#the flash reader insert

Harry clicks the device a few times. His face is tense. You aren't even sure he's listening to you anymore.

"I didn't think the chances of getting out alive were very high. Which was why I promised myself I'd tell you how I felt about you if I did, on the off chance, escape."

Harry unhooks the device, grumbling under his breath. Nope, definitely not listening. That will make this easier.

"Harry, I realized that… I love you."

Harry Wells freezes. His eyes hyperfocus on your handcuffs. Time slows as you realize how horrible everything will be now, how awkward your relationship, your friendship, will become because of this. It was a mistake. You should have kept it to yourself. You wish that meta killed you when they had the chance. Now you have to live through losing your friend because of some stupid feelings.

His eyes meet yours. His mouth opens a little. You feel pain in your hands. You realize that Harry is gripping your hands much harder than before. He's definitely heard you. But he's not responding.

"Ow," you say.

"I'll have to use a higher charge. I'll uncuff you when we get to STAR Labs."

He slams the door, walking around the front of the van and getting into the driver's seat. You stare in disbelief as he reaches over you, doing up your seatbelt, before igniting the engine and pulling away from the crime scene. Not another word passes between you.

He's pretending not to have heard you. Which, all things considered, might be for the best.

II.

Dr. Harrison Wells is no longer pretending not to have heard your love confession. Now, he's pretending avoiding you altogether will make the problem go away.

The first instance of it was when you arrived at STAR Labs the next morning and ran into him alone, walking around the Cortex with a tablet in his hand. He saw you and suddenly became very interested in the charts on the screen.

"Good morning," you said.

"Hi," he replied. That wasn't any different from yesterday. It should have been. You decided it would be better to push him into letting you down now rather than later. "Have you given what I said yesterday any thought?"

He stares at you. "What did you say yesterday?"

Oh, this asshole. "Don't make me repeat it." You can feel that sinking feeling in your chest.

"Wh—oh, that," he says with a little too much emphasis. A little too much—what is that—disgust? "It's okay. I understand yesterday had the potential to be trauma inducing, and I don't hold it against you."

Now you're just confused. "I—Harry—"

He cuts you off. "It's fine." He gives you a short nod and speedwalks back into the med lab. You don't get another word from him.

It's getting to be a bit hazardous. You're on your way to the Cortex, because the emergency signal is sounding. But the moment you enter, heading towards comms, Harry sees you and makes a run for it. Barry's voice is coming through the computer, though, so you can't exactly pull Harry aside for a heart-to-heart. You take over on comms, internally cursing Harry for being a child about this.

Afterwards, you find Caitlin and Harry in the workshop conversing quietly. Once again, the second you peek your head around the doorway, Harry sweeps past you, stonefaced. You jab a thumb over your shoulder, and say to Caitlin, "What the hell's his problem?"

"Oh, Y/N. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something."

You glance behind you, and then back at Caitlin. "You guys weren't talking about me, were you?"

She smiles modestly, benevolently. "It's nothing serious. Harry just said that he was worried about your state of mind."

"What? Why? I'm totally fine."

Her smile drops a little. "That meta yesterday, they had powers that, as a byproduct, influenced emotions. It must be hard to feel out of control of your feelings."

You pinch the bridge of your nose, giving a exasperated sigh. "He told you what I said yesterday."

"Yes… he did. It's okay. He's not holding you to it."

"How do I convince you I'm of sound mind and was so when I said it?"

Caitlin studies your face. "There may be some lingering effects. But I suppose I could run you through a quick trauma intake, verify as best as possible. I could take your vitals, too. And check your brain activity." She's already walking towards the door, looking eager to get busy.

"Please don't make me go through one of those intakes. I feel fine, and I was fine yesterday. Scared for my life, but not mind controlled."

She turns to you, gesticulating as she corrects you: "Actually, it's emotional manipula—"

"Thanks, Caitlin. I'm sorry for being stubborn, but I think this can be sorted out with a simple conversation with Harry."

Caitlin looks conflicted. She frowns at you, and then down the hallway. "I believe you. I just—I don't think he wants to."

III.

Harry is nowhere to be found, and ignoring your calls. You've looked around the Cortex, the pipeline, the many lurkable hallways. You've even peeked into the Time Vault, with Cisco's help. You tell him about your dilemna and Harry's strange behaviour.

