
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/8268778.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      Gen
  Fandom:
      Hunger_Games_Trilogy_-_Suzanne_Collins, Hunger_Games_Series_-_All_Media
      Types
  Relationship:
      Johanna_Mason_&_Finnick_Odair
  Character:
      Johanna_Mason, Blight_(Hunger_Games), Finnick_Odair
  Additional Tags:
      Non-Consensual_Violence, Forced_Prostitution, Bad-idea_sex, Recreational
      Drug_Use, Alcohol, canon-typical_horribleness, This_one_is_explicit_and
      violent_and_awful
  Series:
      Part 2 of Please_feel_free_to_take_this_personally
  Stats:
      Published: 2016-10-12 Words: 8481
****** What doesn't kill you ******
by kawuli
Summary
     “There are certain duties that are expected of Victors, Miss Mason.
     You are rather a novelty, there has been a great deal of interest.”
     “I don’t understand,” Johanna says. There’s something dangerous
     buried in the words, she can tell that much, but the meaning escapes
     her.
     “Your friend Finnick could explain, I think,” Snow says,
     sounding—amused?
     Johanna's Victory Tour arrives in the Capitol in time for everyone to
     celebrate her sixteenth birthday--and Johanna finds out just what it
     means to be a Victor in Panem.
They get into the Capitol on her 16th birthday. It took a little adjusting to
make that work out, but the people at Victors Affairs insisted, so here they
are. Johanna’s exhausted to the point where leaving her room just about brings
her to tears, but it’s almost over.
As soon as she’s done with Remake, she and Ila are summoned to the President’s
Mansion. Johanna goes in first.
“Miss Mason,” the President says, and Johanna’s knees want to buckle but she
pulls herself tall.
“Yes, sir,” she says.
“Welcome back to the Capitol,” he says. “There has been quite a bit of
anticipation of your arrival, and of course of your birthday.”
Johanna can’t keep the confusion out of her voice, says “Yes, sir,” because it
seems like her best bet.
The President smiles. “I suppose it’s not well known in the Districts, but 16
is considered the age of majority. And for Victors this is a much anticipated
event.”
“I don’t understand.”
“There are certain duties that are expected of Victors, Miss Mason. The Games
are expensive, and we cannot expect their costs to come out of money that
should be spent to the benefit of the nation.” He pauses, as though he expects
Johanna to say something, but she’s too confused to do more than nod. “There
are a number of well-placed people who will pay very highly for the pleasure of
your company,” he continues. “You are rather a novelty, Miss Mason, there has
been a great deal of interest.”
“I don’t understand,” she says again, because she doesn’t. There’s something
dangerous buried in the words, she can tell that much, but the meaning escapes
her.
“Your friend Finnick could explain, I think,” Snow says, sounding—amused? “Or
perhaps a demonstration?”
He pushes a button and a projection emerges from the desk. Finnick, at the
party from a couple months ago, leaving with a woman. Going into her house,
going into her bedroom, her hands on him, his laughter, breathy and strange, as
he helps her out of her clothes, steps out of his, and…
Johanna closes her eyes. Snow chuckles, and the sound stops. The projection,
when she opens her eyes, is frozen, obscene. She looks down at the carpet, her
ridiculous shoes. Looks back up at Snow, who’s chuckling at her discomfort.
Anger sparks under all the confusion and fear.
“I can’t do that. I won’t.” She looks him straight in the eye, but his smile
just widens.
“Ah, well,” he says, “I think you will.”
The projection changes. It’s an Arena—not hers. “This is the last Quarter
Quell,” Snow says. Johanna looks carefully, sees Haymitch Abernathy fighting
with the One girl. She hasn’t seen the end of these Games. Only clips from
earlier on, and she’s never much paid attention. And then Haymitch flings his
ax into the forcefield, and it comes back, killing the One girl who’d opened
his stomach for him a moment earlier. A force field, Johanna realizes,
impressed. The Arenas must have a force field to keep everyone in, and it works
like the one on the roof of the Games Complex, sending back anything that hits
it. Clever. The image shifts, to the post-Games interview and Haymitch, cocky,
talking about tricking the Gamemakers as well as the One girl, about how he’s a
Victor because he beat the Games.
Johanna bites her lip. She doesn’t know much, but that seems dangerous.
And she’s right, because the next shot is in District 12, a house on fire,
three figures kneeling in front of it, three Peacekeepers behind them, guns
drawn. Three shots, three flashes from the muzzles, the bodies flung onto the
flames.
The projection disappears, and Johanna’s looking at President Snow again.
“You see?” Snow asks, the faint smile still in place. “I think you will do as
you’re told, Miss Mason.
It feels unreal, just another projected scene, but Johanna manages to say “Yes,
sir,” and turns to leave.
 
She storms out, furious, tears threatening, jerks her head to tell Ila it’s his
turn. She storms out to the car and gets the driver to take her back to the
Games Center.
Takes the stairs up to the fourth floor and bangs on the door.
Of course Finnick doesn’t answer, it’s one of the old men. “Where’s Finnick?”
she snaps. He’ll be here, the party’s in a couple hours and boys don’t take as
long in prep.
The door closes partway and someone calls Finnick’s name. He comes out, takes
one look at her and says “Roof, c’mon.”
It takes all her very limited self-control not to scream at him all the way up.
When she slams the door open onto the roof, she turns on him and shoves him,
hard enough that he stumbles back a step.
“Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?” she asks. “You knewthis was going to happen,
didn’t you? And you didn’t say anything!”
Finnick looks up, runs his hands through his hair, walks past her to the edge
of the roof.
She follows him, hands clenched into fists. “How am I supposed to—“ she starts,
can’t finish the sentence. “Why didn’t you warnme?”
And now Finnick turns to face her. “What the fuck good would that have done?”
he spits it, leaning toward her. “You think it’d be better? You think there
aren’t consequences if I tell you before he wants you to know? Fuck off,
Johanna, you’re not even pissed at me.”
She goes to yell at him again, snaps her mouth closed. Because it’s true. She’s
pissed at him because she canbe pissed at him. There’s no point being angry at
Snow. It’d be like being mad at a thunderstorm.
And if it comes down to it, she’s not—well, she’s angry because it beats all
the other options crowding in. She walks over to put her hands on the low wall,
looks down at the Capitol. Finnick turns back around so they’re standing
shoulder to shoulder, not looking at each other. And the fury drains away
enough for the rest of her feelings to show up.
“You do it too.” She wants him to say it, so she doesn’t have to tell him what
Snow showed her.
“Yeah,” Finnick says. “More now I’m 16.”
Johanna shudders. “He show you that video? With Haymitch Abernathy?”
Finnick shakes his head. “Didn’t have to. Showed me pictures of my family. Told
me it’d be a shame if there was an accident, fishing can be so dangerous.”
Johanna swallows. “You think it’s true? He’d really do that?”
Finnick laughs. “Oh, sure he would,” he says. “That’s why there’s video.”
“I don’t know if I can,” she says, “I’ve never—“ She doesn’t know why she’s
telling Finnick. It’s not like she knows him, not really, a day’s worth of
hanging out and some shit on the Tour doesn’t count. It’s just—she can’t talk
about this with Ila or Blight or anybody or fuck,her parents.
Finnick keeps his gaze on the road below them. “You’ll find a way,” he says.
Shivers a little. “They like teaching you, at first.”
Johanna bites down hard on her lip. There’s nothing to say that will help.
Nothing at all.
Something in Finnick’s pocket buzzes, and he pulls it out, looks at the screen.
“I gotta go, and you gotta get ready,” he says. “They’ll give you one of
these,” he adds, pointing the thing at her before sticking it back in his
pocket. “Phone, so they always know they can find you. C’mon,” he jerks his
head towards the door. “You have a birthday party to get to.”
 
Johanna downs three of the bubbly sweet drinks, fast enough the room spins a
little when she moves too fast, enough that everything seems more silly than it
is terrible, and she’s working on a fourth when Ila finds her, takes the glass
out of her hand and hauls her into a bathroom.
“Johanna, you can’t do this,” he says, urgent, scared. Makes her drink
something that makes her throw up, then a glass of water, then a pill that
makes her feel edgy, alert, sharpens all the edges the alcohol was making
nicely blurred.
“Dammit, Ila,” Johanna says, feeling the tension in her spine, her shoulders
ratchet back up. She doesn’t know what else to say.
“I’m sorry, Johanna,” Ila says, and he looks genuinely apologetic. “But you
have to play your part.”
Johanna takes three shaky breaths, walks to the door. “Fine,” she snaps, and
walks out.
So she can’t get drunk. Fine. She picks up something sweet to nibble on
instead, and if she has to do this, she’ll have to do it her way. Finnick, at
his party, had been…enthusiastic. Friendly. She can’t do that, but she tries
aloof, as mean as she thinks she can get away with, toothy grins that she knows
come off wild, half-feral.
Finnick finds her, and he’sbeen drinking, he’s relaxed, face flushed, gives her
a hug and a sloppy kiss on the cheek.
“Dammit Finnick,” Johanna says. “How come you’re allowed to get drunk and I’m
not.”
Finnick pulls himself up to his full height. “I’m not drunk,” he says, serious,
then cracks a smile. “Well, only a little bit. Gotta learn moderation, Jo,” he
says. It occurs to her that actually, he’s only a couple months older than she
is, so she tells him that.
“Where do you get off acting so damn superior?” she demands. He just laughs,
slings an arm around her shoulders.
And then the damn photographers show up. Johanna mimes taking a bite out of his
ear when he’s not paying attention, when she can’t manage to smile anymore, and
the cameras flash wild around them.
The party’s winding down when he finds her. A guy who looks Blight’s age, which
means he’s probably closer to Ila’s since this is the Capitol. “Happy birthday,
my dear,” he says, his voice a deep rumble. “My name is Augustine, you’ll be
accompanying me tonight.”
Johanna’s heart thuds hard in her chest when he takes her arm. She’s struck
speechless.
“Come now,” he says, reproachful. “You had plenty to say to Finnick, why so
quiet now?”
“I don’t know you,” Johanna blurts out. “What am I supposed to say?”
He chuckles. “Oh,” he says, raising an eyebrow. “Is that how it’s going to be?”
It makes Johanna cringe inside, she doesn’t know why. But hey, if bitchy
comebacks are allowed, she can do bitchy comebacks. “Guess so,” she says, tries
smiling. It seems to work.
He takes her out to a waiting car, helps her in, then slides in after her. It’s
a big car, but he sits close, sweeps her hair to the side with one hand,
strokes down her neck. Johanna wants to scream, to pull away, to run, but in
the back of her mind she sees flames, hears shots. She bites the inside of her
lip until she tastes blood.
He helps her out of the car again in a garage, takes her hand and leads her
inside, up a huge hardwood staircase to a bedroom.
“You got quiet again,” he says, taking off his jacket and hanging it on a hook
beside the door.
“What am I supposed to say?” Johanna asks, and this time it comes out a little
shaky.
“Are you frightened of me?” Augustine asks.
“Fuck no,” Johanna lies, and this time her voice doesn’t shake.
He smiles, slow and thin. “Ah, well,” he says. “That’s just fine.”
 
Johanna doesn’t know how long it lasts, only that it’s too long, that he strips
her out of her clothes and fucks her, makes her kneel on the floor and suck his
cock, tells her she’s doing it wrong, shoves her back onto the bed and climbs
on top of her again.
“Not so mouthy anymore,” he says, later. “Not so tough after all.”
He looks around the floor at the clothes strewn around. Shrugs, opens a door
into a bathroom. When he comes out he’s wrapped in a bathrobe. Looks her up and
down where she’s lying, still naked, on the bed. “Not bad, for an outlier,” he
says, nodding. “There’s something charming about naiveté, there really is.”
Johanna can’t say anything. “Oh, come on, we’re done, get out,” he says, after
a pause. “The driver will take you back.”
He walks out the door without a backwards glance.
Johanna finds her dress, pulls it on, but she can’t zip it by herself, the
zipper is behind her and it’s too tight to reach.
And it’s that that finally makes her cry, furious frustrated tears as she tries
to reach and can’t and finally gives up, grabs her shoes in one hand and
hurries to the car.
She goes straight to her room, straight to the shower, hot as she can stand and
then ice cold until she’s shivering and then the hot air dryer to warm her back
up. She puts on baggy sleep pants, sweatshirt, sits on the bed wrapped in a
blanket and doesn’t know what to do. Sleep is impossible, a ridiculous idea.
Sitting here isn’t much better. She gets up, goes out to the common room. Ila’s
on the couch, asleep. Johanna rolls her eyes, walks out, on a whim takes the
elevator to the Four floor. This time she knocks quietly instead of pounding,
and this time Finnick is the one that answers.
“Roof’s nice,” he says, bland, and they ride up together in awkward silence.
Finnick’s got a bottle of something with him, walks over to sit in a corner,
uncorks it and takes a swig, then passes it to Johanna.
It tastes horrible, burns all the way down her throat and she likes it that
way.
They sit next to each other, the smallest space between them, until Johanna’s
taken a few swigs of Finnick’s booze and she leans over to rest her head on his
shoulder. He shifts, puts his arm around her, pulls her close. She’s crying a
little. Leaking, it feels like, slow tears with no sound.
Finnick sets the bottle aside. Sighs, Johanna can feel his chest rise and fall.
She should sit up, move away, but…she doesn’t. “Is it always like this?” she
asks, quiet.
Finnick sighs again. “Yeah,” he says, shrugs the shoulder she’s not leaning
against. “But you get used to it.”
Johanna shudders. The idea of getting used to this is terrifying. She doesn’t
know how that’s possible, doesn’t want to know. Can’t think about it, so she
gestures for the bottle, drinks again.
“You should sleep,” Finnick says after a bit.
“You’re not my mentor,” Johanna mumbles, but she is getting sleepy. The booze
helps. Finnick chuckles, and she sits up. “Fine,” she says. Finnick stands up
first, reaches down a hand. Johanna raises an eyebrow.
“Mags taught me to be polite,” he says, all exaggerated innocence. Just for
that Johanna takes his hand and yanks, jerking him forward a step and off
balance.
“Hey!” he says, letting go of her hand. “Teach me to be nice, jeez.”
Johanna grins. “Serves you right,” she says, getting up, and she knocks into
him, fake-accidental, on the way to the stairs.
 
Ila wakes her up way too soon. The prep team’s there, flutters around getting
her ready for an interview, then Ila’s hustling her to the car, to the
interview, to a photo op with a furniture store, with the guy who runs logging
in Seven, with a bunch of people who’re apparently sponsors, back to prep, out
to a party. She sips at a drink, glares at Ila, but fuck, she can figure this
out: how to let the alcohol calm her down and wear down the sharp edges of
everything without getting sloppy.
She’s still never going to be able to pull off Finnick’s relaxed, flirtatious,
whatever it is he does. Best she can do is the cocky kid who came out of the
Arena. So she remembers feeling powerful, unstoppable, vicious, even if now she
has to do what she’s told. Imagines a hatchet in her hand, imagines chopping
into the legs of the men who come too close, put their hands on her waist, her
shoulders, bend down to kiss her cheeks in greeting.
Imagines shoving her thumbs into the eye sockets of the man who pins her down
later. He’s trapping her, she can’t move, and she can’t help but struggle,
tearing one hand free and scratching at him with the nails the prep team glued
over hers.
He laughs, even though the scratches on his face are bleeding, lets her up,
lets her scramble back and bare her teeth, and she’s terrified even as she does
it because gunshots and fire but she can’t stop herself. The man just follows,
though, when she scrambles to her feet, backs against the wall. Pins her hands
above her head, bends down to bite the sweep of her neck where it meets her
shoulder, yanks her around so her face is pressed hard against the wall, pinned
by the weight of his body against hers, and—it hurts. The first time hurt,
but—not like this. He’s digging bruises into her hips, her body jerking and all
she can do to keep her head from slamming against the wall.
He steps away when he’s done and she falls, ends up on her hands and knees,
head hanging, crying the way she swore she’d never do in front of Capitol
people ever again. And the door opens, closes, opens again, and there’s a
woman, somber, pulling Johanna to her feet, wrapping her in something soft,
hushing her and guiding her out to the waiting car.
