EDITED: APRIL 9TH, 2022.
How long has it been since I updated this story? Technically, last year. But life happened—again. Then Fanfiction stopped sending me notifications whatsoever. And I lost a little bit of inspiration because of the current Flash episodes. But not for this story! That moment I've speaking of? It's here. Yes, finally! I have mixed feelings about how it played out (nothing like I imagined in my head), but it's out at last.
If I forgot to mention a reviewer or follower or favorite, so sorry. Again, I'm working without notifications and I have to check manually. But thanks to Alive-In-Wonderland22, Khione Eurus, and highlander348 for reviewing; and to gabba123456, quocdat.06041999, Khiori, and Jessica St Godard for following and favoriting!
Alive-In-Wonderland22: Thank you so much! I love that you love this story, and I hope you keep enjoying it!
Khione Eurus: Eddie Thawne must be protected at all costs. The sentiment is shared by Karen, so you will see their burgeoning friendship! And Papa Joe protects his kids, and right now all he knows is that Karen hurt his son and can do it again. It will take him the first season to warm up, honestly.
highlander348: Happy (late) holidays too! Karen hates anything remotely resembling a scientific laboratory, so it will take a while to get her into STAR Labs again. Barry probably will have to speed her in or something.
10 - A Shot In The Dark
Karen woke up with a raging headache the next afternoon and the knowledge that she'd blurted out her feelings about the Gimlin case to Barry.
It was the worst morning of the year, she decided. It definitely beat being three months in a coma. She was only glad it had been Barry she'd spewed all those—ugh—feelings. It wouldn't have gone well if the recipient were a strange nurse or Mattie, or Rao forbid, David. If she was having trouble figuring out how to avoid Barry for the next decade, David would follow her to the ends of the earth if she so much as hinted leaving.
The repetitive thoughts helped her get her bearings sooner. Next to her, Mattie inspected the contents of the sedative and the painkillers she'd been injected with. She had her phone at hand as she made wrote down the list.
"Good news: they gave you the strong stuff."
"I fail to see the good in that."
"It means these are given only in emergencies. Dr. Savedra must have thought your injuries were painful and prescribed you drugs that would ensure you didn't feel a thing."
Karen laughed dryly. "I didn't feel a thing, yeah. Wonder if that's what Scarecrow's victims felt when he—"
"Karen," Mattie warned. "Stop bitching and tell me every side effect you had in detail."
She did. After Barry left, she'd remained awake, her body lethargic but her mind wide awake. It had lasted four hours before she succumbed to tiredness and slept soundly for six hours. The nurses, Mattie told her, had freaked out when they noticed nothing could wake her up; only the beating of her heart had reassured them she was alive.
"Headache, lethargy, far-flung mind. I wonder if a normal sedative would provoke the same effects."
She shot Karen a considering look. The blonde rolled her eyes.
"Yes, we will give it a shot later. When I don't feel like I'm gonna fall." She stood from the bed and started stretching slowly. First her arms, then her legs, and finally her head. Rinse and repeat.
"Tell me about the guy who did this."
Karen reached for her phone and sat again. She tapped a few times to look up the C.C.P.D.'s database. "Tony Woodward, AKA the most searched fugitive in Central City about now. His record is just as good as yours."
"Ha ha. But at least I'm pretty."
"So is he. The only thing he hasn't been charged with is murder." Karen ignored the outraged doctor, scanning the current information. Her eyebrows rose in surprise. "Or maybe not. The detail protecting Iris West has contacted the C.C.P.D. with news of their failure alongside a request for medical aid. Officer Young's in ER right now."
Mattie took that the way she did with everything that wasn't Karen or P.J.: she shrugged.
"The perils of being a barbaric homo sapiens' high school crush."
"Barry must be on the case," Karen muttered. Had he donned his red costume and gone for a citywide search already? Or was he waiting for his wounds to heal? Did he even have a plan to beat this metahuman?
"What?"
Karen shook her head hastily. "The drugs. I was thinking about the sedative they gave me. I forgot to mention their effectiveness dropped around two hours ago."
Mattie had the gall to look at her in disbelief.
"They stopped having an effect on you? But you said you're fatigued."
