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Chapter Text

Hartley was at S.T.A.R. Labs, working through his lunch (as usual), pouring over his copious amount of notes for the particle accelerator, when he noticed it. The thing that would ruin his life. 

He went back and forth, later, on whether or not he wished he’d never seen it. It was selfish, of course. But then again, he’d never managed to actually help anyone, so he supposed it didn’t matter that he found it, in the grand scheme of things. 

But either way, he did notice it. And it wasn’t a cause for complete panic, at first. They might have to delay the accelerator’s launch date a few weeks, maybe a month, but it was fixable. 

“Cisco,” Hartley said as he spotted him walking past. 

“What?” He could practically hear Cisco roll his eyes.

“Come here.” 

“Can I get a please?” Cisco responded, but he walked over anyway.

“I don’t know, can you?” Came Hartley’s response, just as snippy. “I want you to look at this. It’s the accelerator. I want you to check my math on this, before I show it to Harrison.” 

“I can't right now, Hartley, I’ve got a lot of shit to do.” Cisco waved his hand. “Write me one of your passive aggressive sticky notes and put it on my desk. I’ll check it tomorrow.” 

Hartley sighed. “Nevermind. It’s not like my math is ever wrong anyway.” He waved Cisco away, and went back to staring at his work, chewing on his bottom lip. He should tell Harrison sooner rather than later, so he scooped up his papers and made his way to Harrison’s office, knocking before entering only because he was polite. Harrison had told him probably a hundred times he didn’t need to knock, he wasn’t a guest, he was always welcome in Harrison’s office, and so on, but still. He was still Hartley’s boss, despite everything. 

“Do you have a minute? I need to show you something.” 

Harrison looked up from his computer, raising an eyebrow. “I know that tone. What’s got you so worried?”

How beautiful it was, to be known. To be seen and respected by such a perfect man, Hartley thought. It was small things like that, little indications that Harrison knew, Harrison loved him, Harrison saw him, that he clung on to. “The accelerator,” he said, handing his papers to him. 

“What’s wrong with it?” 

“Well, nothing’s wrong with it now, but the second we turn it on, that’s a different story. See, right here.” He leaned over Harrison’s desk, pointing to the middle of one of the pages Harrison was reading. “It might… explode.” 

“Ah,” was all Harrison said for a long moment. He stared at the papers for a long time. 

Hartley wished he could tell what he was thinking. Usually he could see it in his eyes fairly well, but right now, in this moment… it was like a storm had passed through them. He was completely unreadable. 

There was a long silence, and it seemed to stretch on forever. “A chance it might explode,” he said, and his tone was funny. Like he was telling the beginning of a joke Hartley didn’t understand because he didn’t have the context for it. Finally, Harrison looked back up at him. “How much of a chance?” 

“What?”

“How much of a chance?” he repeated. 

“I don’t understand.” Hartley blinked at him. “It doesn’t matter, does it? If it’s a ninety-nine percent chance or a point one percent chance? It could kill people. It has to be zero if we’re going to go through with turning this thing on.” 

Harrison tilted his head and handed the papers back to Hartley. “Find out how likely the explosion is. Get back to me by the end of the week. Alright?” 

Hartley stared at him. “Are you… you're serious?” 

Harrison sighed, like Hartley was the one inconveniencing him now. Like this whole conversation was nothing but a mild inconvenience. “What? What do you want me to say?” 

“That we should delay the launch? That this is something that could kill a lot of people?” 

“Write the report by the end of the week, Hartley. Then maybe I’ll be worried.” 

So he did. He got the report done by the end of the day, and he slammed it on Harrison’s desk at six-thirty. 

Harrison looked down at it, sighed quietly, and looked back up at Hartley. “I’ll look at this tomorrow morning.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” 

“I’d like to leave early today,” Harrison continued, like Hartley hadn’t spoken at all. “I have dinner reservations for two at seven.”

Hartley watched him stand up, blinking owlishly. “What are you talking about?” 

Harrison paused at the doorway, gesturing for him to follow. “Dinner, Hartley,” he said, like Hartley was slow.

“What?” They didn’t go out to eat together. Not alone. They hadn’t done that in years. Not since Harrison became too high profile. At least, that was the reason he claimed. 

He smiled, and Hartley couldn’t remember how to argue. “Where are we going?” he asked, reaching out as if to take Harrison’s hand, though he thought better of it (there were still a few people in the office). 

Oddly enough, Harrison was the one to take his hand, his smile not faltering. “It’s a surprise.” 

It turned out to be French food. Now, Hartley had nothing against French food, in particular. Though he did have something against whatever Harrison was trying to do (distract him from the problems with the particle accelerator). 

Harrison ordered a bottle of wine that cost more than Hartley’s car payment, and Hartley pretended this was normal, that this was fine. Nothing was wrong.

It was easy to do. Or rather, Harrison made it easy to do. He smiled at Hartley like he was his whole world, they talked about everything that wasn’t work, about art exhibits and the recent production of Funny Girl and how neither of them had time to watch the new Star Trek show, and then about how Harrison wanted to take him to Italy. 

Despite being raised by millionaires, Hartley had never left the country. His parents went on trips across the world and left him at home as a child, and as an adult he did not have the money for a thousand dollar plane ticket. 

Harrison told him he would love Italy, that they would go to Venice for the Carnival, they’d go to Rome to see all the tourist sights and Hartley could talk nonstop about mythology for as long as he wanted. 

He should have known it was too good to be true. He’d known Harrison for nearly a decade. Harrison left the country all the time, sometimes for business, but sometimes just because. Never once had he invited Hartley. Never once had he brought up a trip to Europe, or Asia, or really anywhere that was further than Gotham City (they’d gone to Gotham once; solely a business trip, and Cisco had gone with them. Hartley despised Gotham). He should have seen it coming, then, but he didn’t, because he was successfully wrapped up in the ever-consuming perfection that was Harrison, all his beautiful words, his promises, his smiles. 

Harrison called his driver, and they went back to Harrison’s house. He invited Hartley to stay the night, that they’d wake up together and he’d make Hartley breakfast. They could be a little late to work, no one would care. 

That was a risk to the secret of their relationship that Hartley didn’t think Harrison would take. He thought it was a little odd, but he was too happy with the thought of being allowed to sleep in Harrison’s bed all night, to not have to be driven back to his apartment at an obscenely early time so he could change his clothes and drive into work in his own car and arrive at a different time than Harrison. 

God, there were so many warning signs, and Hartley ignored them all because Harrison was giving him everything he wanted, finally. 

Reality came back to Hartley as soon as he stepped into S.T.A.R. Labs the next morning, and Harrison went into his office and shut the door, and Hartley went to his lab to find Cisco sitting at his desk, eating a croissant and probably getting crumbs everywhere (he actually wasn’t, but Hartley would like to think he was). 

“What are you doing here?” he asked. 

“You were late,” came Cisco’s response (Hartley would also like to pretend he was talking with his mouth full, but oddly enough, he was not). “I finished up the report you were supposed to send to Ronnie this morning. He was asking for it.” 

“Oh.” Hartley frowned. 

“You’re never late,” Cisco added, and Hartley’s frown deepened. “Dr. Wells was late, too.” 

“Was he.” 

“Mmhm.” Cisco gave him a sideways look, like he knew (he’d always known, he wasn’t stupid. He was probably the only one who did know. Everyone else spread rumors behind Hartley’s back. But Cisco knew). “Gonna tell me you haven’t seen him this morning?”

“I haven’t.” 

“Sure.” 

They played this game a lot, and it was often Hartley skirted dangerously close to revealing something more than a vague implication. Instead of encouraging Cisco further, Hartley went quiet, shooing Cisco away so he could use his own computer to check his emails. 

“Hey, didn’t you want me to look over something for you yesterday?” Cisco asked, throwing the rest of his croissant away. 

Hartley hummed. “Don’t worry about it. Harrison’s dealing with it. But we might have to delay the accelerator launch.”

“That… sounds like something I should worry about.” 

“It’s fixable.” Hartley waved a hand. “Harrison’s being stubborn about admitting anything’s wrong.” 

“Doesn’t sound like him,” Cisco said, and Hartley honestly couldn’t tell if that was meant to be sarcastic or not. “So,” he pulled up another chair and rolled it over next to Hartley, “I bet it’s cool.” 

“Sorry?”

“Dating a billionaire.” 

Hartley gave him a look. “I imagine it would be.” 

“Come on. We’ve been doing this for over a year now. Give me something.” 

Hartley rolled his eyes. “He’s taking me to Italy in the summer,” he said, mostly because now, in the harsh light of morning, he knew Harrison was never going to actually do that. It was an empty promise, and it always would be. 

Cisco snorted, clearly taking that as a joke. “First class, too, I bet?” 

“Commercial? Please,” Hartley responded, unsure why he was entertaining this bit. “Private plane, Cisquito.”

“Hell yeah. Fuck the environment, dude.” 

They both laughed, and Hartley glanced over at him. “We’ll send you a postcard.” 

“You don’t have to do all that. Take a selfie in front of the Colosseum flipping me off.” 

“Oh, I was going to do that anyway.” 

Though he’d never admit it, working with Cisco was one of his favorite parts of the day. He was funny, he had absolutely no filter, and he could match Hartley both in sarcastic barbs and actual intelligence.

An hour later, Harrison called Hartley into his office, and he held up the report Hartley had written. “I read this,” he said, as Hartley sat down. 

“And?”

“What I’m getting from it is that you don’t know.” His voice was harsh, and it would’ve made Hartley flinch if he wasn’t so used to it after so many years. “I asked you to find out the likelihood of the accelerator exploding. That is not what this is. Correct?”

“I gave you an estimate.” Hartley refused to look away from Harrison’s eyes, maybe because he didn’t want to appear weak, and maybe because he was searching for the kind eyes, the promises of a European holiday, the whispers of love late into the night, that he’d seen only yesterday. 

“Of the number of people who might die if the accelerator does explode, yes, I see that. That is not what I asked for.”

“All due respect, Dr. Wells,” Hartley started, and Harrison raised an eyebrow at that, “I don’t see why it matters. Are you honestly telling me you would go through with this if you knew there was even a miniscule possibility people could die? You could die.”

Harrison didn’t answer. “I would like to talk about this section of your report. Page eleven. Why did you write this?”

Hartley tilted his head. “I thought it was relevant.”

There was a section in his report detailing some of the circumstances that would result in the accelerator explosion being more likely. Some things that could happen, or could be done to it, even potential mistakes made by, perhaps, an engineer who wasn’t paying attention, and so on, and how those things would increase the likelihood of the flaw in the accelerator’s design causing the explosion. 

“It is helpful,” Harrison said, and Hartley probably imagined the flash of something he couldn’t quite understand cross over Harrison’s expression. “In fact, I’d go as far as to say it’s the most helpful part of this decidedly useless report.” 

Hartley clenched his teeth. “Glad I could be of some help, then,” he said bitterly, and Harrison’s expression softened a little. 

“Hartley. I’m telling you, don’t worry about this. It will all be resolved.”

“How?”

“It’s not for you to worry about,” he repeated. “But believe me when I tell you, our accelerator will do exactly what it is intended to do.”

Our accelerator. Those two words soothed Hartley’s fears more than anything else Harrison could say. It was enough to temporarily make him forget that Harrison had basically told him not to worry his pretty little head about the potential deaths of hundreds of people should their accelerator malfunction. 

“I want you back at work. You’ll be assisting Cisco today. I’m sure you saw him in your office already. I want you working together, and I don’t need you concerning yourself with this anymore, are we clear? I have it handled.” 

Hartley didn’t answer for a second. “Yeah. We’re clear.” 

“Good. You’re dismissed.” He waved his hand, before picking up a pen and making some notes in the margins of Hartley’s report. Page eleven, still, Hartley noticed, though he wouldn’t consider why that was for a very long time. 

“I’m dismissed?” Hartley repeated, scoffing. “Good fucking morning to you, too, Harry.” He paused in the doorway before opening the door, unable to resist talking back (it was what he was best at, after all). “You know, when most people’s boyfriends wake them up with a blowjob, they’re usually a lot more pleasant the rest of the day.” 

“Hartley.” There was a warning tone to his voice, and it made him roll his eyes.

“Guess I won’t be doing that again,” Hartley snipped before leaving, but not before he heard Harriosn’s response.

“No, I imagine you won’t.” It was fairly quiet, potentially not even meant for Hartley to hear, which made sense, because it sounded ominous in a way that set him on edge. 

Cisco and Hartley worked well together that day, and Hartley went home having mostly forgotten about his worries for the particle accelerator, until he was sitting on the edge of his bed that night, still in his work clothes because he’d stayed far too late, running through his conversation with Harrison, and he realized how much nothing it had been. 

Maybe I’ll be worried. 

It’s the most helpful part of this decidedly useless report.

This was wrong. Something was wrong. There was a feeling deep in his gut, and it was gnawing away at him like stomach acid that had forgotten it wasn’t supposed to dissolve his insides. 

Don’t worry about this. It will all be resolved. 

He sat up in bed, grabbed his phone, and called Harrison, anxiety consuming him as it rang, and rang, and rang. 

Our accelerator will do exactly what it is intended to do.

It kept ringing, honestly it seemed to ring for about thirty minutes, before Harrison picked up.

“Hartley. It’s past nine.”

“I know.” His voice shook. 

Exactly what it is intended to do.

“What’s wrong?” 

He could hear it in Hartley’s voice, the anxiety, the stress, the fear. How beautiful it was, how beautiful, to be known- to be seen- to be known to be seen to be seen so deeply there were no secrets, there was nothing he couldn’t see, nothing he didn’t know, how all-consuming he was in Hartley’s life, how beautiful, how beautiful, wasn’t it beautiful? 

Wasn’t it? 

What it is intended to do.

“What it is intended to do,” Hartley said, and there was a silence on the other end of the line. He heard Harrison adjust the phone before he responded.

“What?” 

“That’s what you said. Our accelerator will do exactly what it is intended to do. What is it intended to do, Harrison?” 

Another silence, and Harrison’s voice had changed when he replied. He sounded different, he sounded… wrong. This was all wrong. It was so wrong. “Are you still at the lab, Hartley?”

His name suddenly didn’t sound right coming out of Harrison’s mouth. That wasn’t his voice. That wasn’t what he sounded like. That was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. 

He swallowed, shook his head even though Harrison couldn’t see it. “No. No, I’m at home.”

“Good.” There was another slight pause. “Have you told anyone else? Cisco? Caitlin?”

He shook his head again. “Should I?” Why did he ask that. Because he trusted Harrison. He trusted Harrison with his life. And wasn’t that beautiful? Wasn’t it, wasn’t it? 

“No, Hartley. I already told you, you don’t need to worry about this. I have it handled.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Hartley. Go to sleep. Please.”

That please. What did that mean? That meant something, didn’t it? It meant something more than Hartley could understand. 

“Harrison.” His voice broke a little. 

“No one is going to be hurt. I promise, Hartley.” 

That was a lie. He was lying, lying, lying. Why? Why was he lying, why was he doing this, why? 

“I trust you,” Hartley said, but he couldn’t mean it. Not anymore. 

“Do you?”

“Yes. Yes, of course. With my life. You know that. Haven’t I proven that?” He asked it a little too desperately, maybe trying to convince himself more than Harrison.

“Of course you have, Hartley.” 

He knew. He knew Hartley was lying, as sure as Hartley knew he was lying. Neither of them said anything, and Harrison let out a deep sigh. It was resigned, tired, and Hartley wanted to ask why. Why everything in his gut was telling him this was it. This was over. Something was over. 

After all, wasn’t it beautiful? Hadn’t it been beautiful? Hadn’t it been, hadn’t it been?

“You know,” Hartley said softly, “you know what tomorrow is.” He didn’t. He wouldn’t remember that. 

“I do,” Harrison said. Because of course he did. Why would Hartley ever think he wouldn’t. “Eight years ago tomorrow. The day we met.” 

Of course he knew. Of course he remembered. Of course he was known. 

How horrifying it was, to be known.

To be seen so thoroughly.

“Was that what dinner was for?” Hartley asked, though he knew the answer was no. The truth, the truth was no. Whether Harrison would lie or not, that was the question.

“Of course.” 

He was lying. Lying, lying, lying. But Hartley still smiled. He could still pretend. Because he had to. What else was left? “You know I fell in love with you the second I met you.” 

Harrison laughed. It sounded real. “Oh, believe me. I knew. But you were so…” young, was the answer. Seventeen, to be accurate (not that anything had happened between them, nothing had, for three years. Probably because it was easier to be fucking a man in his twenties than a teenager). “Naive,” is what Harrison said instead, and Hartley was content with that. He’d rather hear that than the other options. It was nice, they could both still live in some form of denial. 

“And I’m not anymore?” Hartley asked, and he wasn’t sure what that was meant to imply. 

“You tell me.” 

That was a challenge. He didn’t know what, exactly, Harrison was challenging him to do. He never knew for certain what he was saying, what he was implying. He carried conversations the same way he played chess, and Hartley was fairly certain he’d never actually beat Harrison at a chess game. 

He imagined this would be much the same. 

“I… I should go to sleep,” he said, finally, and he heard a crackle on the other end of the phone line. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Harrison.” He had some distinct, visceral feeling that he would not. 

“Yes, I’ll see you tomorrow, Hartley. Get some sleep. Stop worrying so much.” 

“I will.” He paused, and then added, “I love you, Harrison.” 

He didn’t answer. He usually didn’t. Hartley hung up and stared at the wall for several minutes, before he came to a conclusion. He stood up, set his phone deliberately on his nightstand. Harrison had his location, he knew that. He’d never thought there was anything odd about that before now. He’d never felt controlled before now. Maybe he’d never noticed. Maybe he was as naive as he’d been eight years ago. 

Maybe he’d never noticed what it meant, to be known so completely. Maybe he’d confused horror with beauty. 

It wouldn’t be the first time. 

It certainly wouldn’t be the last time.

Chapter Text

Hartley was at S.T.A.R. Labs without even realizing. Parked and sitting in his car. A thought crossed his mind, that Harrison might have a tracker in his car. He almost laughed at that, before he thought about it for one more second and it became far too real and he felt stomach acid ripping away at his insides again. 

There was another car in the parking lot. It wasn’t Harrison’s. Hartley didn’t recognize it at first, and didn’t recognize it at all until he got closer and saw the Sisko is my co-captain bumper sticker. Granted, there were many S.T.A.R. Labs employees who Hartley would peg as Star Trek fans (himself included), but Cisco was the only one unprofessional enough to have a bumper sticker about it. At least he had good taste, Hartley had to admit. Though maybe he only liked Sisko because they had the same name (something to ask him about, Hartley supposed, and then realized he’d probably never see the man again). 

He didn’t see Cisco in the Cortex, nor did he see him on his way down to the pipeline and into the particle accelerator. He didn’t know, entirely, what he was looking for. But he knew there was something. He knew there was a reason, an answer somewhere hidden there. 

But he took one step inside the accelerator, before a voice rang out. 

“Hartley.”

Check. - Harrison sat across from him at the chessboard, smiling serenely. Hartley looked down at the board. He wondered if Harrison knew he’d fallen right into Hartley’s trap. He was sure he did. He always did.

“Harrison.” He didn’t turn around yet. He couldn’t. 

“What are you doing in my accelerator?” 

Hartley let out a dry laugh. “I thought it was our accelerator.” It was a joke, Harrison had never meant it. Hartley had been stupid to believe it. Naive. 

“What did you think you would find?”

“I’ll let you know when I find it. And I’ll have the report on your desk tomorrow morning.”

“Hartley-”

“You’re not going to make this my fault. You’re not going to make me complicit in this.”

Harrison was quiet for a second, and Hartley turned around, looking at him. “Do you think that’s what I want, Hartley? I want this accelerator to kill people? That I spent nearly twenty years of my life dedicated to this so I could blow it up?”

“Then why won’t you let me fix it?” 

Harrison tilted his head. “Because it isn’t broken. It is going to do exactly what it is intended to do.”

“But there’s still a chance. You can’t tell me I was wrong. That it’s guaranteed to be safe.” 

“Non est ad astra mollis e terris via.” 

Hartley scoffed. “You could kill everyone in this building. Everyone in this city. And you won’t tell me what for.” 

“Would your opinion change if I did?” 

“It’s not an opinion, it’s a fact.” 

Harrison nodded, as if to say, well, that answers that. “Hartley Rathaway. Your position at S.T.A.R. Labs is terminated. I will never see you back here, and you will not contact me or anyone else employed here ever again. Do you understand me?” 

Check, again. Where are you trying to lead me to, Hartley? - He was still smiling.

There was that acid, again. He closed his eyes, nodded a couple times. He wasn’t going to cry. He wasn’t. He couldn’t. “You can’t shut me up.” 

“In fact, I can, Hartley.” Harrison stepped closer to him. “There are any number of ways I can do just that.” He was right in front of Hartley now. 

Hartley’s vision was swimming when he stared down at Harrison’s hands. One of them, his right hand, it was- it was moving, vibrating. Back and forth, so fast it was a blur. He raised that hand a little. It was still moving like that. He had to be imagining it. His glasses were smudged. Tears in his eyes, et cetera, et cetera, there were a million reasons he was seeing what he was. 

He blinked, right as Harrison spoke again, as he lowered his hand (it was still now, maybe it always had been). “But I think a warning will suffice, will it not?” 

“And what warning is that?” His voice shook. 

“That if you breathe one word of this to anyone, I will ruin you, Hartley. I will make sure you will never get a job in this industry ever again.”

Check. You know, we really are playing chicken at this point. You might want to admit defeat now. It’s getting late. - His smile was wearing thin. Maybe that was Hartley’s imagination.

Hartley said nothing for several seconds. Harrison knew him. Harrison knew him better than anyone else in the world. He knew all the opportunities Hartley’s parents had given him to denounce who he was and come back and live with them. To live comfortably again, inherit a company, and have a family. And he knew that Hartley had scoffed at them, and refused outright without a second thought. He knew Hartley turned down all of Harrison’s attempts to help him, he’d applied for an unpaid internship and when Harrison had learned of his situation, he’d offered repeatedly to pay Hartley. He’d refused every time. Because he was going to get a job at S.T.A.R. Labs the right way, on his own merit (it had been stupid, he had been stupid, but that was who he was). 

That was what he did. 

He didn’t care about himself. About his own comfort. His own safety. He cared about doing the right fucking thing. 

Harrison knew that. So this was a trap. 

They were playing chicken again, but this time the chess pieces were the bits of Hartley’s life, scattered around the board and destroyed. 

Will you look at that? Check. Are you hoping to bore me into giving up? - His smile no longer reached his eyes. Maybe it never had, and Hartley only imagined it did.

“I…” he started. His mouth felt like it was full of cotton. “I’ll go,” he said softly. 

“Quietly?” Harrison asked, raising an eyebrow, like this really was nothing but another chess game. 

“Quietly,” Hartley said, though he didn’t mean it. Harrison knew he didn’t mean it. “Can I at least clean out my lab?”

“No, Hartley. In fact, I’ll walk you out. Give me your key to the lab. The codes will be changed by tomorrow morning, and you’ll find that none of your logins will work on your computer or phone when you get home.” He paused. “But you can keep them. Consider it a parting gift.” 

Hartley said nothing, until they were in the cortex. “Harrison,” he said, his voice soft. He needed to sound believable. He could sound believable. Because Harrison Wells was his life, because he was everything. 

“Yes?” 

“Cisco is still here.” 

“He is.” 

“Don’t you think they’ll all have questions, if I don’t show up to work ever again? If I vanish?” 

“Hartley, I do believe you’ve solved that little problem all on your own. None of them like you.”

He knew that was true, but it still stung. “Can I say goodbye?” 

“I’m sorry?” 

“To Cisco. He- I mean, we’ve been… getting along.” He reached into his pocket, falling slightly out of step with Harrison so he could locate the pad of sticky notes and pen in his back pocket, pull them out, and hold them behind his back. 

“Oh, Hartley,” Harrison said, and Hartley clicked the pen when he spoke.

“You’ve already taken everything else from me.” 

“Fine,” Harrison relented, and he glanced back at Hartley, at his hands behind his back, but said nothing. Did nothing. “You aren’t going to tell him you won’t be back. You’ll tell him you’re leaving for the night, and you’ll see him tomorrow.” 

“Fine,” Hartley echoed. He followed Harrison down the hall, to Cisco’s lab. He wasn’t sure how good he was at writing behind his back, so he decided to make whatever he wanted to say short and sweet. 

Help me. That was what he wrote. He pushed the pen and sticky notes back in his pocket and crumpled up the note in his fist. 

Harrison stood out of Cisco’s sight outside the lab, but close enough that he could still see and hear them, as Hartley knocked on the open door of the lab, making Cisco jump. 

“Hartley! I thought you left for the night.” 

He took a deep breath, forcing his voice not to shake. “About to. Need anything before I go?” 

“You’re asking if I want help? I’m good actually, but that’s a first.” 

“I’m sure it isn’t. I like working with you, Cisquito.” 

“You dying or something?” 

“What?” 

“You sound so serious. And you never compliment me.”

“Oh.” Hartley glanced at where Harrison was standing out of sight. “Just tired. Goodnight.” He held out his hand, and hoped Cisco wouldn’t think that was too weird. God, he would think it was too weird. He would think it was too fucking weird.

It took a second for Cisco to even notice the hand, and when he did, he tilted his head (yeah, he absolutely thought it was weird), but he took Hartley’s hand anyway, shaking it. Hartley felt the paper leave his hand, and it didn’t fall to the ground. 

He could’ve sworn he saw a flash of yellow light out of the corner of his eye. But there were a lot of blinking lights in the lab. And Hartley had been seeing things tonight (a concerning fact he did not have the mental capacity to worry about at the moment). “I’ll see you, Cisco,” he said, purposefully not looking down at Cisco’s hand.

“Yeah, see you tomorrow, Hartley.” 

Harrison walked him to the elevator, to his car, opened his door for him and watched him get in, resting against the door. Hartley didn’t look at him the whole time. “This is checkmate, I believe, Mr. Rathaway.”

“What?” Hartley asked. 

“Checkmate,” Harrison repeated, and when Hartley finally looked at him, he was holding up a rumpled sticky note, with help me scrawled on it messily.

Checkmate, Hartley. You led me on a wild goose chase for thirty minutes, all to lose? - He wasn’t smiling anymore. - I expected better of you. 

Hartley stared at it for several seconds. “How did you get that?”

“Go home, Hartley,” Harrison said, pocketing the note and stepping back from Hartley’s door. “Get some rest. You’ll need it.” He slammed the car door shut, and Hartley flinched at the noise, now staring at Harrison through the windshield. He didn’t move for a long time. 

Harrison didn’t, either. Eventually, Hartley found it in himself to move, and he turned his car on, pulled out of the parking lot, and watched Harrison through the rearview mirror until he couldn’t see him anymore.

He didn’t realize, didn’t think about, how there was no car in the parking lot other than his and Cisco’s. 

********

No one believed him. He should have seen that coming. He had no proof. No credibility. Even less when Harrison proved he hadn’t been bluffing about his promise to destroy him if he breathed a word about the accelerator to anyone. He was asked about Hartley and he said things like, he was troubled, he never connected with anyone at the lab. He was, I hate to say it, a bit obsessed with me. I tried not to encourage him. He was a brilliant man, a hard worker, but his personality… I would be lying if I said there weren’t a few times I was a bit scared of him. Of what he might do if I denied him. I suppose I found out, didn’t I? 

Yeah, Hartley couldn’t get another job after that. 

At least he was smart with his money. At least he had savings. But he didn’t know what he’d do when he ran out. He didn’t expect Harrison to send him a severance check. 

The accelerator launch date crept closer, and Hartley had recreated his notes on its flaws, trying to remember every page of his reports from the few papers he’d found around his apartment and his own memory. He knew it was too late to have it shut down through any sort of legal process. But what he did know was that Cisco Ramon was a good person. 

Not that Hartley was a good judge of character, apparently. 

But Hartley was not going to give up. He didn’t do that. He never had before, and he wasn’t about to now. 

He knew the coffee shop Cisco stopped by before work. Not every day, but usually at least once a week. And Hartley had one week until the accelerator launch date. So on Monday morning, he sat down at a table outside the coffee shop and waited. 

For once in his godforsaken life, luck was on his side. 

Cisco ran up to the coffee shop, checking his watch as he did, and only skidded to a stop when he made eye contact with Hartley. 

“Cisco.” He stood up, and Cisco took a half a step backward. “Cisco, please,” he said, a little desperately. He knew what he must look like. Clothes and hair disheveled, dark circles under his eyes, tightly clutching a stack of papers to his chest. “I need your help.” 

“Hartley-”

“He’s lying. He’s fucking lying to you. He lied to me, he’s lying about me, he’s lying to you. All of you. Please.” He held out the papers, hands shaking. 

“Dr. Wells wouldn’t make something like that up. And he isn’t trying to hide any flaws with the accelerator. I would know, I took up your job. I’ve seen all your notes. All the work you did, the reports. They’re complete nonsense, Hartley. There’s no flaw.” 

“No, no, he- he took my reports. Those aren’t- please, please take this.”

Cisco took another step back. “You need to leave. Leave me alone, leave Dr. Wells alone, leave everyone at S.T.A.R. Labs alone.” 

“He ruined me, Cisco. He took everything from me. Don’t let him do the same to you.” 

“Go home, Hartley,” Cisco said, his voice firm. He backed up a few more steps, and when Hartley started to follow him, he broke into a run. Hartley didn’t chase after him (he did not need that added to the long, long list of things to ruin his reputation and life even further).

Cisco didn’t come back to that coffee shop for the rest of the week. Hartley published his findings online, but less than an hour later, they were deleted from the internet. And then his internet stopped working. 

And then it was the day of the particle accelerator launch, and he’d lost. He’d lost everything. There was nothing else he could do. 

And everything that happened, after, happened the way it did. And then he ended up a prisoner in the damn thing that had ruined his life to begin with.

Chapter Text

Cisco couldn’t help but feel bad for Hartley. He felt it for everyone they locked up in the pipeline. 

He’d convinced Dr. Wells to let Hartley help because of it, though. Now he had the arduous task of actually convincing Hartley to help. Then future Barry had pulled him aside, told him that Hartley knew about Ronnie Raymond, and before Cisco could ask for clarification, ask what he wanted Cisco to do about that, he was gone, and Cisco supposed he’d have to find out for himself.

He waited until everyone else had gone home before he entered the pipeline, stepped up to Hartley’s cell. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

“What?” Hartley looked at him sharply. 

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I didn’t believe you.”

Hartley scoffed. “If you were sorry, you might’ve checked up on me.” 

“Dr. Wells said that you…” Cisco trailed off pointedly. “I mean, even if you were right about the accelerator, that doesn’t mean everything else you did wasn’t fucked up.” 

Hartley didn’t answer. Cisco wished he knew what that meant. He’d never truly believed the things Dr. Wells had said about Hartley after he’d quit. But he also didn’t not believe them. Instead of trying to puzzle that out now, Cisco moved on to more pressing matters. “How did you do it?” he asked, and Hartley cocked his head to the side. “The ghoul thing. How did you get it to stop?”

“Why do you want to know?” He looked at Cisco through the glass of his prison, staring into his soul and making him feel like he was the one in a cell. 

“Because it's going to come back.” 

“And?”

“And it's going to kill the Flash.” 

Hartley laughed. “Why should I care about that?”

“Maybe because you’re in there and I’m out here.” 

Glaring at him, Hartley crossed his arms. “I’m not your in-house monster-killing tech support. I’m your illegal prisoner.” 

For a minute, they watched each other, before Cisco stepped closer, thinking about the other Barry’s whisper to him right before he’d gone back to the future. “You know something, don’t you?” 

Hartley made a derisive noise. “I know a lot of things. You’ll have to be more specific. Especially since I’ve been locked up in here. You all should really invest in some soundproofing.” 

“Too bad you’ll never get to tell anyone whatever you’ve overheard, considering you’re locked in here.” 

“Yes, too bad. I’ll never be able to tell the world that Barry Allen is the Flash.” 

Cisco didn’t respond.

“Not that it would’ve been hard to figure out anyway.” Hartley shrugged. “He was on my list. And it's a very short list.” 

“Shut up,” Cisco snapped.

“If it makes you feel any better, you were on it, too. Before I heard you through the comms.” 

“I said shut up,” and Hartley did, though he looked more amused than anything. Probably because he knew that actually did make Cisco feel better (Hartley had thought he might be a superhero, it was flattering). “I think you know exactly what I’m talking about. Exactly what something you know” 

For a second, Hartley said nothing, before he stepped up to the glass. “Maybe I do. And maybe I know something that’s going to get you to let me out of here.”

“Fat chance of that.”

“I know where Ronnie Raymond is.”

********

The pipeline was exactly what one would expect from looking at it. And it was exactly as boring as one would expect, too. Especially because Hartley tried signing to the other metahumans locked in their own cells, and after less than twenty minutes of trying to communicate, his cell was moved, positioned so he could no longer see them. Hartley flipped off the camera watching him, for that.

He was sure it was Harrison. He could hear him, upstairs, could hear his heartbeat and his breathing. Could hear him when he spoke to Cisco and Caitlin, and Barry. Whoever the fuck that was. The Flash. 

He knew, when he stopped hearing the conversations above him in the cortex, and the only sound left was Harrison in his office and Cisco on the other side of the facility in his own lab, that was when it was time for Hartley’s day to get monumentally worse. 

He could hear Harrison getting closer, closer. He heard the door unlock, and suddenly it was bright in his cell again. He squinted, looking out to make eye contact with Harrison. 

“Hartley,” Harrison said, his voice full of mocking politeness. “How are you today?” 

“I won’t mince my words, Harry, I’ve been better.” 

“Have you.” 

“You know,” Hartley said, sitting down and crossing his legs, “I don’t remember you gloating this much when you’d win a chess game. You used to be humble.” 

Harrison raised an eyebrow. “Is this all a chess game to you?” 

“Not to me.” He shook his head. “This is my life. But to you…” he trailed off pointedly. 

“What about me?” 

“Everyone’s a pawn, right? It’s all a game.” 

“Oh, give yourself some credit. You were always a knight.” 

Hartley couldn’t help but play into that. “Why?” 

“Unexpected moves,” Harrison said simply. “I never can predict you.” 

“And yet, I’m still in here.” 

Harrison smiled. “I wasn’t going to let you win this time. Like you said. This isn’t a chess game, this is your life.” 

There was a dripping noise, somewhere inside the pipeline. Hartley couldn’t pinpoint exactly where it was coming from, but it was driving him insane. “The game doesn’t end until the king is dead,” Hartley said, finally. 

“Planning to kill me, Hartley?” 

He tilted his head. “No. Not you.” 

“Tell me, with all the meticulous planning you did to end up here, when are you going to be moving forward with the next step in your plan? You seem to be taking your sweet time.” 

Hartley glared at him. 

“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you like it in there.” Harrison smiled serenely. “Then again, you always did like being my kept boy.” 

“Fuck you,” Hartley said simply. He could hear Cisco’s footsteps above them again, walking into the cortex. He was probably going to check the cameras. He’d see Harrison talking to Hartley, as he usually did, and check the audio recording, like usual, to find Harrison had turned it off. It was a near-nightly occurrence, now. Hartley was honestly surprised Cisco hadn’t gotten caught. He came down to see Hartley every time Harrison left. 

“You know I plan on keeping you here forever, don’t you? I don’t care how much you can help us, I’m sure you’ve overheard Cisco trying to convince me to let you go, you are never leaving this cell.” 

“You say this every time, Harrison. You were intimidating the first time, but it’s getting old.” 

“Is it.” Harrison looked at him, in that way he did, the way that used to make Hartley feel seen and understood and known, beautifully and deeply, but now all it did was make that familiar throat-coated-in-acid feeling creep into him again. 

He broke eye contact, and he saw Harrison’s smirk before he looked away entirely, staring down at his lap. “Could use some water,” he said, messing with the hem of his pants. There was a loose thread, and he was suddenly finding it much more interesting than looking into Harrison’s eyes.

“Sparkling or still?” Harrison asked, and Hartley resisted the urge to roll his eyes. 

“Surprise me.” He heard Harrison’s wheelchair, the motor getting further and further away, and then coming back again. Hartley’s cell door opened. 

“You’ll have to come get it, Hartley,” he said, and Hartley looked up to see him gesturing to the lip at the edge of the ramp to his cell. 

“Oh, we’re still on this charade?” Hartley asked, but he stood up anyway, stepping cautiously closer to him. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harrison said easily. 

“Sure you don’t.” Hartley reached out for the water bottle, and Harrison held it away from him, giving him a look. “I’m not saying please,” he said, snatching it from him. Harrison laughed, and it was almost genuine. Or at least, it sounded genuine enough to nearly make Hartley smile on instinct. 

He looked away quickly, stepping back into his cell, but not before giving a considering stare at the exit. He knew it was locked, and even if he managed to incapacitate Harrison, he wouldn’t be able to leave the pipeline. 

Harrison hummed approvingly as the cell door slid shut behind Hartley, and while he didn’t say it, Hartley could almost hear his voice, a soft murmur of praise that made Hartley sick. 

“You know, Hartley,” Harrison said, and Hartley could tell from his tone of voice that whatever he was about to say would ruin Hartley’s day even more, “you brought this all on yourself. You never could be content, could you?” 

Hartley didn’t respond. 

“You always want to win, and you never have. After everything you’ve put yourself through, all the suffering and anguish and pain, it all amounted to this. All you do is let yourself be taken advantage of over, and over, and over again. It makes me think you like it.” 

He had nothing to say to that. It kind of made him want to throw up. Harrison really had a knack for that, saying things that made him want to puke. He swallowed, clearing his throat, and when he spoke, his voice was rough. “Why did you put security cameras in my apartment, Harrison? Have they always been there? I only noticed them because of my hearing. I guess you could’ve put them there ten years ago and I wouldn’t have known.”

There was a silence, and Harrison’s expression hadn’t changed, but there was something in his eyes that told Hartley he’d been right, because of course he’d been right, because who else would put cameras in his house? 

“You’re paranoid, Hartley,” he said. “You always have been. It’s one of your worst traits.” 

“If I’m paranoid, it’s because of you.” 

“Of course it is,” he said smoothly. “Because everything is my fault, isn’t it?” 

Hartley scoffed. “You’re impossible to talk to.”

“Where did you see these cameras?” 

The way that question was asked made his blood boil. Harrison pretending Hartley was, what, suffering from paranoid delusions? Seeing things? Hearing things? And for what? His idle amusement?

“I’m not going to let you do this to me,” Hartley said firmly. 

“Do what to you? I’m sure you know I’m only trying to help you.” 

The way he could change his tone, change his entire demeanor, within seconds, to suit whatever he felt like destroying Hartley with next, deserved to be studied. 

“Stop it.” 

“You’re convinced I’m some sort of evil mastermind, that’s how you ended up in there. Tell me, Hartley, if you were sane, would you be locked up in a cell right now?”

Harrison knew Hartley struggled with his sanity. He knew it was a constant, exhausting battle with himself and he knew because Hartley had opened up to him and told him everything, about his problems as a child, the anger, the violent outbursts, the therapists and psychiatrists, one after another. About his high school years spent mostly under the haze of prescriptions because his parents had gotten tired of trying and left him dazed and wondering if he was even awake. What was real and what wasn’t. 

Hartley tried to remember that, as Harrison spoke, that he knew what he was doing, that Hartley should see through his manipulations. 

“Your paranoid delusions are going to end up getting someone killed.” 

Hartley could feel his resolve weakening. 

“Sane people don't believe their ex-boss planted security cameras in their home to spy on them. They don’t use sonic booms to blow up buildings.” 

Squeezing his eyes shut, Hartley shook his head. “I know what’s real. I know who you are. I know what you are. I’ve seen you. You can’t make me forget that.”

“A sane person wouldn’t accuse a man of faking his paralysis,” Harrison continued, unphased by Hartley’s words, and his final sentence struck Hartley to his core, maybe because it was the only thing Harrison said that was true. Or maybe everything he was saying was true, and this was just the first thing Hartley let himself believe. “Sane people don’t plot to murder a stranger out of jealousy.”

Hartley gasped out a breath, shaking his head a little, and realized he was crying. “Stop.” 

“Hartley.” He felt a hand on his back, and when he looked up, Harrison stood above him, smiling down at him. But that wasn’t— there was a bright light in the corner of his eye, and when he looked back out, there was Harrison, in his wheelchair, like he hadn’t moved at all. 

Because he hadn’t. Hartley stared at him, and Harrison didn’t move. He had that serene smile on his face, and raised an eyebrow expectantly, like he had no idea what had just happened. No, he had to know. He had to. Because Hartley wasn’t going crazy. He couldn’t be. This was Harrison’s fault (everything is always his fault, isn’t it?). 

“Leave me alone,” he said, brokenly. “Please.”

“If that’s what you want,” Harrison said easily, and Hartley watched him go, watched the pipeline doors close and lock behind him, surrounding him in darkness. 

And Hartley was alone, Harrison’s words echoing in his ears. There was silence for a few minutes, until Cisco walked down to the pipeline. Hartley heard him unlock the door, and artificial light streamed into his cell (Hartley absently wondered if he’d ever see sunlight again). Hartley had wiped his eyes by the time Cisco was in front of him. “Hey,” he said, and scanned his palm to unlock Hartley’s cell without further preamble. 

“Hello, Cisco,” he said, closing his eyes and leaning back against the padded walls of the cell. 

“What does he say to you?”

“I don’t think that’s any of your business, is it?” Hartley responded, blinking his eyes open. 

“No, but I am the one bringing you food.” He held out the bag to Hartley, sitting down on the ramp and inviting Hartley to do the same. 

“And I’m sure you have no ulterior motives.” Hartley sat down next to him anyway, wondering if he was noticeably shaking, taking the bag. Cisco had brought sandwiches today, and for some reason when he pulled them out of the bag, he was overcome with a sudden, creeping sense of nostalgia. 

“I remembered your order,” Cisco said, ignoring Hartley’s comment for the time being, and Hartley smiled a little. “Grilled chicken with red onion, avocado, and spicy mayo.” 

“And I remember yours,” Hartley responded, handing Cisco’s sandwich to him. “Italian with way too fucking many banana peppers.” 

“You can never have enough banana peppers.” 

Hartley begged to differ, but he chose not to comment. Mostly because Cisco had brought him a free sandwich, and he knew he likely wouldn't be eating at all if not for the fact that Cisco happened to remember he was here. 

“He comes down here to gloat,” Hartley said eventually, unwrapping his sandwich and trying to figure out why he didn’t have an appetite, despite the fact that it had been nearly twenty-four hours since he’d eaten. “To gloat, and to torture me.” He wanted to tell Cisco, I think I’m losing my mind. Wanted to ask, am I crazy? Do you think I’m crazy? Tell me I’m not crazy. Tell me I’m okay. Tell me I’m okay, Cisco.

“He really wants to keep you in here,” Cisco said, momentarily breaking Hartley out of his spiral. 

Hartley stared down at his sandwich, and picked up a piece of red onion that had fallen out of it, taking the world’s smallest bite of it and immediately feeling sick again. “You’ll have to let me out if you want to know where Ronnie is,” he said, because it was his last resort, his Hail Mary.

“That’s not why I have to let you out.”

Hartley looked at him. “What do you mean?” 

“I’m… kind of afraid he’s going to kill you.” 

Hartley did not need to ask who he was, but he stayed quiet for a long time before responding. “If he was going to kill me, he would’ve done it a year ago,” he pointed out eventually. 

“Then he’s going to do something worse. Or,” Cisco paused, correcting himself, “he is doing something worse.” 

“He hasn't done anything yet,” Hartley said, and wondered, again, what Cisco would do if he told him everything. If he’d believe him (he hadn’t the first time), if he’d reassure him (tell me I’m okay, tell me I’m not crazy, please), or if he’d dismiss the things Hartley had seen as nothing but the paranoid, delusional ramblings of a man obsessed with and rejected by Harrison Wells (he would, Hartley knew he would, he couldn’t trust him, he could never trust Cisco).

Cisco nodded, seeming to consider something for a minute while Hartley’s brain worked overtime to convince himself there was no one who could get him out of this situation, before he noticed Cisco was staring absently at him. 

“What?” 

“He was there that night, when you said goodbye to me, wasn’t he? The day you left.” 

Hartley hadn’t thought about that night in a long time. Or rather, he hadn’t thought about that part of that night. He’d thought about every other part of it. “He was.” 

He thought about the sticky note with help me scrawled onto it, and how it had made its way into Harrison’s hand somehow. Harrison didn’t strike him as someone who learned magic tricks in his spare time.

God, that was probably another thing he was misremembering. There was no logical explanation other than that. 

Maybe Harrison really was right. Hartley was losing his mind. Had lost his mind. 

“Were we friends?” Cisco asked, forcing Hartley out of that line of thought. 

“What?” 

“I could never tell.” Cisco was seemingly not looking at him purposefully. “I never knew if you hated me or not.”

“I never hated you,” Hartley said. “I…” there were so many things he could say, none of which he knew how to say, “I wasn’t… Harrison didn’t- and the work-”

Cisco put a hand on Hartley’s arm to stop him. “Yeah. The work.” 

The way he said it, it made Hartley feel seen in a way he hadn’t felt from anyone but Harrison. But the way Cisco saw him—it was light, casual. Friendly. It didn’t mean anything dangerous, he wasn’t going to take what he saw in Hartley and turn it against him. 

He didn’t need to say it. He never had. 

“I think we were friends,” Hartley said softly. “As much as we could have been.”

Cisco smiled, and Hartley finally managed to find his appetite, and they ate their sandwiches in a comfortable silence.

Chapter Text

It should not have been as fun as it was to solve the mystery of Ronnie with Hartley. But they used to have fun sometimes, when they worked together. At least, after Hartley had gotten over his initial dislike for Cisco (Cisco was pretty sure it had been almost entirely jealousy over Harrison, but he couldn’t be positive). So yes, it was fun. But while he sat in the police station’s lab with Hartley, reviewing security footage, he suddenly realized what was going to happen, and soon. 

He turned around and Hartley, who’d been fidgeting with something in his pocket, dropped his hand to his side, an unreadable expression on his face. 

“If I let you go,” Cisco said slowly, “what would you do?” 

Hartley blinked. “Why would you believe whatever I told you?” 

Cisco shrugged. “Humor me.” 

“Honestly? I’d go home. As much as I despise Harrison Wells, he's not worth getting locked up in that hellhole again.” Hartley looked away. 

Cisco frowned. “Thought you had big plans. Chess game to win and all that.”

“He’s…” Hartley went quiet for a second, “I can’t win against him. At least not… not in a way that would make me like myself.” 

“What does that mean?” Cisco asked, and Hartley shook his head, still not looking at him. “I’m not going to let you leave if you aren’t gonna be honest with me.” 

Hartley sighed. “I’m not going to kill anyone. I can’t. I thought I could, but…” he trailed off.

“You were going to kill Dr. Wells?” 

He shook his head again. “Not Harrison. Dying would be too good for him. I needed to ruin him, the way he did to me.” 

“Who were you going to kill, Hartey?” Cisco knew what the answer to his question was the second he asked it. The Flash. Hartley had let himself be captured so he could kill The Flash. 

When Hartley, once again, didn’t answer the question, it prompted Cisco to ask something else, something he should probably have kept to himself. “If you’d found out it was me, would you have done it?” 

“What?” 

“You said I was on your list. Your very short list. If it had been me-”

“Cisco,” Hartley said softly. “I can’t- I wouldn’t have done it, no matter who-” he broke off, looking away. “If you let me go, I can’t promise I’ll be a good person. I need money. I need to survive. Might rob a few jewelry stores here and there. But I won’t kill anyone. I won’t hurt anyone. I can promise that much.”

“Look,” Cisco started, “I can’t let you go. Dr. Wells would kill me.”

“Would you rather I escaped?”

The way he asked the question made Cisco think he already had an escape plan in mind. “How?” 

Hartley smiled, in a way that was very creepy and Cisco did not care for at all, and pulled one of his old implants out of his coat pocket. “I was planning on breaking this and leaving you writhing in pain at the ungodly screeching noise.” 

“How did you get that?” 

Hartley shrugged. “You shouldn’t have let me wander around unsupervised so much. I found one of them” 

“I thought we were friends!”

“I was still your prisoner!”

Cisco had to concede that point. “When? When were you going to do it?”

“Just now, actually. If you hadn’t turned around, I would’ve done it.” 

“Rude,” Cisco said, and Hartley rolled his eyes. “But I guess we’re even, considering I made this.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out the device he’d made to counteract Hartley’s implants. 

“What is that?” 

Cisco turned it on for a second, and even doing that made him feel bad, considering the way Hartley almost immediately fell to his knees, gripping his ears. 

He turned it off almost immediately, and Hartley squinted up at him. “Fuck you for that. You know you could’ve told me what it did.” 

Then Cisco stood up, dropped it on the floor, and stomped on it, breaking it into pieces, before offering Hartley a hand up, which he accepted, still giving Cisco a look like he’d terribly betrayed him. 

“You owe me one,” Cisco said, then made a shoo gesture. “Now get out of here before I have time to regret my decisions.” 

He stared at Cisco for a second longer, before he seemed to come to a decision with himself and stepped past him. “See you around, Cisco. I’ll work on something to get rid of the flying ghoul,” he said from the doorway, and then he was gone. 

Cisco really hoped that wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass.

It did. It absolutely did. Oddly enough though, it really had nothing to do with Hartley. 

Cisco couldn't figure out how Dr. Wells knew he’d let Hartley go. He’d seemed to believe Cisco at first, the story he told about Hartley using his implant to disable him (though he did point out this is why you shouldn’t have let him leave his cell at all to help you in the lab, you can’t trust him, you should’ve been supervising him more closely), destroying Cisco’s torture device, and running away. Of course he was mad Cisco had let him out at all, but at least he believed Hartley’s escape hadn’t been intentional on Cisco’s part. 

But then, once everyone had gone home for the day, Dr. Wells’ voice echoed through Cisco’s lab, making him jump.

“I know you let him go,” was all he said, and Cisco’s blood ran cold. How? How could he possibly know that? 

Cisco ran through the list of possible defenses, trying not to seem like he was as terrified as he was. Dr. Wells didn’t exactly scare Cisco, but he had his moments. And those moments specifically involved times when Barry was in potential danger from a metahuman and it was entirely Cisco’s fault. He recalled the incident with the cold gun—Dr. Wells had been downright terrifying then. Perhaps unwisely, Cisco chose confusion and denial as his first defense. “What?”

“I know you let him go, Cisco,” Dr. Wells repeated, and why did Cisco feel like he was about to die. His boss was not going to kill him. He might fire him, that was a very real possibility, and Cisco resigned himself to being fired because of Hartley fucking Rathaway. 

He supposed he may as well admit it, because he wasn’t going to get very far with his denial strategy. “How do you-”

“We’ve worked together for years, you think I can’t tell when you're lying?” 

Cisco wanted to ask why he hadn’t said anything to begin with, then, but the mystery of why Dr. Wells did anything he did was something Cisco was happy to leave unsolved. Then he wanted to say something petty like ‘well, how come I can’t tell when you’re lying, then?’, but he was far too much of a coward for that. 

“Why did you do it?” Dr. Wells asked, his voice even, quiet. Which made it all the more terrifying. 

Cisco could come up with several good answers to that—he threatened me, he was playing mind games and I got bamboozled, he seduced me (okay, that was probably a bad answer, but it was very on-brand for Cisco), and so on. 

But then he thought of the way Hartley had looked at Cisco for a split second after he'd used that device on him, the gleam in his eyes all those times after Dr. Wells had come down to talk to him (no one else seemed to have noticed it, but Cisco was an expert at pretending not to be crying. He knew what it looked like), and the simple, quiet, I’d go home. And so he chose to be honest. “I felt bad for him.”

It was the wrong answer, but at least it was the truth. 

“You felt bad for him.” Dr. Wells’ voice was almost mocking. 

It felt wrong to Cisco. Dr. Wells should be the one who was most understanding of Hartley. He’d been the one to monumentally fuck up first, after all. It was his fault Hartley was the way he was, and felt the way he did, like Dr. Wells had betrayed him, because he had.  

A realization came to Cisco, and he turned to look at Harrison, knowing he should probably keep this to himself but knowing he’d be unable to. “Hartley… didn’t quit, did he?” 

“What?” 

“He didn’t quit. That’s what he meant when he said…” Cisco turned around, running his hands through his hair. “Oh my god. You fired him. You fired him to keep him quiet about the particle accelerator. You made up all that shit about him, too, didn’t you?” 

“I did no such-” 

“No, don’t deny it! You know, I always thought there was a hole in that story. The way you talked about him back then, and then the things you said in that interview when they asked about him? Did not add up at all. And the fact that not one other person at S.T.A.R. Labs had anything to say about him except that he kept to himself and was a little standoffish? And all of that conveniently came out right when he tried to start warning people about the accelerator?” He turned back around and pointed at Dr. Wells, his eyes wide. “It was all you. You stopped him from talking. You fired him, and you- you blackmailed him, you made sure he couldn't say anything, and if he did, no one would believe him.”

“Cisco-”

“Why didn’t you listen to him? You didn’t have to do that! Any of it! All of this is your fault, everything he did to get back at you!” Cisco breathed heavily, wondering if this was the moment when he got fired and had his reputation destroyed. He probably should have thought of that. 

“Cisco,” Harrison said calmly. “Whatever I did in the past, I am not that person anymore. I haven’t been that person for a long time. I’ve learned from my mistakes, from my hubris.”

“You lied about him.” Cisco was still stuck on that. Of fucking course he was stuck on that. It was one thing to lie about a man, to blackmail him and fire him, and it was another thing entirely to tell everyone he stalked you, for no reason. 

“Yes,” Harrison said, letting out a breath. “Yes, I did. I lied about the nature of our relationship. It was a mistake on my end, but at the time, I was overconfident, so many resources had gone into the accelerator, I would have done anything to ensure its launch went smoothly.”

“You ruined him. Ruined his life. You know I saw him, a week before the accelerator launch? He still hadn’t given up. He tried to get me to listen to him, but I wouldn’t, because I believed you.” 

“Cisco,” Harrison at least had the decency to look chagrined. “All of this,” he gestured around them, “is irrelevant. When the fact of the matter is that he has a vendetta against me, and a vendetta against Barry for replacing him. He planned to get taken here on purpose to kill him. You know it, I know it. And you let him go free.”

“I have faith that he won’t try that again.” Cisco didn’t know what made him so sure, maybe the bizarre universal reset had happened where he now trusted Hartley Rathaway more than Harrison Wells, but here he was. 

“You can’t trust him.”

Cisco shook his head. “You don’t get to say that to me. He hasn’t lied to us. Any of us. He may be kind of a jerk, but he's not a liar.” He couldn’t help but add, under his breath, “Unlike some people.” Dr. Wells heard it, if the look he gave him was anything to go by, but at that point, Cisco didn’t care. He sighed, turning away. “I’m going home. I’ll see you tomorrow, Dr. Wells.” He paused in the doorway. “Unless I’m fired and blacklisted from the industry, of course.” 

“You’re not fired, Cisco,” Dr. Wells responded, his voice soft. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Cisco nodded and left the lab, immediately calling Caitlin. 

Thankfully, she picked up. 

“Hey, Cisco. If this is about Ronnie, I’d really rather not talk about-”

“It’s about Hartley,” Cisco interrupted. 

“Hartley Rathaway?”  

“How many other Hartley’s do you know?” 

Caitlin laughed a little. “Just checking. Is everything okay?”

“Yeah. No problems, I- can I come over? It’s okay if-”

“Only if you bring dessert.” 

“On it.” 

When Cisco got to Caitlin’s apartment, he was holding a birthday cake from the local grocery store that no one had picked up. Sure, it said ‘Happy Birthday, Dave’, but it was still cake. And it was cheap. Caitlin did not complain, though she did worry everyone had forgotten Dave’s birthday. 

“So,” she said, after assigning Cisco the arduous task of chopping an onion for spaghetti sauce, “what’s going on with Hartley Rathaway?” 

“He didn’t quit,” Cisco said, and Caitlin glanced over at him. 

“What are you talking about?” 

“Dr. Wells fired him. He fired him and ruined his career when he tried to tell people about the particle accelerator, Caitlin.” 

From the look on Caitlin’s face, it was clear she didn’t believe him. “Did Hartley tell you that?” 

“No! And even if he did, what reason do we have not to believe him?”

“Cisco-”

“He… implied it, and when I confronted Dr. Wells about it-”

“Confronted?”

“Okay, well, I asked him, and he- he didn’t deny it! In fact, he admitted it! That he lied about Hartley, about everything.” 

Caitlin pursed her lips. “Why would he do that?” 

“I don’t know, but it makes sense, doesn’t it? I mean, why would Hartley up and quit? And not say anything? Why would he show up a week before the accelerator launch to try to convince me there was something wrong? Why not go to someone else, or post it on the internet?” 

“Maybe Harrison made him sign an NDA when he quit. That’s standard procedure for a lot of places like S.T.A.R. Labs. Especially if something did happen between them.”

“Oh, right, because that would make Hartley Rathaway shut up. He got disowned from inheriting a billion dollar enterprise, and you think an NDA would make that man stay quiet if he thought he was right about something? Don’t you think it’s weird Dr. Wells said all that shit about him, like he was trying to distract from the fact that Hartley was right about the accelerator? Trying to discredit him?” 

“I don’t know, Cisco, I don’t remember you two ever being very close, so how would you know what he’d do? Besides, you looked over his reports on the accelerator, you told me they were all nonsense,” Caitlin grabbed the knife and cutting board from him, where he’d been viciously dicing the onion into pulp for the last minute, and dumped it in the saucepan. 

Cisco sighed. “Yeah, I know. But he was still somehow right. Which makes me wonder if maybe… those weren’t his real reports.” He looked away. “Hartley's… never been a genuinely bad person. And now that he’s a metahuman, he’s still not like the other metas we’ve dealt with. All he did was break some windows. Plus, after Dr. Wells lied about him like that? Gotta say maybe he deserved having his windows broken.”

“Just because Dr. Wells lied about the particle accelerator doesn’t mean he’s some evil mastermind. And just because he lied about- about what Hartley did, you don’t know what was going on between them.”

