AN: I'm very happy people are enjoying this! I love the feedback I have received, you guys are wonderful – and special thanks to Tavyn and crazygirlne who are so amazing and have encouraged this every step of the way!
XXXXXX
After HR's visit, the rest of their day at work was uneventful, and those were always Caitlin's favorite kind of days. No one trying to abduct or murder them? Best enjoy it while they could.
HR informed them he'd be staying on their Earth for at least a week. He'd told his colleagues on Earth-57 that he was traveling on business. ("And honestly," he'd added, "they could use a break from me. I don't know if you've noticed, but I can be a little much for people sometimes?" The question had caused Cisco to start choking on his Doritos – luckily, he recovered before Barry had to give him the Heimlich.)
It was going on 5 pm and everyone had taken off long ago. Barry, Iris, and Joe had returned to the jobs they only occasionally remembered having. Jesse and Wally both had a night class to attend, and Cisco and HR had gone to get drinks and catch up. That left her and Harry at S.T.A.R. Labs, and she would have gone home, too, but she'd made dinner plans with Iris and the other woman was picking her up after she finished her latest article; she'd just texted saying she'd be done within the hour.
Caitlin was lying on the couch, reading Attack of the Dominators and laughing at every other line. (She didn't remember the alien invasion being quite that hilarious, but the entire book was an exercise in vague creative license, so it was one of the lesser things to question, really.) Rather than helping her fatigue, lying down only made it worse, so when her eyes kept involuntarily closing, she gave up on the novel. A short nap wouldn't hurt. If anything, it should refresh her before dinner.
She tried not to dwell on when, in her life, taking a nap had become as exciting a prospect as it seemed (were the years catching up to her already?). Besides, she had an excuse! She'd been up for…she checked the time. Six hours. Maybe she was getting a cold or something and it was wearing her down?
She'd just dropped the book on the floor and was trying to get more comfortable when Harry appeared in the doorway.
"If it isn't my favorite employee, Cisco Ramon," he said, coming over to the couch and leaning on the back of it as he looked down at her.
"Cisco's your favorite, hmm?"
"Don't tell my other employees or they'll get insanely jealous," he warned. "And I didn't realize it was you over here, Snow. Whenever I see someone lying on the couch, I assume it's Cisco. Who else would be lounging around in the middle of the day?"
"First, it's 4:30."
"I'll be up eight more hours at least."
"Second, I'm tired."
His tone changed to mildly concerned. "Why don't you cancel with Iris?"
"No," she protested. "I really want to go out. We've put this off twice already."
"What are you two going to do?"
"You know," she began, innocently, "the usual girl stuff. Dinner and drinks and looking for men to pick up."
"Sounds like fun. If you bring someone home, just text me so I know not to bother you two."
"Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed, then grinned up at him. "We'd obviously go back to his place."
"You're right, that makes more sense," he agreed, and she admired his ability to keep a straight face no matter what she said to him (most of the time). "Best to keep your dates far away from me. They'd be intimidated by my money. And good looks. And charm. And brilliance. And –"
"Sometimes I wonder how we ever got married," she said, impassively, "when you're so clearly in love with yourself."
"No, I'm…" He pretended to think it over. "Okay…maybe a little. Did I mention my sense of humor? 'Cause that's something, too."
"Oh, it's something," she agreed.
He took a seat in one of the armchairs and picked up the book from the floor, making sure his words were laced with betrayal when he said, "I can't believe you're reading HR's novel. You know he killed me in this." He flipped it open to try and find the exact spot.
She hesitated, unsure how to tell him…well, best to come out with it. "To be honest, it was a relief when the Dominators vaporized you."
He slowly lifted his eyes to meet hers over the top of the book. "It's a relief I died? Is there something you want to tell me, Snow?" He shut the book with a snap. "Should I be worried when I go to sleep at night?"
"I'm talking about your character. Sonny leaves a lot to be desired. He's overbearing, controlling, and insufferably smug. He's a genius who knows no one else will ever measure up –"
"Are these supposed to be negative traits?"
"Harry." She turned on her side to face him. "That's all he is, and hence, he's nothing like you. In fact, without the questionable name, I wouldn't have been able to place him as you. Not the way you are now."
"It figures HR would imbue my character with only the worst qualities I've ever possessed."