"I am... but that's from all the time I had that pumping into my bloodstream. But my head stopped being in the clouds two hours ago, so I'm assuming the side effects were wearing off."
"That's impossible," Mattie laughed, "that's... huh."
She eyed her. "What was that?"
"It just... I had an idea." The other woman's eyes remained fixed on her hands as she went to put away the vials and serum bags. The behavior was suspicious—Mattie rarely avoided anyone's gaze. She said it made her feel like she was hiding, that it was a move for the weak.
But Karen knew it was a tick that occurred for two reasons: one, person a's gaze was too heavy and person b felt uncomfortable; two, person b had something to hide.
She didn't understand what could be so grave for Mattie to not want to tell her her theory. She was always excited to spout information at her in spite of Karen's ignorance of medical jargon.
"Tell me."
Mattie's eyes flew to the bruises on Karen's throat. They had gone from black splotches to sickly yellow shadows around green circles. The sign of a healing wound.
It was unnatural.
"I'm..." Mattie inhaled sharply. "This is gonna sound crazy."
"Tell me," Karen repeated calmly.
"Fine. Sorry if I don't make sense. Everything that's happening to you, the way your body has been responding since the Particle Accelerator exploded... I think it's got to do with what CADMUS did to you."
The name of the institution sent a shiver down Karen's spine. Mattie continued.
"I've got Dr. Spears' files on you."
"What?" Karen jumped to her feet. Her phone gave an ominous creak.
Both women looked at the device. The screen had cracked, the lines mirroring Karen's fingers.
"That's not normal," Mattie said.
Since when had anything about Karen been normal?
"How did you get those files? They were erased from the net years ago."
Mattie smiled humorlessly. "By you, right?" She gave a deep breath, her shoulders stiffening. "Well, someone had physical copies of those."
Physical copies? "Who?"
The doctor shook her head. "It doesn't matter. I bought them for the right price and made sure they didn't have spares." She raised a hand as Karen prepared to protest. "Trust me. Nobody but me has these. Unless someone has a digital clone, of course."
"Nobody does." Karen had seen to it. David later ensured that was a fact.
"Okay, fine. Can I continue?"
Mattie thrusted her hand between them, palm up, an expectant expression on her face. She wiggled her fingers when Karen stared at her stonily. The emotion—or lack of it—did not vanish when she dropped the phone on it.
"Don't think I'll forget that."
"I'm sure you won't. Where was I? Right, the files." She rolled her eyes heavenward. "There was documentation of your healing process after the heart operation. It continued once they decided it was a success. She noted that your immunity had strengthened against common sickness... regardless of the environment they placed you in, your body did not show any sign of weaknesses—on the contrary, it adapted. You went from a skinny white girl to a muscled curvy one," she said dryly.
"Now, remember that we made a deal when I decided to become a doctor: I get to treat you. Because of that, I've made records of your health throughout the years. And she was right. Your immune system just adapted. You've never gotten sick since that one time in Metropolis. God, you've never even needed to go to the dentist! But this time... it's different."
"Different how?"
"Let's say the Particle Accelerator enhanced the effects of the meteorite in you—"
"I thought you said I sweated it all out?"
"Not all of it, just the blue stuff. And stop interrupting." Karen raised her hands in mock defeat. "I'm pretty sure you already know, but some people have been changed by the STAR Labs accident. Enhanced. But these changes are influenced by their environment and state of being: the good becomes better, the bad just worsens. And you were already the pinnacle of human performance, so what happens?
"You evolve. And where does it start? Your mind. You mentioned acute hearing. The ear identifies mechanical waves that are transduced into nerve impulses perceived by the brain. The next thing to change was your sleeping pattern, which is connected to stimuli. You don't need to sleep seven hours minimum, just four. And I suspect you will need less and less with time. Do you see where I'm going?"
Karen nodded slowly. "Lack of stimuli means lack of pain response."
"Yes... and I think it will eventually fade."
"Like CIPA?" Karen had done her own research. People with Congenital Insensitivity to Pain and Anhidrosis shared a few symptoms with her, but it wasn't quite the same.
Or maybe she refused to believe she would be part of the percentage of deceased before 25.
"Not quite." Her eyes lingered on Karen's throat again. "This is the crazy part of my theory: what if your inflammatory response drops too? What if your body simply... stops responding to trauma?"
