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"I'm sorry."
"What for, Mr. Allen?" drawled Hartley, his eyes darting over one of the lab's computer screens. He turned away from the monitor and Barry could see the live surveillance to the pipeline cages over his shoulder.
"For, all of this," he answered, tucking his hands into his trouser pockets. He put on a small smile and shrugged as if to ask 'what can you do'. "You didn't have to tell us that Doctor—I mean, the Reverse Flash—"
"I get it."
"Right," he reached up to scratch at the back of his neck. "Well, I just wanted to say that we couldn't have done this without you."
"I realise that, Mr. Allen—"
"Barry. Call me 'Barry '."
" . . . Right. I realise that, Barry. If I didn't, I wouldn't have been able to help in the first place. Except you fail to realise that I was doing this for myself, not you and your . . . team."
"Yeah, I get that. But thanks anyway."
Hartley stepped to the side, as if to move around Barry, revealing the enlarged feed centred on the screen. It showed the cage housing the man formerly known as Harrison Wells.
"Are you leaving already?"
"I see little point in remaining, Barry. While they may be preoccupied with giving their statements to the police, I would much rather not be here when Caitlin and Cisco return."
"Where will you go?"
"Who knows? I finally won my chess match. Now I'm free to do whatever I want, go wherever I want." He waved a hand about as a flippant all-encompassing gesture.
"A successful 'discovered attack', right?"
"Yes. Well done, Barry." Hartley scoffed. "At least you listened to something I told you the first time around."
"Two things technically. We did need your help with this. We couldn't have done this without you."
Hartley raised an eyebrow. "I know. You already said that."
"It seemed important I tell you again." Barry spoke with a rise in conviction, making sure to look Hartley in the eye through his piece. "I need you to know I meant that, Rathaway. Because I did. And because, I think"—here he hesitated—"I think, you needed to hear it."
The shorter man’s face pulled into a sneer. "Ha. I suppose this is the part where I'm supposed to confess all of my regret for my actions and my sudden desire to repent for my sins through heroism. No. Thanks," he near-hissed the words, his tongue flitting out through his teeth as he spat out scorn.
Barry shrugged. "You're partway there."
Hartley's eyes narrowed.
"I don't know about repenting but you've already done some heroic things."
Hartley looked affronted, but before he could cut in, Barry continued. "And sure you might not feel a great deal of regret. But you still tried to stop the particle accelerator explosion from ever happening. Because it was the right thing to do. Because you didn’t want anyone getting hurt. Whatever you are now, whatever you think you are now doesn’t matter."
He had to grab Hartley's raised hand to hold onto his attention. "Even Eobard was open to taking part in doing something good, for all of his . . . flaws. You doing what you did—going out of your way to do something to help others—because it felt right. That proves you can do way better. Don't you think'?"
After a weird, tense moment of staring into Barry's eyes, Hartley turned his head away. By some strange coincidence, his eyes landed on the pipeline feed. He swallowed, still staring at the screen. Barry was struck by the motion of his cheek, then his throat—anticipating something more. But Hartley just grabbed Barry's wrist and squeezed, rotating his trapped arm until it was released.
Barry let go feeling a little . . . upset, more upset than he felt he had the right to be with Hartley.
Hartley could see the resignation painted across Barry's features. He almost laughed—he was a hero with his heart pinned to his sleeve and sewn to the skin beneath the fabric—could he be any more of a cliché? But Hartley could not stand being responsible for making the man so pained. After working with him, he could not pretend the man saw himself as some superior. Especially not after that obvious display of caring for Hartley, or, at least, any possibility of a normal life he was leaving behind.
He almost let rip with some taunting, but the response he pretended not to be composing in his head slipped out.
"I don't know." Hartley had already shoved his converse into his mouth; he might as well finish his point. "I. Don't. Know. You have more faith in me than I do. Not sure why. Not sure I want to know why. Regardless, you've proven me wrong on multiple counts thus far. Who's to say you won't again? And you can be sure that's not something I enjoy admitting."
"Then let me show you," Barry burst in, refusing to give up when he knew he was right. "Let me show you why I believe in you."
Hartley was silent, but before Barry could celebrate he responded with: "No." He raised his sonic gloves, now primed, and held one gloved hand in front of him to hold Barry off.
But Barry was starting to regain that sad look of surrender.
Hartley dropped his hand and shifted forward, already preparing an apology. Barry was hopeful but that made him change his mind and resolve himself to a different decision.
"You can call me 'Hartley'.”
“So you’ll stay?”
"Another time, perhaps."
Barry deflated at his response.
"I'll let you know when I'm free."
Barry looked back up.
"After all, I do know where to find you." He pulled on the front of Barry's sweatshirt and spoke over his shoulder. "And you have yet to earn my forgiveness," he whispered, his tongue flicking at Barry's ear. He nibbled on the edge of it and straightened the hem of Barry's shirt before stepping back.
He left the room, lifting an arm in a nonchalant wave. "And don't forget your suit, I really wasn't kidding about that fantasy with leather.”
. . .
Barry sprinted for the showers.