agoodyarn | for timetopaythepiper: New York New York

Everything had happened pretty quickly after that first conversation. Hartley had booked a flight and had started packing before he could give himself the chance to have any second thoughts. It wasn't until he was actually on the plane and had time to think that it began to sink in how risky this was.

Hartley had done some research of his own since that first conversation, and he knew Sanderson Hawkins was real person who resided and worked in New York. But he's seen Catfish. He knew there was possibility this guy wasn't who he claimed to be. There was a chance he was about to meet up with some random nutjob (which would be rather unfortunate given everything he revealed in his texts), or worse, this guy could be exactly who he said he was and turn out to be a backstabber, just waiting for the chance to turn him over to the Flash out of some ridiculous sense of duty. Hartley was trying not to be negative, but it came so naturally to him these days.

Spending nearly five hours sitting between an annoyingly chatty woman and a young man with a very vocal fear of heights hadn't helped. But by the time he got off the plane and headed for the gate, he was convinced anything would be an improvement over what he just endured. Even a potential backstabbing nutjob. However, that didn't make him any less wary. God, he hoped he wasn't going to regret this trip.

As soon as he walked out, Sanderson made a point of tipping his hat and offering a little smile. He was... young. The 'biologicaly 25' was clear enough in his features even if there was ages more life in those eyes than that would account for.

He'd gotten what he'd been looking for; Hartley was scared. Hartley was worried. Hartley... had probably gotten seated next to someone deeply annoying. This was exactly what he'd thought it was: a kid with talent and something that set him apart from most people who needed friends and folks to accept him and a positive outlet for all that talent.

And he had talent. Hartley was not the only one to have done some research over the last few hours. Sanderson had not just done a search, but he'd asked around. Jesse hadn't heard of him, but Michael and Rick had both had a couple of things to say about him since they remembered seeing him a few years back as part of a fresh crop of scientific minds.

He pushed away from the column and made his way over to Hartley as he pulled off his hat and tucked it away into his coat in an improbable fashion. Of course, he was just absorbing it, but Hartley probably didn't know that. Let him guess.

"Terrible flight?" he asked. His Brooklyn accent had faded a little over the years, but it was still there at the edge of his words, the swing of his sentence.

Hartley eyed Sanderson for a moment, taking in the long brown coat and fedora (this guy looked like he stepped right out of an old mystery novel) before approaching with a wary smile.

Sanderson looked young, definitely in his twenties (younger than Hartley, certainly), but there was something about him that made him seem so much older. He couldn't put his finger on what it was though. Perhaps his clothes. Or maybe it was his eyes. Either way, it didn't matter. All that mattered was that he was standing there alone, no Flash in sight. That meant Hartley probably wasn't going to have to make a run for it or try to fight (which would be hard with his gloves still in his bag).

Hartley was still waiting for the signs of potential insanity or serial killer tendencies, but those were much less pressing concerns at the moment. Sanderson didn't seem like a creeper, but to be fair, neither had Harrison. Hartley was still willing to push his distrust to the side and give him the benefit of the doubt for now.

At the moment, Hartley was more interested in what the hell had just happened with Sanderson's hat anyway. He wondered if Sanderson used his powers to get the hat into his coat like that.

"Is it that obvious?" he asked. "Yes. The people I was sitting with wouldn't shut up."

"Usually a pretty accurate assumption to make," Sandy offered in reply before holding out his hand. It was bare, plain, and there didn't appear to be any tricks. He was just looking to shake. "Don't worry. Texting aside, I'm not the biggest talker. Though I'd assume you're more interested in what I have to say, considering you traveled all this way."

Hartley wasn't too worried about anything shady happening while they were standing in a crowded airport (one of the reasons he'd chosen to meet there), so he didn't hesitate to reach out to shake Sandy's hand. This was going surprisingly well so far. Hopefully he'll have the chance to ask some questions and perhaps see some of Sandy's tech and powers before inevitably finding a way to alienate him like he has everyone else.

"You assume correctly. I am interested in what you have to say, so feel free to talk as much as you'd like." Surely anything Sanderson had to say would be more interesting than the tedious rambling he'd been forced to listen to on the plane.

His shake was firm enough without having anything to prove and done soon enough as his hand found his pocket again. He walked at an easy pace, matching Hartley as they made their way towards the cab stand since he hadn't exactly driven there.

"Any preference on what I prattle on about? I can tell you about the JSA, past and present; I can tell you what it's like being an insomnac sandman, or you can ask questions and I can answer whatever you like."

