EDITED: December 13th, 2021.
To MadMaddy0215, TheFlame-Burned-OutButIt-Glows, Laval Asher and amorrell—thank you so much for following and favoriting. And special thanks to highlander348 for reviewing!
highlander348: I hope this chapter clears your doubts. I wasn't gonna make Karen all-knowing—unlike our heroes, she cheats to get above the game.
Just in case I don't get to post for Christmas, I wish you all happy holidays! I hope you enjoy this chapter and remember—comments are welcomed!
09 - Made of Steel
CENTRAL CITY, 2011. TWO YEARS BEFORE THE PARTICLE ACCELERATOR EXPLOSION.
"Well, you sure took your time, rookie."
Barry looked up, glasses sliding down his face. He pushed them back with a scowl, mentally thinking about accepting that eye operation Joe had offered months ago. His adoptive father would be happy—hell, Barry would be ecstatic. All so that the damned glasses wouldn't keep making him mess up his work.
The young man slithering into the lab snickered.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Barry said... but the redness spreading up his neck betrayed him.
"Uh-huh. I wonder why Karen called Sue about helping her choose a dress then?"
The scientist's head shot up at that, eyes immediately falling on Ralph Dibny.
Dibny was a couple of years older than Barry, taller and redhaired with a mischievous grin that spelled trouble. He was one of the few cops Barry hadn't met before working at the station; he also turned out to be one of the few to not distrust Barry's ability in the field. Captain Singh used this to pair them up frequently, and the young men had grown accustomed to seeing each other. At times, Dibny was a confidante of sorts, but his inability to take things seriously stopped their friendship from growing deeper. The detective's carefree nature clashed with Barry's meticulous need for order when it involved work, and although they had gotten into many tiffs because of it, Barry came to find that as long as he did not give out any personal secrets, their relationship worked just fine. Besides, Dibny was a good detective once he put on his business mask.
That, unfortunately, worked against him, too.
It was no secret Barry Allen had a crush on Karen Starr. He didn't think so. Not since that first time she'd excitedly babbled with him about the Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel series. He'd been left speechless (and frankly, a little turned on too), and ever since he hadn't been able to keep a stupid smile out of his face whenever she was in the room. He was just thankful he hadn't tripped over the place.
It was ironic then that no one had noticed. With him having declared his eternal love to Iris West several times for many years, no cop saw the authenticity of his new feelings; according to Joe West, everyone believed he just wasn't used to interacting with other females.
Not Ralph though. Sometimes, Barry hated him just because the other man seemed to look right through him.
"Did she?" he blurted out.
Dibny smirked. "Big night, after all. Is that what you're going to wear?" He pointed at Barry's blue plaid shirt tucked into his jeans. "It won't go with Ricardo's theme."
"How do you know about Ricardo's?" It was the restaurant Barry had made reservations for. It had taken him months to get any positive responses until he and Dibny had helped the owner, Ricardo Savedra himself, prove a relative's innocence.
"Ricardo mentioned he received your call last time Sue and I visited. And with Karen calling Sue instead of Mattie, I figured out the rest."
Barry frowned. "Mattie? Who's that?" He hoped it wasn't a guy. Karen tended to attract attractive people, and while Barry did not lack good looks, he didn't measure up to Karen's possible standards. It was a miracle she'd said yes to him.
"Mattie's her best friend. You haven't met her cause she's a med student and she got the dead beat. You just wait, though—if you thought asking Karen out was the real challenge, wait until you meet Mathilda. She's a little overprotective."
"Iris is overprotective," Barry said, remembering his best friend chasing Becky Cooper down their high school cafeteria. It would've been a romantic gesture for a young Barry—had Iris not humiliated him so much with that little display and then stomped on his heart by accepting a date later in the week.
Dibny made a face. "Matt is... complicated. Never mind, enough about her. What have you got planned? It can't be just a romantic dinner—it's got to have a romantic walk, a romantic look at the stars, and a romantic cliché to get you your big, romantic kiss."
Barry frowned at him suspiciously.
"Did you read that somewhere?"
"Not from Wikipedia. Can you believe they haven't got any info about dating advice? But! I found TV Tropes, so, close enough."
"Ralph, I'm touched you care about this, but I got it under control."
