I've decided that in this fic I really want to focus on the different ways Barry and Caitlin grieve. So be prepared for more angst! Thank you for everyone who has followed, faved, reviewed, and read this fic. You guys are awesome. Thanks for journeying with me in this incredible fandom!


Chapter Three

The first rays of dawn seeped through the window panes, and crept along the floor, bathing Caitlin's skin in a soft glow, warming her. Her eyelids fluttered, and she opened them slowly. She groaned. She still lay on the floor, where she had cried herself to sleep. She was stiff and sore. She ached all over, but the pain was good. She felt like she hadn't slept a wink.

Water. She needed water. Her throat was dry. She turned over, pushed herself up. Her palm stung with the effort. She hissed, recoiled, and examined it. There was a deep gash; the skin was raw and bloody; there were flecks of dirt surrounding it. Caitlin stumbled into the bathroom and cranked on the taps. The left tap leaked constantly, creating a pool beside the sink. She would have to remember to ask the landlord to send someone to fix it. But that didn't seem as important as it had yesterday.

The cold water bit into her skin, but Caitlin relished the coolness and the pain. It reminded her that she was alive.

She opened the medicine cabinet, pushing aside bottles and boxes of tampons, and retrieved a rolled bandage. She wrapped the white fabric around her palm. One time, before the particle accelerator was completed, Cisco had cut himself on a piece of metal. She had bandaged his hand in much the same way. She remembered how childlike he had looked, as he watched her careful movements. He reminded her of a little child who had been caught touching something he wasn't supposed to. He apologized like one too, after she scolded him, which was silly. What should he be apologizing for?

Caitlin closed the cabinet door, bringing her face-to-face with herself. Ghastly. She could have been a corpse, propped up against the sink. She was pale and colourless; her eyes looked sunken and were dark rimmed; her hair was a tangled mess. She wondered how she would look in death, and whether her death would come soon or later, if it would be sudden or a long process. To think each year she was passing the anniversary of her death without even knowing it. And not just the anniversary of her death, but those of everyone she had ever known. Would she live long enough to mark those dates as well? She supposed she should shower, but she didn't feel like it. Even the thought of it seemed like too much work. Instead, she splashed water on her face, and wrenched a brush through her hair, pulling it back tautly and securing it with a black ponytail.

Mechanically, she performed some version of her normal daily routine: dressed, made a cup of coffee, ran a load through the dishwasher, brushed her teeth. She completed each action like a human automaton, precise and regular, but without feeling. Her mind was someplace else, or else off completely. She did not think, did not feel. She had had years of practice. Machines weren't the only things she had learned to program.

Caitlin was numb. As she drank her coffee in the midst of her ransacked living room, it vaguely occurred to her that she would need to clean everything up. She couldn't just leave the place like this...well, maybe. No, she would have to do it. Eventually. She shrugged the responsibility off. There was plenty of time later. She had the rest of her life to do it.

When she had completed her performance, she decided that she would go see Barry. She donned her jacket and purse, grabbed keys from a table in the entryway. That was when she noticed the flashing light on her answering machine. She had three missed calls.

The first was from the cable company – a special offer for a package deal that she would never use. There was something mocking in the call, because of its mundanity, its mendacity. Television lied to her, told her things always worked out in the end, that the dead came back to life. She deleted that message. The second one was a woman.

"Hello, Dr. Snow. This is Mrs. Ramon calling," a sniffle and sob punctuated the words, as the voice struggled to form coherent sentences; the accent was thickened by emotion. "Cisco's mother. I want to thank you for contacting us and seeing my baby," another sob, "arrived safely to the morgue. We have decided, as a family, that we will not be needing your help with funeral arrangements. Though we thank you for your offer. We want to keep this as much in the family as possible." Caitlin dug her fingernails into her gauzed palm. Cisco's words drifted through her mind. Dante can do no wrong. She wondered how well his parents really knew him. They would probably play some light rock crap Cisco hated at the funeral. I can do no right. The thought saddened her. Only in death would the Ramons finally appreciate their son.

