Fic -- Changes of Circumstance
Title: Changes of Circumstance
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4103
Characters: Hartley Rathaway, Roscoe Dillon, Lisa Snart, Digger Harkness, Mick Rory, Sam Scudder.
Summary: How might Hartley's and Roscoe's lives have been improved if they'd become friends?
Warnings: Homophobia, profanity.
Notes: This story came about as I was reflecting on the many similarities between Roscoe and Hartley, which made me think they'd be natural allies. That isn't how things worked out in canon, of course, but canon Roscoe's personality/attitude really changed for the worse after he died, and I wondered about them forming an alliance before that point and what changes it might have made for them. Then I remembered that he canonically told only Lisa about his impending death before it happened, and pondered how things might have been different had he perhaps told someone else as well...and this whole story fell into place. I really do think the lives of Roscoe and Hartley would have been significantly improved if they'd had a friend who accepted them when they were with the Rogues, and absolutely think Roscoe would have been a better person if he had. It's too bad things didn't work out this way in canon.
“Knock knock,” Hartley announced, and Roscoe glanced up with a look of annoyance. He’d been tinkering with some new top designs and didn’t relish the interruption.
“Brought you some coffee,” Hartley said with a smile, and now Roscoe’s expression twisted into one of deep suspicion.
“Why?” he asked skeptically, eyeing it carefully for signs of tampering or perhaps some silly Trickster prank. No Rogue had ever done anything like that for him before, and it seemed unlikely that someone would start now.
“I thought it’d be nice,” Hartley explained with a bit of defensiveness. “I can take it away if you don’t want it. It’s just that we’ve never really had a conversation before, and one seems overdue.”
“Why?” Roscoe asked again, prompting Hartley to grimace in frustration. But the other man didn’t seem to be hostile or sneering, just puzzled and a bit suspicious, and that gave Hartley the courage to keep talking.
“So you’re autistic, right? You remind me so much of my sister Jerrie, who’s also on the spectrum. I just wanted to say that you’re not alone and I know how crappy people can be about the way they handle it. If you ever want to talk about it or just vent, I’m here,” Hartley said with an earnest smile.
Roscoe’s eyes widened with surprise and fear. “I am not. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he retorted, but it was obvious from his reaction that he absolutely did. “Did you come here just to insult me?”
“What? There’s no insult, and there’s nothing wrong with being autistic! I love my sister, she’s the best person I know. It was just an observation, that’s all.”
“Don’t mention it to the others, I don’t want them getting any wrongful ideas,” Roscoe said sharply, anxiously beginning to rock slightly as he often did when agitated. “Even though it’s not true, Digger and Len will never let me hear the end of it.”
Hartley’s expression softened and he backed away from the gently teasing comment he was about to make, since he was all too familiar with difficult secrets and the mockery that often ensued. The Rogues were friends and sometimes a band of brothers, but that didn’t mean they weren’t cruel to each another. It was the entire reason he’d approached Roscoe, after all.
“I get it. All I’m saying is that I understand how tough it is, and you don’t need to worry about talking to me about it. I’ve got a lot of experience with this stuff.”
Roscoe let out a deep breath, and Hartley suddenly realized how burdened he was. “The prison shrinks say things. I don’t know if there’s any truth to their claims. But I don’t want any of it getting out into the media, because then the Rogues will know and so will my family. Do you know what kind of a disappointment I already am to my parents?” Roscoe asked with a thin smile.
“I can totally relate. My parents hate my guts for so many reasons, and it seems that everything I do shames and infuriates them further.” He paused for a few moments, wondering whether he could trust his colleague with one of his secrets, then decided to continue because he’d started the conversation. “I haven’t told the Rogues yet, but I was born deaf.”
Roscoe raised an eyebrow but looked interested. “Really? How are you able to hear?”
“With robotic implants my parents paid for in an attempt to fix their ‘damaged’ child,” Hartley replied with a wry grin. “They weren’t willing to have a less-than-perfect son, because think of the embarrassment. So I completely understand your concern about how your family would react, and that’s why I haven’t told the Rogues either. And look…because of my implants I can hear far better than anyone else, so I hear the shitty comments the guys make about me. And I know you’ve heard some of the shit they say about you, because your heartbeat quickens and you mutter about it under your breath sometimes. It feels awful, doesn’t it?”
With a frown, Roscoe looked down at the table in front of him. “So I presume that you’ve heard anything I’ve said about you.”
“Yup.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it.”
Hartley smiled tiredly. “Thanks. It’s something I’m used to hearing, but it never feels good.”
“Why, then, are you being kind to me when I’ve been disrespectful to you?” Roscoe asked with genuine confusion and renewed suspicion that he’d been set up for something. Perhaps it was more mockery from the other Rogues, or maybe he was about to get in trouble.
“I was angry at the world for a really long time and I guess that’s part of why I became a Rogue. But eventually I realized that being angry at everyone didn’t do me any good, because pretty much everyone gossips, mutters, and gets mad at other people at least occasionally. But you and I have a lot in common and I thought it’d be helpful to get to know each other. Allies, right?”
Roscoe closed his eyes. “I don’t know how good an ally I would be for anyone. I am weird and awkward and crazy.”
“That’s just the others talking, and you shouldn’t listen to them,” Hartley said with a scowl. “What does Digger know? Is Mark some kind of psychologist? They’re just talking out of their asses like they do about every other subject, and you can’t let their words define you.”
