As promised through hiatus week, here's another one-shot fic! It's something I've been thinking about for a long time, and something I have been debating writing/sharing for a long time-I'm a little nervous about it.

This is not strictly canon (more like a fix-it canon), but I desperately wanted some acknowledgement in the show about the fact that Barry and Felicity were both wheelchair-bound within weeks of one another, because their friendship is my favorite and I can see them so easily being there for one another. So this is my solution. Spoilers, of course, through Flash 2x07 and Arrow 4x09.

Hope you enjoy!

Felicity hesitated in the doorway, contemplating her next move. Caitlin had informed her of everything, of course, but standing with her hand on the doorknob, her confidence, her assuredness, evaporated.

Like everything with Team Flash, things had happened in a whirlwind, too fast for normal people like her to comprehend. Even though she was used to a life of anomalies, a life of danger, she couldn't help but feel that she was unprepared for changes like this.

Still, she couldn't wait at the door forever. She tried to recapture some steadiness through a long breath, and, in failing to do so, opened the door anyway.

"Hey, Barry."

All of their normal greetings didn't apply here; she couldn't honestly tell him that he looked good, because he didn't. In his wheelchair, he looked pale, and uncomfortable, and downtrodden. She thought she'd known what to expect, but nothing could have prepared her for the hard reality of the shadows beneath Barry's eyes, the awkward way he leaned in his chair to accommodate unmoving legs. Useless, lifeless, paralyzed legs.

She stepped into the room and settled on: "It's good to see you."

He raised his head sluggishly, as if it was weighted. "Alive?"

"Well, yes, it's always good to see you alive," Felicity said. "That's not what I meant, though."

"Sure it is." Barry's voice was unnaturally rough. "That's what everyone means nowadays."

"I'm a little disappointed I had to find out about everything through a news broadcast," Felicity said with fake sternness. She closed the door softly behind her and perched on the edge of the hospital bed across from Barry. "Scary stuff, Bar. I'm glad you're okay."

"Sure. Okay."

His hand clenched and unclenched on the knee of his sweatpants.

"Alive is okay," Felicity insisted. "Caitlin told me everything. About how close it was. How lucky we are to have you back."

Barry ran a shaking hand over his face. "Is Oliver here too?"

"He's waiting somewhere outside," Felicity said, trying to keep her voice light. "You know how he is with the emotion. Not great at it."

"I don't want him here." The confession startled Felicity, both in its implication and the expressionless manner in which Barry said it. "I don't want anyone here. I don't want you to see this."

"We're your friends," Felicity said. "Of course we're here. And of course we don't care that—"

"He convinced me to become the Flash," Barry said. "He believed in the Flash."

"We all did—we all do—and we're so happy that you're alive—"

"Barry Allen is alive," Barry said. "The Flash is dead. I can't feel my legs, Felicity. I'm in a wheelchair. I'm never going to run again."

Felicity had expected tears, or anger, maybe, but the hollowness she heard hurt so much worse. It was as if every emotion had been drained from Barry's body, used up; he was made of paper, and she felt that the slightest pressure might collapse him inward.

"We don't know that," Felicity said. "Caitlin said your spine already shows signs of healing."

Barry huffed out a sharp breath in response.

"Listen, I know you've gotten all of these lectures many times over the past few days," Felicity said. "I can't tell you anything new. But I need you to know that you're strong. And maybe…maybe this is permanent." Barry flinched. However, she pressed on. "But this chair? It doesn't make you any less strong. It can't take anything away from you unless you let it."

She reached across for his hands and squeezed. Barry shifted. She couldn't tell if the screwing up of his face was due to pain or emotion. Perhaps both. "Look at me, Felicity. It's already taken away so much."

"It hasn't taken away us, your friends," Felicity said. "And it hasn't taken away you. You're still here. You're existing. And I believe that's something special. This chair isn't part of you—it's just something that you'll have to react to, like you always do. You can't let it drag you down, Barry. Please. You deserve so much more than that."

"Maybe." Barry squeezed her fingers back. She could tell, even through that squeeze, that he was weak, but she also knew, below the surface, beneath the paper façade, that he was built of stronger stuff than steel.

And she hoped, desperately hoped, that the steel would not atrophy.

"Why didn't you call?" Barry asked. "I came as soon as I heard, but—"

"As I recall, I found out about your paralyzation by way of news broadcast featuring your half-dead body swinging from the fist of a lunatic speedster." Across from him, Felicity folded her hands neatly on her lap. "Cut me a little slack."

Barry smirked, but he couldn't stop himself from fidgeting. "That was different."

"You targeted by a maniacal villain and nearly dying…me targeted by a maniacal villain and nearly dying…" Felicity cocked her head. "Try again, Mr. Allen."

In her wheelchair, she looked smaller somehow. Maybe it was the loose t-shirt and sweatpants, or the slight slump in her shoulders. Either way, despite the brave façade she was putting up, there was something off about the Felicity that Barry had come to know so well.

"How are you doing?" he settled on asking.

"Oh, you know," Felicity said, adjusting her glasses. "Becoming intimately familiar with chicken soup and water bottles. It's almost like I'm home from school sick with chicken pox again. Except…with bullet wounds instead of hives."

