Chapter 8: Things You Can't Outrun
The air in S.T.A.R. Labs still felt heavy, not with ozone, but with the lingering questions surrounding my "performance" against Multiplex. Caitlin had been poring over my blood samples, her brow perpetually furrowed, occasionally muttering things like "anomalous protein structures" and "unprecedented cellular regeneration." I just tried to look innocent and occasionally offer to fetch her coffee. Being a walking science experiment is exhausting. And I'm pretty sure Wells is watching my every move, trying to figure out if I'm a threat or just a really weird, useful anomaly.
Then, Kyle Nimbus, The Mist, made his chilling debut.
"He can turn into a poisonous gas?" Barry exclaimed, reviewing the police report. "How do you even fight that?"
"You don't, Barry. You contain it. And you definitely don't let him into a confined space. Or anywhere near a grieving scientist." "You don't fight it, Barry," I said, leaning against the console. "You contain it. He's a gas. Gases need… containment. And a very specific kind of containment. Something that can solidify him, or at least, trap him in a vacuum. And you need to be careful. He's not just a gas; he's a neurotoxin."
Caitlin nodded, her scientific mind already racing. "Adam's right. We need a way to neutralize his gaseous form. Perhaps a high-frequency sonic pulse to disrupt his molecular structure, or a chemical agent that can bind to his particles."
While Cisco and Caitlin brainstormed, Wells offered his usual "wise" counsel, subtly pushing them towards solutions that would benefit his own agenda. I kept my mouth shut, letting them figure it out, only offering a nudge here and there if they veered too far off track. My main concern in this episode, however, wasn't just the Mist. It was Caitlin.
I found her later that evening, alone in her lab, staring at a holographic projection of Ronnie Raymond. Her shoulders were slumped, and her eyes were red-rimmed. The weight of her grief, always present, seemed heavier tonight.
"Okay, Adam. This is it. Be the human. Be the anchor. Don't be the guy who knows the future. Just be Adam."
I approached quietly, setting a mug of steaming tea beside her. "Rough day, Doc?"
She jumped, startled, quickly wiping her eyes. "Adam! I didn't… I didn't hear you come in."
"I'm a ninja," I deadpanned, pulling up a stool beside her. "Or maybe you're just really good at zoning out. Which, given the circumstances, is probably a survival skill."
She gave a small, watery chuckle. "Yeah, well, it's just… Nimbus. He was on death row. And then the explosion happened. It just makes you think about… how fragile everything is. How quickly it can all be taken away." Her gaze drifted back to Ronnie's image. "I miss him, Adam. So much. It feels like it was yesterday, and a lifetime ago, all at once."
I reached out, gently placing a hand on her arm. Her skin was cool beneath my touch. "I know," I said softly, my voice devoid of its usual sarcasm. "Grief isn't something you just 'get over,' Caitlin. It's a part of you now. It's a testament to how much you loved him. And that's okay. It's okay to hurt. It's okay to miss him. It's okay to not be okay."
She looked at me, her eyes glistening. "How do you… how do you know that?"
I shrugged, a small, sad smile on my face. "I've… I've lost people too. Not like you, maybe. But I know what it feels like to have a piece of your world just… vanish. And the only way through it is to let yourself feel it. And to talk about it. Don't bottle it up, Caitlin. You've got people here who care about you. People who will listen." I squeezed her arm gently. "Like me."
She leaned her head on my shoulder then, a quiet, shuddering breath escaping her. Her hair smelled faintly of chemicals and something sweet, like vanilla. I instinctively wrapped an arm around her, a comforting, platonic embrace. But even as I offered comfort, I felt the subtle shift in the air between us. The unspoken words, the lingering touch, the shared vulnerability. The romantic tension, always simmering, was now a palpable warmth.
"Thank you, Adam," she whispered, her voice muffled against my shirt. "Thank you for being here."
"Always, Doc," I murmured, my gaze fixed on the holographic image of Ronnie. This is tough. Being the shoulder to cry on for the woman you're falling for, while she's crying over someone else. Talk about a dramatic irony.
Later, I found Barry in the hallway, looking troubled. "It's just… Nimbus," he said, running a hand through his hair. "He was a bad guy. But he was also a victim. It's hard to reconcile."
"Yeah, well, welcome to being a hero, Barry," I said, a dry chuckle escaping me. "It's not always black and white. Sometimes, the villains are just people who got dealt a really bad hand. Your job isn't always to punch them. Sometimes, it's to understand them. Or contain them. Or, you know, just make sure they don't turn into a giant cloud of death."
My words seemed to resonate with him. He nodded, a thoughtful expression on his face. "You always make me think, Adam. You're… weirdly wise."
"It's the pop-culture references," I deadpanned. "They teach you things. Like, never trust a guy who can turn into gas. Or a guy who wears a yellow suit." I quickly corrected myself. "No, wait, scratch that last one. Just… be wary of yellow suits."
He laughed, a genuine, unburdened sound. "Got it. Wary of yellow suits."
As the day ended, and Nimbus was successfully contained (thanks to Cisco's quick thinking and my subtle nudges), I felt a sense of quiet accomplishment. Not just because we'd stopped a metahuman, but because I'd been there for my friends. I'd helped Caitlin grieve, and I'd helped Barry navigate the moral complexities of his new life. The Adapt System might be dormant, but my human side was working overtime. And for now, that was enough.