( AN OPEN POST #3 )

[charmlessness]

 
 
 

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[gigahertz]

( she could leave, but she doesn't. almost immediately, she regrets it. felicity smoak is definitely not alone in s.t.a.r. labs, and that much makes itself obvious when they — it — enters the room.

her initial thought is barry. she's seen how fast he is, and has never seen anybody move in the way he does. at least, until now. the colors aren't right, and it doesn't make sense. if this was barry, something had to be wrong. he would never do something like this to her.

the room all but spins with the streak of yellow, a high-pitched hum following the figure as it circles around the room. papers are thrown about, glass breaks, all followed by the faint sound of laughter. (or, what she imagines is laughter, it's all happening at once and it's far too much for her senses, close to overload.)

her knees wobble underneath her and she kneels to the ground, bringing her hands up to cover her ears. eyes shut tight, she waits for the feeling of the room being torn apart to stop before she opens her eyes, slowly pushing herself back to her feet, shaking all the while. a handful of seconds pass before she takes a step, stabilizing herself fully.

she's not expecting a voice, and felicity nearly leaps out of her skin when dr. wells calls her name. she spins on her feet, eyes wide, and completely lacking the usual light they carry.

all she can do is shake her head, not quite able to form words just yet. her chest heaves under her dress, and her hands tremble as he reaches out to place his hand on her back. it's involuntary, as she knows he isn't going to hurt her, but could he really blame her, with the way this place looks? if he hadn't shown up, who knows what would've happened.

taking in a deep breath, she steps over to a desk, falling into a chair, there. )

Nobody was here, and suddenly ... It was fast. Barry-esque fast. A big, screaming streak of yellow. ( she takes another breath, hands folding in her lap. ) It was evil — it had to be. He ... I think it was a he, at least — was laughing the entire time. Like the thought of causing all that destruction was amusing.

[counterpole]

[ wells moves forward, placing both his palms protectively on the armrests of felicity's chair. he watches her eyes, the frantic movements of her hands — he could take her pulse as a precautionary measure, but he can already average the rate at which its spiking. fear has taken place of her curiosity. like the yellow blur, it moves in and out, passes through felicity in a thick haze.

he wonders idly of the theories she's dispelling, wading through. the human mind is incredible; when provoked, it works at a speed faster than its generalized sum. again, fight or flight — in her remaining, she chose fight. smart girl — he feels somehow proud. the bravery she harbored might have been instilled in her at a young age, but moments such as these, they would remind her of who she really was. ]

The Reverse-Flash.

[ after placing a gentle pat (the goal is to explore a gesture of consolation) to her fingers, he sets back to his chair, adjusting his glasses. ]

It's what Cisco calls the Man in the Yellow suit.

[ he folds his fingers at their knuckles, his glance still focused on felicity's expression. the name's stuck; it's a step in the right direction. every move they make brings them closer to the truth, to correcting the course of human history. (his past, their future) ]

We've met before. [ a pause. ] If you consider pulling me from my chair and beating me half-to-death a good first impression, he certainly left one.

[ concern crosses his expression. he leans forward, reaching out carefully to adjust her chin. ] Did he hurt you?