#chasingblue writes stuff

[chasingblue57]

I realize I am not a very active tumblr-poster anymore, but I need a place to have some feelings right now, where I don’t have to feel badly for them, where I can admit that in the grand scheme of all this, my struggles are minor, but they’re still my struggles and I still have a right to feel them and where I can do so without my poor, sweet fiancé having to feel any guilt about it, because heaven knows that wonderful man is trying to shoulder both our sorrows right now.

Yesterday we made the decision to re-imagine our wedding. I say reimagine because we have been told my several that we could change the date, have the wedding we planned, and I know that, but at the end of the day, I like the date we picked, and most importantly, I love him. The thing I want most is to be married to him, for him to absently call me his wife without having to backtrack or clarify, for it to be accurate every time I think of him as my husband, for him to wear the simple tungsten band we picked for him, and for us to continue forward in this life we decided to build together. Our marriage has always been the most important part of our wedding, and so a global pandemic can’t and won’t change that.

But still, my heart hurts. It hurts to think of the friends we won’t have there on our day — my dearest friends from college, my state officer teammates, our coworkers at school, the guys we play Magic and board games worth. It hurts as I think about the family members we won’t get to hug that day, even as I try to narrow and narrow the list of people I feel I can’t do this without.

The thought of my aunt and my cousin not being there, the only family I have left on my dads side, is overwhelming. Planning my wedding without my dad being there has already been too hard, but to not have the last people who loved him as I do there that day? I’m crying just thinking about it. And yet, if it comes down to it, that’s a decision I’ll have to make.

We go back and forth — if we’re going to have a ceremony in our backyard, with our huge deck, a house, a garage, how many is the cut off? 40 feels like too many, with our siblings, parents, wedding party, the few other relatives my survivalist feelings told me I couldn’t do without . So who to cut? My brother’s new girlfriend? Sure. My brother-in-law? I couldn’t. My grandmother, one of my favorite people in the whole world — will it even be safe for her to come? We could cut our readers and their significant others: two dear friends from work who have been there for us since we started teaching, they’d understand. But who next? The groomsmen that are my fiancé’s dear friends, but not family. Then do I cut my two cousins, who are bridesmaids? But I have so much more family than him anyway, is that fair?

There are so many questions. Will the hall let us push the date? To have a one year anniversary reception, which is our plan? Will the caterer? We’re now too close for our cancellation windows, but surely a reschedule for not-pandic times seems fair? Will I be able to get my wedding dress altered? Will my plain, worn down hair look okay? Will I be able to go to a store and buy M the special bottle of whiskey I’ve been promising him as his 30th birthday gift, all while secretly planning it as a wedding gift for almost two years now?

There’s also anger, not about the wedding but about the world. I am so frustrated by all the people dismissing what’s happening, belittling those taking this seriously, visiting friends and acting like this is no big deal. Damn it, grow the hell up, shove your conspiracy theories and politics aside and be a neighbor, be a friend, be anything but a selfish d-bag who thinks wearing a mask to the store is oppression.

I know in the grand scheme of the world, my wedding doesn’t matter that much, and I know thinking about it doesn’t exactly make me selfless, but this is my little piece of the internet, public but not out in public, so I’m going to be selfish right here.

I know I’ll get married, I know it will be it’s own kind of lovely, I know we’ll have a big celebration in the future, and we’ll be happy and together and that’s what matters. But still, the little piece of me I try to keep hidden from my dear fiancé (who is also struggling with this all himself), is so sad for the day I don’t get to have, the plans I have to change. For the younger woman who thought she would never have that day, while she made it happen for her friends, her sisters, happy but always just a little lonely too, who now will not have the day she expected and finally thought would come true.

Again, I know a wedding is not a marriage, but it’s still a dream we made together, my love and I, and hurts to let it go for something so outside our control.

(And in the midst of this, we teach, barely holding it together most days as it is, without our personal lives making it any harder.)

[chasingblue57]

This is a very good point as well.

You know, reading this post and the replies has made me think about what terms of endearment I’ve used in fics, and I’m pretty sure any of the ones I’ve used are ones I use in my actual relationship. Which I wasn’t in when I did the bulk of my writing.... so now I wonder if my own preferences and personality influenced my stories or if what I wrote in my stories influenced how I treat my fiancé.....

source

[chasingblue57]

a co-opted holiday

notes | Basically just a silly, friendship fic related to mother’s day, for all the mother hens of their friend groups.

title | a co-opted holiday

Caitlin walks into the lab on a mid-May Monday morning to find a vase of flowers at the corner of her desk, a prim white envelope propped up beside the vase, with her name written in a deceptively careful hand and a still warm chai latte next her to keyboard. Brow furrowed, more than a bit confused, she hangs her light spring jacket on a hook by the door, and then crosses the room to investigate.

The flowers are a mixed bunch, an assortment of lilies and daisies and greens, in a simple, round glass container with a ribbon tied neatly around the middle, pretty enough that she ignores the card for a moment to breathe in their light, refreshing floral scent before trying to get to the bottom of the gift. Smiling, she settles into her chair, reaching simultaneously for the latte and the card. With a sip of caffeine in her, she abandons her second attempt at puzzling out the script on the envelope and instead slides a nail beneath its edges, tugging it open with the kind of slow, painstaking precision that she knows typically drives Cisco absolutely crazy.

The front of the card itself is fairly nondescript: just tan paper with embossed outlines of what look to be dandelion seeds and not a single word to hep hint at what the card is for. Sighing, still puzzled, Caitlin tugs it open and can't help the way a smile blossoms across her lips as she reads the message inside.

"Happy (belated) Mother's Day, to the woman who keeps all of us in line when we're acting like children. You're the best Cait and since there's no 'best friend who saves my sorry ass' day, I figured I'd co-opt this one. Forever grateful, Barry."

Laughing Caitlin tugs her phone from the pocket of her skirt and nimble, practiced fingers have it dialing Barry's number before she can even so much as look at the screen. She's still laughing a moment later when the sound of his ring tone echoes in the doorway behind her, startling her and causing her to turn.

There's a hint of anxiety about his expression as he traces the curve of her smile but it dissipates a second later, clearly relieved by what he sees. "Oh good," Barry breathes, "I was a little worried it wasn't funny."

Her head shakes and she starts to cross the room, card still clutched between her fingers even as she reaches out for a hug that Barry gladly returns. "It wasn't," she says, smiling into his neck, "It was actually really sweet."

