[ It isn't worth much. Barry knows that the same way he knows he'll never be able to give up his own guilt — over his mom's death. Over Eddie and Ronnie and literally everything that's happened since they let Eobard walk out of that cell.
And he might not ever completely believe Joe and Iris and everyone else when they try to shoulder some of the blame, try to convince him it isn't his fault — but it still matters, having them there to say it. Another delay, though this one's short. ]
cisco almost died because of me. you're the only reason he's still alive. you made the right call. or you will, i guess.
[ It's probably good that he's alone at the moment, because Harrison lets out a bitter laugh when he receives Barry's messages. Of course he made the right call — he's been making the "right call" his whole life, no matter what happens to everyone else, himself included. That's what got them into this whole mess to begin with.
He rubs at his face with a hand, then sends off a few rapid-fire texts. ]
The right call isn't always the best one, Barry.
But I'm glad to hear I made the right one when it came to Cisco.
(don't tell him that.)
The fact remains. Harrison Wells and Tess Morgan's blood are on my hands, not to mention any future they would have had. And I have to live with that.
[ The first text earns a surprising spark of anger, because he knows that — he knows it so well that he hates himself for it, and having it offered up like a lesson feels patronizing even though he knows it isn't. But Barry knows that anger's misplaced, and it's easy enough to swallow when it's chased by that simple admission of affection for Cisco.
Now it's his turn to almost drop the conversation, again, and the text he finally ends up sending is one he regrets quickly. ]
yeah, well if you figure out how, let me know. i could use some tips.
[ It isn't the honesty he regrets. It's the fact that it's flippant, crass, making light of the blood on both of their hands. ]
[ It's less than that. Barry pauses for a second outside the door, dragging a hand back through his hair to fix the mess that always follows running — and to give him a second to get his thoughts together, because he isn't entirely sure what to expect on the other side.
Then he knocks, gives it two seconds, and turns the key in the lock before pushing the door to the workshop open. ]
[ Oddly enough, the workshop isn't a mess. Nothing's been thrown, there's nothing shattered on the ground, and everything appears to be in its right place. The clear board sits in the corner, half-written equations on it with one marker on the ground, like it was dropped and rolled back under the board's stand. Harrison sits at the work table, at the chair closest to the board. His face is ashen and he looks shaken in general, like he's still trying to calm himself down. His device is sitting on the table, face down, and buzzes once, noting a message received.
Harrison's eyes flick over to the door when it opens, tensing up briefly before he remembers that the door was locked, so it could only be one person. Hopefully. He draws himself up, straightening his back and resting a hand on the table to still it, giving him a nod as a greeting. ]
[ The greeting's quiet, a little distracted. Barry doesn't notice the fact that the workshop's tidy, for once; he's too busy watching Harry, brow furrowed gently in concern, eyes tracking over him briefly like he's expecting to see some kind of visible warning.
There isn't one beyond the thin line of tension along his shoulders. But the text had been warning enough. Harry isn't the type to ask for help, and this is as good as. Barry follows his greeting up with a small nod, a bit too delayed to feel natural, and there's a touch of caution to the way he wanders further into the room. His own hands are buried in his pockets to keep restlessness at bay, shoulders slumped in a way that makes him seem smaller than his six-plus feet. ]
What is it?
[ Eobard. That's the obvious answer given the conversation that led up to this, but he still feels like he needs to break the ice. Harry had invited him here, but it's difficult to picture Harry volunteering information without being prompted — and laying it out himself or making assumptions feels way too aggressive. ]
[ Harrison hesitates for a moment. This was probably a mistake. He'd wake up in the morning, have some kind of grand plan for handling Thawne, and then all of this would be an afterthought, something they'd roll their eyes at briefly before moving on. And it's his battle to fight. But it's already settled in him, a deep pit in his stomach, and Cisco wasn't wrong when he pointed out that alone hadn't quite worked out the way he wanted it to up to this point.
He chews at his lip idly in contemplation, eyes shifting back over to his device. He stares flatly for a moment and then picks it up, loading up a thread from his inbox before sliding it across the table towards him. ]
[ Barry waits patiently, and he doesn't seem hurried when he steps over to the desk and picks up the device. He recognizes the username, reads it through once with an odd sense of detachment — numbness, in retrospect. The second time he tries to read the poem he gets about four words in.
