Barry has never loved anyone the way he loves Mick. He only wishes that was enough to keep them together. Unfortunately for Barry, love has always been more of a reason to leave Ogygia than to stay.
Fic: We’ll All Go Together When We Go (ao3) - chapter 5 - epilogue
Fandom: Flash, Legends
Pairing: Barry Allen/Mick Rory, Leonard Snart & Mick Rory
Summary: Doomworld takes some time to fix. Barry and Mick use that time to find each other.
(written for @flashwaveweek 2017 for Day 5: Historical AU; a short epilogue)
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"Snart's gonna kill them," Mick says.
"Probably," Barry agrees, peeping out the bungalow window again. "He was so concerned about us having a good honeymoon - I don't think there's a single person in Central he hasn't threatened or blackmailed or bribed to behave while we're gone."
"He's superstitious," Mick says with a shrug. "Wants us to start as we mean to carry on."
Barry can't help a smile. "A few days spent in bed followed by dealing with a ridiculous can't-believe-this-is-happening crisis?"
Mick considers for a second. "Yeah," he says. "Sounds about right for us."
Another squad of authentic Roman legionnaires march by.
"I suppose there's no chance of staying in here and enjoying our pre-paid Aruba vacation properly," Barry grumbles.
"I'm up for it if you are," Mick says. His hand slides down Barry's back very pointedly.
"Some superhero I'd be if I did," Barry sighs. "Though it's a very tempting idea. How did the Legends even manage to bring the Lost Roman Legion to Aruba anyway?"
"No idea," Mick says shortly. "We don't really talk anymore."
Barry winces. Sore spot, right. He'd thought that maybe things were a bit better now, ever since Jax and Stein came over for dinner that one time, made clear that they were over anything that happened and apologizing for any behavior they might've contributed to Mick's isolation and depression while he was on board with them (Snart had clearly read them the riot act first - Barry snuck him two pieces of cake as reward). But no, the rest of the Legends had maintained that in their view, Mick was a traitor and forever untrustworthy for his actions in causing Doomworld, even though Barry knew for a fact that he'd single-handedly rescued all of them in Doomworld.
Even though Barry had gotten to see some of the video clips of the Legends' so-called 'teasing' behavior, the stuff the Legion had shown to the Doomworld version of Len to convince him he had to join up with the Legion for Mick's sake. Barry's still steamed about that.
Not as steamed as Snart, though. Barry just politely rejected their help at the next few team-ups, asking them to go the hell back to kicking puppies or whatever their mission statement was (they hadn't liked that); while Snart preferred more active forms of sabotage.
Gideon is really very fond of Snart, as it happens.
That being said, Barry knows that Mick still holds out a bit of hope that the rest of them will get over themselves (Ray had shown some signs of it, last time, looking particularly hurt and upset), so maybe this detour isn't all bad.
"We'll find them and kick their asses till they tell us what's up," Barry decides, ignoring the phantom twinge in his leg that happened in every alternate universe he ended up in now. His therapist - Mick had insisted he go and recommended one known for her discretion - told him it was a perfectly reasonable psychosomatic response to a traumatic experience, and nothing to be worried about.
"Assuming Snart didn't get there first," Mick agrees.
Barry snickers. "I can see it now," he says. "The Legends crew, innocently trying to find a solution to the problem of Romans in Aruba, and suddenly, rising up like a phantom of darkness, Snart appears - wreathed by flame -"
"He's more of a 'wreathed by icy winds' kinda guy. Possibly ice dragons."
"- and he stalks out of the shadows going, 'How dare you ruin their honeymoon! Do you know how long it took me to convince them to go?'" Barry does his best angry Snart drawl.
Mick laughs. "How would he even get here? He's back in Central."
"Dunno. Teleported by sheer rage?"
"Him and Iris both."
"No kidding." Barry looks out of the window again. "Coast's clear. Let's go."
Mick grabs his heat gun and Barry quick-changes into the suit, and they're off.
It takes a bit of exploration, but in the end they find the Waverider in beach by the lagoon, next to the stand that served margaritas.
The door is open.
Mick and Barry exchange frowns, and head up the ramp.
Inside, they hear –
"-how long it took me to convince them to go?!" Snart is shouting. "Barry's a superhero workaholic and Mick's idea of a vacation is the local pub! I had to practically hold them at gunpoint before they agreed to head out!"