“I think they’re right, though. If you heard the psychiatrists in prison…”
“To hell with the prison shrinks. It’s their livelihood to diagnose people with stuff, and they’ve got to justify keeping people in jail. I used to see a shrink even before becoming a Rogue, so I’m well-acquainted with their industry and the BS of the system. You may have mental health issues, but that doesn’t make you a bad person and it doesn’t set your destiny. Just trust me on this.”
Roscoe smiled slightly and looked over at Hartley, who was starting to get visibly worked up with his vehement speech that was clearly based on personal experience. The young musician seemed more passionately sincere than anyone he’d ever known, and it was oddly refreshing amongst a group which tended towards angry cynicism. Roscoe nodded and smiled again. “Of course. Allies, then.”
----
Hartley bounded into Roscoe’s workshop with an armful of tools and a great deal of excitement. “I was eating lunch and suddenly had some inspiration!” he enthused, and his colleague looked at him expectantly. “The resonator has to oscillate between eight thousand and seventy thousand Hertz!”
Roscoe frowned thoughtfully and began writing rapid calculations on a nearby pad of paper. “Oscillate at what pattern?”
“Randomly! That’ll keep the Flashes from easily vibrating through it! At best it’d take them multiple tries to get it right!”
Roscoe’s face widened into a grin. “Brilliant! I think you’ve got it!” He raced to write out all his thoughts in the form of equations, and quickly sketched a tentative diagram of a diode next to them. “What do you think?”
“I think we’ve got this one in the bag,” Hartley replied cheerfully as he picked up an open can of beer to celebrate. It had long since gone flat, but he didn’t care. “Sam’s gonna be so pleased, and nobody can say we aren’t pulling our weight in the group. Feels good.”
“It does,” Roscoe agreed, rocking happily. He began soldering a circuit board to put together the top’s first prototype, a soothing activity he’d always found enjoyable. “Maybe we’ll get invited to poker night.”
Hartley just laughed. “We might, but everybody constantly cheats at those games anyway. I can think of about ten things I’d rather do instead of that.”
“Perhaps, but I’d just like to be asked,” Roscoe shrugged, quite accustomed to being left out of social gatherings by his peers. He’d often told himself he didn’t want to do it anyway as a way to feel better about it, but had always known that was a lie.
“True.”
The duo sat in contented silence for a few minutes; Roscoe still tinkered with his new tops, while Hartley internally debated whether he should bring up a subject which had been bothering him for weeks. He now considered Roscoe to be a friend and someone whose company he enjoyed, but it was difficult to say how trustworthy he was. Rogues were Rogues, and frequently not very enlightened. At the same time, he wondered how his friend would react if he learned about certain personal information from another source, and decided that wasn’t the way he wanted the details released. He took a deep breath to steel himself.
“Hey, so, I’ve got something to tell you,” Hartley began, heart pounding in his chest with a booming roar that was almost overwhelming to his enhanced ears. Roscoe glanced over at him with a patiently curious expression, noting the other man’s obvious anxiety. He could relate.
Hartley wrung his hands as he worked up the courage to speak. What would he do if the one person who accepted him for being a fellow outsider now rejected him for his sexuality? He wasn’t sure if he could start over again with another friend, or if he’d even want to. “The reason my parents kicked me out is because I’m gay.”
Roscoe wrinkled his nose in confusion and put down his tools. “What, as in you find men attractive? Why would you do that when it could be women?”
“Why would you find women attractive when it could be men? I see the way you look at Len’s sister.”
“Touché,” Roscoe grinned, suddenly realizing how stupid his question had been. “Yes, you have a point. Do the others know?”
“I don’t think so,” Hartley said worriedly, “otherwise they’d never let me hear the end of it. I don’t know if I want to tell them for that reason, but it’s also something I don’t want them to learn because they see me on a date or something.”
“I wouldn’t tell them, at least any time soon, but obviously it’s not my call.”
“Tell us what?” came a familiar voice from behind them, and Hartley utterly wilted. Mick and Digger stood there expectantly, and James wasn’t far away.
“None of your business,” Roscoe said brusquely, but Hartley pulled himself to his full height and took a deep breath. Maybe this was a golden opportunity to get a heavy burden off his chest. He hated hiding who he was, especially from the guys who were supposed to be his comrades in arms.
“Guys, I’m gay.”
Mick shrugged, and Digger burst out laughing. “I shoulda known, mate. The signs were always there.”
“Digger, you are the last person who can cast aspersions at someone else’s personal life,” Roscoe snapped. “All you do is try and fail to pick up women, and never learn a damned thing from it.”
“Ah, fuck you, cunt, I’m just havin’ a bit of fun. It’s funny,” Digger retorted languidly. He didn’t seem offended or disgusted by Hartley’s revelation, but had a mocking expression on his face which made the others uncomfortable; it seemed like he wasn’t intending to let this go anytime soon. “Why would you want to defend him, anyway?”
“Because I know him and he’s a good guy, and I like him a lot more than I like you.”
“Don’t know why I bother, mate, when there are so many pricks around here,” Digger waved to dismiss him. “Just don’t choke on Piper’s donger or anything.”
“What are you, twelve?” Hartley demanded irritably. “I’m a professional, just like you allegedly are, and I don’t mix business and relationships. Please stop acting like you’re in middle school.”
