inside we rage [against the dying of the light]
It's impossible to miss the swell of Caitlin's tears or the way she's biting her lip with the effort of keeping them in as they all stand in front of the last portal, frozen with the weight of everything that's just happened. They've done it; Zoom is gone; Jessie is safe; the Scarlet Speedster is back in Earth 2.
And Caitlin's heart is left in pieces on this side of the universe.
Eventually they realize they're all just standing, staring, so Harrison clears his throat (arm still curled fiercely around his daughter). "Shall we?" It catches a little, like maybe after all this time, he's a little lost at the thought of never seeing his old adversary (recent teammate, not-quite-friend) for the last time (there's nothing back home for him, not when Jessie's happy to make a life away from the horror of the last year). No one comments, no one stops him, so he nods a little gravely, resolute, and tosses the portal closer. The portal wobbles, undulates around the edges, then disappears.
It's all over.
Barry hears the sound of Caitlin's sharp breath, beneath all the other sighs of relief (regret, recovery) and tugs his mask away to watch her with gentle eyes. "Caitlin," is all he manages, before everyone else seems to realize their bioengineer is falling apart and decide that Barry's best suited to deal with it. One by one, and two by two, they file out of the room until it's just the pair of them. "Caitlin," he starts again, flashing away in a microsecond, a blast of air, before his arms are out and he's wearing his normal clothes, watching her like she's built of something fragile, spun glass or thin ice, rather then the solid, steady faith he knows her to be made of.
Stubborn (fierce, utterly Caitlin), her head shakes a rebuttal but the force of the movement dislodges the tears she's been keeping at bay and once she feels them against her cheeks (tangible, free, un-disregardable), it's a shattering facade, all tumbling down.
It leaves something lodged in his chest and stinging the corners of his own gaze, has him bridging the gap and pulling her in to soak his shirt and shudder against the line of his collarbone (he's glad he changed; he thinks she needs the warmth and the contact; thinks of all the times the pressure of her hug has steadied him). "Hey, hey, it's okay," tumbles out, empty platitudes ringed with an assurance that he's here, he's got her, she's allowed to fall apart and somewhere in the middle of it, his fingers tangle in her curls, combing them carefully.
"Everybody I love leaves me."
There's a second, fleeting but still there, where he almost wishes he hadn't caught that, that the words had been buried in his chest, unintelligible and easily brushed off. But they aren't and whatever's been lodging in his own chest completely implodes, dropping a few tears into her hair. Barry curls closer, lets his nose follow their fall and he buries his face against her curls. "You are not alone," comes out fiercer then he means it to, caught in a memory only a few months old, when he'd said the same words and felt utterly abandoned by everyone (but he hadn't been: it had hurt, still hurts too much, but he has Joe and Iris, Cisco and Harry, and he has Caitlin, always by his side; always there when he needs a smile or advice-and maybe it's not the kind of love they both want, but maybe it's better in some ways?). "I'm sorry Jay's gone," he is, Jay was a great guy, but he understands the responsibility to go back, to be the hero, "but you are not alone Caitlin."
He feels her nod against his chest and it lets him breathe again, even though she doesn't pull away, doesn't quite stop crying (he doesn't mind, just tugs her a little closer and returns to carding through her hair slowly, trying to soothe the way she always does for him). Eventually, she calms: her breathing gradually evens, the damp spot of cotton on his shirt stops expanding and Caitlin stills in his arms, though she remains pressed into him a while longer. Barry doesn't mind, he just wishes he could do something more productive to help (he's just saved two worlds and he thinks maybe he's never felt more powerless).
When she does pull away, she doesn't go far and he's not sure if that's her choice or his, but her muddled eyes find his and he offers the tiniest of smiles.
"Thank you," scratches too hoarse and too quiet, it makes her wince and pinches her expression uncomfortably.
"I mean it Caitlin," his head shakes, resolute. "I know you really cared about Jay, and I know how hard it is to let someone walk away," her nod is small but weighted with significance; it's honest empathy coming from Barry, the words aren't bitter to swallow up, like they might be from someone else (they're not empty offerings; he does get it; he always does). "But you're never going to be alone. I'm never going to leave you," it's a promise he knows that, in some ways, he can't keep, but that doesn't mean he can't fiercely want to. "And neither will Cisco or Joe, or Iris." He tries for a little bigger smile, "hell, I'm pretty sure we're stuck with Harry now," and when he punctuates the joke with a wink, it earns him a watery laugh (he beams brilliant for a brief second, glad for the sound).
"I know Barry," and she does, even if this is going to take awhile to get over (she should have known better; should have known all along). "Thank you."
He nods, keeps the quiet smile and, in tandem, they begin to draw back (there are so many things they both need to deal with; all the residual fallout from taking down Zoom; pieces of the last year of their lives that need putting back to order).
Barry is just about to turn away, give her the room and a few minutes to finish collecting herself, when Caitlin gives his hand a squeeze (the one place they're still connected). "And just so you know, I'll never leave you either."
There's a shared moment of relief, a few suddenly heavy heartbeats where they share a smile and then he nods: he knows (even if there was a moment, small but excruciating, when he thought Jay would offer, thought she would accept-timelines and consequences and doppelgangers be damned). "I know."
This is not a traditional episode tag in that it happens inside the episode but in a projected few months, when Zoom is defeated and Jay is leaving. It just seemed like the best way to use Barry's words and apply them to Caitlin. Hope you enjoyed!