And if you think you won't walk on coals, you will

[musicboxings]

Realistically, Gabe shouldn't be alive. Realistically, Gabe also shouldn't be able to do what he does, let alone do it so well. But he does, and he loves it. Revels in it. There's not much else he knows how to do now, save for this. Save for twisting. Because that's what he does, he thinks--he twists knives that other people have put in each other's backs. He gets off on it, too, or at the very least it fills the strange, empty hole in the entity that calls itself Gabe.

It's the accident--the stupid accelerator accident, and all of the sudden he got his mom to kill herself and he felt happy for the first time in a long time. He remembers smiling at her funeral, remembers whispering to Natalie that she'd probably be better doing the same thing just because he craved that same feeling he got. She told him he was a freak and he disappeared, panicked, because whatever he could do--and he still wasn't sure what it was--didn't work.

Gabe, eventually, figured it out. He could make people think he'd been there their entire lives with just a little verbal coaxing here and there, ruin their lives, feed off of it--that's what he called it--feeding--and then move on. He convinced waitresses and waiters at diners that they'd known him his whole life and he can get things on the house, convinced hotel after hotel that he was just always there for as long as they can remember. He got by. And then? Then Gabe got ambitious.

He remembers a field trip he only half paid attention to to the labs, and then realized that that was his big score--his big fix. The guy that was responsible for that entire accident had to be the most miserable son of a bitch there was. He marches up right to the only crew left, convinces them he was there since the beginning, and is officially part of the team. It works--he just feeds some lie about Harrison Well's wife knowing him and recommending him and he knows he's in for keeps.

Currently, he's got his legs kicked up on a table, everyone else gone home save for him and the professor--doctor--whatever he is. He's got a Nintendo in hand, half-heartedly playing, as he goes through the facts for a hundredth, millionth time: metahumans existed. He was a metahuman. And if he scores a friendship with another one--not Barry, it would fuck with his plan--he'd probably get the biggest meal of his life.

"Hey," he brings his feet down and spins on his chair towards the man in the wheelchair. "What are you doing here, anyway? Whatcha workin' on? Shouldn't you be home?"

Comments

[contranitoris]

Harrison sat tinkering with something. A tiny metal devise that he intently prodded with an even small screw driver. He'd been working on it for several days, now. An old project he'd unearthed from the bowels of the lab. Something had been off for a while, but it was hard to put his finger on exactly. It started with a feeling, a hunch. That itch at the back of his mind telling him something wasn't right.

He'd watched and observed to see what was off. But his team wasn't any different than it had ever been. Cisco cracking jokes about the newest Meta they were hunting. Caitlin being a bit too serious. Barry bouncing in and out and fretting over something new. Gabe slacking off and poking at everyone.

It had taken him several days to see it, because it wasn't anything to be seen. It was a memory. A memory that shouldn't exist. That couldn't exist. A memory of Tess, warm and smiling, introducing the bright young Gabe to him. A budding mentorship that sprang from that one event. But that was impossible. He'd only known that woman for a few brief moments of her life. So when he was alone, truly alone, he'd slipped into the time vault to consult Gideon, to dig up all he could on Gabe Goodman.

There wasn't much to find. A young man lost to history. No record of him working with Harrison Wells or Tess Morgan. No achievements or contributions. No records of him having gone to college. Nothing but an obituary of a Diane Goodman, mentioning her son by name.

That was all he needed to know. Something to hold on to, to keep himself grounded. He needed Gabe to think everything was fine, which meant continuing to subject himself to whatever the boy was actually doing. But from that point forward, he'd dedicated every moment to perfecting something very important.

"What I'm working on, Gabriel, isn't really any of your concern." He didn't even bother looking up, pulling a magnifying glass over his workspace to better see what he was doing. "I'll be here a while yet, go on ahead and get some rest. We've got a big day tomorrow."

[musicboxings]

Gabriel.

His gaze lifts from his handheld console, and there's an audible power down as his index finger hits the power button.

Gabriel. Not Gabe. Gabe hadn't introduced himself as Gabriel, just Gabe. There shouldn't even be a last name, that's how vague he left it--on purpose, too.

"I'll power nap," he mumbles, absently.

Harrison had all of his attention. As if the console powering down wasn't enough, he slides from the chair and rises, and he doesn't have to feign the curiosity. He does have to mask the wariness, as well as the caution in his voice as he reaches Harrison's spot and, leaning against the doorframe as casually as he can, looks down.

"I can't be curious? Isn't that something you pride people on being, Mr. Science?"

As he looks at what it is, his grip on the door tightens. Just a fraction, but enough to make knuckles white. Instead, he gives an all american smile.