He did. He really did. He'd planned it all out so carefully he knew every step and every contingency plan by heart, should his original layout fail. But it wouldn't. He trusted it wouldn't.
"The color she's wearing doesn't match your shirt's."
... Then again, a little last-second advice wouldn't hurt.
000•000
CENTRAL CITY. PRESENT TIME.
Barry had a little panic attack. Or he froze in shock. Karen wasn't sure—but the stillness of him amused her.
She'd left another bug on the Arrow Cave, making sure to stick it under Smoak's computers. The idea had come from her mysterious C.C.P.D. stalker, a less sophisticated device in comparison. Still, no computer would be able to find it: it didn't give off any sort of signal, and if discovered, it would turn off permanently. The design was hers, unpatented, and unlikely to get cloned.
(It was based on the Batman's arsenal, after all.)
So this one had laid in waiting, uploading its files to her laptop while she attended Wayne's tech conference until she'd decided to check on it yesterday.
For the Arrow's identity being a supposed secret, too many people had come into his lair—she'd heard rather heart-touching and alarming conversations in the span of an hour. So far, Karen had yet to identify two strangers: a woman whom Queen was very candid with, and a man whom he detested. She resigned to not knowing their identities or risked Queen finding out her little trick.
But when Barry Allen's voice came to her ears, she'd paused the file. She was stunned at first, a myriad of emotions swimming inside her (How? Why? What are you doing there?) until hesitation took place. And the wave of doubts tempted to drown her again, threatening to break her moral code.
Ah, yes. That pesky moral code she'd built upon David's request. We've got limits, he drilled per month. There are lines you can't cross. It often took Mattie's presence alone to remember this life was not another cage, she could stretch the bounds as long as no one got hurt.
Maybe that was why both hated Barry Allen. Karen had gone 'boy crazy' for him once—almost ruined twelve years of hard work because of him.
"Yes or no?" she'd questioned the hotel room. "The Arrow is my business now." Oliver Queen made himself a hazard to her safety the moment he'd kidnapped her and an adversary when after emotionally blackmailing her. Call her paranoid, but Karen had the vague feeling that Queen would use Barry as a pawn against her, should he need to. A man as ruthless as the old Hood wouldn't see a problem with that.
And there went her thoughts again. Barry. What was more important? Upholding her promise to Clark, or breaching Allen's privacy?
Are you a metahuman?
It had been the easiest answer in her entire existence.
"You look good in red." She gestured at the opposite seat. "Aren't you going to sit?"
Limbs jerking awkwardly, Barry followed her instruction, leather suit making strange sounds as it shifted.
She squinted. "Are you comfortable inside that thing?" It did not look like it. She hoped Queen hadn't been the one to give out pointers—the man ran around in leather gear. Leather chaffed on a good day.
"It was initially made for firefighters' comfort, so kinda." He touched the beginnings of his cowl at his nose and pulled, revealing tousled brown hair and a large number of freckles over his skin. He stopped blurring at last.
It was so strange seeing Allen dressed like this. Her logical side wanted to spot weaknesses; her irrational side hoped he'd stay longer just so she could admire him—impossibly, the getup gave him confidence. And a confident Barry was an attractive Barry.
(Yes, he is a weakness. Squash it, Karen, squash it—)
"How did you know it was me?"
Because I heard you begging Queen to not risk my life while the guests next door were having their fun. Because you almost brought up the Gimlin case.
She thought carefully. The conversation would reach Queen's ears one day. She couldn't lose her one advantage over him so soon.
"Red blur appearing at unusual cases; you asking me if you could do more after the Stagg case; the Arrow using the term 'metahuman'—take your pick." She leaned on her seat's arm, her chin lying in her palm. "How did you know about Oliver and me?"
Barry's brow rose. Her wording had been... incomplete. Not erroneous. She wanted to see how Barry reacted.
"I—Uhm—you and Oliver? I thought—" he chuckled a little (almost hysterically). "I didn't know you two were on a first-name basis."
"A little terrorist attack here or there tends to bring people closer," she said offhandedly. She eyed his costume once more. "You saved Arsenal," she muttered distractedly. "Diggle called and you came. But how did you become acquainted?"
