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“What if it was my fault?”
Barry’s whisper breaks heavy, loaded silence. Joe’s murderous glare softens instantly, his fury at Leonard melting away when faced with his foster son’s despair.
“No, no, no, Barr, don’t even think that. You are not responsible for what that son-of-a-bitch did to you. It was selfish, it was cruel, and if he so much as hints that you pushed him to it—”
“What if I did?” Barry curls on the sofa. He must look pathetic, but at least it makes Joe sit down and pull him close. He grabs a handful of Joe’s shirt the way he used to when he was small. If he holds tight enough, Joe won’t go try to kill Leonard. “I made him go with the Legends. Maybe he thought I didn’t want him anymore. Maybe something horrible happened and he blamed me for making him go and Sara comforted him and…”
“Whoa, stop that thought in its tracks.” Joe’s voice breaks through the panicky haze settling over Barry’s thoughts. He gives himself a little shake. He’s not at fault. Logically, rationally, he knows this. It’s just so easy to blame himself, because if he’s somehow to blame, he can fix himself and things can be okay again. “There’s not a thing in this world or any other that you could do to make him cheat on you. That was his choice, and he made it knowing he had you at home waiting for him.”
“I know,” Barry agrees miserably. That’s the crux of it. Joe is operating under the assumption that Barry is worth waiting for, but what if he’s wrong? “Maybe I’m not enough. Maybe I was never enough and he was just too sweet to tell me. Or maybe I was horrible to him and didn’t know it and he left hating me and…”
“Barr, hey. We talked about this, remember?” Joe cups his chin and coaxes him to look up. Obediently, Barry focuses on the familiar shape of his goatee. (Eye contact, particularly when he’s this caught in his head, verges on painful.) “Don’t let yourself get caught in that negative spiral. You just got cheated on by a man you adored. You deserve to be pissed.”
“I am. Or I was,” he corrects. When Leonard first told him, he’d been so distraught he ran without looking and broke his arm against the side of a building. By the time he’d made it to STAR Labs, he was crying from too many emotions. “And I probably will be again, I just…I have to acknowledge that maybe it was me because I’m a scientist, I have to consider all the angles, and maybe one of the angles is that I’m a bad husband…”
Joe’s mouth twists. He disagrees, but he doesn’t say so out loud. Instead, he asks, “Did you ever wonder why I never dated when you and Iris were kids? I mean, aside from the stress of raising two kids—a stubborn rebel and an angry hellion.”
Barry laughs in spite of himself. “I guess I figured you were still mourning Iris’s mother.”
“Not mourning,” Joe corrects. “We never divorced—she left, and I didn’t look for her. I felt bad enough for letting her go, I couldn’t be with someone else knowing Francine was still out there. She left me, Barr—left me and Iris, and I could have told myself that was permission. But you know what? Even now, being with Cecile sometimes feels like betraying Francine, and she’s been in the ground two years.”
“That’s you,” Barry protests.
“You deserve someone who’s gonna do right by you.” Joe rubs a hand across his back. “And Snart falling into bed with an assassin the moment you’re not around to watch him doesn’t make him sound like a man who deserves you.”
Barry focuses on believing this. Leonard has always said Barry was too good for him. He’d never listened—maybe that was the problem? “I just want to fix this.”
Joe sighs. “’Course you do, Barr. That’s who you are at heart. You never give up on people, even if they really deserve it.” Barry doesn’t have a way to answer that. When he stays quiet, Joe concedes, “You’re an adult and I gotta let you get through this on your own. Whatever you do next, I’ll get behind it. If you give Snart another chance, I’m not gonna be happy, but it’s your call.”
“I just don’t know how to trust him again.” Barry rocks slowly back and forth. It doesn’t help, but he can pretend. “I want to start over, but I don’t know how.”
Joe shakes his head. “That’s not something I can just tell you, Barr. That’s something you’re gonna have to figure out—probably with that bastard’s help, supposing you want it.”
Barry nods. He’s terrible at making decisions—half the time he can’t decide, and when he does, it inevitably turns out to be the wrong choice. He may have to rely on Len—no, Leonard, ‘Len’ is a pet name and he doesn’t want pet names. That’s a start. “I know.”
“If he sends you into another spiral like that, nobody will ever find his body,” Joe promises.
