Chapter Text
Iris jolted as a stack of papers landed on her keyboard.
"West, you know I need more than this," Scott said.
"What do you mean 'more'?” she said, picking up the top page. "There are like, a bunch of sources here. I’ve even made connections to past occurrences. All of them saying the same thing: There's something going on at this inn. That should be enough to at least get my foot in the door."
He put his hands on his hips."All of those sources are either anonymous or non-credible. This sounds like a ghost story. So, I need more journalist, less Edgar Allan Poe. You want me to even consider running this, you give me more." He turned to head back to his office, but paused to call over his shoulder, "Or else I'm gonna put you on the Arrow piece."
Iris groaned. The Arrow story was Scott's vigilante vendetta rearing its ugly head again. He wanted to make connections between the Green Arrow the Flash, along with the surge of vigilantes since them, and why it's a "trend and not a revolution".
She flipped through her research, and sighed. Maybe Scott was right. She didn't have enough evidence to run this story without it looking like a piece from Weekly World News. She needed more. She needed tangible evidence.
She tapped her pen against the desk. Maybe she needed inside.
"Hey, Scott," she said, walking into his office. "What if I get a little more hands on? Get inside the inn."
He quirked a brow. "You're talking about undercover." He shook his head, chuckling. "You're too green for that, West."
She bristled."Well, there's a first time for everything," she said. "Come on, Scott. I know this story has bones, I can feel it."
“What kind of boss would I look like, letting you go under, first time, by yourself? Not happening.”
She winced, then bit the bullet. “What if I get someone to come with me? Someone to help me with surveillance.”
He looked thoughtful. “Someone reliable.”
“Of course.”
He looked her for a moment, then sighed. "You're a good reporter, Iris, I'll give you that. Some of our best pieces come from you." She smiled. "But, you're asking me to let you use company time to chase a case that might not be anything." He paused, and her stomach clenched. "I'll give you a few days."
She let out a breath.
"A month." And that was pushing it, but Negotiation 101: Overshoot.
"Two weeks. Final offer. And If you don't deliver, I'm putting you on the Arrow piece, and whatever story I choose for the rest of the year. Are we clear?"
She took a deep breath, and smiled. "Crystal."
When she got back to her desk, she closed her eyes. She could do this. Iris West, she was Iris West.
She ran a hand through her hair. Two weeks, it was barely anything. She was going in blind, she had no idea what she was actually looking for. She needed equipment, a plan. And apparently, a babysitter.
She bit her lip. Maybe she could use this to her advantage. She needed tech, good tech that would grant her top surveillance at the inn. And she needed someone who knew how to use it.
She paused, considered. “Okay,” she nodded.”He'll do."
Cisco made a frustrated noise and scrapped the page from his notebook. He tapped his pencil to the new page.
Apparently, making a supersuit for himself wasn’t as easy as making them for other people. He wasn’t sure what the hell that was about. Shoes shouldn't be this difficult. With Barry it had been just, boots, done. But nothing he sketched for himself looked right.
Although, maybe he could add a vest. He could pull off a vest.
He heard the click of high-heels behind him and sighed. “Caitlin, I know you want to help,” he swiveled in his chair, “But I don’t think you—Oh.”
Iris gave a little wave. “Sorry to disappoint.”
He shook his head. “Not at all. I could use a distraction. What brings you by?”
She clapped her hands together. “I need your expertise.”
“You’re gonna need to be more specific,” he said. “ I’m an expert at a lot of things.”
She took a breath. “Are you busy next week? I wanted to ask you for your help on a story I'm working on.”
“Oh yeah? What’s it about?” He motioned for her to sit, and grimaced when she had to swipe crumpled papers from the chair before she could.
“Okay, so for the past few weeks I’ve been getting these hits on my blog” And he must have looked surprised, because she said, “I’ve been keeping it running. A lot of people like to use it as a form of contact when there’s something they think I should investigate. It helps me keep my ear to the ground about strange happenings in the city.”