"And he gave himself your best. HG is some weird hybrid of you and HR. It's kind of disconcerting to read."
"So long as this –" he tapped his fingers on the back cover of the novel, "– doesn't make you fall in love with him."
"You know, now that you mention it, I'm feeling this inexplicable pull towards HR." She stared off into space. "Yeahhhh, I can totally picture us in my mind. We'd look beautiful together, wouldn't we?" She motioned to the book in Harry's lap, HR's grinning face clearly visible on the jacket. "Thankfully, he put his picture on there so I can stare at it whenever I want. I don't know if you've noticed that he's pretty attractive."
He narrowed his eyes at her, unsure if there was a catch in that near-compliment to him. "HR and I look exactly alike."
"Wellll…" She stretched the word out as she looked between Harry's face and HR's picture a few times. Then a few more. Then a few –
"Snow!"
"There's definitely a difference," she said, thoughtfully. "HR has a certain…merriment in his eyes."
"I can be merry," Harry insisted, his tone decidedly the opposite.
"Can you, though? Has anyone ever used that word to describe you in your entire life?"
"That…" he tried to think of an example and failed, "…is not the point. The point is that I can be very merry. Don't test me, not with Christmas coming up next month. I will out-decorate HR just to spite you." He stopped, and Caitlin pinpointed the exact moment he realized what he'd said. "No, wait, I take that back!"
"Too late, Harry," she said, tone bitingly merry. "Looks like the two of you are going to have a contest."
He was already rubbing his forehead in aggravation, probably trying to imagine ways out of it. "Let us get through Thanksgiving first. Please. That reminds me, ask Iris what she and Allen are bringing."
Caitlin stared at him. "What?"
"You're right, it'll just be Iris cooking. Let's be realistic."
She half-sat up on the couch in surprise. "Thanksgiving?" How had she completely forgotten about an entire holiday?
"Oh no…did you guys not have Thanksgiving in your timeline?" He had to be kidding – he knew the change only went back three years.
Still, she couldn't resist – and when she truly wanted, her poker face rivaled his. "No, what is that?"
He believed her for a split second, then held up a hand to ward off her claims. "You're not getting out of it that easily."
She sighed and fell back to the couch, sure she didn't look pleased and unable to hide it. "It was worth a shot."
"You forgot about Thanksgiving." He clearly enjoyed that fact. "I must say there's some karma at work here. Your face looks like mine when you volunteered us to host it."
"I what?" she gasped.
"Oh no, wait," he was pointing at her, "that panic, right there. That's much closer."
She would have hit him, but he was sitting just too far away in the adjacent chair (probably on purpose). "Why didn't you stop me from volunteering!"
"Good one," he laughed, and when she didn't join in, he paused. "Oh, you're serious? When have I ever been able to stop you from anything? Wait, could I do that in your timeline?"
"No," she sulked. "I wasn't sure about this one, though. Like maybe I listened to you here."
"When it comes to things like this? Almost never. You're big on...how do I put it?"
"Socialization?"
He snapped his fingers. "Exactly. And me…not so much."
"God forbid you interact nicely with the world, or our friends, right?"
"I do so under protest. Mostly."
She met his eyes a little too long before saying, "You don't fool me."
She expected him to at least put up a token protest. Instead, he quietly replied, "I never did."
He'd already told her that she was sort-of his bridge to the others, at least in the beginning. It made her sad for her own timeline, that she hadn't done it for him there. She'd been too lost in her own solitary life. (And maybe 'solitary' was just an easier way of saying 'lonely'.)
But it wasn't like there was some other version of the two of them out there, still living parallel and separate lives. No, that had changed, they were both in this timeline, and she'd helped him here, even if she couldn't remember it. She took a surprising amount of comfort in that.
"Thanksgiving," he was saying, apparently in reminder of their original topic. "You have a lot of things to do. I'll make you a list for tomorrow. Of course, I'll need you here for a full day of work, as well."
If lying about it hadn't gotten her out of anything, it was time for another tactic. "I'm sorry," she tried to inject as much misery into her voice as possible (not too hard when she thought of how much work this was going to be). "It's too much for me to handle, what with everything that's been going on. I don't think I'm up for it. I guess you'll have to pick up the slack, Harry. I'll try to help, but –"
"Do you think I'm buying any of this?"