He's beaming when she pulls back, maybe a little surprised. "You do so much for me Caitlin, for all of us," his attention sweeps around the immediate lab, but they both know he's talking about so much more. “I wanted to do something for you. I know we tease you about being a mother hen sometimes, but you know we couldn’t do what we do if you weren’t. I just wasn't sure if the mother's day thing was going to actually be funny or not."

Her eyes roll slightly, impossibly fond and then Caitlin pitches forward onto her toes to press a kiss to his check. "Definitely funny, but also very thoughtful. Thank you Barry."

Barry grins and he nods and then they settle into their work, but every now and then he'll spot her looking at the flowers, wistful, warm smile seeping into every aspect of her expression, and he feels stupidly pleased to have put it there.

disclaimer: as always, please remember I own nothing related to the Flash and just write for the fun of it.

[chasingblue57]

feel that much

notes | Today’s Snowbarry Spring Day 2 fic is a bit more dramatic and probably a bit more cliche: but who doesn’t love a storm and a fight and a rain soaked first kiss?

title | feel that much

"Caitlin, wait!" It should be exactly what he wants, when she stutters to a stop and turns around in the middle of the parking lot, but when her dark eyes find his, the fury he finds there leaves him reeling.

"What Barry?" She shouts, fierce and forced as she glares at him through the curtain of pouring rain that's falling all around them.

A lesser man would fumble. Barry feels the urge crawl up his spine, a tiny little voice saying he should just let it go, let her be angry, but Barry Allen is not a lesser man and, more importantly, Caitlin Snow is not a lesser anything. He screwed up, he knows it and he's going to own it.

"I'm sorry," falls out as easily as breathing, the words emptying his lungs and his conscious as he takes a step forward, determined to lessen the gap between them. "I screwed up and I should have never gone after Cicada myself." The sound of her scoff is familiar enough that he wants to smile, but she's still looking at him like she never wants to again and he cannot possibly live beneath the ghost of that expression, so he continues. "I thought I was being noble, putting myself between you guys and him, and I know I should know better but..."

Here he falters, taking in the way she's watching him, expectant and still furious, her grey dress soaked and flecks of mud smattering the sheen of her blue pumps, curls sticking to her face and her neck and the firm cast of her frown. The words he wants are at the tip of his tongue but he cannot imagine a worse time for them, so he stuffs them down and crams his hands helplessly into his pockets and lets the rain pelt him and soak him through.

But Caitlin knows him too well; has never, ever let him get away with a half truth. "But what Barry?"

It's not softer, the way she says it, not really, but there's something in the pitch of her voice that has him stepping closer again, some inevitable and intangible and inescapable gravity that has been tugging him closer and closer to her since the day he opened his eyes and he's just so tired of fighting it, so tired of burying it down to be smothered by all the other layers between them.

He sighs, moves slowly until he's just in front of her, looking down into the expectant brown of her eyes, one brow arched with the tick of her waning (but somehow never expired) patience. "But I can't help that I always want to protect you Caitlin," he answers, the words as quiet an admission between them as the drops of rain still falling across their shoulders and down their faces. "Every time someone threatens to use you against me, I get tunnel vision and all I can see if you on that video with Captain Cold and Heat Wave and I just, I can't let them happen."

Something drains from her then, the tension drawn out of her shoulders, all the ferocity replaced by something gentler, something like understanding that finds him warming despite the weather, besides the half healed injuries and the blood still thundering through his veins.

"You think I want to see you get hurt instead?"

"No, but," he exhales, the words working slowly as Barry frowns and shakes his head. "But it's not the same thing."

When he looks at her, when he thinks about something happening to her, it's like imagining all the best parts of his life disappearing, all at once. It makes him sick and cold and more than once the thought of it has woken him from a dead sleep. Life without Caitlin? He knows there's no way he could do it, no way he'd want to.

Those thoughts play across his expression, unfolding slowly before Caitlin, who watches them with a thoughtful frown that morphs into a gentle, deliberate nod. "Yes Barry," she tells him, firm as she catches his gaze meaningfully. "It really is."

For all that he is the fastest man on earth, he catches on very slow. It takes a long moment before the weight of Caitlin's words catch up to him, but when they do, it's like a bolt of lightning across the sky, lighting up the world in a way he'd never quiet seen it before. He smiles, hopeful and when she returns it with a tentative smile of her own, he suddenly surges forward, fingers brushing across her face as he pulls her in for a kiss that lingers and lasts until a breathy laugh from Caitlin drives him back again.

"We should probably get out of the storm."

The storm, like their fight, passes quickly and leaves in it's wake the kind of glorious spring afternoon that's filled with new beginnings.

[chasingblue57]

new beginnings [with minor setbacks]

notes | Happy Snowbarry Spring! My Day 1, Road Trip fic is more fluffy, adult new beginnings than playful young love than I’d originally planned but here you go!

title | new beginnings [with minor setbacks]

"Maybe we should just call Cisco?"

Not that Barry doesn't cut an attractive figure, leaning over the engine of her car, the sleeves of his button down rolled up to his elbows with grease streaking his fingers (and smudging his forehead where he'd gone to run a hand through his hair only to remember at the very last second that he shouldn't), but they've been waylaid at the side of the road for a good half an hour now and she's pretty sure he's no closer to figuring out what's wrong than he was when the engine had shuddered and died.

"I think I've got it figured out," he replies, voice a little muffled as he leans in closer and projects to an engine that wouldn't actually hear him even if it wasn't quite thoroughly dead. He sounds unreasonably confident for all she's watched him frown and furrow and flick through websites the last thirty minutes, and it's endearing enough to watch him try and muddle through, determined to fix it himself, but it's getting late and for all its a gorgeous, practically balmy spring day, it’s going to start getting chilly and she’d really would like to get home soon.

Judging by the flutter against her stomach, so too would the reason they'd taken this road trip in the first place.

Smiling absently, both at the baby's movement and the way Barry is tugging at something beneath the hood, she shakes her head and ducks into her open passenger door for a drink of water, leaving him to it. After a brief moment of debate, she also surreptitiously sends an SOS text to Cisco. His reply comes almost immediately, letting her know he's on his way and Caitlin can't help but smile all the wider at that: they've been away on a trip to Star City for the last four days, wanting to share their news in person with the rest of their superhero family and she's pretty sure Cisco's been missing them, if his quick replies and constant snapchats are any indication.

Not that he doesn't love the rest of Team Flash, to be sure, but he's been keeping a much closer eye on them since Caitlin and Barry announced their pregnancy, hovering like the anxious brother they both consider him to be.

