EDITED: December 9th, 2024.
Huge thanks to the following people for following and/or favoriting this story: Khiori, nasraabdullah76, HKCALC, Hamato Sakura, Astromix, Maroder1989, SecretsAreAlwaysShared, sheepinkgirl, and otaku98. If I missed anyone, I apologize—I blame FF's notifications.
And a shout out to nasraabdullah76 and highlander348 for reviewing!
nasraabdullah76: I'm so glad you're enjoying the story, I hope you also like this chapter.
And to answer highlander348: No, it's not going to take the whole seven seasons for Barry and Karen to get together. Spoiling it, they'll be tentatively together by the S2 period—but they have to get their shit together first before that happens.
Though it's a more introspective chapter, I hope you all enjoy it! Stay safe y'all.
16 - In the Shadows
SMALLVILLE, 1999
The girl was back.
Martha Kent released a sigh of relief, her hand instinctively pressing over her heart to calm its sudden leap. She'd worried, for a moment, that the girl might have vanished again. But there she was, no longer hiding in the aisles but standing at the cashier, bagging groceries with quiet determination.
It was a remarkable shift—from a wary thief to a store clerk, relying on people's kindness instead of quick hands.
Behind the register, Macy, the store owner, noticed Martha's arrival and shot her a knowing look, wiggling her eyebrows. Martha smiled, pressing a finger to her lips as she picked up a basket and wandered in their direction, pretending not to have noticed the girl right away.
She was wearing a faded apron that Macy must have loaned her, and there, pinned to the chest, was a handwritten name tag in a striking, careful cursive: Daniela.
Martha smiled warmly as she approached. "Well, hello, Daniela."
The girl flinched, her head snapping toward Martha with wide, startled eyes. For a moment, she looked relieved, but her expression quickly tightened, and her gaze dropped to the bag of apples she was packing.
The last time they'd crossed paths, Daniela had slipped Martha's wallet right out of her purse. Clark had caught her red-handed, and in an unusual fit of temper, he'd given the nine-year-old a piece of his mind. Rather than bursting into tears, Daniela had stomped on his foot, sparking a standoff between them. They'd ended up waiting for the local officer, everyone fuming in their own way. Martha still couldn't believe that Clark, who could withstand any physical pain, had chosen to argue over a sore foot with a young girl.
When Officer Adams arrived, he'd taken one look at Daniela and let out a resigned sigh. He put her gently in the passenger seat of his cruiser, apologized to Martha, and then explained a bit of Daniela's story, a story that left a lasting ache in Martha's chest.
Clark, of course, had folded his arms and muttered, "It still doesn't make stealing right."
"Clark Jerome Kent!" she'd said, swatting his shoulder. "Show some understanding."
Officer Adams had promised Macy and Martha that he'd find a way to help Daniela, maybe a bit of community service to keep her busy and out of trouble. This new job seemed to be the result.
"How are you doing, sweetheart?" Martha asked now, her voice soft.
Daniela gave a little shrug, eyes fixed firmly on the counter. There were no other customers waiting; there was no way for her to avoid this conversation.
"Well, I'll take that as a 'fine.'" Martha gave her a reassuring smile. "I wanted to say sorry for how my son acted. He had no right to be so harsh."
Daniela's head lifted just a bit, surprise flashing across her face, and she gave the smallest nod. For a moment, she seemed to forget herself, but then the guard was back, her expression remote.
Martha's gaze softened. "I see Macy set you up with a nice name tag," she commented, gesturing to the apron. "Your handwriting is beautiful! Did you do that yourself?"
A flicker of pride passed over Daniela's face, and for a brief moment, her lips curved into a smile. "Yes, ma'am," she murmured.
"Well, it's lovely," Martha said warmly. "You're very talented."
Daniela's cheeks pinked, and she managed a quiet, "Thank you."
Martha's heart warmed at the sight of that small, hesitant smile. "Listen," she said gently, "if you ever need anything—anything at all—you can come find me, alright?"
Daniela hesitated, then gave a reluctant nod. "Yes, ma'am."
0000•0000
CENTRAL CITY. PRESENT TIME.
JANUARY 2015
For a week, Karen debated calling John Diggle. The emergency number he'd texted her was etched in her memory, and if an apparent threat to Oliver Queen wasn't an emergency, what was?
