A/N: Here's the last bit to this story :) Further updates and one-shots might be slow in coming; I found out yesterday that I have to have surgery on my wrist. Depending on how quickly they get me in and the recovery time... it might be slow, yeah xD Just a warning.
Thanks so much for all the reviews and everything last chapter, guys! I really appreciate it :) Glad you're enjoying it.
Length: 2870
Onward!
Speaking a Dead Language – 3 – Aftermath
"Alright – bye, sis."
Len hangs up his phone, quickly pocketing it as he turns to look back at the bedroom door, which leads into the master bedroom – AKA his room. AKA the room he sometimes shares with Barry Allen, AKA the Flash. What has his life become?
The door is still slightly ajar, but inside there's a dark silence. The kid is hopefully still asleep; Len just had to sneak away for a minute to let Lisa know that, yes, he's fine, and yes, Barry's here, and no, she doesn't need to come home right now. He told her it's not a good day, and that he'll explain later. Right now he just knows Barry won't appreciate the company, and he managed to come see Len yesterday, of all days – instead of going to anyone else. And that means something.
He's known this little… fling between them is escalating. Known for a while now. But this really just drives it home. Fuck-buddies don't go to each other for emotional support. 'Frenemies' – that term Len hates but Barry uses teasingly – don't, either.
And yet here they are. This is more. He's not sure what it is, but it's more.
And he's… okay with that.
A few months ago, if someone told him he'd be so cozy with the Flash of all people, he would have shot them dead. People that unstable obviously can't be trusted. Best to shoot them. But now…
Now he's not so sure.
Now he's… something.
This fling is getting out of hand, but he can't find it in him to stop it.
Especially when he thinks on the anguished look on Barry's face the day before, when he first showed up at the safe house. He had a knee-jerk reaction upon seeing that face, the same kind of reaction he had whenever Lisa looked at him tearfully when she was younger – he had to make it better. He had to fix it, even though he's a terrible repair man.
He's not sure what that knee-jerk reaction says about their fling.
It's complicated, sometimes. But sometimes it's so very simple, when they're falling into bed together or Len wakes with warmth flush against his back…
Len's never been one for snuggling or cuddling – even if they're just spooning manfully and not cuddling, because they're men and that's what they do. He's never done it much; most of his sexual encounters with one-night stands, he leaves immediately after, or they do. They'll have sex, and Len will either get dressed or toss them their clothes and let them know where the door is.
And that's fine. That's how it should be.
For a while it was like that with Barry, too; they had sex, then the Flash left afterward. But ever since the Flash revealed himself to be Barry Allen, things have shifted between them. Slowly at first, but hindsight is twenty-twenty and it's very clear to him now.
After he told Len his name, they started spending more time together. Time where it wasn't just about sex. They watched movies and played cards with Lisa and Mick. They ate ice cream and sat on the couch critiquing stupid movies. They went to bed simply to sleep, and sometimes sex was never even brought up once when they were in each other's company.
What kind of fling is this, where the sex is secondary?
Len drags a slow hand across his face; he's exhausted, though not physically. Spending yesterday with Barry was emotionally draining, though he can't say he regrets it. The kid obviously needed it, and the fact he chose to go to Len instead of anyone else… Well, that really says something, doesn't it?
Len will look at that when he's ready. He'll analyze and overanalyze every little thought he has on the matter, and every action leading up to this, and he'll come to a conclusion. But for now, he won't investigate.
Right now, he's needed somewhere else, and that somewhere is with the man still sprawled out in Len's bed.
Len uses the restroom quickly, washes his hands, and tiptoes back into the bedroom, careful to move the door slowly so it doesn't creak like it sometimes does. Everything is dark and silent, save for the quiet hush of Barry's even breathing. The kid's still asleep, then. Good. He needs it.
Len slips back into bed, slow as he can. As soon as his head hits the pillow, there's a hitch in Barry's breath and an arm suddenly splayed across Len's middle, warmth pressed into his side, a leg shoved between both of his so they're this tangled mess of limbs.
He stills for a moment; this is new. Sure, they've spooned manfully before, but that leg has never been shoved so easily between both of Len's. Barry's never burrowed into him before. They spoon but they're still distant, usually.
There's still usually enough room for Len to slip out unnoticed.
Barry shifts again, and now his head's on Len's chest and his breaths even out again.
He doesn't realize his hand's moving until the fingers are moving softly through the disheveled strands of Barry's hair, much like at the cemetery yesterday. He swallows, peering through the darkness up at the ceiling as sunlight begins to lighten the curtains and windows, the sun slowly rising.
"Thank you," Barry mumbles, so quietly Len almost doesn't hear him. It's muffled by how he's seemingly trying to bury his face in Len's shirt and ribs, but it's there all the same, and it's sincere and soft and honest.
"It's okay, kid," Len tells him, unable to find the words for anything else.
