(AUTHOR'S NOTE [IMPORTANT]: Don't read this fanfic until you've read my first SaviSnow story, Chasing the Light.
Hi, Jell-O Squares! It's been almost 3 years since CTL concluded, and I've gotten requests for a sequel ever since. Seriously. Like, still.
I have had this sequel planned, with an entire outline already written, since 2019. That being said, this is a SOFT OPEN. That means that if this story isn't very popular, and doesn't really have many readers, I will probably stop writing it and take it down. Not because I hate it or because I only write for feedback, but because life has changed a lot for me in 3 years and though I want to write this story, I have other projects needing to be written as well. And if this fanfic doesn't have many people interested in it, then I need to focus my attention on other projects that do need to be worked out.
For now, this is me exercising my writing muscles. I'm pleased to bring you the first chapter of Chasing the Light's tentative sequel: The Losing Game! Enjoy, and thank you so much for giving me the encouragement and confidence required to write all this time. I love my readers, my Jell-O Squares, you wonderful people! Happy reading!
~Doverstar)
It had been exactly 7 months and 24 days since Caitlin had come home from Earth-66.
Cisco had missed her every day, worried for her every day, and insulted her preferences in film and music every day. She wasn't around to hear him; it was the perfect time to let out all those frustrations—who liked The Notebook over The Titanic? Who listened to Frank Sinatra covers when you could have the man himself? Misinformed bioengineers with minimal exposure, that's who. While she'd been gone, he sometimes talked to her, aloud or in his head, while he tinkered or waited for the pizza to be delivered to S.T.A.R. Labs. If he had a complaint about a piece of tech or the way his hair wasn't cooperating, he would preface each one with her name, as though she were there in the room with him. He could imagine her rolling her eyes or shaking her head with ease. A best friend is always easy to picture.
For a short time, it had looked as though she'd be trapped there, on that other Earth, with Barry's deep-fried time remnant for company. His vibes couldn't bring her back. Barry couldn't race through the multiverse, even with a tachyon device, to reach her. It had been all Cisco could do to soup up a fax machine, send a blueprint to Earth-66. A blueprint for the device that would open a door through dimensions and offer Caitlin a way home.
Provided, of course, that the Wally West of that Earth (engineering intern extraordinaire) could follow instructions.
Which he had.
But 7 months and 24 days—and one to-go container of sushi—later, Caitlin was safe on her Earth, the right Earth, and something seemed off. She had been a little shaky the first few weeks, but happy to be home. She'd started by telling them about her adventures with Savitar—who was apparently 'friend' material now, according to her. Cisco still couldn't picture it. She'd relayed how they had defeated some pretzel man and stopped a city-devastating bomb. Serious comic book, action film stuff. Cisco experienced this every day with the real Team Flash, of course, but you could never get bored even hearing about it. It just didn't get old, no matter how dangerous, no matter how dark. Freaky Fridays are worth it when you're making the world a better place.
…Off. She'd been off.
Sure, the whole "you might be stuck in an alternate version of the reality you're used to with a Barry who tried to kill you and your loved ones" thing threw a scare into everyone, but it was over now. She should have been fine. Or at least better.
But she'd only gotten worse. The others were too busy to notice Caitlin's deteriorating mood, the way she fidgeted, the way she'd zone out. Barry and Iris were still planning that end-of-the-year wedding—mazel tov. Joe's relationship with Cecile was careening toward a wedding itself; she had already moved in with him. Cisco got the frequent call from Gypsy from across the multiverse, though visits were few and far between. Everybody had somebody, some shiny new thing to occupy their thoughts when they weren't working. Everybody except Wally, who had received some kind of "dumping" cube from Jessie a month ago and had left the team to discover himself…or something. Now he was with the Legends. And he was growing out his hair.
With no Wally West on good ol' Team Flash anymore, that made Caitlin the odd one out. No significant other with whom to spend her spare time. Not that everyone needed a significant other as impressive as Gypsy, or as dependable as—according to Iris—Barry. But he was beginning to see that Caitlin could use…anything, really, as a distraction from whatever she was feeling. He wasn't gonna sign her up for online dating—mainly because she'd never allow it—but something needed to change.