“I’m not saying that. I’m saying,” Cisco paused. He wasn’t sure what he was saying. “I’m saying maybe he’s not the person we thought he was. That’s all.” 

“And does that change things?”

Cisco watched her stir the sauce, frowning a little. “No. I guess not. Except I wanted to say all that before I tell you the other thing I know you’re going to be pissed at me for, so maybe you’d be less pissed once you heard why I did it.” 

“Oh, god,” Caitlin muttered. “Hand me the strainer, will you? Pasta’s done.” 

“Yeah sure.” He did, and then steeled himself. “I let Hartley go.” 

Caitlin didn’t say anything for a minute. 

“Are you mad?” 

No response. 

“Caitlin. Are you mad at me? Please don’t be mad at me. You know I hate it when you’re-”

“I’m glad you did.” 

“What?” 

Caitlin looked up at him, pulling a couple plates out of the cupboard. “Whatever happened between him and Dr. Wells, that’s… that doesn’t matter so much to me. All I know is he didn’t deserve to be in there. None of those people down there do. But Hartley really didn’t. I was relieved when you told me he escaped.”

“Oh.” Relief flooded through him. 

“Now, if he comes back and tries to kill us all…”

“He won’t.”

Caitlin raised an eyebrow. “You seem sure.”

“He said he wanted to go home.” Cisco shrugged. 

“And you believed him?” 

Cisco took the plate she offered him and sat down heavily on the couch. “He looked fucked up, Caitlin. Plus I think he’s got a pet rat.” 

“He has three,” Caitlin said. “Or, he did when he used to work with us. I don’t know how long rats live.”

“How do you know that?” 

Caitlin laughed, sitting next to him. “This may sound crazy, Cisco, but sometimes I talked to the man.” 

“Real conversations, about real things? And lived? Yeah, that is crazy.” 

They were quiet for a while, and Caitlin put on a reality show for background noise, though neither of them were really paying much attention to it. 

“Did you notice how future Barry was kind of weird around Dr. Wells?” 

“Oh, you noticed that too?” Cisco pulled out his phone. “That’s it. I’m making a list of weird Dr. Wells shit.”

“Gonna be a long list,” Caitlin muttered, frowning down at her spaghetti.

Chapter Text

Okay, maybe Barry’s corkboard of Wells’ suspicious behavior was more comprehensive than Cisco’s notes app list of ‘weird Dr. Wells shit’, but Cisco would like to think his list was still pretty good. Especially after he started getting those dreams. 

He left the lab that night with Caitlin, and he offered to drive her home.  

“Do you want to come back home with me?” she asked softly, and Cisco shook his head. “We can make popcorn, have a movie night. I’ll even let you watch Star Trek. The one with the whales. I really feel like we shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“I actually have something I need to do,” Cisco said. “You’re welcome to come with.” 

Caitlin raised an eyebrow. “What are we doing?” 

“Probably best not to tell you. You’ll try to talk me out of it.” Cisco pulled out his phone, typed in a number, and sent a text. And then another text. And then many more texts, one immediately after the other. Because that was how he texted. And he was anxious.

ok dont hate me but i did use a semi-illegal database to find ur #

couldnt get an address tho unless i wanted to get real snoopy 

thought id txt instd 

plus itd be rude to show up unannounced 

anyway send ur address ill bring food

its important

like real fn important. not a phone call convo 

this is cisco btw

cisco ramon

There were a few seconds in between each text Cisco sent where he saw reply bubbles, only for them to go away the second Cisco sent another text, until finally a response came in.

Jesus Christ.

Yes, I puzzled out who it was with the first text, considering we used to work together and I have your phone number in my contacts, thank you. 

At least he responded. Cisco typed out his reply, to-the-point message, followed by another very succinct message. 

address

bitch.

Hartley sent his address, and Cisco plugged the route into his phone, before another text came in.

Thai. 

?

The food you’re bringing me. 

Cisco smiled and added a stop to the Thai place nearby. 

********

“So the thing you had to do was order takeout?” Caitlin asked as she helped Cisco carry the bags of Thai food back to his car.

“No, this is the preface to the thing I have to do.” 

“Could you quit being so cryptic? I’ve had a very long day,” she sighed, and Cisco relented, taking pity on her.

“We’re going to see Hartley.” 

Caitlin blinked at him. “Hartley Rathaway?” 

“Again, how many other Hartley’s do we know?” 

“Still none, but… you can’t tell him, Cisco.” Her tone was that of a mother scolding her child, and Cisco resisted the urge to roll his eyes petulantly. 

“Why not?” 

“Well, for one, we haven’t heard from him in three months, two, we aren’t exactly on great terms, three, who knows what he’ll do if he finds any of this out, and finally, we don't even know anything for sure yet.” She listed them off with her fingers, as if that would stop Cisco from driving to his apartment. 

“He deserves to know. He’s as much a part of this as all of us. And besides, the last time we talked, he said he would help us with that dementor thing. You know, the thing that's going to kill Barry in like eight months if we don’t find a way to stop it, that we haven’t made any progress on?”

Caitlin frowned. 

“C’mon. Least we can do is bring him Thai food to check on his progress, and if a conversation about Wells happens to come up…” he trailed off, gesturing vaguely. 

Caitlin’s frown deepened, but then she slumped a little in resignation. “Keep your hands on the wheel, Cisco.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Cisco sent a here text to be courteous, and Caitlin whispered a “Remember to be nice,” before Hartley answered the door. 

“Hey, I’m the one whose idea this was, what, you think I'm not gonna be nice? I am doing this to be nice to- hey, Hartley.” 

Hartley looked at him with the same look he always gave Cisco, and instantly he regretted this decision, then Hartley looked to Caitlin, and his face brightened a little, and finally, he looked at the takeout bags, and a very small smile appeared on his face. So at least Cisco knew where his priorities were, and they didn’t seem to be aimed at killing him. 

“Come in.” He stepped back from the doorframe, letting them in and shutting the door behind them. 

Hartley’s apartment was small, and when they’d pulled up it had been obvious it wasn’t in the greatest area, but it was nice inside. Clean, but a little more cluttered and lived-in than Cisco would’ve expected from him. There was a rustling in the far corner of the main room, making both him and Caitlin jump. Hartley laughed at them, a little bit cruelly. 

“The rats,” he said. “They’re not used to visitors.” 

“Ah. Of course. The rats,” Cisco said as he set the takeout bags on Hartley’s counter, “How could I forget the rats.”

“So,” Hartley said. “I thought you had a year.” 

“Sorry?” Caitlin asked. 

“To kill the dementor. That’s why you’re here, right?” 

“Oh.” Caitlin looked at Cisco, and Cisco looked back at Caitlin. “It’s not… not why we’re here. I mean, it could be why we’re here.” 

“It’s not why we’re here,” Cisco said firmly, and Hartley looked between the two of them like he was watching a tennis match.

“But have you had any progress?” Caitlin asked, kicking Cisco’s shin. 

“Quite a bit, actually,” Hartley had that tone he got whenever he felt particularly proud of himself about something, before he adjusted his glasses and looked away, picking up a spring roll and taking a slow bite before saying anything else. “But if that's not why you’re here…”

“We needed to talk to you,” Cisco confirmed. “Not about the dementor. It’s- ow!” That was the result of Caitlin kicking him in the shin again. He kicked her back, and Hartley smiled like this was the most entertained he’d been in the last three months. “It’s about Dr. Wells,” he managed to get out without Caitlin smacking him on the arm. 

Hartley’s smile vanished and he looked at Caitlin like he was pretending he hadn’t heard that. “I heard what happened with Ronnie,” he said, completely ignoring Cisco. “For what it's worth, I’m happy for you.” 

Caitlin looked down, a small smile on her face. “Yeah. Me too. I actually did think about inviting you to the wedding. For whatever that’s worth.”

Hartley smiled and waved his arm dismissively. “It’s fine. Wouldn’t have gone anyway.” 

The rats banged around in their cage again, making Cisco jump. 

“So. How’s Barry?” Hartley asked, that infuriating smirk back on his face, “or, sorry, the Flash?” 

“How do you-” Caitlin started, then looked to Cisco. “Did you-”

Cisco raised his arms defensively. “He figured it out all on his own.”

Caitlin made a huffy noise. “He’s fine.” 

“That’s nice.” Hartley said it like he kind of thought it wasn’t that nice, but Cisco wasn’t going to call him out on that. 

“Hartley, look,” Cisco started to say, to hell with what Caitlin thought Hartley didn’t need to know, but Hartley interrupted him before he could even think about how to start this conversation.

“Is he dead?” 

Cisco blinked. “Wha- who? Barry? No, we just said he’s-”

Hartley rolled his eyes, in that way he did when he thought Cisco was being particularly stupid. “Not Barry. Harrison.”

“Oh. No.”

Nodding, Hartley leaned back against the kitchen counter. “Then why the fuck,” he began, his voice measured in a way that made Cisco’s fight or flight instincts kick in, “do you think I’d want to hear about him?”

“Because we think he killed someone.” Surprisingly, it was Caitlin who spoke up, probably because she sensed Hartley was about to go off on Cisco and that it would either result in a violent argument or actual violence.

Hartley blinked, turning to her. “Excuse me?”

“We think he killed someone,” Caitlin repeated. 

“We meaning…?”

“Cisco, Barry, and I, and Joe.”

“Joe?” Hartley asked, raising an eyebrow.

“The detective,” Caitlin explained.

Hartley shrugged, clearly not caring enough to commit that to memory. “I’ll take your word for it.” He leaned over the counter a little closer to them, holding another spring roll. They seemed to materialize in his hand, Cisco didn’t even know he’d ordered that many. “So. Who do you think he killed?” 

“Barry’s mom.” 

“Barry’s… okay, why?” 

“It’s hard to-” Caitlin started, but Cisco took out his phone and pulled up the picture he’d taken.

“You took a picture of Barry’s corkboard? Cisco!” Caitlin was doing her disappointed mom voice again. 

“What, who’s looking through my phone? And I’m sorry, did you want to try to explain all that?”

Before they could start another argument, Hartley interrupted, taking Cisco’s phone to zoom in on the picture, “I’m a visual learner anyway.” 

They sat in silence save for answering Hartley’s occasional questions as he deciphered the corkboard. He was either taking it very well or he didn’t believe a bit of it and was only humoring them. 

When he finally handed Cisco’s phone back, he was quiet for a few seconds. 

“I’m sorry,” Cisco said, talking first.

Hartley raised an eyebrow. “You already apologized to me, Cisco.” 

“He told us all you quit. Up and left one day, and none of us even questioned it. And then all of a sudden he had this narrative that you were like… stalking him. You were dangerous. I mean, why did we believe any of that? If I’d looked into it, looked harder at your reports, believed you that day at the coffee shop when you tried to tell me, maybe none of this would’ve-”

“He would’ve thrown you out like trash, too,” Hartley interrupted. “If that was his plan, nothing and no one was going to get in the way of it. If I couldn’t make him see the truth, no one…” he trailed off. 

“Oh, there you go again.” Cisco rolled his eyes. “You know, reminding me how much Dr. Wells liked you isn’t much of a brag anymore.” 

“Yes, I realize that,” Hartley snapped, his voice cold again. He sighed. “I have something you can add to that corkboard.” 

“Yeah?”

“I don’t have proof, but I told you when you took me in, that I knew Harrison Wells’ secret. I wasn’t talking about the particle accelerator.” He dug around in the takeout bag for a minute, and miraculously produced yet another spring roll, and then made Caitlin and Cisco wait while he ate it before finishing what he was about to say, because he was an asshole like that. 

“I saw him, that night when I went to his house,” Hartley finally said. “He was walking around, perfectly fine.”

“Why didn’t you tell us that?” 

“I had a plan,” Hartley shrugged. “I wanted him to admit it, but he didn’t. I don’t even think he realized I knew. He thought I was talking about the particle accelerator. Or about us. And I knew if I accused him, I’d look insane. None of you had any reason to believe me.” He looked down, picking at his fingernails like he was trying to look unbothered but in reality he was actually very bothered. “But then Cisco trusted me enough to let me go, and I was going to tell you then,” he glanced up at Cisco, “but I...” he swallowed, looking away again. “I kind of thought I was insane. Harrison has a way of- of getting in my head. I thought-” he broke off. “It doesn’t matter. I should’ve told you. I didn’t.” 

“You’re not insane, Hartley.” 

“I know that.” He said it like he really didn’t. “But I still had no proof, no admittance of guilt, what was I supposed to do? Tell you your boss is secretly a terrible person faking his paralysis right after you helped me escape? You wouldn’t have believed me and you know it.”

“I…” Cisco started indignantly, and then frowned. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

“So I figured I’d wait until one of you came by to check on my progress with that,” he gestured to his coffee table, where a mess of tools and miscellaneous objects that were impossible to identify, along with Hartley’s gauntlets, sat, “I didn’t know it would take so long for you to do.”

He said that in a specific way, that was meant to make Cisco and Caitlin feel bad, and they absolutely did, both looking down at their laps, almost comically, before Caitlin seemed to realize something and looked back at him, frowning.

“You could’ve called one of us.”

Hartley shook his head. “Trust works both ways, you know. And I didn’t particularly trust you.” Cisco got the feeling he was hiding something. 

“What-”

“You didn’t give me a reason to. I don’t know why you’re offended. I wasn’t offended that you didn’t trust me.” 

“Well, yeah, but that's because you’re-” Cisco broke off, changing his tone a little, “no offense, but you’re not exactly the most approachable, friendly person in the world.” 

“Oh, and you've always been so pleasant to me.” 

“Hey, you started it, man!”

“I’m not the one who-” Hartley was cut off by Caitlin clearing her throat loudly. 

“Give it a rest.” 

 “He made a torture device and used it on me, I think I was warranted in not trusting him.” 

“As an example! I didn’t use it to torture you!”

“Give it. A rest.” 

Hartley crossed his arms, and Cisco was pretty sure he mumbled “torture device,” under his breath. 

“We should be focusing on Wells,” Caitlin said, making Hartley’s face instantly shift back into that vague, unreadable expression. 

“There isn’t much else to say about it. What are you going to do?” 

“We don't know yet.” 

Hartley nodded. “I assume he has no idea what you suspect.” 

Caitlin shook her head. 

They went quiet again, as Hartley stepped away and pulled a bottle of whiskey out of his cupboard. “I’ve been saving this,” he said, and set it on the counter. “Harrison got it for me, about a week before he fired me, actually.” 

“You should save it. Until he’s locked up. We’ll drink it to celebrate,” Caitlin said. 

“Or for when he’s dead,” Cisco chimed in, to which he got another kick in the shin. 

“If you want my help with all this-” Hartley started, and Caitlin shook her head quickly. 

“Hartley, we wouldn’t ask you to do that.” 

“We wouldn’t?” Cisco frowned at her and Hartley turned to him. 

“I doubt I’d be much help.” He paused. “But. I am here. If you have any need for my particular talents.”

When Cisco and Caitlin left that night, Hartley gave a middle finger to the camera in his apartment, and did nothing else. 

He probably should have done something else. He should’ve texted Cisco and told him about the cameras. Warned him there might be others. If Harrison went through all this trouble to spy on Hartley, he’d be spying on other people, too. 

There were so many things Hartley could have done, should have done, and he didn’t, because he was afraid no one would believe him. Because he didn’t believe himself. And then it was too late. Because he knew. Hartley was sure Harrison had cameras everywhere, Harrison knew about the corkboard and he knew about everything else, and no matter what any of them did, they’d always be one step behind. 

It was stupid of Harrison to put cameras in Hartley’s apartment to begin with. Every electronic device had a distinct noise. It didn’t matter that it was camouflaged with technology Hartley knew only existed in a few places (S.T.A.R. Labs being one of them). He could still hear it. And Harrison hadn’t counted on that. Maybe he’d installed them before Hartley had gotten his powers. Maybe, he realized, suddenly feeling sick, they’d always been there. As soon as he’d met Harrison, they’d been installed. 

But however long they’d been there, Hartley hadn’t removed them, he’d been afraid to. He’d left them where they were and tried his best to ignore it, gone about his life knowing he was being spied on. Occasionally he slipped up. Usually it was whenever he brought a man home and they started getting a little to R rated and Hartley remembered the cameras. He’d look at whichever one was clsoest, usually. Or, in the direction it was. He was sure if Harrison was watching that he’d noticed ages ago. 

He talked to it sometimes, too. 

Sue him, he got lonely. 

“I’m not going to tell them,” Hartley said out loud, and wondered if maybe he truly was going crazy, talking to no one. 

He should’ve left well enough alone. Wasn’t that the story of his life, though. 

That night, he woke up to something different in his apartment. It took a moment to identify, and once he did, panic gripped him. There was someone in his house. In the front room, sitting on his couch, where his gauntlets were. He could hear them. He recognized the person, but he couldn't place them, not until he got up and stepped closer, silently. He froze in the doorframe. It was Harrison. Of course it was Harrison. 

Sitting on his couch (wheelchair nowhere in sight, he noted, but it wasn’t like he’d expected anything else), drinking a glass of whiskey—from the bottle Hartley had been saving. 

There was no way he’d be able to reach his gauntlets in time, there was nothing he could do but hope Harrison’s reasons for coming here hadn’t been to kill him. 

“Harrison,” he said, wondering if his voice was shaking. He couldn't tell. 

“Hartley.” He could hear the smile in the man’s voice. “Did you tell them?” 

“About the cameras? No. No, it’s too late for that.”

“I don’t believe you.” 

Hartley scoffed. He knew that tone, he hated that tone, and it never failed to bring out his petty side. Annoyance overrode his fear for the moment and he stomped into his bedroom, coming back with his phone and holding it out to Harrison, who smiled magnanimously as he took it. 

“Passcode?” he asked. 

Hartley crossed his arms, looking at the wall. “I haven’t changed it.”

Harrison hummed, typing in Hartley’s old code and immediately opening his text messages, reading through them like he’d done it a hundred times before (he had). He found nothing, like he had every other time.

“Are you going to kill me?” Hartley asked.

Harrison laughed, putting Hartley’s phone in his pocket. Which really pissed him off, because Hartley did not have the money for a new phone (though Harrison had paid for that one to begin with). “If I was going to kill you, I would've done it when I fired you.” 

“Why didn’t you?” 

“Perhaps I’m sentimental.” 

“Perhaps,” Hartley replied, mocking. “Get out of my house, Harrison.” 

“You’re really in no position to be telling me what to do. Sit down, Hartley. Have a drink with me.” He waved his hand at the empty couch cushion next to him, like this was his house and Hartley was a guest. 

“It’s two in the morning and you broke into my house.” 

“Sit down, Hartley.” 

Hartley sat down. 

“What do you want?” 

Harrison laughed, shaking his head. “You never were one for small talk, were you?” 

“No,” Hartley said shortly. “So what do you want?” 

“I want to have a pleasant chat.” 

“What, all those times you came down to the pipeline to threaten me weren’t enough of a pleasant chat?”

“That is what I wanted to talk to you about.” Harrison turned to look him in the eyes, and Hartley resisted the urge to stand up, to run away. He was shaking, he knew he was. “I know you hated it in there, Hartley,” he said, his voice soft in a way that instantly set him on edge. “So I want to tell you.” His hand went on Hartley’s shoulder, a gentle touch, “If you tell anyone about the cameras, if you contact Cisco Ramon or any of the others again, I will have you back in there and you will never see the light of day.”

“You think I care about myself?” 

Hartley could hear how loud his own heart was. And he could feel the urge to start crying, tears collecting in his eyes that he was doing his best to keep from falling. He’d told this man he loved him. He’d worshiped this man. 

Hartley had worked hard for most of his life to stop disliking himself so much, but he didn’t think he’d ever hated himself as much as he did in this moment. 

“Oh, Hartley,” Harrison said, like he knew exactly what Hartley was thinking. The hand on his shoulder tightened, and Hartley forgot how to breathe. He was going to die. He was going to die. 

He was going to die. 

“You think the only thing left I can take from you is your life. Hartley, there is still so much more I can rip from your hands.”

“I don’t have anything, Harrison.” 

Harrison hummed. “That’s true. You don’t even have your sanity, do you?” There was something unspoken in that, something like, we both know you’re going to wake up tomorrow and not know if this was real. 

Flinching a little at that, Hartley stared resolutely at the opposite wall.

“But that doesn’t matter.” He gave Hartley’s shoulder one more squeeze before he stood up, setting his glass on the table in front of them. “Caitlin Snow has something.”

Hartley raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re going to threaten the lives of my old coworkers who I barely spoke to?” 

Without responding, Harrison continued. “Cisco Ramon has something, too.”

Hartley looked away, didn’t answer. Harrison took that as his response and smiled. “I hope I won’t have to come visit you again.” 

And then he was gone. 

Hartley sat on his couch, didn’t move, for the rest of the night.

Chapter Text

“You didn’t tell him about your dreams,” Caitlin said, on the way home from Hartley’s apartment. 

Cisco’s hands tightened a little on the steering wheel and he glanced over at her. “Yeah. I know.” 

“Why?” 

He shrugged. “Felt too complicated.” 

“You think he can help us, if… Wells turns out to be- to be as dangerous as we think he is?” 

“I don't know. But that isn’t why I told him. Well, not entirely.” He paused. “I told him because he needs to know. I wanted him to know.” 

“Why?” Caitlin repeated, and she seemed to be purposefully asking questions that she already knew the answer to. 

Cisco sighed. “When he was in the pipeline, Dr. Wells used to go down to see him. A lot. Almost every night. He’d turn off the audio recording, and usually the cameras, too. And he’d go down there and- and talk to Hartley, I guess. I’d wait until he was gone, go down to see him, and…” he paused, trying to figure out how to say what he wanted to. “He’d look so fucked up. Like- I don’t know, Caitlin. Like he was broken.” 

She didn’t respond for a second, and when Cisco glanced over at her, she was watching his face carefully. “You did a good thing, Cisco. You’re a good person.” 

He wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so he said nothing, and dropped Caitlin off at her apartment without saying anything else except for a quiet see you tomorrow. 

Cisco sent Hartley a text about a week later, and all it said was, its all true. He didn’t hear back. 

He sent Hartley another text, the address to Barry’s house and a time, and Hartley didn’t show up. They had the meeting without him. Cisco texted him again, afterwards, and then again an hour later, asking if he was okay. He didn’t hear anything. 

He texted Hartley on and off for the next three days, and he never responded. 

So Cisco decided to visit him. Mostly because he was sincerely worried that Harrison had killed him.

He knocked on the door, and waited, and hoped Hartley wasn’t dead. 

The door opened, and the look on Hartley’s face before he schooled it into his normal, blank expression, was one Cisco had never seen on him before. Something in the ballpark of complete and utter fear.

“Cisco.” 

“Hartley.” Cisco managed to smile a little. “I was kinda afraid you were dead.” Kinda was a word here meaning very. 

“Sorry?” 

“I’ve been texting.” 

Hartley cringed, looking away for a second. “Lost my phone,” he said, and the way he said that made about fifty red flags pop in Cisco’s mind.

“Lost it?” 

Hartley shifted uncomfortably, glancing behind him for a second. “I- yeah.” Clearly a lie, but Cisco wasn’t a complete idiot, so he chose not to press further. He could read between the lines. “You didn’t say anything…”

“Nah, about fifty texts of me asking if you’re okay.” Except for the meeting at Barry’s house that he’d texted about. Fuck. If Dr. Wells had somehow taken Hartley’s phone… did he know about the meeting? Had he seen them? Heard them, somehow?

“Fifty?” Hartley asked, interrupting Cisco’s thoughts.

“Give or take,” Cisco shrugged.

Hartley smirked, though his expression still seemed hollow. “Were you worried about me, Cisquito?” Even the nickname fell a little flat. Like Hartley was trying his best to be normal, to be his usual self, but something was stopping him. Cisco wasn’t sure he wanted to know what that something was. 

“I was-” Cisco sputtered for a moment, his cheeks coloring a little, “I- look, can I come in?” 

Hartley shifted in the doorway, looking behind him for the second time, his expression twisting further. “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Cisco.” 

Again, Cisco wasn’t sure he wanted to know why that wasn’t a good idea, but he was pretty sure he needed to. “Why not?” 

“Because…” he looked behind him again, trailing off. 

Cisco also looked behind Hartley, and saw nothing but his normal apartment. He heard the rats rattle their cage a little, but nothing else. In order to bring some semblance of normalcy to this conversation, or maybe to ease the tension, Cisco made a weak attempt at a joke, “Got a hot date?” He truly regretted that as soon as it came out of his mouth, but Hartley didn’t even react to his words.

“You need to leave,” he said. 

Cisco blinked, staring into Hartley’s face (his expression was unreadable, it always was). “What?”

“You need to leave. Right now.” 

For a few seconds, they stared at each other, before Cisco spoke. “What’s going on, Hartley?” He didn’t want to know. God, he did not want to know whatever terrible things were happening to Hartley, whatever Wells was doing to him (was it Wells, was he here? He couldn’t be here, Hartley’s apartment was on the fourth floor of an old apartment complex with no elevator). 

“What’s going on, Francisco,” Cisco raised an eyebrow at that, because in any other situation, he would punch Hartley in the face for calling him that, “is that I can't help you. Not with Harrison Wells.”

Had Hartley always said Harrison’s name like that? Something in his tone felt different. Something felt different (he did not want to know what it was). “But you said-”

“I know what I said.” Hartley looked at him and there was something in his eyes Cisco couldn't identify, “and I’m sorry. I am. I can help you with anything else, but don’t ask me to help with Harrison Wells.” 

“What happened?” 

“Nothing happened.” A lie. A blatant lie. Why was he lying? “But I’ve learned how to pick my battles when it comes to him. And I’ve learned that I only win the chess game when he wants me to. You should learn that, too.” He stepped back, his hand on the door. 

“Your life isn’t a game, Hartley,” Cisco said. “Our lives aren’t games.” 

Hartley tilted his head, stepping out of the doorway and back into his apartment. “To him, they’re exactly that.” He was about to shut the door on him before he paused, and Cisco allowed himself to get hopeful for a second, before Hartley said, “And stop texting me. I’ll call when I get a new phone,” and Cisco didn’t have time to respond before Hartley was shutting the door on him.

“You’d better,” he said, sure Hartley could hear him through the door. “You’d better,” he repeated to himself, standing there for several more seconds before he decided Hartley would not be opening it up again (especially not when he heard the click of a lock). 

There was very clearly something wrong. Something Hartley did not want Cisco or anyone else to help with. 

Cisco ran through the possibilities in his mind—Dr. Wells had gotten his hooks back into Hartley, being the main and most concerning possibility. Cisco tried to debunk that one first. Unfortunately, he had very little evidence to disprove it. The second theory was that Wells was threatening Hartley again. With what, was Cisco’s question. Hartley was consistently saying he had nothing left to lose, that was why he’d done what he had, that he didn’t care about his life or his safety, so what could Wells possibly be threatening him with? 

Over the next few weeks, Hartley didn’t call him (he said he would call when he got a new phone, hadn’t he said that?). He didn’t answer the door when Cisco knocked. He wasn’t home when Cisco decided to say fuck it to politeness and social norms (and laws) and picked the lock on his apartment door. But his rats had food in their cage, there was (moderately) fresh fruit sitting on his kitchen counter, so he was alive, at least. 

But Cisco was starting to worry that Hartley wanted nothing to do with him (but did he still want something to do with Harrison Wells? Or was he in danger?). 

He had every intention of finding out what was going on with him, helping him (even if Hartley seemed like he would rather die than ask for help), but unfortunately, everything happened all at once, and by the time Cisco was able to even wonder if Hartley was okay, everything was over. Wells was gone. 

********

It was two months before Hartley called him. 

Harrison Wells was dead. He’d confessed to murdering Barry’s mother, and he was dead. Hartley wanted to know how it had happened. He wanted to know if it had been painful (he was sure it hadn’t been painful enough). Most importantly, he wanted to know if it was real. 

He’d watched that video of him upwards of a hundred times—he’d stolen it from the Central City PD database, combing through it second by second, trying to determine if it was what he thought it was. A half-confession. An admittance of something, but not everything. Hartley couldn’t help but wonder, why was Barry so important, that Harrison would admit to how he’d ruined his life, but he wouldn’t admit to ruining Hartley’s? He couldn’t clear his name, apparently. Maybe he wasn’t important enough for Harrison to even have thought of. Nothing but a side character, a blip in the journey of creating the Flash, perhaps. Maybe it had always been about him, and Hartley only happened to be there. 

He didn’t think finding out that Harrison Wells was dead could make him feel worse than he’d already felt, but here he was, and he absolutely felt worse. Maybe that was Harrison’s goal all along. To ruin Hartley like this. 

There was no way of knowing. There was no way he’d ever know. But there was a way for him to get a few more answers. A few more pieces of the puzzle Harrison Wells had dumped on him for reasons unexplained. 

So he picked up his phone and called Cisco. “It’s Hartley,” he said, and before Cisco could respond with anything more than a shocked noise in the back of his throat, added, “can we meet?” 

“Uh, yeah. Jitters? Twenty minutes.” 

“Sure.” He hung up, before either of them could say anything else. 

At the coffee shop, Hartley sat down across from Cisco, and Cisco smiled at him in a way that looked slightly forced, and said, like he was trying very hard to be casual about it, “Hey, Hartley, what’s up?” 

With no preamble, Hartley simply asked, “how did it happen?” 

Cisco raised an eyebrow. “Well, hello to you, too.” When Hartley didn’t respond, Cisco sighed. “I’ll tell you what happened, if you tell me why you suddenly decided to become a coward after you said you’d help us?”

“It’s complicated.” 

“Yeah? How so?” Cisco asked that with more than a hint of bitterness in his voice, and Hartley resisted the instinct to flinch. 

He tried to come up with a better explanation, but all he could manage was, “You’ll hate me if I tell you.” 

“I already hate you, remember?” Cisco joked weakly, and Hartley made a face at him. 

“I knew.” 

“What?” 

“I assume you found out he had cameras everywhere?” Hartley asked.

“Ye-yeah. Yeah, how did you-”

“He had some in my apartment. I found them.” He knew he said it far too casually, like it wasn’t the most Earth-shattering information that he could have possibly kept to himself for so long. 

For a second, Cisco stared at him, shock and perhaps some anger in his face, “Why didn’t you tell us?” 

“I was going to. I was going to call you, meet you somewhere I knew he wouldn’t have a camera, and tell you, but… he already knew I knew. He’s known for a while now.” That was only part of the answer. The other part was still whispered in Harrison’s voice, paranoid delusions. He wasn’t sure that was something Cisco needed to know. He didn’t think anyone needed to know that, actually. 

“How?” 

Hartley looked away, sighing. “It’s hard to ignore a bunch of cameras your ex-boss planted in your apartment and live your life normally.” 

“So he knew you knew.” Cisco shrugged. “So what? Why couldn't you tell me?”

Hartley looked away for a second, still trying to decide how much he wanted to tell Cisco. He decided, not that much. “He came to my house. That night, after you left.”

“What?”

“He broke into my apartment at two in the morning and threatened to kill you.” 

“Me?” 

Hartley waved his hand. “Not you specifically. You, Caitlin, my rats, probably. Threatened to lock me back up in the pipeline and never let me out.” 

“Ah. So you stopped answering my texts, made me think you were dead?”

Hartley shook his head. “Harrison took my phone.” 

That much, Cisco had guessed. “Thawne,” he corrected.

“Sorry?” 

“His real name. Eobard Thawne.”

Hartley sighed. “Great.” He didn’t say anything else for a second, trying to decide if he wanted to know anything else, anything more. Cisco seemed to understand what he was thinking, and remained remarkably quiet as Hartley stared very hard into his cup of coffee. Finally, he moved, waving his hand for Cisco to continue. So Cisco did, he told the whole story, start to finish, and Hartley felt more physically ill with every word Cisco said. 

He’d fallen in love with this man. He’d dedicated his life to this man. To someone who’d been hiding his identity and lying about everything, who’d been using superpowers for years to make Hartley think he’d lost his mind. He knew, now, that was what it was. Of course it was.

Not that he’d never had problems before Harrison—God, he’d had plenty. But he didn’t hallucinate Harrison appearing in front of him one second and disappearing entirely the next. So many things that had happened, that he’d seen and convinced himself were hallucinations or something he’d misremembered suddenly made sense now. But throughout Cisco’s explanation, one thing Hartley noticed, was that he was strangely absent from the story. 

He was nothing in Eobard Thawne’s life, nothing and no one. What had been the point? Was it for idle amusement? Was that it? Entertainment, while he planned how to get back to the future? Was Hartley a fun game to play when he got bored? 

He kind of wanted to die. 

“Hey, dude. You still with me?” Cisco waved a hand in front of Hartley’s face, finally snapping him out of his trance. 

“Yes.” He blinked twice. “Yes. I… processing.”

Cisco gave him a sympathetic look that Hartley kind of hated. “It’s a lot.”

“I…” he shook himself a little. “I should’ve been there,” he said, and Cisco seemed to take that as guilt, or an apology, because his sympathetic look only strengthened, and he reached out like he was about to touch Hartley’s hand that was resting on the table before he seemed to think better of it. “I was right when I said I wouldn’t have been much help. But to hear him admit it. To watch him become the monster I’ve known he is. Was.” 

“It wasn’t a pleasant sight.” 

“No.” Hartley laughed humorlessly. “I doubt it was. But I should’ve seen it.” Would that have given him closure? Would that have made the hole in his chest ache less? He doubted it. He doubted that very much, actually. He didn’t think there was anything that could make the pit of acid Harrison Wells had left in his stomach stop eating away at him for the rest of time.

Cisco was quiet for a few seconds, and Hartley could tell he was rolling something around in his head, debating whether or not to say it. Hartley sighed. “Say it. I know you’re pissed. So get it off your chest.” 

Cisco glanced at him before looking back down at his coffee cup. “I wish you had helped us, Hartley. You know he threatened all of us, one way or the other. You still could’ve been there.” 

“I know.” It was no use arguing that point with Cisco, not unless he felt like telling him the full extent to which Harrison Wells had manipulated Hartley for the nearly half of his life. 

“I’m not trying to guilt trip you. Okay, maybe I kind of am, but I took a big risk telling you, everyone was pretty mad at me, and then when you didn’t show up…” Cisco trailed off. 

“I proved them right.” Hartley nodded. 

“It’s going to take a while before any of them really trust you. If- if you still want to help us, I mean.” 

“Help you?” 

“We could use someone like you, Hartley, as much as it pains me to admit it. And Barry’s in charge of S.T.A.R. Labs now, Wells gave him the company-” Oh, something in Hartley’s chest burned at that, and for a split second he wished he’d gone through with his plan of killing him, before he swallowed down his feelings and focused back on Cisco’s words, “I think as some sort of… fucked up taunt, but, anyway, he’s-” Cisco paused, waving his hand, “you could- you could come back.”

Hartley looked away. “I’ve got a job at Mercury now.” Thanks to everyone still at S.T.A.R. Labs, he supposed. He’d gotten the job last week, Dr. McGee had called him, said she’d heard about Harrison Wells, and after everything that happened with the accelerator, and now this, she could see what may have happened and would he like to come in for an interview? 

“I know,” Cisco said, and there was evidence of Haartley’s suspicions, because how did he know? Probably because he’d talked to her. Probably because he’d been the one to suggest she call Hartley. Hartley wasn’t going to ask him to confirm that, though. “But…?” he prompted Hartley. 

“But…” he shrugged, “it’s not solving unbelievable metahuman related problems.” 

Cisco smiled, and Hartley knew then that Cisco knew he had him.

“I’ll think about it,” Hartley relented. 

“That’s all I wanted to hear.” 

Chapter Text

“We’ve got a new guy,” Cisco said in greeting. He and Hartley had taken to weekly meetings at the coffee shop, Cisco said it was to talk about the ‘crazy shit that happened that week’, but Hartley had no crazy shit at his normal lab job. It was basically a weekly meeting for them to get together so Hartley could help team Flash without actually stepping foot in S.T.A.R. Labs. 

Hartley hummed in acknowledgment. “You want to split a scone?” 

“Yeah, orange and vanilla. Anyway, new guy.” Cisco poked Hartley on the arm. “He’s hot.” 

Finally, Hartley looked at him, raising an eyebrow. “Is that how you think you’re going to get me down there?” 

Cisco snorted. “Nah. But he is hot. And he's from another universe.” 

“And you started with hot?” 

“It’s the most interesting thing about him.” 

Hartley smiled. “I think that’s the meanest thing you've ever said to someone who isn’t me.” 

Shrugging one shoulder, Cisco looked away. “He’s bland. I feel like he's either hiding something or he’s incredibly boring.” 

“Well, at least this other universe sounds interesting,” Hartley prompted. 

“Haven’t seen it,” Cisco said nonchalantly, before he broke into a grin. “But it is really cool, though.”

“There it is.” Hartley rolled his eyes, almost fondly, if such a thing were possible. “Tell me all about it, Cisquito.” 

So he did, and Hartley tried very hard not to feel too fond of him and his terrible storytelling abilities. 

Unfortunately for Hartley, Cisco was a very easy person to feel fond for (once you got past being annoyed and pissed off at him constantly).

The next time they met, Cisco was keeping something from him. He didn't know what, but it was setting Hartley on edge. He told himself he’d ask Cisco what was wrong at their next… not-a-date date. 

Then Cisco canceled on him.

So Hartley decided this was the time to take him up on his offer, and he showed up one day at S.T.A.R. Labs and offered his help. It was Caitlin who met him there, and the new guy from the other universe (he was hot but boring, Hartley had to agree). 

“Hartley, why now?” Caitlin was looking at him like she wished Hartley had picked any time but now to come here, though she was not explaining why.

“Because-” because Cisco stopped talking to me, was the reason, but he couldn't very well say that. “Because I want to do the right thing.” There, that was superhero-y enough for Caitlin, he was sure.

“We appreciate the help, Hartley, but-”

“But we don’t need it,” the man from the other universe—Jay, Hartley remembered Cisco telling him—said. 

Caitlin put her hand on his shoulder. “Jay, no, that's not-”

“In my universe, Hartley Rathaway is a villain.” 

“Well, we’re not in your universe, are we?” Hartley snapped, which was perhaps the wrong call, but what else was someone supposed to say to that? Also, he was a bit sensitive to the whole villain thing, considering. 

“We’re not,” Caitlin agreed. “Hartley isn’t a villain.” At Jay’s unconvinced expression, she reiterated herself, apparently forgetting about all of her own doubts for the time being in order to defend Hartley, a gesture he absolutely did not understand, but appreciated nonetheless. “He isn’t a bad person, Jay.”

Jay was glaring at him with a level of hatred Hartley did not at all feel was warranted. 

“Besides,” Caitlin added, “we shouldn’t know what ourselves in other universes are like. You know what-” she broke off abruptly, glancing at Hartley. “We shouldn’t know about our doppelgangers,” she repeated.

Before Jay could respond, Hartley interrupted. “Do you want my fucking help, or not? Because I can walk out this door right now, along with my solution to the dementor problem Barry has.” 

Caitlin looked at him for a few seconds, then glanced at Jay, and Hartley didn't miss the way he shook his head subtly. 

Thankfully, she decided not to listen to him. “We want your help, Hartley. Actually, we could use all the help we can get. Maybe… call first, next time?” 

Hartley crossed his arms, offended that Caitlin would even suggest that Hartley would need to schedule an appointment to come to S.T.A.R. Labs (it was more his company than anyone else’s, and fuck Barry Allen, and fuck Harrison Wells). “I will do no such thing.” 

Despite his outward hostility at that suggestion, Hartley did, in fact, start doing exactly that. He couldn't help that he’d been raised with manners. 

But then, something started happening.

It started not long after Hartley began helping. This nagging, creeping fear he couldn’t identify the source of, but he recognized it. He’d felt it when he’d been locked in the pipeline, when Harrison had still been…

Harrison. 

That was it. He couldn’t believe it had taken him that long to identify it. It was almost like Hartley could hear him. He could hear him breathing, speaking, even his heartbeat. Not all the time, but he started noticing it more and more frequently. He was certain he was imagining it. Harrison Wells was dead. He was dead and a murderer, and not even Harrison Wells, among other things. He wasn’t here. But still, the sound of him followed Hartley throughout S.T.A.R. Labs. Once, he’d tried to follow it, but had ended up running into Cisco and gotten trapped helping him with a project for the next hour. By the time he was done, the sound of Harrison was gone. 

But as Hartley started coming around more often, sometimes without calling anyone ahead of time, the threads of team Flash’s coverup started to unravel, and Hartley began to realize perhaps the noises he was hearing weren’t all in his head. Especially not after he could’ve sworn he saw the back of Harrison’s head from down the hall, and when he’d pointed it out to Caitlin, she’d pretended she couldn’t see anything. Hartley was not going insane. He’d made Caitlin give him brainscans. Several times. He wasn’t going insane. He couldn’t be. 

Harrison Wells had driven him insane the first time, or at least, made him think he was. Hartley was not going to let him do it again. 

It all came to a head one night when he and Cisco were alone, or, supposed to be alone, finishing up a project together. At least, they had been finishing up a project, now they were talking about Firefly. But the sound of near-silent breathing shocked Hartley out of the conversation, and he froze. When the elevator opened, he could hear his heartbeat, and he knew. There was no mistaking it. 

“Hartley?” Cisco asked, apparently with no idea what Hartley had frozen for, considering Harrison was walking almost silently. 

Hartley didn’t respond, still frozen, as he heard the man stop in the threshold of the dimly lit lab. 

“I thought you were dead,” he said, spinning around, his eyes narrowing at the man who’d barely stepped a foot inside—a man who clearly had realized his mistake and had attempted to leave unnoticed. 

“How did you even know-” Cisco started, and Hartley looked back at him for a second, his gaze sharp. It made Cisco take a step back, even though Hartley’s downright murderous expression wasn’t meant for him. 

“I know what Harrison Wells sounds like.” He appraised Cisco. “But you don’t seem surprised.” He sighed, another betrayal. He should be used to it by now, he’d expected it, he’d known Harrison was here. For some reason, it hurt more knowing Cisco had been lying to him, too.

“Hartley, it’s not-” Cisco started, but Hartley interrupted him. 

“Almost as soon as I started coming here again, I thought I could hear him. He has a very distinct breathing pattern. And,” Hartley hesitated a second, “heartbeat. But I thought-” he grimaced and corrected himself, admitting something he didn’t really care to admit, “hoped that I was making it up in my head.” 

“Well, I’m not him. And I’m not Thawne, either,” apparently not-Dr. Wells and not-Eobard Thawne said, like he was tired of having this conversation. 

Hartley raised an eyebrow, still remarkably composed for how he currently felt. “But even still.” He turned back to Cisco, silently demanding an explanation. “You all have been lying to me this whole time, haven’t you?” Dr. Wells, or not-Dr. Wells, whoever he was, took that opportunity to slip away quickly. Hartley didn’t have the courage, or really the want, to make him stay. 

Cisco looked down, shifting back on the balls of his feet. “Yeah. But- but it's not what you think.”

“It’s not, is it?” Hartley scoffed, leaning back against the desk and gesturing for him to continue. “Then please, do enlighten me as to why our lying and murderous time traveling ex-boss who you all told me was dead is strolling around the lab like he still owns the place.” 

“It’s not him. He’s a- he’s the Harrison Wells from Jay’s universe.” 

“Jay’s universe,” Hartley repeated. “Why? After what happened with the other Wells, what on Earth possessed you to bring another one here?” he asked, before a belated realization occurred to him. “This is why you stopped talking to me, isn’t it?” 

“What?” 

“We were meeting every week, then all of a sudden, you stopped talking to me. I came to S.T.A.R. Labs, what you’d been wanting me to do for months, and for some reason you were acting… strange. That's why. Because you didn't want me to find out about Harrison.” 

“Because I knew you’d react like this, yeah!” 

Hartley glared at him. “Why is he even here?” 

“To stop Zoom. Like the rest of us.” 

Hartley shook his head. “I don’t want anything to do with him.” 

“Understood.” Cisco hesitated for a second. “You might want to give him a chance. I know it’s hard, I know!” He added hastily, before Hartley could respond with anything more than an outraged look, “believe me, it took me a while to warm up to him, too, someone with the same face as the guy who-” he swallowed, “well, anyway, I get it if you're not ready. But he’s a really brilliant guy. I think you’d like him if you gave him a chance.” 

Hartley couldn’t come up with a response to that for a moment. “I don’t want to see him,” he repeated. “And if you can't respect that, solve your problems without me.” He gave Cisco a hard stare, and Cisco swallowed before nodding. 

“I get it. I’ll tell him. And next time you’re here to help, we’ll make sure he stays out of your way.” 

Hartley nodded and offered up a nearly silent, “Thank you.” 

Cisco didn’t say anything for a minute, and he shifted back on the balls of his feet a couple times. “There’s something else. You’re- you’re mad about something else. You’re hiding something.”

Hartley raised an eyebrow. 

“What’s going on with you?” 

He snorted in amusement at the question. “You mean, what’s been going on with me since the day I met him? What’s been going on with me for every shitty day of my twenty-seven years of being alive?” He sighed, turning away to mess with one of the Funko Pops on Cisco’s desk (because of course he had Funko Pops). Somehow, looking at them made him feel better. Maybe because he could take this all less seriously if a giant-headed cartoon rendition of Spock was staring at him. “What a time to ask, Cisquito.” 

“What does that mean?” 

Hartley closed his eyes for a second. “It means that I was diagnosed with paranoid schizophrenia when I was fourteen.” 

Cisco didn’t answer, and Hartley heard him make a small, indecisive noise like he couldn’t figure out what to say to that (it was kind of funny, sometimes super-hearing was a little fun). 

“I thought I had it under control.” Hartley paused, corrected himself. “I did have it under control. I’ve been taking the same medication since I was nineteen. No problems. I told Harrison about my… difficulties in my interview. Didn't want him to find out some other way, hearing my parents talk about me in an interview when he did a background check, or…” he shrugged. “I thought it was the right thing to do. For a while, everything was fine. A few years, at least. But then he started using it against me. A while after working at S.T.A.R. Labs, things started… happening.” 

“What type of things?” Cisco asked, like he already knew the answer. 

“Impossible things. I’d see him, or hear him, in one place, and he’d be gone a second later. He’d show up in my apartment and then disappear. I kept finding cameras in my office, or think my computer was secretly recording me from the webcam. I’d ask him about it, and whenever I tried to show him, there’d be nothing there. I should’ve-” he broke for a second, shaking his head. “I mean, that’s not how the hallucinations used to be. I should’ve known then, that something was going on. Because it felt so different from the paranoia I had before. But I didn’t even think of that, at the time, because what was the alternative to me being crazy? Someone was trying to make me think I was crazy?”  

He glanced at Cisco. “It didn’t help, when you showed up. He put this thought in my head that you were going to replace me, and every once in a while he’d say something that brought that thought up again, like a bug crawling around in my brain. Whenever he thought I wasn’t working hard enough, didn’t care enough, wasn’t obsessed enough.” 

“Obsessed with what?” Cisco knew the answer to that question, Hartley was sure. It was nice of him that he was still keeping up the charade, though.

“The accelerator. Him. Same thing, really.” Hartley shuddered a little. “And when he’d tell me I was seeing things, imagining things, I’d believe him. What else was there to believe? That he had superspeed and used it to fuck with me every few months, to slowly make me think my meds stopped working?”

“Hartley,” Cisco started, but he didn’t seem to know what else to say after that, and went quiet.

Hartley glanced at him. “I think he was trying to get me to stop taking my medication. I never did. He never dragged me down that far. But- but it was a struggle. Some days, I’d wake up and the prescription bottle would be in a different place, or it’d be open, or spilled. To make me think it had been switched out or something.”

“That’s… that’s terrible. I mean, I know he’s terrible, he killed someone. But that’s on another level.” 

And now that Cisco was sympathetic to him, it was time for the guilt trip. Hartley might feel a little bad for guilt tripping him, but he wasn’t the one who’d been lying to anyone about an alternate universe version of Harrison Wells for the better part of two months. “And then over the last few weeks, the same thing started happening to me again,” he said pointedly, and turned fully to look at him. “For a minute, I thought I really was losing it.”

Now Cisco looked away, staring at the ground. “Oh.”

“Harrison Wells already haunts me enough. I don’t appreciate you all adding to that.” 

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, and he really did sound like he meant it, and Hartley softened a little. 

“I’ll get over it,” he muttered.

Cisco cringed a little. “Will you?” 

Hartley picked up one of the Funko Pops on Cisco’s shelf, examining it. He was pretty sure it was a Game of Thrones character, but he honestly had no idea. “I don’t know, Cisco,” he said honestly. “And it’s not even your fault. Not entirely, anyway. I spent my childhood with untreated anger management problems, Catholic brainwashing, and thoughts about boys that made me think demons were dragging me down to hell whenever I slept. Then I met Harrison Wells, and I spent the next half of my life slowly becoming paranoid that the government was spying on me and trying to steal S.T.A.R. Labs technology, only to find out that it was my boss spying on me the whole time.” He sighed. “And a few months ago, I thought, for the first time in my life, I was safe. There were people I could trust. I wasn’t hallucinating, I wasn’t losing my mind, and most importantly, no one was trying to convince me I was.” 

He heard the way Cisco tried to form a response to that and couldn’t seem to come up with anything coherent. He would’ve felt bad, if he had the energy to. 

Instead of responding to Hartley’s words, Cisco stepped up behind him and gestured to the Funko Pop Hartley was still holding. “That’s Arya,” he said. “From Game of Thrones.” 

“Ah,” Hartley responded. He had probably a negative percentage of interest in Game of Thrones, and had nothing to add to that, setting the figure back down. “Your collection has grown a lot since…” he cleared his throat, “since I used to work here.” 

Cisco shrugged. “People get me them as presents. They’re cute.” 

Hartley picked up another one (this one was still in the box), examining it. “I don’t like their eyes.” 

He snorted. “I guess.” He plucked the box out of Hartley’s hands. “But this one resells for two grand.”

“Now that’s insane. Talk about people who are losing their minds. Funko Pop resellers,” Hartley said, and he was pretty sure Cisco was debating if he was allowed to laugh at that joke or not when he glanced over at him. He rolled his eyes, a small smile on his face. “It’s fine, Cisco. Like I said, I’ll get over it.” 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

Chapter Text

Hartley started spending more and more time at S.T.A.R. Labs. He attributed the reason for this as the problems encountered with attacking meta-humans were far more interesting than whatever he was doing at Mercury, and eventually, without anyone really noticing, he started showing up every day. No one complained, and he started getting paychecks after about a week of this without any discussion. 

He was pretty sure it was because Barry didn’t know how to talk to him. 

He didn’t mind that. But he did notice it was significantly more money than he made at Mercury, even more than he used to make at S.T.A.R. Labs. 

Reparations, he supposed. Barry was paying him with the money Wells had left him, after all. He probably thought it was the least Hartley deserved, after the hell that man had put him through. Put them all through. 

He didn’t know the half of it. 

But Hartley was content to keep it that way. So long as Cisco was, too, he supposed. Not that he’d told Cisco everything (not that Cisco didn’t know, he’d always known). 

Someone else, however, was not so content to keep things that way. 

“Dr. Wells.” Hartley stopped what he was working on and straightened up, though he didn’t turn around to face the man. 

“Amazing you can do that,” Dr. Wells said, stepping further into the lab, making Hartley tense up. “Recognize me by my breathing. It’s really a-”

“What do you want, Dr. Wells?” Hartley interrupted. 

“You know, I prefer Harry.” 

Hartley flinched at the name, and wished viscerally that he hadn’t. “I’m not calling you that.” 

“Then call me nothing,” he offered, and that, Hartley could agree to. 

“So,” Hartley said, still refusing to face him. “What do you want.” His teeth were clenched hard enough that he knew he’d have a sore jaw later. 

“It’s been three months,” Dr. Wells—Harry—said. 

“Since?” Hartley prompted, though he knew full well what he was getting at. 

“Since you met me. Everyone else adjusted. Cisco took the longest. A month and seventeen days. But even before then he would look me in the eyes. You,” he trailed off, and then repeated. “It’s been three months. And you still won’t acknowledge my presence.”

“So. What are you getting at?” 

“If we’re going to be working together, you can at least make an attempt to be civil. We don’t have to like each other, even though I have no reason to not like you. From everything I’ve seen of your work, you’re actually a brilliant-”

“Don’t,” Hartley interrupted, squeezing his eyes shut. God, that was the last thing he needed. Harrison complimenting him, telling him he was brilliant. His mental health was already in the gutter, that would send him plummeting to his death. 

“What happened?” 

“Excuse me?” Hartley glanced at the glass wall in front of him, barely making out Dr. Wells’ form in the hazy reflection. 

“What happened?” Wells repeated, and Hartley caught him waving his arm impatiently. “What did he do to you?” he asked, before adding, “I’ve heard some legitimate horror stories about Eobard Thawne. The things he did to all the people who work here. Funny thing is, I read your files-” Hartley took a mental note to delete whatever files team Flash apparently had on him, “-and sure, it’s bad. He lied to you about who he was, about the particle accelerator. But grow up, because he did that to everyone. Not just you.”

Hartley’s fists clenched at his sides. “That wasn’t all he did. And even if it was-”

“He fired you and destroyed your career,” Harry interrupted. “Yes, I read that, too.”

“That isn’t-” 

“Then what?” 

Hartley recognized that tone. He never could resist it. That challenging, daring, tone that made him think maybe he could figure out this complicated physics problem, maybe he could win this chess game, could- “I loved him.” And it was always a trap. With his Harrison, at least. It was a trap. One he fell willingly into every time. 

“What?” At least this Harrison seemed genuinely surprised. He hadn’t known, because how could he have known? Hartley could have kept this secret forever, but no. No, now he’d had to say it out loud, make it real again. When it was a secret that should have died with Eobard Thawne. God, it had been a trap. A trap Hartley had both set and triggered himself. 

“I loved him,” he repeated, as quiet and calm as the first time. “And he said he loved me. But it was all a lie.” 

“So that’s it, then? A jilted lover?” Harrison scoffed, and that filled Hartley with enough rage to whirl around and glare at the man he’d been pretending didn’t exist for the last three months. 

“When I met him I was seventeen years old and homeless. I didn’t have anything. My parents abandoned me, I didn’t have any friends, relatives, nothing but a 4.8 GPA, a loud mouth, and an application for a S.T.A.R. Labs internship. But I was seventeen.” He didn’t realize he’d been walking closer to Harrison until he’d backed him against the wall. “He was-” he gestured wildly, stepping away and turning around, “well, I thought he was thirty-seven, but-”

“I’m not him. I don’t date teenagers younger than my daughter,” Harry offered (un)helpfully, and Hartley brought his glare back to him again, ignoring his words. 

“He put me through college, told me I was brilliant, there was no one else like me in the world, that he’d always be there for me.” He took a deep breath. “And I knew. Before I knew about Thawne, I knew what kind of person he was. After he fired me, I started questioning things. He ruined my reputation, I’m sure you know that part. He did this interview after he fired me, when I was trying to get everyone to believe me about the accelerator. He said I was lying. Implying… I was unstable.” Hartley paused. “I was unstable. He made me unstable. But not in the way he was saying. He told everyone I was obsessed with him and I wouldn’t leave him alone. I couldn’t get another job. And then the particle accelerator exploded, and it was like- it was like I woke up. And I-” his voice cracked and he turned away, “God, he took everything from me. He gave me everything when I had nothing, and then he took it all away again without a second thought.” His hands were shaking. 

“So you wanted to take everything from him,” Harrison finished, and Hartley looked up to see him nod. “I understand the feeling. But I’m not him,” he repeated. “So don't take your anger out on me.” 

Hartley said nothing for several seconds, refusing to look at him. “You have a daughter?”  He finally asked. 

Wells sighed. “Yes. And she’s the smartest person in my universe.” 

Hartley didn't say anything for a few seconds. “I… if you had any other face, any other voice, any other-”

“Breathing pattern?” Harry offered. 

Hartley managed a smile at that. “Yeah. I would have no reason to think that, is what I had planned to say.” 

“Good to know it’s not my personality that makes you think I’d sleep with a teenager.” 

“He waited until I was in my twenties,” Hartley said, and Harrison looked at him until Hartley relented, “Okay, twenty.” 

“I doubt it means much,” Harry said, “but I’m sorry.” 

It meant more than Hartley could ever say, so he chose to say nothing.

Hartley still avoided him. But at least he stopped jumping about a foot in the air when Harry said something. He only flinched sometimes. He was getting better. Or, at least, he thought he was. Granted, he didn’t speak to the man unless he had no other choice, didn’t make eye contact, and refused to be in a room alone with him, but he was making progress. 

Not enough, apparently, for Cisco. 

“Dude,” he said, as Harrison left the room and Hartley let out a deep breath he felt like he’d been holding for the past hour, “I know how you feel, but you've gotta give it a rest. He's not going anywhere anytime soon.”

“What do you care?” Hartley snapped, a bit more rudely than he’d intended. “You don't like him or me.” 

“I like him fine.” Cisco waved an arm. “And you…” 

Hartley looked over at him with an amused smirk and a raised eyebrow. 

“You’re growing on me.”

“I’m growing on you?” Hartley repeated, still smirking.

“Mhm. Like a parasite.” 

Despite himself, Hartley laughed at that. 

“Or mold,” Cisco added, and Hartley laughed harder. 

“Right back at you, Cisquito,” he said, a bit too easily, too genuinely, and it made something in his chest twinge painfully. He looked away, his smile dropping. 

“But, look. Back to the elephant in the room. Or, the elephant that left the room, I guess.”

“Cisco, please-”

“I get it. Really.” 

And there was something in his expression that made Hartley take pause. Something more than the betrayal of a mentor. Something… oh, Hartley should have learned by now to not jump to conclusions, but the problem was, he never had to learn that lesson because every conclusion he tended to jump to ended up right. 

His heart felt like it had stopped beating, fuzzy white noise echoing in his ears, nearly blocking out Cisco’s next words.

“I haven’t told you this before. I should’ve told you a long time ago, probably. And I- I’m sorry for not telling you before now.” Cisco looked away, taking a deep breath. He was clearly struggling with this. “Dr. Wells—Thawne, whatever-” he broke off again. “There was a- well, it’s complicated, but he…” 

This time when Cisco trailed off, Hartley found he could speak again, though the only thing he was capable of saying was a hushed, “You have got to be kidding me. You have got to be fucking kidding me.” 

