#reversepiper

"You never loved me."

Hartley's voice was quieter than it had been but no less harsh as he glared at the older man through the glass. He knew it was well after hours - that was the only time Harrison bothered to come speak to him, when he could shut off the security cameras and talk openly without worrying about his team hearing their conversations. So Hartley didn't feel it necessary to hide his emotions either. The man had seen him naked, after all, it was hard to get more vulnerable.

"No. I didn't."

Hartley had expected some more bullshit lies about how he had loved Hartley, would always love Hartley, or something similar. The blunt statement hit him like a physical punch and he looked away, fighting the lump that formed in his throat. He'd cried enough over this man, he definitely didn't want to cry in front of him. He let out a forced, miserable, pained laugh.

"So, what, I was just...just stress relief? An easy fuck?"

"Yes."

Hartley felt like the air had been sucked out of his lungs. He couldn't breathe, couldn't speak. God, it hurt. The rejection, the cruel dismissal, it hurt so damn much. He knew it was true, but he'd still thought…he'd thought maybe there had been something real between them. That Harrison cared about him, even just a little. But of course that was too much to ask for, far too much to hope for.

"Hartley." God, that condescending tone was grating. "Does that really upset you? You knew it wasn't anything more. I cared about you, as one of my best employees. You were my guy. Not my partner."

"Who's your 'guy' now? Ramon?" Hartley spat, trying to override the overwhelming grief with venom and anger. It didn't quite work, his voice shook and his hands were trembling, but at least the tears stayed back.

Harrison removed his glasses, completely unbothered. "I'm not sure what you want me to say. I got what I needed and now we're done."

Another knife straight to the heart, Hartley wasn't sure how much more he could take. But he managed to not crumble right then and there, breathing through the pain.

"Does your pet Flash know this side of you?" Hartley sneered, his tone bitter. "How long until he figures out who you really are now that he knows I warned you about the accelerator?"

Harrison's face hardened a bit, the first sign of real emotion he'd seen from the man...maybe ever. But the flicker of emotion was gone as quickly as it had come.

"Nemo mortalium omnibus horis sapit. I made a horrible mistake but Barry will see that it was just that - a mistake."

Hartley tsked. "Factum fieri infectum non potest."

"Indeed." Harrison replied, turning away from him. "Goodnight, Hartley."

The moment the door to the pipeline closed, Hartley fell back against the wall of his cell and slumped to the ground, feeling broken and empty as he choked on a sob. Harrison Wells had taken everything from him - his future, his career, his heart - and for what? Nothing. Harrison had given him nothing. He was nothing to Harrison.

-----

translation:

Nemo mortalium omnibus horis sapit. No man is wise at all times.

I watched him closely, noting every subtle flicker of disdain beneath that polished, detached exterior. Harrison sat there, composed as ever, sparing only a half-interested glance in my direction as I stopped in his office doorway before returning his focus to some unassuming paperwork, likely another layer to his meticulously constructed façade.

He looked up finally, calm and entirely unbothered, his gaze as detached as if I were a momentary distraction rather than the thorn in his side I'd become. His mouth pulled into a faint smile, thin and devoid of warmth. "Hartley," he said, his tone clipped. The way he'd said my name almost sounded like a slur. "What are you doing?"

It was a fair enough question; the last time we'd been alone, I'd attacked him. I was pretty sure if Allen had noticed I'd lingered behind, he wouldn't have sped off so quickly. But here we were.

I shifted my posture, tilting my head to fix him with a practiced look that was far more confident than I felt. "Nemo tenetur armare adversarium contra se."

"Equo debeo credite?" Harrison asked, spreading his hands in something of a shrug. As though he didn't already know the Trojan Horse he'd invited in.

I stepped forward, just enough to force his attention fully onto me. "You know, I saw someone in your home that night," I said, watching him carefully. "A figure, standing in the hall."

Harrison's expression remained carefully neutral. He was always unreadable, except to me. I knew when he was pretending. I knew when something - someone - was a threat.