Caitlin believed family consisted of more than just blood; family was the people who loved you no matter what, who knew every quirk and strange inkling, the people who got you through the day. But what could she do? What right did she have to challenge Cisco's mother? Maybe she should be glad that she wouldn't be a part of the arrangements. "We'll call you in the coming days to let you know about the funeral," the voice broke completely at the end, and the caller hung up, leaving Caitlin with nothing but a cold click and silence. No goodbye, no parting, no mutual condolences. Nothing. Caitlin deleted the message.

The final message was only fifteen minutes old. She hadn't even heard the phone ringing, which was odd. Usually she was super-aware of sounds. How could she have missed it? The caller was Barry. He was home now; Joe had wanted him to get out of the hospital for a while. He wanted to see her. Needed to see her would have been more correct, not that she could discern that from his words.

Caitlin hurried out. The warm sunshine greeted her as she stepped outside and caressed her cheek. She glared at the sun and donned sunglasses in protest. Stupid burning ball of gas. How dare it sustain life on the earth today? How dare it shine when Cisco was dead?

TheFlash

Caitlin knocked on the Wests' front door. She had been to the house a few times before, with Ronnie, with Cisco. They had spent a delightful Christmas Eve there. It was a house that felt like a home, a house full of memories. She liked seeing where Barry had grown up.

Caitlin knocked again – something she had never, ever had to do before. Barry didn't open the door until the third knock. As he opened it, she saw her own grief mirrored back at her, the dark rimmed eyes, the paper skin, the long drawn face.

He reached out for her as she entered, and held her in a tight, wordless embrace. His arms wrapped around her, as though he would never let go. He reassured himself with her warmth. She closed her eyes, and her hands clutched at the back of his shirt. She breathed him in. Life. This was life.

"It took you a while," she commented, releasing him.

"I feel sluggish today. Slow."

"Would you like to get some coffee?" she asked, gently, though caffeine did him as much good as alcohol. His metabolism was too fast.

"Yeah, that sounds good." He reached behind her to grab his jacket. As he did so, his eyes fell on her bandaged hand. Taking it gingerly in his own, he examined it, scrutinized her bruised knuckles. "What happened, Caitlin?"

"I cut myself on something. Probably a vase shard." Barry's brow wrinkled in concern, and his eyebrows cocked questioningly. She sighed. "I may have smashed...a few... ... dozen things," she mumbled. "Punched a wall. Destroyed my apartment."

"Caitlin."

"Barry, it just kind of happened."

He nodded. "I'll come by later and help you clean up. You have to promise me to be more careful."

She smiled ironically. "I will be when you are."

They drove to Jitters, and grabbed seats in the corner. Caitlin kept staring at the table she had sat at with Wells only yesterday, sipping her coffee and attempting to stall. She wondered what they had done with the wheelchair. She imagined it wasn't often that people just abandoned wheelchairs. She hoped they had donated it to a hospital or something, a place that could use it. Or thrown it out back in a dumpster, just waiting to be crushed. Maybe she would check later. She wondered how difficult it would be to set a wheelchair on fire...or a man in a yellow suit.

"Caitlin, are you listening?"

"Yes. No. I'm sorry, Barry. What were you saying?"

"I asked you how your night was."

"Small talk, really?" He shrugged. "It was about what I expected it would be – shitty." Caitlin had always been one for blunt honesty. "What about you? Did you sleep at all?"

"Not much. I'm exhausted from all the running I did yesterday, but I just couldn't sleep, you know? I was scared that if I closed my eyes..." he trailed off and absently took a drink.

"You would see his face?"

"Yeah. Something like that."

Caitlin traced the rim of her mug with her finger. The heat floated upward and warmed her skin. It reminded her of Ronnie, of flames. She wondered where he was. Maybe she should try and find him, tell him about Cisco. She knew how much the two of them had cared about each other – almost like brothers. Cisco had looked up to Ronnie – he had never hidden that – and Ronnie had been protective of him, hadn't been afraid to tease him. She looked at Barry. No matter how much she loved Barry, there were parts of her life that he would never be able to enter into. He hadn't known Ronnie before or Cisco, when they had all believed that they could accomplish anything. He couldn't enter into the time, into the world, that had existed between her, Cisco, Ronnie, and even Wells.

They were silent for a long time. Finally, Caitlin asked, "Do you remember when a bee got into the lab a few weeks ago?"