Cisco only barely seemed to notice Hartley had spoken, didn’t really process his words, and cleared his throat to continue, as if Hartley wanted to hear any of this. 

As if- as if he wanted to know at all. God, he did not want to know, he felt like his heart was breaking all over again, with this new kind of betrayal.

“I understand what you’re going through a lot more than you think, is what I’m trying to say,” Cisco said, like that was supposed to make Hartley feel better. “Because-”

“You knew, didn’t you?” Hartley demanded, interrupting him and standing up. “You were the only one who did know! I trusted you back then, why did I even- and you-” He rounded on Cisco. It was so not right to be mad at Cisco for being as much a victim as Hartley had been. It wasn’t fair at all. After everything Thawne had put him through, he couldn’t possibly blame Cisco for- “You were lying to me the whole time? And you never defended me, after everything he was saying after he fired me? What, because you wanted him all to yourself?”

If he’d been more cognizant, he may have noticed Cisco’s complete confusion at these questions, but he wasn’t, so he didn’t, and instead of trying to figure out what Hartley was going off at him for, Cisco took this opportunity to continue trying to explain what had happened, because he was beginning to think what Hartley was talking about was a different thing than what Cisco was talking about (granted, they should maybe talk about what had happened between Hartley and Harrison, but was now really the time for that?). 

He cleared his throat. “Hartley, I-“ he broke off again, “after the particle accelerator-” 

Hartley put his hands over his ears, like that would prevent him from hearing Cisco’s explanation. Though the gesture was enough to make him stop talking. “Cisco, I’m- after everything he told me about you, about how I shouldn’t- that I was his- and you were-” he couldn’t even finish a sentence, anger was coursing through him, anger at Cisco that he knew wasn’t right, but he couldn’t help it, jealousy and bitterness creeping up on him like an old, comfortable shield. The whole time, he’d been right. 

He’d been right to be suspicious of Cisco. He shouldn’t be surprised. After everything else Wells—Thawne—had lied about, this was another in a long line of them. But for some reason this one felt so much worse, and suddenly Hartley couldn’t stand to be in the same room as Cisco. 

“I have to go.” He stormed out, leaving a particularly confused Cisco in his wake.

Hartley liked to think he was more mature than that. He’d gotten over Harrison Wells. He’d certainly gotten over his jealousy at Cisco for stealing his praise and attention at work. 

Apparently that wasn’t all he was stealing. 

He slammed his fist into the notepad on his desk with enough force to knock over his monitor. God, he was above this. This petty jealousy. Cisco didn’t deserve that. He deserved understanding as much as- as much as Hartley had wanted from Harry. 

That had been why he’d told him, after all. And that was why Cisco was telling him. For some twisted form of camaraderie. It was beyond selfish for Hartley to deny it to him the way he had. 

But fuck, that didn’t make the sick, twisted lump of betrayal in his gut any less painful. 

What were they supposed to do, anyway? Commiserate with each other over their shared experience? What good would that do anyone, anyway? Hartley didn’t want to talk about it, least of all with Cisco. 

He considered leaving, even though it was barely noon, but that felt somehow like admitting defeat, admitting how much it had truly gotten to him. So he stayed. An hour or so later, Caitlin came into his lab, though he didn’t hear her, he’d turned up his deafeners all the way, and didn’t notice her presence until she waved a hand in his peripheral vision. 

“Oh,” he said, and messed with his aids for a moment. “Sorry. Didn’t hear you.”

“It’s okay.” She smiled at him, but her smile dropped quickly. “Um, Cisco told me you were in a bad mood,” she said. 

“Did he say why?”

“Well,” Caitlin said, “he mentioned earlier he was going to tell you-”

“So everyone knew except me,” Hartley interrupted, looking away and wishing there was something on his desk he could break in half. 

“It’s not an easy thing to tell someone, Hartley.”

Hartley made a derisive noise. “You’re telling me.” 

“Look, we all went through trauma thanks to Thawne. And whatever you experienced-”

That was nice of her, pretending she didn’t know. But it still made Hartley roll his eyes. 

“It doesn’t make what any of us experienced any less, and it doesn’t make what happened to Cisco not real because it happened in another timeline, he still remembers it like it happened to him. And I can’t-” Caitlin shuddered a little, “I can’t imagine what that feels like. Remembering your own death that never happened.” 

“Wait.” Hartley held up a hand. “What?” 

Caitlin’s eyes widened for a second. “I thought you said he told you.” 

“I- he- oh, my god.” He dropped his head onto the desk, making a quiet groaning noise. 

“He didn’t tell you any of this, did he?”

“Not for lack of trying,” Hartley muttered. “This is going to be so annoying to fix.” He wondered if this was finally the moment in his life where he learned not to jump to conclusions. 

There was silence for a few seconds before Caitlin spoke again. “What did you say to him?” She almost sounded accusatory, like she expected Hartley had said something fucked up to Cisco. Which was fair, he supposed. Even if he’d been nice, lately. Well, nicer. 

“I didn’t…” Hartley sighed, sitting up and leaning back to stare at the ceiling, “I didn’t say anything. I thought he was talking about something else. I didn’t know… I mean, how could I have known that? What kind of person would guess he was about to say he’d been killed by Thawne in another timeline and somehow remembers it? Especially when he phrased it like-” 

“Like what?” Caitlin asked when he broke off.

Hartley shook his head. “I should talk to him.” He really didn’t want to. 

“He was worried about you.”

Hartley scoffed at that. 

“I’m serious. We care about you, Hartley. You’re part of the team.” 

“Since when?” He raised an eyebrow at her, and Caitlin smiled. 

“Since you came back to work with us. You’re a lot different when you’re not in some nonexistent competition with us for Dr. Wells’ attention.” 

Hartley was quiet for a second, before he stood up and stretched. “I try. I’ll see you, Caitlin.” 

“See you, Hart.” 

She’d never called him that before, and Hartley decided he didn’t mind it. He felt that painful tug in his chest again. 

He found Cisco in his lab and stopped at the doorframe, hesitating, assuming Cisco would notice him. He didn’t, and Hartley sighed loudly on purpose, but apparently it wasn’t actually that loud, because he still wasn’t acknowledged. It really was hard to parse what sounds most people could hear. He cleared his throat, and finally Cisco noticed, jumping and making a surprised little yelping noise Hartley would tease him for if he was in a better mood. 

“Hey,” he said, trying to be normal. As if hey was something he said when he was normal. 

“Hey yourself.” 

Hartley wasn’t sure what that meant. It sounded like something someone who was mad would say, but Cisco just looked kind of confused. And a little sleep deprived, though that was likely unrelated. 

“I-” Hartley hesitated. “I’m not usually wrong,” he said, to which Cisco snorted in response. “I mean that I was. This time. And I misunderstood what you were saying.” 

“Yeah, you got mad at me for trying to tell you Dr. Wells killed me in an alternate timeline.”

“I didn’t-” Hartley made a frustrated noise, “I didn’t know that’s what you were trying to tell me.” 

“Well, what did you think I was saying?” 

Hartley shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.” 

“Yeah, man, it kinda does.” 

He sighed. “Okay. So we’re doing this.” He stepped all the way into Cisco’s lab and closed the door behind him.

“Doing what?” 

“Talking about the thing we don’t talk about.”  

Cisco gave him a look, and Hartley rolled his eyes.

“Dating a billionaire was decidedly not as fun as you seemed to think it was,” Hartley said after a few seconds of trying to determine how to phrase what he wanted to say. 

“Oh,” Cisco said, chewing on his lip. “That thing we don’t talk about.” 

“That thing we don’t talk about,” Hartley echoed.

“But what does that have to do with me?” 

“Oh, come on, you can figure it out. Use your context clues.” Hartley leaned back against Cisco’s desk. 

“I really don't want to play a guessing game with you,” Cisco said before turning back to his work, clearly having been content with not talking about the thing they didn’t talk about for the rest of time and doing a little shoo gesture to get Hartley out of his way. 

“Why do you think I acted the way I did toward you?” Hartley asked. “What did you think I meant when I said Harrison wanted me to be afraid you’d replace me?” 

“Hartley, we don’t have to talk about this,” he said, his voice a little softer now, as he messed with a piece of wiring in his hands, clearly only trying to look like he was busy. “I know you and I used to joke about-”

“You know that you were right. You were right, and they weren’t jokes,” Hartley said, successfully shutting Cisco up. There was a long silence, and Hartley finally stepped away from Cisco’s desk. “It wasn’t like you were the only one who thought it. You were just the only one who ever said it to my face.” 

“So you thought I-” Cisco looked up at him, breaking off and making a face. 

Hartley rolled his eyes at Cisco’s expression. “Was it really that outlandish of a conclusion to jump to, with the way you were talking?” 

“Hey, look, I might have bad taste, but even I know better than to fuck my boss.” Cisco seemed to realize what he’d said as soon as he said it, and Hartley’s expression changed, he stared down at the floor for a second before turning away. 

“I- sorry, I didn’t mean-” he tried to correct himself, but again, Hartley waved away his apology. 

“I should have known better, too,” Hartley said quietly, sounding exhausted. 

“So, now that we’re actually talking about this—again, we really don’t have to, but—how long were you… I mean, was it really-” Cisco paused, then shook his head, “you don't have to tell me. Forget I asked.” 

Hartley smiled, something about Cisco’s awkward questioning charming to him. “It didn’t start right away. It was when I got accepted into the Master’s program. Three years after I met him.”

Cisco nodded, and then opened his mouth to ask something else before seeming to think better of it. 

“He told me he loved me,” Hartley said, assuming that had been the question. “I never dated anyone else, and, well, I assume he didn’t either.” 

“Rest assured, he was not dating me.” 

Hartley laughed, shaking his head. “I should’ve known that, considering your go-to response when I’d criticize your work was ‘at least I didn’t whore myself out to be here’.” 

Cisco didn’t share the laugh, and instead looked away, frowning. 

“Relax, Cisquito. I’m sure some of my jokes about you were as…” Hartley hesitated over the word hurtful and decided against it, opting to go quiet. 

“I’m sorry,” Cisco said, his voice small.

“I told you, it’s fine.” 

“No, not for that.” He waved his hand. “I mean, yeah, I’m sorry for that, but I meant for what Thawne did to you. That’s, what, over a decade of your life that he…” 

“Threw out with the trash, yes,” Hartley finished. 

“I get why you wanted to kill him.” 

“I never tried to kill him.” 

“I meant Barry.” Hartley had never exactly said it out loud, what his plan was when he’d allowed himself to be taken to S.T.A.R. Labs, but Cisco was smart. He could read between the lines. And judging by the look on Hartley’s face before he could school it into something more bland, he’d hit the nail right on the head.

“Oh.” Hartley looked away. “That was ill advised.”

“But understandable.”  

“I’m sure the jury I didn’t get before you locked me up in your illegal basement prison would see it that way too,” Hartley responded dryly. 

“Basement prison was ill advised on our part,” Cisco admitted. “But it seemed like a good idea at the time.” 

“Yes, so did killing Barry Allen. I understand.” 

Cisco laughed a little. “So that makes us even?” 

“I suppose so. Though I never got to actually go through with my plans, you foiled them before I had the chance to even try.” 

“You could’ve tried again.” Cisco wasn’t sure why he said that, like he was encouraging Hartley to try to kill Barry. 

“Eh.” Hartley waved an arm. “Too much work.  Besides, he's a nice kid.”

They sat in silence for a minute, before Hartley spoke again. “How did you remember it? The other timeline?” 

Cisco didn’t answer for a second. “I think with all the time traveling nonsense, I- I don’t know.” He shrugged. 

Hartley tilted his head. He wasn’t sure that was how time traveling worked, but there wasn’t exactly another explanation. “Do you think they made another season of Firefly in that other timeline?” he asked, instead of pressing Cisco for more information. 

“Honestly, if they did, that’d make my death worth it.” 

“How did he do it?” Hartley asked, morbid curiosity getting the better of him. 

“He ripped my heart right out of my chest.” He said it surprisingly calmly. 

“Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom style?” 

“Yep. Now that’s ruined for me.” 

“Too bad. That’s my favorite one.” 

Cisco gave him a look. “That’s like, everyone’s least favorite.” 

Hartley shrugged. “I like the girl.” 

“She’s the worst one!” 

“Exactly. She’s relatable.” 

Cisco snickered. “She's a spoiled rich girl who screeches a lot.” 

Hartley tilted his head, waving his hand as if to say, yes, and? “If my parents hadn’t disowned me, that’d be me. And isn’t that the life.” He sighed, looking into the middle distance. “Charming Indiana Jones with my thoroughly obnoxious personality and aversion to all things nature.” 

Cisco chuckled and opened his mouth to say something else, before he seemed to think better of it.

“What?” 

“Nothing.” Cisco shook his head. “Thought of a dumb joke.” 

“Do you think of any other kind?” 

Cisco rolled his eyes. “Nah, it was something about you and guys named Harrison. Thought better of it, though.” 

Hartley, contrary to what Cisco thought he’d do, laughed heartily, shaking his head. “Always did have a thing for Harrison Ford.”

“Who doesn’t.” 

“That scene in Blade Runner may have aged poorly, but I think if it didn’t exist, I never would’ve had my gay awakening. Or some of my other awakenings.”

Cisco smiled at that, knowing exactly the scene Hartley meant and unsure what to do with that information other than tuck it in the back of his mind and pray his unconscious didn’t make up any Blade Runner-inspired dreams about him and Hartley. 

The conversation dwindled into a comfortable silence after some more mindless chatter about Harrison Ford’s uncanny ability to play, essentially, the same character over and over again across multiple franchises and still be fun to watch, and Cisco went back to work. Hartley watched him work, sure there was something better he could be doing with his time, but equally sure he couldn’t take his eyes off Cisco. They stayed that way for a while, until Cisco suddenly seemed to realize Hartley was still there and blinked, turning to find him staring right at Cisco. 

“Um,” he said. “Something else I can help with?” 

Hartley hummed, “Enjoying the view,” and, before Cisco could even think up a response to that, winked and left. 

Cisco truly had no idea what to do with that information. Or lack thereof. 

Hartley flirted with every man he met (usually as a joke, because he thought it was funny to make straight men panic). 

Hartley, pointedly, did not flirt with Cisco. 

Just as well, because if this was any indication, Cisco did not know how to handle it. His brain betrayed him that night, and he had the Blade Runner dream (he was Harrison Ford).

Chapter Text

“Oh. Fuck,” was not the first thing Hartley heard of Harrison Wells since he’d entered S.T.A.R. Labs that night, but it was the loudest. 

Hartley had been on high alert knowing he shouldn’t be in here without anyone’s approval. He’d figured he’d be safe; Christmas night, after the big fight with the Trickster, no one else would be coming in, and if they did, they wouldn’t need the labs. And they certainly wouldn’t need Hartley’s lab. And yet, here he was, being interrupted by the absolute last person he wanted to see. 

He’d heard Harrison on the other side of the building, but he’d hoped he’d stay put. Apparently that was too much to ask. 

“What are you doing here?” He didn't turn around to talk to him. 

“What am I doing here? I can’t leave here,” Harrison said, stepping inside Hartley’s lab. “I think the real question is, what are you doing here?”

“Working on something. For Barry.” He added that, to emphasize he wasn’t trying to kill anyone. 

“And you’re doing it in the middle of the night on Christmas because…?”

“Didn’t think anyone would be here to bother me.” 

Harrison nodded, like that made sense to him. “Anything I can help with?”

“No,” Hartley said shortly. “Some of these tools, I don’t have at my apartment. Including the one who walked into my lab,” he added, smirking to himself a little (Harrison did not laugh at his joke. Cisco would’ve).

He heard Harrison step a little closer. Not much, he was all the way on the other side of the lab, but it still set Hartley on edge. “You don’t celebrate Christmas?” 

Hartley sighed, setting his gauntlets down. “Not anymore, no. Kind of hard when you don’t have anyone to celebrate with.” 

“I’m sure you could’ve gone to Barry’s house.” 

“I wasn’t invited.” 

Harrison leaned against the desk across the room from him, crossing his arms. “And you wouldn’t have gone even if you were.”

“You don’t know me,” Hartley said, mostly to remind himself of that fact. 

“No. But you remind me of someone I care about.”

“Great. So you’ll know I want to be left alone right now,” Hartley snapped. 

“I do. But I’m not going to do that.” 

Hartley turned to look at him, finally, and made sure to categorize the differences between him and his Dr. Wells. His hair was different.  Messier. His clothes were more rugged, like he was a space pirate in a sci-fi show. His expression was different, too. He looked as severe, as commanding, as the other Wells, but there was a softness to it, like he was tired of wearing that mask. 

With Thawne, it hadn’t been a mask. That was all there was to him. Metaphorically, of course. He had literally been wearing someone else’s face as a mask. 

“What?” Harrison asked, stirring Hartley out of his thoughts, and he blinked, looking away. 

“Every time I look at you, I have to remember you're not him,” he said. 

Harrison stepped closer to him, cautiously, like he was afraid Hartley may attack at any time. “What are the differences?” 

Swallowing, Hartley’s eyes skittered across the room before focusing on a spot on the wall across from him. “He wouldn’t be caught dead in clothes like that, for one thing.”

“What’s another thing?” He prompted. 

Hartley shrugged, hearing his own heartbeat speed up. “He had different taste in music.” 

“Oh, come on, you can do better than that,” he teased, but it was light. There was no real sincerity to it. 

“That. That’s different.” Hartley crossed his arms, still staring resolutely at that spot on the wall. 

“What do you mean?” 

“If he was going to taunt me, he’d mean it. There was subtle cruelty in everything he said.”

Harrison hummed in response, and Hartley could still feel his eyes on him. 

“He had a soft spot for mythology. Greek and Roman, specifically. He spoke Latin, too,” Hartley added, to break the silence. 

“Alterius non sit qui suus esse potest,” Harrison responded, and Hartley’s heart somehow sped up even more. 

“Oh,” he breathed, trying to keep his voice even. 

Apparently he failed at that, because Harrison tilted his head and his next words were laced with concern. “Probably should’ve said so do I and left it there.”

“Yes, probably.” Anxiety was coursing through him. He blinked, glanced at Harrison, wished he hadn’t, and then went back to staring at the wall. 

“Would you like it better if I was cruel?” 

The question was asked quietly, but it felt like the loudest thing in the universe. But still, the only response Hartley could come up with was, “What?” 

Harrison repeated himself, taking another step closer. “Would you like me better, if I was cruel?” 

For a few seconds, Hartley stared at him, before he shook his head, looking back at that spot on the wall. “No.” 

“Then why do you look at me like you wish I was someone else?” 

If his heart had been beating out of his chest before, it must’ve stopped now, because suddenly he couldn't hear it anymore. All he could hear was static, buzzing white noise as he tried to process Harrison’s words. “I-” There was really nothing he could say to that. 

“Answer the question.” 

Oh. There was that tone again. The one he couldn't argue with. “Because. I was too much of a coward to ask him why. Because I couldn’t admit it, and I wish I had.”

“Admit what?” 

“That he was everything. Asking him why he did what he did would be like admitting that he ruined my life, stole my life. And for what? To build his particle accelerator? I would have done that anyway. He didn't have to…” Hartley trailed off.

“He didn’t have to make you fall in love with him,” Harrison finished. They were quiet for a minute, Hartley almost went back to his gauntlets, before Harrison spoke again. “I think he was afraid he couldn’t control you. And he was right. He couldn’t.” 

“He could enough to keep me from killing him.”

“Maybe that's only because you’re not a killer.” 

“Sure. Let’s go with that.” Hartley went back to his gauntlets, but Harrison remained where he was. 

“Were you and Ramon close, when you worked together before?” he asked, and Hartley really wished whatever bug had infested him all of a sudden to make him so chatty would die already. 

“Not particularly.” 

“Why not?” 

He didn’t like this line of questioning. “I thought his shirts were stupid.” 

“They are, but that's not the real reason.”

Hartley sighed. “Would you leave me alone already? I have work to do.”

“No,” Harrison said simply, and Hartley should have expected that answer.

Hartley looked at him quickly, then looked away again. “I thought his stupid shirts were the reason. But I’ve…” he shrugged, “recontextualized a lot of things that happened in my life where Harrison Wells was involved.”

“Meaning?” 

“Harrison didn’t want us getting along. Us hating each other, or at least, not being friendlier than trading sarcastic comments, made us work harder, to be better than the other one. Our rivalry is part of what got his stupid accelerator built in time.” 

“And I imagine you having friends you could trust scared him as well.” 

Hartley had never actually considered that. To avoid thinking about it, he shook his head. “I doubt our relationship was ever at the top of his concerns.” 

Harrison scoffed. “Please. I’m sure he knew you were a mistake the second he met you. You could’ve sued him within an inch of his life and taken his company and his particle accelerator if someone had managed to get close enough to you to tell you what a bastard he was, and I imagine Cisco Ramon was as close as any one person got to that.” 

Hartley silently conceded that point, though he wasn’t sure entirely how it was supposed to make him feel. “So. You think he cared about me.” 

“Is that what you got from that?” 

Hartley shrugged, messing with his gauntlets but not really doing anything, looking for something to do with his hands. 

“You said he liked myths.” 

Hartley hummed in agreement. 

“Let me guess. Hades and Persephone.” 

“What?” Hartley glanced back at him. 

“Which ancient gods he convinced you that you two were. Who he pretended were romantic.” 

Hartley laughed. “Zeus and Europa.” 

Harrison, on the other hand, did not laugh. 

“Judging by the disgusted silence, I have to assume you’re familiar,” Hartley muttered tersely. “And they named the continent after her, Hartley. Zeus gave her everything in the world. All the power she could want.” He rolled his eyes. “Any man who thinks Zeus is the hero of any myth is a red flag. Really should’ve run then.” He glanced at Harrison again. “Will you leave me alone now? I can only tolerate so many minutes spent hearing Harrison Wells’ heartbeat in the same room as me.”

Harrison sighed. “Yeah, okay.” And he did, and Hartley tried not to think about anything he’d said. Tried not to think about his relationship with Harrison, about when the cracks had started forming. It was hard not to, when he was standing in his lab, when Harrison Wells had walked out a second ago, and he didn’t have anything else to think about. 

“What did you do?” Hartley demanded, storming into Harrison’s office in the middle of the work day (he was pretty sure he passed by Cisco and made him jump about a foot in the air, which was a small comfort).

Harrison looked up from his desk, an almost amused look on his face. “Shut the door, Hartley,” he said mildly. 

“Oh, privacy matters now, does it? After your-” 

“Hartley,” Harrison repeated, his voice hard, “the door.” 

“Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had reporters calling me? Since anyone has given a shit about who my parents are? Six fucking years! And now you-”

Once again, Harrison interrupted him. “Hartley. Shut. The door.”

Hartley shut the door.

Harrison smiled. “There. Now we can have a sophisticated conversation, after that display.” 

“I’m not in the fucking mood to be lectured about manners, Harrison.”

Harrison hummed. “I take it you saw the interview?”

“And the email confirming my interview tomorrow, yes, I did. What are you doing?” Hartley asked. “What possessed you to do this to me? What did I do?”

“Hartley, you’re thinking of this as a punishment, it isn’t. In fact, it isn’t even about you. This is about the company.” 

“The company,” Hartley repeated. “I don’t give a shit about the company right now, Harrison.” He paused, then added, “actually, fuck the company. I don’t give a shit about the company at all. This is about you. I care about you.”

“Hartley,” he said, in that patronizing tone he loved to use when Hartley was mad at him. “You don’t mean that.” 

“You don’t know what I mean,” Hartley responded, feeling like a petulant child.

“This is my life’s work. This is your life’s work.”

“It’s not my company. It’s not my life,” he argued. “I have other things-”

Then Harrison said something that about bowled Hartley over. “Oh, really?” And he raised his eyebrow disbelievingly, too. 

And Hartley couldn’t exactly argue that two-word point, the disbelief that he had other things going on in his life besides Harrison, no matter how mad it made him. “It’s not my company,” he repeated, because it was the only defense he felt he had left.

“Is that what this is about?” Harrison asked, standing up and stepping around his desk. 

“What? What is this about?” Hartley thought he’d made it fairly clear what this was about. 

“I was wondering when you’d ask,” he said, and Hartley could only stare at him. “To be a part owner in the company.” 

“What?” To put it simply, that had been nowhere in Hartley’s mind. Granted, he’d thought about it in the past. He loved thinking about it. It was his favorite fantasy. Harrison offering him half the company, them announcing their relationship, S.T.A.R. Labs becoming as much their thing as it was Harrison’s. He’d always thought it would never happen. It probably never really would. He told himself it was because of Harrison’s wife. He never talked about her. And Hartley certainly never felt like bringing her up. The dead wife conversation was kind of a mood killer. 

“I understand, Hartley. And you deserve it, you do. But right now isn’t exactly an ideal time for it to happen.” 

“That’s not what this is about.” 

“It’s not? Clearly, you need some sort of motivation.”

Hartley felt like he’d been walking on a Stairmaster for this entire conversation. “I don’t need motivation! I’m more motivated than anyone else here! How many weekends have I worked in the last six months? Oh, I don’t know, try all of them! How many days this week have I stayed late?”

“For me, correct?” Harrison said evenly. “This isn’t about me. This isn’t about us, Hartley. It’s never been about us. This is about S.T.A.R., and if you don’t care about my company, you don’t care about me. You don’t care about the work we’re doing.”

“No.” Hartley shook his head. “No, that’s- no.” 

“Yes. You know it’s true.”

“It’s not… six years of my life, Harrison. Six fucking years. You think I’m ever going to throw all that away?” 

“I don’t know, Hartley. You tell me.”

There was a silence, and Hartley knew in his gut he was going to break. He knew what was about to happen, so he figured he might as well submit to the inevitable. “I’ll do the interview.” 

“Yes, I know you will.” 

There was a twisting feeling in his stomach, that made him kind of want to throw up, and kind of want to start crying. “You know the kinds of questions they’re going to ask me.” 

“Yes. I know. “

“And you want me to sit down with them and lie? What, make up a boyfriend?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You want me to talk about my parents, something I already despise, and then you want me to lie about my relationship with you, and-” 

“Hartley.” Harrison put a hand on his shoulder. He couldn’t do much else than that, in the middle of the workday with people walking by his office. “All you need to do is remember, this isn’t about you, This isn’t about me. This isn’t about us. This is for the company. And your parents are our biggest competitors. This could destroy their stock prices.”

Fucking stock prices. 

It had been about fucking stock prices. 

That was how Hartley ended up sitting down with a reporter and trying very hard to remember how to talk to people normally. 

For the good of the company, he had to destroy his parents’ reputation, help bankrupt their company, lie about his dating life, and talk about the most traumatizing moment of his life. All because Harrison Wells had asked him to do it. 

He remembered that interview distinctly, the things he’d said, the things he’d lied about, and how, when he called Harrison after the interview, before it had been published, Harrison had praised him, and Hartley had been so close to asking, then. After so long. After so much of his life spent dedicated to this man, why not? What can’t this be ours?

But he hadn’t asked it. 

Maybe because he knew the answer, deep down. 

Maybe because Harrison had said to him, call me Dr. Wells in the interview. You don’t want anyone getting the wrong impression.

What wrong impression was that, exactly? The truth? 

“What did he say, when you met him?”

The reporter sat across from Hartley, a friendly smile on her face, asking about Hartley’s first meeting with Harrison Wells.  Why did she need to know this? It didn’t matter, he supposed. It wasn’t like it painted either him or Harrison in a bad light.

“Sapiens dominabitur astris.”

“The wise man will master the stars,” Linda (that was her name, he remembered) said, and Hartley looked up at her, only now realizing he’d been staring at his lap this whole time. 

“You speak Latin?”

She shook her head. “He told the same story.” 

“It’s not a story,” Hartley frowned. “Story would imply we’re lying.” 

She tilted her head. “I didn’t mean it like that. It’s a figure of speech.” 

“Oh.” Hartley wasn’t sure he believed her.

“Please, continue. What were your first thoughts, meeting Harrison Wells?”

Hartley shrugged. “That he was brilliant.” He’d also fallen immediately in love, but he left that part out.

“And he knew who you were, of course,” she said. It wasn’t a question. 

“I doubt Harrison hires people he doesn’t do a background check on.” 

She raised an eyebrow, wrote something down, and Hartley wasn’t sure what he’d said wrong, but he felt like he’d made a mistake somewhere. “Did he bring up your family at all?”

Hartley looked back at his lap. “Of course. Hard not to.” 

“What was that conversation like?” 

“He asked about my parents. I told him they kicked me out. He said ‘I try not to put too much stock in gossip magazines’, and I remember I laughed at that, and told him maybe he should, because it was all true.” 

“Do you think he pitied you?”

“I was seventeen years old and my parents kicked me out of their house. I imagine it would be hard not to pity me.”

“You know, I went back in the archives for the internship you applied for. It was unpaid.”

He swallowed. “That’s correct.”

“He knew you were homeless, that your parents gave you nothing, and he brought you into his company for a twenty-five hour a week unpaid internship during your school year?” 

“That isn’t-” It was true, technically. “He started paying me.”

“When?”

When he found out I was sleeping in the lab. Of course, he knew the whole time, because he had cameras everywhere. 

“After about seven months.” 

“And what were you doing for those seven months?”

Working way more than twenty-five hours a week. Thinking about him all the time. Having dinners late at the lab with him. Pretending not to notice he was letting me win at chess. Becoming utterly enamored with him. 

He shrugged. “Surviving.” 

“And Harrison Wells was thirty-seven at this time, correct?” 

He blinked. “Um. I don’t know.”

He did know. He knew because he knew that three years later, when Hartley was twenty, Harrison was twice his age. 

Hartley sat in his lab, trying as hard as he could to focus on the present, on real life, to not think about Harrison Wells. It was almost impossible not to. 

He really should’ve stayed at Mercury. What was he doing here, again?

Chapter Text

“How are things with you and Hartley?” Caitlin asked innocently, after Hartley’s flirtatious comment had been living in Cisco’s head rent free for the past week. 

“What? Fine! Why do you ask? Did he say something?” 

“No.” Caitlin shrugged. “Thought I’d check in. Someone’s gotta make sure you aren’t planning each other’s murders.”

“Nope. No murders. Things have actually been kinda good between us,” Cisco admitted. Aside from Hartley winking at him replaying in his mind over and over again every time he saw him, their conversations had been normal. Almost pleasant. 

“Glad to hear it. Because you two need to work together on this.” She handed him a file. “He's already in your lab.” She looked frazzled—and sounded frazzled. It wasn’t often she gave Cisco orders, and he felt compelled to listen to her. 

“Another metahuman?” 

“Two, actually. All the information’s there.” She shooed him away and went back to her comms, speaking to Barry, giving him directions to… something. Honestly, it was too early for this. It was always too early for this. 

“Hey,” he greeted Hartley, who didn’t acknowledge his presence, hunched over a microscope and mumbling to himself. He spotted two cups of coffee on his desk and frowned. “One of these for me?” he asked, and again received no response. He frowned, then stepped over and nearly tapped Hartley on the shoulder before he noticed Cisco in the reflection of the glass in front of him and jumped violently, and as he turned around, made a gesture Cisco recognized as ASL, but the recognition stopped there. 

“What?” he asked, and Hartley rolled his eyes. 

“I’m having issues with my implants. Slept wrong,” he said, a bit more loudly than he usually spoke. “Decided to turn the deafeners up all the way for now, I’ll worry about it once this bullshit is sorted.” He looked away, right as Cisco responded. 

“Does it hurt?” he asked, and Hartley tilted his head, looking at Cisco’s mouth, and signed—this time one Cisco knew; the sign for repeat, so he did and Hartley waved him off. Cisco made a mental note then, that he needed to start learning ASL (he’d learned a bit from working with Hartley before, but certainly not enough to be anywhere close to fluent. He was at fingerspelling levels).

“Not much. Took an excedrin earlier to keep the migraine away.” He signed along as he spoke, certainly not for Cisco’s benefit, he only barely recognized the finger spelling of excedrin.

“I can check them out, see what’s wrong.”

Again, Hartley waved him off, turning back to the microscope. “We don’t have time.” 

Clearly, Hartley had been downplaying his pain, because Cisco caught him several times throughout the day messing with his aids, his face twisted up in pain until he caught Cisco looking, and then waved him away yet again. 

“Look, Hartley, we can take a break. It won’t take me that long to fix them. I made them, I know as much as you do,” Cisco finally snapped, to which Hartley responded by flipping him off. “Okay, well at least I know what that one means.”

An hour later, Hartley stumbled as he stepped over to his computer to check some calculations, and Cisco reached out instinctively to help him up. He didn’t realize in the moment this was the first time he’d physically touched Hartley in months. The first time since he’d started manifesting his powers. Powers he had not told Hartley about, because it had seemed too complicated at the time, and they had better things to be doing.

As soon as his hands touched Hartley’s arm, he was sent into a Vibe, blinking his eyes open to see the room tinted blue in front of him. Though it wasn’t quite the same room, it was cleaner, less cluttered, and there were bustling noises outside of it. He knew this was a vision of the past, though he couldn’t be sure yet how long ago it. 

“I still don’t see why we have to work together,” Hartley’s voice said, and he sort of floated into existence, followed by Dr. Wells, though Cisco supposed this was Thawne. 

“Because you’re two brilliant scientists,” Wells said, “and I need you to be able to get along. I want this project to be a success, and for that I need both of you.”

“You don’t need him when you have me,” Hartley said petulantly, and Cisco had the distinct feeling they were talking about him. 

“Hartley.” Wells put a hand on his arm, touching him gently. He never touched any of his other employees. That should’ve been the obvious sign something was going on between them. “Jealousy doesn’t become you.” 

Hartley looked away, crossing his arms. “Tell me I have nothing to worry about.”

“Hartley.” His tone was firm, like they’d had this conversation before and Hartley still hadn’t gotten the answer he wanted. 

“Say it.”

“What I’m saying is that you need to work on this project with Cisco Ramon.” He squeezed Hartley’s arm. 

Hartley looked at him, for several seconds, before pulling away, turning around and crossing his arms. “You say a lot of things,” he said.

Dr. Wells watched him, a hint of an amused smile on his face now that Hartley couldn’t see him. Cisco could see it, though. “And what do you mean by that?” 

“I did that interview. You told me, after the interview, we could talk about the company. About us.” Cisco felt he was missing some context for this conversation, but he could put the pieces together well enough.

“That was before you called me Harrison to that reporter, and changed her entire narrative.” 

Hartley spun around, anger flashing in his eyes for a moment. “One time! I made a mistake!”

“Yes, you did,” Harrison said evenly. “And I can’t let that happen again.” 

Hartley had that look on his face that Cisco could recognize as his ‘trying not to cry’ expression (he wore that one often when Cisco visited him in the pipeline). “I’m not a child, Harrison. I know how to conduct myself.” He paused for a second, as if waiting for Harrison to respond, but he said nothing, and Hartley continued. “And I also know that you told me, on no uncertain terms, that this company would be ours. Yours and mine. That we could be us.” He spat out the word ‘us’ like it was poisonous. 

Harrison still said nothing, though his smile had long gone away (probably only because Hartley was looking at him now, and not because he was any less amused, if Cisco had to guess). 

“And now… what?” Hartley asked. “You’re trying to replace me? With- with him?” 

There was a knock on the door, and Harrison opened it without hesitation, nodding to Cisco—not Vibe Cisco, but past Cisco—who entered the lab, completely unaware of what he’d interrupted.

Cisco—Vibe Cisco, not past Cisco—saw immediately what Wells was doing, the way he was manipulating Hartley. It was so easy to see through it, at least in hindsight, from the outside perspective of the man who’d been used against Hartley in Wells’ mind games and knew with the utmost certainty Wells had never once tried to replace Hartley with Cisco (at least not until the particle accelerator) and clearly never had any intention to—either in a professional or personal manner.  But he also had absolutely no intention of letting Hartley have any control over his company, or any control over whether or not Harrison ever admitted publicly that they were together. 

He was stoking the flames of Cisco’s and Hartley’s rivalry by using Hartley’s feelings for him against him, and for what? Idle entertainment? To make them both work harder to put together his stupid particle accelerator?

Cisco would punch that man if he were still alive. 

But the Vibe wasn’t over, as past Cisco stepped into the lab.

“We’ll discuss this later, Hartley,” Harrison said, and left the lab, giving him a pointed look that meant something Cisco did not understand. Or at least, he hadn’t at the time. Now, however, he knew exactly what it meant. ‘We aren’t going to talk about this again.’ 

Before past Cisco could say anything, Hartley spoke to him. “Make yourself useful and get me a coffee.”

Oh, Cisco remembered this day now. It had been a particularly bad day, at least at first. But Cisco now remembered it as sort of being the beginning of what he’d be hesitant to call his and Hartley’s friendship.

“Get your own coffee,” past Cisco rolled his eyes. “And good morning to you, too.” 

“Yes, yes, good morning,” Hartley snapped. “I suggest we get this done as soon as possible, to spend the least amount of time together.” 

“No argument there.”

“Harrison still, apparently, sees something in you.” The jealousy was riding off Hartley in waves, and even past Cisco, who’d worked with him nearly a year at this point, but had barely spoken more than five words a day to him, glanced over with a raised eyebrow, and Cisco distinctly remembered what he’d said in response to that, and he was still amazed he hadn’t gotten fired for it, though he supposed he could’ve said anything to Hartley and Wells still would’ve kept him. 

“Yeah, and I didn’t even have to suck his dick to get his approval. I’m the co-lead on this project ‘cause I’m smart. Is that why you hate me so much?” 

God, he’d complained about Hartley being a jerk, and while he’d certainly started it (Cisco could really blame Wells for starting it), Cisco had not made anything any better. 

Hartley froze for a second, and past Cisco simply took it as shock at his words, but from this angle, Vibe Cisco could see Hartley’s face, the way the color had drained from it, the dread in his expression, before he spoke. This was the first time Cisco had brought that up in an argument with Hartley, and probably the first time anyone had been brave enough to bring up that rumor in front of Hartley. “I could have you fired for saying things like that about Dr. Wells.”

“Then do it,” past Cisco challenged. 

Hartley grabbed a pen and jotted down a note, his hand a little shaky. Cisco couldn’t tell if it was from rage or something else. “Let’s get this done,” he snapped, “so you can get home and romance your right hand.” 

Cico came up behind him, snatching away the notepad. “That’s mine. And I’m left-handed. Jackass.” 

“Oh, really?” Hartley actually looked up at him. “Me too.” 

“Oh. Huh.”

Cisco remembered that as the first cordial interaction they’d had with each other. Their arguments and snarky comments had grown less and less genuinely hateful after that, and had eventually turned into something more than rival coworkers (had Hartley allowed himself to be known by anyone who wasn’t Harrison Wells). Left-handed camaraderie could solve war, probably.

The Vibe ended, anticlimactically, and Cisco blinked himself back into the present, almost falling backwards, a migraine prickling right behind his eyes. When his vision cleared, Hartley was in front of him, signing with one hand what Cisco recognized as, “Are you okay?”, his other hand on Cisco’s arm, as if afraid he’d fall over. 

Cisco squeezed his eyes shut, signing in response, clumsily, “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

“Maybe you were right, we should take a break,” Hartley said out loud, and Cisco nodded in agreement. 

“Let me take a look at your implants,” he said, opening his eyes to talk to make sure Hartley had heard him, or rather, seen him, talking.  

“Not if you’re not feeling well.” Hartley gestured for him to sit down, before signing, “Rest.” 

“I’m fine. Worried about you.” Cisco wasn’t sure where that had come from. 

He sighed, then cringed in pain again, and seemed to relent. “Fine. But you’re getting checked out in the medbay, too.” 

“I’m fine, Hartley.” 

But Hartley gave him a Look, and Cisco knew he wasn’t going to get out of this. 

********

Fixing Hartley’s implants wasn’t so much the struggle, it was trying to fix them without blowing out his eardrums with the noise of fixing them, Cisco quickly realized, as his deafeners had to be turned off to adjust them. 

“You realize this wouldn’t be a problem if you would quit ripping them out for dramatic effect whenever you want to deafen a metahuman with them,” Cisco pointed out, though snarky comments sort of lost their effect when he had to breathe them as quietly as he possibly could (and even that seemed too loud for Hartley, who flinched a little and glared at him). 

Hartley responded with the same sign he’d used earlier when Cisco had made him jump, and Cisco was pretty sure it wasn’t anything nice, then, as an afterthought, signed, “One time.” 

“Still too many times.” 

Hartley rolled his eyes. 

“There.” Cisco carefully pulled the endoscope out of Hartley’s ear, leaning back, and Hartley breathed a relieved sigh as he turned his deafeners back on, but lowering them significantly now. “Better?” 

“Much.” He smiled at Cisco. “Thank you. Now it’s time for you to hold up your end of the bargain.” 

“No, Hartley, really, I’m fine.”

“You blacked out,” Hartley argued. “I saw your eyes roll up in the back of your head, and you were twitching. No, I’m getting Caitlin to check on you.” 

“It- she’s not going to find anything wrong with me. This…” Cisco sighed, resigning himself to telling Hartley about his powers, something he probably should’ve done a while ago, “it’s happened before.”

“It’s happened before?” 

He looked away, messing with the hem of his tshirt. “Yeah. It’s, uh. I'm a metahuman, Hartley,” he said, and cringed a little. 

“You’re a metahuman,” Hartley repeated, and Cisco couldn’t tell if he was mad or not, “what, and your power is passing out?” 

“No! It’s- I get these visions, sometimes. I call them Vibes.” 

“Vibes,” Hartley repeated. 

“Yeah. It’s- it’s how I remembered Thawne killed me in another timeline. I Vibed it.” 

“You Vibed it.” 

“You know,” Cisco said, “it sounds dumb when you say it.” 

“Oh, yes, because it sounds so cool when you say it.” Hartley rolled his eyes. 

Cisco smacked him lightly on the arm. “Anyway, I get them, usually when I’m asleep, like dreams, or when I touch something, or someone, sometimes I get a Vibe about it. It’s inconsistent. I can't really control it.” 

Hartley hummed in acknowledgement, and didn’t speak for a second. “How long have you known?”

“I… a few months.” 

“A few months,” Hartley repeated slowly. 

Cisco wasn’t great with tones, but Hartley almost sounded hurt. 

“Why haven’t you mentioned this before?” 

“I-” Cisco shrugged. “I don’t know, Hartley, we aren't exactly close.”

Now Hartley looked hurt. Cisco was really fucking this up.

“You know, the only other metahumans I know are the ones fucking up the city and trying to kill us, and Barry. Who tends to avoid me at every possible opportunity. I think he's kind of freaked out by me.”

“Yeah. I mean, me too. Well, Barry isn’t scared of me, but-”

“You know me,” Hartley said pointedly, and Cisco blinked at him a couple times before realizing. 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah,” Hartley said, and Cisco got why he’d looked so hurt. He probably should’ve thought of that sooner. Hartley was alone. He always had been, Cisco reasoned. And maybe he’d never thought of Hartley as lonely and instead opted for the other word, alone, because he seemed content to stay that way. Alone, that is. Ever since Cisco had met him.

He never mentioned any friends, his boyfriend had been a secret he would’ve basically died to keep, isolating him even further (that was probably on purpose on Thawne’s part, Cisco realized, and was overcome with another wave of hatred for that man), his parents didn’t acknowledge his existence, and his now-coworkers were a mismatched group of strangers and the people he’d worked so hard to isolate himself from for most of his adult life. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he meant it. 

Hartley stared into the middle distance for a few seconds, like he was trying to look dramatic (it was working). “I’d like to be close. To you, I mean. I’ve been trying. I’ve never…” he looked down at his lap. “I haven’t had a friend since I was fourteen. My last…” he paused, making a face like the word was painful for him to get out, “boyfriend,” he rolled his eyes as he said it, too, which Cisco found particularly annoying for no specific reason, “turned out to be a time traveling murderer. I’m not good with people. I never have been. When we used to work together… you said you’d like to be friends, right?”

“You want to be my friend.” 

Hartley made an annoyed noise. “Don’t sound so pleased with yourself. The world isn’t exactly teaming with friendship options for Hartley Rathaway.” 

“I’m sure you could find someone. At like a rat convention, or something.”

“A rat convention.” 

“Because you like rats! I don’t know, man.” 

Hartley rolled his eyes, but Cisco couldn’t not notice the little smile on his face. “I mean that I’m not going to meet someone who can ever know me. Imagine trying to explain my life to a stranger. A normal stranger. I got superpowers and used them to blow up the windows of the house of my old boss who fired me for warning him about the explosion that gave me my superpowers, Cisco. And that’s barely even scratching the surface of whatever the fuck my life is.”

“True.” Cisco shrugged. “And I get it, to a point. I know I have Caitlin and Barry, and,” he paused, glancing at Hartley, “my family, sort of. We don’t get along great. But they’re around, I guess. But I’m not getting a girlfriend anytime soon.” He cleared his throat, then added, “or a boyfriend.” 

Hartley hummed, leaning back on the medical bed he’d been sitting on and smirking at Cisco. “So. You think we should skip right over the friendship part and date each other? Solve both our problems?” 

Cisco choked on air. 

Chapter Text

“I want to clean out Dr. Wells’ office,” Hartley said as his greeting. Cisco spun around in his chair to find Hartley holding out a cup of coffee for him, which he accepted gratefully. 

“By Dr. Wells, you mean…”

“Thawne, yes.” 

“Why?” The last thing Cisco wanted to do was step foot in that room. In fact, that was the last thing any of them wanted to do. There was a reason it had been abandoned for almost six months now. 

“He liked to keep records,” Hartley said simply, and when Cisco raised his eyebrow for more information, he huffed in annoyance. “On everything. He’s already destroyed my career once, I don’t want whatever he has on me getting into the wrong hands. And I’m sure he has blackmail material on every one of us.” He shifted, taking a sip of his own coffee. “And besides. It’s hard enough to deal with a man working here with the same face, I’d like to stop walking by his office every day and see it still set up like he’s going to come back any day.”

“Okay.” Cisco shrugged. “But it’s really not up to me. You’ll have to ask Barry, it’s technically all his.” 

For a second, Hartley’s eyes flashed with something Cisco couldn’t recognize (or maybe didn’t want to recognize), before his expression cleared and he answered casually. “Oh, I already did. He said, and I quote, ‘do whatever you want with that shit’.” 

“So what are you doing here?” 

“I want your help. I’m not going in there alone,” Hartley said, as if it were obvious. 

Cisco sighed. “Look, Hartley, I’d love to help,” that was a lie. That was the last thing he wanted to do. He’d rather do anything else with Hartley. “But Barry and Caitlin wanted this done by-”

“I already asked Barry about that, too. He said you’re free to help. In fact, he said he’d rather you helped me, you’d be better at getting through the firewalls on his computer without setting off any alarms.” 

Cisco was going to have some words with Barry later today. 

He sighed. “Okay. When do you want to do it?” 

“Now.”

Cisco stared at him for a second. He did not appear to be joking. He groaned and dragged himself up. “I knew you didn’t bring me coffee to be nice.” 

“Cisquito, when am I ever nice?” Hartley threw an arm around him as they walked, and Cisco may or may not have yelped. 

Wells’ office was untouched since the last time he’d been in there, and it looked exactly the same as it always had, if not a little dustier. Cisco had to steel himself before stepping through the threshold. 

Hartley followed soon after, humming contemplatively and kicking a pile of books out of the way to flick the lights on with no fanfare whatsoever, either completely unbothered to be in here or overcompensating by a lot. The lights flickered for a few seconds before turning on fully, and Hartley sat down at Wells’ desk seemingly without a second thought. 

Cisco hovered at the door, glancing around the office. He hadn’t been in here much. He supposed Hartley spent more time in it. 

“So,” he started. 

“I know most of his passwords,” Hartley said. “I’ll look for hidden files and let you know if I find any I can’t get open.” 

“Really feel like you could’ve done this alone,” Cisco grumbled. 

“Moral support. We’re friends, remember? Friends help friends hack into their ex-boss’s computers to find the blackmail material he was keeping on you before he died.” 

“Yeah, I think I read that on Pinterest,” Cisco joked, arms crossed as he stepped a little further in the office. He was kind of afraid to touch anything, but he was going to start getting jittery soon if he didn’t find something to do with his hands. 

He picked up a couple of the books Hartley had knocked over and stacked them back up on the desk. 

“We can donate most of this, right?” He asked, glancing around and locating an empty cardboard box in the hall, bringing it back into the office. 

Hartley didn’t respond for a moment, typing something and cursing to himself in a language Cisco didn’t recognize. For a second, he didn’t think Hartley heard him, until he glanced up and looked at the book in Cisco’s hand. “Not that one. I gave that to Harrison, there’s an inscription in it. Toss it.” 

Cisco, because he was nosy, sue him, opened up the book to read the inscription, but of course it was Latin. The only thing Cisco could read was that it was addressed to Harry. Gross.

“Quos amor verus tenuit, tenebit,” Hartley said without looking up. 

“Sorry?” 

“The inscription. You could’ve asked, if you want to know.” 

“I’m- sorry, I didn’t mean-”

Hartley still didn’t look at him. “It’s from Seneca’s Tragedies. Thyestes, specifically.” 

“I don’t…” Cisco’s knowledge of mythology started and ended at a hazy memory of Disney’s Hercules from his childhood.

Hartley rolled his eyes, finally leaning back in the chair to look at Cisco like he was the world’s biggest idiot. “Atreus? Tantalus? The Golden Fleece? Nothing? Really?” 

Cisco shrugged. “Different brand of nerd, man.” 

Hartley snorted. “Well, anyway. They whom true love once has bound will ever feel its ties.”

“Oh.” Cisco looked down at it, at Hartley’s near-perfect looping cursive, because of course he would write in cursive. The fact that it wasn’t signed, probably because he knew he couldn’t. He wasn’t allowed to be in love, to say such beautiful things to the person he adored unless it was anonymous, secret. 

He’d given up everything to be himself, been abandoned by his parents for it, only to be forced right back into hiding for the next decade of his life, Cisco realized. Going back in time to kill Thawne wasn’t just a want now, it was a need. 

“Throw it out, please,” Hartley said, jolting Cisco out of his thoughts. 

“Yeah, okay.” He tossed it in the trash can, still thinking about the way Hartley’s neat cursive (left-handed, he remembered!) had formed the word amor. He knew what that one meant, he wasn’t dumb. 

“The rest of these?” Cisco gestured to the remaining books in the pile. 

“I’ll drop them off at the thrift store on my way home today,” Hartley said, his voice far away. He was reading something on the computer screen, and after dumping the books in the cardboard box, Cisco stepped around the desk to see what he was doing, but Hartley immediately closed out of whatever he'd been looking at. 

“What are you doing?” 

“Nothing.” Hartley opened up the file browser, pretending he was innocent. 

“Hartley.” 

“I was reading old emails.” 

“Emails I’m not allowed to see because…?” 

“I was complaining about you in a lot of them,” Hartley snapped. “Apparently he kept every email I ever sent him. I’m trying to determine if that was because he cared about me or because I said something incriminating. I’m deleting them all, to be safe.” 

“Probably a good call.”

Cisco stepped away from the computer and Hartley opened up the emails again, still very much reading them and not deleting them, but who was Cisco to judge.

Well, he was judging, because now he was going to have to empty out this room all by himself. He sighed dramatically in an attempt to make Hartley aware that he was aware of what he was doing, but his dramatic sigh went ignored. 

Cisco glanced around the room, picking things up with varying levels of trepidation and feeling relieved when he didn’t Vibe anything, and then throwing them in the box. 

“You can sell that,” Hartley said suddenly. 

“Sorry?” Cisco looked up in time to see him gesture at the chessboard sitting innocently on the table on the other side of the room. 

“It’s marble. Worth fourteen hundred dollars.” 

“Damn.” Cisco reached out, brushing his fingers over the smooth stone, and immediately, the world tinted blue. 

He was still in Wells’ office, though it was significantly less dusty now. Hartley stood across the room, examining the books and knickknacks on the shelves, when the door opened behind him and he turned around. A smile Cisco himself had only seen on Hartley maybe twice in all the time he’d known him (both times had been the result of something Cisco had said or done recently, his brain supplied to him, for whatever reason) appearing on his face. 

Cisco turned around, too, to see Dr. Wells—Thawne, walking towards him. He pulled Hartley close to him with one hand on his hip and the other curling around his back, resting on his shoulder blade, and kissed him in a way that made Cisco wish he could close his eyes, but unfortunately, Vibes did not work like that. 

When they finally broke away, Hartley spoke first, glancing around the office. “Harry-” hearing Hartley say that really made Cisco’s skin crawl, for reasons that went much deeper than the obvious ones, “-someone could walk by.” 

Dr. Wells hummed. “Everyone’s gone home,” he murmured, leaning in again, kissing the side of Hartley’s jaw, and Cisco wondered if he’d have to be subjected to accidental voyeurism of past events due to superhero powers he didn’t fully know how to control, but, thankfully, Hartley pulled back. 

“You promised me dinner,” he said pointedly, and despite Cisco reading that as a very obvious, I’m not in the mood, Wells kissed him again, pressing him closer, moving to his neck. “Harry,” Hartley said, and he didn’t see the dangerous flash in Wells’ eyes before he pulled back enough to speak.

“Ah, so I did.” The hand that had been resting on Hartley’s shoulder blade crept up into his hair, tugging a little to tilt Hartley’s head back. “The crepe restaurant was lovely last time,” he said, and Cisco would have the image of Harrison Wells kissing Hartley Rathaway’s throat seared into his mind for the rest of time. This was more traumatizing than his death, he decided. 

“Actually, I kind of wanted Thai,” Hartley said with a small smirk, one that only grew as Wells let go of him almost entirely. 

Wells made a face, a face which Cisco, were he in Hartley’s position, would’ve been annoyed at, but Hartley didn’t seem to care. 

“Well, however will we come to an agreement?”

Hartley leaned in, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can think of a few ways,” he murmured into Wells’ ear, and oh god, Cisco was going to have to watch Hartley give their old, identity-stealing, murderous boss a blow job in exchange for Thai food, wasn’t he. This was quite possibly the worst day of his life (including that time he got murdered). 

“Oh? And what might those be?” Wells asked, clearly thinking along the same lines as Cisco, though much more in favor of it. 

But then Hartley pulled away, that playful smirk back on his face, and he stepped back. “Chess.”

Wells blinked, and Cisco breathed a sigh of relief. “I’m sorry?”

“A game of chess.” Hartley stepped back and ran his fingers along the chess board in Wells’ office, the same way Cisco just had. “You win, we’ll go back to the crepe place.” He fixed Wells with a look. “Again. I win, we’re getting Thai.”

For a second, Cisco wondered if Wells was going to snap. If he was about to kill Hartley over what they should eat for dinner (which was ridiculous, considering Hartley was standing right in front of him in real life). But instead he smiled, shook his head, and sat down across from Hartley. “You never cease to surprise me, “

Hartley hummed, making the first move. “I try.” 

The Vibe ended, locked on Hartley’s face, the expression he was wearing one of genuine love, happiness, and Cisco was brought back into the real world by the present Hartley (he did not at all have that look on his face, and the dark circles under his eyes were about a million times more pronounced now, Cisco noted), who had him by the shoulders as if afraid he’d collapse. 

“Cisco?” 

Cisco blinked, looking down at the chess board. “Yeah, I’m good,” he said, taking a step back, and Hartley let go of him. 

“You vibed something?” 

Cisco nodded. 

“Anything important?” Hartley asked as he turned away again, back to Wells’ computer. 

“You end up getting Thai food?” he asked, and Hartley looked up at him, eyebrows knit. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“The chess game. Who won?” 

“How did you know I was…” Hartley trailed off, and Cisco assumed the end of that sentence was ‘just thinking of that’, but he’d apparently realized exactly how Cisco knew . He shook his head, as if to clear the memory. “Uh, no. Harrison won. We went to the stupid crepe place.”

“Oh.” Cisco was quiet for a second, watching Hartley, before he went back to his task of cleaning. It wasn’t long before he found something else. He recognized Hartley’s handwriting again, and he pulled out the stack of papers stapled together from the locked cabinet drawer they’d been hidden in (Cisco was pretty good at picking locks). 

“Oh my god,” he said, as he realized what it was, flipping through the pages. “He really did fake your fucking report on the accelerator.”

“What?” Hartley looked up at him, and Cisco held it up.

“This is the real one, isn’t it? I should’ve known. You handwrite everything. I should’ve known it was fake when I saw it was typed.” 

Hartley looked away, bitterness clear in his expression. “Yeah, well.” He didn’t finish whatever thought he’d had, and went back to the computer. 

Cisco had already said I’m sorry, and there wasn’t much else to say about it. Especially not after all the Vibes he’d been seeing. 

Especially not after finding out that Harrison had repeatedly promised (with nothing but implications that could be waved away if Hartley ever questioned them) Hartley so many things, promised him S.T.A.R. Labs was his but never meant it, betrayed him and thrown him away without a second thought, and Cisco and everyone else had gone along with it without a second thought. There wasn’t really anything else he could say besides I’m sorry.  

Cisco watched him for a second, setting the report down. “You know,” he said. “It’s about lunch time. And the Thai place delivers.” 

Hartley looked up at him, cocking his head to the side. “I doubt they’d deliver to a defunct lab,” he said pointedly. 

Cisco deflated a little, his quick bout of optimism leaving him as soon as it had arrived. “Right. Well, maybe I can ask Barry to pick up-”

“No.” Hartley stood up, and for a minute Cisco was worried he’d offended him somehow. Sometimes being friends (is that what they were?) with Hartley really felt like walking through a minefield. “How about going for a walk? It’s only ten minutes from here.” 

Cisco blinked a few times. “You mean-”

“Lunch, Cisquito. Allegedly, friends eat meals together. I’ve been doing research into the matter.” 

“Right. That’s- uhuh. Friends get lunch with friends.” 

Hartley hummed. “So. The Thai place it is.” He stepped around Cisco, his hand brushing across his lower back in a way that Cisco was pretty sure was unnecessary, and also it made his entire body shudder, but that was neither here nor there. He stood for a few seconds, trying very hard not to think any thoughts, before Hartley popped his head back around the doorframe of Wells’ office. 

