AN: This story is set mid to late season 4, after the DeVoe arc has been resolved.
This is dedicated to crazygirlne and she knows why.
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Silence greets Caitlin when she steps into the cortex late on a Friday afternoon.
No, not just silence. Suspicious silence.
And it falls over the room before she can even say hello, almost like her friends had sensed she was coming, or…her eyes land on the LED screen affixed to the wall next to Harry and Cisco. It currently shows the hallway outside the cortex, which means they'd seen her and conspicuously stopped talking right before she arrived.
It could only mean one of two things: either they'd been talking about a subject they didn't want her to overhear, or they'd been talking about her. (Or maybe both, at once.)
Her suspicions increase tenfold when she glances at Harry and he meets her eyes with his usual warm regard. She can read her friends pretty well, so she isn't fooled by his air of casual nonchalance. He might even be too good, because he always seems extra innocent when he's the most guilty, and him appearing that way now is paradoxically what confirms her suspicions.
Well, that and the fact that when she switches her gaze from Harry to Cisco, the latter immediately swivels his head away from her.
"Out with it," she demands, suddenly irritated for a reason she can't name. (Other than the mere fact that the two of them seem to be hiding something from her and the knowledge doesn't sit well.)
"I don't – what are – huh?" Cisco does a phenomenally terrible job of defending himself, and his desperate attempt only further cements that her guess is right – and also increases her annoyance.
"Your little chat over there. You stopped talking right before I came into the room."
"No, we didn't," Cisco retorts, then breathes out an obvious sigh of relief at managing a coherent denial.
Caitlin wordlessly points to the camera feed on the monitor, plain for the three of them to see.
"Merely testing the security system," Harry says, hitting a button on the keyboard as the screen flashes back to a local news feed. "Part of my regular checks." He mustn't be able to help himself, as he sends them each a pointed look. "It probably seems foreign to you both since no one on this team has ever done one before."
"Yeah, yeah, we hear it every day, Harry," Cisco mutters, settling into a nearby chair and pretending to be engrossed in whatever is on the computer screen in front of him. Or maybe he really is engrossed in it; Caitlin can't tell by this point so she returns her attention to Harry.
"Just tell me. It'll save us a lot of time."
"I have no idea what you're talking about, Snow," Harry says, somewhat blandly, and she's almost swayed. Almost. But there's something about the way he says it, or the light in his eyes, or maybe the way he's watching her – no matter what it is, it only convinces her that she's stumbled across an important thread here, and damned if she isn't going to keep pulling it until whatever's going on unravels.
As it turns out, that ends up being much sooner than she thought, because Cisco (usually the weakest link) instantly caves, turning in the chair to face Harry. "Man, we have to tell her."
"I thought we didn't keep secrets from each other anymore," Caitlin accuses, words coming out with a slight tinge of hurt that she can't hide.
That gets Harry's attention from where he's retreated to a far desk, sitting on the edge of it. "It's not what you think, Snow." It seems like he's struggling to explain. "That is, it's not exactly…a secret."
Before she can ask him what the hell that's supposed to mean, Ralph, Iris, and Barry arrive, bickering amongst themselves about where to order take-out for dinner. Caitlin half-acknowledges the argument, throwing out her vote (Chinese), before intently refocusing her gaze on Harry.
From the way he sighs, it's clear he's decided to give in. "Cisco and I were discussing –"
"Arguing," Cisco corrects.
"Spiritedly debating," Harry grits out (like that's something different), "about whether we should talk to you about this now."
"Your way isn't working so far," Cisco reminds him. "And I'm tired of talking around the subject. So tell her."
"We don't have to tell Caitlin anything," Harry says to Cisco, "because she knows." He glances back at her. "Some part of you already knows."
"Caitlin already knows what?" Ralph interjects, before Caitlin herself can ask the question. He's looking amongst the three of them, obviously having noticed the tension in the room (which means it must be palpable, if Ralph Dibny of all people has picked up on it so quickly). Moreover, she can practically see the moment he understands what's going on while she still doesn't, and he sighs with a measured air of relief. "I'm glad and all, but can you two table this conversation for like a half hour while we order some food? I think you'll provide much better entertainment if I don't have an empty stomach –"
Harry's resultant glare at Ralph causes him to stop mid-sentence, dropping his head and muttering something about how he can enjoy their discomfort while starving, too.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Iris asks, directing her question at Harry. He doesn't answer her, looking back at Caitlin like he's contemplating the answer.
"Maybe we should go," Barry says, sounding uneasy.
"I'm not going anywhere," Cisco protests. "I've pictured this going numerous ways and now I have to see how it ends."
How what ends? Caitlin's annoyance is giving way to actual worry. What could it possibly be that has her friends so unsure of how she'll react? "Someone tell me. Now." She's turned her voice deliberately icy (which happens to coincide with the unmistakable feeling of her alternate persona rising along with her ire – she manages to maintain control, though).
"It has to do with Killer Frost," Harry finally says, watching her carefully.
