author's notes: So yeah, I watched The Theory of Everything over the weekend and this idea of Earth 3 Snowells came to me. I DON'T KNOW WHAT THIS IS, other than ridiculously fluffy.
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If This Was Ever More than a Crazy Idea
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"In other news, Central City's very own Scarlet Speedster seems to be making up for lost time."
Two cars honk behind her, startling Caitlin from the deep thought process that involved mentally checking off her early morning to-do list, and have her making a right turn at the green light. She moved back here five months ago and she still hasn't grown used to the rhythm of the city again—surprising, considering she grew up in Central City.
"Two weeks ago today, following an eight-month long absence that left many people wondering 'Have our heroes forsaken us?' The Flash returned to—"
Caitlin turns off the radio, digging through her purse for an antacid that might calm her upset stomach—the red bush tea she'd picked up along with a black roast should help with that as well.
Up since five-thirty, she'd planned her morning running errands while she showered, brushed her teeth, and pinned her hair up in a ponytail. She had a light breakfast and left the house, stopping by her small stuffy office at CCU first to pick up a box of research papers Professor Heigl wanted her to read through. As if she needed the extra work—she didn't get paid overtime.
She'd bought groceries to last at least a few days, and went by the post office to send a few certified mail packages that absolutely needed to reach their destination. After that she picked up some bagels from her favorite deli, because Harrison's certain to have skipped breakfast again. He never says no to bagels and coffee.
It's eight by the time she returns home, and she heads straight upstairs after storing all the groceries. Their humble townhouse with the lovely red door had three stories; a dining room, kitchen, and a small living room they rarely used downstairs, two bedrooms and a bathroom on the first floor, and a spacious attic on the top floor.
After ascending the two flights of steps Caitlin finds she's winded once she reaches the upstairs landing, and takes a few moments to catch her breath. She'll have to start taking things a little easier in the months that follow.
Harrison's voice drifts onto the landing; the attic door doesn't close properly.
She pushes her glasses back in place and steps inside, Harrison on the phone with someone.
"I'm telling you, I'm looking at the schematics right now," Harrison says, drawing his long fingers down white lines of the blueprints that came in the mail two days ago. "The modifications aren't on here."
A smile sneaks into the corners of her mouth, and she settles against the doorframe, quite content watching Harrison in his element.
"Yeah, I understand that" Harrison laughs, "but I can't approve what I can't see."
She doubts she'll ever tire of this, of her man in action, his shock of black hair tamed for now because it's still early, the checkered sweater vest over one of his pristine white shirts not yet rumpled—his glasses already smudged.
She giggles.
Harrison turns towards the sound of her voice. "Ronnie," he says, "I gotta go."
While Harrison hangs up the phone she wanders inside, one side of the room bordered by three large blackboards, a constant dusty layer of chalk over the entire attic. There are three desks arranged in a U-pattern with three computers constantly running numbers, but only two chairs. His, and hers.
Harrison smiles, meeting her halfway. "Hey, you."
She reaches up on her toes, their glasses clicking together as they melt into a kiss, one that lasts a little longer once Harrison cups her cheeks, nipping softly at her lips. Sometimes she forgets they're still very much newlyweds, despite starting their relationship five years ago—she's only worn the ring for six months.
"Hey," she whispers, lowering back down on her heels.
"You were up early," Harrison says, taking the small bag of bagels from her, and sits down at his desk—he's talking again before she can expound on her hectic morning.
"I took a look at your equations," he says around a mouthful of sesame seed bread, hitting a few keys before said equations appear on the monitor. "These are—" He swallows and gestures at the screen. "—art, Dr Snow."
His clear blue eyes twinkle, and she recognizes the needless compliment all too easy, but she soaks it up nonetheless. Any one of the whizz kids Harrison has at his disposal could have finished these equations, Hartley for one, but she knows Harrison doesn't like taking advantage of their skills either—they can't afford to pay anyone, and they make no money off this themselves. Pitching in took little effort.
"So"—Harrison drags out the vowel long—"how much work did Heigl saddle you with?"
"About half a dozen research papers," she sighs, leaning back against the desk.
"On?"
"Elementary particle physics."
Harrison huffs a laugh, and she can't help the smile that follows. It isn't the worst subject matter, since it ties in with her work here, and she does have a PhD in particle physics—the rub is she'd quit this job in a heartbeat; Professor Heigl took advantage of her time every chance she got, but they needed every penny she made. So she toiled on, without complaint.
Harrison takes a sip from the black roast she bought, and licks his lips—looking up at her with a certain amount of apprehension as his taste buds catch up.
"This coffee?" he asks matter-of-factly, replacing the cup on his desk, his lower lip still wet.
Caitlin cocks an eyebrow. "Yes."
Harrison pushes off from the desk with both hands, raising them in surrender, the wheels of his chair rumbling on the floorboards.
"I'm always in trouble when you bring me coffee."