But something held her back. Instead, she buried herself in her routine at the station, kept on top of her schoolwork, and pushed her worries aside. Her informant was rarely wrong, she reminded herself. Martha was safe, just as promised—probably tucked away playing board games or chatting with the staff at the retirement home. Worrying about worst-case scenarios wouldn't help anyone.
Perhaps that's why, when the opportunity presented itself, she decided to confront Barry about it.
In hindsight, cornering him in the elevator wasn't her best plan.
Even with his super-speed, he couldn't escape her this time. The fastest man alive was pressed up against the wall, eyes wide with surprise as the elevator doors closed. Karen moved swiftly, slamming her palm against the wall beside his head to block any attempt at an exit.
Barry's face flushed crimson.
"W-what's going on?" he stammered.
It was the most animated she'd seen him since Christmas. Lately, he'd been a brooding shadow in the lab. If the rumors were true, The Flash had been blazing through Central City, capturing over ten criminals in a week. But Barry, the man, seemed to be unraveling.
"Do me a favor," she snapped, her voice sharper than intended. Catching herself, she sighed and softened her tone. "Sorry. Can you do me a favor, please?"
She flashed him a smile—the kind that usually left people stammering. Barry, however, only looked more alarmed.
All right. Maybe giving him some space would help.
Karen stepped back, leaning against the elevator doors to give him room. The extra distance seemed to steady him. Barry straightened awkwardly, his flush still creeping down his neck as he cleared his throat.
"Depends," he croaked, then winced at how his voice cracked. He cleared his throat again, trying for a steadier tone. "What's the favor?"
Now it was Karen's turn to flounder. His gaze flicked to her hands, and she quickly clasped them behind her back to hide her restless fingers.
Damn. He still remembered her nervous tics.
"You're nervous," he pointed out, his voice more even now. The pink tint on his face faded slightly as his confidence grew. "Why? Now that I think about it, you never 'ask' for favors." He even made air quotes for emphasis. "So, this must either be really important, or you need someone to cover for you while you clean up whatever mess you've gotten into."
Karen scoffed.
"I never!"
Barry gave her a pointed look—the kind that said he was humoring her nonsense out of sheer kindness.
The nerve.
"It's about Oliver," she blurted, then pressed her lips tightly together.
The teasing glint in Barry's eyes vanished.
"What about Oliver?" he asked, his tone wary.
Karen squared her shoulders, readying herself to explain.
0000•0000
Barry had carried plenty of people since becoming the Flash—criminals, civilians, even Cisco during their occasional arcade runs. But carrying Karen felt… different. Not in a romantic way (though he wouldn't entirely deny the thought), but something about it always felt off.
I need to talk to Caitlin or Dr. Wells about this.
He'd dismissed it months ago, chalking it up to residual effects from Roy Bivolo's powers or his own mounting frustrations. But now, with Karen in his arms again, the sensation was unmistakable.
Since waking from his coma, Barry's mind had operated faster, sharper than ever. His memory, both short and long-term, had become unnervingly precise. He could recall past moments with clarity he'd never experienced before—and right now, the memory of another time he'd carried Karen surged to the forefront.
The images came first: Eddie fighting him, Iris's screams, the Arrow speeding off with Karen seated behind him on the bike. Barry had followed them into the darkened mall, his anger blazing red in his mind. Then came the fall—Karen and the bike plunging into an abyss.
Barry hadn't hesitated. He'd jumped after her.
And time froze.
Everything stopped—everything except Karen. Her hand had reached for him, and he'd caught it just in time. With a burst of speed, he pulled her into his arms. Nothing moved, not the falling debris nor the chaos above them. It was just the two of them, suspended in that strange moment.
Karen's arms had wrapped tightly around his neck, her cheek brushing his jaw. Then, in an instant, they were back on solid ground. The world resumed, the chaos returned, and Barry had no explanation for what had just happened.
She had matched him. Second by second, breath by breath.
And now, it was happening again.
Barry wondered what it felt like for her when he ran. Did she see the world slow down? Did she feel the wind pressing against them or the drag of their clothes? Or was it all in his head?
But what if it wasn't? What if it was his fault?
The thoughts plagued him until they arrived at Oliver Queen's apartment building. As soon as they stopped, Karen slipped from his arms, smoothing her white pantsuit with practiced ease.