Help on the way, Caitlin sidles back toward the front of the car where Barry looks lost again, mouth tipped into a frown as whatever he'd been looking at clearly hadn't panned out. For a second, her heart swells fondly in her chest, a little mesmerized at the way life has gone the last few years and then she shakes her head and presses against his back, burying her face between his should blades so she can breathe in his familiar scent.

"Cisco's on his way," she tells him, grinning into the fabric of his shirt when Barry sighs a little and drops his hands away from the engine.

"I could have figured it out," he insists, with no heat to the comment. Caitlin just laughs and lets him turn in her grip so that he's facing her, fingers wiped hastily on his jeans so he can return the hug. "But I guess this'll get us home sometime this week."

Eyes rolling, Caitlin leans up on her toes to press a slow, lazy kiss against his sheepish smile. "Was that so hard to admit?"

Barry catches another kiss instead of answering, but she can feel his grin against her own mouth and takes that for answer enough.

It's maybe not the expected end to a nice, brief semi-vacation with their friends, but it's probably the one they really should expect. Nothing about their lives ever goes perfectly smoothly (they'd gotten together because someone had tried to kill her, Barry had proposed from her medical table, she'd told him she was pregnant on accident, during a fight) but so far it's managed to work out for them, so why should this really be any different?

"How long do you think we've got until he gets here?" Barry asks suddenly, something mischievous brightening the formerly petulant cast of his gaze.

"What did you have in mind Mister Allen?"

He scoops her up and flashes around the car to the beat of her laughter, all playful, and when Cisco arrives almost an hour later, it's to find them making out like teenagers in the back seat.

[chasingblue57]

taking turns

notes | I was feeling some littles feels (because everyone in my life is having babies), so I wrote something in my Life Happened verse. Enjoy little Lily cuteness!

title | taking turns

There's a little divot visible across Lily's brow as she stares at Licorice and wiggles a long section of ribbon in her small hand. The cat pays her absolutely no mind, just stretches a little and inches closer to the sun warmed glass pane of the patio door, completely unconcerned with the almost five year old he's upsetting.

Lily huffs, scowling and turns her fierce brown gaze to where her mother is curled against the couch, book in hand, watching the scene silently across the pages she stopped reading a minute ago. "Mama," she interrupts, loud and heedless and impatient in the way that only children can manage to be without actually being mean about it.

Still, Caitlin doesn't respond, just raises her brows a little and glances at her daughter, who huffs again and then tries again, this time her tone softening and calling out a question instead, "Mama?"

Smiling, Caitlin sets the book down, pleased. They've been working on asking instead of telling a lot lately, especially with school just a few weeks away. "Yes Lily?"

"Licorice won't play with me," she whines, plaintive and clearly a little hurt by it. The two year old cat is Lily's favorite friend (except for Uncle Cisco of course) and her constant co-conspirator at home, almost always ready to get into mischief, but he is, of course, still a cat and inclined to be contrary sometimes.

Of course, Lily doesn't quite understand that yet.

"Maybe he just doesn't want to play the same game as you sweetheart," she suggests mildly, biting her lip to stave off the laugh that starts to work its way through her chest when Lily frowns dramatically, thinks for a moment, then drops the ribbon and tears off toward the basket of cat toys that are her nightly responsibility to pick up along with her own toys (and which, every now and then, cause her to grumblingly ask why Licorice doesn't have to pick up his own toys like she does).

She comes back with one of the brightly colored catnip mice, dangling it's leather tail between her stubby fingers and leaning carefully over to drop it in front of Licorice's face. It bops the cat on the nose and it's everything Caitlin can do not to laugh at the scene, even as she snaps a quick picture to send to Barry.

For his part, Licorice just startles and blinks at the offending toy.

Convinced she has his attention now, Lily throws the mouse and, to his credit, the cat watches it sail through the air, but just a moment after it hits the ground, so too does his head, cozying back into a comfortable position in his patch of sunlight.

Lily looks a little heartbroken that her cat doesn't want to play with her, so Caitlin decides to intervene again. "He's already telling you what he wants to do sweetheart, why don't you join him instead of trying to make him join you? You can take a turn to do what he wants to do."

The older Lily gets, the more watching her think through things fascinates Caitlin. She watches the suggestion mull through her mind for a long minute before her previously downcast expression clears and brightens and Lily bolts away again, off toward her room for reasons Caitlin does not immediately understand. She returns not a minute later with her pillow and her favorite fleece blanket from Auntie Iris (which has cats on it, of course, black ones just like her own) and proceeds to lay down on the floor, maneuvering herself carefully by Licorice so she can fold up a little corner of her blanket and stick it under his head.

Caitlin debates taking another picture for Barry, but his reply says he'll probably be home soon enough to see for himself.

She grabs a picture, just in case, but doesn't send it.

Half an hour later, he agrees that it was worth seeing in person.

[chasingblue57]

the best thing

notes | I’m definitely drowning with the real world a little bit, but here’s some absolute soft fluff to combat reality. Enjoy :)

title | the best thing

Her smile is like sunshine breaking through the clouds; a bright patch in an otherwise dark storm; a calm port amidst a churning ocean and even when it's tiny and absent and directly entirely at her computer screen, he drinks it in, reveling in the warmth of her.

"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me," he says one night, when they're both up to their elbows in their respective forms of paperwork and the late hour and the easy camaraderie and the companionable silence leave him feeling particularly honest. He's been watching her from the corner of his eye for a while; his reward every time he finishes a page in a case file a brief glance at her focused furrow and a moment to be washed away by the steady click of her fingers against the keyboard. It's like a balm for his world weary soul and it leaves him incapable of maintaining his long wrought silence on the subject.

Caitlin looks up, that furrowed brow deepening a bit, completely distracted. "What was that Barry?" she asks, sparing him the warm corners of that sunshine smile.

He just beams, bright and easy and unabashed, and repeats himself without a single moment of hesitation. "You, Caitlin Snow, are the very best thing that's ever happened to me. More than my powers, more than saving the world or running through time or anything else."

He says it with the kind of easy conviction that takes absolutely no effort or thought: the words just fall out of his mouth on a breath of air, like they've been just been waiting for him to exhale them into being.

Bemused, Caitlin smiles more softly at him, watching him with a thoughtful, appraising sort of expression that he feels right down to the ends of his toes.

"I think," she starts, slower than him and more halting, but not any less sincere as the warmth from her smile wraps around the words themselves, "that you might just be the very best thing that's ever happened to me to Barry Allen."

His chest swells, tight and overwhelming and the very best kind of not quite suffocating and all he can do is look at her like she hung the stars, enamored in very single way. The look she trades back reads the same and they bathe in it for a long moment before they trade a ridiculous grin and then turn back to the work they've been doing.

