CHAPTER THIRTEEN

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"You're never gonna believe this," Barry barged into her apartment. It was a week later, the conversation they had simmered to the back of their minds. Alex made no promises about keeping up the hero act, at least after they catch the Reverse Flash. For now, she was still the nameless superhero. It was surprising that Cisco still hadn't come up with one.

Alex was in the kitchen, slaving over the stove. She wasn't expecting a speedster to show up, otherwise she would have made a lot more food. Barry sat down on one of the stools along the counter, and nabbed one of the pieces of green pepper off the counter. He reached for another before Alex slapped his hand down.

"What am I not going to believe?" She asked, turning off the stove and reluctantly giving up her lunch for the next day to feed him. Barry pulled out his phone and traded it for the plate of stir fry. "Whoa."

"Right," he spoke with a mouth full of food. "This is delicious by the way."

"The scarlet speedster isn't alone," Alex read the title. Barry motioned for her to continue on. "Everybody knows of the events on Porter and Main the other night. But what they don't know is that there is another speedster in town. One that looks exactly like The Flash we know and love. This person saved The Flash when everyone believed that he wasn't getting back up –"

Alex stopped reading the article when the picture at the bottom of the page caught her attention. It was Alex, in her regular clothes and unconscious on the ground. Barry was leaning over her, and even with the mask she could see he was concerned. Thankfully, it was from a distance and her face was partially out of view.

She skimmed over the rest of the article, until she reached the bottom. It was written by Iris West. Of course it was, she should have known that. Alexandra knew all about her blog, and what it was about: the Flash. She also knew that Barry visited her all dressed up. It was dangerous – especially since he didn't want Iris learning about his identity.

"Isn't this awesome?" Barry asked with his mouth full of food once again. "I mean I was super excited when she wrote something about me-"

"But you're in love with her," Alex cut him off. She locked his phone and slid it over the counter. Barry pouted a little. "I'm glad you finally told her, even if she doesn't feel the same way. It's bad to hold in feelings like that."

Then why do you?

Barry almost asked her. However, it would have only caused an argument and he was in such a good mood that he didn't want to fight. He was however curious as to why she held in all her feelings. Angry, sadness, fear – she never spoke of any of those. The odd occasion she would express them, mostly anger, but she was such a rock that it was hard to tell what she was feeling.

"It is pretty cool though," She concluded, pointing towards his phone with her fork. "I don't suppose you've come up with any names?"

"Phantasmagoria...?"

"What the fuck? No, I don't even know what that means," Alex quickly shook her head. She grabbed another bite of food off of her plate and pointed the empty fork at Barry, "and don't bother explaining it."

"Anyway, I came here for another reason," Barry continued on. He grabbed his empty plate and put it in the dish washer. "I wanted you to come have dinner with Joe and I."

"No," Alex denied immediately. She didn't have dinner with them at Christmas and she sure as hell wasn't going on a regular day. "He's a cop, Barry! A cop! Do you know how many times I've been arrested? I can't just go have dinner with one, he'll try to get me to confess for something."

"Well... have you done anything lately that should be confessed?"

"Uhh..." Alex had to think for a moment. Five months ago if someone were to ask her that question she would have a straight answer, but now she had to remember what crimes she had committed in the past weeks. Aside from her usual street racing, which Joe already knew about so that was no big deal, she couldn't think of anything. She needed to win another race, her supply of money was running low.

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