It’s still early when Johanna gets back, only just after midnight when she’s
finished showering, and Finnick won’t be back yet and nobody else understands
and she wants to scream.
The machine in the room makes drinks as well as food, she discovers. But it
doesn’t help. She drinks, and the images in her head just get stronger, drinks
more and she’s bent over the toilet, coughing and retching and crying, her head
spinning.
She wakes up there, later, huddled in on herself on the tile floor, head
pounding. Retches again, even though there’s nothing in her stomach, thinks
about going to bed but the bed’s too far and the cold tile feels good against
her cheek and so she stays there until Ila and the prep team find her and
shriek.
They put a needle in her arm while they erase bruises and do whatever else they
need to do, and by the time they’re done Johanna feels a little .less like
shit. When they leave Ila comes over. “I told you not to do that,” he says,
looking confused. “You have to take care of yourself, Johanna.”
Johanna looks at him. “Really,” she says. “That's fucking hilarious, Ila.” She
stands up and walks past him out the door.
 
===============================================================================
 
He's awake when she gets home, this time, sitting on the couch with the TV on
and a cup of coffee in his hands. “Don't.” Johanna says, when he starts to get
up. She showers, comes back into her room wrapped in a towel, and it's early
still and she doesn't want to talk to Ila and doesn't want Finnick to think
she's clingy and definitely doesn't want to be on her own. But there were
people down in the lounge, she heard them as she snuck in the back way, and
maybe distraction is a good thing.
Her hair’s dried sleek, silky smooth from whatever Capitol shit the blowers
added, and she's watched the prep team enough to imitate something with the
makeup in the cabinet. The closets in her room have more clothes than she could
wear in a month, and if most of them are terrible there's at least some things
that don't make her look like, no point ducking it, a high class whore. She
settles on a short black skirt and one of the soft, sheer sweaters and thick-
soled boots. When she looks in the mirror it's somewhere in between the Johanna
she's always been and Victor Johanna’s edgy dangerous look the stylists like.
She doesn't say anything to Ila on her way out, just strides into the elevator
and goes down. She was right: there are people here, Victors and folks from the
Capitol, drinking and chatting over the music. She heads for the bar, even
though after last night she doesn't really want to drink anything alcoholic for
a good long time. She needs something to do, some way to look like she belongs.
So when the bartender comes over and asks what she wants, she shrugs. “Surprise
me,” she says, grinning, and he nods, comes back with something clear and
fizzy.
She takes it, turns to look out at the crowd. Pretty much everyone is older
than her, and they notice her but don't seem that interested. It's novel, after
weeks of being the center of attention. But she feels out of place, small and
silly and out of her depth. And then someone comes up beside her, perches on a
bar stool, and says, “What's a kid like you doing hanging out here?”
Johanna glares, just on instinct. She's not a kid, not after everything that's
happened, and when she looks more carefully, this guy doesn't seem that old
either. “Got bored,” Johanna says, offhand. Smirks. “Not like I know my way
around here to find something better.”
“Well,” the guy says, winks. “I can help you fix that, if you want.”
Johanna studies him, suspicious. “Oh yeah?”
“Sure,” he says. “C’mon, nothing here’s worth your time, I know a place we
could go. I'm Adrian, by the way.”
There really isn't a good reason to stay here, so Johanna shrugs. “Okay,
Adrian, show me what you've got.”
He beams, hooks an arm through hers, leads her outside. “It's not far,” he
says, turning down a side street, away from the photographers at the front.
“You shouldn't be stuck inside, this'll be way more interesting.”
He leads her toward a building decked out in lurid colors, flashing lights and
music she can hear from the street. There's a line of people waiting to get in,
but Adrian walks right up to the door.
“Adrian Trillam” he announces to the guard, “and Johanna Mason.”
The guard looks her up and down, raises an eyebrow, and opens the door.
Inside it’s…overwhelming. Dark except for lights that pulse with the pounding
music, people dancing, bodies pressed together, all but actually fucking with
clothes on. She's suddenly acutely aware of Adrian's hand on her back, turns to
look at him, one eyebrow raised.
He laughs. “Oh, honey, don’t look so shocked,” he says, “you're not in the
backwoods anymore.”
And that just pisses her off, so she jerks away to glare at him. He raises his
hands, surrendering. “Hey, I just want you to have a good time,” he says, “I
know better than to try anything with a Victor.”
Johanna shrugs. That's not really what she was worried about. Mostly the
strobing lights and pounding music are giving her a headache, the sheer number
of people packed into the space is overwhelming, and she doesn't really know
what to do.
“It's a bit much, don't you think?” She tries making it sarcastic, and he
laughs.
“You're just too sober,” he says. Johanna’s stomach roils at the idea of
drinking enough to make this seem manageable. But he pulls a paper wrapped
packet from his pocket and hands her a pill.
“What's this?” Johanna asks, skeptical.
Adrian smiles. “It'll make you feel good,” he says, simply. “Stick it under
your tongue.” He demonstrates with his own.
Johanna hesitates. But if he did it it can't be that bad. And she doesn't want
to go home and doesn't want to stay here and maybe this will make things
better. So she copies him, feels the thing dissolve, leaving her tongue tingly
and half numb.
The first thing she notices is that her headache dissipates, then that the
music seems to be somehow alive, that the dancing that seemed ridiculous before
now just looks right. Adrian smiles at her, and his eyes are dark, pupils wide.
He pulls her into the throng of people, and Johanna’s body moves on its own,
slipping into the rhythm. She loses track of Adrian after a while, dances with
people she’s never met but are suddenly best friends, boys and girls both, and
their hands on her feel electric. She ends up in a corner with a boy who seems
familiar, curled against each other on a cushion, and she's lost and faraway
and still more alive than she's felt in ages. His hands slide under her skirt
and she gasps, because she hadn't realized this could feel good,instead of sick
and scary. She can barely breathe, presses closer, hungry, his teeth dragging
against her lip a trail of sparks, his hands on her like flame.
“Fuck, Johanna,” he whispers, breathy, drags her on top of him. It's dark,
here, they're hidden just enough by curtains and cushions that maybe nobody
sees when he slides his pants down and her skirt up, tears her flimsy lace
underwear and presses inside her. And even that, even that feels good, feels
like life, and his hands never stop moving and his mouth is on hers and he
moves slowly, at first, and she wants more, wants everything, presses herself
against him. His hips rock faster, and she presses hard against him, and the
music fills her up from her toes and then fades into blank white overwhelming
sensation and she goes rigid against him, her hands fisting in his hair,
shuddering and panting as she feels him come, breathless, reaching, and oh, but
it's good.
He shudders quiet as she does, pulling away reluctantly. Slides his pants back
up while she adjusts her skirt, smiles at her, reaches to stroke along her jaw.
He gets up, reaches for her. “C’mon,” he says, leads her into a bathroom where
they clean up as best they can, giggling and distracting each other with
fingers and kisses.
They keep their fingers tangled as they walk out, and then another boy comes
careening through the crowd. “Fuck, Julius, where'd you—” he stops, looks
between the two of them, punches Julius in the arm. And now Johanna remembers
meeting him, at Finnick's party, what seems like a lifetime ago.
“Hey there, Johanna,” the new guy says, kisses her cheek, and it doesn't feel
like electricity anymore, but it still feels good.
“Uh oh,” Julius says, studying her. “Let's go find you another hit, I don't
think you're ready to be done yet.”
She's really, really not, isn't even hours later when the second pill starts
wearing off, when Julius leads her outside into shocking sunlight and even more
shocking camera flashes.
“Fuck,” he says, yanking her through the crowd to the closest cab. “See you
around, Johanna,” he adds, with a rueful smile, and tells the driver to take
her back to the Games Complex.
Ila is furious when she gets in, and waiting for her, which is confusing until
she hears the TV commentators talking about her, from behind him.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” he asks, more angry than she's ever seen
him. “They always watch, Johanna, you can't pretend you have any privacy here,
you can't pull that kind of shit.”
Johanna goes past him to look at the TV. There's footage from inside the club,
of her dancing, kissing Adrian and Julius and his friend Cassius and dancing
with people who's names she doesn't even think she ever knew. There’s even
grainy, blurred video of her and Julius off in the corner, and it's too dark to
see much but the commentators are drawing the right conclusions anyway.
There's still enough of whatever the pills were in her system that she can't
feel more than distantly concerned about any of this. But Ila is furious, and
that probably means it's bad.
She sighs. “Okay, fine, I'm sorry,” she says. “But what now?”
“The President wants to see you,” Ila says, and no amount of anything can keep
that from feeling like a knife to her chest. She's cold. Exposed.
“When?”
“Now.”
“Okay, let me just—”
“No. Right now.”
Ila sits next to her in the car, silent and disapproving. In the close air
Johanna smells her own body, sweat and sex and traces of other people’s
perfumes, runs her hands ineffectually through her hair and just makes it
tangle worse. Her heart’s racing way too fast. She can't breathe.
The Peacekeepers at the door stop Ila. “Just her,” says a voice behind a mask.
Johanna feels like she's in a dream. A nightmare, but she can't wake up.
A servant opens the door to the president’s study, closes it behind her, and
there she is, alone in the somber office that smells, sickeningly, of roses.
“Ah, Miss Mason,” he says, unsmiling. “It seems we have a problem.”
Johanna’s mouth is too dry to say anything.
He goes on. “Your appointment for this evening has cancelled. Seems he found
your little display distasteful.”
He pauses, but she still can't speak.
“Victors Affairs will find a replacement,” he says, smiling, “but this sort of
thing will not happen again, do you understand?”
Johanna nods.
“Hm?”
She swallows. “Yes sir” she grits out.
“Good.” He pauses, looks her up and down, purses his lips. “Now get out, you're
befouling the room.”
Johanna leaves as fast as her shaky legs will take her.
 
Her schedule’s been cleared for the day. No interviews, nothing until the event
this evening, where there'll be photographers but no questions. The Seven floor
is thick with Ila's disapproval and worry, so Johanna escapes up to the roof.
There's no question of sleeping. She can barely sit still for more than a
couple minutes, paces and worries and bites her fingernails until they bleed.
And she’s leaned against the wall, watching the city, when the door opens and
Finnick comes up. She turns around, leans back, hands on the wall, and waits
for him. He hops up to sit, heels kicking against the brick. And like that he’s
way too tall, so Johanna climbs up to sit next to him.
“So,” he drawls, “sounds like you had a fun night.”
Johanna laughs. “Fuck,” she says, shoving her hands through her hair. “It was
actually pretty great, right up till the part where it ended.”
Finnick chuckles. “Yeah,” he says, drawing out the word. Looks over at her with
a crooked smile. “You can't get away with that while everyone's watching.”
Dammit, why does everyone have so much to say about this now,when it's over and
she can't do anything about it? She hops down, walks across the roof. Finnick
follows her, a little hesitant. Stops when she spins around.
“What?” she demands, and he shrugs.
“I heard your schedule got rearranged, thought you might be bored.”
Johanna glares at him. “The last time I let someone suggest something to keep
me from being bored, I got on TV and the President yelled at me personally.”
Finnick winces. “I was gonna suggest ice cream and shitty movies,” he says, “I
don't think that's too objectionable.”
Johanna glares at him. But it's better than going quietly crazy up here by
herself. “Fine,” she says. “Your floor though, Ila’s still pissed at me.”
“Okay,” Finnick says, easygoing, holds the door for her and follows her into
the elevator.
The prep team calls for Finnick late in the afternoon. Finnick’s half asleep
when the phone rings, and he groans audibly before answering. “She's here,
yeah,” he says, turns to Johanna. “You gotta go up to Seven,” he says. Johanna
hasn't really managed to relax, even with Finnick making fun of dumb Capitol
romances, her jaw is locked tight and her shoulders ache. She gets up,
mechanically, heads towards the door.
“See you later,” Finnick calls, and she just waves.
Johanna goes to the party, can't bring herself to do more than scowl when
people tease her about her busy night, which they do, over and over again. As
she's starting to wonder whether maybe Snow didn't find her a date for the
evening after all, a woman comes over. “Miss Mason, please come with me,” she
says, turns and walks toward the door quick enough Johanna has to rush to keep
up.
She's shepherded into a car, alone, driven through dark streets to stop in
front of a brick building that looks like any other.
“This is it,” the driver says. “I'll wait.”
She gets out, walks up to the door, rings the bell. The man who answers is tall
and broad-shouldered and imposing. He doesn't say anything, just stands aside,
waits for her to come in, walks into the house without waiting to see if she'll
follow. They go down a flight of stairs into a room with bare cement walls and
floor, a drain in the center. Johanna doesn't have time to think about what the
fuck is going on before the man’s shoved her hard, sent her sprawling. When she
turns around he's standing over her, smiling a little, still silent. She gets
to her feet, he knocks her down again, she stays down, he grabs her arm and
hauls her to her feet. Shoves her hard against one wall, pins her with a hand
on her throat, pressure increasing until her vision starts to tunnel in, then
releasing so abruptly she falls to her knees.
And still, he's silent. Puts a finger under her chin, tips her face up to look
at him. She can't read anything on his face, can't tell if he's pleased or
disgusted or angry or anything. Just sees bland, careful interest. He hooks his
finger under her jaw and pulls, and she has to get up just to make the pressure
bearable. He shoves her against the wall again, this time with a hand on her
chest. Reaches toward his belt and comes back with a short coil of rope. There
are hooks in the wall, above her head. He ties her wrists together, loops the
rope over the hooks, pulls until she can just keep her toes on the ground. Then
steps back, and smiles. Walks out of the room.
When he comes back he's stripped out of his shirt, and is carrying a whip, the
kind Peacekeepers use to keep the loggers in line.
Loggers get lashed across the back, but he doesn't turn her around, lets the
whip cut across her chest, her stomach, her thighs, shredding her dress as he
goes. Only after that does he spin her roughly to face the wall and start on
her back.
It stops, eventually, and she's still waiting for the next lash when she feels
his hands instead, ripping off the shreds of clothing still clinging to her
skin. He steps close, his breath warm on her neck. And then closer, and his
sweat stings in her broken skin, and his hands run bloody up her arms and his
teeth scrape against her jaw.
And there's pain everywhere, as he shoves her against the wall, as he forces
himself into her, the only sound his breath harsh in her ear and the gasps and
whimpers she can't stop herself from making, the rough slap of skin against
skin against concrete.
Sometime later, it stops. Sometime after that—and Johanna isn't sure, but it
seems like a long time and she's shivering with the cold, someone else comes
in, unties her, lowers her carefully to the ground.
The grey-haired woman who put her in the car helps Johanna to her feet, wraps
her in what's probably soft cotton but feels like sandpaper, guides her
stumbling through the house and into the car.
They go into the Games Complex underground, stopping somewhere quiet and
freezing cold, and the woman helps Johanna out of the car and walks her
straight to Remake.
There's a lot of noise after that, but Johanna doesn't manage to sort any of it
into sense before they put a needle into her arm and she slips gratefully into
unconsciousness.
She wakes up in her bed, on the Seven floor, aching all over, her skin pink and
tender but whole. Ila is asleep in a chair next to the bed, head tipped back
and mouth open. He's snoring.
Johanna just feels numb. But the silence is oppressive and terrifying and the
longer she stays still the more she starts to wonder if she can move at all,
until she kicks off the blankets and sits up, breathing fast.
Ila startles awake and looks at her, then looks quickly away.
Right. She's naked.
“You’ll be okay,” he says, looking down at his hands. His voice sounds dull and
flat. “They say your skin will heal completely in another couple days.”
Johanna looks down at the shiny pink lines that however many hours ago were raw
and bleeding. Capitol magic, she thinks, and it sticks in her throat.
“What—” she croaks, swallows, tries again. “What are they going to do until
then?”
Ila’s mouth is a flat line. “Makeup. And there's just the final farewell
interview, today. Then we’re going home.”
Oh, fuck. Home, where her parents will want to know what happened, and not just
because she's tiger striped, they'll want to know about all of it and she can't
tell them. It's the worst kept secret in the Capitol, apparently, if you're in
the right circles, but it's still a secret, what she does, and Finnick, and
Cashmere and Gloss and the rest.
She wants out of the Capitol like she wants to keep breathing, but she doesn't
want to go back there.