"A buck for your thoughts, Allen?" she teased, a slight lilt slipping into her voice.
"What?" Barry blinked, startled.
She'd caught him staring. Words failed him, and he floundered under her knowing gaze.
Karen had this way of teasing him when he was too lost in thought. He didn't think she realized it, but when she was comfortable, a faint accent crept into her voice—a subtle remnant of her past.
If you ask about her powers, you'll ruin everything. He was certain of it. The few times she'd revealed her abilities hadn't been out of trust—they'd been forced by circumstance. Barry hadn't pushed her, but he hadn't given her much choice either.
He wouldn't repeat that mistake.
"Why… that outfit?" he blurted, the words leaving his mouth before he could stop them.
Karen raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed.
"I mean, you look great," he added hastily, his face burning, "but we're in Starling City."
"And?"
"Don't make me say it," he groaned.
Her raised eyebrow climbed higher, and he sighed in defeat. "It makes you a walking target, Karen."
"It didn't used to bother you before. Or am I wrong?"
Barry's blush deepened. She'd said it to throw him off balance, and it worked.
"It's not—" he stammered, then regrouped. "If you're trying not to catch the League of Assassins' attention, dressing like that won't help. What if they send some wannabe Deadshot after you?"
"As if they'd succeed." Karen flipped her hair over her shoulder, the casual gesture fueling Barry's irritation.
"They might!" he snapped. "They could actually kill you!"
Karen shushed him with a sharp glance at the closed elevator doors, but Barry's frustration spilled over.
"What were you thinking? No, what was Oliver thinking? If he knew there was a chance they'd come after you, why did he ask for your help? Why not Felicity? Or Diggle? Hell, he could've asked me! I mean, he barely trusts me, but he's known me longer than you!"
He conveniently left out the part where Team Arrow had drugged, kidnapped, and nearly strangled him the first time they worked together.
Karen sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Barry, you're not getting an answer from me right now. Either you accept that and help me, or you walk away."
Barry clenched his jaw, forcing himself to nod.
Her glare softened as they approached the unmarked door at the end of the top-floor hallway. Even in an expensive building like this, the lack of markings felt odd—like a deliberate choice to stay hidden.
Karen knocked three times, paused, then knocked again. A moment later, the door creaked open, revealing a young woman with cropped hair and piercing blue eyes—eyes that instantly reminded Barry of Oliver.
"Hello, we're here to see Mr. Queen," Karen said smoothly, her voice professional and composed.
The woman's gaze flicked between them before stepping aside. "Come on in."
Barry followed Karen inside, catching the subtle frown on her face as she walked past the woman.
"What's wrong?" he whispered.
Karen's eyes darted to him, then around the room. "I… never mind."
Her hesitation didn't escape him.
The apartment was massive. The living room alone was larger than Joe's entire first floor, with an open layout offering a clear view of the kitchen and upper level. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcased a stunning panorama of the city, making Starling seem peaceful—though Barry knew better.
"I'm Thea, by the way," the young woman said casually. "Oliver's sister. He hasn't been home since Christmas. Took a break from the city, I guess."
She poured herself a glass of wine from the counter and raised it in a half-toast. "It hasn't been the happiest time for us."
"Do you know how we can reach him?" Barry asked, his tone more cautious now.
Thea shook her head. "Cell phone's your best bet, but he's not answering." Her sharp eyes narrowed slightly. "Who are you again?"
Before Barry could speak, Karen tapped his heel—a silent signal to let her handle it.
"We're from Wayne Enterprises," Karen said, smoothly handing Thea a business card. "I'm Ellie Leeds, and this is Jonathan Chambers. We're here on behalf of Mr. Wayne, following up on a business investment with Mr. Queen."
Thea's eyebrows shot up. "Wayne Enterprises? Wow… didn't know Oliver was dealing with them." She chuckled, sipping her wine. "They weren't exactly best buds growing up."
"Business is business," Barry said, trying to sound casual.
"If you hear from Mr. Queen, please tell him Mr. Wayne expects a call," Karen added firmly. "Soon."
Thea gave a half-smile. "Sure thing."
Barry had a sinking feeling Thea wouldn't relay the message. It was confirmed when she led them out with a sharp, unceremonious farewell, the door closing loudly behind them.
Karen raised a finger to her lips, signaling him to wait until they were in the elevator. Once the doors shut, Barry finally spoke.