He gives a haughty laugh. "I can't say I'm surprised by his response."

"Really? Jeez, Cisco, you're so mean to me." You give him a light punch to the shoulder.

"That's not what I mean. It's just, you know. He's Harry."

"I know. I'm in love with the guy."

Cisco eyes you. "You really are, huh?"

You nod, giving Cisco a pleading look. "Yeah. It's bad. It's really bad."

"I'll say. Well, he was grumbling something about getting coffee the last time I saw him."

"Why did you say so?"

"If I were you, I wouldn't really want to run into him right now. He's being, like, extra dickish."

Jitters is bustling. You don't want to look like an idiot when you enter, unable to see past the crowds, so you walk up to the barista and order something. Then, while you wait, you non-chalantly scan the customers for an extra dickish scientist in all black. You think of the times you and your friends from STAR Labs, including Harry, have met here before. You think of the times you've met Harry one-on-one, here, just to spend time with him and pick his brain. All those other times you've spent alone with him—in the workshop, at the bar, and last night in that horrible, horrible ride in the STAR Labs van.

Caitlin says he doesn't want you to really be in love with him. Cisco says you probably shouldn't look for him. And Harry himself—Harry has been avoiding you like a sinner avoids a priest. But you were never really very good at keeping yourself out of trouble, especially when it meant ignoring advice.

Harry isn't here, though. Maybe he really just doesn't want to be found. You pick up your drink and exit Jitters, dreading the perpetuation of this awkward nightmare. But after you take a few steps down the sidewalk, you hear your name.

You turn.

Harry, looking extra dickish and wearing all black, is holding a coffee and walking towards you.

"There you are," you say. "Done hiding from me?"

He presses his lips together, looking at you with concern. Or, perhaps, fear. "Depends," he grunts.

"On what?"

"Your response."

"What response, Harry?"

"Would you let me, um." He clears his throat, licks his lips, scratches his head. He's doing anything but meeting your eyes, and anything but finishing the question.

"Oh, my God, spit it out, get it over with. I'm ready to be let down. Just make it quick."

But then his intense gaze finally falls on you, and the words tumble out: "Would you let me buy you dinner?"

You blink, emotions—mostly confusion—barring you from speech.

Harry blinks back. After a few more seconds, he raises his cup as if toasting a foregone conclusion. "Okay. I didn't think so. See you later." He turns on his heel, but before he can get far, you run to catch up.

"Wait. Harry. Wait. Why are you asking me to dinner? I thought you were convinced I was off my rocker."

"Snow… called me. And Ramon."

"So, you're saying you had my feelings for you peer reviewed and you're taking it seriously now? And you're not rejecting me?"

He swallows, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Something like that." And with that, the extra dickish scientist gives you a wink.

IV

When Harry finally kisses you, it's an inevitability.

He's a restrained romantic, treating you to dinner in a restaurant that's a little too empty. The food isn't great, but Harry says he prefers the quiet. It does have a radiance about the atmosphere. All evening, the chandeliers and candlelight cast a dreamy glow on his face. He's softer than usual, in the way his body relaxes near you, in the way his dimples flash more than usual. And his eyes are glued on you every second.

Central City is alive as you leave the restaurant. The sun has set, and there's an evening chill. You take Harrison's hand, and he doesn't protest, as the two of you walked seemingly wander down the sidewalk. It's only when he pulls you in a particular direction that you realize he's got somewhere in mind. You let him guide the two of you into a modestly lit city park.

"I didn't know you'd be able to handle holding my hand in public for this long," you tease as the two of you settle in front of a fountain.

"I considered letting you go, and it's not worth the risk," he says, softly.

You pause. "You considered letting me go?"

You can't tell whether Harry was grimacing or smiling. His eyes are lifted to the lights of Central City far beyond you. "Scientists like to cage test subjects. Rats, monkeys, birds. Controlled environment. Poked and prodded." He clears his throat, meeting your gaze. When he speaks again, it's in a whisper. "Well, it just struck me that… that you might not like to be controlled or held captive ever again. By… anyone."

"This is true."

"So I considered keeping you distant. I can be protective of people I…" He swallowed the end of the sententence, shaking his head.

"But I deserve a choice. Which is, by definition, the scenario in which I am least controlled. And… Harry, I don't want to be far from you."

