Archive of Our Own ^beta

Barry juggled his coffee in one hand and the keys to his office in the other, swearing under his breath when the coffee sloshed over the rim of his cup and burned his fingers. He blew on his sore fingertips, and then jiggled the key in the lock to get it to catch and turn. He shouldered the door open as he twirled in an awkward pirouette, trying to balance the paperwork in his arms without spilling more of his coffee. He had a minute, maybe two, before he was late, and he had to drop everything off before he could make a run for the time clock.

He successfully dumped everything at his desk without any further disasters, and then skidded over to the wall where the time clock stood, grabbing his card and punching in just before he would've been considered tardy. Barry sighed in relief. Director Michaels would have killed him if he was late again.

There was a series of staccato knocks against the doorjamb of his office, and Hartley stuck his head in. "Cuiusvis hominis est errare, nullius nisi insipientis in errore perseverare. Director Michaels wants to see you."

Barry smiled weakly. "Uh, sure. Be right there."

Hartley breezed off, and Barry took a deep breath, shooting a woeful look over at his coffee. It was too hot for him to gulp down right now, and even worse was the fact that it would be cold and unsatisfying by the time he got back. Still, duty called.

Barry left the coffee at his desk and passed by the open cubicle area of the other analysts. Having his own office now was nice, but he kind of missed the murmur of voices and the clack of keyboards as everyone typed their reports. He nodded to the few people he was familiar with and headed to the director's office, knocking lightly on the door.

"Come in," Director Michaels called, and Barry inched his way in, swallowing his nerves.

"You needed me?"

Director Michaels gestured for Barry to shut the door, and he obliged before he sat in the uncomfortable chair that always remained directly in front of her desk. She didn't say anything. He stayed quiet and waited for her to say something, heat prickling up the back of his neck as the scrutiny continued.

All at once, Director Michaels sighed and sat back, her blue eyes narrowed and focused. "Mr. Allen. How familiar are you with the Legion of Doom?"

Barry blinked. "I know that's, uh. The name given to the alliance of the leaders of the organized crime groups we've been keeping an eye on."

Director Michaels nodded shortly and presented him with three photos, sliding them across her desk. "Malcolm Merlyn, the leader of the League of Assassins. Damien Darhk, the leader of HIVE. Leonard Snart, the leader of the Rogues. I think you're familiar with them?"

"Generally? I'm most familiar with the Rogues. I don't think there's anyone in Central who hasn't heard of them," Barry admitted with a soft laugh. "Joe complains about them every other week."

"We think that there's a fourth player involved, but we know little about him other than his name. Eobard Thawne."

Barry frowned and scratched his forehead, his gaze flitting around the room before settling on Director Michaels again. "This is interesting, but I don't see what it has to do with me. Do you need something analyzed?"

Director Michaels shook her head. "No, Barry. I need you to do me a personal favor."

Barry stilled, uneasiness and anxiety coiling in his stomach. It wasn't often that anyone asked him for favors. "What do you need me to do?"

"The Legion has a gala in two weeks at the Waterstone Memorial in Keystone," Director Michaels said. "We've managed to get an invite." She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "I can't believe I'm about to say this, but I need you to go in and get whatever information you can about the Legion is planning next, any way that you can get it."

Barry laughed, startled into the sound by the sheer absurdity of what she said, but trailed off when he realized Director Michaels wasn't laughing with him. "You can't be serious. I can barely drink my coffee without spilling it all over myself, and you want me to spy for you?"

"They've made all my other agents," Director Michaels said simply. "You're a fresh face, you're smart, and you have certain abilities that would be incredibly helpful, should you need to escape."

Barry raised his eyebrows. "Oh, you're saying I get this off at the party, then?" He glanced pointedly down at the cuff on his left wrist.

"Not off. But there are certain protocols we can… relax."

Barry sighed. "And I'm guessing I don't really have a choice."

Director Michaels typed a command or two on her keyboard and gave Barry a slight, sympathetic smile. "I'm sending all the info I have to your computer now, Mr. Allen. ARGUS thanks you for your service."

~*~

Waterstone Memorial was, at its heart, a museum. It held a curated collection of art that had been handpicked through three generations of the Waterstone family, and it was sometimes open as a venue for personal parties.

The Legion must have spent a hell of a lot of money to have the place available for their event.

He tugged at the hem of his suit jacket, trying to swallow back his nerves. His invitation had passed muster, ARGUS made sure he was appropriately dressed, and now he was here, in a crowd of people in cocktail dresses and tuxedos that easily cost half his annual salary, pretending like he knew what he was doing.

Barry surveyed the room in what he hoped was a nonchalant manner, gaze lighting on the statues that lined the way through the foyer. There, on the wall—was that a DaVinci? For real? He sure as hell wasn't in Missouri anymore. He sidled up to the wall to get a better look at the painting, and then mentally shook himself, turning his attention back to the party. He faced the crowd, watching the other party guests walk by. The plan, as much as there was one, was to try and strike up a conversation with Snart. He was as intimidating as the others, but at least he and Barry shared the same home town. A little common ground was better than none at all.

If he got out of here alive tonight, he was never going to be a spy again.

Barry stepped back into the flow of the crowd and followed everyone into the second room of the gallery, where long tables had been set up with catering. In the upper left corner of the room, he could see a small dais and a microphone stand, leading him to wonder if by deciding to arrive fashionably late, he'd missed an opening speech.

