harrisonwells | MoM: IC Inbox

[No matter how much time he's given to appear, he'll always choose comfortable, loose-fitting pants and something plaid. That's more for People Who Are Not Will Graham's benefit than his own. Maybe Harrison was still in his pajamas, rolling around miserably after magical shenanigans. No one could blame him if that was the case, certainly not Will Graham of all people.

So he shows up with a minute to spare. Or, well, not Will, not at first. He'd rather not intrude, so he sends in a spy. But, like, a nice spy. One who's just to check if the "target" is in there and clothed/decent, no more or less. Which means, of course, that Harrison's first Blue's Clue Will has arrived is the sound of teeny tiny hooves hitting the garage floor as a teeny tiny feathered, antlered head peers around the door frame. The shadow mustn't be any bigger than a lap dog, and watches Harrison for several seconds before those hooves clatter right back out and the face at the frame is replaced by Will's far above where the little spy had been.]

Evenin'. [Plaid and casual as hell, stepping in with hands in his pockets, shadow back at his feet.] Didn't mean to interrupt your work.

[Or distraction. Will knows they can go hand in hand. He didn't need to make his own fishing lures but by God that bit of work kept him busy and prevented him from thinking about much of anything.]

[He's not wearing the glasses that help neutralize his enhanced hearing, so the little tiptiptip of those hooves is very distinctive. He glances over at the tiny head, gives it a little smile, not quite a wave, then shifts his look up to Will when he appears.]

Hey. Glad you didn't mean to, since you're not. Just working out a few. Calculations.

[Yes, it's distraction. But it's also something he's needed to get done, and of course he'd made no progress during the week when he'd been wondering why on earth there were graviton-research experiments in his garage.]

C'mon in, almost done. That was cute, your little mini...stag. [He lowers his hand to indicate the height, as if Will wouldn't know what he meant.] How many of those can you do? Or is it just the one?

Ah...a lot. Of the little ones. Not the big ones. Think it has to do with volume, with mass. It's a lotta little ones, couple medium sized ones, or a really, really big one. [For how "broken" his explanation is, it still comes out confidently. Will isn't familiar with explaining his findings when it comes to research, to experimentation. Not to anyone who could understand it, at least, and when he found people who did, he rarely had to explain it all. Class was different. He had control of a class in ways he didn't in the lab, in casual conversation. And the fact was Will had done some of his power experimenting when he wasn't all there. Nothing like a lot of booze to make a man wonder what happened if he shot a tiny shadow stag, right? Definitely just booze, yes. He hadn't roomed with a drug dealer for ages or anything. sweats] The little ones, they're helpful for minor tasks. When I don't wanna get the remote or fetch something myself.

[One hand runs over the back of his neck, smile slightly sheepish as he crosses the gap between them. Yeah, yeah, give him weird-ass shadow powers and he finds the most domestic (to his thinking, normal and efficient) ways to use it, probably not too impressive or respectable to someone who deals with legitimate superheroes. And supervillains. And who maybe wanted to be one at some point, he can't say for sure on that line of things...but the Harrison Wells who stopped a boat burglary seemed happy. Happier than this one.]

Calculations, huh. Anything you need a hand with?

[He is, at least, a physical body should Harrison need one.]

That makes sense. [Yes it really does, isn't that nice? As a physicist, Harrison is a little relieved to hear something like that, it makes perfect sense, the quantity should be based in total mass distributed in different ways, it's nice to hear something about this universe is behaving itself. Whatever questionable things Will happens to do with them.] Sounds convenient. And you can send them to spy for you to see if someone's home?

[But that last part comes with a little smile, because he gets it, he hasn't exactly been acting normal for the past week. Even though he and Will haven't hung out much, Will must have some idea of Harrison's 'normal', and the past week was not it.

...not that it had been a bad week. It had been a pretty good week, in fact. He's trying not to think about that.]