Hartley quietly pondered Sandy's question as they headed for the cab stand. He had a lot of questions. So many that he wasn't sure where or how to start. Perhaps it would better to let Sanderson decide what he wanted to talk about (and see what kind of information Sandy would be willing to share without Hartley's prying), but first...

"How did the meeting with your friends go? Did they warn you about the dangers of talking to strangers?" he asked, genuinely curious. He was sure they must have had a lot to say on the issue. Especially if Sandy filled them in on the little destruction spree Hartley went on a few months ago.

"They know better," he said with a low snort. "And trust me, you're definitely not the biggest troublemaker someone's brought home."

That honor either went to Grant (who'd blown up a significant portion of Atlanta in what had been called a 'terrorist' attack and was literally not allowed to cross the state line into Georgia) or Al, who'd actually done jailtime for some of his choices during a conflict in the Kahndaq. Then again, they'd all had questionable times in their lives. Being a superhero didn't come without collateral damage.

"The consensus on the meeting and a bit of recon done by myself and some of the others was to observe for the moment, given the delicate situation with Wells and the fact that, given the influx of metahumans in Central City specifically, they're going to need a lasting solution. A lasting legal solution."

He walked out past the security checkpoint and tilted his head towards the baggage claim.

"You got anything to pick up?"

Hartley snorted. "I'm extremely competitive, so that's probably not something you should be telling me."

He was joking. Mostly. He supposed his ego could handle someone else being the biggest troublemaker someone's brought home. He didn't need to cause trouble to leave a lasting impression anyway. He had information Sandy and his friends apparently thought useful. That was good enough for now.

"How exactly do you intend to observe? You know who one of the Flash's teammates is, but you don't know who the Flash himself is and you don't know where their base of operation is located," he said, shooting Sandy a skeptical glance. "And they seem pretty content with the solution they've already come up with."

Hartley nodded his head. "Yeah, a suitcase with some of my clothes," he said, heading over towards baggage claim. His gloves he already had with him in his carry on, but the less said about how he got them past security, the better.

He looked sideways at Hartley, a little smile gracing his lips.

"Detective. With psychic dreams. And the ability to travel and sense through earth. And that's just me."

He looked ahead then, and the smile fell away.

"And just because this 'Kid' Flash thinks he's got a solution doesn't mean it's a good one. Or one we're going to let stand. Illegal imprisonment is not how we're supposed to operate."

His expression softened a little as they walked towards the baggage claim that would be sending out his bag soon enough.

"By the way, are you a vegetarian? I always ask since Superman surprised us all one Thanksgiving. Didn't see that coming..."

"Are you sure butting into the Flash's business is a good idea? I mean, I won't lie. I hate the guy. But Central City is his city and the metahumans there are his problem. It's not like a regular prison could hold them."

Hartley wasn't sure why he was playing devil's advocate. He hadn't enjoyed his time in the Pipeline at all, and he thought the entire thing was pretty clearly a huge human rights violation. But he couldn't think of any other realistic solutions, and there was a part of him (the part of him that had been impressed that Cisco actually had the balls to use his hearing aids to torture him) that was amused that the so-called heroes were doing something so unethical.

Hartley started looking for his suitcase, trying to block out all the noise around him as he focused on his task and Sanderson's question.

"Superman's a vegetarian?" he asked, surprised. "No, I'm not a vegetarian or a vegan. I'll eat pretty much anything."

He nodded easily enough as he watched Hartley search for his bag.

"I think he was actually somewhat relieved when the meal got ruined and we had to order pizza."

He ran a hand through his hair, fluffing it up a little. The nickname of 'the golden boy' from his early days made sense with the hat off.

"As for the Flash, like I said: Jay's got some rights to that city too. And if it turns out we need to step in for the safety of those metahumans and to ensure that they receive a fair trial, we will. There are places to put them. The Pipeline is not the only solution."

"I have a hard time picturing Superman as a vegetarian. I have a hard time picturing him doing anything normal like eating or attending a Thanksgiving dinner."

Finally locating his bag, Hartley grabbed it before turning towards Sanderson.

"If this Jay guy wants to make a difference, he might try to go the wise mentor route with the Flash. Assuming he's not an infant," he said, shrugging. "The Flash listens to Harrison and values his opinion because Harrison's really good at playing father figure. I'm pretty sure Harrison's well aware of how sketchy the Pipeline is and doesn't care. The others might care though. If you can get through to them."

"He's surprisingly down to earth, no terrible pun intended," Sandy offered with a shrug. Then he turned to start heading towards the cab stand outside.

"Jay's pretty far from an infant, and he's got more than his share of experience in mentoring. That's part of why we're in observation mode. The JSA is a little different from most organizations."

