"Good to see you're doing better," Jude said, watching the last of the chicken bone disappear into the paper bag. "Now—if you'd come with me, Professor Stein."
The effect was immediate. Stein took two sharp steps backward, and a thread of amber light flickered between his fingers before he caught himself.
"No need for that." Jude kept his voice easy, unhurried. "If I meant you harm, I wouldn't have led with free fried chicken. That's just not how threats work." He spread his hands. "I have a friend at S.T.A.R. Labs. You've been using her fiancé's body for the better part of nine months. Caitlin wants to help him—help both of you—so here I am."
Stein's hands slowly lowered. The light faded. He was quiet for a long moment.
"I understand what she's going through," he said at last. "I do. And I'm sorry for it. But I can't simply give him back to her. I don't know how."
"And your wife?" Jude let that land gently. "Do you want to see Clarissa for the rest of your life from across the street, wearing someone else's face? Even if you could accept living rough in Central City indefinitely—could you really accept losing her?"
The effect of that question was visible. Something moved behind Stein's eyes—pain, precise and old, like pressing on a bruise that had never healed.
He had gone back to their house about a month after the explosion, still half-delirious, still not fully understanding the shape of what had happened to him. He'd known his body had changed. He'd known Ronnie's face was looking back at him from every reflective surface. And he'd gone anyway, because the pull of home was stronger than the cold logic of the situation.
Clarissa had answered the door to a stranger.
"Who are you? How did you get in?"
"The spare key—under the stone by the front step. You always forget yours."
It was the kind of thing that, between two people who had been married for decades, would have been nothing—a small, affectionate shorthand. Said by a strange young man who had appeared uninvited in her house, it had frightened her badly enough to call the police. He'd realized what was happening and run, wandering the streets for hours as the gap between his old life and this new one opened up into a chasm he still hadn't found the bottom of.
"I'll find my own way through this," Stein said quietly. The words had the hollow sound of something he'd been telling himself for a long time.
"With respect, Professor—you can't. Not right now." Jude kept his voice matter-of-fact, completely devoid of pity. "You need a laboratory, medical equipment, research materials, funding. At the moment, you're struggling to eat. Those things aren't compatible." He paused. "S.T.A.R. Labs has everything you need. Dr. Wells is there. I know what you think of him, and I'm not here to argue with that. But he has resources. And everyone working there just wants to get their lives back, same as you."
Stein's jaw tightened. "Wells is the reason I'm standing here in someone else's body. I admire his mind. I understand, on an intellectual level, that he didn't intend what happened. But forgiveness is a different matter entirely."
"Completely reasonable," Jude agreed.
Stein blinked. "...You came here to persuade me on S.T.A.R. Labs' behalf."
"I came here to give you good advice. Whether you take it is your business." Jude shrugged. "Personal grievances are personal. Whatever scores you have to settle with Wells—that's between you and him. All I'm offering is the door in. Come to the lab, get the help you need, and if you want to have it out with the man directly, nobody's going to stop you."
A beat.
"He's still in the wheelchair, by the way. You can take as many swings as you want. He can't exactly sprint away."
Five simultaneous silences radiated from five different directions.
In his earpiece, Jude could practically feel the question marks accumulating in the cortex.
"Mr. Jude," Wells's voice came through the comms with the careful tone of a man choosing his words. "I appreciate your commitment to bringing Professor Stein in. Your methods, however, leave something to be desired ethically."
"Jude," Cisco sounded genuinely disturbed. "Are you actually suggesting someone kick a man in a wheelchair? Am I hearing that correctly?"
Caitlin and Barry said nothing. Their silence had its own heavy texture.
"I trust Jude completely." Shawna's voice, cheerful and uncomplicated, cut through the rest. "He always comes through."
Blind faith is a liability, Jude thought privately. But I'll take it.
Half an hour later, Jude walked Professor Stein through the main doors of S.T.A.R. Labs.
Wells rolled forward to meet them. Despite Jude's commentary on the matter, Stein did not take any swings. Whatever was burning in him, it was apparently not the kind that expressed itself with fists—at least not at a man in a wheelchair, and at least not today. He drew on the composure of someone who had spent forty years in academia learning to disagree with people while shaking their hands.
"Mr. Jude," Wells said, with something that might have been genuine admiration, "your persuasion techniques are rather remarkable." He glanced between them, then added, "There's an old saying—the supreme art of war is to subdue the enemy without fighting. Did you study Eastern philosophy?"
"I spent a few years at university in Japan before all this." Jude smiled. "I know the passage. The short version is: if you can talk, don't fight. Fighting costs everyone something."
"Rough in expression. Sound in principle."
Wells extended his hand to Stein. Stein looked at it, looked at Wells, and slowly shook it.
"I'm sorry for what happened to you, Professor," Wells said. The words were simple, and he didn't try to dress them up. "This was my fault. I'd like the chance to make it right."
"I don't hate you, Dr. Wells." Stein's voice was measured. "I just want my life back."
"Then let's get started." Wells turned. "Caitlin—would you take Professor Stein for a preliminary examination?"
Caitlin crossed the lab toward them. She'd been holding herself very carefully since they came in—eyes moving to Ronnie's face and then deliberately away from it, doing the visible work of keeping her expression flawlessly neutral. When she reached them, she stopped and looked at Stein directly.
"I'm sorry," Stein said quietly, before she could speak. "For what happened to you and Ronald both. I didn't have a choice... but I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault, Professor." She said it firmly, and she meant it, even if it cost her something to say. "We're going to find a way through this."
She turned toward the medical bay. Stein fell into step beside her, careful and exhausted, wearing Ronnie's face like an ill-fitting coat—and the two of them disappeared through the corridor door, toward whatever came next.
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