“Don’t kill him.” Not when it’s my fault, he almost adds, then cuts himself off. Joe is right. This wasn’t his fault. Leonard made his choice. “Give me a chance to fix things.”
Reluctantly, Joe nods. “You got it,” he concedes. “Just be careful.”
***
It takes a week for Barry to work up the courage to go back to their house. His determination deserts him as soon as he walks through the door. What if he did the wrong thing by running out? What if Leonard thought they were done and went back to Sara? What if he’s happier with Sara than he ever was with Barry? What if—?
Thankfully, the door opens, cutting off his thoughts before they can spiral any further. Leonard looks surprised to see him, and for a heart-stopping moment, Barry wonders if he really did go back to Sara. “Barry.”
“Don’t, don’t talk.” Barry needs to speak first. He spent days scripting for this conversation and practicing with a longsuffering Iris, who understands his scripting if not his desire to heal his relationship with Leonard. “I scripted for this all week and I’ve got to say it or I’m gonna lose my nerve. Okay.” He draws a deep breath and relaxes into a not-quite-easy stance. “I’m really, really upset that you slept with Sara knowing that I was here waiting for you. I’m not so upset that I can’t forgive you, but I’m going to need time—and no jokes about time travel from you because that’ll just piss me off more. I wanna move back in and I want things to go back to normal but I don’t…” His voice breaks. He rallies the last of his energy to finish the script. “I don’t know how to trust you again. That’s something you have to earn back.”
Leonard looks almost relieved. Barry allows himself to hope that he’s just as eager to fix things between them. “I won’t push you, Scarlet.”
Barry squares his shoulders. He decided no pet names, and he’s going to stick to that. “I’m going to ask you not to call me that. Not until I say you can.”
Leonard nods. If he’s hurt by Barry’s request, he doesn’t show it. “I can do that.”
Barry curls in on himself. He’s done. He said his piece, and Leonard agreed, and now they just have to do things. What ‘things’ might be, he still has no idea. “Then, yeah,” he says. “I guess we give this another try.”
That night, Leonard sleeps on the sofa. At first, Barry is glad, but after an hour tossing and turning in a too-big bed, he wants nothing more than for Len—Leonard—to cuddle him the way he used to. When three in the morning ticks by and he’s still awake, he shuffles out to the sofa and wakes Leonard with a touch on the shoulder.
“Barry.” Leonard is instantly alert. Barry envies him the ease with which he falls asleep and wakes up, although he knows it’s hard-won. “Is something wrong?”
He taps his fingers in an absentminded pattern over the back of the sofa. “The bed is too big. It’s not the same without you. Just…don’t cuddle me.”
It’s shameful how quickly he falls asleep with Leonard in the bed. As Barry requested, Leonard stays on his side; they never touch. Just having his weight on the other side of the mattress makes it feel more balanced. Barry sleeps deeply and doesn’t dream.
When Barry wakes, Leonard’s side of the bed is empty and cold. There’s a little blue note on the pillow. Barry grabs it and reads with bleary eyes, Barry – I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about waking up next to me. I promised Boo I’d go with her to look at the new place she’s considering renting, so I don’t know when I’ll be home. I’m not sure if it’s what you want to hear—tell me to stop and I will—but I love you and I hope you have a good day. – Cold
Barry doesn’t know how to interpret ‘Cold,’ unless perhaps he’s so unused to signing ‘Leonard’ that this is easier. The fond way Leonard mentions Shawna makes him melt a little. He’s an absolutely different man around the Rogues than around anyone else, even Barry.
(The traitorous little voice in the back of Barry’s head wondering whether Leonard is with Sara needs to be quiet. If he’s serious about fixing their relationship, he can’t doubt every moment they’re apart. He’ll drive them both mad.)
Wandering out to the kitchen produces yet another surprise: a stack of pancakes, two with bacon-and-egg smiley faces and two liberally laced with chocolate chips. Another note waits between the plates. Barry – I couldn’t resist. I figured you needed the calories, and this way I didn’t have to choose. I hope you enjoy. – Cold
Barry finds himself smiling down at the pancakes staring up at him with cheerful, sunny-side-up eyes. It’s not in response to Leonard’s note, he tells himself; it’s rude not to smile when smiled at, even when it’s just artful bacon and eggs.
