Notes: By now I feel you're all like, "A wild update has appeared!" I know, I know, I'm very sorry. This chapter was just really difficult to write. Thank you again for all your reviews! I enjoyed reading every one of them. They are my lifeblood.
During the bumpy trip to Oliver's place on the back of Cisco's bike, amidst a stream of chatter about the merits of Lisa's hair and speculations on what brand of conditioner she used ("It would be like, sort of romantic if we used the same brand," said Cisco dreamily), Caitlin was finally able to concoct a strategy that involved maximal discretion and a minimal loss of dignity in executing the dare.
It was quite a simple, really. In fact, it was so simple that she had already neatly summarised her plan in three words: 1) Detain, 2) Distract, and 3) Divert.
In Phase One: Detain, all she had to do was to make sure that Cisco, Jax, and Oliver would walk ahead of her, and then ask Felicity to pretend to drop something so she'd fall behind to watch the dare. The best time to do it would be during the trip to Oliver's room from the elevator, since Oliver was one of the two people who resided on the top floor, and she had to use the absence of possible spectators to her advantage.
In Phase Two: Distract, she had to make sure that his attention was on anything other than her hovering hand. And, when he was about to make any suspicious head movements, she would proceed to Phase Three: Divert, which simply meant she had to skilfully steer him back to her desired conversational topic.
Feeling quite satisfied with her plan (summarised in alliterating verbs, no less), Caitlin thought that she had therefore no reason to worry. It was only ten seconds, after all. That was a very short amount of time, right? Nothing much happens in ten seconds, right?
(Of course, Caitlin should have realised that by issuing such a challenge to the universe, she had practically begged it to prove her wrong—and prove her wrong it will. But, for the moment, she was blissfully unaware of how, exactly, things would go wrong, because if she had been privy to that information, she wouldn't have dared approach Barry Allen within a 50-mile radius.)
Presently, they pulled up Oliver's apartment building. As they were securing the bikes, she, Cisco, and Jax had a spirited debate over what sort of ornamental animal corpse they would find in Oliver's flat, since they were all under the impression that he hunted in exotic locales during his spare time. Cisco adamantly insisted that there would be a polar bear rug named Paul ("Not just a polar bear, but a PAULar bear, get it?" They did, but they didn't get why the rug had to be named). Jax was of the firm belief that Oliver would have the head of a moose mounted on his wall ("There ain't nothing manlier than a moose!"). Caitlin fancied that he would have an ermine, but her speculation was immediately shot down, as, according to Cisco and Jax, no one knew what ermines were, and when Caitlin described it and elucidated on the value of its fur, they protested that ermines sounded like they were cute, and did Oliver look like the type to collect cute things?
The argument was finally resolved when Caitlin huffed and conceded that a moose was more likely than a PAULar bear, and she declined to join the subsequent discussion on how many game controllers Oliver had (it seemed to them a truth universally acknowledged that a young man in possession of a good fortune must have at least one of the latest PlayStations).
Instead she steeled herself to set her plan in motion. She made a beeline towards Barry Allen, who was retrieving his coat and laptop from the backseat of Oliver's car.
"Hi," she said.
A look of confusion briefly flitted across his features, before his face split into his trademark grin. "Well, hello there. Miss me already?"
Oliver and Felicity were already making their way towards the entrance, and Cisco and Jax had scampered to Oliver's side to interrogate him on the other gadgets he had, and whether or not it was possible to play Grand Theft Auto with surround sound.
Phase One: Detain, she thought, taking on the detached internal narration she often employed during stressful situations. Status: Accomplished.
"I have a business point to discuss with you," she said smoothly, in the way that rehearsing the line about twenty times in her head would do. "It's regarding Dr. Wells's offer to use the equipment in STAR Labs for our theses."
Phase Two: Distract. Status: Commenced.
His eyes widened. "Oh, right! Shit, I haven't even had time to plan my thesis yet. Have you—oh, wait, of course you have."