"Caitlin." He'd said it more than once in the past three weeks. "You good?"
She would always pass him an eye-roll or a quick smile, saying something like "Yes, Cisco, I'm fine," or "Cisco, please stop worrying about me," or this one time it was, "Cisco, shut up and hand me the scalpel!" Barry. Shrapnel. Iris hitting him real hard in the shoulder. That particular day had probably not been the best time to ask, but had also not been the best time for Caitlin to stare aimlessly at the wound for a full sixty seconds before operating on it.
She was getting quiet when everyone else was laughing. She was becoming one with the wall more often. Her eyes were on her computer screen for way too long, and that was coming from the man who once spent an entire 48 hours playing nonstop Fortnite. With only a bag of Doritos to sustain him. She was constantly biting her lip when she thought nobody was looking. She had always been a workaholic, but when the gang went to Jitters or Cisco invited her to the movies or Iris wanted to talk wedding prep, Caitlin somehow always had something more important to do. Something to focus on. She was distracting herself, but not from whatever was pushing her into silence and distance. She was distracting herself from her friends, from normal life. Cisco could always tell when she was down in the mouth—her immediate solution would forever be to drown herself in things to do.
One night, a whole five weeks after she returned from Earth-66, Cisco had had enough. It was 9 PM, and Caitlin had been in the med bay, going through her little checklist to make sure everything in the room was stocked. Everyone else was going out to Tito's for Mexican.
Cisco had dragged her to the Cortex for a late-night showing of The Terminator via the projector screen he'd set up. He had even bought mini M&Ms, her favorite splurging food—she liked them in the little tubes, so she could shake out a handful. Cisco just chugged them like he was taking a shot. One reason why he preferred his M&Ms normal-sized and in a bag: they lasted longer that way. You couldn't just put a tube of minis in front of a man and expect him not to chug.
As they sat watching the cyborg go after Sarah Connor, Caitlin turned to him and gave him the first big, genuine smile he'd seen since the day she'd gotten back to Earth-1.
"Thanks, Cisco."
His eyebrows dipped in confusion and he swallowed the M&Ms loudly. "For Schwarzenegger?" he asked, pointing to the screen.
Caitlin gave him a be serious look. "For getting me out of that lab. I'm sorry if I…" She pursed her lips, eyes flicking to the screen and back again. "…haven't really been myself lately."
"Yeah, the Caitlin we know would never've spent two hours reorganizing the supply cabinets like that."
She chortled, but it was over too quickly.
Cisco eyed the palmful of colored chocolates she was ignoring. Shrugging away the urge to demand she eat, he decided to go for the gold and just get it out there. "You miss it, don't you?"
She looked up so fast, her hair almost got caught in her mouth. "What?"
"Earth-66." Cisco took another swig from the tube.
"Oh—no." Caitlin began rearranging the M&Ms in her hand. By color. Her eyebrows drew together and she started shaking her head several times, only to stop halfway. "I wouldn't say I—I mean—"
"Caitlin." Cisco squinted at her. "Look, either you miss the other Earth, or you're bipolar and I lace those M&Ms with Xanax. Your choice." He paused in his chewing. "But please say you're not bipolar, cuz I don't actually have any Xanax and drugs are stupid expensive."
Caitlin glowered back. "Excuse me?"
"I bought the candy, but I don't have cash for Walgreens."
"No—Cisco—" Caitlin scoffed, tipping her snacks back into their tube and setting it down on the floor beside her chair. She even snapped the top on. "First of all, you treat bipolar disorder with lithium. Especially in the early stages."
Cisco showed his palms in surrender, eyebrows raised.
"And second of all," Caitlin went on, exhaling slowly, "you're right. I do miss it. But…" She shook her head. "My life is here. My family is here; my work is here. That won't change."
