A/N: So . . . Guess who's jumping on the SnowBarry wagon? *waves hand sheepishly* I TOTALLY SHIPPED THEM SINCE EPISODE ONE OF FLASH, AND I AM JUST SOBBING EVERY TIME THEY INTERACT BECAUSE I SWEAR TO HEAVEN AND BACK THAT THESE TWO ARE PERFECT FOR EACH OTHER. FYI, this is my first time writing SnowBarry, so apologies if I've made them too OOC! BUT in Caitlin's case, the OOC is normal, because she's on pain meds. Any-who, enjoy the story! Reviews and favorites are appreciated!

"It's Barry, Cisco! Barry Allen, not Barry Manilow, but this Barry's my favorite!"

"Yeah, I can see that, thanks, Caitlin," Cisco remarks dryly, patting down his wind-ruffled hair, which sticks up in five directions as Barry darts over to the bed.

A laughing Caitlin Snow is lying on the hospital bed usually meant for Barry himself, on the many occasions that he gets injured. Her full, pink lips had been twisted into a frown, but the moment she'd seen him run through that doorway, she'd smiled brightly, showing the indent of dimples in creamy skin. Her tangled burnished curls have been pulled out of her face, into a high ponytail. She's dressed in a white hospital gown, thin enough that Barry can see the lace of her bra. Coughing, he looks away, cheeks tinted pink.

"Isn't he the cutest?" Caitlin squeals, clapping her hands together.

Cisco rubs his temples. "Please don't make me answer that question –"

"Is she okay?" Worry and helplessness vibrate through Barry's words. "What happened?"

Barry blinks, and moves to stand beside Cisco, who looks absolutely exasperated. Caitlin is uncharacteristically bubbly, even though she's stuck in a hospital bed, and as usual, Barry over thinks, trying to formulate theories. She's drunk. She's on crack. She's won the lottery -

"She got shot," Cisco blurts the fact out quickly, as though the quicker he says it, the less angry Barry will be.

Or maybe she got shot -

"What?" Barry asks weakly, horror written all over his face.

I should have been there. I should have stopped her from getting hurt.

"She got shot, and she was taken to the hospital. We managed to bring her back here to recover. Caitlin will be fine, she just has a couple of bruised ribs, and her spleen is ruptured, but she'll be fine after a week of rest. She's on painkillers –"

Caitlin draws random shapes in the air using her index finger as a pencil, smiling happily all the while, humming the first bars of a song that sounds like, "Summer Lovin'". Barry stares.

Abruptly, the anger gives way to a sharper, newer emotion – shock. "Is she high?"

"– No, she's just on some very, very strong painkillers." Cisco makes a gentle attempt to keep Caitlin on the bed, as she attempts to struggle off it. Barry lends a hand, keeping her from flailing about and giving him a black eye, shaking his head when she tries to yank out the tubes in her arms. "I'm going to get some dinner, so you and Caitlin have fun, alright?"

Before Barry can say anything, Cisco has high-tailed his way out of the room, leaving a giggling Caitlin and Barry alone. Gingerly, Barry moves over to the bed, taking Cisco's vacated seat. Caitlin gazes at him with happy, half-lidded eyes, her normally sharp and cool gaze a tad unfocused.

"You look really cute," Caitlin stage whispers, her pale face glowing against her halo of crimson hair, and Barry's cheeks redden.

He's wearing a severe military greatcoat over a flannel shirt and a pair of holey blue jeans, along with his favorite pair of black-and-white Jack Purcell sneakers, the ones with the duct-taped hole on the right toe. Barry's hair is sleep rumpled, dark bruises ringing his eyes from only getting five hours worth of sleep, but apparently, Caitlin doesn't factor in the detail that he's just rolled out of bed and thrown on the first clothes in his wardrobe.

"Thanks?" The word comes out as a question, not a statement, and Barry inwardly winces for sounding like the nerd he really is. "Uh . . . So what happened to you?"

"Mmm . . ." For a moment, Caitlin's eyes cloud, and she sticks out her tongue in concentration. She is silent for so long that Barry thinks she won't answer, but then she speaks up animatedly, in between peals of laughter. "Well, I was on my way to work, but since my stupid car wouldn't start, I decided to take a walk instead! It was a dark and stormy night when Caitlin Snow ventured out into the final frontier . . . The sidewalk! There I was, sipping my latte and talking to Cisco on my phone, when this loco guy started yelling at me, saying that my wonky experiments with that particle thingy killed his daughter and wife. He got mad when I apologized, and shot me." Barry isn't laughing as he narrows his eyes into thin, angry slits, zeroing in on the lump of bandage and gauze taped to her skin. If he wasn't so angry, he might have blushed at the fact that Caitlin is proudly displaying a generous amount of her stomach and hips. "He shot me right here! It really hurt."

