Aftermath

The Masonville Conjecture

immediately garnered pity. Oh, and Savitar knew the effect that this face had on people. He'd pulled this stunt many-a-time back in his days as Barry Allen. Sitting there, hunched over, just vulnerable enough to victimize himself – she couldn't maintain her ire. There was something about Savitar's aura today that suggested the use of kid gloves.

She huffed, dropping down beside him. "Team Flash just figured out how to save your life and now you're trying to run yourself into an early grave." Frost tutted, giving him a once-over. "For goodness' sake, Savitar, I can feel your fever from here! ...You need water. I don't suppose, in your infinite wisdom, that you brought a bottle down with you?"

Savitar just shook his head.

Frost made a sour face, silently cursing this man-child that she had the displeasure of dealing with. With a cursory glance around the Speed Lab, she spotted an abandoned tumbler on the desk. Well... it would have to do. She'd done more with less. Frost quickly hopped up to grab the bottle and was back beside Savitar in a matter of seconds.

With the tumbler in one hand, she used her other hand to create a block of ice the exact size and shape of the container. She dropped the ice inside, screwed on the lid, and handed it to Savitar. "Here; melt this down and drink it."

Savitar wordlessly accepted the tumbler. Frost watched as he vibrated it into liquid, popped off the top, and started to take greedy gulps. She wasn't quite sure how the heat transference worked. It was one of those things that she put on her list of Speedster Mystiques, along with speed mirages and throwing lightening.

Savitar came up for air long enough to utter his first words. "What are you doing down here?"

"What are you doing down here?" was Frost's pointed rebuttal. "You were supposed to be taking it easy."

"What am I, your hostage? I needed to get out of that room." He leaned forward, elbows on knees, his untrimmed hair obscuring one side of his face. She thought it suited him, all mysterious and brooding and captivating.

"Well, I hope it was worth it. You probably just set your recovery back another couple days." Frost reached out to touch his shoulder, but Savitar flinched away before she could make contact.

"What are you doing?" His eyes were sharp and suspicious, as if she'd just done something unthinkable. He'd always been pessimistic – and deeply mistrusting on top of that.

"Savitar, you look like a rotting tomato," Frost replied, for once not entirely trying to insult him, "We've gotta get your temperature down – quickly."

Savitar gave a quiet sigh and turned away, but at least it wasn't an objection. Slowly, Frost moved to settle her palm against the base of his skull. Then, she released a cooling mist – nothing too frigid, more like an icepack, really – from her fingertips. The mist cascaded past Savitar's shoulders, down his spine, and she saw him visibly relax. Frost derived some... complicated form of triumph in proving that, regardless of what he said, Savitar did still need her. Perhaps not for everything, but... even this one thing was enough. It gave her an advantage over him that she would flaunt at an opportune time.

She was sitting on his right side, and that gave her the perfect vantage point for his scar. With the conversation stalled and nothing else to occupy her, Frost found herself getting lost in the pattern on his skin. All the rises and dips, concaves and protrusions, created an intricate mandala. It was poetic, in a way. His emotional scars found a way to manifest themselves physically. In all that time they'd spent together, she never bothered to ask how it happened. Very little could damage a speedster to that extent, never mind that the injury never fully healed.