"Was that card real? Are you… seriously working for Wayne Enterprises?"
Karen smirked. "Freelancing, yes. The card's real—it redirects to my cell. Keeps things low-profile." She sobered. "I heard someone else in the loft."
Barry frowned. "And?"
Karen grimaced. "Let's just say I've got… super hearing. Very super."
Barry stared at her, his thoughts spinning. Every day, it felt like she was becoming someone entirely new.
"Super hearing now? Invulnerability and super hearing… What's next?"
"And no, it wasn't Oliver," Karen added.
"Then who?"
Karen's expression darkened. "I'm pretty sure it was a member of the League of Assassins."
Barry felt his stomach drop. "You think they're following us?"
"I doubt it," she said, crossing her arms. "But it explains Thea's calmness. Her heart rate didn't even spike when the assassin showed up."
Barry exhaled slowly, trying to process. "Where to now?"
"Back to Central City, I guess."
"I could check in with Team Arrow," he offered.
Karen shot him a sharp look. "And say what? 'Hey, guys, my ex-girlfriend's been secretly working with Oliver, and she thinks the League may have killed him because he hasn't been answering her calls?'"
"I'd… phrase it better than that."
"Barry, discretion isn't exactly your strong suit."
He sighed. "I'll just ask Felicity. Quietly."
Karen hesitated, then shrugged. "Why not? Let's see what she can tell us."
0000•0000
"Well, that was a bust."
Karen's voice broke the heavy silence of Barry's lab. She leaned against the table, her arms crossed tightly as if trying to shield herself from the weight of Felicity Smoak's frantic sobbing still echoing in her mind. It had taken effort to piece together the broken words and gasps, but the message had come through clearly: Oliver had gone to face Ra's al Ghul.
And he hadn't come back.
For all intents and purposes, Oliver Queen was dead.
Except… Karen couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something didn't add up.
"I can't believe Oliver's gone," Barry said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. He sat slumped in his chair, staring out the window with unfocused eyes. The words seemed foreign to him, as if he were still struggling to accept their weight.
Karen paced in front of the murder board, the rhythm of her steps uneven, betraying her restlessness. Her mind churned, replaying every detail, every fragment of information she'd gathered. Something was wrong—something didn't fit.
"It doesn't make sense," she murmured, more to herself than to Barry.
Barry didn't turn. "He lost a duel to an immortal assassin. Half of that doesn't make sense."
"That's not what I mean." Karen stopped mid-step, her gaze fixing on the city map tacked to the board. Her brow furrowed. "Ra's al Ghul is supposed to be… dormant right now."
Barry's chair creaked as he shifted, curiosity replacing the haze in his eyes. "Dormant?"
Karen nodded, her thoughts moving faster than her words. "Ra's follows a strict cycle. He should've been in the Lazarus Pit by now." She paused, recalling the details she'd gleaned—the way Ra's used the pit to sustain his immortality, the precision of his timing. "If he missed that window…"
Barry leaned forward. "What happens?"
Karen hesitated. "His sanity slips. His control falters. The League has safeguards for when that happens—but it's rare." She exhaled sharply, frustration creeping into her voice. "This wasn't supposed to happen."
"Why now?" Barry pressed, his unease growing. "Why Oliver? What's the connection?"
Karen's lips thinned as the pieces began to form a picture. "Unless…" she began, her voice trailing off as the realization dawned. "Unless it wasn't about Oliver at all."
Barry straightened, the tension in the room thickening. "What are you saying?"
Karen's jaw tightened. "This wasn't about a fight. It was a setup. A test." Her voice dropped as she pieced it together. "Oliver wasn't given all the pieces. He wasn't the player—he was collateral."
Barry's unease deepened, but he didn't speak. Karen's words hung heavy in the air, each one tightening the knot in his chest.
"And Ra's?" he finally asked.
Karen shook her head. "He's breaking his own rules. That alone means something bigger is happening."
Barry leaned back, crossing his arms. "And you know all of this… how?"
The question landed like a hammer. Karen tensed, her back straightening, but she didn't look at him. Instead, she kept her gaze on the map, her shoulders stiffening.
"I dealt with them once," she said, her tone clipped.
Barry blinked, incredulous. "The League of Assassins? You dealt with the League of Assassins?"
"Yes," she replied sharply, not in the mood for his disbelief.
