Those Left Behind
Disclaimer: Just playing in the sandbox, no infringement intended.
"You go out there so certain you can't die—Oliver, for all his outward confidence, goes out there knowing he can. That's the difference between the two of you, Barry. Not your meta…human…ness or Flashness or whatever you want to call it."
"Felicity—"
"He takes the risks he does fully aware that each time he leaves the lair, he might not come back—or if he does, it'll be in a body bag. He goes out and does what he does fully aware of those he leaves behind—and he still deems it a risk worth taking. But you—"
"Me?"
"You're so certain you're invincible. That you'll have all the time in the world to figure it all out. To make it right when you finally do."
"Figure what—"
"You still don't get it, do you?"
"Get what?"
"Augh!"
She'd cut off the video chat by slamming her laptop closed so violently, Barry could practically feel the reverberations all the way in Central City. He'd very nearly taken off for Starling—wanting to confront her face to face and ask what in the hell she meant by going off on him like that—but for once, common sense had overruled impulse. Or rather, his phone ringing with Caitlin summoning him to S.T.A.R. Labs for another round of tests had overruled impulse.
Smart move—on a lot of levels. Caitlin had a lot of tools at her disposal and wasn't in the least bit afraid to use them when she felt he was being an asshat. Ignoring her summons would definitely land him in asshat territory. On the upside, if it could be called that, responding to Caitlin's summons had yielded the answers he sought. Apparently, Oliver was gone. Again. Off to deal with some guy with the imposing name of Ra's al Ghul, and according to Cisco's breathless narration, an even more imposing—and terrifying—reputation.
"Dude, he heads up something called the League of Assassins. How sick is that? And Oliver's gone to fight him! For honor and vengeance and all sorts of superhero, Arrow stuff. The stuff of legends, man! We so need to get you an arch-nemesis."
"No, we really don't."
Caitlin's voice had been as cool and measured as ever, but there had been a certain clipped cadence to her speech, an infinitesimal tremor that rippled along her spine, invisible to everyone in the room except him, that echoed the same fear and anger he'd felt from Felicity during their chat.
The chat he'd initiated, wanting to commiserate—okay, whine—about Iris and how she'd rebuffed him in his guise as The Flash, which now made him 0 for 2 with her. Never mind that he'd never actually confessed his feelings for her as Barry. Or as The Flash, for that matter. But as Flash he'd at least had a fighting chance. Sort of. At least to get Iris to eventually look at him as Barry through different eyes.
Felicity had very reasonably argued that if after all this time Iris couldn't see who he really was away from the mask—if she didn't value who he was, or rather, who he'd been before the accident—especially after all these years, then maybe he needed to take a step back and reevaluate if their future had any real, well… future. Relationships were hard enough, she'd mused, without factoring in dual lives and hidden identities.
He'd countered with all he needed was another big opportunity to redeem himself—or rather, redeem The Flash—to Iris. He needed to maybe save the city or better still, save her, and then he could begin the work of rebuilding their relationship and maybe eventually, he could reveal himself to her.
That's when Felicity had exploded.
Then not an hour later, Caitlin had made her quiet declaration, her piercing light-brown gaze raking over him for a chilling instant before she'd turned away.
He'd been struck with an echo of memory as explosive as the lightning which had struck him. The expression on her face—
It had been uncomfortably close to the one with which she'd faced him after he cruelly declared he wasn't Ronnie and she'd retorted that no, he wasn't.
After which Felicity had called him a loveable dummy.
Now Felicity had berated him for recklessness and lack of awareness.
And Caitlin had looked at him with the same naked fear in her expression he'd seen from Felicity when she talked about Oliver leaving and never returning.
And finally, he got it.
He understood.
It was Caitlin.
She knew him as Barry.
She knew him as The Flash.
She was the one who, whenever Cisco or Dr. Wells began concocting some scheme to push him to the limits of his abilities or otherwise put him in harm's way, would argue in his defense. Would consider his safety. Who put him first—not The Flash, him, but Barry.
He argued with her in a way he never had with Iris because there was no need to hold back with her. She knew all of him.
She berated him when he was reckless.
She mended him when he was injured.
She cared for him.
She feared for him.
It was after that he began making a point of meeting her gaze before he left the lab. Of pausing, for as infinitesimal an instant as the tremor that had run through her body, to whisper "I'll be careful." It was so fast, no one else noticed, but she did. More and more, she was the only one who mattered.
Finally, he understood what Felicity had been trying to tell him.
Caitlin was the one he left behind.
And the one to whom he returned.
AN: I know the showrunners are likely to stretch out the unrequited Iris thing at least as long as they stretched out the Laurel/Ollie thing on ARROW, and of course, we'll have Ronnie to deal with too, but for the time being, let's call this wishful thinking for the future.