A/N: This chapter covers events between S1 and S2, and during roughly the first half of S2, which means it has mention of Caitlin/Ronnie and Iris/Eddie in the context of them each grieving, as well as mention of Barry/Patty (very briefly) and a focus on Caitlin/Jay. Also, yay for some Caitlin/Iris interaction - there's not lots yet but it is building up to an important bit.
Song for this chapter is "Après Moi" by Regina Spektor.
Every Exit Is An Entrance
She goes to work, logs more than her requisite hours because honestly she doesn't want to leave work. Reluctantly she returns to her apartment but it isn't home, like Mercury Labs isn't home. Home was S.T.A.R. Labs, Barry, Cisco. It was home long before either of them.
But home used to mean Dr Wells too. No longer. Home is tainted.
Ronnie died there, not once but twice. Before, she'd punished herself by remaining there, without facing up to it until Barry had accompanied her to the pipeline. She'd spent a long time there fooling herself into thinking she could deal with it and not actually dealing with it at all. Now she's dealing with it this time, by being anywhere else.
Still, she feels guilty to have abandoned the place, to have abandoned Barry and Cisco, even though Barry had made it clear they shouldn't come there anymore. He'd not been coping well with being left S.T.A.R. Labs and all the press that came with that last confusing choice of 'eoWells'. Barry had closed off, pushed them away. Cisco tried to stop him, but she...she let Barry. She closed herself off just as much. It was easier. Every month she is reminded by the fact Barry is still paying them, the outsourced HR never told to stop. She doesn't tell him, there's no confrontation. It doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things but she can't pretend she is dealing with what matters most when she hides herself away in another place, in a less obvious form of cutting herself off.
Iris turned up on her doorstep after a month. Obviously catching onto her confusion of how she knew where she lived, Iris had answered her question for her with a cheeky smile. "I'm a reporter, this is part of what I do."
The other question was why. Iris hadn't been so confident on that point, nor so quick to explain. She'd asked a little nervously if they could talk and Caitlin, too tired from not sleeping well to think of a reason why not to, went along with it. Maybe she wanted someone to talk to too. She couldn't talk to Barry, and Cisco she'd felt guilty enough about leaning on so much the first time; Iris knew what it was like at least. The singularity took Eddie and Ronnie away, no bodies, no closure.
Caitlin couldn't even have a funeral for Ronnie. Legally he was already dead. He had a tombstone already because of that. She visited every day for a while, talked to him as if her husband could hear her. She'd wanted it to help, other people had once said it would and she'd never done it then. Trying now, it feels wrong because there is no grin and witty comeback, no teasing in reply. The wind flaps her hair into her face, an eternal silence except for the elements and the rush of traffic in the background – life goes on. Eventually she admits it doesn't work for her, it reminds her too much of what she misses.
She wondered how it is for Iris, with Eddie's send-off so incredibly public. He's a hero, recognised for his good deeds, even though those deeds are, in the case of his final hours, entirely fabricated. No one except those there that day know the true reason he is a hero. Everyone else gets the more believable cover-up. Does it hurt Iris to have to pretend, the same way Caitlin must pretend her fiancée died practically two years ago instead of her husband only a month ago?
They go to Jitters, familiar territory, a small comfort to them both. Caitlin chooses a table at the back, darker for her eyes that aren't so used to daylight. Some part of her considers Iris could have chosen it so they might run into Barry, and sitting where they are gives a good vantage point in case he does come in, but there's no sign of him whilst they sit quietly sipping their mochas.
They don't say much overall. Iris seems uncharacteristically shy, focused on her hands, her drink, rarely looking up – probably not looking, hoping, for Barry to turn up here then. It really does seem to be about her and Iris alone.
Mostly that time they sit in silence. Caitlin doesn't know Iris especially well but she's seen her socially at the West house enough times to know this isn't like her. Neither is she like she was during their few missions working together – that Iris was more like the Iris who turned up at her door, determined, open, asking you to see what you could do together.
This Iris starts a conversation weakly, "I couldn't sleep the first week..."
Caitlin doesn't interrupt. Some things need to be said, to be heard.
Iris goes on, clasping the mug tighter in response to her own words. "I boxed up practically all his stuff so I didn't have to keep looking at all the places he wasn't...I still keep finding things of his I've missed. I kept a few things out. I wanted to remember him, the good times -"
Iris glances back up, catching Caitlin's eyes. Cait thinks it ought to be uncomfortable, talking about something so personal with a woman who she doesn't exactly know, but it's not somehow – it feels right to share this. She can't give much at all right now, but she can give Iris that.