He realizes he isn't breathing, lets out a slow, shallow exhale as his brow knits together in disgust. His grip's tight on the device without being secure, and he has to focus for a second to make sure he doesn't drop it, gaze lifting to seek out Harry's. ]
This isn't— [ All conviction with no words to back it up. It isn't Harry's fault. That feels important, but it's sidetracked by the shock of ice in his stomach, the way it's making his limbs feel hollow. He has no idea if it's offense or anger; maybe a mix of both. Whatever it is, it's disabling. He wants to find Eobard right now, hit him until he's a bloody mess. He doesn't want to leave Harry standing here with this. Both at odds, both vague enough to feel directionless when he needs to say something, needs to fix it. ]
He can't touch you.
[ Because of the truce, because Eobard knows he'll lose Barry if he does — but it feels weak. Not enough. He can't take the message back any more than he can take back all the years Eobard had lied to Cisco and Caitlin, the years he'd watched Iris and Eddie. The fact that Eobard's already killed one version of Harrison Wells. Barry stalls out for half a second, then the numbness breaks as he drags his other hand out of his pocket, both hands going to the back of his head while he half turns to look back towards the door. He doesn't leave, though; it's just an anxious movement, anger without an outlet, and the device is starting to strain beneath one tight fist. The exclamation that goes with it is more of the same, breathless and frustrated. ]
[ In a twisted sort of way, it's almost comforting to know that he wasn't overreacting. The pit in his stomach hasn't settled, not by far, but the numbness feels like it's starting to give way to something else — anger, it's usually anger with him, but also a touch of fear. He keeps his eyes focused on the table, avoiding any sort of contact so as to not give any part of himself away. Harrison knows it's true, that Thawne can't touch him — one way or another — without massive repercussions.
He still feels like he could use roughly five showers right about now.
As Barry speaks, starting and stopping, Harrison quietly sucks in a bit of air and then exhales deeply, focusing on his breathing to calm himself. He shifts his gaze away from the table after a moment, glancing over in his general direction. He wasn't quite sure why he asked Barry to come over out of everyone else he'd come to know here, why he'd choose to confide this to him of all people. Maybe it was because of their mutual connection to Thawne. It could also be due to his penchant for being the most obnoxious battering ram when it came to Harrison's defenses. Then again, the fact that he was one of the few people he knew he could trust probably factored in along with the rest of that.
And seeing him in an obvious state of distress is . . . well. Jaw set, Harrison stands and steps over towards Barry, reaching out to take his hands into his. It's not a gentle movement — gentle's never really been in his vocabulary — but it's hardly rough either, as he lightly tugs at Barry's hands in an attempt to lower them, to get him to unclench his fists. ]
Barry. Barry. [ The latter a rough whisper, with almost a hint of urgency. ] Hey. Look at me. That's not who you are.
[ The way he draws back is quick and impulsive. The defenses aren't up because of Harry, and it isn't really him that he's backing away from — but he does back away, pulls against the light hold and takes a step back, unsteady.
Harry's right. Again he's left thinking of Joe, of all the times Joe's told him mercy is a strength instead of a weakness. The thought's grounding enough to help him regain some composure, and for a second he seems like he might relax. He lets his hands drop, attention turning to the device in his hand. His gaze catches on the text, another surge of anger, and then he places it face-down on the desk with a forced sense of control. ]
I can't. I can't let this keep happening. [ Control that starts to slip the moment he starts to speak again. Sharp frustration cracks the edges, and his expression's gone hard when he looks back up to Harry. ] What he did to Eddie, what he's doing to you— I can't let it keep happening.
[ There has to be more. Things he hasn't heard about, from Cisco or Eddie or Harry. He isn't stupid; he knows they won't always come running to him. ]
[ He pulls back instantly, allowing Barry to back away from him easily, and he lets his hands fall to his side uselessly. He used to know what to do about that sort of thing. Then again, he used to be able to do a lot more.
Harrison lets out a sigh, opting to run a hand through his hair instead. What he wants to say is that their truce is a farce, that Thawne's running all over them and doing as he pleases, that he's using it all to lord over Barry. He considers his words carefully as he lowers his hand, glancing back over at him wearily. He stays where he stands though, hands loose at his side. ]
And what are you going to do about it?
[ He's calm when he speaks, actually phrasing it like a question for once rather than a demand. ]
[ Later, he'll probably feel guilty about the way Harry gives up. There isn't much room for that now, but he does seem to realize his actions are too harsh and impulsive. Barry slips his hands back into his pockets like it'll offer some pretense of nonchalance; it doesn't, and everything about him is still tense, live-wire, from the strict set of his jaw to the flat tone of his voice. ]
I beat him, you know.