He cocked his head to the side. "I don't think so."

"I have no idea how it got into the lab – just some freak occurrence I guess. Poor Cisco, he has his irrational fear of bees. It was a fat honey bee, and it couldn't really have done him any harm. He wasn't allergic or anything. But he was terrified. When he saw it land on the computer, he jumped up so quickly he tumbled out of his chair." She smiled at the memory. "He starting spouting all these stories about killer bees, and he came over and cowered behind my chair. I started laughing. I couldn't help it. He had such a funny look on his face. And Wells was laughing too. And Cisco just kept yelling accusations at the bee. Then you came in."

"Yeah, I remember. I didn't even need to use my speed to catch it."

"And you set it free outside."

"I never could bring myself to harm any of life's little creatures."

"That's what I love about you. Cisco kept raving about that bee all day. I haven't laughed that hard in a long, long time." They both chuckled.

"Poor Cisco, he was scared to death." They grew quiet and stared down at their mugs.

Finally, Caitlin whispered, "Other than Ronnie, no one could make me laugh the way Cisco could."

"Caitlin," Barry reached for her hand; he could see the tears forming in the corners of her eyes. "I kn–"

"Hey guys!" They were interrupted by a cheery voice.

"Hey, Iris." Caitlin looked at Barry in bewilderment. "What are you doing here?"

"Coffee run." She smiled and lifted a tray of coffees for him to see. "What's up?" Neither responded right away. The aspiring journalist inspected their faces. She didn't know Caitlin well enough to be able to read her well, but even she couldn't miss the heartache written on her features, the tears in her eyes. She had never seen Caitlin cry. She was surprised; she didn't think Caitlin knew how to cry. Barry's face she read in an instant. Him she could read like an open book. But she didn't understand the cause. "What's wrong?"

Barry hesitated. He glanced at Caitlin, but she looked away. "Cisco, uh," he cleared his throat, "he died, Iris."

"What?" From the corner of her eye, Caitlin could see the young woman's face crumple. God, she looked pretty even like that. "What happened?"

"Heart attack." That was what they were telling people. Yesterday they had decided to keep Wells' involvement a secret, until they could figure out what to do.

"Oh my god. I'm so sorry." Iris' hand flew to her mouth. "He seemed so healthy."

"He was."

"Oh, Barry." Iris put her coffees on the table and wrapped her arms around him, pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I wish you would have called me. How are you doing?"

"I'm holding up."

"This is terrible. I can't believe it." She turned her attention to Caitlin. "I'm so sorry, Caitlin. He was a good man. This must be so hard for you." She reached for her hand, but Caitlin drew it back. She didn't want Iris' sympathy. This woman didn't know her, didn't know Cisco. Who the hell was she? For months Caitlin had had to watch Barry in pain, watch him get beat up and nearly killed a hundred times, watch as he struggled to keep all of this a secret from her, because he wanted to protect her. Caitlin could feel the anger from yesterday returning.

"I think I'm going to go." She swallowed her feelings and the dregs of her coffee, grabbed her stuff, and left before anyone could say another word. The anger scared her. She didn't know how to stop it. Part of her didn't want to, and that scared her even more. Was this who she was destined to become?

"Caitlin!" Barry jogged up to her outside and grabbed her arm. "Are you okay? What is it?"

"Just let me go, Barry."

"What's wrong?"

"It's nothing."

"Caitlin –"

"I just need to be alone, okay?" She didn't even know how to begin to tell him what was wrong. She wasn't exactly sure herself. But she needed some space to clear her head. He released her.

"I'm here for you."

"I know."

"Caitlin, don't do anything reckless."

"Why would you say that?"

"I don't know." There was something in her face that had made him say it. He didn't know what.

"I'll be alright. I'm just going to go home."

"Okay. I'll come by later and help you clean up."

"Okay." If she stayed there any longer, he would wear her down, and she would melt into a puddle of tears on the pavement at his feet. She just couldn't handle any of this right now. "Goodbye, Barry."

A tone of finality rang in her words, and it scared him. Somehow things had shifted, a gulf had opened. Barry watched her get into her car and drive away. He should have gone after her, but he didn't. And he would come to regret it.