"Woah. What happened to the meta-human feelings radar?" Of course it had a better name, but Gabe has to keep it cool. Has to fight this nagging feeling.

[contranitoris]

This isn't real, Harrison reminded himself. Because Gabe's curiosity sparked in him a need to share, to educate, to mentor. The sort of things he'd felt over Barry, over Cisco. In his mind he'd known Gabe for longer than anyone, and perhaps felt even more strongly for him than for anyone else. Someone to care for and look after.

The feelings were too simple to be real. With Barry it was complicated and layered. The years of coaxing and guiding and building. Layers of hate and respect, of admiration and hatred. It was an impossible, organic thing, to feel so fond for someone and still be completely intent on ending their life. For someone like Cisco, it wasn't quite as complex, but intricate none the less. But for Gabe it seemed almost featureless in contrast. It lacked nuance. It lacked the things it was often paired with when it came to people of this time. They were ghosts to him. All of them long dead before he'd even been born. But that aspect seemed missing when it came to Gabe. Even if the emotions felt completely real, they were alien. They weren't his.

"This is part of it," Harrison lied, still not bothering to look up. "A very small...very delicate but still very important piece. If you'd just be patient, you'll see what it does." He set the screwdriver down and inspected the small device between his fingers.

[musicboxings]

"I am patient," Gabe says easily, the words smooth coming out of his mouth. It still doesn't feel right, not with the way the other is saying. Something's still off and he can't put a finger on it, not yet.

He sucks in his lower lip, raking teeth over it as he moves a little closer, leaning down to try to look at it.

"It just doesn't look much like your plans--you know that whole thing is a good idea, right? I know I don't come up with them as often as Cisco, but you gotta give me some credit, Wells. I'm here for a reason, right?"

He stoops down so he's the other's height, as if trying to literally get on the other's level will somehow help. It doesn't, but he's near the other. He's intoxicating. All of that pain and something else he can't figure out... It's nice. Gabe swears if he spends enough time around the other, he'll get punch drunk.

"What's it do?"

[contranitoris]

The most effective would be to make two of these things, one for each ear. But making a perfect duplicate would take far too much time. Getting them to sync together would take even longer. He needed a quick fix to get out from whatever Gabe was doing to him so he could spring his trap. Then he would have all the time he needed to perfect the device.

As Gabe leaned closer, he almost set the project down. Because it seemed to get stronger, more difficult to fight. Like proximity increased the weight on his mind. He took a slow breath and braced himself, reminding himself that he'd never actually known Tess Morgan.

"Tell me, Gabriel, what exactly was the last good idea you had?" The strain of holding onto his own mind registered in his voice. He hated it, but he couldn't hide it. "I'm having trouble recalling the specifics, do you remember?" Because if he even tried to make up something about his device, he knew he'd slip and give the boy what he wanted.

[musicboxings]

Gabriel again. Gabriel, the way the other is pushing, the slight strained tone of his voice--Gabe's not the nicest of people, but he's also not an idiot. Maybe he isn't a genius like everyone else in the room, but damned if he can't read signs and body language.

That's actually something he's very good at.

"Are you mad at me?" He asks outright, and it's not so much a scoff as a nervous chuckle--and that's real, that little noise. Deep down, he knows what's happening. It's like how he couldn't trick his sister. This guy was snapping out of it.

He needed to fix it, back away, and come back when he can finish the job. Ideally, that was the plan now--or maybe he could make Harrison finish himself. That always felt good.

The question temporarily deflected, Gabe brings a soft hand to gently touch at the other's wrist. He holds it there, just for a moment, and his thumb swipes the bottom of his wrist. A comforting gesture.

"Maybe you've been working too hard, too."

[contranitoris]

As Gabe's fingers brushed over his wrist, Harrison closed his fingers into a tight fist. His entire arm tensed but the rest of him seemed to relax slightly. His eyes closed, but his jaw clenched. It would be so much easier to just let it washed over him, to give in to what was no doubt meant to be soothing. His fingers closed around the device. Maybe he could put it away for the night...

But in hearing Gabe's voice at his ear, he could feel how...featureless it all was. A cheap imitation of his own emotions. Alluring but false.

Before they could wash over him completely, he moved. No, he didn't just move. One moment he was sitting in his wheelchair, slowly adjusting his position to lean closer to Gabe, and the next he was standing. On the other side of Gabe. Gripping the young man's wrist in a vice-like grip. The only sign that any actual movement had happened was half the papers from the desk had been swept up into the air and were slowly settling across the floor like so many fallen leaves.

"How long did you think you could get away with it?" He hissed, fingers digging hard into the tendons of the other's wrist.