Fic: We’ll All Go Together When We Go (ao3) - chapter 4
Fandom: Flash, Legends
Pairing: Barry Allen/Mick Rory, Leonard Snart & Mick Rory
Summary: Doomworld takes some time to fix. Barry and Mick use that time to find each other.
(written for @flashwaveweek 2017 for Day 6: Domestic)
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"Beep! It's six forty five! Time to wake up!"
"Noooooo," Barry moans.
"Beep! Six forty six! Time to wake up!"
"Miiiiick," Barry says, burying his face in his boyfriend's arm. "Make him stop."
Mick huffs into semi-awareness. "Lenny," he says groggily. "Stop harassing my boyfriend."
That gives Barry a happy feeling in his stomach. Mick isn't always one to give a name to what they have, much less one as undignified as boyfriend.
That happy feeling makes him crack his eyes open, hoping maybe to see his boyfriend (now official!) and possibly reward his heroic gesture with a kiss.
This is a tactical error.
A fully dressed Snart stands by the bed, grinning a positively wicked smile.
They're not even in Mick's apartment, where Snart at least lives right upstairs and had a spare key. They're in Barry's apartment, which is in a totally different neighborhood, in a walk-up, and had been locked up for the night.
Not that little things like locked doors ever stopped Leonard goddamn Snart.
"Scarlet, you told me to make sure you were late," he says, grin getting even wider. "The words 'whatever it takes' were used."
"I take it back," Barry says, even though he vaguely recalls some reason he needed to be at work early this week. He does not trust that expression on the face of Leonard Snart, former world-controlling dictator, current supervillain, thief and all-around havoc on everybody's nerves. "I retract."
"Too late," Snart says, and pulls out the cold gun.
"I hate yooooooooou!"
But Barry's up and at 'em soon enough, and Snart is nice enough to give him a ride into work while Barry chomps on his breakfast (leftovers from breakfast-for-dinner they had last night - god, Mick's such a good cook), which Barry only realizes is weird when they walk into the CCPD still side-by-side.
"Bear," Joe says. "What is he doing here?"
Barry blinks, then turns to squint at Snart, whose smirk is positively cheery. "I'm not actually sure," he admits. "I think he followed me here. I'm not sure why."
"I thought you were dating the other one," Joe grumbles.
"I am," Barry says. "They're just, y'know, kind of a package deal. Hey, Snart? What're you doing here?"
"I'm taking Iris out for breakfast," Snart responds with a beaming smile. "She's meeting me here - ah, there she is!"
He sweeps away.
Joe's expression looks like a cat being strangled.
Barry munches on his last piece of French toast.
"Bear," Joe says.
"She's married to Eddie," Barry reminds him.
"Barry."
"She wouldn't cheat on him at all, and even if she did, she wouldn't be so obvious about it."
"Barry!"
"Besides, Snart doesn't do romantic relationships," Barry says. Or sex, which is what Joe really cares about, but Barry's not going to malign Snart's scary reputation by pointing it out. People are weird.
He goes to work, wondering what it is he's forgetting.
Mick comes around noon with a box of lunch that smells so good it has half the precinct eyeing them like hungry hawks, as opposed to how they usually look when Mick or Snart's around - angry, bitter, cheated.
Not that they can do anything - with their state records wiped and a federal pardon in hand for helping fight the aliens, even with their occasional acts of supervillainy, both of them are clean enough to run for mayor.
Not that that says much, in Central.
"How's your day going?" Mick asks, pulling out lunch.
"Busy," Barry admits. Ever since he's been making an effort not to super-speed through his work - one terrible evening feverishly trying to re-learn all the work he did in preparation for a trial is more than enough for him - his days have gone back to being pleasantly full.
And, hey, if he sometimes speeds through the boring stuff, no one can blame him.
"Do you remember why I asked Snart to wake me up this morning?" Barry asks, remembering. "I've totally forgotten."
"No clue," Mick says.
"Do you know why he's meeting with Iris?"
"Something about her newspaper," Mick says. "And, uh, y'know."
That 'y'know' meant Doomworld.
"I don't want to know," Barry decides.
"We still on for movies this afternoon?" Mick asks. "Cisco said he was covering for your, uh, run."
