Chapter Text
The morning that irrevocably changes not only Barry Allen’s life, but the life of the man he loves, starts out perfectly normal. Just a quick patrol of the city before he’s due to head in to work at the precinct. But as he passes by a square, his eyes catch in slow-motion a little boy standing at the edge, apart from everyone else, and crying. He can’t be more than eight.
The Flash skids to a stop.
“Hey, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” It’s really a mark of how accustomed to masked heroes and villains the citizens of Central City have become that the kid just sniffles into the sleeve of his jacket and shakes his head. Barry would offer him a handkerchief, but he left it in his street clothes. So he takes a knee to get on the child’s level and waits to catch his eye again. “Are you lost?”
A rather miserable nod, paired with, “I- I can’t find m-my mom.”
Well if that doesn’t just take his heartstrings completely captive and cancel out any and all obligation to be on time today.
“Ok, well I’m sure she’s not that far away. Where’d you last see her?” But the kid’s just staring around the place with wide eyes, like he either can’t remember or is too upset to process the question. “That’s ok. I’m just going to have a quick look around, alright?” The mother couldn’t have gotten very far without her son; they had probably just been accidentally separated moving between shops.
As he rises back up to his full height, however, the little boy tugs him to a stop with a strong grip, fixing that piercing blue gaze on him. He’s clearly petrified, and likely not going to say another word, but Barry thinks he gets the message.
“We can look together. Here.” He opens his arms wider and the kid shuffles forward obligingly, letting him scoop him up. “What’s your name?” He feels like he has to try.
“Connor,” the boy mutters into his chest.
“Ok, Connor, I need you to close your eyes. There’s going to be a lot of wind, too, so duck your head.” Connor does as asked, and if there’s a little snot on the suit now he thinks Cisco will probably forgive him. He puts a little more enthusiasm into his voice as he tells him, “Here we go!”
It’s not incredibly hard to find the mother. After breezing quickly through the various shops and the crowds of people roaming around the square, he passes by a woman with long, dark hair, looking distressed and mid-shout. She shares more than a few facial features with the boy in his arms, and so he doubles back before stopping in front of her.
“—nor! Connor—oh!” The mother’s eyes widen at the sudden appearance of them both, and then relief breaks out across her face as Connor untucks his head.
“Mom!” Barry sets the squirming kid down and can’t help a smile as he watches the two embrace. Not exactly the most dramatic rescue the Flash has ever conducted, but he feels pretty heroic anyway.
He’s about to dart off again, but the woman looks up with gratitude, holding out a hand as if to stop him. “Thank you so much. Connor’s my world. I didn’t know what to do when I noticed he was gone.”
“It was no trouble, ma’am,” he assures, shifting on his feet. Now that he’s looking at and speaking to her directly, he’s getting some weird sense of deja vu. Like he’s seen her somewhere before. But now’s not really the time to stare at her quizzically. “He’s a good kid. You alright?” Barry checks, as Connor turns back around to look at him with an awed expression.
“That was awesome! You found my mom in like a second!” He can’t help a genuine amused grin at the sheer enthusiasm. “Could you find my dad, too?”
He glances first one way then the other. “Well, yeah, I mean is he here?”
“Connor,” the boy’s mother says sharply, reaching for his arm.
The child pulls free, however, eager eyes still fixed on him. “No. But mom says he lives in a big house in Star City.”
“Connor!”
“And you go there all the time to help the Green Arrow fight bad guys!”
“Uh, yeah, I do. But Connor, I think your mom is—”
“So next time you go you could—”
“Connor Hawke, that’s enough!”
The kid looks down at his mother’s sharp tone, but mutters to his shoes, “He could. He’s the Flash.”
Mrs.—or Ms.? God he hopes he doesn’t need to address her by name—Hawke looks back to him with a pained expression, clearly mortified. “I’m sorry about him. He’s just a little obsessed with his—well, it’s not important. I’m so sorry we had to bother you.”
“No, no it’s ok.” He looks with sympathy on the kid. Because, yeah, he’s heard that sentence before, in all its variations. He’s obsessed with Henry Allen. Kid just won’t let the old man go. He’s gonna chase after those crazy theories his whole life for that lowlife. Joe, you oughtta reconsider whether it’s in Barry’s best interest to allow these visits with his birth father.