[ There's a hint of smugness in the statement, deeply bitter. Barry's gaze drops to the floor as he plays back the memory. How it had felt to finally outrun him. To win, even if had been taken away within minutes. His chin lifts slightly when he looks back up and meets Harry's gaze, almost challenging. ]
We had him. We could've stopped him if it hadn't been for— [ Timelines. There's blame there, raw, but it's aimless. He doesn't blame Cisco for what happened. He doesn't blame Harry for knowing how to fix it, either, but it's still a loss, something he can't just let go.
For all that he seems to be building up to some kind of ultimatum, he catches himself up short before he gets there. Some of the anger bleeds out, and all that's left in its wake is bitter resolve. ]
[ Harrison immediately shakes his head. If there's one thing he's putting a stop to — theoretically, anyway, since realistically he knows he stands no chance of actually stopping it entirely — it's Barry standing and facing Thawne on his own. And that's what a "talk" is going to turn into. Another conversation with "Dr. Wells," another confrontation, another lopsided truce, all laid at his feet. It was too much for one person's shoulders as-is; Barry Allen of all people didn't need to take on even more. ]
No.
[ He hesitates for a brief moment, then lifts a hand, holding it out to him. It's casual, easy enough for him to withdraw his hand if (and, as he imagines, when) it's brushed aside. ]
You don't have to do this all on your own.
[ And there's a thought. If the tables were turned, if it were Barry reaching out to him, he'd stare him down and push his help away in a heartbeat. But something about these kids — and at heart, they were kids, still trying to find their way — made his heart ache. ]
Edited ("you tagged me at 2am." "welp.") 2016-02-21 23:01 (UTC)
[ Harry says he doesn't have to do it all on his own, and it doesn't change anything — because he does. At the end of the day, he's the one in the suit; he's the one Eobard traveled decades for. That understanding is what keeps Barry still, hesitant, his gaze dropping to the offered hand as he tries to chip away at that inevitability.
It doesn't change anything, but that doesn't make it false. All the times Cisco's suit has brought him back to life, Caitlin's patched him up, Iris or Joe or his dad have talked him out of the darknes — it all counts for something. The movement's still uncertain when he draws one hand from his pocket, thoughtful, and there's something almost testing about the way he takes hold of Harry's palm.
The uncertainty only lasts a second. When he gives Harry's hand a tight squeeze, it's to drag him forward into a hug that's more about need than warmth; Barry's other hand is in a tight fist when he loops his arm around Harry's shoulders, and he doesn't let go of his grip. ]
I'm sorry.
[ He doesn't even know what he's apologizing for anymore. It sounds as tired as it does earnest, but there's no vulnerability in the raw edges; just frustration. ]
[ Harrison starts when Barry pulls him in for a hug. It's not that he's averse to it or any sort of physical contact for that matter. He's not, not really. He'd pushed Cisco away when he knew he was fishing for vision fodder and he'd purposely isolated himself to stay on task. But things had changed over the past few months.
He's tense at first, but it lasts for only a few seconds before he relaxes and instinctively lifts his other arm, wrapping it around him and resting a hand on his lower back lightly. ]
Yeah. [ A pause. ] Me too.
[ There's a lot to be sorry for these days and plenty of guilt to pass around. ]
[ He isn't really surprised by this kind of thing anymore. Harry relaxes, falls into the comforting gesture after only a few uncertain seconds, and it makes sense — because Harry isn't the Dr. Wells he'd been used to, terse and abrasive. Not really. He's a father, and he isn't a stranger to this.
The tension's only just started to bleed from Barry's shoulders when he pulls back, dragging a hand over his mouth in a restless gesture that does more to draw attention to his guarded expression than disguise it. His other hand slides back into one pocket, too, but he doesn't do reserved very well. The restless energy gives away his concern, open and vulnerable. ]
You don't have to do any of it on your own, either. You know that, right?
[ His voice goes a little pitchy on the question, skeptical and insistent, brows pinching together in worry. He isn't just talking about Eobard. Harry's gotten better about accepting their help back home, but it still feels precarious. ]
[ He shifts a hand up to Barry's shoulder, keeping it there even as he pulls back, just shifting his positioning along with him. It's an easy gesture, like he's always done it, like he hasn't been withdrawn from all of them in the majority of his time on Earth-1.
Harrison gives him a half-smirk at that, tilting his head to one side. ]
Why do you think I messaged you?
[ He hadn't outright asked Barry to come, but the result was still the same. It was a start. And . . . it wasn't bad. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
[ It isn't worth much. Barry knows that the same way he knows he'll never be able to give up his own guilt — over his mom's death. Over Eddie and Ronnie and literally everything that's happened since they let Eobard walk out of that cell.
And he might not ever completely believe Joe and Iris and everyone else when they try to shoulder some of the blame, try to convince him it isn't his fault — but it still matters, having them there to say it. Another delay, though this one's short. ]
cisco almost died because of me. you're the only reason he's still alive. you made the right call. or you will, i guess.
