A/N: This was sort of inspired by the last episode of LoT "Marooned", and the question of how Len might deal with grief.

Barry walks into his bedroom, showered, teeth brushed, dressed in his S.T.A.R. Labs sweats, ready to crawl into bed and pass out for about a week, and finds Len right where he left him - lying on the bed, eyes closed, earbuds in his ears, not asleep that Barry can tell, just ignoring the world at large, including him.

Barry hadn't been expecting him, but he came home in the late afternoon and there Len was, sans parka but with his thick boots still on, lying on Barry's side of the bed, listening to Barry's iPod. Len didn't open his eyes when Barry entered the room. He didn't say hello, didn't get up to greet him. Something had to have gone wrong while he was incommunicado for the past few weeks, but it doesn't look like he's going to tell Barry what any time soon.

Barry's willing to give Len his space, not that keeping his distance is a new thing, but since Len won't talk about what happened, Barry doesn't know why. All Barry does know is that when he saw Len, he was overjoyed that he was back safe and sound, but Len was cold. He didn't seem to care.

So Barry went about his evening routine alone, the way he had every night since Len left.

He made dinner, but this time he fixed it for two, putting together a plate for Len at the table even though Barry knew he wouldn't come out to eat. With no one to talk to while he ate, Barry went over case files, filled out paperwork, returned emails, all in silence, but Barry found himself consistently distracted thinking about the other person in his apartment, who refused to move or say a word.

When Barry could no longer concentrate on anything enough for it to make sense, he cut his dinner short and climbed in the shower. He took an extra-long one, hoping that might entice Len to get up and join him. Barry stayed in the shower until the water ran cold, but Len didn't make an appearance.

So when Barry walks into his bedroom, he's not surprised to find Len in the exact same spot, doing the exact same thing, which is basically nothing.

Barry debates the pros and cons of trying to get Len to talk as opposed to just climbing in to bed on Len's side and going to sleep. The pro is that leaving Len be definitely makes Barry the non-clingy, cool-beans, understanding lover that lets Len work through his issues alone like the big boy he is.

The con – Len might be gone before Barry wakes up, without even giving Barry a chance to say goodbye, before he's off doing God knows what in God knows where, without leaving Barry so much as an ETA on his return.

Barry decides he can't handle that. He misses Len too much when he's gone.

And what if the next time he leaves he doesn't come back?

Barry shakes Len's shoulder to get his attention, but when Len doesn't open an eye to look at him, Barry pops an earbud out of his ear.

"What?" Len says brusquely, feeling for the wire to find the mislaid bud.

"You're on my side of the bed."

"Do you think I care?"

"No," Barry says, in no mood to argue, "I don't think you do. But you care about something, which is why you're acting this way. So, do you want to talk about it? Or do you want to remain catatonic?"

"I choose to think of it as meditation," Len says, locating the missing earbud and sticking it back in his ear, eyes closed, slipping back into his self-imposed coma.

Barry watches him retreat back inside his head and gives up. He's too tired to drag the truth tooth and nail out of him, not after the day he's had.

"Fine," Barry says, retiring to the other side of the bed.

Len finally opens an eye when he feels Barry shove back the covers and climb onto the bed.

"Wait," Len says, yanking the earbuds out of his ears and grabbing hold of Barry's sweatshirt.

"Yeah?" Barry says.

"Yeah. Come here." Len pulls Barry toward him. Barry lets Len manipulate him. He guides Barry over and down until Barry's laying over him. Len slips his hands underneath Barry's sweatshirt, wrapping his arms around his bare torso. Len's hands are cold, but they're always cold. Len fits the two of them together, then rolls slightly to the side and hugs Barry tight. He buries his head in Barry's chest, his forehead pressing hard into Barry's collarbone, but Barry doesn't complain. He doesn't shift to get away when Len digs his balled fists into his back, or when suffocating his sobs results in Len driving his teeth into the skin over Barry's heart.

"It gets better," Barry says softly.

"No, it doesn't," Len replies.

Barry sighs. If Len were anyone else, Barry would insist. But he can't bullshit Len.

"You're right. It doesn't," Barry says. He can't really argue that. How long had it been since his mother died, and he hadn't gotten over it. And not just on behalf of his dad, wrongfully accused of her murder and wasting years in prison. But as Len continues to crush against him, Barry's about to commit a terrible sin. He's not going to lie. Len would understand Barry lying. Barry's going to be platitudinous, and that borders on the grotesque. "It'll fade," he says. "I promise."

"Yeah," Len scoffs. "Sure it will."

Len's insulted by Barry's trite and unoriginal answer, but he doesn't hold it against him. Len doesn't make things easy for Barry. After everything Len's done, in general as well as to Barry specifically, Barry still sees the good in him. He's Len's safe house. He's even given Len a copy of the key. Len considers himself lucky that Barry doesn't just get pissed and kick him out.

But Barry wouldn't be Barry if he did.

And Len wouldn't love him.

Len doesn't say another word, and he doesn't let go. He doesn't let go until morning.