He patted his jacket then.

"I'll get the cab ride."

"Good, maybe he can try reasoning with the Flash. It sounds like he'd be a much better mentor than Harrison is. Not that that's difficult," he muttered, pulling his suitcase behind him as he followed Sandy towards the cab. He wasn't sure how much good any of this would do while Harrison was still in the picture, but since he had no intention of letting the Flash catch him again, he supposed none of this was his problem.

Harrison, on the other hand, was his problem. He'd probably always be his problem.

"Thanks," he said, relieved they were taking a cab at all. He was feeling a lot less wary of Sandy now, but he still wasn't quite ready to be alone with him yet. The cab ride would give him a bit more time to feel him out.

"You're welcome." Ever polite.

He glanced over at Hartley and decided to venture into the land of guesswork a bit, start feeling him out instead of merely providing him information.

"That sounds like you've got some experience there."

Hartley frowned, silently debating how to respond and whether he even wanted to. God, he hated talking about Harrison. He knew most people thought his hatred of the man was irrational and obsessive, but Harrison's dismissal and betrayal had been utterly devastating. Not many people had the kind of relationship with their employers that he once had with his, and he knew not many people could relate to his anger or even understand it.

"Some, yes. I worked for him for a long time. We used to be very close," he said, glancing at Sanderson. "Then he fired me, so I crashed his ceiling down on him."

Funny how Harrison had come out that situation without a scratch on him.

But if anything, Sandy seemed to understand that more than most of the things he'd said. Sandy knew what it was like to work with someone like that, someone you looked up to, a mentor... and how much that kind of person, that kind of relationship, could gut you when things went downhill.

Wes may not have married his aunt or officially adopted him; his last name remained Hawkins. But Wesley Dodds had been the only father figure he'd had in his life and when he'd allowed Sandy into his world, when he'd let him help fight crime along side him, it was the first real self-worth that he'd ever gotten a taste of. He'd worked and trained and done everything that'd been asked of him and then one day an accident had made him a monster.

Or at least, it'd made him look like a monster. Wesley had mistaken the bellow of pain for one of rage, the flailing of terror and horror for an attack. The same formulas he'd learned at Wesley's side had been used against him, paralyzed him. Put him into stasis.

At least, that's what most people thought. That's what Wesley had thought, had considered his behavior as humane as possible, had put his ward in a velvet cage under heavy sedation as he worked to try and cure him over the decades. Sandy had even encouraged that belief, wishing to save the old man pain. Helped him save face among other heroes, despite the fact that his story had served as a warning against taking on younger sidekicks for ages.

Except that the stasis was false; the sleep gas hadn't worked on his new silicon body, leaving him awake the long, dark years as Wesley's visits to the lab had grown less and less frequent. Wes had never tried to hurt him, but that didn't take away the years of maddening paralysis, the horror of the lonely darkness that had taken up the largest portion of his life so far.

Sometimes good people made mistakes, he'd told Hartley. Never assume someone is a monster just because it looks that way, he'd told Hartley.

I know what it's like when they fail you, his eyes told Hartley... before he gave him a wane smile and turned to see how bad the line was for a cab.

"Let's hope things go better with the Flash kid then," was his only comment aloud, mostly for something to say as he pulled out his phone and sent a couple of texts. It didn't do to surprise folks at the brownstone, especially Todd.

Edited 2015-09-22 20:24 (UTC)

Hartley always thought his situation was unique, that no one could possibly understand what it was like to have that kind of bond (Harrison was the closest thing he had to family for years), or how crushing it could be to lose it. There was nothing in the world quite like having the friendship, respect, and affection of the great Harrison Wells.

And he was sure there was nothing in the world like watching it all crumble into nothing in a blink of an eye, in a flash.

But Barry Allen would understand someday. It was inevitable. Someday he'd find out what kind of man Harrison really was, and he wouldn't be able to say he hadn't been warned.

"I don't know, I wouldn't mind seeing the Flash crash Harrison's ceiling down on top of him," he said, eying the line. Lines were never this long in Central City. "So, do you still think Jay will want to talk to me?"

"He will," Sandy assured him as he got in line. It was a bit of a line, but it always went fast. "So will some of the others. You're probably going to meet more mystery men than you realized ever existed. We've been a little under the radar the last few years."

Then he noticed a car rolling up and he couldn't help a smile. It wasn't a limo, but it was a pricey enough model that he knew who'd sent it before the driver even stopped. He stepped out of the line and leaned over towards the passenger window.

"You with TylerCo?"

