Chapter Text
For the record, Len wasn’t planning on stealing anything.
Not tonight, anyway.
He was merely taking a stroll around Central City. Who’s to say it’s suspicious that he happened to be walking in a circle around the museum? And so what if he had on his full Captain Cold gear with his gun tucked under his parka?
Maybe it was chilly out and he had a soft spot for modern art.
Len’s eyes scan the back doors of the museum again before checking his watch. In the span of an hour and fifteen minutes, he’s seen employees enter and exit twice. The curator had left first at eight p.m., with the cleaning crew entering at nine. He stores this information for later.
As soon as he’s memorized the location of the cameras, he breaks his route to head home, satisfied with his progress today. He breathes deeply, welcoming the chill in his lungs. He hadn’t been lying; he enjoyed his walks and the fresh air. Whether he wanted to multitask and case a place for a heist was his own business. Nothing could bring his calm mood down.
That is, until he hears a giant crash from the main entrance.
Len has the cold gun charged and aimed in a split second. He slowly makes his way to the front, keeping his back pressed close to the wall. He gathers a deep breath, and then whips out, gun pointed at…
“Flash?” he hisses, his eyebrows furrowing before he controls his features to his usual hard shell.
The speedster is still struggling to get to his feet when his head snaps up. “Cold?” He looks he’d taken a tumble, though his face is incredulous under the cowl. “What are you doing here?”
Len cocks an eyebrow. He powers down his gun and rests it against his shoulder, smirk spreading on his lips. “On a late night stroll,” he drawls casually, gesturing broadly. He studies the man-shaped dent in the museum sign and the tears in the speedster’s suit. “What about you? Who took you for a test drive?”
The other man doesn’t look amused. “There’s a meta on the run,” he says once he’s finished rolling his eyes at Len. “She just caught me off guard a few miles back. She’s armed and dangerous so… Be careful.”
Len tips his head, intrigued. That isn’t something he hears every day, not unless he includes Lisa’s usual threat to skin Len if he ever comes back harmed after a job. Still, Len just can’t help himself. “Ah, worried about me, Barry?”
“It’s my job to worry about everyone, criminals included,” Barry shoots back, almost defensively. He dusts his suit off, wincing a bit as he bends his elbows.
“So you admit it,” says Len. He thinks he sees Barry’s cheeks turning pink, but it could be a trick of the lights. His smirk spreads wider. “Always knew you had a soft spot for me.”
“Shut up, Snart,” the speedster mutters, but there’s no animosity behind it despite his look of annoyance. “And don’t even think about trying to steal anything tonight,” he warns.
Len raises a daring eyebrow. He almost wants to march into the museum, cold gun blazing, just to spite him. Almost. “Would you rather I help you catch your precious meta?” he offers playfully.
Barry’s eyes turn hard at that. “No, thanks,” he declines with a tight jaw. “I’ve learned my lesson.”
So he’s still mad about that. Surely the kid had to have seen what was wrong with months of solitary confinement for people who never asked for their powers. It doesn’t matter that he planned to rehabilitate them—what matters is how long the prisoners had to endure that private prison. It worked out for Len, anyway, like it always does. He has new additions to his crew that owe him their lives.
“Already giving up on me? That’s a shame,” Len muses for the sake of teasing, but really, it isn’t all that surprising. Eventually, people just realize that Len isn’t worth their time or effort.
He watches as emotions flit across the other man’s face—surprise, anger, pity, ending on defiance.
“I’m never gonna—” Barry starts, but he stops himself as his hand raises to his ear. “What, Cisco? Here?” It’s like a switch goes off and Barry’s body automatically tenses in defense. His head whips this way and that, alert.
“What?” asks Len, finding himself mimicking the other.
Barry turns his eyes to Len before scanning the area behind him. “You need to go,” he orders, and he seems to really think Len is going to obey him. Cute.
“The meta?” guesses Len, and Barry nods slowly. He charges his gun again. “Great.”
“Are you insane?”
“I can take care of myself.”
Barry clenches his jaw stubbornly. “You really want to get into this right now?”
“I can dance all day, Barry,” Len says, flashing him a crooked grin.
“You’re so—” He starts, but he cuts himself off as a thin screech sounds in the air. Len blinks and finds himself on the floor with Barry hovering over him. Adrenaline shoots through Len’s veins as he jumps to his feet. There’s an arrow where Len had been standing, though it's angled weird like it was meant for…
“Barry, duck!” he shouts as he reaches for his cold gun and fires in the direction the arrow had shot from. He hears a high pitched giggle echo through the trees.
