Len. That fit Cold so much better than Leonard.

Barry was still flustered, and doing a terrible job at hiding it. He wasn't used to Cold—to Len—being like this. Courteous and remorseful, and so openly enamored with him.

Amazed. Not enamored. Enamored had an entirely different connotation. Len calling him cute had just been a friendly tease. Thinking his speed was remarkable was a completely normal reaction. Looking at him with heat in his eyes instead of the expected frosty expression and holding his gaze several moments longer than conventional courtesy allowed was just…uhh…

Barry was pretty sure he rambled a bit more before he managed to flash away and finish his preparations in the lounge. It wasn't exactly a living quarters, but the sofa was huge, and the folding cot, while a little stiff, was better than most camping cots, and they had plenty of bedding to go around so that both of them could get rest in the same room once they were ready to turn in for the night.

Barry wondered for maybe two seconds if that would be weird, inappropriate somehow, but if Len remembered during the night and decided to cause any damage, Barry needed to be there to stop him.

The thought of that happening caused Barry to trip over the cot and nearly face-plant into the glass coffee table. That would have sucked.

He couldn't think in terms of Len remembering though. He'd already explained that Len could leave, take his things, and call it even between them for now if that happened. He just had to hope that Captain Cold, if and when he was back for good, would honor that. For now Barry had Len to deal with, and Len was pleasant and apologetic, and had really kind eyes for a thief.

Barry had already decided that explaining things to Caitlin and Cisco tonight would only cause them to panic, or maybe tell Joe, and for all Barry knew, Len might remember by morning and it would all be for naught anyway. Best to just text Joe a quick message that he was sleeping at the lab tonight, and not make anyone needlessly worry.

The kitchen wasn't as stocked as Barry had hoped, but there was enough to make a few sandwiches, some chips, soda, water. He had a simple little picnic spread out over the coffee table waiting for them by the time he was ready to help Len to the lounge.

Len had removed his black gloves when Barry flashed back to his bedside. He took them from him to add them to the pile of Cold gear on the table, then turned back to scrutinize Len's black sweater, pants, and combat boots. The pants were thin but seemed to be made of something like snow pants material.

"Did you want to change?" Barry offered. "There's a stockpile of extra sweats in one of the closets. I'm sure I can find something in your size."

Len glanced down his body. "That would be preferable. Sorry I'm so much trouble," he said with a subtle smile. A smile, not a smirk. It made his face look excruciatingly handsome.

Barry flashed away and returned with an extra set of sweats that he guessed would fit Len well enough. He handed them to Len and then remembered that they were alone in a very open floorplan with several glass walls. "Uhh…I can wait in the other room while you change. Or…should I…do you need help?"

He hovered as Len swung his legs over the side of the bed, sitting up fully for the first time. The sudden movement definitely seemed to dizzy him, as he immediately closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Here…you shouldn't be moving too much. Let me help." Barry took the sweats from Len's arms and set them carefully on top of an empty tray. He removed Len's boots first, which just seemed to make sense, but his face started to heat up when he felt Len's eyes on him.

He considered speeding through things, but wouldn't that be weirder? Like how completely humiliating basically feeling Len up earlier had been. Barry hadn't thought of it that way until after he'd finished checking Len's body for wounds. No, he had to stick with normal speed for this.

He placed Len's boots on the table, then returned to help him pull his sweater over his head, careful to avoid the fresh stitches. Len hissed a little anyway, sore other places and still dizzy judging by the way he swayed once the sweater was off. Barry tried not to gape as he traded the sweater for a S.T.A.R. Labs sweatshirt to match his own. Len concealed a very chiseled physique beneath that parka, along with an impressive collection of scars.

Barry steadied Len with a hand on one shoulder and the other on his arm, Len gripping him tightly in return as he slid from the bed onto his now sock-clad feet. It seemed so weird for a moment—Captain Cold in socks in front of a barefoot Flash. Then Barry remembered that Len's pants were next on the agenda, and felt his face set on fire.