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He rubs at his face with a hand, then sends off a few rapid-fire texts. ]
The right call isn't always the best one, Barry.
But I'm glad to hear I made the right one when it came to Cisco.
(don't tell him that.)
The fact remains. Harrison Wells and Tess Morgan's blood are on my hands, not to mention any future they would have had. And I have to live with that.
no subject
Now it's his turn to almost drop the conversation, again, and the text he finally ends up sending is one he regrets quickly. ]
yeah, well if you figure out how, let me know. i could use some tips.
[ It isn't the honesty he regrets. It's the fact that it's flippant, crass, making light of the blood on both of their hands. ]
no subject
no subject
[ It's not an easy admission, not by far. ]
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where are you right now?
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My workshop
You should come
[ For Harrison, that's like practically begging for someone to come over. ]
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[ It's less than that. Barry pauses for a second outside the door, dragging a hand back through his hair to fix the mess that always follows running — and to give him a second to get his thoughts together, because he isn't entirely sure what to expect on the other side.
Then he knocks, gives it two seconds, and turns the key in the lock before pushing the door to the workshop open. ]
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Harrison's eyes flick over to the door when it opens, tensing up briefly before he remembers that the door was locked, so it could only be one person. Hopefully. He draws himself up, straightening his back and resting a hand on the table to still it, giving him a nod as a greeting. ]
Barry.
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[ The greeting's quiet, a little distracted. Barry doesn't notice the fact that the workshop's tidy, for once; he's too busy watching Harry, brow furrowed gently in concern, eyes tracking over him briefly like he's expecting to see some kind of visible warning.
There isn't one beyond the thin line of tension along his shoulders. But the text had been warning enough. Harry isn't the type to ask for help, and this is as good as. Barry follows his greeting up with a small nod, a bit too delayed to feel natural, and there's a touch of caution to the way he wanders further into the room. His own hands are buried in his pockets to keep restlessness at bay, shoulders slumped in a way that makes him seem smaller than his six-plus feet. ]
What is it?
[ Eobard. That's the obvious answer given the conversation that led up to this, but he still feels like he needs to break the ice. Harry had invited him here, but it's difficult to picture Harry volunteering information without being prompted — and laying it out himself or making assumptions feels way too aggressive. ]
no subject
He chews at his lip idly in contemplation, eyes shifting back over to his device. He stares flatly for a moment and then picks it up, loading up a thread from his inbox before sliding it across the table towards him. ]
That.
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He realizes he isn't breathing, lets out a slow, shallow exhale as his brow knits together in disgust. His grip's tight on the device without being secure, and he has to focus for a second to make sure he doesn't drop it, gaze lifting to seek out Harry's. ]
This isn't— [ All conviction with no words to back it up. It isn't Harry's fault. That feels important, but it's sidetracked by the shock of ice in his stomach, the way it's making his limbs feel hollow. He has no idea if it's offense or anger; maybe a mix of both. Whatever it is, it's disabling. He wants to find Eobard right now, hit him until he's a bloody mess. He doesn't want to leave Harry standing here with this. Both at odds, both vague enough to feel directionless when he needs to say something, needs to fix it. ]
He can't touch you.
[ Because of the truce, because Eobard knows he'll lose Barry if he does — but it feels weak. Not enough. He can't take the message back any more than he can take back all the years Eobard had lied to Cisco and Caitlin, the years he'd watched Iris and Eddie. The fact that Eobard's already killed one version of Harrison Wells. Barry stalls out for half a second, then the numbness breaks as he drags his other hand out of his pocket, both hands going to the back of his head while he half turns to look back towards the door. He doesn't leave, though; it's just an anxious movement, anger without an outlet, and the device is starting to strain beneath one tight fist. The exclamation that goes with it is more of the same, breathless and frustrated. ]
I'm gonna kill him. I have to, I can't just—
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He still feels like he could use roughly five showers right about now.
As Barry speaks, starting and stopping, Harrison quietly sucks in a bit of air and then exhales deeply, focusing on his breathing to calm himself. He shifts his gaze away from the table after a moment, glancing over in his general direction. He wasn't quite sure why he asked Barry to come over out of everyone else he'd come to know here, why he'd choose to confide this to him of all people. Maybe it was because of their mutual connection to Thawne. It could also be due to his penchant for being the most obnoxious battering ram when it came to Harrison's defenses. Then again, the fact that he was one of the few people he knew he could trust probably factored in along with the rest of that.
