The steakhouse was all warm wood and low lighting, the air rich with the smell of seared meat and roasted herbs. For over an hour, the world had shrunk to the size of their table. Barry listened, utterly captivated, as Patty launched into a story about a suspect who'd tried to disguise his voice by talking like a cartoon mouse.
"So I'm trying to keep a straight face," she said, gesturing with her fork, "while this guy is squeaking, 'I swear, officer, it wasn't me!' Meanwhile, my partner, Fred, is in the observation room losing it. I could hear him wheezing through the glass."
Barry laughed, the sound easy and genuine. He wasn't just listening; he was watching her. The way her eyes crinkled when she found a story funny, the animated way she used her hands. He found himself thinking about the other Barry, the one from the TV show. That Barry had let this woman walk away. How? How could anyone, having found someone so vibrantly, wonderfully real, ever let them go?
The thought solidified into a decision. He wanted to share more with her. All of it.
"You know what?" he said, interrupting her mid-sentence about a paperwork fiasco. He stood up, dropping a few bills on the table to cover the check. "I've got something I want to show you."
Patty blinked. "Right now? Barry, I haven't even finished my creme brulee."
"It'll be here when we get back. I promise. Trust me?" He offered his hand.
She looked at his outstretched hand, then up at his face, seeing the quiet excitement there. With a shrug and a smile, she took it. "Okay, Mr. Allen. Impress me."
He led her outside into a quiet, deserted alleyway behind the restaurant. The city sounds were a distant hum.
"So, is this where you finally reveal your secret lair?" Patty joked, leaning against a brick wall.
"Something like that." He took both her hands in his, his expression turning serious but warm. "Just… try to relax. And don't let go."
She was about to ask what he meant when she felt it. It wasn't a jolt or a shock. It was a warmth that started where their hands met, a buzzing, alive feeling that flowed up her arms and spread through her entire body in a wave. It was like her very blood had been replaced with liquid light. Her vision sharpened impossibly; she could see the individual fibers on Barry's jacket. The distant sound of a car horn stretched out into a long, low drone. The world around her seemed to slow, caught in syrup.
"Barry?" Her own voice sounded strange, drawn-out and deep.
He grinned, a flash of pure, lightning-fast joy. "Let's go for a run."
He was a blur of motion, but this time, she saw it. She saw the air part around him. And then he was gone. Not just fast, but gone. A streak of red and gold vanished down the alley, leaving behind the smell of ozone and a trail of fading light.
Patty stood frozen, her mind scrambling to catch up. What just—? Where did he—?
She instinctively took a step forward to follow, to see where he went.
The world exploded.
Not in sound and fire, but in silent, overwhelming motion. The alley walls melted into streaks of color. The ground vanished beneath her feet. She was flying, but she knew she was running. A gasp caught in her throat, and as she looked down, she saw her own body wreathed not in gold, but in brilliant, crackling purple lightning.
In the space between heartbeats, Barry was back at her side, running effortlessly backward to face her. The wind of their passage didn't batter her; it was a gentle river flowing around them.
"You're a natural!" he shouted, his voice perfectly clear in the roaring silence of their speed.
"What did you DO?!" she yelled back, her voice a normal pitch in her own ears. She looked at her hands, trailing violet energy. "Is this… is this what it's like for you?"
"Just about! I gave you a little temporary boost! A taste of the Speed Force!"
They shot out of the city limits in seconds, the lights of Central City shrinking to a glittering jewel behind them. They hit a open plain, and Barry, still holding her hand, began to run in a wide, easy circle. To Patty, it was like they were standing in the center of a spinning, star-dusted vortex, the landscape a beautiful, swirling painting.
As they slowed to a stop, the world gently snapping back into its normal pace, the first thing Patty did was punch him in the arm. It wasn't a hard punch, but it was heartfelt.
"You jerk!" she said, but she was laughing, her eyes wide with exhilaration. "You could've warned me! I almost had a heart attack!" She looked down at her hands again, the purple light fading. "So… you can just… give people speed? Since when?"
Barry shrugged, a little sheepishly. "It's a new trick. Turns out, it helps when you're the one who started it all."
Patty stared at him. The implications of that simple sentence were staggering. "Started… it all? Barry, what does that mean? Did you, like, invent super-speed?"
He leaned against the hood of a parked, rusted-out car that sat in the middle of the field. The moon was high and bright above them.
"It's not like I built it in a lab," he began, searching for the right words. "The night I got my powers, the lightning bolt, the chemicals… it wasn't just that I got connected to a power that was already there. That event… it was a spark. My life, my desire to be more, to be a hero, the unique energy of that moment… it all acted like a cosmic generator. I was the spark that ignited the engine.."
He looked out at the dark horizon, his mind somewhere else. "I ran so fast, I broke through the wall of reality. I became a living thunderbolt. And in that moment, when I was pushing against the nothingness, I didn't just tap into a energy that was already there… I created the connection. I forged the first path. My run birthed the Speed Force into our dimension. It's like… I laid down the first set of rails, and now every speedster who comes after runs on the tracks I made."
He looked back at her, his expression soft. "Because I made it, I understand it. It's a part of me. And that means I can share it. Like I just did with you."
Patty was silent for a long moment, absorbing this. Her boyfriend, the man who got nervous if he burned their toast, was the cosmic progenitor of an fundamental energy force. It was too big to fully grasp.
"So," she said slowly, a smile playing on her lips. "You're basically the grandpa of all speedsters."
Barry burst out laughing. "I guess I am."
She pushed off from the car and walked up to him, placing her hands on his chest. The residual energy of the Speed Force still hummed faintly between them, a comfortable warmth.
"Thank you," she said, her voice sincere. "For sharing that with me. For trusting me with… all of it. The wizard brother, the timeship, the fact that you're a living god of motion."
"You make it sound way more impressive than it is," he murmured, wrapping his arms around her.
"It is impressive," she insisted. "But you know what's more impressive?"
"What?"
"That you still owe me a creme brulee."
He laughed again, the sound echoing in the quiet field. He looked at her—really looked at her. Her face was lit by the moonlight, her hair still slightly windswept from their run. She wasn't afraid. She wasn't running away. She was here, with him, making jokes and demanding desserts.
The other Barry, the one on the screen, he had no idea what he was missing. This Barry knew. He held onto her a little tighter.
"Alright, alright," he said. "One creme brulee, coming right up."
In a flicker of gold light, they were gone from the field, leaving behind only two faintly smoking footprints in the grass and the quiet night to keep its secrets.
A/N
About the creation of the speed force, a little bit exaggerated I know.