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The position for a CSI in Starling City is a competitive spot, and rightly so. It's not a fun place, Starling, and cops need to be on their toes almost every minute of every day. They also need to be damn good at their jobs.
Which is what Barry Allen is: damn good at his job.
Sure, he might be late, but you don't just get a glowing review from CCPD's Captain Singh, foster parent's recommendation aside. Barry might be lanky and young, but he knows he's intelligent. He can take a crime scene apart in less than two minutes, and that's on a bad day.
Ergo, he'd appreciate it if his boyfriend would stop acting like he's some trophy who's just there to look pretty. For all his nervous babbling, Barry can talk and actually say things that are relevant. For example, right now.
Oliver Queen, said boyfriend of almost three months, is standing in his little lab, because apparently his buddy Steve (it's always Steve) is going to host a party this weekend but Oliver needs a good gift. Luckily he found this really great energy drink that Steve likes but he wants to know what's in it. For...reasons? Honestly, Barry stopped listening.
While the analysis is cooking, Barry spins around in his chair to face Oliver, arms crossed, his best Professor Snape impression in place.
Oliver smiles his Ollie Smile: the one that lets everybody know he's just a dumb billionaire who knows absolutely nothing, Detective. Barry never thought he'd hate someone's smile, but it's on his shit list.
"Something wrong?" asks Oliver.
Barry sighs. Sighs meaning letting out a loud, obnoxious breath that could probably last for the next thousand years if he hadn't something to say to this handsome idiot.
"You know you're not fooling me, right?"
Something about Oliver stiffens. Barry's seen it countless times before: he didn't sit in for interrogations much, but sometimes Joe would let him watch on the other side of the window, and that stance Oliver just got? That's the "you-just-stumbled-onto-the-right-track-but-I'm-still-not-talking" stance.
Though, to be fair, Barry didn't stumble onto anything. He'd traveled right next to the track, realized it was there, shrugged and switched trains. Not that there'd been much of a choice. The answers were all so obvious at the get-go; you just had to know where to look.
But he digresses.
Oliver affects a careless shrug. "I'm not sure I know what you're talking about."
Barry copies Joe's eyebrow raise and "Mmmmhm" to the letter. He adds, "It's Thursday, Oliver."
"...yes?"
"You said the party was this weekend?"
Ah, there it is: the Oh Shit face. Oliver masks it quickly enough. Barry will say he's a good actor, to some degree. It's the talking part that needs work.
Barry continues, "Why didn't you tell me, then? I thought that's what boyfriends do. Y'know, go to parties together? Unless you wanted to go alone, which is fine, but something tells me there isn't a party at all."
And just as he predicted, the computer analysis shows the syringe containing trace amounts of Vertigo.
Because he's a nice person, Barry prints out the results and hands both syringe and paper over without a fuss. However, because he's also more than a little hurt and insulted, he puts on his own version of the Ollie Smile and bites Oliver's bottom lip when they kiss goodbye.
When he leans back, he murmurs, "I'm a CSI, Oliver. Stop assuming I don't know how to read between the lines."
Oliver swallows. "What's going on, Barry?"
He's going to get punched. Okay, considering the Arrow's abilities, maybe not, but. Something is going to be done about this.
Barry shrugs a shoulder. "I'm just wondering when you're going to tell me the truth. I don't want to force this on you, Oliver, but come on. It's not like I'll tell anyone; give me a little credit here."
The smile is gone, replaced by the Arrow's terrifying cold calculation mixed with a bit of trepidation.
"Barry-"
Barry gives him another kiss. Doesn't bite his lip this time. "I know why you don't want to tell me. I mean, I work for the guy who probably hates you more than I hate Steven Moffat, which," he lets himself smile now, because the lines around Oliver's eyes are loosening, "is definitely saying something."
Oliver's eyes glance down. "I don't think..."
"If you say something about protecting me or whatever, I work for Starling City Police Department. How safe can I possibly get? Exactly. Also, pretty sure you need someone on the inside, especially someone who can make incriminating evidence, say, I dunno," Barry looks at the ceiling, "a blood sample?"
Oliver's eyes widen. "I thought Felicity-"
"I got rid of that sample way before Felicity hacked into our system. Because I am a good boyfriend, and frankly, you are so lucky you got me. Look, I'm not asking for a tour of your Arrow Cave-"
"We don't call it that-"
"All I want is for you to stop coming in with these awful excuses-which we really need to work on for other people-and to stop trying to act like you're some airheaded rich boy. I have standards, you know, and those standards do not include airheaded rich boys. And if you need anything analyzed or something, I'll be there. Deal?"
Oliver kisses him. So, Barry will take that as a yes.
"Oh, and if you ever mention the name Steve in my presence again, so help me Oliver Queen, I will learn archery just so I can shoot you in the face."
Barry gets a smile for that. A real one, one that lights up the whole room and is definitely not on his shit list.
"You'll miss," Oliver says.
"Just try me."