Her expression turned from pathetic to scowling. "What's a girl have to do to get some sympathy around here?"
"Become a better liar, maybe."
She threw an arm over her eyes, tiredness renewing ten-fold simply thinking of all the errands she'd have to do. What did hosting Thanksgiving even entail? She'd never put together a holiday dinner for anyone, never mind a large group of people. On the rare occasion that she and Ronnie weren't invited anywhere on a particular holiday, they'd stayed home and celebrated quietly together, usually with something store-bought.
One thing she knew for certain: there would be nothing quiet about a Thanksgiving with all of their friends.
"I guess I'll set an actual alarm tomorrow. Getting up earlier will let me get more done." She finally glanced over at him, and wait – she knew that look on his face. All too well. "I don't have to do anything, do I?"
He was, as usual, far too pleased with himself. "Did you really think I would let it get so close without having everything taken care of?"
She couldn't believe she'd overlooked that crucial fact. "I guess I was too caught up in the horror of what I might have to do."
"First of all, it's a potluck, they insisted when we said it'd be at our house. Hence why I want you to check with Iris what she's going to bring – she was up in the air on what dessert she wanted to make the last time I asked her. More importantly, though, if I had to rely on you to do this, we'd be eating frozen TV dinners. Or something."
"I think I should be offended," she said, then added, "You get turkey at the deli counter, right?"
"Yes, we all want turkey slices for Thanksgiving." He was smiling at her joke, then turned more thoughtful. "Actually, if it got us out of ever doing this again…"
"Don't even think of sabotaging this on purpose," she scolded. "And I'll help more for Christmas, I promise. At least, I assume we're hosting that, too?"
"I don't know. Probably." His exasperation knew no limits. "We host everything, it seems."
"You should have thought of that before living in a mansion. If you'd chosen a studio apartment, no one would ever want to come over."
"Have you met these people? I assure you, that wouldn't deter them."
"You have a point," she allowed, cringing at the idea of everyone crammed into a one-room apartment.
He set HR's novel back on the floor next to her and got up. "Enjoy your nap, I'm going to head out."
"What are your plans tonight?"
"Making dinner? Working? Not necessarily in that order – I might reverse it."
"Know what," her eyes turned mischievous, "it sounds a little lonely to me." She reached into her pocket and pulled out her phone. "Let me text Cisco and HR that you want to meet – hey!" she cried, as he snatched it from her hand.
He was standing over her, and when she reached up to grab her phone back, he held it higher. "You can't be trusted with this."
"How old are you? Twelve? Give me my phone."
"Not until you promise you won't send them such awful, untrue lies."
"Fine. I promise." Her tone said quite the opposite.
"Then I'll keep it."
To her dismay, he actually went for the exit, and she was pretty sure that calling his bluff would mean she lost. "Okay, I'm sorry!"
He turned on his heel to face her, assessing her truthfulness. She must have passed, since he drew his arm back, as if he were going to throw the phone at her – and since she wasn't at all confident in her ability to catch it while lying down, she quickly covered her head with her arms.
"We gotta work on this." His words came from somewhere above her.
She put her arms down to find he'd returned to her side. "That was a reflex," she tried to explain.
"Uh huh. Rest assured that I wouldn't throw your $700 phone across the room. Not when you fled from the path of a book earlier."
"The physics of catching something alter drastically when you're on a horizontal plane as opposed to –"
"Remember who you're talking to," he interrupted, dropping the phone into her hands.
"Trust me. I never forget."
He hesitated, watching her in a way that meant he had something more to say and wasn't sure how to bring it up.
She shut her eyes, giving him a minute, but he didn't speak. Finally, she opened one eye. Yup, still there. Hovering. "Are you going to stare at me until Iris shows up?"
He blinked, snapping himself out of it. "Sorry."
"What is it?"
"I wanted to make sure that there isn't anything you feel you can't tell me."
"Like…?"
He waited another beat, obviously unsure if he should say it. In the end, he must have decided he had to. "Like the possibility of you being pregnant. We haven't talked about it since things changed and that was three weeks ago."
How had it already been that long?
"No, Harry," she said, automatically. "There's nothing to tell you." At least, she didn't think there was. She'd know by now, wouldn't she?
"That's for the best," he was saying. "The last thing we – or you – need is something that big to deal with." His expression had eased a bit. "Our lives have gone through enough upheaval as it is."