Her friend had glanced down into his mostly-empty M&Ms tube, knowing she wasn't finished. Trying not to be offended that her real home didn't seem to be enough for her at the moment. It was hard to be reassured when, from what he could tell, the longer she spent on Earth-1 since she'd returned, the more secluded she seemed to become.
"Just—" she bit her lip, looking hard at him, "—be patient with me. Please?" When he looked up, because who could resist the puppy dog eyes she was giving him, she shrugged a shoulder. "It's not easy, having a foot in two separate, intricate universes. I know it wasn't the best situation at first, but…after a while…" Her eyes darted away, back to the screen. "I know it sounds silly—and—I know I was only there a few months—" She picked the M&Ms back up, squirming a little in the seat. Unsure how to continue.
Cisco waited a moment, meeting her gaze. When Snow Patrol wasn't right, neither was he. He wished, not for the first time, that there was something he could do to lift the gloom right out of those brown eyes. With just a word, or a hand on her shoulder, or some stupid movie and stupider candy. But there wasn't ever a quick fix.
He could do this for her, though. He could listen. Cisco had always been good at listening, and Caitlin never ran out of vulnerability, of thoughts to release.
Cisco handed her a cream soda (Caitlin didn't hold her alcohol very well, according to Barry). "You trying to tell me one life was better than the other, McFly, is that what's happening right now?"
Caitlin chuckled over the tail of his reference. "No, Cisco." They sat and watched in silence for a bit more, chewing and seeing the screen without seeing the story it presented. Then she added quietly, "I guess it's too hard to explain."
He gave her the side-eye. They both knew, eventually, he would understand her. That was how it worked with them.
"For now," Caitlin added, the hint of a smirk making her mouth fuller. She understood him, too.
More silence. More Schwarzenegger. More munching.
"So. To be continued." Cisco broke the peace, unable to let the conversation die. Sometimes all she needed was to talk it out.
"It's—" Her exasperation didn't have anything to do with the movie's interruption. More than once that night, she'd appeared to be on the edge of telling him something. Something important. But she had never really let it out, tiptoeing as near as she could to whatever it was. Wanting to tell someone, yet he didn't make the cut. This had been one of those moments. "I just wish I knew how they were doing," she attempted. "How things were going. That everything was all right."
"Team Savitar," Cisco guessed dryly. "I mean, with a psychopath as team captain, things can only go up."
"He's not a psychopath," was her immediate response. She'd almost finished it before he'd drawn a new breath. "I told you, Cisco, he's different."
Cisco went dark on that one. It would only lead to an argument, and she didn't need a fight, she needed an ear. Still—how could she call Savitar a changed meta? He'd murdered H.R. Wells. He'd tried his darndest to murder Iris West, love-of-his-life-except-not. He'd ruined Tracy Brandt's future, twisted Julian Albert, forever changed the sleeping patterns of Joe West, and had basically given the rest of them Get Into Therapy Free cards. With just his face. It had been too hard to take so much trauma—so much heartbreak—at the hands of someone who, thank you cruel time stream, looked just like Barry Allen. And this was the guy Caitlin called her friend.
Cisco had so many things to say about this decision. Many much things. They roared to life in the back of his overactive brain every time Caitlin mentioned Digiorno. But he forced them down, stuffed them under a mental rug, thought of something else to say.
Hey, he had no way of knowing why she defended the time remnant. Maybe she had been manipulated. Maybe Savitar had put on some kind of act, those few months on Earth-66 together. Maybe he'd tried being good, but the crazy, the bloodlust, wouldn't allow it, and she had latched onto that brief bit where he'd at least tried.
Or maybe Caitlin was Caitlin, and she looked for the good in everyone, no matter what.
And he had to take her word for it. Because he didn't have any other proof.
Delusions of heroes in lunatics or not, Cisco would be there for Caitlin. They could disagree on this obvious point, and still be shoulder-to-shoulder. If she needed closure, he could give it to her.
"MP3."