"I haven't written my proposal yet," she said evasively. In truth, she already had an outline for the introduction and a methods section (plus an alternate one, in case of unsuccessful results). They started walking towards the entrance. "I mean, it's not due 'til the next semester, but I want to start as early as possible."
"And you want me to accompany you?" he grinned, slinging his coat over his shoulder.
She shifted. She had anticipated this line of conversation. "Well, it would certainly be less intimidating if we went together."
"Ah, I see," he smirked. "That'll be our second date, then."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "We've had this argument."
"Which we haven't settled, to my knowledge," he added. "Although date, non-date, hanging out, whatever you call it, it's all the same, semantically."
"I think there's a substantial semantic gap between lab partners and hanging out."
"So that's all I am to you?" His brow furrowed. "A lab partner?"
She spluttered. "You're contradicting your own—"
"Think about it well," he said, with a mock-solemn air, "because there is a right answer, and it starts with the letter N."
She huffed. "This is ridiculous."
"Wrong! Try again. It rhymes with Bartholo."
"You're pronouncing your own name wrong."
"Well, it is my name. I have the pronouncing rights to it."
"Not even you pronounce it like that."
"Oh, come on, Caitlin," he coaxed, "just say it."
"Wait, I don't even remember what you're trying to achieve with this…"
"You don't have to remember. Just say it. Saaay iiiiit…"
"CAITLIN! BARRY!" Cisco called from the elevators, "Hurry up! A gamer's wet dream lies ahead!"
Oliver scrunched his nose.
"Oh, yeah, sorry!" Barry called back, just Felicity swatted Cisco's arm and hissed something in his ear. "Race ya, Cait! Winner gets to choose what to call our STAR Labs outing, and loser says theword, okay? Ready, set—"
"What! That's not fair—"
"—go!"
Barry won, of course, and Caitlin didn't even bother breaking into a light jog. She glared at him when she reached the mouth of the entrance.
He grinned back. "Don't be a sore loser, Cait."
Cisco's eyes lit up. "Yeah, Cait, eat a lemon, will you?" And then he dissolved into peals of laughter.
Barry gave him a puzzled look. "A lemon…?"
"Oh my god," Felicity groaned. "It's a Caitlin joke."
Barry raised an eyebrow in interest. "A Caitlin joke?"
"What?" Jax appeared confused. "Where was the joke?"
"Exactly," Felicity muttered.
"Hey," Caitlin said weakly, face heating up at having to be the center of attention (and possibly ridicule), "you laughed at it."
"The first time," Felicity said. "It was one time."
"Yo, can someone explain the joke first?"
The elevator pinged open, and they all filed in. Oliver held it open and pushed the button for the twentieth floor. In the meantime, Cisco finally caught his breath, and he placed his hand on Jax's shoulder so he could stand up properly. "Sour is a homonym for sore in sore loser," he said exuberantly, "and a lemon is sour!"
There was a brief silence.
"I… fail to see the connection," Oliver said.
"I can't even polite-laugh, y'know," Jax said.
"Maybe it's not funny anymore because it had to be explained," Barry said diplomatically.
(Later on, when they were all settled in Oliver's apartment, Caitlin would read the text Felicity sent regarding Barry's comment: omg he dEFENDED UR JOKE HE IS THE ONE!—a message which Caitlin would choose to ignore.)
"What? Seriously, guys? Lighten up! That was one of Caitlin's best moments."
"Wouldn't want to hear her at her worst," Jax quipped, and the others laughed.
Caitlin shot him a sullen glare.
He beamed at her. "No hard feelings, Cait. You're still the smartest chick I know." At Felicity's dagger-glare and Oliver's hard look, he amended, "Er, one of the two smartest chicks I know?"
"We're not chicks," Felicity and Caitlin protested at the same time.
Jax held up his hands in surrender. "Sorry, sorry, I meant women—don't kill me—"
The elevator came to a halt, and the mood shifted. Cisco and Jax immediately regained their enthusiasm, Felicity shot Caitlin a very smug look, and Caitlin was trying not to show her dread.