Harry closes the few feet of distance, glancing between your eyes and your lips. You realize his hand isn't holding yours anymore—it's holding your face.

"I couldn't believe you meant it," he whispers, and you knew he meant that night he rescued you. "I wanted—I mean, I wanted it to be, like hell. And of course you'd have some feelings for me. I'm great. I'm amazing. But…" He pauses. Every time he calls himself 'great,' you feel sure he's thinking the opposite. This time is no exception. "But love," he finishes, frowning. "That's a strong word."

You observe his imploring blue eyes, his sculpted dimples, his dark, tousled curls. "You dummy," you say, leaning your face into his hand a tad. "That's why I used it."

He responds by kissing you. It's soft, softer than you ever thought possible of him. It's soft, and careful, and chaste, but saturated in feeling. It's only when you respond by throwing your arms around his neck that he becomes less hesitant. Then he's dragging you closer, deepening the kiss, devouring you. Your knees feel weak and shaky. Harry's grip on you is tight, desperate, almost fearful.

When you finally stop kissing, he starts to retrieve his hand from your cheek, and you grab it and move it back. "Don't you go anywhere," you say.

"Okay," he agrees. He gives you a showstopping smile, and you think to yourself that you must not have ever seen him smile before, because you'd be compelled to have done this. And you're kissing him again.

—

- Harry will always respect you, regardless of the mood he’s in.

- Although sometimes you have to punch him in the gut so he’ll double over and you can get your stuff back.

- Harry’s playful mood is contagious and you are almost always the first one to catch it.

- Your back-and-forth teasing makes the rest of the team roll their eyes and groan.

- Cisco’s usually the first one to voice said team annoyance. “For the love of all that’s good and pure in this world, will you just kiss each other and get it over with?!”

- You and Harry respond by throwing pens at him.

- When he makes an especially exciting breakthrough on a project, Harry will pick you up and twirl you around.

- On days like these, Harry will stop work early so the two of you can go out for an impromptu date night.

- Playful moods lead to the best dates.

- Classic movie marathons, dancing, dinner at a new place, midnight walks on the beach, etc.

- You don’t know this, but ever since you joined the team Harry has found himself in a good mood more often than ever before.

- It’s just one more reason why he loves you.

It was still hard to accept that HR was dead. After everything that you two had been through together, it just didn’t feel right. Every time that you looked up, you expected for him to be next to you. There were parts of S.T.A.R. Labs that still smelled like coffee. He had left cups all over the room he had been staying in and you hadn’t had the heart to clear them all out. You found one of his old scarves the day after he died and you didn’t take it off for a month. The others watched you walk around and they tried to help but they couldn’t. No one could help you with this.

You had tried to talk to him. That was your power, after all. You had always been able to see the after images of people who had died. Not him, though. He wasn’t there. Maybe it was because he wasn’t from this dimension. Maybe he didn’t want to see you. 

Either way, it hurt.

“You didn’t have to do that, HR,” you whispered in your room, “you didn’t have to leave me behind.”

You closed your eyes to fight back your tears. You pulled your knees up to your chest and took depp breaths, letting them out slowly to try and calm yourself. It didn’t feel like it was working. You missed him, more than you thought you would ever miss anyone. Finally, you opened your eyes.

A choked gasp escaped your lips. He was there. It was HR, smiling down at you. You stood and walked to him reaching up. He did the same. You couldn’t touch him, you knew that. 

“I’m sorry,” you said.

He shook his head. His ghostly hand almost touched your cheek. He pointed to himself. You understood.

“Goodbye, HR. I’ll never forget you.”

With a wrinkle of your nose, you set down the spoon you were holding and poked at the spot in your forearm where the small microchip was implanted.  “How do you know I didn't carve it out, hmm?  I have plenty of sharp knives in the kitchen.  Maybe I just up and Jurassic World'd that bitch.”  

“Yeah, that's disgusting.  And you're the one who suggested I put it there, what with the blackouts... and stuff...” his voice trailed off, like he was suddenly sorry for bringing it up.

“I was having a mid-life crisis.  You shouldn't have listened to anything I was saying.”

“You're 25.”

“Yeah well, the average lifespan for this little team is getting shorter every year.”  There was silence on the other end and you closed your eyes and leaned your head back against the couch, instantly regretting your words.  “Too soon?”  You asked, but didn't bother waiting for a reply.  You laughed bitterly and then had to bite your tongue before it could turn into a sob.  