Caitlin had squinted at him. "What?"
He got up—pausing Terminator—and retrieved his latest invention from the engineer's wing. It was an old MP3 player, painted ice blue, complete with headphones. "MP3—M as in Multidimensional. I rigged this thing after we lost track of you over there." She was leaning in for a closer look, and he impatiently turned it on. "It's designed to help us communicate with the other Earth."
"Cisco, that's…amazing." She tilted her head, hair getting ever so slightly in her eyes. "But why not just make another Bluetooth?"
"Bluetooth was unreliable. Okay? When the chips were down, it fried on us. There is a test, my friend, for all Cisco'ed products, and Blue Boy failed that sucker hard." He tapped the MP3 player gently. "This little guy—he's the real deal."
"How do you determine the gender of a machine?"
"Girl, I need you to focus. This is about you."
Caitlin pursed her lips, obviously trying to keep the impatience from showing in the way she held her mouth. Always a dead giveaway with her. "Sorry."
"I haven't worked out all the bugs yet. Disclaimer. But it can reach up to five other Earths, including Kara's and Harry's, provided their technology uses basic wifi." He offered it to her gingerly. "It was gonna be a thing for Gypsy and I, but uh—" Cisco shrugged, trying to look nonchalant about it. "It could use a couple test runs first. Works on Earth-66 too. It'll tap right into the Bluetooth you left there."
Caitlin took the MP3 player and scrolled through the options. It was like picking a song on an old iPod, only she would be choosing between universes to contact. She had a hunger in her eyes that made his heart squeeze in sympathy, just for a moment. It was faint, but it was there. She missed the other team even more than she was letting on.
"Cisco—I don't know what to say," Caitlin had told him at last, glancing up.
Cisco gave her a small, genuine smile. "Yeah, well, just don't forget to plug it in. It might be Cisco'ed, but it's still an old MP3."
"Thank you."
Cisco nodded, and that was all that need pass between them. They went back to the movie, and Cisco's was a little more into it—he could feel some of Caitlin's moping drain away as she held the MP3 player. Unfortunately, he could also tell how badly she wanted to use it—like, right then.
"Caitlin."
"Hmm?"
"Go easy. It's only got a week of battery life."
She laughed. Music to her best friend's ears after weeks of melancholy.
"What is it with you and making me charge up?"
After that, a little over 6 months later, Caitlin was better for a while. But she wasn't totally back to normal. In fact, the addition of the Bluetooth might've hindered more than it wound up helping.
"Yes!" Iris clapped at least twice, arms over her head. "Twice in a row, baby!"
Today, they were testing Iris' skills on the comms system. She stood behind the white winding desk, all her hair draped over one shoulder, grinning at the screen. Barry's vitals were outlined in neon with a blue background, blinking a cheerful green. He was in his element. He'd just finished a routine car chase downtown, and Iris had been the one helping him, all on her own.
"Yesterday barely counted, okay?" Cisco teased, tearing his attention away from his work station. He was prodding his Vibe goggles with what looked like a souped-up screwdriver.
"Oh, come on." Iris' smile refused to wilt. "He saved everyone in that car in seven minutes, Cisco. His suit's okay, his breathing's great—"
"And you didn't accidentally flick the generator switch, shutting down the entire system in the middle of your session. Causing a building-wide power outage. And an extra hour of work." Harry finished from the corner, not turning around. He was doing calculations on the glass demonstration board, holding up the okay hand symbol.
"One time. I did that one time."
Harry, Earth-2's Wells, had been the person to deliver Jessie's breakup device to a devastated Wally months ago. He had popped in and out of their universe every now and then for visits, because apparently, Earth-2 had much less need of him now that Zoom had been defeated. With the real Jay Garrick and his daughter patrolling Central City-2, and his own company having learned how to practically run itself while he'd been away on Earth-1 the first time, Harry had quickly discovered a new nemesis: boredom. Cisco liked to say he was having his multidimensional mid-life crisis. Harry liked to say nothing in response, and usually threw something at him.
