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Chapter Text

• S E C T I O N    I •

The Man in the Yellow Suit

(Based on Episode 9 of Season 1)

~ ♾ ~

"She shook her head again, this time, no words needing to explain her feelings, because Barry knew; somehow he always knew— that didn't make it any less painful."

~ ♾ ~

Number of Chapters: 3

Chapter Text

"I love you, Iris."

The words had come out as easily as he had phrased them in his head for years — stolen moments between them which he had interpreted as a connection deeper than mere friendship, because, truthfully, that's what it was. The bond was eternal. Whether or not it was romantic was all hanging in the balance now, waiting to be knocked over. This was a risk, and Barry Allen knew it; it was going to change everything, but too many years had been wasted pining over unrequited love. Maybe that is what made it so sweet, so desirable, but also more painful, less. . . real. However, after everything that had happened the past couple days: the man in the yellow suit, his father, his own guilt and regret—the final climax of the journey he had waited years to finally reach, he was tired of it all. His father was right. It was time to let things go; even if it resulted in utter pain, it was a risk he was willing to take.

"Oh, I love you too, Barry," Iris replied, rubbing his back as she settled into the hug.

Unlatching from the warm embrace he had grown so fond of all these years, Barry's eyes flicked down before he let out a deep sigh, swallowing down the last of his courage. "When we were kids I loved you before I even knew what the word 'love' meant," he smiled, seeing her face mirror his same expression, "and then my mom died and I had to go live with the girl I had a crush on."

He tried to meet Iris's brown eyes that began to avert sideways. Confusion crossed her face before her head shook in realization and disbelief, more pity than anything else. Too much to take in at once, she sat down on the couch nearby, Barry reluctantly following suit.

"Look, I—" he paused, folding his hands in front of his mouth, carefully collecting the words that were scattered around his brain. Not even his speed could help him out with this one. "There were so many times I wanted to tell you— Junior Prom, when I went away to college, when I came back from college, nights that we stayed up talking, all the birthdays, all the Christmases, but I— I never did." The rambles stopped as tears began to well up in his green eyes, threatening to fall, "I just. . . kept it in."

Iris shook her head slowly, her eyes frowning in sorrow and, what looked like, a hint of anger. Words ceased to come out of her mouth, but it didn't matter right now. He needed to finish.

"After I lost my mom and my dad, I was afraid that if you didn't feel the same way, I would lose you too," Barry paused again. It seemed that as he was letting words out, new realizations were coming to light for himself. "That's the irony. I was so scared of losing you that I did. I know I've had our whole lives to tell you this, and you're with Eddie now, and I know that, and I know my timing couldn't be any worse, but I just. . . I couldn't lie to you any more," he finished, finally locking his gaze on her; a single tear trailed down her cheek, glistening in the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree: the last bit of hope fading into gray.

She shook her head again, this time, no words needing to explain her feelings, because Barry knew; somehow he always knew— that didn't make it any less painful.

"I'm sorry." He flicked his eyes back at her as if making his final plea for her to respond. The silence was enough of an answer.

Getting up from the couch, Barry let out a sigh. He had done it. It was finally out in the open. The weight of his secrets all these years had finally been released from his shoulders. Somehow, now that it was in Iris's hands, lingering like a parasite, his mind was clear, but the pain remained.

Barry walked out of the room, the comforting light that was once there, sucked out dry, leaving nothing but a dull bulb.

It had been knocked over, and his friendship along with it. In that moment, Barry had decided he'd rather take unrequited love in a friendship than the emptiness he was feeling any day.

Chapter Text

Sitting in his lab at the CCPD, the only place to get away from everything, Barry felt a buzz on the table. Dropping the pen he was fiddling with, his eyes read over the word "SOS" sent from Caitlin Snow. Heart pounding, careless worries were left behind, trailing behind the red lightning of Central City's hero, the Flash.

New worries raced through his mind faster than the blur of buildings and wind rushing past his face: Was Caitlin okay? Why didn't they let him stay to catch the man in yellow? Who else was in trouble?

He couldn't lose any more friends tonight.

Making it over to S.T.A.R. LABS, Barry flashed into his sleek red suit, seeing Caitlin and Cisco frozen in panic. Their computer screens were filled with glitching images. That only meant one thing:

The trap had failed.

The man in yellow was loose.

Running downstairs, he saw a blurring yellow figure face-to-face with Joe in a choke-hold. Joe's eyes were wide with fear.

No. Not again. This man in yellow wasn't going to take anyone else from him. The Flash forcefully grabbed the other speedster, taking them outside to finish this like he wanted to do before.

The next thing Barry felt was his back being slammed into the windshield of a car, cracks weaving out like spiderwebs. Looking up, he saw the outlines of Caitlin and Cisco a ways off, watching the fight unfold.

Seeing his gaze shift, the yellow speedster turned around, finding the source of the Flash's worry. Before he could grab a hold of the two friends, a red streak stopped in front of him.

The sounds of punches, kicks, and whizzes filled the desolate parking lot as the two speedsters fought. Barry's body ached as his attempts to block the attacks against him failed astronomically.

He just wasn't fast enough.

"BARRY!" The sound of Caitlin's worry-filled cry echoed in the courtyard. His friends couldn't die tonight, not like his mom did all those years ago.

Vision spotty and breath hitched, his body slammed to the ground. The crack of something (probably his ribs) split through the air: the final movement of the yellow speedster's concerto.

Or so he thought.

Just when the Flash thought his body couldn't take anymore, a blinding light from an unknown source shot out, jolting his enemy backwards. Turning his head behind, Barry saw a man— long, stringy black hair falling in front of his two eyes which glowed like little suns. Flames ignited from the top of his head and his arms.

Who was this guy? Barry thought. What was he? Why had he saved him?

Those thoughts were interrupted as a low, unsettling voice, like Darth Vader underwater, filled the air, "Our race is not yet done. See you soon, Flash." Yellow lightning was the only thing that remained as his enemy vanished.

Now that the fight was over, Caitlin and Cisco rushed over to Barry. Grunting from the hissing pain in his chest, he grabbed Cisco's hand, standing up as well as he could.

Behind him, Caitlin faced the burning man that had saved him, her feet reluctant to step any closer. Before Barry could even get a word out, the man burst into flames once again and flew away into the night sky, Caitlin's gaze following the light. But that wasn't what was at the forefront of Barry's mind. Anger began to build up inside of him like a fiery inferno.

That yellow speedster was going to pay for what he had done, however long it took.

Chapter Text

Back in the spot he knew all too well, alone with his thoughts in his lab, Barry shook the small snow globe in his hands, watching the minute white specks whirl around the London Bridge crafted inside. A grin curved the edges of his mouth as he remembered simpler times, ones that were all too far gone now.

After the yellow speedster (they really needed to come up with a better name for this guy) sped away, he spent the next couple hours being patched up by none other than his "personal physician", Caitlin Snow. This time, he had actually listened to her orders and stayed away (as much as he could until it was necessary anyway). He had broken a couple ribs from his previous fight, but luckily, his fast-healing abilities only left sore back pains and loose bandages now.

To fill the time he was getting treated, Barry was finally able to ask the question that had been floating around — it seemed like the "elephant in the room" but no one bothered to tell him what it was. . .

"So, that burning man that saved me tonight. . ." he started, seeing Caitlin's eyes turn up suddenly to meet his tired gaze briefly.

"What about him?" She responded, bottom lip caught between her teeth. Her brown eyes focused back on the task at hand.

She wasn't going to fool him.

"Come on, Cait. I know when you're lying," Barry lightly let out, the pain of his broken ribs still hissing in his chest faintly, "you're biting your lower lip. You do it whenever something's bothering you." It amazed him how he knew that. He managed to know her little quirks and ticks even though their friendship began only three months ago. But even now, he wondered why she wasn't being honest. Somehow he believed talking about it would get his mind off of Iris.

A small chuckle escaped from the brunette's lips as her eyes lazily rolled in defense of his success. She took a deep breath.

"Ronnie's alive."

Barry's eyes widened in response, his mouth falling open. Abruptly, he sat up before being lightly pushed down by the doctor who was now cleaning his face. Ronnie? As in "Caitlin's fiancé that died in the particle accelerator explosion" Ronnie? Barry thought.

"It's not what you think. . ." she quickly retorted, seeing the exasperated reaction on his face. "He's. . . different, as you may have seen—" She muttered the last part quietly, swallowing a formulating sob. Setting down the cotton swab she was using to dab the cuts on his face, her arms fell to her side. "Look, I don't really wanna talk about it", her tone more sorrowful than annoyed, "but all I can say is that he isn't the Ronnie I knew. Something's wrong with his. . . powers. It's making him this way and I wanna fix it but don't know how—"

"Hey," Barry cut in, softly, placing his hand on her forearm, rubbing his thumb over her soft skin to calm down her rambles. Silent, glossy tears began trailing down her cheeks. She looked down hesitantly at his hand before grabbing it.

"I can't imagine what you're going through right now. But there's one thing I know and that's we'll figure this out, all of us, together. There's a reason he saved us tonight. Right now, you might not know how to fix it, but you can't lose hope if you believe Ronnie's still out there. " His green eyes met her brown ones as she faintly smiled before wiping away her tears.

"Thanks, Barry." she said, squeezing the hand still rested on her forearm. Changing the subject briefly, Caitlin asked, "How are you doing, though, with everything that's happened recently? I can only imagine it's been really painful."

A wave of unnerving feelings washed over him as he recalled the events from today: the way he managed to shatter his relationship with Iris, seeing his perfectly innocent father suffering, and finally, failing to best the man that put his father there in the first place.