Caitlin's cheery expression clouds, her lips trembling at the corners. "I thought I was going to die, but then Joe and Eddie showed up, and shot the guy instead! Then Joe brought me back here, and Cisco and Doctor Wells patched me up! And then you came to see me, which officially makes this day one thousand times better!"

Barry has always been a 'let's-use-violence-as-a-last-resort' kind of guy, but never before has he wanted to slap the bitch out of someone so badly before. He wants to drive his fists into something – someone – but settles for twisting his fingers together until they grow chilly from lack of blood. This is all his fault. While he was snug in his bed, Caitlin had been bleeding out on the sidewalk. He should have been there to help her. She's always had his back, but when the situation called for it, he wasn't there. It is as simple – and as complicated - as that.

Caitlin's happy stream of laughter brings him back down to this sterile white room. Barry's gaze is subdued as he looks down at her. "You know, you look really, really, really sexy when you're angry!" She pauses, her brow furrowing. "Did I ever tell you that?"

Those drugs sure packed a punch, alright.

"N-No . . ." Barry's already pale skin blanches even further when he notices that she's still holding up her shirt. Who would have thought that Caitlin, with her classy and impeccable outfits, would be into sheer black mesh with embroidered magenta flowers – the exact same color as a certain someone's suit. Barry feels blood rushing to his cheeks, wondering if the color scheme is a coincidence. Caitlin has eight little freckles across her stomach. There's a definite zigzag pattern. If they were connected with little line segments, they would make a path, jagged like the constellation Draco. "Caitlin? Your, er, shirt . . ."

"Huh?" Caitlin looks down at herself, and waves a hand. "Aw, pish. You can be the first to have a peek!"

She starts to shrug off her hospital gown, but a panicking Barry shakes his head frantically, swatting her hands away when Caitlin fumbles for the ties keeping her gown together. He isn't about to 'have a peek' at any more of his very good friend, who is doped up on pain medicine and is not in control of her actions. She pouts. "Aw, Barry, you're no fun."

Grouchily, she flops back onto her pillows, sticking her bottom lip out dejectedly. She makes no attempt to keep a grimace off her face. "But you're awfully sweet," Caitlin concedes that point thoughtfully, biting her lush lip like she always does whenever she's worried about something. "It's one of the things that I really really really really really really like about you."

Inwardly, Barry is at war. His cheeks are getting hotter and hotter, and his foot is tapping so rapidly against the bottom rung of his chair that it has become a blur of black. He is torn between pressing the issue and simply forgetting about what Caitlin says. It's wrong to take advantage of her, especially since she has no clue as to what she was doing or saying.

"And you look cute like that." Caitlin nods sagely, and the idea of him forgetting all about this conversation is tossed out the window in one fell swoop.

Well, it isn't like Barry can just tell her to shut up. Since she is rambling on, with no signs of stopping, what kind of friend would he be if he didn't allow her to . . . To . . . Unburden herself and air her grievances? It is the best brand of Barry Allen-esque bullshit, but at least he has an excuse in the case that Caitlin does remember all of this. ( He prays to every God he can think of that she doesn't. )

"Like what?"

"When you over-think stuff. You get this cute little crease in between your forehead –" She stretches out a hand, running her polished fingers gently over the wrinkles in his brow until his skin smoothens out under her gentle touch. Caitlin drops her graceless hand into her lap, her eyes downcast. "– But at the same time, it makes me sad, because then you don't smile anymore."

Barry forces his frozen lips into a smile. Caitlin smiles right back at him, and Barry faintly thinks that he'd do anything to keep her smiling at him like that.

"Another cute part about you is your body," Caitlin lowers her voice conspiratorially, putting a finger to her lips. "Well, it's hot, actually. Not cute." She giggles at herself, and the sound makes Barry feel as though he's just gulped down a mouthful of liquid sunshine. "When you came into the lab dressed in only your boxers, itwas officially the best day of my life!"

If he'd been drinking water, liquid would have just shot out his nose. Barry shoots Caitlin a bewildered glance, which only makes her laugh louder. "Oh, Barry . . ." Caitlin stares at the ceiling, but her legs squirm under the blankets, fidgeting. "Iris really is a lucky girl."

"W-What makes you say that?" Barry asks, feeling a bit guilty that he is taking advantage of her in her drugged state.

"Well, she's pretty –" Caitlin fumbles with her words, squeezing her hands together so hard that her knuckles whiten. Her words are slow, measured, and she sounds as though she's trying hard not to cry. "– She's smart, and she's known you for a long time. You're in love with her, and, and –"

Caitlin sniffs the beginning of tears back, and Barry can't help but inch a little bit closer to her, smoothing back the curls that have escaped her ponytail. " – You'd do anything for her. And she's a blind bat who can't even see that!" Her shoulders droop miserably, the light leaving her eyes. "I can't compete with her . . . Even if she makes you sad, you still love her."