Barry was on his feet in an instant, pacing in a tight circle. "Karen, that's insane. Do you have a death wish?" He stopped abruptly, staring at her with wide eyes. "Wait… are you an assassin?"
Karen turned to him, her eyes narrowing. "Do I look like an assassin to you?"
Barry threw up his hands. "I don't know! They train spies too! You could be undercover or something! I mean, you were pretty convincing with Thea today."
Karen rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. "I'm not a spy. Or an assassin. Or anything remotely close. Can you let it go?"
"How?" Barry demanded, his voice rising. "How do you know all of this?"
Karen sighed, her gaze briefly flicking to the ceiling. She'd hoped to avoid this conversation, but Barry wasn't going to let it slide. "Remember the Gotham railway explosion a few years ago? Wayne Enterprises?"
Barry's eyes widened. "That was the League?"
Karen nodded, her expression darkening. "Guess who typed the code to destroy the bridge before it could implode?"
Barry stared at her, his face a mixture of shock, awe, and concern. "You were—" He broke off, running a hand through his hair. "You're sure you're not an assassin?"
Karen let out a dry laugh. "I wish. Would make things a hell of a lot easier." Her tone softened, but the weight of the memory lingered. "I just… happened to be in the wrong place at the right time."
Barry frowned, his worry deepening. "How deep are you in this? The League, Oliver… how far does it go?"
Karen hesitated, her thoughts drifting. The memories came in flashes: assassins descending on Gotham, their blades gleaming in the haze; Scarecrow leading them through chaos; Nightwing darting through the shadows, precise and unyielding; Batman roaring past in the Batmobile. And then, the moment that changed everything—the strong hand that grabbed hers, familiar blue eyes behind a mask.
And the game. The game of logic she wasn't supposed to win. But she had. She'd outsmarted the Demon's daughter, breaking her promise to Clark in the process.
They'd never stopped watching her since. She didn't doubt they knew who she really was. And Oliver… Oliver knew too, because the Demon's daughter had told him.
Karen's voice was quieter when she finally spoke. "I'm in deep, Barry. But I can handle it."
It was meant to be a dismissal, but Barry stepped in front of her, blocking her path. "You shouldn't be doing this alone."
"I don't trust anyone not to mess it up," she shot back, her words sharp.
Barry didn't flinch. "Let me help you."
"No."
"Then let me help Oliver," Barry insisted, his voice growing firmer. "I have super-speed. I can scout the area where the duel happened. I can do it in seconds. Maybe I can even—"
"Don't," Karen interrupted, her voice soft but steady. She could see the flicker of hope in his eyes. "Don't get your hopes up."
Barry's expression didn't waver. "Is that your way of saying 'yes'?"
Karen exhaled slowly, the fight draining from her. "It's worth a try," she said quietly.
0000•0000
Barry didn't head to the site immediately. Instead, he let Karen call the shots. Over several nights, as he patrolled Central City, she filled him in on everything she knew about the League of Assassins.
Balancing Karen's steady voice in one ear and Cisco's energetic chatter in the other was challenging, even with his enhanced brain. Eventually, Barry muted Cisco during quieter patrols, not wanting to miss Karen's insights. He hadn't told the STAR Labs team about these late-night calls; though, he suspected Dr. Wells already knew.
"No one's sure exactly when, but Ra's al Ghul—the Demon's Head—founded the League of Assassins," Karen explained one evening. "And no one knows how old he is."
Barry zipped between rooftops, considering her words. "You're saying he's immortal?"
Karen's voice was pragmatic. "No one's truly immortal. But Ra's discovered something ancient: the Lazarus Pit. A pool of water with restorative properties so powerful it can bring someone back from the dead. He's found several, but not all. I don't think he's stopped looking."
Another night, she elaborated on the League itself.
"They're the fang that protects the Demon. Their words, not mine," Karen said dryly. "They started with noble intentions—protecting the world from humanity's greed. But their methods twisted over time. If Ra's decides a problem is unsolvable, he eliminates it. Entire cities have been wiped out because of him."
"That's what he wanted to do with Gotham, wasn't it?" Barry asked, recalling the stories.
"But he didn't succeed."
"Because of you."
Karen hesitated, then deflected. "Not just me. I wasn't fighting alone."
Barry couldn't suppress a grin. "Did you see the Batman?"