“Y'know...Maybe I should come over?”  Cisco didn't acknowledge the question, which was probably for the best. “We can watch The Goonies, eat some junk food, paint each others nails... Just like old times?”

You idly glanced at the worn down, chewed-up remnants of your fingernails and felt the start of all the emotions you'd been pushing down the last few months threaten to well up again.  Back before 'that day' happened, as you called it in your head, you'd always kept your nails looking gorgeous.  New acrylics every few weeks, fancy polishes, glittery tips, sometimes the occasional nail art.  

Then your brother had died and you'd stopped caring.  The acrylics you hadn't already painfully picked at on the days leading up to the funeral had finally all fallen off, and after that, you'd started biting your natural nails down to the quick, a habit leftover from your childhood.

It had been almost four months since you and the rest of Team Flash had buried him, and you'd tried to move on.   To say it was 'difficult' was an understatement.  And everyone had said they understood and they had felt the pain of loss before... they'd do what they could to help you get through it... blah blah blah.

But they didn't understand.  No one did.  When you lost your older brother, you lost part of yourself... literally.  The night S.T.A.R. Labs nearly exploded was the night you and Keith had become bonded with dark matter; it created a link between you... and not just thoughts and emotions.  The Entity you could form, merging two bodies into one; becoming a being more powerful, stronger and faster than a normal human.

You'd only been working with the Flash for a few months when 'that day' happened.  A telekinetic blast from a raging metahuman had caused you to lose concentration and you and Keith were torn apart, your bodies flying in opposite directions.  You'd landed on soft grass with barely a scratch.  Your brother...

Closing your eyes once again you could still see his body hanging from the crumbling concrete, the jagged edges of two pieces of rebar slick with his blood.  Some nights you still woke up screaming, the feeling of the phantom steel piercing your heart.  You had felt his life force draining away and with a guttural scream you'd flung yourself toward him, already well aware that you wouldn't reach him in time to reform.  

The physical body the two of you became was strong enough to return from near death, and if you could have just gotten to him in time...

But you were mere seconds too late, and your fingers had grasped at dead flesh.  You'd tried to be angry at Barry for not seeing what was happening until too late.  You'd also tried to be angry at Cisco for not opening a breach that would have gotten you there faster.  But down deep in your shattered heart, you knew that the only one you could truly be angry at was the meta now sitting in the secure wing of Iron Heights.

After the fight, someone had pried you away from Keith's body, you weren't sure who and it didn't seem important to ask after the fact.  Your mind was blanking out, almost like a glitch.  You could remember flashes of memory, a few seconds here and there, like someone was turning a light switch on and off in your head at random intervals.  

It took a full day for you to come back to yourself for any real length of time.  They told you it was like your body was on auto pilot in those blank spaces.  Without someone to watch and guide you, you would just wander aimlessly, vacant eyes looking at nothing and not responding to touch or sound.  Caitlin had run the tests and while you didn't really understand the complexities, you knew there was something very wrong with your brain.  It was just... shutting down randomly.  Losing the link to your brother so viciously had ripped out some essential parts that were needed to keep it running smoothly.  

By the grace of god, you were lucid enough to remember bits of Keith's funeral, though Cisco had taken it upon himself to make all the arrangements.  You didn't have any other family you were close to; Keith was it.  So there hadn't really been too much that needed to be taken care of.

They buried Keith in a small cemetery on the north side, next to your parents.  Someone said a few words, someone placed some flowers on the casket...  someone must have driven you home.  It was all a blur.

Without Keith, there was no Entity.  You had no power.  You didn't even have the brains to be helpful.  At least Keith had been studying biometric engineering.  At 17, you'd dropped out of high school three months before the rest of your class would graduate and started working as a server in a cafe; the only job you'd ever known.  And now you couldn't even do that.  And so, Cisco had placed the tracker in your arm, and then outfitted your home with some sort of scanner that wouldn't open the door to let you out without an eye scan and verbal command.  It kept you from wandering.  