“Huh. Smart.”
She smiled. “I’ve had a few messages about some strange occurrences surrounding an inn down by the edge of town. Ever heard of The Lethe?”
“No," he snorted. "But that’s a pretentious name.”
“Yeah, I know. But I did some digging on it; there’ve been a few reports of people checking in and not checking out.”
“Why didn’t the police get involved?”
“I don’t think they could, really. There wasn’t any evidence that they were ever there, let alone kidnapped.”
“But,” she said before he could respond, “I got a lead. Last week. An anonymous message. They said it was pertaining to the case and that they needed to meet me, alone, in the alley behind CCPN.”
“That’s. So shady,” he laughed. “But you didn’t go.”
She stared at him, and his smile faded. “Iris.”
“I weighed it. It was a risk I was willing to take.”
“A risk you were—Iris. Stranger Danger.”
“Oh, please,” she rolled her eyes, “I brought protection. And it ended up being fine anyway. Turns out, my contact was a cleaning lady at the inn. She was able to corroborate a lot of what people were saying.”
She took out her phone, pressed the screen a few times, and dropped it—quite carelessly—into his lap. “From info she gave me about the inn I decided to go even deeper. All of the disappeared fit the same description: young, poor, unattached.”
He looked down at the phone. No names to the missing, but there were accounts that described them as she said. But no concrete evidence that they’d actually been at the inn, aside from witnesses too afraid to lose their anonymity.
“Damn,” he breathed. “Well, what would you need me for? Tech? My,” he wiggled his fingers, “vibing.”
She wrinkled her nose and he flushed. “That. That came out not how I wanted?”
She took pity on him. “Yes, I need tech and your vibing abilities.”
“Done.”
“And I need you to go undercover with me as my boyfriend.”
He paused. “What?”
“What?”
“Your. Your boyfriend?”
“Pretend,” she nodded.
He blinked a few times. “Why? You—Why?
She leaned back. “Well, there’s not much else I can find out about this place unless I’m inside. And you can only vibe the place if you’re inside. And we need a reason to be in such close contact with each other,” she shrugged. “Plus, physically, we fit the bill.”
“And so we’d be…”
“Star-crossed lovers, running from their disapproving parents to start new lives in Central City.” She giggled. “Just thought of that last part.”
She said it like it was an obvious course of action. And maybe it was? He couldn’t think of anything to discredit her idea.
“What about brother and sister?”
Her mouth twitched. “You think we could be siblings.”
“Yeah, okay, like as soon as I said it even….”
Then he met her eyes. “And you’re going either way.”
She gave him a look.
He scratched the bridge of his nose. This was fine. It’d be fine. Iris needed his help. They’d Scooby Gang this thing—the non-Buffy kind— and that’d be it. Save people, all that. No big deal. They probably wouldn’t even have to be that lovey dovey. They probably wouldn’t even be there long.
“Okay.”
She lit up. “Yeah?”
“Yeah I’ll..be your boyfriend or whatever.”
And, fine. The way Iris was smiling at him made him a little more sure.
“Okay I have a question.” Cisco said over his mug.
She was thanking him with a Jitters fix. Well, it was mostly a thank you, but also because his lab was in paper ruins and he clearly needed a breather.
“Shoot,” she said.
“Why me? Why do you want me to go undercover with you?”
“I told you why.”
“I just mean…what about Barry?”
“What about him?”
“He does forensics. And you two…” He didn’t seem to know how to finish that.
“If I wanted Barry’s help I wouldn’t have asked for yours,” she said, meeting his eyes steadily.
He eased back. “Okay.”
“And,” she said, “maybe keep this between us?”
He frowned “You wanna lie to the team?”
“No!” she said, so quickly that he jolted. Then, softer, “No. Not lie. Just, you don’t have to disclose all of the details. You know, just say you’re gonna be gone for a bit. Play it cool.”
He still looked skeptical so she sighed and added, “It’s—just. This isn’t supposed to be a Team Flash thing.
