Notes: So… This is late again… (Hides) I'm really sorry, I was stuck and I put this off for way too long. Thank you though for sticking with me despite that, and I owe the shaking-out from my dry spell to a few people. Shoutout to AReiss215, whose constant encouragement keeps me thinking about this fic; Duchess Emma, whose feedback is always delightful and instructive; tifa1984, for Snowbarry and Flash rants and raves; Bunny in a Box, my wonderful flesh-and-blood friend who allowed herself to be dragged into this fandom's fanfiction; and Title Unwanted, for rambling and conversing with me on Flash, FT, life, and a bunch of other things. Also, I am a broken record by now, but a big thank you to all the reviewers! You guys keep me writing.
Without further ado, here is the non-date. Hope you enjoy!
Caitlin briefly entertained the absurd notion that she had just discovered the eighth wonder of the world in the form of Barry Allen's forearms.
She'd seen many pairs of forearms before, and she'd certainly seen more than just Barry Allen's forearms (especially in that track suit—mother of all things holy, someone should outlaw those), but there was something undeniably appealing about the way he'd rolled up the long sleeves of his red polo to his elbows, so that only his tanned, well-muscled forearms were exposed. It certainly didn't help that he was also wearing black slacks and a pair of shiny dark-brown Oxfords, and he looked so dashing and effortlessly classy that she was feeling a bit flushed and faint and legitimately worried for her sanity because damn, suddenly all those disgustingly trite phrases like having butterflies in one's stomach and melting into a puddle of goo made sense even if empirically speaking she never experienced swallowing butterflies or being in temperatures so high that her skin would melt off her bones…
She also tried not to look at, well, his… gluteal muscles, but it was very hard not to, especially because he'd tucked in his shirt, and his slacks fitted him well. Too well. Criminally well. It was as if he'd donned those pants specifically to taunt her to tou—hover above his backside.
Bleeding Felicity. She bet she'd never even notice it if she hadn't given her that bleeding dare—
"I'll translate that look for you," Jax said to Cisco in a stage whisper, as they were securing their bikes in front of the restaurant Oliver had picked (and, because it was Oliver, it just had to be one of the pricier ones in the area). "'Hot damn, Barry Allen is looking so damn fine'—"
Cisco snickered and added, "'Good lawd, I didn't know forearms could be sexual but Barry Allen's just makes me so naughty'—"
"'Whew, I need some air and a few seconds to get my ovaries together'—"
Caitlin shut them up with withering glares.
"Sorry," Jax sniggered, not sounding sorry at all. "Come on, Cait, lighten up. Breathe. Barry's real fine, no homo, but you're looking pretty fine yourself."
"I'm breathing normally," Caitlin said.
Her remark was ignored. "You got this," Cisco nodded solemnly, patting her on the back.
"And we got your back," Jax grinned.
But when they stepped in front of the restaurant, Cisco and Jax quickly monopolised Oliver's attention ("Mi amigo Oliver!" "Broliver!" "Olibruh!" "Olibae, my bae of the day!") while Felicity tried to mitigate the damage of having such embarrassments for friends ("Oh god, I knew it was a mistake to let them come, I'm so sorry, Oliver"), leaving Caitlin to fend for herself.
"Hey," she heard him say, and flinched when he nudged her so she would turn to acknowledge him.
She did so reluctantly, and came face-to-face with his wolfish grin.
"Well," he drawled, giving her a discreet head-to-toe sweep that sent all the heat rushing to her face, had her biting her lip and hoping, rather stupidly, that he liked what he saw—"you're looking quite aesthetically pleasing."
It took a few moments, but when she recognised her own words in his compliment, she scowled. "Well, Barry," she returned, a little more acerbically than she had intended, "I suppose red isn't the worst color on you."
His grin widened. "You called me Barry."
"So?" she crossed her arms. "Isn't that your name?"
"Yeah, but I don't remember really hearing you say it. Weird, huh?"