Ila might guess at a little of that, because he sighs, closes his eyes hard for
a second, shrugs. Then looks away. “Finnick Odair would like you to call him,
when you're ready.”
Johanna nods, and he gets up and walks out. Pauses at the door. “You have to be
back at Remake in two hours. Please don't go anywhere.”
Then he's gone.
Johanna gets out of bed and wraps herself in the soft robe that's draped over
the foot of the bed. Then she calls Finnick.
“Oh thank the—thank fuck,” Finnick says, when she says hello. Then he pauses.
“Can you meet me on the roof?” he asks, hesitant.
Johanna shrugs, which of course he can't see, then says “Sure, I have a couple
hours to kill.”
“I meant…” Finnick starts, trails off.
“Yes, Finnick, I can meet you on the roof,” Johanna says, exasperated. “See you
there.”
Ila is keeping an eye out, apparently. “Where are you going?” He asks, when she
heads for the door.
“None of your business,” Johanna snaps.
“Johanna,” Ila starts, but she cuts him off.
“Fuck, Ila, I'm going to the roof to meet Finnick, okay?”
She doesn't wait for his response this time before she leaves.
 
Finnick is already there when she comes out, blinking in the sun.
“Shit, Johanna,” he says, “you scared me to death.”
Johanna looks at him, confused. He shakes his head. “I was there when they
brought you in, got told to go to Remake right after my appointment, which is
weird but I figured maybe there was going to be something scheduled in the
morning so…” he pauses, takes a deep breath. “They wanted me there,” he says.
Johanna shrugs. It hurts, tender skin scraping against fabric every time she
moves. “Guess I wasn't the only one who needed a lesson,” she says. Her voice
sounds dull and flat even to her.
“Fuck, Jo, I'm so sorry,” he says, and that's just annoying, the way he's
looking at her like she's a baby bird with a broken wing.
“It's fine,” she snaps. “They got me practically fixed up already.”
“Yeah but—”
“Finnick, don't.” Johanna closes her eyes, takes a deep breath. Looks back at
him. “He wanted to teach me a lesson, and he did, and I'm going to be fine.
That's it.”
Finnick looks like he wants to say something more, but he stops, sighs, scrubs
his hands down his face. “You're going home today?”
Johanna nods. “One more interview and then the train.” She pauses. “You're
not?”
Finnick shakes his head. “They want me a few more days.”
Johanna feels a surge of something like guilt. “Probably wanted to keep me too,
but Snow went and got his toy damaged,” she says,
Finnick winces, looks away over her shoulder.
“Look,” Johanna says, when he doesn't respond. “I gotta go back, Ila is about
to tie me to something.”
Finnick scowls at her. “He wouldn't do that,” he says.
Johanna rolls her eyes, the one movement that doesn't fucking hurt, so hey,
that's something. “No, he wouldn't. But he's tempted, I can tell.”
Finnick shrugs, granting that much. Then sighs. “Take care of yourself, Jo,” he
says, stepping forward, hesitant.
Johanna gives him the hug he clearly wants but doesn't think he can ask for. It
hurts, but who cares. “You too, Finn,” she says, steps away.
He nods, gets the door, follows her to the elevator.
 
The interview is a bunch of prepackaged fucking nonsense. Ila has some kind of
special pain pills he’s doling out and they keep everything at arms length—the
pain, sure, but also any feelings she might otherwise have. Which is what lets
her get through the interview with snarky bullshit rather than snarling at the
poor man they have talking to her.
When she walks out Ila nods. “Good,” he says, still wound tight with anger or
worry or maybe both. He reaches as if to touch her shoulder, pulls away before
she has time to flinch. The makeup is perfect, but she still hurts.
They go straight to the train. “I had someone pack up your room,” Ila says.
“Stuff’s in cargo, someone’ll drop it at your house.”
Johanna shrugs, then winces. “Nothing much important there anyway,” she says.
They lapse into silence the rest of the way. Johanna goes straight to her room
when she gets to the train. Lies down on the bed willing herself to fall
asleep, but no such luck.
No, instead her brain spins out memories, parties in the Capitol and sunken-
eyed filthy kids in Twelve, Peacekeepers standing careful watch, the whistle of
the whip before it bit into her skin, kissing Julius, getting fucked in opulent
bedrooms, Snow’s snake smile, stepping out into a clearing with two well-
balanced hatchets and not caring if she lived or died as long as she did
something.
She snarls and gets up. Showers, carefully, lukewarm water sluicing away the
makeup and leaving fading lines across her skin. Pulls on sweats even though it
isn’t cold, the hood up. Goes out to the common room to find Ila and see if he
has pain pills or sleeping pills or fucking something to stop the shitshow in
her head.
He’s sitting on one of the couches going over some kind of paperwork, but looks
up when Johanna comes in.
“I can’t sleep,” she says.
“It’s only six o’clock,” he replies, bland. “I’m not surprised.”
“Can I have another pain pill?”
“Not for two more hours.”
Johanna glares, arms crossed over her chest. Goes to the table in the back,
picks up a bottle at random and dumps something into a glass.
“You drink that I can’t give you your pain pills,” Ila says, still
expressionless.
Johanna spins around. “Who put you in charge of me?” she snaps. “Why are you
suddenly my own personal Peacekeeper?”
Ila’s face goes, if anything, even blanker, but he’s clenching his jaw.
“Really, Johanna?” he asks, looking her up and down.
He can’t see anything, she’s covered everything but her fucking face and nobody
seems to touch that. “It’s my fucking life,” she spits. “What do you care?”
“Well among other reasons, because I had my own meeting with the President,
Johanna.” She freezes. “He made it very clear that this kind of behavior would
lead to consequences for all of the Victors in Seven, should it continue.” The
words come out clipped, precise. “Seeing as you seem to be unable to exercise
self-control, I am taking matters into my own hands.”
Johanna stares at him. She fucked up, she paid for it, it’s done. Or so she
thought. Apparently there’s more to it than that. “Shit,” she hisses, turning
and walking toward the windows. The landscape streaking by makes her dizzy. She
hears Ila sigh, shift papers and stand up. He comes to stand next to her,
moving carefully so she can see him before he’s close enough to touch.
“You’ve got to learn to take care of yourself, Johanna,” he says, in a softer
voice. “I know it’s hard but—“
“You don’t know shit,” Johanna says, goes back into her room and wishes she
could slam the door instead of it hissing quietly closed on its own.
She paces back and forth a couple of times, settles finally in the corner, her
knees pulled up. Wishes she could cry, but instead she’s just…twisted up, metal
sheared into sharp edges like the hovercraft that wrecked when she was a kid,
spilled a load of timber and twisted into the side of a hill.
She apparently comes with a blast radius, too.
What a fucking mess.
Ila comes in later, gives her the pain pills, and says “Johanna—“
“Don’t,” she snarls. “Leave me alone.”
He hesitates, but then he leaves.
 
She doesn’t move. The pills dull everything a little, but not enough. Johanna
wonders what exactly Snow threatened Ila and them with. Sees the video images
again, gunshots and fire, shudders hard enough to send pain sparking from her
shoulders. Tries to think what to say to her parents, how the fuck she can look
at them after everything.
It’s dark, and they’re flying over the terrifying vastness of Nine or Ten or
something, she can’t see a damn thing but the horizon out the window, and that
only because the stars stop. She gets up, stiff joints protesting, walks back
out to the common room. It’s empty, Ila must be asleep in his room. Johanna
eyes the bottles at the back, skeptically. She wants to sleep. Alcohol is good
for that. But she fucked up, she drank too much and took drugs from someone she
didn’t even know and broke rules she didn’t know existed and she’s ruined
everything for all of them. She should try to be good. Which means no alcohol.
Means going to bed, because it’s late and she’ll want to be fresh in the
morning to see her parents. Just that thought makes her want to drink enough to
pass out on the floor again. At least then they wouldn’t ask her about the rest
of it.
But no. No, Johanna is going to follow the rules.
Even if it means sitting on her bed, back against the wall, staring at nothing
until the sun comes up.
Until Ila comes in and gives her more pills, tells her to come eat breakfast.
Which she can’t actually eat, it sticks in her throat and makes her gag, but
she drinks coffee, and juice, and keeps her mouth shut, and Ila gives her
worried looks but he doesn’t yell at her again.
The prep team comes in after that and Johanna looks at Ila, confused.
“Last stop on the Tour,” he says. “Welcome home party.” He gives her a crooked
smile. “Gotta look your best for the home crowd.”
Johanna wants to cry. She’s exhausted, she wants to go home, curl up in her bed
and not leave for a week—or ever. She blinks fast, looks up at the ceiling and
gets up. “May as well get it over with,” she says, and goes into prep.
The prep team mutters to themselves while they cover the nearly-healed marks.
“I don’t know why—“ someone starts, before being hushed. Johanna tunes them
out, like usual, lets herself be stripped down and manhandled and dressed like
a fucking doll, and she’s used to it, really, except today she can’t stop
wanting to cry and the hands on her make it worse.
At least in Seven it’s too cold for anything provocative. They’ve done their
best, but given they don’t want her to get frostbite, there’s not much to be
done for it. Fur-lined coat and tight wool dress to the floor, warm
underclothes, gloves. She looks almost elegant, instead of the product on
display she’s been since the Tour started. Nobody to sell her to in Seven, and
the anticipation’s over for the Capitol, so they don’t need to advertise.
She bites her tongue hard, pain stopping the train of thought before it gets
any farther, into how many years she’ll have to do this before they leave her
alone.
Finally she’s ready and they let her out. The air stings. Even what they’ve put
her in isn’t warm enough for the north wind not to chill her to the bone.
But it doesn’t matter. She aches everywhere anyway, the harsh wind on her
cheeks just gives her an excuse for any tears that manage to escape.
The Mayor greets her first, a handshake and a kiss on the cheek, and then
Blight and Henrik, and then her parents come up on stage and hug her stiffly,
for the cameras. Mom’s fingers linger as she pulls away, her eyes worried,
mouth pinched before Dad nudges her and she forces a smile.
There’s a meal, and dancing in the Justice Building, and Johanna wonders if the
cold air really did freeze her solid, she feels that numb. It seems like half
of Seven’s here, congratulating her and shaking her hand as she tries to come
up with what to say.
And then finally, Ila’s pulling her to her feet, her parents following behind,
out into the early dark of Seven winter, into his truck for the short ride to
the Village. “Go get some sleep, Johanna,” Ila says when he drops them off,
more gentle than she’s heard him in a long time. “You’ll have some time to
yourself now.” It doesn’t make sense, but Johanna doesn’t bother trying to
decipher it, because Mom’s got an arm around her shoulders, guiding her inside.
Johanna leans into Mom’s side, because it’s warm and comforting, lets Mom guide
her upstairs and to her bedroom—then remembers what’s underneath all those
layers and pulls away.
“I’m okay,” she says, and Mom frowns, but lets go. “I’ll see you in the
morning.”
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
 told him he
should wear a mask like the vigilante in Starling City. At the time it had hurt
more than a cheap tactic like that had any right too, just like knowing
Harrison had a new pet superhero hurt even though it shouldn't.
Still, that didn't matter now. There was nothing enviable about Vibe's
situation, and misplaced jealousy over a man he had left of his own volition
wasn't going to help him help this kid. Jealousy was not something Jay Garrick
had time for.
                                      ***
Jesse Wells had never really had a crush on anyone. Most of the time she'd been
too busy with school, with all of the wonderful things there were to learn, for
little things like crushes and first kisses and holding hands with boys. For
the majority of her school career she'd been surrounded by people who were
older than her and yet not nearly as smart as she was, so there had never been
any particular person who had caught her eye. Indeed, for a long time she had
thought that maybe the whole dating thing just wasn't for her at all.
In this way, when she finally decided that 'the whole dating thing' maybe was
something she wanted to try, she found herself in college, with no romantic
experience whatsoever, surrounded by people who thought she was some kind of
hyper-intelligent infant.
It wasn't easy being seventeen and halfway through college when one was trying
to learn how to socialize properly for the first time. Whenever she tried to
talk about herself, even in the most self-deprecating terms, people always
thought she was trying to show off. Most of her attempts at flirting went
unnoticed, or resulted in the recipient getting far too frisky with her as a
result. Surprisingly not even the people who were studying the same things she
was wanted to talk casually about their chosen fields, and for some reason most
of them seemed to hate the very things they were going to college for.
This was all compounded by the fact that there simply wasn't anyone very
interesting at her school, or at least no one that she found particularly
interesting. There had been one boy, while she was still a fifteen year old
Freshman, who she had found at least aesthetically pleasing and who had seemed
to like her, but he had almost immediately dropped out of school leaving
Central City College devoid of interesting people.
More interesting were the scientists who worked at her father's lab, but if her
classmates saw her as an infant then the STAR Labs employees thought she was
some kind of embryo. Granted a very valuable embryo, and most of them were at
least tolerant of her presence for the sake of their boss being in a good mood
while she was around, but not a specimen any of them wanted to handle
themselves. She supposed it was for the best; the youngest of them were still
ten years older than her, which would make it both very creepy and technically
illegal.
Based on all of this evidence, for quite some time Jesse believed there simply
wasn't anyone in Central City who was both her age and remotely interesting.
Then Vibe, Central City's Latest and Greatest Superhero, gave his first
official statement to the press.
“I'm here because of Dr. Wells,” Vibe told a reporter coyly, and then he looked
at the camera, so it seemed almost like he was speaking directly to Jesse. “I
wouldn’t be who I am without him.”
Jesse had been following the news of Vibe just as avidly as the rest of the
city. The defeat of Zoom was no small matter, and had been a source of
celebration for weeks after the fight. Jesse had gone to more parties than she
could remember to mark the occasion, more than one of which had been thrown by
her father. His exploits in the ensuing two months continued to impress, and
the media were a lot better at covering him than they were at covering the
Flash. Jesse had more than once found herself thinking it was a bit unfair the
way that some people seemed to have forgotten the Flash in favor of Vibe, and
after everything he'd done for the city, but evidence would suggest that the
Flash didn't like this much attention anyway.
Once she found out that Vibe worked for her father though, interest became
something closer to fascination. He was her age, clearly very mature, and what
was more he had managed to impress the greatest tech entrepreneur of all time.
Dr. Harrison Wells simply did not work with boring people. That was a fact.
"Why didn't you mention that you were working with Vibe?" she asked, at dinner
the night after Vibe had talked to the press.
Her father looked up from his food, mischief sparkling in his eyes. "He wants
to keep his identity a secret, Jesse," he reminded her. "I couldn't tell just
anyone."
"You could tell me!" Jesse insisted, trying not to laugh at his impish
expression.
"No special treatment," her father shook his head, but he was smiling.
Jesse took a sip of her water to stop herself from giggling. "Seriously
though," she said once she'd composed herself, "what's it like working with  a
superhero?"
"Very dull," he confessed. "Honestly I'm not doing anything for him; he builds
his own tech and he has the superpowers, so mostly I'm just signing the
checks."
"So he works at STAR Labs?" Jesse guessed.
"Maybe," her father shrugged noncommittally. "Not anywhere you have access to
anyway."
"How did you meet him?" was her next question.
"He came to me, actually," he told her, then took a bite of his food. He
chewed, swallowed, then went on. "He asked me for a . . . small favor."
"What was it?" Jesse asked eagerly.
Her father shook his head. "I suggested a more permanent arrangement instead.
Hence, our current alliance."
"Is money the only thing he gets out of your 'alliance'?" Jesse prodded.
"The pleasure of my company," he added, smiling slyly.
"So you do meet with him regularly!" Jesse concluded triumphantly. "Where?"
"Why all the questions?" her father laughed. "Are you writing a school report
or did my life just suddenly get a lot more fascinating now that you  know it
includes crime-fighting, in a roundabout way?"
Jesse shrugged theatrically. "Maybe I just want to know what you see in him,"
she said elusively. "I mean, you don't like the Flash, so-"
"The Flash is a coward," her father snapped, but at her disapproving look his
face softened. "Vibe is a far superior model."
"Model?" Jesse laughed. "They're not cars dad."
Her father laughed too, but said nothing more on the subject of superheroes
that evening.
Still, Jesse now had an important piece of information: her father did meet
with Vibe regularly.