She felt herself nodding in response to his words, though they'd thrown her in a way she hadn't expected. She hadn't consciously been avoiding the idea of it, it was more that she'd simply blocked it out, perhaps not wanting to face such a possibility and what it would mean, not only for her, but for both of them.
"Have fun with Iris. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."
"So…don't do anything?"
"You're funny," he said, as he walked backwards toward the exit. "Almost as funny as me. See you at home."
She waved at him, agreeing, "Home."
She stared at the exit for a long time after he'd gone. She couldn't shake their conversation, replaying it several times in her head, trying to determine how serious he'd been when he said it was a good thing she wasn't pregnant. Because what if she was? Would he be unhappy about it? Would it be a painful reminder of the life they'd had, the one that had irrevocably changed?
Her doubts about her life here, the ones she tried so valiantly to push to the back of her mind every day, came flooding to the forefront. No matter how many times Harry told her that she was the same, she didn't actually feel that way. And maybe he could finally see that. Maybe it wasn't that he didn't want a baby now, maybe he'd decided he'd never want one with her.
But that'd be fine, wouldn't it? They didn't have the same relationship they'd had before and there was a good chance they never would. She shook off the thoughts, irritated with herself, and returned to thinking over his question: she hadn't exactly been keeping track of anything here. (Harry probably knew far more about it than she did – and that was a bizarre thought.) Had she missed her period? Was it too early to 'miss' anything?
Her eyes strayed to the exam room – she didn't have to leave the building to definitively answer the question and prove that what she'd told Harry was correct.
So that was how Iris found her some time later, sitting on the couch, staring at a print-out of her blood test results and wondering how she could possibly be reading what she was reading.
"What's going on?" her friend asked, walking into the cortex. "You weren't answering texts, I've been outside for ten minutes waiting. I almost thought you went home, but decided to check."
Caitlin broke out of her daze and checked her phone – nine missed texts from Iris. "Sorry, I'm…"
"Really pale," Iris filled in, coming to sit next to her. "Is everything okay?"
"I can't… I don't know." Caitlin handed over the test results.
"You might have to help me," Iris warned. "It's been a long time since my college biology classes that I barely remember. I feel like I vaguely recall HCG being important to…" She pressed a hand to her mouth. "Does this say what I think it says?"
Caitlin nodded, but when her expression didn't change from its troubled state, her friend's burgeoning joy slowly faded. (And that was it, wasn't it? That was exactly what she could expect from Harry when she told him this, either because he'd changed his mind about wanting it, or because he'd see that she wasn't happy. That she wasn't…anything. She was only numb.)
"I don't know what to do," she told Iris. It felt like she was in a dream, like none of this could possibly be real. It was like the night she'd woken up, but ten times more disorienting. "I was convinced this wasn't possible. Harry even asked me today, a couple hours ago. I told him I wasn't. I thought the odds were… He's going to think I lied to him, Iris."
"He's not going to think that," Iris said, reaching over to push some hair behind her shoulder; she must have sensed Caitlin would fall apart at any gesture more than that. "He's going to understand. What's important is how you feel about this."
Caitlin didn't really have an answer for her. When Harry had first mentioned the possibility, it had surprised her, but it hadn't scared her. She'd even imagined her own heartbreak at wanting a child and not getting one. If she'd felt that, how could she be faced with the reality of actually being pregnant and feel nothing? All she could tell Iris was, "There must be something wrong with me that I can't feel anything."
"Honey, there is nothing wrong with you," Iris swore. "You're surprised. You're…in shock. That's normal." She met Caitlin's eyes, firmly. "That's okay."
Caitlin shook her head in denial. "What's he going to think that I'm not excited about this? It's only going to remind him of everything that I'm not."
"No," Iris said, emphatically. "Not true. Not true at all."
"But it is true, Iris. If I was the same as before and I was telling you this, how would I feel?" It was a challenge Iris couldn't lie about, and the other woman knew it.
"You would have been…happy," she murmured, reluctantly, before swiftly adding, "And you still can be, when this sinks in."
"There's no guarantee of that."
"Caitlin." Iris was starting to look more troubled. "Do you not…want this?"
It took her a moment to realize what Iris was asking. "No," she said, and when Iris' face fell, Caitlin realized that answer could work either way. "No! That's not what I meant. I might be completely lost right now, but I would never…not have it."