“Even more fun if we both go.” 

“Right.” He shook his head a little and followed Hartley out the door, trying to ignore the way he was smirking. 

Hartley smoked on the walk there. 

Cisco hated the smell of cigarette smoke. He hated the entire concept of smoking. 

Except for the fact that it was incredibly hot. For anyone, not specifically Hartley. Or, not Hartley at all. Hartley wasn’t hot. 

It was just the way he held the cigarette delicately between his index and middle finger. The way he held it up to his lips, the way he exhaled and the smoke wafted out of his mouth. 

“What?” 

Cisco blinked, looking away from him. “Hm?” 

“You’re staring at me.” 

“Oh.” Cisco could feel his face warm. “Yeah, I didn’t know you smoked.” 

“I started in high school.” Hartley dropped the cigarette and put it out with his foot, glancing at Cisco as he spoke. “Actually, I quit for a while. Before I met you, I think. Picked it back up a few months ago.” 

“Why’d you quit?” 

Hartley gave him a terse smile, shaking his head. “Harrison didn’t like it.” 

“Oh.” 

“Yeah.” 

“So,” Cisco waved his hand, “lung cancer for spite?” 

Hartley laughed. “That’s one way to put it.” 

“What if I didn’t like it, either?” 

Hartley gave him a sideways glance. “Cute,” he said, and did not elaborate. Cisco chose not to question that. 

They were quiet for a minute, before Hartley spoke again. “I didn’t actually ask Barry about you helping me today,” he said. 

Cisco had assumed as much, but he’d been hoping to avoid that exact topic of conversation for the time being. “Yeah. I kind of figured that. Considering you don’t talk to him like, ever.” He wanted to add that he didn’t think Hartley needed to ask permission anyway, that the company was honestly more his than anyone else’s, and Barry probably agreed, but the man did not need any more motivation to use S.T.A.R. Labs resources for questionable motives. He already seemed perfectly aware that he was warranted—

“Reparations,” Hartley said, unintentionally completing Cisco’s thought and thus proving his point. 

“Fair,” Cisco said mildly, and made the executive decision to not either encourage or discourage him. Harrison (Thawne) had left the company to Barry to taunt him. Of course, that had a duel affect, and Cisco was sure Thawne had known that when he’d done it (he was sure Hartley knew it, too, and was trying his best not to take it out on Barry), it was also a taunt towards Hartley. He was allowed to deal with that in any way he saw fit. Whether it be cleaning out Thawne’s office and throwing everything away, picking up smoking again, or consistent passive aggression, as long as it wasn’t murdering Barry Allen, Cisco was okay with it.

Chapter Text

“Cisco, did you work here when Dr. Wells would throw those Halloween parties?” Caitlin asked suddenly, leaning over and digging through the candy bowl Barry had set out on the counter in the Cortex. 

Hartley immediately spun his chair around to be part of this conversation, crossing his arms. 

“Yeah, I remember those parties.” Cisco frowned. “He stopped a couple years after I started. Which sucked. He might’ve been an evil supervillain, but he knew how to throw a Halloween party.” 

Hartley snorted, drawing their attention to him. 

“What? You have something against Halloween, too?” Cisco asked. 

“No.” Hartley rolled his eyes. “I’m gay and I used to do musical theater. There’s not a version of me in existence that doesn’t like Halloween. But I suppose it didn’t occur to you that the first year he didn’t have a Halloween party was the same year he fired me.” 

When Cisco and Caitlin looked at him blankly, Hartley rolled his eyes again. “They were my parties. Not his. Do you know how much I had to do to convince him to let me plan an elaborate party in his pristine laboratory?”

“There’s no way.” Cisco shook his head. “Those parties were way too fucking cool. Right, Caitlin?” 

While Caitlin did not look as eager to call Hartley a square as Cisco was, she did get him an apologetic look and say, gently, “I don't really remember ever even seeing you at the parties, Hartley.” 

“Oh, fuck you both.” He pulled out his phone, eternally grateful he had the foresight to back up all of his electronics before Harrison had taken his phone, and scrolled through the photos in one of his hidden albums, finding a picture that used to be one of his favorites, but now made that familiar sick feeling rise up his throat. It was him and Harrison (who was not dressed up, he constantly refused to, not matter how much Hartley pleaded), standing in front of the S.T.A.R. Labs logo in the cortex, which was decorated with neon green lights and some cheesy UFO and alien decals. Hartley had decided that year’s theme was ‘alien invasion’. 

Hartley’s costume was elaborate, as they always were, but the picture had been taken after most everyone had left, or was too drunk to notice this interaction, and he’d taken his prosthetics and makeup off, or, more accurately, sweated most of it off, so now he was an unrecognizable, slightly glittery man with a terrible fashion sense and glowing purple eyes (the contacts had burned to wear for that long, he remembered, but Harrison had said they looked cute).  

Hartley had taken the picture, the phone was tilted at a slight angle, and it was a little blurry, probably because Hartley had leaned in to kiss Harrison on the cheek as soon he’d taken it. 

It was hard to look at now (that was probably the understatement to end all understatements), the way Harrison’s eyes seemed to sparkle in genuine amusement, his cheeks flushed slightly, a smile creeping across one side of his mouth like he was about to laugh, and… the way his arm wrapped around the small of Hartley’s back. 

He remembered that, the feeling of Harrison’s fingers being pressed against his waist, holding him close. After Hartley had taken the picture, Harrison leaned in, his mouth grazing the shell of Hartley’s ear, and murmured, so quietly that Hartley almost couldn’t hear him (though he had turned his hearing aids down to make up for the loudness of the music, he reminded himself), “I love you, Hartley Rathaway.” 

Hartley could count on one hand the amount of times Harrison had said that to him, and it meant the world to him every time. He’d pulled away to look at Harrison, a second later, to confirm he’d heard what he thought, and in that moment, he’d taken the phone from Hartley and snapped another picture of them. 

That was the next picture in the album, Hartley staring up at Harrison like he’d created the fucking universe, like he was the only thing in the world, his hand on Harrison’s shoulder, almost holding himself up, and Harrison’s smile had only gotten wider, more genuine, and how- how could he have- why would he have- that man, the man in those pictures, he wouldn’t- 

“You find the proof?” Cisco interrupted his thoughts, and Hartley jumped, nearly having forgotten anyone was there. 

“Here.” He skipped a few pictures back to show a video of him at the party, and then photos of him decorating after hours, and a few not particularly innocent pictures of him and Harrison distracting each other while decorating, which Hartley quickly flipped past. “I did it every year.” 

“So why not this year?” 

Hartley glared at Cisco. “I can think of about a dozen reasons why not this year, thank you very much.” 

“I’m sure Barry would be happy to let you throw a party. He’d probably help,” Caitlin offered. 

“I’m really not in the mood for Halloween this year.” 

“But you’re gay and did musical theater,” Cisco reminded him, to which Hartley stuck his tongue out at him. 

“I don't even have a costume.” 

“Herbert West,” Cisco said automatically. 

“Fuck you,” Hartley said immediately. 

“I’ll be Dan.” 

“I said no.” 

Caitlin leaned forward, touching Hartley’s hand. “It could be fun, Hartley! Give us something to focus on other than-” 

Hartley pulled his hand away, standing up abruptly. “I’m done with this conversation. I have work to do.” 

********

Halloween two years ago had been nearly everything Hartley could have ever wanted. Nearly being the operative word there. He would’ve liked to have been able to dance with Harrison before everyone else had left, to kiss him under the tacky disco ball and LED lights Hartley had spent hours putting up. But aside from the secrecy Hartley should’ve been used to at that point, it had been wonderful. 

He’d been having a terrible week, to start with. His hallucinations had been getting worse, more frequent, and he spent most of his time while not at work wishing he was back there, with something to occupy his mind so it would stop inventing terrifying, blurry shadow figures that sometimes looked too much like Harrison lurking in the corner of his eye, whispering his worst fears to him. 

Of course, then he’d come to work, where his paranoia morphed into convincing himself someone was spying on him through the security cameras. 

But the Halloween party had been a break from all that, somehow. His mind had stopped trying to kill him for long enough to let Hartley be happy for one night. 

“It looks beautiful, Hartley,” Harrison had said, sneaking up behind him while he was adjusting the color settings of the lights and making him jump. 

He turned to look at Harrison, smiling proudly. “I told you it would.” Then his smile faded a little, and he draped his hands over Harrison’s shoulders. “You’re not going to wear a costume, are you?” 

“No.” Harrison didn’t look particularly apologetic. “Maybe next year.” 

“You absolutely do not mean that.” 

Harrison laughed, leaning in and kissing Hartley. “No. I don’t.” 

Hartley kissed him back, though it lost a bit of its enthusiasm and he pulled away quickly, wrapping his arms around himself. 

Making a small noise that might have been a sigh, Harrison tilted his head, watching him. “Alright, I’ll bite. What’s going on, Hartley? You’ve been… off all week.” 

Only a week? Hartley felt like he’d been fucked up for the last three years. Though things had been getting worse lately, he thought he’d done a pretty good job of hiding it. 

In all the years he had known him, Hartley had never known Harrison to cry, to be vulnerable in that way. The closest he’d ever come had been the couple times he’d caught him holding a picture of Tess, though he’d quickly put it back in a drawer and waved Hartley away when he tentatively asked about it. He never seemed to struggle. Or at least, refused to make it known. It made Hartley feel significantly worse to put all of his many problems on the man, but here he was. “I’ve been feeling…” Hartley paused, trying to come up with the right word. “Unstable.” 

“Unstable,” Harrison repeated. “In what way?” 

Hartley spread his hands, almost laughing. “Every way. I’ve been trying to distract myself, with work, and with- with this.” He gestured around to the decorations. “But it’s not going as well as I wanted it to. And you…”

“Me?” Harrison raised an eyebrow. 

“You’re the one stable thing in my life right now.” He paused, admitting something he wasn't sure he wanted to. “Maybe ever.” He looked away, his voice growing even quieter. “And I don’t think that’s a good thing.” 

“I’m more than happy to be your stability, Hartley. I always have been.” 

“I don’t want to put that on you.”

Harrison took a second to answer, watching Hartley with an unreadable expression. “So what do you want?” 

“I’ve been thinking about seeing a psychiatrist.” He looked up at Harrison, chewing on his bottom lip. “My insurance-” 

“It’s covered,” Harrison said quickly, “but Hartley,” he put a hand on his shoulder, “it’s very difficult to find a psychiatrist who can actually help you. Most of them only want your money. They're not-” he broke off suddenly, and subtly took a small step away from Hartley, looking to the person who’d walked into the cortex. “Cisco.” 

It made Hartley a particularly venomous brand of jealousy when Harrison called Cisco by his first name, though he tried his best to stamp down on it. 

“Shouldn’t you be home? Getting your stupid pun costume ready?” Hartley said, turning around to look at him and rolling his eyes pointedly. 

“Shouldn’t you be home, making sure you don’t get any Halloween cheer on you, because god forbid Hartley Rathaway has fun?” Cisco shot back. “And how do you know it’s a pun, anyway?” 

“Cisco, that’s your costume every year. What is it this time?” 

“You’ll just have to wait and see. On the Instagram posts tomorrow, I guess.” 

“You know, I never said that I don’t-”

“Cisco,” Harrison repeated, interrupting Hartley before he could finish his sentence, I never said I don’t go to the parties. You just assume I don’t and you’ve never noticed me there. 

“Yes, Dr. Wells?” Cisco said that in such an exaggeratedly professional tone Hartley was forced to roll his eyes again. 

“You should be getting home. You too, Hartley.” 

“I-” he really would've liked to continue their conversation, but Harrison gave him that look, and Hartley knew better than to argue, so he nodded, and left, holding the elevator for Cisco. 

They rode it down to the first floor in silence, and walked out to the parking lot together before separating. “Happy Halloween, Cisco,” he called out after turning away, and glanced back to see him staring at Hartley like he couldn’t believe that was what he’d said. 

“Uh, yeah. Happy Halloween, Hartley,” he said, sounding incredibly confused.  

********

Hartley didn’t know how they’d managed to talk him into this. Maybe because Cisco promised he’d style his hair to make it look like he had a mullet, and Hartley refused to miss that. But whatever the reason, he was at the.S.T.A.R. Labs Halloween party, which barely counted as a party considering the amount of people there. 

Cisco found his way next to him, handing him a drink, and glanced around at the small crowd. “Okay, tell me about how it’s not nearly as good as the ones you planned.”

“Did you know Harrison talked me out of finding a psychiatrist?” Hartley asked, instead of responding. 

“What?” Cisco blinked.

“Oh, here.” He pulled out a syringe full of glowing green liquid and handed it to Cisco. “Yeah, he convinced me none of them would actually want to help me, and even if they did, they wouldn’t be able to.” 

“Did you make this?” Cisco asked, shaking the syringe around a little. “And I’m going to repeat myself here, but what?” 

“Yes. It’s glowstick juice. Don’t drink it. Anyway, I told him I needed therapy, and he went out of his way to convince me I didn’t. I don't even know how he did that. I just did whatever he said.” 

“Why are you telling me this?” Cisco asked, putting the syringe in his pocket. 

Hartley shrugged. “I don't know. I’ve been thinking about it. About him.” He glanced over at Harry, who was not dressed up (Hartley really wished he was, so he could spot the differences more easily) and had wandered in to drink and probably judge everyone for having fun. 

Cisco said nothing for a second, and Hartley continued staring at Harry absently. “I’m gonna get you a drink,” he said after a minute, and Hartley nodded mutely. 

Two drinks in, and Hartley was laughing with Cisco in the back corner of the cortex, trying not to steal glances at Harry and absolutely failing. 

Three drinks in, he was having a passionate conversation about the elaborate societal metaphors and implications of Re-Animator, while Cisco nodded sagely. 

Four drinks, and he spotted Harry leaving the cortex while Cisco was getting them more drinks. For whatever reason, Hartley followed him out, watched him turn around in the hallway and make eye contact with him for the first time that night. 

“You’ve been staring at me,” he said, and Hartley cleared his throat, looking away. 

“You didn’t dress up.” 

“I’m not exactly in the Halloween spirit. I’m sure you can understand why.”

“But you’re here,” Hartley pointed out, and Harry shrugged. 

“Free alcohol. And I can't leave the labs.” 

“Harrison never dressed up, either,” Hartley said, and Harry raised an eyebrow. 

“You mean Thawne.” 

He hadn’t. “Yes.” He leaned against the wall, closing his eyes for a second. “I’m not…” he trailed off. “I shouldn’t want to see you.” 

“But you do?” Harry stepped closer, holding a hand out instinctively as Hartley stumbled a little. 

“But I do.” Hartley blinked up at him, memories flooding him, and the world spun for a few seconds before righting itself. “You’re so…” he reached up, like he wanted to touch Harrison’s face, but decided against it. “Ghosts,” he murmured. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“It’s like I’m seeing ghosts. Every time I close my eyes.” 

“Well, it is Halloween.” 

Hartley laughed at that, still staring up at Harrison, wondering when, if ever, he’d actually realize he didn’t know this man. He’d never known this man. And he shouldn’t, either. He shouldn’t be trying. 

“Hartley?” Cisco’s voice, and Hartley blinked, stepping away from Harry like he’d done something wrong. “I got your drink. I was looking for you.” 

Hartley’s vision was fuzzy, but Cisco seemed to be glaring at Harry (though he did do that often, so Hartley couldn’t read too much into it). 

“I’m going back to my lab,” Harry said, and Hartley watched him go, until Cisco cleared his throat pointedly, making Hartley look back at him. 

“You’re not in character,” he said. “If anyone should be running off abandoning the other to flirt with people, it should be me.” 

“l’m not-” 

“Yeah, sure you’re not.” Cisco handed him his drink, rolling his eyes. 

Hartley squinted. “Why are you angry with me?” 

“I’m not. I don't know- I don't know what I expected from tonight. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have…” Cisco sighed. “I dont know.” 

He seemed to be having about as much of a crisis as Hartley was. “Hey, at least you look hot. The mullet’s really working for you,” Hartley offered. 

Judging from Cisco’s expression, that was not the reassuring statement he needed. 

Chapter Text

Cisco hadn’t been trying to find Hartley, it so happened they apparently both had the same go-to spot when they wanted to hide from everyone. It was the same place he’d found Lisa, too. Maybe he needed a new hiding spot. 

He was smoking, again. 

“Open flame in a lab. Can’t imagine that going wrong,” Cisco said in greeting. 

“If I blow this place up, it’ll be a blessing for all of us,” Hartley responded. 

He shook his head, walking over to Hartley, who put out his cigarette, tossing it in a petri dish he’d apparently been using as an ashtray. 

“You upset because we can’t kill him?” 

Hartley shrugged. “More upset I can’t go down there and yell at him for a while.” 

Cisco shrugged. “Why not?” 

“You heard what Harry said.” 

Cisco wasn’t sure when Hartley had grown comfortable enough with Harry to start calling him that, but he wasn’t sure he liked it. He hopped up to sit on the desk next to Hartley. “Everything that happened already happened. You heard that, too. We can’t change the past. So what does it matter?” 

Hartley looked at him and then let out a loud breath, something close to the beginning of a laugh. “You went down there, didn’t you?” 

“And so what if I did?” 

“Cisco! That’s how he knew to find you. That’s how he figured out he needed to hire you.” 

“So what?” Cisco repeated. “It already happened. I mean, if I didn’t go down there, wouldn’t that be a paradox?” 

Sometimes talking to Cisco made Hartley want to throw something at him (he could certainly understand why Harry did it, the appeal was there). “The fact that he’s in there at all is a paradox. We’re going to have to let him go.” 

“All the more reason to go down there and say what you want to say before it’s too late.” 

Hartley shook his head. “I’m not going to do that.” 

“You’re gonna hate yourself for that.” Cisco poked his arm. Hartley smacked him away. 

“More than I do already?”  

Cisco stuck his tongue out at him.

“Fine,” Hartley relented. “But if this fucks up the entire timeline, I’m blaming you.”

“And I’ll defer that blame right back onto you,” Cisco retorted, and Hartley rolled his eyes, because that seemed to be the only way he could come up with to respond to Cisco sometimes. 

The walk down to the pipeline felt eons longer than it should have. Hartley heard every noise coming from Thawne’s cell. But it didn’t sound familiar. His breathing pattern was different than Harrison’s, his natural heart rate was higher, too. It didn’t sound like him. And when he unlocked the door to look at him through his cell, to stand face to face with the man who’d so carelessly destroyed his life, it wasn’t him. 

“So, Hartley,” the reporter said (Hartley was pretty sure her name was Linda, though to be honest, he didn’t really care and all he wanted to do was leave the second he’d sat down), “do you still go by Rathaway?” 

He blinked a few times, considered his answer, and recalled Harrison’s advice, to try to say inflammatory statements that might make for quick headlines. This was so stupid. Why was he doing this. “Why not? My name is the only thing they can’t legally take away from me.” 

She nodded, writing that down. “And when your family disowned you, they left you with nothing?” 

A weird way to phrase that, but he nodded. “I was going to inherit their company, I had a trust fund, I had…” he paused, cleared his throat, “parents.” 

“And how old were you when this happened?” 

“Seventeen.” 

The reporter raised an eyebrow at him, tilting her head in that judgemental way he’d imagined anyone would as soon as they heard this story. “In high school?”

He shook his head. “I graduated early. I was starting my third semester of college.” 

“Impressive. And what happened, after they disowned you?” 

Hartley frowned. “Didn’t you interview Dr. Wells?” He’d had to train himself not to say Harrison. Harrison said it would be for the best if he called him Dr. Wells. 

“I’d like to hear it from you. Your perspective.”  

He shrugged. “I applied for an internship at S.T.A.R. Labs. They called me for an interview, and… I got the job.” 

“Tell me about that. The interview.” 

This felt unimportant to the story she was supposed to be running. It felt like it was heading somewhere, but Hartley didn’t consider himself adept enough at whatever this was to figure out exactly where she was heading, so he chose to follow along with her prompting. It was a fond memory, after all. “I showed up. I remember they took me into an office. I didn’t know at the time it was Dr. Wells’ office. I was looking at a model he had on one of his shelves, of the solar system.” He paused, frowning. “He doesn’t have it anymore. Of course, that was years ago. Guess it makes sense he’d change his decorations.” He wasn’t sure why he was talking about this. 

“You were in Harrison Wells’ office,” Linda prompted, and Hartley remembered himself. The Latin, and the soft smile, the offer of a chess game, and Hartley was gone, gone gone. 

After Hartley had found the accelerator’s flaws, he let himself wonder. If Harrison had it all planned out, and then other times, he thought of something Harrison used to say to him sometimes, with a fond smile on his face, I didn’t plan for you.  

He thought of the way Harrison had looked at him when he’d said, for the first time, that he’d found something wrong. 

No, he hadn’t planned for it. 

He hadn’t planned for Hartley. Hadn’t planned for what Hartley would do.

Hartley Rathaway might have been nothing but a speed bump in Eobard Thawne’s plans, but he’d been an unexpected one at least. 

He forced himself to focus on the present, as he stepped into the pipeline.

It didn’t look like him. Every cell in Hartley’s body was telling him this was a different person. 

They stared at each other, for a long time, Thawne’s expression a mixture of mild confusion, annoyance, and interest. Hartley’s… well, he wasn’t sure what he looked like, but he felt conflicted. 

“Who are you?” 

Hartley tilted his head to the side, stepping closer to him. “Sapiens dominabitur astris.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?” 

Hartley smiled. “It was the first thing you said to me. The wise man will master the stars.”

“And did you?” 

“Getting superpowers put a bit of a halt on my teenage space travel dreams.” 

“Who are you?” Thawne repeated. 

“Hartley Rathaway,” he said. 

“I know that name,” Thawne looked at him, clearly trying to place it, before he snapped his fingers. “Rathaway Industries.” 

Hartley rolled his eyes. “Great to know my parents’ legacy is secure. Probably gave the company to my snotty little cousin.” Said snotty little cousin was probably twenty by now, and, hopefully, no longer snotty, but Hartley didn’t know, nor did he care to find out. 

“Why are you here?” Thawne asked, and while his voice wasn’t the same, the timber of his words was that of a stranger, that tone was hauntingly familiar. 

“I’m here because I want you to know,” he stepped closer, “and I want you to remember this, when you see me again, and I don’t know who you are, when I’m young and innocent and gullible, that you. Lost.”  

Thawne stared at him, and of course it wasn’t as satisfying as Hartley wanted it to be. He was saying all this to someone who didn’t know who he was, someone who didn’t look like anyone he knew. 

But it was still better than nothing. It still felt good to say. 

He took a deep breath, as Thawne watched him, and continued, his voice growing confidence. “Every time,” he said, “every time that you manipulate me, fuck me over, lie to me, use me, remember me. Remember this, right now. You. Never broke me. I’m still here. Checkmate.”

For a breath, there was no noise, and they both stared at each other in silence, before Thawne finally spoke again. “Well. I guess I’ll have to try harder.” 

And Hartley sent a silent apology to his past self. And then a rush of self-hatred flowed through him because now, in some way, he really had brought it all on himself. Literally. He’d basically asked Thawne to ruin his life. 

I didn’t plan for you. 

Hadn’t taken him into account. Hadn’t thought he was worth the time. But remembered Hartley’s words, remembered the certainty with which he’d said them, and as soon as he’d realized what Hartley was capable of, had tried his damndest to neutralize him. 

It had very nearly worked. A bit more pushing and Hartley might have ended up still in the pipeline with him. To think, if he’d gone about things a bit differently, Hartley would’ve been convinced to become a supervillain for him. 

But he hadn’t. Because he hadn’t thought Hartley important enough. Hadn’t planned for him. 

“You don’t know how old he was?” The interviewer asked, and Hartley could tell it was a rhetorical question. “But you would say that you’re friends with him, wouldn’t you?”

“I would say that he’s my mentor. That’s the best way to describe our relationship.” That was what Harrison had told him to say.

“Did he offer you any help following your employment as an unpaid intern at S.T.A.R. Labs?” 

“Sorry?” 

“Financial help, maybe aid in finding housing, anything like that?” 

Hartley blanked. He was sure Harrison had. He couldn’t remember, but he was sure he had. And it wasn’t like it mattered. He would’ve refused anyway. “I would have refused anyway.” 

“So he didn’t?” 

“I’m sure he did, at some point.” He wasn’t sure at all, actually. “But I would never have accepted his charity.” 

The reporter seemed to have some thoughts on that, though she didn’t expand them. “When you started working at S.T.A.R. Labs, was that when the rumors started?” 

“Rumors?” 

She looked at him. “About you, and Harrison Wells. I can’t be the first person to wonder about the nature of your relationship with him.” 

He felt like throwing up, again. “I’ve heard the rumors, yes.” He knew there was no point in denying that much. 

“How do they make you feel?” 

“Sorry?” he said again. That had not been the thing he’d expected her to say. 

“I would imagine, as one of the only out gay men employed at a giant company, it would feel pretty awful to hear rumors that you only got your job because of the nature of your relationship with the CEO.” 

He frowned. “It… doesn’t feel amazing.” Especially because it was true. Because it made him feel like another statistic, a cautionary tale. He shook himself a little. 

“Do you feel like Harrison Wells ever took advantage of you, in regards to your sexuality?” 

God, he felt like his brain was turning to mush. “No, of course not.” At least that much was the truth. Harrison loved him. He loved Harrison. There was nothing wrong with what they did. If anyone had taken advantage, it had been Hartley. He’d had a crush on Harrison for years, and finally worn him down. 

“Do you think, if you weren’t openly gay, there would be any question about your qualifications for the position you have?” 

He considered that. “Probably not.” He knew he wasn’t being a very good interviewee. He should be elaborating, talking more, but he was afraid if he kept talking, more and more would spill out and he’d end up saying something he shouldn’t have. 

“And how are your relationships with your coworkers at S.T.A.R. Labs?” 

He shrugged. “It’s not that they don’t spread the rumors, too. They… tend to do it behind my back.” 

“I’ve spoken with a couple of your colleagues,” she said, and Hartley grit his teeth. “Other than Harrison Wells, I mean.” 

“Oh?” God, as long as it hadn’t been Cisco, he should be fine. Everyone else was professional enough to not call him a complete dick in an interview. 

“Yes. The consensus seems to be that your keep to yourself, and don’t have many friends at work, aside from Harrison Wells. Though one of your colleagues did have more to say. Cisco Ramon?” 

Great. This was great. 

“He’s the reason I asked Dr. Wells if I could interview you, as well. He said you’re a brilliant man, that it’s unfair your accomplishments seem to go mostly unrecognized, and they would be entirely if not for Harrison Wells’ support.” 

“Did he.” Hartley highly doubted he’d said any of that (maybe he had, they’d been getting along lately. Or maybe it was all an act to get closer to Harrison. Maybe he hated Hartley). 

“It seems everyone at your workplace is aware of your relationship with Harrison Wells. That they respect him, but not necessarily, by extension, you. Would you say that’s accurate?” 

Hartley closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I’m done.” 

“Sorry?” 

“I can’t do this. I’m sorry. I’m not doing this interview. I’m done.” Hartley stood up, stepping backwards. “Please don’t publish this.” 

“It hardly makes for much of a story, anyway,” she responded, sounding more than a little miffed. 

Hartley ignored her. 

She ended up publishing an article anyway, and Harrison was… not pleased with most of what Hartley had said. 

Hartley had brought that all on himself. Basically taunted Eobard Thawne into making his life as awful as possible, into doing his very best to destroy every aspect of Hartley’s life. 

He took a few deep breaths, trying as best he could not to dwell on that, on anything, stepped back, and let the door lock, removing Thawne from his sight. 

“Wow.” Cisco’s voice. “That was…”

Hartley turned to look at him. He should be annoyed that Cisco had eavesdropped, but Hartley had eavesdropped on enough of Cisco’s conversations that it felt fair. “Too dramatic?” 

“Nah. It was hot.” 

“Excuse me?” Hartley waited a few seconds, and Cisco did not hasten to correct himself. 

“Yeah,” he said instead. “It was really hot. I’ve never heard you sound like that before.” 

Hartley’s face felt warm. “Thank… you?” He adjusted his glasses, a nervous tick. 

Cisco broke into a grin. “Oh, what, you can flirt with me, but you can't handle it as soon as I give it back to you?” 

“That’s not- I haven’t been-” 

“Uh-huh. Sure you haven’t.” Cisco winked at him. He fucking winked, like a smug asshole. 

“I-” Hartley could feel himself flushing, and he tried very hard to come up with a dignified response to that. “Your nose is bleeding,” he said instead. 

“Oh.” Cisco brought a hand up to his face. “Huh. Yeah, that's been happening lately.” Then he collapsed. 

“Cisco?” He started convulsing, blood pouring from his nose, eyes rolling up in the back of his head. “Oh, god, Cisco!” 

Hartley was lucky (or, he supposed, Cisco was lucky) that he’d been spending a lot more time working out lately, and he was able to pick Cisco up and carry him to the elevator, bring him up to the cortex. 

He called Caitlin, who called Wells, and Barry, and the whole thing seemed like a blur, and they had to let Thawne go. Like Hartley had said they would, but fuck listening to him, he supposed. 

They were all there when Cisco woke up. Hartley hung back, trying not to look too concerned, but the appropriate amount of concern a friend might have. Until he was about to leave, and Cisco called out to him. “Hey, Hartley? Can I talk to you for a sec?” He sat up in the hospital bed, despite Caitlin’s protests, who he waved away until she left with the others. 

He stepped a little closer to the hospital bed, and Cisco reached out, taking his hand. “I’m sorry,” he said, and Hartley wasn’t sure what he was more confused about, the hand holding or the apology. 

“For… what?” 

Cisco dropped his hand, and Hartley kind of really wished he hadn’t. It’d been nice (he blamed that on being touch starved). “They had to let Thawne go because of me. I know you wanted… closure.” 

“You were going to say vengeance, weren’t you?” Hartley asked. 

Cisco shrugged. “Vengeance, closure, they're synonyms, right?” 

“Probably not the stance the good guys should be taking,” Hartley said with a raised eyebrow. 

“Anyway. I’m sorry you couldn’t get your revenge slash closure.” 

Hartley shook his head. “I got enough. I wanted an opportunity to talk to him and I think I said all I needed to.” He stared at Cisco’s hair (he often did), and wondered if it felt as silky as it looked. It probably was. He also wondered about when it was he’d started thinking about how silky Cisco’s hair was, and how much he wanted to run his fingers through it. 

“I hope so.” Cisco smiled at him, stirring Hartley from his thoughts. “You deserve to be happy, Hartley.” 

“Nice of you to say, Cisquito, but I don’t know if it’s about deserving so much as it is about the hand of shit life dealt me.” 

“Oh, c’mon. You don’t mean that. Your life is great.” 

“Really.” Hartley made a face. “Is it.” He thought of the doppelganger of his terrible ex-boss/boyfriend working in the lab down the hall, about the fact that said boss/boyfriend had promised him ownership of this company before firing him and later giving the company to his apparent worst enemy, about— 

“Yeah, you’ve got me, for starters,” Cisco said, interrupting Hartley’s spiral. 

Somehow, that comment made everything suddenly seem about ten times better, maybe it was the fact that Cisco’s smile was infectious, or that his cocky, slightly sarcastic response was Hartley’s exact brand of humor. But whatever it was, it made Hartley smile, and he rolled his eyes, helping Cisco out of the hospital bed, even though he was pretty sure he was supposed to be resting.

Chapter Text

Under normal circumstances, Hartley would be the first person to throw Harrison Wells both under the bus and into a containment cell. But these were not normal circumstances, and Hartley couldn’t help but wonder what the fuck else everyone else was thinking. Harry had been trying to save his daughter. And he’d admitted to what he’d done. What was so wrong with that? Nothing, in Hartley’s opinion. But apparently that opinion was not the popular one. Even Cisco disagreed with him (which didn’t sound like much, now that he thought about it like that, even though they got along now, they still disagreed about nearly everything). 

Hartley squinted at Harrison in the cell. “This has been an absolutely fucked day,” he said, which was about all he could bring himself to say. 

“Thank you, for your astute observation.” 

“You shouldn’t be in here,” Hartley said, and Harrison raised an eyebrow at him. 

“I lied to all of you,” he said, like that was all, that was the summation of everything anyone needed to know to be locked up in a containment cell.

Maybe Hartley was in a forgiving mood, or maybe he was anxious to jump to the defense of Harrison Wells when he had so clearly done nothing wrong (probably because he was so used to Harrison Wells doing everything wrong and terrible and letting him down, so this was a nice change of pace). Or, alternatively, maybe he thought the pipeline was a terrible punishment for anyone to have to experience, and Harry wasn’t even a metahuman, so why did he need to be in there? A normal cell would have been fine. Or even a simple pair of handcuffs. This entire thing felt about five levels more extreme than it needed to be.

“What, is lying a crime now?” Hartley asked. Not the only, and certainly not the best, defense that Harrison had, but it was the first thing that came out of Hartley’s mouth anyway. 

Harrison gave him a look. Hartley gave him that same look right back (he was very good at it). 

“They’re not going to send you back to Earth-2 alone.” 

Harrison leaned against the wall of the cell, sighing. “I didn’t exactly give them another option, did I?” 

“I’m not going to let them. They’re saving your daughter.” 

“Hmm,” Harrison said, like he had something to say but was purposefully not saying it, and Hartley stepped closer until he was almost flush with the glass of the containment cell. “What?” 

“You always do that,” Harrison said, and Hartley raised an eyebrow in confusion. “You always say they. They’re going to do this, they did that.” 

“So?”

“It’s never we. Not us. There’s them, and there’s you. You know you work here, too, don’t you? You’re part of their team.”

“So are you,” Hartley pointed out, ignoring the observation for now. That would be something to consider at a later date. Or, perhaps, never. 

“Eh,” Harrison waved his hand. “I betrayed them, they put me in here, I think that means I’m kicked out.” 

“They put me in that cell, too, you know.” 

“And they let you out,” Harrison said, annoyingly correct and annoyingly pointed about it.

“And,” Hartley said mockingly, “they’ll let you out, too. I’m going up there right now to convince them.”

Harrison rolled his eyes (he rolled his eyes a lot more than Thawne did. In fact, Hartley couldn’t remember if he ever actually had rolled his eyes). “Good luck with that.”

“And,” Hartley added, “if I can’t convince them,” he pulled his gauntlets from his coat pockets, “when they send you back to Earth-2 and close the breaches, I’ll go with you.” 

“What?” 

“I’m not going to let your world be destroyed because Barry Allen told me to.” There was a lot more bitterness in his tone than was warranted even for this situation, but if Harrison heard it, he didn’t point it out. 

“You can’t do that,” he argued simply. 

“Why not?”

“Because your life is here, your existence is here, Hartley.”

Hartley was pretty sure that was the first time Harrison had said his name. Or at least, the first time he’d said it with any amount of significance behind it. It sounded weird, the cadence of it. It wasn’t the way Thawne said it at all. “And what do I have here that’s more important than saving innocent people who have no idea how monumentally fucked over they’re about to be?” 

“That’s not the point. The point is that it isn’t your fight.” 

“I don’t give a shit whose fight it is,” Hartley said stubbornly. “They can’t leave you to deal with it on your own because of one mistake you made. That's billions of lives they’re sacrificing out of pettiness.” As if Hartley had never risked lives for pettiness. That was his M.O. 

Harrison gave him a look. “You sure you’re not projecting?” 

Hartley scoffed. No, he was not sure, but he was not readily admitting that either. “Even if I was, am I wrong?” 

“You’re not coming to Earth-2 with me.” 

“Better there than here.” He probably shouldn’t have said that, should’ve kept that little comment to himself, because the way Harrison looked at him then was not any way Hartley wanted to be looked at by anyone (with pity, mostly; pity and concern). 

“And what do you mean by that?” Harrison stepped closer, pressing his hands against the glass of his cell. 

Hartley stepped back a little. “I mean that maybe I can do something good over there. Maybe I can actually- actually have a purpose.” 

“A purpose.” Was that tone mocking again? Or maybe disbelieving?

“You can’t stop me, Harry.” Now that was the first time Hartley had called him that, at least, in his presence. It also felt weird, the cadence off somehow. It wasn’t how he said it when he used to call Thawne that, in private. Which was probably a good thing.

“But I can.” Barry’s voice echoed behind him, and Hartley spun around. 

“I don’t intend to fight you, Barry.” The main reason being that he didn’t know how to fight Barry without killing him (he’d had the Barry-killing frequency for months now, but he’d had no reason to use it). If he could beat Barry to a pulp without killing him, God, Hartley probably would’ve done that months ago, if only to get some of his frustration out.

Barry nodded, completely oblivious to the fact that Hartley was fantasizing about beating him up. “Good.” 

Hartley glanced behind him, at Harrison. “Are you going to lock me up in one of those cells again?” he asked, pettiness the only fight he knew he could win.

“No.” Barry shook his head, surprising him. “No, we’ve made an agreement. An agreement that you would’ve heard if you were up there, instead of down here making plans for what you seem to think is an inevitable fuck-up.” 

“Well,” Hartley spread his hands, still holding his gauntlets, “can’t say this is the first time you've all let me down.” 

“And it’s not the first time you have, either,” Barry retaliated, and he stepped around Hartley, slowly, and pressed his hand on the screen to unlock Harrison’s containment cell, once again surprising him.

“If Hartley’s so hell-bent on going to Earth-2, I won’t let him go alone. None of us will.” 

Back in the cortex, they began forming a plan, Harrison explaining some of the details of Earth-2, Cisco, Barry, and, for whatever reason they’d decided to let him tag along for, Hartley. He supposed it was because they were the three metahumans, and because they knew he would be pissed if they refused to let him help.

It still felt like not everyone (Joe and Jay, specifically) was pleased with this turn of events, but apparently they’d been overruled. Hartley imagined that if it were up to them, both he and Harrison would be locked back up in the pipeline to rot. 

Joe, he could understand to an extent. Hartley had wanted to kill his son. Though Hartley had never done anything to Jay. He didn’t know what warranted his hatred, except for the fact that Hartley’s Earth-2 counterpart was a terrible person, according to him.

“Hey, Hartley, can I talk to you for a minute?” Barry interrupted his train of thought. 

Barry didn’t talk to him. That was the cornerstone of their working relationship. That was his first sign to say, no, not doing this right now. But instead Hartley shrugged and gestured for him to continue, because he had no other choice.

“In private,” Barry said, and Hartley felt even more dread at this, watching Barry gesture out into the hallway, but he steeled himself and followed him out. 

“I heard you,” he said, and Hartley tilted his head, waiting for elaboration. “When you were talking to Harry.” 

Again, Hartley remained silent. 

“Look, I-” he took a deep breath, fidgeting. That was something Barry did quite a lot, Hartley noticed. He supposed being the fastest man alive had the side effect of constantly being jittery. In the back of Hartley’s head, he absently wondered if it was something Barry had always done. If he’d always been jittery and full of energy, and that was why the accelerator had given him the ability it had (Harrison—Thawne—certainly hadn’t ever been jittery, or full of energy, and yet he had the same powers, so maybe it really did rely solely on getting struck by lightning) Something to ruminate on at a later time, he supposed, as Barry continued his sentence. “I know we don’t really talk, or anything. But I wanted to say, I’m here.” 

Hartley looked at him blankly. 

“I'm here for you, you know?”

“All due respect,” Hartley said that in a way that implied he thought the amount of respect due was somewhere on the scale of very little to none (and judging by Barry’s expression, he did not miss that sarcasm), “what are you trying to say?”

“I’m trying to say that I know how you feel, okay? You’re not the only one that Thawne manipulated. I know you feel like you’re never going to be truly happy.”

Well that hit Hartley like a train, didn’t it. “Excuse me?” 

You’ll never be content, will you, Hartley?

Harrison’s voice, and it was said like a joke, casually enough that Hartley didn’t feel the need to take it too seriously. At least, not until it started coming more and more frequently, coupled with phrases like, I don’t think you know how to be happy, Hartley. 

Hartley hadn’t needed to be reminded of that. In fact, that was quite possibly the last thing he’d needed to be reminded of. 

“He said that to me,” Barry continued, seemingly oblivious to Hartley’s immediate distress. “Once, over a recording, when he was already dead, and it fucked me up for months. I can’t imagine what it must’ve been like to-”

“Then don’t.” Hartley’s voice was harsh, harsher than he’d meant, but he was afraid that if he wasn’t mean, he’d be crying. Of all fucking people to say this to him, to make him think about this, of course it was Barry fucking Allen. 

Barry sighed, holding up his hands in surrender. “Look, all I’m saying is, you have a life here. You can find happiness. You don’t need a whole new Earth, you need to let the people on this one in.” 

“If that includes you, I’m good, thanks,” Hartley snapped. 

“Okay, you know what? What is your problem with me?” Barry’s voice grew louder but Hartley found it very difficult to be intimidated by him. 

“I don’t have a problem with you,” he lied, crossing his arms.

“You clearly do.”

Hartley glared at him for several seconds and wondered if he could get away with turning around and ending this conversation now. He somehow doubted it. “Maybe because you’re apparently the only thing Harrison-” Hartley cringed, squeezing his eyes shut for a second, and corrected himself, “Thawne cared about.”

“What does that mean?” 

He shook his head. “It means that I was thrown out like trash and forgotten about for trying to be a good fucking person, it means that I dedicated my life to Harrison Wells-” he did not stop to correct himself this time, “to this company, and what do I have to show for it?”

“You’ve done a lot for everyone here, Hartley, that isn’t-” Barry started, but Hartley wasn’t done yet, interrupting him without even really realizing he’d started talking.

“Do you know how many times he promised me the world? Do you know how often he’d say this was our company, our accelerator, ours? And it was all nothing but a plot to get to you. He never meant a fucking word of it, and you expect me not to still be bitter about it?”

“I didn’t ask for this. For any of this,” Barry defended himself, and Hartley threw his hands up. 

“Is that supposed to make it better? To know you don’t even want this? Tell me how that’s supposed to make me feel better.” Barry didn’t answer, and so Hartley continued, even though his brain was telling him to shut the fuck up. “He gave you everything he promised me, and you don’t want anything to do with it. This isn’t yours, Barry Allen. This company? These labs? Your fucking suit? I made all of this. I am the reason all of this exists, for you.”

There was a silence, and Hartley took a deep breath, regretting most of what he’d said, and waited for Barry’s response. “Is that what this is about?” he finally said, and Hartley raised an eyebrow at him. “S.T.A.R. Labs. The company. That’s all this is about? Because I own it?” 

Hartley looked away, shaking his head, because it wasn’t, it really wasn’t. It was about so much more, and at the same time, so much less, and he wanted to scream until someone understood him, because it wasn’t about ownership, it wasn’t about money.

Of course that was a factor, Hartley was a human. He lived in a society. He required money to live. He also had pride (possibly too much), and a desire to be recognized (perhaps too strong of one). 

Of course it mattered. He wasn’t going to say it didn’t. That it meant nothing to him, when Harrison had promised him one day that Hartley would own half of the company. It had meant everything, at the time.

But that wasn’t what this was about. 

This was about broken promises and lies. This was about getting everything stolen from him and the fact that no one seemed to care. 

“What do you want me to do about it, Hartley?” Barry finally asked, and his tone wasn’t one of exasperation, or anger, like Hartley had assumed it would be. Like he deserved. No, his tone was simply tired and annoyingly pitying. 

“I don’t know,” he said, sighing. “Maybe give me time? Let me be pissed off for a while?”

Barry nodded. “Yeah. I can do that.” He lifted his arm, like he was about to touch Hartley’s shoulder, but thought better of it. “You know we’re all here for you, right? You’ll get through this.” 

Hartley rolled his eyes, or tried too. His vision was a little blurry (and he would rather not think about why). “Incredibly rousing pep talk, Barry. Are we done here?”

Barry hesitated, like he was going to say something else, but he seemed to see something in Hartley’s expression (maybe the tears shining in his eyes), and he backed off. “Yeah,” he held up his hands in defeat. “Yeah, we’re done. Sorry.” He took another step back, made to turn around, paused, and looked back at Hartley. There was pity in his expression. Obvious pity. Hartley despised it. “All I was going to say is that you have people here who I know you can trust. All you gotta do is let them in. Might help you… get over everything, better. Sooner.” 

Wishing he could do something more meaningful than roll his eyes again, Hartley watched him walk away, blinking back tears like keeping them in his head would keep the memories from surfacing. Memories of those promises, coupled with Harrison’s face, and his cold, cruel words that he’d turn into a casual conversation as if that wouldn't break Hartley any more than an actual insult would. 

It really shouldn’t affect him as much as it was. It wasn’t like this was the first time Hartley had been promised a billion-dollar company only to be monumentally fucked over. How pathetic was he, that the exact same thing had managed to happen to him twice. 

Harrison wasn’t like Hartley’s parents, exactly. His parents’ favorite insults had been about Hartley’s success. Or lack thereof. His intellect (or lack thereof). They didn’t care so much about whether or not he was happy, only if he was successful. And according to the shit they’d instilled in him since he was a child, he’d never be successful. 

Then Harrison Wells had come along, filled Hartley’s head with praises, complimenting his work, his skill at chess, affinity for languages, and so on. But he told Hartley he’d never be happy. He’d never be content, he’d never have enough, do enough, or be enough. No matter how successful he was, no matter how accomplished and respected, he would never like himself.

He would never be happy. 

And that fucked him up almost more than his parents had.

So it wasn’t that Barry was wrong about anything he’d said. It was that that was quite possibly the last thing in the world Hartley wanted to think about right now. Or ever. As with most things he felt about Harrison Wells, and remembered about Harrison Wells, he’d rather bury it and let his bitterness occasionally spill out into angry tirades aimed at people who really didn’t deserve it, than actually confront anything.

Chapter Text

Barry left for a few hours, to say goodbye to Iris and Joe. As they waited for him to get back, Hartley, Cisco, and Harrison prepared for their trip to Earth-2. Something Hartley still was having trouble believing was real (it was one thing to know Harrison Wells’ doppelganger, and know he was from an alternate dimension, and another thing entirely to grapple with the fact that said alternate dimension was a real place, and he would be going there). 

Speaking of Harrison, he was wearing his rugged sci-fi hero outfit again—Hartley had a flash through his mind of Harrison Ford in Blade Runner, and blamed Cisco for putting the thought in his head—and he holstered his gun, brushing his hair out of his eyes. Which was messy. Sure, his hair was usually messy. He didn’t style it the way Thawne did. He also didn’t wear his glasses nearly as often. There were a lot of differences. And at the same time, not nearly enough. 

Harrison caught Hartley’s eye and paused. “What?” 

Hartley blinked, sitting up straight. “What?” he echoed, hoping he looked normal. His face felt warm. He probably did not look normal. Fuck. 

“You were staring at me,” Harrison prompted.

“Oh.” He absolutely had been. It wasn’t his fault there was a lot to stare at. “I was zoned out, I guess. It’s… a lot to take in.” 

Harrison nodded and left the room. Hartley watched him go, wondering vaguely if Earth-2 Harrison Wells was attracted to men. He didn’t even know, technically, if their Earth’s Harrison Wells had been, after all. Considering Hartley had never actually known the man (he thought about that sometimes, he wondered what would’ve happened if he’d met him, if he’d applied for an internship at Harrison Wells’ company and actually met a normal human, someone who might actually care whether or not he was alive). It was idle curiosity (it was not). 

“Dude,” Cisco interrupted his train of thought, stepping up behind him and muttering quietly near his shoulder, “whatever you’re thinking, bad idea.”

He turned to look at him, making a face. “What, it’s a crime to have an imagination now?” He responded, accepting the fact that he’d been so easily had. 

“Monumentally bad idea,” Cisco reiterated.

“Only way to get over a man is by getting under him,” Hartley hummed. 

Cisco snorted. “Who gave you that advice?”

“Trixie Mattel, probably.” 

“I think even Trixie Mattel would discourage this,” he muttered, and Hartley snickered at that. “But seriously, you don’t get over a guy by sleeping with his doppelganger.” 

“Oh, and you would know that from experience, would you?” 

Cisco just looked at him. Hartley waved his hand. “Whatever.” He watched Cisco sit back down at his lab station, pulling a piece of paper out of his notebook and writing something. Hartley wasn’t going to be nosy, until he realized it had been nearly twenty minutes and he was still writing. 

“What are you doing?” 

Cisco glanced up. “Writing letters.” 

“Letters,” Hartley repeated. “To who?” 

“Uh, one for my parents, one for Dante.” 

He blinked, very much not having expected that. “You hate Dante.”

Cisco didn’t look over at him, but Hartley could actually hear his eyes roll. “He’s still my brother. If I disappear with no explanation because I died in an alternate reality, I’d want him to know.”

“You aren’t going to die.” 

“I said if,” Cisco reiterated.

Hartley didn’t respond. He had the same thought Cisco had, that maybe he should write his parents a letter in case, but he was pretty sure he’d—

“Have you thought about writing your parents a letter?” 

“Pretty sure I burned any bridges I had left with them when I blew up all their windows.” Not that he regretted that whatsoever. It had been very therapeutic.

“They’re still your parents,” Cisco said, and while he didn’t mean it like that, those words still set Hartley on edge.

“No, no, they’re not,” he said shortly. “They’ve made that very clear.” 

“I didn’t mean it like-” he started, and Hartley interrupted him. 

“I know how you meant it. But I’m not writing them a letter. I doubt they’d even notice if I disappeared, anyway.” They hadn’t the first time, after all. After the accelerator. 

Thankfully, Cisco did not give him a look of pity, and nodded in understanding before going back to writing his own letters. 

By the time Barry was back from seeing Iris and Joe before he left and Cisco had finished writing his family letters in case he didn’t make it back, Hartley was feeling… bad. Mentally, that is. Physically, he was fine (perhaps a bit overly caffeinated and under-fed, but otherwise fine). Hartley stood at the breach, awkwardly, watching everyone, feeling as out of place here as he always did. Until Caitlin came up and unexpectedly hugged him. 

“Come back, okay?” she whispered in his ear. “Your rats don’t like me as much as they like you.” 

Hartley laughed a little at that. “No. No, they don’t.” He took a second to hug her back, because he did not often (see never) hug people. “Give them some pasta while I’m gone. Bowtie is their favorite.” 

He held Cisco’s hand as Barry ran through the breach. Well, more like Cisco had grabbed Hartley’s hand and whispered another, nope, bad idea, under his breath when he’d caught Hartley stepping over to hold onto Harrison.

As it turned out, it was incredibly disorienting to step into another universe, and Hartley nearly fell over before Cisco stabilized him. 

“My ears are ringing,” he murmured, bringing a hand up to mess with his implants. He saw Cisco’s mouth move, but no words came out. The ringing in Hartley’s ears became more painful. He blinked hard a few times, before focusing on Cisco again. Then Harrison was in front of him. He was talking, too, but Hartley couldn’t focus enough to read his lips. Hartley shook his head, cringing in pain as the ringing only got louder. 

“Can’t hear you,” he said through gritted teeth, and then he was being pulled away by Harrison, who was saying something else. He caught the word ‘vibrational’, and it clicked in his head. “Earth-2 has a different vibrational frequency. My aids need to be recalibrated to make up for-” he made a small, pained noise, “for the difference,” he finished. 

Harrison looked at him, and Hartley caught him saying, ‘I just said that’, before continuing to pull him towards… wherever they were going. 

Cisco tapped Hartley on the shoulder, and signed, a little clumsily but Hartley couldn’t blame him for that (in fact, he didn’t even know Cisco had been learning ASL at all), “We’re taking you to Harry’s lab,” and Hartley nodded in understanding. 

Were Hartley in less pain, he’d probably be having the time of his life exploring Earth-2, even more so when they got to S.T.A.R. Labs, but as it was, it was all he could do to stay conscious as they led him inside and sat him down. 

“They need to be calibrated to-” he broke off, squeezing his eyes shut, and signed the rest of his sentence, hoping Cisco was able to translate. It seemed he could, because when Hartley opened his eyes, he nodded, giving him a thumbs up before gesturing for him to tilt his head to the side so he could better access the implants. 

Thankfully, it didn’t take long for them to fix, at least, to a point where Hartley was able to hear voices at a comfortable level without also hearing that awful noise (though he still had to have his deafening up much higher than usual), and soon the ringing in Hartley’s ears had mostly subsided and he breathed a sigh of relief, left now with only an annoying headache. 

“I don’t suppose you have excedrin on this Earth, do you?” he asked, rubbing his temples. 

“Way ahead of you.” Cisco passed him a pill and a glass of water that Hartley accepted gratefully. 

“Well. Let’s get-” a realization struck Hartley then, and dread overcame him. “Cisco, if my implants stopped working, so will your goggles. They both rely on the same frequency.” 

“Oh. Oh, shit.” Cisco pulled out his goggles and put them on. A few seconds later, he ripped them off and cursed again. 

Hartley held out his hand. “Give them to me.” He examined them for a moment, opening up one of the panels on the side to look at the wiring. “I can take out one of my implants, use that to adjust the frequency of your goggles, if I rig them together,” he looked up at them again to see Cisco shaking his head very quickly. 

“They’re called implants for a reason, they’d have to be ripped out of your ear, man. We’re not doing that.”

“I’ve done it before,” Hartley reminded him. He’d fought a metahuman sensitive to high frequency sound, and Hartley had made the (stupid, Cisco often liked to remind him) decision to rip out one of his implants and use it against the metahuman (yes, of course he’d re-installed the E-bombs in his implats the second he was able to. What, was he supposed to not live without that nearly-undefeatable backup plan in case he ever got kidnapped? Or locked up in the pipeline again?).

“Yeah, and been left in excruciating pain afterwards,” Cisco reminded him, snatching his goggles back and crossing his arms. 

“You won’t be any help to us writhing around on the floor,” Harrison agreed, and Hartley glared at him. 

“First of all, there was no writhing. Second of all, you’re supposed to be on my side here. I could still fix the goggles. Wouldn't be the first time I’ve had to mess with advanced technology while in terrible pain.” See the three months he’d spent fixing his cochlear implants to turn them into what he had after the particle accelerator explosion.

“Yeah, not happening.”

Hartley spread his hands. “Do you have a better idea?”

Barry interrupted, “Can’t you make another one? Or something similar?”

Hartley sighed, looking at him like he was the stupidest person he’d ever met. Which was frequently how he looked at Barry, even in the times when he really did not deserve it. “I could hook my implant up to Cisco’s goggles in less than an hour, especially if I had his and Harry’s help. But reinventing the technology?” 

“We don’t have time for that,” Cisco finished for him. 

“Well, we don’t exactly have another option, do we?” Barry asked, and Hartley planned to either argue further or rip his implant out right then to prove a point, but then, Barry’s doppelganger appeared on the TV in Harrison’s office, and Barry’s face lit up in some realization. 

“I still work for the CCPD in this world,” he said, and before anyone could respond to that, or tell him that whatever idea he’d just had was a terrible one, Barry said, “I have a plan,” and then he disappeared. 

And then he was back, before any of them could even blink, and he’d brought with him his doppelganger. 

“Oh, a terrible plan,” both Hartley and Harrison said at the same time. 

While Barry’s doppelganger got far too excited over meeting Harrison Wells, Hartley leaned over in his chair, made eye contact with Harrison, and mimed to him pulling out his implant while mouthing I could still do this, before Cisco smacked hand away, giving him a look. Hartley stuck his tongue out at him.

Without further preamble, Barry knocked his doppelganger out, dragging him away. “You guys work on Cisco’s goggles, and,” he paused to point at Hartley, “with no ripping out hearing aids, and I’ll go down to the CCPD to find information on Zoom sightings.”

“How would that help us?” Harrison asked, and Hartley, despite himself, felt a compulsion to smile.

“You’re going to use sightings of him to triangulate his hideout,” Hartley said, and laughed a little. “Hexagonal algorithm?”

Barry seemed to barely resist rolling his eyes at Hartley. “Learned from the best.” 

Hartley was pretty sure that was meant sarcastically, but he took it as a compliment anyway. Besides, he was sure Barry wouldn’t be able to figure out how to do it anyway (that wasn’t his ego talking, that was common sense. It had taken Hartley days to establish Barry’s location, there was no way Zoom’s location would be any easier).

********

While Hartley started work on Cisco’s goggles, trying to make sense of any of the technology on Earth-2 with Harrison’s help, Cisco was busy looking for his own doppelganger. Well, not exactly busy, considering it wasn’t doing much to help. But he was occupied, at least. And there wasn’t really much else to do, while they were trapped here. Hartley had tried going back through the rift and found it impossible. That would be a problem to solve for another time, they decided. 

“I’m curious about my doppelganger, too,” Hartley commented. “With how much Jay hates me, I’d love to know what he’s like.” 

“Oh, that’s right! He said you were a villain, didn’t he?” 

“That’s enough,” Harrison snapped. “How about looking for Zoom instead of spending hours looking for someone who isn’t you?” 

“Idle conversation, Harry,” Hartley said, and in the back of his head, he was alarmed at how easily he’d slipped into calling Harrison Harry. It wasn’t like it was a bad thing, it was what this Harrison wanted people to call him. But for the last few months, Hartley had been content with their previous agreement of calling him nothing, so he wasn’t sure what had changed.

He should probably be more concerned than he was. His brain was doing things he wasn’t sure he liked regarding Earth-2 Harrison Wells. But he had more important things to be worrying about. 

“And now what the fuck is this?” He picked up one of the tools Harry had handed him, and he leaned over Hartley’s shoulder to look at it, disturbingly close as he responded, doing absolutely nothing to help Hartley’s questionable background thoughts. 

Cisco glanced up at them and gave Hartley a Look, and Hartley told him to fuck himself in ASL. 

Cisco, ever civil, only strengthened the Look and signed, “At least I’m not fucking my boss,” and then paused a second, seemingly wondering if there was a word in ASL for doppelganger, before fingerspelling it.

Hartley was about to answer with another profanity, before Harry cleared his throat. “I might not know what you two are saying, but do I have to remind you we are on a bit of a time crunch?”

“If you’d let me rip out my implant-” Hartley started.

“We are not doing that,” Cisco said, at the same time as Harry responded, “That’s a last resort.” 