"You're not in trouble," Caitlin assures with a soft smile, and can't help the pinch of affection that surges through her when Harrison covers his right hand over his heart. Three months ago the doctors talked about lowering his caffeine intake and starting a more varied diet that included other fats than those Big Belly Burger offered, and for the most part, they'd turned that around.
And it's true that a special coffee treat had preceded some of their early morning arguments, but she'd hardly call it a tried and true pattern.
"But—" Caitlin continues, and unearths a letter from her bag. She'd found it folded in half in a Stephen Hawking volume, which seemed odd enough given how Harrison felt about the man, but exactly why a letter of such importance had been hidden from her wasn't much of a mystery at all. Once she'd caught eye of the return sender it all became quite clear.
She hadn't needed to read it to know its contents.
Why Harrison believed she wouldn't find out proved more distressing than a mystery.
"—we do need to talk about this."
Like that Harrison closes his eyes and expels a single breath, dragging himself forward towards her.
His hands land on her hips, eyes intent on her face. "I was going to tell you, but then—"
He looks at her belly.
Caitlin crosses her arms over her chest. "I don't see how that's relevant."
She won't let Harrison use this as an excuse. Her current condition notwithstanding they were partners in this room all the same—the particle accelerator might've started out as Harrison's baby, but she'd since fostered that project, adopted his work as her own and she would see this all the way through with him. And sadly, finding out from yet another source that they wouldn't or couldn't provide any funding had become part of the job too.
Harrison's grip around her hips tightens.
His eyes shine bright and blue, if not a little wet—he'd cried when she told him the happy news three weeks earlier; he'd cupped her face and kissed her slow, and wrapped her up in his arms. Cried into her hair.
Now, Harrison stands and falls a step backwards, outstretching an arm and waving it around the room as if he's back at college lecturing, shaking his head—words at the tip of his tongue. It's an adorable sort of panic she should stop thinking of as such; Harrison has enough on his mind to worry about this too. Their baby's a tiny seven-week fetus, no larger than a blueberry; there'll be plenty of time to worry, and when that time comes she'll do that for the both of them.
"We're starting a family, Caitlin," Harrison says, a small groan at the back of his throat as if it's still the most unbelievable thing.
She's not sure a baby had ever been included in any of her future plans, or his, but she's convinced they'd also never counted on finding each other in the first place. After five years together, a baby made sense. To her at least.
"Soon there's going to be a little munchkin running around who'll need regular check-ups and food and diapers, and—"
Harrison sighs and takes off his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose.
"I don't know what else to do," he says. "Stein was our last hope."
She pushes off from the desk and closes the distance between herself and her genius of a husband.
"We don't give up hope," she says, and steals his glasses from his hand, breathes over each glass before wiping them clean on her shirt, and settles them on his nose again, "Remember?"
For some reason, one she'll never admit to, she never loves him more than in moments like these—because she's seen this before, Harrison Wells on the cusp of defeat, the whole world telling him what he can't do instead of lending him a hand, and it'll only trigger his greatest asset. His strength of will. His unblinking resolve in the face of adversity.
That's the Harrison Wells she fell in love with at twenty-one, barely old enough to set foot in a lab, let alone practice the type of cutting edge science he proposed—the university had rejected his ideas, shunned his research and relegated him to a small room in a forgotten corner of the campus, but she'd followed, eyes wide open.
People had claimed Mendel and Galileo foolish too, and she believed in the future shaped in Harrison's eyes. Others had followed. She's the only one who stayed.
Harrison betrays a small smile, and pinches at her chin. "Is it crazy for me to want to provide for my family?"
"Of course not." She smiles, still giddy at the mere mention of the humble beginnings of their family. Who would've thought, six years ago, that they'd be here, together—back then, Harrison had taken some pursuing, but even then she'd known what she wanted. She wanted Harrison Wells; his work and his passion, his heart, his body, and all else that entailed. Even his weakness for Big Belly Burger.
To some degree, Harrison's right to worry; they won't be able to make ends meet once the baby's here on her research assistant's salary and the annual royalties Harrison receives from that one little-known publication he put out years ago. It's enough to keep a roof over their heads, but they already have significant debts to pay.
Still, her belief in the work they do hasn't waned once.
"But I won't have you sacrifice your dream for me—" She cups a hand over her belly, and reconsiders her words, "for us, either."
Harrison brings his forehead down to rest against hers. Yes, they'll find a way, like they have before.
"So"—Harrison breathes in deep—"Wave functions?"
She nods, perking up, and pushes her glasses higher up her nose. "Probability and amplitudes."
It's all about the work, she thinks as she marches over to one of the blackboards, determined to add her earlier equations to the bigger picture, that's what it's really about. Even should they find all the proper funding they still have a lot of kinks to work out, so for now this slow and steady pace is what they need to stay motivated.
No one knows what the future holds.
Right now all that matters is the work.
(After the daily grind, though, after the worries for their future and money and finding start-up money for the greatest dream they'll ever share –second only to their unborn child–, there's always room for some play too.)
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fin
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