The blonde blinked at that. Stop responding to trauma... the inability to feel pain...
"Are you saying I'm... becoming a zombie?"
Mattie grasped the nearest sheet of paper, rolled it, and slapped her forehead.
"Ow!"
A smile flickered over Karen's lips. Mattie's nostrils flared and she hit her again.
"Don't be obtuse on purpose! You know what I'm hinting at. The details elude me right now—this needs more study—but my hypothesis is that, if you continue developing the resistance, your body will basically become indestructible. Your mental capabilities will expand. You'd become the next step of evolution for mankind, a—"
"—a super woman," Karen finished flatly.
"Like Clark."
No, not like Clark. Never like Clark. It was foolish to think she would ever reach his level—would ever be the same as him.
"Mattie, David can't know. He will freak out if he thinks CADMUS could be on their way." He would destabilize his life, throw away his happiness with Rob, if only to protect Karen. He would think it was the right thing to do, ever so righteous. She couldn't allow that.
Not again.
000•000
Karen Starr returned to the station one shiny afternoon, having exchanged shifts with Kristen Kramer in hopes of integrating back into work without much fanfare.
The scarf around her neck was a glaring reminder she'd foolishly stepped into a metahuman's path because of a misguided sense of chivalry. She'd put on the bandages per Mattie's advice, agreeing that no one should see her already healed bruises. If Barry saw the obvious change from a black neck to smooth skin, he'd be the first one to raise suspicion.
He would take her to STAR Labs. She wanted nothing to do with them.
When David called her to come into his office, she prepared herself for a right scolding.
The older man took one look at her, sighed, and hugged her.
"What's this for?" she questioned.
He squeezed her back gently.
"Iris told me what you did. I'm very angry... but I'm prouder. You empathized with a virtual stranger; you made the choice of stepping in despite the odds." He drew back; his eyes were shiny. "I guess I'm just happy to see how far you've come."
Not knowing how to respond, she gave him a bashful smile.
"Don't." David pointed a finger at her, eyebrows one straight line as he glared. He reminded her of Bert from the TV show—a thought that would never, ever, reach his ears. "You're still in trouble. As such, it will be your job to find Rob's parents their Christmas gifts."
She groaned. "Rao, no. Anything but that." As encouraging as they were of their son's life, Rob's life givers were a stuck up pair.
"If you want to suffer a little more, here you go." He handed her a file. "We got a prisoner transfer tonight: William Tockman, AKA Clock King."
She leafed through the manila folder. "I remember him. The Arrow stopped him."
Formerly a Kord Enterprises employee, Tockman had given into a life of crime after learning his sister was dying due to cystic fibrosis. It didn't matter he had MacGregor's Syndrome, all the man focused on was stealing money for Beverly Tockman's treatment. He caused an accident so majestic many people died, and thus the Arrow and the Canary set out to capture him.
According to the files in her hands, he'd requested a leave of absence from his trial to see his sister before her death. The D.A. had denied it, and now, Tockman was to have his trial in Central City. Iron Heights would be his home in the meantime.
"And here I was thinking nothing happened in the night shift."
"Nothing will happen. It's just a transfer." He cocked his head. "You still got that gun under your desk, right?"
Kristen had left while she was in the captain's office. Her things were gone—replaced by a lone plastic cup with whipped cream on top. Her name was written in calligraphy on the side.
"I promised you a frap, and here it is," said Barry behind her, smiling carefully.
"The doctor said I couldn't drink anything cold for a week." And yet she took the drink and brought the straw to her lips.
"How's your neck?" he asked.
"Good."
He squinted. "Does it hurt?"
"A little." She slurped loudly.
His mouth opened—but snapped shut with a click. He kept eyeing her, his whole body cantering from side to side.
She rolled her eyes. "What's going on now?"
Karen forgot how obvious Barry tended to be when he was trying to hide something. In a non-too-subtle head roll, he led her to the stairs and told her, "I lost my speed."
"You're joking."
"I'm not—" She slurped again. He made a face. "I'm not joking. It literally happened yesterday night. I met this meta who can control electricity and he... he just sucked out my speed."
"Like a vampire? An electricity vampire?"
"Karen."