The implant would also alert Cisco's phone when your heart rate and blood pressure dipped, signaling that you had slipped into a blackout, just in case you weren't at home and needed someone to come find you.  It had been happening less often, but still enough to be a problem. Less than three times a week if you were lucky; and on a good day you'd only blackout for a half-hour or so.  Good days were few and far between.  Driving was out of the question, as was holding down any sort of job.  Most days you spent at home, keeping yourself busy with old hobbies...  a hundred sub-par paintings hidden in the basement... boxes of half-knit sweaters and scarves.  Your brother's room was filled with hundreds of mini origami cranes... he'd always thought they were neat so you left a few in there every day.  

Everyone had tried to convince you to stick around S.T.A.R. Labs more often. They said they could find something to keep you busy, but you knew that it was more that the team wanted to keep you where they could see you.  You understood, they were your friends, the only ones you had left.  But every time you walked in the Cortex, all you could see was the empty spot by your side where your brother should have been.

So you stayed at home, roaming the halls that used to be filled with the voices of your mother, your father, and Keith; a different but more familiar form of emotional torture.  Delivery services brought you groceries and Cisco or Barry checked in on you when the blackouts started.  Occasionally Harry or Caitlin would stop by when the boys were busy, and you were gracious and courteous and the perfect host. You smiled at the right moments, told them you were doing okay, and let them give you awkward hugs when they left.

All of them could see through the facade.  You knew it, they knew you knew it...

“Hey... are you spacing again?”

“What?” You heard his words and realized that yes, you had been.  The worn down nubs of your fingernails were still staring back at you. “No, I'm fine.”

“Riiiight. I'm on my way.”

“Don't, Cisco.  Please.”  But he wasn't listening.  

“Too late.”  

The slight rush of air from the breach opening behind the couch caused your hair to float listlessly around your face and you sighed in annoyance, leaning over to hang up the call.  Not bothering to turn around and look at the portal, you reached over and picked up the bowl and spoon from where you'd set them down on the coffee table.

The blue glow that had briefly lit up your living room suddenly cut off and you knew Cisco was standing behind you.  “Isn't there some sort of superhero code against using your powers when it's not an emergency?” You questioned, dipping the spoon into your bowl and taking a large bite.

“Uh, have you MET Barry?  Using his powers when it's not an emergency is pretty much all he does.”  

You sat back and let your head fall against the top of the cushion, stretching your neck back until you could see Cisco looking down at you from behind the couch, his head tilted in concern.  “Hey.” You sullenly greeted him, resigning yourself to his company. Sighing, you closed your eyes.  “You really didn't need to come.”

“Well, you've ignored the invites for the last five movie nights, and you weren't returning anyone else's texts... and the whole spacing out again.”

“I'm fine.” Opening your eyes again, you watched as Cisco made his way around the couch to flop down next to you.

“Besides,” he continued, “I think this qualifies as an emergency.  You're sitting alone in your underwear listening to Sarah McLachlan at five in the afternoon eating... is that a bowl of brownie batter?”

“Triple Fudge, yeah.  You don't like me using the oven, remember?”  You looked down at your bare legs and wrinkled your nose in annoyance. “And, I'm wearing a tank top.”

He looked you over with skeptical eye and shook his head.  “Barely. Girl, you're about half an inch away from a nip slip.”  Cisco gestured with his eyes down at the strap of the light pink tank that had been sliding dangerously low off your shoulder for the better part of an hour.  “It's a good thing I've already seen you naked, otherwise I'd think you were trying to turn me on right now.”

“I was on fire that time. I had to get my clothes off.”  The memory brought a small smile to your face, but it was brief and bittersweet.

He was still looking at you, eyes running up and down your mostly unclothed body, but there was nothing suggestive in his gaze.  “You haven't been eating, again.”  It wasn't a question.  Cisco sighed and rubbed the side of his face.  

You held up the bowl of brownie batter in answer and took another bite.

“You can't keep this up, it's not healthy.”

“Says the guy who survives on burgers, soda and hard candy.”  

“Kelly...”

You hated it when he got that tone in his voice... the I-care-about-you-and-I'm-really-freaking-worried-about-you tone.  It made you squirm uncomfortably.  “I don't mean to... you know that, Cisco.  I just... forget.”

With the loss of your brother's consciousness, you'd also oddly lost some of your ability to feel physical pain.  Things still hurt... just not as much.  And you weren't really able to tell when you were hungry anymore.  Even with Cisco texting you to remember to eat a few times a day... you forgot.