Just like that Caitlin's typing away and Barry's scratching out data and there's no more words between them, just the occasional shared look and a wealth of private smiles. Barry works his way through a week and a half of backlogged case reports and Caitlin catalogues the particulars of this weeks meta human villains and it's almost an hour later that they finally start winding down. Barry flashes around the room, shutting off monitors and computers and double checking their security protocols while Caitlin saves her files and by the time she stands up, he's waiting by her side with her coat held out, beaming down at her. "Ready?"

She grins back, taking a long second to just take him in before she pitches forward on her toes to press a short but sure kiss against the corner of his mouth. "Thanks Barry," she breathes, letting him slide her arms through the sleeves of her jacket before they make their way to the parking lot to head home for the night, fingers tangled together

[chasingblue57]

in this crumbling

notes | Just kind of a silly little scene, warm friendship and hints of maybe more? Title from How Does a Moment Last Forever Montmartre from Beauty and the Beast, which, though short, is what I decided Caitlin was singing in the start of this scene, because I just saw Beauty & the Beast and it was amazing.

title | in this crumbling

Caitlin's singing when Barry walks into Star Labs one afternoon, his feet all but silent as they tread the familiar path through the winding hallways to their main work area. Because she's settled at her computer, working on cataloging something, she doesn't even realize he's in the room until it's too late, completely caught up in her song and the rhythmic tap of the keys beneath her fingers as she navigates through the database she's created on all the metahumans they've encountered. Despite her time on Team Flash, despite the too many instances of someone taking advantage of them (of her), she's totally unaware of Barry right up until the moment that he's leaning over her shoulder, opening his mouth to ask her a question and the resulting surprise leaves her jumping wildly in her chair, hands flying off the keyboard and backward.

One of said hands runs smack into his nose with no small amount of force (he sometimes thinks, as he's watching her work or stand up to some villain or sew him back together, of that Shakespeare line 'though she be but little, she is fierce'). It leaves his nose erupting into a fountain of blood that has her startling again, this time to her feet as she tosses out wild, exasperated apologies, clicking rapidly over to the med table where she begins to dig for cotton and cloth. "I'm so sorry Barry," she breathes, a little ragged, meeting him in the middle of the room with a clean white cloth, which he takes, and then moving away again to tug out a bag of ice from the freezer.

It's not a minute later that he's settled onto a chair, head tipped back with the cloth pressed below his nose and a bag of peas (they are, once again, out of ice) sprawled across the bridge of his nose. "It's okay," he mutters, thick around the injury and additional obstructions, "My fault: shouldn't have snuck up on you."

She tuts out a sound that he knows very well is her firmly agreeing, but despite that, she still looks so apologetic and miserable that what might normally be a sharp reprimand holds no heat at all. It may be his fault, but she feels badly about it anyway.

"It's just that you don't usually let anyone hear you sing and I didn't want to interrupt you in the middle of the song."

The comment leaves her brows shooting toward her hairline, having obviously not thought about the fact that he was listening. A burst of annoyance surges, only to be stifled by the earnest (and, covered in cloth and frozen vegetables, pathetic) cant to his expression. He means well, he always does. Instead of a reprimand, she huffs, "there's a good reason for that."

Laughing doesn't feel particularly wonderful for Barry at the moment, but he can't help the fond sound that bursts from his chest at her comment.

At the very least, it distracts Caitlin because she winces sympathetically and shifts a little to peer at him, trying to assess how he's doing and whether or not the bleeding has stopped. "I really am sorry," she manages after a moment, "even if you did scare me, I didn't mean to give you a bloody nose."

Barry shrugs as best he can. "You know, I don't think I've had one of the whole time we've been doing this." He gives a small jerk of his head, indicating the whole of the surroundings, as if there could be any way to misinterpret what 'this' could be. "Kind of surprising, though this definitely isn't how I would have expected it to happen."

It's Caitlin's turn to laugh, easy and unfettered, as careful fingers lift to brush his to the side so that she can nudge away the cloth and then the peas and check his progress. Thankfully he's not still bleeding, so she guides his left hand away from his face, frowning slightly at the dried blood along his nostrils and collected on the cloth. Said frown only deepens when she carefully lifts away the bag of thawing peas, taking a look at the damage from another angle.

It's not broken, certainly, which is somewhat of a relief, but his nose is definitely a bit swollen and discolored from the impact.

He must read the situation by the cast of her expression, because he grimaces slowly and asks, "that bad?" with a kind of wry, pained sort of humor that indicates he already knows it is.

"Well," Caitlin starts, slow and thoughtful, voice warming as she offers her commentary, "you're certainly not quite a pretty a face as usual, but the damage isn't permanent."

Barry grins a little, gingerly, and shakes his head, adjusting to catch her gaze. "As long as I'm still pretty enough for you," he jokes,eyes bright despite the entire situation.

"Aww, Allen," she quips back, warm and easy and fond, "You're always pretty enough for me."

[chasingblue57]

tale as old as time

notes | I saw Beauty and the Beast the other night. I had feelings. I have those feelings to Caitlin and then let Barry deal with them because, you know, reasons. Just so short, senseless fluff. Enjoy?

title | tale as old as time

Caitlin's crying when Barry glances over, brow furrowing immediately in concern at the aching expression she's wearing. Despite how much he knows their talking through movies annoys Cisco, he leans over the arm rest to tuck in close and whisper, "Are you okay?" as quietly as he can manage.

When she turns, the aching expression transforms into a watery, wonderful sort of smile that does not reassure Barry in the slightest (even if it makes his heat stutter a little in his chest). He definitely does not understand what's going on, but Caitlin just shrugs and nods, her lower lip slipping between her teeth the way it often does when she's thoughtful or worried or holding something back. "I'm fine," she whispers in reply, a little strained but certain, "it's just the movie Barry."

He glances up at the screen, where Emma Watson and beast-version Dan Stevens are dancing across the ballroom floor, then back at Caitlin who's still smiling and crying silent tears, turned toward to the screen once more and completely riveted. He definitely does not understand but Caitlin tends not to lie to him, even about the little things, so he just breathes a quiet, perplexed sigh and focuses in on the movie once more.

It's a beautiful retelling, the music is phenomenal and it's easy to become enthralled once more, but a tiny, nagging voice at the base of his skull has him glancing at Caitlin every now and again throughout the rest of the movie, noticing as the tears begin to well and fall once again throughout the entire final confrontation. These tears at least make a little sense to him, given the action in the movie, so he shifts in his seat enough to offer an upturned hand that just barely brushes against Caitlin's knee to catch her attention.