She pursed her lips and tried to recall instances of her doing so if only to prove him wrong, but it seemed she had no memory of it, either. But then, she suspected she never called him by his name only because she never had to. Well, she did call him "Barry Allen" in her mind, but of course she wasn't going to make him privy to the fact that he was frequently in her mind in the first place, no matter how unwelcome he was. "And you noticed this because…?"
"Guess I'm a very observant person," he shrugged. "Like how I noticed you were totally cheering for me during my meet."
She narrowed her eyes at him, knowing instantly that it was impossible for him to focus on anything other than winning while he was running at the speed he was. "Please. I would never do something so undignified."
"There's a first time for everything," he smirked, leaning closer. For once, emboldened by the knowledge that he was obviously bluffing (even if what he was bluffing about wasn't untrue), Caitlin fought the urge to flinch away at the invasion of her personal space, and she stood her ground. "You were very loud,after all."
She scoffed. "Oh, you wish."
"Oh, I do."
With a composure that didn't seem to be hers, Caitlin replied dismissively, "The innuendoing is getting old. I've become desensitised to it by now."
He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it again and smirked. "Listen to them," he said, tilting his head to her friends. "I think they're talking about us."
Caitlin pursed her lips and tuned in to the barely-hushed tones of her friends.
"…are they flirting?" Cisco seemed to be saying.
"I don't know, there seems to be a lot of hostility on Caitlin's part," said Oliver.
"Shhh!" Felicity hissed. "I can't hear them!"
"Dude, maybe that's what they call repressed attraction," Cisco said sagely.
"We should lock them up in a dark place before it escalates," Jax suggested.
"We should get rid of them quickly," Cisco agreed. "Also because I'm starving. If you second the motion say aye!"
"Shhh!"
"Aye!" Jax chirped.
Caitlin turned to Barry. "I'm really sorry about them," she muttered, resigned. "They have the mental and emotional capacity of five-year-olds."
"Don't be," he said, looking very amused. "I think I'm really going to enjoy tonight…"
The night, however, took a turn for the worst.
Aside from the fact that Barry Allen was in it, aside from her friends' exaggerated attempts to set them up, and aside from that stupid dare still hanging over her head, Caitlin had to deal with the awful logistics of the "group dinner", which, due to lack of bigger tables, quickly turned into "dinner-in-pairs" (she adamantly steered clear of the word "date").
The moment they stepped into the restaurant, they were informed that there were no more tables left for a group more than four, but they did have tables of two that were close to each other. Caitlin immediately suggested another place that wasn't so packed at this time, but Felicity—after shooting her an evil grin—dragged Oliver over to a table, while Cisco and Jax followed suit, the former flashing her his sorry-not-sorry eyebrow-wags.
And, of course, the table left was the furthest from the others—Cisco and Jax were a good two tables away, and Felicity and Oliver were adjacent to the former. This left her to share that table with Barry Allen and his insufferable amusement at her discomfort.
"Just to clear things up," Caitlin said tersely as she followed him to their seats, "this is not a date."
"Sure," he said, looking so smugly calm that Caitlin wanted to strangle the look off his face. He thanked the waiter for their menus and handed one to her. "It can be whatever you want it to be, Caitlin."
"The patronising tone isn't appreciated."
"The hostility isn't appreciated," he returned amiably, skimming the items on the main entrée page.
"I am not being hostile."
"Have you ever been on a date?"
His change of topic was so sudden, and he didn't even pause from perusing the menu, that Caitlin was at a complete loss at how to process the question. She furrowed her brow. "Come again?"
He looked amused at her confusion. "You know, a date. Something that's like this, but with romantic intention. And hearty mutual consent."
"I know what a date is," she muttered, and because she felt uncomfortable she tried catching Cisco's or Felicity's eye, but they seemed to be staunchly avoiding direct eye contact. Those bastards—she knew they were periodically taking peeks at their table, anyway.
"So? Have you?" he folded the menu and leaned his elbows on the table. "I mean, I'm sure you're not being hostile because you dislike me, so it must be because this is actually your first time being out on something like a date."
She rolled her eyes. "Your self-confidence is astounding."
"Well, am I wrong?" he said with a cheeky smile. "Do you dislike me?"