Dr. Harrison Wells was not a man who did a lot of aimlessly wandering his home
city soaking up the atmosphere. He didn't go to coffee shops or restaurants
unless he had some kind of business engagement, and he rarely patronized the
arts. For the most part, he went straight to work and then came straight home.
What this meant for Jesse was that one of those two places, either at work or
at home, was where he was having regular meetings with his good friend the
Savior of Central City.
Well, she knew those meetings weren't happening at home.
When she got a text from her father that he'd be working late that night it
wasn't too suspicious of her to pop in on him unexpectedly for lunch, and not a
soul in the building was going to remark on her comings and goings, to her
father or anyone else. So, if anyone noticed her coming and not going, they
kept their mouth shut about it. After saying goodbye to her father she found
the nearest broom closet and hid inside, then settled in for a few long hours
of playing on her phone until the rest of the staff cleared out.
She supposed the biggest flaw in her plan was the possibility that Vibe might
not be coming in through the normal entrance, but lucky for her it seemed like
he hadn't been hiding some kind of wall-scaling power he could use to enter
through the office window. Some time after most of the lights had been turned
out the elevator dinged to announce its arrival, and Jesse immediately darted
out of the closet and closed the door behind her before the elevator doors
could slide slowly open to reveal the teenage superhero within.
The elevator, and by extension the broom closet, was on the other side of the
building from her father's office, so she had trusted that distance to make
sure the conversation went uninterrupted. Jesse was forced to call this plan
into question when Vibe took one look at her and let out an inhumanly high
pitched shriek.
"What!" Jesse asked in surprise, a little louder than she'd meant to. She
hurriedly lowered her voice. "What is it? What's wrong?"
"What are you doing here?" Vibe demanded, clutching at his heart, but Jesse
held a finger to her lips and made a desperate shushing noise. She glanced
nervously in the direction of her father's office, but she didn't hear the
sound of him stomping down the hallway to see what the noise was about.
Vibe took a deep, steadying breath. "What are you doing here?" he repeated,
softer this time.
Jesse was at a loss. This was not going at all according to plan. Vibe was
meant to step out of the elevator and see her leaning casually against the
wall, beautiful and young yet clearly as much a part of the adult world as he
was. She would exude a maturity that matched his own and he would realize that
he wasn't the only teenager in Central City wise beyond his years. They would
share an instant connection, two seventeen-year-olds who had none the less left
childhood far behind, and they would both know with a comforting certainty that
they were no longer alone.
Instead Vibe looked panicked, and she felt panicked, and they were staring at
each other like two scared kids hoping against hope that the teacher wasn't
going to come around the corner and spot them hiding behind the playground
shed.
"I . . ." she stalled, trying to think of something to say. "You work with my
dad, right?"
"You're Jesse," Vibe realized, and this seemed to relax him a little.
Jesse smiled, exhaling some of her nerves. Of course he already knew who she
was; being the daughter of Harrison Wells meant that most of Central City at
least knew of her, and her early graduation from high school meant that the
entire scientific community had one eye on her to see what revolutionary
scientific breakthroughs she would achieve in following her father's example.
She was exceptional, just like Vibe.
She shrugged, going for nonchalant. "Does my dad talk about me then?" she
asked, as though they were any other two people who just had a mutual
acquaintance.
Vibe, however, looked down. "No," he told her, glancing up at her and then
hurriedly returning his eyes to the floor. "We, uh, don't talk about personal
stuff much."
"That's him alright," she confirmed, releasing a nervous exhalation that was
meant to be a fond laugh. "All business, right?"
"I guess," Vibe said noncommittally, turning his attention to a nearby wall now
that he'd given the floor a thorough examination.
"You must be very professional," she noted, "to have not even asked about his
personal life."
To have not asked about me, she mentally added. If she was lonely just being
the smartest teenager in the city, then being a teenage superhero on top of
being brilliant must be the loneliest experience in the world.
Vibe shook his head, still not looking at her. "Our . . . relationship is a bit
. . . unconventional."
"I guess working with the greatest tech entrepreneur of all time is an
adventure in itself," she speculated, smiling as she remembered something that
might give her a nice little way in. "Then again, it's probably not as
impressive for you, what with you being a tech genius yourself."
Jesse had expected him to preen at the compliment, as she would have done, but
somehow this seemed to make Vibe even more nervous. "What's he been telling
you?" he wanted to know. "Why is he talking about me to you?"
"Why shouldn't he?" Jesse asked, frowning in confusion.
"I just . . ." Vibe trailed off. He was at least looking at her now, but he
regarded her warily, like he thought she might be about to explode at any
moment. "I just . . . thought he might like to keep this . . .  separate, you
know?"
It occurred to Jesse suddenly that he might be worried for her safety, given
that he was a superhero with a lot of superpowered enemies. That was, after
all, one thing he had that she didn't. "I can handle myself," she assured him
quickly. "I've been a CEO's daughter my whole life; there's never been a
shortage of wackos targeting us."
She smiled in what she hoped was a flirtatious way. "You don't have to worry
about me, I'm use to danger."
"Right," said Vibe dubiously. It was impossible to tell what his expression
really was with his sunglasses in the way, but he didn't look convinced. "Look,
I have to go see Dr. Wells, okay?"
"You still call him Dr. Wells?" Jesse asked teasingly.
"What else would I call him?" Vibe countered.
Jesse shrugged. "It just doesn't seem like this should be so formal," she
explained with mock unconcern. "My dad thinks very highly of you, from what
he's told me, and that's a rare thing. If I had my way we'd be practically
family by this point."
Something about that statement seemed to make Vibe deeply uncomfortable. He
shied away from Jesse, pulling his hands up to shield his chest, and she didn't
need to see his eyes to know that his expression was somewhere between confused
and unsettled.
"I have to go," he said simply, then without waiting for an answer he finally
made to move past her on his way to her father's office.
"Oh," said in surprise, "um, well, talk to you later?"
"Sure," Vibe tossed the word over his shoulder, then disappeared around a
corner.
It wasn't an award winning attempt at flirting, Jesse admitted to herself as
she made her way down the stairs and out of STAR Labs, but she thought it
hadn't been bad for a first try. Rather than leaving her enthused however, her
encounter with Vibe had left her very concerned. She couldn't help but think he
didn't look well, like he wasn't eating enough, or perhaps wasn't sleeping.
He'd certainly looked tired, exhausted even, and he'd been nervous and jumpy
like he'd spent too much time on edge recently. It wasn't hard to imagine why
he spent so much time on his guard, and it felt almost like a betrayal but she
couldn't help but wonder if maybe he might be in a bit over his head.
He was only one person after all, and as far as she knew his powers didn't come
with super-stamina, like the Flash's. Nor did she think he had any kind of
healing factor, and if he was taking time off between fights to recover
properly from even minor injuries then the frequency of his appearances in the
news certainly didn't show it. She refused to think that his age was any kind
of factor, but his experience as a superhero was still relatively little. It
was entirely possible he simply didn't know how to pace himself, and was
burning through his energy reserves at a much faster rate than he could
comfortably maintain.
This wasn't about age. Vibe was as mature as any adult, and his work ethic
reflected that. But even adults didn't do everything by themselves, she
reasoned, and it wasn't like Vibe was the only superhero in Central City. Jesse
would go to the Flash, ask him to reach out to Vibe and suggest some kind of
partnership. He had more experience so he would naturally give the best advice,
and he could pick up some of the slack to give Vibe time to rest.
Maybe the Flash would tell Vibe that a partnership had been Jesse's idea, and
then Vibe would come to rely on her too. Maybe he would come to trust her
enough to tell her his real name. Maybe she could persuade him to take off his
sunglasses, so that she could see his eyes.
Jesse officially made up her mind: her next move was to find Jay Garrick and
ask him to help Vibe.
Chapter End Notes
     the core motivation of all my main characters is basically
     loneliness. they are sad lonely puppies that need to combine into a
     superfam. it needs to happen.
***** The Ties That Bind *****
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Not for the first time in his life, Jay came to the conclusion that he really
ought to stop wanting things.
He’d wanted to know why he had such a bad feeling about Vibe, and he’d gotten
evidence to suggest that he was working with Harrison Wells.
He’d wanted proof one way or the other if Harrison was taking advantage of the
kid, he’d gotten the sight of Vibe robbing a warehouse.
He’d wanted a source of information on Vibe and Harrison’s movements, and now
here stood Jesse Wells, in his apartment, where she had broken in, asking him
to use her as an excuse to team up with Vibe.
Like father like daughter he supposed.
“It just makes sense,” she insisted, pacing back and forth across his living
room with a single-minded focus that was eerily familiar, “for the two of you
to work together. He’s talented, yes, but he’s inexperienced. Even the quickest
of students still need a teacher, and you’re the only one in Central City who’s
qualified. Nobody has to be a sidekick, obviously you’re both perfectly capable
on your own, but if you could just work together for a while I’m sure you could
learn a lot from each other. You just need a way in is all, and since he is
working for my family it’s only natural that I make the introduction-”
“Kid,” Jay cut her off firmly from his position by the door, causing Jesse to
whirl around in surprise, as if she’d half forgotten that he was there. “Slow
down.”
“That seems a little ironic coming from you,” Jesse huffed.
Jay pinched the bridge of his nose. It was just a reflex at this point: he
couldn’t get migraines anymore and it had absolutely no effect on the blood
flow to his brain, so all it really did was express to Jesse that she was
currently being very frustrating.
Jesse didn’t seem to mind.
“Were you even listening?” she asked in obvious annoyance.
“You’re a little hard to ignore,” Jay informed her tersely.
“So what do you think?” Jesse wanted to know, looking nervous and determined
and so ridiculously young. Not that Jay thought she would have  responded well
to the sentiment.
“I think you have a completely imaginary situation completely figured out,” he
replied. “I wish you the best of luck with it.”
“Excuse me?” Jesse said, staring at him in wide-eyed disbelief.
“Listen, kid-”
“My name’s Jesse,” she interrupted, scowling.
“Jesse,” he conceded, “you don’t understand what’s going on here, and believe
me, you don’t want to.”
“What do you mean?” Jesse demanded. “I understand perfectly. It makes sense-”
“It makes sense to you,” Jay corrected. “That doesn’t mean it makes sense from
an objective standpoint.”
“In what possible way could this not make sense?” Jesse wanted to know. “You’re
a more experienced superhero, he’s a less experienced one, you should share
your knowledge. There’s no reason you shouldn’t work together!”
“You’ve definitely got the theory part of it down,” Jay told her, “but that
doesn’t mean its applicable in practice.”
“Well, why not?” Jesse asked, clearly teetering on the edge of losing her
patience.
Jay took a deep breath, wondering how to put this. “You’re working off an
incomplete picture,” he tried to explain as he took off his army jacket and
hung it on the coat rack by the door. “Have you considered, for example, that
his powers cancel out mine? If we fought on the same field we pose a danger to
each other: if he hits me by accident I’m helpless, and he’s at risk while he’s
protecting me.”
“Is that all?” Jesse asked, somewhere between relieved and smug. “That’s all
the more reason for you two to train together. Eventually there will come a day
when you have to work together, and you’ll encounter exactly that problem. You
should start working on it now, so you’ll be ready when you need to be.”
Obviously believing she’d won the argument, Jesse fell dramatically into his
favorite chair and crossed her arms, grinning in triumph.
“Very neatly concluded,” Jay praised dryly, finally managing to take off his
helmet and hang that up as well
“So you’ll do it?” Jesse pressed.
“Oh, no,” Jay told her, feeling a sense of satisfaction that was probably
highly unworthy of him at her affronted look, “but it was very well said.”
“What else is there then?” she demanded, clearly ready to argue with him until
she got her way.
Thankfully, Jay had a little experience with that kind of attitude. He crossed
the room to the old, slightly battered sofa and took a seat while Jesse sat up
to resume the debate.
“Well,” Jay began, smiling a little, “one piece of practical information that
you’re missing is that I’ve already asked him.”
Jesse gaped at him. “What?” she sputtered. “What did he say?”
“He said he wasn’t interested,” Jay paraphrased. A gross misrepresentation of
his last meeting with Vibe, but it would do for the purposes of dissuading her.
“That’s ridiculous,” Jesse waved his words away, and for a moment he thought
she was going to accuse him of lying before her next sentence made his blood
freeze. “I’ll talk to him-”
“No!” Jay interjected sharply, making Jesse turn to look at him in surprise.
“You stay away from that kid.”
Talking to Vibe would put her too close to this, Jay thought. Closer than she
already was anyway, and there were things this little girl did not need to know
about her father. Not until it was absolutely necessary, not until Harrison was
safely locked away and couldn’t get to her. He didn’t think Harrison would hurt
her -- not Jesse, not ever -- but there was also Vibe to consider, and Harrison
would hurt him. There were just too many risks involved. It was best that she
stay out of it.
Jesse, apparently, disagreed.
“He’s not a kid,” she told Jay venomously, “and neither am I. I can handle
myself, I’m not afraid of getting involved with superheroes. If my dad can do
it then so can I.”
“Your dad shouldn’t do it,” Jay hedged. He told himself that she didn’t need to
know precisely why. “And neither should you.”
“If anything I’m safer being close to you,” she argued, “all the better for you
to protect me. And you’ll be able to protect me, and everyone else, much more
efficiently if you work together.”
Jay shook his head. “Your logic is flawed on so many levels. As someone who’s
done this for a while, let me tell you that being involved with a superhero
makes things more dangerous, not less.”
“You can’t just say that!” Jesse insisted. “You have to back it up. Tell me how
you know that.”
They were straying towards dangerous territory now. She was coming perilously
close to the questions for which he had no good answers, and he knew he needed
to dissuade her from this line of inquiry altogether.
In retrospect, the worst thing he could possibly have said was, “You know,
whether or not you believe it, not everything that goes on Central City is your
business Miss Wells.”
He knew he’d made a mistake when he saw Jesse’s mutinous look. “Just because
you don’t know how to trust people doesn’t mean everyone keeps those kinds of
secrets,” she snapped, as if she knew anything at all about Jay’s situation.
She was baiting him, and he knew it, and just like the last time someone in her
family had baited it stung even though it shouldn't.
“Vibe keeps his identity a secret from everyone,” Jay countered, trying to keep
his cool. “By that standard I have absolutely nothing to hide.”
“He tells some people,” Jesse insisted, “the people who matter. My dad knows.
They’re partners, they work together, and just because you don’t play well with
others-”
“Now who’s making baseless claims?” Jay interrupted. He stood up and began
pacing, determinedly at normal speed but unable to contain his agitation. “You
have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Then tell me!” Jesse exploded, jumping up from the armchair to stand before
him. She shoved him once in the chest, hard, and Jay let himself be forced back
a step more out of surprise than anything else. “Tell me the truth!” she
demanded. “I’m so sick of being kept out of the loop, I just want to know why
no one will tell me anything!”
At that point, Jay lost his temper. That much he was willing to admit. Rather
than answer her, rather than tell her the she was seventeen and in college and
in over her head and a thousand other perfectly valid reasons why she should
stay out of this, Jay let his speed carry him and his stupid broken heart to
his bedroom like a child. He grabbed his copy of Principia Mathematica and
snatched the slip of paper he’d shoved inside from between its pages, then
darted back into the living room and shoved it under Jesse’s nose.
Jesse blinked at the photograph in Jay’s hand for several long moments. Then
she gently took it from him, holding it carefully as she sank back onto the
armchair. Jay remained standing, but turned away so he wouldn’t have to see as
her face went from confusion to shock to the numb kind of dull pain that comes
with a sudden, deeply-felt betrayal.
Jay knew the feeling.
“I have more,” he said, after almost a full minute of silence from her. “In
case you don’t believe that one.”
“You . . . and my dad,” she said hoarsely. “You were . . . involved?”
“We were together,” he told her swallowing the lump in his throat so he could
speak. “A couple, boyfriends, whatever you want to call it. We were engaged,
there for a little while. Or at least I thought we were.”
“He never told me,” she whispered, more to herself than to him.
“He didn’t want you to know,” Jay explained. “Don’t take it personally; he
didn’t want anyone to know.”
“Why?” Jesse asked desperately, looking up at Jay. Her eyes were wet.
Jay swallowed, swallowed all his guilt and all his pain and all the things that
had stopped him from saying this out loud for the past six months.