[musicboxings]

That's it. He was leaning closer, ready to let Gabe soothe him. To have Gabe smooth things over to make the inevitable crash even better--and now? Now, he can just whisper a few choice words and everything would work out fine.

That's before the swish and woosh happened, and Gabe feels something like wind but not quite in his ear and before he knows it there's a slight, dull pain on the side of his wrist. Harrison has grabbed it.

Harrison has stood up.

Gabe can't hide his shock, lips parted, blue eyes wide, and his lower lip quivers just slightly before he manages to talk. He's frozen, genuinely floored.

"Your wheelchair..."

He's not even trying to avoid the question--his brain is trying to catch up with what had just happened.

[contranitoris]

"My need for the chair is as real as my relationship with you." His words were colder than they'd ever been toward the young man. Sharp and biting. But the worst part, he wasn't overtly angry. He wasn't yelling or passionate. He was instead stern and bitterly cold.

"And this?" He held up the small device, shaped vaguely like an ear plug. "Will put an end to what you're trying to do." Without further hesitation, he pushed the thing into his own ear. Pressing a finger to it a spot of brilliant blue illuminated on it and absolute relief washed over Harrison's face.

It would take time to get rid of everything, but activating it basically cut the strings. Allowed him to shake loose the more distracting pieces of Gabe's influence. He'd just need to sort out what was fact and what had been made up. "You didn't think you could outsmart me, did you?"

[musicboxings]

He doesn't like that. It shows on his face, how he's gone from surprise to an immediate hardening of his gaze. His jaw is locked, and for a brief moment, he looks well beyond his 20 years.

It's obvious he's been caught.

It's also obvious Harrison isn't as big of an idiot as he thought. There's something about the anger, though--it's detached. It's unemotional. Gabe craves the passionate, whether it's happy or sad--and Harrison isn't giving him any. He looks, for a brief moment, like he's about to leap or strike, before his gaze purposely moves down to the other's (obviously mobile) legs.

'My chair is as real as my relationship with you,' Harrison had said. Those words were still buzzing.

"I wasn't planning on outsmarting you," he says bluntly, "I'm not an idiot. I was planning on coercing you. How did you figure it out?"

[contranitoris]

As more of those false memories fell away, Harrison slowly released his grip on Gabe's wrist. Freed from that emotional control, he knew he'd have no trouble keeping the young man there. He had no more power, and Harrison had speed on his side. Sort of. At least enough to prevent someone from leaving the room.

"If you're going to implant false memories, you're going to need to be smart. I'll give you credit in that regard, but you're not smarter than me. No one is. That's the problem when you try to take on a genius." He started to move slowly around Gabe, at a leisurely pace. "You did, however, do your homework. Using the dead wife was a nice touch, and might have worked. But you made one fatal mistake. Can you guess what that was?"

[musicboxings]

The dead wife. Yeah, he'd skimmed something after deciding who to target. It was enough of a push that most people needed--though Harrison, it seemed, was not just most people.

His jaw is still half-locked, and he finally stands, pausing a moment to crack his neck. It's less to be intimidating and more because of the position he's in, though mentally he's coming up on a roadblock.

It's very easy to look like you're not panicking when you deal with emotion on a regular basis.

"I have a feeling with the way you're circling like a vulture, you're going to tell me." And, after a brief pause: "...You're going to stick me in one of those padded rooms, aren't you?"

Speed or not, Gabe could at least try to run. No way he could do that, with only himself. He needed someone. Always, someone. He could never be alone for too long.

[contranitoris]

A slow, cruel sort of smile spread over Harrison's face at the question. "Oh, not quite," he said with the sort of smugness that comes from knowing without a doubt he'd won. Because Gabe might not look like he was panicking, but his behavior had changed dramatically. He wasn't even trying to act like everything was okay.

"You see, you already know a few things about me that I'd rather no one else knew. So once I figure out exactly what it is you've done, I'm going to kill you. Unless you can convince me that you are in any way trustworthy or useful."

Okay, that was an outright lie. There was no way he'd be able to trust someone like Gabe. But it would be entertaining to watch him squirm for a while.

[musicboxings]

And at that, Gabe snorts. Show he's useful? Prove it? He's giving Harrison too much credit, he thinks. He trusts the others ear--thing--to work, sure. And he's surprised that he's out of his chair, but Gabe is useful and they both know it. He's not fearing for his life in the least.

He just has to impress the other.

He takes a few, slow steps towards Harrison, and his demeanor shifts again--back to the wholesome, all American guy.

"You think anyone resists this look? You think I don't know just the right way to give someone a...push?" He's realizing it as he goes along.

