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

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

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?"

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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?"

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?"

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.

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.

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."

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?"

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."

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?

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.

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.

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."

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."

"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."

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.

"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.

Edited 2016-06-06 06:37 (UTC)

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."

"Because the sadder someone is, the better it is. Especially if I can stay with them. I thought who would have more self loathing than the guy that endangered, like, pretty much everyone? Clearly I was wrong." Harrison didn't look like he was remorseful in the least--not this new, speedy Harrison.

His hands are still on the glass. His left one shifts, but it's still the same. He tries to put it into words.

It's difficult, not because he's lying--lying would do absolutely no good to him now--but because he doesn't quite understand it himself.

"I just... need them to. I need them to do it. I need to be the one to build them up and knock them down, and the feel of it.. The taste--it's like nothing I can describe, it's better than sex, I--I need it. I need their last spike of desperation. I don't want it, I need it."

Harrison's head bowed slightly as he took it in. He was right. Gabe was feeding on the emotion. But not just any emotion. Negative emotions. Desperation, sadness, fear, loathing, dread. All of the things that pushed a person to taking their own life. Perhaps even the relief that came after. If they were talking flavors, he wondered if that served as something like an after dinner mint to a meal that took a long time to prepare.

He lifted his head, impervious to the desperate hands on the glass, wondering what would happen if he'd left Gabe in there for long enough. It could be genuine hunger, in which case he would slowly waste away. Or it could be merely a fix. Something that would nearly destroy him with its absence until it wasn't unbearable any longer.

"If that is what you need, then what makes you think I could ever trust you? I let you out, you get what you need for everyone around you. I cannot have my staff subjected to suicidal tendencies. Not with our line of work."

"You've got that thing in your ear, for one." Gabe is quick to point that out. "And whatever it did--I'm not perfect,but I'm pretty damn good at worming my way in. That stopped it immediately. Truth is, you're the only person that's ever caught me that wasn't my sister." And honestly? Fuck Natalie. Self-absorbed brat.

"It doesn't have to be anyone in particular. That's what I'm saying--I can help you get whoever for whatever reason you really need them for, and then I can do my thing. The whole metahuman emotion thing--I wanted to use it so I could snap them up. You get tired of studying them, I get a satisfied. You get an inkling of depression, you chuck me in here. Truth is? Truth is I've got nothing to lose, Wells."

A slow, eerie smile spread over Harrison's face. The sort of smile that never came close to reaching the eyes. Gabe honestly thought that line of logic would work with him. That simply saying he'd play nice with everyone would get him out of his cage. A new tactic, at least. But a useless one.

"This..." he said, reaching up to tug the device out of his ear. "Is nothing more than a temporary fix. It scrambles the signal you've been putting out, rather than stopping it completely. This little thing isn't what let me see you for what you are."

He dropped the device into his pocket and leaned closer to the glass. His gaze flicked to Gabe's hand pressed there, dragging a finger over the smooth surface, before looking to Gabe. Close enough for his breath to briefly fog the glass. "What let me see all that you were was you assumed I loved Tess Morgan. You assumed she was my wife. I've only met her once. As her dying breath left of her body."

Gabe doesn't recoil, but he does look interested. He'd assumed--why he'd assumed he doesn't know, it all seems a blur--but he figured it out on his own, completely and totally.

Honestly, Gabe's kind of impressed. That's smart. He knew Wells was a genius, sure, but this is a different level of intelligence. Gabe half-smiles through the glass, watching him intently, until he says something not quite right.

Gabe's eyes narrow.

"That doesn't make any sense--I met her on a field trip. She was definitely married to you. How..."

There was that smile again, eerie and unsettling. For a moment, he just watched Gabe trying to figure it out. He had every intent of disposing of the Meta before anyone else returned to the lab, so what was the harm in showing his hand? No one else was going to find out.

"I'm sure you did. Base every lie in a bit of truth to hide he seams. But that's what happens when you blunder through. Not that I expected you to see it, but when you're rooting in other people's minds you need to be aware of hidden pitfalls. You see..." His voice dropped even lower, a husky, rhaspy tone that was even less like himself than anything before. "I am not Harrison Wells."

"It doesn't work like that--" Gabe starts to say, starts to point out that this whole thing isn't even anything remotely related to how he did it--when the other lowered his voice.

Amazing, how just a simple change in pitch can throw an entire conversation in its ass. How the truth can just sort of blindside you. Gabe looks surprised, not bothering to show it, but there's no ounce of betrayal or the like on his face. Why should he feel cheated? Wells just did what Gabe did without powers.

He's goddamn impressed.

"You got another name, then, or is it just Wells for the rest of the time I'm with you?"

Harrison wasn't quite sure what to expect when revealing that little tidbit, but it certainly wasn't what he got. Surprise, yes, but not shock. Not confusion or disbelief. Nothing that usually came with a reveal like his true identity. He was finding himself curious about this young man, a dangerous thing for a scientist to be.

"My name, my actual name, doesn't matter. Because from your perspective, I haven't been born yet. My parents haven't even been born yet. Not even my grandparents. So it's not a name you could possibly know. So yes. Gabe. You might as well go on calling me Wells for the very small remainder of your life. Because that is the only reason I'm telling you any of this. Not that I'd ever trust you with it, but that you won't live long enough to tell anyone what you've learned."

"Fine. Kill me." And his words are suddenly heated. Where Wells gets cocky, Gabe gets mad. And he is--he's frustrated, too, that with everything, he can't do shit. He's stick here, probably going to die, probably going to fucking wilt.

"You'll never figure out how I work, though. How to use this--" He points to his head with his index finger "--on other people. That's something that'll take a while and that's something you can't get from my dead body, Wells."

It's his one last gambit. The only thing he has left.

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Tags at rehearsal

You nerd

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