"Yes, sir."

He turned back to Hartley.

"Seems we've got a ride. You want to wait for a cab, or you good to take this?"

Hartley wasn't convinced talking to Sandy's friends was good idea. Heroes made him nervous. He couldn't help but worry that they were going to write him off as just another villain and try to have him arrested. At the very least, they were probably going to have a lot of questions for him. He hoped there wouldn't be too many questions about Harrison. There was plenty he could tell them about him, but he still wasn't sure these people could be trusted. Sandy seemed okay though.

"How much have you told them about me?" he asked before falling silent as Sandy stepped out of line to approach a car. Hartley hesitated for a moment before stepping out of line and following after him.

"This seems okay. As long as you're certain we're not about to be abducted. You do know who sent this car, right?"

"I've mentioned your name," he admitted, "mostly to hear what they'd heard. We're not the most trusting bunch, so they might have done some research."

Then he gestured to the car.

"And if you look at the license plate, you'll see this is a TylerCo car. All on the up and up." TylerCo was the leader in human biochemistry and artificial organ research. The company had originally belonged to Rex Tyler, the original Hourman, one of Sandy's 'old friends'. It was currently being run by his niece, Rebecca, but his son Rick had been working on his relationship with her for the past few years and part of that involved taking some responsibilities in the company in exchange for Rick's tendency to lean on the company resources. TylerCo was the company that produced all of Sandy's equipment and his clothes, which was why he could travel as he did without showing up naked everywhere. Apparently, Rick had decided to be 'helpful' once again. Sandy wasn't sure if it was some sort of power play or Rick being kind or even, perhaps just a fit of pique. But it was safe.

Sandy opened the door for him.

"All aboard."

"Why would they have heard anything? My three day destruction spree aside, I haven't exactly made much of a name for myself yet. Well, not outside the scientific community anyway." But that was different. Anything there was to learn about him before he became the Pied Piper was either connected to S.T.A.R. Labs or Rathaway Industries and his parents, and he doubted any of that would matter to a group of vigilantes.

Hartley did look at the license plate (just in case) before nodding his head in recognition of the name. He's heard of TylerCo, so apparently this was all on the up and up. As long as Sandy knew what was going on, Hartley wasn't going to worry too much.

"Thanks," he said, only hesitating for a moment before getting into the car and buckling up. He was going to attempt not to feel paranoid about every little thing that happened. Surely these guys wouldn't go to this much trouble just to lock him up. It wasn't like he was Captain Cold or any of the Rogues. He was just a former physicist who dabbled in crime from time to time. Sanderson's friends probably did just want to talk. Hopefully.

"You think you're the first scientific mind to get involved in this kind of thing?" he asked with a sideways glance as they both piled into the car. "I did mention having friends in a few tech companies. You're a scientist. To learn about you, I asked scientists. Who else would I have asked? I would have figured you'd have made that connection."

He wasn't smug, just matter-of-fact. Then he leaned back against the seat as the car headed out.

"What you did in Central City was what, three days, like you said?" he said conversationally, "Whereas your scientific career has been most of your life, in one way or another. I'd say there's more to learn from where you came from, who you usually are, then just from a few days of turbulence. Besides..."

He let his eyes close as the car headed out of the airport.

"One thing you'll learn about us is that we value history. Where people come from, what they choose to do with the legacy left to them by the lives they lead, the people who've touched those lives, the ideas that find them and how those ideas change them. We're mystery men, and women, but we're all people underneath those masks. And it's the people that we concern ourselves with."

"I don't imagine you heard anything pleasant," he muttered. Hartley hadn't been a friendly person even before the particle accelerator explosion and his quest for vengeance. He's always had difficulty getting along with others, and while he could be charming and polite when the need arose (at least to those whose acquaintance he and his career might benefit from), he hadn't made many friends. His involvement with the S.T.A.R. Labs particle accelerator hadn't helped much either.

At least his brilliance was undeniable. He just hoped he'd never met any of Sanderson's scientist friends, or at least never had the chance to give any of them reason to hate him.

"What I did in Central City was a couple of weeks, if you count my time in the Pipeline and both my escapes," he said, glancing at Sandy. "Several months if you figure in all the time I spent building my gloves and planning my capture by the Flash."

He turned his head back to the window, watching as they headed away from the airport. He didn't know why he suddenly felt the need to make his brief career as criminal sound impressive. He'd take a career as a scientist over one as a criminal any day of the week. But at least the Pied Piper was recent and still relevant. His scientific career felt like a life time ago.

"My history is complicated."

for timetopaythepiper: New York New York

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