"You're pushing Barry. That's why you give a shit about him? really? Why, did he rescue your mom from a fire or something? Jesus."

[contranitoris]

As Gabe stepped closer, Harrison stood taller. Back straight, shoulders square, moving to clasp his hands behind his back. His face was a stone cold mask as the other spoke, a single eyebrow lifting showing the only indication of any sort of emotion. He wasn't impressed or pleased. He was irritated.

When he spoke again, his voice was lower still. Husky and breathy, and still bitterly cold. A far cry from the warm tutor and mentor he'd been to his team.

"You're not pushing. You're stumbling around in the dark with no actual goals."

But pushing. That was an interesting notion. He wouldn't have described what he'd felt as any sort of push. Coaxing and pulling perhaps, but not pushing. He was being drawn toward Gabe, as was the rest of the team. But if he changed tactics, what could he achieve? All at once it fell into place. The way Gabe had been touching his wrist, and the information surrounding his mother's death. So soon after the particle accelerator explosion. And the obituary hadn't said a word about how the woman had died, which left only a few options.

"Tell me, how did your mother actually die?"

Tags at rehearsal

[musicboxings]

He's aware of how tall Harrison is, suddenly. Gabe is closer but Harrison pulls himself to his full height. Gabe can't help but smirk. He's honestly impressed--and it shows in his face.

He could use less monotony in his voice. It tasted different. Nefarious, maybe. Like copper and sulphur and not at all like what he's used to from Harrison.

He's wrong, though--Gane has goals. Gabe has a particular set of goals, and he's about to comment about it when Harrison continues. Gabe's smirk widens.

"You're smart, Wells." His hand moves up, ghosting his fingers on the others cheek, leaning in just a little too close. "You can figure that out."

You nerd

[contranitoris]

With as much speed as he'd used to get to his feet, his hand snapped up to grab Gabe by the wrist before those fingers could touch his cheek. Now even that eyebrow fell, returning his face to being completely cold. The kid was still trying to get inside his head, and it made him worry the device might not hold out for long. He'd built it for a passive effect, not an emotional assault. A targeted attack could possibly overpower it, and he wasn't going to risk it.

"You drove her to it," he said, cold as ever. "Is that what you wanted from me? From my team? Push us into slitting our wrists?"

It wasn't his actual theory. It had to be something more complex than that, he could see that much. If the goal were merely their deaths, why wait so long? The problem was pinpointing exactly when Gabe entered their lives, his false memories making it hard to find a hard point in time. Before he'd started working on the project, but how long before? What purpose could Gabe have other than their deaths? Even if he were spying, any information he'd gathered in the first day or two would have been enough. He'd had as much access to the lab as anyone else. So what was his end game?

[musicboxings]

He doesn't look particularly happy about his hand being caught, but he doesn't show it other than a brief flaring of his nostrils. His hand remains upright, near Harrison even though the other has a hold of it, and his fingers flexed.

"Maybe. Haven't thought about the method. Don't really care." It's blunt and honest, because he feels if Harrison's caught on enough for him to realize his presence is a sham, he might as well get the truth. What Gabe knows about it, anyway.

He licks his lips.

"You know--I just thought of a beautiful arrangement, Wells. You're lying about that chair, you're definitely lying about wanting to keep everyone moving forward. I could actually help you." And in return, save his own skin.

[contranitoris]

There was that eyebrow again, slowly rising upwards. That's what Gabe thought this was about? Perhaps he was giving the boy too much credit. He was sly, sure, but sneaking in a surprise attack didn't make someone smart. Memory said Gabe was smart, smart enough to be as vital to the team as Cisco and Caitlin. But if in seeing the truth, he assumed Harrison didn't want to move forward, perhaps he wasn't all that smart after all.

"That's where you're wrong, Gabe. I not only want to move forward, but I need to move forward. If you're not smart enough to see that..." He raised his free hand, fingers straight and held tight together. And it blurred, with the sound of rapid vibration. "I don't need your help. So you have one last chance to convince me to not kill you right here."

His hand lowered toward Gabe's chest. Despite the cold appearance of his face, there was no masking the burning hatred coming off of him. Searing, violent anger at the one who could ruin everything. Someone who had delayed him for an unknown amount of time, throwing all of his carefully laid plans off track.

[musicboxings]

Gabe watches. Gabe watches and his tongue darts out, the hand vibrating, the sound it makes, and he knows what angle to approach it from now. His life is in danger, too, but Harrison? Harrison is angry. It's a nice feeling, one that tastes vaguely like cinnamon.

