singaway
David looks up from the files he’s been studying when he hears the office door open, fully expecting one of the officers to barge in with the news of yet another catastrophe befalling Central City. There’s been no shortage of those in the past few months and the precinct has been swamped in unsolved mysteries, burying David up to his ears in paperwork he could do without.
Instead of West or Brown, though, David finds a civilian standing in his doorway, looking like he’s simultaneously ready to both flee and pick a fight. He’s barely over twenty, his regular features still retaining the softness of childhood, but his green eyes are sharp behind his glasses, and he stares at David like he’s expecting to be asked to leave.
“Can I help you?” David offers, intrigued as one can only be when given an out from boring duties. The boy closes the door behind him and saunters to David’s desk, sitting down without being asked. There’s an air of entitlement around him that only comes from money, even though he’s not dressed particularly well, and he carries himself like a man who’s had to become one too soon, before his body could fully catch up to adulthood.
“I’m Hartley Rathaway,” he says, “yes, of the Rathaways, though I’m not here to represent the family in any capacity, I assure you.”
The boy’s grin is crooked at best: David has caught the scandal a few months back, the Rathaway heir disinherited seemingly without a cause, but the defiant look in the kid’s eyes tells him that any comments on the fact would not be appreciated, so David gives only the briefest of nods and watches the boy relax a little.
“I have information about the Flash that might be of interest to this department,” Rathaway continues, and David raises an eyebrow.
“Oh?”
“Yes. I’ve learned a few facts that might help protect this city.”
David would bet that Central could go to hell and Hartley Rathaway would hardly even blink. Maybe he’s just been sitting in this office for far too long, but he leans forward, his interest caught not so much by the boy’s words as by the mixture of defiance and desperation in his eyes.
“I know who the Flash is,” Rathaway says, almost breathlessly, like he has not yet made peace with his decision to announce this secret to the world.
“Oh?” David repeats and closes the file sitting in front of him. The movement catches Rathaway’s eye and his gaze lingers on David’s hands, fingers lacing together atop the manila folder. David has long lost the ability to be surprised by people – they’re far too easy to read, too predictable for his liking most of the time. But now, he finds himself drawn to this boy, to the way he swallows as he stares, as if he’s looking for something to distract him from the task at hand.
David is familiar with the feeling, and he allows himself a spur-of-the-moment decision. “Would you like to discuss this matter over dinner, then?”
“Yes, thank you, that would be-“ Rathaway stops and blinks at him, long lashes fanning over his cheekbones briefly as it dawns on him that this might not be standard protocol. The ball is in the boy’s court, and for a moment, David thinks that he won’t quite know what to do with it.
“Wait… are you…”
“I am absolutely asking you out. Very unprofessional of me – you might reconsider your offer of information after all?” David smiles, and a shadow of blind determination settles over the boy’s features, erasing the previous startled expression completely.
“No. I’ll tell you.”
“Alright then,” David says and grabs his jacket before holding the door open to the kid.
…
“I gotta admit, I did not expect that,” David says, voice still rough as his heartbeat settles to a more manageable pace. He wipes the sweat from his brow with the back of his forearm, turning his head just enough to glance at Hartley’s flushed face, pressed into the pillow.
“That your CSI is the resident vigilante?” Hartley smirks, just like the little shit he is, and David feels an odd wave of fondness wash over him at the sight of his kiss-swollen lips curving up like that.
He waves his hand lazily and stretches, knee bumping Hartley’s hip lightly.
“No, I already knew that. Allen is many things, but subtle is not one of them.”
Hartley looks like an affronted cat, visibly bristling as he brings himself up to rest his weight against his elbows, glaring down at David.
“You knew all this time? And you didn’t do anything?”
“What would you have me do? Announce it to the city and disable the one line of defense we’ve had against all the metahuman criminals?”
Hartley scowls. David sighs.
“Besides,” he adds, “it’s a lot of fun watching Allen try to come up with yet another excuse for his chronic tardiness.”
That makes Hartley snort and he lets himself fall back into the pillows, maybe a little bit closer to David than before.
“I knew there was a reason I liked you.”
“You do?” David smiles, brushing a sweaty curl off Hartley’s forehead.
“I’m here, am I not? And I might be persuaded to keep my mouth shut, with the right incentive.”
David’s not twenty anymore – hell, he’s not been thirty in quite a while, either. But the glint in Hartley’s eyes, so deceptively innocent and large without his glasses, makes it impossible not to react.
“I’m sure I’ll think of something,” he promises and pounces, kissing the laughter right off Hartley’s lips.