“Because he was using me,” he told her gently, and he wasn't sure if he was
trying to be gentle with her or himself. “He knew about the Particle
Accelerator leaking dark matter, he knew from the very beginning, and he was
using me to cover it up. I helped him bury evidence, bury everything that would
implicate him in criminal negligence.”
Jesse looked back down at the photograph. “Why did you do it?”
“I thought-” Jay’s voice broke, and he forced himself to stop and clear his
throat before continuing. “I didn’t know exactly what he was having me do. He
told me someone was trying to frame him, some former employee -- Rathaway -
- was just trying to make it look like the Accelerator was responsible for the
metahumans. That I was helping. That I was saving Central City.”
Jay took a deep, steadying breath. He told himself Jesse didn’t need to know
all the sordid details of their affair, no matter how much he wanted to confess
them. This wasn’t her problem. This wasn’t her burden to bear. She didn’t
deserve to have the Flash unload his baggage on her when she was dealing with a
betrayal of her own.
“I drew the line when he asked me to steal from Mercury Labs,” he finished,
forcing himself to end the story there. “I figured out his game, but Vibe
hasn’t yet. That’s why he can’t work with me; Harrison won’t let him.”
Jesse was silent for a minute, then, “I don’t believe you.”
“I don’t expect you to,” he assured her simply.
“Oh, not about your relationship,” she corrected, sitting primly upright and
dabbing delicately at her eyes with her sleeve. Composing herself.
“Jesse-” Jay began uncertainly.
“Or about the Accelerator,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “I’m sure he
thought he was doing the right thing, but you leaving will have given him some
perspective. He’s bitter, I know that much, but he’s just stubborn. Vibe is his
attempt to do better.”
Jay shook his head in exhausted disbelief. “Do you have any evidence to support
any of that?” he wanted to know.
“No,” Jesse admitted, “but I’m going to get some.”
“Now, wait a minute-” Jay tried, but Jesse cut him off again.
“My dad wouldn't do what he did to you to someone my age,” she explained
simply. “He would never do that. What he has with Vibe, their deal or
partnership or whatever, is honest. He’s trying to make amends, but he’s doing
it without admitting he was wrong, and that’s not the way to go about it. I’ll
prove to you that he’s really trying to help Vibe, and then you can tell Vibe
what you told me, and then my dad will have to apologize. Then all three of you
can move forward and work together.”
“Jesse,” Jay shook his head again, “it’s doesn’t worklike that.”
“It will,” she insisted, voice cracking slightly, as she stood up determinedly
from the armchair. “I will make it work like that.”
Jay opened his mouth to say . . . something, but he couldn’t find the words he
was looking for before Jesse had left his apartment.
                                      ***
STAR Labs was the centerpiece of Central City. It was the linchpin of the
greater scientific community, providing breakthroughs every year it would have
taken other labs decades to achieve. What they had discovered using the
Particle Accelerator had changed the world. It had made everyone's lives
better. It had saved Central City.
That was what Jesse reminded herself over and over as she tried to make sense
of what Jay had told her. It wasn’t just hubris that had led her father to do
what he’d done, he’d been thinking of Central City. He’d weighed the risks
against the rewards and decided that turning on the Particle Accelerator was
the best choice. He’d been wrong, obviously, and now he was too proud to admit
it, but he couldn’t fix his mistakes from inside a prison cell. He was trying
to make amends for what he’d done, first with the Flash and now with Vibe.
Of course he couldn’t have worked with someone as good-hearted as the Flash and
not fallen for him. She could appreciate, even in her distressed state, that
Jay had tried to spare her feelings; obviously he was a good person, and her
father would have responded to that. Jay’s good heart, however, would have made
him too idealistic to understand the choices her father had been forced to
make. Their personal relationship and their working relationship had gotten in
the way of each other, and both had ended badly. It was inevitable, but not
irreversible.
In that picture her father had looked . . . happy. Clearly Jay had made him
happy, and vice versa. He could have that back, they could both have it back,
if only she could show Jay what her father was too stubborn to tell him. He was
trying to be better. By helping Vibe, he was trying to be better.
Now all she had to do was prove it.
She was getting inordinately familiar with the inside of the broom closet on
the floor where her father’s office was located, but Vibe hadn’t technically
seen her come out of it so she thought it was safe to reuse the hiding place.
No one said any more about her failure to leave the building after having lunch
with her father than they had last time, and so she found herself once more in
the building after hours, alone but for her father and the person currently
riding upstairs in the elevator. This time when she heard the little ding that
signified Vibe’s arrival she stayed in place, and it was only after she heard
him round the corner that she carefully slipped out of the closet and followed
behind him. She knew this floor like the back of her hand, and so was able to
stay out of sight until Vibe reached her father’s office. Then she crouched
down behind the the wall next to the door and listened.
“It’s good to see that you’re alright,” came her father’s voice, soft and
soothing. Just like when he spoke to her. “I know having to fight Pied Piper
again must have been difficult for you.”
“I redesigned the cell,” Vibe told him. “He shouldn’t be able to get out
again.”
“Yes I saw that,” her father replied, sounding pleased. “Excellent work, as
always Cisco.”
Cisco. So Vibe’s name was Cisco. Jesse filed that information away for future
reference and kept listening.
“So, um,” Cisco said nervously, and Jesse could almost picture him looking at
the walls or the floor in anxiety. Maybe he was just a nervous person, she
thought. All the more reason for him to have a partner. And friends.
“So?” her father prompted gently.
“About . . .” Cisco trailed off.
“Do you need something, Cisco?” asked her father teasingly, and Jesse couldn’t
help but smile. Clearly her father’s relationship with Cisco wasn’t dissimilar
to the one he had with her. He was fond of Cisco, and this was yet another
reason that Jesse couldn’t help but think they should be friends. Complete with
Jay they could almost make an odd little family, especially since Cisco didn’t
seem to have anyone else.
“I had a vision today,” Cisco answered her father’s question, making Jesse
frown in confusion. Vision? “It was bad. I . . . I need-”
“I know what you need, little hero,” her father gentled, but there was
something odd about the way he said it. He sounded protective, like he wanted
to take care of Cisco, but there was also something  . . . else. Jesse couldn’t
place it.
“Jesse’s out with friends tonight,” her father recited the lie Jesse had told
him to excuse her absence from dinner, “so if you want to go back to the
apartment and have your . . . treatment, there, then that’s an option.”
Treatment? Visions? Suddenly Jesse wondered if perhaps Jay had been more right
than even he realized. She had not been looking at the full picture, but
neither it seemed had he. Was Cisco ill in some way? Did he have more powers
than either of them were aware of? Maybe the reason he didn’t want to work with
the Flash was something Jay had never considered: self-consciousness perhaps,
or bravado, or even the simple need for more control over a battle than having
to plan around another combatant would allow.
Back in the office, Cisco was giving his answer. “Yes, I’d like that, but . .
.”
“Yes?” her father asked curiously.
“Have you been talking to her about me?” Cisco wanted to know.
“Jesse?” her father laughed. “Of course not. Why would I tell her? She doesn’t
need to know about this.”
Jesse scowled. She was reallygetting sick of being left out of the loop.
“I don’t know,” Cisco confessed, “only I sort of ran into her the other day,
and she seemed like she . . . knew stuff. About me.”
There was a pause, and Jesse waited eagerly for her father’s reply. She hoped
fervently that she might get an answer to why no one wanted to tell her
anything.
“What did you say to her?” asked her father, seeming tense.
“Nothing,” Cisco said hurriedly, “I didn’t tell her anything. I thought you’d
want to keep this separate.”
“Good boy,” her father said. “You were correct, I’d rather she was left out of
this, for obvious reasons.”
Sadly, the reasons weren’t obvious to her. Damn.
“I thought so,” said Cisco, sounding relieved.
As they left the office and headed for the elevator Jesse hid underneath the
desk used by the secretary until they rounded the corner. Thankfully neither of
them even considered that they weren’t the only ones in the building, and her
father didn’t even think to lock his office door as he left. Jesse was bursting
with questions, and she knew precisely where to get the answers. If her father
was working on anything important, it would be in his audio logs.
Dr. Harrison Wells was a man with a particularly busy brain, and when it was
whirring at a mile a minute he didn’t have time to sit down and write or type
out what he was thinking. As a consequence of this he preferring dictation,
which eventually just became audio logs as a sort of voice recorded journal. It
was where he documented all his important projects, all his particularly
interesting theories, and anything he wanted put on record. Any documentation
of his work with Vibe, of their deal, of their partnership, was bound to be in
there.
Quickly Jesse sat down at her father’s desk, powered up his computer, and
pulled up the log from the day after Vibe defeated Zoom. She wasn’t expecting
much, as this was only the earliest possible log where Cisco might be
mentioned, but she was surprised to find that the earliest log on that date had
been made late in the evening, long after the lab had closed.
She clicked on it, and immediately her father’s voice came frenzied and excited
through the speakers.
"A solution to the situation with the Flash has presented itself," he began,
and Jesse frowned. Wouldn't he called Jay by his name, if they'd been . . . but
of course if that was a painful thing to contemplate he would probably want to
distance himself from it. She kept listening.
"This new superhero, thisVibe, came to see me here in STAR Labs. His real name
is Cisco Ramon, an emancipated minor who graduated high school at 15 and now at
17 is studying to be an engineer. He really is remarkably talented, and far
more useful than he knows. Already his effortless capture of Zoom has taken all
the city's attention off the Flash's littlestunt at the press conference, and
he seems to be quite the budding inventor. According to the information I've
gathered he created the cell the CCPD are using to contain Zoom, as well as
every containment unit in the Metahuman Wing of Iron Heights. I've managed to
convince him to put those skills to work for STAR Labs."
Jesse sat back in her father's desk chair, grinning slightly to herself. It
wasn't as if she hadn't know that Vibe -- Cisco -- was exceptional, but hearing
how much her father obviously liked him made her all the more eager to get to
know him. She couldn't imagine why her father wanted to keep them separated;
surely if anyone could understand either of them it would be each other. The
only explanation she could think of was the same one that Jay had brought up,
but people knew that Vibe worked for STAR Labs, so she couldn't see why she was
in any more danger being Vibe's friend than being Dr. Wells' daughter. She'd
have to bring that up when she discussed this with her father later.
The recording, however, was far from over.
"His age isn't a problem," said her father's voice, "and indeed provides a
significant advantage. He has no friends that I can discern and has distanced
himself from his family, so he has no support network to lean on and is best
described as affection-starved."
Her father's concern for Cisco was-
"This should make him particularly easy to manipulate."
Jesse paused the recording. The use of the word 'manipulate' sounded ominous,
and she sat there in the dark, silent office for several minutes trying to
puzzle out what he could mean by it. He had probably just used the wrong word,
she decided at last. He'd been searching for another -- 'persuade,' maybe, or
'guide' -- and had forged on when he couldn't find it so he could get his
thoughts out before they slipped away amidst the miasma that was the inside of
his head. He knew what he had meant, and the rest of the recording would reveal
that.
"For the moment my best way in is his visions," her father's voice continued
when she hit play again. "He has premonitions, which he calls 'vibes,' whenever
another metahuman uses their powers. It seems that they cause him considerable
pain, and he wants my help getting rid of them."
Jesse had to pause the log again to consider this new piece of information. She
could understand not wanting to live with terrible, unpredictable pain, but
ignoring the good he could do for Central City seemed wrong. Maybe that was why
he was working so hard? Did he want to make the city as safe as he could make
it before giving up his powers? It felt wrong to ask him to live with that
pain, and yet equally wrong to let him turn his back on his responsibility to
Central City.
She shook herself. Her father, doubtless, had already determined the correct
answer. She would see what he thought.
"It's out of the question, obviously," the recording of her father said with
perfect confidence, and Jesse relaxed somewhat. The next sentence, however,
made her stomach drop. "He's far too useful, especially now that I may need a
way to dispose of the Flash, but the promise of a cure makes for an excellent
bargaining chip until I can persuade him that his best and only option for
survival is my help."
Jesse paused the recording again. It was unmistakably her father's voice, using
the same placidly cheerful tone he always used at home, but still she had never
heard him talk like that. Even when he was yelling at his employees it was
frustration at their incompetence that made him upset; he wasn't upset now
though, he was perfectly calm and yet still talking about 'disposing' of people
and 'survival' like they were perfectly normal subjects he dealt with everyday.
He sounded calculating, and cruel, and not like himself at all.
She had to know more. She had to know where that darkness had come from. There
had to be an explanation.
"I have until he grows impatient waiting for the cure to make him emotionally
dependent on me," he continued, just as casually as before. "He likely has
little experience with being cared for, so the first step is set him up with an
apartment and see to his basic needs. He responded well to praise and comfort-
touch; I'll continue with those whenever possible. Some of the same tactics I
used to control the Flash should work on him as well, so I'll see how he
responds to advances in that direction in a week or so, once he's had time to
settle into his-" a small chuckle, "-new circumstances."
Jesse sat, clenching her hands in her lap, determined to keep listening. To see
this through to the end.
"I have little doubt about his inability to resist: his work at the lab,
college coursework and extracurricular activities as a vigilante -- once I
persuade him to continue -- should leave him with little energy to argue with
me. Still, he could be dangerous if I were to lose control, so it's probably
best that I come up with some way to neutralize his abilities if I absolutely
must. It would be a shame to lose that power, but if the worst should happen
I'll need a fail-safe. I'll begin work on a formula tomorrow."
That was where the recording ended.
Had he said that final sentence two minutes ago Jesse would have been ecstatic.
Here was the proof she needed, the proof that her father really was helping
Vibe, that he was holding up his end of the deal and giving the young superhero
what he needed. Now, with the context that the rest of the recording provided,
there was only one possible conclusion.
Jay had been right. He'd been right about her father, about the true nature of
their relationship. He was right about what was going on with Vibe, that he was
being manipulated and used. Suddenly a thousand small things came back to her,
taking on a new, sinister tone where they had previously seemed quirky and
harmless. Her father referring to the Flash and Vibe as 'models' as though they
were machines. His refusal to tell her anything about his new partner. His
determination to keep her 'separate' from that world, and everyone in it that
might need help.
Her help.
She needed to find that neutralizing agent. There was no way her father hadn't
finished it by now, and if Cisco was accepting 'treatments' from him those were
likely doing more harm than good. She needed to find the cure and get it to
him, before any of this went any further. Still, there was also one more thing
she needed to do.
With trembling fingers, Jesse ran a search for the words 'particle
accelerator.'
"Today provided a rather optimistic development," came her father's voice from
three weeks ago, sickeningly calm and content in the face of what he'd done.
"It seems that my little hero is a good deal cleverer than his predecessor.
While it took Jay Garrick the better part of a year to suspect that I knew the
particle accelerator would leak dark matter radiation into the city, Cisco
seems to have figured it out some time ago. He had been intending to kill me if
I didn't agree to help cure him on the night we met, but by this point he's
much too codependent on me to contemplate even telling anyone what he knows. It
speaks well to my ability to control him, and it eliminates a potential threat
I had been somewhat worried about. I think perhaps Project Cassandra will prove
unnecessary, but I'll keep the documentation of my 'attempts' for when I
propose that he eliminate the Flash. If he thinks there's no hope for a cure,
he'll be far easier to convince that his-" a cold, mean little laugh, "-destiny
is to replace Jay Garrick as the hero of Central City."
Jesse stopped the recording. There was more, but she had no reason to listen to
it, at least right now. Instead she dug around in the desk for a flash drive
and copied the two audio files, as well as any other logs containing the words
'cisco', 'vibe' or 'particle accelerator.' Then she went digging through rest
of his files, the non-audio records, for any mention of Project Cassandra. The
neutralizing agent existed. It had to be somewhere.
                                      ***
"We have to give it Cisco," Jesse told Jay, holding up the bottle of cloudy
white liquid. They were seated at Jay's kitchen table, where he had insisted
they have this conversation after she'd brought the cure to him. This time
she'd waited out in the hall rather than just coming straight in; she felt like
her family had ignored quite enough boundaries for one lifetime. She had meant
for Jay to be the one to tell Cisco he didn't have to listen to Dr. Wells
anymore, but she was meeting an unexpected source of resistance.
Jay's conscience.