Relief flooded her friend's face. "Okay, so talk it out with me."
Caitlin figured she might as well start with one of her biggest fears: "Earlier, when I told him I wasn't pregnant, he said it was for the best. And I agreed with him, Iris."
"I know Harry, and the only reason he would have said that is to make you – and himself – feel better. He wanted a child as much as you did."
"What if he changed his mind because of…" who I am. "Everything?"
When Iris spoke next, it was slowly, and with as much conviction as Caitlin had ever heard: "There is no way he won't be happy about this."
She took a shaky breath. "You think?"
"I do. And I wish you could talk to yourself, from before," Iris added, wistfully. "Just for a couple minutes. So you'd know how much you wanted this. Both of you." She capped that off with a pointed look, probably in reference to Caitlin's worry over telling Harry.
"I believe you. Harry's told me as much."
"You believe us, sure, but I wish you could feel it," Iris sighed, then added more confidently, "I think you will again, one day. Whether you recall your time here or not."
Caitlin desperately hoped that was true. "We're in a good place. Both of us are getting used to what our lives are like now, and possibly forever if I never remember my life here. There's nothing too serious to deal with at the moment, but know what's serious?" Her voice was becoming tinged with an edge of hysteria. "This, this is serious!"
"I can't say I disagree with that." Iris kept her voice calm, which helped Caitlin remember to breathe. "But this doesn't have to mean more than it is. All it has to be is two people who do the best they can to raise a child. People do it every day who aren't in relationships."
"But that's not what I want," Caitlin whispered. "I want to love him the way he loves me. I care about him so much, I really do, but I'm not – we're not…"
"Do you understand that it's okay if you never feel that way?" Iris asked, gently. "Because it is, Caitlin. And a child could do much worse than to have two parents who wanted him or her as badly as you both did – as much as I'm sure you will again." Iris wrapped a hand around her arm. "Even if those parents aren't in love with each other."
Caitlin knew what Iris said was true, but she hated the idea of a world where she and Harry had both decided to move on and had to share raising a child anyways. And not because of how difficult that life would be to navigate – getting divorced and finding a new place to live and being alone again. She could manage all of that; she'd been on her own for most of her life and she could do it again.
No, she hated the idea because the thought of a future without him…it hurt.
Iris was still talking, trying to reassure her. "Everything will be fine, Caitlin. We're all here for you, no matter what. We're your family, you know that."
When Iris moved to hug her, Caitlin didn't pull away, but she could only wonder how much they'd hate her – how much they'd blame her – if she and Harry chose to separate their lives. Because it would be on her… It would be her fault for not being able to fit into this life the way she once had.
She didn't expect any of them to remain in her life when they technically only knew her as the woman who replaced the one they'd loved before.
XXXXXX
Caitlin entered the dark foyer, wondering where Harry might be. She really hoped he wasn't working, that he'd allowed himself a break.
After their talk, Iris had insisted on putting off their dinner plans again, and Caitlin was glad because she was too worried to eat anything. Iris had dropped her off at home and offered to walk her in, perhaps sensing she might appreciate some emotional support, but Caitlin had declined, telling her she'd be fine.
She'd be fine.
Right?
She dropped her keys on the credenza and followed the light coming from the other end of the house, finding Harry in the kitchen.
"Hey," he greeted, surprised to see her. He was stirring something at the stove – spaghetti? "Why didn't you tell me you were coming home? Did Iris have to cancel?"
She mutely shook her head, clutching the paper folded in her hand and sitting on the barstool to watch him cook for a minute. She was starting to enjoy watching him as much as he seemed to like watching her.
"I'm guessing you didn't eat then. I'll add more."
She didn't respond, unfolding the paper to read and reread it, like the numbers might have changed on the drive home. (Well, knowing their life…)
"What is that?" His voice had lost its lightness, turning far more concerned. No, not concerned – afraid. "Are you okay?"
She had no idea how to tell him and was pretty sure the words wouldn't come out even if she opened her mouth and tried. Instead, she handed him the print-out; he'd know what the hormone levels meant.
She tracked the emotions that crossed his face – relief at first (he must have thought it was something terrible), then surprise, concern, and finally…nothing. When he looked up at her, there was absolutely no expression on his face. (God, she hated how he could do that.)