"I smashed a mug against the wall last night because -" Iris falters, looks around, paying attention to who might be listening like she's worried of being overheard and Caitlin hurts for her at the thought of how self-conscious she is over her grief, and how it manifests. Iris needn't be with her - Caitlin knows grief comes in many forms, in anger as much as sadness or numbness- but Iris doesn't know her well enough to realise she'd understand so very well.
Eventually Iris continues, her attention switched back to the table as she speaks, avoiding Caitlin's gaze, "I couldn't stand seeing it on the shelf any more, because it was gonna sit there forever if I didn't. I thought we'd have, not forever...just, more time, more life together but we don't get that."
Caitlin doesn't have anything to say to it, other than a nod of agreement. For the most part she doesn't have that problem this time, Ronnie's presence is long removed from her life, kept to fleeting in the recent past, but she knows the feeling well. The closest she had come to that was Ronnie's abandoned bags at S.T.A.R. Labs, Cisco had taken care of them, though she's not sure if he got rid of the contents or is merely holding onto them. She should care perhaps, but she's glad it isn't her problem today or any day in the near future.
Iris looks up at her, eyes watering, and she sees how wrong she was to think Iris was weathering Eddie's death better than anyone else. She was just better at keeping up a strong front and this, this is Iris reaching out. Iris isn't asking for help, but she can see she doesn't want to be alone. Cait doesn't tend to be very physical with people she doesn't know well but she slides her hand across the table to squeeze Iris', an attempt at showing she is here for her.
After that, she has coffee with Iris sometimes. It's still a little awkward, they don't know each other that well, they lead very different lives, but it means there is always the option to talk to someone for both of them and it seems to satisfy Iris enough to see she's okay despite how she's not in the orbit of S.T.A.R. Labs anymore.
She isn't sure why she goes to the Flash day celebration, hanging on the sidelines to see what happens. Is it the hope she will see Barry after months of missing him? He didn't want to see them and she'd respected his wishes. However, it isn't going against that if he voluntarily turns up here, like she has. Of course, Cisco spies her there instead and she gets sucked back in. She simply can't say no to some people, to some causes. Her need to help is almost pathological. In truth, she's missed it. The work at Mercury Labs might change the world some day. The work at S.T.A.R. Labs tended to change the world there and then, it saved people, quantifiably and indisputably.
What she doesn't expect is a visit from Barry. As he rambles on in what she thinks is an attempted apology she shouldn't be surprised he blames himself. Taking the weight of the world on his shoulders is a very Barry thing to do. She is surprised by it though, probably because she's been too busy blaming herself all these months. There's a weight taken off her shoulders to find out he doesn't hate her anymore than she hates him. She knows Iris doesn't blame anyone, except Eobard Thawne, and that would've been a much healthier attitude to have, except her and Barry don't appear to act all that rationally when it comes to blame or self-appraisals.
Clearly guilt isn't all Barry's struggled with. After the USB stick falls out of his pocket, he confesses to the video he's been putting off watching for just as long as he's been pushing them all away. It feels a nice symmetry to be able to offer her support, to do it together, to be there for him like he once was when she was stuck in the past, in her own head, not facing up to the reality of Ronnie's death. She wants to reach for his hand as they watch it, but she doesn't know if it's appropriate. Thawne wearing the face of Harrison Wells does what neither of them could have predicted, he gives Henry Allen his long overdue freedom. She sees the tentative curve of Barry's lips forming into a small smile, not breaking into an outright expression of joy because he appears unable to quite believe it, rushing to call Joe to share the news. She feels the sense of hope too, that Barry' dad could have his life back at last.
But her mind is stuck on the other words of Thawne - You'll never be truly happy, Barry Allen, trust me – that rile up the guilt that lurks inside her, knowing she isn't telling him something he has a right to know. Is her secrecy, her reticence, going to prevent his happiness in the future? That seems absurd to her, she doesn't believe he needs her. People, friends, support - yes. But not her. He would have watched this eventually, with or without her influence. She doesn't want to believe she is important, she'd had too much of that already. No matter what anyone tells her, she knows Ronnie could be alive if she'd said she'd leave with him. A few different words and she could have changed the world that day as surely as she had every other day. She won't speak the ones she wants to now because she fears the truth, the changes it would bring. How can she know which way to go, what side is the right one.