This routine continues for a week. Leonard leaves before Barry is awake in the morning and comes home after Barry is in bed. He must come home in the interim—Barry keeps finding chores done and food waiting for him—but he’s always out when Barry is home. It becomes more frustrating with each day. Barry moved back in so they could try to fix things—he doesn’t want Leonard to avoid him.
“Why do you keep running away?” he asks one night after Leonard has laid down beside him.
“You’re awake.” It’s not an answer. Barry rolls over to glare at him, not that he thinks Leonard can see it in the dark.
“Yes, I’m awake. Why do you keep running away? I asked for help fixing things, not…this.” Being left alone so consistently makes him worry. He hates himself for doubting every moment they’re apart, but he feels half-justified.
“I thought you wanted space.” Leonard sounds bewildered. Barry entertains the notion that he should have been a little clearer in defining their new boundaries.
“No, I said I wanted some time to not…be the way we were.” He still doubts he could handle the level of intimacy they had before. Leonard’s notes have reminded him of why he fell in love with him, but they haven’t brought back the trust that was so vital for their odd relationship. “I don’t want left alone.”
“Oh.” Leonard’s fingers brush against Barry’s. Somewhat hesitantly, Barry intertwines their fingers. It dawns on him as he does so that this is the first time they’ve deliberately touched in two weeks. “I’m sorry, S—Barry. I should have known you hate being alone.”
Something about the way he phrases it reminds Barry of an observation he made when they first started dating: Leonard has always, most naturally, expressed love through actions. The chores, the cooking, even the notes were as much a way of expressing love as they were apologies. He doesn’t quite know how to voice this revelation, so he offers, “Um, but thank you for the notes. And the stuff you’ve done around the house. I think I get it now.”
There’s just enough light to make out the rueful curve of Leonard’s lips. “Too little, too late,” he says dismissively. “If you tell me what to do to make this right, Barry, I’ll do it. Anything.”
“No heists.” Barry has puzzled for a week over what Leonard could do to prove that he’s willing to try again and to commit this time. “I need to know I can trust you. If I can trust you not to pull heists, that’s a start.”
Leonard doesn’t immediately agree. His silence makes Barry sure he’s seriously contemplating the promise he’s about to make. That in itself is a reassurance. “All right.”
“I might ask for your help.” It’s a concession, albeit an oblique one. Barry knows how much Leonard craves an adrenaline high—he’s the same way, if he’s honest with himself. Depriving him of heists without another way to reach that high might be asking too much. “As the Flash. And that may not be…entirely legal, all the time.”
Judging by Leonard’s tone, less cutting than it normally is during these exchanges, he understands what Barry is offering. “You mean, break the law for free?”
“I’m not going to sweeten the deal.” Last time he held Leonard to such a high standard, there was sex involved. That isn’t something Barry is willing to offer this time. “Maybe if you prove to me you’re serious about the ‘no heists’ thing.”
Leonard nods. “I asked you to tell me how to make this right,” he murmurs. “Guess I can’t complain.”
“No, you can’t,” Barry agrees. Unless, he reminds himself, he did something terrible. “…Hey, um. If I…I don’t know, if I was too demanding or closed-off or a bad husband, you can tell me. Fixing things doesn’t have to just be a one-way street.”
“Did someone tell you that?” Ice creeps into Leonard’s tone. Barry squeezes his hand.
“No, no, nobody told me. I’m just, y’know, I’m a scientist. I have to consider all the angles.”
Leonard’s thumb rubs against his. “You didn’t do anything wrong,” he promises. “It’s my fault. I live for the rush, Barry, always have, and Sara was a challenge I couldn’t wait to solve—the same way you were. You didn’t drive me to her. I made that choice myself.”
Barry doesn’t know whether this answer makes him relieved or upset. Secretly, he’d hoped it was his fault. He’s been trying to fix himself since he was small; adding another few flaws to the ever-growing list would put the responsibility on him. “I…guess.”
Leonard brushes the fingers of his free hand over Barry’s cheek—feather-light, soft enough to swat away and ignore if Barry doesn’t want it. But oh, how he does. “You have work tomorrow, Barry. Go to sleep.” More softly, he adds, “Don’t blame yourself for what’s not your fault.”
Barry can’t help obeying. When he wakes, Leonard is still by his side.