(A/N): Shortly before 2x19, I wondered on Tumblr if they might do something in the finale that fused Caitlin and Killer Frost together, a la Firestorm. Clearly that won't happen, but I wrote this story anyway.
The alarm clock buzzed, and Caitlin pushed the blankets off her shoulders. She hadn't been sleeping. She rarely slept through the night anymore.
She padded into her bathroom and pulled her pill organizer towards her. She checked the compartments. S, M, T, were all empty.
It was Wednesday.
She walked back into her bedroom and picked up her phone.
Yes.
Yes, it was.
It was Wednesday.
She took her pills, laying each one on her tongue careful and round and taking a sip of water one of these days she's gonna throw the whole bottle down
She hated that song.
Well, I love it, so there.
"Stop," she said aloud.
Maybe it was time to increase her dosage. She would consult with the doctors again. She couldn't increase her own dosage. That would be unethical.
She's trying to be a good girl, give 'em what they want
"Stop singing."
She picked up her hairbrush and started working it through the tangles, slow, concentrating on the tug and tweak at her scalp and nothing else. When her hair shone glossy and smooth, she shook it back over her shoulders and considered herself. Very flat. No body to it at all.
She bent over and brushed from the nape of her neck. The ends brushed the floor. Maybe she should cut it. She considered a new hairstyle, bent over, brushing her hair, until her head started to hurt and she realized she'd been like that for several minutes and her nape was tender and her hair was staticky and -
She stood up and her head swam with the sudden change of position. She clutched the bathroom sink and watched her vision tunnel, blackness eating in from the edges. She breathed, and it retreated, and she looked up at herself in the mirror.
The eyes she met were ice blue, and the hair she'd spent all that time brushing spilled white and shining over her leather jacket -
She screamed and threw her water glass at the mirror. Water sprayed, and glass shattered.
She found herself cowering against the far wall, breathing in whimpers.
She lowered her arms and saw that they were covered in flannel, not leather.
She grabbed a fistful of her hair. Brown.
She grabbed more, yanking it over her shoulders in hunks. Brown, brown, brown. All of it dark, not even one shining thread of white.
The bathroom was covered with shards of ice - no, glass, mirrors are made of glass. A particularly large chunk teetered on the edge of the sink. She grabbed it and held it up to her face.
Her eyes were wide, terrified, and brown.
She dropped the piece of mirror into the sink. It shattered into smaller pieces.
Her hands and wrists stung in several spots. She lifted them and saw trickles of blood, dotting her skin. She looked down at her feet. More blood, speckling the tops of her feet and her ankles. No running rivers. Just trickles.
The palm of her hand stung horribly. The hand she'd used to pick up the shard. Red seeped into the cuff of her pajamas.
She pulled the medicine cabinet open and removed the first aid kit, then stepped carefully, carefully through the ice - glass it was glass it wasn't melting it was glass - back into her bedroom.
She cleaned the wounds, checking carefully to make sure there were no shards hiding under her skin, washing them out with alcohol that spilled onto her bedspread and dried swiftly, leaving faint pink smudges behind. She applied bandaids to the bigger ones and wrapped her hand with gauze.
A piece of glass - yes, glass, it was glass - twinkled at her from inside the bathroom.
Well, that was stupid, Killer Frost commented inside her head. How are you going to get your makeup perfect now?
FINIS