"I can manage," Len said, his smile a little crooked as if he'd read Barry's mind, though still not quite the teasing smirk Barry was used to. "Just hang onto me a little so I don't topple over." He said this jokingly, but with a sense of how much he really did need the assistance.

He undid his pants and slid them down to reveal ice-blue boxer briefs that so did not make Barry want to snicker, especially since he was trying valiantly to keep his eyes elsewhere while he steadied Len with a hand at his back and one suspended around his hips in case he needed to catch him.

Len accepted the sweatpants when Barry handed them to him, and didn't seem too wobbly while pulling them up, though once he was done, he sank eagerly against Barry's side with a few labored breaths.

"Okay?" Barry asked.

"A little nauseous."

"I can speed you to the sofa, but that might make you more nauseous," Barry warned.

"You can move me at your speed?" Len looked up at him with honest intrigue and excitement. With Len's shoulder leaning into Barry's chest, it brought their faces mere inches apart.

Barry swallowed. "Sure. How do you think I got you here? But it might make you dizzy for a while."

"I think I'd rather risk that than hobble all the way there, if it's all the same."

"Sure," Barry beamed at him—he wouldn't openly admit it, but he loved whisking people away to show off his speed. Usually, he was whisking people to jail, so just for fun was always a nice change, not that this was exactly for fun. He was surprised, though, that Cisco and Caitlin hadn't flat out asked for rides yet—at least Cisco.

"Hang on," Barry said, sliding one arm around Len's back while he bent low and scooped him up off the ground with the other under Len's knees. He could manage without a bridal carry, but this would be easier for setting Len on the couch when they arrived—honest.

Len clung to Barry's neck, tense but with eagerness in his eyes as he looked up into Barry's face, even closer than before. Barry was a little disappointed that within literally less than a second they were already in the lounge. He laid Len down carefully on the large sofa. It was slate blue, one of those huge L-shaped sets where one side was like a chaise lounge. He placed Len on the longer side so he had more than enough room, propped up on the pillows behind his back so his stitches didn't actually touch anything.

"I know it sort of sucks you'll have to sleep on your side. Assuming you're a back sleeper. Maybe you're a stomach sleeper?" Barry thought out loud.

Len grinned at him. "Guess we'll find out." And it shouldn't have sounded so much like an invitation. Barry was starting to notice that Len did this little eye glance down his body—a lot. He'd done it before today too. Sizing him up, Barry figured. Now it made his whole head feel warm.

Don't think in double entendres, Allen, you are such a goon, he chastised himself.

"I feel a little like roadkill, but I'm not ready for sleep yet," Len added.

Barry realized he was hovering again, one hand holding up his weight as it rested on the cushion next to Len's head. He pushed away and used that hand to scratch back through his hair. "So, how was the ride?" he asked, and then tried not to bite down on his tongue when Len snorted. "I mean…do you feel more nauseated than before?"

Len took a few deep breaths, settling into the sofa. "Actually, more the opposite. I think I always did better with a little turbulence on planes. Maybe you're good for me, Barry. We'll have to go again sometime."

At first Barry thought Len was teasing him, but when Len's face was the one darkening with a blush, he realized that finally his counterpart was the one who had tripped up and felt the fool. It made Barry laugh, which made Len laugh, and somehow it didn't feel awkward at all.

"Hungry?" Barry gestured to the spread of food.

Len eyed it warily. "I don't know, there's still a little nausea left. Are you supposed to eat after a head injury?"

"Umm…maybe? I should probably Google that. I figured if you felt you could, you should to keep your strength up or something. I forget…"

He sat on the edge of the chaise portion of the sofa and pulled his cell phone from his sweatpants. Since he was just with Len, he figured he could speed through typing, plus he liked the way Len's eyes widened in wonder whenever he used his powers, following his movements closely.

"Shit," Barry hissed as he read up on head wounds. "Uh, no, you shouldn't eat. I mean, if you get hungry, and feel you can, you can have something small, but this was a bad idea. Sorry." He stood up to clear the food away.

Len's hand on his wrist stopped him. It felt so different—so warm—without the gloves. "But you said you were starving. You can eat."