Surprised, she startles just a bit, jolted from the scene playing out on the screen, but when she looks over and sees his concern and splayed fingers, she gives him a warm smile and weaves her fingers between his, squeezing back immediately when he gives a firm little press of comfort.

Neither Cisco nor Iris seem to notice at first, their gazes still glued to the film, but Iris does catch the small embrace as the credits begin to roll and they start to stretch and begin the slow and lazy process of standing up. Barry catches her pointed grin in the seconds before he and Caitlin let go to collect their popcorn and drinks.

"The CGI was incredible." Cisco is the first to break the silence once they exit the theater, all sincere enthusiasm, eager to gush about the production quality.

Barry mumbles along his agreement as their friend rattles off commentary, Iris jumping in here and there while Caitlin trails quietly between them, silently wiping the remnants of her tears from her face as they make their way back to the car. Hovering at the back of the group, Barry presses in a little closer to her, trading a glance that asks 'you okay?' without words, relieved when she smiles again, soft and honest, and then presses against his shoulder in an equally silent reassurance that yes, she's fine and she appreciates him checking in.

He just shrugs, rolling his eyes at Cisco when he makes a particularly loud point about an anachronism he noticed, clearly a little miffed when Caitlin doesn't join in what's usually their favorite post-move pastime. Scowling, he turns back from the front of the group to ask, "Didn't you notice that Caitlin?"

"Not really," she answers, the corners of her smile still turned up, "I thought it was pretty perfect."

Beside her, catch in the warm glow of her joy, Barry can't really disagree. It was pretty great.

[chasingblue57]

notes | just  little love confession fic because I was feeling dramatic apparently and wanted to reference some great favorite movie/lit quotes. See if you can figure out where they’re all from!

title | a confession {original, I know!}

"I..." he's standing on the middle of a sidewalk, staring at the most incredible woman he's ever known, mouth half open, eyes taking her in, choking on everything he wants to say because he doesn't know how to say it.

He knows all the cliches, he's read all the stories and seen all the movies and he knows all the lines that all the great romances start with ("If I'm a bird, you're a bird", "What do you want? You want the moon? Just say the world and I'll throw a lasso around it and pull it down", "I wish I knew how to quit you", "You had me at hello", "Do I love you? My god if your love were a grain of sand, mine would be a universe of beaches", "I just want you to know that you're very special.. and the only reason I'm telling you is that I don't know if anyone else ever has", "If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more") but they all tangle, somehow completely insufficient, for all the things he wants to say to Caitlin Snow, standing in front of him, dark eyes growing distant with the length of his silence.

"Cait, I," he tries again, takes an unsteady step forward, only to watch the divot between her brows deepen, uncertain, as her walls begin to shore themselves, as the careful layers she wraps herself in begin to retreat a little bit, safeguarding that beautiful heart of hers that has far too often been broken. He's making the most ridiculous mess of his whole thing (but then again, he's Barry Allen, and making a mess of things is really what he's best at, both after and before the whole saving the world thing).

"Barry, it's okay..." she starts, slow and measured and careful and so gently understanding. She's giving him an out, thinks that everything that's lead up to this point was a mistake, or heat of the moment, or something equally absurd and she's giving him an out to save face and run off and reassert their usual status quo and that, that practical and patient act of utter Caitlin-ness, that's what spurs him forward. Because god damn this woman has been hurt and broken and somehow she keeps finding ways to give more and do more and sacrifice more and he will not be the thing that hurts her next. Not if he can help it.

"No Caitlin," he steps forward again, this time feeling his feet steady beneath him, "no it's not okay."

It gives her pause, because she straightens up a little, the emotion behind all that guarded brown sharpening a bit as she searches his expression.

"I've been dancing around this for months now, afraid of what it meant for me and us and the team and everything we do and I just can't anymore." The words are falling out fast now and maybe they're the right ones, but they're the only words he has and damn it, he just wants to tell her, just wants her to know that he thinks she's the most amazing person he's ever met and that even if he could do this without her, he wouldn't want to. It wouldn't mean anything without her.

"I've never felt like this about anyone before Caitlin, like the whole ground might get torn out from under my feet if you walked away. Like it wouldn't matter if I could run ten times in the speed of light, if I didn't always know I'd get to run back to you when the day was done. Like the admiration of the city is nothing compared to the way your smile says you're proud of me when I make the right choice in a fight." Somehow, through all of it, he's been moving closer to her, one hand lifting to brush at the curls along the side of her face, tucking them back so he can settle his palm against her cheek, gaze locked sincerely with hers. "I couldn't be me without you Cait, not the Flash and especially not Barry Allen -- I wouldn't want to be: I love you."

The wash of her warm breath as she exhales sends a shiver up his spine, even as her expression softens fondly and a twitch of a smile dances across her mouth. "I love you too Barry."

[chasingblue57]

worse ways to go

notes | So I wrote a Magicians piece the other day, when I was getting caught back up on it and finishing season 2. This is just my take on Quentin releasing Niffin Alice.

title | worse ways to go

There was a time, Quentin remembers, when he loved Julia, when he would have done anything she asked him to, just because she asked him, but as he stands there, looking at the door he knows she's behind, he can barely call that time to mind. It feels so distant, so remote, another Q in another lifetime entirely. The sort of thing he remembers with a kind of muzzy inconsistency that feels like it’s something he saw rather than something he lived.

It's a pale, fleeting, slip of an imitation of what he feels now; the raw, pulsing, omnipresent ache that he associates with Alice, with his responsibility to her and for her and everything that happened to her.

It seems unfathomable to him that they were ever on the same level, that what he feels now about Alice could have ever been comparable to Julia.

All he wants to do is make it right with her, but he can't seen to manage it and he's getting to the point where he's ready to simply admit defeat. He knows he can't hold on much longer: the raw, unfettered power of her is draining him more quickly with every hour and if it were just him, just his life that would be sacrificed, he'd pay that price without another thought.

But he knows that will take Alice with him, and he knows what killing Alice Quinn felt like the first time. He can't live or die with the knowledge that he'd let that happen again.

So he takes himself somewhere far away, uses the last once of strength he can manage to muster and he passes out at some point, his body forcing a recharge of whatever reserves he's managed to maintain.

It's late, or early, but the time he comes back to. The moon is arced far enough in the sky to be well on its way of going rather than coming and he has the niffin box is clutched in his hand, but he already knows that he can’t use it.