“Don’t listen to Digger, he’s stupid and drunk,” Mick interjected calmly, hoping to de-escalate the situation before it got worse.
“And about to be thrown out on his ass,” Roscoe rumbled, cracking his knuckles, but Sam finally intervened.
“Knock it off, you goddamned idiots, and save the fighting for the Flash. It’s not against the rules to be gay, and it seems like more guys are on Piper’s side than Digger’s.” What Sam didn’t say was that he too wasn’t straight, but it was a secret he planned to take to his grave as far as the Rogues were concerned. He cast the group a final warning look, but it was clear from Digger’s face that the conflict wasn’t over. The belligerent Australian stormed out of the room in search of another beer and someone who might listen to him vent.
“Thanks, guys, this really means a lot,” Hartley said gratefully to those who’d stood up for him. “I felt I had to say something to be true to myself, and I’m so glad you didn’t turn your backs on me like my parents did.”
“You are my friend, and you’ve defended me when I needed it,” Roscoe told him in the same earnest tone Jerrie used when she was proud of something, and Hartley smiled at the similarity. “I’ve never had a gay friend before, so this will be new and interesting.”
Hartley cringed at the awkward comment but decided the sentiment was well-intended, so he smiled generously and let it slide. “Thanks, man.”
“I got nothing against gay people, because my cousin is gay. You’re okay by me,” Mick said sincerely. “Besides, I get real tired of Digger’s big mouth sometimes, and he needs to be encouraged to shut it.”
Hartley had to laugh. “Yeah, I think we can all agree on that. Your support’s appreciated.”
“Just let us know when he starts it again, because he undoubtedly will,” Roscoe said firmly, to which Hartley nodded. “And you’ve inspired me…I think I will ask Lisa out. You had the guts to tell people your secret, so I can be brave enough to ask her. There are worse things than being told no.”
“Hey, that’s awesome, and good luck! Tell us how it goes,” Hartley enthused with an amiable grin, crossing his fingers surreptitiously on his friend's behalf. And a strange smile spread over Mick’s face as he thought about what this meant for his best-worst frenemy, because he couldn’t wait for the fireworks with Len to begin.
----
Hartley used his key to let himself into Roscoe’s apartment, which was quiet and unusually dark and gave him a distinct sense of foreboding. He’d gotten Lisa’s urgent message and hurried over, thinking the two of them would be there.
“Hello?” he called out, and a few moments later he saw Lisa’s tear-stained face peering from a doorway.
“Oh my God!” Hartley fretted, hurrying over to her and offering a quick hug. “What happened? Are you all right?”
Her lip trembled and more tears began to fall. “I’m fine, but he’s very sick…” she began softly, and Hartley rushed past her into the darkened bedroom.
“I came as soon as I could. How can I help?” Hartley blurted out as he glanced around and his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. He saw Roscoe lying motionless on the bed with a wet cloth over his eyes, and his heart pounded with worry for his friend.
“Thank you, but there’s nothing you can do,” the man on the bed said tiredly, pain evident in his voice. “My brain cells are heating up because of my new powers’ interaction with the Flash’s speed vibrations, and it will soon kill me. Probably got only a day or two left.”
“Bull!” Hartley exclaimed abruptly, a little faster and louder than intended, and Roscoe winced at the noise. “You and I are geniuses, so let’s get to work.”
Roscoe exhaled heavily. “No…I…I just want to enjoy the time I’ve got left. With Lisa and you. You’re the most important people in my life.”
“I love you too, man, but we’re not giving up that easily,” Hartley said firmly. “Tell me all about this and show me the data you’ve got, and we can begin.”
Lisa touched Hartley’s shoulder and pulled him to look at her. “Do you really think you can help? Tell me honestly, with no false hope bullshit.”
“I think there’s a very real possibility, but can’t say for sure until I know more about it,” Hartley told her with sincerity, looking into her eyes so she could judge his intentions. She studied him carefully for a few moments, then clutched Roscoe’s hand.
“Then we have to try. Please, baby, I don’t want to lose you so soon after we found each other,” she pleaded. “You’re two of the smartest people I know, and I’ll help in any way I can. We’ll still be spending time together, even if this doesn’t work.”
“I…okay,” Roscoe sighed, unable to argue with the distress on her face. He grimaced at the thought of her hope being raised for naught but realized there was nothing he’d be able to do about it. “My notes are in the workshop, along with all the monitoring equipment.”
“Then let’s get started,” Hartley said briskly as he jumped to his feet.
***
“So my theory is that the right harmonic frequency can quiet your brain cells,” Hartley explained after reviewing the notes. “I don’t know for sure if it’ll work, but it’s definitely worth trying.”
“How will we find the correct frequency?” Roscoe asked skeptically, doing his best to think about their options despite the overwhelming pain in his head. He let out a groan of frustration and agony, and Lisa handed him a fresh cool cloth with a gentle encouraging smile.
“That’s the catch,” Hartley admitted ruefully. “If we go too far in the wrong direction, it might make things worse. Much worse.” He had no desire to watch his friend’s head explode.
“We know the range of the Flash’s usual vibrational frequencies, so that’s a rough starting point,” Roscoe suggested, and Hartley began writing calculations on the paper in front of him.
“Agreed. We’d probably want to avoid the extreme ends of that range, but it’s something to work with,” Hartley said. “If you’re up to it, maybe you can run some numbers to narrow down the range while I build a device. Lisa, I could use some help with that.”