"Oh, yeah!" Barry says, brightening. "Definitely. I've been wanting to see this one for a while."
"Good," Mick says, and then he lapses quiet while Barry talks about his day so far. Mick prefers listening, generally, to talking; his words don't always come easy, as he puts it, and he's learned to pick them carefully as a result.
It's a very nice lunch. Afterwards, Barry auctions off the rest of the cupcakes Mick brought to the department - highest bidder among the science department takes a boring assignment off Barry's plate, highest among the detectives promises to pick Barry for the next interesting crime scene, and two cupcakes reserved special for Captain Singh for looking the other way, because, well, this is Central ("Triple chocolate caramel?" Singh groans. "Is he trying to make us all fat? Is that the latest supervillain scheme? You’d tell me if it was, right, Allen?") - and goes back to work.
"Planning on making out with your arsonist in public this afternoon?" Julian snipes.
Barry rolls his eyes at him.
He's just jealous that Barry's love life is infinitely more interesting that his own.
It's a good day, and Barry even manages to finish up all his open projects before heading out to meet Mick at the movies. He's only a little late, like twenty minutes, but they're still doing previews, so it's practically like he wasn't late at all.
Also, Mick got him three extra-large buckets of popcorn.
Best boyfriend ever.
They do end up making out in the back row, but only through the boring bits. Barry feels qualified to discuss it tomorrow. Loudly, and with specific references to scenes. Take that, Julian.
And then he gets home and his apartment's empty.
"What," Barry says.
"Who took all your stuff?" Mick asks, alarmed. "Should I -"
"Wait," Barry says.
"Wait?"
"I asked Snart to wake me up early so that I wouldn't be here when the movers arrived," Barry says. He stares at the empty apartment. "I didn't realize they'd be so - thorough."
Though, really, he should've. Snart had said something about supervising personally.
"Movers?" Mick asks.
"Yeah," Barry says. "We're moving in together."
"We are?"
"...Snart said it was your idea?" Barry suggests, throwing Snart under the bus right off the bat.
Mick considers it for a moment, then shrugs. "Good."
Barry can't help but hide a smile. Mick had been not-so-subtly stressing about asking Barry to move in for weeks, now, to the point where he was starting noticeably more fires than normal, so Barry had taken matters into his own hands, including maligning a (entirely willing) Snart for suggesting it.
Mick really did prefer major life events to have already happened, rather than looking forward to them.
Barry fully expects to be informed of his own wedding when he gets the first RSVP card back, honestly.
Barry rather likes it. Speedsters love surprises.
Joe had expressed some concern about it - he'd never quite approved of Mick or let go of his hopes that Barry and Iris would marry to live in platonic bliss like they'd planned when they were five, but he'd mostly let it go. He had, however, commented that it was 'weird' that they were planning on letting Snart room with them.
Barry pointed out that it was a common living arrangement in most of the globe, albeit usually with unattached family, and God knows that Snart is Mick's family as much as anyone still living.
Joe had asked if he was worried that any kids they adopted would get teased about it.
Barry told Joe he was way overthinking things, given that they were nowhere near the kids discussion, much less the practical issues involved with having a kid who would have a supervillain dad and a superhero dad - honestly, having a supervillain (anti-hero?) uncle living upstairs would hardly register on the kid's weird spectrum. Besides, having Snart around meant Mick still had his support system and someone to discuss his villainous outings with. And Barry likes Snart. He's funny and hilariously sneaky.
Though speaking of which -
"What was Snart doing with Iris earlier?" he asks, trailing Mick back to the car to head over to Mick's place (also Snart's, now also Barry's). "Now that we're not surrounded by cops."
"They're thinking of opening a PR firm."
"What?"
"Hero and villain image management."
"You're joking."
"Just as a part time thing. You know Snart's still got those spymaster itches from Doomworld."
"You give a man a worldwide network of informers, he doesn't give it up easy," Barry agrees, bemused. "Really? Is there enough of a market for that?"
"They're branching out. Kara and her cousin have expressed some interest in figuring out how to separate their brands some."
"Their first clients are in another universe?"
Mick shrugs.
"Well, if it makes them happy," Barry says after a moment. "Are they coming for dinner?"