Caitlin grimaced and surreptitiously inched her menu up, hoping to cover her face with it. "Not overly much."
"That's very heartwarming," he said, still grinning. "So, since you don't dislike me, you're being snappy because you've never been on a date."
"I didn't say that—"
"So you have?"
"Would you please stop interrupting me—"
"Wow, Caitlin, I never pegged you as a serial dater—"
"—and stop jumping to such ridiculous conclusions—"
"—I mean, I just never imagined you to be all romantic—hey, don't be mad, I was just teasing," he said, when she had huffed and put her menu down on the table. He grinned, leaned back against his chair, and held both his hands up in a gesture of surrender. "See, I'll shut up now and let you answer."
She glared at him. "We should order first," she declared. "I need some liquid now."
"Liquid?" he repeated. "You mean drinks?"
"No, I mean steak," she snapped.
"But who says liquid for drinks?"
"Shut up," she grumbled. "I may have temporarily forgotten the more appropriate word for it."
"Alright," he allowed, obviously containing his laughter, "I'll flag down a waiter and order your liquid for you."
Caitlin gasped in horror and hissed, "Don't make it sound sexual!"
"What?" He seemed genuinely surprised. "I didn't even intend it to be sexual!"
She groaned in frustration, feeling even more flustered than usual for misreading him. "Your presence is polluting my mind!"
He grinned. "Looks like I've fulfilled my purpose in life."
"Oh you—you're insufferable—"
"Insufferably charming, I know—"
"—and incorrigible—"
"—but damn it, now I wish I made it sound sexual—"
"Mmmgrh!" Caitlin shoved her menu away and crossed her arms, resolving to ignore him for the rest of the meal. She can't even fathomwhy she allowed him to occupy a huge portion of her thoughts for the past week, because he clearly was incapable of carrying out a sensible conversation with another human being!
A waiter finally approached their table, and judging by the placid smile on his face, he was completely oblivious to their bickering. "Hi," he said, "are you ready to order?"
"Hi, yes," Caitlin said, pointedly ignoring Barry Allen, who was still suffering from paroxysms of laughter. "I'd like—"
"—t-the lady would like s-some l-liquid!—"
"—a chicken cordon bleu and a Coke, please," Caitlin said, through gritted teeth, but Barry Allen didn't catch the warning in her tone, because he'd been reduced to incoherence over his own antics. The night was just beginning and already Caitlin felt that this was going to be the longest, most excruciating dinner of her life.
(19:12) cait
(19:12) cait
(19:12) CAIT
(19:12) CAITLIIIIIIIIN
(19:12) omg ok sorta breaking news
(19:13) like when u were walking to the restroom
(19:13) barry couldnt stop checking u out
(19:13) like
(19:13) hes obvious af
(19:13) i swear his eyes were on ur ass
(19:14) those r nice pants btw
(19:14) jax is v proud
(19:14) fr now on
(19:14) hes in charge of dolling u up for dates
(19:14) also
(19:14) cisco just txted
(19:15) u & barry r calling ur thing a date
(19:15) ?!
(19:15) barry asked if you liked him
(19:15) ?!
(19:15) omfggg waht did u say
(19:15) also
(19:15) ur sharing a drink w him
(19:15) ?!
(19:15) this is going even better thn i expected tbh
(19:15) Cisco misheard everything
(19:15) I'm going to turn my phone off if you keep spamming me
(19:16) what i alwys spam u
(19:16) also u still havnt hovered
(19:16) im watching
(19:16) Go away
(19:16) whyyyy
(19:16) r u mad
(19:16) No it's just
(19:16) Barry Allen is very stressful, okay
(19:16) hoho k understood
(19:17) ill leave u kids alone
(19:17) keep it PG k ;)
(19:17) Stop spamming
(19:17) fine fine!
(19:17) stopping
Caitlin decided to spend a few more minutes in the restroom. She'd excused herself right after she gave the waiter her order, because she just needed some silence and a few deep breaths to gather her wits about her. She wasn't joking when she said that Barry Allen was stressful—she never realised she would ever be so viscerally frustrated with anyone in her entire life. Caitlin had always prided herself in her ability to maintain composure in the face of pressure-cooker situations that would have otherwise sent a normal person into nervous breakdowns, and even if she was in the middle of a nervous breakdown, she had learned to never let it show.