"What do you want me to do? I just found out you had superpowers four, five days ago! I'm a techie, not a scientist. And it's not business, is it? It's yours. What's it got to do with me?"
"It's just—" He shifted. Could he even stay still anymore? "Theorize with me. You've always got good theories!"
She blew a raspberry, rolling her eyes heavenward.
"Fine." She tapped her fingers on the cup. Barry followed the movement with his eyes—drawing back in time as she turned to him suddenly. "You've got a healing factor, right? That means your cells are constantly regenerating. How sure are you that your speed's gone gone?"
"My team tested me. There's not a lick of it in me."
Holding her frappe carefully, she crossed her arms. "But the Particle Accelerator changed your molecules so that you don't dematerialize while running. Your body generates electricity—the thing that powers it—without any outside help whatsoever. It can't just be gone." Her eyes lit up. "What if you need a recharge?"
He scrunched his face up. "Like a battery?"
She bobbed her head. "If you like that analogy, yeah. Maybe you need something to spark your speed back to life, something from the same source of energy—"
"Allen!"
Their heads snapped around, Barry stepping closer to Karen and leaning on her accidentally as Captain Singh crossed the threshold of the pit.
"Tell me you got the druggies' forensic report ready?"
"Uh, yes, Captain, it's upstairs. Let me go get it!"
Barry ran up the stairs, and it became painfully obvious to Karen that he hadn't been lying. He was terribly slower than before.
"You did that on purpose," she told David.
The captain looked at her dead in the eye and said, "Don't you have work to do?"
An hour passed. It was as boring you'd expect. Barry left just as William Tockman arrived, and she confirmed his transfer paperwork. The officers that brought Tockman forced him into a chair and pasted themselves at each of his sides, faces carved of stone, while David placed Joe West in charge of overlooking the transfer while the D.A. and the Iron Heights guards arrived.
Karen would later be in disbelief that she was falling asleep when the first gunshot rang. Luckily for her, her body reacted and she dropped to the floor, her hands covering her head. Above, the lights flickered dead.
"Guns on the floor! It should take you less than three seconds to discard any thought of rebellion and comply." There was a grunt, and the slam of a body hitting the floor. "I take it I don't need to count out loud."
Another shot, accompanied by a feminine scream. Iris's scream.
"Everyone! Gather in the reception area. Make a circle, if it's not much trouble."
Karen heard the footsteps running past her, the click-clack of heels and the heavy stomp of men's shoes. Amidst that, the calm, walk of leather boots stopped next to her desk.
"Miss, please step out from under the desk," said a collected voice. Intelligent. "Do not force me to make an example out of you."
She breathed shakily, taking off her heels and placing them next to the chair. Then she crawled out and stood, finding herself staring straight at William Tockman's head.
He wasn't looking at her but still inclined his head at the circle of officers, amongst them the Wests. She joined them, Officers Lee and Treviño making space for her. She could feel them shake—remembered they were newbies on the force and only there because David had punished them with paperwork. The ones that had escorted Tockman were dead on the floor of the pit, one with a clean shot through the chest, the other on the forehead.
Karen knew them. Had known them. Solano had taught her how to deal with the old answering machine of the station; Douglas, though a little misogynist, had always greeted her with a ma'am. They weren't close, not by a long shot, but they'd always been there in the corner of her eye, whether it was at the station, the Police Ball, or the annual baseball match against the other public servers of the city. Dead in less than a minute. Murdered by a madman.
The image was painfully familiar to Karen.
"Sit," said Tockman. When no one listened, he pointed his gun at them. "SIT!"
They all did, as kindergarteners might do on a school day.
The elevator's doors slid open, and the officer was dead before he could enter. His body stopped the elevator from closing or opening, basically blocking that exit.
Tockman leaned by Treviño, whose lips trembled.
"I will need your radio, madam," said Tockman.
Treviño sobbed. "In my back pocket."
He knelt and took it out swiftly. He gazed at them through those strange glasses of his, made of old digital wristwatches.
"I will not repeat myself so think carefully: where is the emergency rope?"
"To your right, there's a red box for fire emergencies," said Joe West. "You gotta break it the old-fashioned way."
"Indeed." Tockman disappeared. Two shots later, he was bringing the thinnest roll of rope.
He threw it on Karen's lap.