Felicity made a vague excuse to lag behind, and Barry briefly expressed concern, but Caitlin quickly monopolised his attention. "So, Barry," she said, her fingers twitching at her side, "what's your thesis about?"
Phase Two: Distract. Status: In Progress. Poised to engage.
"My thesis?" he lit up. "Oh, it's about the optimisation of luminol photography in crime scenes…"
Caitlin took a discreet breath, and then very, very slowly, raised her arm to a 45-degree angle from her side. Her heart was pounding in her chest and she was sure that her cheeks were pink from the prospect of utter humiliation, but she somehow managed a believable poker-face.
Target engaged. Countdown commencing. Thousand one, thousand two…
"…so I found that there are two main problems with current luminol solutions, like, either DNA degraded too fast, or the solution isn't sensitive enough to blood…"
Behind her, Felicity coughed. "Too far. Not counted."
Caitlin wanted to kill her.
How in the world was she supposed to know if her hand was one inch away? That was cutting it too close. Right now, her hand was about a pillow's width away from his posterior, and she kept sneaking glances at it from her peripheral vision to make sure it stayed that way. She was not, in any way, admiring his posterior in the process, and if there was any admiration in her gaze it was admiration at sheer science in how the gluteal muscles made possible the act of walking. They were very well-formed gluteal muscles, firm and perky from regular exercise. —Oh, god, did she just use perky to describe his ass? Oh god. Barry Allen's perky buttocks. Barry Allen's sprightly buttocks. The firmness, admittedly, was something that she could prove only with tactile evidence…
No. NO. Christ, Caitlin, go find another more reasonable train of thought!
What was their agreed-upon distance again? Yes, that was better. One inch? How the heck was she supposed to know how long an inch was? Well, alright, she knew the rule of thumb for an inch was, well, approximately half a thumb, but there was no way she could just stick her thumb at his butt, while he was walking, just to measure that damn inch…
"…and then there are problems with the usual photographic techniques, too. I got to talk with the guy from the CCPD's lab and he said there's this whole debate on whether coloured film cameras or digital cameras are better for capturing the luminol-sprayed crime scene…"
…said she, as if precision were the issue. She was very well aware that she was just procrastinating.
Mission Status: Stalled Indefinitely, she thought, morose. This was a really long hallway, now that she came to think of it. Or maybe Oliver was walking slowly on purpose, at Felicity's , it was way too slow. She should just give up when they reach his doorstep. She didn't care about those stupid points anyway—
And then, from the corner of her eye, she saw Barry Allen turn to look at her.
FUCK FUCK FUCK MISSION ABORT MISSION ABORT MISSION ABORT! Caitlinquickly withdrew her incriminating hand and hid it behind her back, clenching it into a fist. Above the pounding of her pulse in her ears, she heard him say, "…What do you think I should do?"
He was looking at her expectantly, with no hint of the smugness he would have displayed had he caught her hand hovering above his ass. Ah, well, at least she wasn't compromised. But now he wanted her bleeding opinion. Dammit. "Er," she said. "How… Er… How many… photographers are needed? I mean, you mentioned photography so I assumed… Well…"
His eyes widened. "Huh, I could actually look into that. There're usually two to three photographers, but maybe there's a way to make the process more efficient…"
He was sort of attractive when he wasn't being all smug and bleeding annoying, Caitlin mused. She cautiously brought her hand up again to the same 45-degree angle she'd maintained previously. Not that she'd admit that to him. And it wasn't like he wasn't attractive when he was being smug, it was just easier to admit it when he wasn't.