“It’s not even a last resort, Harry!” Cisco glared at him, with an animosity Hartley hadn’t seen between them before. Sure, they didn’t much care for each other and most of their interactions either ended or began in arguments, but Cisco was glaring daggers at the man right now. “We’re not doing it.”

“Well, I think that’s really up to Hartley, isn’t it?”

“You don't give a shit about Hartley! You only-”

Thankfully, their argument was interrupted by Barry’s reappearance. He got them up to speed on what he’d seen, and then Barry and Harrison were arguing, and Hartley once again considered ripping out his implants, though this time it was solely so he wouldn’t have to hear it anymore. Barry left again to see Joe at the hospital (apparently Caitlin’s evil doppelganger had tried to kill him, not that any of this was important), and Hartley was very much regretting coming with them on this mission. Seeing Earth-2 was almost not worth it for the amount of arguing he had to deal with, and not even because of the death-defying job they had. 

Cisco grumbled something to himself that Hartley wasn’t listening to (and also couldn’t hear, because his deafening still had to be up annoyingly high to stave off the migraine from Earth-2’s frequency) after Harrison left the room, and Hartley glanced up at him. “I’m sorry?” 

“I said,” Cisco began, his tone bitchy in a way Hartley hadn’t heard him use against him in years, “He’s going to be gone anyway.”

Hartley blinked at him, not following at all. “Who?”

Cisco rolled his eyes like Hartley was the dumb one. “Harry. Once we get his daughter back, we’re going home, he's staying here, and the breach is getting sealed.”

Hartley was fairly sure everyone knew that was the deal and frowned in confusion, unsure of his point. “What are you on about now?” 

Cisco huffed, slamming his tools down. He’d started work on a weapon he thought could neutralize Killer Frost, seemingly unable to hack into CCPD records of Zoom sightings, and even if he could, Hartley had reminded him, they wouldn’t be able to triangulate Zoom’s hideout without at least a full day or working on the algorithm. “You’re never going to see him again,” Cisco said pointedly, “so what are you doing?”

Ah, that. Hartley resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “I'm not doing anything, Cisco.”

“Oh, yes you are.” 

“And even if I was-”

“A-ha!” Cisco pointed at him accusatorially, like Hartley had proved his point. This time Hartley did roll his eyes. 

“Even if I was,” he repeated slowly, “since when is it any of your business?” 

“Um, maybe because you’re my friend, and I don’t need you getting fucked over by another Dr. Wells.”

“I can handle myself, Cisco.” That was a complete and utter lie. “And nothing is going on, anyway.” That, actually, was not a lie. 

“Whatever.” Cisco left the room, too, though he did not go in the same direction Harry had, probably trying to avoid him at all costs, and Hartley was left alone. 

Chapter Text

A few hours later, Harrison came back into his lab, still cranky, and Hartley had made no progress on Cisco’s goggles. He knew if he were back in his own lab, he’d have the problem solved ten times over, and that was the most obnoxious part. 

“Ramon’s gone to help Allen with Killer Frost and Deathstorm. It’s a waste of time.” 

“So I’ve heard,” Hartley muttered, only half-paying attention. 

“And Joe West is already dead, what more can either of them even do?”

“Uhuh,” Hartley tilted his head at the goggles, like looking at them from a different angle might help. 

“They should be looking for Zoom, but-”

“Harry.” Hartley finally looked up at him. “We’re going to save Jesse. Killer Frost and Deathstorm work for Zoom, right? Maybe they’ll lead Barry and Cisco to him.” 

“Or maybe they’ll get themselves killed.” 

“Well, I’m here,” Hartley pointed out. “And I could use your help. I still don't know what half of this tech does.” 

Harrison threw up his hands, pacing one more lap around the room, before he relented and sat next to Hartley. 

“We’re going to save Jesse,” Hartley repeated, glancing briefly at him before looking away again. 

“How can you be so sure?” 

“Because.” Hartley smiled, nudging his shoulder. “You’re on the good guys’ side. And, you know, the good guys always win. Or so I’ve been told.”

“That’s terrible logic. And it sounds like something Ramon would say.” 

“Yes, he probably has said it before.” Hartley sighed, setting down Cisco’s goggles and taking off his own glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. He’d been trying his hardest not to think about Cisco for the last couple hours. Of course, he’d also been trying not to think about Harrison Wells, and look how that was going for him.

“Thank you,” Harry said, and Hartley opened his eyes to look at him, squinting at his blurry face for a second before remembering to put his glasses back on.

“For what?” 

“If you weren’t here, I’d really think we had no chance. You're the only one not running off looking for doppelgangers or trying to play house with your alternate life.”

Hartley grimaced. “Well, I’m not particularly anxious to find my parents in any universe,” he said. “And the only other person who had enough of an impact on me to track down would be…” he trailed off, clearing his throat. 

“Would be…?” Harrison prompted, raising an eyebrow. 

Harley gestured to him, his face suddenly feeling a little warm, “You. But I already know you. And you're much better than the Harrison Wells of my Earth.” God, what had possessed him to say that? 

“Well, if you're being particular, you didn’t know your Earth’s Wells,” was Harrison’s response. 

Once again, Hartley was thinking about that. He really needed to stop thinking about that. Stop obsessing over what his life would have been like if he’d met a dead man. “I suppose so.” Hartley looked away, then back at him again. “But you’re still better.” He leaned in a centimeter, not thinking, before his brain caught up to his actions and he mentally scolded himself, shaking his head a little. He’d literally been about to kiss alternate universe Harrison Wells. Cisco was right, and this was a terrible idea. 

“Thank you.” Harrison hadn’t seemed to notice his action, or maybe he was ignoring it in order to let Hartley figure out his shit on his own. Either way, he appreciated it. 

They worked in a comfortable silence for a while, Hartley occasionally taking a break from working to stare blankly at Harrison, before remembering himself and focusing again. 

Once he had shaken himself out of yet another one-sided staring contest, Hartley finally decided he needed something else to occupy himself with that wasn’t mindlessly staring, and attempted a conversation again. “It’s interesting,” he said, not removing his gaze from Cisco’s goggles (mostly because he didn’t trust himself to remain focused if Harrison’s eyes met his). 

“What’s that?” He could feel Harrison’s eyes on him even when he wasn’t looking.

“The fact that everyone’s lives seem so connected, the same way they are on my Earth. But you don't know my doppelganger.” 

Harrison didn’t respond for a second, perhaps annoyed that Hartley was bringing up doppelgangers, or because he wasn’t sure how to respond to that. “Maybe it’s because you never knew your universe’s Dr. Wells. You and I aren’t meant to be connected at all.” 

Hartley paused working, once again losing that battle and looking at Harrison, or, more accurately, staring, once again. “Maybe.” 

There was a long silence, Hartley could barely make out Harrison’s heartbeat, it had accelerated a little, for some unknown reason. He could hear people outside Harrison’s office, fuzzy conversations with indistinguishable words, along with that annoying buzzing that was all that remained of the screeching pain he was sure lurked under the setting he’d adjusted his deafeners to.

“Hartley.” 

He didn’t say Hartley’s name the same way Hartley was used to hearing it come from Harrison Wells’ mouth. He still wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing. 

“Yes?” He blinked, trying to force himself into not staring. 

Harrison let out a long breath, closed his eyes for a second, and when he’d opened them again, he looked back at Hartley with an unreadable expression. “If you want to kiss me, by all means, get it out of your system already. It’ll probably help you actually focus on fixing the damn goggles.” 

For a second, Hartley did nothing, trying to figure out if Harrison had said what he thought he’d said, and Harrison looked back, a mildly amused expression on his face. 

What was he supposed to say to that? What was the correct response? Was this some sort of test? With his Harrison, it would be. Maybe Hartley should stop assuming every person in the world was like Harrison Wells (Thawne, he reminded himself, though he knew he’d probably never think of him that way), and start assuming more people were normal humans who didn’t live their lives like every interaction was a chess game. 

He should do what he wanted to do. 

What did he want to do? He didn’t know. Truly, he had no idea what he wanted. 

He wanted to punch Harrison Wells in the face. He wanted to torture him, to ruin his life, to make him wish he was dead. 

And he also wanted to wrap his arms around him, tell him he loved him, and hear it back. He wanted to kiss him, one more time, if only to cement in his mind the way it felt, and then never do it again. 

Harrison was looking at him expectantly, waiting for Hartley’s response. He hadn’t moved. 

So Hartley surged forward and kissed him. 

It wasn’t a good kiss, by any stretch of the imagination. It was the way he kissed his Harrison, with a lot more tongue (and teeth) than a first kiss should have, and Harrison seemed to have not expected that and wasn’t sure how to reciprocate. Hartley didn’t know what to do with his hands, so they remained awkwardly at his sides, and his heart was beating too loudly again, anxiety or anger or something else filling his chest. He pulled away, breathing heavy, and realized there were tears in his eyes. 

He blinked, and one trailed down his cheek. He should be embarrassed by that. He was embarrassed by that. Why was he crying? This was so stupid.

Harrison was watching him, one eyebrow raised, a little breathless but not much, his bottom lip wet (he wasn’t crying, because why would he be? This meant nothing to him. Hartley meant nothing to him). “Better?” he asked. 

Hartley blinked again, looking away. No, he didn’t feel better, he felt monumentally worse. Cisco had been right. You don’t mean anything to him, you don’t mean anything to him, Hartley repeated over and over to himself, while, from next to him, Harrison sighed.

Hartley recognized it as a sort of I have to do everything myself, don’t I? type sigh. He saw a hand in his peripheral vision, and suddenly it was on his cheek, cupping his face, gentle in the way Thawne only was when he wanted to whisper lies in Hartley’s ear. When he wanted to promise something he knew he’d never make good on, never had any intention of following through, of meaning it.

But this, this gentle touch, this was a promise in and of itself. A promise not to break him, a promise not to hurt, not to make things worse than they already were. A promise that things could only get better from here.

Or maybe Hartley was waxing poetic about Harrison Wells again for no reason. 

Before he could wonder further what the gentle touch may or may not mean, a thumb brushed across the tear on Hartley’s face, wiping it away, and he may have gasped quietly. 

Harrison leaned in close, their faces nearly touching, and he breathed, quietly, so very quietly, “You are capable of finding happiness, Hartley. So let yourself.” 

Thawne would never have said something like that to him. And he certainly wouldn’t sound so sincere, like he meant it with everything he had. It was a promise. Not a promise to give him something, to give him everything. Not a promise of love, or devotion, but a promise nonetheless. A promise to care. A promise to give one single fuck when no one else seemed to, and, if Hartley was being honest, that was really all he needed.

Then Harrison closed the distance between them and kissed Hartley. This time, the kiss was soft, gentle, not demanding or aggressive or meaning anything other than what it was. Hartley wasn’t sure he’d ever been kissed like that before, a kiss for the sake of kissing, that is. He didn’t think he’d ever felt something so genuine before. Whatever emotion Harrison had managed to distill into that kiss, Hartley wanted to bottle it up and drink from it. He wanted to never stop feeling like this, like he was seen and understood and heard. For what might be one of the first times in his life that didn’t make him feel like he was under a microscope, being picked apart by people who only wanted to see every piece of him so they could find new ways to use him.

Harrison’s hand remained on his cheek, and that was the only other place Harrison touched him. Hartley noted that, very carefully. Because he was above Hartley, leaning over in his chair, but he didn’t tilt Hartley’s head up to kiss him, hadn’t actually moved him at all. He’d simply adjusted his angle and connected their lips without directing Hartley where he wanted him or prompting him to move, and Hartley thought the position must be uncomfortable,and wondered why Harrison would do that for him. It was only a few seconds, but the only thing in Hartley’s mind was the question of why he would do that for him. Why? What had Hartley done for him? What had Hartley done for anyone to deserve such gentle treatment, such caring? He wasn’t sure he’d ever done anything deserving of that.

When Harrison finally pulled away, he did so slowly, almost like he was inviting Hartley to kiss him again if he wanted, or to be the one to pull back himself, but Hartley did neither of those things, frozen in place the second Harrison stopped touching him, too many thoughts running through his head to focus on even one of them. 

Once Harrison was standing up straight again, Hartley blinked, letting himself breathe. He wanted to start crying again. Real crying this time, not silent tears. But Harrison’s voice pulled him back, repeating his question. 

“Better?” His eyebrow was quirked, a hint of amusement on his face, but not much. Not enough to be joking, or worse, mocking. 

He didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t think he was capable of words. After a few seconds, Hartley nodded, then turned away and blinked back his tears, though he wasn’t sure why he bothered, when Harrison had already seen him crying.

“Good.” Harrison wiped his mouth, and he looked like he was going to say something else but thought better of it, and then left the room. 

Hartley went back to working on the goggles, and for some reason, his head felt marginally clearer, and he could actually think. Maybe it was something about doing something he couldn’t stop thinking about, maybe it was something about closure.

But at least he was making more progress with Cisco’s goggles than before—Harrison had, for some reason, been right in saying that it would help him focus. Hartley was left alone with his thoughts for an hour, able to think clearly and actually work, before Cisco was back. “Zoom took Barry. But I brought backup.” 

Hartley looked up, and was met with… his own face. Great. “Is that-”

“Your doppelganger, yeah,” Cisco finished. “Hartley Rathaway, this is, uh, well, probably Hartley Rathaway, but he goes by Pied Piper.” 

Other Hartley wasn’t wearing glasses (Hartley wondered vaguely if it was because he didn’t need them, or if he wasn’t allergic to contact lenses like Hartley was). He had a deep green hooded cloak that Hartley had to admit looked nice, and he was holding what Hartley took a second to identify as a flute. 

“I was going to call myself that.” 

Pied Piper raised an eyebrow at him. “Great minds, I guess.” 

“Jay said he was a villain,” Hartley pointed out, still staring at his other self with a strange fascination. His parents had made him learn the flute as a child and he’d kept it up for a long time after that, though he’d always been better at the piano (he’d also taken violin lessons for years, but he’d really never gotten the hang of that).

Pulling the hood of his cloak back, Pied Piper rolled his eyes. “The Flash? He hates me.”

“Why?” 

“I help metahumans learn to control their powers without feeling the need to join Zoom. Sometimes those metahumans go on to try to kill the Flash anyway, or maybe they did before I found them, but it’s not like I’m telling them to. Apparently he's not a fan.”

“That’s it?” Hartley frowned. “I knew he was a dick.” 

“See? Exactly!”

After allowing himself to enjoy the few seconds of camaraderie with his alternate universe self, Hartley turned to Cisco. “So. What happened?” 

“We found Killer Frost and Deathstorm. Pied Piper was there, and-” 

“You’re working for Zoom,” Harrison suddenly interrupted, appearing in the doorway and leveling a gun at Pied Piper, who didn’t seem at all perturbed by that. 

“I hate Zoom,” he said evenly. “I’ve always hated Zoom. You know that, Harry.” 

Hartley looked at Harrison, who pointedly did not look at him, and then looked back at Pied Piper, who set his flute down on Harrison’s desk behind him and put his hands up slowly. “So did Reverb. Believe me, we all have a common enemy.” 

“Reverb?” Hartley asked. 

“My doppelganger,” Cisco informed him. “Also evil. Zoom killed him.” 

“He might have been evil, but he was the only person I ever trusted,” Pied Piper said. “Zoom is going to pay for what he did.” 

“So you two were friends?” Hartley asked, glancing at Cisco, who Hartley was only now realizing seemed to be unable to look him in the eyes. 

Pied Piper gave Hartley a look, and it was the same one Hartley gave people when he thought they were being particularly stupid, and said, with all the sarcasm in the world, “Sure. Friends.”

Hartley decided not to question that. “Well,” he turned away, “we need all the help we can get.”

Pied Piper rolled his eyes at Harrison. “For god’s sake, Harry, put the gun down. I’m not here to rob you. Today.” 

Well, that answered that. Harrison lowered the gun, though he didn’t look any less bitter.

“I’ve made some progress on your goggles. I don’t know that they’ll work completely, but-” Hartley started, to dispel the tension that seemed to be growing rapidly.

“But we don’t have time,” Harrison interrupted. “Zoom is hunting us.” 

“If you worked for Zoom, then you know where his hideout is, right?” Cisco asked, and Piper shook his head. 

“Zoom tolerates me, because I stay out of his way, I don’t involve myself in his plans, and I’m pretty sure because Reverb made a deal with him to keep me… at least moderately safe.” He cleared his throat, looking away. “But Zoom never trusted me,” he finished. “And neither did Reverb, really. Certainly not enough to tell me where Zoom’s hideout is. Though I’d like to think part of the reason for that is that he thought he was protecting me.” 

“So you’re no help at all,” Harrison finished, and Piper glared at him with a level of animosity Hartley imagined he had when he’d looked at Thawne. 

“First of all, you’re a dick. It’s your fault any of us are in this situation to begin with, if you and your fucking particle accelerator hadn’t blown up the entire-”

“Okay,” Hartley interrupted, wondering what had gone wrong in his life that he was defending Harrison Wells from getting chewed out for a particle accelerator explosion by another version of himself. “How about we focus?”

Piper glared at Harrison for a second longer, before crossing his arms and turning away. “I know someone who can help, and I know where to find her.” 

 “Well. Let’s get going,” Cisco said, clapping a hand on Piper’s shoulder, who shifted away from him a little, giving him an unreadable look. “Right. Sorry,” Cisco muttered. “Uh, where are we going?” 

“To visit Killer Frost.”

Chapter Text

Pied Piper stepped into the dark hallway of the hideout, closing the door behind him, blocking out the noise of the street below him, and engulfing the room in even further darkness. He stepped into the main room, and the only light emanating inside it was from Reverb’s goggles. He sat on the couch across the room, not saying a word, watching him. 

It would be intimidating to anyone else, but not Piper. He sighed, almost laughing a little. “Would it kill you to turn a light on?” 

“They cut the power in this building.” 

“That’s why we have the candles,” Piper pointed out, pulling a few candles out of a cupboard and searching around for matches before setting them up on the rickety table in front of the couch. 

“Didn't want to waste them.” 

“It’s not wasting. It’s using.”

Reverb probably rolled his eyes, but it was impossible to know, though Piper could feel his eyes on him as he lit the candles before finally sitting down next to him.

“One of my doppelgangers is here,” Reverb said, lounging back on the couch, the light from the candles flickering against his face, creating harsh shadows and angles that were more intimidating than the complete darkness had been. 

Piper hummed, reaching out and taking off Reverb’s goggles for him. “Another Francisco. Can’t wait to meet him.” 

“You aren’t going to,” Reverb said, a bit shortly, and Hartley frowned but didn’t argue. He knew better than to argue. “I don’t want you to be in danger,” he added, leaning forward and kissing Hartley.

Hartley combed his fingers through Reverb’s hair, taking out his bun and smiling into the kiss when he leaned into the gentle touches. “You know I can take care of myself,” he said when they broke apart. “I love your protection, but I don’t always need it.” 

“He’s got something to do with Zoom,” Reverb said, reaching up and tracing his fingers over Hartley’s throat, seemingly just because he could, and felt like it. “I don’t want you involved.” 

Hartley knit his brows. “Is he dangerous?”

“I don’t know yet.” 

Hartley looked at him for a few seconds, seemingly searching for something in his expression, before he looked away, pursing his lips a little. “You’re hiding something from me. But whatever. Keep your secrets.” He only said that because it let him think he had some manner of say in what Francisco told him (he did not). If he said it was okay, then maybe it was actually okay that he was kept in the dark about most of what he did. 

“We’ve discussed this. You don’t want to hear about the things I do for Zoom.” 

“I know.” 

The fingers on his throat pressed down, purposefully hard for a moment before letting up. “So why are you acting like this?”

“Maybe I changed my mind. Maybe I want to know you. Everything about you.” Hartley slowly lifted his hand to grab Francisco’s, bringing his fingers to his lips and kissing them softly. 

“You don’t want that,” Reverb said, voice softening. 

“I won’t know until I find out, will I?”  

They trudged through a freezing cold forest, a motley assortment of people from different universes who barely got along with each other to begin with, and now had to save the world together, apparently. 

Cisco was refusing to look either Hartley or Pied Piper in the eyes, and Hartley was fairly certain he’d puzzled out why (he knew what friends meant, he could catch on pretty quickly). Harry seemed pretty content to stay in his angry mood, insisting that this was a terrible plan and wasn’t going to work, so it made sense that Hartley ended up walking next to his doppelganger, trying to come up with a normal thing to say (was anything normal at this point?).

“So,” Pied Piper said, falling in step beside Hartley, which he supposed was an easy thing for him to do, considering they were essentially the same person, “you and Francisco…?” 

“Cisco,” Hartley corrected, and then shook his head. “And no.” 

“Cisco,” Piper amended himself, and then laughed a little. “Reverb might’ve actually killed me if I called him that.” 

“I’m… sorry he died,” Hartley offered, and a look crossed Piper’s face for a second, one that Hartley recognized but couldn’t quite place (sort of like when you look at yourself in the mirror for too long and you start not looking human anymore). 

“Yeah,” he said belatedly. “I am, too.” Then he shook his head, evidently searching for a way to change the subject and coming up as empty as Hartley had.

“How long were you two together?” Hartley asked awkwardly. 

“That’s complicated,” he said cagily, and with anyone else, Hartley would have dropped the subject there, but curiosity got the better of him.

“Why?” 

“Because I’m not sure Reverb would ever actually admit we were together at any point in time.” 

“Oh.” Hartley could relate to that (he had so much in common with his doppelganger, who knew). “But you…” 

“I loved him,” Piper finished. “He was an awful person, and he tried to hide it from me, as best he could. To keep me around, for whatever reason. Maybe he thought I was useful, maybe he loved me, too. I guess I’ll never know.” 

Something in Hartley’s chest ached at that, because he recognized those words, those thoughts. Those were his. “Oh,” he repeated, because he couldn’t bring himself to say anything else. 

“What?” Piper gave him a sideways look, and Hartley shook his head. 

“It’s a… familiar story you’re telling.” 

“Is it.” 

Hartley hummed in assent, and yet couldn’t bring himself to elaborate. Finally, there was a non-physical difference between himself and his doppelganger. Hartley could not bring himself to share his vulnerabilities even with himself. 

“I can tell,” Piper added, tilting his head and looking pointedly towards Harrison. 

“He and I aren’t…” 

“You look at him the way I look at Francisco. Cisco,” he corrected himself and gave Hartley a look after removing his gaze from Harrison. “I can tell. Did he die, or break off your affair when his wife found out?” 

“He wasn’t-” Hartley started, and then had no idea how to continue that. “It’s complicated.” He really didn’t feel like getting into the Eobard Thawne/Harrison Wells drama with his doppelganger. “How do you know him?” 

“I don’t, really. We’ve barely met face to face before now.”

“What do you mean?” 

Piper fiddled with the clasp securing his flute to his belt. “When Francisco needs tech, I steal it from S.T.A.R. Labs. That’s the extent of my relationship with Dr. Harry Wells.” 

It sounded like there might be more to that story, but Hartley wasn’t sure he wanted to know. The whole thing was giving him a headache, and Piper seemed to notice that and moved on. “But, anyway,” Piper shrugged, moving on. “I’m sad Fransisco’s dead, but I also kind of wish I’d spent more time yelling at him for trying to take advantage of me than I did.” 

“Did you do that frequently?” 

“Oh, practically every time I met up with him. He always wanted something.” 

There. Another difference. Though Hartley didn’t like this one any more than the first one. He’d never even noticed Harrison was taking advantage of him enough to talk about it. 

“He went on as though he owned the place, and I was no one,” Piper said, like he was deep in thought. 

Hartley felt like he should recognize those words, but he couldn’t quite place them. “Sorry?”

“You have Dracula on your Earth?” he asked, and Hartley nodded, a memory coming back to him, of his mother reading him Dracula as a child, like that was an appropriate bedtime story for a seven year old. 

“Renfield,” Piper explained, pulling Hartley out of the memory. “Says it about him, about one of the last times he sees him.” 

Hartley didn’t have anything to say to that, so he said nothing, and the self-hatred in Piper’s tone was not something to be unpacked, similarly to how Hartley’s own self hatred was not to be unpacked. 

After a few seconds of silence, they fell out of step with each other, Piper drifting over to where Cisco was walking (Hartley felt an unexplainable twinge of jealousy at that). 

“God, it’s freezing,” Cisco muttered, wrapping his arms around himself as they trudged through the woods, and Hartley watched the way Piper glanced at him, lifted an arm like he was about to put it around Cisco, before he shook himself a little and kept walking. There was another look on his face, one Hartley really felt like he should recognize, but its meaning was somewhere out of reach. 

“Wait here,” Piper told them after another several minutes of silent trudging through a freezing cold forest, and walked a little further, stepping into a clearing a few paces ahead of them. For a second, nothing happened, and then Killer Frost stepped out from behind a tree, mist curling around her hands. 

“It was a bad decision to come here, Piper,” she said, the blue mist forming tiny icicles that shifted, melted, and formed again, in circles around her wrist. “Your boyfriend isn’t here to protect you anymore.” 

Piper pulled his hood back, tilting his head to the side. If he had any feelings about her giving Reverb that honorific, he didn’t show it. “Neither is yours,” he said simply. 

“I don’t need protection.” 

“I know that.” Piper held up his hands, his flute left harmlessly at his hip. Not that it was necessarily harm ful to begin with. Though Hartley had assumed it wasn’t just there for decoration. “And I also know you loved him.”

Frost scoffed, circling around him, leaving ice wherever she stepped, grass wilting and freezing under her boots.

“And Zoom killed him,” Piper continued, unintimidated by her display. “So help us destroy him.” 

“You can’t,” she said,  shaking her head. “No one can kill him.” She paused, seeming to have realized what she said, and added hastily, “And I won’t. Help you try and fail to destroy him.” 

“Then tell us where to find him,” Piper offered. “We’ll do the rest.” 

She shook her head again. “I’m not going to turn on him.” 

There was silence, and when Piper spoke again, his voice lowered a little. “So you’ll betray Deathstorm?” 

“That is not what I’m doing,” she hissed, and all the grass within several feet of her was suddenly covered in ghostly pale frost. Hartley’s feet were growing very cold, very quickly. Metaphorically and literally, he supposed. 

“It is. It is and you know it,” Piper said calmly. His voice was soothing, quiet, almost… hypnotic.  

She softened a little, before the mist was back, curling around her fingertips. “If I kill all of you, Zoom will be pleased with me. But if I tell you where to find him, he’ll kill me.” She seemed to come to a conclusion, then, and Hartley was about to suggest running as their next option, but apparently Piper wasn’t ready to give up quite yet.

“So what?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “What more do you have to live for? And what else do you have left to lose?” There was so much sincerity in that question, and Hartley felt it in his soul. He wasn’t only asking Killer Frost, he was asking himself, and in turn, asking Hartley. 

“I know you’re trying to hypnotize me,” Frost said, and Hartley realized, oh, that’s what that was, “and you know it doesn't work on me.” The way she said that made Hartley pretty sure that it did actually work on her. 

“But?” Piper prompted, and Hartley could hear the smirk in his voice.

“But you’re right.” She looked at all of them, then down at her hands, and the mist died down. “I’ll take you to his lair.”

She led them across the forest, smiling whenever one of them shivered, or their teeth started chattering. Hartley was pretty sure she was making it freezing on purpose. Not that he wouldn’t do that same exact thing if he had her powers, but it was still weird to see someone with Caitlin’s face be so vindictive.

“Up there,” she pointed, to what looked like an abandoned mineshaft on a cliffside. 

“How are we supposed to get up there?” Cisco asked, and Frost only smiled at him. She raised her hands, ice forming on her fingertips, and flung her hands out, the mist that was curling around her fingers shooting out and solidifying, forming a very long, very narrow staircase. Made of ice. Over a cliff. 

“We’re absolutely gonna die,” Cisco muttered, and Hartley watched as Piper stepped onto the first stair, planting his foot firmly on the ice. 

“You’ll be fine. Promise.” He reached out and took Cisco’s hand. The surge of jealousy Hartley felt was weird and kind of uncalled for, considering that was another version of himself. “One step at a time, don’t move until you’re sure your foot is stable. Like this.” He took another step up, and Cisco hesitantly followed him. He stumbled a little, slipping, and Piper caught him, his other hand holding onto his waist. He let go quickly, and looked around Cisco to everyone else. “What, are we the only ones going up here?” 

Harrison aimed his gun at Frost, flicking it to the side to indicate for her to go up next, and Hartley followed last. 

It took a long time, and Hartley almost died about a dozen times, but they finally made it to the top. 

“See?” Piper said quietly to Cisco. “Promised you’d be fine.” Hartley saw him squeeze Cisco’s hand before finally letting go.

Cisco smiled, a little awkwardly, and glanced at Hartley, who pretended very hard that he hadn’t been watching them. “Yeah,” Cisco said, “thanks.” 

It was dark in Zoom’s lair, dark and seemingly empty, the only light coming from the (unfortunately ominous) green glow of Hartley’s gauntlets. 

They walked further in, slowly, until suddenly Cisco ran forward. “Barry!” 

They approached the cells, there were three of them. Jesse in one, and Harrison opened it, rushing forward and hugging her tightly. In another was Barry, and a man in a mask in the third. Hartley stared at him, watching the way he desperately pounded against the glass of the cell. “Who is that?” he asked. 

Piper shook his head. “I have no idea. But we need to go. Frost,” he turned toward her. “Let them out.”

“Not part of the deal.” 

“You’re here, aren’t you?” She glared at him for a minute, before stomping forward and using her powers to break Jesse’s handcuff, freeing her. She tried to break open Barry’s cell, but quickly found she couldn’t, and for a moment, their entire mission seemed fruitless, before Hartley stepped forward, raising his hand. 

“I have an idea,” he offered. 

Realization dawned on Harrison’s face first. “Last resort,” he said, and Hartley smiled. 

“Last resort,” he confirmed. 

“Hartley, no-” Cisco started, and Hartley pulled his gauntlets off and handed them to Piper. He wasn’t sure he’d know how to use them, he didn’t seem to have any background in sciences, but oh well. “It would take too long to calibrate these to the right frequency of Barry’s cell, and we don’t have the tools to do it here anyway. But my implants can shatter that glass in a second.” 

“But you’ll-” Cisco started, concern lacing his voice. 

“I won’t be much help once I do this,” he finished for him. “But it’s not like it’ll kill me.” 

He stepped up to Barry’s cell, and he was shaking his head. “Hartley…” 

“Oh, don’t you start, Barry Allen. It’s not like I’m making some big sacrifice, so shut up and stand in the corner.” He glanced behind him. “That goes for all of you.” Thankfully, they listened without much else complaining, though Cisco was still looking at him like he thought this was a terrible idea. 

Hartley took a deep breath, reached into his ear, grabbed his implant, and started to pull. Instantly, he could hear that terrible screaming, the screeching noise that for so long had plagued him after the particle accelerator. He held himself up, pulling harder, and felt blood trickle out of his ear, along with a dull, throbbing sensation like someone was hammering a knife straight into his skull. 

With a sickening pop that was possibly the worst noise of the whole process, the implant was out, and Hartley was doing his best to stand up straight. 

“Ready?” he asked, feeling like he might throw up, and Barry nodded. “It’s going to break towards you, so be ready. Plug your ears.”

Hartley adjusted the implant’s frequency with shaking hands, opened up the wiring, held it against the glass firmly, and pressed down. 

The noise it emitted was almost indistinguishable from the screeching already in Hartley’s ears, but he knew it worked because he was the way Barry cringed in pain, and then a crack formed on the glass, then another, and another, until it shattered completely, exploding inward toward Barry, who was already gone by the time the glass had reached him. Hartley felt himself being pulled away and up, and he could kind of hear someone say in his ear, “Let’s get out of here.” He shook his head, pulling back from whoever was holding him up, because they were talking far too loudly for him to tolerate. It was Cisco, he realized after blinking a few times and staring up at him. 

“Wait,” he said, pulling back. “I have another implant.” He reached up to his other ear. “I can…” he gestured behind him with his other hand, “the man in the mask. I can get him out, too.”

He heard Cisco say his name, and he was pretty sure Harrison said something about not having time, but Hartley was already pulling the implant out, stumbling towards the glass cell. He got the implant out, and the man in the cell moved back. Hartley’s fingers shook as he tried to get the implant open, and then he was pushed back by something he couldn’t see, a blur of light shoving him across the room. He remembered slamming into something, a sharp pain hitting him in the chest, and then the world went dark.

Chapter Text

When Hartley regained his consciousness, he was laying on a hospital bed, and he recognized it immediately as his Earth, his S.T.A.R. Labs, which was reassuring enough for the time being. 

Caitlin was across the room from him, leaning over her desk and mumbling something into her notebook. 

“Caitlin?” 

She hummed, like it wasn't even that interesting that he'd woken up. Though maybe it wasn't, considering there was no way for Hartley to know how long he'd been out. "How do you feel?" she asked, removing IV drips from his arm nonchalantly. 

Hartley struggled to sit up a little, but she pressed him back down and gave him that stern doctor look. 

He made a noise that was an attempt at words, cleared his throat, and tried again. “Like I have the migraine to end all migraines.” 

She nodded though Hartley could tell she hadn’t really been listening. “Cisco made you new implants. I had to do surgery on you to get them in a few days ago. How do they feel?” 

A few days ago? He lifted a hand to his ear and nodded. “No ringing. What happened?” He must’ve been unconscious for at least a week, if Cisco had time to make him new implants. Hartley wondered, in the back of his head, if he’d let Hartley keep their… explosive properties, or if he’d taken that feature out to teach Hartley a lesson.

Caitlin tilted her head, pursing her lips. “You’ll have to ask one of the others, they won’t tell me anything.” 

Hartley squinted, trying to recall what she was even talking about. “We aren’t supposed to.” He only said it a little apologetically.” But is everyone…”

“Jay is gone.” 

“What?” 

“It’s a long story,” she said, and did not elaborate, an unreadable expression on her face.

“Jesse?” 

“Safe.” 

“But they’re gone, too, right? Her and- and Harry?”

“Unfortunately not.” Harrison’s voice. “You’ll be dealing with us for the foreseeable future, it seems.” 

Hartley turned his head to see him standing in the doorway, a sad sort of smile on his face. 

“With Zoom still out there, we couldn’t go back.” 

“So now he’s… what, running rampant on your Earth?” 

Harrison glanced at Caitlin. “Could you give us the room?” 

Caitlin rolled her eyes, something Hartley hadn’t thought her capable of. “Whatever.” She stormed off. 

Harrison cringed, watching as she left. “What happened with Jay has her a bit…” he trailed off, and Hartley finished the sentence.

“Frosty?” he offered, and at Harrison’s expression, looked away, muttering, “Cisco would’ve laughed.” 

“Hartley.” He knew that tone, the one telling him to be quiet and focus (Harry probably didn't mean it like that). 

He sighed. “What happened?” 

“Zoom found us. He attacked you to prevent you from letting that man out. Killer Frost and Pied Piper kept him distracted so we could run away.” 

“Did they…”

“I don’t know.” 

Hartley didn’t say anything for a minute. There were lots of conflicting emotions to contend with at that, but he was honestly not too upset if Pied Piper had died (self hatred at it again). He sat up again, trying to stave off the dizziness. “Why didn’t you tell me you knew him?” 

Harrison looked away. “Because I needed you to focus.” 

“On getting your daughter back,” Hartley finished, and despite part of his brain telling him he should be offended that Harry had been so focused on getting his daughter back he’d been willing to fuck up Hartley’s mental state to do it. But that was probably what he should've expected when it came to Harrison Wells. 

“I do like you,” Harrison said, as if Hartley had accused him of something. “All of you. Anything I did to-”

“I remember what you were willing to do to Barry to get her back. And I also remember I defended you for doing it.” 

If Harry felt bad for that, he didn’t make it obvious. “I didn’t really know him,” he said, and Hartley rolled his eyes. “He worked at S.T.A.R. for a couple months after the explosion. I think he only wanted the job so he could infiltrate the security systems, which he did, and I caught him one night, a few weeks after he quit, and…” he trailed off, and Hartley waited patiently for the inevitable conclusion of the story.  It didn't come, and instead  Harrison crossed his arms and muttered, “I should have just let him go,” he finally said. 

Hartley squinted at him. “What?” 

“Knowing what I know now, I-” he broke off again. “I called the police on him. I knew he was a metahuman, but-” he sighed. “It was before he’d gotten his flute, before he knew the extent of the powers he got from the explosion, and… like people on this Earth, the general public isn’t too fond of metahumans. If the cops find one, it doesn’t matter if they can use their powers to fight back or not, they all get the same treatment.” He shook his head. “It was a news story for weeks, they beat him within an inch of his life, and somehow, I was the hero for getting him arrested.” 

Hartley sat with that for a minute. “That doesn't explain why you seem to hate him.” 

“He started working for Zoom not long after he got out. He kept stealing from me, but he would taunt me about it. Hypnotize my security guards and employees, most of them would wake up on the edge of the roof, no memory of how they got there.” 

“Ah.” 

"He never killed anyone. But I never trusted that he wouldn't."

They were both quiet, then, for a few minutes, before Harrison spoke again. “I am sorry. To you, to him." 

Hartley waved away his half-apologies like they were nothing. As long as Harrison wasn't a time traveling supervillain, it was a step up.

"I really do think I was right," Harrison continued, "we weren’t meant to be connected. In any timeline. Seems like I fuck up every version of you.” 

Hartley winced at that, looking away. "Maybe we aren't. Or maybe that's what you're supposed to do." 

"I'd hope not." 

“In your lab,” Hartley said, “before Cisco came back,” he watched as Harrison shifted, his expression changing to something unreadable, “did you mean it?” 

Harrison raised an eyebrow. “It’s not happening again, if that’s what you’re asking. You’re a little young for me.”

Hartley felt himself flush. “Not the kiss. That was…” He shook his head. He didn’t know what it was, but he knew it was a bad idea to dwell on that for too long. “I meant what you said.” 

For a second, Harrison seemed like he didn’t know how to respond to that. He looked down, his arms crossed. “You don’t need me to repeat myself. You know that.” 

“No, but I’d like to hear it again,” he said softly. 

“At the risk of sounding like a Hallmark card, all you need to do is believe it,” Harrison said. 

Hartley didn’t respond. He didn’t know how to. 

“You know,” Harrison began, “you remind me a lot of my daughter.” 

Hartley clicked his tongue. “Weird fucking thing to say.” 

Harrison laughed. “But it’s true. When you meet her, you'll see the similarities. But you should rest, for now.” 

“I’ve been resting a lot, apparently,” Hartley said, still unsure how long he’d been unconscious. 

“Rest more,” Harrison offered, and Hartley rolled his eyes. Harrison smiled, shaking his head a little, and then he turned away, about to leave, before he paused. “Actually, Ramon’s been driving himself crazy about you, checking on you every hour he’s here. He’ll be here any second.” 

True to what he’d said, Cisco came running into Hartley’s room with a speed that could rival the Flash, only a minute after Harrison had left him alone “Hartley!” 

Despite himself, Hartley smiled. “Cisco.” 

“Caitlin told me you woke up.” He sat on the edge of Hartley’s hospital bed. “You missed King Shark.” 

“Sorry?” 

“Giant shark.” Cisco shrugged, like that explained it. “Hey, so, listen. You’ve been… unresponsive for six weeks.”

“Six weeks?” Why had that not been the first thing everyone told him. Harry, he could understand. He was a dick on his good days. But Caitlin? She was his doctor (sort of). Rude. Nevermind whatever had happened to Jay, it was still rude.

“Yeah. Your rats are fine, by the way. They're still in Caitlin's place.” 

“And Caitlin didn’t feel the need to tell me that I've been in a coma for six weeks?” 

Cisco frowned. “She’s-”

“Grieving, I know,” Hartley interrupted, waving his hand. 

“I was gonna say frosty, but yeah. That too.” 

Hartley laughed. “I made that joke. Harry did not think it was funny.” 

Cisco snorted at that, before taking a deep breath, looking like he had something important to say (more important than the fact that Hartley had been unconscious for six weeks? Probably not a good thing). "Hey, so, listen, Hartley.” He sat down on the edge of Hartley’s bed. “Few things. First, Jay is Zoom.” 

Hartley didn’t have too shocked of a reaction to that. “I knew I didn’t like that man.” 

“Yeah. You kinda called it. Um, but, second thing.” He swallowed. “We didn’t know if you were gonna wake up.” 

“I figured that.” Hartley tilted his head in confusion. 

“We- I mean, well, it was Barry’s idea, but- not that I’m throwing him under the bus, but it was his idea, I’m being honest, and-”

“Cisco, you’re scaring me,” Hartley interrupted. “What's going on?” 

“I-” he glanced around the room, seemingly able to look at anything that wasn’t Hartley, “your parents were here.” 

“What?”  

“Your parents were here,” Cisco repeated, like Hartley’s what had meant he hadn’t heard Cisco and not I can’t believe what you said, please say something different this time. “Barry called them, and they came to see you. I didn’t- we didn’t know if you were going to wake up, we thought they deserved to-” 

“My parents,” Hartley snapped, putting his hand up to stop Cisco, “don’t deserve a thing from me. They kicked me out like trash a decade ago and haven’t reached out to me since. What gave you the right-” 

“I’m sorry! They were- I mean, your mom was crying, and they seemed- they wanted us to keep in contact if you woke-” 

“Cisco,” Hartley said, his voice cold as he stood up, forcing himself to ignore his dizziness. “Shut the fuck up. Where’s Barry?” 

“I don’t-” 

“Francisco Ramon. You will tell me where the fuck that nosy, do-gooder, speedster is or I will rip your guts out with this scalpel.” 

“I don’t know! I mean, I know we’re supposed to get drinks tonight downtown-” 

“Send me the address, and maybe I won’t murder you in your sleep.” 

“Yep. Sending it. Mmhm.” 

********

It didn’t take long for Hartley to find Barry. He was at a table with Iris, he could hear them talking to each other from across the incredibly loud bar, and Hartley walked up to their table, slamming his hand down on it to announce his presence. 

“Hartley!” Barry grinned at him, oblivious to Hartley’s anger for the moment. “You’re awake!” 

“Bartholomew. Henry. Allen.” 

The smile faded from Barry’s face, and Iris raised her eyebrows, glancing between them. 

“What, pray tell, possessed your minuscule brain into thinking you had any right to invite my parents to visit my unconscious body?” 

“Oh kay, I’m gonna get us some more drinks,” Iris announced, and Barry made a sort of helpless noise, reaching out like he very much wanted her to stay, before looking back at Hartley, his eyes wide. 

“Well?” Hartley prompted. 

“I… did Cisco tell you that?” 

Hartley shook his head. “Doesn’t fucking matter. Answer the question.” 

“Um, right, okay, what possessed me? I don’t know, maybe the fact that you were dying? And a parent should know if their kid is dying?”  

“You. Had no right. You had no fucking right, Barry Allen. And if you even think about messing with my life like that again, I’ll warn you now that my gauntlets are programmed with the right frequency to liquify your organs in twenty-two seconds.” 

“Hartley!” Barry called after him as he turned around and walked away. Hartley ignored him, leaving the bar, and for a few minutes, he was alone, before a violent gust of wind nearly knocked him over on his walk back home, and Barry appeared in front of him. 

“Was I not clear?” Hartley snapped, trying to move around him, but Barry materialized in front of him again. 

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? I was out of line.” 

“You think?” Hartley glared at him. “What do you think disownment means?” 

“I thought-” 

“Just because you have a family that would do anything for you, doesn't mean we’re all that goddamn lucky.” 

“Hartley…” 

“They kicked me out,” Hartley said, because Barry didn’t seem to be getting it. 

“When we got back from Earth-2,” Barry started, “We lost Jay—I mean, we thought we lost Jay, but I guess we never really had him, but it was still a loss anyway, and- and you wouldn’t wake up, and Caitlin said you might never wake up, and all I could think about was when I was in a coma, and Iris and Joe were there for me, worrying about me, every day, and I couldn’t imagine how your parents would feel if something happened to you and-” 

Hartley held up a hand, and Barry shut up. “I was seventeen the last time I saw them. I was seventeen and confused and my parents gave me an hour to pack a bag and they watched me walk out that door.” His voice cracked. “My father set a timer on his watch and-” a sob crawled its way out of his throat, and he blinked back tears, taking a deep breath, “and the last thing my mother said to me before I left was ‘I never want to see your face again’.”  

Barry was quiet for a second, looking down at the filthy sidewalk. “Your mom, she- she stayed next to you for three hours, holding your hand. She was sobbing the whole time.” 

Hartley laughed humorlessly, shaking his head. “I don't care what she did.” 

“Your dad talked to me,” Barry continued. “He said they made a mistake, and they’d never regretted anything more than they did after they kicked you out.” 

“Because that is what they do, Barry, they manipulate, and they lie, and the only reason they gave enough of a shit to visit me is because they want something.” 

“Yeah, maybe their kid back!” 

Hartley wiped his eyes, stepping around Barry again. This time, he didn’t block him. “Too fucking late.” 

“Hartley, just…” Barry put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. He held out a scrap of paper. “They wanted you to call when you woke up.” 

He looked down at the paper, the phone number in neat writing, with the word mom written under it in almost-perfect cursive. He knew that handwriting. He ran his finger across it, taking another shuddering breath. 

“Take it,” Barry said. “Throw it away when you get home if you want, but… at least take it.” 

He did, folding it up and putting it in his coat pocket. “You’re not forgiven,” he said, after a second.

“I was trying to help,” Barry said, his voice small. 

“Next time you feel like helping, don't call my parents.” He walked away, and this time, Barry let him. 

Without his rats in his apartment, it felt about a million times lonelier. And everything was dusty. And something in his fridge smelled like death, but he decided that was a problem for the morning. 

He pulled off his coat and, despite his better judgment telling him he was an idiot, pulled the phone number out of the pocket. He stared at it for a long time. 

His mother was a lot of things. Namely, not his mother (well, biologically, she was). But she was really not a mother at all. So much of his childhood had been spent being called difficult, broken, or a problem. Most of those things had been uttered by the aforementioned woman meant to be his mother. 

Hartley knew he had not been the ideal child. Aside from being born deaf, already a sin in his parents’ eyes, he remembered nightmares, sleepwalking, uncontrollable anger, and then, of course, the hallucinations that had started when he was twelve. His first doctor had insisted to his parents it was his overactive imagination, and had suggested exposing him to less fictional media. They took that to mean give that kid nothing but a Bible and endless hours of schoolwork and watch his mind unravel.  

Funny that despite their best attempts at convincing him God could solve his problems, Hartley had yet to find any psalms called ‘give your fifteen year old son some horse tranquilizers and hope it stops him from seeing demons in his bedroom every time he steps inside’. 

He remembered, in the sparse memories he had before he’d started throwing up those pills or flushing them down the toilet, being ignored often, barely seeing his father, and only seeing his mother when she remembered he existed. 

The doctors after that had cycled in and out, saying different things, prescribing different medications that made him nauseous and exhausted and barely able to focus on being alive, until they finally settled on the correct diagnosis and actually prescribed him a drug that really did help him.

Of that, he was moderately grateful. While the experimentation and near-psychosis he’d been repeatedly sent to throughout most of his teenage years wasn’t exactly ideal, at least his parents had been rich enough to throw money at his problems until they stumbled into a solution that actually worked. Granted, he was pretty sure that they would’ve sooner simply lobotomized him than dealt with him for that long, and the only reason they were actually invested in fixing him was so their son could inherit their company. 

And look how that had worked out. 

There weren’t many good memories of them, but they were his parents. Technically. And the woman who had written her phone number on the scrap of paper Hartley was holding had done the bare minimum to reach out to him. And Hartley was nothing if not consistently rewarding people who did the bare minimum for him. 

It was late, past midnight, now. There was no way she’d answer if Hartley called her. So there was no risk, really. He ran his fingers across her handwriting again.

Then he dialed the number. After what felt like a year’s worth of agonizing rings, he got her voicemail, and he almost hung up the second he heard the sound of her voice. 

For a moment after the voicemail beeped, he didn’t say anything. What was he even supposed to say? 

Instead of worrying about what he was supposed to say, he instead started out the voicemail by saying what he wanted to say.

“Hi, mom,” he said softly, doing his best not to cry solely from those two words alone. “I…” He stopped, closing his eyes, and took a few deep breaths. He couldn’t say what he wanted to. Or maybe he didn’t actually want to say it. “Um, Barry Allen told me you visited,” he finally said. “I was calling to- to let you know I’m alive. I-” he broke off again, realizing once again he had no idea what else to say. There were a few more seconds of silence. “You don’t have to call back,” he said finally, and ended the message, setting his phone down. He felt like garbage, so he poured himself a glass of whiskey and fell asleep on the couch. 

He woke up the next morning with a sore neck and the sound of his phone buzzing obnoxiously on the coffee table. He blindly reached out, looking either for it or his glasses, and found his phone first. 

“What?” he snapped as soon as he answered it. 

“Hey, Hartley.” It was Cisco. “I’ve been calling all morning. Are you okay?” 

He sighed. “I’m fine.”

“Caitlin wanted you to come in, to do some tests on you. She’s pretty pissed you left yesterday without saying anything. You got out of a six-week coma yesterday, dude. You can’t disappear like that.” 

“I’m fine,” Hartley repeated, finally locating his glasses and slipping them on. 

“You sure? You freaked us out.” 

“Yes, Cisco. I’m fine. I’ll be there in an hour.” He hung up, and looked down at his phone, about a dozen missed calls, most of them from Cisco, a couple from Caitlin, one from Barry, and… one from his mother’s phone number. No voicemail, just a call. 

He stared at it. For a very long time. Until his phone buzzed again and made him jump. 

It was a text from Cisco, telling him they’d brought bagels and coffee, and there were some left. And then another text that said coffee’s prbly cold tho. Hartley smiled a little at that. Then Cisco sent another text. ill buy u another one. That one made him laugh a little, and he forgot all about the phone call from his mother for a while. 

When he got to S.T.A.R. Labs, he was met by a woman who looked so incredibly familiar that it only took Hartley a couple seconds to realize who she was, and he couldn’t even remember seeing her in Zoom’s lair (he blamed that on the concussion). “You’re Jesse, right?” he said, after stepping into the elevator she’d held for him. 

“Yeah. You’re Hartley Rathaway, right?” 

He nodded. “It’s nice to meet you,” he said.

“Dad talks about you all the time,” she responded, and Hartley blanked at how to respond to that.

“All the time?” he finally repeated.

She rolled her eyes, though she was still smiling. “Apparently you’re a genius, and very funny, and almost as sarcastic as I am, and…” she rolled her eyes again, “like I said, he doesn’t shut up.” 

“Oh,” Hartley said, because what the actual fuck was he supposed to say to that. 

“Thank you for saving me,” she added, and Hartley looked back at her, still kind of blown away by how much she looked like Harrison. 

“I- of course.” 

“How old are you?” she asked, candidly, and Hartley blinked at her.

“Sorry?” 

She was looking at him, squinting a little. "I said, how old are you?" 

“I’m… twenty-seven,” he said, clearing his throat. Pointedly, he did not ask Jesse how old she was (he did not want to know). 

“Huh,” Jesse said, but didn’t seem to think much of it, and shrugged, moving on. “Well, you make my dad happy.” 

“Oh,” Hartley said, and then shook his head as he realized what that was implying, “oh, no, I don’t- we aren’t-” unfortunately, the elevator reached the cortex, and Harrison was standing right there, so Hartley very quickly cut himself off and left. Far too fast for it to be normal. 

Chapter Text

Cisco ended up taking him out for coffee. They talked for a while, about nothing, before Cisco finally broached the topic of Hartley’s parents. 

“I called her. My mom,” Hartley said stiffly. “Last night. It was late, she didn’t answer.”

“Yeah?” 

“She called me back this morning.” 

“What did she say?” 

Hartley shook his head. “I didn’t answer. What am I supposed to say? I was perfectly happy living the rest of my life not talking to them ever again.”

“Were you, though?” Cisco asked, and Hartley looked up at him, the conflict evident on his face. 

“I don’t know, Cisco.” He sighed. “They’re not good people.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

“But…” Hartley trailed off, gesturing vaguely. 

“Look, whatever you decide to do, it’s your decision. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry. For letting them visit you. That was fucked up. Of all of us.” 

“It was,” Hartley agreed. “But Barry was trying to do the right thing. He can’t help being a naive child. It’s who he is.” 

Hartley sipped his coffee, contemplating for a while, and Cisco was watching him, probably wondering what was going on in his head but unsure how to ask. 

“I think I’m going to call her back,” he said eventually. “And if it goes terribly wrong, at least I can blame Barry.” 

Cisco laughed. “Yeah. Do you…” he stopped himself, biting his bottom lip. 

“What?” 

“If you end up seeing them, I was gonna offer moral support.” 

Hartley smiled. “That’s nice of you to offer, but I wouldn’t subject you to that.”

“Oh, come on. I can handle it. You survived seventeen years with them.” 

Hartley gave him a look. “It’s different.” 

“How so?” 

Leaning back in his chair, Hartley sighed. “To say this as delicately as possible, Cisco, you are… not white.”

“Wow, did you just realize that?” 

Hartley snorted, nearly choking on his sip of coffee. “I wasn’t done! What I'm trying to say, is that my parents are old money millionaires who disowned their only son for being gay. Surprisingly, that is not where their biases both start and end. Even if they have experienced a moral panic in their old age, I would rather not subject you to the potential of…” he trailed off, waving his hand vaguely. 

“Oh.” Cisco pursed his lips, staring down at his coffee for a few seconds. “Your mom was nice to me when she came to S.T.A.R. Didn’t give off racist vibes.”

“Do your powers extend to racist Vibes?” Hartley asked, and Cisco snickered a little.

“I meant vibes with a lowercase v, smartass.” 

“Well, either way. I’m sure she was. Nice to you, I mean. She can be very nice when it suits her.” 

“Or maybe they really did have a moral panic.” 

“Maybe,” Hartley said, though his tone made it clear he didn’t really believe it. 

“Well, whatever happens, I’m here for you, Hartley,” Cisco said after a few seconds. 

Hartley looked at Cisco’s hand on the table, the way it twitched a little, like he was about to move it but decided against it. Maybe to take Hartley’s hand. It was probably wishful thinking on his part. 

He called the number again that night when he got home from S.T.A.R. Labs. This time, his mom answered, and it took everything Hartley had not to break down at the sound of her voice. 

“Mom. It’s me.” 

There was a shuddering noise on the other end of the phone, like she was sobbing (or pretending to, Hartley thought. His mother loved a good fake-cry). “Hartley,” she said softly, and didn’t say anything else. 

“Is dad there?” 

“Yes, he’s- your father is here. Do you want to-” she broke off, and Hartley heard her put her hand over the phone speaker and call out, “your son is on the phone. He wants to talk to you.” There was a muffled shifting noise, and then his father’s voice. 

“Hello, son.” 

Hartley had half a mind to remind his father that he’d said, in no uncertain terms, that Hartley was not his son anymore, but he refrained. “What do you want?” 

“Pardon me?” 

“You heard me. What do you want?” 

“You nearly died, Hartley. It made us, your mother and I-” Hartley wanted to scream that she wasn’t his mother, that they weren’t his family, “it made us realize what a mistake we made.” 

“It took you a decade to realize that?” 

“We want to speak to you. We’d like to do it face-to-face.”

“Why?” 

“I’d like to- we’d like to give you back your inheritance.”

Hartley was quiet for a long time. He could hear both of his parents on the other end of the phone, their heartbeats, their breathing. Nothing that would tell him whether or not they were lying. “What?” he finally asked. 

“The company, Hartley. It’s yours. It’s your name, it should be yours.”

“What’s the catch?” 

“All we want is to see you. Come to the house, have dinner with us tomorrow night. Your mother is making those chocolate cookies you loved as a child.” 

Hartley stared down at his lap, blinking back tears. “The ones with the walnuts?” 

“You remembered.” That was his mother’s voice, now. 

He shook his head. “I-” 

“Please, Hartley. If something had happened to you, I- I don’t know what I’d do, if we left things the way they were,” his mother said, and he squeezed his eyes shut. 

“Okay,” he said softly. “I’ll be there.” 

He was pretty sure he’d made a mistake, as he hung up the phone, but he didn’t know what else he could’ve done. It wasn’t like he was good at saying no to his parents as a child, why should it be any different now? 

********

“You didn’t put me on the board,” Hartley said, tilting his head at the board of potential times Barry could go back to talk to Wells—Thawne. 

Barry glanced at him. “What do you mean?” 

“Don’t you think I should be up there? Especially because Harrison-” he glanced over at Harry, correcting himself, “ Thawne, would’ve just told you about knowing the particle accelerator might blow up, so it’d make sense if you were acting strange around him?” 

“That’s… actually a good point.” 

“Thank you, Bartholomew.”

“Please stop calling me that.” 

“Maybe once I’m less pissed at you, I’ll consider it.” 

Barry looked at him like he was trying to determine if Hartley was joking or not. 

“It is a good idea,” Cisco said, writing on the board. “Not- calling you Bartholomew. Going back to when Hartley first got here.”

Hartley clicked his tongue. “Thank you, Cisco. But if you fuck everything up for me, Bartholomew, I will not forgive you.” 

“No fucking things up for you. Not again. Got it.” 

Hartley’s phone buzzed and he pulled it out, looking at the notification. It was the alarm he’d set a year ago. He glanced up at Cisco and Caitlin, who seemed to have realized the exact same thing he had. 

“Well,” he said, once Barry had decided on the time, everything was calculated, and he was ready to go, “Good luck and all that. I should get my gauntlets.” 

Hartley left to his lab, picking up his gauntlets and heading back, checking the time. He had forty seconds. He was stopped by Harrison grabbing his arm, pulling him back. 

“Don’t you realize what he’s doing?” 

Hartley blinked at him. “In fact, I do.” He checked the time again. 

“He could get you killed.” 

“Harry, I have to get back to the cortex. And besides, isn’t this like when Thawne came back? Everything that’s happened, already happened, right? My past isn’t going to change.” 

“You don’t know that,” Harrison snapped, “There’s still so much we don’t know about time travel, who knows what could-”

Hartley’s phone went off, and he cursed. “Look, Harry, I know you’re cranky because Jesse ran away, and I would love to explore those feelings with you at a later date, in fact, let’s meet for lunch tomorrow. But right now, I have to get back to the cortex.” 