Caitlin ruthlessly suppresses her initial reaction, which is concern, slight fear, and unmistakable jealousy. She knows Killer Frost occasionally spends time with her friends – time she's often not aware of until after the fact (if even then). The thought that they know something about her alter ego that she doesn't is unsettling.
"What about her?" she asks, when no one elaborates. She turns in a circle, noticing the way most of her friends won't even look her in the eye. (Harry seems to be the only one willing.) She ignores her anxiety to ask, "Have you guys been hanging out with her a lot lately?"
"No more than usual," Ralph jumps in to assure her, and she smiles at him in thanks. (Then belatedly wonders what counts as 'usual' to him.)
"It's not the time spent with her," Cisco says, glancing at Harry like he wants permission to go on (and Harry doesn't react in any way to Cisco's unspoken question). "It's more…what we've learned about her in the past few months."
"What you've learned?" Her worry is spiking as she considers, for the first time, that Killer Frost could really be doing anything and she'd have no clue. An unsavory series of images skips across her mind as she wonders what her alter ego might be doing with her (their?) body. "She hasn't been doing anything terrible has she? Abusing drugs or alcohol? Treating you guys badly?" She has to actually force herself to ask the last question: "Sleeping around?"
"I wish!" Ralph exclaims, somewhat wistfully, as Iris uses her proximity to hit him on the shoulder.
"Nothing like that, Caitlin," Barry reassures her. "It's that…" He doesn't seem sure if he should continue.
"The last thing you'd have to worry about is Killer Frost sleeping around with random men," Ralph says, bluntly.
"I don't know," Cisco says to Ralph, "define 'random' because I think the description still applies."
When the two of them start laughing at that, Caitlin's frown deepens. It's been a long time since she's felt this left out of anything, and it's all the more aggravating because she knows they're talking about her. (Well…in a way.)
That's when Iris steps forward, catching her attention. "Honey," she begins, "it's just that we're not sure how you'll take this – some of us think better than others. These past couple months, we've learned a lot about how Killer Frost feels about certain things."
That's wonderfully vague. Caitlin's about to demand clarification when a muffled yell causes her to jump, spinning to find Cisco has covered his face with his hands, and he's the source of the yell. "Not certain things," he manages to get out, raising his head to look at Caitlin. "Certain people. She wants…"
When he doesn't finish the sentence, Caitlin glances around, realizing that all her friends are (for some reason) looking at Harry. Maybe they expect him to explain?
Her guess is correct, because that's when Harry announces: "Killer Frost wants me."
"Wants you to what?" Caitlin asks, brow furrowing in confusion when he doesn't elaborate.
Harry presses the heels of his palms to his forehead. "Me, Snow. She wants me."
It takes her a few more seconds to actually comprehend what he's saying, stunned when she finally understands. Her entire world upends itself: everything looks the same, but it's somehow different. And she has no idea what to do with this.
Her first instinct is denial, wondering if they've coordinated this as some kind of joke or prank. As she takes in the seriousness of all her friends' expressions, though, she realizes that isn't the case. It's pretty much confirmed when she meets Harry's eyes; he wouldn't be looking at her like that if –
"Alright," she says quickly, cutting off her own thoughts and flipping them around. "This has to be Killer Frost playing all of you. It's obviously a scheme she's cooked up for her own amusement. Or some other ulterior motive. And you all fell for it?" She shakes her head. "I'm disappointed."
"Caitlin," Barry says, gently, "this isn't a game. She's made it very clear how she feels about Harry."
"She hits on him all the time," Cisco gripes, in confirmation. "In front of us, no less!"
"Put me in the camp of not believing it's a ploy on her part, either," Ralph adds. "If so, what would her endgame be? To get Harry into bed so she can tell him afterwards, 'Hey, just kidding, I never actually wanted you, so don't you feel ridiculous for having slept with me?'" He eyes Caitlin speculatively. "Come to think of it, that's one practical joke I wouldn't mind being the subject of… Whatcha think, Caitlin? Willing to switch things up a little?"
Cisco points at Ralph. "I will pay you $1000 to suggest that to Killer Frost."
"What good is money if he's dead?" Barry asks.
"Come on," Cisco has lowered his voice, but not enough, "why do you think I offered such a high amount? I'd never actually have to pay him."
"She wouldn't kill me," Ralph protests, sending a curious glance Caitlin's way before reassessing. "Okay, she probably wouldn't kill me."
Caitlin wants to throttle him. Or all of them. "Hello, how have you forgotten the most important thing here?" When everyone stares at her blankly, she practically yells, "The fact that Killer Frost is in love with Harry!"
"Whoooa," Cisco holds up his hands, "no one said anything about love. We just said she wants him – where did you get love from that?"
Is he joking? He has to be joking. She distinctly remembers them saying… "I...uh…you said that. I know you did!"
Cisco's shaking his head in denial. Moreover, the rest of her friends seem as confused as Cisco. She risks a glance at Harry, but his face betrays nothing about what he is (or isn't) feeling.