Oh, who was she kidding. Science jargon had never been a turn-on for her until today—
She scrunched her nose in disgust at herself. Turn-on? Really? What was she, a pubescent girl? She'd already dismissed this whole attraction thing as a ludicrous evolutionary enterprise back in her years in high school, so why was she regressing now? This was very worrying. Her thesis was coming up, and she was hoping to get two internships by the end of this school year, and she couldn't afford any distractions…
Lost in their own musings, neither Caitlin nor Barry noticed that the party going before them had stopped. To be fair, Cisco was still bouncing on his feet, so from their peripheral visions his movement registered as walking… But, in any case, Barry failed to stop walking. Caitlin failed to stop walking, as well, and she had completely forgotten that her hand was still hovering above Barry's buttocks. Barry bumped into Cisco and, with a surprised apology, took a step back—which, of course, brought his posterior smack into Caitlin's waiting hand—and Caitlin, not one with high kinaesthetic intelligence, clenched her fist on reflex, instead of jerking it away first before clenching, which resulted in…
Oh god. She was—
She was squeezing Barry Allen's butt cheek.
…Well, shit.
Mission update, Caitlin thought faintly, in the eerie calm before the storm, Tactile evidence has been obtained. The target's buttocks are, indeed, delightfully firm…
There was one long, agonising moment of silence before all hell broke lose.
Caitlin immediately dropped her hand following that unfortunate moment of contact, backing away and blushing and stuttering, although she didn't say much except "Sorry sorry sorry"; Felicity's jaw dropped and hung open for a good few seconds before she burst into giggles, and then into a full-bellied laughter that left her gasping for air; and Barry was momentously confused for a few moments, until he was able to discern that the slight pressure on his ass, Caitlin's uncharacteristically flustered and fumbling embarrassment, and Felicity's laughter were all causally linked (or so Caitlin speculated when his confusion cleared and his lips quirked up into that devious smile that was the proverbial nail in her coffin of mortification).
"Did you get to cop a good feel, Caitlin?" he said.
Cisco and Jax, who had been mighty confused about the situation until then, were stunned into silent disbelief after hearing Barry's statement. And then: "What the hell? Who felt what?"
"I can explain," Caitlin said quickly. "It was—it was an honest accident—"
"She groped my ass," Barry explained conversationally.
"Caitlin's a pervert!" Cisco cried, covering his own butt cheeks with his hands. "Run for your virginity!"
"Huh," Jax said mildly. "Hats off to you, Cait. Didn't think you had it in you."
"It was an accident," Caitlin stressed, even more heat flooding to her face. "Barry stopped suddenly and—"
"—and your hand just happened to be above my ass?" Barry said, amused. "What was it doing there in the first place?"
By now Felicity was doubling over in laughter. Caitlin wished savagely that she'd have a terrible stomachache afterwards. "It was just a dare, okay, but I was just supposed to hover—"
"Oh, it's one of those weird things you and Felicity do," Cisco said, nodding, his hands still covering his butt. And then he added accusingly, "Hey, I've known you guys for forever and you never told me you were such pervs! I grew up thinking girls had no sex drives!"
"Your ignorance isn't their fault," Oliver said, watching the situation unfold with an amused detachment, one hand on the doorknob of his apartment.
"—I adamantly refused physical contact with your posterior, because it seemed like a breach of consent—"
"If consent was the issue, all you had to do was ask."
For once, Caitlin was at a loss for words. "But—but—"
"Oh, so that's all you can say now?"
"What—I didn't mean butt as in the part of the anatomy—"
"—that you just touched? How was it by the way? Wasn't that your first sexual experience?"
She gaped at him. The nerve—"I think I'll have to wash my hands now," she snapped.
"Before you do, would you be interested in—"
"NO," Caitlin fumed. "Can we just go inside already?"
"Inside where?" Barry teased, but Cisco nudged him and said, "Dude, you don't want to piss her off, she's hella scary when she's mad," and Jax nodded solemnly to second the motion. Caitlin was about to say that she could handle his innuendoes, thank you very much, but she didn't want him to keep going at it, either, so she kept quiet.
Felicity had finally recovered, and she said to Barry sheepishly, still slightly breathless, "Sorry, Barry. It was really all my idea."
He shrugged and grinned. "Nah, it's cool. And anyway, I don't think I'm the person you should be apologising to…"
"Hey, kids," a stern voice came from behind them, and Caitlin beheld the figure of an ageing tenant around five doors down, "I would very much appreciate it if you tone it down, yeah? Someone people want to enjoy their Saturday night in peace."