But there was just something about Barry Allen that unravelled the perfectly ironed fabric of her composure until she was a mess of frayed ends. He frustrated and flustered and confused the hell out of her; he made her stomp in frustration, blush on contact, fist her hands in irritation… He defied explanation, did not fit the system she'd devise to make sense of the world.
And, alright, she would concede that he was, well, pleasant to look at, but he was a downright terrible conversationalist—he was overly impressed by his own wit (if his constant innuendoing could even be considered wit), and he seemed to derive fun from conversing only if it meant hearing his own jokes. Come to think of it, all their conversations consisted of his jokes—he hadn't really disclosed much about himself (besides his thing with Linda during their first meeting, where doubtless the darkness and anonymity contributed to his trusting her), and she didn't have to disclose anything because he never asked. Or he asked, like awhile ago, but didn't seem to care for an answer.
But then, if he'd started with small talk instead of this relentless teasing, she doubted she would be as receptive to him, anyway. She doubted she would've paid as much attention to him if he'd been distant and polite, or even friendly and polite.
She frowned. Alright, so maybe it was unfair to call him a terrible conversationalist. She didn't know if he was like this with other people, but she supposed that others would have found his wit enjoyable. Cisco, for one, commended Barry Allen for his punning. But the problem was he punned at her expense, and he teased precisely because it made her uncomfortable. And while he was occasionally… tolerable, she did not enjoy being one-upped by him every time he twisted her words or said something that made her squirm.
Fine, so maybe she was frustrated at him because he was constantly outwitting her, and she wasn't used to being outwitted.
Caitlin pressed the heels of her hands to her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. Well, she would just have to make sure that it didn't happen, at least for the rest of the night. Felicity's dare was still hanging over her head, but with Barry Allen's posterior firmly on a chair, she doubted she would able to get anywhere near it, anyway. So for the next thirty or so minutes she would just focus on preserving her sanity.
Caitlin stood from the toilet seat and straightened her blouse. A plan was already forming in her mind, and hopefully it would even out the playing field, if only for the night.
On her way back to her table, she took a detour to Cisco's, and promptly gave him a smack upside his head. "Ow! Hey! What's your pro—oh, hi, Cait," he said, his irritation quickly transforming into a sheepish smile. "So, how's your date?"
"Yeah, Caitlin," Jax said, taking a sip of his drink, "looks like you guys are having fun."
"Stop eavesdropping on our conversations," she hissed. "And stop giving Felicity"—she gave her blonde friend a glare when she looked up at the mention of her name—"more fodder for her matchmaking!"
"No can do," Cisco said cheerily. "Look, the waiter thought Jax and I are lovers. At least Barry's the sex you're attracted to, so you don't have it as bad."
"Yeah, and you don't have to fight to figure out the more feminine one in the relationship," Jax said. "I say it's definitely Cisco—"
"Just because I have fabulous hair and you have none," Cisco scoffed. "Dude, you're being sexist. And hairist."
Caitlin rolled her eyes. "You can both be masculine and feminine. There's no need to identify a fem—"
"Dude!" Cisco's eyes lit up, and he looked like he was having a eureka moment. "If I'm the girl, you're paying for my dinner!"
"No way," Jax scoffed incredulously, "you're a strong independent woman, y'know, so we're going dutch…"
She sighed, wondering how anyone managed to talk any sense with either of them, and decided to make her way back to their table. Barry Allen seemed to be playing a game of pick-up-sticks with toothpicks when she returned.
"Hey!" he said when he caught sight of her, beaming. "What took you so long?"
She slipped into her seat. "I was savouring my time away from you."
"Ouch. Here I was, patiently awaiting your return, and this is my reward."
Caitlin ignored his theatrics. "I have a proposition for you," she said instead, folding her hands on top of the table.