Barry's leg bounced. His jaw clenched. Holding back secrets?
"Are you thinking about working with the team?"
She blinked. "That was a one-off thing. I don't do collaborations."
"Yeah, I remember," he sighed out. "But did Oliver ask you? To keep working with him?"
Of course he would ask. Barry was inquisitive, a scientist at heart. He needed answers like he needed air. But he also stuck his nose where it didn't belong. He didn't need to know about her shifty alliance with the Arrow or about the League. With his luck, he'd end up stumbling into the path of a blade.
"No."
He bobbed his head. "That's—that's good."
"Was that all you needed to know?"
He kept nodding—until he frowned and asked, "Why did you tell me?"
"Tell you what?"
"About me. That you know what I'm doing."
"That you're running around in red spandex?" The question floored her. No—the fact that he was right floored her. Because she could've kept it to herself—she should have. Not because it was great extortion material (it had occurred to her), but to keep herself out of his crazy business.
And now he knew she knew. The Arrow would know she knew about Barry. Any aspiration of quietly breaking off their association just went down the drain.
(Great Karen, you didn't think it through this time. You just had to go ahead and say Barry's name).
"I don't know," she admitted with a pout.
Barry's lips twitched.
She narrowed her eyes. "What?"
"It's good to see you haven't changed that much in ten months."
No, she hadn't. The three-month coma had been but a stepping stone. Her world hadn't changed and so she hadn't either.
"The Particle Accelerator changed you, didn't it? Like it did Danton Black and Clyde Mardon."
He nodded. "Yeah. It... it gave me speed. Super speed. I can run so fast I can go from one city to another in minutes." Lightning crackled in his eyes, and for a beat, she could see the scar of the Lichtenberg wound appear, a ghostly shape on the patch of skin between his throat and jaw.
"But why this?"
"Why what?"
She gestured at his costume. "The whole theatrics. I understand the need for clothes that serves your physical changes" —friction must be a bitch. How many clothes or shoes had he burned up by now? — "but why the lightning? The mask?"
He gazed at her with something akin to defeat. Or resolution.
"Because I can do something now. I wasn't the only one affected by the particle accelerator—and these guys haven't been up to any good since. At least the ones we're aware of. Normal people can't stop them—a few have died trying—but with these abilities, I can."
She couldn't help the words then.
"What about breaking the law? Wouldn't this be 'catering to your personal opinions'? Isn't it vigilantism at its worst?"
His mouth opened... and closed shut.
Yeah, she was using his own words. The very ones he'd attacked Ralph Dibny with.
"What gives now?" she pressed. "What's the difference between you and a lunatic with delusions of grandeur?"
She heard a tinny voice come from Barry's cowl then.
"Barry, assault in progress at 13th and Nolan!"
"Someone's trying to reach you," she commented, and Barry finally caught wind of the person in his ear. He hastily put his cowl back on and listened intently.
He stood up. "I gotta go."
"You always say that," Karen said, and the other froze.
His jaw clenched. Conflict glinted in his eyes.
"Mocha Frappe."
Such a strange thing to say. "Excuse me?"
"You still like that, right? Let's meet at Jitters tomorrow, say, about four in the afternoon. My treat." He took a deep breath. "And we will talk. About everything. This... and us. No excuses."
And he was gone in a flash.
She looked after him in bewilderment.
"He should've told me to not tell anyone."
000•000
Karen spent the night in a daze.
Mattie, who'd crashed at her place unannounced five minutes after Karen arrived, took notice. The young woman tried to bribe her with edible food (Karen was too tired to cook), but the blonde refused. Even when the Chinese food arrived, she deliberately went to shower and did not come out of her room despite the obvious sounds of the TARDIS coming from her living room. She dressed up comfortably and crawled under the covers, her mind refusing to shut down no matter how much her body relaxed.
She was in limbo. Clinically speaking, it could be a form of sleep paralysis, but she didn't remember falling asleep. Could she even? Her sleeping patterns were off the charts these days—she didn't need the obligatory eight hours an adult needed for a good rest; Karen could sleep through half of that and still feel like a little kid high on sugar.
We will talk. No excuses.
From him? From her? What did Bary mean? What did he want to achieve with this... this date? Meeting? She did not understand. The possibilities frightened her.