Iris has been by practically every day, often along with Eddie, often not when he's working late. They live just down the street in a building Snart may or may not own through a number of shell companies.
Barry's trying to figure out when exactly to tell Iris that the 'once in a lifetime scoop' apartment was priced that way for a reason, and that reason being Snart's inability to let go of anyone he liked, ever.
Eventually.
He’ll tell them eventually.
(He’s pretty sure Eddie already suspects.)
Man, if Snart goes evil again next Doomworld, Barry's expecting to be collared and leashed to Mick with Iris and Eddie in the next opulent luxurious room next door. Possibly locked into a Jacuzzi and not allowed to come out for hours and hours.
...that doesn't sound so bad, actually. Barry will have to suggest it.
"Yeah," Mick says. "I was thinking of making chicken."
"Which chicken, the breaded-with-aromatics or the divine-sauce-from-heaven?"
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: The Flash (TV 2014)
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Barry Allen/Mick Rory
Characters: Barry Allen, Mick Rory, Lisa Snart, Leonard Snart
Additional Tags: FlashWave Week 2017, Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Roommates, Cookies, Identity Reveal, Falling In Love, Love Confessions, backdated work
Series: Part 4 of Flashwaveweek2017
Summary:
Mick thinks he's doomed when he gets a roommate, but maybe it's not so bad?
Fic: We’ll All Go Together When We Go (ao3) - chapter 3
Fandom: Flash, Legends
Pairing: Barry Allen/Mick Rory, Leonard Snart & Mick Rory
Summary: Doomworld takes some time to fix. Barry and Mick use that time to find each other.
(written for @flashwaveweek 2017 for Day 2: Mythology. two more to go!)
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Stories, Len has found, are how mankind makes sense of the universe.
Call it mythology, legend, faith, novel, it doesn’t matter.
If you’re lost and alone and afraid, the first thing you do is come up with a story. An explanation, a justification, even nothing more than a distraction – but a story.
Len’s had a lot of time to think of stories of late, and of his role in them.
There’s a million stories in every second, a million roles – but not all of them fit. Some don’t fit you, some don’t fit your circumstances, and some fit once but you’ve outgrown them.
Option One: The White Knight. Not exactly a role Len’s comfortable with, to be sure, but once he could see it – he who was misled and abandoned to the cruelties of fate, rushing back with the surety of justice at his side, rescuing he whom he loves most from those that torment him.
But that story doesn’t fit, because the person being rescued is supposed to be goddamn grateful about it, happy to be home, happy to be together again, happy to be free of his chains. He isn’t supposed to run away to try to rescue them.
He isn’t supposed to run away.
Option Two: The Villain. Hungry and selfish and proud, a villain amongst his own black-hearted kind. Going to rule the world one day, and reap the benefits of power. It’s a story someone else could fill, and several someones that Len can think of already have.
That doesn’t fit Len either. Len hates torture, hates pain, hates oppression; he even hates power, the bureaucracy and the boredom of it. All he’s ever wanted was his freedom. All he’s ever wanted –
The only thing he’s ever wanted were people, and those people want nothing to do with him.
It’s supposed to be you and me against the world; not me and the world against you!
Option Three: the Trickster. Now that’s a role Len was born to play – the knife in the back that you don’t know is coming, player of the long game, the cunning scheme, the questioner, he who disrupts. Len’s played that role before, and he’ll play it again if he can.
But he’s not playing it now.
Sure, he’s got a few games in mind, a few schemes, but it all means nothing, ashes and dust in his hands, because the victory has gone away without him.
Besides, the Trickster is best used as an ally – and who in their right mind would ally him now?
Option Four: The Fool.
Ah, yes, the fool.
He who thought he knew what he was doing.
He who thought he could handle himself the way he always has.
He who never realized he was underwater, played by deeper games than he, surrounded by villains to whose depths he will never plunge.
Yes, the Fool might fit.
“Are you even listening?” Darhk snaps at him.
“Why listen when you’re talking?” Len replies automatically. “I can just read the prepared notes and learn the same thing.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“He means you’re a boring old fart that’s too stuck in his ways to ever ad-lib anything,” Merlyn drawls.
“Didn’t think he was supposed to be back-talking so much anymore,” Eobard says, shooting Len a glare of his own. “Found the Spear yet, spymaster?”