"I'm not gonna lie to you, Caitlin, when you all told me I couldn't be here to capture the man in yellow, I was really angry. . . not at the team, but at myself," Barry paused, letting the thoughts tumble out of his head like a tidal wave, "I wasn't fast enough to catch the one man who has made my life, and my father's life, a living hell these past fourteen years. I've waited everyday since that night, to watch justice be served. And when I became the Flash, I began to believe it was possible. I want to catch him so badly, that sometimes I'm scared that I'll become like him— full of hate. I can't help thinking I'm going to lose what I have left. I just— can't lose anyone else."

Caitlin smiled softly, her eyebrows twinging up in sympathy. How did something simple as a smile manage to lift his spirits?

"Barry, remember when I told you that lightning chose you for a reason?"

"Yeah."

"You were destined to be the Flash because of who you are, not your speed. You are Barry Allen and the Flash. The fact that you are even worried about losing other people trying to catch the man in yellow shows who you are— you're a light. He can't take that away from you." She tilted her head, a grin painted across her pink-tinted face.

Once again, Caitlin Snow had given him the confidence he needed. He wasn't sure why he was surprised; she had always been there for him, no matter how difficult the circumstance was. Maybe the blinders he had set on Iris, his father, and the man in yellow had prevented him from seeing what had been here this whole time— genuine friendship. Harrison Wells, Cisco, and Caitlin were his team, and he wasn't going to let that go so easily, not anymore.

"You always know how to boost me back up, physically and mentally," Barry chuckled, finally able to sit up properly without falling over. "I wish I could hug you right now, but—" he looked down at the bandages wrapped around his chest.

"It's okay. I wouldn't let you anyways. Doctors orders" she replied in an exaggerated pompous tone, making Barry chuckle more. A wince broke the laughter, a clear indication she was right.

Smiling at the memory, Barry continued to play with the small crystal globe, flipping it over and over to watch the snowfall, a broken record playing the same sweet tune. Within the slow storm, he saw the faint outline of Joe West walking into his office.

"Hey, Bar," he said softly, making his way over to the desk Barry was sitting at.

Still holding the globe lazily between his fingers, the speedster faced the man he had almost lost to a murderer only 3 hours ago.

"You know my mom traveled around the world twice? She spent a semester abroad in Spain, and she loved it so much that after she graduated, she went to Europe." He continued to admire the London Bridge behind the glass, smiling fondly as he tried to imagine what a young Nora Allen looked like. "—didn't stop till she'd been to a few dozen other cities."

Joe looked down, his face blank as a piece of paper as he plopped his jacket on the desk, pulling up a small stool to face him; he was always so hard to read, but so easy to talk to.

Finally satisfied, Barry set down the globe, continuing his train of thought: "She always wanted to go back, but she never got a chance." His eyes averted sideways, thinking about the opportunities ripped away from his mother the night she was taken from him.

"I offered to send you abroad when you were in college," Joe cut in, adding a friendly scoff.

"Yeah, I know. I remember. I— I couldn't take off," Barry let out with a sigh, "I mean, the truth is. . . I'm stuck here in Central City. Fear has kept me in that living room for 14 years." No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't keep that fear away. Ever since that fateful night, he felt like he was running towards freedom from internal torment, while in reality, he was locked in a cage of his own obsessions. It only took until now to figure that out.

Finally looking up, eyes filled with remorse, Barry said, "Joe, I was mad at you for being scared. But, I mean, the truth is, I was the one that was scared. I've been afraid of the man in yellow for my whole life. That's why I lost."

Combined feelings of anger, fear, and insecurity had combusted and released like a pipe bursting from atmospheric pressure. All these realizations were coming to light and aligning together to point towards their connecting source: the man in yellow. Maybe that's why he was so obsessed with finding out the truth, being close to Iris, saving all of his friends, and, in the end, being the fastest man alive. The fear had shackled him for too long; though, he didn't know if he was quite ready to be unlatched from it yet.

Joe, recognizing the mental battle Barry was fighting, leaned forward, connecting his dark eyes with green. "When you first moved in with us, I thought it was gonna be too much. I'm already a single dad, finances were tough, and you were a little boy who just lost his mother. But, man, was I wrong," He chuckled at the last part, Barry's lips curving into a bright smile. "Within two weeks you had changed the whole dynamic of the house. Suddenly, the house was filled with this. . . light, this energy."

Joe's words were enough to bring him to tears.

"You'd seen more darkness than any man will in a lifetime, and you never let it dim your soul; so, there I was, thinking that I'm changing your life by taking you in, but, the truth is. . . you changed mine," Joe continued, passion flowing out of his words, hitting Barry's chest like a wrecking ball, breaking down the walls he had built up around himself. "Don't lose that light now, Bar. The world may need the Flash, but—" He paused, shaking his head, a choked sob threatening to escape. "—I need my Barry Allen."

The truth was, Joe had saved him, not just now, but all those years ago when he was just a broken, scared, and alone little kid, wanting to be loved again. It was comforting to know Joe felt the same way about him.

"Let's go home," Joe finished, standing up from his chair.

"Yeah."

A warm embrace was shared between the two, their unconditional bond strong despite opposition; not even sore ribs were enough to wipe the smile off of his face.

← — →

The twinkling lights on the Christmas tree, colorful stockings on the mantel, glistening tinsel wrapped around the stair banister, and infectious laughter of good company were enough to ignite Barry's Christmas spirits. Joe had invited Caitlin and Cisco to join their little family party, Eddie included. I guess he and Iris are a package deal, Barry thought, grudgingly.

While Caitlin and Cisco were in the kitchen, obsessing over Grandma Esther's eggnog, Iris and Eddie sat in the leather armchair next to the fireplace, his arm wrapped around her small frame, as she sat on his lap. As if this couldn't get anymore uncomfortable. Deciding he needed to clear the air a little bit to at least salvage something from the mess he had caused earlier today, Barry walked over to them.

He was greeted by Eddie saying, "Merry Christmas, Barry," before Iris's smile faltered, the color draining from her face.

Feeling the air become tense, he responded, "You too, Eddie," before shifting the conversation. "Hey, I, um—" Barry stammered, taking the risk to meet her eyes— a major mistake as they were drowning in pity and fear. Nevertheless, he carried on, "—well, I just wanted to say, um. . . I heard you're moving in together, and I'm really happy for you."

Truthfully, he was; he wanted nothing more than for Iris to be happy, even if it wasn't with him. What hurt more, was the quiet "thanks" he received from her in response, a smile masking the sorrow inside. A fake smile plastered over his own face as he fought back watery eyes.

Despite the awkward and painful interaction, he managed to keep his composure. Walking into the kitchen, he was met by Cisco and Joe having a light conversation, and Caitlin admiring a few pictures hung up on the wall, a candy-cane mug in her hands. Pouring some of Grandma Esther's eggnog into a mug on the table, he lifted the cup to his lips, the tastes of nutmeg and bourbon stinging his tongue. Even though he couldn't get drunk, it still tasted phenomenal.

Caitlin was now looking closely at a framed picture of himself and Iris when they were about 11 years old—the first Christmas after his mom had died; she smiled softly at the picture.

"Hey," Barry interjected, tapping her shoulder with his mug. Her head swerved to face him, auburn curls softly bouncing, her countenance beaming with the soft light from the chandelier.

"Hey, Barry. I didn't know you had such a love for dinosaurs," she said humorously, pointing to the picture on the wall with her eyes. In the snapshot, Barry was wearing his favorite dinosaur pjs, the ones he had gotten for his birthday that same year, four days before his mother was murdered. He wore them almost every night that year despite Joe's protests. In this particular photo, the bright colors were more faded than he remembered.

"Ah— yeah— that phase," he chuckled, shaking his head in response. "You know— that was the first Christmas I spent with Iris and Joe after my mom died. It was the first time I truly felt a part of their family."

Caitlin "awed" in response, her eyebrows twinging up.

Barry looked a little closer at the picture. He was sitting next to Iris, who was dressed in "hello, kitty" pajamas in front of the Christmas tree. Clutched in her small hands was a glass angel; he remembered— this was taken right before Joe placed the angel on top of the tree, a tradition done every year since then. His favorite part of this tradition was seeing Iris's excitement when the angel's light turned on, her hands clapping as they shared the moment together.

"I'm glad everyone's safe. . . after tonight, I mean," said Caitlin.

"Me too. My guess is, it's only the beginning," he sighed, "I'm happy we're all together, though. . . especially on Christmas."

Caitlin laughed softly. "How are your ribs feeling, by the way?"

"Pretty good, actually. Thanks again for patching me up." He playfully nudged her again with his mug. "Oh, that reminds me. . . here's that hug that I promised you earlier." He set down his mug on the table beside them, while Caitlin playfully rolled her eyes and smiled. She placed her chin on his shoulder as his arms wrapped around her upper back. A comforting warmth spread throughout his body like a slow-burning fire. It felt good to hug someone right now— he was glad it was Caitlin.

"We're going to catch him, Barry."

"I know. We're going to save Ronnie too." He released her from the embrace.

A hopeful expression crossed her face before sudden realization, her eyebrows crinkling in slight urgency.

Before he got the chance to ask, the sound of Iris saying "Dad, it's time!" ripped them away. Everyone began gathering in the living room around the decorated tree: Iris and Eddie standing near the fireplace, Cisco a little farther back, with Barry and Caitlin standing behind the couch. Joe picked up the glass angel on the mantel and stuck it on its rightful place: the top of the tree. As the light flicked on, illuminating the glass figure, laughter and small cheers filled the room. Iris, the most giddy of all, clapped her hands excitedly, turning briefly to the right, seeing Eddie smiling widely beside her. Barry's smile faltered as she unexpectedly turned her head backward to look back at him, her brightness suddenly turning dim.