“Of course,” she agreed, springing to her feet and planting a quick kiss on Roscoe’s cheek. He smiled at her, and pushed through the pain to concentrate while the others began construction of the sonic emitter.
***
“Hanging in there?” Hartley asked sympathetically, and Roscoe awoke with a violent twitch. He’d rested his aching head on the table sometime earlier and had inadvertently dozed off.
“Yes, I…I don’t know how much time has passed,” he said in a confused panic, but Hartley put a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“It’s okay. Lisa and I built the sonic device and made another machine to do a few test runs, and we know it works. It’s just a matter of finding the right frequency. Did you have any luck with that?”
“I believe so,” Roscoe said in a woozy tone, battling double vision and looking notably worse than when they’d left him. “I think I’ve narrowed down the range to this, and it seems accurate.”
“That’s great! Really helpful,” Hartley said sincerely as he looked at the numbers and made some of his own calculations in his head. He knew he had to treat the work carefully because his friend’s mental state may have been precarious; he was concerned that the disease’s symptoms might be mimicking the ravages of dementia. But the math seemed to add up, even if its creator was obviously quite ill.
“I feel very hot,” Roscoe complained, and began unbuttoning his shirt. Sweat poured freely down his reddened face, and Hartley knew they were running out of time. He called Lisa away from tinkering with the sonic device, and together the two of them half-coaxed and half-pushed Roscoe to sit in front of the machine in the other room.
“Need to lie down,” Roscoe murmured softly, trying to get down on the floor, and Lisa hurried to grab some restraints to keep him sitting in the chair.
“It’s not the first time I’ve tied him to a chair,” she sniffed at Hartley, who knew better than to ask further.
“Okay, I’ve programmed the range of frequencies,” Hartley said after typing a sequence of numbers into the sonic device. “I don’t think any of these will hurt him, and hopefully at least one will do the trick.”
Lisa nodded, all too aware of the uncertainty in the words I don’t think. It was also clear that they didn’t have more time to adjust the settings or run further safety tests. “Do it.”
Hartley handed her earplugs of his own design and placed a headset to protect his own hearing over his ears. He activated the sonic device with a muttered prayer, and it slowly hummed to life before blasting the first frequency at its languishing subject.
There was no change, and Hartley pressed the button to switch to the next frequency.
There was also no change.
“`m dying,” Roscoe slurred, and Hartley believed him. Even with his protective headset he could hear the other man’s breathing slowing and becoming increasingly laboured.
“Hang on, baby, we’re not finished yet,” Lisa shouted encouragingly, tears running down her face. She wanted to run to her boyfriend to comfort him, but it was potentially dangerous to stand in the path of the sound blasts.
The third frequency was also unfruitful, and Hartley was beginning to get frantic. Please, please…
The sixth frequency was about halfway through the sound range, but Roscoe had become unresponsive, held upright only by the chair’s restraints. Eyes blurring with tears, Hartley activated the seventh frequency, and--
--Roscoe let out a howl of pain, eyes wide open like he’d been electrocuted. He gasped as his body lolled weakly, unable to exert any force on his bonds, but then fixed his gaze on Lisa for the first time since he’d been placed in the chair.
“Did it work?” he asked repeatedly in a daze as the others untied the restraints and helped him to the floor. Hartley concentrated for thirty seconds, listening to his steady heartbeat and respiration, and smiled through tears.
“Yeah, I think it did.”
***
They’d taken Roscoe to get some rest in bed, with Lisa holding him tightly as they slept, and Hartley collapsed onto the couch after twenty-six hours of intense work. It was a contented and almost dreamless sleep for the young musician, and it was very much needed. Eventually he realized that Lisa was gently shaking him awake, and he blinked up at her in bleary-eyed confusion.
“He’s awake, and would like to talk to you,” she said gratefully. With a yawn, Hartley followed her into the bedroom and found Roscoe propped up in bed with a grin that widened when he saw his friend.
“You saved my life and gave me a second chance. Thank you.”
“That’s what friends are for,” Hartley replied with an embarrassed look. “I’m glad it worked and you’re still with us.”
“Not just friends. Brothers,” Roscoe said firmly, beaming, and Hartley smiled back at him.
“I always wanted a brother. My sister’s amazing and you should meet her because you’ve both got a lot in common…we’ll just have to sneak her out of the house when my parents aren’t looking, because I’m a poor influence and showing her disability in public might make them look bad.” He rolled his eyes.
“Yes, I would like that. She’ll probably enjoy spending time with people who accept her, and we can have fun together,” Roscoe mused, wondering what it’d be like to have a younger sibling, or any sibling like himself.
“We can take her on an outing!” Lisa exclaimed. “Just the four of us, and we can go to the museum or the zoo or something.”
“Actually, maybe we can make it the five of us, since the new guy I’m seeing might like to go too,” Hartley suggested helpfully.
“Of course,” Roscoe said as Lisa squeezed his hand in encouragement. “I’d like to meet him as well, and maybe we adults can go out socially together sometime.”
“You mean like a double date?” Hartley grinned, and Roscoe thought about it for a moment and shrugged.
“Yes, I suppose it would be. Sounds good.”