"Tie them all up. Hands behind them. Should anyone fight, they will receive a shot to the back."
She took the rope with shaky hands and stood, the floor cold under her bare feet. Her skirt rode up a little as she went around, but she didn't complain. Tockman's gaze was on her, his finger too close to the trigger.
Military background, she recalled. Neurodivergent, his file had read.
A genius at the end of his rope, she'd thought.
(Think, think, think.
Don't be stupid.
Don't act out.
Don't aggravate him.
Do not catch his eye—)
She finished and silently returned to her previous spot, leaving the rope behind her. Tockman immediately tied her up.
Sirens rang outside. Red and blue lights echoed lightly from the ground and into the station, illuminating the terrified faces around her.
"If I am not mistaken, your captain will call me and inquire after my possible demands."
Coincidentally, a radio crackled to life. She didn't know whose it was, but it was lying horizontally on her counter, a light flashing as David's voice came through.
"Tockman. Tockman. This is Captain David Singh. Tockman, do you copy?"
The criminal snatched the device up. "I am presently in control of eight of Central City's finest, three underpaid assistants, and one very brave civilian girl."
"You've got demands, I wanna hear them. But first, let the civilians go."
"Would you prefer I sent them out alive or dead? Please be more specific!" He started to pace around them. "One helicopter. One vegetarian takeout meal. One laptop with eight gigabytes of RAM will be delivered on this roof at exactly 53 minutes—"
(The light sound of a new shoe touching the clean ground, squeaking oh so quietly—)
Karen's eyes snapped to her left, right into the empty pit. A head of blond hair poked from one of the desks, blue eyes scanning over the situation; the man cocked his gun in Tockman's direction.
"—and 27 seconds from now or I shoot a hostage."
(The whisper of a head turning, chin scratching the collar of a shirt—Joe shaking his head negatively)
Eddie ducked just as Tockman began another walking round.
"There is a citywide blackout. I'm gonna need more time."
"Captain, you may delay, but time will not."
"Benjamin Franklin," Joe mumbled.
Everyone flinched as Tockman pointed at him—but it was just his finger. He held his gun in the other hand, correctly pointing at the floor and away from his feet.
"Very good, detective." The man left to look into the blinders facing the street.
A sudden white beam silhouetted him, giving Tockman a foreboding presence. Not quite the moonlight reveal one might expect, but it did showcase the madness in him.
Joe spoke. "End this now, and I'll talk to the DA."
Tockman chuckled humorlessly. "It was your district attorney that denied me furlough so I could visit my dying sister one last time. So I could say goodbye to her in person." He slammed the window. "Time I'll never get back!"
Karen snorted.
She only had the chance to register hurrying footsteps before she was knocked aside by the gun. Her head hit the floor, the new pain adding only to her old headache. An odd ringing sound accompanied it.
He grabbed her by the scruff of the neck to bring her close to his mouth.
"Do you think it's funny?" Tockman snarled. "That I could not see my beloved sister in her last moments?!"
She breathed out. "A murderer thinks he has a right to see his family when he took away so many people's loved ones. You didn't give them a chance. No, you didn't even care, as long as you satisfied your own needs." She straightened herself to a sitting position, gazing at her lap. "You killed a little boy to get what you wanted, and you dare to ask for furlough. So yeah—I find it more than ironic."
(Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock—
—Tock. Tick. Tock—
—Tick. Tick. Tick. Tick—
—all those watches, ticking away in unison—)
"I see your point, Ms." He crouched in front of her. His face was so close she could see her own reflection on his glasses. Beyond that, a gaze that was both calculating and full of heartbreak. But she saw no remorse. "I would do it again if it meant it would work."
"I don't doubt it," said Karen.
The strength of a deafening noise sent Karen backward. Tockman jerked forward, his face twisting in pain—
—but he whirled, gun ready at hand, and aimed at Eddie's unprotected shoulder. One shot took him down, his blood splattering many of them, some drops falling on Karen's nude legs. The detective landed close to the Wests, wheezing as blood poured out of his wound like a stream.
Tockman ripped his shirt apart. He was wearing a bulletproof vest.
"An officer was just shot 9.2 seconds ago," said Tockman coldly into the radio. "I'd pick up the pace in meeting my demands, captain."