"You better have been telling the truth," he thinks, or says, or breathes, he doesn't know, as he drops the box and reaches for a rock. It's rough against the tips of his fingers, jagged in a way that is at once jarring and comforting as his fingertips bang against it. Quentin hefts it up and over and then, with the kind of movement that feels like a kind of sluggish surrender, brings down onto the wooden box that he will not use to bind the person he loves more than his own life.

"I hope you're telling the truth," he mutters again, finding the strength to struggle to his feet.

He's been biting back the words for so long that it takes them a moment to come, tugged from where he's had them burried, beyond the cage of his ribs, into the very seems of his stubbornly beating heart. "Alice, I release you," and there's this finite moment of peace, just the stutter of a second, where he feels weightless in the knowledge that at least he's doing what Alice wants, that at least he's granting her something, and then the white hot rush of pain and magic that he knows, in that second, Alice must have felt as she'd catapulted herself past the peak of apparently no return, and then there's barely anything again, just the heavy weight of all his inadequacy, taking up it's old familiar place amongst his bones.

She's standing there, alive with the coursing blue current of magic, not quite his beautiful Alice but also not quite not, staring at him for what feels like not enough of forever before she's gone in a burst of light that is blinding and searing and enthralling, all at once.

He takes a deep breath, tries to ignore the way every part of his soul hurts worse than it's ever hurt before, and collapses, wondering if he'll ever wake up at all, or if his last conscious moments on earth will have been Alice, free and smiling.

He thinks there are worse ways to go, and then everything turns black.

[chasingblue57]

[not so] distant

notes | Finally survived to spring break! Work has been crazy hectic between being out for funeral stuff and FFA stuff and normal end-of-quarter stuff but I made it! Here’s just a tiny little piece for you today, quiet and thoughtful and hopefully a little optimistic :)

title | [not so] distant

Barry looks faraway sometimes, even when he's right within reach, like he's somehow both retreated into himself and burst off at Mach 5 into some whole new plane of reality and every time she sees that look in his eyes, there's a piece of her heart that aches so deeply in her chest she feels like she might just ice over.

"Barry?" She calls out, once such afternoon, when he's curled against one corner of Joe's couch, no longer leafing through the police reports they've been scanning, trying to find some link to their suspected meta human, but instead staring at something she doesn't see.

The sound of her voice, hesitant and reaching, catches the others' attention as well, and one by one they find a reason to excuse themselves and step out of the room, until it's just the pair of them. Barry hasn't really responded yet, so she pulls herself to her feet and crosses the soft carpet, letting the feel of it against her bare feet ground her, settling carefully into the empty space beside him, just shy of pressing her knee against his. "Barry, are you alright?"

It's the soft warmth of her fingers, skimming featherlight against his wrist, that really catches his attention, startling him out of whatever reverie he's fallen in to, a smile overtaking his features as if on autopilot. "Huh?" fumbles out of his mouth immediately, followed directly by, "Oh yeah Cait, sorry, just zoned out there."

She doesn't really buy into it, but she lets it go for a moment and lets the excuse play out between them. "Anything you want to talk about?"

It isn't, which doesn't surprise her in the least, but at least the corners of his smile are a little more sincere now as he shakes his head, finishing the process of coming back to himself while also giving his answer. "I'm fine really," but he exhales and catches the gentle, knowing way she's watching him and remembers that all of the lies he tells in his life these days, he basically never lies to Caitlin. "I just keep thinking about all the things I couldn't change, even when we tried."

It's not really that shocking, to hear that Barry tends to replay his mistakes -- their mistakes, for all he never wants to share the weight of them -- over and over again. That he's willing to admit to it does catch her a bit off guard, but she sighs and takes it in stride, twisting enough so that her knee does press against his, warm and solid and steady. "Those things aren't your fault Barry, they happened, but so many worse things would have happened if we hadn't been there."

"It's not your--" because he's a noble, ridiculous fool.

Honestly, she loves him for it. "It's all of us Barry: we're a team. If they're your mistakes, then they're our mistakes and that's okay," she breathes, softer but less steady, "let us help you live with them. Let us bare the weight. We want to, we wouldn't do this if we didn't."

He takes a deep breath, as much to process her words as to formulate his response to them, but nothing satisfactory comes to mind. She's right of course, she almost always is, and there's simply nothing sufficient to meter out the depths of his gratitude for that or for her or for any of them. Instead, he nods and twists a little on the couch, one hand reaching for one of hers so that he can twine their fingers together and give a squeeze; acceptance and understanding and absolution found somewhere in the warmth and the press and the solid reality of her skin.

Caitlin smiles and shifts and lays her head on his shoulder. Barry's gaze finds hers, no longer so distant, and they're going to be okay. She's sure of it.

[chasingblue57]

all these distractions [i’ve got a lot of things]

notes | Okay, so this was definitely inspired by the 'I Just Wanna be with You' scene in HSM3, I'm sorry. Someone posted some HSM to my wall the other day and that got me watching this. I had planned something else for today as a birthday surprise but found out my aunt passed away this morning and so needed to write something light and sweet. Hope you enjoyed nonetheless.

title | all these distractions [i’ve got a lot of things]

Caitlin is sitting at the piano, leaning over the keys and scribbling at something on her sheet music, when Barry ambles into the choir room early one morning. She looks so focused, all tense shoulders and gnawed lip, brow tangled into a knot of fastidious concentration, that he can't bring himself to interrupt until she's finished, leaning back and relaxing just enough to let her fingers flow over the keys. She's a natural, for all she's rarely recognized for it, and Barry's pretty sure that of all the talent in their music department, Caitlin's the best.

He's going to miss her so damn much next year, when they're all going off in their separate ways.

But that's next year, not right now, where she's sitting by herself, humming along to the melody she's building note by note. Unable to contain the corners of his fond smile, he finally takes the time to cross the room, two coffees still curled up in his palms, so that he can drop delicately onto the other half of her piano bench.

Just like always, she startles at his sudden appearance in a way that only deepens his grin and increases the warm feeling that always settles in his chest in her presence. "Morning," he greets, clearly a little too chipper, because her eyes roll a little (as if she isn't the one up and at 'em, composing at 6:45 in the morning, a full forty five minutes before their first classes begin). He holds out the coffee in his left hand, which seems to brighten her expression a bit.

"Thanks Barry," and she takes a long sip of her latte before leaning over to settled it on the floor (and well away from the keys of her favorite school piano).

"What're you working on?"

Her shrug is small and almost meek, the kind of action born out of her years of playing second string to some of the more forceful personalities in the program. In the classroom, Caitlin Snow is fierce: in the music room, she's still shy about her talents in a way that seems a little anachronistic. "Just working on a piece for the spring concept," she admits, after a moment, her fingers coming up to tug at the pages spread out.