Nah. Actually. Yeah. How much do you weigh? Never mind, stand on this. [In a few quick movements, Harrison has a cheap bathroom scale sitting next to a complicated cylindrical gravimeter, clearly homemade, and the idea here is to see if he can reduce someone's weight a specific amount by changing their relative gravity instead of the gravity all around them, it'll be fun.]

[A smile returned with one just like it, eerie, almost like Harrison's looking in a mirror and seeing himself with a Will Graham face. But said spot on mimic smile vanishes quick as it comes, face scrunching up in a way that should be answer enough. He has no idea how much he weighs right now. He doesn't usually care for that enough to keep track, and it's been a while since he needed a check up. Last time he was in the hospital...he wouldn't go by that now.]

Uh — all right. [He moves to the cheap bathroom scale, peering at it a moment. Should he take his shoes off for a better reading? Harrison hadn't instructed that, perhaps it doesn't matter. Perhaps he doesn't need anything so precise to involve stripping. He's been involved in worse experiments, this is probably fine.

He steps up without more thought put into whatever might result, glances at the scale for a moment, and then looks back at Harrison with a quirked eyebrow. Amused but still quite clearly curious about...whatever this is.] Now what, Doctor?

[...that shouldn't feel so good to say, but Goddamn does it feel wonderful.]

[That actually spikes his adrenaline just for a moment—understandably, he hopes, he's had enough trouble with face-stealing in recent months, and the gunshot scar on his chest to prove it—but since the mimicking smile is gone so fast, he can chalk it up to exhaustion or a trick of the light or something. It's fine. Not eerie at all.

Being called 'Doctor' is a little more eerie, it's been a while since anyone's called him that in a scientific setting, but he shakes it all off because this is a scientific setting, and he has science to do. He pushes off the stool and crosses to within arm's length, nodding down at the scale.]

Keep an eye on the numbers.

[And then he pokes Will in the shoulder with one finger and starts reducing his relative gravity. He still doesn't know how he's doing this, but it's clear that he can do it to people and not just objects. And not just people but everything that person is touching—clothes, watches, glasses—so it must be some kind of field he's generating. He doesn't look at the scale, in fact he looks up so he can't catch sight of it, then after several seconds:] If I'm right, it should read 50 now.

[Sorry, Doc. It's just a Thing he does. He'll try to reel it back next time.

Usually, his face is rather impassive. Or he just looks mildly uncomfortable. Expressions are subtle. People tend to need to learn him before they really understand that the tiniest twitch means something, something bigger. But now? Oh no. As he watches the numbers drop, eyebrow go up and he's quite clearly surprised, baffled. What is happening? He isn't sure, though he's thinking back to conversations about a daughter with wings, adjusting gravity for her...is this what he meant? Made more sense than renting some space from NASA. It was That Kind of a world, Jesus. So Will doesn't leap off the scale or jerk away from that one finger gravity punch, but his face reads like that was his first temptation just the same.]

Uhhh. [Dumbstruck, speechless. A very, very rare accomplishment when it comes to Will Graham, achievement unlocked!] ...yeah. That's. Fifty is right, yes. Dropping a hundred pounds in less than a minute's gotta be a new diet record.

[Ha ha]

Hah. Sorry it won't last.

[He's too much of a scientist, too satisfied with the correctly predicted results he's just obtained, to notice any discomfort on the part of his impromptu subject. At least right away. He's concentrating more on reducing his influence, reversing the process, rather than just letting go and bringing Will's relative gravity back to an abrupt 1:1. That might be unpleasant.

Or maybe he'd barely notice, who knows? An experiment for another day. It's good practice for him to both reduce and increase gravity anyway.

Once he's finished, he'll look up, and then it clearly registers for the first time that maybe he could have explained himself in some way rather than just barking orders.]

That probably felt a little weird. That's on me. I reduced your relative gravity. It's apparently something else I can do, I'm working on my perception of mass and weight in an Earth-standard gravitational field so I can adjust with precision, without needing equipment. ...you can get down now.