Damien Darhk was in the center of the room, entertaining a group of glittering people with a joke that—if their forced laughter was to be believed—probably wasn't that funny. In the next room, Barry discovered space made for a dance floor. It might have been a temporary exhibition at one point, but for tonight, there was a live band playing music in the corner and a few more familiar faces dancing. Lisa Snart and Shawna Baez of the Rogues were dancing together. They made a striking pair—Lisa dressed in a long gold cocktail dress, obviously taking inspiration from her Golden Glider moniker, and Shawna in a short black dress streaked with an iridescent color that played peek-a-boo in the light. He wracked his brain for the information he'd read on them, and a twinge of envy made him frown. They were metas who escaped the ARGUS crackdown. He flexed his wrist, just enough to feel the reduced inhibitor band, and turned away.

He needed to stop wasting time and finish his survey of Waterstone. He'd spent time with blueprints, but the structure of the building didn't account for the things inside them. Once that was done, he'd… have to start a conversation? He was so bad at this. How did people just… start talking to each other? Barry swallowed, took a deep breath, and jerked his chin higher, so at least he could appear confident while he had his meltdown.

Third room, then.

This one was quieter, with couples talking softly to each other as they viewed the art. There were several 'Employees Only' doors that led to offices and break rooms that might end up being useful if he had to run, and—oh, there was Merlyn. Two out of four Legion heads spotted.

Barry turned to look at a statue, pretending that the art was the reason he'd come into the room in the first place, and after a moment the back of his neck started to prickle with the awareness under the weight of someone's attention. He looked around casually, as if he was trying to find the piece of art closest to him, and it took no time at all to spot the man, because he wasn't even bothering to hide his interest. Barry turned further, caught the sight of blond hair and piercing blue eyes—

—and Barry's bravado deserted him all at once, his chest going tight. He recognized the stranger in a visceral, instinctive way, and terror flooded Barry with adrenaline. Somehow, impossibly, he knew that face.

The man in yellow. His mother's killer.

Panic tunnelled Barry's vision, his fingers tingling like all ten of them had gone to sleep all at once. He jerked his attention away and walked back into the second gallery, beelining for the food tables so he could get a glass of water. He set his hands on the white tablecloth covering the long catering table to ground himself as he searched for an available drink that wasn't soda or alcohol, his blood roaring in his ears and drowning everything else out. He needed to calm down. He needed to figure out his next step. He'd daydreamed for so long about what he'd do if he ever came face to face with his mother's murderer, and now that the time had come, none of those wistful revenge plans were in any way useful.

A cold glass was pressed into his hand, and he blindly gulped it down, squeezing his eyes shut as he struggled not to pant. He could feel his hands shaking. Fuck.

"Hey." The voice was soft and low, and Barry took a second to realize someone was talking to him. He tracked the sound and the body heat at his side before he turned his head and stole a look. Leonard Snart was standing there, his hand hovering just below Barry's elbow. Double fuck. "You ain't looking too good, kid."

Barry's face prickled with an embarrassed blush. "Panic attack. Sorry. I."

"Gotcha." Snart cupped the back of Barry's neck and squeezed. Barry was too grateful for the grounding to wonder at the kindness. "Come with me."

Barry followed Snart's guidance without hesitation, allowing himself to be led to the men's washroom before Snart released his grip. Barry loosened his bowtie and unbuttoned the first button below his collar so he could breathe easier, and he took a second to splash water on his face. Snart leaned against the sink counter as he waited for Barry to calm down. Barry lost track of time as he stood bent over the sink, focused on taking one breath after another. Snart stayed with him the entire time. As the adrenaline rush faded, a growing sense of unease displaced the original panic.

"This is so embarrassing," Barry admitted. Snart reached out for the paper towel dispenser and handed a sheet to Barry, who rubbed his face with it as he tried to regain his composure. "I'm so sorry. Again."

Snart shrugged. "Wouldn't be a good host if I let someone pass out from hyperventilating, would I?"

Barry threw away the paper towel and turned back to Snart, getting his first good look. During his panic attack, he'd only registered the kindness and authority; now, with his brain mostly firing on all cylinders, he absorbed every detail—the simple, single-breasted midnight blue tuxedo, the hair that was more silver than dark, and his eyes. Slightly mismatched blue, but intense, arresting. His booking photo hadn't done him justice at all.

Somehow, Barry managed a smile. "Great. Not only am I being ridiculous, Leonard Snart had to babysit me."

Snart smiled, a quick upturn to the corner of his mouth. "I think you have me at a disadvantage."

Barry flexed his fingers and offered a handshake. Snart took his hand without hesitation, and Barry raced to catalogue the smooth skin of Snart's palm, the roughness of the occasional callus, before they pulled away. "You're right. Barry Allen. Nice to meet you."

As soon as the words left his mouth, he closed his eyes and accessed the Speed Force for the first time that night. The first time in months. The trickle of power bought him time to wallow in his mortification for as long as he wanted. Why did Barry give his real name? He wasn't actually on the list of invitees, his alias was. Giving his real name to a well known and dangerous mob boss who ran the organized crime in his hometown was—Ugh. So damned stupid. Did he have a death wish? Wait. He'd accepted the mission in the first place despite being wildly unqualified for it. Maybe he did have a death wish. His desire to connect to the Speed Force again after so long was a terrible reason to get involved in ARGUS spycraft, but Director Michaels had dangled it in front of him and he'd snapped at the bait like an idiot—

Snart's smile didn't fade. "A pleasure, Mr. Allen."

"Ugh. Call me Barry, please." Barry winced, and flexed his left wrist again, letting the inhibitor remind him why he was there. "Calling me Mr. Allen just makes me think I'm about to be called into the principal's office."

Snart snorted at that. "I guarantee you that school ain't in session." He pinned Barry with a searching look, as if he could gauge Barry's well-being just from his expression. "How're you feeling?"

"Better. Thank you for helping me. I don't think I said that before."