Something has shifted in their relationship, in their fling.
But as the sun slowly rises and Barry's body is entangled so thoroughly with his own, Len decides that's okay.
xXx
They wake late – roughly noon. Len hasn't slept in so much in years. It's a little disorientating, the day already well started by the time they crawl out of bed. Barry looks a little rough, but he smiles at Len before disappearing into the bathroom.
Len heads into the kitchen to start breakfast. He's not the best at pancakes, but French toast is very simple. And fast.
Barry takes his time in the shower, which is unusual for him. He's usually done very quickly, unable to stop himself from zipping through it unless they're showering together. He takes his time, and Len fixes breakfast, and by the time Barry enters the kitchen, there's a heaping pile of French toast already waiting for him, along with a large glass of milk.
Soda and beer do not go with French toast.
Len would fix coffee – he wants some, badly – but it won't do Barry any good to be that wired right now, even if it goes through him quickly. Coffee is more mental with him; it used to have an effect on him, so now when he drinks it he thinks about it, and it's almost like it has the same effect, if only for a little while.
A placebo, almost.
Barry's clad in a baggy, long-sleeved gray shirt of Len's, as well as a pair of Len's sweatpants. There's something good about seeing Barry in his clothes, Len notes with a smirk. None of his other flings have ever worn his clothes.
Barry sits at the table, staring at the French toast. "Thanks, Len," he says softly, before digging into the food.
Well, at least his appetite is back. He wasn't very hungry yesterday, despite his speedy metabolism.
They eat in this comfortable silence, despite the slightly gritty look to Barry's eyes. It's a look Len doesn't particularly like; he's seen people sad before, people mourning, but seeing it etched across Barry's face is… unsettling. He's not sure why, but it is.
Again, though, he can think on that later.
When they're done eating, they migrate to the living room, where they sit to watch daytime TV. Daytime TV is horrible and usually drives Len nuts; Barry thinks it's amusing, though. He laughs at the ridiculous stuff seen and said on Springer, points out all the flaws in the crime shows playing around this time, mocks the judges on the judge shows.
Sure enough, a few minutes after sitting down, Len looks over and finds Barry smiling, watching the TV.
He turns his focus back to the TV, and they sit like that for a long while.
After a time, Barry stretches. "Hey, Len?"
The tone is timid and soft, instantly catching Len's attention. He glances back at the brunette speedster. "Yes, Barry?"
Barry shifts, teeth catching his lower lip momentarily, before they release it and he draws in a slow breath. "I just, um… I w-wanted to thank you. For yesterday. That was… You didn't – I mean – You… You didn't have to do that. Thank you."
His words are soft but sincere. One thing he's always liked about Barry is his honesty. Once upon a time he thought the kid was naïve, but no – he's really not. He's just genuine in everything he does, which is a very rare quality these days. He's innocent, sincere and caring.
Len opens his mouth, but can't find the words. He doesn't know what to say. Shrugging it off might make Barry upset – he'll think Len's dismissing everything, when he's really not. If he says the wrong thing, that could also backfire.
He waits too long.
Barry's eyes skitter away. "I, uh… I think I should be going."
He gets to his feet, stepping easily around the coffee table and toward the bedroom, probably to get his shoes. Len watches him until he disappears into the bedroom, then sighs heavily, dragging a hand across his face.
When did this become his life?
When did he start to… care?
It's all so strange. He shouldn't care. This is just a fling. It wouldn't even work between them anyway – not like that. Not seriously. Barry is not only the superhero known as the Flash, but he's also a CSI for the CCPD. Definitely on the opposite side of the law. So really, nothing can possibly work between them.
Ever.
Nothing more than sex, anyway. Because that's simple, and easy, and what the hell are they doing now?
Len's legs move of their own accord, and a second later he's standing and striding toward the bedroom just as Barry is exiting, shoes on his feet. He stops just short of walking into Len, eyes wide, startled.
"Sorry," he says quickly.
"You don't have to go," Len says without thinking.
But it's the truth – Barry doesn't have to leave. Unless he wants to. But Len won't force him, and he doesn't want Barry thinking he's kicking him out or anything, because that can't be further from the truth.
"Len…"
"It's poker night tonight," Len tells him. "You can join us if you want. And you don't have to leave right now if you don't want to, kid."
Barry chews thoughtfully on his bottom lip, leaving little indents from his teeth. "I don't want to intrude or overstay my welcome."
"You're not intruding or overstaying," Len says, mostly to get that look off Barry's face. Again – he's young and innocent and genuine; Len likes that look much better than the downcast, crestfallen expression he's wearing now.
"Alright," Barry sighs. "I guess I'll join you tonight. And stay. If that's okay."
Len nods.
Barry takes in a breath. "Thanks, again, for… yesterday. You really didn't have to do that."