This year was different, and it had nothing to do with their positions around the tree.

All he wanted for Christmas fourteen years ago was a best friend. He never thought fourteen years later, he would lose that too.

Chapter Text

• S E C T I O N   II •

Revenge of the Rogues

(Based on Episode 10 of Season 1)

~ ♾ ~

"Was he ready? Who knows how many more metahumans would come after him after knowing that the hopeful fantasies of the believers in "the Streak" were proven true. But, that is what people needed, right? Hope."

~ ♾ ~

Number of Chapters: 6

Chapter Text

My name is Barry Allen.

I am not the Fastest Man Alive. That title belongs to the man who killed my mother. . . but not for long.

Feeling the wind rush past his face, eyes focused forward, Barry ran down the empty runway. The lightning surged through his veins like a constant energy source, powering the Flash, or, more commonly known by Central City, the Red Streak. He still hadn't revealed himself to the public, as Harrison Wells had advised against it: "putting a face behind a name makes it that more dangerous." Even though he didn't always agree with his methods, Barry still trusted and respected him. Even now, over the last month, the main priority has been increasing his speed. After his last fight with the man in yellow, the Flash was going to need all the help he could get.

Cisco had upgraded his training drones to accommodate his fast speeds; currently, one of the devices was trailing behind him, shots firing from all sides. Meanwhile, Caitlin, Cisco, and Dr. Wells were watching from a safe distance. With the help of his fast reflexes, bullets whizzed past him, unable to follow his constant change in direction.

Now this is just too easy, Barry thought. Surely Cisco can do better than this? As pride started to get the best of him, he said through the intercom, "Cisco, you gonna bring it or what?"

A small smirk tugged his lips as the sound of a small rocket suddenly jerked it away. Too distracted by his own arrogance, the rocket exploded after its three-second detonation, too close to run away. His body flew to the hard ground, knocking the wind out of him.

Well. . . I think we'll need to approach this a different way, he said to himself, slowly getting up from the ground, grunting from the pain. Seeing the drone fly closer, he took his stance, waiting for the perfect window.

"Come on. . . come on. . ." he whispered under his breath.

The "BOOM" of the second rocket urged his feet forward, as if it were the gunfire to the start of a race. His surroundings slowed down to almost a stop as he approached the oncoming rocket. World still, he moved at a steady pace. It seemed the faster he got, the slower the outside world became— Einstein's theory of relativity. The speed force never ceased to amaze Barry.

It's now or never, he thought. Taking a wide leap upward, he grasped the missile, shifting its course backward into the flying drone. In a matter of milliseconds, a large explosion erupted in the area. Hopefully Cisco won't be too angry.

The blazing heat from the flames mixing with the sudden euphoria from the accomplished task enveloped his senses. After about twenty seconds, though, the euphoria was overcome by the same gnawing feeling he'd been having for months:

He was getting faster— but he still wasn't fast enough.

By the time he had finished about twenty Big Belly Burgers (sides of fries included with each), Barry was re-energized. Having the diet of a speedster did not take kindly to his wallet. Recently, he's had to eat more than usual— speed increasing and all— and, although most useful, Cisco's high energy calorie bars were not enough to entirely supply his needs.

"Very impressive, Mr. Allen. Your reactions to stimuli at super-speed continue to improve," said Dr. Wells, scanning his eyes over this month's report.

"It's still not enough," Barry replied in slight frustration, crossing his arms.

"It will be. You keep working like you are, you stay focused like you are, and you will be ready the next time your man in the yellow suit comes around."

"I think you mean the Reverse-Flash," Cisco cut in, usual excitement lacing his words. Although slightly corny, it was a better name than "the man in yellow" and much easier to say. The others, however, did not seem to care as much as Cisco who immediately began to defend himself: "What? He said it, not me. . . and he's right—yellow suit, red lightning, and evil—the reverse of Barry."

"Meh," Caitlin responded unamused.

"Actually, I kind of like it." Dr. Wells briefly smiled, earning a reaction from Cisco.

With all the random talk about naming a villain, Barry was getting impatient. He wanted to try again. "All right, I'm still ready for another round. How many drones do you have left?" he asked, walking over to the trailer to change.

"Two, and these ones. . . have lasers!" Cisco scoffed, his usual "nerd" coming out full-fledged.

Hopefully I won't destroy any this time around.

← — →

The reappearance of Snart was definitely not something Barry needed right now. Too much was on his mind: becoming the fastest man alive, watching out for the Reverse-Flash, and, not to mention, ruining his friendship with Iris. They still had yet to talk about it, acting like nothing had changed. Although Barry wanted to believe everything had gone back to normal, that was far from the truth.

Besides the point, Snart had come back. While investigating the crime scene at an expensive car dealership, Barry knew exactly what Snart wanted. Despite being a usual thief, he had taken nothing. All that was left of his "crime" were the shards of car windshields. This was a message to the Flash: he wanted a fight and, as the hero he was, he was going to give it to him.

Dr. Wells's hesitant response and stern expression were not to be expected, however:

"Well. . ."

"You don't think I should?" Barry asked in surprise.

"I didn't say that. But, Barry, as fast as you are, you cannot be everywhere at once, and it becomes a question of priorities. Now, in the last month, you have made a commitment to increasing your speed, enhancing your reflexes, and it's working. You're finally getting faster."

Although those last couple words were music to Barry's ears, the current, pressing issue still raised questions.

"Okay, but what am I supposed to do, just ignore Snart?" asked Barry, confused. What was Dr. Wells getting at here? The Flash is supposed to stand for protection and hope. This seemed more like cowardice and selfishness.

"The last time you had a fight with Snart, a train derailed. You were lucky to get all those people to safety. And if you don't give him that fight. . ."

"He may just back off, and there'll be no casualties," said Barry. He understood now. Those people that died, died innocently. That wasn't going to happen again. Sometimes the right thing to do was to not do anything at all— that didn't make it any less heroic.

"Look, Barry, Cisco and I will work with Joe and the police and devise a way to catch Cold," Dr. Wells assured him, rolling over to face Cisco who was giddy with the fact he had used Snart's villain nickname. "Yes, I said it, Cisco. As soon as it came out of my mouth, I heard it," he finished, sarcasm dripping from his mouth.

"Yeah, we can definitely come up with ways to neutralize Snart," Cisco added, smiling.

Dr. Wells was now next to Barry sharing his gaze directed at the Flash suit: a symbol of hope. "Listen, Barry. Whether or not you go after Snart, that's your choice. We here, will do whatever we can to support you. But after this past Christmas. . . after the events with the Reverse- Flash. . ." He glanced back up at Barry whose eyes were frozen in a blank stare, an opaque barrier obscuring any real emotion. Wells continued, "I just think he poses a greater threat to all of us."

Barry let out a deep sigh, his mistakes and worries spilling over like sticky tar, taking control of his logic and morale.

Wells was right. The Reverse-Flash wasn't just after Barry anymore, he was after all of them. No matter how much he wanted to protect the city from Snart, he needed to trust Cisco, Dr. Wells, and the police to handle it.

It was a question of priorities and he knew what his top priority was: defeating the Reverse- Flash . . . right?

Chapter Text

"Hey Barry. I have something to give you at the house. I'll be there all afternoon if you wanna pick it up."

Looking down at the text sent from Iris, Barry's heartbeat started to accelerate slightly, butterflies erupting in his stomach. This feeling was more nauseating than normal; dread replaced the usual excitement, awkwardness replaced the steadying comfort. In the past, any interaction with her, in-person or not, would leave him with a nervous, jittery feeling, a little uneasy but too gratifying to ignore. Now, that gratification was starting to fade; it was replaced with sorrow.

Over the past month, a mental battle had been going on in Barry's head: talk about it or act like it didn't happen. Either way, their friendship was not how it used to be. No matter how much his heart ached seeing Iris with Eddie (especially now they were moving in together), it hurt more to have her look at him with avoidance.

Barry knew this was partially his fault. He was the one who made things this way, but he just couldn't stay quiet any longer. He didn't regret verbalizing his feelings—he regretted the way it was done, the time he had done it. There were plenty of missed opportunities in the past, but fear kept his honesty at bay, bubbling for years to only crash down in a matter of seconds.

He would be lying if he said he hadn't avoided being alone with her. The silence between their interactions always left a crack in their now fragile relationship, gradually getting larger each passing second the words failed to connect them. Her recent message gave him a sliver of hope that things weren't entirely ruined, but it wasn't enough to untangle the threads of his regrets and fears. All he knew is he just wanted his best friend back; perhaps this was a start.

Barry's thoughts carried him all the way to the steps of his second childhood home. He had decided against running there as he was too distracted to be careful. Parked on the side of the road was a white SUV, its trunk open along with the rear door. A few cardboard boxes were piled inside.

It clicked in his head like a light switch— Iris was moving in with Eddie today.

The growing pit in his stomach sank further, igniting a spark of annoyance. Why had she asked him to come over now? What did she have for him?

Making his way up to the door, he turned the handle, not bothering to knock. Two weeks after moving in with the Wests, Joe had told him he could stop knocking and waiting to be let inside like a stranger. To eleven year-old Barry, this house was still foreign— it wasn't his home. His home was with his parents, but the denial of his mother's passing and father's arrest clung to his consciousness like a leech refusing to let go. After about a month, he finally heeded Joe's words. Years later, after heart-felt talks with Joe, late movie nights with Iris, and countless unapproved high school parties Iris would host on her father's weekends away, he could walk in and feel right at home. No matter what had been happening recently, nothing could change the fact that the Wests were his family and they always would be.