"You're welcome," Snart said. He stepped away, turning back to the door of the washroom, and Barry perversely missed their physical closeness. The panic attack must have left his wires crossed. He needed to leave and call this whole night a loss.

Snart pushed the door open, and Barry darted another embarrassed smile his way before they parted. Thankfully, Snart didn't try to make any additional conversation. First things first, then. He needed to see the man in yellow one more time, if only to prove to himself that he was real. Then Barry would slip into one of those employee rooms and get his ass out of Keystone.

It took even less time than he expected to find him. Or, more accurately, before he found Barry. It was like he had been lying in wait. Barry had only just started forward into the room when they were face to face, red lightning sparking in his eyes.

"Barry Allen," he said, as if just saying Barry's name was a sensation he wanted to savor. "I don't recall seeing your name on the invitation list."

Barry swallowed and lied through his teeth. "I'm sorry. Have we met?"

"Once," he said, staring at Barry unblinkingly. "It was a very long time ago." He reached out, and Barry couldn't bring himself to move, his heart thundering in his ears.

"I certainly hope you're not trying to steal my plus one, Thawne."

A rush of relief so strong that he almost cried coursed through Barry as he and the man in yellow—Thawne. Eobard Thawne, the mysterious fourth member of the Legion—turned toward Snart, who smiled and offered Barry a champagne flute. Barry took it automatically. Snart's plus one? They'd just met. What was his game here? Snart rested his hand against the small of Barry's back, guiding Barry closer to him, and Barry knew without a doubt that whatever Snart's angle was, Barry was absolutely sure he'd rather play Snart's game than Thawne's.

Thawne seemed caught off guard, his eyes flitting back and forth between Barry and Snart. "Your… plus one."

Snart hummed in agreement. "Even I get tired of being my sister's third wheel. Did some time in Iron Heights with Doc Allen a few years back. Promised him I'd keep an eye on the kid and thought it'd be fun to show him the sparkly parts of the job. You know how it is."

"Interesting," Thawne said, and Barry anxiously drank his champagne as the two criminals stared each other down. It was worse than he'd thought. Snart probably made him the instant he walked through the door. With the inhibitor on, escaping would be impossible. He might be able to outrun Snart, but he wouldn't be fast enough to outrun Thawne. Hell, Thawne probably wouldn't care about civilians if he wanted to get to Barry.

"If that's all, we have a party to enjoy." Snart slid his hand possessively over Barry's hips, his eyes narrowing as he watched for Thawne's next move. "Shall we, Barry?"

"Uh. Yeah," Barry said quietly. "Okay." There was a part of him that was grateful for how easily Snart had gotten him out of that situation, but if he was being real, the whole night was a disaster, and it was only bound to get worse.

"Relax," Snart said in undertone. His breath was warm against Barry's ear, and Barry how he focused on the sensation. "Thawne won't do anything to you with me around."

"Why are you helping me, Snart?" Barry asked. "What's in it for you?"

"Please, Barry. You're my date. Call me Len." Snart deposited their empty champagne flutes onto a passing tray and pulled Barry further into the gallery. "As for what I get out of it—"

There was a small poof of displaced air, and Barry jumped when Shawna and Lisa appeared next to Snart's side. "Who's the kid?" Lisa asked.

"I'm older than you," Barry muttered. "By two years."

"Color me surprised." Lisa fixed him with an unimpressed look before she turned her attention back to her brother. "Shawna and I thought you might need backup after that little showdown."

"Kind, but unnecessary. Eobard just didn't like the fact that I got to his toy before he did."

Barry rolled his eyes. "I'm not a toy. I'm a person."

Shawna smiled and patted Barry's cheek. "All men are toys, baby. Just ask my ex."

"Ha. Right." Barry pressed closer to Snart, shying away from Shawna. From the way the two women smirked at him, he guessed he wasn't as discreet as he would have liked.

Shawna laughed. "Well. We certainly know when we're not wanted."

Lisa's smile grew fonder as she looked back over at her brother. "If you don't need us, we have a dance calling our name."

"Have fun, trainwreck," Snart said, his voice softening with fondness. Shawna and Lisa linked arms and sauntered away together, Lisa leaning close and pressing a kiss to Shawna's temple before wiping what Barry guessed was a trace of lipstick from her skin.

Barry took another shallow breath, and Snart gentled his grip, making it a little less intimate. "Thawne's still watching you. Any idea what he wants?"

Barry shrugged. "I…" He bit his lip and looked down at his shoes. Snart knew his name. Knew his dad. He probably knew the whole thing through the grapevine. "You know my dad?"

"Doc? Yeah. Kept to himself. Stayed out of trouble."

"Thawne was there the night my mother was killed," Barry confessed. "No one believed me, but I remember him. I recognize him. He was the one who did it, not my dad."

Snart stared at Barry for a moment, and Barry willed Snart to believe him even though he knew how it sounded, even though he knew how it would end. Iris had been the only one to believe him, and he couldn't expect a stranger to give him that kind of consideration.

Snart looked away, his eyes flicking to the side as he tracked something behind Barry. "Think he might want to kill you, too?"

Barry opened his mouth and then closed it, unsure what to say. "I...hope not?" he said weakly. Snart looked at him again, and there was something opaque and frustrated in his expression. "I'm sorry, I don't know what else to say! It's been a decade since I've seen him. I don't know what he wants!"