Hartley smiled to himself and reflected upon the events of the last four months. It seemed like life was beginning to work out well for them, and he was happy.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 4103
Characters: Hartley Rathaway, Roscoe Dillon, Lisa Snart, Digger Harkness, Mick Rory, Sam Scudder.
Summary: How might Hartley's and Roscoe's lives have been improved if they'd become friends?
Warnings: Homophobia, profanity.
Notes: This story came about as I was reflecting on the many similarities between Roscoe and Hartley, which made me think they'd be natural allies. That isn't how things worked out in canon, of course, but canon Roscoe's personality/attitude really changed for the worse after he died, and I wondered about them forming an alliance before that point and what changes it might have made for them. Then I remembered that he canonically told only Lisa about his impending death before it happened, and pondered how things might have been different had he perhaps told someone else as well...and this whole story fell into place. I really do think the lives of Roscoe and Hartley would have been significantly improved if they'd had a friend who accepted them when they were with the Rogues, and absolutely think Roscoe would have been a better person if he had. It's too bad things didn't work out this way in canon.
“Knock knock,” Hartley announced, and Roscoe glanced up with a look of annoyance. He’d been tinkering with some new top designs and didn’t relish the interruption.
“Brought you some coffee,” Hartley said with a smile, and now Roscoe’s expression twisted into one of deep suspicion.
“Why?” he asked skeptically, eyeing it carefully for signs of tampering or perhaps some silly Trickster prank. No Rogue had ever done anything like that for him before, and it seemed unlikely that someone would start now.
“I thought it’d be nice,” Hartley explained with a bit of defensiveness. “I can take it away if you don’t want it. It’s just that we’ve never really had a conversation before, and one seems overdue.”
“Why?” Roscoe asked again, prompting Hartley to grimace in frustration. But the other man didn’t seem to be hostile or sneering, just puzzled and a bit suspicious, and that gave Hartley the courage to keep talking.
“So you’re autistic, right? You remind me so much of my sister Jerrie, who’s also on the spectrum. I just wanted to say that you’re not alone and I know how crappy people can be about the way they handle it. If you ever want to talk about it or just vent, I’m here,” Hartley said with an earnest smile.
Roscoe’s eyes widened with surprise and fear. “I am not. I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he retorted, but it was obvious from his reaction that he absolutely did. “Did you come here just to insult me?”
“What? There’s no insult, and there’s nothing wrong with being autistic! I love my sister, she’s the best person I know. It was just an observation, that’s all.”
“Don’t mention it to the others, I don’t want them getting any wrongful ideas,” Roscoe said sharply, anxiously beginning to rock slightly as he often did when agitated. “Even though it’s not true, Digger and Len will never let me hear the end of it.”
Hartley’s expression softened and he backed away from the gently teasing comment he was about to make, since he was all too familiar with difficult secrets and the mockery that often ensued. The Rogues were friends and sometimes a band of brothers, but that didn’t mean they weren’t cruel to each another. It was the entire reason he’d approached Roscoe, after all.
“I get it. All I’m saying is that I understand how tough it is, and you don’t need to worry about talking to me about it. I’ve got a lot of experience with this stuff.”
Roscoe let out a deep breath, and Hartley suddenly realized how burdened he was. “The prison shrinks say things. I don’t know if there’s any truth to their claims. But I don’t want any of it getting out into the media, because then the Rogues will know and so will my family. Do you know what kind of a disappointment I already am to my parents?” Roscoe asked with a thin smile.
“I can totally relate. My parents hate my guts for so many reasons, and it seems that everything I do shames and infuriates them further.” He paused for a few moments, wondering whether he could trust his colleague with one of his secrets, then decided to continue because he’d started the conversation. “I haven’t told the Rogues yet, but I was born deaf.”
Roscoe raised an eyebrow but looked interested. “Really? How are you able to hear?”
“With robotic implants my parents paid for in an attempt to fix their ‘damaged’ child,” Hartley replied with a wry grin. “They weren’t willing to have a less-than-perfect son, because think of the embarrassment. So I completely understand your concern about how your family would react, and that’s why I haven’t told the Rogues either. And look…because of my implants I can hear far better than anyone else, so I hear the shitty comments the guys make about me. And I know you’ve heard some of the shit they say about you, because your heartbeat quickens and you mutter about it under your breath sometimes. It feels awful, doesn’t it?”
With a frown, Roscoe looked down at the table in front of him. “So I presume that you’ve heard anything I’ve said about you.”
“Yup.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done it.”
Hartley smiled tiredly. “Thanks. It’s something I’m used to hearing, but it never feels good.”
“Why, then, are you being kind to me when I’ve been disrespectful to you?” Roscoe asked with genuine confusion and renewed suspicion that he’d been set up for something. Perhaps it was more mockery from the other Rogues, or maybe he was about to get in trouble.
“I was angry at the world for a really long time and I guess that’s part of why I became a Rogue. But eventually I realized that being angry at everyone didn’t do me any good, because pretty much everyone gossips, mutters, and gets mad at other people at least occasionally. But you and I have a lot in common and I thought it’d be helpful to get to know each other. Allies, right?”
Roscoe closed his eyes. “I don’t know how good an ally I would be for anyone. I am weird and awkward and crazy.”
“That’s just the others talking, and you shouldn’t listen to them,” Hartley said with a scowl. “What does Digger know? Is Mark some kind of psychologist? They’re just talking out of their asses like they do about every other subject, and you can’t let their words define you.”