"I knew they were test results." He pressed his thumb against the S.T.A.R. Labs letterhead, the kind they used specifically – and only – in the medical lab. "You scared me."
"I didn't mean to." They were the first words she'd said since she bid Iris goodbye.
She nervously clasped and unclasped her hands, trying to think of Iris' reassurance to calm herself. There is no way he won't be happy about this. She wished Iris was here right now to say the words out loud, maybe remind him, because he certainly didn't look happy. He didn't look…anything. He just kept glancing between the paper and her.
He'd said, only a couple hours earlier, that her not being pregnant was a good thing. And she'd come home and showed him evidence of the exact opposite. It felt as if the universe – that had already screwed with them so badly – was outright laughing at them now.
This had to remind him that she had no memories here older than a month. She had no recollection of wanting a child with him, never mind making the decision to try. Never mind…actually trying.
Her face burned and she put her head in her hands. His silence wasn't helping her nerves, either. Maybe he was processing it like she'd been trying (and failing) to do?
"I'm confused," he said. "You told me that you weren't pregnant."
"I thought it was the truth," she said quickly, hoping he didn't think she'd purposely misled him. "I'd put it out of my mind with everything that was happening. I guess I chose to believe there was no way it could be true. It was too much. After everything." She forced back the sudden tears that were threatening, her voice sounding unnatural even to her own ears, somewhere on the verge of about to break. "Exactly like you said that it would be too much."
"Not for me," he clarified calmly, turning down the heat on the stove and coming to stand next to her. "I never meant for me. I meant for you."
"You were right." Her head actually ached from the pressure behind her eyes. "It's…a lot."
She shut her eyes to compose herself and pressed the heels of her palms against them. She listened to the still-boiling water across the island. Took in his presence next to her. Tried to calm her breathing. This was her life. Her, and him. And soon enough, someone else.
She waited until she no longer felt like she might fracture into a thousand pieces, and then glanced at him. He was waiting for that signal, apparently.
"What are you thinking?" he asked, quietly.
That this is perhaps the most unfair thing that's happened to us so far.
That it would happen now, of all possible times. Leaving her to try and accept an extraordinary change to her current reality, and him to deal with a pale imitation of what this news should have been – a time of excitement and celebration.
She felt like she should apologize to him and bit down on the words. He wouldn't appreciate it, she knew that much.
"It's hard for me to believe," she finally answered. "Despite the proof right here." She put her finger on the paper, where he'd set it down, and drew it back in front of her.
"You've seemed off," he told her. "That's why I suspected it. You've been excessively tired, emotional at times, with some sudden mood changes…but any of those things could be attributed to lingering effects from the stress of finding yourself in a new timeline."
"Those sudden mood changes are entirely due to you," she informed him, trying for a lightness she didn't truly feel. "You and your never-ending harassment. Sometimes I snap."
He leaned forward, resting his arms on the island, and when he smiled at her, she felt immensely better. "I knew that was a definite possibility, too."
She thought about the other things he'd mentioned. She certainly wouldn't argue that she'd been tired, but… "Have I been that emotional?"
"You almost burst into tears when you saw HR today. HR." He repeated the other man's name to emphasize how truly wrong he thought that was. "If that wasn't a clue –"
"I missed him!" she cried. "And his story was so sad, Harry. I mean, his Caitlin hates him…"
"His Caitlin?" He raised an eyebrow, then shook his head. "No matter. All that tells me is she's one of the few on Earth-57 with any sense whatsoever."
Caitlin acknowledged the quip, and normally would have responded to it, but she was too preoccupied thinking about their situation. The fundamental change it would be for them. And he hadn't really said his thoughts on it, either way…
When she was silent for too long, he asked, "Did you want children? We kind of talked around it that first night and I never heard a real answer. You always wanted children, here, even before we got together."
"Yes, I did. After Ronnie died, I regretted that we never had a child." She glanced at him, worried he might take that the wrong way, but he was only watching her with such a painful mix of empathy and understanding that her eyes hurt again. "I just never expected to wake up one day and find out that I not only had a different life, but that I was…"
"I know. And I'm sorry that you can't remember wanting this." With me. The unspoken end of his sentence was too heartbreaking for her to respond to directly. He'd walked away to remove the water from the stove, though she figured that was more an excuse to avoid looking at her.