"No…I…" Barry cringed. Everything he'd been raised on said that would be way too rude.

"Don't you need to eat extra? Because of the speed? I figure with a super metabolism…" Len trailed but looked up at Barry encouragingly. He was still Snart, all right; he picked up on things quick.

"I should," Barry admitted. "I kind of have super hypoglycemia and can get pretty cranky and run down if I don't eat my fair share—which is way more than a normal persona's fair share, lemme tell ya," he grinned.

Len grinned back at him.

"If you're sure?"

Len released his wrist, but let his fingers slide along the top of Barry's hand, making him shiver. "Eat. I can pepper you with questions. You need to keep me talking and alert for a while, right?"

Google had at least confirmed Barry got that part right. "Yeah…sure, that's a good idea. What do you want to talk about?" He sat back down near Len's feet, on the chaise side, and reached for one of the sandwiches.

Len's eyes danced with fond amusement. He looked so normal, lounged back in normal clothes that right now matched Barry's own. "What do you think I want to know? Tell me all about how Barry Allen became The Flash."

So Barry did. It didn't count as telling him things Len already knew, because Len didn't know all the details surrounding what had happened to Barry, and it wasn't exactly something Len could use against him later. Though the idea that Len and Captain Cold were the same person kept not computing in Barry's brain.

Len was so attentive while he listened, smiled so sweetly, had such a nice low rumble of a laugh since it wasn't at Barry's expense. Somehow, Cold—Len—was a really nice guy deep down, and when Barry stopped to think on that long enough, it made something turn sour in his stomach wondering what it was that had changed him and turned him into a criminal instead.

Barry wasn't sure when it was that they fell asleep. They talked for so long, Barry had eaten all of the sandwiches before he knew it, and had to make Len a fresh one when he finally said he could eat.

Mostly Barry talked, since Len didn't have much to talk about, but he asked a lot of questions, and none of it was what Barry would consider tactical, just personal. Maybe someone like Captain Cold could always make personal things tactical, but Barry refused to think of it like that. When Len remembered who he was, Barry wanted to have left a positive impression. Maybe it would mean something then. Maybe it would change things between them, if only a little.

So they talked, and talked, and the next thing Barry knew, he was asleep. He hadn't even managed to spread out on the cot, but was kicked back into the corner by Len's feet, his own feet stretched out onto the chaise side of the sofa.

What woke Barry wasn't his natural clock, but noise, something like whimpers getting louder, and then Len's feet, that hadn't seemed close enough before, kicked him in the side, and Barry sat straight up.

Len had lost the blanket Barry had given him at some point. He was moaning in his sleep now and shifting around like he was in pain.

"Len..." Barry whispered. "Hey..." He stood to move closer to Len between the sofa and coffee table, finding the blanket pooled there on the floor.

Len's features twisted but he didn't wake up.

Barry reached for his shoulder, steadying him so he wouldn't roll onto his back and aggravate his head wound. "Len," he tried a little louder. Whatever the dream was, it didn't look pleasant.

Len whimpered again, then started mumbling. Barry dropped to his knees to better hear him. He caught snippets of "Lisa" and "stop" and finally "leave her alone!" as Len's eyes sprang open and his hands shot out to grab Barry by the front of his shirt.

"Len! It's okay, you're okay, it's just me," Barry said swift and soothing, squeezing Len's shoulder under his palm.

The recognition that had been missing the first time Len woke up was present this time, at least proving he wasn't reset to nothing, but then Barry wondered if the dream had been enough to bring all of Len's memories back.

He started to pull away, but Len tightened his grip on the fabric of Barry's sweatshirt and his expression fell to something so sorrowful, Barry knew it was still Len he was taking to, not Captain Cold.

Barry moved his hand to Len's wrists. "It's okay," he said again. "You were having a bad dream."

Len nodded as if that was a question he needed to answer.

"About Lisa?" Barry asked.

Slowly, Len released his grip on Barry and let his hands fall back to the sofa, his gaze going distant beyond Barry. "I don't know. I think so. There was a little girl."