“I think they’re right, though. If you heard the psychiatrists in prison…”
“To hell with the prison shrinks. It’s their livelihood to diagnose people with stuff, and they’ve got to justify keeping people in jail. I used to see a shrink even before becoming a Rogue, so I’m well-acquainted with their industry and the BS of the system. You may have mental health issues, but that doesn’t make you a bad person and it doesn’t set your destiny. Just trust me on this.”
Roscoe smiled slightly and looked over at Hartley, who was starting to get visibly worked up with his vehement speech that was clearly based on personal experience. The young musician seemed more passionately sincere than anyone he’d ever known, and it was oddly refreshing amongst a group which tended towards angry cynicism. Roscoe nodded and smiled again. “Of course. Allies, then.”
----
Hartley bounded into Roscoe’s workshop with an armful of tools and a great deal of excitement. “I was eating lunch and suddenly had some inspiration!” he enthused, and his colleague looked at him expectantly. “The resonator has to oscillate between eight thousand and seventy thousand Hertz!”
Roscoe frowned thoughtfully and began writing rapid calculations on a nearby pad of paper. “Oscillate at what pattern?”
“Randomly! That’ll keep the Flashes from easily vibrating through it! At best it’d take them multiple tries to get it right!”
Roscoe’s face widened into a grin. “Brilliant! I think you’ve got it!” He raced to write out all his thoughts in the form of equations, and quickly sketched a tentative diagram of a diode next to them. “What do you think?”
“I think we’ve got this one in the bag,” Hartley replied cheerfully as he picked up an open can of beer to celebrate. It had long since gone flat, but he didn’t care. “Sam’s gonna be so pleased, and nobody can say we aren’t pulling our weight in the group. Feels good.”
“It does,” Roscoe agreed, rocking happily. He began soldering a circuit board to put together the top’s first prototype, a soothing activity he’d always found enjoyable. “Maybe we’ll get invited to poker night.”
Hartley just laughed. “We might, but everybody constantly cheats at those games anyway. I can think of about ten things I’d rather do instead of that.”
“Perhaps, but I’d just like to be asked,” Roscoe shrugged, quite accustomed to being left out of social gatherings by his peers. He’d often told himself he didn’t want to do it anyway as a way to feel better about it, but had always known that was a lie.
“True.”
The duo sat in contented silence for a few minutes; Roscoe still tinkered with his new tops, while Hartley internally debated whether he should bring up a subject which had been bothering him for weeks. He now considered Roscoe to be a friend and someone whose company he enjoyed, but it was difficult to say how trustworthy he was. Rogues were Rogues, and frequently not very enlightened. At the same time, he wondered how his friend would react if he learned about certain personal information from another source, and decided that wasn’t the way he wanted the details released. He took a deep breath to steel himself.
“Hey, so, I’ve got something to tell you,” Hartley began, heart pounding in his chest with a booming roar that was almost overwhelming to his enhanced ears. Roscoe glanced over at him with a patiently curious expression, noting the other man’s obvious anxiety. He could relate.
Hartley wrung his hands as he worked up the courage to speak. What would he do if the one person who accepted him for being a fellow outsider now rejected him for his sexuality? He wasn’t sure if he could start over again with another friend, or if he’d even want to. “The reason my parents kicked me out is because I’m gay.”
Roscoe wrinkled his nose in confusion and put down his tools. “What, as in you find men attractive? Why would you do that when it could be women?”
“Why would you find women attractive when it could be men? I see the way you look at Len’s sister.”
“Touché,” Roscoe grinned, suddenly realizing how stupid his question had been. “Yes, you have a point. Do the others know?”
“I don’t think so,” Hartley said worriedly, “otherwise they’d never let me hear the end of it. I don’t know if I want to tell them for that reason, but it’s also something I don’t want them to learn because they see me on a date or something.”
“I wouldn’t tell them, at least any time soon, but obviously it’s not my call.”
“Tell us what?” came a familiar voice from behind them, and Hartley utterly wilted. Mick and Digger stood there expectantly, and James wasn’t far away.
“None of your business,” Roscoe said brusquely, but Hartley pulled himself to his full height and took a deep breath. Maybe this was a golden opportunity to get a heavy burden off his chest. He hated hiding who he was, especially from the guys who were supposed to be his comrades in arms.
“Guys, I’m gay.”
Mick shrugged, and Digger burst out laughing. “I shoulda known, mate. The signs were always there.”
“Digger, you are the last person who can cast aspersions at someone else’s personal life,” Roscoe snapped. “All you do is try and fail to pick up women, and never learn a damned thing from it.”
“Ah, fuck you, cunt, I’m just havin’ a bit of fun. It’s funny,” Digger retorted languidly. He didn’t seem offended or disgusted by Hartley’s revelation, but had a mocking expression on his face which made the others uncomfortable; it seemed like he wasn’t intending to let this go anytime soon. “Why would you want to defend him, anyway?”
“Because I know him and he’s a good guy, and I like him a lot more than I like you.”
“Don’t know why I bother, mate, when there are so many pricks around here,” Digger waved to dismiss him. “Just don’t choke on Piper’s donger or anything.”
“What are you, twelve?” Hartley demanded irritably. “I’m a professional, just like you allegedly are, and I don’t mix business and relationships. Please stop acting like you’re in middle school.”