Now, Iris was moving on from that, but, remembering his conversation with Joe at Christmas, Barry thought: maybe that isn't such a bad thing. Why should I be upset at her when being "stuck in the past" is my problem?

As the door opened, he peeled his head inside to see Joe and Iris in a tight embrace, both of their eyes closed. Once they registered his presence, their eyes opened to meet him walking through the door, an awkward smile plastered on his face. He had clearly interrupted a tender moment.

"Hey." Barry looked around to see more piles of boxes dotted across the entryway and living room. She sure has a lot of stuff.

"You here to help her pack?" Joe asked, letting go of his daughter who was averting her eyes away slightly. They settled on the green stuffed frog in her hands.

"Oh, no no no. . . um, Iris said she had something for me," Barry corrected, his face a cross between curiosity and confusion.

"Oh, um. . ." she said, walking past him to grab something next to the door. It was a bright orange backpack. "I found this in my closet." She handed the bag to him, chuckling playfully with her father.

Barry grabbed it out of her hands, studying it closely, his eyes lighting up. She still had this? After all this time?

"What? I haven't seen this in years!" he laughed, setting it down to observe the contents inside.

"Well, the nerd survival kit is still intact," said Iris.

Zipping open the main pocket, he took out a couple superhero comic books. They looked brand-new as a cellophane cover had been placed around each of them. "Wow."

"I thought those could be worth something."

He looked up at Iris, a genuine smile meeting her gaze before he looked down again, the fantasy over. He didn't even know how to look at her anymore. Now that she knew about his feelings, he had become hyper-aware of his actions around her and how they may be perceived. What was once "friendly smiles" to her now looked like "longing gazes" in her eyes.

The awkward silence between them lasted a few seconds—another small crack—before Iris cut in, looking down at her watch, letting out a pretended grudge: "I am so late for work. . ." She walked past Joe to grab her jacket.

The exchange was not unnoticed by Joe; he looked between the two friends, his smile now gone and replaced with confused furrowed eyebrows. Barry made the mistake of looking at him again, his secret seeping further into the spotlight.

"I promise I will clean this up when I get back, okay?" Iris walked towards the door, turning the handle.

"Bye," Barry mumbled without facing her.

"Yeah, bye."

The door shut.

Barry, his back towards the door, still sitting in a squat by his backpack, pretended to look more interested in the comic books than the building tension in the room.

"Okay. . .'' Joe awkwardly let out, "You mind telling me what's goin' on between you and Iris?"

He had been caught. Shaking his head, he faked an appeasing look, "Nothin'."

"Hmm. That's funny because I have these two things called eyes, and it doesn't look like you two are fine," Joe replied.

There was no use in hiding it from anyone else. "I told Iris."

Joe's eyes widened in surprise. "You told Iris you're the Flash?"

"Wha? No no no, sorry." Barry said, shaking his head. He let out an exhausted laugh before standing up to face him. "I told her. . . how I felt about her." Barry kept his mouth in a straight line, his eyes drooping with regret.

"Oh, God," responded Joe, his eyes even wider than before.

"Mm-hmm."

"What did she say?"

Diluted annoyance crossed Barry's face as he moved his arms around, acting like he really didn't care, even though he most certainly did. What he didn't care about was trying to fix things because that was already proven disastrous before.

"Well, I mean, she's still moving in with Eddie, isn't she?" he said, his voice monotone and quiet. "I just wanna pretend like it never happened. I mean, that's what we're both doing, so—" He stuffed his fists into his coat pockets, shrugging his shoulders in silent acceptance.

"Well. . . not saying how you feel is what got you into this mess in the first place."

Barry reluctantly nodded, knowing that Joe's words were true. No matter how much he wanted to avoid it, being honest was the only way to fix this mess.

"—speaking of which. . ." continued Joe, trailing his eyes around the clutter of opened boxes strewn around the room, "we both know she's not gonna clean up this mess anytime soon."

"Nope," Barry added, popping the "p", shaking his head.

A stare and slight nod toward him were enough to convince Barry of Joe's silent plea. "Sure," he sighed, rolling his eyes.

Sometimes, Barry believed people were taking advantage of the Flash's speed more than he was.

← — →

With Barry's focus now averted from the only impending "threat" in Central City, and with his day job not beckoning any immediate obligations, he had more free time than usual on his hands. To be honest, it felt nice to take a break; most of the time he was either too focused on trying to stop the "bad guy of the week", or dealing with his personal life that it left little time to do what he wanted.

He didn't want to be alone, however. The last hour was spent cleaning up Iris's mess which was left amidst the awkward exchange they shared earlier. To anyone else, that one hour felt like seven seconds. Besides the point, he needed a little comfortable socialization to distract him from his imploding personal life.

Cisco, Joe, and Dr. Wells were at CCPD, devising a plan to stop Snart— a plan Barry wasn't involved in. As much as he'd like to see their "plan" unfold, he had made a decision to stay away from this particular case (as the Flash).

Spending time with Iris was out of the question completely since she was both working right now, and avoiding conversation, just like he was. He wouldn't want to go talk to her right now even if he had to, no matter how much that idea saddened him.

Caitlin.

He wondered what she was doing.

Over the past month, her main focus had been solving Ronnie's predicament. Although Barry had enlisted to help with this endeavor, they hadn't gotten very far. From what he gathered from Caitlin, the only word the Burning Man spoke before "flying away" was "Firestorm". They had researched almost every single article, document, magazine, book, and video referencing the word, but nothing had come of it. The closest they had gotten to some kind of connection was a research paper detailing the combustion physics behind natural firestorms in the last twenty years. Somehow, they believed it had to do with Ronnie's ability to ignite fire from his hands and arms on-command. That trail eventually led to a dead-end as it had no connection to a cure. Barry felt discouraged for her; he had noticed that the flame in her eyes had begun to die out last week. He hated seeing her like this— false hope ripping her happiness away like a sick magic trick. That's why he refused to give up on Ronnie's case with her (I mean, he was still investigating his mother's case after fourteen years). This is what was going to make her happy more than anything else and that's what Barry cared about— Caitlin's happiness.

Picking up his phone, Barry dialed her number, waiting patiently for her to answer, phone pressed to his cheek. After about three rings, the sound of Caitlin's voice filled his ear.

"Hey, Barry. What's up?" she said, a slightly exhausted sigh following her words.

"Er. . . Nothing, really. That's why I called you. Are you doing anything right now?"

"Just going through the last article we found a couple days ago. . . again."

He should've known that's what she was doing. "I'm guessing by that answer, you haven't found anything yet?" he asked, disappointed.

"Nope. But, I've gotta try," she said, "I mean. . . what else am I supposed to do, Barry, just give up?"

"Caitlin, I know how hard this is for you right now. We will find a way to save Ronnie, but you can't let it consume you." He paused. "Tell you what, what if you take a little break and join me for lunch? Trust me, we both need it right now," he mumbled the last part, remembering Iris.

"Ahh. . . I wish I could, Barry, but no one else is at S.T.A.R. Labs right now and the imprisoned metas aren't going to feed themselves, so. . ."

He didn't know she cared so much about the metas in S.T.A.R. Labs— it was sweet.

"Well. . . then. . . how 'bout I help you out and bring lunch to you?" Barry replied.

"Okay," she said happily but confused, a small chuckle following.

"Great, I'll meet you in fifteen minutes. . ." — he smiled— ". . . roughly. Do you still like that Chinese place on 7th?"

"Yeah, sounds great."

"Perfect. See you soon."

Multiple boxes of chow mein, rice, orange chicken, and egg rolls continued to collect in the trash can.

After they had delivered lunch to the imprisoned metas, Barry and Caitlin finally got the chance to share their lunch together. He never thought he'd learn that the Weather Wizard liked Thai Food so much; apparently he ordered it every day, who knew? To avoid any consolation about his true identity, Barry put his suit on while helping deliver lunch. As soon as that was over, he was back in his regular plaid long-sleeve, sweater, trainers and all.

"Thanks, Barry," said Caitlin, pulling him away from his thoughts, "You were right. I did need that." She was sitting next to the computer console, her legs crossed.

In contrast, Barry's feet hung on top of the small table in front of him as he laid back relaxed in the rolling chair, facing her from a short distance. He gave her a small smile in response, folding his arms. "Really, it's nothing—" His eyes met her gaze, faint happiness coloring her expression. They were frozen in this moment for, what seemed like, several long seconds before it was broken by a veer in the conversation.

"We never got around to talking about what's going on with you. What's up?" she asked, concern overshadowing the casual intention to her question.

Barry somehow knew this was coming. No matter how much he had avoided vocalizing his internal battles in the past, he couldn't now. Not with her, at least. When they were together, former walls would collapse like a century-old dynasty. But it wasn't always this way. He remembered when she barely gave him a smile (or any lick of expression for that matter) the first week they had met. The first time Caitlin stepped foot into the particle accelerator after Ronnie died was the start of something new for Barry and Caitlin. She had shared the deepest aches and fears of her soul with him, and Barry listened; then, he had done the same with the experience of his mother's passing. From that moment on, a trust bond had been formed, enough to resist the pull of the fast- changing world around them. This bond somehow felt different than the ones he had harbored to for years; it wasn't as worn by the taint of past regrets and loss. It was broken-in enough to be comfortable but fresh enough to be exciting.

Barry let out an exasperated sigh, lazily dropping his feet back on the ground. "I told Iris how I felt about her."

Her brown eyes widened in surprise, as her lips pursed. "Bold choice."