“Cisco!” Barry yells into his communication system. “Arrows! She’s shooting arrows!”
Len scans the area, cold gun poised and following his eyes. Another screech. He drops to the floor and narrowly misses an arrow through the neck. He sends short blasts at every small sound as Barry argues with Cisco.
“You want me to what?” Barry dodges a series of three arrows, all aimed for his chest. “I’m a little busy! Okay, okay, hold on…”
When he looks back at Barry, he sees him reaching for the arrow. Before his fingers can wrap around it, however, the arrow erupts in a puff of pink smoke, and Barry’s hand clutches at nothing.
“What the…?” He looks back at Len, but Len isn’t able to offer any kind of explanation. Barry’s breath catches, his eyes widening, and there’s the telltale screeching of one, two, three arrows behind Len, only, Len knows it’s too late. He turns anyway, his world slowing down to a crawl, and a red blur fills his vision before his breath leaves him.
His back hits the floor roughly, his head cracking against the cement. A groan escapes him, his vision spinning. It takes him a moment, but he forces himself up onto his elbows. His eyes finally land on Barry, who’s still standing, though swaying lightly.
“Scarlet?” he groans, blinking the focus back into his eyes. He sees two arrows pinned to the ground, both a considerably close distance from him, before he lets his eyes snap back to the other man.
Barry’s shaking hand pats up his stomach until he reaches the middle of his chest where—
Len feels the blood drain from his face. “Barry,” he gasps, scrambling over the same time Barry collapses to his knees.
Barry’s hand is still wrapped around the arrow sticking from his chest, right through the Flash emblem. He sucks in a stuttering breath as Len catches him by the shoulders, his eyes fluttering.
“Hey, hey, stay with me!” he demands, but there’s no response.
This isn’t happening. The Flash is not dying; he can’t die, damn it, not when there are still games to be played, plans to try to foil, and nemeses to taunt and be a general pain in the ass to. Len is not letting him off this easily.
Barry sags limply in Len’s arms, his face pressed into his chest. Len fires angrily into the trees, large ribbons of ice coating their surroundings before he hears a high pitched scream followed by an angry howl. He hears the trees shake again, but it’s distant, like the attacker is retreating, or maybe just making him think she is.
It’s silent for a long moment. Len holsters his gun and finally turns Barry carefully to examine him.
Barry’s eyes are shut, but he’s still breathing; that’s good.
Len examines the wound closer, his fingers gently skimming the torn suit, over the shattered emblem, only to realize… there’s no blood. There should be blood on both sides; the arrowhead is so sharp, but there is nothing, not even an entry wound. It’s strange, but Len knows strange, and he’s seen stranger.
Len doesn’t exactly know the proper first aid for an arrow through the chest, but he sure as hell know it’s better than letting it stay in there, especially if Barry heals faster than the average man. His hand makes to grab the arrow, but the next thing he knows, he’s grasping at nothing. The same pink smoke dances through the air, curling through his fingers. Len doesn’t know what to think of that, not right now, not when the meta could still be lurking. He gathers Barry in his arms and forces himself to his feet, darting down the path hidden by the broken streetlamps.
A part of Len had expected Barry to be much heavier, assuming his powers had to have some kind of physical weight, but it’s fitting seeing as he has the body of a runner. He zig-zags through the city, taking turns often, not really following a straight line. His arms begin to strain after a few blocks, but the coast is clear. There hadn’t been anyone following him. If the meta had pursued him when he had left, then she would have taken a shot by now. Len slows down, breathing heavily. He takes in the empty street, the closed store fronts, the flickering streetlamp, before deeming it (relatively) safe. He readjusts Barry as he makes his way to a bus stop with a bench. Barry stirs in his arms, groaning lightly.
“Scarlet,” Len says, peering down at the man, “I’m going to put you down, all right?”
He doesn’t wait for a reply, just gently lays Barry down on the bench. He flexes his arms and stretches them, immediately feeling the cramps. The yellow light of the streetlamp illuminates Barry’s face, allowing Len to see clear enough to examine him. He carefully peels back the cowl, a gentle hand cradling his head. Barry’s disheveled hair pokes out at every angle and Len is unable to stop himself from combing his fingers through the soft, brown locks.