Jay frowned. "I thought you said you understood what your father's capable of."
"That's why we have to give it to Cisco," Jesse insisted. "He needs this cure;
without it my dad will have no way to manipulate him."
"He's spent the last two months cultivating plenty of other ways," Jay assured
her, "and believe me he'll use them. It's not worth the risk."
"What risk?" Jesse wanted to know.
"The risk to Cisco," Jay explained. "Harrison said 'neutralize,' not 'cure.'
There's no way of knowing what he meant by that."
Jesse fought not to roll her eyes. "He made it to take away Cisco's powers.
What else would it do?"
"It's completely untested," Jay argued, "and Harrison doesn't know enough about
metahuman abilities to go messing with them like this. That drug, you have no
idea what it's going to do."
"My dad might be unethical, but he's good at what he does," Jesse told him
firmly. "If he made it, it'll do what it's supposed to do."
Jay shook his head. "It's just too dangerous Jesse."
"We can't just withhold it from him," Jesse pointed out. "He deserves to know
it exists, at least."
"So he can get desperate and take it without thinking first?" Jay countered.
"He's in pain, he's not thinking clearly. I cannot, in good conscience, dangle
a miracle cure over his head when there's every chance it could kill him."
"So, what, just because he's seventeen he's not qualified to make his own
medical decisions?" Jesse demanded. "He's an emancipated minor, that means he
gets to choose."
"All the more reason not to tell him," Jay concluded gently.
Jesse sat back, fuming. Jay had already made up his mind, and there was no way
she was going to convince him to change it. Well, no way except one.
She stood up and shoved the bottle into her pocket, then brushed past Jay on
her way to the door.
"Where are you going?" Jay asked nervously.
"The same place I went last time," Jesse tossed over her shoulder. "To get
proof."
                                      ***
It was indeed the same place she'd gone last time that she went for the proof
that she needed, that being STAR Labs after hours. At some point someone was
going to notice her hiding out in the same broom closet all the time, so this
time she picked a lower floor and a large supply room where she could easily
hide among the shelves. She was a little afraid they might lock it when
everyone went home, but thankfully security was generally good enough that not
many people felt the need to lock anything. When all the lights had gone dark
she slipped out, then went to find an empty lab where she could set up her
experiment.
Given that no one knew where she was and nobody would be coming to check this
place until morning, Jesse wasn't stupid enough to just go through with her
plan with no preparation whatsoever. First she found a lab with an EKG machine
in the biomedical wing, then gathered an epi-pen and -- due to the fact that
this was a dampening agent -- a shot of pure adrenaline as a back-up. It took
some trial and error to work out how to hook herself up to the EKG machine, but
once she managed it she lined up her materials on a medical tray and opened up
the contacts in her phone.
She deliberated for some time on who she should call if this went wrong. The
hospital seemed logical, but if she couldn't tell them where she was it would
take them a while to find her. Jay was faster than an ambulance, but he had the
same problem. Eventually, despite how much it pained her, she brought up her
father's contact information. He was able to activate the tracker on her phone
from his phone, so he would know immediately where she was, if not what she was
doing. He would recognize the Cassandra Serum as well, so he'd know how to
treat her. All things considered, good and bad, he was the best choice.
That done, Jesse measured out a dose of Cassandra Serum and, with a single deep
breath, jammed the needle into her arm.
For a few moments nothing happened. She didn't pass out or have a seizure, her
heart rate didn't spike or stop, and it seemed as if the serum had had no
effect whatsoever, as it should have on someone who had no superpowers.
Grinning to herself, she picked up the bottle to examine its contents again.
There were at least three more doses, plenty left to cure-
Suddenly the bottle slipped from between Jesse's slack fingers, and she had a
brief moment of panic before it simply rolled a few inches across the medical
tray. She hadn't actually lifted it that high, in fact she'd barely lifted it
at all. She looked at her hand, watching her fingers flex slowly. She frowned,
trying to speed them up, but no matter what she did they only got slower and
slower. She turned to look at the heart monitor to see that her heart,
likewise, was slowing down.
Immediately she fumbled the cap off the epi-pen and jabbed it into her thigh,
but despite the jolt it sent through her leg her heart rate did not pick up at
all. It was getting dangerously slow now, dangerous enough that the machine was
loudly announcing its dissatisfaction, and she knew that she had to do
something else before it got any slower. She only had one shot of adrenaline
and she couldn't afford to waste it, so she picked up the syringe and slammed
it directly into her heart.
Unfortunately this did not cause her heart to speed up.
Instead, it stopped completely.
Jesse knew she had only seconds before she lost consciousness. Unless she did
something there would be no one here to start compressions, ready the
defibrillators, shock her heart back to life. She could not die now: Cisco was
still in danger and she hadn't even told Jay where she left the flash drive of
her father's audio logs. It felt wrong, but there was only one option left to
her, and so with a slight sob she pressed the Call button on her phone.
Her dad picked up on the first ring. "Jesse?" he asked in confusion. "It's
late, where are-"
"Daddy," she said hoarsely as her vision began to go dark around the edges.
"Help."
"Jesse? Jesse what's wrong? What's going on? Jesse? JESSE!"
Chapter End Notes
     special thanks to hedgiwithapen for letting me whine at her while i
     was writing this. and for the name of the serum, which was her idea.
***** Stronger *****
Chapter Notes
     THIS GOT REALLY DARK! like holy shit i had this planned out but i did
     not realize just how dark it would be until i wrote it. i know some
     of you don't like reading smut, so this is a bit complicated, but
     there's no actual sex. there's just mentions that sex happened in the
     past and the promise of sex which doesn't go anywhere. sorry if that
     still skeeves you out, so if you really just don't wanna hear it skip
     from jay's entrance down to "daddy?" and check the end notes for what
     happens.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
Of all things, it had to be Jesse.
Of all the things in Harrison’s life he could afford to lose. Of all the things
he could survive losing. Of all his possessions and every person he’d ever
known, of everything and everyone in all the world, the one thing that was in
jeopardy just hadto be daughter, his joy, his only child. His Jesse.
He could imagine no crueler fate than the one he was now enduring, sitting at
her bedside with one of her hands in both of his, hoping and praying that she
would wake up. He couldn’t imagine how she’d gotten ahold of the Cassandra
Serum, or what had possessed her to inject herself with it. Slamming that shot
of adrenaline had likely saved her life, and he shuddered to think what would
have happened if she hadn’t thought to do so. She’d be dead. He’d have lost
her.
But why had she taken the serum in the first place? How had she even found it?
She was not the type of girl to go shooting herself up with things she found
lying around, and he’d hidden the Cassandra Serum very carefully because it was
so dangerous. Flimsy explanation after ridiculous excuse chased each other
around his brain, each one more improbable than the last. In the end there was
no earthly reason she should have thought it had anything to do with her, and
to have taken it in a secluded location late at night . . . No. She was not
that kind of girl. She knew better. But then, why?
It was this powerlessness, this complete inability to do anything, that was
eating away at him. He wouldn’t know anything until she woke up, until she
could explain, and with no information to work off he had no idea who was
responsible for this. Not Jesse, that much he knew; someone else was to blame
for this travesty and he would find out who it was. But for the moment he had
nothing to go on, and until he had something all he could do was move her from
the hospital to a special infirmary in STAR Labs and hire the best medical care
money could buy to watch over her using the lab’s superior equipment. All that
was left to do was wait for her to wake up.
Harrison hated waiting.
“Will you hurry up!” he snapped at one of the nurses who was checking Jesse’s
vital signs. He much preferred to be alone with his daughter, and having a lot
of incompetent medical staff buzzing uselessly around like so many obnoxious
bumble bees only aggravated him.
“I’m sorry sir,” squeaked the nurse, and wrote something down hurriedly on
Jesse’s chart before scurrying from the room. Harrison found the fear he
inspired immensely satisfying; if they couldn't fix Jesse they could all just
go away.
Once the sound of footfalls faded down the hallway there was silence again,
broken only by the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor. She had flatlined a
few times over the last week, nearly taking Harrison’s own heart with her, but
so far she had always come back. Now all she had to do was come back to
consciousness and everything would be alright again.
Life outside this room ticked by, both it and Harrison indifferent to each
other. He'd told his secretary to put whoever she pleased in charge of the lab
temporarily as long as they didn't bother him, and the press had been
unceremoniously shut out altogether. Vibe had come once to ask if he needed
anything, and Harrison had told him that if he wanted to help he could go down
to his lab and stay there. No word of or from him had come since then, so for
all Harrison knew the boy was still down there. He didn't much care either way.
It was so strange. Two months ago he had been desperate for Vibe's cooperation,
ecstatic to see him and greedy for any chance to draw him closer. Now the boy
could be dead for all he cared. Everything and everyone he cared about in the
world was now lying in front of him, hooked up to a bank of soulless machines
that were the only thing keeping her alive. She looked so absurdly peaceful for
someone at death's door, and he wanted to grab her and shake her, demand that
she come back to him. It wouldn't do any good though. She would wake up on her
own or not at all.
"Harrison," said a voice, soft and low, from the doorway.
It took him a moment to place it, and when he did he turned in his chair in
shock. It was Jay Garrick standing there, his button-down work shirt open with
the sleeves rolled up and his hands in the pockets of his jeans. As ever he
didn't seem to understand just what a striking picture he presented when out of
his Flash getup, and he stood with shoulders hunched and head bowed slightly as
he hovered in the doorway to the infirmary.
For a moment Harrison struggled with the handful of names that rose unbidden to
his lips, then finally settled on a terse "Garrick," before going back to
looking at Jesse's sleeping face.
He hoped that the dismissive greeting would communicate that Jay was unwelcome
here, but Jay didn't seem to want to take the hint. He stepped cautiously past
the threshold, then when no alarms rang or security appeared he came farther
into the room.
"So this is where you've been," Jay observed, apparently untroubled by the fact
that Harrison wasn't looking at him. "For the past week, you've been here. In
this room."
"Where else should I be?" Harrison snapped, turning slightly to toss the words
over his shoulder but not enough to see Jay's expression.
There was an exhale that sounded like a weak little laugh. "Lots of places,"
Jay said ambiguously. "The whole city's on edge."
"This is my problem how?" Harrison wanted to know.
"Well their new favorite hero's been missing since you dropped off the face of
the Earth," Jay explained lightly. "They're understandably concerned."
"Are they?" Harrison said sarcastically
"They want to know where he's gone," Jay clarified.
"How should I know?" he demanded. He just wanted Jay to leave, so he could go
back to watching over Jesse in peace.
Jay however was simply not ready to cooperate with that agenda. "You mean you
don't know?" he asked, sounding shocked. "He's under your care-"
"What are you a social worker now Garrick?" Harrison spat venomously. "He's an
emancipated minor: he's under no one's care and no one cares about him."
"That's not true," said Jay easily, effortlessly, with that same psychotic
idealism that made him think every single solitary life was valuable. "This
city cares about him. You care, if you'd just let yourself-"
Harrison stood up so quickly he knocked over his chair, whirling to face Jay
and his fresh absurdity. "The only person I care about is Jesse," he snarled,
striding angrily over to where Jay stood next to an empty exam table. Not for
the first time he was struck by how ridiculously big Jay was, but Harrison was
only an inch or two shorter and perfectly capable of shoving him in the chest.
"You think you know me, Garrick?" he demanded. "I thought we'd established
already that you know nothing about-"
In a single fluid motion Jay had Harrison bent over the exam table, one hand
twisting Harrison's arm behind his back and the other one worked into his hair
to pull his head backwards. Harrison growled, struggling, but then Jay leaned
down and sank his teeth into the skin of Harrison's shoulder, just above his
collar bone.
Immediately Harrison's traitorous body went limp and pliant under Jay's. All
the fight drained out of him like so much soapy water from a rung sponge, and
he let out an undignified breathy sound that he would have been horrified to
have made within mere feet of his daughter if she'd been awake. The bright star
of pain sent waves of familiar pleasure crashing through him and brought a
hundred memories of similar sensations racing to the forefront of his mind, and
he honestly couldn't have said how long he stood there with the Flash's mouth
inches from his throat.
Jay released his grip with both jaw and fingers at the same moment, and
Harrison's head thumped to the table.
"Nothing?" Jay asked conversationally, then licked innocently at the mark he'd
left. "Are you sure about that?"
"Ngh," said Harrison intelligently.
Jay huffed out a soft little laugh. "That's what I thought."
He shifted, bringing his hips flush against his captive's until Harrison could
feel his erection through his jeans. Instinctively Harrison pushed back, trying
to make Jay harder, trying to make him lose some of that ironclad control of
his.
Jay was having none of it. He jerked his hips sharply until Harrison was
sandwiched tightly between him and table, held immobile by cold steel in front
and hard flesh behind.
"What-" Harrison managed shakily.
"Hush," Jay purred, then immediately went to work on Harrison's neck with light
kisses and soft nibbles.
Harrison went boneless beneath him, the fingers of his free hand twitching
against the tabletop as Jay's talented mouth sent little ripples of sensation
radiating out from the point of contact. His scalp tingled as Jay began to
massage there with his fingertips, then trailed his kisses up to flutter
against the hairline. He was painfully hard, and he wanted to rock back against
Jay, feel the answering hardness and the promise of what was to come. Both of
them, ideally.
"You remember this?" Jay whispered agains the shell of his ear.
"Yes," Harrison answered reflexively.
"You remember what happens next?"
Harrison did remember what happened next. Next Jay would sink to his knees,
open up Harrison's slacks and suck his cock until he was begging. Then he'd
stand up, bend Harrison roughly over the table again and finger him to an
orgasm that would leave him shaking and oversensitive but nowhere near
satisfied. Jay would work him open until he was hard again and then fuck him
slow and languid, whispering all kinds of filth into his ears until he was
writhing and clawing the tabletop, desperate for the barest hint of friction on
his cock. When Jay finally got tired of his begging he'd reach down and bring
Harrison off with a single firm stroke, and Harrison would sob out his release
as Jay bit his neck and came inside him.
But that had been before. Before Jay found out the truth. Before he learned
what he'd really been doing at Harrison's behest. Before he became utterly
impossible to control, until he finally found a way to break free of the
carefully constructed web Harrison had woven around him. Before he left.
"Yes," he said hoarsely, "but-"
"Do you want it?" Jay asked, in perfect sincerity. "Do you want to have it
back?"
Harrison was silent. Of course he wanted Jay back, but Jay had to know that.
Half his reason for leaving had been to punish Harrison, alongside his patent
refusal to see reason, to admit like everyone else that STAR Labs and hence all
of Central City were better off with Dr. Harrison Wells at the helm. Jay knew,
must have know, that Harrison would have given a great deal to have him back
where he belonged: doing as he was told, taking the reasonable path and
generally being the person he'd been before he'd decided to be obstinate.
"You can have this again," Jay murmured into the whorls of his ear. "I can
haveyou over this table, right here right now. I'll make it good; you'll like
it."
Harrison's tongue felt thick and stupid in his mouth as he tried to answer, but
Jay wasn't done.
"I can come back to work at STAR Labs," he went on. "I can work on whatever
projects you want to give me. Even weapons."
Jay had never been willing to work on chemical weapons, he'd always said-
"I can be a hero," he continued, "or not. I can be your pet superhero and tell
everyone how great you are. I can give it all up tomorrow to be at your beck
and call."
God he'd always hated the Flash, what he wouldn't have given for Jay to just
use his powers for personal gain-
"I can be yours again," Jay concluded, nuzzling the shell of Harrison's ear.
"Yes!" Harrison whined, uncaring of how loud he'd gotten. His fingers scrabbled
at the exam table, wanting to grab and snatch at the offer before Jay took it
back.
"All you have to do, is let the kid go."
Harrison stopped. He stopped scrabbling and struggling and forced his brain to
process what Jay had just said. By 'the kid' Harrison assumed he meant Vibe, so
then what he wanted in exchange . . .
"Just tell him the truth," Jay pressed on, but his voice sounded less tempting
and more desperate all of a sudden. "Just tell him you have no intention to-
"Oh," Harrison cut him off, and his voice dripped poison because he'd honestly
never felt so used in all his life. "You are good, Flash."
Jay froze. He stopped purring and just stood there, still trapping Harrison in
place but somehow nowhere near in control. Not anymore.