"Then I guessed, I suppose." She honestly has no clue where the knowledge – the guess – had come from. And it's making her incredibly uneasy. "What else am I supposed to think? None of you have given me much to go on." Before they can refute that, she turns to Harry, pretending she's braver than she feels, right then. "Why did it take you so long to tell me about this?"
"I can't speak for Harry," Cisco says, apparently not realizing that he's pretty much doing so, "but I can tell you that his plan consisted of sitting around and doing nothing."
"Not 'doing nothing', Ramon," Harry retorts, getting up from the desk and approaching the center of the room where Caitlin is standing (abjectly lost). "I was waiting."
"For…?" she prompts, when he doesn't go on.
He stops in front of her, perhaps a few feet away. "For you to catch up," he says, simply.
Her breath hitches. "I don't understand," she tells him, and it's probably a lie, but she wants to hear him explain.
"If Killer Frost feels a certain way about me, it stands to reason that you do, too. Not to mention that she told me you should come to the conclusion on your own. But it seems that's not going to happen without some help."
Her mind is reeling, and in the confusion, she latches onto the last thing he'd said. "You're taking advice on me from her?"
He's studying her in a way that's become more common lately, even as she doesn't know what it means. "Don't you get it, Caitlin? She and you are two sides of the same person."
On some level, she knows what he means. He's probably not even wrong, per se, but when it comes to the reality of things versus accepting that reality... "No," she insists, because denial is all she has right now. "I never know when I change into her. I don't remember things that happen when she takes over. She's completely separate from me." Caitlin takes a steadying breath. "As such, her feelings for you have nothing to do with anything that I feel."
Harry's expression doesn't waver. "You're saying that when it comes to me, you feel…"
"Nothing," she fills in, then winces at the coldness of it. "Well, not nothing, Harry. We're good friends and have been for a long time. I care for you a lot. But as for anything romantic?" She tries to imagine it and the pictures that come to mind (much too easily) startle her, even as they flood her with a sudden full-body warmth. "I've never thought of you that way." Before now, she silently clarifies. (Which is true, right?)
His eyes are so piercing that it's unsettling; she swears, in that moment, he can see right through her (and his next words basically confirm as much). "I don't believe you, Caitlin."
"It doesn't matter what you believe or don't believe. It doesn't change the truth."
"No," he says, quietly, "it doesn't."
She knows exactly what he's implying, but she can't argue the point anymore. (Not when another possibility has just occurred to her.) "Harry. Are you – have you two –" She can't get out the rest of the words. The thought of Harry and her other half, involved in some kind of relationship, while she was completely unaware…
"What do you take me for?" he asks, sounding insulted. "Of course not." His eyes darken, sweeping over her when he adds, "Not for lack of wanting to, though."
His answer flatters her, filling her with that same warmth again, but it also makes her feel even worse because of a new question that forms in her mind: "Is this your version of asking for permission? To be with her when she's…here?"
"Not that, either," he says. "And trust that you'd come to every wrong conclusion before reaching the right one. I'll save you a few other missteps – I want you." He takes a step forward, and she has the brief thought that it's both too close and not close enough. "All of you."
She's already shaking her head. "But she and I aren't the same person."
"You are," he insists, voice pitched low enough that only she can hear it. "There's a barrier in your mind, Caitlin. You put it up a long time ago, when you first felt these powers coming on, and you kept reinforcing it regularly to protect yourself. Because you didn't want to, or simply couldn't accept, that you're capable of that kind of darkness. Over time, that barrier, the split between your two selves? It became a part of you that you thought you could never move beyond. Never overcome. But I'm telling you: you and Killer Frost are one and the same." He glances at the floor briefly before meeting her eyes again. "More importantly, it's okay that you're one and the same."
She can't believe him, or maybe doesn't want to, because he's speaking as if the easy solution to her years-long problem is to simply accept that Killer Frost is not only here to stay, but an actual part of her that she's been denying this whole time.
He must see the doubt (and apprehension) in her eyes. "Let me try and prove it to you," he suggests, gently.
She licks her lips without thinking, noting the way his gaze flickers to her mouth and then back up to her eyes. "How would you do that?"
"Yeah, Harry!" Ralph yells jovially, clueing Caitlin in to the fact that the others can hear most of their conversation. "How would you do that?"
Harry ignores him, saying to Caitlin, "By showing you that you want me. You. Not just the side of you whose memories you can't currently access."
"How?" she demands. "By trying to seduce me or something?"
"This isn't happening," Cisco mutters. "Someone tell me this isn't happening."
"Be quiet," Iris complains, "we can't hear them over your whining."
Harry, for his part, has obviously enjoyed Caitlin's suggestion. "I wasn't going to call it that, but I like the way you think."
"There are other people here," she reminds him, glancing at their group of friends, all of whom are currently behind him and not even attempting to hide their interest in her and Harry's conversation.
There's a gleam in Harry's eyes when he asks, "What exactly do you think I'm going to do to you?"
It's Ralph (of course) who yells, again, "Yeah, what exactly?"
Cisco mutters something that sounds suspiciously like a threat to leave, though he makes no move to even get up from his chair, never mind leave the room.