[Might be unpleasant, hah. This is already unpleasant on a psychological level. But Harrison can't know about that at all. He does, still, put one hand on Harrison's shoulder as he steps off like he's worried about not hitting the mere two inch step to the ground properly. Like he's tummy sick. Like he just needs a steady anchor for a moment or two, and Harrison is the closest sturdy thing.]

That's... [Weirdly invasive but not in the most terrible way.] ...different.

[There's no judgment; he just can't recall a power quite like this before. He removes his hand from the shoulder after a deep breath, eyes on the scale because haha wow awkward. He thinks he's got this in the bag and then...Will leans over to put his hands on his knees.]

Gimme a second.

[Oops. Note to self, fully inform the subjects what's going to happen before you proceed with the experiment. He wishes he could say he's usually better at that and blame how shaken up he is after the events of the last week, but he's never really been very good at fully informed disclosure. One of the only things that could get under Tess' skin, that.

He wants to reach out and offer support, even puts out a hand that hovers over Will's back, but maybe that would only make things worse? Especially if Will's finding his bearings by using his powers?

Speaking of powers, is an angry shadowstag going to show up and have a word with him now? He glances around automatically before shaking that off and turning his attention back to his friend.]

Will?

[And mightily resists the urge to say, 'tell me about what you're feeling.' Not the time, Wells. The man asked for a second, give him a second.]

[A good note to make, Doc. Fortunately, Will's been through much worse thanks to other doctors so this isn't going to be a make or break it type thing. He won't bring it up later if they ever have A Disagreement. He just needs a second, that's all. It's strange...he's so used to seeing horribly mutilated corpses without his appetite taking a nosedive. He should be better able to handle this, he thinks, but there's a huge difference between guts and gore and having gravity itself manipulated. People were always going to kill, that was a given. Gravity, in a similar way, was always meant to be there in its grave way. Then it wasn't! Just now! What has science done!?]

Yeah. Yep. [Deep breath before he stands up straight. Slowly. Curly hair still bounces despite the lack of neckbreaking speed. One hand rests over his stomach.] Okay. We're good, just...wasn't expecting that.

[His smile is a little off; he's not really a fan of being vulnerable and nothing else. Better to be vulnerable with a spine or a smart mouth, some show of amusement at the situation to cover any legitimate Emotions about it.]

Can't make the Earth spin backwards or force an eclipse when you want, can you?

[Imagine all the tidal confusion!]

Not that I know of, but I haven't tried, and an experiment like that isn't complete without a field test. [Science humor! Everybody wins!

But seriously, being able to do things like that would be goddamned terrifying, so let's hope he can't do them. It's weird enough being able to bend the laws of gravity, but he's busily at work on theoretical particle research into gravitons, which helps explain at the quantum level why he can do what he'd just done. So everything is fine, right?]

Come in, let me get you something. [To drink, to eat, some water, dramamine, whatever. Come sit in the kitchen, away from the science. There's no science in the kitchen. Unless you count the food everywhere. Help them eat.]

[Cooking is totally a science. Especially when cooking certain meats to taste like other meats...]

Something sounds great. [Just give him whiskey and a head of lettuce, all will be well. He is so easy to please in the kitchen, and so easily led out. Anywhere away from the Science is good with him. He's a polite guest, too, Harrison may note. He doesn't glance around at the house much. Doesn't look at anything for too long, like he's seeking out mess or dusty surfaces. Nope. Ain't his business, ain't his place. As long as there aren't huge piles of weird hoarder shit or corpses everywhere, he's not going to stop and stare.] So did you do all the cooking or somebody else?

[Whiskey he can do, for a considerate guest, but look, this vegetarian lasagna isn't going to eat itself, in any way shape or form.

Harrison goes through the motions of heating some up, properly in the oven thank you, before heading for the real purpose of the visit, drinks. Which they could both use after his bout of impromptu science.]

I helped, but Jesse did most of it. She was always better at planning meals ahead, she just took that to the next level last week.

[Guess who can't help but smile at the proper preparation vie oven? Yes, that would be Will. He tends to be a little fussy with his food, too, unless he's exhausted or absolutely starving.]