He holds up his other hand--not to strike, but to show he's unarmed--and keeps his voice calming, soothing, and to the point. He may not get Harrison, but he can get others. Harrison can lead him to them and, quid pro quo. He speaks:

"Okay, you need to move forward. I get that--me, too. Which is where I can help, Wells--if I can convince you, one of the smartest people alive, that you've known me for years? Thing of what I can convince other people. They've known me all their life, of course they're going to tell me secrets and things that they wouldn't tell anyone else. If I'm a colleague, and I forget my keys, they'll happily let me in to wherever I want to go... And you can just point the direction you want me to walk in."

[contranitoris]

Gabe, strangely, had a point. Not the point he thought he was making, but there was something in there. He'd caught Harrison by surprise, that was the only way he'd found a foothold and he'd known almost immediately that something was off. He just needed to pin point the exact moment he'd become aware of it. But Gabe did have an ability that gave him access to almost anyone. The ultimate spy.

There was only one snag. He didn't know Gabe. Cisco, Caitlin and Barry were all his own creation. He'd groomed them to be exactly what he needed. To trust him implicitly. He could trust them because he knew they were gullible and innocent, enough that they'd never even suspect their mentor of anything nefarious. Trusted him enough to stick by him when everything else fell apart. But not Gabe. Gabe was an unknown factor that drifted into their lives.

His hand came closer and closer still, until it stopped vibrating at the very last moment and planted on Gabe's chest. "I want to trust you, Gabe. I really do. But I can't trust someone I don't know. Besides--"

Everything blurred. One moment everything was fine, the next Harrison had Gabe by the waist, zipping through the facility at top speed. And the moment after that, Gabe's back slammed against the back wall of a containment cell with the door already hissing shut.

"--I can't trust someone who so easily wanted to kill me. Not when I don't know the extent of their powers."

[musicboxings]

"Wait--!"

His brain catches up to him at the last minute. He suddenly in the cell and before he can rush forward it hisses closed. Gabe's felt fear before, but not like this.

He balls his fist up to slam it onto the glass, panicking. If Harrison leaves him alone, he can't do a damn thing--he can't feel, he can't feed. He'll wither. HE doesn't know why he knows this, but he does.

"I can't be alone--I can't be alone." He'd been not the least bit concerned about dying. Left without emotion? He couldn't do it. The thought alone is enough to dredge this reaction.

He licks his lips, this time out of anxiousness.

"I'll tell you whatever you want to know. Why I wanted to kill you--I don't care, man. Just get me out."

[contranitoris]

Harrison just watched Gabe lose his mind. It wasn't an uncommon reaction to being dropped so suddenly in a cell. Some went catatonic, others simply accepted their fate. But most, like Gabe, turned frantic. Throwing whatever power they had at the door. And sealed away so completely, Harrison could feel the influence finally draining away. Made it easier to figure out which memories were false.

He wondered if the others were having a similar effect. If distance had anything to do with it, or if it was simply that he was more aware of what was happening. He'd find out in the morning, he was sure.

"That's an excellent place to start, Gabe. Why did you want to kill me?" He stood stalk still on the other side of the glass, hands clasped behind his back. Patient and waiting. They had all night.

[musicboxings]

"It's not that I wanted to kill you--" Both of Gabe's hands are on the glass, now, and he's breathing heavily. Is it hot in here? It's hot in here. He swears it's hot in here, swears he's going to start sweating. It's not because he's in the middle of freaking out. He can't be. He has to remain calm. His gaze focuses straight at Harrison, watching how smug he looked with his hands behind his back. Like a collector of rare birds.

This cage sucked.

"--it's more, I wanted to get you to kill yourself. I don't get anything out of it if I do it. Which is exactly why you should let me out of here, and let's face it--if I somehow decided to, which, why? You could zoom away faster than a 3-song punk album."

He'll get to the actual answer in a moment.

[contranitoris]

Interesting. Most metas that Harrison had dealt with until now would have gloated about it. Or at least been shameless in their admission. But not with Gabe. There was something more desperate to it. It wasn't a vendetta or revenge or pride. Nothing that usually drove those who wanted him dead. No, instead Gabe was just desperate.

It wasn't just that he wanted to do it. He needed to do it. Not that he needed to kill Harrison specifically, it didn't seem all that personal. It was a need like it had been for Blackout. With him, it had been electricity, energy. He needed to draw power to keep himself alive. But with Gabe, was it something more subtle? Something that wasn't such an obvious drain, but damaging either way.

"Not if your powers worked as well as you'd wanted them to. If you could convince even me that I'd known you for years, even if just for a few days, then just about anything could be possible. But the question I asked you. Gabe. Was why."