Harry looks over his shoulder, then glances back at Caitlin, shrugging. "I'm long-used to them by now; their presence doesn't bother me." He adds, overly loud, "Besides, if they stay, they might actually learn something."
His arrogance is met with jeering and scoffing from their friends, and Harry's serious demeanor slips a little when he nearly smiles. And she loves that; she loves when he harasses the others and they respond in kind and everything is obviously said with affection and –
There's a growing realization in her that she doesn't want to examine too closely.
"I bet I wouldn't have to touch you to get a reaction," he's saying, and his claim has the competitive side of her instantly bristling.
"I assure you, I'd remain completely unaffected," she says haughtily, feigning an aura of confidence she doesn't really feel. "Do your worst, Harry."
"Oh, I can't do my worst, Snow," he informs her, highly amused. "Not with so many witnesses, as you so helpfully pointed out." He lowers his voice to add, "Not unless you're into that."
She abruptly laughs and lightly pushes him away; he doesn't go far, moving back a half step, probably mostly to indulge her. "Why are you making me laugh when you're supposedly trying to seduce me?" she demands.
"It's a gift, Snow," he replies, "and I take issue with the word 'supposedly' when I haven't even begun yet." In the next moment, he moves close enough into her personal space that it's increasingly difficult for her to think. To breathe. "How's this?" he asks, breaking her from her haze.
Why has her mouth gone dry? "It's, uh, fine. We've been this close many times before and I've never jumped you, have I?" (And now she's wondering…why hadn't she?)
"Fair enough." He walks in a slow circle around her before stopping in front of her again. "I do admire your restraint, Snow."
"Yes, Harry," she tries not to roll her eyes, immensely grateful that his teasing keeps setting her back at ease, "restraint is the only reason I'm not trying to rip your clothes off right now."
"A request, if I may?" Cisco calls, as the others hiss at him to shut up (which he ignores). "I could do without that sort of imagery."
"Then why are you still here?" Harry punctuates that by taking a pen from a nearby desk and whipping it in Cisco's general direction; the younger man barely manages to dodge in time.
"I told you, I wanted to see how this ends! Though, I must say, it's not going how I thought it would." Cisco glances between Caitlin and Harry a few times before apparently coming to a conclusion he doesn't like, muttering, "Oh no..."
"Let's rewind to before we were so rudely interrupted," Harry suggests, as he turns back to Caitlin. "You were saying that you wanted to take off my clothes…?"
She shakes her head, even as she smiles. "I don't remember saying that, Harry. Not exactly."
The corner of his mouth turns up and he leans ever closer to whisper, "It's okay to admit it, Snow." He doesn't move away after he says it, either.
She swallows heavily, acutely aware of how much he's invaded her personal space again. "It was sarcasm, Harry. You should be able to recognize it by now, seeing as you practically invented it."
He laughs and his breath floats along her skin, feather-light enough that she can almost imagine his lips have brushed over her ear. "As you should also recognize by now, sarcasm is often a way to reveal things we don't feel brave enough to say in a serious manner."
"That's not how I meant it," she insists, even as her mind turns in confusing circles. (Had that been how she'd meant it?)
"Whatever you say," he answers, clearly not believing her, and she swears his lips do brush her ear that time.
"Hey," she says, unevenly, "you said you weren't going to touch me."
He takes a step back and she wants to protest so much that she bites her lip to stop the words from forming. "I didn't touch you," he informs her, "but obviously, proximity isn't working." The wryness of his tone gives away his true feelings on the matter. "To that end, what if I did touch you?"
She suddenly thinks she's never wanted anything more. But she'd been fairly adamant in arguing that he'd have no effect on her, and pride won't let her give in now. (Or is it that she's having too much fun letting him try to 'convince' her?) "I don't think it would matter," she insists, throwing as much defiance into her words as possible, solely to give him extra motivation.
"Is that so?" He's back in her space now, though still shy of touching her. "Because I think it would make a difference." He bends down to breathe against her ear, "All the difference."
"You wish," she somehow says coherently, even as her eyes flutter shut.
His mouth, right next to her ear, lowers to press a kiss to it – and then another kiss to her neck, and one to her jaw after that. She tries, with all her might, to regulate her breathing, but it's a futile effort when it's all over the place.
"I feel nothing," she tells him, clenching her hands into fists in a last-ditch effort at not reaching out and touching him.
He moves to her other ear, whispering, "I can tell," and the words glide along her skin; for a second time, she can't actually tell if his mouth has touched her or not. (Nor does it even matter at this point, since she seems to be reacting the same either way.) Through sheer force of effort, she's able to resist the urge to lean into him, and that's when she feels his hands on her upper arms. They don't stay there long, as he lightly trails his touch downwards until he reaches her wrists, and then he switches to her sides, letting his hands come to a stop low on her waist. He plays with the hem of her shirt before lifting it slightly so he can press his fingers against her bare skin.