Caitlin sighed and thought, Well, you're not the only one…
"Sorry," Oliver called out, and a few other voices echoed the apology. "We were about to go inside anyway." He gave everyone a pointed look, and, intimidated by it, they all finally meekly shuffled into his apartment.
And first sight that greeted them, to Cisco's endless glee, was a polar bear.
Twenty minutes later, they were still standing in front of Oliver's television set, hooked up to a surround sound system and the latest PlayStation. It seemed that Cisco, Jax, and Felicity could go on endlessly about gadgets, and Oliver seemed secretly proud that his pricey technological choices were being lauded by three technophiles. Barry, who seemed like a regular in Oliver's apartment, had slipped away to the kitchen a few minutes ago to get drinks, and Caitlin was seriously contemplating whether she should go after him despite the risk of being alone with him in a separate room, because while she had a passing interest in technology, she was not as versed in its jargon as these four obviously were, and she was feeling a bit left out. It made her extremely uneasy to be out of her depth.
But then it wasn't as if she were well-versed in dealing with Barry Allen, either. She didn't know what to say to him post-dare, especially after seeing how lightly he took it. He was, in a manner of speaking, the victim, and yet he'd managed to turn the tables on her so that she was the one mad at him… She couldn't make sense of her reaction herself.
Well, nothing made sense when Barry Allen was involved, anyway, so she shouldn't be surprised.
Still, why had she been so embarrassed? Why couldn't she laugh it off like the others—like Barry Allen—did? She still got testy and defensive when they alluded to it again or when Cisco jokingly shielded his butt from her whenever she neared him, declaring, "Perv incoming!" (It had happened only twice that night, but Caitlin was already anticipating that it would keep happening.) So it seemed like she was the only one making such a huge deal out of it. She felt that something had changed the moment she accidentally touched his buttocks, but she hadn't realised yet what it was…
She was a hundred percent sure, however, that it was not a fetish for firm gluteal muscles, and knowing what it wasn't made her feel slightly better.
In any case, she couldn't force enlightenment, and she felt very awkward standing quietly in a circle of chatty technophiles, so she muttered that she would help Barry with the drinks and made her way to the kitchen.
She took a moment to admire at the stainless, state-of-the-art equipment Oliver had here. The sleek, modular cooktops, the utensils laid out neatly by size above it, the solid-surface backsplash, the rack of choice herbs and spices… If she'd had this kind of kitchen back when she was cooking all the meals for her mother and herself, she could've seriously considered being a chef.
"I see you're impressed," Barry Allen piped up, grinning at her from the open door of Oliver's fridge. "I think what will impress you more is that Oliver actually knows how to use all this."
"Yeah, I know," she said, hesitating for a brief moment before walking towards him, grabbing one of the beers he'd brought out. "Felicity brings leftovers from her dinners with him sometimes, and I think I understand why she keeps him. His cooking is… a very radical departure from her usual instant-noodle meals."
He laughed. "Felicity's lucky. When Digg and I come over the best we can hope for is leftover pizza. Although Oliver's generous with his drinks, so I'm not complaining…"
It occurred to Caitlin that they were having a normal conversation, i.e. a conversation without any rules or teasing or flirting or hair-pulling, and it was… nice, for a change.
He wordlessly took her bottle of beer from her and popped the cap open, and she thanked him.
Well, come to think of it, this was feeling a bit… awkward, now that she was so conscious of them being normal. God, there was never going to be just a 'normal' around Barry Allen, was there? She sighed, and after taking a swig of beer, she said tentatively, "Look, Barry, I'm really sorry about awhile ago. I didn't mean to assault you."
He snorted at her as he rummaged the cupboard for chips. "Assault? Geez, lighten up. It was an accident—unfortunately, really," he added cheekily, "I get it. I've been through worse in the locker rooms, trust me."