“Don’t listen to Digger, he’s stupid and drunk,” Mick interjected calmly, hoping to de-escalate the situation before it got worse.
“And about to be thrown out on his ass,” Roscoe rumbled, cracking his knuckles, but Sam finally intervened.
“Knock it off, you goddamned idiots, and save the fighting for the Flash. It’s not against the rules to be gay, and it seems like more guys are on Piper’s side than Digger’s.” What Sam didn’t say was that he too wasn’t straight, but it was a secret he planned to take to his grave as far as the Rogues were concerned. He cast the group a final warning look, but it was clear from Digger’s face that the conflict wasn’t over. The belligerent Australian stormed out of the room in search of another beer and someone who might listen to him vent.
“Thanks, guys, this really means a lot,” Hartley said gratefully to those who’d stood up for him. “I felt I had to say something to be true to myself, and I’m so glad you didn’t turn your backs on me like my parents did.”
“You are my friend, and you’ve defended me when I needed it,” Roscoe told him in the same earnest tone Jerrie used when she was proud of something, and Hartley smiled at the similarity. “I’ve never had a gay friend before, so this will be new and interesting.”
Hartley cringed at the awkward comment but decided the sentiment was well-intended, so he smiled generously and let it slide. “Thanks, man.”
“I got nothing against gay people, because my cousin is gay. You’re okay by me,” Mick said sincerely. “Besides, I get real tired of Digger’s big mouth sometimes, and he needs to be encouraged to shut it.”
Hartley had to laugh. “Yeah, I think we can all agree on that. Your support’s appreciated.”
“Just let us know when he starts it again, because he undoubtedly will,” Roscoe said firmly, to which Hartley nodded. “And you’ve inspired me…I think I will ask Lisa out. You had the guts to tell people your secret, so I can be brave enough to ask her. There are worse things than being told no.”
“Hey, that’s awesome, and good luck! Tell us how it goes,” Hartley enthused with an amiable grin, crossing his fingers surreptitiously on his friend's behalf. And a strange smile spread over Mick’s face as he thought about what this meant for his best-worst frenemy, because he couldn’t wait for the fireworks with Len to begin.
----
Hartley used his key to let himself into Roscoe’s apartment, which was quiet and unusually dark and gave him a distinct sense of foreboding. He’d gotten Lisa’s urgent message and hurried over, thinking the two of them would be there.
“Hello?” he called out, and a few moments later he saw Lisa’s tear-stained face peering from a doorway.
“Oh my God!” Hartley fretted, hurrying over to her and offering a quick hug. “What happened? Are you all right?”
Her lip trembled and more tears began to fall. “I’m fine, but he’s very sick…” she began softly, and Hartley rushed past her into the darkened bedroom.
“I came as soon as I could. How can I help?” Hartley blurted out as he glanced around and his eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness. He saw Roscoe lying motionless on the bed with a wet cloth over his eyes, and his heart pounded with worry for his friend.
“Thank you, but there’s nothing you can do,” the man on the bed said tiredly, pain evident in his voice. “My brain cells are heating up because of my new powers’ interaction with the Flash’s speed vibrations, and it will soon kill me. Probably got only a day or two left.”
“Bull!” Hartley exclaimed abruptly, a little faster and louder than intended, and Roscoe winced at the noise. “You and I are geniuses, so let’s get to work.”
Roscoe exhaled heavily. “No…I…I just want to enjoy the time I’ve got left. With Lisa and you. You’re the most important people in my life.”
“I love you too, man, but we’re not giving up that easily,” Hartley said firmly. “Tell me all about this and show me the data you’ve got, and we can begin.”
Lisa touched Hartley’s shoulder and pulled him to look at her. “Do you really think you can help? Tell me honestly, with no false hope bullshit.”
“I think there’s a very real possibility, but can’t say for sure until I know more about it,” Hartley told her with sincerity, looking into her eyes so she could judge his intentions. She studied him carefully for a few moments, then clutched Roscoe’s hand.
“Then we have to try. Please, baby, I don’t want to lose you so soon after we found each other,” she pleaded. “You’re two of the smartest people I know, and I’ll help in any way I can. We’ll still be spending time together, even if this doesn’t work.”
“I…okay,” Roscoe sighed, unable to argue with the distress on her face. He grimaced at the thought of her hope being raised for naught but realized there was nothing he’d be able to do about it. “My notes are in the workshop, along with all the monitoring equipment.”
“Then let’s get started,” Hartley said briskly as he jumped to his feet.
***
“So my theory is that the right harmonic frequency can quiet your brain cells,” Hartley explained after reviewing the notes. “I don’t know for sure if it’ll work, but it’s definitely worth trying.”
“How will we find the correct frequency?” Roscoe asked skeptically, doing his best to think about their options despite the overwhelming pain in his head. He let out a groan of frustration and agony, and Lisa handed him a fresh cool cloth with a gentle encouraging smile.
“That’s the catch,” Hartley admitted ruefully. “If we go too far in the wrong direction, it might make things worse. Much worse.” He had no desire to watch his friend’s head explode.
“We know the range of the Flash’s usual vibrational frequencies, so that’s a rough starting point,” Roscoe suggested, and Hartley began writing calculations on the paper in front of him.
“Agreed. We’d probably want to avoid the extreme ends of that range, but it’s something to work with,” Hartley said. “If you’re up to it, maybe you can run some numbers to narrow down the range while I build a device. Lisa, I could use some help with that.”