His fingertips are rougher than the skin he's touching – no doubt a result of his constant work on various projects – and she delights in the exhilarating sensation of his hands on her. She's about to make an acerbic comment about how she's still completely unaffected (obviously), when he moves his touch another inch lower. He's reached the waistband of her pants, which is where she assumes he'll stop, but he surprises her by dipping his thumbs slightly underneath to rub at the soft skin there. She inhales sharply, automatically placing her own hands over his. Instead of pulling them away from her, like she'd thought she was going to, she finds herself pressing on them in unspoken encouragement to keep his hold on her.
"Still nothing?" he asks innocently, like he has no idea what he's doing to her.
"Nothing," she chokes out. "I feel…nothing."
"That's interesting." He tightens his grip on her waist and she swallows a gasp when she has a fleeting thought of him picking her up. "Because you're literally trembling."
"It's a physiological response," she tries to claim. "It's been a long time since I was this close to another person. I'd be having the same reaction if anyone else was touching me."
He lowers his mouth to right below her ear, mouth forming the words "Oh really?" against her skin. And then he leans away from her to suggest, "Cisco doing this would get the same reaction?"
"He's like my brother," Caitlin protests. (Though she's glad for the distraction, since it allows her to gather herself. Somewhat.)
"Yeah, thanks for that horrifying image," Cisco gripes, from the corner.
Harry taps his fingers against her sides, though he seems unaware he's doing it. "Someone else, then?"
Caitlin scowls up at him, definitively not liking where his suggestions are going. She also sees Ralph get up from his seat, a little ways behind Harry, and he seems too eager as he approaches them which can't be good –
"If you're looking for volunteers," Ralph offers, "then I'm willing to take one for the team. Harry, if you'd kindly move aside…"
"Take one more step," Harry replies, without any inflection. There's also no overt threat in the words – in fact, he doesn't even turn to look at Ralph when he says it, but something about the statement sends their teammate immediately back to his seat.
Caitlin can read the question on Harry's face, asking if Ralph standing in his place would provoke the same reactions from her. "Of course not. Ralph's a friend and teammate. Nothing more."
"I'm your friend?" Ralph sounds inordinately pleased. "That's so sweet, Caitlin."
"I thought I was a friend and teammate," Harry reminds her. "And nothing more."
"He's…that's…it's different. You're different."
"So 'anyone else' in my place wouldn't cause this kind of response," he points out, "which is the opposite of what you claimed moments ago."
"I…" can't really think straight when you're touching me. (She has barely enough presence of mind left not to say that.) "A physiological reaction means nothing emotionally; that's all I was trying to say. It's beyond a person's control."
"This is completely physical, then," he asserts, sliding his hands around to the small of her back. "There's nothing emotional here. At all."
"Nothing," she insists, yet again, even as she gives up and relaxes into his hold. Without fully realizing it, she lets her eyes shut briefly, and when she opens them again, he's the only thing she can see in her entire world – she doesn't know if he understands that.
But he does. Of course he does. That's what this entire thing has been about. He'd even told her as much – he'd been waiting for her to catch up.
A cascade of emotions washes over her, sweeping from her head to her feet. It's warmth and affection and something else – something much greater – and it causes her whole body to start tingling, skin prickling everywhere with the sensation of sudden cold.
"No," she whispers, shaking her head. Her hands come up to grip Harry's arms, almost desperately, as she feels herself fading away. "No," she hisses, as their eyes meet.
"What?" he asks, with mild alarm.
"She doesn't get to take this from me," Caitlin tells him (and herself) as she stands up on tiptoes to kiss him. It's heady and desperate and not enough – she reaches an arm around the back of his neck to draw him closer, and feels his arms tighten, pulling her into him. She opens her mouth, sighing when his tongue slides against hers, and she never wants this to end.
That's when it hits her what she's doing – and with whom. It's Harry. Harry. One of her colleagues and closest friends. Before today, she'd never wanted him (or so she'd thought), but now…
She pulls away, biting back a sigh of disappointment when he releases her, dropping his arms. And she realizes that she's still standing there with him. She hasn't 'woken up' a few hours later, in a new place, so she must have stopped the change. She'd never been so easily able to do that before. "I did it," she tells him, amazed. "I stopped her."
There's an inscrutable look in his eyes. "Did you?"
When she frowns in confusion, he reaches out to take a strand of her hair and pulls it forward, showing her the whitish-blonde color that she knows only appears along with Killer Frost.
"I don't…" understand. She looks to Harry for answers and he takes her hands, holding them in front of her, palm up. "What are…" But she trails off because she knows.
"Go ahead," he tells her. "Try."
She's only ever had minimal control over this before, and had stopped doing it when it became dangerous – when using her powers too often led to Killer Frost emerging and taking control. After a time, she couldn't bring her out anymore except with strong emotions, and that was right before she 'disappeared', so to speak.
What it comes down to is that it's been a long time since she had any sort of real control, never mind the ability to summon the power on demand without consequences.
She considers refusing Harry's request, but it's clear that he believes she can do this. And she trusts him like very few others – she always has. So she closes her eyes and focuses and it's nearly effortless, the way the cold gathers around her hands, both familiar and foreign.