“This is not about-”

“Sure it isn’t.” 

“I am talking about what you’re-”

“We can discuss the ramifications of time travel too, yeah?” Hartley offered. “But for right now, please let go of me.”

Harry sighed, but he did let go of Hartley, who ran back to the cortex and prayed to whatever god he didn’t believe in that he wasn’t too late. 

He almost was—but his gauntlets worked. He offered a hand to help Barry up, but he stared at Hartley like he was insane. That wasn’t good. 

But, at least he was alive (Hartley had other concerns). 

Harrison (Thawne) had given him some type of thumb drive, and they brought it to the time vault. Hartley hung back from that place, he’d always refused to enter himself. Harry stayed with him in the cortex, and Hartley sighed. "It's your fault, you know," he muttered. 

"Sorry?" 

"I'm having dinner with my parents. It's your fault. If you weren't so worried about Jesse, it never would've got the thought into my head that my parents might actually... miss me." 

Harry snorted. "Sorry for caring about my daughter."

"Apology accepted." 

Harry rolled his eyes, and looked like he wanted to say something else, but Barry was back before he could, and Hartley addressed Cisco. “Find the answers?”  

“We think so.” 

“Great. I… have to go.” He glanced down at the time on his phone. “I have what is almost guaranteed to be a terrible dinner to get to. Thanks to Bartholomew and his unwanted meddling.” 

“Oh, please don’t tell me I fucked the timeline up so bad that I go by Bartholomew now,” he heard Barry say as he walked away, cementing Hartley’s beliefs that Barry had changed something to make him forget Hartley. Or something Hartley had done (once again, he had more important things to worry about). 

“Hey!” Cisco caught up to him at the elevator and put an arm out to stop it from closing. “Are you sure about this?”

Hartley shook his head. “Absolutely not.” 

“I meant it when I said I’d go with you. Moral support. I don’t care how many microaggressions I have to sit through.” 

Giving him a fond smile, Hartley gave Cisco’s current outfit choice a once-over. “They would eat you alive for that t-shirt alone.” 

“Rude.” Cisco stuck his tongue out at him. 

“I’ll be fine.” Hartley waved his arm away, and Cisco relented. 

“Fine, fine. I’ll see you tomorrow, then?” 

“See you tomorrow.” 

Hartley arrived at his parents’ mansion at exactly 7:30, and stared up at the wrought iron gates, into the immaculate lawn, and the towering building behind it. He almost ran away, but then the gates were opening, and it was too late. 

Trudging forward, Hartley tried not to look too hard at anything, to not let any memories come back, and he raised a fist to knock on the front door, refusing to raise his eyes from staring at his feet, but the door swung open before he could knock, and suddenly he was pulled into a hug. 

“Hartley.” 

He recognized his mother’s perfume, and, unfortunately, a memory did come back then. Of playing with the makeup at her vanity. He remembered knocking over a bottle of that same perfume, spilling it onto the floor. 

His mother had been more angry at him for playing with her makeup than breaking a bottle of expensive perfume, he recalled. He’d probably been all of six years old at the time, and, while she’d endlessly sight that moment as ‘an impetus for things to come’ (being gay), Hartley had not actually even been trying to put the makeup on, he’d been pretending to be a scientist mixing chemicals together. 

Unable to bring himself to hug back, Hartley stood still, waiting for her to let him go. 

Eventually, she did and cupped his cheek, making him look up at her. She looked a little older. That made sense, it had been over a decade. But still, she didn’t look… “You’ve had a lot of work done,” Hartley said, and he wondered if that was a good first thing to say to the woman that disowned you a decade ago. He decided it was. 

“Hartley.” He closed his eyes at the sound of his father’s voice. “Is that any way to greet your mother?” 

She’s not my mother. She told me that herself. “I didn’t say it looked bad,” he pointed out. 

“Come, sit down.” She took him by the arm, steering him inside and into the dining room. Hartley stared at his feet. 

At least the floor looked the same as he remembered it, but he refused to look at anything else. 

He sat down, and he knew it was the seat he always used to take for dinner time, next to his father at the head of the table, and across from his mother on the left. He felt like he was dissociating already. This had been a terrible idea. He wanted to leave.

“Now, son,” his father began, but Hartley shook his head. 

“I’m not your son. You said so yourself. Or did you forget?” He finally looked up, meeting his father’s eyes. “You’ve had work done, too,” he noted. 

“That’s what we’d like to talk to you about,” he said, ignoring Hartley’s comment. “We realize our… decision all those years ago may have been rash.” 

“Do you.” 

“And we’re hoping that you can find it in yourself to hear us out.” 

“Are you.” 

“Hartley, please.” His mother reached across the table and took his hand. He pulled it away. 

“I want to hear you say it.” He looked between the two of them. 

“Say… what?” 

“Why you kicked me out, destroyed my life. Say it.” 

His parents looked at each other. “Hartley-” his father began.

“If you can’t even admit why you did it, admit why you disowned me, how am I supposed to believe you’re sorry?”

Before either of them could say anything else, the chef entered the room, bringing with him platters of food Hartley imagined cost more than most people’s entire paycheck. God, he hated it here. 

“Let’s eat,” his mother said, her voice soft. “We’ll talk about this in the sitting room.” 

“That’s right, we don’t talk during meals.” Hartley rolled his eyes. “Almost forgot about that lovely Rathaway tradition.” 

Family meals had always been Hartley’s least favorite part of the day as a child. Most parents scolded their children for talking with their mouths full, Hartley’s parents scolded him for talking at the table at all. 

For some reason though, he obeyed, and they ate in silence. Hartley didn’t eat much, and spent most of the time pushing food around on his plate, contemplating running away (a true reenactment of his childhood). 

When the dishes were cleared, there was yet another awkward silence, before his mother spoke. “Come to the kitchen with me, Hartley. I’ve made the batter for the cookies, but I thought we could bake them together.”

He wanted to say no, that this purposeful nostalgia-baiting of one of the only good memories of his childhood was not going to work, but unfortunately, it was absolutely going to work, and he nodded, getting up and following her down the hall, through what seemed to him to be far too many doors to separate a dining room from a kitchen. 

She took his arm as they walked, and Hartley wished she wouldn’t, but again, he said nothing. 

“I was so worried for you,” she said softly, and it sounded so sincere. He wanted to believe it. “When that nice young man called us, I was- well, of course I was devastated to hear you were hurt, but I was grateful it gave us an- an opportunity to reconnect with you.” 

“What, and you’ve been lacking in those for the last decade? I changed my phone number once, a year ago. I haven't left the city. I still go by the same name. Don’t tell me you couldn’t find me.” 

“Hartley, communication goes both ways.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, was I the one who kicked you out of my house? Was I the one who told you I never wanted to see you again?” 

“Hartley,” his mother said, in that tone she used when she wanted him to listen to her but had no intention of giving a good reason why he should. Hartley had a very chilling realization then, that it was remarkably similar to the way Harrison said his name when he wanted the exact same thing. 

“Why don’t we make the damn cookies and get this lovely family bonding night over with?” 

“Hartley!” his mother exclaimed, clutching her necklace as if she’d never heard the word damn in her life. 

Hartley rolled his eyes, walking past her. 

In the kitchen, he leaned against the counter of the ostentatious kitchen, watching the woman who was once his mother form the cookie dough into little balls and place them on a baking sheet. This felt like a fever dream, if he was honest with himself. None of this seemed real. 

“Remember when you were little, and you used to try to steal the cookie dough from me?” she said, as Hartley watched her scrape the edge of the bowl with a spatula. 

He hummed in acknowledgement. “You’d turn away, and I’d steal a lump of dough from the baking sheet, and when you’d look back, you’d always notice one was missing.”

She laughed. Hartley remembered her laugh. He used to love the sound of it. 

“And you’d have chocolate all over your face, but you’d still deny it.” 

“And then you sat me down one day, and told me about salmonella. Scared the fuck out of me. Every time I got sick for years afterward I thought I was dying of salmonella because I ate raw cookie dough one time.” 

She looked up at him, and he was smiling a little bit. As much as he could. But it vanished as quickly as it came. 

“Why won’t you admit it? Say it out loud, what you did,” he said quietly. “I’ve read interviews, you know, over the years. They ask you if it’s true you disowned me because I’m gay, and you… dance around it. You never want to say it. It’s always, our son was troubled, our son was confused, he wasn’t fit to carry on our image. But you never admit why.” 

“Hartley…” she shook her head. “Let’s not talk about difficult things like that.” 

“So you want me to forget half of my life ever happened? Do you even know what I went through because of you?” 

She dropped the spatula back in the bowl. “You can’t blame your father and I for your difficulties when it was your choice that led to the decision we made.” 

“My choice. And what choice was that, exactly?” 

She didn’t respond, and Hartley scoffed. “You expected me to come back here, bake cookies with you, and everything would be fine? In what world did you think this would go well?” 

“I thought you could at least have a civil conversation with us, Hartley,” she said, like it was his fault, like this was all his fault. “I need to speak to your father.” She turned away, leaving Hartley alone in the kitchen. 

He stole some cookie dough from the baking sheet, and considered sneaking out the back door and leaving. 

Until he heard them. All the way across the house, probably in the sitting room, he heard their conversation. 

“If we don’t do this, we could lose everything.” That was his mother’s voice. He froze, listening. 

“He's a disgrace to our family’s name,” his father responded, and Hartley didn’t catch the next bit of conversation on account of the anger rushing through him. 

He stepped out into the hallway to hear them a little better. 

“Don’t you think it was a sign that man called us? Our reputation couldn’t be worse, and now we have an opportunity-” his mother was saying, and Hartley imagined his father had put a hand up to make her stop, and there was a short silence. 

“We had an opportunity. Grieving parents regretting the loss of a child they lost touch with. That opportunity is gone now.” 

They’d wanted him to die. He couldn’t keep listening to this. He stormed through the house, hallway after hallway and door after door, until he reached the room they were in. 

“Are you fucking kidding me?” He wasn't crying. He felt like he should be, but anger was making it impossible to feel anything else. “That's what all this is. What, are the stocks down?” He spat at them, and they both seemed completely at a loss as to how he’d heard any of their conversation, which was a small comfort. “Because people remembered you kicked your son out of your house when he was seventeen? You can’t sweep it under the rug anymore? Hide behind the it was a different time excuse?”

“What are you talking about?” his mother asked, and she was a good actor. She sounded so sincere. 

“I heard you. You can’t deny it. I heard you from the kitchen.”

“How could you-”

Hartley stepped closer to them. “It’s something you would know if you’d ever bothered to visit me in the hospital after the particle accelerator explosion,” he said. "But you have no idea. You have no idea what I had to do, the constant, unbearable pain I had to deal with. I’m like all the others you’ve read about on the news, a metahuman. I can hear everything. Every fucking word you said, I heard it all.”

“Hartley, we weren’t-” his mother started. 

“Is that really what you think?” He breathed heavily, trying to keep his hands from shaking. “A dead son is better than a gay one?” 

“Of course we weren’t hoping that you would-”

“I don't want to hear another fucking word. I never want to see either of you again, I never want to hear from you, and I hope your company collapses like your cheek implants did.” 

They didn’t protest as he turned away, walked down the hall, and tried to remember how to find the front door. He supposed they were giving up on him. Whatever. He could let them. He’d survived without them all this time, what did he need them for now?

Chapter Text

Hartley ended up calling a taxi after walking a few blocks from his parent’s mansion and asked to be taken to the nearest bar. He couldn’t go home, didn’t want to be alone. He remembered what Cisco had said, moral support, and considered calling him. In fact, he got as far as pulling up Cisco’s contact page and reciting in his head what he’d say when he answered, before he decided against it. 

He sat at the bar, ordered a whiskey, and tried not to cry. He should be done crying about his parents. This shouldn’t be happening anymore, but here he was. 

“Oh,” said a voice next to him. Barry’s voice. “Uh, hey, Hartley,” he said awkwardly, though it wasn’t the same awkward tone Barry usually used, it was the kind of awkward tone you used for someone who was kind of a stranger and also scared you. 

“Bartholomew,” Hartley said, as Barry hesitantly sat next to him, like he was afraid Hartley might attack him. And honestly, Hartley might. In fact, he was very strongly considering it. 

“How did… dinner with your parents go?” 

“Oh, wonderfully, can’t you tell? This is a celebratory double shot,” Hartley snapped.

“Right.” Barry swallowed. There was an awkward silence between them, even more awkward than their usual awkward silences (of which there were many). “Okay, I gotta ask, why are you calling me that?” 

Hartley sighed. Fucking time travel (Harry was right, and Hartley hated it when that happened). “Because I know you hate it, and I’m pissed at you right now.”

Barry nodded and ordered a club soda. “Right,” he repeated. “And… remind me why that is, again?” 

For a second, Hartley didn’t say anything, caught between wanting to punch Barry in the face and telling him to fuck off. Though he supposed he could do both. Instead, he turned toward Barry, taking a drink. “Alright, I’ll take pity on you, even though you’ve fucked up my day more than you could possibly ever imagine. Literally, because you don't remember it.” God, he really hated time travel. “When I was in the coma, you took it upon yourself to call my parents and tell them I might die, and that they could visit me. And that’s why I’m pissed at you, and that’s why my day is fucked.”

Barry’s eyebrows knit. “Yeah, not helping.”

Rolling his eyes, Hartley knocked back the rest of his drink and ordered another one without any thought to it, or thought to the fact that he had to work tomorrow. “Which part?”

“How did I know you were in a coma? When were you in a coma?”

Hartley closed his eyes, leaning forward almost enough that his forehead was resting on the bar top. “From Earth-2. When I ripped out my implants?” He turned his head, squinting his eyes open. Barry looked more confused, if possible. “Then Zoom threw me across the building?” He prompted.

Barry shook his head. “You came with us to Earth-2?”

“Yes, and I got you out of that cell. Unfortunately. Really starting to wish I’d left you in there.”

Barry looked at him with his mouth slightly open, like Hartley saving his life was the last thing he’d ever imagined hearing. 

“Are you- are you serious? None of this happened in your timeline?” 

He shook his head again. “Hartley, the last time I saw you, you were on a bridge trying to liquify my organs, and I threw you in the pipeline.”

Now it was Hartley’s turn to look shocked and confused. “I actually went through with it?” He didn’t know why that was so distressing to realize. Probably because he’d managed to convince himself he wasn’t capable of killing someone. Because it made him feel a little better about himself. 

“You didn’t try to kill me, in this timeline?”

Hartley looked away, staring down at his lap and trying to prevent his hands from shaking. “I mean, I had the plan. But I never got the opportunity to-” he broke off, a thought suddenly occurring to him that made his self hatred spiral pause momentarily. “The explosives in my implants. You remembered them from your timeline.” He let out a short burst of laughter. “God, I was wracking my brain trying to work out how the hell you figured that out, and it was because you cheated.”  

“I didn’t cheat! That was alternate timeline me!” Barry looked so offended by Hartley’s accusation that it was almost funny. Actually, no, it was funny, or maybe it was the alcohol putting him in a good mood.

“You did, too!” he argued. “Time travel is absolutely cheating!” Hartley laughed again, shaking his head. “So, in the other timeline, I used the explosives to escape, tried to kill you, failed, and… what, I was still trapped in the pipeline?” 

Barry waved a hand. “Nah, you still got out,” he said, smiling.

Hartley tilted his head, leaning forward against the bar. “How?” 

“Cisco,” he answered, like it was obvious. In hindsight, it probably was obvious, Hartley thought. He wasn’t sure he’d ever really thanked Cisco for trusting him the way he had. He should probably do that.

He smiled. “At least he’s consistent in every universe.” 

“So,” Barry shook his head as if to clear it, obviously still trying to wrap his head around some things, “in your- this timeline, you saved me, on Earth-2?” 

Hartley hummed. “And quite a few other times,” he said pointedly, knowing he sounded like he was either bragging or fishing for compliments, or both. And he absolutely was.

“And you work at S.T.A.R. Labs?” he asked, instead of acknowledging Hartley’s bragging about saving him.

“I do.” 

“And you get along with Caitlin and Cisco?” 

Other than Caitlin being completely unreachable emotionally for the majority of the time Hartley had started working at S.T.A.R. Labs again, he supposed he got along with them both. Though he doubted he could judge her much, considering his own level of emotional vulnerability was low enough to rival hers. “Remarkably well.” 

Barry shook his head, like he couldn’t really believe it. “And Harry?” he prompted, raising an eyebrow. 

Hartley was quiet for a second. “That one’s a bit more complicated.” He took a long drink as soon as the bartender set down his fresh glass. 

“What do you mean?”

Hartley looked at him, squinting, and Barry was probably imagining Hartley was delving deep into his soul to reveal his darkest secrets. Instead, when he opened his mouth, all that came out was a decisive, “You should guest star in Glee.” 

“What.”

As if Barry hadn’t heard him, Hartley repeated, matter-of-factly, “You look like you could guest star in an episode of Glee.” It was a poor attempt at changing the subject, but it was the only thing he could come up with to say. 

Barry opened his mouth, and then closed it again. “I- okay. Thank you?” 

“It’s not a compliment.” 

“I- okay,” Barry repeated, and for a while, that seemed to have shocked him into silence, but unfortunately, he decided to speak again. “Why is it complicated with Harry?”

For a second, Hartley considered things, and then decided he was too drunk to be considering things so hard. “Can you keep a secret, Bartholomew?” 

“I can if you stop calling me Bartholomew.” 

Hartley laughed. “I can absolutely do that. It’s actually a very hard name to get out when you’re tipsy.” Granted, Hartley was also a little bit more than tipsy.

“Alright, what’s the secret?” 

“Harry and I,” Hartley stared very hard at a drip of whiskey running down his glass and onto his thumb. “Kissed. On Earth-2.” Why was he telling anyone this? Least of all, Barry fucking Allen? 

“Holy shit,” Barry said after a minute. “That- that was not anywhere near what I was expecting.” 

“What were you expecting?” 

“I don’t know!” Barry laughed, kind of uncomfortably. “I was thinking something about- about Thawne.” He paused, “sorry, you know about Eobard Thawne, right?”

Hartley nodded. “What did you think I was going to say about him?” 

“I…” Barry flushed a little, spreading his hands, stumbling over his words as he was wont to do, “I don't know, something about, you know, it’s the way I remember him talking about you, and you talking about him, that-”

“It’s fine,” Hartley interrupted, “other timeline you knew about us. We were together, Harrison and I. Thawne and I.” He made a face. “Ew.” 

“So,” Barry said, clearly anxious to get the subject away from Thawne, “you and Harry, then?” 

Hartley waved his hand. “Eh. It’s nothing. We started getting along, and if I was attracted to him once, I guess I…” he trailed off, frowning. 

“Got your wires crossed?” Barry offered. 

“Yeah. That.” Hartley had tried not to think too hard about that kiss, especially not since he’d met Jesse. 

“And he was…?” Barry’s voice brought him out of his spiral, thankfully, and Hartley focused back on him, shrugging.

“I think all he wants is for me to get over him. Thawne. Wells. Whoever. Need to get over someone.” He hummed. At least, he hoped that was all it was (Harry was up for nomination in the category king of mixed signals. Granted, Hartley was also competing for the same title). 

“You and Harry, not a thing, then?” Barry asked, to confirm. 

“Not a thing,” Hartley agreed. “Harry and me. Thawne and me,” he listed them off, “Cisco and me.” 

Barry nearly spit out his drink at that, which Hartley found to be particularly funny. “What about Cisco?” 

“I said not a thing. Learn to listen.” He snickered, shaking his head. “Not like Pied Piper and Reverb.” Not that they had seemed to be the role models for a healthy relationship, Hartley’s brain reminded him, and then reminded him of the fact that one of the only consistencies of himself in other universes was getting into unhealthy relationships with controlling, evil narcissists. 

“Reverb?” Barry repeated. “From Earth-2?” 

Hartley hummed in acknowledgement. “Him and my doppel- dopp- doppel-” he frowned. “Wow, that is a very hard word to say when you’re drunk.” 

“Your doppelganger,” Barry finished. “He was with Cisco’s doppelganger?” 

“Not in your timeline?” 

Barry shook his head no, looking fascinated by this development. “I never saw your doppelganger.” 

“Weird,” Hartley muttered. “Whole thing is weird.” 

“So,” Barry said, “you think because your doppelganger was with Earth-2 Cisco that you’re going to be with Cisco here, too? Because, you know, I get that. Iris and I were married on Earth-2, but that doesn't mean that-”

“Oh, you and Iris are together in every conceivable timeline and you know it,” Hartley rolled his eyes. “That’s so not helping me with the Cisco of it all.” 

Barry chose to ignore Hartley’s Iris comment, apparently. “I thought you two still hated each other.” 

“I don’t think we ever hated each other.” Hartley shrugged. “Maybe in the other timeline we did.” 

“You absolutely did,” Barry confirmed. “Cisco called you a dick every time you were brought up in conversation.” He paused. “But in this timeline, you guys get along, I guess?” 

“Mhm.” 

“And… do you like him?” 

“Oh, Barry Allen, are we middle schoolers now, because are you asking if I like him or if I like like him?” 

“I think you know what I’m asking.” Barry looked at him knowingly, and Hartley rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, well, I think I’ve spilled way too many secrets already tonight,” he responded.

“You do realize that’s the same as saying yes, don't you?” 

Hartley squinted, pointing a finger at him. “Tell him and I really will try to liquify your organs. In this timeline.” He frowned. “I have been threatening to liquify your organs a lot lately.” 

Barry shifted uncomfortably, leaning away from Hartley a little. “Have you?”

Hartley shrugged, back to drinking, suddenly reminded of why he’d come here. “You absolutely fucked my life, remember?”

“Right. Your parents.” Barry nodded. “What happened?” 

Well, he’d already spilled about a dozen secrets tonight, what was one more? “They were hoping I wouldn’t wake up from the coma,” he said, trying to sound as casual as possible. “Wanted to use my death as a publicity stunt.” 

“Are you serious?” 

“Yep,” Hartley said, popping the p. “Heard it from their own shitty mouths. Overheard it, I guess.” 

“Harley, I’m… I am genuinely sorry. Really.”

He shook his hand, waving Barry’s apology away. 

“No, I’m serious. That’s so fucked up. You don't deserve that. You know that, right? No one deserves that.” 

“Even though I tried to kill you?” Hartley reminded him.

“You didn’t, though.”

Hartley shrugged. “Not in this timeline, sure. And I don't remember it. But it was still me.”  

“Either way. You don't deserve to be treated like that by your own parents,” Barry reaffirmed. “Doesn’t matter how much you liquified my organs.” 

“Nice of you to say,” Hartley murmured, and Barry looked at him a little sadly. 

“You really don’t believe it, do you?” 

Hartley looked away. “You said, once, that Harrison told you you’d never be happy.”

For a moment, Barry stared at him in shock. “I told you that?” 

He nodded. “You were trying to comfort me. Implying… he must have said things like that to me. That it probably affected me as much as it affected you.” 

“Did he?” 

Hartley looked up at the ceiling. “Of course. And so did my parents. That’s all I’ve heard all my life. That because of the choices I’ve made, who I am, I’ll never be happy, I’ll never succeed, I’ll never amount to anything, you name it.” He picked up his glass and swirled it around, but didn’t drink. “Of course, my parents were the ones telling me I wouldn’t succeed, not Harrison. He would at least tell me I was smart. Even if he also told me I’d never be happy. Or content.”

“And you believe it? You believe them?” 

“I did,” Hartley said softly. “For a long time. And then Harry said something to me, on Earth-2. And I keep replaying it, over and over in my head.” 

Barry was quiet, waiting for Hartley to continue, though it took him a minute. 

“He told me that- that I’m capable of finding happiness. So I need to let myself.” He closed his eyes, and Barry didn’t answer for a second, seemingly letting Hartley think about that for a little bit without interruption.

“He can’t be the first person to tell you that,” Barry said eventually. 

Hartley opened his eyes and looked back at Barry with a sad sort of smile. “First person with that face.”

“Ah.” 

“Yeah,” Hartley agreed. 

“So anytime we want to give you a compliment, or say anything nice about you, we’ll have Harry tell you. Got it.” 

“Oh, god,” Hartley muttered. “Please don’t.” 

“I don’t know, if that’s the way to get you to believe what anyone says about you…” Barry grinned. 

“Don’t you dare use this against me.” 

“I am absolutely going to use this against you.” 

“You are an awful person, Barry Allen.”

“Sure.” Barry was still grinning. “Hey, it’s pretty late, do you need a ride home?” 

Hartley shrugged, looking down at his half-finished drink. He didn’t really feel compelled to finish it, now. “Guess so.”

“I’ve got this.” He flagged the bartender down and paid Hartley’s tab, helping him up and offering an arm for support as they left the bar, which Hartley waved away. “Well, you’re gonna have to hold onto something,” he said.

For a few seconds, Hartley looked at him blankly, before he realized. “Oh.” 

“For a second there I was worried you didn’t know I was the Flash.” 

Hartley rolled his eyes. “I’d like to believe I’m smart enough in every timeline to figure that out.” He raised an arm awkwardly, then put it back down, frowning. “What’s the best way to…”

“The best way is to, uh, pick you up, but if you’re not comfortable, I can-”

“Oh, I’m no wimp, Barry. Carry me home like I’m the damsel in distress you saved from a terrible supervillain,” Hartley winked at him. 

“Fulfilling another one of your fantasies, am I?” Barry joked as he picked Hartley up bridal-style, and Hartley wrapped an arm around Barry’s neck to avoid falling to his death (or, falling onto the dirty ground outside the bar). 

“You wish.” 

Barry laughed, the awkwardness between them gone in an instant. “Alright, address?”

Hartley told him, and then the world was a blur, and a second later he was being deposited gently onto his living room couch, which he was very grateful for, because he was suddenly overcome with a violent bout of vertigo. 

“God, that feels weird,” he muttered.

“Smells like something crawled in your fridge to die,” Barry said, instead of acknowledging Hartley’s comment.

“Did you miss the part where I told you I got out of a six-week coma?”

Again, Barry didn’t answer, and Hartley saw red light out of the corner of his eye for a second, before Barry was back, sitting next to him on the couch, and suddenly Hartley’s apartment was no longer dusty, and he had the distinct feeling his fridge had been cleaned out, too. 

“Huh,” he said. “If this superhero business doesn’t work out, you could start a very profitable cleaning service.”

“Is that my thank you?” 

Hartley glanced at him, then noticed the glass of ice water Barry had gotten him sitting on the coffee table in front of him. “Thank you,” he said.

“Well, apparently you saved my life, and I forced you to have a terrible night with your parents. It’s the least I can do.” 

“And apparently I almost murdered you. I’d say we’re even.” 

They were quiet for a while, Hartley picked up his water glass and took a long drink, crunching on the ice cubes. “I’ve said a lot of stupid shit tonight, haven't I,” he said, his earlier drunkenness having almost completely worn off. 

Barry gave him a sideways look, humming in acknowledgment. “Cisco, huh?” 

“Oh, god,” Hartley groaned, and Barry laughed at him. Not unkindly, but Hartley still smacked his arm. “Shut up.” 

“I’m not judging!” 

Hartley gave him a look, before leaning back on his couch and staring up at the ceiling. “Feels like you’re judging.” 

Barry shrugged and didn’t say anything for a second. “It’s funny,” he said eventually, “you know, how different you are in this timeline.”

“Different how?” 

“You’re nice,” Barry said plainly. 

“I guess I should thank you for cheating by making me take out my implants, then. Otherwise…”

“None of this would have happened,” Barry finished. 

“Promise me you won’t time travel and fuck up my life, I like how things are going in this one.” 

“Promise,” Barry agreed. “I should probably get going,” he said, glancing at his phone. “It’s almost two in the morning.” 

“See you tomorrow, Barry Allen,” Hartley hummed. 

“Not too early, I hope, Hartley Rathaway.” 

“Never.” He smiled. “Eleven, at the earliest.”

Chapter Text

Of course, Cisco and Caitlin asked Hartley how his dinner with his parents went. He shook his head and said he didn’t want to talk about it. 

He was working with Harry on the device they’d made to improve Barry’s speed (apparently it was too big, and Hartley was trying very hard not to be petty about the feat of engineering it had taken to make to begin with, of course it couldn’t be fucking microscopic). 

Harry had been in what everyone would describe as an absolutely rancid mood lately, which was fair, considering his daughter had run away,  but his crankiness made it very hard to be at all sympathetic towards him. Still, Hartley tried (he was nothing if not consistently attempting to make Harrison Wells happy). 

“Have you had any luck finding Jesse?” Hartley asked, even though he knew that was a conversational minefield. He also knew that he could not stand to work in tense silence for another minute.

Harry shook his head, surprisingly not reacting by throwing a dry erase marker at Hartley’s head (something he had done to Barry less than a day ago). “I don’t know what-” he sighed, “where did you go?” 

“Sorry?” 

“After your parents kicked you out, where did you go?” 

“Ah.” Hartley shook his head. “I spent a while at the homeless shelter. But I wasn’t exactly trying to hide from anyone.”

That thought didn’t seem to comfort Harrison too much and Hartley glanced over at him, trying to come up with the right thing to say. 

“Working with you…” Harrison started, and then stopped, frowning to himself. Hartley glanced over at him, tilting his head.

“Working with me, what?” he prompted. 

“You’ll think it’s weird again,” Harrison said, though he continued anyway. “But you’re so like her. It almost feels like she’s still here.” 

 “Yep,” Hartley said, nodding quickly. “Still really weird.” 

“You know I like you, Hartley. But not…” 

“Like that, yes, I know.” 

“The kiss was-”

“To help me get over Thawne. To help me stop thinking about it, yes, I follow.” They’d probably had about ten different iterations of this conversation in the last week. “Please, tell me more about how weird and unlikable kissing me was, it does wonders for my self esteem.” 

Harrison let out a snort of laughter, shaking his head. 

“Jesse’s going to be fine,” Hartley said, after a minute of comfortable silence between them. “If she's anything like me, like you say she is, she’ll land on her feet. And she’ll come back to you. When she’s ready.” 

“And you know that how, exactly?” 

Hartley shrugged. “She’ll come back to the people she loves. To her family, and her friends.” 

Harry looked over at him, his expression unreadable. 

“What?” Hartley asked. 

“You.” Harry looked away again. “You’re right. At least, I want you to be right.” 

“Whatever type of parent you’ve been, it’s about a million times better than my parents have been, and I gave them a second chance.” 

Harrison didn’t say anything in response to that, and Hartley could tell Jesse wasn’t the only thing worrying him. 

He sighed. “They’re not going to give up trying to open the breaches again.” 

Again, Harrison stayed silent. 

“And they absolutely don’t know what they’re doing. One of them’s going to end up hurt or dead from them trying.” 

“Then by all means, Hartley, help them. I’m not your boss.” 

“Oh, right, because I’m the multiverse expert.”

Harrison muttered something under his breath, apparently forgetting passive aggressive mumbling didn’t work on Hartley, who took a page out of his book and threw a dry erase marker at him. 

They spent the rest of the day, and much of the week, in silence. Until, of course, Cisco came into their lab, to disturb the comfort of oblivion and denial Hartley was living in. 

“Hey, Hartley, can I talk to you?” he asked, and it was such a simple question, that meant about one billion different things. 

“What do you need, Cisco?”

“Can I talk to you in private, Hartley?” He reiterated, and Hartley glanced at Harrison, who gave him a look, and Hartley gave him a look back. “Without you exchanging your bitchy little silent comments?” 

Hartley snickered. “Shouldn’t have told us to work together if you didn’t want us silently bitching about everything.” 

Cisco sighed, glaring at them both. “Would it be fucked to say I miss when Hartley didn’t know you existed?”

“Yes,” both Harrison and Hartley said at the same time, but despite that, Hartley followed Cisco out the door and into the hallway. 

“What’s going on?” Cisco asked as soon as they were alone and the door to Harrison’s lab was shut behind them.

Hartley blinked at him. “What’s going on with what?” 

“You. Why are you and Harry suddenly all buddy-buddy? I thought you and I were-” Cisco broke off, looking away. 

“What? You thought we were what?” Hartley wasn’t sure what made him ask that question so accusatorially, but here he was. 

“Friends, Hartley! I thought we were friends, remember? If this is about your parents, I-”

“It’s not about my parents.” It was, at least partially. “But, if it was about my parents, Harry was the only one who didn’t know about what you all did. So if it was about my parents, what right do you have to tell me I’m not allowed to be angry about it anymore?” 

“Maybe because he’s the only one you talk to!” Cisco whisper-shouted. “And that’s starting to concern me, dude!” 

“Why is that concerning you? Because I have a friend that isn’t you?” 

“Because I worked with you! I knew you when you were obsessed with Harrison Wells, and you were not a pleasant man to work with!” 

The words made a pit in Hartley’s stomach open up, and it felt like that pit was suddenly filling up with acid, bringing back that old, familiar feeling, and instead of confronting that, he immediately went on the defensive, choosing self-righteous incredulity instead of any sort of admittance. “Obsessed?” he repeated, and didn’t say anything for a few seconds, staring up at the ceiling with a look of immense exasperation. “What, exactly, do you think is going on between Harry and I?” 

“What?” 

“God, Cisco, I have half a mind to tell you we are fucking, because who gave you the right to give a shit about my business? What does it matter?” They weren’t fucking. They weren’t even kissing. No, what they were doing was probably worse for Hartley’s mental health, if he gave it a second to think about.

“Because! Because you don’t talk to me, you won't talk to any of us, except Harry. Am I not supposed to be worried by that?”

Yes, he absolutely should be worried by that. Hartley was currently surviving off of Harrison Wells’ compliments. “No! You’re not! If I don’t want to talk to you, I don’t-”

“But what if I want to talk to you?” Cisco interrupted.

“What?” Hartley blinked at him, disarmed immediately by that response and completely losing the threads of all his defenses. 

“I want to talk to you, Hartley. Because even though God knows you act like it, you're not the only one going through shit.” 

“What is that supposed to-” 

“It means that you can be a selfish asshole, Hartley! You’re not the arbiter of trauma, okay? What happened to me being the only one who can understand what you’re going through? What happened to mutual bonding over the fact that we both have really fucking scary powers that we didn’t ask for and don't understand?” 

“Cisco, I-” Hartley started, but he wasn’t given the time to answer. 

“Because I don’t want to- I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to find out I have some insane multiverse powers, I don’t even want the powers I do have. I- I’m scared, Hartley. I don’t want to become- to turn into-”

“Into Reverb,” Hartley finished, and suddenly realized how truly selfish he had been for the last several weeks. Or maybe the last several… most of his life “Look, Cisco, I don’t think that’s how it works.” 

“Oh, it’s not?” Cisco gave him a look, and Hartley could not understand what he was implying. 

“What do you mean by that?” he asked, squinting, because he was pretty sure there was meant to be an insult in those words, or some other point, but he couldn’t puzzle it out. 

“The second you got powers, you blew up Dr. Wells’ house!” 

“I broke his windows, Cisco!” 

“You tried to kill Barry!” 

“No, I didn’t! I never tried to kill Barry!” 

“Yes, you did! Maybe not in this timeline, but you did!”

“That’s not- Cisco, that’s not- how do you even know about that?” 

“I Vibed it,” he said, like it was obvious. “Barry was acting weird around you, and I wanted to know why.”

“So you think I’m a bad person?” Hartley asked, and Cisco didn’t answer. “You think I got powers and they made me a bad person, so now that’ll happen to you?” He shook his head. “It’s not going to change who you are. The only reason I didn’t try to get revenge on Harrison— Thawne— before is because I couldn’t. My anger very much existed before I got my powers.” He sighed. “I have always been who I am. And, apparently, who I am is someone capable of murdering an innocent man to get revenge.” 

“Hartley, that’s…” 

“That’s not you, Cisco. That’s me. That’s Reverb. That’s not you.” 

“Hartley-”

“Maybe I am a bad person. For what I did in some other timeline, what some other version of me did. Or maybe I’m a bad person because I’m not opposed to killing someone if I have to. Or because sometimes when I’m working with Harry, I let myself think he’s the man I used to know, or thought I knew. And I like to live in a fantasy for a few hours. Maybe I’m a bad person because I can’t forgive all of you for everything that happened after Harrison kicked me out, or because I treated you like garbage years ago and I can’t forgive myself because maybe if I’d been a better person, you would’ve cared about me. Or maybe, Cisco, maybe, I’m a fucking human being. And you are, too. If you don’t want to use your powers, that’s your decision. But don’t refuse to use them because you’re afraid somehow you’ll turn into a different person.” 

Cisco didn’t answer.

“I can reprogram Reverb’s visor,” Hartley said, his voice softer now. “To help you access his powers. Your powers. But I won't do it if you don’t want to.” 

“You should. You should do it.” Cisco looked down. “You’re right. And you’re not a bad person, Hartley.”

“I know.” He smiled. “Neither are you.” 

“And… I’m sorry, about your parents. I know you don't want to talk about it, but whatever happened, I’m sorry.” 

“I’ll get over it.” Hartley waved a hand, dismissing it. “I did the first time, right?”

********

They sat together in Joe’s living room, Cisco’s leg bouncing rapidly up and down, his hands clenched on his lap. Hartley made the impulsive decision to reach over and put his hand over Cisco’s. It wasn’t like anyone cared enough at the moment to notice. Cisco’s leg stopped bouncing, and he looked up at Hartley. 

With his free hand, Hartley signed, “It’s not your fault.” 

Cisco looked away, shaking his head a little. 

Barry decided he was going to give up his speed. Cisco was still convinced it was his fault. Hartley invited him and Caitlin to his apartment, after. Because what the fuck else was he supposed to do. None of them wanted to be alone, and none of them had anyone else. He invited Harry, too, but he declined, saying something about having a lead on how to find Jesse. 

“What happened to the whiskey?” Caitlin asked, as Hartley debated with himself if it was a hard kombucha night or a vodka shots night. 

“What?” He glanced at her. 

“The whiskey,” she repeated. “We were supposed to celebrate with it, when Dr. Wells—Thawne—was dead. Only you never…” 

“Oh. Right.” He cleared his throat. “Yeah, I threw it off the fire escape.”

“What?” 

Hartley chose not to elaborate, about to ask what they wanted to drink, but Cisco beat him to it. 

“Vodka shots, dude. Definitely shots.” 

“Right.” He pulled the half-empty vodka bottle out of the freezer. 

“Don’t you think vodka shots might be a little ill advised?” Caitlin asked. “Considering what we’re doing tomorrow?”

“I think they’re a great idea, actually. And besides,” Hartley opened one of his cupboards, “I never get to use my shot glasses.” 

“You don't seem like someone who would own a shot glass to begin with,” Cisco said, and Hartley wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be an insult or not. 

Several shots later, an insane suggestion, incredibly shockingly, came from a very drunk Caitlin. “Maybe we can drug Barry.”

“What?” Hartley tried very hard not to laugh. 

“If we’re giving his speed to Zoom,” she paused, shaking her head a little, “if we’re giving his speed, we can- we can poison him. With a slow-acting poison. Give Zoom the speed-”

“And give Barry the cure afterward,” Cisco finished. “That is brilliant, Caitlin! Some, like, Game of Thrones level shit.” 

“And you both know a lot about speedforce-transferable specific poisons, do you?” Hartley asked. “Because I didn’t think those existed.” 

“Okay, yeah, they don't. But we could make one,” Cisco said.

Hartley hummed, flopping down on the couch next to Cisco after locating his second bottle of vodka. “Gonna be honest with you, Cisquito. I don't think we could.” 

“That’s dumb.” Cisco squinted at him. “You’re dumb.” 

“Uh-huh.” He poured Cisco another shot. 

“How about,” Hartley offered, “we stop.” 

“Stop… what? Drinking? Because no way.”

“No. Stop… trying to come up with solutions. And leave it how it is, for the night.” 

“For the night,” Caitlin agreed, and was quiet for a second before she reached out and grabbed her glass, holding it out. “For the night, let’s not try to be heroes.” 

“Oh, I’ll drink to that,” Cisco agreed, clinking their glasses together before downing his shot as Caitlin did the same. 

“Hartley?” Caitlin refilled her glass and held it out.

Hartley smiled, pouring himself a shot. “To not being heroes tonight.” Their glasses clinked together, and Hartley still had yet to get used to the burn of the vodka going down his throat. He really was not the type of person to own shot glasses. Let alone use them. He really only had the vodka to make cocktails.

“Hey, I need to- to cheers you,” Cisco said, poking him. “What should we cheers to?” 

Hartley poured them both another shot, only spilling a little bit of it. Or maybe a lot. Truly, who could say at this point. “Same thing?” he offered, handing Cisco his glass. 

“Boring.” Cisco squinted, seemingly deep in thought for a moment. “To… not being bad people.” 

Hartley laughed. “Sure. To not being bad people.” 

It turned out, Cisco got very cuddly when he was drunk. He’d sort of… wrapped himself around Caitlin, trying to explain the timeline of different Star Trek shows. 

“Is that normal?” he asked her, and she nodded, smiling. 

“It’s so normal, dude. I feel great. We should do this more often.”

“You’re always welcome, Cisquito,” Hartley laughed. 

“Oh, you shouldn’t have said that. You know I’m gonna be taking advantage of that.” He yawned. “But I do need… to lay down,” he added. “The entire world is spinning.” 

“It is, actually, that’s what the Earth does.”

Cisco made a sort of giggling noise, then reached up as Hartley stood. “Where are we going?” 

“You can stay the night. Couch pulls out, but you can sleep on my bed.” 

“Ooh,” Cisco said, clinging onto Hartley immediately, “take me to bed, Hartley.”

“Oh- kay, come on. You’re going to sleep here, by yourself, yeah?” 

“Whatever,” Cisco mumbled, crawling into the bed without any further complaints. “G’night. Your bed smells like you.” 

“That’s a weird thing to say,” Hartley said, though Cisco did not seem to hear that. Hartley gently shut the bedroom door, shaking his head, and sat back on the couch next to Caitlin. 

“I should probably also be going,” she said, running a hand through her hair and frowning when her ring got caught.

Hartley reached out, carefully untangling it for her, smiling a little. “You’re welcome to stay. Like I said, the couch pulls out.” 

“But then where will you sleep?” 

Hartley laughed. “Oh, I don't do that anymore.” 

Caitlin nodded, making a quiet humming noise, and didn’t say anything else for a minute. 

“It’s a nice ring,” Hartley said belatedly, realizing he was still holding Caitlin’s hand.

“It is, isn't it?” She leaned over, resting her head on Hartley’s shoulder to look at it, twisting her hand this way and that so the blue gemstones twinkled in the low light. “It was hard enough when my fiancé died. And then all of a sudden I’m this young and a widow.”

Hartley let go of her hand to put an arm around her. 

“And then my next boyfriend turned out to be a speedster supervillain serial killer.” 

Honestly, Hartley was impressed she got all those words out without slurring them too much. “Hey, good thing you’re talking to the only other person in the world whose boyfriend also turned out to be a speedster supervillain murderer.” Now Hartley was impressed with himself that he’d gotten those words out. 

“How’d you deal with it?” Caitlin asked. 

“Revenge, remember? I know they say revenge isn’t the answer, or whatever, but it feels great.”  

Caitlin hummed. “We’ve gotta figure out our revenge on Jay.” 

“Not tonight, though. We made a promise.”

“No being heroes,” she agreed, and sat up a little, stretching. “I’ll call a cab. I hate waking up in strange places.” She stumbled a little, and Hartley caught her. “Not that… your apartment is strange. It’s normal.” 

“No offense taken.” 

Hartley walked her down a few minutes later, made sure she got in safely, and walked (stumbled, mostly) back upstairs, collapsing onto the couch without bothering to pull the bed out. 

He didn’t sleep, not for a few hours, until far after the alcohol had worn off and he was staring at the ceiling, trying very hard to not think about anything. He couldn’t make himself fall asleep until exhaustion physically overcame him, when sunlight started streaming in through the blinds he’d forgotten to shut.

Chapter Text

Cisco woke up to his phone alarm buzzing in the most obnoxious way possible (it was the same way it always buzzed). 

He groaned, sitting up a little, realized he was not in his bed, and took a second to realize exactly whose bed it was. His head was killing him, but Hartley had put a glass of water and a pain killer on his nightstand. Very sweet of him, Cisco thought, before scolding himself for mentally calling Hartley sweet.  

He forced himself out of the bed and blearily made his way out, stopping as soon as he left the bedroom to stare at Hartley, who was asleep on the couch, curled up on his side. He looked, if Cisco was being honest, exactly as stressed out and exhausted while sleeping as he did when he was awake, so Cisco decided to leave him be for the time being, and quietly made his way into the kitchen. 

It took him a second to figure out the coffee maker, and then even longer to locate coffee mugs, which was funny, because as soon as he found them, he realized Hartley had an entire collection of coffee mugs. Most of them were souvenirs from various schools, or ones he’d probably gotten for free at conventions, but there was one, shoved all the way in the back of the shelf, that made him laugh out loud from the irony. 

It was a plain white mug, with black text on it  that read ‘if you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the precipitate’, and when he pulled it out, it was incredibly dusty, but he rinsed it out, because absolutely nothing was going to stop him from using this mug and never letting Hartley live it down. 

When the coffee was ready, he filled up the mug, stepped back out in front of the couch, and cleared his throat very loudly and pointedly, until Hartley blinked his eyes open and squinted at him. 

The effect was kind of lost, because Hartley wasn’t wearing his glasses, so he gave Cisco a what the fuck do you want look as he sat up.

“Oh, for god’s sake, Hartley, I had a whole snarky comment prepared that you’re ruining for me,” he said, watching him look around for his glasses.

“How could you be snarky this early in the morning?” Hartley cringed, squeezing his eyes shut as he blindly reached out for his glasses. “And this hungover.” 

“Because I found this really great mug.” 

“What really great… oh.” Hartley adjusted his glasses, an unreadable expression on his face. 

“And what I was going to say, was, so the dumb jokes are okay on kitchenware, but not on t-shirts?”  

Hartley rolled his eyes, standing up. “The t-shirts are fine. Not for a professional lab environment, but… fine.” He glanced back at Cisco on his way to the kitchen. “That was a gift, anyway.”

“A gift? From who? What absolute comedic genius gave you this, knowing you are the way that you are?” 

“Harrison Wells.” 

There had been enough dust collected on the mug that Cisco inferred Hartley was not talking about Earth-2 Harrison. “Oh.” Suddenly it was not funny anymore. 

He followed Hartley into the kitchen, hoping he hadn’t already fucked up their relationship for the day (being Hartley’s friend was really a matter of spinning the wheel to see what mood you landed on, and most of the time it landed on either cranky or pissed with no explanation for either one) .  

“I can get a new one,” Cisco offered, and Hartley looked back at him like that thought hadn’t even occurred to him, and he waved his hand. 

“No reason. It’s a good mug.” 

“You’re not even a chemist,” Cisco said, because he wasn’t sure what else there was to say. 

“Yes, I think that adds to the joke, no?” 

Cisco shrugged. “Why didn’t you throw it out?” 

Hartley gave him a sideways look, digging around in his freezer for something. “You throw out everything your exes give you?”

Cisco didn’t have a response prepared for that. It wasn’t often Hartley acknowledged the ex-boyfriend part of what Eobard Thawne had been to him. “No, just the…” Cisco took a sip of his coffee, “time traveling, murderous ones.”

“Have a lot of those, do you?” Hartley seemed to find what he was looking for—it turned out to be frozen waffles, and while the idea of eating food made Cisco mildly nauseous, he did love a frozen waffle, and nodded when Hartley held the box up to silently ask if that was okay. 

“You threw out the whiskey,” Cisco pointed out, leaning against the counter. 

Hartley popped a couple waffles in the toaster. “The whiskey was ruined for me. The mug, on the other hand,” he paused to look at it, tilting his head. “Still sentimental.” 

“That’s kind of sweet,” Cisco said, and wanted to smack himself right in the face. After he’d had a talk with himself about calling Hartley sweet. “But also creepy.” There. Saved it. 

Or not, because Hartley frowned at him.

“I mean, wouldn’t seeing this make you remember all the…” Cisco gestured around without much thought to how he had intended to end that sentence and ended up going with, “everything?”

“Of course, why do you think it was on the back of the shelf, buried in dust?” Hartley asked, like it was obvious, because it kind of was.

“Right.” Though that still wasn’t answering Cisco’s question, and he opened his mouth, even if he was thoroughly unsure how to ask whatever the hell he was thinking. 

“But I kept it because it reminds me of when things were good,” Hartley continued, interrupting Cisco’s (incomprehensible anyway) train of thought. “I’ll never be able to ask him if he ever cared about me. After everything that happened, I should know the answer’s no. But despite everything… he was a human. He had to have some feelings. And he could’ve killed me a dozen times and didn’t. And I like to imagine, sometimes, something about it was real. That dumbass mug helps.”

Cisco stared at the mug for a few seconds, wondering if he should say the thing he was thinking. He probably shouldn’t, but he did anyway. “If there was one person he actually cared about, it was you, Hartley. I think if anyone else would’ve found out about the particle accelerator, they’d be dead.”

Hartley smiled at him, then looked away. “It’s a strange thing to find comfort in. But here I am.” The waffles popped out of the toaster, making them both jump, and Hartley threw them on a plate, handing it and a bottle of maple syrup to Cisco. Hartley had the real, Canadian maple syrup (honestly, if you asked Cisco to tell the difference, he wouldn’t be able to, but it still made him feel fancy). He did idly wonder if it was something Harrison had bought for him, the way every nice thing Hartley owned seemed to be. 

He sat on the counter to eat, even though there were two perfectly good barstools on the other side of the counter, as Hartley got his own waffles, and as much as he was loath to ruin the comfortable silence they both settled in, Cisco knew he had to break it. 

“If Zoom takes Barry’s speed…” he began, and he heard Hartley sigh quietly, probably as annoyed he had to live in real life as Cisco was, “you and I…” he looked down at his plate as Hartley turned to look at him, “I mean, you and I are…” he made a vague gesture, “but what the fuck are we going to do?” 

Hartley shook his head. “I don't know.” 

At least Hartley’s abilities could be used to fight. Cisco still had no clue how to do that with his own powers.

They both went quiet, finished eating, Hartley offered the use of his shower—which Cisco gratefully accepted—and a change of clothes, but he decided to stick to yesterday’s outfit, positive no one would be judging him today. 

“God, my head hurts,” he muttered, running a hand through his wet hair and accidentally dripping water on the floor. 

Hartley didn’t respond, and Cisco looked up to see him staring at him, once again with an expression on his face that Cisco couldn’t figure out. 

“What?” he asked. 

Hartley shook himself a little and shrugged. “You know I have a hair dryer, don't you?” 

Cisco gasped in mock offense. “You expect me to use heat? On my hair?” 

“Better than getting water all over my floor.” 

“Your floor will recover. My hair will not.” 

Hartley shook his head and laughed at that, and Cisco realized how much he enjoyed the sound of Hartley’s laugh. He also realized how much he liked spending time with him like this. The two of them, together, having breakfast, trading snarky comments (at a time too early in the morning for snarky comments). But he quickly stamped those thoughts out of his mind. He had other things to worry about. 

Things that were way more important than his feelings about Hartley Rathaway.

********

There was nothing to be done, other than what Zoom wanted, and while no one had exactly been content with it ending like this, there was a part of all of them that hoped, somehow, that maybe this would be the end of it. Zoom would take Barry’s speed and go back to his own Earth, terrorize them, and on this Earth they could live in false oblivion, pretend they weren’t in danger. 

But it didn’t happen like that. 

He took Caitlin, and there wasn’t anything anyone could do. 

Cisco was still hesitant to use his powers, especially for anything… violent, and he hadn’t figured out how to make those vibrational blasts Reverb could. 

So everyone looked to Hartley. 

An absolute nightmare situation, if he did say so himself. Which was perhaps selfish, but being a superhero had not been in his plans, ever. Aside from occasionally helping Barry when he really needed it, Hartley was ‘stay in the lab and fuck around with million dollar technology to see what would happen’ type. Main reason being he absolutely hated the superhero shit, and made that known to anyone who would listen. 

Cisco made him a mask, which Hartley also hated. How, exactly, one was supposed to run around on the street fighting people with superpowers while trying to see through a mask was a mystery to him. 

At least Iris made sure the news called him Pied Piper and not something really stupid. 

Not that Hartley wanted to be reminded of his alternate universe self, but it had been his idea for a name first (or at least, before meeting him) and he wasn’t exactly dedicating any time to brainstorming new names (despite Cisco’s constant input in that regard).

And finally, the cherry on top of what Hartley was pretty sure was the worst job promotion he’d ever gotten, Harry was barely even talking to him anymore. 

That was mostly Hartley’s fault, considering he’d said, “If you cause another particle accelerator explosion on purpose, I will stab needles so far into your eyes you’ll be lobotomized into never having another idea again”, and for some reason, Harry had taken offense to that. 

But the suggestion, the idea, to once again purposefully cause that fucking thing to explode, for the sole purpose of giving Barry Allen his powers back? It made Hartley want to undo all the progress he’d made in his ‘don’t hate Barry Allen for simply existing and unknowingly being the sole reason your life was ruined’ journey. 

Stirring him out of his thoughts, Cisco stepped into Caitlin’s lab, knocking on the ajar door. “You okay?” he asked, sitting on the edge of Hartley’s hospital bed as he picked broken glass and chunks of asphalt out of his cheek. 

“Oh, I’m great. Can’t you tell?” Cisco did not deserve that level of condescension. He was the only person who seemed to, perhaps not entirely get what he was going through, but at the very least, let him rant when he needed to. And Hartley had been needing to rant a lot. He’d feel bad for that, if he had the capacity to. 

Cisco gently reached out and took the tweezers from him, setting the hand mirror Hartley had been using down. “Let me do this.”

Hartley sighed and rolled his eyes, but didn’t complain. 

“I know how you feel about the accelerator-” Cisco started.

Well, there went Hartley’s one person he thought he could complain to. He gave Cisco a tired look. “Not you, too.” 

“No, no, let me finish.” Cisco pulled a particularly large chunk of glass out of Hartley’s hairline, making him hiss in pain. “Sorry. Anyway, I was going to say, I get how you feel about it. I feel the same way. But you have to know if Barry had his speed back, you wouldn’t have to do this anymore.” 

Hartley frowned, closing his eyes to avoid looking into Cisco’s eyes while he pulled bits of asphalt out of Hartley’s eyebrow. “Oh, no, Cisco, you think I can get out of this now? I’m in it for the long haul. I’m adding reluctant superhero to my resume as we speak.” 

Cisco let out a quiet snort of laughter. “I know you hate it. No one’s going to make you do something you hate.” He reached out and tilted Hartley’s head back a little with a light touch to his chin. “Hey, this one’s gonna hurt.” 

Hartley’s brain short-circuited at Cisco’s touch, and pure instinct took over for a second as he tilted his head back obediently, before he was brought back to reality by a sharp sting as Cisco gave an experimental tug to the piece of glass lodged next to his jaw. “I’d be a shitty person if I— fuck— if I quit, wouldn’t I?” 

“You’re not a bad person, Hartley,” Cisco said, kind of singsongy (it was one of his new favorite things to say to Hartley whenever he got a little too self-deprecating), pulling out the piece of glass fully and pausing to apparently marvel at how big it had been. Hartley had crashed through a window, so it made sense. “This is so gross,” he muttered, probably to himself, but everyone always seemed to forget Hartley could hear things. 

“Great. I’ll have to start wearing the mask 24/7.” 

“Hey, that wouldn’t be such a bad thing. I think the mask looks good on you.” 

Hartley rolled his eyes again. 

“But don’t you worry, this’ll heal, and your pretty face will be fine.” 

“Thanks so much for that, Doctor Ramon.” 

“I kinda like the sound of that.” 

“Weird, because I kind of like the sound of you shutting the fuck up.”  

Cisco responded to that by bringing out the disinfectant. 

“I hate this, and I hate you,” Hartley muttered, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried his best not to make any pained noises. 

“Right back at you.” 

After a couple more minutes of silence, once the pain had mostly numbed itself, Cisco spoke again. “So. The accelerator.”

“No. Not talking about this.” 

Cisco sighed, and Hartley could imagine his disappointed look, but it did nothing to sway him. 

“Fine, then. Barry.” 

Hartley visibly flinched at that, but he hoped Cisco assumed it was a reaction to the disinfectant. “What about him?” he asked cagily.

“You were getting along with him. What happened?” The way he said that made Hartley think he knew, or at least suspected, what was going on. “Other than Barry changing the timeline and not remembering being cool with you, I guess.” 

“I’m working through some things,” Hartley said, like that was an answer. 

“That’s great. But not an answer,” Cisco said, because of course he did. 

“It’s not his fault that he’s the reason everything in my life went wrong,” Hartley said (in a way that made it sound like he very much thought it was Barry’s fault).

“No. It’s not,” Cisco said pointedly, and Hartley rolled his eyes. “You know,” he said, when Hartley didn’t say anything, “I Vibed something a little while ago, that kind of explained some things. It was you and Dr. Wells.” He paused, corrected himself. “Thawne.” Good to know Cisco seemed to struggle with that as much as Hartley did.

Again, Hartley didn’t say anything, waiting for Cisco to elaborate. “You were arguing. He was saying something about timing, that the timing wasn’t right, and…” he stopped for a second, like he was waiting for Hartley to realize what he was talking about, but, unfortunately, Hartley already knew. “You were asking when it would be right, because he’d been saying that for years, and he said after the particle accelerator, we’ll talk about it.” He stopped again, waiting. Still, Hartley said nothing. “What, um, were you talking about?” 

Hartley sighed. “The company.” 

Cisco waited for elaboration, and when he didn’t get it, prompted Hartley again. “What about the company?”

“Harrison had been promising me part ownership of S.T.A.R. Labs for two years at that point.” 

This time, Cisco was the one who was silent, and Hartley felt the need to defend himself, to say, “It wasn’t about the money. Or the notoriety. It was- it was about- it was about…” It was about him, it was about the work, and about proving his parents wrong, and about having one concrete thing that couldn’t be ripped away from him or denied or hidden.

“I get it,” Cisco said after waiting a second. “I mean, even if you had said it was about the money, or the fame, I would’ve gotten it. It can be about a lot of different things at once, you know. You’re not shallow for that.” 

