muttered, clearly making the connection. The other 15% of his language was pop culture references, and Barry was using it in Caitlin's favor. Ramon met Caitlin's eyes. "All right. I'm not saying I forgive him, okay, because I'm not. I won't. But—" He exhaled, long and deliberating, through his nose. "I do trust you. Cuz you're my friend. And if you say he's okay, I'll let it go." He shook a finger at her. "But I'm not making any promises. He comes back here again and I am not above vibing him into Planet of the Apes."
Caitlin gave him her fondest smile. "Thank you, Cisco." She paused. "And your suit is fine."
He held up the universal hand motion for nice and walked back to his slushie, sullen. Probably thinking it all over. Caitlin appreciated his self-control, she knew one Star Wars reference was not realistically enough to pacify her best friend, but he was reigning in his actual discomfort for her sake. And she could tell he meant what he'd said—his trust was thick and cool in her, and she felt the usual burst of affection for the goofy engineer.
"So when are you coming back?" Iris suddenly asked, coming to stand beside Barry. Caitlin couldn't tell from her expression what she thought of the whole friend description—but her tone was still good-natured.
Caitlin opened her mouth to respond, but confusion swamped her, and she let her hands slap down to her sides, shaking her head slightly. "It's—I was actually thinking about visiting for a little while, if that's—"
"Yes!" Iris crowed.
Barry held up a hand. "Visiting?" His eyebrows came down. "When are you coming home, Cait? Permanently."
Caitlin swallowed. "There's still a lot I've committed to here, Barry. Stein's wife isn't cured yet, and I have to be here to help create one when Stein gets back from the convention—"
"We get it, responsibilities, blah blah blah," Cisco called from his seat behind the white winding desk. "So visit. I can have a breach open in like, three seconds." He flicked his goggles down over his eyes.
"Now?" Caitlin's head reared.
"Why not?" Iris leaned an elbow on Barry's shoulder. "Just for a few days?"
Caitlin considered it. It was almost suffocatingly tempting. Stein was away, Savitar was on a roll with his fight against crime, and she could call Wally and postpone Eddie's trip to S.T.A.R Labs coming up in the next couple of days. He still had to debrief them on Joe's imprisonment. What could a small visit hurt?
She felt the smile cementing on her face, excitement tingling in the ends of her fingers. Itching to be back where she belonged. "I still have to pack."
"Ten minutes!" Cisco ordered jovially, heading out of the Cortex, no doubt to the Breach Room.
Caitlin's hands were unsteady and quick as she packed a few outfits, a few medical supplies. Savitar was out doing his rounds—she had every intention of waiting for him to return before going through to Earth-1, telling him where she was headed, but there was no reason she couldn't go back to the engineering room and make sure Cisco was ready for her. She wouldn't go anywhere until she'd said goodbye to Savitar and had given him a return date. No way she was doing that again. My friend.
She left the suitcase open on her cot, reaching for her shoes, when a beep on the Bluetooth in her ear sounded. Certain Cisco was calling to tell her he was prepared—and ask what was keeping her—Caitlin answered it with a slightly-exasperated, "I'm almost done, Cisco."
"Nah, we've got bigger problems, Caitlin," he responded, crackly and far away on the other end. He sounded winded, and Caitlin's heart clenched in concern. Was Earth-1's S.T.A.R. Labs under attack? Fine time for metas to get cocky.
"What's happening?" she demanded, eyes on the window, on the view outside, where the world was calm and the autumn afternoon was brisk and bright.
"I can't get it open."
Those five words were weighty with stress, and the Killer Frost buried within her made her blood boil, whereas the Caitlin side was suddenly afraid.
"What do you mean?" Caitlin pressed a finger to the volume sensor on the Bluetooth device, but it was already as far up as it could go. Why did he sound so quiet? It was clear he was shouting.
"What?"
"What do you mean?" Caitlin repeated, shouting now too. Why couldn't he hear her?
"The breach," Cisco panted in her ear. "The portal, my vibes, it's not working."
Caitlin paced, eyes falling on the open suitcase longingly. Think logically. One. Two. "Is it because of your energy levels?"
"I just drank a freaking mega raspberry slushie from a real shady gas station, Caitlin!" Cisco burst out. "There's a 50/50 percent chance it was drugged, I don't think energy's the issue here, okay?"
