Lisa drags a disapproving Len down to The Flash Tattoo Studio to watch her get a tattoo, but during her session, Len becomes drawn to the artist, tattoo artist extraordinaire Barry Allen. After seeing the amazing job he does on Lisa's one-of-a-kind tattoo, he decides to chance asking Barry for help covering up a secret he has, one that he wears on his back, underneath his clothes, and speaks of every foul thing his father ever did to him.

(AU with some nods to canon. Mention of Lisa dating Cisco. Barry has his speed force powers…maybe. Len's story line is pretty much the only one that stays truest to form. Just for visualization purposes, Lisa's about 25, Barry's about 27, and Len's about 32.)

Warning for angst, eventual discussion of child abuse, scars, and Nora Allen's death. Otherwise, lots of fun, fluffy sibling bonding, Len's overprotective, Barry has his speed force powers…maybe, and he's kind of a flirt xD

"Lisa, you are not getting a tattoo, and that's final," Len barks, marching down the sidewalk after his sister. Despite his determined pace, and the lengthy strides his size advantage gives him, she somehow manages to stay one step ahead.

"Len, that's the fifth time you've said that," she tosses at him in a mocking rendition of her older brother's impotent tirade. She stops when she reaches the glass door to The Flash Tattoo Studio, located in, what could be considered, Central City's scenic Boho District. She puts her hand on the door handle and glances over her shoulder, flashing a triumphant smile. "How's that working for ya?"

Len grumbles spoiled (something) brat as he approaches the door, but Lisa knows better than to care about her brother's tantrums.

"Tell me again why you need to mark yourself up in this ludicrous manner?"

"It's not ludicrous," she argues. She pulls the door open, sleigh-style bells clanging overhead. "I've been wanting to get a tattoo for ages."

"But why's the question," Len persists, following her inside, instinctively keeping close to her back. "Why would you voluntarily violate your skin?"

"Because they're beautiful," she says, gesturing emphatically to the pictures hanging on the blood red walls of the shop, each one, Len has to admit, a singular work of art, "and exciting…and sexy." Len rolls his head on his shoulders. There's an image he doesn't need, not when it involves his sister. "Hey, all the guys you hang out with have 'em."

"The guys I hang out with are criminals," he says in a lowered voice.

"Look, you've got your little…toy to play with," Lisa teases in a veiled reference to her brother's signature weapon – his cold gun. "I don't rob banks or blow up armored trucks. I just want to get a tattoo."

Len won't argue that point. His current lifestyle wasn't her choice, but it affects her more than he expected it would. Honestly, he can't say he gave it too much thought when things began. A lot of the decisions his younger self made were done out of desperation. Regretfully, he doesn't know whether or not he'd change it if he could.

If he ever finds a way to go back in time and give himself fair warning, maybe he'll have an answer to that question.

He shrugs a shoulder, giving this argument up for his petulant sister.

"Fair enough," he admits. "But then, why am I here? I ain't paying for you to get graffiti-ed."

"I'm paying," Lisa groans. She could choose to be insulted that that's why he thinks she brought him along, but a lot of things with Len boil down to money. It's not greed; it's force of habit. When you grow up being denied the things that you need, you hold on with both hands to everything you've got. That includes family. And that's why she demanded that Len go with her. She finds an empty leather loveseat amidst a row of small couches and chairs in the waiting area, and sits. These seats, lined up against the wall, overlook the work stations, where three artists are already tattooing customers. "You're here for sibling bonding." She pats the seat beside her and Len takes it, spreading his legs when he sits and leaving no extra room, discouraging anyone else from trying to sit next to them. "Lord knows you're rarely ever home anymore. I wanted to do something fun with my big brother. That's all."

"We could've gone bowling." Len moves an inch closer when her head finds his shoulder. "That's fun, and probably way less expensive." She puts a hand on his forearm, and he sighs, doing his best to relax for her sake. "Plus, I could have gotten a beer."

"Len," she chuckles, "it's only ten o'clock in the morning."

"It's five o'clock somewhere."