She felt relieved that he had sincerely not taken offence (if their roles had been reversed, she was sure she would have), but she had a lingering feeling that his taking offence wasn't quite the core of the issue. She decided to drop it, though, and instead arched a brow at him. "Men grope each other in the locker room?"
"Not grope,"he amended. "We just fool around a lot, y'know. Slap each other's butts and jostle around and stuff. Physical contact is practically unavoidable." He glanced at her mildly disgusted expression and laughed. "Guess that'd be a nightmare for you."
"It would be hell," she admitted. "But all your locker room activity still sounds very homoerotic."
"No, it's not. It's very macho."
She gave him a dubious look.
"Well, fine, yeah, I guess, come to think of it," he conceded, rummaging now for bowls. "But I'm straight, alright? I mean, just because I have a sweet and sensitive and caring side…"
She arched her brow higher.
"Hey, why don't you believe me?" he said, laughing. "I'm a pretty great guy, if I say so myself."
"Your self-confidence is astounding," she said dryly. "I believe it borders on delusional."
"Hey, girls like it." He shrugged, giving her another one of those looks she couldn't place. "Usually, anyway. Plus it always helps in delivering jokes. Speaking of! I have another one."
"Oh, god."
"Please? It's a terrible joke. I mean, given that you also make terrible jokes, you should appreciate it."
"Unlike you, I don't subject everyone to my 'jokes' on a regular basis."
"Great! This one will be an instance of irregular basis, then—"
"—it's not irregular if I you make terrible jokes every time we talk—"
"—every time? So you're keeping track? I'm so flattered, Caitlin—"
"—it's not so much keeping track as it is unbidden flashbacks—"
"—okay, so, what did the DNA strand say to the DNA helicase?"
She fell silent. "Oh, god."
He gave her a smug smile. "You're already thinking it, aren't you?"
"Let's bring these snacks to everyone," she said, picking up the bowl and her beer.
"Oh, don't change the subject," he said good-naturedly, picking the other bottles up. "Unless… Can it be? You have no idea what DNA helicase does, do you?"
"I know what DNA helicase does," she retorted.
"Oh, I bet you don't. I bet you're bluffing."
"Am not."
"Are too. What a shame, a biochemistry major with no knowledge of the central dogma—"
"Bleeding hell," she huffed. "I know the central dogma by heart, but knowing your penchant for the crass misappropriation of scientific concepts, the DNA strand will go something like 'Come and unzip my genes'—"
"—whoa, Caitlin, I didn't know you were so dirty."
"I'm just proving that I know my science!"
"I'm appalled that you're defaming science. I mean, all the DNA strand wanted to say was 'Please break the hydrogen bonds between the bases'…"
She gave him a withering glare, and Barry Allen, damn that bastard, couldn't stop laughing. But eventually, she took to rolling her eyes in fond exasperation, and later on even managed a small smile. She had walked right into that, after all.
While they had been busy with collecting the snacks, Cisco and Felicity had already decided on a movie. And, predictably, it was an Asian horror movie.
Caitlin sighed. She had no idea why Cisco and Felicity kept going for those, considering that they were the biggest cowards in the world. Every time after watching one at her house back in high school, they would beg to sleep over at her place and huddle in her cramped bed with her (she always ended up taking the couch when they'd fallen asleep), and she had to endure their shaking her awake in the middle of the night to accompany them to the bathroom. It was like babysitting toddlers.
She herself had never seen the appeal of horror movies. She couldn't understand why people paid to get scared out of their wits, and she had always found the eerie background music, the fake blood, the CGI apparitions, and the plot twists terribly contrived… Which, on second thought, might be the reason Cisco and Felicity always insisted on having her around whenever they were in a horror-movie-mood—they needed to assure her that they really weren't going to see ghosts in mirrors.
On that day, however, she was about to find out that Cisco and Felicity weren't the only cowards in the room. As everyone settled in front of the television—Cisco and Jax on the polar bear rug (which Oliver insisted was a gift from one of his father's friends), Felicity and Oliver on the couch, and herself and Barry beside them (she had taken the spot right beside the armrest of the sofa by reflex, as it meant having one less person to sit very closely to)—she noticed that Barry seemed a little agitated.