Barry crouches back down. “Hey, Connor?” He waits until the boy lifts his gaze again to meet his, struck by how startlingly blue his wide eyes really are. “I think maybe you should go with your mom, right now. But I promise, next time I’m in Star, I’ll do a little checking around.”
“Really?” Those eyes start to light back up again, and he can’t help but smile at the sight.
“A whole sweep of the city,” he confirms with a nod.
“Wow, thanks!” A quick look up confirms that Connor’s mother is mouthing something similar at him, though he doubts it’s because she believes him.
The forced lightness in her tone as she takes the kid’s hand and starts to pull him along suggests as much. “Alright well, honey, we’re going to be late and I’m sure the Flash is very busy. Let’s go.”
“Bye!” Connor’s looking back and waving with a wide beam, and Barry waves back.
As soon as the mother-son pair are out of sight, he zips to the outskirts of the city, rips off the cowl, and drags his hands through his hair.
“I have got to stop making these kind of promises…”
---
“Why would you ever tell him that?” Caitlin, as ever, is there to let him know precisely the screw-up he is when he tells the tale at STAR labs that afternoon. “You shouldn’t make promises to children that you can’t keep, Barry.”
“You didn’t see his face,” Barry groans into his hands, but then looks up. “And I am keeping it, Caitlin. I’m gonna find Connor’s dad.”
Cisco shoots him a bemused look. “How? All we know is this kid’s last name is Hawke, and it’s probably his mom’s if the dad skipped town.”
“Well, we have that name and we have the ‘town’,” he insists. “Maybe you could, I don’t know, search his records? Birth certificate? Child support? I just need something, dude.”
“Ok, ok, let me see what I can do, I’m not Felicity,” the other man excuses as he settles in front of his computer.
“You might have to get her in on this if that’s all the lead you have,” Iris remarks, coming to stand at his side and the barest minimum of mischief in her eyes as she continues, “Not to mention a certain someone.”
“Yeah, it is his city you want to go Dad Hunting in,” Cisco agrees with a snicker.
“Guys,” he says, unable to really think of a better retort.
“And what happens if the mother didn’t disclose the father’s name?” Caitlin points out. “The way you told it makes it sound like it’s something she wants buried in the past.”
“Well Connor doesn’t,” he snaps. “And that’s enough of a reason for why it shouldn’t. Even if he just gets a name, some answers, a- a day to spend with the guy—” He cuts himself off, noticing the knowing, pitying looks they’re casting on him. “What?”
“Caitlin, Cisco, can you guys give us a minute?” Iris requests in that tone and he has to repress the urge to roll his eyes as the two scientists rise from their seats.
“Cisco—”
“It’s cool, dude, I got it on my tablet,” the engineer assures him before promptly fleeing with Caitlin under Iris’ expectant stare.
“Barry,” she starts when they’re finally alone.
But he tells her, “I know what you’re going to say Iris, and no, this is not about me.”
“I don’t think it is. I think it’s about you and your own father, Barry.” He wants to flippantly tell her that’s the same thing, but he can’t, not when her warm brown eyes are boring into his own, practically broadcasting the message this is for your own good. “It would’ve been great if he stayed and you guys got to live together like you were always supposed to. But sometimes people just leave our lives.” She places a hand on his shoulder and smiles sadly. “And we just have to learn to live with that.”
“I know. And I get it, Iris, I do. I- I told my dad to go, I said it was ok!” He’s half-laughing at himself by the end of that, because if he doesn’t laugh, well… “But Connor didn’t get that choice.”
Iris sighs. “Well say you do manage the impossible—again—and find Connor’s dad. What if his dad doesn’t want to be found? Or what if he’s passed away?”
“Then that’s what I tell Connor,” he answers. “If that’s the truth, then that’s what I have to tell him.”
“You really should talk to Oliver about this,” she tells him. “If he cares about you even half as much as I do, he’ll want to know. I mean what would he say about all this?”
“That I might as well look for a needle in a haystack, probably,” Barry mutters. Then promises, “I will tell him. He likes to know what’s going on in his city anyway—and what’s going on with me. He cares,” Barry insists, glancing away because he knows how iffy the Wests—ok, everybody—have been about his relatively new relationship. “He might even be able to help actually, with his connections. And…”
“And?” Iris echoes invitingly.
“I need you to check something for me,” he looks to her, then starts heading around the desk to the computers.
“Ok, what?”