"I knew where we stood before," he continued, "we were best friends, and. . . uh— I don't know— now, I just don't know what's normal for us anymore." Barry shook his head in defeat, eyes hanging low like two dripping candles, the last flames flickering into the darkness.

Caitlin smiled sympathetically before cutting in. "Before I met Ronnie, I knew exactly what was going to happen every day of my life. It was predictable— I like predictable," she added, humorously; it earned a small laugh from Barry. "But when Ronnie and I started dating, everything started to change. He made me try Indian food and SCUBA diving. . ." she lightly grumbled at the last part, mind drawing misbelief. "At first it was scary, but then it was better. Things weren't really normal with you pining after Iris and her being totally unaware. Whatever happens next, it will be better."

Barry nodded hopefully, stress pacifying for a moment. It will get better. The problem just needed to run its course. Maybe this would allow himself to finally get over Iris, find something new. But for right now, he just wanted his best friend again.

He never understood how Caitlin always had the perfect words to say, especially considering everything she was going through with Ronnie at the moment. Wait. . . Ronnie. . .

"Wait— Cait." Realization crossed over his face (in contrast to her confusion) as he stood up to walk towards the computer placed on the desk she was next to. "S.C.U.B.A."

"What about it?"

He opened the search engine while voicing his thoughts to her with urgency. "Self- Contained Underwater Breathing Apparatus— it's an acronym." How could they have not seen it before?

Caitlin rolled her chair over to the computer, cogs beginning to turn in her head, as Barry began typing something in the search bar.

"What if Firestorm isn't a word. . ." she said.

"But an acronym," Caitlin and Barry said simultaneously, looking at each other in anxious excitement. After entering 'F.I.R.E.S.T.O.R.M.', it was as if all the stars finally aligned. Barry backed away from the screen, turning to face her on his right.

Scooting closer, she clicked on the first link at the top and squinted her chocolate eyes to read the heading. "Fusion Ignition Research Experiment and Science of Transmutation Originating RNA and Molecular Structures." Her eyebrows raised as she bit her lip again, glancing at the page count. "It's 800 pages," she grimaced.

As excited he was they had finally found something that could lead somewhere promising, reading an 800 long paper sounded dreadful right now. But, Barry knew all too well what Caitlin was doing; she was giving him her "please, Barry?" look— lips innocently curved upward, eyebrows beseechingly furrowed, eyes acutely squinted, and head slightly tilted. He just couldn't say no to that, and, besides, it was better to read it now than leave it for later.

"Fine." A quiet "yes!" was all he needed to hear before squaring his shoulders and hunching down to face the screen, a nervous smile added. This is the second time today, he laughed to himself.

After what felt like hours, he stopped scrolling 600 pages in, closing his eyes forcefully. The blue light radiation had left an uncomfortable burn.

"There's a lot of stuff in there, but it mostly focuses on transmutation, which is the process of altering the structure of an element by unzipping the atoms—"

"—and rebuilding it to create an entirely new element," Caitlin finished.

He nodded, curiously looking back at the screen. "Well, the article was co-written by Jason Rush who's a grad student here at Hudson University. So if anyone knows what happened to Ronnie—"

"—maybe he does." She looked back at him. "Wow. This is actually something promising."

A faint buzz from his back pocket broke the short silence. Pulling his phone out, he looked down to read Joe's text: "Need you back at the station". Heaving a sigh, he sent a quick response before shifting his gaze back to Caitlin who was busying herself with Jason Rush's article.

"I wish I could come with you to talk to Rush, but I need to go back to the station," said Barry, "Once again, my day job beckons."

She turned her chair around to face him, giving a small grin. "Okay. I'll keep you posted."

"You better," he teased, beginning to walk out of the cortex.

"Hey, Barry."

He whipped his head around to meet her again— brown curls framing her golden face, legs crossed sitting in a chair, and a wide toothless smile curving from cheek to cheek. "Yeah?"

"Thanks. . . for everything."

"Yeah, for sure."

A faint and fleeting flutter erupted in his stomach, as a pink blush warmed his cheeks. Before he could dwell on the feeling any further, Barry walked out.

Chapter Text

Staying out of whatever was going on with Snart was a bad idea on so many levels; in fact, it was coming back to bite Barry now. Not only was Captain Cold a problem, so was his new partner in crime— the kind of person that would fire a thousand degree blowtorch first and ask questions later. The only consolation Barry had was nobody was killed despite close calls. As the Flash, he was supposed to protect these people, not watch idly on the sidelines, waiting for someone else to solve the problem. Upon hearing the news about the attack, he had rushed over to CCPD, a frantic and frustrated Joe waiting for him there.

Barry wasn't going to stay out of this any longer, no matter how Dr. Wells was going to react.

The following morning, deciding he needed to bring his thoughts out into the open, Barry made his way back to STAR Labs, keeping frustration at bay. Standing in the room next to the med bay, he looked down in contemplation, the isolation somewhat comforting.

"I hope we're not enemies." The sound of Dr. Wells's voice broke the momentary silence, as Barry whipped his head around to see him coming out of the shadows.

"What? No, of course not," said Barry, eyebrows furrowing between confusion and guilt.

"I thought you might blame me. . ." he rolled forward, blanketed in the dim lights, "for pushing you to pursue your training rather than help the police."

It was like he had read Barry's thoughts, more realistically, his self-demeaning thoughts; the only difference here was that Dr. Wells believed it was himself to blame.

"Look, I'm an adult. I make my own choices, my own mistakes. And I'm glad you pushed me to be better." Wells gave him a look of surprise in response. Shaking his head, Barry lightly laughed, "It's so weird. There was a time in my life that I would have paid money for your autograph. And now, we're—"

" —partners."

The word hit him hard, but not in the way he'd expected; the word was rooted in utmost confidence. "I was gonna say friends."

Smirking, Dr. Wells said, "In case you doubt it, you push me to be better too."

After all that had been happening recently, it was nice to hear that he wasn't in this partnership alone; both sides were benefiting off of one another— in a good way. Barry thought about how this seemed to be a dichotomy of his parasitic relationship with the Reverse Flash.

"Guys, you have to come look at this," Cisco interrupted with urgency.

Both of them made their way into the cortex, surrounding the computer pulled up on the desk.

"When the heat gun was fired, it increased the surrounding temperature of the air dramatically, sort of like an extreme heat wave," Cisco explained, before he paused, excitement flooding his features, "Heat Wave—"

"Stop doing that," Dr. Wells immediately said with a flat tone.

Barry laughed softly.

"Okay, I measured the temperature output of both the cold and heat guns, right? And while the cold gun achieves absolute zero, the heat gun successfully reaches absolute hot or the hottest temperature an object can reach or—"

" —Planck Temperature," said Barry.

"So, potentially, these two guns could cancel each other out," Dr. Wells said.

"Yeah, but to do that, you'd have to make them cross streams," finished Cisco, crossing his arms.

"You mean like Ghostbusters?" joked Barry.

"That film is surprisingly scientifically accurate."

He chuckled again. Feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket, Barry reached to grab it, seeing Joe's name on the screen.

"Hey, Joe. What's up?"

"Bar, they got Caitlin."

His face dropped instantly, his stomach plummeting to the floor. How did this happen? Just yesterday, they were here in the lab, laughing and talking. Why and how did Snart and Mick take her? These questions raced through his head along with his feet (which went into immediate hyper-drive) upon hearing the grave news.

In seconds, he had arrived at the crime scene: the Jitters parking lot. Her small green Volkswagen was parked in the center, its right side blanketed in thick ice. He crossed the yellow tape, fast walking towards Joe who was pacing. "Joe, anything?" he asked urgently.

"There's no sign of Caitlin."

In overwhelming fear, he stared at the remnants of the scene, grasping at straws to find any evidence of location— nothing. Barry's hand covered his forehead in stress as small staggered breaths built up inside his lungs, waiting to explode. "Oh, my. . ." he whispered.

The last time he saw Caitlin, she was eager to find out more about F.I.R.E.S.T.O.R.M. and Jason Rush. She must've gone to meet him. . . alone. Guilt piled on Barry's conscience like heavy mud, slowing his logic.

This was personal now. Why hadn't he listened to Joe in the first place? Snart and Mick would have already been locked up in the accelerator right now, Caitlin unharmed. But, that wasn't the case. He had made a mistake— he was beginning to see that it was a pretty big one.

Anger flashed across his features as he looked towards Joe, "We're getting her back. We have to find Snart."

"Damn right, we do," Joe said sternly, turning his back, "Come on, let's go."

Nothing was more important right now than getting Caitlin back. It was a question of priorities and, to Barry, she was the top one.

← — →

The elevator ride up to the precinct felt longer than usual; the paradox was that the world was moving a million miles a minute, too fast for even Barry to catch up. Fearful scenarios and possible rescue plans bounced around his mind like atoms in a thousand degree heat.

He never thought this would happen, at least not to Caitlin. She didn't deserve this; after all the pain she had endured with Ronnie, Barry wanted to stop at anything to add "kidnapping trauma" to that list. A sudden thought of Caitlin being tortured for information about the Flash pierced his mind, making his insides churn with anger and disgust.

The sound of the elevator doors opening shocked him out of his stupor.

It was time to get to work.

The station was bustling with its usual apprehension: officers fast walking between floors, radio static overlapping from all the incoming feedback, and muddled conversations about the current events. The feeling was more personal than normal, almost foreboding.

"Joe! Joe!" Eddie hollered while running down the staircase towards them, a file in hand, "We got a hit, a second pair of prints. They belong to a Mick Rory."

"Who is he?" Barry asked, scanning over the open case file.

"He and Snart worked a job last year that went bad. Half of Rory's body was burned in a fire that got out of control. He escaped from an ambulance on the way to the hospital— hasn't been seen since." Eddie paused, taking a breath, "Why would they kidnap someone like Caitlin?"