Hartley had not been expecting that response. He hadn’t expected understanding. “But he never meant it. Not once.”

“He always intended to either succeed in his plan, or give the company to Barry when he failed,” Cisco finished, and there was no judgment in the way he spoke.

“I was nothing but a roadblock.”

They fell into silence then, and a few minutes later, Hartley opened his eyes to see Cisco’s face much closer to his than it had been before, and he leaned back a little on instinct, and then wished he hadn’t, because Cisco flushed in embarrassment. 

“Getting the last little pieces out,” he said, clearing his throat awkwardly. “I think you’re probably good. Let me- uh, grab the- um- bandages.” He stood up very quickly, and Hartley watched him, trying to figure out the best way to tell Cisco he absolutely didn’t mind if he wanted to sit that close to him. 

“Here you go.” He shoved the bandages into Hartley’s hands before practically running out of the room. “I have to get back to work.” 

“Oh. Thank you?” Hartley frowned a little, watching the place where Cisco had been. 

He picked the mirror back up and applied the bandages himself, doing a much shittier job than Cisco would’ve done, he was sure, but oh, well.

Chapter Text

In the days and weeks that followed, Hartley suffered a lot more road rash, a dislocated knee, and at least two concussions, and he didn’t think he’d ever been more jealous of Barry’s ability to heal so quickly. Why hadn’t Hartley gotten that power, too? Stupid fucking particle accelerator and its unfair distribution of superpowers. 

“Hartley, can I talk to you?” 

Hartley squeezed his eyes shut at the sound of Barry’s voice on his way out of the cortex. He could already feel a migraine coming on, and whatever Barry had to say to him was only going to make it worse, he was sure. “I’m really not in the mood.” 

“I’m not gonna criticize this time.” Barry stepped in front of him. “Even if you did give everyone in an entire three-block radius tinnitus for the next month.” 

“I’ll give you tinnitus,” came Hartley’s response, as he crossed his arms, leaning against the wall, sighing. “What do you want?” 

“Look, I- I appreciate- we all appreciate what you’re doing. Saving the city, and all that. Obviously, we appreciate it. And you’re risking your life.” 

“This sounds like the preface to a criticism.” Hartley raised an eyebrow. God, he wished he remembered trying to liquify Barry’s organs in the other timeline. Maybe then he wouldn’t have such a strong desire to do it now.

“It’s not- I can tell you don't want to be doing it.” 

“No shit.” Was it the complaining that had tipped him off? Or maybe the fact that every other sentence out of Hartley’s mouth was ‘I don’t want to do this’. Hartley considered saying one of those things, or all of those things, but he kept his mouth shut, to maintain the bare minimum level of politeness he could.

“So that's why I really feel like you should understand when I say… I think I’m going to do it.” 

“Do what?” 

“The particle accelerator explosion. I’m going to tell Harry we should do it.” 

Hartley said nothing for a minute, and nodded, his jaw clenched. He was kind of afraid that if he moved further, he’d hit something. 

“Violent outbursts,” Dr. Wells said, reading from his computer screen, and Hartley jumped. 

“I’m sorry?” 

Dr. Wells looked away from his computer screen, watching Hartley over his glasses, eyebrow raised. “Did you think I wouldn’t do a background check on you, Mr. Rathaway?”

“I-”

“I don’t let anyone off the street come into S.T.A.R. Labs and meet with me.” Hartley wondered if he noticed the way he winced at that wording. Off the street. He wondered if he knew. Of course he knew, Hartley had given his home address and a quick search would determine that it was not a home at all, but a restaurant in midtown where he’d been working as a busboy. The owner had been nice enough to let him use that address for applying to jobs. But that still didn’t explain- 

“Do you have my medical records?” 

“Mr. Rathaway. That would be illegal.” 

Not an answer, Hartley noted, but he wasn’t going to argue with Harrison Wells. “I wasn’t very cared for, as a child,” he said, slowly, and Dr. Wells sat back, evidently pleased Hartley was explaining himself, choosing not to further question how Dr. Wells knew about his violent outbursts to begin with. “I would act out in ways that weren’t…” he waved his hand, and then realized what he was doing, and clasped his hands back in his lap, “Ways that weren’t exactly sophisticated.” He got into fights, mostly. Ever since he could remember, Hartley was getting into fights. He still did, though now they were usually for survival. 

Harrison nodded. “I see. Thank you for explaining.”

The praise should not have done what it did to Hartley, he blushed fully and ducked his head down, feeling like an idiot. 

Dr. Wells didn’t seem to notice, typing away on his computer again. Hartley wondered if he was making notes about him. 

“I don’t have those problems anymore,” he said, and it was a lie, but Hartley was a good liar. You didn’t grow up with his parents and not learn how to lie. 

Dr. Wells, however, looked at him and seemed to see straight through Hartley. He shifted uncomfortably. 

“Everyone has problems, Mr. Rathaway. No one can be perfect all the time,” he said, and Hartley blinked at him. 

“I try to be,” he said. 

“I don’t expect perfection.” 

Hartley would learn, soon, that Harrison absolutely did expect perfection. Not only expect, but demand. 

“You should,” Hartley said, refusing to break eye contact with Dr. Wells, even though he very much wanted to. “And I can give it to you.” 

Promises, promises, promises. 

Barry’s voice forced Hartley out of the memory. “I can’t get Caitlin back if I don’t do this. Without my powers, she’s going to be trapped with him forever.” 

“And Caitlin is worth more than the people who will die because of this plan?” Hartley asked, trying to keep his voice even. 

“No one’s going to die,” Barry said, in a tone usually reserved for trying to calm down a spooked horse (Hartley hated horses, and he hated Barry Allen. Neither of those things were particularly relevant at the moment). “Harry—he knows how to contain it.” 

“He thought,” Hartley began, clenching and unclenching his fists to ground himself, “that he knew how to contain it on his Earth.” 

“Hartley, I have to do this.” 

There was a long pause, before Hartley finally took a deep breath and nodded once. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” Barry repeated. “Because you don’t look like you think it’s okay.” 

“I don’t think it’s okay. I think it’s fucked, and you’re fucked, and everyone here is insane and I wish I’d fucking stayed at Mercury. But what am I going to do about it? I can’t stop you.” God, he wished he could. He wished he had the power, the control to do that. To have a say in anything that mattered. 

“I’d like your help. Harry wants your help.” 

“Help,” Hartley repeated, and the anger came back again in a crashing wave. “Sorry, what have I been doing? What does saving an entire city every other day mean? If not helping?”  

“You know what I mean,” Barry said, like Hartley was the one being stupid, and Hartley’s fist clenched again (what would happen if he punched Barry? What would the consequences be? Would he get fired? Possibly. Would it be worth it? Also possibly). 

“I know what you mean. And I also know you can go fuck yourself.” Hartley stepped around him, exercising every breathing technique he knew to not do anything stupid, he needed to get out of there, as quickly as possible, but then Barry called after him. 

“Do you not want to save Caitlin?” 

Hartley froze, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “Don’t you dare. Don't you dare put me in this position.”

“All I did was ask a question.” 

Hartley pressed the elevator call button a little too hard, teeth clenched so hard they hurt. All I did was ask a question. Only the most loaded question in the history of man. Only the most manipulative thing he could’ve possibly said in that moment. 

Fuck self control.

Fuck job security. 

Fuck violent outbursts.  

Hartley never had been known for keeping his feelings close to his chest. Or for having self control when he was pissed about something. Or for his good decision-making skills. 

So maybe this was an inevitable conclusion. 

He turned around and punched Barry square in the jaw. 

Barry stumbled back, his hand on his jaw, his eyes wide, and Hartley could see it in his expression—Barry was afraid of him. Probably because of the whole trying to kill him thing, but also because he’d likely realized he was probably not evenly matched with Hartley anymore. Not without his powers. 

That was the only thing that really stopped Hartley from punching him again. That, and the fact that he had already been in far too many fights in his lifetime, and he didn’t want yet another black eye. He took a deep breath. “Do what you want, Barry. It’s your company, isn’t it? So it’ll be your fault if you destroy the city. Again.” He pressed the elevator button again, because apparently it had opened and closed in the time it had taken Hartley to punch someone in the face. “I’m going home.”

His knuckles hurt. He was going to have a bruise. Oh, well. 

He wouldn’t be the only one.

“This isn’t like before, Hartley! I’m not Wells, and I’m not Thawne! I’m doing this to help people.”  

Hartley didn’t respond. He sort of felt like throwing up, and dying. At the same time, maybe. Then the elevator opened, and he stepped inside before he could say or do anything else stupid.

The worst part of this (aside from the fact that he’d punched someone in the face) was, he knew, at the end of the day, he was going to be helping. Because he was the only one who could. He was the only one who’d seen the problems with the accelerator the first time, and while this time they were trying to cause those exact same problems, Hartley knew if he refused to help this time, it would be his fault if more people died as much as everyone else’s. 

So as much as he hated himself for it, and as much as he hated everyone else more than himself, he came back to work the next day, walked into Harrison’s lab, and said, with all the dramatics of someone announcing a terrible wartime tragedy, “Show me the accelerator plans.” 

“I knew you’d come around,” Harry said, handing him a stack of papers like he’d been waiting for this to happen. 

“Yeah, fuck all the way off,” Hartley snapped. 

“Gonna punch me, too?” Harry asked, and from the look Hartley gave him, seemed to conclude the answer to that was yes, if you don’t shut up. Thankfully, he did, and left him alone until an hour later when Hartley slammed the papers back down on his desk, half of them covered in red markings like a teacher who’d graded a particularly bad student’s paper. 

“Calculated how many people this would’ve killed if I hadn’t fixed some of your calculations,” he said, like that was a normal thing someone would do. 

“Ah, I see. And you wrote it at the top for me.” Harrison picked up the top paper. “And gave me a letter grade.” He almost sounded impressed by Hartley’s commitment to passive aggression. 

Hartley turned away to leave, paused, and added, “it’s a higher grade than I gave Thawne’s. But the bar is very low.” 

“Good to know I’m not the only one getting letter grades for my adult job.” He could literally hear Harrison roll his eyes. 

“He thought it was charming. Until he didn’t.” Not that what Eobard Thawne thought meant much.

Another eye roll. “Thank you, Hartley.”

“I should’ve stayed at Mercury,” was his only response, something he’d been repeating quite a bit lately. 

“Hartley!” Cisco appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. “We’ve got a metahuman robbing Central City Bank.”

“Of course we do.” Hartley sighed, following him down to the company van, which was an objectively hilarious way to get to a crime scene. But it wasn’t like he had super speed (once again, Hartley sang the song of fuck the particle accelerator and its unfair distribution of superpowers). 

“Hey, are you okay?” Cisco asked once they were downstairs and he opened the van door for Hartley, for some reason.

Despite the level of annoyance Hartley was currently feeling, he smiled a little. “I’m fine.”

“Is that an ‘I’m pissed off’ fine or an actual ‘I’m fine’ fine?” Cisco asked, because of course he did, because of course he knew Hartley far too well.

“I’m fine,” he repeated, trying to sound convincing. 

“Oh, okay. An ‘I’m pissed off’ fine.” Hartley would like to know how he knew that. “Coulda figured that, I guess, considering yesterday.” 

Hartley hummed. “How’s his face?” 

Cisco shrugged. “Still hot, so I don’t think you did any permanent damage.” 

“I should probably apologize, shouldn’t I,” he sighed. 

“I don’t know.” Cisco glanced at him, then looked back at the road. “We hung out last night. Talked about it for a while.”

“About me?” 

“Yeah. About you.” 

Cisco was hiding something, and Hartley wanted very much to figure out what it was. “Is he firing me?” he asked, because that was the only explanation he could think of. 

“No.” 

“Is-”

“Hartley, it’s fine. We all know what you’ve been through. Forget about it, okay? Barry already has.” He paused. “Well, he will once the bruise heals.” 

Hartley sighed. “Yeah, okay.” He was not going to forget about it, that much was obvious. 

“You’re still pissed, aren’t you?” Cisco asked, and Hartley shrugged in response. 

“Well, take your anger out on this jackass. He’s mugging old ladies.”

“I’m sure they have insurance,” Harley said, which was not the right answer (he was still having trouble with the superhero mentality, and by having trouble he meant that he thought ninety percent of the people he was fighting actually had a good point). 

Fortunately, Cisco laughed, his grip tightening on the steering wheel a little. “Yeah, they probably do. But still.” 

“I know. It’s my stupid job.” 

“Until Barry gets his powers back, yeah, it is.” 

Hartley couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Don’t even get me started on that, Cisco. I’d rather spend the rest of my life picking bits of asphalt out of my face if it meant the particle accelerator was never brought up again.” 

“And yet you’re still helping with it.” 

“You know why I’m helping with it.” 

“Mmhm. Because none of us are as smart as you.” 

Hartley frowned at him, pulling on his stupid mask that he hated. “You don't need to be sarcastic about it.” 

“I’m being serious. None of us are as smart as you, Hartley.”

“Oh.” He frowned, staring at Cisco. The mask obscured his eyes, so he felt like he was allowed to stare at Cisco for a few seconds, in order to better sort out his emotions. It didn’t help. 

Cisco didn’t seem to notice, and he pulled over a few blocks from the bank. “Well. This is the part where I say good luck and all that, right?” 

Hartley hummed in acknowledgement. “I could use a good luck kiss.” He should really stop flirting with Cisco, but he laughed—not an uncomfortable laugh, one of genuine amusement—and his laugh was so pretty that Hartley decided he should absolutely never stop flirting with him. 

He grinned at Hartley. “You wish.” 

“Maybe I do.” 

Cisco shook his head, nudging his shoulder. “Bad guy to stop, remember? You can joke flirt with me later.” 

Hartley frowned, but he got out of the van anyway, giving Cisco a sarcastic little salute goodbye, to keep him guessing. 

“Give ‘em hell, Hart,” Cisco said, his voice coming through over the headset now. 

“I hate this, and I hate you.” That was Hartley’s typical response, though it lost a bit of its bite today. 

He came back with chunks of asphalt in his face. Again. 

And then Barry came into the biolab while Hartley was trying to get the asphalt out, and he said, looking significantly more nervous than the last time he’d said this to Hartley, and with a nasty bruise on the side of his jaw, “Hey, can we talk for a minute?” 

Hartley sighed. “I’d really rather not.” 

“I get it,” he said. “Cisco told me… well, we talked about a lot of stuff. About Thawne, and everything that happened with you and him, and I…” he seemed to struggle to figure out what to say for a second. “I want you to know this isn’t out of pity. That’s not why I’m doing this. So get that thought out of your head.” 

“Doing what?” 

Barry stepped closer and held out the stack of papers he’d been holding. 

“What is this?” Hartley asked, taking them hesitantly. 

“Just read them.” 

He did, and his eyes widened almost comically the further down he read. “Is this-” he looked up at Barry, then back down again, like the words would’ve changed the second he looked away. “Are you-”

“I had a lawyer put it all together this morning. All it needs is a few signatures. You know, it’ll take a month or so to get everything completely settled, you know how lawyers are, but… yeah. It’s real, if that was your question.” 

“You’re… you want me to own S.T.A.R. Labs. With you. You want us. To-” he broke off. “I punched you in the face. Yesterday. I tried to kill you.” 

“Yeah. You did. And you also poured everything you had into this place when you worked here. I showed up, got superpowers, and stole everything from you without even knowing it. I never wanted this. I never asked for this, and I absolutely don’t know what I’m doing. I need help.” 

“Help,” Hartley repeated, still staring at the contract. 

“It would be split, fifty-fifty.” 

“You want to be business partners,” Hartley said, like he couldn’t believe it, and to be honest, he couldn’t. “Was this… this is what you and Cisco talked about last night?” 

Barry nodded. “You deserve this, Hartley. Even though you did punch me in the face. This company should be yours.” 

“You don’t have to do this.” 

“I know.” 

“I’m not a charity case.” 

“No, but this company is. It’s not exactly a thriving business right now. And you're someone with over a decade of experience working here, someone who grew up planning to own a giant tech company his entire life, and someone who wanted this more than anyone else here. For years.” 

Hartley didn’t respond for a long time. “I… can I think about it?” 

Barry, clearly, had not expected that to be Hartley’s answer, but he nodded. “Of course.” 

“Thank you,” he said quietly, still staring down at the papers. 

He took the papers back to his apartment, and stared at them some more that night, and still had yet to come to a conclusion.

Chapter Text

Cisco sat on Hartley’s desk, swinging his legs casually, flipping through the contract Hartley had left there. He looked up, frowning. “You still haven’t signed it.” 

“I am aware.” 

“Why not?” 

Hartley looked up from his work long enough to roll his eyes at Cisco. “Because I haven’t made a decision yet.”

“What is there to decide?” 

“Aside from the fact that my father always told me not to invest in sinking businesses, you do realize that if I were the part owner of S.T.A.R. Labs, I’d be your boss?”

“What, are you gonna fire me?” 

“I could,” Hartley said mildly, and finally turned to face Cisco fully, asking the question that had been on his mind the last several days. “Was this really your idea?” 

“It was.” 

“Why?” 

Cisco shrugged, not looking Hartley in the eye. 

“No, you can't do that.” Hartley shook his head. “What? Why did you come up with this?” 

He sighed, standing up and shaking his arms a little like he was trying to get out his nervous energy. “Dude, do you know how many Vibes I’ve gotten of you and Thawne? And I know you're gonna hate this answer, but I’m not gonna deny there’s at least a little bit of… I don’t know, pity? Sympathy? Motivating my decision-making here. But it’s also because you’re qualified, and I think you’d be a good CEO, and you know a shit ton about patents, and marketing the company, and eventually, we’re gonna run out of Wells’ money. The superhero business is not exactly cheap.” 

Hartley was quiet for a long time, considering all that. 

“And,” Cisco added, “stealing his company for spite is a lot healthier than lung cancer for spite.” When Hartley still said nothing, Cisco continued on. “I don’t want to try and tell you how you’re feeling, or why you’re doing what you’re doing, like I know your brain better than you do, but maybe you should let yourself be happy. Let yourself be successful.”

Let yourself be happy.  

How many people were going to tell him that before he got it through his head?

“Prove them all wrong,” Cisco continued, “and maybe then you won’t have the compulsion to punch people in the face so often.” 

“I’m never going to live that down, am I.” 

“Absolutely not. And, just so you know, there is a disclosure in there about the agreement being null and void if you punch him in the face again.” 

“So punching other areas is still well within my rights?” 

“Dude.” 

“Sorry.” He looked at the contract on his desk, then back at Cisco. “I’m thinking. Still.” 

“You’re insane for that, but okay.” 

They spent the next week on the particle accelerator, Hartley refusing to focus on anything but that until it was done. Cisco joked that Hartley was delaying signing the contract so he wouldn’t have to take accountability for it blowing up again. Hartley did not find that particularly amusing. 

It didn’t blow up the entire city. 

And Barry was fine. 

And so was his speed. 

Hoorah, hoorah. 

That didn’t mean Hartley still wasn’t pissed about the whole thing. 

But then something happened that made his being pissed off significantly less important. Because Zoom gave Caitlin back. Dropped her off at S.T.A.R. Labs for seemingly no reason, and while Hartley was happy she was back, he didn’t believe for one second there wasn’t something else going on. But the matter of why she was back came second to the fact that she was back, she was safe, at least for now, and that she was not doing well at all. 

Barry could deal with the why. That was, frankly, none of Hartley’s business, while Caitlin Snow was fast asleep on a hospital bed, malnourished and with bags under her eyes more prominent than Hartley had seen even on himself on his worst days. 

“I don't know what to do,” Cisco said softly, watching Caitlin. 

“Well, I’d recommend letting her sleep.” 

Cisco sighed. “Not funny, Hartley.” 

“Sorry.” Hartley glanced at him, reaching up and messing with his deafeners mindlessly. “I don't think she should be living alone,” he said, partially to prove he did give a shit about Caitlin. 

“Yeah.” Cisco was quiet for a few seconds. “I have a spare room. She can stay with me.” 

Hartley nodded. 

“But I don’t…” Cisco seemed to struggle for a few seconds to get the words out, “I don’t know how to talk to her.”

“She’s your best friend, Cisco, you don’t need to know how to talk to her, you need to be there for her.” 

“I know that. I…” he trailed off, unable to articulate whatever he’d been trying to say, and shook his head. “She needs help adjusting.” 

“Exactly,” Hartley agreed, though he felt like Cisco was saying something different than what Hartley was agreeing to, and he couldn’t figure out what that was. 

“You know what it's like,” Cisco said, after another odd silence. 

“I’m sorry?” 

“What she went through. What she's going through.” 

“Harri- Eobard Thawne didn’t kidnap me,” Hartley said, though he couldn’t deny the rest of the similarities.

Cisco gave him a look, and Hartley stared back at him, not computing whatever it was Cisco was trying to say. 

“What?” 

Cisco sighed. “The pipeline, Hartley.” 

“Oh.” Hartley had never thought of it like that. Probably because he’d refused to let himself think about it like that. He refused to let himself think about it at all, if he was honest with himself. 

He looked back at Caitlin. Malnourished. Sleep deprived. Tortured by a man who visited her every day and promised love and affection while holding her freedom just out of grasp. 

And looked away, refusing the thought. Refusing to think of Caitlin like that, to think of himself like that. 

He wasn’t a victim. Caitlin wasn’t a victim. Neither of them were innocent (granted, Hartley was a bit more guilty, he would be the first to admit) and neither of them would ever say they’d never cared for the lying, identity-stealing speedster who’d for some reason developed some sort of fucked up attachment for them.

“You know I used to see him going down there, to talk to you.”

Cisco’s voice stirred him out of his thoughts, and he looked away from Caitlin. “I know,” he said. “I heard you, up in the cortex.”

“I never eavesdropped. Mostly because I couldn’t. He’d disable the comm system. I would check the cameras, when he wouldn’t disable those. Usually he did, though. I really thought that one day I’d go down there after he left, and you’d be dead.” 

“I appreciated it,” Hartley said softly. “You made being in there… slightly more tolerable.”

Cisco nodded. “I always noticed how you looked, after.”

“How I looked,” Hartley repeated, “and how did I look?”

Cisco watched Caitlin as he spoke, his voice hesitant. “Like how she looked as soon as I found her. Terrified, and exhausted, and-”

Hartley held up a hand, stopping him. “That doesn’t… what’s your point? She’s still your friend.” 

“I think you might be able to help her more than I can, is all. And. She’s your friend, too. Whether you want to admit you care about us or not, we’re your friends.” 

Hartley shook his head. “Then we can both help her.” He didn’t choose to add the fact that he didn’t know how to help her, because he’d never dealt with anything Harrison Wells had done to him. 

Caitlin stirred in her sleep, twitching a little.

“You can come over for dinner tonight,” Cisco said. “I’ll invite Caitlin, and we can talk about her staying with me for a while.” 

“I’ll bring dessert,” Hartley offered. “Those chocolate brownies she loves.” He looked down, back to fidgeting with his deafener. “And I do.” 

“Sorry?” 

“Care about you,” Hartley clarified. “I do care about you.” 

“Oh, my god, he admitted it,” Cisco gasped in fake shock. “Should’ve been recording so I can show Caitlin when she wakes up.” 

“Shut up.” 

“Never.” 

********

It took a bit of convincing for Caitlin to agree to stay with Cisco, she had the same compulsive need Hartley did. To prove herself, to be strong and independent and whatever the fuck else they’d convinced themselves they had to be in order to succeed in life. 

Luckily, Hartley knew all of her excuses and arguments and denials. Because he had the same ones. 

Cisco was in his kitchen, cursing out his toaster oven for reasons Hartley did not want to know, and he and Caitlin were sitting together on the couch. 

“You saw what happened to me after Eobard Thawne ruined my life. What, do you want to go to your mother’s office and break all her windows?” 

“I’m not a metahuman,” Caitlin said pointedly. 

“Okay, but do you want to go break all your mother’s windows, because I swear to god I will grab my gauntlets and drive-” Hartley said, and Caitlin laughed, which felt like a win in and of itself. 

“I’m just saying.” Hartley reached out, hesitantly, and took her hand, “I dealt with everything Harrison did to me alone because I had to. You don't have to. Whatever Jay did to you, you can talk about it, or not talk about it, as much as you want. And there’s people here for you. You don't have to be alone.” 

Caitlin clearly had something she wanted to say, but whatever it was, she couldn’t seem to get it out for several minutes. She was twisting her water glass around in her hands anxiously, chewing on her lower lip. 

Hartley sighed, about to get up to find out if Cisco was about to burn his entire apartment complex down, deciding he’d pushed Caitlin enough for the day, when she spoke. 

“I started… seeing him,” she said, her voice soft, “in my apartment. Whenever I’m alone.” 

“Hallucinations, you mean?” He hoped that’s all it was. He thought of Harrison, of the flickering, vague form of him hovering at the edges of his vision, the way he still wasn’t completely sure if he had really been there or not. 

Caitlin didn’t answer, and Hartley took that as a yes. He reached over and put a hand on hers. 

“Do you remember when I started coming back to S.T.A.R. Labs, and you were all hiding Harry from me?” Caitlin nodded. “I used to hear him. Whenever I would be in the building, I could hear him. I really thought I was losing my mind.” 

“That’s different.” She curled up a little on the couch and Hartley sat down next to her. “He actually was there.” 

 “Not all the time. I’d hear him in other places, too. In my apartment, a lot of the time. It started happening before Thawne was even dead. Before I even got fired. I spent half my time at S.T.A.R. feeling like he was always right behind me, right there, following me, watching me.” 

“But he was there. Wasn’t he?” 

Hartley shrugged. “Probably. But not every time. And I have no way of knowing what was real and what wasn’t.” 

Caitlin swallowed. “You don't think-”

Hartley cut her off, shaking his head. “My point is that, I was alone. Harrison was the only person in my life, and of course he wasn’t going to tell me I was seeing things and offer help. So it just got worse and worse. It never really went away, even after he was dead, like I said. But it started getting better, eventually, when…” he trailed off. 

“When what?” 

“I started spending more time with you. You, and Cisco, and Harry.” 

Caitlin glanced at him, a small smile on her face. 

His vague implications, she seemed to understand. Seemed to know he was saying if any of your hallucinations are real, he won’t show up when you aren’t alone. 

“You and I have a lot more in common than I think either of us would like to admit,” Hartley said softly, when Caitlin still hadn’t spoken.

“Because we’re both losers with no friends outside of work who got taken advantage of by supervillains hiding their identities?”

Hartley laughed. “I was going to phrase it nicely.” 

“He’s a serial killer, Hartley. I fell in love with a serial killer. What does that say about me?” 

“That you trust people. Jay pretended to be a good person, you believed him.”

“It doesn’t feel like that.”

“What does it feel like?” Hartley asked. 

“Like…” she seemed to struggle for a minute, coming up with the words to say. “Like I failed somehow. I should have known. I should have known something was wrong with him, and I didn’t.”

“It wasn’t up to you.” 

Caitlin looked at him, finally. “When is it, then? When is it up to me? When is it my fault?”  

Hartley shook his head, looking away. “I don’t know. Maybe when you start hurting other people so you feel less alone in your hurt.” He’d done a lot of that (he tried not to think about that, about when it had become his fault, and not Harrison’s. Thawne’s). “But I know that right now, it isn’t your fault. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

She curled up, resting her head on Hartley’s shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around her. “How did you do it?” she asked softly. “How did you get over it?” 

Hartley shook his head. “I’ll let you know, when I do.” 

He went back to S.T.A.R. Labs that night, bringing with him a bottle of moderately cheap whiskey, a fountain pen that Harrison (Thawne) had given him for… some reason or another, and the contract. He stepped into Harrison’s office, which was now nearly empty save for the chessboard Cisco had never sold (Hartley was glad of that, he sort of wanted to keep it, now), the couch Hartley had spent many late nights fast asleep on, and Harrison’s desk. 

Flicking the lights on, which flickered for a second, Hartley sat down at Harrison’s desk without any thought, slammed the bottle down, and then realized he had no glasses.  He checked the shelf where he remembered Harrison keeping them, but it had been cleared out along with most everything else. 

He set the contract and pen down on the desk, sighed and made his way to the break room, where he ran into Harry, who was, for some reason at two am, brewing a pot of coffee. 

Harry simply nodded at him, and offered him a cup, which Hartley accepted. “Didn't see you in your lab.”

“I just got here. And I’m not in my lab.” 

“Ah.” 

“You want an Irish coffee?” Hartley asked, and Harry raised an eyebrow at him, but grabbed the coffee pot and his own mug, and followed Hartley. 

“What are you doing in Thawne’s office?”  

“Having a moment,” Hartley said, grabbing the bottle. 

“What kind of… oh.” Harry leaned over the desk to look at the papers, and nodded. 

“And here I was thinking,” Hartley said, sitting back down at the desk, “the only thing that would make this moment better would be if his doppelganger from another Earth who I’m friends with was here to witness me stealing his company.” 

He leaned back in the chair after pouring himself and Harry each some whiskey and coffee (not technically an Irish coffee, but it would have to do). 

Harry leaned back against the desk, taking a sip from his mug and coughing a little. “That is,” he cleared his throat, “very strong.” 

“Mmhm,” Hartely agreed, picked up his own mug, holding it out to Harry. “To…” he tilted his head, “spite, I suppose.”

Harry laughed, tapping their mugs together. “To spite.”

Hartley took a sip of his own drink, and then picked up his pen, taking a deep breath.

“That’s a nice pen.” 

“Shut up. You’re only invited in here to silently watch me have my moment.”

“Right. Shutting up.” Harry then proceeded to take a very noisy sip of his drink, and Hartley shot him a withering look. 

He remained quiet as Hartley very carefully removed the cap from his pen and set it on the desk, and flipped to the first signature on the contract. 

He signed his name (it looked very nice, if he did say so himself), and then signed on the next page, and the last one, before flipping back to the first page in the stack and pushing the contract back on the desk and recapping his pen. “Huh,” he said, and glanced around the room. “That was anticlimactic.”

Harry didn’t say anything, and Hartley focused on the chessboard in the corner. 

“Do you have a hammer?” he asked, turning towards him, and Harry raised an eyebrow. 

“Oh, am I allowed to talk now?” 

“Get me a hammer.” 

He did not argue, seemingly content with letting Hartley have his moment (whatever he needed to do to have said moment). He came back a minute later, and Hartley had stood up and was examining the chess pieces, dusting them off, before carefully putting them back in place on the board. 

“Hammer,” he said, holding it out, and without a word, Hartley took it, and a second later, brought it down into the center of the chessboard. The pieces went flying, and a crack formed in the middle of it, running to the edge of the marble in one corner, spiderwebbing out, and Hartley stared at it in satisfaction for several seconds, before he handed the hammer back. 

“Now that felt how I wanted it to.” 

“Have you ever thought about visiting a rage room?” he asked. 

Hartley ignored him. 

Chapter Text

Hartley had successfully commandeered Thawne’s office, and the first decoration was the broken chessboard, which he hung on the wall, or rather, made Harry and Cisco hang up on the wall for him (Cisco said it was because he was going on a power trip, and that he regretted ever suggesting this idea to Barry). 

He began occupying himself with reorganizing the companies’ assets, updating patents on various technologies (and registering for new ones, because apparently no one had been doing that since the explosion, and Hartley was left trying to figure out how to register things like ‘cold gun’ and ‘weather wand’. Because he was fairly sure you couldn’t just make unauthorized weapons and not tell the government about it. Pretty easy way to get shut down and investigated for terrorism). 

Caitlin knocked on the open office door, stepping inside. “Hey, Hartley.” She smiled, and it didn’t reach her eyes, but he didn’t blame her for that. 

“Caitlin.” He looked away from the files he’d been reading—a gift from Joe that had been given to him along with a threat that if Hartley punched his son again, he’d face the same fate as the last CEO of S.T.A.R. Labs. The gift made up for the threat, though—a copy of Hartley’s father’s criminal record. Despite Hartley’s desire to, Joe warned him to please not display it on the wall, that it was a gift to admire in private. He also gave Hartley a potted plant. Which sat, innocently, on the near-empty bookshelf behind him. 

“I noticed the office was a little… sad,” Caitlin said. “And I wanted to give you something that would-” she cringed a little. “Well, it seemed like a good idea at the time, but I understand if you don’t want it.” She held out the gift, a framed photograph, and Hartley took it slowly, like it might bite him. 

The photo was jarring to look at, all at once, and Hartley’s eyes skipped over the middle of it, focusing on Ronnie and Caitlin, on the left end of the group, arm in arm, smiling at the camera, and Cisco, on the right end, wearing a t-shirt that read stand back, I’m going to try science, and it made Hartley want to roll his eyes. Which he did. The group was standing in the cortex of S.T.A.R., and Hartley tried to remember, now, who had taken the picture. He wanted to say it had been Harrison’s assistant—Paul, maybe? Who knew. None of them lasted very long. 

Eventually, he focused his gaze on the middle of the picture. On himself, standing next to Cisco, a real, genuine smile on his face, hands clasped behind his back, tie loosened slightly, hair a little mussed, like he’d been dragged away from his projects in the lab by a softly teasing voice, a gentle kiss, and a murmured promise of I’ll be able to look at this in ten years and remember this day. I want you to be there with me to remember it. Sweet sentiment, then, from the man in the center of the photo whom Hartley still had yet to look at, that now made Hartley want to rip him to shreds. 

“I found it in a box that was investigated by the CCPD. They just gave it back last month,” Caitlin said. “If you don’t want it, I can…” 

“No.” Hartley shook his head, and finally looked at the center of the picture, at Harrison Wells. His hand on Hartley’s shoulder, and he remembered the feeling of it, the warmth of his palm, and he shivered, running a finger over the man’s face, before pulling it away quickly. “I- I appreciate it,” he said, his voice thick. He turned around and propped the frame up next to his collection of Stephen Hawking books (Iris had given him that, saying he needed to start his collection of ‘CEO of a tech company’ book collection if he wanted anyone to start taking him seriously—on the inside cover of A Brief History of Time, she wrote To Piper).  

“Do you?” Caitlin tilted her head, trying to make eye contact with him. “Because I feel like I just ruined your day.” 

“You didn’t ruin anything.” He walked around the desk and pulled her into a tight hug. “Thank you. For everything.” 

“I-” she started, and then seemed to not know how to respond, so she just wrapped her arms around Hartley in turn and didn’t say anything else. 

Much later in the day, Harry had something to say about the picture, wrinkling his nose at it and calling it creepy, but Hartley ignored him, rolling his eyes in mild amusement. 

Cisco entered his office once most everyone had gone home for the day, the room now looking less like Thawne’s office and more like a normal room, especially since Hartley had removed the uncomfortable couch and replaced it with two plush armchairs, a side table, and a green striped rug, and Hartley had even enlisted Harry’s assistance in combing the entire room for hidden cameras (of which they’d found nine), even if there wasn’t anyone secretly watching the recordings anymore. If they were even still recording.

“Looks nice in here,” Cisco said, smiling as he picked up the photograph everyone seemed to focus on first. 

“It’s better,” Hartley agreed. 

“How’s Barry feel about you having a picture of the guy who killed his mom in your office?” 

He could always count on Cisco to throw him into reality when he got a little too delusional, couldn’t he. “I don’t think he’s seen it yet,” Hartley said evenly. “Besides, it was a gift from Caitlin. Take it up with her if you have a problem with it.” 

“Dios Santo, chill, dude. I’m just saying,” Cisco muttered. “I, um,” he tore his eyes away from the photo, setting it back on the shelf, “I got you something, too,” he added, and held out a gift bag. “There’s a few things in there, actually. It’s dumb,though.” He shifted back on the balls of his feet, obviously self conscious.

“I’m sure they’re not dumb.” Hartley removed the tissue paper, and the first thing he pulled out of the bag was a Funko Pop. “Nevermind,” he amended himself. “It’s Captain Sisko,” he said, and despite himself, smiled.

“I had to get it custom made,” Cisco said, “can you believe out of all the thousands of Funko Pops in the world, they never made a Sisko Funko Pop?” 

“Unbelievable,” Hartley agreed. “Is this so I can start my collection, too?” 

“No, this is so anyone who visits your office sees it, and over time, everyone else grows your collection for you because it’s all they’ll be able to think of to get you for your birthday, and we can share our pain.” 

Hartley laughed again, about to set the bag down, but Cisco cleared his throat, shaking his head. “There’s, uh, something else in there. Probably fell at the bottom.”

Hartley reached down, feeling around in the bag until he felt something, pulling out the small object and examining it in his palm. “Is this-”

“Yeah. It was between that and a CD single of a Rick Astley song that shall remain nameless.” 

“I might’ve actually killed you if you’d done that.” Hartley stared at the implant (which still had some of his blood on it, lovely) for a few seconds, before looking up at Cisco. “Is there still a bomb in this thing?”

Cisco shrugged. “Yeah, probably. I can’t remember if I took it out or not.” 

Why was Hartley so tickled by the fact that Cisco had just gifted him a bomb that Hartley had made as part of his plan to kill someone? He didn’t have an answer to that, but for some reason or another, it made him very happy. “You know me so well.” Hartley turned it over in his hand, smiling a little. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Cisco said, and Hartley blinked, looking up at him. 

“Where else would I be?” 

He shrugged. “I dunno. But I’ve gotten Vibes of realities where you aren’t here, and they suck.”

Hartley laughed, turning away to carefully set the implant on his bookshelf. “That’s a good line. You should try picking up girls with that.” 

“Oh, yeah? Did it work?” 

Hartley hummed, not exactly a yes or a no. “Too bad I’m your boss now, and I learned the hard way that dating the S.T.A.R. Labs CEO is a terrible idea for brilliant young employees,” he said, turning around in time to see Cisco’s face turn down a little, like he was actually disappointed at Hartley’s response. Hartley tried not to think about why that was. About what Cisco wanted from him, that Hartley couldn’t give. 

“Yeah, too bad,” he echoed. “Hey, wanna go get lunch?” 

He sighed, sitting down. “I can’t. Harry’s helping me with something in a bit.”

“Oh,” Cisco said sharply, and Hartley heard the way he ground his teeth together for a second before speaking again. “With what?” 

Hartley sighed, unwilling to explain exactly what. “Organizing… Thawne’s assets. Barry hasn’t done anything in that… realm. He left me in charge of it.” 

“You need help?” 

Hartley shook his head no. 

“Too bad. Maybe tomorrow,” he muttered, not really sounding like he meant it, and Hartley nodded, wanting to ask what was wrong but choosing not to for whatever reason, watching Cisco leave.

********

“How did you convince me to agree to this, again?” Harry asked, watching Hartley mess with his phone to try to get it to connect to his very much almost-broken AUX cord that only connected when it was bent one specific way. 

“Um, I asked nicely?” Hartley offered, finally getting it to connect, and quickly turning the volume down. 

“Huh,” Harry responded, frowning at Hartley’s music choice. “This-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence with what I think you’re going to say.” 

“Sounds like a band that Jesse has made me buy her concert tickets for?” 

“Fuck you.” 

Harry chuckled. “But, really, what do you expect to find here that you haven’t already?”

Hartley shrugged. “Priceless artwork. Bank account routing numbers.” 

“So you’re robbing him.” 

“It’s not robbing if it was given to me.”

Harry sighed, reaching for the volume knob to turn the music down even more, but Hartley smacked his hand away. “And why couldn’t Ramon do this with you?” 

“Are you kidding? I don’t want him touching anything in this house. Bad enough he has to see whatever Vibes he gets of Thawne at S.T.A.R., I don’t want to add to that.” 

Harry hummed, like he thought it was a fair point, before pointing out, annoyingly, “But you didn’t have to ask me.”

Hartley glanced at him, smirking a little. “You didn’t have to say yes.” 

“And yet here I am.” 

“Here you are.” Hartley glanced at him again, and Harrison sighed. 

“Eyes on the road.” 

“Hmm,” he responded, eloquently (he was thinking too hard, again. About things. About Harrison Wells. About decisions that he’d made that were leading him to where he was currently going). 

“Rathaway.” 

He rolled his eyes. “I didn’t even have to bribe you to get you in this car. This was all of your own volition. You aren’t going to convince me you don’t like it.” 

“I’m here as your free therapy session. I’m psychoanalyzing you right now.”

“Okay, Mr. whispering sweet nothings in my ear on Earth-2.”  

They argued the rest of the drive there (Hartley was very glad Cisco hadn’t come along, he would’ve killed them both). 

Despite Hartley’s confidence going into this, once he’d parked his car in the driveway and stood outside Harrison Wells’ house, he couldn’t bring himself to move. He had the keys in his hand, a comprehensive list of drawers and secret cabinets he knew he could look in, and moral support from probably the worst person he could’ve asked for moral support from. 

“Do you want me to…?” Harry reached out for the keys, and that forced Hartley into action, and he shook his head quickly, stepping forward. 

“No. No, I can do this. I can do this.” His hands were shaking. Stupid. This whole thing was stupid. Very stupid of him. Why had he thought this was a good idea? Why did he think he was the one who had to do this? 

Oh, right, because if he let anyone else do it, that would be letting one more thing be taken away from him. 

He unlocked the door, it clicked open, and the security system started beeping. “Oh. Fuck.” So much for dramatic entrances, as Hartley scrambled inside, into the dark, dusty entryway, located the security system, and punched in the code. He entered it in, and frowned when it didn’t stop the beeping (but then remembered, obviously, Harrison would have changed it after Hartley), so he tried another combination (it was also incorrect). And then, on a whim, because he was fairly certain he was running out of time and the alarm would actually start going off if he fucked up again so Barry would be here within two minutes anyway, a third try. 

It worked. The beeping stopped. 

“Oh, that mother fucker,” he muttered. “That piece of shit.” 

“What?” Harry flicked the lights on, walking up behind him. 

“His code. It used to be…” he cleared his throat. “It used to be the day I started working at S.T.A.R.” He turned away. “I figured he’d change it, but I didn’t think it would be… it’s the day of the accelerator explosion. That’s what he changed it to.” 

“Ah.” 

Hartley sighed, shaking his head to force himself not to focus on that, and looked around the house. Everything seemed to be in good condition, if not very dusty, but otherwise exactly the way he remembered it. He stepped through the hallway and into the living room, where the couch in front of the stupidly fancy fireplace sat, looking far less inviting now that it was dimly lit and coated in a thick layer of dust. 

“I used to sit on that couch with him and recite Seneca in Latin,” Hartley said softly. “Like it fucking meant anything to him. Aliquando enim et vivere fortiter facere est, my ass.”

Harry snorted at that, shaking his head. 

“How do you know Latin?” Hartley asked, not turning to look at him. 

“Catholic school,” Harry said simply, and Hartley nodded. 

“That’s what I always assumed. With him, I mean. Isn’t that funny, I never asked? Why else do people learn Latin? Because you time traveled into the past and met someone who knows you in their future who told you that speaking Latin will make them fall in love with you, so you’d better get to learning it?” 

“Is that… did you tell him that?” 

Hartley shrugged, still staring at one specific spot on the couch, like Harrison would appear there at any second. “Something like it. And don’t give me a lecture about messing with the timeline. I’m fully aware of what I did.”

“I’ve lectured you enough about timelines, I think.” 

“Never thought I’d hear you say that.” Hartley closed his eyes for a second, and when he opened them, Harrison was not sitting on the couch (technically, he was behind him, but Hartley was trying very hard to separate the two people in his mind. This little excursion was not helping). “Well, there won't be anything in here.” He turned away, and then paused, turning back again. “Except for this.” He hadn’t known about the safe, not until that night, when he’d come to Harrison’s house and found out he’d been lying about a lot more than the accelerator. 

He didn’t know the code to the safe, but there were a few benefits to super hearing—he cracked it in a few seconds. Inside it, there was a gun, which he picked up carefully with the edge of his sleeve, frowning at it. 

He wondered if Harrison actually would have killed him, then. 

“What is that?” Harry asked from behind him. 

“This, Harry, is a gun. Ever seen one before?” Hartley responded, rolling his eyes as he turned around to place it carefully on a side table. 

Harry made an annoyed noise. “How did you know it was there?” 

“Don’t ask questions you won’t like the answers to,” Hartley said, looking for anything else in the safe. There wasn’t much else in it, some documents that didn’t seem too critical, and about ten thousand dollars (Hartley raised his eyebrow at the stack of money, and set it aside to figure out what to do with it later). 

He moved away from the safe, glancing toward Harrison’s bedroom. He knew where there was another safe, but he wasn’t entirely sure he could enter that room. But if Harrison had left him anything, that was where it would be. 

So it became a question of if he could force himself to walk in there. 

Harry saw him looking, turned toward the hallway that Hartley was looking down. “What?” 

Hartley swallowed. “He has another safe.”

“And…?”

“It’s in his bedroom.” 

There was a short silence. “Do you want me to go?” 

“It unlocks with a fingerprint,” Hartley said slowly, and Harry looked down at his hands. 

“Shouldn’t be a problem.” 

“Not his. Mine.” 

Another silence. Before Harry nodded, crossing his arms. “I can just break it.” 

Hartley took a deep breath. His hands were shaking. Why were his hands shaking? 

When he didn’t say anything, Harry spoke again, his voice a little softer, in a tone that Hartley was disquietingly familiar with. “Go back to the car.” 

“Why-” 

“Go back to the car.” 

“I- okay.” Hartley turned around, not fast enough to not hear Harry’s response to that, two words that made him freeze. Made both of them freeze, actually. 

“Good boy.” 

It was said so casually, like it meant nothing. Because it did mean nothing. Until Hartley froze, and forgot how to breathe, and then, that's when it meant something. 

“I didn’t-” Harry said quickly, and Hartley cut him off.

“I know.” Because he did. Because that was something he would say to Barry, or even Cisco, and it wouldn’t mean anything, and Hartley would roll his eyes at it but wouldn’t comment on it, because it didn’t mean the same thing it meant to Harry as it had to Thawne. 

He still turned around, though, met Harry’s eyes, and Harry must have seen something there, because he swallowed, glanced around the house like he was hoping someone would appear to get him out of this situation, before he focused back on Hartley, decidedly not looking back into his eyes, but at a spot on his forehead. 

“Just go to the car,” he said, his voice a little rough. 

Hartley went back to the car. 

He sat alone in silence for only a few minutes, before Harry walked out of the house, got in the car, and wordlessly handed him an envelope. 

“What is this?” 

“It’s all that was in the safe.” 

Hartley turned it over. There was a name on it, in Harrison’s messy handwriting that Hartley would know anywhere, and it was his name. Just his name. Nothing else. It was sealed, and there was something inside it, a small, rectangular object. Probably a flashdrive, if he had to guess. He didn’t have to guess, though. He could open it. He didn’t. 

“I can hold onto it,” Harry said, and Hartley let out a relieved breath as he took it back. 

They didn’t say anything for a few minutes, Hartley’s hands still shaking. “This was… one of your worse ideas.” 

“Fuck you.” 

Harry laughed a little. “You can’t keep doing this.” Hartley saw him slip the envelope in his coat pocket. “Finding ways to keep Harrison Wells in your life. Eventually you’re going to run out of new ways to hurt yourself like this.” 

When Hartley said nothing, he spoke again. “I’m not going to keep enabling you. It’s… not good for me, either.” Whatever that meant. 

Hartley stared straight ahead for a very long time before speaking. “Let’s never talk about this again.” 

“And… the flashdrive?” 

Hartley chewed on his bottom lip for a few seconds. “I don’t… I’ll tell you. When I’m ready to see what’s on it.”

Chapter Text

Barry knocked on the open door of Hartley’s office, holding two coffees and a bag of pastries. “Hey.” 

“Oh, great,” Hartley sighed. “What do you need help with?”

“Who says I need help?”

“Free breakfast.” Hartley raised an eyebrow at him. “Free breakfast says you need my help.” 

Barry laughed. “I can’t get you free breakfast?”

“Not without ulterior motives.” Hartley took the coffee anyway, gesturing his hand in a silent invitation for Barry to sit across from him, which he accepted. 

“You took the coffee, that means you’ll help. You signed the social contract.” 

“Only if you brought me an almond croissant.” 

Barry reached into the bag, pulling one out and handing it to him. “Good thing I asked Cisco what your favorites are, then.” 

Hartley took a passive aggressive bite of the croissant, choosing not to question why Cisco knew his favorite pastries. And why Barry knew that Cisco knew that. 

“We should take a picture together. All of us,” Barry said, suddenly, and Hartley narrowed his eyes at him. 

“What?” 

“So you can replace that one,” he said, gesturing to the picture on Hartley’s bookshelf. 

“I like that picture.” He probably shouldn’t have said that, should have agreed and moved on, but Hartley was not an agreeable person. Or a moving on person. “Caitlin gave it to me.” 

“Were you close?” Barry asked, and Hartley frowned at him. 

“What?” he repeated. 

“With Ronnie,” Barry elaborated, like it was obvious, and Hartley glanced at the picture. 

“Not particularly. He was… competent.” 

“I only ask because… you know, he’s the only one who wouldn’t be able to be in the new picture. That’s why I figured you were keeping it up. Maybe it was the only picture you happened to have with him in it.” 

Hartley raised an eyebrow at him. “Subtle, Barry.” He sat forward, setting his pastry down for the time being. “If you want me to get rid of the picture, I’ll get rid of the picture.” 

“No, I won’t make you do that,” Barry said quickly. 

“If it makes you uncomfortable-”

“It doesn’t!” 

“If it makes you worry about where exactly my loyalties lie-” 

“Of course not!” 

“Barry-”

“Hartley-”

Hartley let out a long, agonized breath of air. “Look. Not to state the obvious, but clearly we aren’t talking about Ronnie. And I don't care enough about the picture to make you have to think about everything Eobard Thawne did to you every time you walk in here.” 

Barry sighed a little. “No. It’s fine. I guess I’m kind of confused. And jealous?”

“Jealous,” Hartley repeated. “Jealous of what, exactly?” 

“That you can look at the good side of him.” 

Hartley didn’t know what to say to that, so he changed the subject. “What do you need?” 

Barry didn’t say anything for a second, and finally tore his eyes away from the picture. “Right. Okay. So.” Barry leaned forward, tilting Hartley’s monitor towards him and typing on his keyboard without asking, which Hartley found particularly annoying, but said nothing about. “I’ve been thinking about your gauntlets. Vibrational frequencies, and all that.”

Hartley leaned back in his chair. “I already told you, I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to go after that metahuman who attacked Mercury. If anything, I think our powers would cancel each other out.” 

“I agree.” Barry nodded. “But that's not what I’m talking about.” Hartley gestured for him to continue, “anyway, it gave me an idea. You know how people from Earth-2 are on a different frequency than we are?” 

Hartley shook his head. “I tried this already, remember? I can’t adjust the frequency of my gauntlets so it only hurts people from Earth-2. They aren't built to allow that. Mostly because when I built them I didn’t know Earth-2 existed.”

“Right. Right, I know. So what if you make something that is built to do that?”

Hartley leaned forward across the desk, crossing his arms. “It’s possible. But we’d need to be able to find the frequency. We can’t do that without a…” Hartley hesitated over the word, “… test subject.” 

“I can get you that,” Barry offered immediately. 

“I’m not going to-” he cut himself off, a grin suddenly spreading over his face. “You know what? Nevermind. Don’t need a test subject. I’ve got this.” He reached out and grabbed the bag of pastries Barry had set on his desk. “Can I take these? I’ve got someone to bribe.” 

He didn’t wait for an answer before taking the bag and leaving his office. “Thanks.” 

He appeared in the doorway to Harry’s office, still grinning. “Doctor Harrison Wells,” he announced, holding out the pastry bag. 

Harry turned and gave him the exact same skeptical look Hartley had given to Barry. 

“I have an exciting business opportunity for you.” 

“Tell me why I feel like I should be afraid of this business opportunity,” he said, but held out his hand for the pastry bag anyway.

Hartley handed it to him, leaning back against his desk. “Because you absolutely should be.” 

Harry pulled out a scone and gestured for him to continue. “What do you need my help with?”

“It’s not that I need your help. It’s that this project is something you are not going to want to miss out on,” Hartley said, grabbing the bag back. “Barry suggested I build a weapon programmed to the vibrational frequency of everyone from Earth-2. So it can only harm Earth-2 metahumans.” 

“And you need my help for that because…?” Harry prompted.

“Because I need a test subject.”

“You know, when I said you’re going to run out of ways to hurt yourself, I didn’t mean you should move on to hurting me.” 

“I thought we made a pact to not talk about that.” 

Harry sighed, clearly not content with that pact, but he moved on anyway. “So you want to torture me.” 

Hartley waved a hand. “What’s a little torture, between friends?” 

He pulled his glasses off to look at Hartley. “I’m adding this to my free Hartley therapy tab.”

“You’re not a psychiatrist and I’m not paying you.”

“No, your parents should. And I’d bill Thawne if he hadn’t been erased from existence. I demand reparations.”

Hartley laughed at that, shockingly. Usually a comment about his parents would result in a dry erase marker being thrown. “Yeah, good luck. You know my parents bribed every college I applied to to not give me a scholarship, to prove I couldn’t survive without them?”

“Every day you manage to shock me with yet another horrifying anecdote from your past.” 

Hartley hummed in response, already turning away, stealing Harry’s computer the way Barry had with his. Though he really didn’t seem to mind, considering he’d been in a remarkably good (for him, at least) mood since Jesse had gotten out of her coma. Speaking of, Hartley was beginning to wonder why comas seemed to be so popular lately. Someone should look into that. 

Contrastly, Cisco was decidedly not in a good mood. Harry had enlisted his help over the next couple days, and for some reason, he was not happy about it. Or maybe something else was pissing him off, but either way, he was no fun at all.

“Ow,” Harry said pointedly, and Cisco fiddled with the machine connected to him. 

“Sorry,” he said, clearly not sorry, considering he did the exact same thing a second time, and Harry tried to snatch the controls from him. “Hey! I’m running tests!”

“Cisco, it works. I don’t think we need more tests.” Hartley glanced over at them. 

“Speak for yourself,” Cisco grumbled, and Hartley frowned at him as he turned the machine on again. 

Hartley rolled his eyes and disconnected Harry from it and offered a hand as he stood. Cisco, for some reason or another, huffed in annoyance and muttered something about going to get lunch before leaving. 

“I don’t suppose he’s bringing us lunch, too, is he?” Hartley asked, watching him go. 

“You should go with him.” 

“Sorry?”

Harry cracked his neck, making Hartley cringe a little. Thawne used to do that, too, and it was as horrifying to Hartley no matter who did it. 

“You should go with him,” he repeated, sighing, like Hartley was an idiot who wasn’t getting something very obvious. 

“I don’t think he wants anything to do with me right now, Harry,” he responded after a few seconds. 

“Sure he doesn’t.” Once again, he got the feeling Harry was trying to tell him something that Hartley simply was not getting, and Harry sighed. “Go with him,” he repeated. 

“Why?” 

“Because you can’t be here,” he responded, turning away and staring intently at his whiteboard, though Hartley had a feeling he was not actually running equations in his head. 

Hartley frowned. “Why not?”

“Because I said so.” 

“You know the dad voice doesn’t work on me,” Hartley reminded him. “It just makes me want to jump your bones.” 

“Dear god,” Harry muttered. 

Hartley walked up behind him, standing probably a little too close, looking at the whiteboard and reading about as much as Harry probably was (none). 

“Why can’t I be here?” Hartley repeated. 

“Did the wanting to jump my bones not answer that question enough for you? Go with Ramon. You can still catch him in the parking lot.” 

“I don’t want to jump Cisco’s bones.” 

Harry snorted. “Coulda fooled me.” 

Hartley reached out, plucking the currently-unused dry erase marker from Harry’s hand and putting the cap back on before throwing it carelessly onto a desk behind them. Harry didn’t turn to face him fully, but he did pause, eyes following Hartley’s movements. 

“What are you doing?” he asked. 

Hartley shrugged, reaching out and wrapping one of the strings of Harry’s coat around his finger. “Anything you want me to do,” he offered, and Harry sighed, moving to encircle Hartley’s wrist with a firm hold before turning to face him fully. 

“Anything I want, huh?” 

Hartley hummed in affirmation, looking up at him through his lashes, knowing exactly what he looked like and exactly what it was going to make Harry think about. “Just say the word, Harry.”  

His eyes darkened, and there was a moment. Where he leaned in close, lips a breath from Hartley’s ear, and he didn’t speak right away, like he was considering what to say, or do, and Hartley really thought he had him, but then he spoke, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper. “I want you to go have lunch with Ramon.” Then he let go of Hartley’s wrist, took a step back, and tilted his head at him. “Yeah?” 

Hartley let out a heavy breath, almost a laugh. “Fine.” He turned away and grabbed his coat off the back of the desk chair. “Want me to bring you anything back?” 

“Mental stability,” Harry responded drily. 

“For me or you?” 

“Let’s hope they’re having a two-for-one deal.” 

Hartley laughed, shaking his head, as Harry waved him away. He caught up to Cisco easily, he hadn’t actually left the parking lot, leaning against the hood of his car, scrolling on his phone, a lollipop shoved against his cheek. 

“You’re mad at me,” he said, and Cisco looked up at him briefly before going back to his phone. 

“No shit, Sherlock.” 

“Why?” 

Cisco made a huffy noise, putting his phone in his pocket and pulling the lollipop out of his mouth with a hard pop. “Don’t see why I should tell you, considering you don’t listen to me.” 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Hartley asked, trying not to stare at Cisco’s lips. 

“What’s going on with you and Harry?” 

Hartley blanched at the question, turning his head away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

“Oh, fuck off,” Cisco snapped. “Do you think I’m an idiot?” 

“No.” Hartley blinked. “No, I- I just- I don’t think it’s any of your business.”

“No?” Cisco made a noise in his throat like he wanted to yell, but was holding himself back. “I’m your friend. I care about you. And I told you Harry was a bad idea. You’re gonna hurt yourself.” 

As if that wasn’t exactly what Hartley was trying to do to himself. He crossed his arms. “You know, you’re the one who made me the co-owner of this place,” he said shortly, and Cisco frowned. 

“What does that have to do with anything?” 

“It means I’m you’re boss,” Hartley reminded him, and Cisco snorted. 

“Yeah, technically.” 

“God, where have I heard that before.” Hartley rolled his eyes. 