Barry groans again, less pained this time, before his eyes begin to flutter open. His eyes are unfocused, staring blankly above them.
Rather than standing over Barry, Len takes a seat beside Barry’s hip on the bench. This seems to startle Barry; his hand immediately shoots out, grabbing Len’s shirt collar, his legs kicking out in alarm.
Len stops his reflex to snap Barry’s arm and instead places his hands on Barry’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “Hey, it’s just me,” he says. Barry blinks up at him, his eyes locking on Len’s.
Len sucks in a sharp breath, watching Barry’s pupils ripple. It can’t be a trick of the lights this time, it just can’t be. Len watches in stunned silence as the black of Barry’s pupils spread two points upward and one downwards in a… a heart?
“What… the hell?” murmurs Len. His hand finds Barry’s cheek to press a thumb under his eye, moving in to inspect more closely. It’s only a few more seconds before Barry’s pupils widen back to their normal shape before the man blinks at him.
Len remembers to close his mouth. He clears his throat gently, adding this on his growing list of strange things to happen in this city. “You okay there, Scarlet?” he asks gruffly.
Barry’s still watching him, his breathing thin, though his hand is loosening on Len’s shirt. He studies Len, very intensely he might add, and it would be unnerving had Len not learned to stand his ground.
Len is used to people giving him all sorts of looks—looks of disdain, contempt, fear… but this? This is something different. This is new. Barry’s looking at him in amazement, in wonder, as if someone like Len couldn’t possibly be real. Len isn’t used to this. This is so damn strange, and why does stuff like this always happen to him? Frankly, it is far from fair—
“You’re so beautiful,” Barry whispers.
Why doesn’t this happen to Mick or Lisa? It just seems like the world is laughing at—
His mind screeches to stop, finally processing Barry’s words.
It’s silent for a long moment. Barry’s still studying his face like he’s been blind his whole life and suddenly had the gift to see. Len doesn’t understand. He hates not understanding. Leave it to Barry Allen, nerd extraordinaire and lapdog of the CCPD, to knock Len on his ass and over about ten times.
“You just had an arrow in your chest,” Len says finally, because what the hell else is he supposed to say following that?
Barry doesn’t seem to be listening. He sits up suddenly, their faces just inches apart. Len automatically tries to move back, but finds he’s trapped by a hand behind his neck.
“I can’t believe it… After all this time, I should’ve known,” Barry murmurs, his other hand releasing Len’s shirt to stroke his cheek lightly.
Len is stunned. Baffled. Dumbfounded. He can practically feel the giant question marks bouncing around in his brain. “What’s wrong with you?” Len tries to demand, but his voice wavers slightly and he hates himself for it.
Barry’s eyes are all big and honest, emotion flooded deep within them. “I love you,” Barry declares. The words are loud in the quiet street, seeming to bounce off the brick walls and store fronts and into Len’s head to shatter any last ounce of coherency.
Something’s not right.
Barry leans in closer to Len, his eyes fluttering closed, his lips pursing and—Len realizes with a start that Barry’s actually trying to kiss him. A strange feeling flutters in the pit of Len’s stomach before he stomps on it hard and rips himself from Barry’s hold.
Something’s definitely not right.
Normal people don’t go around confessing their love for Leonard Snart, especially not his super powered nemeses. Barry looks a little hurt at Len’s rejection, his eyebrows pulling together, his sinful green eyes pleading. He gets up from the bench slowly, no sign of his earlier damage save for the slight wobble in his step.
“I’m sorry, I just—I love you so much,” Barry tries to explain, his hands held out defensively, like Len is some kind of skittish animal.
“Stop saying that,” Len grits out. It’s a lie and heroes aren’t supposed to lie, especially not Barry Allen of all people.
“But I do love you!”
Len presses his palm against his temple, trying to soothe the headache he knows is coming, as he paces around the sidewalk. This is what happens when Len tries to play hero. It just doesn’t work out for anyone.
Barry is clearly out of his mind. He doesn’t even know what he’s saying, not to mention what he’s doing. Len’s eyes travel to the Flash emblem on the suit.
The arrow.
It was the arrow. It must have done something to him; the fact that it left no mark on him and erupted in pink smoke alone were red flags.
“Barry,” he says, suddenly remembering it’s important to ask. He ignores the way Barry immediately stands straighter, his stupid grin flashing. “Are you hurt? Do you feel any pain?”