"It says it's based on a true story," he said, gesturing to the fine print on the cover of the DVD. "What parts of it are true and what aren't? What if it's one of those movies where the ghost haunts whoever's seen it?"
"There are movies like that?" Caitlin said, wrinkling her nose. The horror movie industry sure knew how to capitalise on human fear.
"Yeah! I can't remember the title but shit, I couldn't sleep for days afterwards…"
"But it didn't haunt you, did it," Oliver said, and Caitlin felt an uncharacteristic rush of affection towards him for being the other reasonable person in the room.
"Yeah, dude, you're still alive," Jax added, chewing the chips noisily. Despite the fact that she didn't like it when people talked with their mouths full, Caitlin felt a rush of affection towards him, too.
"But it still could," Barry protested, waving the DVD. "I'm getting chills just thinking about it."
"We should watch that next," Cisco suggested, but just as the opening credits played, the eerie music already had him shutting one of his eyes.
"Oooh, this sounds fun…" Felicity said, burrowing into Oliver's side.
Barry slowly slumped in his seat.
Caitlin rolled her eyes. Fun, indeed.
Unbeknownst to her, however, the horror movie would be as much an ordeal for her as it was for Cisco, Felicity, and Barry.
It wasn't the horror movie itself—the movie was, as she had anticipated, a highly predictable and highly contrived story about how the protagonists find out why they were being haunted, while being killed off one by one. Rather, it was how Barry was reacting to the scenes that made the entire experience uncomfortable.
It started out very innocently. Even if they were indeed seated beside each other, Oliver's sofa was spacious enough that there was reasonable space between them. But, as the protagonists started seeing snatches of the ghost in mirrors and photographs, she noticed that Barry was slowly curling his body away from the screen and towards her. She could hardly care to follow the plot in the first place, but as his head was dangerously coming close to rest on her shoulder, she stopped caring about the story altogether and instead became intensely focused on the progress of his movement. She became conscious of the heat from his body, of how his hands jerked up every now and then to shield his eyes, of how he allowed himself to peek through his fingers anyway, of how his hands clenched when the music staccatoed in suspense, of how he let out a string of curses right after a particularly rattling scene…
And then, when the first front-view appearance of the ghost coincided with frightening swells of music, Barry Allen (along with Cisco, somewhere in the background) yelled a curse, and grabbed her hand.
Caitlin froze. For a very long moment, all she could focus on was the clammy warmth of his hand, of its weight on hers, of his calloused fingers slowly curling over the edge of her palm… and, unbidden, her traitorous pulse quickened. Barry seemed completely oblivious to his action, even as he tightened his grip when the disfigured face of the ghost hissed and bared bloody teeth, and he looked so terrified that she didn't have the heart to tell him to let go.
His grip eventually slackened when the ghost disappeared, but she still felt her skin tingling from his touch. He would accidentally touch her now and again throughout the movie, and every time she felt her senses sharpening and zeroing in on every twitch of his muscle, on every brush of cloth on cloth or skin on skin, but he never did grab onto her hand again. And, to her profound confusion, by the time the movie ended, she was feeling a little disappointed that he hadn't.
As she watched him excuse himself to go to the bathroom (with Jax accompanying him, because Cisco declared that he would avoid reflective surfaces for the rest of his life), her peripheral gaze inadvertently landed on his posterior, covered now by his rumpled, half-untucked polo. It was then that she came to realise, with a mixture of horror and anxiety, the source of her frustration following the dare, and the source of her disappointment following his unintentional holding of her hand:
She wasn't actually averse to touch anymore.
Or, at least, the knee-jerk repulsion that she usually felt was conspicuously absent. Obviously she still felt some mild discomfort, and she wasn't just going to magically become a touchy person… But this was a very puzzling development for her.
And this puzzling development had all been precipitated, somehow, by Barry Allen.
Oh, god, she thought, with a vague apprehension tightening her chest, What the hell is happening to me?