Snart grabbed Barry's arm and pulled him through one of the employee doors. It looked at first glance like a small office, but then Snart shut the door and Barry lost the light. It was dark enough that Barry couldn't see anything, and he stumbled when Snart spun him around and pinned him to the door. His forearm was unyielding against the line of Barry's throat. "I don't think you understand exactly what kind of danger you're in right now," Snart said conversationally. He pressed his free hand flat against the door, and Barry shivered as a pulse of cold chilled the wood and scattered a light layer of frost over Barry's left cheek and eyelashes. "If I looked at the guest list, would I find your name, or an alias?" Snart followed the pattern of frost on Barry's cheeks with his freezing fingers. "You didn't lie to me before. Think twice before you start now."

Barry tried to access the spark of the Speed Force to warm himself up, but Snart was standing so close, radiating anger and frigid cold, and it made absolutely no difference. "No," Barry whispered. "My name's not on the list."

"And what about the thing on your wrist?"

"W-what?" Barry blinked, blind from the frost on his eyelashes as his body heat melted and the pulse of Snart's ability refroze the water. Snart was an unregulated meta. That part wasn't in his file. Barry was so damned envious.

"Your wrist." The friendliness, the warmth he'd shown Barry was absent now. Snart's eyes glowed a crystalline blue, the only light in the dark room, and he slid his hand down Barry's arm, the cold making Barry's teeth chatter.

A shrill scream cut through the air and Barry jumped. Snart cursed and pulled away, his fingers leaving a touch of frostbite where they brushed Barry's hand. Barry's skin started tingling as it tried to heal.

"You have no idea how lucky you are," Snart muttered, and he yanked Barry forward, pulling the door open in the next motion. He shot a glare at whomever he saw standing in the hallway and then turned the look on Barry. "I don't trust you. Stick to me like glue, understand?"

Barry nodded, and the threat simmering in Snart died down as he turned his focus away. They followed the commotion to a small gallery down the hall, only two of the current of guests responding to that piercing scream.

"Move," Snart said, not even all that loud, and the crowd parted at the sound.He stalked into that opening, dragging Barry behind him. It allowed Barry to get a look at the scene—a hysterical brunette in a blue dress, and beyond that, through a half-open door, a woman on the white marble floor and a widening pool of shockingly bright red beneath her.

Merlyn appeared beside Snart, and Barry held his breath, half hoping they'd just forget he was there. "We're going to handle the situation. Everyone, go back to the party. There's nothing else to see here." Merlyn stared his guests down until they turned to leave, and then he tilted his head toward Snart. "I notified security," he said, keeping his voice low. "What's going on?"

"Just got here," Snart said, "but at first glance, it looks like someone broke the neutrality agreement." Snart glanced at Barry from the corner of his eye, dashing any hope Barry had of keeping unnoticed. "Stash the chatter 'til we figure out what happened."

Several thoughts passed through Barry's mind at once—he had the expertise to go over the crime scene, but should he? Would they let him? Although he wanted nothing more than to be invisible, obviously offering to look at a murder scene would be the exact opposite of that. The fact that Snart knew too much about him as it was, and that the man who murdered his mother was here, too? It made everything way too complicated.

Then again, that woman deserved justice.

Barry reached out, brushing Snart's fingers with his own, and it drew Snart's attention to him instantly. "I'm a trained CSI," Barry murmured. "Let me take a look?"

Merlyn frowned. "Who's he?"

Snart held Barry's eyes for another few seconds and then stepped aside. "My date."

Barry flashed Merlyn an awkward smile, trying to ignore the heat in his cheeks—was Snart going to introduce him as his date to everyone? That was a little embarrassing—and stepped into the room. Upon closer examination, it looked like the room wasn't supposed to be in use. The light was low; paintings had been removed from the wall and cushioned, left leaning just below where they had been hung. One mirror was left in place. There were no windows or other exits but the door he'd come through.

Barry turned his attention to the victim and crouched next to her. "Anyone have gloves?" He looked up and discovered that all four of the Legion were standing outside the door, watching him work. He got a series of shrugs and sighed, reaching out to touch the victim's wrist. There was no pulse, as he'd expected, and her skin was warm. No defensive wounds on her arms meant that she was caught by surprise. Her throat was slit, and there were a cluster of five stab wounds to her left chest—someone aiming for the heart, he suspected.

Snart came up behind him and crouched down to Barry's level, keeping himself well away from the blood. It had stopped spreading, at least. "What've you got?"

"I'm not a coroner," Barry said, "so I can't guess the time of death or what actually killed her or anything. But it looks like she was surprised by whoever attacked her. She didn't have time to fight back. There aren't any other entrances, so she walked in. To get something, I think? It looks like the room wasn't in general use, because they've got stored art here. Maybe they were going to ship it somewhere or get this exhibit ready for viewing?" Barry shook his head and wrestled himself back on target. "Slit throat, five stab wounds that I can see, aimed at the heart. It would've been fast." He stood and offered Snart his hand to help him up. After a moment, Snart took it, although he stood with a smoothness that implied he didn't actually need the help.

Barry stepped out through the doorway, skirting past Thawne, and found the brunette in blue, who had obviously been the one to find the body. He didn't touch her because he'd just touched a body, but he knelt in front of her, waiting for her to take a breath before he started to talk. "I'm sorry you had to see that, ma'am. Could I ask you a couple of questions?"

She sucked in a wet, shaking breath, and nodded, swiping ineffectually at the tear tracks on her cheeks.

Barry dropped his gaze to her hand, where she was clutching a set of keys, and looked back up at her. "What's your name?"

"Claudette." She moved her hand to her throat as if looking for her name tag.

"Claudette, can you walk us through what happened?"

She swallowed hard and nodded. "Mr. Darhk asked Amelia to get one of the paintings that had just been unpacked." She took a breath, her voice trembling as she continued. "We were the only ones here tonight with access to the master keys. She was taking a while—I thought she needed help finding the right painting. I unlocked the door and found her—found her there. On the floor."