Barry hums to himself, his face glowing like Len’s attention is all he needs to live. “No. I feel fine. Even better because you’re here.” Barry grins and flashes forward, attaching himself to Len’s arm.
“Hey!” Len barks, attempting to shake the man off his arm, but Barry only giggles and tightens his grip in an octopus-hold.
This is bad. Really bad.
Barry’s still in full Flash regalia, acting completely unFlash-like, cuddling up to Leonard Snart of all people in a dangerous part of town. Len curses to himself. He scans the street before pulling them both to the alley behind the bus stop.
He wiggles out of Barry’s grip and presses him into the wall. “Barry, listen to me,” Len starts, keeping their eyes locked.
Barry giggles, his cheeks slightly flushed. He’s practically preening under the direct attention. “I’m listening,” he nearly sings, but he’s such a damn liar.
Len continues anyway, needing to say what needs to be said. “Something happened to you back there. I think the meta’s powers—”
He feels Barry’s fingers teasingly walking up Len’s stomach, causing him to shiver slightly. He grabs Barry’s wrist and pins it above the man’s head.
“As I was saying, we need to find out what were in those arrows, or even what kind of powers—”
Barry’s using his other hand to try to touch Len’s face before Len has both wrists pinned above him.
“Barry!” he growls, his patience growing incredibly thin. “Are you listening to me? I am not going to let this be the reason I win. So you’re going to sit down and shut up while I track down your team—”
“So sexy when you’re angry,” he nearly moans.
“—and then they’re going to fix you so we can get back to normal.” Len is practically nose to nose with him when he’s finished. He can see the flecks of hazel in Barry’s eyes. “Got it?”
They’re so close together that Len can feel Barry’s light pants. He tries not to notice how soft Barry’s lips look. They’re just lips. Just normal lips that belong to an awfully mouthy superhero who won’t stop looking at Len like he’s an all-you-can-eat buffet. His eyes are impossibly dark, half-lidded, yet challenging Len, and oh, that look is dangerous. Before Len can pull away, Barry tilts his chin up to bridge the gap between them, and their lips connect.
Something shoots down Len’s spine, something that feels suspiciously like electricity, and—fuck, Len was right. Barry’s lips are so, so soft. The press of their lips are tentative at first, gauging the other’s reaction. It’s new, strange, exploring, amazing, addicting… Barry’s lips part in a quiet gasp as Len gently bites his bottom lip before he soothes it with his tongue. Barry’s lips open more fully, their shared breaths hot. Len surges forward then, unable to continue at the torturous pace. He needs it faster, harder. He presses into Barry, releasing Barry’s wrists to settle a hand on his waist and the other on his neck. He holds Barry’s face as he changes the angle, so he can taste even deeper, his tongue stroking Barry’s just so, earning him the most delicious moan and—shit.
Len pulls back abruptly, both of them panting harshly, a thin string of saliva connecting their lips. Before Len can think to say anything, Barry leans forward to flick his tongue against Len’s bottom lip, breaking the string. A sharp stab of arousal shoots down Len’s body, but Len focuses on holding Barry back by his shoulders. They both stare into each other’s eyes, with Len confused and Barry yearning for him to continue… but this isn’t right.
Whatever hit him, it’s affecting Barry and he isn’t entirely himself right now. The normal Barry Allen would rather freeze to death than kiss him. This Barry Allen, however, is naïve and practically drunk on love. Len may be a criminal, but he has morals, and he isn’t going to take advantage of the situation.
“We can’t do this,” Len rasps, but he isn’t sure if he’s trying to convince Barry or himself. Maybe both.
“Why not?” pouts Barry, and it would have been amusing if his lips weren’t red and bitten, slightly wet. Len forces his eyes back up.
He can’t think right now, not in this dirty alley and certainly not with Barry looking like that, so utterly debauched. He needs to look at all his options, think of every scenario.
“Come on,” says Len. “I have a safe house a few blocks down.”
x
It’s strange to have Barry—the Flash—in a place that Len uses to lay low after his criminal escapades. The walk there only took about ten minutes, but regardless, Barry literally could not keep his hands off of Len the whole way there. He had to dodge about five kisses, all landing somewhere on his body like his neck and jaw and even collarbone. The cold air had done him some good, made his mind clearer and his willpower stronger.