It happens. [Said fondly; he's reminded of Abigail. And he stays standing long enough for drinks to be poured before sitting on the closest space, be it chair or stool.] Cooking mass quantities can be very therapeutic. Also a great way to bond. They say everything important happens in the kitchen.

[Sometimes literally...]

[If it's worth doing, and so on. Plus he's had it both ways, several times, and it's just better coming out of the oven. Sometimes you need that little something extra after a trying day, and that little something extra is never going to be a plate of microwaved lasagna.

Harrison pours a drink of his own and leans against the counter, but Will is welcome to the chair at the kitchen table. Harrison is more of a leaner when he's agitated, and he's still a little agitated.]

It was fun, I'll give you that. Cooking with her. It didn't take long at all when we had our speed.

[Oho, so he is going to mention it.]

[It's true, all of it. Unless one is in a prison or hospital, then a plate of homemade microwaved lasagna is basically a culinary vacation.

He does indeed take the chair and is grateful to have a drink. Something that occupies his mouth when the unexpected Speed Bomb drops, Will taking a very generous swig because no. He hadn't been thinking of bringing it up. At least Harrison did, not him. More polite that way.]

I'd imagine so. [Quiet agreement, his smile small but real just the same.] Bet if you'd had a good menu and the right speedy crew, you could put a lotta fast food joints outta business.

Did you just. [He did. He did just. Will. Will. Why.

Unless the goal was to defuse the admittedly faint but potentially increasing tension. Because. It kinda works. Harrison rolls his eyes hard enough to put himself in danger of an injury, and pushes off the counter, flips a chair and sits on it backward, arms folded across the back, glass dangling from his fingers.]

But you're probably right. Why mess around with this hero stuff, truly fast food would have been the lasting fame.

[He bites back any smug smile, though the fact he has to do that results in a tiny one. Enough that Harrison can tell he is aware of his dad joke sin and hasn't got any urge to apologize for it. That's just what men of a certain age do, damn it, better to embrace the awful cracks than spend time feeling guilty for it. He responds to Harrison's new stance, though, propping up one ankle over his knee and leaning an arm against the back of the chair. Comfortable. Companionable. At ease.]

Exactly. [He points for good measure.] What kid doesn't know the sacred names of McDonald's, Burger King, Taco Bell, Kentucky Fried Chicken, Wendy's, Pizza Hut. Dunkin' Donuts. Hell, Starbucks builds right next to itself and still rakes in fame and fortune. Probably know all those names and more, or whatever's popular where they are, before they hear the likes of kings and queens and presidents. Gods and their kids. Hercules, Odysseus...that's all after.

Excellent point. Excellent point. And you know what's better than fast food? [Are you ready for this, Will? Two dads, dad-joking together?] Flash food. Boy, what might have been, huh?

[This really. Beats. Sitting around and feeling sorry for his speedless self. Which isn't to say he won't go back to that once Will's gone, but for right now, maybe he can take a break from it.

And there's the ding of the timer, giving Harrison a chance to sweep up from the chair, pull the reheated pan of lasagna out of the oven, dish it up. It looks perfect, it smells perfect. He sets one plate with fork and knife on the table for Will, settles back into his chair with his own, takes a bite. Yeah, it's good. Probably better with wine than whiskey, but here they are, rebels.]

...you know, I really liked that guy. The Flash. Me as the Flash. He was a good man. He did just about every right thing there was to do. And he was happy.

[Flash food, okay, now that gets a grin. He appreciates the dad jokes returned. Let him make that obvious. Less obvious is that he's watching Harrison's technique when it comes to dishing out lasagna. He really can't help it at this point. Cooking was once just a thing he did, sometimes because he needed it and sometimes because it served as a great distraction. And then it was an integral part of his life. He's no gourmet chef but he has knowledge, knows which fork is which and which spoon is which and how to be seen as an uncouth asshole for ignoring them. It's not a serious study. But he feels he can tell about a person by how they handle themselves in the kitchen.