"Oh my Rao," Karen whispered.
Iris burst into sobs. "Eddie! No!" She moved forward—
Tockman swung the gun at her. Joe dove right in front of his daughter, but no gunshot rang.
"Please! He's bleeding. You have to let us get him some help!"
"You'll stay where you are."
"He's bleeding out!" Iris cried. "He's not gonna make it!"
Their captor laughed. "'As if you could kill time without wounding eternity.'"
"To hell with your goddamn puns! Help him—he just wanted to stop you!"
She was grasping at straws, Karen knew. Tockman had no heart. Not for anyone who wasn't his sister, who was already dead and buried. But Eddie Thawne was innocent—he was good. And now he was going to die before their own eyes.
"'A man who dares to waste time has not discovered the value of life'," said Karen aloud. Tockman stopped smiling. "You served in the military. Your sister was a nurse. And yet you treat people's lives callously. Is that the kind of man you are?"
A pause.
Tockman rose, his eyes darting between her and Iris. The ambiance grew tense as he went for Eddie, deft fingers pulling at his tie. To their shock, he threw it around the wounded arm and created a simple but effective tourniquet.
"Little battlefield trick." He dug a finger into Eddie's wound; Eddie cried out, eyes scrunching in pain. "If he lives long enough to receive medical treatment, they'll know the exact time the tourniquet was applied." Tockman looked up proudly. "What? No 'thank you'?"
"They call you the Clock King, right?" Iris asked, much to everyone's confusion.
"A somewhat florid appellation, but I've grown to see the humor in it."
"You're going back to prison."
The declaration sent Tockman into a fit of laughter. "Really? And—and how do you reckon?"
"Because the Flash is coming."
Joe West's cheek twitched.
Tockman, who had no knowledge of the strangeness running amok Central City, nodded mockingly. "Oh." He stood and returned to the blinders.
Iris closed her eyes. "Where are you, Flash?"
Yeah, where are you? Barry was powerless. But there was no way he didn't know about their predicament. Maybe—and it was now Karen reaching for straws—he was looking into getting his powers back. Maybe he'd desperately researched and was, against his own safety, trying to look for that spark Karen had mentioned.
Maybe. Did he not have any other super friends to call on?
Minutes passed. Frightened looks were exchanged in their tight circle, none as desperate as Iris, who sought to inch closer to Eddie, but every time she tried so, Tockman was there. Just an arm away from shooting her.
It all came to a head when the man suddenly ran into their circle and seized Iris by her hair, dragging her to her feet. She tried to find her footing, but Tockman was too fast, the blood on the floor not helping her halt.
"Tockman, no!" Joe yelled. "No, don't do this—not her!" Tears streamed down one cheek. "No, take me please."
"Something tells me you will not be a docile passenger." He shook her. "She will."
Iris whimpered. "Dad." Tockman dragged her in the direction the stairs. "Dad!"
"Wait, wait! Let her say goodbye."
For some unfathomable reason, Tockman stopped. Like a clock, he turned stiffly to look at Joe.
"This is her boyfriend lying here dying, and I think you and me both know that he probably won't make it." He swallowed. "It's wrong that you didn't get to say goodbye to your sister." And Karen understood. Joe had schemed a plan, was striking the one nerve Tockman was sensitive about—his sister's death. "Give them what you deserved."
He freed her without complaint. Iris gasped as he threw her at the floor with, "You have 20 seconds!"
And there they were, Iris and Eddie seeking reassurance in each other, Eddie apologizing for something beyond his reach, Iris begging him to not die.
In the meantime, Karen witnessed as the girl's hand sneaked into the detective's ankle, pulling out a small weapon. If there was ever a moment she thought the girl stupid, she took it back right then and there.
Her hopes were dashed when Tockman hastened to her—Karen—and pulled her to her feet.
"What are you doing?" she shrieked.
"Change of plans."
The cocking of two guns—one aiming at Tockman, the other digging into Karen's temple. Iris' hand did not shake as she took a hesitant step forward, but it forced Karen's captor to take a step back.
"Let her go."
"You have a good grip, I admit," said Tockman. "But are you faster than a speeding bullet? By the time you shoot, her brains will be on the floor."