"What is that?" Cisco pointed distractedly to Harry's calculations. "Sudoku?"
"Unlike some people, I don't spend all day playing with my toys, Ramon." Harry shot over his shoulder. "It's a formula for the Flash."
"Nah, I get it," said Cisco. "You gotta keep your mind active in your old age."
He ducked to avoid the marker flying toward his face.
"Okay. Is nobody gonna congratulate me?" Iris complained. "I just got Barry through an entire mission without pressing the wrong buttons once!" She shut down the monitor and switched off the comms system. "I am gonna be leading this team one day, I swear."
"Yeah." Cisco's voice was low as he chuckled, skeptical, and turned back to his goggles. "Because that lines up with what we've seen so far."
With a light FWOOSH, the Flash entered the Cortex.
"Yes!" Barry threw off his hooded mask and gave Iris a high-five. "Knew you could do it."
Papers had been kicked up in the speedster's wake. The smell of burgers and a slight tingling clung to his dark scarlet suit, and his smile practically reached his earlobes. It had been a good spring, now shaping up to be an even better summer. Central City's crime rate was low, and its hero's spirits were sky high. His team was whole, his job intact, and he never seemed to lose a fight. Even when things weren't this perfect, Barry Allen always knew how to bring the light and energy from within him out into the open for his family to share.
"Someone's having a good day," Cisco commented, returning the Flash's grin.
Busy giving Iris a side hug, Barry caught sight of Harry's calculations and nodded to the board. "What's up?"
"It's his daily crossword—"
A stapler hit the wall beside Cisco's head.
"It's a formula," Harry spoke over Ramon with a scowl. "Physics. I designed it to improve your speed in the field."
"Can Barry get faster?" Iris sounded surprised.
"Not without help," Harry grunted.
Barry raised his eyebrows, still looking giddy. He seemed ready to laugh at all times. Every day has its warmest moment, where daylight hits everything in just the right area and the world clocks out of work and goes home for dinner. A sigh of contentment. The golden hour.
For Barry, these last few months had been one long golden hour. It glowed and zoomed after him wherever he ran. Human sunbeam. He jumped into debates with Harry, knowing it made Wells feel valued. He spent more time with Iris than ever, bringing her flowers or a surprise latte just because. He and Joe finally had a consistent, weekly Thursday night pizza date. He even let Cisco win whenever they all went bowling together. Soon, as they all knew and looked forward to, he'd be married to the love of his life. It seemed nothing could bring him down.
"Tell me when I get back," he ordered Harry. "I'm going to Jitters if you guys want—"
Caitlin came in then, heels clicking as she walked. She smacked right into Barry as he turned to race out, not even finishing his step.
"Sorry, Cait—"
"Oop—"
Cisco looked up from his work, narrowing his eyes.
Caitlin jerked away from Barry as though he were on fire. Sometimes static would flick from his suit onto his friends, if he were still fresh from a run. It was similar to touching monkey bars at a playground in the fall, barely a sting. But this wasn't that. Caitlin had been doing this sort of thing a lot nowadays, even if Barry had been coming from a nap instead of a mission.
Caitlin stooped to pick up the clipboard she'd dropped, stumbling a little. "My fault."
Barry instinctively reached out to steady her; one hand politely on her arm.
But that seemed to make it worse. Caitlin jumped. She promptly let go of the clipboard, backing up two steps until her ankle hit the huge doorframe of the Cortex's entrance. She stepped forward again, doubled over. In the same second, Barry had bent down to retrieve the clipboard himself. When he came up, their heads collided.
Iris and Cisco were the only ones paying attention. Iris looked amused; Cisco wore a poker face.
Barry's eyebrows dipped, confused. "You okay?" he chortled.
Caitlin pinched the bridge of her nose, something she did to stave off head pain. "Fine. I'm fine. Sorry."
The Flash offered her the clipboard. "You sure, because you seem—" He gestured aimlessly, clearly searching for something to say that wouldn't make her feel even sillier. She really had been doing this sort of dance often around him. "Stressed."