Cisco squinted at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Hartley didn’t answer for a second, and shook his head. “Nothing. Nevermind. And Harry and I aren’t…” He bit his lip, looking away. Maybe they weren’t, technically, but Hartley was pretty sure he couldn’t say nothing was going on and not be lying. "And it’s my bad decision to make, if we do.” 

For a while, Hartley didn’t think Cisco was going to say anything, putting the lollipop back in his mouth and crunching on it now. “Yeah,” he finally said. “Just don’t come crying to me when he turns out to be an emotionally unavailable jackass.” 

And, despite Hartley’s brain telling him he needed to be sensitive, he couldn’t help his instinctual response, “I’m not looking for emotional vulnerability right now, Cisquito.” 

Cisco wrinkled his nose, crunching the lollipop aggressively. “Whatever. You want lunch?” 

Hartley paused, frowning at him. “Sure. As long as we can stop talking about Harry.” 

“Very enthusiastic, yes.” 

********

A few days later, Cisco had his terrible idea (Hartley actually thought it was brilliant, but that was possibly only because supervillain Cisco was hot. Don't read too much into that. He definitely didn’t have a type). 

“I should go with you,” Hartley said to him, resisting the sudden urge he had to reach out and fix a loose strand of hair in Cisco’s bun. 

“You have a flute handy?” Cisco asked, not looking at him. 

“Not at the moment.” It was currently in pieces in his apartment, half of it being used for his gauntlets, but he could buy a new one (don’t ask how expensive flutes are, he could max out a credit card for this). “But-”

“Hartley, you had to be the hero for months, you get a break now. You don’t need to be the Pied Piper.”

“But wouldn’t it make more sense if it was me and you, especially since Caitlin isn’t a meta-”

“Hartley,” Cisco interrupted firmly. “It’s not a good idea.” 

“Why not?” 

Cisco didn’t respond, and that said more to Hartley than an actual answer would have. Pied Piper and Reverb had been together, and… boundaries, Hartley needed to remember. Joke-flirting was one thing, but… Cisco didn’t want their flirting to be a joke. Hartley could read between the very obvious lines. He had been able to, for a while now. And this- this would just be another reminder that nothing between them was real. He thought back to the conversation they hadn’t had in the parking lot, the words they hadn’t said. Or rather, the words Hartley hadn’t said, the things he’d decided not to let Cisco know. 

But then again, this wasn’t about that. This was about saving the city, and making sure Cisco and Caitlin were safe. And it wasn’t like they needed to pretend to be together to convince Black Siren of anything. Nevertheless, Hartley stopped arguing. If Cisco wanted to risk his life without anyone who could back him up, then so be it. He could do what he wanted. 

Hartley was under no obligation to protect him, and vice versa. 

So he stayed with Harry, who told him in no uncertain terms he should’ve fought harder to go with Cisco. He was often saying that, lately. 

“Why do you care?” 

“Because I have a very short supply of self control and you don’t give up,” he responded. “Therefore,” he waved his hand impatiently to get Hartley out of the way of his desk, “I need you out of my lab.”

Hartley laughed. As if Hartley hadn’t come onto him a dozen times, and Harry had pulled away at quite literally the last possible second he could while still having plausible deniability. “If only there was a simple, two-letter word you could tell me that would make me fuck off. Someone should come up with that. Amazing the English language hasn’t thought of it. Or Latin, for that matter.” 

Harry rolled his eyes, handing him a piece of the noise canceling headphones they were putting the finishing touches on modifying for him and Jesse. “I told you that I'm done enabling you.” (They both knew that wasn’t true, and that Hartley’s flirtations lived in Harry’s head for weeks afterward, and they were both just sort of waiting to see which of them would break first. Either Hartley would give up, or Harry would give in). 

Of course, there was also the other thing in the way, the obvious solution to Hartley’s desperate need for human connection that Harry was trying desperately to push him toward. 

“You know it’s not just about enabling me,” Hartley said, and Harry paused, but didn't look at him. He didn’t say anything, either, so Hartley continued. “What are things like, on your Earth?”

“Sorry?” His shoulders were tense. He knew what Hartley was asking him, but was refusing to acknowledge it. 

Hartley fiddled with the piece of equipment Harry had handed him idly. “Did the other me also get disowned by his parents for being gay?” 

“No,” Harry said shortly, and Hartley waited for a few seconds before Harry spoke again. “As far as I know, he never came out. You know, considering the fact that he wasn’t arrested for it.” 

“Aha,” Hartley said, and finally, Harry turned to him. 

“Aha what?” 

“Aha, you. You’ve never had a man flirt with you before, have you? You’re…” he waved his hand, “yelling down at me from the top of your high horse, while you’re using me just as much as I’m using you.” 

‘I’m not-” 

“Sure you’re not.” 

“It’s a complicated-” 

“Believe me, I understand the concept of internalized homophobia. And you’re using me to work out your issues.” 

“Stop saying I’m using you, It’s not-” Harry said, running a hand through his hair, purposefully looking at anything but Hartley and trying to focus on the headphones. 

“I don’t mind,” Hartley interrupted, once again, and Harry looked up at him, silent for a few seconds, before he shook his head and Harry snatched the piece he’d handed Hartley back, reattaching it. 

“There. Should work now,” he said abruptly. 

“Oh, please tell me I get to test it,” Hartley said, and without waiting for an answer, turned on the weapon, making Harry flinch in pain until he put the headphones on. 

Only mildly disappointed he hadn’t gotten to torture him for longer (what’s a little torture, between friends, anyway?), Hartley turned it off. “Guess they work.” 

Harry glared at him. “God, I wish you’d gone with Cisco.”

Chapter Text

Hartley was the first to take the blame for the headphones malfunctioning, fully aware that he’d been far too distracted worrying about the state of his relationship with Cisco to focus on the work, and now here he was in Caitlin’s biolab, sitting across from Harrison’s hospital bed, where he’d been unconscious for the last two hours. He should be waking up soon, and of course, as soon as Hartley thought that, he heard Harry’s breathing change, and the way he stirred a little, before speaking. 

“What are you doing here.” Harry’s voice was weak, but it still held exactly as much annoyance as it usually did. 

Hartley looked up from the book he was reading, pursing his lips, trying not to make it too obvious how happy he was that he was awake and seemingly okay, because Harry did not like it when anyone showed affection for him. “Someone had to make sure you didn’t die. Everyone’s at Joe’s house for dinner.” 

“I wasn’t going to die.” Harry sat up in the hospital bed a little, a disappointed look appearing on his face. 

Hartley went back to his book, knowing what Harry was going to say and pretending not to hear it before he’d even spoken a word. 

“You should’ve gone.” 

“Okay,” Hartley said, because he knew it was the most infuriating response he could’ve given, and he heard Harry’s small sigh of frustration. 

“You’re infuriating.” 

“Okay,” Hartley repeated, a smirk playing on his face now. 

“God, you are infuriatingly like Jesse.” 

“Good thing I convinced her to go to Joe’s by telling her that I’d look after you, then. So she doesn’t have to be the one in this position.” As if Hartley wouldn’t have found some other excuse to stay at S.T.A.R. Labs into the late hours of the night anyway. 

Hartley glanced up in time to see Harry’s fond smile before it faded away. “She’s alright, then?” 

“Oh, she’s fine.” Hartley smiled a little, relishing in what he was about to say next, simply because Harry was so easy to get a rise out of (it was very difficult to get a rise out of Thawne, maybe that was the reason Hartley enjoyed pissing off him so much). “You know, she asked me if you and I were dating.”

Harry choked on air, and Hartley exercised great self control by not laughing at that reaction. “Sorry, what?”  

“She had a whole speech planned. I think she’s been sitting on it for a while. All about how she doesn't mind, she wants to see you happy, and she sees how happy you are with me, and we don’t have to hide it from her. It was really very sweet. You should’ve heard it.” 

“What did you tell her?” 

Hartley hummed. “I told her we’re madly in love, of course. She’s all set to be the flower girl at our wedding.” 

“Hartley.” 

He rolled his eyes, looked up at him. “What do you think I said, Harry? Of course I told her it isn’t like that.” He didn't tell Harry about the rest of their conversation, when Hartley had said, there’s nothing going on between your father and me. I wouldn’t lie to you about that. He didn’t tell him what Jesse had said in response, But you want there to be. Don’t you?  

He did not need to know that part, about her knowing look, and the way Hartley hadn’t been able to come up with a response for a moment. And then he’d shook his head a couple times, and said to her, honestly, because she deserved that, Maybe. Maybe more than I’d like to admit. But I don’t think we’d be good for each other.

She’d tilted her head and asked why, and Hartley had smiled a little. He wasn’t going to subject her to hearing about his own past, he wasn’t going to explain any of what Eobard Thawne had done, and instead simply said, He says I’m too young for him. And that I remind him too much of you. Jesse had laughed and said ew, and well, I’m glad you’re friends, then. You make him happy either way, and that had been the end of it. 

But he didn’t need to know that, it was between him and Jesse. “Did she believe you?” Harry asked, interrupting Hartley’s thoughts. 

“She did.” 

Harry nodded, sitting up a little straighter, cracking his neck and making Hartley wince (Hartley briefly wondered if he did that to annoy him on purpose). “She’s a good kid.” 

“You’re a good dad,” Hartley added. 

“Eh. I try.” He waved the compliment away. 

They sat in a comfortable silence for a while, before Harrison broke it. “You really should’ve gone to Joe’s.” 

“It sounded boring.” 

“Unlike sitting here reading Stephen Hawking?” 

“Stephen Hawking is not boring,” Hartley protested immediately, flipping a page even though he hadn’t actually read anything on it (Harrison was kind of right, Stephen Hawking was a bit boring to Hartley, considering he had all his books practically memorized). 

There was a brief silence, before Harry spoke again. “You talk to Ramon?” he asked.

Hartley knew what that meant, but he pretended not to, tilting his head as he went back to his book, pretending to read it. “About what?” 

“Hartley.” 

“No,” he sighed. “No, I have not.” Turning the accusatory tone of the conversation from himself to Harry, he spoke, closing his book and dog-earring the page (because no one cared, and it was his book, and he could do what he wanted with it, mom), “Have you given any thought to why you call everyone by their last name but you’ve taken to calling me Hartley?”  

“Do you not want me to? I figured with your relationship with your parents-” 

“If I cared that much, I would’ve changed my name.” Harry didn’t say anything for a minute, and Hartley made a pointed noise before speaking again. “And we both know that isn’t the reason. Dicunt enim et non faciunt.”  

“If you think quoting a Bible verse at me will make me listen to you, maybe we should talk about my parents,” Harry said derisively. 

Hartley ignored that and sat forward a little. “I’m going to state some objective facts here. And I want you to not interrupt me with snarky comments while I say them.” 

Harry sighed, like he knew where this was going, and waved his hand for Hartley to continue. 

Hartley took a breath, and spoke. “Fact number one. We’re both adults.” When he received no interruption, he continued. “The age gap isn’t weird if you’re not my boss and you haven’t known me since I was seventeen.” 

“No, I just have the face of someone who was, and did.” 

“I said no snarky comments,” Hartley said pointedly. “Next. You haven’t killed three people fifteen years ago and stolen one of their identities.”

“You don’t know that.” 

Hartley pretended he hadn’t heard that, too. “Final point. I know you’ve thought about it. We both know you’ve thought about it. And you need to work through your issues just as much as I need to work through mine.” 

Harry made a noise, sitting up straighter and pulling off his heart monitor. “Suddenly, this feels less like you waiting up for me and more like an ambush.” 

Hartley shrugged. “Two things can be true at once.” 

“What about Ramon?” 

“What about him?” 

Harry raised an eyebrow, and opened his mouth to respond when Hartley’s phone buzzed, and he looked down. “Speak of the devil.” Hartley picked up. “Cisquito. I told you, I’m not coming.” 

“Zoom took Barry’s dad.”  

“What?” 

Harry looked at him, obviously noticing the panicked tone on the other side of the phone, but unable to hear whatever Cisco was saying. 

“He showed up, took Barry’s dad, and now they’re both gone. Barry went after them. We’re headed back to S.T.A.R. Labs now. Is there any way for you to figure out where they went?” 

“I can try to track them, I- give me a minute, okay?” He stood up, and Harrison did too. 

“What’s going on?” he asked.

 “Zoom took Barry’s dad, Barry went after him.”

“Can’t get five minutes of peace in this damn place,” Harry muttered, following Hartley into the cortex. 

********

By the time they were able to triangulate Zoom and Barry’s location, it was too late. 

Barry was back before Cisco and everyone else even got to S.T.A.R. Labs, holding his father’s body. Harry tried to comfort him, tried to help, and he did a better job of it than Hartley would, but that didn’t mean there was really any comforting him. There was no making this better.

The funeral that followed several days later was more depressing than any other funeral Hartley had been to, not that Hartley had been to many funerals, and the plan to defeat Zoom that they came to agree upon was somehow even more depressing. 

Hartley stared at Barry through the glass of the cell they’d put him in. He’d been about as excited to go through with this as the rest of them had (that being, not looking forward to it at all, but hey, if all of this ended terribly, everyone could blame him for owning the company), and he followed Harry out of the pipeline without saying anything. Leaving the man who’d given his company to him locked in a cell in the pipeline, and trying not to feel too awful about it.

“Go on, say it,” Harry said as they stood in the elevator, and Hartley let out a long, tired sigh before speaking. 

“I should’ve stayed at Mercury.” 

“There it is.” Harry clapped him on the shoulder and Hartley sighed again. “And I should’ve stayed on Earth-2. But here we are, Hartley Rathaway.”

“Here we are, indeed,” Hartley said as they walked into Harry’s lab. He sat down heavily at Harry’s desk, closing his eyes and leaning forward, rubbing the bridge of his nose. 

“I realize now isn’t the ideal time for this, but we never did finish our conversation.”

“Oh, god,” Hartley muttered, and dropped his head onto Harry’s desk. “Yeah, it really isn’t the time for this, Harry. I just locked my business partner in the pipeline, if you’ll recall.” 

A hand on his shoulder, unfortunately comforting. 

“We did what we had to do. No use dwelling on it.” 

No use dwelling on it. Christ, Hartley wished he could feel that calm about what they’d done.

“But, our conversation,” Harry said, “I do think we should be dwelling on that.” 

“I hate dwelling.”

“Hartley, you love dwelling. I don’t think I’ve had a conversation with you where you didn’t dwell.” 

Probably accurate. “Not my fault you have that face.” 

“Technically, it isn’t my fault either,” came Harry’s response, before he added on, “But like I said, I told you, I’m not enabling you anymore. And I meant that.” 

Hartley sat up, leaning against the back of the desk chair, and Harry’s hand shifted a little, idly squeezing the muscles of his shoulder. “I do recall you saying that,” he murmured. He didn’t entirely recall Harry meaning it, though. Maybe he wanted to mean it, was trying to convince himself he meant it. But that was a different thing entirely. It was the same thing as saying I only kissed you to make you focus on finding Zoom. As if that was a normal thing for someone to do. I didn’t enjoy it. Denial was a river in Egypt, and Harry Wells was on a sinking ship. 

“It’s not good for me,” Harry continued, both hands on Hartley’s shoulders now, messaging gently, and Hartley did not have the wherewithal to wonder why he was doing this, just let himself relax into the touch. “And it’s not good for you, either,” he said, and Hartley hummed in agreement. “God, you’re tense,” he added absently. 

“Wonder why that is.” Hartley’s eyes threatened to slide shut as he let out a soft, contented noise. 

Harry laughed a little at his response, one hand moving slowly to the back of Hartley’s neck, massaging there. “My point is,” he said, like Hartley was being an active listener (he was not), “we would tear each other apart and you know it. It’s an awful idea.” 

“I’d be okay with being torn apart,” Hartley said, only half-paying attention. 

“I’m not looking to tear people apart right now.” 

“No?” Hartley rolled his neck, tilting his head into Harry’s hand, “Call me when you are.” 

Harry laughed louder that time, his fingers doing some sort of absolutely magical thing with the knots of tension at the nape of neck that made Hartley want to melt. 

“Have I mentioned before how good you are at mixed signals?” Hartley asked. “God-” his eyelids fluttered, “you could teach a seminar.” 

Harry’s hands left Hartley, like he’d realized what he was doing, and Hartley made a noise of discontentment. “I’m not doing it on purpose.” 

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said, that surprising amount of tension that had lifted from his shoulders suddenly coming right back as he turned the chair to face Harry. 

“We should talk about this, Hartley.” Hartley was already starting to forget how his Harrison—Thawne—used to say his name, and replacing it with this. He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. 

He sighed. “Yeah, alright, let’s talk about this.” 

Harry nodded and leaned back against the desk opposite him. “Ramon likes you. You like him. So why are you coming back to me?” 

“You know why.” 

Harry took off his glasses to rub his temples, and now that his eyes were closed, Hartley felt like he could blink again, look away for a second. “Right. Sure. And I’m encouraging it.”

“Damn right you are. You can say whatever you want, doesn’t change the fact that you just gave me the first massage I think I’ve ever had in my life. So why don’t you evaluate your baggage before you come for me?” 

Harry looked at him. “Yeah. I deserve that. But you know my Earth isn’t as… progressive, as yours is. And you’re so…” he trailed off, and Hartley smiled a little. “What I mean to say is, you were right, when you said you were the first man to flirt with me.”

“You’re welcome to stay.” He meant to add there’s lots of other men here who would flirt with you, but the words faded on his tongue. 

There was a pause, and Harry looked into his eyes. Hartley looked back, staring into the depths of that bright blue. And imagined a future where Harry did stay. And then immediately stopped himself from imagining that future. Bad idea, a warning voice in the back of his head spoke—a voice that sounded very much like Cisco’s.

When Harry spoke, his voice was a little rough, and it made Hartley shiver. “Believe me, I’ve thought about it.” 

Hartley wasn’t sure if he was entirely speaking about staying. He imagined Harry, laying in his bed in the hidden depths of the lab, trying not to think about Hartley. It was almost unfortunate how easy it was to imagine, considering Hartley had intimate knowledge of exactly what every plane of Harrison Wells’ body looked like. He tried to shake the image away, clearing his throat. “What’s stopped you?” 

“From… staying?” Harry asked, like he’d also briefly lost the threads of their conversation. 

“From staying,” Hartley clarified, nodding quickly.

Harry looked away, shaking his head. “I couldn’t do that to Jesse.” 

Thank god for that bucket of ice water. Hartley ran a hand through his hair. “She doesn’t want to stay?” 

Harry shook his head. “Her friends, her life. And… my daughter comes first. She’ll always come first.” 

“And even if you did stay…”

“It wouldn’t be for you. It couldn’t be for you. Can’t go down that road with you.” He paused, then added, “Any further than we already have.”  

Hartley didn’t say anything for a while. “Can I be honest with you about something, Harry?” 

He waved his hand, silently telling him to go on. 

“I don’t even think I really want you to.” He looked down. “I’ve thought about it. Of course I’ve thought about it. We’ve both thought about it. But you’re… you’re just a habit at this point. An easy road to go down.” 

“Nice of you to say.” 

Hartley grinned at him, before looking down at his lap, knitting his fingers together. “I’m almost glad you have so many hangups. If you’d said yes months ago, I would’ve hated myself the whole time.” 

“Good to know the exhausting struggle of my midlife sexuality crisis was good for your mental health, then,” Harry said, and Hartley laughed, before putting a hand over his mouth. 

“Sorry.” 

“It’s fine,” Harry shrugged. 

There was a brief silence, before Hartley spoke again. “How do you know I like Cisco?” 

Harry laughed. “Come on. It’s obvious to literally everyone besides him.” 

“And you don’t think that’s a terrible idea?” 

“I think it’s demonstrably better than the idea of us,” Harry said, and Hartley had to concede that point. Anything was better than going back to Harrison Wells. Any version of him. 

“I don’t know, Jesse seems to think we’d really make it together,” Hartley said, teasingly. 

Before Harry could answer, as if on cue, Jesse walked into the lab, her eyes traveling from her dad to Hartley, and she seemed like she had something to say about it, but Hartley got up quickly. “I was just leaving,” he said, and Jesse offered him a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, though he didn’t take that personally, and then looked back at Harry. 

“Dad, I need to talk to you,” she said, and Hartley had correctly taken that to mean alone.  

“I’ll meet you in the cortex,” Hartley muttered, stepping out and wondering if it would be fucked up to eavesdrop on them. He decided to be a good person, for once, and turned his deafeners up as he walked away. He could eavesdrop on other, less personal and less important conversations. Or, he considered, no conversations (he thought of Thawne’s security cameras everywhere, and decided then and there that he would not ever be eavesdropping again. Unless he really needed to).

Chapter Text

Who knew, but imprisoning his business partner in the pipeline did, in fact, turn out to be a bad idea. A lot of bad ideas all scrambled up into one complicated day that, by the end of it, left Hartley feeling very exhausted, and very much like he needed to be away from people for the moment. 

“Hey,” Hartley said, pulling out a cigarette (he still had yet to quit again, he kept finding new reasons to need stress relief), as he realized he hadn’t been the first one to wish for some alone time in the same place, approaching Cisco on the S.T.A.R. Labs roof.  

Cisco turned to look at him, his hair blowing across his face in the breeze. “Hey yourself.” 

“You’re not still pissed at me, are you,” he asked warily as he lit his cigarette, because hey yourself was always going to sound like a hostile greeting.

Cisco shook his head. “Life’s too short, man.”

Hartley nodded, sitting down next to him against a ventilation unit. “You gonna tell me what it was about?”

“Oh, come on. You know.”

He supposed he did, and the problem was that neither of them wanted to say it.

“But for the record,” Cisco added, “Even though he’s leaving and it doesn’t matter now, I still think it was a bad idea. You and Harry.” 

Hartley snorted. Alright, maybe they still weren’t both on the same page. Granted, that was probably Hartley’s own fault. “Yeah, I think all three of us are in agreement on that.”

Cisco gave him a look out of the corner of his eye. “What do you mean?” 

“Cisco, there was never me and Harry.” There almost had been. Luckily, Harry exhibited just enough self control for Hartley to have time to realize what a truly terrible idea that would be, and vice versa. “God knows I gave it the old college try. But he’s got a few too many hang-ups to let it happen.” He flicked ash from his cigarette idly, for something to do with his hands, for something to look at that wasn’t Cisco. “There was me and Harrison,” he continued eventually, wondering if it was at all possible to try to explain his complicated feelings for Harry, “Me and Thawne. Me and the broken, wishful ideal version of Harrison Wells that only ever existed in my head. Me and a decade of my life that I wasted and I’ll never get back.” He looked down. “And I’m not about to waste any more of it on him.”

“Are you serious?” 

“Dead serious, Cisquito. I spent too much of my life dedicated to that man. I can’t do it again. And besides,” he added, “I told you we weren’t a thing.”  

Cisco spread his hands, like his response to that was obvious. “I thought you were lying!” 

Unsure whether he should be offended by that, and choosing to say yes, he absolutely should, because he wasn’t a liar, Hartley blinked at him. “Why would I lie about that.” 

Cisco opened his mouth and then closed it again, gesturing vaguely at nothing, before saying, “Hartley, you lie about literally everything.” 

“What are you talking about? I do not!” 

“Oh, you don’t? Okay,” Cisco said, and held up his hands to count, “you lied about not going to parties, you lied about not liking Star Trek, your relationship with Harrison Wells, your-”

“I said we weren’t-”  

“The original version, not the remix.”

Hartley went quiet for a second. “Oh.” 

Cisco continued. “Anyway, not technically lies but absolutely secrets; you should’ve told Caitlin about Ronnie way sooner than you did, you-”

“Did it ever occur to you that maybe I don’t tell you things because of what happened the last time I tried to tell you something?” Hartley interrupted. 

“What are you talking about?”

“The accelerator, Cisco. You let Harrison manipulate you into thinking I was crazy.” 

“And you let him manipulate you into thinking I was trying to steal him away from you,” Cisco pointed out, and they both went quiet, then, contemplating their shared realization. “So…” Cisco said, and watched as Hartley took a drag of his cigarette. 

“I’m sorry,” Hartley said, and from the look on Cisco’s face, he hadn’t expected to be the first to get that apology. 

“I- yeah, me too.” 

Hartley gave him a look. “You can’t just say that.” 

“What?” 

“You have to say the whole thing.” 

Cisco looked like he was genuinely trying to decipher if Hartley was kidding or not. “Are you fucking kidding me.” 

“Say the whole thing, Cisco.” 

After a dramatic sigh and an eye roll, Cisco relented. “I’m sorry, Hartley.” 

Hartley gave him an only-partially sarcastic smile. “Sweet of you to say.” 

“You are the most obnoxious person I’ve ever met.” 

“You love me,” Hartley responded. 

Cisco froze for a second, then shook his head a little, forcing out a soft laugh, before he cleared his throat and changed the subject. “I can’t believe I spent all that time being pissed at you for going behind my back and getting with Harry, and I was pissed at him, too, mind you, and neither of you corrected me. I mean, really, what did you think I was pissed about?”

“I thought…” Hartley sighed. He really had a very strong compulsion to start lying again, but he supposed he’d made Cisco suffer enough for the time being. He saw the way Cisco’s expression changed at the you love me comment. “You and I,” he started, taking a deep breath, “we’ve been flirting with each other for the past six months. And I’ve been pretending it’s a joke because I don't want to admit that…” he swallowed, making a vague hand gesture between the two of them, “And I guess there’s a possibility you’ve been joking, too, and I’ve misread everything, but-” He chewed on his bottom lip for a second, refusing to look Cisco in the eye. “I was pretty sure I was finally starting to annoy you because I kept acting like anything we had was a joke.” 

Cisco was quiet for several seconds. “Oh. You knew.” 

“Of course I knew. You’re not exactly subtle.” 

Cisco cringed a little, and Hartley felt kind of bad for saying it like that. “Remember Halloween?” Cisco finally asked, staring resolutely at the ground. 

“Unfortunately.” 

“I really thought- I thought I made it obvious, and you were... oblivious.” 

“I know,” Hartley cut him off. “And I knew, then.” 

“Oh,” Cisco said. 

“Yeah.” Hartley didn’t dare look at him. He took a drag of his cigarette and stared up at the sky, watching the smoke waft away. 

“So why didn’t you say anything?” Cisco almost sounded like he didn’t want to know the answer. 

“Cisco, I was- I am so fucked up. I can’t make that your problem. I can’t put that on you.” 

“You say that a lot.” 

“What?” 

Cisco looked away for a second. “Being at S.T.A.R. Labs, with you here, being friends with you, I get… a lot of Vibes. You used to say that to Dr. Wells all the time. And he let you.” 

Hartley didn’t say anything. 

“I like you, Hartley. I think you’re funny. And hot, and honestly way too smart to even exist. And I know-” he broke off, chewing on the inside of his cheek, “I guess I really don’t know, no matter how many Vibes I get, or how much you tell me—or don’t tell me—that you have been fucked with for most of your life by someone who didn’t care about you. A lot of people who didn’t care about you. I can’t say I know how you feel. Or what it’s like, or what you can and can’t deal with. If you don’t want to be with me, I-”

“I like you, Cisco,” Hartley interrupted. 

There was another silence. Hartley stared at his cigarette and wondered if it was what was making him nauseous, or if he’d feel like this anyway. Cisco was still staring down at his lap. “So,” he said eventually, “what are we gonna do about this, then?”

Hartley shook his head. “Well, right now, I’m going to say goodbye to Harry, because he’s leaving with the doppelganger of Barry’s hot dead dad, and who knows when any of us will see him again.”

“Ignoring the fact that one of those adjectives should absolutely not be in that sentence, what about… after that?” 

“After that… I’m going to go home early, because this day has been fucked, my life has been fucked, and I’m tired.” 

Cisco laughed a little. “Valid.” Then he added, “and tomorrow?” 

“Tomorrow I’m going to lock myself in my office and pretend very hard that I have a normal job, at a normal company, because I have a meeting with Mercury about selling them some of our patents. And then I suppose after the meeting, I’ll figure out how to defeat an undefeatable supervillain.” 

Cisco didn’t say anything in response, and Hartley glanced at him, at the dejected look on his face, but he didn’t have anything to make him feel any better, so he stayed quiet. 

“Okay, look,” Cisco turned towards him fully. “I’ve been thinking about our conversation a few days ago. And I’m sorry I didn’t pick up what you were putting down then, but I’m a little… slow on that, sometimes.” 

Hartley said nothing, not entirely sure what conversation he was referring to (he often had conversations with Cisco where the man seemed willfully obtuse and unable to read between the lines). 

“I get it,” Cisco continued. “Dating your boss. You’ve got some baggage there. And it’s a bad idea. Power imbalance. Gaslighting. Et cetera,” Cisco elaborated. “But can I… can I make like, one other point? Or maybe two other points?” 

Hartley sighed, closing his eyes for a few seconds, before looking back at him. “Go ahead.” 

Cisco spoke very quickly, either afraid of losing his nerve or afraid of being cut off before he could finish. “I’m not a seventeen year old homeless schizophrenic PhD student with daddy issues and you’re not a forty-something year old man who I’ve worshipped since I was fourteen.” 

Hartley blinked at him, his mouth slightly open. “That-” he started, and Cisco grinned at him, seeming to enjoy making him speechless, “that felt more like a roast than an attempt to date me, if I’m being honest.” 

“Second point-“ 

“That was all one point?”  

“-as far as I know, you are not an identity-stealing, time-traveling, murderer, who needs to manipulate me into building a particle accelerator designed to fail.” 

“No, but I do have mommy issues too, so. Jot that down, for next time.” 

Cisco gave him a look, pushing his hair behind his ear. “Can you take this seriously, please?” 

“Not really, no,” Hartley responded, without thinking about it, and Cisco’s expression soured. “Hey, you’re the one who called me a homeless schizophrenic.” 

“I didn’t-” Cisco blanched at that, his brain finally seeming to catch up to his words, and he looked away, running a hand through his hair. “God, this is not going the way I wanted it to. I’m sorry.” 

“Was there a good version of this conversation, in your head? A version where this all worked out for you?”

“Fine, then.” Cisco huffed in annoyance. “Whatever. You said you weren’t looking for emotions anyway, so.” He shrugged, stepping away. “Guess this wasn’t going to work out from the start, right?” 

“I didn’t mean-” 

Cisco held up his hand. “No. You’re not ready. And apparently both of us are too immature to have one conversation.” 

“No,” Hartley said quickly, “I-” he swallowed, looking away, at a spot on Cisco’s shoe. “I’ve been reviewing the S.T.A.R. Labs employee fraternization policy. You know, it comes with a monstrous amount of paperwork. And-” he hesitated. “And I still have some things to clear up, with Harry, before he goes. It’s… messy.” Was anything in his life ever clean?

“You just said you never-”

“We didn’t,” Hartley assured him quickly. “But aside from that, I… still have some things to think about, in the realm of- of vulnerability. As you pointed out, dating and working together did not work out with the last guy I tried it with. But you’re…” he stopped for a second, looking away. “Persistent,” he said finally. 

Cisco met his eyes and broke into a wide grin. “Yeah?” 

Hartley stood up, putting out his cigarette, and offered Cisco a hand up. “Yeah.” They paused, staring at each other, Cisco still squeezing his hand, and Hartley could’ve kissed him right then. He could’ve, and he wanted to, but for some reason he didn’t. 

And they looked at each other, for a long time, before Hartley finally let go of Cisco and turned away. “But like I said. Right now we should say goodbye to Harry and Jesse.” 

They walked back downstairs together, and Hartley told Jesse goodbye, and she hugged him tightly, kissing his cheek, and then Harry pulled him to the side and spoke softly to him, told him he was proud of him, and Hartley, for once, didn’t take that praise as something from Harrison Wells, a man he was in love with, a man he dedicated his life to, a man he’d do anything for. Instead he took it as a compliment from a friend, and hugged him goodbye, too. 

“Do you really think Cisco and I are a good idea?” he asked in Harry’s ear as they hugged, and he pulled back, his arms on Hartley’s, holding him gently. 

“I do. I think you both need it.” 

“After what I went through with Thawne, don’t you think it’s a bad idea for-”

Harry shook his head, speaking quietly. “Cisco Ramon is an adult, who is fully capable of making his own decisions. How long have you known him?”

Hartley shook his head. “That’s not- that doesn’t mean anything, Harrison and I knew each other for years before we-”

“How old was he, when you met him? Ramon, I mean.” 

“Twenty-four, maybe?” 

“Uhuh,” Harry said, like his point had been proven. 

“That doesn’t mean-” Hartley cut himself off, sighing. “Do you think I’m just looking for excuses to… make things not work out?” He’d meant to end that sentence with, to not move on, but given the fact that he was discussing his relationship problems with Harrison Wells it was perhaps very obvious he was doing that. 

“You have been since you started flirting with me,” Harry said, like he was answering Hartley’s unspoken question and not the one he’d actually asked, and Hartley resisted the urge to smack him on the arm. 

He didn’t say anything for a few seconds, until Harry pulled the envelope from Thawne’s house out of his pocket, offering it to him—subtly enough that no one else noticed. “Are you ready to take it?” 

Hartley stared at the envelope in Harry’s hand for a second, and when he spoke, it was very distinctly not an answer to Harry’s question. “You know that envelope’s probably been in there for five years,” he said. 

“Sorry?” 

“In the safe,” Hartley elaborated. “Some sort of fucked up trust exercise. He bought the safe, put that in there—not that I knew what he put in there at the time—programmed it with my fingerprint, and told me I’d know when to unlock it.”  

He imagined the time to unlock it would have been when Eobard Thawne had managed to get back to his time, and disappeared forever, or when he died. You’ll know when to unlock it. He’d expected Hartley by his side right up until the end. Probably imagined a world where Hartley, devastated at the loss of his friend, lover, mentor, stumbled into the house the night he was gone, feeling betrayed and alone, opened up the safe for answers. He hadn’t expected to lose him the way he had. Hartley felt oddly satisfied by that thought. 

Harry spoke, stirring him out of his thoughts. “Did he ever do anything like a normal person?”

“No. That was sort of his entire thing.” 

“Well. You want it?” He held it out again, and Hartley shook his head and pushed his hand away. He wasn’t ready to deal with that. He might never be ready to deal with that. “I don’t know when I’ll see you again,” Harry reminded him, and Hartley nodded. 

“I’m okay with that. I just stopped letting him run my life. And whatever’s in there… I know if I see it now, it’ll drag me right back down again. I’m not ready.” 

“I know I already told you I was proud of you, but I really mean it,” Harry said, and Hartley smiled. 

“Hey, I’m proud of you, too,” Hartley said. “And you know what? If my doppelganger’s still alive, I give you full permission to fuck him.” 

For a couple seconds, Harry stared at him in silence, as if Hartley was never saying completely unprompted insane things like that. “I’m not- he hates me.” 

“Yeah, so did I. He’ll get over it.” Hartley winked at him, and now it was once again Harry’s turn to sputter incomprehensibly for a few seconds, before Hartley steered him back to the breach. 

Hartley went home that day, but it still wasn’t right. Even after his goodbye to Harry, his talk with Cisco, it still didn’t feel quite right. He hadn’t done everything he’d wanted to do. And, unfortunately, he knew exactly what that last thing was. It took him a lot of contemplation, and a lot of working himself up to actually go through with it, before he picked up his phone and called Cisco a few hours later. 

“It’s Hartley,” he said, and didn’t give Cisco a chance to answer before asking, “can we meet?” 

“Sure, yeah. I can be at Jitters in twenty.”  

“No, not Jitters,” he said quickly. “Your apartment.” 

“My- um. I mean I-” 

“I’ll be there in ten.” 

“Don’t you need my-” 

“Already got it,” Hartley said, and hung up. 

Waiting for Cisco at his door, Hartley could hear his own heartbeat thumping in his chest, almost louder than the sound of Cisco’s footsteps, louder than the sound of his door unlocking, louder than his friendly, albeit slightly confused and awkward, “Hey, Hartley, what’s up?”

Louder than the sound of their bodies crashing together when Hartley surged forward and kissed him, and Cisco’s surprised noise before he wrapped his arms around Hartley and let himself be pushed back up against the wall. 

When Hartley broke away, Cisco’s face was flushed, and he looked like he had about a million things to say, but instead he said, “Well, hello to you, too.” 

Hartley brought his hand up to Cisco’s hair, running his fingers through it, delicately, even as his other hand gripped Cisco’s hip tightly, pulling him closer, and his next kiss was no less hard than the first. 

“God,” he muttered, breathing heavily, resting his forehead on Cisco’s, “you have no idea,” he paused to kiss him again, “how long I’ve wanted to do that.”

Cisco laughed into the kiss, and it was the most beautiful noise Hartley had ever heard. “Then why didn’t you do it sooner?” 

Hartley didn’t answer, moving the hand on Cisco’s hip to push his shirt up, pressing himself closer, mouth finding a spot on the side of Cisco’s neck that made his breath hitch. “Bedroom,” he finally managed to say.

It seemed to take Cisco a bit to realize what Hartley was saying, in fact he didn’t seem to have any intentions of moving, or even thinking, really, until Hartley pulled back enough to look at him, and suddenly what he’d said seemed to sink in. 

“Fuck,” he murmured, pupils blown wide, breathing hard. “Do you think we should-” he broke off, seemingly at a war with himself, and if Hartley had to guess at the end of that sentence, he imagined it went something like talk about this, but, amazingly for everyone involved, he opted to, instead of finishing the sentence, grab Hartley’s hand and lead him into the bedroom without another word.

********

At first, Cisco was afraid he’d left. He’d decided this whole thing had been a mistake, and he’d left before Cisco woke up (they really should’ve talked about it beforehand, fuck), so Cisco spent several minutes panicking about what to do when he saw him at work, before he noticed his kitchen window was open, and there was Hartley on the fire escape, leaning against the railing, smoking a cigarette. 

Cisco hopped through the window, coming up behind him. “You really should quit.” 

Hartley took a long inhale, waving his hand so he didn’t exhale smoke into Cisco’s face (because he was polite, when he wanted to be). “God hates quitters,” he said, and Cisco laughed.

“Fuck you, man. You don’t even believe in God.” 

Hartley looked at him with that smile Cisco could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen. “No, but I love making you laugh.”

Cisco leaned close to him, taking the cigarette from his fingers and putting it out on the railing. He leaned in, his lips centimeters from Hartley’s. Hartley leaned closer, about to close the distance, before Cisco tilted his head, whispered in Hartley’s ear, “Quit. Okay, babe?” 

Cisco turned and walked back inside.

Hartley stood there for several seconds, kind of frozen. “Did you call me babe?” he asked and turned to look at Cisco through the window. “Cisco!” 

He watched Cisco wink at him, say something like, I’m gonna run down the street and grab breakfast from the place down the street, text me what you want, and Hartley nodded his agreement, a fond, genuine smile on his face, and once, in all his life, he felt content. This felt real. He was happy.

Chapter Text

- Six Months Later - 

Hartley’s voice could be heard echoing from his office down the halls of S.T.A.R. Labs even with the door shut, a fact he was acutely aware of, because he could hear Cisco’s footsteps getting closer and a muttered Hart, babe, what’s wrong? because he knew Hartley could hear it (normally, he found that sweet, but right now, just the sound of another human being existing in the world was pissing him off).

“Oh, really?” He spoke to the man on the other end of the conference call—someone who, up until about five minutes ago, had been a prospective business associate to S.T.A.R. “You think Harrison Wells murdered a woman, but that he’d draw the line at lying about me? You think he’s perfectly capable of killing an innocent person, but the fact that he might have made up a few rumors to discredit the man who happened to find the flaw in his accelerator is so far outside of the realm of possibility that-”

He was cut off, with a response that made his blood boil. 

“Mr. Rathaway-” 

“Doctor,” he corrected, through gritted teeth. 

“Of course. All I meant to say is that… this isn’t the first time you’ve been involved in scandal. And, there’s, of course, the matter of Osgood Rathaway. We work with you, we’ll lose our business relationship with Rathaway Industries, and that’s not something my partners are sure is a-”

“If you’re not sure, then why the fuck are we even having this meeting, I have so many better things to be wasting my time with than-”

Barry sped in, Hartley’s office door slamming open, and interrupted loudly. “Sorry! So sorry!” He picked up the phone, taking it off speaker. “Hi, yeah. This is Barry Allen.” A pause. “Yeah. I know. Yeah, Hartley’s trying to quit smoking.” The reply to that, which Barry seemed to have forgotten Hartley could still fucking hear, made him want to punch something. “He’ll call you back, okay?” Barry responded, and then hung up the phone. 

Hartley, who’d been pacing the room, turned to face Barry, jaw clenched. “I am going to kill you,” he said. “I’m going to actually kill you.”

“You do know that’s the third prospective business relationship you’ve obliterated in the last week, right? You can’t start yelling every time someone—oh, hey, Cisco—so much as mentions Dr. Wells or your parents!” 

Cisco walked into the office, eyebrows raised, looking between them both.

“They’re millionaires! They’re all—hi, babe—fucking millionaires! If anything, people should be yelling at them more!”

“Hartley, you’re a millionaire,” Barry said, which was possibly the worst thing he could’ve said. 

“I’m-” Hartley sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, and maybe this was the day he actually would boil Barry’s organs. He’d finally do it. Being called a millionaire was the last straw. 

“Hart?” Cisco broke in, putting a hand on his arm. “You wanna take a walk?” 

“I want to break something,” Hartley responded, voice measured. 

“Yeah, let’s take a walk.” He didn’t wait for an answer, taking Hartley’s arm gently and steering him out of the office and down the hall, into the elevator and up to the S.T.A.R. roof. He didn’t say a word and neither did Hartley, letting himself be led outside until he was leaning against an air duct, closing his eyes and trying to remember how to breathe. “You good?” Cisco asked, after a minute of waiting in silence while Hartley tried to steady his breathing. 

Hartley shook his head, tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. 

“Okay.” Cisco stepped closer, the hand on his arm tightening a little, reassuringly, reminding him he was there, while his other moved to run through Hartley’s hair. Hartley knew Cisco loved how he wore it now, loose curls that were easy to comb through, which Cisco took every possible opportunity to do. “What can I do?” 

He shook his head again, dislodging Cisco’s fingers. “Nothing.” 

“You want a lollipop?” He fished one out of his pocket, offering it up. 

“It’s not withdrawals.” 

Cisco raised a skeptical eyebrow, and Hartley huffed out a tired laugh and took it. “Fine.” He unwrapped it and shoved it in his mouth, and, though he’d never admit it, he almost immediately felt at least a bit of the fog in his brain clear. “You know,” he said, pushing the lollipop to the side of his mouth to speak, “the first time I quit, Harrison-” he broke off, the words dying on his tongue, and looked away. 

Cisco tilted his head. “Harrison, what?” he prompted, and Hartley shook his head, pulling the lollipop out of his mouth and taking a deep exhale, holding the stick like a cigarette (yes, it was stupid, but sue him, it helped). 

“Nothing. Forget it.” 

There was a pause, and Cisco looked like he was trying to figure out what to say. “You know,” he said eventually. “You can talk about him.” 

Hartley looked away purposefully but said nothing. 

“I mean, for God’s sake, you’ve got a picture of you guys together sitting in your office.” Cisco tilted his head, trying to make eye contact with him, but Hartley was carefully avoiding doing that exact thing. “You don’t even have a picture of us together in your office.” 

“You’re in that picture, too,” Hartley responded, and Cisco looked at him, and they both, very obviously, knew that was not even close to what Cisco was saying. 

“I’m not like, fucked up about it, Hart. Eight years of your life. Five years together. You’re allowed to talk about it. I’m asking you to talk about it. About him.” 

“I don’t want to.” 

“You clearly, obviously, do.” 

Hartley looked away again. “Yeah. Whatever.” Cisco closed his eyes for a second, and Hartley felt a twinge of guilt. Him off cigarettes was probably going to force Cisco into taking up smoking. “Sorry,” he muttered, and Cisco waved it away. “It’s not…” he started, “it’s not that. I mean, it’s not just that. Or just withdrawals, or-”

“Barry calling you a millionaire,” Cisco offered, and Hartley’s eyes flashed in annoyance. “It’s a lot of things. I get it.” 

Hartley managed a small smile, putting the lollipop back in his mouth. 

“Your parents again?” 

Hartley shrugged. “Among other things.” 

“What things?” 

Mysterious flash drives. Obnoxious businessmen. The slow, burning, realization that the life he’d dreamed for since he was five years old was actually hell on Earth and he didn’t know how to admit that out loud, because that would be quitting, and Rachel and Osgood may have raised an emotionally unregulated asshole with an addictive personality disorder and paranoid schizophrenia, but they didn’t raise a fucking quitter. “I need to talk to Harry,” he said, finally. 

Cisco blinked at him. “Sorry?” 

“You can breach me to Earth-2, right?” 

“Well, yeah, but-”

“I need to talk to Harry,” he repeated, and Cisco blinked at him. 

“I visit him like twice a month. You’ve never wanted to go.” 

“I don’t want to. I need to.” 

Cisco said nothing for a few seconds, opening his mouth and then closing it again. “You gonna tell me what’s going on?” 

Hartley hesitated. “I… asked Harry to hold onto something for me. Until I was ready. I need to get it back.” Cisco raised an eyebrow. “I promise I’ll explain after.” 

“You don't want me to come.” 

“Cisco, I have to figure this out alone.” 

“You mean, with Harry,” Cisco corrected, crossing his arms. “What does he get to know that I don’t?” 

“It’s not like that.” It sort of was exactly like that. 

The way Cisco was looking at him was hard to parse, but Hartley figured it seemed like he was angry while trying very hard not to be angry, and was going for understanding sympathy and emotional support. Hartley really did not deserve him. “Okay,” he finally said.

Hartley nodded, and then waited, expectantly, and Cisco stared at him for a few seconds. “Oh. You mean now?” 

He nodded again. 

Cisco sighed. “Want me to cancel your meetings?” 

“Make Barry take them. He never goes to any of them. And he still hasn’t replied to any of my emails this week.” 

“You know he has, like, a whole other job, right? Technically, two other jobs.” 

Hartley snorted derisively. “Yes, cop and superhero. Very respectable careers. The breach, please.” 

Cisco sighed again, watching Hartley adjust his aids to orient them to Earth-2’s frequency. “I’m only doing this right now because you’re so cranky, and we both know a trip to a different universe is the only vacation you’re going to take for the next year.” 

Choosing not to respond to that comment, Hartleg leaned forward and kissed him on the cheek. “Thank you, Cisco. Shouldn’t take more than twenty minutes.” 

“Sure. Tell Harry I said ‘stay away from my boyfriend’.” 

Hartley was pretty sure that was only about… thirty percent a joke. 

“And I know I’m being chill right now,” he added, “but I do expect a full explanation when you get back.” 

“Promise,” Hartley said as he stepped through the breach and into Earth-2, a little concerned Harry wouldn’t even be there, and that he’d spend two hours sitting around waiting for him to show up, but- no. Of course not, because he was Harry, and he never left his lab, and he was downstairs within minutes of receiving an alert that someone had breached into S.T.A.R. 

“I’m still working on that system so you can actually call first before you waltz into my-” Harry broke off as he rounded the corner and spotted him. “Hartley. I… was expecting Ramon.” 

“Sorry to disappoint.” 

“No, not-” Harry stepped closer, raising an arm, awkwardly, like he wasn’t sure if he should be going for a handshake or a hug, and Hartley watched it with an eyebrow raised in amusement, before Harry dropped his arm back to his side, “I didn’t mean it like that. I only meant…” he cleared his throat, “I ask after you. Ramon tells me you’re doing well.” 

“You ask about me?” Hartley wet his lips, trying not to have much of a reaction to that.

“Oh, you know, in the how’s Allen? And how’s Rathaway? Give them my regards, sense. Not…” he trailed off, clearly implying the awkwardness of asking Cisco how Hartley was doing.

“That reminds me,” Hartley said, “Cisco says, stay away from my boyfriend. If that means anything to you.”

Harry winced, looking away. “So. Why are you here?” 

“I think you know.” Hartley took a few steps closer. 

“Usually, in my dreams, this is where I try to run and can’t.” 

Hartley snorted, reaching out and smacking him lightly on the arm. “Asshole. No, I’m here for the envelope.” 

Not saying anything right away, Harry crossed his arms, seeming to be thinking something through, before he nodded. “Come upstairs,” he said, and didn’t wait for an answer before turning around. Hartley followed him silently to his office, taking note of the changes since the last time he’d come here. “Ramon says things are going well at S.T.A.R.,” he said, stepping around his desk and opening a drawer, digging around in it. 

“Does he. That’s news to me.” 

Glancing up at him and pausing in his search, Harry’s face seemed to twitch a little, the way it did when something was bothering him. “They’re not? He’s shown me the numbers. You’re actually making money now, that seems like a step up to me.” 

There was a strand of hair sticking up prominently at the top of Harry’s head, and it was vehemently distracting. “I suppose… from a business standpoint,” Hartley rolled his eyes as he said it, “the company’s doing fine.” Better than fine, really. Hartley was fantastic at his job, when he wasn’t yelling at people. 

“What other standpoint could you look at it from?” Harry closed that drawer and opened another one, searching through it. 

“I don’t know, a personal one? Look, do you have it?” 

“Just hold on, I’m getting it.” Harry dug through the drawer, though Hartley had a distinct feeling he wasn’t going to find it in that drawer either. He didn’t, and slammed it shut, moving onto the next one. “Why do you want it now, anyway?”

“You told me I could have it when I was ready. It is mine.” 

“I’m just not sure it's a good idea.” He started taking things out of the drawer now, and Hartley wondered if Harry knew he could see through this entire charade in a second. “And you didn’t technically answer the question.” When Hartley said nothing, Harry stopped and looked at him. “Do you remember what I told you, last time you were here?” 

“Yes. I do. And I’m really not here to talk about-”

“You’re capable of finding happiness. So let yourself.” And Hartley really wanted to roll his eyes, but unfortunately, Harry’s voice was so sincere that it made his chest ache. “Are you letting yourself be happy, Hartley? Because it doesn’t seem like it.” 

“Blow me,” Hartley responded, and Harry raised an eyebrow at him. 

“I’m trying to help you.”

“Help me by getting the damn envelope.” 

Harry seemed to give up the false search, then, and took a deep breath, crossing his arms. “Why do you want it?” 

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business.” 

“Why do you want it, Hartley?” 

He wasn’t going to get it without answering the question. That much was clear. “Because,” Hartley started, and then found that the words didn’t want to come out of his mouth. He closed his eyes, to make it easier, and then opened them again, staring at a weird-looking device sitting on a shelf behind Harry’s desk. “Because he’s fading,” he managed to get out. “Because it’s all fading.”

“Fading,” Harry repeated. “Isn’t that a good thing?” 

Hartley finally looked at him, into his eyes. “You’d think.” You would think that’s what he’d want. After everything. You’d think he’d want Harrison Wells to be a distant memory. You’d think he’d be happy that he only thought about him once or twice a day, as opposed to a few months ago, when he’d been a near-constant buzz in Hartley’s head. He knew what Harry was thinking. Stop trying to find ways to keep Harrison Wells in your life. He wished it was that easy. That he could just stop.

What was that, earlier, about addictive personalities? 

Turns out, Harrison Wells was harder to quit than nicotine. 

“What do you want, Hartley? I mean, you’re the CEO of a billion dollar-”

“It’s millions, now,” Hartley corrected, interrupting. “We lost a lot in the lawsuits.” And the fact that he insisted on paying for every damage done by Barry fighting a metahuman somewhere (he said it was part of S.T.A.R.’s community caring act. But he also said that anyone who didn’t realize the Flash was working with S.T.A.R. Labs was a fucking moron, so it didn’t matter, anyway).

“Whatever,” Harry said, waving his hand and forcing Hartley to focus. “My point is, you can have practically anything you want. So what do you want?”

Hartley didn’t answer. 

“Not that,” Harry surmised, and Hartley looked away, tears pricking in the back of his eyes. “Oh, yes, woe is you, multi-millionaire Hartley Rathaway who lives in a world where he can legally marry any man he wants to, doesn’t want to have all the opportunities he does. Well, do something about it, then.” 

“I don’t know what I want! I thought I wanted this! I thought- I thought this would make me happy! But maybe I only wanted it if I could have it with-” 

“No,” Harry cut him off. “You wouldn’t be happy, because you weren’t happy, then. He only made you think you were, when it suited him. Do you really think you’d be happier with that man? The man who made you think you were crazy for eight years, the man who gaslit you so hard that you still can’t trust your own boyfriend to talk about your problems with, so you have to travel to an alternate universe to talk about them with someone with the face of your abuser? The man who fired you and left you in the dirt after you dedicated your life to him? That man?”

Hartley bit the inside of his cheek, wiping the tears from his cheeks quickly. “I came here for the goddamn envelope, not a lecture.” 

“Too bad.” Harry slammed the drawer he was no longer looking in shut and crossed his arms. 

“You told me I could have it when I was ready.” 

“You’re not ready.” 

“Fuck you, Harry! You don’t get to decide that!” 

“If I don’t, no one will. Because you won’t let anyone else.” 

Hartley turned away, shaking his head. “No. I didn’t come here for- I just need the envelope,” he repeated. 

“And you need it for what, exactly? So you can hate yourself again? Because we both know whatever’s on there is only going to make you feel worse.” Hartley stared out the window, watching the weird little 1950’s style cars drive by, trying to quiet the buzzing in his head. 

“No. I don’t know that.” 

Harry made a noise, like he was going to make a comment on that before he changed his mind and said something else. “You’re the one who said it would- Fine. You’re right. I’m not your-”

“Dad?” Hartley offered, turning back around.

“I was going to say something… not that, but…” Harry trailed off pointedly, and opened the first drawer back up and pulled the unopened envelope out like he’d known exactly where it was the whole time, because of course he had. “Here.” 

Hartley snatched it from him immediately. “Thank you.” 

“What are you going to do six months from now?” 

“Sorry?” 

“What are you going to do in six months, when it fades again, you realize you still aren’t happy, and you don’t have anything left from him?” 

“I-” Hartley looked down at the envelope as he tore it open, letting the flash drive fall into his palm and frowning down at it. 

“Because you know someone you can look to for approval once you run out of ways to get it from Harrison Wells?” 

Hartley looked up at him. 

“Your father,” Harry said, and Hartley scoffed. 

“Yeah, right.” 

“Oh, you think I’m joking? You think I don’t see the writing on the wall? This… fucked up little path you’re on? You’ll end up crawling back to them in time for Christmas.” Harry crossed his arms. 

“I will never do that!”

“A year ago, you would’ve said the same thing about crawling back to Harrison Wells.”

“I am not-” 

“And you’re still lying to yourself.” 

“This isn’t-”

“And you’re still lying.” 

“It’s closure!” 

“And you’re still lying.”

“Fine!” Hartley clenched the flash drive in his fist. “Fine! You’re right! Okay? Are you happy? You’re right. Because every morning I wake up, alone in my apartment because I’m afraid to ask Cisco to live with me, and I dread walking into my fucking office and meeting with rich people who suck and doing paperwork and pretending to care about the latest stupid supervillain that’s decided to wreak havoc, and pretending to not care about the fact that no one cares that I don’t care, and all I am is angry and scared and fucking bored, I’m so fucking bored, Harry, I feel like I’m dying and-”

He cut himself off at the feeling of arms around him. He hadn’t even realized Harry had walked around his desk to stand in front of him until he was hugging him. And Hartley hugged him back. 

“And you don’t need someone to tell you what to do. What happened to the Hartley Rathaway who gave up everything to be himself when he was seventeen years old?” 

“I’m pretty sure Eobard Thawne broke him,” Hartley muttered. 

“Uhuh. And what happened to the Hartley Rathaway who built sonic weapons to break the windows of the people who wronged him?” 

“I wanna say… Eobard Thawne, again?” 

“So do you really want him to be the reason for a third time?” Harry pulled away, taking Hartley’s hand and turning it over, looking down at the flash drive. “This is a band-aid. A really shitty band-aid. Band-aid full of razor blades, honestly. You don’t want to do this to yourself. You deserve better, and you can get it.” 

“Band-aid full of razor blades?” Hartley repeated incredulously. 

“Metaphors aren’t my thing, shut your mouth.” 

Hartley sighed. “Okay. Fine. Take the razor blade back. Flash drive. Band-aid. Whatever.” 

Harry took it back and sighed. “And what are you going to do?” 

“I don’t know. I’ll... figure it out.” 

“Try talking to your boyfriend about this,” Harry offered, helpfully. 

Hartley glared at him, and then looked away, shifting back, trying to come up with a subject change, and ending up blurting out; “Hey, speaking of, you got a boyfriend yet?”

Harry gave him a Look. “You realize that’s not exactly an easy thing to find here.”

Conceding that point, Hartley shrugged. “Well,” he said slowly, “You’re always welcome to visit.” 

They both paused, and Harry opened his mouth to respond, and seemed to rethink what he was about to say, and Hartley hastened to correct himself. “I mean, you know, to find a boyfriend. A boyfriend who isn’t… me. And not to-“

“I got it,” Harry said, but Hartley was still talking anyway. 

“Well, Cisco has been open to the idea of a threesome. Might take some convincing for him to let it be you, but between you and me, I think he’s kind of-”

“Please stop talking.” 

Hartley blinked. “Sure. Sorry.” 

For a few seconds, Harry looked at him, before he shook his head and let out a breath of laughter. “Has anyone ever told you that you make terrible decisions?” 

“Yes. Everyone. Repeatedly. For my entire life.” 

Harry nodded. “Well, I’m telling you again,” he said, and Hartley gave him an exaggerated frown. “Go home. Yeah?” 

Hartley closed his eyes for a second. “Yeah,” he agreed, and he went home, and Cisco was waiting for him. Sweet, supportive, kind, patient Cisco. 

And he talked. 

And Cisco listened. And Hartley wondered how much of it he already knew, how much he’d seen, how much he’d figured out on his own. 

Cisco said, holding Hartley’s face in his hands like he was a fragile, beautiful thing, “I want you to be happy, Hartley. If this doesn’t make you happy, that’s okay. We’ll find out what does. You aren’t stuck with this. No one’s trapping you here.” 

And how could Cisco Ramon, someone who continuously said the dumbest shit imaginable and drove Hartley absolutely insane, somehow manage to find the exact right words, in the perfect order, that made Hartley suddenly feel like he could remember how to breathe, for possibly the first time in his life?