Len leans against the wall behind them and does what he always does – scopes out every inch of the place. He counts the number of windows, identifies exit and entry points, isolates how many people there are while making note of sex, age, estimating heights and weights, pinpointing purses and backpacks, looking for shapes or bulges that could indicate a weapon inside, determining any and all possibility of danger. It's something he does so automatically, he's not always aware he's doing it anymore. It's saved his ass time and time again, but there's a point to which it frustrates him that he can't switch it off and enjoy five minutes of peace with Lisa.

The people in the shop are, for the most part, minding their own business - checking their phones, listening to iPods, reading, but on his second sweep, he notices that he and Lisa have attracted the attention of one man in particular, over at one of the tattoo stations. He wasn't there a second ago. He seems to have popped up out of nowhere. In his red, long-sleeve tee with a neon yellow lightning bolt smack dab in the center, Len would have remembered him. He's busy rearranging a tray of inks and prepping a tattoo gun, but he glances at them between tasks. Len bristles when he realizes, after a few moments of observation, it's not them that he's looking at, but Lisa.

Len squares his shoulders, his body going rigid.

"Len?" Lisa tilts her face up to look at her brother. "Len…are you alright?"

"Lisa?" the man calls out with a smile and a wave. "Lisa Snart?"

"Yeah," she says, raising her head. "That's me." Her eyes fly open. "Oh my God!" She leaps out of the loveseat and rushes the man while Len follows unhurriedly behind. "Barry Allen! The Barry Allen!"

"That's me," he says, ducking his head, eschewing a sudden blush. Len wonders how much of that's an act. The way everyone's eyes light up when Lisa says his name, he must be some kind of tattoo rock star. He'd have to be supremely grounded not to let that get to him…or one hell of an actor to make it seem that way.

Or he could be a genuinely humble man. Len scoffs to himself. Who would have thought there were any of those still around? Len sure as hell doesn't run in to too many.

"I can't believe you're going to be doing my tattoo," Lisa raves. "I just…the master himself. Wow." She thrusts a hand out, and with a polite chuckle, Barry takes it.

"It was too intriguing a request to pass up," Barry says, intermittently distracted by the presence of the hulking figure standing behind her like a bodyguard. "And this is…"

"My brother." Lisa grabs Len's arm and tries to tug him forward, but he refuses to budge. "His name's Len." Barry offers up his hand for a shake. Len looks at it a moment, then at Barry and his annoyingly bright smile. Len adverts his eyes without a hand shake or a word. Lisa shakes her head. "Don't mind him," she says, drawing Barry's attention away from her brother's surly attitude. "He hates everyone on principle."

"Coolness," Barry says, dropping his hand. "Good to know. Well, Lisa" – Barry takes her by the shoulders and leads her to a low stool – "why don't you make yourself comfortable, and we'll get started."

Lisa sits, shuffling her feet on the black-and-white checkerboard floor, giddy with excitement. Barry returns to his tattoo gun and his tray of inks, doing a last minute check on his tools as he prepares to get to work.

"You know," Len says, bending low to push his stern expression into his sister's face, "I don't approve."

She bounces up an inch and pecks a kiss to his chin.

"And that's what makes this so much fun!"

"Did you like the piece I emailed you?" Barry asks, interrupting unintentionally. Lisa spins on the stool to face him, blocking Len out and leaving him to loiter nearby.

"Oh, yeah," she says. "I loved it! I want it to look exactly like that. Don't change a thing."

"So, what tattoo are you getting?" Len asks, deciding to join in on the conversation if he's going to stand around for a few hours doing nothing. He'd return to the loveseat if it didn't seem so far from Lisa. Besides, in their absence, it became occupied by two girls sharing a single pastel pink headset, giggling over a video they're watching on a tablet about the size of a paperback book.

"You'll just have to wait and see," Lisa says, patiently letting Barry turn her around and position her in better light.

"I'm gonna need you to lift up your shirt, Lisa," Barry says, pulling up another stool and sitting on it.

"I'm wearing a bikini top under, so I can take it off," Lisa replies.

"Excellent."

Len's fingers curl, his tense hands becoming tenser fists, that one exchange causing him to reach reflexively for a gun holstered to his thigh that's not there at the moment.

"So, how come you don't have any tatts?" Len asks snidely. Since he can't shoot the bastard who told his sister to undress, he decides to criticize - in this case, Barry's pristine skin, this supposed master tattoo artist without a single tatt on his body. From what Len has seen of tattoo artists, they're usually covered in tatts. The more coveted the artist, the less room left to spare.