“It’s a Journalist Iris West thing.”
She let out a breath. “Right.”
He considered her, and there was something deeper in his eyes. Understanding. “Alright,” he said. Then he perked up. “So! ‘Covert’. Your show, how’d’you wanna play it?”
“We’ll need aliases.”
“O-ho, now you’re talkin’. Whatcha got?”
She grinned, “Okay, so for me I was thinking like,” she held up her hands framing, “Daisy East.”
He stared at her. “I mean, it’s….an option. ” His mouth ticked like he wanted to say something else, but he took another sip of his coffee.
“It’s cute!”
“Mhm.”
She crossed her arms. “Well, Vibe, you’re so good with names, why don’t you pick?”
“I don’t think I could come up with something better than Daisy East,” he sighed, but he was already sitting up straighter and rolling his shoulders. “Though, if you insist.”
He looked thoughtful for a moment. Then his mouth wobbled until a small smile cracked his face. His breath hitched once. Twice. He took a deep breath.
Then he burst out laughing.
She sighed.
“Iris.” hiccup “Iris I’m really sorry b-but” hiccup “Daisy East.”
“It’s not that bad!” she said. “It’s clever, even.”
“Daisy East sounds like the protagonist in a—” he wheezed “—in a YA dystopian novel.”
She bit her lip. Okay, he had her there.
He took a few measured breaths and started to settle down.
“Finished?”
“Yeah, I think so.” He let out a puff of air. “Okay. So sorry,” he said. And he was still smiling slightly, but his words were sincere. “Back to your alias, here we go.” He cleared his throat and leaned forward. He studied her for a moment, then said, “Irene Wilson," with a resolute nod. "Cause you know, it sounds like your name, so we don’t get too confused. But it’s like, totally different.” He held up his hands, copying her earlier pose. “Irene Wilson. Aspiring novelist.”
“That’s….actually not bad,” she nodded.“Wait. Aspiring novelist?”
He shrugged. “It adds depth to the character.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I was thinking I could be like. Like a contemporary metal sculptor.”
She snorted. “Okay, but what’s your name?”
He frowned. “Um.” His face scrunched. “Wait I got this.”
“What about Frankie?” she mused. “I mean, it’s Fs, but. Frankie…Ramos.”
He squinted at her, and she couldn’t tell whether he thought it was bad or if he was just upset that she’d picked a name before him. “That’s…I like it.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You do?”
“Yeah.” He sat back with an easy smile. “Frankie Ramos. Contemporary metal sculptor.”
Iris cringed. “That's too much, though. What about med student?”
“Med student turned contemporary metal sculptor?” He put his hand out to shake.
She took it. “Deal.”
Irene and Frankie. Frankie and Irene. Those names could go on a Christmas card.
_____
“This isn’t gonna be weird, right?” Iris said, pausing as they made their way along the sidewalk.
“'This' being the pretend relationship thing?”
She smiled sheepishly. “I didn’t really stop to think about it much before? When I started planning it was just another moving part. A necessary step. I just wanna make sure you’re really okay with this. I don’t want things to get weird between us. You know? Not when we just started really becoming friends.”
“Nah. I mean, okay, yeah it’ll be kind of weird. But we’ll probably be so focused on the job it won’t even really register.” He shrugged. “Plus, people may need a-savin’. Not just up to Barry right?”
She nodded. “Right.”
“And you said we're friends, right?”
She smiled. “Yeah we are. Iris and Cisco are friends. That’s good,” she nodded. “Frankie and Irene are into each other. Iris and Cisco are not.”
He tucked his hair back behind his ears.“Yup,” he said, popping the ‘p’. “And as your friend, Cisco, I’m not gonna let you go to some Murder Mansion by yourself.” He snapped his fingers. “That’s a good name. You should use that when you type it up.”
She scoffed. “I’m not calling it a Murder Mansion.”
“Come on.”
“No.”
“Sleep on it?”
She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. “Yeah, I’ll sleep on it.”