Still, Len isn’t completely immune to Barry’s touches; after all, he is only a man. He isn’t an idiot, or blind. He knows Barry is attractive in his own right. Regardless, his brain rules over his desire and he knows that this isn’t the time or place to indulge in his lust.
Len struggles to unlock the door. It’s a seemingly impossible task when Barry’s so intent on keeping both of his hands intertwined with his own.
“Barry, you get one hand!” he growls again—yes, again, because Barry is insufferable. “Not both!”
Barry makes a noise of loss as he releases one of Len’s hands so he can actually use it to unlock the door. The fact that Len’s letting Barry hold even one of his hands is an amazing feat within itself; Barry should be honored, the ungrateful bastard.
The air is stale inside the apartment, though it’s expected because it’s been weeks since Len has last been here. He makes it all of three steps to close the door before both of his hands are taken again.
Len glowers at Barry, his fingers twitching towards his cold gun.
Barry pouts and gazes at him with his big doe eyes. “I just love you so much, I want to be close to you,” he tries to plead.
“You need to stop saying that,” Len grumbles. He drags them both to the center of the room, his hands feeling too hot that he shakes Barry off, though now his chest feels too cold. “I’m going to get you fixed, and then we can both forget any of this ever happened.”
“You can’t kiss me like that and expect me to forget about it.” Then Barry sighs dreamily, like he’s replaying the events from the alley. Len tries to act like he isn’t doing the same.
“That was a mistake,” Len says. A wonderful, mind-blowing, perfect mistake. “It won’t happen again.”
Barry has the nerve to grin and say, “Liar.”
“You are infuriating, Barry.” Len grinds his teeth together. “I have half a mind to choke you and be done with this.”
Barry’s grin turns wolfish. “You can do what you want. We’re boyfriends, after all.”
Len doesn’t sputter, he just can’t decide between yelling at Barry and laughing at how ridiculous the situation is. “Barry, you don’t know what you’re saying right now, so I’m going to ignore you.”
Barry’s face drops. He reaches for Len again, but Len marches on to pace around the room.
He can’t just ditch Barry and leave him somewhere for another, less forgiving criminal to pick up. The Flash in the wrong hands can possibly destroy the city that Len loves so much.
Yet, he can’t deny the temptation of endless possibilities of thievery, the perfect crimes that await if Len can convince Barry to steal, to rob for him.
That idea is promptly tossed out the window in distaste. Barry is still a hero at heart, no matter what his current number one interest is right now (Len), and Len doesn’t think it’ll be all that rewarding to succeed with a heist if the Flash can’t even bother to stop him. After all, Len likes the challenge, and without the challenge, there’s no thrill. And though Len is used to doing whatever he wants, he knows he will grow bored and tired without someone there to try to best him.
“Your communication system,” Len starts, “are they still working?”
“No,” says Barry, pressing against his destroyed emblem lightly. “It short-circuited.”
“Give me your phone, then,” Len orders, but Barry only blinks at him. “Phone, Barry.”
“I don’t carry my phone with me,” he says, amused. “Where would I put it?”
Len feels his eyes drifting down Barry’s body, taking in the skin-tight suit before he closes his eyes briefly to gather himself. “Do you remember your team’s number?”
“Yeah, Cisco’s,” he says. His eyes flicker to the phone Len offers him. “You want me to…? Oh, okay.”
He quickly programs the number into the phone—it’s a burner, so Len isn’t worried—before pressing the phone back into Len’s hands. He lets their fingers brush without subtlety.
To Cisco:
Got your speedster. He’s fine, but the meta hit him. I’m going over. Fix him. Or else.
-Cold
There is an immediate response.
From Cisco:
Bring him NOW!
From Cisco:
I mean, please…
Len slips the phone back into his pocket, regarding Barry carefully. “Are you okay to run?” he asks. “We’re going to S.T.A.R. Labs.”
Barry grins ear to ear. “’Course I am!” He throws his arms around Len, nuzzling into him for a long moment before the world around them blurs.
Len finds himself blinking at too-white walls. His stomach churns with nausea and he swallows thickly. He’s never going to get used to that.
“Barry!”
Len turns to find a woman, Dr. Snow, followed by Cisco. Dr. Snow stops abruptly, her face paling at seeing Len. Understandable, considering he had kidnapped her, but really he wasn’t going to hurt her. He only needed her for leverage. Of course, she could never know that.