"My skin doesn't take ink," Barry explains, running a pink disposable BIC razor carefully over Lisa's right shoulder. "It's rare, but it happens to some people. In my case, it's kind of drastic."

Len makes a skeptical noise. "That's convenient."

"Not in my business, it's not." Barry tosses the razor in the trash. He puts his hand down on the counter next to him, palm flat to stretch out the skin. "When you're a tattoo artist with no tatts, believe me, your credibility gets called into question." He dips his needles in a cup of black ink, fires up his tattoo gun, and starts signing his name on the back of his hand. It's weird the way the gun, or is it his skin, shimmers, but almost as soon as the words Barry Allen appear on his flesh, they're gone again, the ink absorbing through the layers and disappearing as if they'd never been there. "See?" Barry raises his hand for Len to see. "Not convenient. Obnoxious."

"Oh, come on, Len," Lisa says, smacking her brother on the knee. "Stop being such a pill and let the man do his job." She turns back to Barry, switching out his needles. "I saw your portfolio online last month. And the work you did at that Expo in Los Angeles? Man! You're just…incredible! Like some kind of tattoo superhero!"

"Thank you," Barry says, snapping on a pair of purple latex gloves. "I'm glad you like my work." He moves her back into position, his cheeks coloring at her unsolicited praise, and Len rolls his eyes.

"Is there going to be any actual tattooing going on here? Or are we gonna sit around and talk about how amazing Barry is for the next two hours?"

"I'm getting there," Barry says, dipping his fresh needles into a new cup of ink. "You can't rush the creative process."

"Strange words coming from a man who chose to call his studio The Flash."

Barry glances up over Lisa's shoulder with a smirk twitching his lips.

"Point one for Mr. Snart," Barry says, starting his gun. "Well played."

"Just call him Captain Cold," Lisa says, smiling mischievously at her brother. Len doesn't see. He has his eyes locked on the man sitting behind her. "That's what I call him."

"Hmm," Barry hums, repeating the name Captain Cold, Captain Cold, over and over while he works, his tongue wetting his lips after each time. Len has always hated that nickname. His sister picked it out for him. Correction, his sister's wannabe boyfriend Cisco Ramon picked it out for him. Len didn't actually hear him say it, or he would have fattened his lip, but Lisa told him about it the first time she used it. Len figured that if he ignored it, like most things, it would go away. But that's something that could never be said for his sister. Once she knows something has gotten under his skin, she turns making it stay there into a profession.

But hearing Barry say it, mumbling it under his breath, getting his mouth around it, with his hazel-green eyes piercing and intense as he zeroes in on Lisa's tattoo and nothing else, makes Len want to hear him say it again.

"You know, Len, you might consider finally buckling down and getting one of these, too."

Len sees a smile start on Barry's lips.

"What do you mean finally?"

"Isn't it standard equipment for tough guys like yourself to work out a lot and cover their bodies in tattoos?"

Barry's smile grows, and Len is tempted to give Lisa a pinch for turning him into this man's source of amusement.

Although, that smile of his isn't too bad a thing to look at.

"You would know better than me, Lees."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lisa asks. Barry turns his head and chuckles, and Len feels slightly victorious.

"Exactly what you think it means." Len grins, glad to turn the tables for a bit.

"I'm no groupie, if that's what you're implying," Lisa argues. Barry goes from amused to confused. Len looks at his sister and scowls. Lisa has a bad habit of talking vaguely but loudly about things she shouldn't discuss in public. Len tries to think up a subject to switch to, but small talk has never been his forte.

Lisa does it for him, but it doesn't make things better.

"Don't knock it," she says. "I think you'd look hot with a tattoo."

Barry's eyes snap up at Len, and this time it's Len's face that starts changing colors.

"I wasn't asking your opinion, but the fact that you're my sister makes that comment extremely disturbing."

"You know…" Barry speaks up, wiping off a spot and going over it again, "not to interrupt this fascinating sibling rivalry, that creepy comment aside, I think your sister's right." When Barry glances up at Len again, it's with a definite smolder in his eyes. "You would look pretty hot with a tattoo."