"Brown hair?"

Len nodded.

"You said Lisa's name. I bet it was her. Sounded like something was happening to her. You were trying to protect her from someone."

"Our father," Len said, but then looked unsure, like he knew it was the right answer but didn't actually remember. "I think? He was big. He looked like me. She was just a little girl, five or six, but I was older, almost a teenager…"

Barry didn't think Len looked that much older than Lisa, but it was possible. "What happened?"

The grief and smoothness of Len's face, open and honest, shifted into a snarl Barry was more familiar with from his nemesis. "He tried to hurt her. I wouldn't let him." There was venom in the words, threat and hatred. Barry didn't blame him one bit.

Maybe that was the answer to the question that had soured his stomach—about what had turned Len into a criminal. A catalyst built on hate and necessity.

"You've been looking out for your sister for a long time." Barry frowned as he remembered they had no way to contact Lisa. "We'll figure something out. We always cross paths eventually. But this is good," he added reassuringly. "Your mind is trying to remember."

Len didn't look like he agreed it was a good thing.

"Do you remember anything else?" Barry asked, sitting back comfortably on his heels, their faces close as Len remained lying on his side. "What about your mother?"

"She wasn't there," Len said, relaxing more fully into the cushions, the tension seeping gradually from his shoulders. "I don't think she'd been there for a long time. Maybe she passed away? I don't know…but Lisa…" he trailed for a moment, his gaze drifting before he focused on Barry, "…I remember Lisa's mother more, her face, I think it's her face…but she left."

Barry hadn't known Len and Lisa had different mothers. He had never looked into Captain Cold's past all that thoroughly beyond former crimes. He didn't want to interrupt though when Len was finding his way to memories on his own. It might all come back in a rush.

But Len frowned and shook his head. "It's gone. I can't remember anything else. I'm sorry."

"Why are you apologizing?" Barry asked with a grin. Len was so strangely endearing; it still amazed Barry that this was the same man who'd threatened him and fought against him so recently.

"You're trying so hard to help me," Len shrugged. "I feel like I owe you something for that."

"You don't owe me remembering who you are, you only owe that to yourself, and even if you don't remember more…" Barry sighed. Len shouldn't feel pressured to remember. He'd already come so far. It had been a bad hit to the head, after all. He could have died. "You remembered something, right? Lisa will be all smug and happy when you tell her that she was the first thing that started to come back to you." He smiled again at that.

She really would be, and Len would probably roll his eyes while secretly loving every moment. One thing Barry never doubted was how much Len loved his sister.

"But she seemed almost a decade younger than you in the dream, huh? I wouldn't have guessed that. You gotta be what, thirty-five? I figured she was late 20s maybe. Or am I not allowed to guess a woman's age?" Barry joked.

A confused look crossed Len's face. "Thirty-five…" he repeated.

"Am I guessing way off? Is it younger? I'm terrible with ages."

"It was my birthday not too long ago, I think. Yes…" Len's eyes widened as he remembered. "I'm forty-three."

Barry was pretty sure his jaw dropped into his lap, though he tried to recover when Len raised one of those sculpted eyebrows at him. "Uhh…sorry, I just…really? You look great for your age. Not that you're old!" he added hastily, so easily falling into his pattern of foot-in-mouth syndrome. "I mean…you look younger. Suddenly, I feel like you calling me 'kid' all the time is more validated…"

Len smiled, and the way it smoothed his face again made him look so young, so much younger than he was. Barry couldn't believe nearly two decades separated them, a whole adult person, really, and yet it amazed him how much they had in common.

"I told you about Iris, right?" Barry said, realizing he hadn't yet moved his hand from resting on Len's wrists, even when they'd dropped to the sofa, but he sort of didn't mind keeping it there. He smoothed a thumb along the skin as Len nodded. "Both of us have sisters we watch out for, that we'd do anything to protect. Both of us always wanted something more exciting out of life, something worthwhile."

"I rob people," Len deadpanned, though the twinkle in his eyes remained.