"Harry…are you happy about this?"
"I am very happy about this," he promised. "I can see it's not exactly the same for you."
There was no way they would get through this if they weren't honest with each other, so she might as well tell him the truth. "I'm scared, Harry." She stared at the test results still lying in front of her on the counter. "I'm scared because I don't feel anything." And she knew that wasn't what he wanted to hear, because he should have a wife who was happy about this, thrilled about this. He deserved it and she was…she was failing at this already that she couldn't give him that.
Despite knowing this was a possibility (he'd told her; she'd been warned), she had pretty much brushed the entire idea aside. It had been too much to think about, the implications of it, the fact that it was a permanent connection to this timeline. She'd known she'd been here, she'd believed it, but this was irrefutable proof that she had been here all along. Not some other version of her that could be easily swapped in and out, which was how she sometimes felt.
She had lived here, in this life, with him. She simply had no memories of it.
There was a difference between 'knowing' it and being hit full-force with evidence of it.
"What you're feeling, or rather not feeling," he began, "I'm guessing it's because this doesn't seem real to you. There's nothing wrong with needing – wanting – time to register this. You only found out two hours ago."
"You're not in shock."
"Because we'd been trying to have a baby since we got married seven months ago. And I already have a child and know that – like everything I attempt – I excel at being a father."
Instead of making her roll her eyes, like his overconfident jokes usually did, it was only reassuring to know he felt that way. And he made some good points, but… "What if this isn't some fleeting thing that passes on its own?" What if she felt this way about their child? Nothing. She was starting to get worked up again. "What if I never –"
"There is no way you wouldn't love your own child," he said, a bit harshly, and she knew it was to snap her out of her spiral. "I know who you are, Caitlin – you're one of the most loving, caring people I've ever met. So no, that's not possible. It would never happen."
"I don't know if I can do this," she said, helplessly. Not the way he and their child would deserve. She just might not be…enough for them.
Harry's face had changed, turning blank again. "Caitlin, ever since you woke up here with no memory of us, I've been very careful to…not ask anything of you that I didn't think you could give." He glanced down, seeming to gather his thoughts before looking back up. "I know you don't feel the same about me as before the timeline changed. So asking anything from you, it wouldn't have been fair. And maybe it's still not fair, maybe it's too much, because while I will maintain until my dying day that you are the same person you always were, even with the change, I know that to your mind, you had no part in this. It wasn't your choice."
Her blood was running cold – she was starting to suspect that he'd taken a wrong turn down a dark road. She was about to respond when he held up his hand in silent request.
"My point is that I'm well-aware I might not have any right to ask this of you." He met her eyes, unwavering, and braced himself by holding onto the counter. "I'm asking anyways."
He didn't have to speak the question directly because she knew what he meant. There wasn't any blankness on his face, not anymore. Now it seemed he felt too much.
He looked as if he were prepared for her to end his entire world.
And that…that would have been enough for her to make up her mind if she'd had any doubt (but she'd never had any doubt – not about this part, at least).
The only reason she didn't cry, then, was because she was too afraid he'd misinterpret it and she couldn't let him think that, not even for a second.
She walked around the island and pushed herself up to sit on the counter next to where he was standing – he was still a little taller this way, but they were more even. He was watching her, which was a relief. (It was always a relief when he didn't look away.)
"Harry, even though it feels unreal to me, even though I can't fully get my mind around it yet, I know this is my child, too. And I… I choose to believe that eventually I'm going to fully accept that. And there is no…" She cleared her throat, getting choked up. "There is nothing in this world that would make me not have it."
She saw his instant relief at that as he shut his eyes and breathed out slowly. When he looked at her again, though, there was still something wrong. He took a step back, too, putting more space between them, and she wasn't sure why until he said, "I was worried that you might feel like this was…" He searched for the words – and what he settled on…she could tell he hated it even before he said it: "A violation."
A violation? "No…" she breathed. "Harrison. No. Out of everything this past month, that thought has never crossed my mind. I have never felt that way with you before and I certainly don't now."
"You're sure? Because you don't remember. Anything."
"I wouldn't lie to you about this." It felt strange to be the one reassuring him, for once. And she was glad that she could. That he trusted her enough to let her.
"I knew this was a conversation we needed to have one day. It came much sooner than I expected."