"Oooh," he said, leaning forward, and the stupid muscles on his stupid forearms became more stupidly—pronounced—right, now she was getting distracted by stupid peripheral details, and the only adjective she seemed to be capable of saying was stupid, and she felt, well, quite stupid for it. When her eyes finally flicked up from his forearms to his face, he was giving her a lazy grin. "I already like the sound of this."
"It's very simple," she said, staunchly avoiding his forearms. "I'd just like to have dinner in peace without having the urge to strangle you."
"Or kiss me," he said slyly, tapping his cheek. His game of pick-up-sticks was now completely abandoned. "What?" he gave her a toothy smile at her glare. "Sometimes love and hate aren't so different."
"So," she continued through gritted teeth, "this proposition involves establishing rules of engagement for our conversations for the rest of the night. For example, no innuendoes of a… pseudo-flirtatious nature are allowed. What you just said, for example, isn't allowed—"
"But—"
"—and no interrupting each other's sentences."
"But that won't be fun," he groaned.
"Well, it will be for me."
"Who establishes rules of engagement for conversations, anyway?" he pouted. "Aren't conversations supposed to be spontaneous and all?"
"No, not really," Caitlin said. "Most conversations follow a set of implicit rules. Job interviews, for example, are highly structured conversations where the interviewer is the only one allowed to ask questions and the interviewee is expected to answer each question, as the possibility of declining to answer is precluded from—"
"Ah, I see," he said, his pout transforming into a smirk, and Caitlin thought faintly god that smirk is sexy—a thought which she quickly swatted away, because damn it, she can't afford to be distracted by his stu—his insufferably good looks! "You want to interview me. You want to get to know me better."
Caitlin gaped at him. "You," she said, gritting are teeth, "are completely missing the point again!"
"Well, I am flattered that you want to get to know me so badly, although it took you awhi—"
"Bleeding—can you please stop that—"
"Gotcha!" he beamed. "You just violated your own rule! You interrupted me! Now I get to choose a reward."
"I didn't say anything about a reward!"
"Relax, Caitlin," he said, and they paused as the waiter came over with their food. After they thanked him—brightly, on Barry Allen's part, and tersely, on Caitlin's—he resumed speaking. "If you get to set the rules, I think I deserve to choose the topics."
"Absolutely not. I retract the rules of engagement. Can we just mutually agree to an armistice? As in, not speak for the rest of this dinner?"
"Nope," he said. "Besides, these will be perfectly tame and polite topics," he said, giving her an innocent smile as he popped a fry in his mouth and took a sip of his milkshake.
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Now you're just being suspicious."
He shrugged. "So, Caitlin, what's your favourite colour?" he said, still wearing that irritatingly false-innocent smile.
Caitlin glared at him and shoved a spoonful of chicken cordon bleu into her mouth.
"Mine is red, by the way," he continued. "Partly because most of my favourite superheroes wear red, and it's symbolic for courage and all. But it's really mostly because I look smashing in red. Don't you think?"
She chewed on her food and swallowed. "Blue," she replied shortly. "I prefer blue."
"Really?" he flashed her a grin. "But you look good in white."
She rolled her eyes, dabbed at her mouth with tissue, and folded it into a small rectangle afterwards. "Unlike you," she said, inwardly quite pleased with the nonchalance of her manner and tone (she suspected it didn't fluster her because it didn't sound sincere), "I don't base my colour preferences on whether or not it suits me. Can we move on to another topic?"
He laughed. "Very well, milady," he said. "Favourite dead scientist?"
She paused. "Now that's difficult." She bit her bottom lip, thinking. "I don't think I'd call her my favourite scientist, but I went through a very strong Rosalind Franklin phase when I was ten… I'd just felt so mad that her contributions to the discovery of the molecular structure of DNA were practically stolen by Watson and Crick. I mean, they could have at least acknowledged how large a role her work on X-ray diffraction techniques played—"
Caitlin stopped abruptly when she realised that she had been rambling, and that Barry had just been listening and looking intently at her the entire time—the burger he'd been intending to take a bite out of seemed to be forgotten in his hands. She pressed her lips into a line and squirmed in her seat. "Anyway, yes, probably Rosalind Franklin. Um, how about yours?"