"The door was locked?" Barry asked.

Claudette frowned in thought. "I… Yes. I'm sure. The locks automatically engage when the doors close. We can leave easily, but we always use a key to enter."

"So what I'm hearing is that we've got a locked door mystery," Merlyn said. Barry glanced over at him, the defensive way he crossed his arms over his chest, and turned his attention back to Claudette.

"Go wash your face," he said gently. "They've got the place on lockdown. We're going to figure out what happened." Claudette nodded, fresh tears spilling down her cheeks, and he squeezed her hands, helping her stand. He passed her to a coworker, and when he looked back to Snart, Lisa and Shawna had joined him. They looked serious—their twin sardonic attitudes had melted away.

"It could have been any of us," Snart was saying as Barry entered earshot again. "I'm looking at two people right now who can teleport, and I only trust one of them."

"I'm hurt," Darhk said, and he raised his hands in frustration. "I was the one who asked for the painting to be brought out. I'm a patron of this place, so why would I kill one of the curators? Not to mention that I was in the middle of entertaining our guests, just like the rest of you."

"Lisa and I were dancing all night," Shawna pointed out. "We hadn't even gotten this far into the gallery."

"You're not under suspicion," Snart said, his words clipped. "Take her home, Peekaboo."

Shawna straightened at the sound of her alias and nodded. "Got it, boss."

"Now just wait a mi—" Lisa started, and then she and Shawna vanished, leaving a soft pop of displaced air behind.

Thawne crossed his arms and made a small tsk of sound. "That's supposed to be less suspicious?"

Snart dropped the thin veneer of his civility, the air starting to steam around him. "You trying to say something about my sister, Thawne?"

"It's not her MO," Barry said, to break the tension and get the facts out. "Golden Glider only ever uses her gun. Our victim was stabbed. Too messy for her."

Darhk turned toward Barry, arching an eyebrow. "Who's the kid?"

Merlyn rolled his eyes. "Snart's date."

Snart jerked his head, and Barry followed the summons only a little reluctantly. He didn't have any allies to help him if the Legion decided to kill him, but Snart was the closest thing to it. On instinct, he reached for Snart's cold hand—a muscle twitched in Snart's jaw, but he squeezed Barry's hand back.

Barry felt braver with Snart standing between him and the others, and he looked at Thawne again. "What about you?" he asked. "Not like this would be your first stabbing."

Thawne snorted. "I was enjoying the party, just like everyone else."

Snart narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, like I've never seen you in two places at once."

Barry blinked. "He can do that?" he asked in undertone. Snart ignored him.

"What about you, Snart?" Thawne asked, baring his teeth at them in a grimace. "You never bring 'dates' to these events. And to choose tonight to have an ARGUS-tagged meta? That's interesting."

"What're you—" Barry scoffed. "It's an inhibitor, not a tracking device—" Snart grabbed his left wrist, thumb digging the band into Barry's pulse, and he faltered to a stop.

"I gotta say, a lot of the reason I like this kid is because you want him so bad," Snart said, smiling in a way that didn't reach his eyes. "What about him is driving you so crazy?"

Merlyn rolled his eyes. "I thought this was serious, but it's just another pissing contest." He turned to Darhk. "So we have a murdered curator. What's the play here?"

Barry cleared his throat. "If none of us are guilty, why don't we just call the cops?" All four of them looked at Barry like he'd just said the stupidest thing they had ever heard.

Darhk shook his head. "Now I completely believe you're just eye candy."

Barry opened his mouth to protest, but Snart shook his head. "Let it go."

"I'm not going to let it go," Barry protested. "Maybe most of the party hasn't realized what's happened here, but someone's dead. We don't even know if she had a family."

"We'll handle it," Snart said flatly, and he let Barry go. "You don't need to see any more of this. Go have fun."

Barry gaped. "I can't just go back to the party like nothing happened!"

Snart stared at him, his eyes going flat and cold. "Despite my best judgment, I kind of like you. So, here are your options, kid: You can either go back to the party and have your fill of our expensive catering, or your body gets added to the pile. Your choice."

"Do we get to put it to a vote?" Thawne asked.

"Keep it in your pants, Thawne," Snart snapped.

Barry looked back and forth between Thawne and Snart, and ducked his head, flexing his fingers, which had gone numb from how hard he'd been clenching them. "Will I…" Barry flushed with heat, and stole a glance at Snart from beneath his eyelashes. "Will I see you when you're done?"

Snart tilted his head, blatantly appraising Barry again, but whatever he was going to say was lost when Shawna teleported into the hall again, bringing Lisa and Mick Rory, suited up and ready to go.

"We got your back, boss," Mick said, cocking his gun and glaring at everyone in the hall, like he was one wrong move from frying everyone indiscriminately.

Snart squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose. "For fuck's sake."

Darhk shook his head. "I only like this much drama when I'm the one causing it," he said. "I'm out. The party's over. I'll tell my people to take care of the situation." He turned to Merlyn and raised an eyebrow. "Want to hitch a ride, Malcolm?"

"Thank god. Yes." Merlyn set his hand on Darhk's shoulder, and they vanished together.

"Care to tell me why you came in, guns blazing?" Snart asked, turning his attention to his Rogues. "Shawna, I thought I told you to take Lisa home."

"I did, but—"

Lisa glared at Snart. "Things were just getting interesting, and you benched me!"

"—she got Mick riled up and said that if I wouldn't take her back, she'd get Sam to do it instead," Shawna finished with a sigh.

"There's nothing to see here but cleanup," Snart said. "The party's over—Damien has his goons on top of it."

Lisa pouted. "You always spoil my fun, Lenny!"