"I should have known," Harrison continued. "There is no Jay Garrick anymore, is
there? There's just you, Flash, you and your martyr complex. Except that you
wouldn't really be a martyr, would you? You'd just be protecting your own
skin."
"What?" Jay asked, in almost genuine-sounding confusion.
Harrison laughed. "You must have figured out what I need him for," he said, a
little maniacally, because inside he was trembling with the effort not to come
apart. "If I 'let him go' as you put it, I can't use him against you anymore,
and then you've got no reason to keep up your end of the deal. You make me give
up my best weapon, then you cut and run. Just like you did last time."
"I didn't owe you anything last time," Jay tried to argue. "This time I will.
I'm telling the truth: I'll stay."
"I don't know that I want you to," Harrison lied. "I'm not sure I want to give
him up. He may not look like much but he's a pretty little thing when he's bent
over a desk."
Jay growled. "He's seventeen you psycho!"
"Oh is that what this is about?" Harrison retorted. "You think you're going to
make him testify against me? Me, Harrison Wells, the man who saved Central
City?"
"I don't care whether he wants to press charges or not," Jay insisted. Falsely,
like as not, but Harrison didn't feel like speculating. "But he doesn't deserve
what you're doing to him."
"What I'm doing to him?" Harrison asked. "I'm not doing anything, Flash.
Nothing he didn't beg me for anyway."
Jay growled again, shoving him roughly against the desk and twisting his arm.
"He makes such pretty noises when I'm inside him," Harrison shouted, uncaring
of how loud he'd gotten in his triumph. "You've never made me come so hard I
cried, but then again I probably wasn't as tight as he-"
"Daddy?"
Harrison froze. Any trace of arousal withered as icy adrenaline dumped itself
into his veins. That voice. It could only be . . .
Jay reared back, leaving Harrison cold and alone bent over the exam table. He
pushed himself to his elbows and then his hands, slowly gathering his composure
before he turned around. Eventually he managed to stand straight, fixing his
clothes methodically as he tried to calm down. He had to present a very
specific picture when he turned around.
"Jesse," he said, smiling as he spun to look at her, "you're awake-"
"Is it true?" she cut him off, voice hoarse from disuse and breaking just a
little. She was sitting up in bed, staring at him, her eyes wide and fearful.
"It . . " he stuttered, cringing inwardly at the look she was giving him.
"Jess-"
"He's my age," she cut him off, voice quavering. "How could you do that to
someone who's my age?"
"He's not my daughter," Harrison explained honestly, the only answer that would
come to him.
"He's someone's child!" Jesse yelled back, and Harrison flinched.
"Yes, but they don't care," he tried desperately. "I'm the one taking care of
him, so I get to-"
Jesse let out a little sob. She squirmed away from him, getting as far away as
she could without getting out of her hospital bed, which she likely couldn't do
yet.
"Jess-" he said hoarsely, reaching for her.
"Don't touch me!" she screamed, batting weakly at his hands, but he leaned over
the bed to grasp her shoulders and pull her toward him.
Then, suddenly, she wasn't there. In a flash of lightning Jay had snatched her
right out of his hands, and now the two of them were standing on the other side
of the room, Jesse dashing at her tears with her palms and Jay eyeing him
warily.
Jay stepped forward. "Harrison," he said gently.
"You!" Harrison cut him off. "Do not touch my daughter! How dare you subject
her to this!"
"Harrison, calm down," Jay soothed, walking slowly toward him. He was so
condescending, so sure that his clever scheme to turn Jesse against her father
-- her family, her only family -- had worked that he wasn't even bothering to
pretend that Harrison was a threat anymore.
Well, Harrison could work with that.
As Jay drew closer Harrison reached down under the hospital bed and grabbed one
of the anti-metahuman devices -- Boots -- that Cisco had made. Harrison had
made sure every room in STAR Labs had at least one, and now he was extremely
satisfied with his own paranoia. As soon as Jay was close enough Harrison
lunged, latching onto Jay's shirt and snapping the circular device close around
his throat.
Jesse screamed as Jay fell to the floor, convulsing from the shock and wheezing
as the collar restricted his airway. Without waiting for him to pass out
Harrison seized him by the shirt and began dragging his half-limp form toward
the door. It was late in the evening, there ought to be plenty of empty labs
where he could-
"Stop!" Jesse screeched, running to try and tug Jay out of Harrison's hold. She
was no match for him though: Harrison was much taller and much stronger, and he
easily pulled the semi-conscious speedster out into the hallway.
"Jesse," he said seriously, taking her firmly by the arm, "I don't expect you
to understand this right now, but Daddy has something to take care of."
"No!" she cried, but Harrison pushed her forcefully back into the infirmary and
locked the door quickly behind her.
Jay was fully unconscious now, and his dead weight was easier to drag than his
flailing limbs. It didn't take long for Harrison to find an empty lab on the
next floor up, far enough away from Jesse's screaming that no one would be able
to hear it. He locked Jay inside, just in case he was faking, then headed back
to the elevator.
As the door closed behind him, Harrison pushed the button for the lowest sub-
basement.
                                      ***
Harrison wasn't entirely sure what he expected to find in the concrete bunker
that had been converted into Cisco's lab. He'd been down there a few times, to
check on various projects, so he knew that Cisco had certainly made the most of
the space: several worktables scattered with plans and prototypes like so much
bric-a-brac, the walls lined with storage shelves, larger projects standing on
the floor like modern art pieces and a small set of living quarters in one
corner for when Cisco worked late and didn't feel like going home. Harrison had
made a token resistance to that addition, insisting that Vibe needed more
comfort than this after patrol, but Dr. Harrison Wells had never been one to
discourage his employees from working through the night.
Stepping out from the elevator his eyes swept the workplace for signs of his
little hero. If Cisco wasn't down here then it would be a simple matter to call
him to the lab, but as Harrison's eyes lighted on the cot he saw Cisco curled
up under the thin blanket, dozing lightly.
Harrison went to kneel beside the bed. "Cisco," he whispered, shaking the boy's
shoulder, "wake up my little hero, I have a job for you."
"Harrison?" asked Cisco sleepily, rubbing his eyes. "You're . . . did Jesse
wake up?"
"Yes, I-" a frown creased Harrions's forehead as something occurred to him.
"Have you been down here this whole time?"
"You told me to stay," Cisco explained simply, without a touch of anger or
self-consciousness, as though it were the most normal thing in the world. "I
had a stash of junk food."
Harrison smiled. "Oh my sweet boy," he said, cupping Cisco's face tenderly.
"Always so good for me."
Cisco leaned into the caress. "Is Jesse alright?" he asked worriedly.
"She's awake," Harrison conceded, already formulating his story, "but not quite
alright."
Cisco frowned. "Was there some kind of permanent damage?" he asked, voice full
of anxiety.
"No," Harrison told him, "but she's been hurt."
"How?" Cisco wanted to know, sitting up in bed. "Who could possibly hurt her
here?"
"The Flash," Harrison told him, trying to keep the fury in his voice to a
minimum, to sound at least relatively calm. "He's hurt Jesse, and he's going to
hurt her again. I need you to get rid of him."
Cisco shook his head. "The Flash would never do that though," he said, earnest
and confused.
"There's no time to explain," Harrison replied, standing up and offering his
hand. "Just come with me. I've locked him in a lab, but if we want to make sure
he'll never hurt anyone again we have to take care of him quickly. "
Harrison was glancing at the elevator, half afraid that Jay would simply appear
there to contradict his story, so he wasn't looking at Cisco's expression. He
turned back, however, at the deadly tone of the boy's voice.
"No," he said simply, then locked his hard eyes on Harrison's face when the
older man turned to look at him. "The Flash would never do that."
                                      ***
When Cisco had found out Jesse was in a coma he'd felt sick to his stomach. Of
course Jesse had been hurt. She'd been hanging around him, hadn't she? Not to
mention he'd gone on television and told the whole city that he worked for her
father. Really, how she'd avoided getting hurt for as long as she had was the
mystery.
But it seemed that she hadn't been injured as a result of some metahuman
attack, but rather some kind of drug. The official story was "a bad reaction to
some medication," but Cisco knew there had to be more to it than that. He'd
tried to ask Harrison about it, but the man had been completely distraught by
Jesse's condition, much too emotionally fragile to deal with Cisco. He'd given
Cisco the simple instruction to go to his lab and stay there, so that was
precisely what Cisco had done. He'd stayed down there, in his fortress of a
lab, the entire day, and then had been afraid to leave when night had fallen.
What if Harrison needed him for something, and was counting on him being here?
The settled it really: if there was a possibility that Harrison was counting on
him to be somewhere then he was damn well going to stay there until he
absolutely had to leave. He had basic amenities in his lab -- it was, after
all, made to be lived in while working on projects that would required 'round
the clock attention -- as well as a small stash of junk food, so he'd simply
slept on the cot and ate through his candy and chip reserves while he waited to
be called upon.
It took almost a week for anything to happen. He'd been dangerously close to
needing to leave, what with the food running out, when Harrison had finally
materialized by his bedside one night while he slept. Cisco woke to a hand on
his arm, and Harrison's soothing voice in his ear.
"Wake up my little hero," he'd whispered affectionately, "I have a job for
you."
This was exactly what Cisco had been waiting for, but he was also conscious
that Harrison sounded far less anguished than the last time they had seen each
other. Harrison spoke to him in soft tones, caressed his face fondly, called
him "sweet boy" and praised his devotion. Cisco hadn't even realized how much
he had been craving those words and touches the last week, and he let the older
man's soothing presence wash over him before turning his attention to the task
at hand.
Exactly what the task at hand was, though, changed everything.
"The Flash," Harrison told him, "He's hurt Jesse, and he's going to hurt her
again. I need you to get rid of him."
That was impossible though, and Cisco told him as much. There was no way the
Flash would ever hurt Jesse, he had no reason to do so and he had never hurt
anyone unless it was to stop them from hurting someone else. Jay was kind, he'd
reached out to Cisco when anyone else would have pushed him away, and he would
never hurt someone like Jesse. It didn't make sense why Harrison would say
that, or why he would insist on it when Cisco told him it was impossible.
Unless . . .
"You're lying," Cisco said coldly, glaring up at Harrison. "Why would you lie
about something like that?"
Harrison paled. "Cisco," he said, holding up a hand placatingly as he backed up
a few steps, "now, listen to me."
"Answer my question first," Cisco bargained.
"Something's happened," he said vaguely, "the Flash has gone rogue. Something
must have happened to him, he's completely insane."
"Then we need to help him," Cisco countered, standing up from the bed, tossing
the blankets aside as he picked up his goggles from the stack of books he'd
been using as a bedside table.
"It's too late for that," Harrison insisted, shaking his head, "I have him
contained for the moment, but we need to act now. We have to get rid of him."
"I can contain him until we figure this out," Cisco replied. "I did it with
Zoom. There's no reason to hurt him."
"He hurt my daughter!" Harrison shouted, then quickly composed himself. "The
Flash is a menace," he went on more evenly, "you don't know him like I do
Cisco."
"He said he'd known you," Cisco confirmed, narrowing his eyes. His conversation
in the warehouse came bubbling back to the surface of his mind. What the Flash
had told him about Harrison. What he'd warned Cisco about Harrison.
The older man looked even more alarmed than before. "Whatever he's told you,"
Harrison said firmly, "whatever he's said to you, I swear it's a lie. We worked
together for a time, yes, but he was the one who betrayed me."
"I don't believe you!" Cisco snapped. "The Flash is a hero! He wouldn't do
that, to you or to Jesse!"
"Cisco," Harrison barked, voice suddenly hard. "I'm the one who has been taking
care of you. You will listen to me, not him!"
"I didn't need to be taken care of until I met you," Cisco retorted sharply.
Harrison seemed to realize that his stern-disciplinarian tactic wasn't going to
work. "Sweet boy," he tried instead, voice switching seamlessly to a soft
croon, "why would I lie to you? When have I ever lied to you?"
"I don't know," Cisco said, realizing as he said it that it was true, "when
have you lied?"
He took a step toward Harrison, and the other man took two steps back. He was
afraid, and Cisco could think of only one reason for that fear.
"What are you afraid of, Harrison?" he asked. "We're both good guys, aren't we?
So let's go help the Flash."
"You have to get rid of him!" Harrison yelled, eyes wide and panicked. "It's
the only way! You have to kill him!"
Cisco froze, and Harrison seemed to realize his mistake a second too late.
"Good guys don't murder people," Cisco said, low and angry. "They only kill if
they have to, to protect themselves or someone else. Not enemies they've
already captured. Not in cold blood."
"Cisco," Harrison said carefully. He continued backing away with one hand
outstretched, until his back hit one of the worktables. "Listen to me."
With that, he threw the Boot he'd just grabbed off the table at Cisco's throat.
Cisco had designed several different types of Boots. There was the one meant to
go around someone's thigh, for captures in the field, and the one meant to go
around someone's ankle, for restraint while in Iron Heights. There were ones
that needed to be fastened on, and had biometric locks so that only prison
wardens could open them. There were ones that could be fired from a sort of
canon-like device, and would hone in on the nearest metahuman to attach to
whatever part of them it struck first.
And then there was Cisco's latest invention: the Boots that were meant to be
thrown by hand.
The thing that all of them had in common, however, was that Cisco's powers
would shut them down.
The moment the collar -- for that was how Harrison was intending to use it, as
a collar -- fastened around his neck it short-circuited and automatically
opened again. It clattered to the floor, and Cisco looked up to see Harrison's
shocked and horrified expression. He apparently hadn't known about that little
safety feature.
Cisco held up a hand, palm out, his usual gesture for firing a vibration blast.
"You shouldn't have done that," he said simply.
Harrison swallowed. "Sweet boy," he said, smiling weakly, "you frightened me,
I-"
"Where," Cisco cut him off, "did you put Jay?"
                                      ***
Of all the things Cisco expected when he flung open the door to the biomed lab
where Harrison had stashed Jay, being ambushed by a flash of white lightning
and then pinned to the opposite wall was not one of them.
Cisco and Jesse blinked at each other. "You're not my dad," she observed, after
a moment.
"No," Cisco confirmed. "Is Jay alright?"
"I'm fine," Jay assured him, stepping out into the hallway to gently pull Jesse
off of Cisco. "Where's Harrison?"
"Downstairs," Cisco told him placidly as he straightened his shirt, "in what
used to be my lab."
"Did you . . ." Jesse trailed off, looking a bit worried. "Is he . . ."
"Let's put it this way," Cisco told her, smiling just a little, "I thought it
was a good idea for me to disable the elevator and block off the stairway until
the cops get here."
Chapter End Notes
     SPOILERS: (at the end, so do they really count as spoilers?)
     basically what happens between jay coming in and jesse waking up is
     that jay offers to be harrison's pet superhero again in exchange for
     harrison telling cisco the truth about manipulating him and not
     really intending to help him. harrison thinks that jay is planning to
     double cross him and so he refuses, but in doing so he reveals that
     he's been sleeping with cisco within earshot of jesse.
     i'm sorry this chapter was so angsty the next chapter is pick-up-the-
     pieces time.
***** Finding Home *****
Chapter Summary
     it's pick up the pieces time . . .
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes
Of all the things Hartley Rathaway had expected from ‘Vibe,’ as Cisco was now
calling himself, a midday visit to Iron Heights after three weeks of complete
silence was not one of them.
“So Cisquito,” he said condescendingly into the phone, watching the plain-
clothed superhero on the other side of the glass intently, “you finally came to
see me.”
“Hi Hart,” Cisco replied, and that more than anything cut deep, because he
sounded exactly like he had when they’d been dating. It was such a contrast to
the way he’d spoken when they’d fought -- cold and dismissive and utterly
devoid of emotion -- that Hartley’s mouth went dry.
He swallowed, and went on. “Are you sure it’s good for your reputation to be
seen visiting a supervillain in prison?” he asked, glancing around at the
visiting area nonchalantly, as though supremely unconcerned. “Oh wait, I guess
it doesn’t matter, because you’re not Vibe at the moment. It pays to have a
secret identity, I suppose.”
“I’d be here with or without that Hart,” Cisco told him earnestly, and he
looked almost sorry with his sad puppy eyes.