Terrible stabbing pains in Len’s head.
Not as bad as what his dad used to do, when Len was smaller and far less hard-hearted than he is now.
“If I had found it,” Len drawls, nice and slow and disdainful, “do you think we’d be sitting around here in a conference room?”
A question, rhetorical, meaning nothing. Not a lie; that’s important. The Conversion hates lies.
“I still say entrusting a thief with a retrieval mission seems like a mistake,” Darhk says.
Len doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to.
“Are you saying there’s something wrong with my Conversion?” Merlyn asks, his voice nearly as cold as Len can get.
“No,” Darhk says.
“Because if you want to go back to that magical brainwashing that breaks so easily, I’m more than happy to retract my services –”
“That’s not necessary,” Eobard interjects before Darhk and Merlyn can get into another fight. Merlyn hates leaving his home – he doesn’t trust his family not to do something stupid in an attempt to get out – and Darhk hates the fact that only Merlyn’s Conversions are sufficient to really establish loyalty.
Oliver Queen’s silent, vacant-eyed presence at Merlyn’s shoulder is a sign of that.
“Perhaps we should move on to the mining of additional ore from Nanda Parbat,” Darhk is saying, giving Merlyn a scathing look. “The destruction of the Lazarus pits cannot be complete.”
“Agreed,” Merlyn says, returning the look.
“Why don’t you guys do that,” Len drawls. “In that case, you won’t need lil old me, since I don’t give a damn about magic.”
Or living forever, for that matter.
“Yes, yes,” Eobard says, waving a hand. “You can go. And give us an update as soon as you hear something new about the Spear!”
“Of course,” Len agrees, ignoring the pounding in his brain. The Conversion loves orders, loves obeying; submission feels good, resistance bad. It’s a pretty straightforward brainwashing system.
In this case, Len reminds himself that there’s just no updates to give.
The headache quietens.
Not his fault no one’s uncovered the Spear from where Len’s hidden it away.
Len’s dancing a fine line with what he’s doing, but he refuses – he refuses – to be as mindless a Convert as the rest of them. Ever since he found out what they did to him…
Oh, yes. Len’s very much the Fool here.
Stupid to ever get involved with the assholes in the Legion.
But he’s not going to be stupid enough to let them catch Mick.
He goes back to his office.
“I want an update,” he says. He’s got plenty of underlings, now. He hates most of them.
“Nothing new on the Spear,” Rosa Dillon drawls. Her lover, Scudder, is in the Compound, awaiting Conversion that is delayed only by Len’s insistence that he needs information Scudder has, a lie if there ever was one; she hates everyone and everything very nearly as much as Len does, and that makes them work well together.
She doesn’t know for sure if Len’s done anything with the Spear, but she knew him before. That’s enough to make her voice go sarcastic.
“What a surprise,” Len replies bitingly. “Priority 2?”
He means priority one, of course, but appearances must be kept.
“Mick Rory’s doing fine,” she says, a little more sympathy creeping into her voice.
Len doesn’t bother hiding his exhale of relief. Not anymore.
Mick’s joined up with the Resistance, but they don’t trust him, they don’t value him; there’s always the risk of sacrifice.
It’s a sacrifice that Len will not let them make.
“Any more specific updates?” he asks.
Rose shrugs. “The Resistance’s newest movements are on your desk. Nothing too big – mostly spreading Better World stories.”
Ah, the Better World; the idea that this world is wrong, and that they all lived in a different world once, a world with superheroes and people who tried to do the right thing.
A world Len knows very well exists – or at least existed.
Funny how these things turn into mythology so quickly.
Humanity and its stories.
“- and it looks like Rory’s shacked up with him for good, now –”
“Hold up,” Len says. “What’s this about Mick shacking up with someone?”
“Thought that’d get your attention back,” Rosa says with a smirk. “He’s hooked with Eobard’s favorite target practice.”
“Barry Allen,” Len says. The name sits strangely on his tongue. He doesn’t remember him, never knew him, only ever met the Flash, but he knows now what he never had a chance to learn then. Or maybe he did learn it, in that blanked-out future that he never had and that led Mick so far beyond his reach, that future they shared and that Len doesn't remember.
Barry Allen.