"Try again!" Caitlin exclaimed, feeling ridiculous and helpless. She knew, on paper, how her friend's abilities worked, but when it came to execution, to cause and effect, she could only stand and watch—or in this case, listen—and hope everything went accordingly.
After a moment of silence, his voice came erupting back to her, even more exhausted. "I can't. It's not happening. This is like my tenth try, I don't—"
There was a shuffling sound—"Cait?" Barry had taken the walkie talkie. "I'm gonna run there."
"What?" Cisco cried.
Caitlin bent double, as if that might help her hear them. "No, Barry, that's not—"
"We've gotta make sure this isn't Cisco's vibe powers failing," Barry insisted firmly. "If I can run there and back, it'll prove it's just him."
"Bro, I can hear you!" Caitlin could just barely make out Cisco in the background.
Barry called back, "Your powers might be on the fritz, we don't know—"
Caitlin shoved a few locks of hair behind her left ear. "I don't think that's a good idea. What if you can't get back? Or if you end up on some other other Earth? Assuming you can run that fast and create a breach without the tachyon device—"
"We'll hook it up," Barry promised. He shouted a little further from the walkie talkie, "Cisco, get it strapped to the suit!" To Caitlin, he added, as if thinking aloud, "I'll head downtown so I get enough momentum."
"This isn't that easy," Caitlin protested, determined to be heard. "Even with the tachyon device, you said you had enough trouble getting back to Earth-1 the last time you used it—and this time the likelihood of having someone like Kara Danvers to help you out of it is catastrophically low."
"Cait," Barry interrupted, sounding very much like a rattled Savitar, "I'm gonna try, and it's gonna be fine. Okay? We have to make sure we can get through."
Brooking no further argument, the Flash hung up, after swearing to call right back with the results of his run—provided he didn't just show up in the building with her any minute now.
Even though the possibility of the connection between their universes breaking down made Caitlin's stomach churn, she couldn't help thinking it was too ridiculous to be real. They'd had so much difficulty doing the simplest things; it didn't seem quite fair that hopping between dimensions should be a hassle now too. It had worked perfectly beforehand, almost effortlessly—though if you asked Cisco you'd probably hear the odd complaint. Surely this wasn't going to go wrong too.
Then she thought of the way their communication device had been acting up and her heart sank. Was this—whatever this was—the cause of those malfunctions too? Guiltily she hoped Barry was right. She hoped it was just Cisco.
It seemed she'd sat on that cot beside her packed suitcase for hours, staring at the door, willing Barry's silhouette to magically appear, when the Bluetooth creaked and spat static in her ear, and Caitlin responded instantly, jumping up.
"Did you make it?" she demanded, trying not to sound shrill. "Barry? Where are you?"
"I can't." His voice was hoarse, tired, tight. "I couldn't make it, I don't know what—I ran as fast as I could."
She must've been on speaker. She heard Cisco say, from a corner somewhere, "He was going Mach 6, no lie. This isn't right. My vibes aren't doing anything, the tachyon device failed, Barry's got nothing…"
Caitlin felt her breathing coming in shorter and shorter gasps. "I don't understand."
"Caitlin, we're gonna figure this out, it's not—"
"Barry." She closed her eyes for a moment. "Am I—am I stuck here?" The word stuck almost choked her. Ironic.
"No." Still winded from his run, Barry sounded strained and almost angry. "No, you're not stuck there, Cait. You're coming home, I promise."
Caitlin stood up. "I'll check the news. Maybe something—maybe something is happening. Something colossal to affect the multiverse. What else could do this, what else could close the gap? Just like that?"
She was grasping at straws, she knew. But plenty of insane things had happened to them—even for the team struck by lightning, certain things were a stretch, and they'd always made it through. There was every possibility some doomsday situation was about to unfold, and that this was just one in a series of symptoms. They simply needed to treat it—and that came after a diagnosis. The computers in the Cortex would show something, maybe, and if it was really bad, physically, atmospherically, something would have happened outside, and it would be on the news.
"Cait," Barry broke through in her ear, interrupting her thoughts, "head for the basement."
"What?"
"Forget the Cortex for right now, all right? The Breacher Room on that Earth—the links are always stronger on this end when we're down there. We'll go to ours, you go to yours, let's try the Vibe thing there. Okay?"
"I'm on my way."