Barry looked down.

"Joe, Thawne— it's on every station," Captain Singh said, pointing at the TV.

All eyes were drawn towards the video playing on the screen: Snart looking closely at the camera, with Mick in the background holding down a struggling Caitlin, arms tied around her back.

No.

"Greetings, citizens of Central City. I am Leonard Snart, but you can call me Cold." Snart's sinister voice filled the station, as Barry turned to Joe with worry. "I'm gonna make this very simple for everyone. That Red Streak that you've been hearing whispers about, the one mysteriously saving people these past few months? Well surprise— he's real. He calls himself" —he scoffed— "the Flash. Porter and Main, tonight, sundown. Come out, come out, wherever you are, Flash. Show the whole world you're real. . ." He turned to look towards Caitlin, whimpering as she continued to fight back. ". . . or this woman dies—"

"NO! Don't come for me. STAY AWAY! Don't hurt him—" she cried as they dragged her away.

The screen turned black, her cries still ringing in Barry's ears.

There's only one thing left to do, he thought. Save Caitlin. . . as the Flash.

Chapter Text

The stench of old machinery, gasoline, and mildew wafted through the air, making Caitlin's insides churn. It was dim, wherever they were. From the few moments she had had to survey her surroundings, she gathered they were in some abandoned factory or warehouse. Why they had taken her here of all places, she had no idea. But that wasn't the problem: they wanted the Flash. And if she knew him, he was going to give them the fight he should've done days ago, no matter how much she despised the idea. As far as she knew, Barry was being set-up to fail, and not just that, the Flash was finally going to be revealed to the world, placing an even bigger target on his back. Nevertheless, Barry's heroism and good nature always seemed to win over everything else. I guess that is one good thing that comes from being reckless, she thought. Eventually, it was going to be the death of him.

Over the past 12 hours, between being questioned for information and dragged around against her will, Caitlin thought about Ronnie. Because of her obsession, she had ended up here, alone. She didn't even know if she could even save Ronnie in the first place. The meeting with Jason Rush left her feeling confused, like she was at a dead end depending upon her motivations. She wondered when the searching would end— would it ever? And now, more than herself was at risk. She felt guilty— but, for some odd reason, she didn't want to let go; Caitlin questioned if she would ever be capable of it.

Snart and Mick had just finished broadcasting their ransom threat to Central City, shoving her back into a metal chair. Mick's grip was too tight to break from, creating red bruises around her wrists from all the pressure. He tied her hands to the arms of the chair before lowering himself to face her eye-level.

"You're a friend of his, huh?" he whispered maliciously, inches from her face. He rummaged through his pocket and flicked open a cigarette lighter, the small yellow flame swaying in the cold draft. Now close enough, she saw that his eyes were a cool gray, soulless and angry, the light from the flame igniting fury. "He's fast, like fire. Fire, it's undefinable— heat, light, energy." He hovered his hand over the flame as his expression turned deranged. "It's an evolution when things burn—"

"—you're sick," she snapped.

He quickly closed the lid, narrowing his eyes closer in indignation. "Maybe you're the sick ones. Ever think about that?"

"Not really," she pointed her eyes toward his shoulder. "You've got third degree burns. Why didn't you get skin grafts?"

He looked down to the left. "The fire revealed myself, showed who I really am. I wonder what your Flash will reveal when I burn his suit and skin off."

"Do whatever you want to me, but leave him alone," she said slowly, gritting her teeth.

"Oh, okay," he sneered playfully, a sarcastic smile following his words, "You and this Flash must be really close if you're willing to die for him, hm?"

Her heartbeat accelerated.

"You want me to show you who you really are?" Down at her feet, he picked up the heat gun, slowly inching it up her feet towards her neck. She could feel the radiation beating off of it. Her breath quickened.

"Time to go," interrupted Snart.

Mick lowered the gun, giving him a side-glare as he walked away.

"You better pray the next people that come through this door is us," said Mick, connecting a wire to a small control box near her feet which triggered a small red light bulb next to the two knobs.

Stalking his way behind her, Caitlin tried to follow him with her eyes— a destined failure as her head was suddenly thrust backwards by a dirty bandana between her teeth meant to silence her cries.

Her confidence was fading. What if I die?— she thought. What if my friends die?

She let her thoughts waver, criticizing her doubts— never the optimist. That was always Ronnie's job.

Ronnie. She missed him. She missed everyone:

Cisco.

Dr. Wells.

Barry.

A single tear trickled down her cheek, searing into her skin like a brand.

This was it.

The last sounds she heard before silence were the echo of footsteps and slam of a door.

Chapter Text

Barry paced back and forth in the cortex. He had been doing it for almost an hour, waiting for the impending call from Joe. His mind was swinging back and forth between the pros and cons of his decision like a pendulum, refusing to stop until an opposing force balanced the odds. It was infuriating; but, when it came down to it, his decision was made without much question. Now, the CCPD teaming up with STAR LABS, were preparing a "fail-proof" plan to finally stop Cold and Heat Wave and, most importantly, get Caitlin back safely.

He just wondered why it was taking so long.

Seconds later, his phone buzzed. Taking a quick breath, Barry answered the call. "Hey."

"Ok," Joe said, reluctantly, "You're on. Good luck, son."

"Thanks."

Suddenly, Joe's voice came to almost a whisper. "Barry, after tonight, everyone's gonna know the Flash exists. Are you ready for that?"

Was he ready? Who knows how many more metahumans would come after him after knowing that the hopeful fantasies of the believers in "the Streak" were proven true. But, that is what people needed, right? Hope.

Barry thought for a moment before exhaling deeply. "I'll see you soon." He hung up the phone, looking up towards "the Flash" suit in front of him. With a swift nod, Barry sped out of the cortex, leaving nothing but a red streak behind.

← — →

By the time Barry had raced across the city towards Porter and Main, Snart and Mick were already waiting for him. The street was deserted except for the line of empty cars. The CCPD watched cautiously from a safe distance, the flickering blue and red lights of the police cars reflecting off the damp pavement.

"The Scarlet Speedster" Snart spit out coldly. He walked forward while carrying the cold gun alongside Mick. "Is there any preference on how you'd like to die? The Flame? Or the Frost?"

Even though Barry could feel anger bubbling inside of him, he walked backwards hesitantly, remembering the plan.

"Not in the mood for chit-chat. Gotcha. Ready when you are," said Snart, becoming more irritated by the second. He held up his gun simultaneously with Mick's.

Hearing the screeches as both weapons activated, Barry stood his ground; his eyes flickered with lightning like a spark to a grenade. The time for cowering away was over.

With not a nanosecond to lose, he ran straight past them. Trying to compensate for his speed, Snart and Mick began firing aimlessly in different directions. It was too hard to catch him. Barry ran back the way he came, knocking Snart into the side of a nearby car.

Before he could slow down, Barry suddenly slammed into a wall of ice. Frozen shards shattered in every direction. It felt like the one time he got pelted with dodgeballs during high school gym class. Even with fast-healing, his body felt like it was on fire.

That came out of nowhere, Barry thought as he rolled behind a car to shield himself. He gasped and groaned in pain, taking fast breaths.

"Barry? Barry, are you okay?" said Dr. Wells through his comm, "You know what you have to do."

"Yeah, get them to cross their beams and cancel their guns out. I know," he huffed out in frustration, clenching his teeth while closing his eyes. He could do this— he just needed to hold out a little bit longer. He thought of Caitlin and how scared she must be right now. Barry gathered the strength to run out of his hiding spot right as Mick exploded the car. He stopped a ways away and hunched over, his hands on his knees as he attempted to slow down his breathing. "Yeah, not as easy as it sounds." he said to Wells through the comm. Even so, Barry carried on with the fight.

Minutes passed with the Flash speeding back and forth as Snart and Mick continued to fire at him, always a second too late. Glancing up at the twelve story building beside him, Barry tried something new. He ran up the side, zigzagging across the outside wall against windows, but his attempts proved useless. They weren't crossing their streams. This wasn't working. Landing back on the ground, Barry was suddenly blasted with freezing cold, sending him soaring backwards. His back hit the hard pavement, an added garnish to the pain already spreading fast across his body. As he tried his best to mask the burn with clenched teeth and suppressed groans, Snart and Mick stalked their way down the street. With Barry's vision getting hazy, he couldn't see the expressions on their faces, but—if he could guess—Snart was probably smirking. Finally gathering the strength to sit up, Barry was met with the two rogues aiming their guns only a few feet away. He looked back and forth between them in sudden panic. This was it.

Suddenly, someone rushed in front of Barry, holding a large shield to block the blasts. After regrouping for a couple seconds, the speedster grabbed the officer in front of him, flashing out of the scene to bring him to safety. It wasn't until Barry let go of the man, did he see who it was: Eddie. The thought of Eddie risking his own life to protect the Flash— someone he didn't even know the true identity of—made the speedster see him in a different light. He wasn't just "Iris's boyfriend" anymore; he was the man who just saved his life.

However, those thoughts were not at the forefront of his mind as he clutched his arm in pain, mind running amok with the last of his ideas.

"I can't get them to cross streams. Speed isn't getting it done." he said through the com, huffing in exhaustion.

"You're right" said Wells, "Maybe the way to do this is not by going faster—"

" —it's going slower." Of course.

"Yes."

Barry had been so obsessed with increasing his speed that he failed to see another angle. For the past few months, everything in his life had been crashing down, one problem falling into another like dominos. The salience of his efforts always seemed to be the untreated trauma from his childhood. Constant vigilance was the only way to keep his head above water all the years, trapping him in a never ending, tiresome battle. No— it was time to slow down; not only to stop Snart and Mick, but to stop himself from going too far.