But real-life waited for no one. The next morning, both women were running around, getting ready for their hectic working schedules, not uttering a single word to the other until they were on the bus and on their way to the center of the city.
"Something happened, didn't it?" Mattie said. Karen started choking on her saliva until the other woman continued, "You sounded kind of weird on the phone after your convention."
Karen breathed. "Yes. I had a meeting with the Arrow."
Mattie frowned. "The what? Who the hell calls themselves—you didn't. Please tell me you didn't do anything illegal without me."
"I was under duress," Karen tried to explain, but the other was having none of it. The dark-skinned woman snorted, giving her a nasty look.
"Karen, I have seen you take a gun to the face and not flinch. 'Duress' is not the word you should be using to explain yourself."
"Fine!" she hissed. "I got kidnapped to a vigilante's secret hideout and took advantage to infiltrate it."
"Why would you want to do that? Wait. Does he have anything to do with...?"
Karen shook her head. "One of his sidekicks hacked into my files and brought General Eiling to Central City." The other woman froze. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but David sent me out before Eiling could make any connections."
"He did the right thing," said Mattie absently, staring ahead of them.
This was why Karen hadn't told Mathilda the truth entirely. The future doctor had more interactions with Eiling than Karen did, and the blonde knew those meetings, albeit short, had traumatized her. Mattie had nightmares about him over the years where Karen got to hear her beg for Paul's life or her own. She'd had a funny feeling Mattie would have done something reckless in regards to his presence—and so she'd kept her mouth shut, never uttering the man's name until now.
"Your stop's coming up," she told Mattie, and her friend snapped out of her memories.
When Karen arrived at the C.C.P.D., it was to find David's office crowded with just about every detective and important officer that worked on the dead beat. Eddie Thawne was there too, and if she remembered his schedule right, he looked annoyingly perky for someone who supposedly hadn't slept for hours.
"Starr, good, you're here!" he exclaimed when he set eyes on her. "I need a huge favor. Do you think I can buy some info out of Bobby?"
"Bobby Bigmouth?" She eyed him. "What did you get yourself into this time, Thawne?" Eddie's third annoying characteristic (after being inexplicably positive and his devotion to one Iris West) was that he tended to go after extraordinary cases—the ones with high chances of receiving a shot in the back.
He looked around before ducking his head close.
"Yesterday night, we were on a chase. The suspect did something weird—I shot at him and everything—but I could swear his face turned gray, like metal. And I think the bullets bounced off him somehow."
Karen gaped. "Has CSI been over it?"
"Not yet. But as smart as Barry is, I don't think his science will explain this one. Ergo, Bobby."
She looked behind her at David's office.
"Bobby doesn't trust anyone, let alone a cop. I would have to meet him personally."
Eddie smiled. "That's been arranged." He handed her a lanyard with an ID hanging at the end. It had the C.C.P.D.'s logo, as well as the inscription: "DUTY PASS."
"How did you even get this?" David, in all her years of knowing him, had never given her something like this. Said it would encourage her 'rule-breaking habits'.
"We leave once Allen checks in," he said and left her after a cheeky salute.
000•000
Their patrol came to a stop in the seediest part of the city. It didn't look much in plain daylight, but she could see a few persons lingering between alleyways. None of them looked friendly.
"Are you sure you don't need company?" Eddie asked, hands on the wheel while he eyed the buildings around them suspiciously.
"I'm fine. Just, drop me here. I will catch up with you."
A hand shot out from the backseat of the car and grasped her shoulder.
"Karen, no," said Barry Allen. "Are you crazy? They are going to strip you out of your stuff once we leave."
She eyed his hand until he realized she was not moving and let go, awkwardly rubbing his nape.
"I didn't bring anything but my cellphone and bus fare, I'm not stupid." She shoved a threatening finger under Eddie's chin. "So don't you dare forget me and leave the scene before I'm done here."
"Yes, ma'am." He turned his head toward Barry. "It's gonna be fine, Allen. She's been at worse."
"Worse?" The idea of Karen being at worse places than these visibly disturbed him. Karen took advantage of his shock to slip out of the car and walk two streets down, right where Bobby's Garage was.