Snart turned toward her, and—

—Thawne made his move, red lightning blurring around him as he sped toward Barry. Barry had just enough access to the Speed Force to acknowledge the movement, to see the crackle of lightning in Thawne's eyes, and he jerked back, the smooth marble floor sending him skidding back against the wall.

There was a blinding strike of blue, and the floor in front of Thawne iced over. He lost his balance, sliding on the floor, and Snart grabbed Barry's arm, yanking him up from where he'd fallen. "I'm not that distracted," he said with disgust, and he turned sharply to face one of the mirrors. "Sam, get your ass out here."

Shawna and the others vanished behind them, and Barry didn't know where to keep his attention. On Snart, who pulled Barry closer as the air steamed with cold around the two of them? On Thawne, who was already back on his feet and racing toward them, only to hesitate at the last moment? Or the hand reaching out from the smooth surface of the mirror, latching on and pulling Snart forward. Snart tightened his grip on Barry, and Barry closed his eyes, expecting the collision with the mirror to hurt.

There wasn't pain, but starbursts exploded before Barry's eyes, and he raised his hand to fend off the kaleidoscope of light before them. "Easy," Snart said, almost soothing. "The first time is always the roughest."

Barry rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms and then opened them, the corners of his vision still sparking. The space before them had mutated into a mirror image of the hallway they'd been in. There were mirrors on every wall, blank and glossy.

"This… is really too much," Barry muttered to himself. The Speed Force coiled within him, and he zapped over to each mirror, peering into it to see if his reflection changed, or if he'd even have a reflection in a mirror that was inside a mirror. He didn't, but what he did see was a different location in each mirror, from the mirror in the men's bathroom at Waterstone to a mirror in what looked like some sort of palace. "All these places…" Barry touched the surface of one mirror, but it remained firm and cool, just like regular glass. "Teleportation?"

"I can link an Einstein-Rosen bridge between any two reflective surfaces, although I'm sure you don't know what that means." Barry startled, and then scowled immediately afterward in annoyance. The voice was behind him, and Barry turned to see a face in a mirror. It was a safe assumption that this was the 'Sam' Snart had called for. Dark hair, well-kept beard. Another Rogue. Jeez. where Darkh and Merlyn collected fighters, Snart seemed to collect metas like they were going out of style.

"I know what an Einstein-Rosen bridge is," Barry said, trying not to sulk. "I'm not a pretentious jerk, so I just call them wormholes."

"Ooh, we have a smartie pants here." Sam glared at Barry and folded his arms over his chest before flickering over to a different mirror.

Barry sighed and shot Snart a guilty look. He hadn't even met the guy before, and he was already on his bad side.

"Take us to one of the safe houses," Snart said. "Preferably empty. Today's been… challenging."

"I've been keeping an ear out," Sam said. He pointed at Barry with a tilt of his chin. "This kid sure is a lot of trouble. You don't want me to throw him out?"

"If I wanted to throw him out, Sam, I wouldn't have brought him with me in the first place," Snart said. He shot Barry an annoyed look. "Are you the reason everyone's second guessing me today?"

Barry shook his head and raised his hands to ward off the blame. "Hey, I'm just sticking close like you told me to, okay? I don't know anything about what's going on."

"I don't get it," Sam said, flickering to the mirror in front of Barry again and peering into his face. "Snart's dragging you around like a pet, and Thawne went off the fucking deep end when he saw you—don't even get me started with that guy. You ain't that cute. Makes me wonder what the hell's actually going on."

"I don't know anything, really," Barry protested. "I'm going to be real here—I heard there was a party, and a friend of mine was invited to it. He didn't want to go, so I took his ticket. I thought it would be a fun night, rubbing elbows with the rich and famous. Man." Barry sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, ignoring the way it messed with his styling. "It's been a crazy night."

"Sounds like you're just caught at the wrong place at the wrong time." Sam clicked his tongue in sympathy.

Barry frowned and took a couple of steps closer to Snart. It was easier to be brave when he had someone standing at his back. "Can you make that sound a little less present tense?"

Sam laughed, hard-edged and a little grating. "I had this plan, you know? Bide my time, get everything just right. I had this suit of mirrors I was building. And then? You come along." Sam pressed his fingers against the mirror, glaring daggers at Barry. "One look at you, and Thawne tells me that my plans don't matter, as long as I get Snart out of the way."

Snart sighed and shook his head. "I can't tell if you're making your move or if you're just bitching. You think that if you get me out of the picture, you get to take my spot?"

Sam nodded. "Yeah. That's exactly what I'm going to do."

Snart grinned at that, and Sam's face grew red with anger. "Please. The only one who listens to you is Rosa, and that's only because she's horny."

"Laugh it up, Snart," Sam spat. "Who cares what Thawne wants. You're in my world, and I'm not gonna let you go. See how much you like it when I'm not marking the path." Sam vanished, skipping through the long hall of mirrors before them.

Barry leaned closer to Snart. "You think he practices those lines in the mirror?"

"It is where he spends most of his time," Snart said.

Barry huffed a breath and looked at the hall of mirrors, at Sam leering at them from all around. "This guy is a problem."

"Not as much as you'd think," Snart said. "Each mirror corresponds to a location." Snart knocked on the mirror he was standing next to. "We came through this one, which means it should lead back to Waterstone."

"Okay, let me think about this for a second," Barry said, still watching Sam's face in one of the mirrors. He reached out to touch it. It still felt like a mirror from the inside, the glass cool against his fingertips. "To create a wormhole, he has to agitate the molecules of the mirror into a flux state, right? So if you can slow down the energy transference, I might be able to match the frequency and get us out."

Snart tilted his head. "Does that have anything to do with the yellow lightning I saw around you earlier?"