"Caitlin." There's a request in the way he says her name, and when she looks back at her hands, she sees the frost hovering above them. Solely to test it, she turns to the nearest empty chair, instinctively sending a freezing wave in that direction; everyone watches in surprised silence as the chair becomes encased in ice.
"I did it," she says, in disbelief. "I don't know how, but I did it." She turns to meet Harry's eyes. "And I'm still here."
"You were always here. You were just hidden away sometimes, Snow." He pauses for significance. "Just like the Killer Frost side of you is always here when you are. She's equally hidden away."
"I don't know about that, Harry," she protests. "It's not like I have any of her...memories."
He picks up on her hesitation over that last word. "Alright, no memories. What about feelings?"
She opens her mouth to argue the point, but realizes she can't. She studies his face, the concern (and hope) in his eyes, and doesn't know how to explain. What she feels for him…it goes so far beyond friendship that she can't even see back to where she passed that line.
How is it possible that there's so much here, so quickly? It's almost too much, in fact, the emotions overwhelming her, increasing by the second as she stands there. She's abruptly aware that it's not her imagination or the fact that she's struggling to process things – it's that the actual feelings are coming at an incomprehensible pace, to the point that she can barely sort through them, can hardly keep up –
It's like a row of dominoes toppling in her mind, and it hits her what's going on, her vision actually turning white for a blinding second: the two halves of her are slowly becoming one whole. The memories, and every emotion she's ever attached to them, wash over her relentlessly without any regard to how she's handling them. It's only Harry reaching out to take her arms that keeps her standing.
In the beginning, she'd been terrified of her powers, so she'd ruthlessly suppressed them. She'd been afraid of what her friends might think, and increasingly fearful that they'd want nothing to do with her. So she'd managed to block off that part of herself, thinking that if she were completely separate from the side of her that had powers, then no one could ever blame her for what she did with them. (For what she wanted to do with them.)
She remembers the dark thoughts she'd had and the terrible things she'd done. It's not like she hadn't known; she'd learned it all, after the fact. But there's a difference between finding out later (while blaming it on a part of herself she couldn't control) and actually having memories of each time she'd hurt someone. (And the people she loved most in the world, at that.)
She presses her fingers to her eyes, hoping it might stop the tears that are threatening.
This is on her, she can see that now. She'd closed off an entire part of herself, through her own free will, and without even consciously realizing it, at that. All because she hadn't wanted to remember.
She fights back a sob as she looks at Harry, and it's not pity she finds in his eyes, it's sympathy. Or more accurately, empathy.
"The things I've done..." She doesn't recognize her own voice because of how much it's shaking. "How can you – how can any of you still want me here after…"
He pulls her closer, arms encircling her in a hug that nearly causes her to let go and start crying. "We forgave you a long time ago," he says, to the top of her head. "You know that, Caitlin. We've all done things we regret." When she looks up at him, he explains, "We want you here. We hold nothing against you and never have."
She might have responded to that, if she were capable, but the memories are still coming, and now they're hitting the time when she began having better control over herself. When she'd started actually helping her team as Killer Frost instead of always threatening to refuse (or worse, outright run away).
She has flashes of every instance where she 'woke up' in sudden danger (and those memories are the direct contradictions to the times when she'd woken up as Caitlin after everything had passed). As Killer Frost, she'd been good at hiding her true feelings with dark humor and biting quips, but she'd been terrified every time she randomly appeared somewhere. Simply having powers hadn't made her immune to fear; it actually made it all the worse, because she was thrown head-first into horrific, potentially deadly situations without any preparation whatsoever.
She remembers thinking it wasn't fair; it wasn't fair that Caitlin got to step aside and rest easily while she had to go out and try to keep them both from being killed.
One memory, in particular, springs to the forefront of her mind: after yet another successful takedown of a meta, Harrison Wells had approached her and apologized for always calling on her at the worst of times. (Like it was something he had any responsibility to apologize for, in the first place.) He'd said that he knew it must be an impossible situation for her to deal with, time and again, but they needed her. He'd said they couldn't do this without her.
That was the first time she'd looked at him in another way.
As time went on, it began taking her longer to change back after such intensive, high-energy battles. Sometimes, she would linger as Killer Frost for hours. She'd felt separate from the team, at first, until Harry started reaching out more – inviting her to join him and the others, instead of going off alone until she disappeared and Caitlin returned. He'd always treated her as a person and not simply a means to an end (which was more than Caitlin could even say about herself, at times). The more amenable she was to his offers, the more he made them, until it was basically a given that she'd spend time with the team until Caitlin came back.
Above all else, though, she remembers the abject terror she'd always carried around with her while she was Killer Frost. She'd been scared that if Caitlin learned to control her powers, that would mean she'd disappear permanently: that she'd simply vanish from existence one day, the Killer Frost alter ego absorbed back into Caitlin like she'd never existed. All those moments and battles and talks and memories (and feelings) simply erased, like they didn't matter. Like she didn't matter.