He gives a nod of thanks before he takes to his share. A few swirly gestures to help it cool before he just stuffs a big bite in. Uncouth asshole for life.

Helpful, too, because Harrison's confession is...well, it's a bit depressing to think about. Having a mouth full of lasagna keeps him physically busy so he has additional time to think through a response. So helpful, food. And knowing his growing beard's penchant for snagging food, he reaches out for a napkin, wipes once, and lifts an eyebrow.]

Is is the goodness or the happiness you miss? [Asked sincerely and without judgment. If Harrison isn't happy, what's to judge about that? And if he doesn't think he's good, nothing to judge about that, either. There are plenty of folks who don't consider themselves good and that doesn't mean they're mass murderers in hiding with literal skeletons scattered all over the house.] Or is it the combination?

[That's a higher-caliber dad joke than Harrison is usually capable of, it must be Will's winning influence. Harrison's plating isn't professional-grade, but he does prefer neatness, the squares are tidy, there isn't sauce leaking everywhere. All it really needs is a little arc of balsamic glaze on the other side of the plate.

But then that might have gotten in the way of them being uncouth assholes together, since that's about what Harrison is doing too, in between contemplating the lasagna as if it can answer Will's question for him.]

I think. It might be. Yeah. The combination. He, the Flash, he made the right decisions. He tried to prevent the dark matter explosion by going down there himself. He got himself caught in it, he became a metahuman, he became a hero. And he opened STAR Labs to other metahumans. He helped them. He was a hero to them too. I... [He shakes his head, stares at a bite of lasagna, eats it.] That wasn't me. And I. Wish. It had been. That's all.

[Finally, he's a good influence. Perhaps they could start a Vine of dad jokes...add that they're imPorts and the fame really brings itself on.

Will has very little idea of what Harrison is talking about. He gets the basic gist, though, and Harrison doesn't speak in a way that makes him feel like he has to have every small detail to truly grasp it. Or maybe that's the empathy kicking in while he takes another uncouth asshole bite. Serious discussion or not, there is food, warm food, and to let it cool off and become less fantastic than it is now is rude.]

What stopped you from going down there? [More stirring of the lasagna, it's not quite so neat any more.] Sounds like you were there, way you talk about it. Why didn't you take the lead?

[If it's true, if he's right, if Harrison was there...then Will's got a pretty good idea of why he wouldn't go. This doesn't sound like a situation where the outcome was known. This Flash may have believed if he didn't do what was necessary, he'd have been killed. And if that was the belief, it was essentially a suicide mission, then having a daughter should have been enough to keep Harrison from going "not me, dudes."]

[Yeah, sometimes even the people who know him don't follow every detail, and he's only half-talking to explain to Will, half just...finding his own way through it again. Because it's a lot, it's so much, and he's gone over the event enough times just the way he'd actually lived it, without having this, this alternate reality to consider.

And that's the question. Harrison lifts another forkful, then sets it back down on the plate, sets the plate on the table, folds his arms over the back of the chair.]

No one went down there. [He takes a breath, lets it out.] I didn't let anyone. Go down there. Instead I shut everything down and vented the dark matter eruption through a...a neighboring building. [A neighboring institute for the criminally insane, but who's counting?] It didn't go up and out, none of my staff were affected, and in doing that, I created Central City's greatest threat. But my staff was more important. In the moment.

[Will might count that, considering he spent time in one and all. Perhaps it's best that goes unsaid...

Setting his fork down for the moment, Will leans back in the chair and takes a moment to consider. Perhaps Harrison recognizes the look. At ease bodily but with a mind working overtime. Not unlike a clock, so constant and steady on the outside while the inside is moving, always, never at rest.]

But the Flash was created from this same event, is that right?

[So he created the City's greatest threat and it's greatest defender, if Will is putting the pieces together properly. The greatest defender wasn't Harrison, however. What first sounded like a mix of envy and hero worship is quickly turning into guilt and shame. Those gears continue to turn as the profile on Harrison Wells (Doctor) receives edits and grows.]

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