"Mine?" he said. A look of confusion passed over his face. "Oh, right, my favourite scientist. Right, right. Well… it'd have to be Thomas Edison."
She wrinkled her nose. "Thomas Edison was a misogynist."
"I didn't say he was my favourite person," he returned dryly, now taking a bite of his burger. He chewed quickly and swallowed. "I mean, a lot of the greatest thinkers in history were misogynists, and it might just be in retrospect that we can call them that, because now women's rights are, you know, getting a lot of attention and publicity and all. As it should, and all. But you have to admit that without Edison, we wouldn't have lightbulbs, or cameras, or… Yeah. Well, next topic—"
She raised an eyebrow at him. "You're uncomfortable."
He seemed to bristle. "I'm—what?"
For some reason, she marvelled, Barry Allen—the embodiment of cockiness and confidence—seemed almost… insecure at having to articulate an intelligent opinion. He seemed to be building towards an argument, but he rushed his words towards the end of his sentence, and he abruptly changed the topic before he could really make his point. Caitlin put her fork down, looked at him curiously, and said, "You're uncomfortable about voicing your opinions."
"What? No," he said, a little too quickly, and snorted. "No, the topic just seemed boring, that's all."
"Being boring shouldn't make you stutter," she said. "And besides, I found it interesting."
"Well, I didn't plan on taking dead scientists seriously until you did," he said, and the look he gave her was strange again, and Caitlin wasn't sure but it was either amusement or admiration or—
"So," he said quickly, wagging his eyebrows, "what was your favourite date?"
The earlier discomfort she had sensed in his manner was gone, and he seemed to have returned to his usual self. She frowned. Had she been imagining it?
"Well," she said, choosing to ignore it for now, "'favourite' assumes that one has more than one choice…"
"Mmm," he said. "So that means you only had one date?"
"Not technically," she muttered.
"A… half-date?" he hedged.
"I…" she sighed, and figured that she wouldn't lose anything by telling him. "I didn't know it was a date until it was over," she finally said.
"Go on," he said, and added, "I swear I won't interrupt."
She gave him a sceptical look. "I was tutoring this guy named Ronnie," she began slowly. When it seemed like he really did plan on listening to her without making any wisecracks, she continued. "And one day he invited to have coffee with him. He had a test the next day, so of course I'd assumed he asked me out so I could review the coverage with him. But when he brought me home he said 'Maybe we can go out again some time'… and well, Felicity said that that meant it was a date and that he'd intended to ask me out again."
"Poor guy," he said. "Probably worked up so much nerve to ask you out and it happened only because you didn't even know it was one. What was the dude like? Why didn't you go on that second date with him? And no one's ever asked you out after that? Have you even kissed anyone before?"
She raised a brow at him. "This is starting to sound like a job interview."
"Nah, it's called getting to know you," he said, grinning. "So?"
Caitlin shifted in her seat. "Well," she said, pushing her discomfort aside, "he was pleasant and actually very smart—apparently he only pretended he needed help in physics so he'd be able to spend time with me, or so his friends say—but he wasn't… Or rather I wasn't… well, attracted to him. To your latter questions: no, and no."
"Why not?"
"I guess I avoid most social gatherings, so the probability of meeting anyone new is severely lessened," she said dryly. "And when I do go out for some drinks, I don't find kissing random strangers appealing. Or any show of affection in general. You know this already."
"Yeah, and I changed it," he said, grinning. "Does that mean I was technically your first kiss?"
Her cheeks warmed at the memory of them in the dark, of the heat emanating from his body. I have a malfunctioning sympathetic nervous system which causes blood to rush to my face for no apparent reason, she attempted to rationalise. She hated her sympathetic nervous system. "An eskimo kiss done on a dare doesn't count."
"Sure it does."
"No it doesn't."
"Sure it does."