Cisco’s found the security feed from that morning, and he’s just able to catch sight of Connor and his mother as they walk out of the square. He pauses the video. “This woman. Was she a regular at Jitters?”
Iris studies the image, clearly trying to place it. “I…think so. Yeah. She’d get a small coffee and a hot chocolate. For Connor, I guess. Why?”
He’s squeezed his eyes shut, trying to think, remembering that time in Jitters—the first time Oliver had told him you can always talk to me, and he has to ignore the way his heart skips a beat at just the thought—because there’d been something. Felicity bringing back her and Oliver’s drinks, the scrape of the chair as the man had stood to go, but then—
“Oliver.”
“Hi.”
He’d barely turned his head, tried to tune out the conversation happening just feet from him, because he hadn’t wanted to intrude, it’d sounded serious, not his business. But that voice…it was the same.
“Her name’s Sandra,” Iris offers. “If that helps.”
He looks at her and nods. “It does.”
Now there’s only one man’s help he needs. Unfortunately, it also looks like that help’s going to involve something hardly ever discussed: his past.
---
He makes it to the loft before Oliver’s back, thank goodness, which gives him time to set everything up. The tablecloth’s changed, dinner—admittedly takeout, but the good kind—set out, and a bottle of wine prominently placed in the center, though closer to Oliver’s side because, well, Barry can’t really appreciate it anyway. And this is for his partner.
Like the thought is some cue, he hears the key turning in the lock and the door swings open. “Barry?”
“In here!” He calls, hoping it sounds upbeat and welcoming rather than nervous. When Oliver appears in the archway he’s right there to greet him with a kiss.
“Hey,” the other man smiles adoringly at him for a moment, though it slips into something a little more wary as he eyes the spread on the table. Maybe the candle was a bit much. “What exactly is this about?”
“Nothing. I mean, nothing bad, I just wanted to ask you—but dinner first, it can wait.” He takes his hand, Oliver lacing their fingers together, and leads him over to the table. They actually do manage to get through dinner, mostly talking about each other’s day, Barry leaving out the all-important event of this morning.
When at last Oliver sets knife and fork down and finishes off the last of the wine in his glass, however, he says, “Alright, now that you have wined and dined me, do you maybe feel like sharing whatever it is?”
He flushes a bit and ducks his head, peeking up at the other man from underneath his eyelashes. “I maybe need a favor.” Oliver carefully arches a brow, but his expression remains neutral so he takes that as a sign to keep going. “I met this kid today on patrol named Connor. He’d gotten separated from his mom and—anyway, long story short he ended up asking me if I could find his dad for him. Cause I guess he’s never met him. All he knows is that the guy lives in Star.”
“And you were hoping I’d know someone who’s missing a kid?” He sounds dubious, which is not great. “Barry, Star’s a big city—”
“I know, but I’ve already narrowed it down a lot. I mean Connor is seven going on eight years old, he said his mom told him his father was living in a big house, which means he’s probably pretty well off—”
“A big house could be a mansion or a nice brownstone,” Oliver tells him. “And Star City has more than enough of the wealthy that even if we did assume he was an elite, it wouldn’t do much.” The only thing keeping a little of his hope alive is the ‘we’ Oliver has used, and the way the man takes his hand again with a wan smile. “I’d like to help you, Barry, but even at the height of the Queen family wealth I didn’t know everyone or their dirty little secrets.”
“What if I knew he was maybe a friend of yours?” Barry tries at last, knowing it’s his last card to play.
The older man frowns. “What do you mean?”
“Connor’s mom. You know her. I mean, you acted like you did anyway, I wasn’t trying to listen,” he tells him, already sorry for having brought it up.
The other vigilante’s tone is sharper as he demands, “When?”
“At Jitters, the first time you visited Central. Sandra Hawke, right?” He checks with a wince, because Oliver’s grip on his hand is suddenly very tight. But that’s nowhere near as worrying as the way his face pales, mouth falling open soundlessly, and his eyes go wide, staring yet unseeing.
Barry leans across the table, brings his free hand to his partner’s cheek. “Oliver?”
Oliver’s gaze snaps back to his, but there’s mostly fear there, fear and dread. “Barry…I think I know who Connor’s father is.”
He ought to be happy. This is everything he’s wanted to know since this morning. But Oliver’s tone and that look in his eyes suddenly makes him feel like a shadow’s about to overtake them, the walls closing in. “Who?”
“Me.”