Not really Mick’s usual type, from what he remembers; but then again, what does Len know? He knew Allen only briefly, as a hero with a bleeding heart, easily distracted and fawn-new at his chosen career. Maybe Mick likes that, now, or maybe Barry Allen’s grown up a little.
He wonders what story Barry Allen, hero and Flash, is living now.
He wonders, perhaps, if Mick is happy now.
Away from Len’s side, where he belongs –
But happy.
Some things in life are a tradeoff.
“Some people are questioning it,” Rosa says. “Questioning Allen. Rory’s role by your side doesn’t make him too popular with the common folk, and that’s bringing Allen down.”
Len hums and nods. “Start spreading counter-narrative,” he instructs. “Some romantic thing where Mick gave up everything for love.”
“That won’t help you find him,” she observes.
“I’ll worry about finding Mick when I need him,” Len says, and dismisses her.
Barry Allen.
Maybe he’s the quiet hand that’s been supporting Mick in his time with the Resistance, ignoring the accusations of the Legends that Mick rescued and the suspicions of his allies. Maybe he’s been helping keep Mick safe.
Mick could use a hand to guide him. A shoulder to support him.
Someone he can help, and who he will accept help from in return.
If it can’t be Len, well, why not Barry Allen?
Maybe this hero will live up to the billing.
But Barry Allen, he’s also the one Eobard has it out for, the one he torments every month; a living symbol of the Resistance, yes, but one slowly cracking under the strain.
Mick can help with that.
Maybe that’s how they met.
(Is Len jealous? He considers this question, as he always does when Mick finds an new love, but no; his instincts remain the same. His concern is for Mick as a friend and partner; he does not want to have him himself in any romantic sense. He wants him to be safe and happy, and he wants whoever Mick is with to respect Mick as much as he deserves.)
Len doesn’t have any power to interfere with Eobard’s punishments for Barry.
Maybe there’s something else he can do.
There’s one thing he knows he can do.
Len contemplates the high-tech laser that’s been sitting on his desk as a useless paperweight for the last few days. He’s been too scared to use it – his mind’s the only thing he’s got left, and even that’s already been affected by Conversion.
His brain hurts to even think about defying Conversion, but his scientists assure him that the machine will work as intended, carve out what needs to be carved out – and what’s a little brain damage between friends?
He’ll probably lose his hands, damaging his fine motor control. He might lose his quickness of thought, aphasia and interrupted thought and executive dysfunction.
Mick needs to be in safe hands before Len can risk it.
Allen might be those hands.
Maybe.
He can’t be sure, though. Not yet.
Something to keep an eye on.
Len closes his eyes.
Falling asleep is easier than it’s ever been before.
“This isn’t the story you were meant to have,” the man all in white, with the shining point of infinity in his eyes and the green stone upon his chest, says to Len.
“I know,” Len says. “I’m working on it. I need to know the right time.”
“There will never be a right time.”
“Either step up and take action,” Len says crossly, “or leave it to me like you said you would.”
“You are the author here,” the man agrees. “You are the music maker.”
“The dreamer of dreams,” Len agrees.
And then he wakes up.
World-losers and world-forsakers, on whom the pale moon gleams, yet we are the movers and shakers of the world for ever, it seems.
World-forsaker - yeah that sounds right, but not yet.
Not yet.
Soon enough, though, Len thinks to himself. Soon enough.
The next time he sees the man in white, he’s asleep in his own bed, Mick curled up beside him as warmth and security both, the world restored.
“Well done,” the man says, the Spear in his hands as promised; his reward for keeping Len's mind intact from Conversion and his duty pursuant to their agreement. He'll take it away and hide it amongst dreams so that anyone trying what the Legion tried will have a hell of a time to find it.
Len's good with that.
“I’m not done yet,” Len says, and thinks about the sort of stories you can tell, of a supervillain and a superhero, the sort of narrative that will make people accept it as a fact of existence, that will make people root for it; something that will make the tabloids cheer and the more solemn newspapers speak glowingly.
Len’s time in Doomworld learning PR isn’t going to go entirely to waste.
After all, there might be some people who don't think superheroes ought to be with supervillains. People who might criticize, who might judge, who might pressure - people who might be inclined to interfere.
If Mick wants Barry, and Barry wants Mick, then Len’s certainly not going to let some story get in the way.