“Hey, guys!” greets Barry happily, still wrapped up around Len. Len merely stands there, staring intently at the pair, as Barry noses under his jaw.
“Barry, are you okay?” Dr. Snow asks. Her eyes flicker between Barry and Len. Barry ignores her in favor of nuzzling into Len’s neck.
“What’s—” Cisco gulps, addressing Len now, hiding behind his tablet. “What’s wrong with him?”
“His vitals spiked for a full minute,” says Dr. Snow quietly, her fingers twitching like she wants to reach for the fire extinguisher and threaten Len with it.
“He hasn’t let go of me for almost an hour,” says Len, focusing his steel on Cisco, who shrinks considerably.
“’Cause I love you,” says Barry, his teeth gleaming as he grins. He moves to kiss Len again—god, the seventh time?
Len puts a hand to Barry’s chest and steps back to separate them. They aren’t going to get anywhere if Barry can’t control himself. Still, Barry makes a noise at the loss. Len holds him at bay, but Barry continues to reach for him anyway, his arms outstretched like a child reaching for his favorite toy.
Dr. Snow’s and Cisco’s eyes are wide.
“L-love?” Dr. Snow chokes out, horror washing over her face. “Barry, you know who this is, right?”
Barry laughs. “’Course. My boyfriend!”
“I’m not your boyfriend,” Len says at the same time Cisco and Dr. Snow say, “He’s not your boyfriend!”
“But I love him,” Barry sighs happily, still reaching for Len, “and he loves me.”
“I don’t love you,” Len says at the same time Cisco and Dr. Snow say, “He doesn’t love you!”
Barry grabs the hand on his chest and playfully bites at Len’s index finger. Len flicks him on the nose.
“Scarlet, you’re being a tad bit annoying,” sighs Len. Tired of the reaching and fumbling, Len spins Barry around and holds him against his chest. At least this way, Barry can’t try to kiss him.
Barry drops his head back onto Len’s shoulder and hums, utterly delighted.
“See, you do love me,” says Barry, nuzzling into Len’s jaw.
Len rolls his eyes and settles on a scowl.
“Are you seeing this?” Len asks incredulously. Dr. Snow has a faint blush on her cheeks while Cisco, for the first time, is at a loss for words.
“What happened out there?” asks Dr. Snow. “We lost communication with him.”
“The meta human,” says Len. “Her arrows disappeared in pink smoke. One hit Barry.”
“Pink smoke?” Cisco prompts, and Len nods. “Interesting…”
Dr. Snow raises a halting hand, her eyebrows furrowed. “Hold on, you’re saying one hit Barry? Why isn’t he wounded?”
“It slipped out of my hands,” says Barry casually, swaying in Len’s arms to a silent song. Everyone’s eyes are on him now.
“What do you mean ‘it slipped’?” Dr. Snow presses. She looks frustrated at Barry’s nonchalance. Great, that makes two of them.
Barry lifts his shoulders up and releases them in a great shrug. “I tried to grab it to stop it, but my hand went right through it.”
Cisco’s deep in concentration as he flits through his tablet while Dr. Snow steps closer to Barry.
“Barry, I’m going to run some tests on you, okay?”
Barry’s still humming to himself, frankly enjoying himself too much in Len’s arms. Dr. Snow and Len exchange glances, her eyes colder than Len’s could ever be, and after a nod, Len releases Barry.
Barry freezes before he turns abruptly, utter betrayal written on his face.
“All right, I guess my work here is done,” begins Len, watching more and more horror fall on Barry’s face.
“You can’t—you’re not… leaving me, are you?” Barry asks, almost whines. His eyes are desperate, pleading.
“Just what do you expect me to do?” Len’s asking seriously, his eyebrow cocked. Surely the man doesn’t expect Len to stay by his side forever. The idea is ridiculous for so many reasons.
“Stay by my side forever?” Barry suggests, his lips quirked in a smile.
Len stares at him, but Barry continues to look hopeful.
Holy crap, he’s serious!
“Sorry, Flash,” he says, his mouth twisting in amusement. He turns his attention to Cisco and Dr. Snow. “Let me know if I need to find a new superhero to fight,” he says with a noncommittal wave of his hand before turning away.
“Baby, wait!” cries Barry, but Len continues walking. It’s just his damn luck his life turned into some kind of soap opera. He’s barely made it to the cortex exit, one foot barely passing the threshold, before he hears a small thump behind him.