"Slightly worse."

"Only slightly. Have you ever had chicken pox before? My mom made me wear mittens so I wouldn't scar my face."

Barry tried a soft laugh, but even Felicity's attempt at humor was colored with an undertone of monotony, as if she was saying the words through programming. If truth be told, he recognized the feeling; she was just better at faking humor than he ever had been.

"I never had chicken pox," he admitted. "And I guess I never will now. Super-healing. Immunity to sickness."

But he could tell instantly that the joke was over. Felicity's face sank into freshly-carved lines of worry and fatigue. Reluctantly, he settled on reality.

"This guy—Darhk—he's still out there?"

Felicity nodded. "Oliver's going nuts about it. If he wasn't so busy worrying over me…"

"He'd probably run himself into the ground trying to catch the guy." Barry nodded. "I know how he works. But right now I think you're more important than this guy's murder. You're going through a lot."

"I think you're the only person in the world who knows exactly what I'm going through." Felicity tipped her head toward him. "Unfortunately, not all of us have superhuman healing abilities." She paused, as if savoring the bitterness of the comment. "It's hard, Bar. If I would have known last month, when I came to visit you…"

"It wouldn't have changed a thing," Barry countered. "Last month, you told me that the chair wasn't part of who I was. And you were right. You should listen to your own advice. You're going to be okay."

"Just because you're okay doesn't mean everyone else will be." Barry drew back at the comment as if slapped; although Felicity didn't sound harsh, exactly, he could feel the shift in the air as a palpable force.

"No, I didn't mean…"

"You're grateful that your condition wasn't permanent," Felicity continued, her eyes going glassy, and her cheeks flushed red. "How can you expect me to believe—how can you throw my own words back at me like that, if you don't even believe them? Sure, you put on a brave face and act like it's not the end of the world, but you're so ready to forget that you were in a wheelchair too. If you think you're somehow more deserving of healing, that just because you're the Flash you need your legs more—"

"Hey, hey!" Barry said, holding up his hands in surrender. "Slow down, Felicity. I would never say that, because that's the furthest thing from the truth. Nobody deserves this, much less you."

Felicity pinched the bridge of her nose, her fingers quivering uncontrollably, and shook her head. Barry waited, holding his breath in the silence, as she composed herself.

"Sorry, no. I didn't mean that at all," she said at last. "Emotions, lots of emotions, and painkillers and…saying things I don't mean. It's just not fair. Not the fact that you're standing and I'm not…but…all of it."

Barry considered this a moment, then mimicked the gesture she had offered a month before. His fingers curled around hers, and he leaned close to express his seriousness. "It's not fair, no, and I'm not going to tell you it's okay when it clearly isn't. But I can tell you this: I've looked the end of the world in the eye before, and trust me, this is not it."

"How many times exactly have you looked the end of the world in the eye?" Felicity choked out a watery half-chuckle.

Barry smiled and continued. "You, Felicity Smoak, are still beautiful, and smart, and amazing. Darhk didn't take any of that away from you. I'm throwing your own words back at you because they're true. They were true then, and they're true now. And you—I believe you're strong enough to realize that you have so much worth, and this does not change that at all."

Felicity closed her eyes for a moment, and a ghost of a smile blossomed on her face. "And you, Barry Allen, are still the cheesiest little nerd I've ever had the pleasure of meeting. Your inspirational speeches are top notch."

Barry flushed and drew back his hands. "Everyone likes my inspirational speeches."

Felicity chuckled and smacked his leg. Although she evidently didn't see any significance in the gesture, it wasn't lost on Barry how acutely he could feel the sting—brief, tingling, but very real pain in a leg that had not so long ago been unfeeling.

"Thanks for coming, Bar," Felicity said.

"Anytime."

"Seriously."

Barry let out a breath he felt he had been holding for hours. Across from him, Felicity removed her glasses and swiped at her eyes. Not okay—not nearly okay yet—but perhaps, with time, she would be.

"You know, this wheelchair is a little plain-looking," he said after a moment, bending sideways to examine the wheels. "I could bring you the one I used from STAR. Tricked out with motors and everything."

Felicity cleared her throat, put her glasses back on. "Thanks, but…" She patted his arm and gave him a simpering smile. "Not al of us need to overcompensate."

"Oh, so that's how it's gonna be?"

"That's how it's gonna be." Felicity winked a tired eye. "Besides, just think of how ripped my arms are going to get."

Barry's smile was natural, if also a bit drained, but he saw the same fatigued acceptance in Felicity, the weariness of the present world and the weariness of the future one. He wondered again about those moments early on in their friendship, when he felt as though he were looking into a mirror when he looked at Felicity. Somehow now it felt less so, but those traces still grounded him.

"I'm glad you're here, Felicity," he said.

Though the meaning was not the same, not nearly the same, Felicity cocked her head and responded, "Likewise, Mr. Allen. Likewise."

Thank you for reading! Please let me know any thoughts you may have. Also, stay tuned for one more one-shot before the hiatus ends!

Till next time,

Penn