He swallowed the last bit of his pride, eyes narrowing in resolution. "Okay."

As the red speedster walked forward slowly, Snart lifted up his gun, wickedly smiling behind dark shades. "Thanks for playing kid." Hearing the whir of both guns getting ready to fire, Barry suddenly raced forward, taking blasts from both sides. He screamed in pain as the mixture of contrasting temperatures coursed throughout his body. Using the last bit of his strength, Barry limped forward, just enough for the streams to cross each other, blasting both Snart and Mick backwards on the pavement.

Before Snart could reach to grab the cold gun again, Barry placed his foot on top of it, glaring down at the criminal with anger and, now, relief.

"I didn't see that coming," Snart laughed coldly, "I guess you win this time."

"There isn't going to be a next time."

Eddie slowly came up beside the Flash, pointing his gun at Snart, eyes locked.

Without turning to face him directly, Barry altered his voice before saying, "Thank you, detective." He sped away, leaving as the Flash: central city's newest hero.

Chapter Text

"I'm so glad you're okay."

Barry had finally gotten back to S.T.A.R. Labs after watching Snart and Mick get locked up back at the CCPD. The whispers of Central City's new superhero were no longer faulty rumors, but legitimate facts. Barry had to admit that it felt good hearing his coworkers talk about his heroics, even if they didn't know the man behind the mask. It was a good enough distraction from all the crap going on in his life lately. If there's one thing he's learned from all of this, it's not to lose sight of what he has and get back the things he's lost. The fear and guilt Barry felt from Caitlin's kidnapping ate him up inside, but—strangely—enough to drive the fight between him and the rogues. Thank God Cisco and Joe were able to get her out okay. Now, he was just relieved to see her smiling warmly back at him, bracing for a much-needed hug.

"I wasn't worried," Caitlin said, wrapping her arms tightly around his torso, "Cisco and Joe are quite the team. And I never doubted you'd stop them. You always beat the bad guys, Flash, 'Central City's newest hero'."

He laughed brightly while letting her go. "I gotta admit, it feels good to finally be recognized for my hard work," he teased.

"Oh, really?" Caitlin playfully rolled her eyes. "Well, don't let it get to your head."

He continued to watch her as her smile slowly faded, as she fiddled with the ring on her finger. Then, she bit her lip—that only meant one thing. His heart sunk at the thought. "Look—Caitlin. . . I'm so sorry. I should've gone with you to see Rush. If you never went alone—"

"Barry—stop. It wasn't your fault. Besides, I think it's time we stop the Ronnie search," she said quietly, looking down at the floor.

"Why? What happened with Rush?"

Before Caitlin could respond, the intercom broke through their conversation. "Hey, guys. We're ready in the lab." Cisco said.

Letting out an exhausted sigh, Caitlin turned towards Barry. "I'll tell you later, ya?"

They always seemed to get interrupted. He nodded before squeezing her shoulder as they both walked out.

← — →

"Cisco, if you would do us the honors?" said Wells, waving the cold and heat guns up in the air. The long haired man hesitantly stepped forward, almost in embarrassment, as he took the weapons and placed them carefully into the melting chamber across the room. Barry watched from a distance, hanging behind Caitlin who was fiddling with her ring again. He noticed that she was unusually quiet, staring blankly at the melting chamber.

"I swear to you all, I will never make anything that can harm anyone like that ever again," said Cisco with conviction, and a little bit of remorse.

All is fair in love and war, Barry thought. As much as he believed Cisco's promise, Barry also knew he wouldn't be able to resist his own creative mind. I give him one week, he thought. To be fair, he would be out of the job if that were the case. It just sucked that bad people would always take advantage of others' well-intentioned developments: the unfortunate risk of also being a superhero.

Seeing that Caitlin was now looking down at her shoes, Barry walked up next to her. "How are you holding up?"

She turned to face him, snapping out of a trance and giving him a small smile. Her eyes averted away as she collected her thoughts. "When Ronnie passed away, I was frozen. I didn't see the point of living anymore." She looked directly at Barry, glassy brown eyes reflecting off the blue light from the chamber. His heart ached; he knew how it felt to be so alone and uncertain. I guess that's why he and Caitlin understood each other so well.

She continued, "And last night, when I almost died. . ." she paused, shaking her head while staring off into space. "I thought of you." Barry's heart stopped for a brief second as their eyes locked. The air around them shifted, stopping time itself it seemed. He noticed tiny gold flecks in her eyes that he'd never cared to see before, glistening like shattered, hidden treasures. Barry felt a sudden pull towards her, almost out of his control. What is happening?

The bubble they created popped as soon as Caitlin looked away, stammering quickly. Barry could've sworn he saw her cheeks blush." . . . All of you. And the people we've saved and the miracles we've witnessed." she let out while looking hesitantly around at Cisco and Wells. Of course that's what she meant. She wasn't directing it towards you, specifically. That was weird.

Still looking towards the floor, she slowly pulled off the ring from her finger, hands slightly shaking. "Ronnie's gone" she said, finally locking eyes with Barry again, green meeting brown. "I need to stop living in the past or waiting for the future."

Her words replayed in his mind like a broken record: stop living in the past. The message kept coming up again and again, it seemed. Ever since that fatal night he fought against the Reverse Flash, his world had flipped upside down. He had finally realized that his enemy had not only taken his mother and father away from him all those years ago, but almost his entire life, constantly chasing for the impossible and missing the opportunities that raced by too fast for him to see. That had been pretty evident today; Barry's obsession of increasing his speed had blinded him to more tangible matters. . . and to his dismay, Cailtin almost died because of it. Yes, he needed to stop the Reverse Flash, but he didn't need to stop his own life to get there. That man had already taken too much from him already—why give him any more?

After finishing her words, Caitlin walked towards the melting chamber, ring pinched between her fingers. Barry watched as she suddenly stopped, hesitating to place the ring inside as if waiting for someone to stop her.

"Caitlin, we appreciate the symbolism." Wells said softly. "Why don't you just put it in a drawer for now?" She turned around, her face heating up slightly.

Barry gave her a sympathetic smile as she walked back to stand next to him, her eyes fixed up the diamond ring resting in her right palm. The sound of a loud blast echoed off the walls as white light filled the room. Barry had to shield his eyes with his hand, turning away from the melting chamber— it was like looking into the sun.

When he turned to the side, he saw Caitlin, still looking down at the ring in her hand, as she squinted slightly, the diamond glistening from the reflections of light. His eyes flicked up towards her face, watching as a single tear trickled her cheek: the final hope dying away. Even though she hadn't told him just yet what had happened, Barry knew. He wanted to reassure her, tell her everything was going to be okay and that there was still hope. But, as she gave him a wistful look—a bittersweet smile gracing her lips—he realized she was right; the past was gone. It was time to start living in the present.

Barry returned the smile, as she finally closed her fist, letting the sparkle die beneath her fingers. 

Chapter Text

• S E C T I O N   III •

Crazy For You

(Based on Episode 12 of Season 1)

~ ♾ ~

"He was in his mid-twenties and was living like he was in retirement. Sometimes, he wondered if he had built his entire social life around Iris; now that they were on thin ice, he didn't know who to hang out with outside of work."

~ ♾ ~

Number of Chapters: 6

Chapter Text

A week had passed by and all Barry had gotten from Iris was radio silence. It's as if their friendship never existed; they were more like acquaintances who tolerated each other at work and nowhere else, as opposed to best friends who grew up with each other. At least before, they acted like nothing happened; but now, it felt like she didn't even care at all. He just wanted things to go back to normal, even if that meant seeing Iris happy with another man. It wasn't helping either that Joe was constantly on his shoulder like a hawk about fixing their relationship.

Now that Barry was back living with Joe (his apartment landlord really sucked at fixing the laundry machine and leaky sink), it was becoming a lot harder to escape the random prodding and stern lectures. Strangely enough, though, Barry didn't mind too much. It felt nice to have Joe around and not go home alone every night. He forgot what it was like to watch "Singin' in the Rain" or "Grease" with someone sitting on the couch beside him, or talk with a friend about anything and everything at the dinner table. Granted, Joe didn't particularly enjoy watching musicals, but Barry swore sometimes he saw the man sing along to a few songs under his breath, a small grin curving up his lips. Of course, that immediately went away when Barry caught his eye as Joe gave him a stern look that said "you didn't see anything". It always made Barry laugh in amusement. Every time things like this happened, he would be reminded of how lucky he was to have Joe in his life—Barry was brave enough to admit that the man was his second father. And now, with Joe's help on his mother's case, the idea of his father's prison release was becoming more of a reality.

But, on those nights when Joe was out working and there were no metas to stop, Barry still felt alone. He was in his mid-twenties and was living like he was in retirement. Sometimes, he wondered if he had built his entire social life around Iris; now that they were on thin ice, he didn't know who to hang out with outside of work.

I really need to get a life, Barry thought as he laid on his bed, staring at the ceiling, the faint melody of One Direction's "Live While We're Young" echoing through the earbuds attached to his phone. Ironic. Maybe my playlist is trying to tell me something. . .

It was 8:00 on a Saturday night and here he was, lazily lounging around, listening to music, bored out of his mind. Snow was beginning to fall outside, evidence of early February Missouri. The only light in the room emitted from the bedside lamp, its bulb still dusty from years of neglect. Through the gap in the cream colored curtains, Barry could see the frost beginning to accumulate on the windowpane, spiraling into randomized patterns. They danced into the darkness of the outside air, tapering off like an orchestra in decrescendo.