Barry's quicker than she is, reaching to spread them back out, dropping his own coffee against the floor so that he can trace the right keys briefly and then start playing. It's a pretty melody, simple in a way that's obviously on purpose, a sound that, as he moves through the measures, builds and starts to resonate with something in his chest. He plays through the two pages she's already got propped up, not quite daring enough to push for the sheaf of pages clearly tucked beneath them.

At least not until Caitlin heaves one of those endearing, long suffering sighs of hers and shuffles the pages herself, leaning in to join him and start singing the lyrics he can just barely make out (he teases her all the time that she's got the scrawl of a doctor). She's not the greatest singer, her talent in definitely composing and piano, but it's a sweet, clear sound that he harmonizes with with little effort, traipsing their way leisurely through the whole song in the comfortable, easy way of two people who know each other well.

"It's perfect Cait," he beams, as soon as they've rounded out the last notes of the melody, leaning back to fish for his cup of coffee while she does the same, her cheeks reddening slightly as she ducks down.

"We'll see what everyone else thinks," is all she says, gaze still largely on her cup. She takes a long, meandering sip as if it'll divert the conversation, but Barry's undeterred.

"Seriously," he says, firm, turning in toward her a bit, so that their knees are brushing beneath the piano. "You're brilliant and so is your song: we'd be stupid not to use it for the last concert."

Caitlin composes melodies that catch his attention, get his blood pounding in his ears and his heart beating in his chest, but her smile is the thing that takes his breath away. "Thanks Barry."

[chasingblue57]

down the hall au

notes | tonight’s fic is another glimpse into another au I’ve dabbled in and will hopefully flesh out at some point, because I’ve spent 4.5 hours grading at school on a Sunday, plus 3.5 for an FFA event and another 1 or so writing letters of rec so I’m digging through the ol’ archives for a fic to post :) Hope you enjoy nonetheless!

title | down the hall au (seriously no name so suggestions welcome!)

He's juggling three bags of groceries and fumbling for his keys when a small voice at his elbow chirps, "Can I help?" in the kind of bright, eager tone that only little kids can have about volunteering to help complete strangers.

To be fair, he's probably not a complete stranger. He's seen the little girl playing in the yard before with her mother and she's probably seen him coming and going in the month since he's moved in, but he's never actually spoken with the child or her mother before and he's seen enough in his line of work that even though he knows he's not a threat, it makes him nervous for her. Not everyone works for the police department and she seems like a sweet kid. "I'll probably be okay," he replies over the jagged edge of his grocery bags. "I don't want your mom to worry about you," he adds, because even with his limited range of view he can see the way her bright little smile fades a bit at his rebuff.

"Aunt actually," comes a second voice, rounding the corner from the stairs. She's wearing a smile that's not terribly different than the little girl's, for all it's softer and quieter, a little more hesitant where her charge is all youthful energy and excitement. "Are you pestering our neighbor Soph?" The question is clearly good natured, given that the woman steps forward and offers an arm to grab one of his bags, freeing Barry's hand so he can finally snag his keys.

"No!" The child, Soph, who Barry imagines must be about eight or nine (she's on the small side, not unlike her aunt, but she has a self-awareness about her that he thinks makes it unlikely she's any younger), exclaims, before backtracking and peering at him with a hesitant, worried expression. "Am I?

He laughs, both for the look of horror on her face and the laughter hiding behind her Aunt's dark eyes. "Not at all, but let me get these set down and then I can introduce myself?"

He slides the key in, fumbles again as he tries to unlock and twist, so Soph smiles brightly again and holds a hand up in offer. Barry nods and the woman shakes her head fondly and suddenly both of them are standing in his kitchen as he settles his purchases onto the counter, reaching to take the last bag from the woman. "Thanks for your help," he breathes, finally turning his full attention on the pair of them. "I'm Barry Allen," and he offers his hand first to the little girl, which clearly pleases her. She positively beams as she shakes it, introducing herself immediately.

"I'm Sophie McCalister, we live down the hall in number seven," which he didn't know; he feels like he's hardly ever home because he's always at work; he's only ever seen the little girl and her (aunt apparently) outside in the yard, the little girl playing while the woman reads or types on her laptop.

"It's very nice to meet you Sophie, thank you for coming to my rescue."

"This is my Aunt Caitlin," Sophie continues once she's nodded her acceptance of his gratitude. Caitlin has been watching the pair of them with no small degree of bemusement: Barry catches it as he allows his attention to focus on the older woman properly for the first time.

"Nice to meet you too," and he means it immediately because she seems very nice, clearly has an adorable niece and is honestly ridiculously beautiful as well.

[chasingblue57]

an ER au

notes | So this is just a brief intro to an au I’ve been dabbling with off and on for a bit now, so let me know if you think it’s worth pursuing more of :)

title | an ER au

Caitlin is trying to come off of an eighteen hour shift when Martha, the charge nurse, calls her over to a bed. Like every resident before her, Caitlin learned on day one that you don't argue with Martha (affectionately referred to as Mom by every member of the ER staff), so she dials back her sigh of exhaustion, calls out a confirmation and snags the offered chart on her way to the bed.

She's reading through the admitting paperwork while her heels click across the familiar floor, weaving through the bustle of the still slightly busy emergency room with the ease of practice, when she comes to the bed. "So what brings you in today Mister," a pause, dark eyes sweeping back to the top of the chart, "Allen?"

Key vitals committed to temporary memory, Caitlin finally looks up to her patient to see smiling green eyes, a friendly grin trying to cover a pained grimace and a young man who looks to be about her age. He has a bloody bandage covering his upper arm, which is shrugged out of a blue button down shirt, the opposite hand pressing the soaked through cotton down. "I suppose that answers my question," she comments as he's opening his mouth to reply; an action that turns his open mouth into a laugh that obviously jostles his injury (he winces around his smile in a way that is unfairly adorable, much as she tries not to notice).

"Got shot," he does manage to get out, once he's caught his breath again.

It's not the answer she's expecting: her brows shoot up her forehead, which slopes into a furrow immediately thereafter. "What?"

He's shockingly cavalier about it--which is a warning sign, her prickling anxiety says as it crawls up her neck: what's this guys deal? He doesn't look like a gang member (her eyes sweep him up and down again, taking in the neatly dark jeans, the otherwise pristine shirt, his comfortable but nice shoes and the neatly tousled hair).