"See?" Lisa says, delivering another smack to Len's knee. But Len doesn't feel that one. There's no blood left in his body anywhere except for one specific place. "And this guy knows his business."

Len is about to come back with a remark about how Barry is trying to drum up more business for himself, but he can't, because his mouth has gone completely dry.

"You just don't want to admit that you're a handsome man, underneath your icy exterior," she finishes.

Len clears his throat, uneasy with the feeling of a dozen eyes watching him. But even though the studio is busy, with other artists working and a line of customers waiting a whole room away, no one's actually paying much attention. All of that attention is coming from Barry Allen. Barry Allen and his smoldering eyes.

"I'll decide if and when I want to deface my body, thank you very much. And when did the topic of conversation become me, anyway?"

"I don't know about her, but I'm just passing the time," Barry says not too seriously, but the mood in the room returns to something close to normal the moment his eyes shift to his tray of inks. "Speaking of, she's gonna be a couple hours if you want to pull up a chair."

"No, thanks," Len says. "I'm fine standing."

"Good," Barry says, returning to Lisa's tattoo, but with the sliver of a glance reserved for Len, "because I think I could watch you stand there like that…all…day…long."

Lisa puts a hand over her mouth and guffaws.

Len stalks off and grabs a chair.

"…but I'm thinking of switching majors. I don't know. I just don't think that computers are my thing."

"Well, what is your thing?" Barry asks, and it astounds Len how sincere he sounds, like he really wants to know what his sister wants to do with the rest of her life. Len imagines that making conversation is part of the job, but from what he can hear coming from the other stations (the ones where customers aren't whimpering in pain, outright crying, or the one guy moaning like he's having sex, which Barry assured them was normal before he had to take a pause and laugh it out), the majority of the other artists listen to their customers jabber, then add a perfunctory, "A-ha, a-ha," during the appropriate pauses. But Barry actively listens. He asks questions. He offers suggestions. He and Lisa are having an actual discussion about her life choices, and he doesn't seem to mind that she barely lets him get a word in otherwise.

There's something about his attentiveness that Len finds kind of attractive.

However, listening to his sister talk about herself for the past few hours has Len about ready to bail for a jog around the block, to stretch his legs and get a breath of fresh air. At least Lisa's chattering has taken the pressure off of Len to be entertaining.

And it's worth sticking around for the insights into Barry's life when Lisa allows him the chance to slip them in.

"If I hadn't become a tattoo artist? I'd have probably gone into forensic science. You know, crime scene investigating and stuff. My family kind of has a history with law enforcement."

"Oh! See that, Len?" Lisa chirps suddenly. "You guys do have something in common."

Len glares, blue eyes boring straight into her skull, but right then, Barry switches off his gun and puts it down.

"There you go," Barry says, wiping Lisa's shoulder a final time and handing her a mirror. "Cymothoe Capella" - Len looks up at the mention of that name – "otherwise known as…"

"The Golden Glider," Len finishes, mystified when he sees the butterfly Barry inked onto his sister's right shoulder, its wings spread, folding slightly at the fore wings as if caught in mid-flight, a shadow underneath denoting its upward lift, the various golden pigments on her skin sparkling as if lit by a single ray of sunlight. But as magnificent as her tattoo is, as masterfully as Barry has recreated it, hyper-real, like it might flutter off her back and fly away, it's the fact that she told him. Lisa told Barry Allen about the secret totem that she held on to her entire childhood.

She probably didn't tell him the whole story, about how their father abused them, that Len tried his best to protect her, and how she used to dream that this stupid ass butterfly would come to her bedroom window and carry them both away, but as far as Len knows, Lisa has never even mentioned The Golden Glider to anyone.

But if she didn't say something, why would a big shot like Barry Allen find the need to do the tattoo himself? It's only a butterfly. Len has seen a dozen butterfly tattoos. They'll probably see a dozen more on the way home.

Of course, none of them will be as spectacular as this one.

Barry stands and offers Lisa a hand up. He leads her over to a full length mirror, and steps back so she can have an unobstructed view.

"Do you like it?" Barry asks.

Len watches his sister stare at her reflection, transfixed by her new tattoo. Her lower lip trembles. She gets caught on the first word out of her mouth, and Len worries that she's going to cry. Lisa crying is something Len isn't used to. She's not the emotional type, regardless of a past that's tried endlessly to break her to pieces.