She'd spoken about those fears with one person. The same person who's standing in front of her, watching her with an expression that she now recognizes as love.
Her eyes widen as the last piece of the puzzle falls into place: she hadn't only been afraid of potentially disappearing, she'd been afraid that she'd forget...
"I fell in love with you," she breathes, as the memories overtake her, and how had any part of her not been aware of this? She's fascinated by the way his entire body relaxes, and he shuts his eyes for a second before opening them to smile brilliantly at her.
"You never actually said the words," he reveals, "but based on how things were changing, I strongly suspected. And I certainly hoped." He runs a hand over the side of her face, thumb brushing her lips. "I've been trying to tell you. For months. I never wanted to force the issue because I wasn't sure how you'd respond. Your feelings on Killer Frost were generally quite negative; we saw as much with your unhappiness around the holidays when you found out we were all spending time together. I was worried about how you'd react when you learned what was going on between us, and my own growing feelings for you."
"You mean…" Caitlin falters, "her."
"I mean you," he whispers. "You can access those memories now, so you know exactly what I'm talking about. She was always you. Just a part you didn't want to acknowledge, to the point that you separated from her entirely."
She almost doesn't want to ask this next question, because she's afraid of the answer, but she has to know: "So you don't only want...that side of me?"
His eyes soften. "I told you. I don't want any one side of you. I want all of you. I have for a long time. Before any of this even began with Killer Frost, in the first place."
She thinks back over the past few months...how things had been changing between them – something she hadn't been able to put her finger on, but which she knew was significant. He stood closer to her than before. He made comments that had her looking at him twice. He even watched her more – he was always watching now, it seemed. "Were you going to tell me that night at Jitters?"
"I'm not sure," he says, honestly. "I was thinking about trying, though. Seeing how upset you were, I only wanted to fix it, if I could; if there was any way for me to do so. After you were taken by Amunet, and how furious you were that you'd only gotten involved with her in an attempt at better controlling your powers, I decided to take a subtler approach. I figured it would be easier if you faced the truth in a more natural way."
"Was this the more natural way?" she asks, eyes bright.
"My latest attempt, yes. Had to make it pretty obvious this time around because you're amazingly obtuse," he teases. "When you want to be."
"I didn't want to be," she counters, turning more serious. "I just...couldn't see it. But I wish I had a long time ago. I'd have..."
"You'd have what?" he whispers.
As an answer, she runs her hands up his chest to entwine them behind his head, pulling him down for another kiss. When she feels his mouth against hers, she realizes everything will be okay (because they'll make it okay). She puts everything that she can into their kiss: her thanks and gratitude for every time he'd been there for her; her appreciation of everything that he is, everything he stands for; her newfound knowledge that she doesn't ever want to be without him.
She pours her love for him into that kiss and she feels it equally reciprocated. They get lost for probably too long, and she doesn't come back to reality until Harry finishes the kiss with a sweep of his tongue, then lightly bites her lower lip in a move that makes her gasp.
"Alright, we get it," Cisco says shrilly, causing them to separate a little and turn to face their friends, though Harry keeps an arm firmly around her waist. "You two love each other, okay? We believe you. Now please, for everyone's sanity, take it elsewhere."
"Cisco actually has a good idea for once," Harry tells Caitlin, humor evident. "Let's go to my rooms. We can talk there." He sends her a lingering, heated look. "Or not talk, as the case may be."
Ralph whistles at them in obvious approval, the rest of their friends start laughing, and Caitlin feels herself turning a deep shade of red.
She takes Harry's free hand and pulls him towards the exit, deliberately raising her voice to tell him, "Come on, Harry. I think talking is a great idea." The moment they pass Cisco, she adds, "And we'll get started on that in a few days."
"Oh, come on," Cisco loudly complains, and their laughter echoes behind them when they enter the hall. The next moment, Harry has her pinned to the wall, her laughter all but forgotten as she looks up at him.
"A few days from now, hmm?" The longing in his eyes, coupled with the way he presses his entire body up against hers, leaves her distracted enough that she almost forgets to reply.
"What?" she manages to get out, then narrows her eyes when she sees the smugness all over him; he knows damn well what he's doing to her.
"We're not going to talk for a few days?" he repeats, slowly.
"I figured that'd give us enough time." When he minutely shakes his head, she amends, "Or…not?"
"There's this new thing, did you hear? People can talk when they have sex, now."
She feels a flood of endorphins and the rush has her laughing. "Not the way I do it, Harry," she says, lightly.
"Consider it a personal challenge, then," he informs her, "because I never stop."
"Having sex?" she asks, then realizes that having him so close has made her lose the threads to their conversation. Again. For some reason.
"Talking," he says, rolling his eyes a little. "However, if you're intent on…taking the edge off before we have any serious discussions, then I'm definitely going to need more than a few days with you," he promises. "I have a lot in mind."
"Like a checklist or…?" She means it as a joke, but the actual idea of it has her mind swimming with every tantalizing possibility. Then she starts thinking of all the things she wants to do to him and…
"I seem to keep losing you," he says, with vast amusement. "Your eyes keep taking on this glazed, far-away look. You should really work on your concentration."