Deciding he needed to do something productive, Barry kicked off his converses and sprang up from his queen-sized bed. Despite being moved in for almost one full week and having super speed, he had yet to unpack anything besides some of his clothes and toiletries. He made his way over to the boxes left sitting in the corner. His room was small, but not as small as the tin can he stayed in before. That place screamed "fresh-out-of-college Millennial trying to get on his feet". To be fair, he had been out of school for almost three years now, but he never got around to getting a new place, especially with being in a coma for nine months. The walls were a faded blue, a color he had picked out his freshman year of high school when Joe had finally let him paint over the ugly brown. To the right of the window was a small desk with built-in shelving on the back, while to the left was a tall dresser.

Opening the first box, Barry reached inside to grab a few framed photos. He thoughtlessly bobbed his head along to the music still playing through his headphones, humming the catchy melody under his breath as it finished. The next song that played— "I Want You Back" by Jackson 5—made Barry almost scoff out loud. Without meaning too, he automatically thought of Iris. It's like my music is mocking me.

He placed the first picture frame on the top shelf of the desk. He looked at it for a second, grinning in reminiscence. It was a photo of his high school glee club at their regional competition his Senior year; they had won first place. Iris had teased him about joining his sophomore year, but she was the one that always cheered the loudest at their performances. That year, they had done an 80s set, with Footloose as their final number. Even now, almost ten years later, he could still remember the background harmonies and complex dance steps, the stage lights beating on his smiling face, and the loud cheers from the crowd. Whenever he was on stage, the baggage from his childhood seemed to dissipate into the shadows behind the curtains. He felt free, similar to how he now feels when he runs. Those were simpler times. Yes, when he wasn't performing or doing school work he was either obsessing over his mother's closed case or his unrequited crush on Iris; but, now, things were a lot more complicated—and more dangerous.

The next picture was taken on his first day of junior high when he was barely thirteen. A slightly younger version of Joe was crouched in-between Barry and Iris who were carrying backpacks and lunchboxes; he himself had a Star Wars tin one with R2D2 plastered on the front. After getting bullied for having such a "babyish" lunchbox, Barry opted for a paper bag instead. Iris tried convincing him that he shouldn't care what others think, even going so far as to stand up to the kids who were making fun of him (something he was never brave enough to do). But, he was tired of others fighting his battles.

Barry sorted through the other few pictures in the box: he and Iris on their first day of college, he and Iris at their high school graduation, and he, Joe, and Iris on their trip to New York City in 2007. The more pictures Barry brought out, the more her name kept circulating in his mind, coursing through his veins and back into his heart. Except now, it felt more suffocating than life-saving. Iris. Iris. Iris. Was he really this hung up on her, so much that almost all his pictures had her as the main subject?

He finally made it to the bottom of the box where the last frame was sitting, cracking from years of wear. It was a picture of him and his parents a year before his mom died. They were hunkered together, sitting on a picnic blanket in a park. Young Barry's eyes were squinting with innocence towards the camera. His father was on the left side—hand on Barry's knee—while his mom was on the other side—arm tight around Barry's shoulders, face pressed up against his as they both smiled. Barry traced his finger over her face, remembering that moment like it was yesterday. His parents had finally gotten a day off together (both being busy doctors); Nora had insisted that they all go have a picnic in the park because the weather was "breathtaking". So, they packed Barry's favorite homemade mac and cheese into a basket and made their way to the park. As a ten-year-old, that was the best thing in the world (besides dinosaurs of course); as he didn't get to spend as much time with his parents as he'd like to due to their busy careers, those moments were more special than anything. Who would've guessed that those moments would've turn into fantasies a year later, all ripped away by a nameless murderer—a man who had caused so much pain. He just wished he could've had more time.

A tear plopped onto the glass and slowly trickled down his mother's face, disappearing into a crack in the wooden frame like a dream buried deep beneath reality.

"That was always my favorite picture of you guys."

Startled, Barry looked up quickly—pulling out his earbuds—to see Iris leaning on the door, her arms folded. She was smiling faintly with a fragment of guilt behind her eyes. Her smile turned into a slight frown as she saw Barry quickly wipe away his tears and set the picture carefully back in the box. Brushing away thoughts of his parents, he feigned a toothless smile.

It wasn't convincing enough.

He didn't know what to say; they hadn't really talked at all for weeks; so, he opted for silence. He could see that her mouth was slightly open as if hesitating to say something. She closed it again, looking to the floor.

As she began to turn around—maybe to leave, Barry stopped her, tripping over his own words. "Why—I mean. . .what are you doing here?"

She turned her head and sighed before getting the courage to look him in the eyes. "Um. . . yeah, sorry to barge in unannounced. I was just grabbing a few things that I left here." Another beat of silence followed. She cleared her throat and stammered awkwardly, "I see you still haven't unpacked. How long have you been moved in for?" It was followed by a sarcastic chuckle.

Trying to ease the tension, Barry playfully rolled his eyes and laughed alongside her. "At least I'm not still living out of my suitcase."

"Okay, that was one time at the beginning of freshman year, and to be fair, I made the mistake of taking 18 credits in the first semester."

As they laughed again, the exchange suddenly felt so natural; it was as if everything that had happened before was forgotten. It felt familiar and comforting. He wanted to believe that they were past the awkwardness, but the elephant in the room still remained, looming over them like a dark cloud.

"So. . . Are we talking again?" Barry asked with cautious optimism. He was tired of waiting in the dark, longing for a past that was too far gone.

They finally locked eyes, her brown ones glossy and fervent. "I want to," she whispered. "I miss my best friend."

Barry sucked in a deep breath as an echo of pain still lingered in his chest. Strangely, he felt relieved. She still wants me around.

"I miss mine too," he finally answered. The truth was that Iris had been his anchor most of his life; when his mom died and his dad was sent to prison, he felt more alone than he'd ever been in his life. She was the first person to treat him like he wasn't crazy. The first week after the funeral, she didn't bother to reassure him with empty promises or patronize him with the supposed truth; instead, she held him while he cried, distracted him with jokes, and defended him against bullies. She was more than his friend—she was his family.

And now, with the past coming back again, all he wanted to do was run back into her arms where he felt safe and loved. But, things were different now. Not just because their relationship had changed, but because she couldn't know he was the Flash. All the rage and sadness that came with the existence of the Reverse Flash was something he had to hide from her—to protect her. The one thing that was causing him the most pain, he couldn't talk to her about—not like it used to be. He had to move on from this infatuation, crush, or whatever it was. How long would that take?  He didn't know.

"I know I made things. . . awkward between us when I told you how I felt. . ." Barry started, fiddling with his hands as his nerves climbed steadily higher. "And I just want you to know I really am happy for you and Eddie—truly."

"Barry—"

"Please let me finish," he pleaded. She gave him a soft nod before he continued. "I know things can't ever go back to how they used to be, but I still want us to be best friends. You. . ." he paused, feeling the tears starting to well in his eyes. "You're my family."

The shocked and relieved look that Iris was giving him now—wide eyes and brows furrowed—felt like a breath of fresh air after years of drowning water.

"You're my family too, Barry." Her whisper was the last thing he registered before a soft hug. Barry froze for a second before wrapping his arms around her frame, allowing the tears to fall from his eyes. She whispered a faint "I'm sorry" into his chest. He said the same.

They both relished in the hug for a while, the sounds of outside winter winds, far-away sirens, and steady breathing filling the space around them.

"Thank God you two have made up." Joe West's sudden interruption broke their embrace. Barry and Iris, both a little red in the face, awkwardly laughed. The man was walking through the hall and past Barry's door when he saw them. Iris gave her father a playful glare before going in to give him a hug.

"I thought the point of moving out was that you don't live here anymore," the detective joked.

She rolled her eyes. "Haha. I just forgot a few things that I needed to grab," she said. "Barry, here, still hasn't unpacked though."

Barry scoffed and shook his head in amusement. "Hey, I'm getting around to it," he said defensively, gesturing to the open and scattered boxes.

"Well, I'm planning on making spaghetti for dinner if you want to stay, honey. Apparently, free food is the only thing I'm good for when my kids move out," said Joe, eyeing his daughter. Barry noticed that he was giving him a silent look, as if he was asking if things really were okay. So, he gave him a slight nod in reassurance.

"I'd love to, but Eddie's been painting all day and I promised him I would be there to help," said Iris. Her phone buzzed. She pulled it out, looking at the message. "Speak of the devil, he's wondering if I'm on my way there." Picking up the small box that was laying outside the door, she turned back towards the two guys.

"See ya guys later!" Barry gave her one last smile which she returned before she headed back down the stairs.

There was a beat of silence as they both waited for the sound of a closed door.

"How are you doing—really?" asked Joe, searching Barry's eyes for signs of deception.

Barry crossed his arms and pursed his lips. "Honestly? Better than a few weeks ago," he breathed out. "I'm just grateful we're talking again and it's not super awkward. We both want to be friends again, no matter what. And all I've wanted is for her to be happy."

"That's good to hear. I was getting really tired of finding new ways to get you two to talk."

Leave it to Joe to meddle, Barry thought, laughing internally. Things weren't ever going to be the same between him and Iris, but that didn't mean things were bad. Caitlin had reminded him of that a few weeks ago. He had confidence that whatever was coming next would be better. Maybe that was simply being just friends with Iris, at least for the time being. All he knew was that he felt secure—and he never wanted to let go of that.

"Well, are you gonna help with dinner or not?" Joe asked, giving him a pretended scold (one he knew all too well). Barry laughed and gave the man a playful pat on the shoulder while following him downstairs, leaving the scattered boxes and pictures behind in his wake.