“Barry!” gasps Dr. Snow. “Oh my god!”
Len whips around in time to see Barry swaying on his knees, his hand clutching at his heart before he collapses to the floor.
x
Len realizes that he’s never actually seen Barry sleep before.
He looks so young, so innocent, no trace of the pain or worry that comes with being a full-time superhero.
Though, with Barry lying in the medical bed hooked up to about ten different machines, Len can’t help but feel like this is his fault. He should have stayed with him, saw it through, left no man behind; after all, it was his fault Barry had been struck in the first place. If he hadn’t been so damn stubborn…
Dr. Snow returns to the room carrying more medical supplies with Cisco on his tablet behind her, though she doesn’t stay to chat. She checks Barry’s monitors and adjusts the I.V. bag attached to him before leaving without a word or even a glance in Len’s direction.
“I couldn’t help but notice you’re much more warmed to me than Snow is,” Len says conversationally.
“One of us has to be,” Cisco mutters. "Besides, Barry always believed there's good in you. Maybe he got to me." He doesn't look like he wants to elaborate more on that, so Len doesn't make him.
"Any news?" Len asks instead.
“I think we’ve figured it out.” He turns the tablet screen to Len, showing him what Len assumes to be a close up of Barry’s cells. “This is in his brain,” says Cisco, gesturing to the right side of the screen, and then he gestures to the left, “and this is his heart.”
“Okay, and?” Len asks, staring at the bundles of circles.
Cisco looks incredulous before he schools his expression. “Look here.” He points at the clusters of cells. “He’s got insane amounts of dopamine and serotonin in his brain. Those chemicals are known to be present when someone’s deeply in love. More so when they're still in the honeymoon stage.”
“And you think this is why he’s so…” Len can’t find a nice word to use, but Cisco understands anyway.
“It’s sort of like he’s being drugged, if that makes sense. He thinks he’s in love with you.”
“Okay,” Len says, nodding. That much, he knew already. “So why did he pass out?”
Cisco focuses on his tablet again, swiping through a few image feeds before settling on a full body scan. “I looked into that; turns out it’s the adrenaline. He thought he was going to lose you—the one person he loves and lives for—and his fight or flight instincts kicked in and made his heart go all kinds of berserk. That, in addition to the cocktail of chemicals he’s got going on in his brain overworked his heart and he had a mini heart attack.”
Len is quiet for a long time. “Are you saying he can actually die from a broken heart?”
“Technically, it isn’t a broken heart, but… yeah, basically.” Cisco glances over at Barry, his eyes sad.
Len is angry all of a sudden, the reality and gravity of the situation settling in. “So what am I supposed to do?” demands Len. “I didn’t ask him to fall in love with me!”
“He didn’t, either!” Cisco fights back, but he retreats a step when Len towers over him.
Len tries his best to calm down. He knows it isn't anyone's fault but the meta's. He knows, but he wants someone to blame, here and now. It takes a few moments before Len scrubs a hand over his face and backs off. “What happens now?”
Cisco still looks a bit rattled from Len's outburst, but recovers quickly. “We have a theory, but you may not like it…” He trails off, looking anywhere but Len.
“Get to the point.”
“Caitlin and I will have to run tests and see if we can counteract the chemicals while maintaining a normal balance, but in the meantime…” Cisco clears his throat. “We need him—his heart—to be at ease. We’re hoping that the spell or whatever will wear off in a few days, or at least be less intense, but until then, you just need to, um, endure him.”
“And if I don’t want him following me around every second of my day?” The idea was less than unsavory.
Cisco’s eyes narrow. “He saved your life, Cold. The least you can do is help us save his.”
Len scowls, knowing he’s right. Of course Len wasn’t really going to just leave, but he had to at least put up a fight for show. Barry had saved his life after all, and Len owes him one. “Fine.” He wants this to be done with; he feels like this night has been going on forever.
Cisco seems pleased at Len’s cooperation. “I’ll make a sort of portable heart rate monitor so we can keep an eye on him even when he’s not at S.T.A.R. Labs.” He’s already scribbling up a prototype.
Len glances over at Barry again, sighing deeply. He at least wants to be sure of what he’s getting himself into, putting a lock on his inevitable fate. “So until you find a cure, we’re basically stuck together…”
“Yep,” says Cisco, popping the ‘p’.
Len would ask what he’s done to deserve this, but really, what hasn’t he done?