I'm in the middle of a decently written (in my humble opinion) Harry Wells x Caitlin Snow fic. It's set in an AU where Harrison is a lecturer at a private university (the Particle Accelerator ruined his right leg) and Caitlin becomes his assistant (against his will). Lots of Harry and Cisco angst. It's a slow burn. Lots of touchy feely. Just wondering if anyone wants to read my angst and hurt/comfort fest in which Harry wants to build a time machine to bring back his wife and daughter (and he's willing to do the unspeakable) and the rest of the squad try and make him feel loved.
Here's an extract:
Snowflakes nipped at Harrison's face. They were well into November, now. He ought to find a better jacket. A scarf, he has somewhere. Bah, like it mattered.
His skull thudded as he neared Lecture Hall Delta, and he gritted his teeth as the wave of noise he was about to plunge into increased. Chatter filled his ears. Squeals, booming voices of young adults who thought they knew the world. Some still looked at him with shining eyes, he noticed, but those he could count on his right hand. The rest looked at him as those who had handed in their resignations two years ago. Some were embarrassed to be in the same room as Harrison Wells. Others enjoyed seeing a great man reduced to a shell, damn them.
Harrison slammed through the doors. When he did, a fraction of the burble ceased for a moment. He didn’t look at the seats, he simply took his time in walking towards the speaking platform. Then he threw his briefcase onto the wobbly chair, pulled on the microphone so that it aligned with his lips, and leaned in.
“Everybody shut,” he began, “...up.”
Within three seconds, he had silence.
“Thank you. Now. To begin: I am badly hungover.” You could have heard a pin drop as he pronounced those four words into the little black mic. “If you know what I am meant to load into your heads today, put up your hand.”
No hands rose, which was odd. Harrison frowned and adjusted his cane. His stupid leg was throbbing.
“So we all forgot our timetables and study material, did we?”
A few mutters began rippling across the hall. Something like the first sift of snow that would soon give into an avalanche.
“I will ask again. Whoever answers gets an A for the next assignment.”
Harrison realised he had forgotten his glasses, and his spare pair was in his office, halfway across the facilities. He pointed at the nearest hand that rose into the air.
“You. I don’t have my glasses, I apologise for my manners. Your name?”
“Barry Allen, sir,” said the boy. He had the voice of an adolescent about halfway through his pubescent journey.
“As promised, an A for you, Mr Allen. What do we study next?”
“Er… Theory on the Acceleration of Particulate Matter, sir.”
Harrison paused. Ho, so that’s why the air had gone as viscous as syrup. They were all simply watching his face with baited breath. Well, what the hell, did they think he was going to run off crying?
He bent his head and burst out in a derisive laugh, thudding his fingers on the speaking platform. He shook his head as the noise rattled around the hall like a skeleton in a sombrero and a cheap stick-on moustache.
“How funny. That’s funny. You couldn’t find a better man to teach this to you, could you?” He laughed again, then gestured at the board with an open hand. “Who wants another A? If anybody can come down here and introduce the subject while I go and fetch my glasses, they will have it.”
The same hand waved. Another did beside it.
“Mr Allen, you can’t get two As in one assignment, but your classmate here will do. Your name?”
“Walter Melon, Doctor.”
If he didn’t recognise the voice that had spoken it, he would have probably been made a fool and given Walter Melon an A. But he did. His heart clenched, and he grew angry, yet he shook himself off. He stared at the black bob that had risen next to the Allen boy.
“Don’t you have a job to do, Mr Ramone?” he said evenly.
“Not one I can’t do later, sir.”
“And you have chosen this particular hall to sit in while you pass time, have you?”
There was a pause, then: “I just think your lectures are cool, professor.”
Harrison read the paragraphs concealed within this reply. I once thought you were cool too, Harry Wells. I once thought I was like a son to you.
Harrison ignored all that, and gave him a dry smile. He wasn’t going to deal with this at the moment. He pointed at the board.
“Be my guest, Mr Ramone. After all, you know just as much as I do on the matter.”