Karen didn't dare to speak out. You have taken a gun to the face, Karen. But that had been so long ago, when she wasn't aware of the danger a gun presented; when she didn't understand the concept of life or death or pain. But she did now, and her body shook as it imagined the different ways a bullet could harm her. Preparing itself for the worst.
Iris struggled at first. She didn't shoot as Tockman moved both towards the right staircase, her gun steady on him. She didn't shoot as Tockman reached the top and shoved Karen to the ground, gazes connected despite the distance.
And then Tockman threw himself at the floor, a bullet flying past his head and striking the ceiling above. A shot worthy of the Arrow.
"Come!" he barked at her, right before constraining her to his chest with one arm, gun held loosely in the other.
They rushed forward, past Barry's laboratory, reaching the emergency exit leading to the roof. Tockman stopped before a window to peer outside.
Karen bit his arm. Tockman was so surprised he pushed her off him, slamming her against the wall.
Bang!
The pain burst suddenly, spreading from her stomach to all the nerves in her body. Bang! A second flare of agony exploded close to her heart. Bang! The third shot landed somewhere on her leg.
Karen dropped to the floor headfirst.
000•000
Barry Allen raced into the station, shedding his Flash suit in seconds right before the elevator doors opened. He was greeted by the police yellow tape canvasing an enormous puddle of blood in the middle of the reception, officers taking statements from the former hostages.
Eddie was then wheeled past him, a breathing mask covering his face as his paramedic pumped the tank. The detective was eerily pale, skin so chalky he might as well have been dead. But his nude chest rose painfully, his throat twitching with each beat.
Barry wasn't thinking about Eddie. The fact that he'd nearly died didn't shock him either. He was desperately seeking for a familiar face, for the dark eyes and dark hair of Iris West—
He could have fainted in relief when he spotted her. She was sitting next to Joe at the top of the stairs, both looking awfully tired.
A nightmare over at last.
"—yeah, did you see him? The medics don't think he'll make it—"
Barry got distracted by the comment. He frowned, straining his ears to listen.
"—how did she do it? She's not tiny, but where did she get the strength, let alone the guts to push him out of the window—"
He understood less and less what they were speaking about. A woman pushing a man out of the building?
"You know Starr's temper, right? Maybe she did have the will."
His blood ran cold. Barry raced outside the building, amidst the throng of people, using the vans to hide his presence. He instinctively ran towards the spot where the most ambulances had parked, and what he saw floored him and filled him with dread.
Tockman, lying on a stretcher, his clothes bloody and embedded with pieces of glass of all sizes, a particularly big one piercing the skin close to his heart. His face was littered with cuts, too.
All in all, he painted a terrifying picture. And Barry, who had not spotted Karen since he'd arrived, had the strange thought she knew all about it.
000•000
She'd made her way to the hospital on her own, hailing a taxi two streets down the station. She wasn't sure why—hospitals were way below on her list of 'Go-to Places'—but she'd wanted to see Tockman with her own eyes. Wanted to know if he would live or not.
("What?"
Hands shoving forward, touching a fragile chest—
—the sound of a bone giving out right before Tockman went flying through the glass—)
Karen timed his ETA. She ensured to appear early, not wanting to speak with any police officer. What if they held her up for questioning? Or worse—what if she encountered David before she had all her facts straight?
She hid in the nurses' office until the clock struck eleven. The time surprised her; her brain had yet to realize the traumatic experience had lasted no longer than two hours. The time for the cops to clean up the scene took longer, in fact. It felt like that. She tightened her coat around her midriff before stepping out and heading towards Tockman's room.
All she had to do was follow the sound of his heartbeat.
He was connected to all sorts of devices, dressed in the dreadful paper clothes of a patient. His glasses were gone as were the rest of his watches. His wounds had been cleaned, stitched by deft hands, some covered in gauze. Though he was already a dead man walking, he hadn't looked the part until this moment.
It was Karen's fault. The proof of it lay inside her pocket—the weight of her actions nothing but penny-sized.
"Karen."
She jumped, a hand steadying her by the back. She spotted Barry's reflection on the glass, the young man unusually grim as he regarded her. Lightning flashed across his eyes—
—and then they were no longer in the hallway looking into the Clock King's room, but a private empty room. The body-length mirror on the door of the bathroom caught her eye.