Len shrugs. "It's okay, Scarlet. Everyone has their off-days."
"It's been fourteen years," Barry mumbles, looking at the ground. "It shouldn't still be this… hard."
Len hasn't ever lost anyone like that. He was only six when his mom died, not quite old enough to understand what was happening. For a while he dreamt of her and wondered where she went and if she was coming back; Lewis Snart wasn't very helpful in that regard. After that he started drinking heavily, and a part of him always blamed Len and Lisa for her death, despite the fact she died of cancer.
After that, the only person who mattered to Len was Lisa, and he hasn't lost her. He won't ever let that happen, either.
But, since he's never really cared about someone enough to dread losing them…
He doesn't really understand what Barry's saying. That it's still so hard, fourteen years later. That he goes to his mom's grave at least once a year, and talks to her like she can hear him. Like she might answer back.
To him, it's strange; he's never experienced that kind of loss.
But to Barry… it's hard. It's hard because he obviously loved his mother a lot, and not only did she die that night, but his father got thrown into prison for her murder. Barry says Henry Allen is innocent, and has spent a great deal of his life trying to prove that to people so they'll let him go.
Len can't understand that kind of commitment.
"I don't think there's really a timer on grief," he finally says, watching the kid. Barry's eyes are still glued to the ground; Len just vacuumed two days ago, so it can't be dirty. "Look at me, kid."
It takes longer than it should, but finally Barry's eyes raise to meet his own, green locked onto blue.
"It's okay to be sad," Len tells him. "It's okay to miss her. It's okay."
Barry watches him for a long moment, before his lips twitch upward in a faint smile. "Thank you. You're the best."
Len smirks, and then turns to lead the way back toward the couch.
Barry doesn't follow immediately, but by the time Len reaches the couch, Barry's already sitting down.
xXx
"I'm fine," Barry complains into his cell phone as he stands alone in Len's bedroom.
"Dad said you didn't come home last night, and we've been trying to reach you," Iris tells him, sounding equal parts angry and worried. "It's not like you to… leave on that date."
Barry scowls, but she's right. Usually he locks himself alone somewhere, and deals with it himself. By the next day he's exhausted, emotionally spent, and ready to sleep for a year. Today, though…
His eyes are gritty, and yes he's emotionally spent, but he can smile.
It usually takes days for him to smile again, despite Iris and Joe's best efforts.
And yet…
Len has made him smile a lot; okay, not that much, but it's still way over the usual limit.
On a day he likes to be left alone, he went to Len's. They spent the day together, Len visited Nora Allen's grave with him, and they fell asleep together. Barry woke in a tangled heap with Len, and instead of there being that usual tight knot in his stomach the day after, today he feels… okay. Like he's not about to burst from all the things he didn't say, but instead like he's almost… content.
It's not a happy day, but he can smile.
"I'm fine," he tells Iris again. "I just stayed somewhere else, that's all."
"Where?" Iris asks. "Joe almost sent out a search party when you still weren't home this morning."
"Sorry; I slept in late, and my phone died," Barry tells her.
"Where are you?"
"With a… friend."
"You're not alone?" She sounds surprised.
"No."
"I thought you liked being left alone?"
"So did I," he says softly.
"Who are you with? Cisco?"
"No."
"Caitlin?"
"No."
"Do you have a secret boyfriend I don't know about?" Iris asks, mostly teasing. Mostly.
Except Barry freezes, because… maybe.
"W-What?" he says intelligently.
"Oh. Oh my God, you do!" Iris exclaims. "Tell me everything! What's their name?"
"Len," Barry says, mostly because it's useless trying to dodge Iris at this point. She's a dog with a bone, after all.
"Len," Iris repeats. "Oh, that's great! I didn't know you were seeing anyone."
"We're not really… together," Barry explains. "We're just… having fun."
"You're having a random fling?" Iris asks, shock in her tone. "You?"
Barry scowls, even though she can't see him. That's insulting.
"I didn't really think you were into that kind of thing, Barry."
"I'm not," he says, shaking his head. "It's – complicated. It's complicated."
"Well, I'll have to meet him sometime," Iris says.
"Yeah – maybe," Barry says, though he has no intention of ever letting Iris and Len meet. That would ruin everything.
There's a light knocking on the bedroom door.
"I gotta go, Iris," he tells her. "Dinner's here."
"Okay, Barry – are you sure you're okay?"
"I'm fine," he says for what has to be the hundredth time. "Honest. I'm actually… I'm okay."
"That's good. Talk to you later, Barry."
"You too, Iris."
He ends the call and pockets his phone, leaving the bedroom.
Len has ordered a bunch of pizzas. Barry's mouth waters as he smells the food.
He joins Len at the kitchen table, and they talk about mundane things.
It's stupid, and maybe a little awkward, but that's okay.
Today's usually a day of sadness.
Now, maybe it's not all so bad after all.