And seeing him in an obvious state of distress is . . . well. Jaw set, Harrison stands and steps over towards Barry, reaching out to take his hands into his. It's not a gentle movement — gentle's never really been in his vocabulary — but it's hardly rough either, as he lightly tugs at Barry's hands in an attempt to lower them, to get him to unclench his fists. ]
Barry. Barry. [ The latter a rough whisper, with almost a hint of urgency. ] Hey. Look at me. That's not who you are.
no subject
Harry's right. Again he's left thinking of Joe, of all the times Joe's told him mercy is a strength instead of a weakness. The thought's grounding enough to help him regain some composure, and for a second he seems like he might relax. He lets his hands drop, attention turning to the device in his hand. His gaze catches on the text, another surge of anger, and then he places it face-down on the desk with a forced sense of control. ]
I can't. I can't let this keep happening. [ Control that starts to slip the moment he starts to speak again. Sharp frustration cracks the edges, and his expression's gone hard when he looks back up to Harry. ] What he did to Eddie, what he's doing to you— I can't let it keep happening.
[ There has to be more. Things he hasn't heard about, from Cisco or Eddie or Harry. He isn't stupid; he knows they won't always come running to him. ]
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Harrison lets out a sigh, opting to run a hand through his hair instead. What he wants to say is that their truce is a farce, that Thawne's running all over them and doing as he pleases, that he's using it all to lord over Barry. He considers his words carefully as he lowers his hand, glancing back over at him wearily. He stays where he stands though, hands loose at his side. ]
And what are you going to do about it?
[ He's calm when he speaks, actually phrasing it like a question for once rather than a demand. ]
no subject
I beat him, you know.
[ There's a hint of smugness in the statement, deeply bitter. Barry's gaze drops to the floor as he plays back the memory. How it had felt to finally outrun him. To win, even if had been taken away within minutes. His chin lifts slightly when he looks back up and meets Harry's gaze, almost challenging. ]
We had him. We could've stopped him if it hadn't been for— [ Timelines. There's blame there, raw, but it's aimless. He doesn't blame Cisco for what happened. He doesn't blame Harry for knowing how to fix it, either, but it's still a loss, something he can't just let go.
For all that he seems to be building up to some kind of ultimatum, he catches himself up short before he gets there. Some of the anger bleeds out, and all that's left in its wake is bitter resolve. ]
I'll talk to him.
no subject
No.
[ He hesitates for a brief moment, then lifts a hand, holding it out to him. It's casual, easy enough for him to withdraw his hand if (and, as he imagines, when) it's brushed aside. ]
You don't have to do this all on your own.
[ And there's a thought. If the tables were turned, if it were Barry reaching out to him, he'd stare him down and push his help away in a heartbeat. But something about these kids — and at heart, they were kids, still trying to find their way — made his heart ache. ]
the edit made this so much more upsetting why
It doesn't change anything, but that doesn't make it false. All the times Cisco's suit has brought him back to life, Caitlin's patched him up, Iris or Joe or his dad have talked him out of the darknes — it all counts for something. The movement's still uncertain when he draws one hand from his pocket, thoughtful, and there's something almost testing about the way he takes hold of Harry's palm.
The uncertainty only lasts a second. When he gives Harry's hand a tight squeeze, it's to drag him forward into a hug that's more about need than warmth; Barry's other hand is in a tight fist when he loops his arm around Harry's shoulders, and he doesn't let go of his grip. ]
I'm sorry.
[ He doesn't even know what he's apologizing for anymore. It sounds as tired as it does earnest, but there's no vulnerability in the raw edges; just frustration. ]
because it wasn't a 2am sleeptag ofc
He's tense at first, but it lasts for only a few seconds before he relaxes and instinctively lifts his other arm, wrapping it around him and resting a hand on his lower back lightly. ]
Yeah. [ A pause. ] Me too.
[ There's a lot to be sorry for these days and plenty of guilt to pass around. ]
no subject
The tension's only just started to bleed from Barry's shoulders when he pulls back, dragging a hand over his mouth in a restless gesture that does more to draw attention to his guarded expression than disguise it. His other hand slides back into one pocket, too, but he doesn't do reserved very well. The restless energy gives away his concern, open and vulnerable. ]
You don't have to do any of it on your own, either. You know that, right?
[ His voice goes a little pitchy on the question, skeptical and insistent, brows pinching together in worry. He isn't just talking about Eobard. Harry's gotten better about accepting their help back home, but it still feels precarious. ]
no subject
Harrison gives him a half-smirk at that, tilting his head to one side. ]
Why do you think I messaged you?
[ He hadn't outright asked Barry to come, but the result was still the same. It was a start. And . . . it wasn't bad. ]