"Harry, I promise you, I don't feel anything close to what you're thinking. Not at all. I know – and I believe – that I wanted this as much as you." She tried to picture another man standing there with her, talking to him about this, knowing she was married to him. That she was going to have a child with him. The mere idea of it felt so incredibly wrong. "That first night, finding myself here with no memories, I never told you this, but I was so…relieved that it was you here and not someone else. I don't think I could do this with anyone else." No, that was wrong. "I know I couldn't have. I'd have left already. Marriage or child or not."
"You really feel that way?"
She nodded, carefully. It was truer every day. "If it had been anyone but you, I wouldn't be with him right now. In all honesty, I probably would have panicked and gone to you for help in fixing the timeline, no matter the cost." She glanced around, remembering where they were. "I guess in that sense, we'd probably still be here right now, in this kitchen."
"I hope so," he said, "because this is where you belong."
Why did he always say things like that, which immediately sent her from completely calm to feeling like she was on the brink of becoming an emotional wreck? (Though maybe it wasn't him, maybe it was her. Or maybe she was in denial. About a lot of things.)
He reached out for her and she leaned back, evading him. "No," she protested. "You can't."
He froze before slowly putting his hand down. "Okay."
She was shaking her head, trying to explain. "You can't touch me yet because if you do I'm going to start crying and we need to finish this conversation first."
"Fine." He deliberately crossed his arms, like he needed that to stop himself. "I don't like it, though."
She almost smiled at his petulant tone, but she was too busy trying to figure out how to say the other thing weighing on her mind. The knowledge that had struck her the moment he'd revealed he was afraid she might not want to have their child.
She wanted him to know that she understood what this meant to him, and that even if she had her own doubts and worries, he'd never had anything to fear. Not about this.
"Harry, you need to know that even if I'd never wanted children… I would have done this for you."
He seemed unsure of her motivations. "You don't owe me anything."
(He was wrong, so wrong, on that point. But she didn't bother arguing, because there was a different point she wanted to make.)
"That's not what I mean, Harry. It wouldn't have been an obligation – I would have wanted to do this. For you. And for the record, that's not how I feel right now. Having this child is for both of us. But if circumstances were different…then I would have done it just for you. That's all I'm saying."
It was perhaps the closest she'd ever seen Harrison Wells come to crying – he didn't, but it was a near thing as he rubbed a hand over his face to try and compose himself. The only time that compared, in her memory, was when she'd seen his anguish over Jesse's abduction. (And his reaction was doing absolutely nothing for her own composure, though she was managing to hold on by the thinnest of threads.)
When he'd recovered enough to look at her again, gratitude wasn't the proper name for what she saw in his eyes. She didn't think what she saw there had a name.
"I was worried about telling you tonight," she admitted.
He put a hand on either side of where she was sitting on the counter and leaned closer, though he carefully adhered to his promise not to touch her. "You can't have thought I wouldn't be happy."
His words closely echoed what Iris had promised, which made her inwardly smile at her friend's wisdom. (Oh, how Iris would gloat over her 'I told you so' and Caitlin wouldn't even mind.)
"I didn't know what you'd be," Caitlin said. "I know how much the two of you wanted a baby together and you never got it. She – I should be thrilled and excited. My reaction must be so far removed from what you imagined." She stared at his shirt, unwilling to risk a glance at his face, at the possible disappointment she might find there. "So I thought you might resent me. For not being…"
"Caitlin."
"Her. Because you don't get to experience this with her."
"Yes," he said, vehemently. "I do."
Her breath hitched, eyes filling with tears as she looked at his face. And there was no disappointment there, no resentment – there was nothing even close.
He held his hands up and then paused. "Can I touch you now?"
She couldn't speak, could only manage a half-nod in answer.
He put his hands on either side of her face and pressed his forehead against hers. "You will never understand the depth of love I have for you," he whispered.
She was right about the crying, because she started the second he touched her, but it wasn't from fear and it wasn't from relief. It wasn't even because he wanted this when she'd been agonizing over how he'd react.
No, she was crying because of what he'd said to her. To her. It wasn't about who she'd been before, it was about who she was now. And yes, he'd told her that before, many times, but she'd never truly believed him until tonight.
So the last thing he'd said…he was wrong.
This was the beginning of her starting to understand.
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