Len practically raised her. He's been with her through the thick and thin, but he's never been able to watch her cry.

"It's…it's amazing," she stammers. "I…it's so much more beautiful than I dreamed it would be. So much more than the email you sent me. I…thank you."

Barry smiles. "You're very welcome."

"I could…oh, I could just hug you!"

"Go for it." Barry opens his arms. "I'm always up for a hug."

Lisa throws herself in Barry's arms, and Barry, to Len's surprise, hugs her tight. This isn't the kind of token hug one stranger obliging gives another. There's something to it, some shred of understanding lying underneath.

When they pull apart, it's Lisa who lets go first.

She goes back to turning in front of the mirror, looking at her tattoo from different angles, stepping in and out of the light to see the ink sparkle. (How in the hell did Barry get it to do that anyway?) Barry pulls out his cell phone and snaps a picture, which Lisa stops her twisting and turning long enough to pose properly for.

"What do you think, Len?" Lisa asks. In the reflection of the mirror, Len sees Barry's eyes flicker his way.

"It's…very nice," Len says, his tone non-committal. He doesn't want to give in to the things he might say if the venue were more private. Anyway, with Lisa there, Barry doesn't need Len to stroke his ego. "But here, put your shirt back on. You're gonna catch a cold." He tries to shove the shirt in her hands, but she bats it away.

"Not a chance! Now I have to head to Macy's and buy all the tank tops I can find so I can show it off!"

"After it heals," Barry says, smoothing on a thin layer of clear ointment, then covering it with a bandage and taping it down. Len watches Barry's hands as he bandages his sister's shoulder. He's not being overprotective, he just…can't seem to help himself. "Follow the directions on the follow-up email I'm going to send you, but when it heals up, go ahead and show off your artwork all you want. Just make sure you tell everyone where you got it." Barry gives her a wink.

"Absolutely! And you'll charge my card?"

"Yup. Got it on file."

The way Barry doesn't seem that concerned about the money impresses Len. He doesn't race to his computer to run it through, too wrapped up in the smile lighting up his sister's face. Barry probably made around $300 plus for under two hours of work, but he seems more blissed out over the fact that Lisa is happy.

Maybe the money doesn't faze him anymore, but still, it's admirable.

"Oh, and here." Lisa reaches into her back pocket and pulls out another hundred - no wallet, no nothing. Just a hundred dollar bill sitting in her back pocket this whole time.

Welp. That's his baby sister.

"Thank you," Barry says, putting the bill in his pocket without looking at it. "Thank you very much."

"You deserve it," Lisa says. Len tries one more time to push her shirt on her, but even though her tattoo is completely covered, she refuses to put it on.

"You guys enjoy the rest of your day," Barry says, his eyes moving from Lisa's smile to Len's face. Len doesn't understand why, but he needs to look away.

"And you enjoy scarring people for life," he says, putting a protective hand on his sister's back and leading her towards the door.

"Hey, if you ever want to be scarred for life, come back anytime," Barry says. "I stay open late. After hours by request."

"Not in this lifetime," Len retorts, urging Lisa out the door before she can open her mouth and say something incriminating, "but thanks anyway."

"No problem," Barry says. It doesn't sound like a comeback. It comes on the crest of a sigh that sounds slightly disappointed.

Or maybe Len is projecting.

Outside Barry's shop and in the open air, Len feels like he can finally breathe again, but it doesn't make him feel any more refreshed.

It doesn't make him feel better about leaving.

"I like him," Lisa says, walking side by side with her brother instead of leading him on a rampant chase. "He's sweet, funny, and hella handsome. I wonder if he's single."

"I thought you were still dating that Cisco kid studying tech down at the college," Len says, hoping a comment about their impending break up will follow.

"Not for me, doofus," she says, bumping his shoulder with her fist. "For you."

Len raises an eyebrow. "Whatever."

"Whatever yourself…but I think he kinda liked you."

"Not likely," Len snorts, but the urge to look back and see if Barry is watching them leave is overwhelming. Regardless, Len fights it off. "Look, kid" – he reaches out and gives her that pinch she's been earning steadily over the last two hours – "you stick to screwing up your own life, and let me deal with mine."