"He's not real."
"Oh, come on!" Barry groaned, but Karen didn't waver, her tone signaling the end of the conversation.
When Karen finally gave Barry the green light to investigate, he raced to a remote location in the Rocky Mountains—the site of Oliver's supposed duel. The stark beauty of the snow-capped peaks couldn't mask the unforgiving conditions. Barry learned that the hard way.
"Is this why you didn't want me to go?" he asked shakily after returning to Central City.
They barely made it to the station's men's restroom before Barry thrust his frostbitten hands under the steaming faucet. The sharp sting of the heat made him wince, but he let it burn.
Karen stood by the door, locking it after exchanging sharp words with Ramirez, who had tried to follow them in. Her eyes fixed on Barry's hands, her expression darkening.
"No," Karen said finally, her voice tight. "I was worried the League might catch you. Frostbite never crossed my mind. How fast did it happen?"
"Minutes," Barry admitted through gritted teeth. "Less than five. I should've known—Snart taught me cold's my weakness." He shook his head. "I'll need to cut down my time there."
"And your visits," Karen added firmly. "If the League spots the Flash, they'll investigate. We can't afford that."
Barry nodded reluctantly, her warning sinking in. She was right—he couldn't risk exposing himself to an organization as dangerous as the League of Assassins.
Meanwhile, Felicity kept Barry updated on Team Arrow. Diggle had stepped up as leader, and Laurel had embraced the mantle of Black Canary. Starling City seemed to be moving forward without Oliver. But Barry couldn't let go.
He threw himself into his work, catching criminals by day and pushing himself harder than ever during training sessions at STAR Labs. By night, he scoured the mountains for any trace of Oliver. The voice of the Reverse-Flash taunted him, a ghost in the back of his mind.
You're not good enough.
It had been a constant refrain in Barry's life. Too smart to fit in as a kid. Too broken after his mom's death to connect with anyone. He hadn't told Iris how he felt until it was too late, and even then, it hadn't mattered. Now, even with his powers, it still wasn't enough.
The morning after Leonard Snart reappeared in Central City, Barry sought out Karen, desperate for a distraction. Maybe she'd found something new on Oliver.
"What've you got?" Barry asked, leaning against the edge of her desk.
Karen glanced up, unimpressed. "Nothing."
He didn't move. Instead, he leaned against the window behind her, crossing his arms. Finally, with an exasperated sigh, she relented. "Shouldn't you be chasing Snart? I heard he broke into one of the most secure warehouses in the city and didn't steal a thing."
Barry groaned, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. He turned the steel entrance into glass. He's stepping up his game."
Karen tilted her head, studying him. "Guess he didn't like losing to the Flash."
Her tone held a touch of amusement, and it grated on Barry's nerves. "I'm not dumb enough to fall into his trap," he muttered, though Dr. Wells's earlier warning echoed in his mind: You can't be everywhere at once.
Karen's expression shifted as she leaned back in her chair, her gaze sharpening. "Do you think you're making the right call?"
Barry frowned. "What call?"
"The one that's been written all over your face lately," Karen replied. "You've never been the angry type—not even when you fought Oliver. But now? There's rage in your eyes. I've seen it building for a long time. Ever since that yellow speedster—the one who killed your mom—showed up again, you've been unraveling. You're distracted. You're letting smaller criminals go. That's not like you."
Barry's jaw clenched, her words hitting closer to home than he wanted to admit. "It's what I should've done from the start. Let the cops handle the small stuff. My job is to catch the Reverse-Flash."
Karen didn't argue. She simply leaned back, her expression unreadable. "I haven't found anything on Oliver yet," she said quietly. "But you'll be the first to know—assuming that's still a priority for you."
Barry forced a short laugh, though his thoughts were already spiraling back to the Reverse-Flash. "You're not getting rid of me that easily, Starr."
Karen's expression softened slightly, but she didn't respond, her attention returning to the files scattered on her desk. Barry lingered for a moment longer, staring out the window as his mind churned. No matter what he tried to focus on, his thoughts always came back to one thing.
He had to catch the Reverse-Flash. This time, he had to be fast enough.
0000•0000
When Dr. Harrison Wells spotted Karen Starr at CCPD, the air seemed to thin. His mind raced, gears turning with the precision of a well-oiled machine. It all clicked now—why Gideon had faltered, why Barry's surveillance footage kept frustrating him.
