It scares Caitlin that she's with Barry Allen.
It scares Caitlin that within five minutes of Barry introducing himself—smoothly—then apologising—less smoothly, something that she never thought Barry Allen was capable of doing—he was able to charm the pants off of her and persuade her to be taken on a ride in his scarlet Chrysler.
It scares Caitlin that she's seated in warm leather seats, especially warmed up by Barry for him, and that she's wrapped up in his navy sweater.
It scares Caitlin that she may be the first girl Barry treated this way—and by the looks of things and how he carefully wrapped the sleeves of his sweater around her shaken shoulders, she is—and that she likes it.
But most of all, it scares Caitlin that she's with Barry Allen, in his beautiful car, and the night could be as long as it could and the way as far and she wouldn't mind.
She looks straight ahead, and even as Barry's car is fast—a precise machine as fast as he runs—he takes his sweet time driving over the dorms and turning corners, a fact she notices as they stay quiet in the car, the slow thrum of his car the only noise in the car.
She sneaks a glance at Barry, his face relaxed, the lines of his smiles etched in his cheeks and the shadow of his dimples steady on his face.
"So it occurs to me that I never got your name," Barry says, and Caitlin's eyes widen in surprise.
Perhaps she wasn't as discreet as she thought, and she looks over at Barry, his hands easy on the leather steering wheel.
"I thought you'd be the guy who would take girls on rides after he gets their names," Caitlin says sweetly, the plurality of her words echoing the sentiment: Surely I'm not the first girl you've brought home.
"Yeah, well, there are certain cases which make excellent exceptions," Barry says, looking over at Caitlin with a smirk on his face. "Which you are, an only exception." You're the first.
Barry's words make Caitlin's heart hitch, an unwelcome feeling, and she resorts to frowning to mask her feelings. Barry doesn't notice, or displays on his face that he doesn't, and Caitlin sinks further in his car seats, feeling the warmth seep into her bones. She'll worry later about wiping the stickiness off of his indulgent seats—but right now, all that matters is her feeling the warmth of the seats emanating.
"So, your name?" Barry's question pops her bubble, and she straightens up.
"Of all the sagacity of Barry Allen, the one thing that he doesn't have is my name," Caitlin whispers, and smiles a tiny smile.
"I don't know everything." Barry says with a smile, "and I'm sure someone as smart as you are would be more than glad to educate me."
Caitlin pauses, and suddenly her common sense comes crashing into her. "Why are we doing this?"
"Doing what?" Barry asks her, and Caitlin shakes her head.
"This. The charade of introducing oneself to the other. I understand that these are common practices for courtship—"
"Jumping the gun, aren't we?" Barry's joking tone stills Caitlin's tangent, and before she can speak, Barry apologises. "I'm sorry. That was a joke," he explains, but Caitlin doesn't nod or gesture in agreement.
"Why are we doing this?" she repeats, more of a question to herself than him, and Barry looks at her from the corner of his eyes. Contemplating whether he should placate her or tell her the truth, he decides to go with the latter.
"I don't know, really." He says with complete honesty, and Caitlin's brown eyes look at him in surprise. "I just wanted to bring you home after the accident, and maybe strike up a conversation with you. Just to avoid generic cricket noise." Barry smirks at her again, and despite her initial protests—still yielding a battle in her mind—her stomach flutters, and she presses her right hand against her abdomen.
Caitlin is stuck with the ease at which she's already being comfortable in his presence, and Caitlin decides to halt it all—before she starts getting ideas about her and him.
"I appreciate your generosity and concern, but please take me home."
"Tell me where you live, then," Barry says, and before Caitlin can open her mouth, he smoothly turns into their corner, and turns off the engine for Caitlin to decide.
"Our building's just another block away," Caitlin whispers softly, suddenly shy, and Barry whispers in the same tone back. "Okay," and moves into their driveway.
Once they've reached the familiar block, Barry turns off the ignition and shifts a little so he could see Caitlin, and she shrinks in the comfort of the seats and the intensity of Barry's gaze.
"Thank you for bringing me home. Making sure I got home safely," she clarifies, and Barry lets out a soft chuckle. "Anytime."
Caitlin doesn't feel the urge to get out of the Chrysler and get inside, and Barry relishes the chance to talk to her. "You were asking me a question earlier," Caitlin groans at Barry's query, and throws her head down. "It's nothing." "Surely it was something for you to ask me." "I was just asking what you were doing—why you were doing this," Caitlin says, and Barry raises an eyebrow. "Doing what?" "Bringing me home, making a conscious effort to get to know me," Caitlin explains, and Barry laughs. "I just wanted to bring you home safely. Plus I don't think we're effectively getting to know each other."
The sting of Barry's words make Caitlin back off, and with clumsy hands, she fumbles with the car lock. "I'm sorry. Thank you for driving me home. Have a nice—"
Caitlin's scramble for words get cut off when Barry's hand circles her wrist, and tugs her back. "I'm sorry for what I said just now," he says, and Caitlin stays, seeing the storm in his eyes. "I was being an ass," Caitlin nods, almost imperceptibly, and Barry laughs. "I guess I'm doing this because I owe the girl whose night I ruined something more than an apology, and because I want to know her better." Barry confesses quietly, and Caitlin tilts her head softly. "Thank you. For being honest," she explains, and Barry nods. "I should go home," Caitlin says as she looks at the dashboard, the digital clock blaring an angry 11:48 PM, and Barry's hand lets her wrist go, something she notices immediately. Caitlin walks out of the Chrysler and into the night, and before she shuts the door, she crouches, just enough so Barry could see her dark curls and half of her face. "And it's Caitlin Snow."
As Caitlin walks out of his car, oozing grace and class, a smile slips into his lips, and he wholeheartedly grins as he turns the key in the ignition and drives away, a strange but not unwelcome feeling settling in his chest.