harrisonwells | MoM: IC Inbox

[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.]

[Oh yeah, he recognizes that look. He gets it himself sometimes, he's seen it on several talented people he's worked with. It's a reassuring look. Puts him a little more at ease.]

As it turns out, the Flash and Zoom were one and the same. On my Earth. Jay—no. Not Jay. Hunter wanted to build up the city's hopes so he could dash them even harder. But he still did some good for the citizens, actual heroics while he was only pretending to be their hero. ...he was a friend.

[So in the end, Central City's greatest defender might in fact be Harrison Wells.]

[Truth be told, he's not sure he's getting the full picture. Maybe he can't. Maybe it would take a lot more explanation. But if he considers it more like serial killers, well. The odd superpowered names aren't so difficult. It's just...Flash is a hero, Harrison has made that clear. So then that must mean this Zoom isn't a hero, yes? Pretending to be something he wasn't only to ruin things further. A friendship that might have been real, might have been a lie. That part makes total sense in the most personal way possible.]

S'way it goes, isn't it? [He snags up the glass to finish it off. This is why liquor was invented. Obviously.] Never a stranger. Always someone you trust.

[...hm.]

Trusted.

[Better.]

[Someday, they'll sit down and Harrison will tell Will the entire tale from beginning to end. They'll make a night of it. It'll be fun. Sure.

But he's picking up enough. The specifics don't matter, not really. What matters is the universal things, trust and betrayal and evil and the strong hurting innocents for amusement.]

Yeah. It is. ...how's the lasagna?

[Two dads having a beer and swapping stories of betrayal sounds dangerously close to normalcy. Will would be down with it. Everyone could use a bit of normal, in this world or any other.

Will looks down at the question, makes a mild show of sticking another forkful, and answers after the proper chewing and swallowing.]

It's great. [His smile is genuine. Really, homemade food has a certain flavor. A certain appeal. Free homemade food he didn't prepare himself? It's always somehow The Best.] I'll have to start coming around more often to make sure the lasagna quality stays great.

[Definitely just for that. Yep. Totally believable.]

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