Caitlin let out a little laugh, blinking a few times. "I'm Caitlin Snow." She plucked the clipboard out of his hands, tugging a little too hard. "I'm always stressed. Right, Cisco?"
Cisco raised his eyebrows. "Oh, is that what that was?"
Barry chortled. His face was that of a toddler who had just heard a strange noise out of its field of vision. But he'd gotten used to Caitlin's erratic behavior over the months since she'd been back, and shook it off easily. "Okay, well…back in a sec."
With much flapping of everyone's hair and many upset documents, Barry changed into civilian clothing while they were all taking their next breath. But just as he stilled, about to speed out once more, Iris interrupted him.
"Hold up, babe," she said, "why don't we all go?"
"Pass," Harry muttered from the glass board.
"Beautiful minds need java too, Harry." Cisco stood, bouncing his eyebrows. "And I need me a cinnamon cruller."
"Yeah, come on," Iris insisted, grabbing her bag. "We deserve a night off."
Harry knew better than to argue. He seemed to bow out of social interaction only as a habit. Each time he visited, the group had been coaxing him into enjoying their Earth's city more and more often. They all knew he'd begun to prefer their company to tinkering in S.T.A.R. Labs on his own every night, though no one would dare tell him that. Varied in personality as they were, Team Flash had a kind of contagious love surrounding them. It was hard to resist.
Unfortunately, some people seemed to have forgotten that recently.
Behind the white winding desk, Caitlin was unlocking and replacing pages on her clipboard. Lower lip caught perpetually beneath her teeth, she kept her eyes on the lines of research and medical notes as her friends passed her, heading out into the hall. Cisco was putting his goggles back into their protective case.
"Cait?" Barry checked, poking his head back into the Cortex.
Caitlin didn't jump this time. She got very still, hard, uneasy. She stopped fumbling with the papers. "…Yes? Barry?"
Barry paused, reading her body language, put off by her careful tone. After a moment, he let that small smile quirk the corners of his mouth. "You coming?"
She glanced at him over her shoulder, offering him a smile back that didn't even reach her nostrils, let alone her eyes. In fact, those never rested on him for more than a second. Where their gazes used to naturally find one another, these days her attention always seemed to look either just past him, or through him.
"Actually…I think I'll head home for now. It's been a long day."
Barry opened his mouth, but she cut him off, knowing what he'd ask next.
"I'm sure. Don't worry." She went back to the papers, adding brightly, "I'll see you tomorrow."
The Flash nodded once, mouth snapping shut, practically shrugging to himself. In his experience, if Caitlin needed to share her woes him, she usually did it after the first You okay? If she didn't want to talk, then something must not have been wrong. He ducked out of the Cortex, light dancing along the hallway walls outside as he raced to catch up with the others.
Cisco saw what Barry didn't. He knew what shutting down looked like; he'd done it plenty of times himself since he'd lost his brother. Caitlin couldn't fool him. "C'mon," he sighed, leading the way to the elevator. "I'll take you home."
Caitlin rolled her eyes at him. "What about your cruller?"
"You can owe me one."
The walk back to Caitlin's apartment was quiet. Not in a nobody's-talking kind of way. Cisco joked and Caitlin laughed. Caitlin asked questions about Gypsy and Cisco gushed. Cisco proposed scientific, multiverse-related theories and Caitlin gave him her two cents. It was familiar, and loud in all the normal ways. But in the ways that mattered, the ways that made them such good friends—the deep thoughts, the things going on inside that they never kept from one another—there, it was silent.
And in the moments between Caitlin's giggling and Cisco's many 90's references, he was thinking. He was thinking about Caitlin's problem. And he was thinking about Barry. Barry and the clipboard, Caitlin and the stammering, and the long, weird past 6 months he'd had to sit and watch their dynamic change.