Nobody paid her attention. Karen had dressed as she should, in dark clothing that consisted of leggings, running shoes, and an old green hoodie sweater that hid the expensive blouse she'd chosen for the day. She simply put up the hood and no one was the wiser of her. Those who did consider her took a single glance and looked away, probably thinking she belonged to the neighborhood and therefore was too poor to have anything of value. Or perhaps her 'business face' had scared them off.
Bobby's Garage looked like any other. Just a vast warehouse with a few cars dangling at the entrance, with many drawers at the sides and oil marks leading to the cavities on the floor. She waved at Jax, who was soldering under one car, and he gave her a swift sign, pointing at Bobby's office.
There was a second level in the garage. The last time she was there, she'd been running from S.T.A.R. Labs and the uneasiness Dr. Harrison Wells had placed on her. It was just as messy as it was then. The faint smell of fried chicken lingered. Bobby himself sat at his desk, eating pizza.
"Bobby, please tell me that isn't from last week."
The balding man looked up, pizza hanging from his mouth. It was hard to believe he owned anything, let alone the garage. But he was Bobby Bigmouth: he knew every secret in town, and he was willing to share as long as he got food. Excellent food.
"Whatcha think? Nah, this is from three days ago. Still good." He slapped two slices together, rolled them like a taco, and swallowed it whole.
Great tastes he may have, Bobby Bigmouth still ate like a pig.
"As sophisticated as ever." She wrinkled her nose. "Listen, I wanna do a trade."
"What have you got?"
She pulled out a coupon and offered it to him; Bobby took it with greasy fingers.
He started choking the moment he looked at the print.
"You got me Ricardo's?" he coughed.
"I got you Ricardo's," she confirmed. "Valid up to this weekend."
"Wait, that's in two days! I got a lot of deliveries to make!"
She tried to rip the coupon out of his hand but he held on stubbornly.
"Fine! Whatcha wanna know?"
"It's not about knowing, but more about cooperating."
He groaned.
"No. I'm no whistler! I won't work with a pig!"
Karen successfully ripped the coupon from him, and Bobby, a literal baby in his forties, started to whimper.
"Okay, okay! I'll work for your pretty boy!"
She smiled. "That's Detective Thawne to you. First in order—what do you know about yesterday's Humvee chase?"
"Asshole's name is Tony Woodward. Known bully. For the right price, a great thug. He worked for a while at Rusty Iron Ale but was kicked out because he almost killed the boss. Everyone thought he was a goner when the thinga-ma-jing from S.T.A.R. Labs exploded, but one of my guys spotted him a couple of days ago. Said Tony seemed out of it."
"And nobody thought to stop him."
Bobby grimaced. "They did. My other guy, Andy, he was sent flying straight to ER. Hasn't woken up yet."
"Enhanced?"
The older man looked away with a scowl. He was a Metropolis native. Like Gotham, the 'city of the future' had its weirdos. "Probably. Won't get any justice, now."
Seeing his downtrodden figure, Karen took a pen lying on the floor and wrote her name on Ricardo's coupon.
"Tell Ricardo I sent you. He will know what to do." With a final sideglance, she said, "Thanks, Bobby," and left.
The scene of the crime (AKA the spot Woodward had crashed the yellow Humvee) was just three blocks away. Allen was finishing canvasing the scene when she arrived, and she got a few minutes to witness as he and Eddie worked around. The two men stopped to discuss before Eddie spotted her and waved her over.
"Let her in! Show them your pass, Starr!"
She did and the cop lifted the yellow police tape.
"What have you got?" Eddie asked.
Karen told him everything Bobby told her. Thawne nodded slowly, then looked back at Barry.
"He just keeps surprising me." He clasped Karen's shoulder. "Thanks, Starr, I owe you one."
"You owe me a lot," she said, "I convinced Bobby to meet with you without me acting as a bridge."
He laughed in disbelief. "What did you do? Sell your kitchen?"
She just smiled, her lips thinning a little as Barry joined them. The young man looked between them suspiciously.
"Ready to go, Barr?" Eddie said.
"Actually, I just wanted a few words with Karen."
The detective blinked owlishly. Then, his natural grin became blinding. He gazed at both of them with the bluest of eyes; Karen was starting to think he would vomit rainbows on them.