She feels his joy at getting his dad back in every smile and grin and distracted wondering stare into the distance until his dad's release is fully approved and the whole team watches Henry Allen enter the West house to matching grins all round.
Martin gives a quiet, poignant speech and she's glad for his considered thoughts shared there. After, smiling, she goes over to greet him truly thankful to see him here - she hasn't seen him since they visited Ronnie's grave together, right after the singularity. Neither of them had had any words then for what had happened. He'd been an unexpectedly silent but welcome presence that first time, she'd needed not to be alone and probably he had needed it just as much. Both of them had their ties to Ronnie abruptly severed, a trauma it would take time to heal and a problem to solve, of how their lives would be without him. They'd kept in touch via sporadic emails, and occasional phone calls, that Martin tended to fill the space in with his scientific musings. Sometimes during those calls he'd trail off at a thought and she knew he'd been reminded of Ronnie. There'd been a lot of listening she'd been doing, with Stein and Iris, but she hadn't minded. Listening didn't ask as much of her as talking would have, though she could have been wrong to avoid that. Not talking meant she hadn't made much effort to get herself out of the pit of self-doubt and blame she'd been in before Barry had stopped by Mercury Labs and made her see it didn't make sense for either of them to be like that.
She feels Barry's pain too when there is an all too serious conversation to one side during the party, so many conflicted emotions flitting across Barry's face during it, and when he lets Henry leave without protest a few days after it.
She doesn't need to share that one secret to share everything else with him.
Jay seems fine. More than fine. She's sure he's telling the truth and yet Barry has an instinctual dislike of Jay. What does he see that others don't? The evidence convinces Cisco, who has plenty of reason to distrust people after Wells, as has she. It's only Barry who it's hard to prove Jay's worth to. Eventually he comes round, to her relief.
There's no hiding she likes Jay. He's a hero, a speedster even if formerly. A scientist too. He ticks so many boxes, including ones she hadn't been conscious of before. She starts to think on how similar Jay is to Ronnie, and to Barry. What if her soul mate is simply an ideal, a template for her, not an absolute. It helps to think that. It helps to think it could be okay to go for someone else. Is fate really against her or was it bad luck?
The thought comforts her, up until Barry sits in front of her speaking about other possibilities. "...right in front of us, and we don't see them, because we choose not to. I think that we need to be open, to exploring something new."
For a moment she thinks he could mean her, and she wants him to, despite everything else – Iris, Jay, how the F.I.R.E.S.T.O.R.M. crisis has brought out the worst in her judgement. Now really isn't the time. The moment passes and she knows she's kidding herself. Barry doesn't mean her, no matter how much she wants him to then. The question is, is what she feels even real? Could it be simply confirmation bias? Does she expect to feel something more for him, to see something more between them, and so she finds it - can she trust her feelings for Barry? How can she tell for certain? It's never worth the risk to say anything, especially if she could still be wrong, so she doesn't.
There are more important matters, like Professor Stein's deterioration and the apology she sorely owes Jax. There are possibilities alright, just not the ones she'd first thought of in either situation, personal or scientific. Ronnie is gone and she can accept that, had prepared for finding Stein another partner – isn't it time she does the same? Barry isn't hers, not like that, no matter what the marks say.
Moving on does seem to be the thing to do. Stein with Jax, Cisco with his barista crush, Barry going on a first date with Patty. Plus everyone manages to find it in them to forgive Harry for the sins of his doppelgänger. They face up to who Thawne wasn't - a pretender at Harrison Wells, Harry the real thing, or a real Harrison, if not theirs - and Caitlin faces up to who Jay could be. Jay's from another world. They don't talk about soul-marks and she hadn't see any during the tests done. She has no clue if they are a thing there, if they could be something cross-dimensional. What if she's fated to a Flash but not this world's Flash? Either way, she finds the courage to do something. She'd taken the risk before with Ronnie. Proof that marks didn't matter ultimately. Luck does matter though. A second away from a kiss and there's blinding light, her world upended in a more literal way than she'd expected.