She would look at the Flash sideways sometimes, while they were all in the Cortex together. She would be bent over a screen, and when Barry walked in she would keep shooting him glances. The first one might have been simply to acknowledge his presence, but then it just got obsessive. They weren't confused glances. They weren't I'm-working-and-desperate-for-something-else-to-pay-attention-to glances. They were the kind of glances people gave you when your shirt was on inside-out, or your lunch was sitting stubbornly in the corner of your mouth.
She almost seemed…disturbed. The dip in her eyebrows told her best friend something was poking her, bothering her. But whenever Barry turned to address her, it would all disappear, replaced by what Cisco called her Polished Boots Face (patent pending). It was smooth and ordinary, perfectly suited to whatever the conversation demanded.
But Barry knew the Polished Boots Face too. (He probably didn't call it that.) Or at the very least, in the first few weeks since she'd returned from Earth-66, he recognized something was wrong. He wasn't fooled by the third time she plastered it on, and ventured a "Hey, are you okay?" after doing a double-take of his own.
Caitlin's Polished Boots Smile would then make its rounds. "I'm fine."
She was always "fine".
"You sure?"
He would always ask.
If Caitlin had a Polished Boots Face, what Barry had was a Warm Blanket Face. He would tilt his head, and his eyes would somehow get bigger, not wider, and he would stare at you like a Golden Retriever whose owner was crying. It was a concerned, loving, desperate-to-help expression he assumed at least eight times a day. Especially if he was in S.T.A.R. Labs. Especially if Iris West was around.
Caitlin would assure them both that there was nothing to worry about, and remained adamant that she wasn't behaving differently at all. But Cisco had kept watching.
Barry was suddenly difficult for her to talk to. Not all the time. Sometimes it was as though absolutely nothing had changed—they would unite in an effort to take down Cisco's fragile ego, Caitlin would snap at Barry for doing something stupid on the field and he'd grin it away, the usual.
And then, more and more frequently, Caitlin had cut conversations short. Or she'd ask Barry to repeat himself, though she had been watching and nodding as he spoke, and when he suddenly stopped she'd blink and they would realize she hadn't been listening at all. More than once, when he came back from a mission with an injury and Caitlin needed to patch him up, she would do it without any small talk at all. Sometimes she even left out a scolding, and nothing was more worthy of concern than that.
At first when the group went out together, Caitlin chose the strangest moments to use the restroom, or to get some air. Usually after Barry finished telling a story, or asking her a question. Once he tried to give her a hug after a particularly harrowing adventure—he'd been hugging everyone that evening, a way to cement their safety in his mind, classic Flash—and she'd pulled back at the last second.
From there, it had gotten worse, until everything finally reached the point where what she'd done tonight was routine. Regular. Barry couldn't touch her, and Caitlin wasn't going out with the group. Hardly ever. Work was work, and Dr. Snow had never shirked her duties, never come in late, but fun with Team Flash seemed like a distant memory for her.
Cisco wasn't an idiot. The problem wasn't actually Barry Allen.
"Caitlin."
"Mmm-hmm?"
They had reached her doorstep.
"On the other Earth." His smile, their shared laughter, had died. Suddenly serious, Cisco pushed a lock of hair out of his face, searching her expression for any opening. "With Savitar."
There were no openings. Caitlin stared at him the way he imagined a white picket fence might stare at him, if it had been gifted with big brown eyeballs. Blank, unassuming, nothing to talk about and nothing to think of. She'd done this when Ronnie had died, and again after Zoom had kidnapped her. She froze, like a Caitlin-shaped glacier, hollow and refusing to budge.
"What happened back then?" Cisco demanded. His voice was soft, trying to channel his inner Barry. If anyone had ever been able to unlock Caitlin when she was like this, somehow the Scarlet Speedster was the one. "It's like—the way you are with Barry. With all of us. It's…" he licked his lips again, hands in his pockets, trying to decide how to continue. What was the best word here? "Changed."
Caitlin's eyes widened then. Something desperate was there. Her hand, the one that wasn't on the doorknob, stretched subconsciously toward her right pocket. "What do you mean?"