"Oh! Yeah, yeah, no prob. I'll wait at the car."
As he walked away, Karen said, "Why does he make it so hard to hate him?"
"I know, right?" Barry cleared his throat. "I know I said no excuses, and I intend to keep that promise. Can we move our date up to seven? Eddie and I'll go to Tony's last known whereabouts."
She lifted an eyebrow. "Tony? Did you know this guy?"
"Well, if me being his punching bag in middle high counts as knowing him, then yeah. I knew him pretty well."
"Is this Tony a metahuman?"
Barry sighed. "Seems so. And Eddie saw him change into metal, and I don't know how to explain that!"
"It was bound to happen, Barry. Eddie's not an idiot—give him some credit." She eyed his distraught expression. "Why don't you want him to know about metahumans? He would be a great help for you and your little team."
He looked at her sharply.
She shrugged. "What? It's obvious you aren't working alone. Eddie's great, you will see."
"You used to say the same about Dibny," he muttered.
"And I wasn't wrong," she reminded him pointedly. "You sure you want to meet still?"
"You think I'm scared?" He smiled humorlessly. "I'm not. It looks like it's you who doesn't want to talk about us."
Karen's hackles rose. "Wanna bet?" She gently slapped his cheek, flustering him. "Seven o'clock. No more, no less, freckles. Last chance."
000•000
She made a terrible mistake. Horrible. So stupid of her. Why had she agreed to Jitters, of all places?
Maybe because you didn't expect the girlfriend to fixate on you?
Karen blamed Eddie. She had no doubt he had something to do with Iris West's sudden interest in her. Or perhaps it was Barry's fault? She never knew with those two. Only that she would forever be the interloper in that strange relationship of theirs.
"On the house," said Iris, serving her a mug of hot, steaming black coffee.
Karen, who hated hot drinks but hated leftovers the most, gulped it all down, her tongue prickling at first but healing fast.
West goggled at her. "I'm terrified to ask how you did that, but I wanna know. How?"
Karen hiccupped. "Rage. Rage's all in it." She pinched her nose and took the last swallow. The need to hiccup vanished.
"Someone pissed you off?"
"I'm meeting with Barry."
The amazement faded from Iris' eyes. Karen was surprised to see a hint of anger there. "Oh. Well, good luck with that." The dark-skinned beauty spun, colliding into the barrel chest of a big man with slicked hair and a brown wifebeater.
He grinned down at her.
"Iris? Long time, no see." He eyed her from head to toes. "I gotta say, you look amazing."
The woman regarded him warily.
"Thanks, Tony," said Iris. "So you do." She took a couple of steps backward.
Karen gently settled her mug down. Her eyes were dead set on Iris, who was reacting the way a cornered woman did.
I knew him pretty well.
"Yeah, I keep in shape." He followed her, so focused on her that he did not see the TV overhead portraying a wanted photograph of himself. "Got a gym at my place. Been living out in Keystone—the west side? You should stop by sometime."
Iris' gaze met hers. Her throat bobbed unevenly.
(Heart beating fast, to the beat of a hummingbird's wings. So fragile, so excited, not in happiness but fear—)
Karen raised her mug and called, loudly, "Iris, where's my frappe? I've been waiting ten minutes."
She mapped it all out in her head: West would go behind the counter, press the silent alarm that would directly call the C.C.P.D., and try to make her order, all to distract Woodward. If there was no alarm, then Iris would make a gesture at her co-worker, one that was taught to them during their barista training and the girl would message the police.
But Iris was frozen on her spot, reacting only when Tony Woodward turned to Karen. He dropped the friendly facade and glowered down at her.
Now, Karen was a tall woman. A little taller than Iris, a couple of inches shorter than Barry. But Woodward was a literal giant. If anyone ever imagined Samson or Hercules, this man right here was what one would come up with. Karen was a little worried he might try to squash her.
"Do you mind?" he growled. "She's having a conversation."
Karen threw in a little of her commanding voice. "And I have been waiting minutes for my order. My need surpasses yours. If you want to ask her out, do it outside working hours." She threw a pointed look at Iris. "Well?"