“This is why you need to be back at S.T.A.R. Labs.  I can take care of you there.”  The two of you had had this conversation so many times, you'd almost memorized it.  But this time there was one subtle difference that you almost didn't catch.  I can take care of you there.   Not 'we'.  Not 'the team'.  I. He continued on, trying to lighten the mood.  “I mean... I suppose I could move most of the Cortex's systems here if I had to...”  He made a show of looking around your mother's beach cottage inspired living room; usually a bright and cheery room, but now dark and drab with the curtains all drawn and the lights off.  “All the wires and electronics might not quite go with the décor... but I can make it work.”   He gave you a smile that at one time had made your heart flutter, but now seemed only heartbreaking.    

“I'm not your responsibility, and I don't need you to be my savior.” You frowned and turned your face from his.  Refused to meet his eyes. Why couldn't he just leave you alone?  “Besides, I'd just distract you from the important things.”

“You don't think you're important?”  He almost sounded offended and you swallowed back a sarcastic response.  You were clutching the spoon and bowl tightly still, and you almost thought he would have reached to hold your hands if not for that small simple barrier.  

“Not anymore.” Your words were quiet... strained, and your jaw was starting to clench and tighten as you continued to fight back the emotions.

There had been a time... a moment between you and Cisco before Keith died...  The night before 'that day', a Team Flash movie night, when you'd sat with him on Barry's couch, one glass of wine too many, and you'd giggled and laid your head in his lap when sitting upright had seemed like just too much effort.

He'd placed a hand awkwardly on your shoulder, then eventually stroked your hair as the night wore on.  You didn't remember what the movie was anymore.  When everyone else had called it a night, Cisco had taken you home and grinned like a schoolboy when he walked you to the front door.  You'd said goodnight and thanked him for the ride... and then he'd grabbed your hand and bitten his lip.  You'd looked at him curiously, but he couldn't quite meet your eyes.

“Can I kiss you?”  The words had tumbled out of his mouth so quickly you almost didn't catch them. Certainly, you hadn't heard him right.  You weren't sure how he could stand there and look so nervous in his Star Wars t-shirt and faded gray hoodie, and yet seem so wildly confident.  

You'd stood there, utterly shocked.  It would be a lie to say you'd never thought about kissing him.. he was sweet and nerdy and funny... but way out of your league.  He and your brother could talk for hours, going on and on about sciencey things way above your head... you were a glorified waitress for god's sake, not to mention a high-school dropout.

“I know, I'm not really your type.” He'd continued, trying to look anywhere but right at you, probably afraid of your answer. “But I thought maybe-”

You'd cut him off with a kiss, perhaps a bit sloppy, but you were giggling against his mouth and then you knew he was smiling too.  It wasn't the passionate embrace of a Nicholas Sparks romance, but you could feel something there.  Something that was definitely worth exploring. When you finally pulled away from each other, you were blushing and laughing and everything seemed so perfect all of a sudden.  Another small kiss, and he had bid you goodnight with a brilliant smile.  

The next time he saw you, you were screaming and clutching Keith's corpse.

The two of you never talked about that kiss.  It was like it had never happened...  and maybe it hadn't.  There were a lot of things you weren't sure about anymore and perhaps it was just some happy hallucination your mind had come up with to fill one of your memory gaps.  Better to pretend that was it than think about the truth.

“Not anymore?!  How can you even say that?”  Cisco was nearly beside himself, gesturing randomly with one hand.  “You're important to me, to all of us.”   He pushed himself off the couch and started pacing trying to keep his voice calm. “When you lost your powers, you didn't stop being our friend, Kelly.”

You dropped the spoon into the chipped orange bowl and reached up to wipe away the start of a tear.  “I can't do anything, Cisco.  I'm just..  I'm useless.”

“You're not usel-”

“I AM!” Slamming the bowl down so hard on the glass that a spiderweb crack suddenly marred the otherwise pristine surface of your mother's cherished antique coffee table, you pulled yourself up from the sofa and turned away from him so he wouldn't see the tears.  You could feel it starting to bubble up.  The despair and pain, the feeling of hopelessness.  “I've lost everything!  I lost Keith, I lost our powers!    I'm not strong or fast or smart!”  You lashed out and knocked over a vase filled with long-dead flowers, a frustrated groan escaping your lips when there was no satisfying crash as it thudded to the hardwood but didn't break.  “I can't even leave the house without worrying I might not make it back by myself!  I don't know why you're wasting your time on me!”