Barry flushed, not quite with embarrassment, but more out of an intense awareness that Snart was aware of him. "Ha. You saw that, huh?"

"There's not much I miss," Snart admitted "Especially when it involves things I'm interested in."

Barry ducked his head, trying to hide a smile. "I'm one of those things you're interested in?"

Snart smiled at that. "Fishing for compliments?"

"I dunno." Barry shrugged. "You handing them out?"

"I didn't bring you here to flirt!" Sam complained, and he reached through the glass for Barry, who stumbled back a few steps to stay out of range.

"How about we get out of here first, and then we'll revisit the topic." Snart rubbed his hands together and pressed them against one of the mirrors. It iced up instantly, and as he continued to concentrate, the wall grew a scattering of frost, clouding over the next mirror, and the next. Snart narrowed his eyes as he focused and pumped his energy into the hyper-flux-mirror-dimension—Barry almost couldn't wrap his head around how ridiculous the whole thing was, but it was also exciting, having to survive by wits and teamwork—

Sam pounded his fists against the glass, fracturing the ice from beneath.

"Okay," Barry said to himself. "Come on, Speed Force. I've got enough juice to help us get out of here." He reached for the connection that he always had to the Speed Force, warmth and heat running from his brain down to his feet, and he cautiously tried moving in place, slow at first, and then faster and faster until he was a blur of movement, stuck in one place, trying as hard as he could to vibrate fast enough to meet the freeze.

For a moment, Barry didn't think he was going to make it, that he and Snart would actually be stuck in this hall of mirrors. Sam didn't have any motivation to keep either of them alive, and Barry channelled that anxiety into an extra burst of speed. It felt like he caught up with the rapidly cooling energy, met and exceeded it, and at the last second when he didn't think he'd be able to keep it up, the glass started rattling, and everything shattered around them, all at once.

Barry's ears were ringing from the shatter of glass, and he grunted as he hit the floor, disoriented and exhausted. "Len?" He tried to shake off the momentary confusion, bringing his hand to his head as he scrambled to his feet, desperate to get his bearings.

"I'm here, kid," Snart groaned. He sat up and rubbed the back of his neck, propping his arm on his knee. "Give me a sec."

"We may not have a second," Barry said. "What if he—"

"Sam's a lot of things, but first and foremost, he's a coward," Snart said bluntly. "If he couldn't keep us in his mirror world, he's not going to risk going after us out here."

Barry took a second to look around—they were back in the gallery at Waterstone. The room was empty, the lights dim, and he wondered what happened—he didn't even know what time it was. And what about that poor woman? She was just the victim of some half-baked attempt at framing Snart? Did Sam even mean to frame anyone, or was it just an opportunity to expend his rage?

"I was wondering when he was going to spit you out." Thawne was sitting on a bench in front of a painting, and Barry reached out a hand to help Snart to his feet as he kept his eyes on Thawne.

"Wait." Barry frowned, trying to piece the little bits of information he'd gotten over the night into some coherent picture. "Mirror Master was trying to frame Len, but that wasn't what you were interested in at all. You wanted a distraction."

Thawne turned to look at the two of them, straddling the bench. "Do you ever get tired of playing the hero?"

"I'm not a hero," Barry said. "It's just… you killed my mom. Why?"

"I meant to kill you," Thawne said simply. "But you were taken out of my reach, and I needed to let off some steam."

A chill raced down Barry's spine, nausea knotting his stomach. "Killing her was a… a consolation prize? Because you couldn't kill a child?"

"Where I come from, you were far more than a child. You were my nemesis." Thawne stared at Barry and took another step closer, as if he were savoring the moment now that they were face to face. "It turned out that killing your mother left me stuck here. I even orchestrated the accelerator explosion. And instead of doing what you were supposed to do, you let ARGUS sweep in and destroy everything I was working toward."

"You never get tired of hearing yourself talk," Snart said from his place at Barry's side. "I get the satisfaction of a dramatic reveal, but this is a lot."

Thawne glared at Snart, although Barry was distracted by another series of shivers. It was colder here than he thought. "Snart always has a soft spot for you."

Snart shrugged. "What can I say? He's cute."

Thawne shook his head. "I look forward to killing you both."

"Here's the thing," Snart said. "It's late. I'm tired. Barry, take this guy out so we can go home."

Something clinked on the floor, and Barry only had a second to recognize that it was his inhibitor bracelet, frozen and shattered into shards, and the Speed Force roared through him like it had never left, leaving him tingling and aware and alive for the first time in years.

Barry spun around, cupped Snart's face, and kissed him, desperate and fervent and grateful. Sparks of electricity connected them where they weren't touching, and Barry thought distantly that he'd be happy kissing this man forever.

Then he spun in place, blocking a punch from Thawne, and it began.

They were going so fast he had to move on instinct, blocking each punch, staggering back step by step as he faltered under the onslaught. Thawne was so fast he made Barry dizzy, and he was completely and utterly on the defensive. Barry was fumbling around like a colt trying to take his first steps, and Thawne was so much faster, so much stronger and self-assured.

Barry imagined what would happen, thoughts speeding through his brain—Thawne would kill him, just like he killed Barry's mother, probably without breaking a sweat. And Snart… who knew what he was thinking. He'd probably shrug and call someone to clean up Barry's body, just like Darhk had done for that poor woman Sam killed.

Barry didn't want that.

He refused to be a victim anymore.