"Something must've happened," Cisco persisted. "Okay? You can tell me. I mean, you can't even be in the same room with Barry anymore without going all Rory Gilmore on us." He let loose a halfhearted smile as he spoke, hoping the light teasing might bring her around.
It didn't. Caitlin shook her head, almost smiling in exasperation at him, pinching her eyebrows as if to tell him he was crazy. "I'm fine—"
"—fine, yeah, I know." Cisco's voice drowned hers out. "You keep saying that."
His gaze flicked from one of her eyes to the other, trying desperately to read her the way he used to. But it had been months, and Caitlin seemed to have mastered some new kung-fu way of evading him. He couldn't get her to crack anymore, and he missed that ease. They'd always known each other so well, so instantaneously. Caitlin and Cisco had the kind of relationship kindergarten kids have, one that said you were best friends without ever saying you were best friends.
But lately, that sparkle had been flickering out. There was something she just wasn't telling him, and it frightened him.
"Look, if Savitar hurt you—" Cisco struggled to keep his tone even. "—if he did something to you, y'know, before he pulled that whole Prince Zuko redemption thing—or—whatever you say happened—"
That was when Caitlin's face went to ice. It happened immediately; Cisco was surprised she didn't rip her power-dampening necklace off and go full Frost on him. Her face was so hard, so cold. He was rarely on the receiving end of that glare. He didn't like how small it made him feel. Like a high school principal telling you with her eyes that you'd never make it past the 12th grade.
"No, Cisco." Caitlin wrenched open her front door. "Savitar did not hurt me. He wouldn't."
Cisco stared at her, feeling what she'd just insisted go in one ear and right out the other. He didn't want to talk about the former God of Speed. Savitar wasn't their problem anymore. But if anything he'd done or said on that Earth was causing Caitlin even more grief—after all she'd been through with Zoom and Grodd and every other psycho villain whisking her away from safety—he needed to know. Both to help her get through it and to possibly, maybe, almost certainly breach himself onto Earth-66 and teach Savitar some manners.
With the help of a cold gun of some kind.
Or the real Barry.
Hypothetically.
His silence, his constant thinking, seemed to unnerve Caitlin. She went on hastily, moving past the subject of Savitar with so much desperation, such a jagged clip in her tone, Cisco wondered if she wanted to talk about the other speedster any more than he did.
"We've been over this!" She shoved her key into her lab coat's front pocket, now avoiding his gaze altogether. Every other word was sharp and enunciated way too much. "Nothing is wrong with Barry and I, nothing is wrong with the team and I, and I am fine. Believe it or not, some people like a little alone time once in a while."
"Not you." Cisco was shaking his head before she'd finished. "Not anymore. Come on, Caitlin," he huffed out a joyless laugh, leaning his head back, "you can't keep doing this stuff! It's not you."
She paused, still glaring at him. For a moment longer they stood that way, Caitlin flaring her nostrils at him and Cisco's mouth hanging open, wishing he could say the right thing and make her okay again.
"Doesn't matter what you tell us," he said. "Something's going on. Okay? I just wanna help."
"I know." Caitlin let go of the doorknob and straightened up. "But I don't need help. I need you to stop worrying about me."
Cisco watched her step into her apartment, door ajar, hanging her coat on the hook. She turned to look at him, to say goodnight, and his chest tightened to see that wooden expression again. Whatever was happening in that basket-case, bio-engineering mind, there were no windows for him to glance into. And for them, that would be a first.
"Yeah." Exhaling, Cisco gave up for the night. "Whatever you say, Snow Patrol."
"Goodnight, Cisco."
And she shut the door in his face.
(Author's Note: I know I say this a lot, but most authors feel it even when they don't say it - please leave a review if you are enjoying this. Tell me all your thoughts. That's what kept me writing the first fic, and it'll help me a lot now. I haven't written in a long time, and I need feedback, positive or negative. It's all helpful. Thank you, Jell-O Squares! -Doverstar)