“Kelly, stop.”  A hand touched your shoulder and you shrugged it off angrily.  

You ignored the pleading in his voice and stalked toward the kitchen, tears blurring your vision so much that you nearly ran into the door frame.  With a anguished cry you stopped, turning to brace yourself with both hands on the counter top.  The wetness falling from your eyes seemed to grow and it wasn't long before you found you didn't actually have the strength to hold yourself up.  How long had it been since you'd slept?  You didn't remember.  A day or two.  One more thing you didn't keep very well track of.  With a sob you started to slide to the floor, not surprised when Cisco caught you from behind and gently helped you down.  The old sea green linoleum was cold on your bare legs but finding the strength to care was proving difficult.  

Without saying a word, he carefully sat down next to you and wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you in tight.  Absolutely sure that you looked like a blubbering idiot, you clung to him and buried your face against his shoulder, trying to stop the hiccuping sobs that racked your body.  You hadn't had a good honest-to-god breakdown since the day of Keith's funeral and it seemed like this one was overdue.  Vaguely aware of him starting to whisper soft soothing words and the feel of his hands, one holding your arm, the other wiping away the trails of your tears, you continued to clutch at him, suddenly starved for the feel of another body close to yours.

Time trickled by, and you didn't know how long you'd been on the kitchen floor when the tears finally stopped.  Even after, when your head was still on his shoulder and your breathing evened out, he still just held you, murmuring gentle things against your forehead.

“Cisco?” When you were finally able to speak again, you weren't quite sure what to say.

“Yes, chica?”

“You know I hate it when you call me a chicken.”  The words left your mouth before you even had time to think about it, and you let out a strangled laugh at the end and tightened the grip on his shirt.  It was an old joke between the two of you, one that had evolved out of a slightly embarrassing misunderstanding.  Suffice to say, Spanish was not one of your strong suits.  “Sorry.” You whispered quickly and closed your eyes, your cheeks flushing softly.  

You could hear the smile in his voice though. “Don't be.  I missed that.”  He pressed a gentle kiss to the hair just above your ear and then gently bumped his forehead against yours.  It didn't seem like it was possible to snuggle any closer to him, but you tried to anyway.  The warmth radiating off of him was almost euphoric; it had been so long since you'd let anyone truly hold you for any length of time.

“I know you think you'd be a distraction... but it's worse not having you there.”  His words were soft and you sighed heavily, not ready to start this conversation yet again.  But you didn't have the energy to move, and if it wasn't now, then Cisco would only bring it up again later.

“But if I was there-”

“If you were there,” Cisco reached up with one hand and tucked a stray length of hair behind your ear. “I wouldn't be worried about you for every second of every day.”  The soft plink plink of your perpetually dripping faucet echoed through the otherwise silent kitchen as you tried to form a response, and he must have taken it as an encouraging sign when you didn't immediately argue with him this time.  “Look.... just think about it, please.  And I mean really, truly, honestly think about it.  We can start small.  Like... one day a week.  I'll order pizzas, we can play World of Warcraft when Harry's not in the room.  Besides, I seriously need my pocket healer back.”  He squeezed you a little tighter.  “You would not believe the randoms I've gotten stuck with lately.”  

Plucking at a stray piece of fuzz on the front of his t-shirt, you sighed and crinkled your nose in thought.  “Just one day a week?”  This morning you wouldn't have considered it.  But now, sitting here in Cisco's arms, having found a badly needed emotional release, you thought that maybe.... just maybe... you could try.  

“Just one day, little chicken.”

“Okay.” You whispered, trying not to immediately regret it.  

“Great, I'll pick you up tomorrow morning at 8.”

“Tomorrow?” He didn't miss the nervous stutter in your voice.

“Yep. I would recommend wearing some pants.”  You pulled away enough to glare up at him, but found it was really hard to be mad at that wonderfully mischievous smile on his face.  “Or not.  I don't mind either way.”

“Y'know I don't have to heal your sorry ass.  I can just let you die.”  You forced the words out, trying for playful, but knowing that it just didn't quite hit the mark yet.  It would be awhile, you knew, before things felt right again... but dammit you were going to try.  You would try for him.  

He laughed anyway and for the first time since 'that day' a flash of hope found it's way into your heart; and you thought maybe... maybe someday you would be okay again.

fini?