“I was beginning to think I was going crazy,” Hartley admitted, hiding it
behind a thick layer of sarcasm. “If you’re not here as a superhero then you
must be here as my ex-boyfriend. Nice to know I didn’t dream all the times we-”
“Hart,” Cisco cut him off, voice infuriatingly gentle. “I’m sorry.”
Hartley stopped, staring at him. He had half a mind to stand up and ask to see
the prison doctor, to have his cochlear implants checked. Had Cisco really just
apologized?
“I should never have let Harrison say you were crazy,” Cisco went on, head
bowed so he was looking up at Hartley through his lashes. “It was wrong of me
to stand by and let him do that to you.”
Hartley swallowed again. “Harrison,” he repeated, in a weak, reedy voice. “So
he got you too, huh?”
“He doesn’t have anyone anymore,” Cisco corrected, and lifted his head a little
bit, a new kind of confidence in his voice.
Harltey frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I mean he’s in prison awaiting trial,” Cisco informed him seriously, “for
criminal negligence, manslaughter, attempted murder and statutory rape.”
Hartley’s mind whirred as it tried to shape his thoughts around this new
information, but one thing stuck out above the rest: the statutory rape charge.
That could only mean . . .
“Cisco,” Hartley whispered, horrified, “oh god, did he-”
“That’s not why I’m here,” Cisco cut him off, and that was as good as an
answer. “I’m here because they want you to testify to the criminal negligence
charge.”
Hartley felt almost as if he’d received an electric shock as his heart leaped
in sudden, violent hope.
“I- I don’t have my evidence,” he protested weakly. “He destroyed all of it,
I’ve got nothing concrete left.”
“You’ve got your story,” Cisco corrected, “that’s all we need. We have
documented evidence, we just need more witnesses. We cannot lose this case.”
Hartley shook his head in agreement, mouth working uselessly as he tried to
answer, but Cisco seemed to take this as a refusal.
“They’re offering you a plea deal, Hart,” he said, a little desperately. “The
DA’s going to contact you this afternoon. Plead down to assault and you can
walk out of here today.All you have to do is agree to testify.”
Hartley nodded frantically, then frowned as a thought occurred to him. “Why are
you here then?” he wanted to know. “Why did you come?”
Cisco’s face scrunched up in pain, and he sniffed as though trying not to
cry. “To tell you I’m sorry,” he replied, “that you’re not crazy, and that I’m
going to get you out of here.”
At Cisco’s words Hartley’s throat closed up. Cisco -- Vibe -- had been so
indifferent during their fights, not even seeming phased by all his taunting.
Nothing had gotten through to him, no references to what they had, and suddenly
Hartley realized just how close he’d been to believing Harrison’s lie himself.
He felt a prickling behind his eyes and fought the urge to sniffle, just a
little.
He cleared his throat, blinking back the tears that threatened to spill
out. “You owe me dinner, you brat,” he said instead, voice shaking.
Cisco smiled, sad but warm. “Of course Ciervo ,” he replied, his own voice
shaking even worse than Hartley’s. “Wherever you wanna go.”
                                      ***
“So where’s he going?” Jesse asked, as she and Cisco sat on Jay’s couch, eating
cereal and watching the news.
Cisco shrugged. “Starling, I think. He said he needed some time, and I don’t
blame him.”
“Do you think he’ll come back?” she inquired earnestly, looking anxiously at
Cisco. “It seemed like you two really cared about each other.”
Cisco shrugged. “I’m not sure,” he admitted, “I mean, I have his number and
we’re still texting, but I don’t know if things can go back to . . . the way
they were before.”
“Do you want them to?” Jesse wanted to know.
Just then the commercial ended, and Jesse turned up the volume on the TV again.
“- reporting live from the Central City courthouse, where in a shocking turn of
events Harrison Wells has been found guilty of both criminal and civil
negligence, twelve counts of involuntary manslaughter, one count of attempted
murder and one count of statutory rape. He has been sentenced to life in
prison, with a chance of parole only after 25 years.”
Cisco turned to Jesse. “You alright?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah,” Jesse said shortly. “I just can’t believe only twelve of those
manslaughter charges stuck.”
“I’m seriously,” he insisted, muting the TV again. “We haven’t really talked
about this.”
“Are you okay then?” Jesse retorted defensively.
“You’re deflecting,” Cisco informed her coolly, “and he wasn’t my dad.”
“He didn’t try to make me kill someone,” Jesse countered, carefully avoiding
any of the other things Harrison had made Cisco do.
Cisco was spared having to answer that by Jay, who chose that moment to speed
in without so much as bothering to open the door.
“And here I was thinking I lived alone,” Jay said dryly when he caught sight of
them.
“We’ll do the dishes when we’re done,” Jesse said innocently, giving Jay her
best puppy dog eyes while Cisco joined in the display.
Jay shook his head, laughing softly as he took off his jacket and helmet. “I
though your emancipation was finalized after your dad’s arrest,” he said
gently. “I understand crashing here during the trial, but the house is yours
now.”
Jesse set down her bowl on the coffee table as Jay went to collapse in his
armchair. “Yeah, about that.”
Jay frowned. “What?”
“So, living here as long as I have,” Jesse began, “I’ve come to the conclusion
that your place is kind of run-down.”
“Hey!”
“And the lease on Cisco’s apartment is about to run out,” she continued as if
Jay hadn’t spoken.
“Plus my old place has been rented out to someone else already,” Cisco put in
helpfully.
“Right,” Jesse nodded to him, “so I think that the only logical thing to do is
for the two of you to move in with me.”
Jay blinked at her. “What?”
“It just makes sense,” Jesse insisted, echoing her sentiment from all those
weeks ago. “The house is way too big for one person, it’s creepy living there
all by myself, and you’re the only two people I trust. Neither of you have a
place to live-”
“A-hem,” Jay coughed pointedly, gesturing at the apartment around them.
“A better place to live,” Jesse amended, “and there’s more than enough room.
You can keep teaching me to use my speed-”
“You’re a very quick study,” Jay pointed out, “I think you’ve got the hang of
it.”
“-and you can keep teaching Cisco to be a superhero.”
Jay couldn’t really argue with that one. Cisco was about to graduate from
college, but he’d be moving on the graduate school next, which would mean he’d
be balancing even more challenging coursework with his job at the CCPD and his
work as a superpowered vigilante. He was still very young, and to leave him to
fend for himself at this critical stage couldn’t help but feel wrong.
By Jay’s troubled look, he seemed to agree.
“It just makes sense,” Jesse repeated.
“But it doesn’t feel right,” Jay rubbed the back of his neck. “To take down
Harrison is one thing, but then to move into his vacated house? It makes me
feel like some kind of usurper.”
“Oh please,” Jesse rolled her eyes, “if anyone I’m the usurper. I testified at
the trial, same as you, and the house and the lab defaulted to myownership.
It’s mine to do with as I please and I want the two of you to live there.”
Jay sighed. “I’m not going to get my way on this, am I?” he asked wearily.
“I’d imagine you’re not going to get your way on a great many things from now
on,” Cisco speculated cheerfully.
Jay shook his head, then shrugged. “When do we move in?”
Jesse grinned. “Now, obviously!”
                                      ***
“You have . . . turtles?” Jesse asked, standing beside Jay next to the large
but long-unused fish pond behind the house.
“I had a tank in my room,” he explained. “You never went in there, and thank
you for that by the way.”
Jesse watched the handful of small terrapins scoot slowly around on the banks
and paddle lazily through the water. Jay’s placid smile as he watched them
explore their new home in the pond was a little infectious, and before she knew
it Jesse realized she’d been standing there watching the little guys for
several minutes.
“They seem to like it here,” Jay broke the silence at last.
“I’m still hung up on the fact that the fastest man alive keeps very slow
animals as pets,” she admitted.
“I like to watch them,” Jay confessed. “They’re not in any hurry. They have
nowhere to be. They’re turtles; they do things in their own time.”
“That they do,” Jesse conceded.
“Also they’re rescues,” he added, as an afterthought. “I take them in when
their habitats get destroyed. I’m part of a program.”
Jesse struggled not to laugh. “So, you’re telling me that the fastest man alive
rescues very slow animals and keeps them as pets.”
“Everybody has to have a hobby,” Jay said solemnly.
Jesse considered this for a moment. “Yes they do,” she agreed. “Also, I thought
of something to get Cisco for his birthday.”
                                      ***
“You got me a dog?” Cisco asked in some confusion, as he took in the sight of
the large Newfoundland puppy sitting primly in the front hallway, an over-sized
yellow bow around its neck.
“Wrong!” said Jesse, with an unsettling degree of cheerfulness. “I got you a
service dog!”
Cisco raised an eyebrow at her. “I know I wear sunglasses all the time, but you
do realize I’m not actually blind, yeah?”
“Not that kind of service dog,” Jesse corrected. “She’s a third generation
seizure dog. From what I can tell your vibes seem to be similar to an absence
seizure, which means she should be able to sense them coming.”
“You wanna add another ‘S’ to that sentence?” Cisco wanted to know.
“Oh just give her a name,” Jesse groused.
Cisco knelt in front of the dog and the two of them looked at each other. She
was clearly still a puppy, but she was a Newfoundland puppy and the top of her
head came almost up to the bottom of his rib cage. She sniffed at him, once,
then immediately broke her disciplined pose to throw herself into his arms,
barking excitedly. The two of them sat there cuddling fiercely for a moment
while Jay and Jesse looked on, and when the puppy finally calmed down Cisco
stood but kept her wrapped in his arms.
“Her name is Floof,” he said, completely deadpan. “She’s my new best friend and
I love her.”
Jesse clapped, grinning broadly.
Jay studied Floof contemplatively. “Do you think she can really sense the
vibes?” he mused.
Jesse looked at Cisco. “There is one way to find out.”
One of the many methods by which Harrison had been keeping Cisco compliant,
they discovered, was manipulating his visions. It turned out that he hadn’t
upgraded Cisco’s goggles but rather tampered with them, and they were the
reasons his visions had gotten so much worse while working at STAR Labs.
Dopamine, as it turned out, was a trigger not an inhibitor, which explained why
Cisco had experienced such a violent vision while flushed with triumph from his
fight with Zoom. Harrison’s . . . treatments, as Cisco had begun referring to
them, hadn’t helped either.
Jesse and Jay had built him a new pair of Vibe Goggles, which so far had worked
to restrain his visions. They had kept Harrison’s pair though, which Cisco had
dubbed the Terror Goggles, just in case the vibes ever became necessary again.
“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Jay reminded him as he took out the
Terror Goggles and eyed them warily.
“I want to,” Cisco replied, voice firm if not quite stable.
“We’ll be right here,” Jesse assured him stoutly.
Floof yipped as if to say she would be right there too.
Cisco lay down on his bed, Jesse sitting next to him and Floof on his other
side, Jay standing beside the bed and looming protectively over them all.
Carefully he took off the Vibe Goggles and set them on the bedside table, then
after a quick glance at Jesse he replaced them with the Terror Goggles.
He awoke to Floof whining in concern, licking his face and barking at Jesse and
Jay as if to tell them to do something.
“Well I’d say that answers that question,” Jay observed, smiling.
Floof barked at him, as if to say she didn’t see what there was to smile about.
“Good dog,” Cisco praised, and she licked his face again worriedly. “Also we
should probably go stop Dr. Light from robbing that bank.”
In two flashes of lightning, one yellow and one white, the Flash and Jesse
Quick suddenly stood by the bed.
“Don’t worry,” Jesse told him, “we got this one.”
                                      ***
“Snafu!” came the sound of Jesse’s voice from the kitchen.
Immediately Jay was at her side. “What?” he demanded. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Jesse said excitedly, peering into an open cereal box, “nothing’s
wrong at all. In fact everything’s perfect!”
Jay stared at her. “But you said-” he paused, frowning. “Actually, what did you
say?”
In answer to his question, Jesse reached down into the cereal box and pulled
out a large white rat.
“A rat?” Jay asked incredulously.
“My rat,” Jesse corrected. “His name is Snafu the Second, and I thought he must
have left while I wasn’t allowed in the house. But here he is!”
Jesse cuddled the rat -- Snafu -- close to her chest, both of them making
little squeaking noises of contentment.
Jay continued to stare. “You have a pet rat? Wait, this is your second pet
rat?”
“Mhm,” Jesse hummed. “His father was Snafu the First. I rescued him from STAR
Labs. He kept messing up the experiments by reacting in abnormal ways, so they
were going to cut him open to see what was wrong with him.”
“You do know scientists dissect lab rats all the time, right?” Jay wanted to
know.
“Not when I was 11 I didn’t,” Jesse admitted, “or at least it seemed a lot
crueler at the time.”
She switched to petting Snafu’s head with one finger, which he seemed to enjoy
immensely.
“Fair enough,” Jay conceded. “So, how’d you get Snafu II?” 
“Rats don’t live all that long,” Jesse explained, “so eventually Snafu started
getting less . . . Snafu-ish. Then he disappeared for a while, and I was
absolutely inconsolable for about a week, but then he came back and he had a
baby rat with him.”
“So, Snafu II,” Jay concluded for her.
Jesse grinned. “Snafu II.”
                                      ***
“Are you sure all this is necessary?” Jesse asked as Jay set a third plate of
potatoes -- roasted this time, along with mashed and fried -- amidst the
cornucopia of other dishes laid out on the dining table.
“What do you mean?” Jay asked in genuine confusion before zipping back to the
kitchen for a plate of crescent rolls. “It’s Christmas.”
“There’s enough food for like ten people here,” Cisco argued, none the less
eyeing the roast chicken hungrily.
“Wrong,” Jay informed him, “there’s enough food for two speedsters and a kid
who once lived off doritos and twizzlers for a full week.”
Cisco grumbled but didn’t argue the point any further.
Instead he reached down to pet Floof, who was lying across his feet with Snafu
nestled in her fur, both of them content in the knowledge that the leftovers
from the delicious-smelling meal going on above were theirs as long as they
didn’t interrupt. Floof had taken to her job as Cisco’s service dog with
admirable gusto after that first vibe, and he rarely went anywhere without her
anymore, her small wriggly body and pillow’s worth of fur squirming into even
the smallest of spaces to claim the place beside him. She and Snafu had taken
one look at each other and decided to be best friends, so as long as Jesse and
Cisco stayed together -- which was most of the time -- Snafu was content to
ride around on Floof’s back, making a nest for himself amidst the long fur.
“A year ago I never would have believed I could eat this much,” Jesse mused,
staring at the contents of the table in mild astonishment as Jay uncorked a
bottle of sparkling cider, and then another two.
“Your metabolism’s different than it was last Christmas,” Jay reminded
her. “You need a lot more calories just to stay on your feet, and it’s a lot
easier to end up with nutrient deficiencies. Technically you should be eating
like this every day.”
“I could never eat like this everyday,” Cisco speculated. “I’d miss pizza too
much.”
“The more things I can make you eat that don’t come in boxes the better,” Jay
retorted as he filled Cisco and Jesse’s long stemmed glasses with cider.
Ever since moving in Jay had taken it upon himself to make sure the two of them
ate properly, and with Jesse’s new metabolism that was no small task. Perhaps
out of necessity -- or just a lot of pracitce -- he was a surprisingly good
cook, and the eating habits of two relatively unsupervised teenagers were
enough to make him claim the kitchen as his domain permanently. Of all the
things that Jay was bitter about from the time Cisco spent under Harrison’s
thumb, that week in the bunker seemed to rank somewhere around the criminal
offenses, and he seemed almost preternaturally conscious of Cisco’s protein
intake.
But Cisco didn’t really want to think of that week right now. Right now there
was food on the table, real food, and it would be as delicious as it was
filling. Right now there was an enormous Christmas tree twinkling merrily at
them from the next room, and snow was falling steadily outside. Right now he
had a dog at his feet who’s job it was to keep him calm and premonition-free.
Right now Jesse was sitting next to him, and Jay was sitting across from them,
and all was right with the world.
Right now, he was home.
Chapter End Notes
     in case you were worried about the terrapins, as i was when i woke up
     the morning and reread what i'd written last night, they hibernate
     during the winter so they're fine during the christmas episode.
     special thanks to hedgi for talking endlessly about these parts with
     me while i was writing all the angst.
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