Things start happening fast. Harry reveals Cisco's powers. Linda is brought onboard, a plan to have her pose as her doppelgänger. Luck doesn't seem to be on her, or their, side most of the time. Jay turns away from the team out of conscientious concern over their plan against Zoom. Nothing comes of their ruse with Linda either. The one piece of good luck is seeing Harry's detector not react when he flashes it up in front of her. Once she'd thought to test her DNA after the explosion – she'd gotten as far as taking the sample before the fear of what it could mean stopped her. But of course it is nothing in the end, as Harry proves measurably. Their world is expanding, in scope and in people, but her corner of it is still reassuringly the same, medicine and science are what she offers the team.
However bad their luck seemed, it is nothing compared to catastrophe when Barry faces off against Zoom the first time. There's the initial elation at Barry's genius to fight him in free-fall - his infectious optimism and lack of fear spreads amongst them all - but it comes crashing down as she hears the horrifyingly audible crack over the open comms. Seeing him slump down on CCTV, there's the visage of Zoom hovering over Barry, stabbing him with one of the serum loaded darts. Both her heart rate and his vitals spike at that, but no sooner than she reads the alarming changes the suits telemetry cuts out. Zoom has him. Barry is lost, until he is returned to them, right in front of them in the Cortex.
Zoom dangles him, held up limp, gasping, and her fear is in her throat; she can't stop herself calling out, standing up, even though she can do nothing. Caitlin is barely aware of Cisco's touch as they watch Zoom unmask a bloody Barry, taunting them with their failure and stabbing Barry again with one of his monstrous claws. Blood drips from his mouth as Zoom lifts him up. Is she witnessing another person she loves dying in this building? No. There's the zip of the dart from Cisco's gun, Cisco who is not paralysed with fear like her. Zoom drops too with the dose of serum but not for long. Then at least he's out of there and she runs to Barry's side, adrenaline getting her going as she defaults to doctoring mode, something she knows how to deal with unlike the many emotions that had run through her in the few minutes previous.
It's bad but Barry comes through. And Caitlin neatly pushes aside her feelings on everything as she tends to his broken body. Barry always heals. This time it's harder, longer, he's despondent for the whole first week. When it finally looks like he will be okay, physically at least, it turns out his mind is what they should have been worrying about. She hates to see him lose his hope and no matter how many times she tells him it isn't his powers, his abilities, that make him a hero, sometimes he can't see past that mental wall.
The second time she's kidnapped doesn't feel much more alarming than the first. Possibly less so because she knows Grodd doesn't want to hurt her. He wants what anyone wants – what she's wanted and found - to not be alone. She wishes she had a way to help. The fear only creeps in when she realises she probably can't. Help comes for her at least, in the form of Harry, and with Harry's help a second time, alongside the reunited team, they give Grodd something like what he wanted, with the sanctuary on Earth-2. It also gives Barry the proof of what he can do, what they can all do, Harry included, if they stick together. It gives them all hope again.
But she isn't sure what use hope is against magic. Literal magic, that Barry and Cisco and Team Arrow go off to defeat. She's used to superpowers, based on science and she is perfectly comfortable with that, even when that's a speed enhancing serum for an ability no one knew existed a couple of years ago. Magic by comparison is scary. It sounds as ephemeral as...destiny. Maybe they shouldn't be so surprised really. But she is glad her life and death situation sticks to medicine even if Harry gives her a scare when Patty shoots him. She knows Harry wouldn't be alive without Jay and she's grateful, though she doesn't fully understand Jay's new reservations about their serum.
When she thinks of magic or destiny, she thinks of the requirement it takes to believe. Like the leap of faith Cisco described Kendra taking, risking plummeting to her death for a chance to prove to herself who she was. Except Kendra was real to Cisco before that and she sees how it hurts Cisco to be left out, the chance he had snatched away so quickly. She's reminded yet again why not to say anything, Barry is happy with Patty now and she has her own chance with Jay. Mind you, Cisco seems to be channelling most of that frustration over the weeks that follow into snarking none to subtly about her and Jay, which isn't useful. She wants to get over this awkwardness she feels around him, giddy but nervous about taking that step off the ledge and committing to what she wants.
In the end, it's Iris who gives her the push – handing her the mistletoe with a knowing look and suggesting she might be able to get a little help from one of their resident tall and handsome fellows. For a second Cait is confused, wondering if she means Barry but she follows Iris' line of sight to Jay. She blushes and goes to try to put the mistletoe up by herself, not quite ready to go and directly ask, but he takes the bait, like possibly Iris planned. Jay politely comes to her rescue, not just decorations-wise, also saving her from her social bumbling about the plant classification – is she picking up that bad habit from Barry, or Felicity, she didn't used to be this bad – with the suggestion of a customary kiss. It's short but sweet: a lightness to it she's needed. There are no questions about fate hanging over them, simply the promise of who they could be together, if they choose.