“Of course,” she agreed, springing to her feet and planting a quick kiss on Roscoe’s cheek. He smiled at her, and pushed through the pain to concentrate while the others began construction of the sonic emitter.
***
“Hanging in there?” Hartley asked sympathetically, and Roscoe awoke with a violent twitch. He’d rested his aching head on the table sometime earlier and had inadvertently dozed off.
“Yes, I…I don’t know how much time has passed,” he said in a confused panic, but Hartley put a gentle hand on his shoulder.
“It’s okay. Lisa and I built the sonic device and made another machine to do a few test runs, and we know it works. It’s just a matter of finding the right frequency. Did you have any luck with that?”
“I believe so,” Roscoe said in a woozy tone, battling double vision and looking notably worse than when they’d left him. “I think I’ve narrowed down the range to this, and it seems accurate.”
“That’s great! Really helpful,” Hartley said sincerely as he looked at the numbers and made some of his own calculations in his head. He knew he had to treat the work carefully because his friend’s mental state may have been precarious; he was concerned that the disease’s symptoms might be mimicking the ravages of dementia. But the math seemed to add up, even if its creator was obviously quite ill.
“I feel very hot,” Roscoe complained, and began unbuttoning his shirt. Sweat poured freely down his reddened face, and Hartley knew they were running out of time. He called Lisa away from tinkering with the sonic device, and together the two of them half-coaxed and half-pushed Roscoe to sit in front of the machine in the other room.
“Need to lie down,” Roscoe murmured softly, trying to get down on the floor, and Lisa hurried to grab some restraints to keep him sitting in the chair.
“It’s not the first time I’ve tied him to a chair,” she sniffed at Hartley, who knew better than to ask further.
“Okay, I’ve programmed the range of frequencies,” Hartley said after typing a sequence of numbers into the sonic device. “I don’t think any of these will hurt him, and hopefully at least one will do the trick.”
Lisa nodded, all too aware of the uncertainty in the words I don’t think. It was also clear that they didn’t have more time to adjust the settings or run further safety tests. “Do it.”
Hartley handed her earplugs of his own design and placed a headset to protect his own hearing over his ears. He activated the sonic device with a muttered prayer, and it slowly hummed to life before blasting the first frequency at its languishing subject.
There was no change, and Hartley pressed the button to switch to the next frequency.
There was also no change.
“`m dying,” Roscoe slurred, and Hartley believed him. Even with his protective headset he could hear the other man’s breathing slowing and becoming increasingly laboured.
“Hang on, baby, we’re not finished yet,” Lisa shouted encouragingly, tears running down her face. She wanted to run to her boyfriend to comfort him, but it was potentially dangerous to stand in the path of the sound blasts.
The third frequency was also unfruitful, and Hartley was beginning to get frantic. Please, please…
The sixth frequency was about halfway through the sound range, but Roscoe had become unresponsive, held upright only by the chair’s restraints. Eyes blurring with tears, Hartley activated the seventh frequency, and--
--Roscoe let out a howl of pain, eyes wide open like he’d been electrocuted. He gasped as his body lolled weakly, unable to exert any force on his bonds, but then fixed his gaze on Lisa for the first time since he’d been placed in the chair.
“Did it work?” he asked repeatedly in a daze as the others untied the restraints and helped him to the floor. Hartley concentrated for thirty seconds, listening to his steady heartbeat and respiration, and smiled through tears.
“Yeah, I think it did.”
***
They’d taken Roscoe to get some rest in bed, with Lisa holding him tightly as they slept, and Hartley collapsed onto the couch after twenty-six hours of intense work. It was a contented and almost dreamless sleep for the young musician, and it was very much needed. Eventually he realized that Lisa was gently shaking him awake, and he blinked up at her in bleary-eyed confusion.
“He’s awake, and would like to talk to you,” she said gratefully. With a yawn, Hartley followed her into the bedroom and found Roscoe propped up in bed with a grin that widened when he saw his friend.
“You saved my life and gave me a second chance. Thank you.”
“That’s what friends are for,” Hartley replied with an embarrassed look. “I’m glad it worked and you’re still with us.”
“Not just friends. Brothers,” Roscoe said firmly, beaming, and Hartley smiled back at him.
“I always wanted a brother. My sister’s amazing and you should meet her because you’ve both got a lot in common…we’ll just have to sneak her out of the house when my parents aren’t looking, because I’m a poor influence and showing her disability in public might make them look bad.” He rolled his eyes.
“Yes, I would like that. She’ll probably enjoy spending time with people who accept her, and we can have fun together,” Roscoe mused, wondering what it’d be like to have a younger sibling, or any sibling like himself.
“We can take her on an outing!” Lisa exclaimed. “Just the four of us, and we can go to the museum or the zoo or something.”
“Actually, maybe we can make it the five of us, since the new guy I’m seeing might like to go too,” Hartley suggested helpfully.
“Of course,” Roscoe said as Lisa squeezed his hand in encouragement. “I’d like to meet him as well, and maybe we adults can go out socially together sometime.”
“You mean like a double date?” Hartley grinned, and Roscoe thought about it for a moment and shrugged.
“Yes, I suppose it would be. Sounds good.”
Hartley smiled to himself and reflected upon the events of the last four months. It seemed like life was beginning to work out well for them, and he was happy.