Just for that, she arches against him, grinning in satisfaction when he hisses and the hand he has pressed to the wall over her head slips a few inches. "What was that, Harry?"
"What was…" He blinks at her and then realizes exactly what she's doing. "Touché," he says, appreciatively.
"Be careful when you're playing with fire, Harry."
"Funny," he murmurs, running his free hand lightly through her hair. "I thought I was playing with frost."
Despite herself, she laughs at the wordplay. "Harry, what am I going to do with you?" Her voice is filled with so much affection that it surprises her – it surprises her how much she gives away without meaning to.
"Lots of things, I hope," he jokes, then leans in to kiss her – or at least that's what she'd thought he was going to do. Instead, he shifts at the last second and presses his mouth to her temple, pausing there for a long moment as they both breathe quietly.
When he pulls back, the question in her eyes must be obvious. "Anything more than this and…Snow, I don't think we'd leave this hallway."
"Would that be so bad?" she murmurs.
"It'd be fantastic up until the moment everyone we knew came out here, I'll grant you that." He disentangles himself from her, taking a step back, probably to try and cool them both off. "It's not just wanting you, you know. It's that…I look at you and I see everything ahead of us. I see how much I love you." He hesitates before adding, "And how I'll keep loving you for the rest of my life."
"The rest of..." Her voice wavers, but she still manages to promise, "Yeah, me too." She rises up to meet him in a kiss that starts off sweet and slow, but quickly grows deeper, despite their intentions. They break apart when they both feel how easily they could get carried away, and fall into silence, simply watching each other. Caitlin takes a few moments to bask in the sense of peace and belonging that comes over her. (Before today, she'd never thought she'd have anything like this again.)
"As much as I could stare at you all day," Harry says, motioning behind her. "My rooms are that way."
They start walking, very carefully not touching each other, because Harry had been right: the odds of them never making it to his apartment are too high. Caitlin absently runs her hand along the wall as they walk, mind spinning with what comes next. "I know you don't want to have sex in the hallway, Harry – at least not when there's a risk of being discovered – but…" she glances at him, slyly, "you do have walls in your apartment, right?"
He takes a deep breath, which she considers a win, and she's about to start gloating when she realizes they've reached his rooms. "Is it your goal to kill me?" he accuses, as he opens the door and veritably shoves her through it (not that she minds). He barely manages to kick the door shut behind them before his hands are all over her again.
"Yes, Harry," she says, straight-faced. "My goal is to kill you. Dead."
"As opposed to kill me...alive?"
She can't help laughing. "Don't question me. Just go with it."
"That I can do," he informs her. "As a warning, though, you don't get to enjoy me if I'm dead." He lightly bites the shell of her ear, and when her breath stops, he licks the skin there. "It'd be so sad for you."
"I love the way you're always thinking about others," she informs him.
"Everyone tells me that altruism is one of my best known traits," he agrees. "Allow me to show you."
"By all means," she grins up at him, "show away."
"Pick a wall, then." He gestures around the room. "You have four to choose from."
She laughs again, resting her forehead against his chest. "Harry. Be serious. For once."
"You think I'm not serious?" he asks, even as his smile gives him away. "I'll have you know I can be very serious." He moves his hand to the back of her neck, and the look on his face is one she's only starting to get used to from him. "I'm serious about you."
"All of me," she replies, because she loves that fact enough that she has to say it out loud. She can hardly believe that in the span of a single afternoon, a single revelation, she's suddenly reconciled the two halves of herself.
(Not to mention that other small matter of remembering she'd fallen in love.)
"All of you," he confirms. There's so much she wants to tell him, but it seems like he's about to kiss her again, which thoroughly distracts her to the point that it takes her a second to register he's speaking. "What's next, Snow? Or should I say...Frost?"
She nudges him for that last remark, though she really doesn't mind. And on that note – "I should probably try and change my hair back."
"You can leave it for now. It's kind of hot," he smirks at her. "I'm suddenly remembering that Dibny has told you he prefers your hair this color –"
His words summon her own recollection of those memories. "Oh great. It's definitely going back, even if I have to dye it myself."
"I don't care what you look like," he tells her, and it's the kind of comment that should come off as lighthearted or glib, but she only hears the truth in it. Before she can say anything in response, though, he asks, "We should probably talk before this goes any further, huh?"
"Probably," she agrees, "but there's always time for talking later." She beckons him to lean closer to her, and when he complies, she delights in the fact that it's her turn to press a few light kisses along his jaw. "Honestly? I'd much rather touch you right now."
"Of course you would," he quips. "I mean, look at me."
She bites her lip, knowing it does little to hide her smile. "Try again, Harry."
"I'm going to show you how much I love you," he tells her, solemnly, like he's never meant a promise more. She finds herself shivering at the intensity of it, and when he kisses her, everything else falls away until they're the only two people left in her world.
(And in that world, as it turns out, they're pretty good at communicating without words.)
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