It was her. The anomaly he hadn't accounted for.
His instincts screamed at him to retreat, to disappear before she noticed. But her sharp eyes had already locked onto his, cutting through the distance like a blade. Escape was no longer an option.
Forcing himself to wheel forward, Harrison plastered on his practiced smile, though it felt brittle, fragile as spun glass. Each second stretched unbearably as her gaze lingered on him. He reminded himself of one simple truth: this wasn't her. Not yet.
"Oh my God—Wonder Woman?"
Cisco's exuberant outburst shattered the tension. Karen's head snapped toward him, a frown deepening between her brows. "Excuse me?"
Cisco grinned nervously, scratching the back of his neck. "You probably don't remember me, huh? A few months ago, you paid for my friends and me at this bar. After you knocked out that guy twice your size."
Harrison's pulse quickened, his fingers gripping the armrests of his wheelchair just a little too tightly. Had she already…?
"I remember," Karen replied, her voice tinged with awkwardness. "But I didn't knock him out. He was being a jerk, so I made him back off."
Cisco chuckled. "You made him cry, though!"
Good. Let Ramon keep her talking. Cisco's incessant chatter had always been an asset. People underestimated him, disarmed by his easy humor and apparent harmlessness. It gave Harrison room to observe, to plan.
"And you are?" Karen asked, her tone cool and unimpressed.
Cisco barely missed a beat, gesturing to the red pull-along wagon behind them. "Cisco Ramon. And this is Dr. Harrison Wells. Captain Singh called us in."
Harrison managed a polite nod, his expression neutral. The sight of the wagon—stacked with shields and the original cold gun—was almost absurd. But appearances didn't matter. These were just tools, pawns in a far larger game.
"Oh, S.T.A.R. Labs," Karen said, her voice slipping into detached professionalism. "Captain Singh is expecting you. Let me call him."
As she turned away, Harrison allowed himself a moment to scrutinize her. He couldn't risk slipping into Flashtime—if Cisco was right about her enhanced strength, she might sense even the faintest ripple. Superhumans had instincts that bordered on the supernatural.
Keep the microphones ready. Every second counts.
Eobard's interest in Kryptonians had always been academic rather than personal. They were puzzles—impossible contradictions wrapped in mythology. Their supposed psychic abilities frustrated him to no end. Even Gideon had struggled to identify Karen Starr. Though her voice matched the woman who had dismantled his surveillance, her face remained an enigma, untraceable.
She was a ghost of someone he once knew—a younger, rawer version. Her hair was too bright, unnaturally golden, likely dyed to blend in. Her subtle imperfections were an illusion; superhumans didn't develop blemishes like humans. Even time itself bent to their resilience.
But it wasn't her appearance that unsettled him. It was her eyes. They reminded him of another, someone who had once made him hesitate. Just for a moment. That fleeting weakness had cost him more than he cared to admit. Karen Starr wasn't that person. She was a variable. And variables had a nasty habit of becoming threats.
Different timeline. Different outcomes, he told himself. Yet the doubt remained, a quiet, insistent whisper. Was she already unraveling his meticulously laid plans?
"Dr. Wells?"
Captain Singh's sharp tone pulled him from his thoughts. The man stood before them, arms crossed, his gaze as piercing as ever. Singh had always harbored suspicions about Harrison Wells, but suspicion without proof was meaningless. Harrison could work with that.
"You mentioned something over the phone about stopping Snart," Singh said evenly, though his skepticism was impossible to miss.
"Not stopping him exactly," Cisco interjected before Harrison could respond. "But we brought something that'll protect your officers from being turned into human popsicles."
He gestured to the shields in the wagon, grinning like he'd just unveiled the solution to world peace. Harrison stayed silent, watching Singh's reaction closely. Trust wasn't necessary here—only cooperation.
Karen was still nearby, her phone pressed to her ear. Though her attention seemed elsewhere, Harrison felt her awareness brush against him like a predator circling its prey. She was watching, always watching. His nerves prickled, but he kept his expression neutral.
She's studying me. Calculating. But she doesn't know. Not yet.
This wasn't the woman who had once forced him to reconsider everything. But that didn't mean she couldn't become just as dangerous. His mission was clear, his resolve unwavering. No one—not even a ghost from a fractured timeline—would derail his plans.