"You've got your speed back," she said, crossing her arms. "Congratulations. Would've been a great help a few hours ago."
He winced.
"Karen, I'm sorry."
"Is that all you've got to say?" She clenched her jaw. "Shouldn't have bothered." She tried to walk around him but Barry threw an arm before her.
The touch had her crumbling.
"Karen!" Barry fell to his knees. His hands hovered over her, unsure of where to touch. "What's wrong? Did you get hurt? Why didn't you tell the paramedics?" When she just lay gasping, he started to stand. "I'll get help."
She seized his arm and pulled. He fell to the floor, much to his surprise. Karen was shaking her head by the time he got himself together.
"No doctors," she rasped. "No nurses. Please."
"Karen, don't be stubborn, this is the second time you're in the hospital this week!"
"No one!" she demanded, shaking him—and pushing him harshly against the stretcher in the room.
Barry floundered.
"I will if you tell me what's going on," he announced. He raced to the door and did not budge when Karen tried to pry it open—though he was certainly surprised by the sudden strength of her as she pulled and pulled. It was like each time Barry stopped her gave her a sudden burst of power.
Eventually, Karen got tired. Eventually, she went to the stretcher and said, "Close the curtains."
Triumphant but mostly curious, Barry did as told. He watched as she dug into her coat's pocket and pulled out a fisted hand. She gestured at his own and he offered it to her, palm facing up.
Three coins landed neatly. But they were strange-looking coins, gold in color, but burnt, thicker than the usual currency, a little bigger than a penny. Barry had no idea what they had to do with Karen's state.
"Those are bullets," she muttered.
Barry did a double-take. He focused on the coins again—
And saw the truth of her statement. They were bullets, alright, but squashed. As if their target had been superior in mass, in strength—
"Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?"
Karen was taking off her coat. It was long and hid most of her figure, so the hint of her shorter skirt scared him at first. The clothes under her were decent though, and he relaxed, thinking she was just warm and needed to cool down—
But Karen then was unbuttoning her blazer too, and Barry's heart threatened to give out on him.
"Karen, stop, stop!"
His fingers met hers. She seized them and led them to her navel, to the little holes of her shirt—
Wait. Barry frowned. Holes? It was a normal blouse. Why would her clothes have—
"Bullet holes," he breathed, and this time he did not have an ounce of shame as he helped her take off the blazer, revealing the little tears on her white shirt. He sought for the blood but found none, just the characteristic gunpowder of a bullet around the shapes.
He didn't touch her skin, but Karen lowered the upper part of her blouse. A canvas of bruises greeted him, and he scanned them absently, taking in the rest of her—noting the matching marks on her thigh. The perfectly round, black blots... each the size of the bullets in Barry's hand.
"How?" he breathed.
Karen closed her eyes.
Everything hurt. Her body was throbbing in unison with her heartbeat, her knees tired of holding all her weight. She pushed off the floor with shaky hands.
The footsteps that had wandered up the emergency stairs ceased.
"Impossible," said Tockman. He rushed down. "You should be dead—those were critical spots!"
He kicked her in the face, sending her sprawling on her back. Karen groaned, unable to stop him as he pressed into her stomach.
"No entry! No wound whatsoever!" His eyes took on a crazed light. "What are you?"
He applied more pressure to that spot bringing tears to her eyes.
"Stop," she begged.
He shook his head. "No! I need to understand."
Tockman fought her to the ground, but Karen kneeled him on the crotch. He howled, and she used the distraction to push him off her. She crawled backward, trying to stand up—
—only to find Tockman back in her place, one hand now pressing against her chest. The other supposed bullet wound.
She did not think. Karen lashed out blindly, her fist connecting with his chest—
—and Tockman was flying, screaming as his body broke the glass of the window, falling, falling—
"I don't know," she whispered. "I don't know what's wrong with me."
She didn't burst into tears. She was too wired to cry—and her body, astoundingly, was not reacting to the adrenaline pumping in her veins or the thoughts racing in her head. But she did lose sight of Barry's presence and did not feel the moment he drew her close, hiding the evidence of her strange abilities between them.
Neither noticed the pair of dark eyes assessing them from the other side of the door.
Karen certainly did not hear the familiar buzzing of a listening device turning off outside the corridor.