But it's never simple really. He refuses her tests. She thinks it's just pessimism about getting his speed back, she's seen how it can get a speedster down to lose that, and so she does her own tests, more optimistic, two heads are better than one. And she finds out he's been lying. Jay is sick.
Things are not happy in the New Year. Thawne returning, however briefly, leaves its mark – Cisco almost dies, making it clear that Thawne will be entwined with them forever more, part of Barry's timeline that he can't erase without risking severe consequences.
Patty leaves, leaving everyone surprised – she'd thought Barry was going to tell Patty his secret, hopeful to avoid the problems it would cause, but he opts not to. Cait feels a sense of disappointment knowing he doesn't take that step and to see his relationship fail, because she does want Barry to be happy. Though she can hardly judge him for keeping secrets when she harbors her own significant one kept from him.
Harry's betrayal is a shock, prompting uncharitable thoughts about whether every Wells is fated to do so. It's irrational to think that kind of thing, but her anger is justified. She's angry at herself as much as at him, because she wanted to find a friend in this Harrison Wells, to prove the connection she thought she'd had with the fake Wells as based on something real - had that meant she'd been too willing to trust him for the possibility of fulfilling that desire? His actions do make a sad sort of sense once they learn why, his daughter is in jeopardy. Barry goes further than forgiving Harry though, proposing a decidedly risky mission to Earth-2.
There's no convincing Barry otherwise about the mission, and she isn't sure she'd have it any other way. Harry is one of their own now and regardless of that his daughter doesn't deserve the torment she's experiencing. Cisco's letter – his will more or less – scares her though, makes it realer than it had been before. There's a whole other world full of dangers, the home of Zoom. At least Harry is there to guide them. Does that world have a Reverse Flash too? She supposes if it had, Zoom vanquished him long ago, unable to tolerate any opposition. Somehow that isn't as comforting as it should be.
The breach was never stable exactly, but they made it work with the right technology – Geomancer undoes that in a matter of minutes, damaging the hope of a safe return for her friends. The foundation of their home is shaken. Jay steps up, protects them. He takes on that burden, of the serum, as well as fixing the breach machine. She doesn't realize at first what a burden the serum is, that it's killing him. His mistake was a big one, potentially fatal, but he was alone then, he's not now. It's not hard to commit to helping him. He's proven himself every bit the hero as Barry, someone who tries his best no matter the risk to himself.
She knows she can help, it's a relief to know more and be able to. For the first time in ages she feels like she has the power to do something truly meaningful in giving back Earth-2 their Flash. She'd intended to fix Jay, reconnect him to the Speedforce, but there's a bigger picture here she spies – the serum could make speedsters. Which means it's dangerous information, a clear duty she has to uphold to ensure it doesn't fall into disreputable hands.
She isn't so sure about fixing the breach, but her and Jay do it, together. Relief flooding her system once it's done and waiting patiently for a sign. The rest of the team come back in a blink and she breathes again. They bring Jesse home too, but there's a cost to it. One second Jay's smiling. The next there's a hand in his chest. Then he's gone, consumed by the closing breach. No body, there's never any body, she thinks, but she can't accept it yet and refutes that thought with words that tumble out high-pitched in a panic, "He's not dead."
She turns to see Barry and the others staring at her, at where Jay was. There's a pained look on Barry's face. No one else wants to break the silence and admit what they all saw, that would set things in motion and make it something that happened, past tense. Jay was.
"This isn't happening. This isn't happening again," she blurts it out, wishing it were true, seething at the unfairness of this when she's finally managed to move on. Is destiny saying she can only have Barry, and if not him, no-one - is she cursed?
Cisco leads her away and she thinks, he would know how it feels, if Jay suffered. She doesn't ask him. She doesn't say anything more for fear of saying things she might regret later, which is the only thought of later she can manage as her mind tries unsuccessfully to cope with the now she is presented with. Cisco stays with her. Eventually she sleeps, welcoming it as an oblivion, a stopper on her emotional turmoil that she can't push back against at the moment. She never has dealt well with feeling out of control.