"I work for CCPD," he says, sounding sheepish. "the forensics department. Suspect came back to the scene through a side door; he got off a shot before Officer West noticed him. Bad shot, luckily." He doesn't shrug but she can tell he wants to, is biting back the urge to try and stave off another sharp pulse of pain.

"And they sent you here alone?" Usually an officer getting shot involves a lot of fanfare (which, honestly, she tries to avoid), it seems strange that there's not a veritable legion of blue surrounding him.

He does shrug this time, a pained pinch marring the bright warmth of his insanely green gaze (and then a scowl as he realizes the mistake). "Joe, Officer West, brought me in but it's a pretty big crime scene, they need all hands on deck."

She nods, a little absently as she slides on a pair of gloves, now that she's pulled out all the right supplies. It still seems a little absurd that the man's been shot and no one's made a bigger deal about it, but he sounds dismissive enough for Caitlin to realize he doesn't want to elaborate and she knows that feeling well enough to respect it. "Okay, well, let's take a look." She's brisk and doctor-like (as she supposed to be, she reminds herself) as her fingers gently pull his from the bandage.

He hums agreeably, settling his sticky red hand into his lap, upturned atop his jeans while he gazes down curiously the way few of her patients ever do. She feels the weigh of his interested gaze while she peels back the bandage and begins to investigate his open flesh. He really is quite lucky, it's just a largely superficial graze, but sutures won't hurt the healing process, so she double checks the edges, explains as much to him and digs into her lab coat pocket for a suture kit (which she has a bad habit of carrying with her all the time, because Adam likes to use her favorite material and not get them restocked).

"Sounds good Doctor..." his trailing voice catches her attention and she startles as she realizes she never actually introduced herself (Martha is definitely going to tell Dr. Parker that her bedside manner is still lacking, which is the last thing she needs to help keep her spot in Central City's competitive ER residency program).

"Snow," she supplies, smiling a little and taking a turn at feeling sheepish. It's supposed to be the first thing she shares with her patient's. "Dr. Caitlin Snow."

There's something behind his smile that she's too distracted to read, and she might try and ferret it out, except it's now that Dr. Parker decides to come check in. "How's everything going here?"

Her patient doesn't wait for her to comment, instead he pulls on a bright smile and reassures, "Everything is going well ma'am. Dr. Snow's doing a fantastic job patching me up."

Dr. Parker, who likes Caitlin but knows she usually doesn't evoke quite such a warm response from any patient, looks suspiciously over, the dregs of a smile starting to build despite the expression. "What's your plan Dr. Snow?"

"Clean the wound, double check the margins, simple interrupted sutures with 4-0 chromic gut."

Dr. Parker nods, bids them farewell and asks to check her work before the patient (Barry, he chimes in) leaves.

So that’s the introduction, more to come I’m sure :)

[chasingblue57]

love, in 5x5′s

notes | 5 times Barry says I love you, written each with 5 sentences, set in my family fic verse, because we haven’t visited that one in a while :)

title | love, in 5x5′s

-1-

He watches, mesmerized, as Caitlin gnaws at her lower lip, dark eyes lost beneath a forest of lashes, fingers stuttering against the seam of her jacket and in that moment, standing on her doorstep, he just knows. There's a second where the words beat against his ribcage, frantic and expanding, a living, writhing beast that will not be contained and then she glances at him, lips soft with her smile, and the words just fall out, as if of their own accord.

"I love you," and it's as natural as breathing, as unconscious as the beat of his own heart.

The corners of her smile tug wide and wonderful, and he watches with rapt fascination as she experiences all the same feelings he had only a moment ago before her lips part and the same words tumble out in a rush, as if they too cannot possibly be kept in. "I love you too."

-2-

He has broken sound barriers and timelines and fought meta humans with immense, logic defying powers and yet somehow, the most incredible thing he's ever seen weighs less than seven pounds and fits into the cradle of his arm. She's swaddled into a blanket and fast asleep, porcelain cheeks washed with a hint of red and her tiny eyelids fluttered firmly closed, like little pencil lines against her skin and her every single breath seems to steals his away: he could not possibly love anything more than this moment.

There's nothing he can do but beam at her, dumfounded by her very existence, by the knowledge that somehow he helped to make her and a glance at his wife reads back the same inexplicable narrative (yes, she's all theirs and no, she can't understand how). "I love you Mikaela Grace and I am never, ever going to let anything happen to you."

She doesn't wake up, but she makes a quiet little sound that Barry takes as contract: she will hold him to his promise and he will not let her down.

-3-

It doesn't take more than half a glance to know that his daughter looks guilty: she has all the same earmarks of the expression that he does. Head down, emerald gaze following the scuffing of her shoes, she approaches with her shoulder hunched and her hands jammed into the pockets of her blue jeans, slurring her words together in an attempt to shift his focus.

Barry's got her number though, he knows all the tricks, so he just pats his knee and lets her crawl into his lap, tucking in close as she explains what happened.

She is, as always, his daughter to the letter, and it stomach turn a little anxiously to realize just how much, as she tells the story of the playground bully and her fight.

It's not the right answer, but it's not like The Flash is in any position to really tell her that, so instead he gives her a hug and a reminder, "Cara, you know what you did was against the rules, but even when you get in trouble, you know your mom and I will always love you."

-4-

"Daddy?" calls a tiny voice, shaking through the half-closed doorway, the sound crawling out as if in opposition of the sliver of light that's crawling its way in to the room .

Frowning, Barry pauses in his walk down the hall to push the door open and step inside, alarmed with the tone of voice. "What is it Ben?"

And just like that, his youngest launches into a story about a nightmare and bad guys and death defying situations that is littered with a litany of embellishments that would make his Uncle Cisco ridiculously proud and which ends with that same tiny, shaking voice asking if it's okay for heroes to leave their night lights on sometimes.

Kissing his forehead, Barry assures him that it is: "Even the best hero's get scared sometimes buddy: your mom still loves me when I get scared and I still love you too."

-5-

The dance floor is still as the DJ calls for the parents of the bride to come forward.

Beaming, Barry extends a hand to his wife, tucking away the more mischievous corners of his smile as she scrutinizes him, all Dr. Snow for one long, curious moment. Shaking her head, all fond amusement, she lets him pull her out onto the floor just as their wedding song begins to play and the DJ explains that their daughter's wedding happens to coincide with their twenty fifth anniversary. There's more to it, of course, but they're already both lost in their little world, pressed close and swaying to the melody of a song they both know by heart.

"Happy anniversary Cait," he breathes against her hair, perfectly content to still be tangled together after all these years, "I love you."