"I'd do anything for you too," He promises, pulse fluttering like a hummingbird's wings. Something in Caitlin's dejected tone rubs him the wrong way, even more so now that he knows that he's indirectly causing her sadness – try as he might, it seems that he is the alpha and the omega of Caitlin's worries. "A-And Cisco, of course. I'd help all my friends, not just –"

"She doesn't know that you risk your life to help others." Caitlin stills, her eyes still teary. "She doesn't hurt like I do whenever I have to kiss your boo-boos better."

Barry sags. "Caitlin, I . . ."

He doesn't know what to say. Sorry for making you worry? Sorry that you have to keep watching me get injured? In the end, he has to settle for swallowing helplessly and tracing soothing circles on Caitlin's hands, murmuring nonsense pleas and assurances as her tears come in a flash flood. The sobs come one, then the next, with barely a pause to breathe as her frame is racked with the release of so many built-up emotions. Barry leans closer, wrapping his arms around her. The chasm within him that has opened up with Caitlin's tears grows wider, wider, and more darkness sweeps inside. It feels as though Captain Cold has struck him with a flash of ice, only this time, it seems to have formed around his heart. Involuntarily, his hands tighten their grip around Caitlin's slender fingers, banded with calluses and corded with muscle, whispering reassurances that belie his heavy heart.

"Even if I asked nicely, you won't stop being a superhero." Caitlin's voice is barely audible, turned down to about ten percent of its usual intensity. With a last teary sniffle, Caitlin looks up, her face sopping wet and her eyes shiny with determination, with the air of someone conferring a great favour. "So, I'll compromise!"

"Compromise?" Barry echoes. "Caitlin, what . . .?"

Barry widens his eyes at Caitlin's outstretched pinky finger before slowly blinking twice. She waves her hand around for emphasis, the unwavering intensity in her eyes masking the sting of her tears mere seconds before. "Everyone always leaves me," Caitlin says, the matter-of-fact words heavy and thick, and now it feels as though an icy poker is stabbing at Barry's heart. "I don't want you to go, Barry. I'm not ready to say goodbye yet."

And Barry's heart has officially crumbled into millions of pieces. He's been told about Ronnie, and the sting of grief is one that he is all too familiar with. Losing a loved one is like losing a limb. One is always aware of what one is missing, of what one used to have. I'm sorry. He is, but those words won't really mean anything to Caitlin. Her fiancée is gone, and she won't see him again until she dies. That thought wouldn't comfort her – or him - tonight.

"I won't stop you from going," Her eyes are shiny and swollen, her cheeks caked over with a film of salt. Caitlin has no tears left, and it chips away at Barry's composure. "But you have to promise to come back. Come back to me, okay?"

"I promise." Abandoning his ministrations, Barry links his pinky with Caitlin's, his eyes meeting hers. Sincerity oozes from his every word. "No matter what happens, I will always come back. I promise, Caitlin."

She snorts snotty bubbles, which makes her laugh even harder as the morphine induced cheerfulness returns to her eyes. The tight vise on Barry's heart eases its grip fractionally. She is silent for so long that Barry thinks she's fallen asleep. Quietly, he tugs the blankets over her slender and oddly vulnerable frame, and stands to leave when –

A hand, cold and pale, with transparent tubes taped to ivory skin, clamps down on his wrist in a vise-like grip.

"Don't go." Caitlin whispers, with all the vulnerability of a young child. "Don't leave me here alone."

Barry hesitates. I should let her get some sleep . . . He finally caves when he sees the quiver in her lips, and how small and pale she looks in a bed that looks four times too large. Sighing, he scoots in with Caitlin, careful not to disturb the tubes and wiring. Almost instantly, Caitlin scoots closer to him, curling up on her side in a tight ball, her medicine not making her feel the pull on her wound, her head in Barry's lap.

"Stay with me, Barry," Caitlin whispers, just before she drifts off to sleep; her eyelashes are burnt ocher against the creamy skin of her cheek. Her hand fists tightly in the front of his shirt, clinging on with all her might, as though scared that he'll up and leave in her sleep. "Stay."

Startled, Barry looks down at Caitlin. An unexpected feeling that he can't quite name wells up within him; it is warm and tender, and reminds him of the times spent with Caitlin, feeling the gentle brush of her fingers as she smoothes bandages over torn skin, or as she pulls needle and thread through open cuts. Involuntarily, he pulls her closer to him, his arms tightening their hold around her waist. His free hand cords lazily through silken curls, which smell like jasmine in the late afternoon.

Barry smiles slightly, and leans down, brushing his lips over her forehead ever so lightly. "I won't."