She could tell Barry was trying to remain calm as he asked Cisco to try vibing one more time; it was so easy to replay his first concerns over her trip to Earth-66, back when she'd first told him she was leaving. He'd been so afraid something like this would happen. A tiny part of her brain wanted to apologize to him right then and there for not listening, but she didn't pay it much heed. There was no sense in apologizing if they hadn't proved he was right. Not yet.
Caitlin was moving too quickly through the corridors to really sense anything around her. It was like smell, touch, sight—it was all moved to the background, all dulled. Just her hearing. She clung to the sounds coming from the Bluetooth, the sounds coming from Earth-1, from Earth, the real Earth, her home, with her family and her friends and her seat behind the white winding desk and her med bay and her favorite pen and the people she couldn't do without laughing and smiling and making her warm.
Barry said something about hanging up—something about getting back to her when they knew more, about calling back in an hour. Caitlin replied, but she couldn't have told you what she'd said—consent, to be sure, because he did indeed hang up, and she was left with the echo of her own footsteps in the twisting corridors of the S.T.A.R. Labs underbelly.
One, two, three—four—four—five, six…seven…
She couldn't even think properly. She had to stay focused, to be composed. Again, really, there was no real reason to panic yet. They didn't actually know what was happening. It had all just started to go wrong. Not fully wrong yet. Not yet, not yet.
Nope. Nausea threatened in the base of her throat and the tingling of her skin. Caitlin was a naturally-stressed person. Naturally pessimistic, naturally concerned, ready with the worst-case scenario. She was freaking out, realizing she was now running.
THUMP!
She smacked right into Savitar. It was like hitting an oak tree.
He was in his civilian clothes, and he caught her arms to steady her. "Caitlin—"
"Sorry—"
Numbly she tried to move past him—she had to get to the basement—but he was strong, and his hands held her fast where she stood. Not painfully, but enough to keep her still.
"What are you doing?"
His voice was so—chill. Why was she noticing it now? Nothing ever seemed to faze him, not nearly as often as things did for her, and it was…endearing in this second.
Caitlin looked up at the dual-colored eyes and the dark hair and felt a little calmer, just a bit, and suddenly it was all spilling out of her. She told him about calling Earth-1 and how Cisco's vibes didn't work, how she was headed to the basement to attempt establishing a better link between Earths. It sounded ridiculous when she described the theory aloud—like moving around to get better cell service, holding your phone up Lion King style. But there wasn't much to go on.
She knew she sounded distraught—probably a little pathetic, too. Caitlin wasn't concerned with her own appearance at the moment; all she wanted was to make sure she wasn't cut off from her Earth for good.
He'd let go of her hands by the time she was through, of course. Savitar's gaze was like the surface of a lake, listening to her. Not exactly cold, not exactly hard, but sometimes it felt that way, and it looked so clear and orderly and simple. Finally, his weight shifted, only slightly, bent toward her instead of away.
"You wanted to leave," he said. The statement was made of outdated asphalt, the way it came out rough and blunt.
Caitlin paused a moment before replying distractedly, "Yes. But it was just for a visit. I was going to tell you when you came back, but—then this happened, and we're trying to…"
"I can run you there."
She knew she was gaping like a fish, and it was unattractive, but could you blame her? "I—you want to run me there."
Savitar looked down at her, motionless, waiting for her brain to catch up. Lake eyes.
It clicked back into place, a second late. "You can't," she sighed, dragging a stressed hand through her hair, pulling it back. "Barry tried already, he couldn't do it."
"Oh, well if Barry couldn't do it," Savitar muttered, mouth twitching, practically rolling his whole head. "Abandon all hope, right?"
"My point is that no speedster can run that quickly, not without a tachyon device or some other kind of bolster," Caitlin huffed. "And before you suggest making one, they tried the tachyon thing too."
Savitar shook his head. "Caitlin."
"Something has jammed the—the—doors in the multiverse, the rips in the fabric of space, or time, or—I mean it seems like it has—we've only tried two of possibly multiple options—and if we can't—"
"Caitlin," Savitar put both hands on her shoulders, gripping a little harder than necessary.
She swallowed hard, glancing at him with what were probably wild eyes.
"Stop."
One word was supposed to make everything stop spinning. It was almost comical. Caitlin opened her mouth to object, but Savitar spoke a little louder before she could.
"Talking. And worrying. That's not doing anything." He dropped his arms, letting them swing at his sides. He pointed lazily to his temples. "Except giving me a headache."