"No, it does not…"
For the rest of their dinner, Barry Allen seemed to have reverted to their pre-rules of engagement state, and he pestered her continuously about her current dare, which she felt too embarrassed to even think of in his presence, much less disclose to him. She was so caught up in bickering with him that she started when her phone vibrated with a text from Felicity, informing her that all four of them had finished eating and paying fifteen minutes ago, and they were just waiting for her and Barry. Caitlin flushed, embarrassed that she'd completely lost track of time, and hastily called for the bill. Thankfully, Barry Allen offered little resistance when she insisted that they split it.
As they made their way out of the restaurant, Barry leaned over to her and said, "Hey, dating me wouldn't be so bad, would it?"
She narrowed her eyes at him. "That sounds like a trick question."
He flashed her another strange smile, but instead of replying to her, he turned to Cisco and Jax to comment on a part of their conversation that had gotten his attention.
Caitlin was left staring at his back, feeling very confused. What was the purpose of asking her that? Would her answer to it determine whether or not he would ask her out in the future? But that would indicate that he was interested, and even after spending an hour with him in a setting that simulated the aspects of a date, she still couldn't tell whether he was interested or not. Well, there was Felicity's 'breaking news' of him checking her out, but… surely he'd checked girls out without any intention of asking them out. Besides, she'd seen her own posterior, and in her opinion it was rather unremarkable…
"Sooo," Felicity said slyly, sidling up beside her as Oliver joined the boys, "how was it?"
Caitlin glanced at her friend. "Fine," Caitlin replied shortly. "I was able to refrain from strangling him."
"Oh, come on," her friend scoffed. "You lost track of time, and you both still had food left on your plates when you paid the bill. You obviously enjoyed talking to each other, because what else could make you forget about your food?"
"It was hardly meaningful conversation," she protested.
"Mmm, sure. Hey, Cait," Felicity said, looping her arm Caitlin's and ignored the way Caitlin wrinkled her nose at the gesture. "Do you remember how we all became friends? You know, you, me, and Cisco, back in high school."
Caitlin gave her a wary look. "Where are you going with this?"
"We were classmates in first year math," she prompted, insistent. "And we were groupmates for the final project, remember? And Cisco and I couldn't stop talking around you, because you actually listened to our rambling. I think I speak for both him and myself when I say that before that, no one was really interested in what we had to say. I mean, yeah, they tolerated us, but to find people who listened was pretty rare."
"Well, I had no choice in the matter."
"Hey!" Felicity slapped her arm, and she grumbled in protest. "But," she continued, "it took you awhile before you finally warmed up to us. A month, tops. And you're like that with most people—you have this warming-up threshold, and it's a really steep slope to get to it. But, with Barry, I don't know, it's like… he cleared that slope in a step. It's like that slope didn't even exist for him."
"He makes me mad, that's all," Caitlin grumbled. "Or frustrated. Or—just, I don't think it's what you think it is."
"Cait," Felicity said, "maybe you should consider that it might not be what you keep telling yourself it is, either."
"He just came from a break-up," Caitlin insisted weakly, "so he can't be interested."
Felicity gave her a cat-like smile. "Maybe he is, and you're just not letting yourself see it."
By the time they split up in the parking lot—Barry was hitching a ride with Oliver and Felicity—Caitlin felt unsure of herself again. She watched him walk away, chatting animatedly with Oliver, and felt her heart clench at the sudden absurd prospect of wanting something she couldn't have. But the feeling was brief and elusive, and it wouldn't resurface again until much later on.
In the meantime, she still had a dare to accomplish…
Notes: I didn't intend to end there, but it felt right to lol. I'm not too pleased with this chapter, though, since I had a hard time with the Snowbarry interactions… I hope the more serious turn didn't seem out-of-character from how I've portrayed them so far. In other news, a few more reviewers have asked if I'll ever write in Barry's POV—I've already planned most of the scenes in Caitlin's POV, but there are one or two scenes which might be interesting in Barry's POV. But then, I'm not sure if I'm violating some rule about using third-person limited… so… short answer is we'll see. Also, I've tweaked the text format for easier reading, as per Raquel's request. Hope it's better.
Thanks for reading. Up next: Movie night at Oliver's, and other shenanigans.