"But you don't do it for the things you steal, you do it for the thrill. Okay, maybe that's a bad example of something a person should strive for," Barry chuckled, "but you never would have settled for ordinary for yourself, and I can understand that. I felt the same way. Even though my step-dad hated the idea of me or Iris getting a job with the police, I knew I had to do something that helped people. And forensics is fascinating, always different, always a challenge."

"Being The Flash has to add a new dimension to that," Len said. "Now you can be even more active saving people, and still help behind the scenes in your lab. Probably doesn't leave much room for hobbies, huh?" he added in amusement.

Barry chuckled again. "I have hobbies. I'm amazing at karaoke, apparently."

"You sing?"

Panic settled in Barry's stomach as he took that for a request. "Please don't make me sing on demand, I am really out of practice. I did glee club in school though. Joe was a choir kid, and he really believed in the importance of the arts to an education, so he insisted that Iris and I had to at least be in band, choir, or an art class. Iris started with band and eventually gave that up for photography. I stuck with choir. Wouldn't be a viable career choice for me, trust me, but I can still be caught singing in the shower." Barry felt his cheeks burning. He was rambling again, he just knew it.

"I bet that'd be something to witness," Len mumbled softly, but pressed on before Barry could flush too much darker. "What's your favorite song?" he asked, completely sincere.

Barry's mind blanked. "Wow…I…have no idea. I am partial to show tunes. And Michael Jackson era pop. And Smokey Robinson! He is the best. My mom had all of his albums when I was a kid, and would listen to them all the time. She had a huge thing for Motown."

"Your mother had good taste," Len nodded in appreciation. "But hey, I'm starting to feel bad with you kneeling there while I'm lying down. Get back up here. We can play 20 Questions until we fall back to sleep."

Barry felt his smile stretching and his face heating up at the same time. Why every sweet thing Len said turned him into a blubbering idiot, he had no idea. He squeezed Len's wrist before letting go to stand up, and the expression Len bestowed on him was beyond beautiful.

Okay, maybe he had a little idea.

After retrieving the blanket and spreading it over Len, who watched him with genuine fondness and gratitude, Barry moved to reclaim his old spot. But, as he sat in the corner of the sofa, instead of stretching his feet onto the chaise side, he took a chance and settled them in the crook of the sofa behind Len. The sofa was large enough that they only touched from the knees down, but it shot a small thrill through Barry when Len glanced across their bodies at him and smiled.

"I should be asking you the questions," Barry said. "Maybe a few quick ones will jog some things from your memory. Like…what's your favorite color?"

"Red," Len answered without thinking. He looked surprised by his answer, but shrugged after considering it and not deeming it wrong. "You?"

"Blue. Favorite cartoon character? Or is that too childish for an old man like you."

Len laughed. It was quickly becoming one of Barry's favorite sounds.

When Barry roused the second time, it wasn't by his natural clock either, but a sense of cold, of absent heat rather, and he rolled over in search of it and almost toppled onto the floor. He awoke just in time to catch himself, gasping awake from being so startled. He blinked around the room. The lights were on—had they ever turned them off? He couldn't remember. But that's not what caused him to flash to his feet.

Len was gone.

Barry looked around. He could see the lab from the lounge through the glass walls. It was a ways away, but close enough that he could clearly see the Cold gear piled neatly where he had left it. If Len had remembered during the night and decided to bolt, why wouldn't he have taken his gear?

"Barry?"

Barry whirled around, facing the small hallway that led to the bathroom…where Len stood, still in his borrowed S.T.A.R. Labs sweats and plain black socks, looking refreshed and alert and a little concerned that Barry probably look panicked.

"Sorry! I just…I just woke up and…"

"I'm still here," Len assured him with a small smile that answered everything else Barry wanted to know: he still didn't remember being Captain Cold.

"What the hell is he doing here?!"

Cisco and Caitlin, on the other hand…

Barry whipped the other direction to the entrance out to the labs to find his friends already in for the morning, gaping at them, a particularly angry expression on Cisco's face. They…they definitely remembered he was Captain Cold.

TBC...