Caitlin allowed a sliver of her old teasing spirit, the one she used with Team Flash on a good day where nobody died, to surface. "Oh, I'm so sorry about your head, it's only the universe in flux—" She had to raise her voice because he was snorting a small laugh, "—please tell me how I can help you in your crisis, just forget space and time, matter, air—"
He leaned against the wall, arms folded. "You're still talking."
She snapped her mouth shut, almost stubbornly.
Exhaling shortly, Savitar rocketed off the wall nearly a minute after he'd settled there. "Look, you don't have to worry because they're gonna get you home and it's gonna all go back to normal."
Caitlin inhaled where he'd let it all out, eyes still wide. "How do you know?" She licked her lips. "How do you know this isn't some kind of permanent damage?"
Savitar looked at her from the tops of his eyes. He gestured with spread arms to himself. "I hear you're good with permanent damage."
Her whole body stilled; suddenly he looked a lot softer. It was the only word she could use for it—softer.
"Besides," Savitar sighed, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling at last. "He's never gonna stop, even if you try everything and it still doesn't work. Barry'll bring you back. When has the Flash ever let you down, Caitlin?" That last question was bitter, or something very close to it.
But his tone was practically gentle, and his posture was solid and even if the world was spinning right then, Savitar seemed pretty grounded. He'd offered to run her there. Himself.
Caitlin was full of stress and fear, but he sounded so much like—well, like a friend. Her friend. She was lucky to have one, to have him. And here he was actually trying to make things better, not just for himself. In his sardonic, moody way. When had they arrived here? Why had it taken this long?
The next move was an obvious one, especially given who she was and who he remembered being. So she didn't feel terribly awkward, nor did she regret it at all, as she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around his neck in a grateful hug.
Savitar's entire body went limp the moment she embraced him. It was as if she'd pressed a button and sent him to sleep. She felt his breathing slow and his heartbeat slow and really, everything about him basically got slower. Not the body's usual response to a hug, but it made sense when Caitlin reminded herself that Savitar had never once been hugged. He knew every hug Barry Allen had ever received, but those were ghosts to him; he'd never felt it himself. He exhaled again, even steadier, she felt it near her shoulder.
He didn't move gingerly at all to return the hug, probably because he recalled the best way to do it, though without any actual experience. Easily he folded strong arms around her and held her exactly the way Barry held her—too tight, absolutely safe. But he was about an inch taller than Barry, so she had to stand on her highest tiptoes, and he smelled different—copper, of course—and without straightening even a little, he managed to bring her feet off the ground, just a sand grain's distance from the floor, but she felt it. Little differences.
"Never," she mumbled, smiling. Answering the bitter question. "And you won't either, I know. Thanks, Savitar."
Savitar didn't reply. She felt him nod.
Caitlin let go and stepped backward. "Barry said they'd call in an hour to let us know what they found out." She turned on a heel.
Savitar was right beside her, every step. Their shoulders brushed as they walked. "Thought you were headed to the Breacher Room."
"I'll go down in a minute," Caitlin promised. She smirked at him. "First we're getting you some aspirin for that head."
"I don't need it."
"You have a headache."
"I don't need it."
"You do not argue with your personal physician," Caitlin admonished.
"Ohh," Savitar breathed, head hanging back, exhaling in exaggerated surprise. "You're my personal physician now too?" His pace slackened a little so that he wouldn't move further ahead than she was. "You really get around, Doctor Snow."
Caitlin rolled her eyes at him, shaking her head. They would get this multiverse thing sorted out, and when they did, she was surprised to find she was going to miss him when she left.
She nearly stopped walking then and there.
How could she miss him? Logic, think logically. Mathematically. Sensibly. How could she miss a copy of Barry Allen? She'd be going back to the original, it wasn't as if she were really missing anything. Leaving a remnant shouldn't have been as hard as leaving a regular companion, one with their own face and identity.
That didn't change it. It would be hard. For right now, in this moment, it would be hard to go to Earth-1 without him. She would miss him. And the confusion that thought, no, that fact dragged along with it threatened to give her a headache of her own.
(Dear Jell-O Squares: I will be gone at camp until October 19th, so it won't be until after that that Chasing the Light updates! Don't leave me, I will return! Your reviews and thoughts keep me going. Thank you all so much! -Doverstar)