His fingers tapped idly against the desk. "Hartley, I live alone."

I huffed out a laugh. "Oh, I know. You see, I didn't just see someone. I saw the way he held himself, the way he moved, the way he ran." I let my gaze sweep over him, down to the chair, back up again, deliberately.

For the first time, I saw the barest flicker of something in his eyes.

I leaned in slightly, voice dropping to something conspiratorial. "So tell me, Harrison - where was your wheelchair when I was escaping S.T.A.R. Labs?"

Silence.

The kind of silence that held something, waiting.

His fingers flexed just slightly against the desk before he stilled them, as if catching himself. But I wasn't going to stop - not until I had torn the truth out of him, even if it destroyed me in the process.

"Be careful," he warned softly, an echo of something he'd told me once before, under very different circumstances.

I remembered it all too well. The first time I had ever called him Harrison, without the formality, the distance. The way he had tilted my chin up, brushing his thumb across my jaw with the kind of deliberate intimacy that had made me lightheaded. "Be careful, Hartley," he'd murmured then, a warning with less of an edge.

I was careful. I had been careful. And it hadn't mattered.

He continued. "It wouldn't be wise to make baseless accusations, especially ones with evidence to the contrary."

"Falsus in uno, falsus in omnibus," I countered.

"Fere libenter homines id quod volunt credunt." A clear dismissal.

I scoffed, unwilling to let him have the last word, and shifted tactics.

"I listen in on a lot of parties I'm not invited to," I said coolly, my tone laced with the barest edge of a threat. "I hear things, Harrison. More than you'd like, I'm sure."

Harrison's smile barely moved. "Then I'll be sure to speak louder."

I grit my teeth, unable to shake the feeling of his condescension slipping under my skin like a sliver of glass.

"Hartley, by all means, if you have something to say then you should say it." He continued, leaning back in his chair and removing his glasses. "What, exactly, have you heard that you think needs addressing?"

His gaze swept over me, cool and assessing. That was his trick, wasn't it? Always playing the calm, collected mentor. But, somewhere beneath that well-tailored kindness, I knew he was itching to get rid of me. He just needed the right excuse.

I let the moment stretch, let him wonder just how much I was holding back before finally responding.

"Maybe you should ask Gideon instead. She seems to have all the answers."

For a fraction of a second, something else flickered through him, something deep and old and wrong. I had the ridiculous thought that he was about to lunge at me. That he could. That he would.

Instead, he only smiled. The kind of smile that had made me want to follow him anywhere, once. That smile didn't waver but his patience clearly had.

"Get out, Hartley," he said, voice a dangerous, silken whisper. I felt the phantom brush of his fingers still, a firm grip on my chin. He always managed to twist me at just the wrong angle. 

"You'll never truly replace me, you know." I was pushing my luck, I knew. 

There was a little animation in his bearing, one hand clenching and unclenching as though fantasizing what it might be like to wrap his fingers around my throat. To still the frantic beat of my heart with one smooth motion. 

"On the contrary, I've never had someone be so easily discarded before. It's a feat, even for you."

The insult stung, quickening my pulse and sending heat flooding to my face despite the effort I'd expended to soothe my nerves. Pointless. Wasted effort. He'd always known just how to needle his way beneath my skin.

"Is that a fact?" I asked, tone carefully light. There. The smallest of tics in his jaw. No one else would have seen it. 

"We can finish this conversation later." 

"Promise?" I said, a mocking edge to the word. 

"Get out. Now." 

I took a step back, giving ground. For now. I'd be back. He wouldn't shake me that easily and he knew it. I gave him the sort of flourishing little bow I'd give after performing a concerto. Again, the slightest twitch of the muscle in his jaw. He was slipping. Check.

"Don't worry," I called over my shoulder. "I'll see myself out."

~~~~~

translations:

Nemo tenetur armare adversarium contra se - No one is required to arm an opponent against himself

Equo debeo credite? - Should I trust the (Trojan) horse?

Falsus in uno, falsus in omnibus - Liar in one, liar in all