He yelled out in frustration and swung his fist. His aim wasn't great—he didn't hit Thawne's cheek like he meant to, but instead felt the connection of his knuckle against Thawne's temple. Thawne staggered back, shaking his head, and Barry followed him, swinging with all the pent up anger and fear and dejection he'd experienced over the years. Thawne's knees buckled, and Barry dragged him to the floor. Hitting Thawne was almost therapeutic; the solid impact of fist to face, the pain in his knuckles grounding him as his skin grew slick with blood.

Barry stopped, panting, one fist held up as if to strike Thawne again. Thawne was a mess of bruises and cuts, and there was swelling around one of his eyes, although that started to deflate and heal as Barry watched.

"Go on," Thawne taunted, licking the blood from his split lip. "Do it, hero."

The adrenaline was still rattling around in Barry's system, his blood roaring in his ears. He could do it. Keep punching Thawne until Thawne choked on his own blood and spit. But it wouldn't bring Barry's mother back. It would just make him feel sick.

"No," Barry decided. "It's enough for me to see you like this. You were always a terrifying monster in my head, but you're really just… sad and lonely." He climbed to his feet, wiping his mouth against the sleeve of his tuxedo. It'd be hell to get the blood out of this, but he guessed ARGUS had the budget. "C'mon, Len. Let's go."

There was a wave of cold from behind him, and then the almost familiar tinkling sound of air turning to ice in an instant. Thawne froze in front of him, frost crystals layering his skin, and his face was stuck in a rictus of pain and rage. It was like cryofreeze, if that was something more than a theory. Or liquid nitrogen, maybe—Barry wasn't sure.

Snart stepped delicately over Thawne's immobile body and made a displeased noise.

"I—Leonard, what are you doing?"

Snart ignored him, his eyes lighting on one of the marble busts in the gallery around them. "That should do it." He grunted as he lifted one of the small, heavy statues, and then walked back over to Thawne's body.

Barry could see it, the way the weight would break Thawne into pieces. Barry opened his mouth, half-lifting his hand as if that would be enough to stop Snart from continuing. He caught the sight of his bloody knuckles again and swallowed, his eyes blurring with tears.

Snart considered his options, and then very carefully dropped the marble bust in the center of Thawne's head. His face caved in instantly, and the rest of his body crackled and fell apart like a particularly deadly ripple, leaving him in meat-red shards scattered across the marble floor.

Barry turned away, fighting the urge to vomit. He squeezed his hands into fists and wrapped his arms around himself as he sank into a crouch, breathing heavily through his mouth. "Why did you do that?"

"Barry." Snart crouched next to him and tentatively rested his hand against Barry's back. "You leave a person like that alive, and they'll just keep coming after you. You have to cut them down quick."

"Still, I… "

"Now you're getting a weak stomach?" Snart asked. "If you need something to feel guilty over, I'll bite. If it was so important that Thawne live, why didn't you stop me? I think you're fast enough to do it."

"I didn't stop you because I hated him," Barry whispered.

"And that's okay." Snart squeezed Barry's shoulder. "Come on, kid. I'll call someone to clean this up. In the meantime, you decide what you want to do."

Barry frowned, searching Snart's face for answers. "What do you mean?"

Snart paused in the middle of bringing his cell phone to his ear. "If you're coming with me or not."

"E—earlier you said you didn't care if I was one of the bodies Darhk was going to clean up."

"That was before I knew you could be useful." Barry flinched at the words, and Snart reached out again with one of his tentative touches, as if he'd forgotten how to touch someone sincerely. He petted Barry's hair, letting the strands pull through his fingers, and Barry… Barry let him. "Maybe more than that. Who knows?"

Barry focused on his breathing as Snart made his calls, and he thought about what he really wanted. Freedom, the Speed Force singing through his veins. But on the other hand, his coworkers, his friends, the people he cared about. Could he let all of them go that easily?

"Barry." Barry shook himself out of his thoughts and focused on Snart, on the way he reached out and offered his hand. "It's okay to be selfish. That's how we survive."

Barry's face crumpled, and he curled in toward Snart, resting his forehead on Snart's shoulder and sucking in air like he didn't know when he would be allowed to breathe again. "Okay," he gasped. "Okay. I want to go with you. Please."

"Good boy," Snart murmured, and he led Barry out, where they waited for a car to pick them up.

Barry's phone buzzed in his pocket, over and over again, and he shot Snart an apologetic look, stepping away to check his notifications.

Somehow, impossibly, the date showed that it was three days after the party.

"Wait," Barry muttered, looking at the date again. "How did three days pass?"

"Time moves differently in the mirrors," Len said. "I'm surprised we didn't lose a month."

"I…" Barry was at a loss for words. After a moment, he just shrugged. He couldn't process the fact that he just lost time, so he let it go, firmly pushing it away from the forefront of his thoughts until he had time to process everything that happened. He turned his attention back to his phone and opened his texts.

To Joe and Iris, he wrote, Sorry to worry you. I'll keep in touch. I love you.

There was an unknown number, with a message that said simply, Good job..

Barry wanted to throw up again, but instead he took a deep breath, accessed the Speed Force, and shorted out his phone.

"You okay, kid?" Snart asked.

Barry smiled and gestured with his broken phone. "It just died. Guess it couldn't take all the lightning."

Snart smiled at that and shook his head. "I'll buy you a new one."

"Does this make you my sugar daddy?"

"Don't push it," Snart warned, but his voice was warm enough that Barry could tell he wasn't serious. A sleek black car pulled up the long driveway and idled, obviously waiting for them. "Last chance to back out."

"If you keep offering me a way out, I'm going to think you don't want me around." Barry stuck his dead phone in his back pocket, and took Snar—Len's arm. "You have a place where we can recycle electronics?"

Len laughed, soft and quiet, before he nodded and covered Barry's bloody hand with his own. "Yeah," he said as he led Barry to the car. "I know a guy."