The woman nodded. "Right. One dark mocha frappe coming up." She trekked the little path exactly as Karen deduced. Once behind the counter, she dropped her towel 'accidentally' and crouched to retrieve it.
"So, Iris, I found your blog about the Streak. Been reading up on him. "
Iris slammed her head under the counter.
"Ow! Streak? What Streak?"
"Don't try to fool me." Woodward leaned on Karen's table. "Why are you writing about this guy?"
West dropped the confusion. "He's a hero."
Woodward laughed. "Yeah? I say he's a coward. I happen to know he took a beating last night and ran off like a little girl. You should write about that." He smiled menacingly. "You don't happen to know who leather boy is, do you?"
"No clue," she stated flatly. "Now, if you aren't going to order, I should get back at work."
"I'd prefer to buy you a drink. What time are you off?"
Sirens rang in the distance. Tony Woodward froze.
"I think you should leave," Karen said to him, standing up.
It happened suddenly. Her table went flying to the other side of the café as he seized her hoodie and lifted her to his eye level. Several people screamed. His arm, she noticed, was gunmetal.
Iris yelled, "Tony, no! Let her go!"
"You called the pigs on me," he hissed into Karen's face. "That was very stupid of you, blondie."
"I don't have my phone in view, you idiot. How could I have done it?"
Karen thought she would choke with the way he was holding her. But she barely felt the pressure on her throat. Bolstered, she lifted a hand and curled it around his wrist.
And squeezed.
Tony dropped her, his face contorting in pain.
"You bitch!"
Iris went to her side and hauled her to her feet, arms holding her close.
Woodward's anger faded at the sight of West in front of him, looking fearful. He cleared his throat; the skin of his arm faded back to normal.
"Sorry." He reached into his pants, and they tensed, waiting for a weapon. But Woodward pulled out a thick wad of cash and shoved it into the tip jar. "For the damage. We will pick this up some other time."
They waited with bated breath until he left. As the door closed behind him, every client rose to their feet and began to blabber. Karen saw some of them waving their phones. Ah, human decency at its worst.
A blonde girl came running to them. "Are you okay?"
"We're fine, Stacy. Can you bring the first aid kit?" soothed Iris. The dark-haired girl turned to Karen. "Take off your hoodie, we gotta see the damage."
"I'm fine," Karen rasped.
"You don't sound right." Iris practically lifted her to her feet and dragged her around the counter, where Stacy was pulling out a red box from one of the cupboards.
Karen felt her throat. It didn't hurt. At all. She could hear the slight rasping of her voice, the indentation in her skin from the fabric cutting off her circulation, but she didn't feel pain.
She took off her hoodie. Iris and Stacy gasped.
"I'm fine, my ass," Iris bit out, taking out her phone and opening the camera app. She turned it around and shoved it under Karen's nose—
"Oh, shit."
The skin around her neck was red. All of it. There was a red line where her hoodie had been pressing and there were the marks of Tony Woodward's fingers. If he'd pressed any tighter, he would've chopped her head off.
"But I didn't feel it."
"It's the adrenaline speaking," said West. "You will be feeling it tomorrow morning alright."
000•000
An ambulance came and took her to the hospital. The first face that greeted her was Mattie, who paled the moment she saw the marks on her neck.
"Harcourt, you're off," said the senior doctor, and Mattie did not argue. She turned on her heel and off she went to work.
(Later, she would come to Karen's room and cry a river on the blonde's lap, thinking she was asleep. But she wasn't. And the moments where she felt sleep creep on her, she forced herself awake.
She deserved to hear Mattie's pain. Mattie's pain deserved to be acknowledged. It was the least she could do).
Karen tried to argue her way out at first. She was fine. Everything was fine, It's just a sore throat, it will be gone in a day, can I leave, please? My roommate's a doctor, she can check on me anytime. But they'd already pumped her with a lot of analgesics on the way over (it will dull the pain, my ass) and the world went sideways at the wrong moment.
She couldn't feel her body anymore. She could hardly concentrate, her thoughts bouncing all over the place... and why was the ceiling light shifting from one corner to the other? Had the door been yellow? Was she in the same room or wandered to a different floor?
(Rao, I hate hospitals so much).
And the noise! All those voices yelling over each other, demanding her attention. Why were they so loud? She could hear them, thank you very much, there was no need to be so rude.
(They are trying to kill me. This is poison, this is fucking me up, I can't think—)
And though she didn't know, she drifted for hours. Not in sleep but in sanity. Until at last, the touch of long fingers on her face brought her back. She followed the gentle lift of her chin, eyes darting about, unable to focus.
"What's the time?" she whispered.
"Four o'clock."
A frown. "Did I lose 24 hours?"
"In the morning," corrected the person.
Her eyes played tricks on her. The lights streaming through the windows made a strange show on the stranger's face, revealing a kaleidoscope of bruises over tender skin and one green eye. The other was puffed, closed shut because of the swelling.
Funnily enough, the shape of his eyebrows was what made her identify Barry Allen.
"What the hell happened to you?"
He didn't answer that. Instead, he said, "I'm sorry. I should've been there. I should've been faster. I let it happen again."
Karen blinked slowly. Her arm flopped uselessly as she tried to touch his face, but she couldn't. Barry held her hand and brought it to his split lip. She scanned his other wounds: the swollen black eye, the little cuts on the hand holding hers, the purple bruises fading to green.
He was a mess. And he was blaming himself for something she wasn't aware of.
"Not your fault."
He shook his head slowly. "I was weak. He—I should've been there with you when Tony appeared. I should've stopped him. But I was too embroiled in my work and you are here again, I—what's the point of these powers if I can't save you at least once?"
Ah, that was the problem. "Not your fault," she repeated. "Drugs. They drugged me. I didn't feel it."
He appeared confused. "But Iris said—your bruises—"
"I don't feel them. They don't understand."
The perplexity left his face. A new light was beginning to dawn.
"It affected you. The Particle Accelerator affected you." He reached for the cannula on her hand and gently withdrew the needle. In a flash, he had a cotton ball pressed there; the smell of alcohol hit her nostrils.
Karen sighed. "I don't know. This is the second time it happens." Her mind was clearing now. Her body was burning up the drugs in her system; another side-effect, she supposed. "I'm sorry I missed the date."
He laughed shortly. "You got attacked by a man of steel, but you're sorry for missing that?"
"I'm drugged, Barry. I can't tell if fireworks are exploding outside my window or if I have a headache. Sorry if my priorities are out of order." She sat up slowly, his hands gently guiding her. "What happened with Woodward isn't your fault." She hesitated. "What happened the other time wasn't either."
"Karen—"
"I was mad. Irrationally mad. You got Ralph fired because he tried to do something good. And yes, that's your fault, but not what happened after."
"Karen, I don't think we should be talking about this if you're not lucid—"
"When will I ever have the guts to say it?" she snapped. The terrible thing was that Barry was right—she would hate herself the moment her mind cleared—but at that moment, without anything holding her tongue and without the right memories to remind her, Karen did not see the problem in airing her feelings.
"You didn't make me go after Judy Gimlin's murderer; I made that choice. And I don't regret it. Even if you or Ralph hadn't been involved, I would've done it anyway." Was it the drugs that were making her this docile? She didn't care. The more she spoke, the more she felt the weight of her guilt lift off her shoulders. "So much was happening back then. And I took it out on you because you were the closest person to me. Because I felt it all started with you.
"And that wasn't fair. It still isn't. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I broke us up because I didn't trust you; I used the cheapest excuse at hand to make you the villain. I used your feelings to make you feel guilty. But you are good. You've always been. You didn't deserve all of that."
She winced. "My head—it's killing me." She leaned back on her bed, eyes shut tightly.
Barry clutched her forearm tightly. She felt the pressure, but her mind was going, drifting once more—
And Barry, who did not notice this, spoke up.
"How do I know this isn't the drugs speaking? Because if you really felt this way all this time, how can you be so calm?" The barbed comments and her whole attitude made sense now. "I'd be so mad too if I were you. Because it is my fault. I wasn't forthcoming with you at all; I held back so many things... I was a coward when it came to you. I didn't want you to see the ugly side of me. And Iris—" he broke off. "It didn't help that I was still in love with her. That I tried to use you to forget and instead—"
A light snoring sound brought his attention down. Karen had fallen asleep, much to his bewilderment.
"Alright," he said quietly. "We will pick this up later."