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He’s a barista in a coffee shop. He’s the bright, excited, young mechanic. He’s the handsome stranger who spills his coffee on him. He’s the stranger whose phone dies on him when he needs to call his niece. He’s Iris’ friend, he’s Joe’s partner, he’s Cisco’s step cousin, he’s Caitlin’s brother, he’s Felicity’s ex, he’s Stein’s student, he’s someone new every week.
But the smile and the name never change.
“Hi.” He, the firefighter, recently moved from Metropolis, rugged face streaked with grey ash and sweat, smiling like he just met the love of his life rather than emerging from a three alarm fire. “I’m Eddie Thawne.”
And Barry, with tears in his eyes that the firefighter attributes to the smoke, replies in a tight, choked voice, “I’m Barry.”
They grab a drink together, and Barry hates himself the whole time, but he loves the sparkle in Eddie’s eyes, and the way his head bobs when he laughs. Eddie brushes his hand over Barry’s at one point in the conversation, and a shiver goes through Barry when he feels how hot the other man’s rough fingers are.
They spend the night together, and Eddie comments on how right Barry feels, with his arms wrapped around him, as though they were meant for this. “It’s weird…” He murmurs into the cool moonlight that washes over them, fingers stroking Barry’s wrist tenderly. “It’s weird but I feel like…I know you. This isn’t first date talk, or first night talk, I know, but it’s like…this was meant to happen. Like we were meant to happen.”
Barry doesn’t reply, just nuzzles his head against the rough stubble of Eddie’s chin and pulls him closer. At least he has him, for a little while.
Eddie cooks him breakfast the next morning. Scrambled eggs with fried tomatoes, sausage, a glass of day old orange juice, and coffee. “Hope you like it.” He says, with a smile that bears a hint of anxiety. “You were asleep and I just figured…maybe you’d…”
Barry looks up at him, a little more intensely than he means to. “It’s my favorite.”
He takes a sip of the too-hot coffee, trying to act as though the tears that have filled his eyes are from the shock of it.
They text each other for the rest of the day. Barry tries to stay away, for his own preservation, but he’s irresistibly drawn to Eddie. He’s like an alcoholic; he needs more, more, more. Eddie sends him a text asking if he’d like to go see a movie, completely on a whim. Barry says no, but “yes” is what he ends up sending back.
The movie’s ridiculous, and about halfway through, Barry leans his forehead into Eddie’s shoulder and just laughs tiredly. Eddie stiffens in surprise (this isn’t second date behavior, even for people that spent the night together), but he relaxes after a moment, reaches his arm back and strokes Barry’s hair. “We can go home if you want.” He whispers, chuckling.
Home. Barry thinks. He calls it home. His place or mine, it’s home. It’s always home. Every time. Even if he doesn’t know why.
They go back to Eddie’s place, and Eddie sleeps soundly, curled up in Barry’s arms.
They spend the next four days with each other, and as the shadows get longer over and over again, Barry feels the usual sense of foreboding, the casual sense of dread. It’ll be over soon. To spare himself, he should go. He should leave. He should tuck Eddie in in the night, grab his things, and run. Running’s what he’s best at. Running and leaving Eddie.
But he aches for the love in that man’s smile.
Six days after their first date, they’re sprawled out on the couch, watching stupid TV shows on late night cable until the news comes on. They open with a feature piece on the Flash, and Barry quirks his mouth, knowing what’s coming, and tries to change the channel.
“Wait, don’t!” Eddie says. “I wanna hear about this.”
Barry shuts his eyes tiredly and heaves a quiet sigh. “You’re interested in the Flash?” He asks. He always has to ask. Every time. Like following a script written by the universe.
Eddie glances over at him, the reflection of the TV and the blurred images of the Flash dancing in his eyes. “Well, yeah, is that weird?”
“No.” Barry says, shifting in position so he can lay his head on Eddie’s leg. “It’s endearing.”
He’s tried lying. He’s tried telling the truth. He’s tried changing the subject. He’s tried everything, but they always end up.
“You want ice cream?”
“You’re gonna make me fat.” Eddie says, pretending to groan. “But sure.”
“You love me.”
Eddie slips his fingers through Barry’s and cradles his hand in his. “Well, yeah, is that weird?” He repeats softly. “I’m probably the clingiest person. It’s only been a few days, but…I don’t know, I feel…”
“I love you too.” Barry says. He’s got tears running down his cheeks and hehates himself, why does he always do this? “I love you.”
Eddie gets ready for work the next morning, and Barry holds onto him for as long as he can, kisses him as many times as he can, grips his hands as close as he can and kisses those too, as many times as he can. Eddie laughs lovingly at him for it.
“I’ll be back tonight, babe.” He says, kissing Barry’s hands in return. “I’ll be back.”
“Don’t go. Stay with me.” Barry’s voice is empty and tired as he speaks, and he feels so heavy. Eddie runs his rough fingers down Barry’s baby smooth cheek.
“I’ll be back tonight.” He says firmly, gently.
He isn’t. Barry doesn’t even have to check the news. He does anyway, because he wants to convince himself he doesn’t care. There’s Eddie’s picture, probably the one hanging at the station house, of him smartly dressed in his uniform, smiling like he’s just met the love of his life, hanging by the headline 1 fireman dead in two alarm fire.
Barry goes home that night. Waits for the world to reset.
He dreams of the wormhole, like he does every seventh night. He hears the gunshot, and Joe yelling. He dreams of Eddie, blood, all wet and sticky andwarm staining his white shirt. The stain is so thick and so dark. He feels the blood on his hands as he dreams. He hears Iris screaming, crying, sobbing. He hears Eddie murmur, “I only ever wanted to be a hero…your hero.” He watches as that beautiful face creases with a smile one last time, the light draining out of the deep blue eyes. He watches as Eddie’s limp, heavy shell gets sucked into the monstrosity of the wormhole, while he feels like the heart in his chest has split in half, and his lungs have a piece of the wormhole inside him, threatening to suck in every last bit of oxygen in the world and still not be satisfied.
He dreams of the day after they close the wormhole, when he met Eddie again, and thought he was crazy. He dreams of how that Eddie, the Eddie who had never met him, who no one else knew, the Eddie who was a professional rugby player with a bruise on one cheek and one arm in a sling, had asked him out for a drink, and Barry had stammered out a yes. He dreams of how they’d been together for six days, until Eddie had seen a news piece about the Flash, and Barry asked if he was interested. He feels how he felt when that Eddie said he loved him.
He wakes up in a cold sweat before he can remember how that Eddie had suddenly dropped dead, complications of a concussion.
Cisco had told him, once, one week, when Eddie was a scientist who worked with them and had helped Cisco become even more brilliant. “Oh Barry, You and Eddie are cursed. I’ve seen it, every timeline, every universe it’s always the same. Over and over again you meet Eddie, you both fall madly in love and then he dies and you’re always never quite fast enough to save him.”
Fastest man in the world, and he’s never fast enough.
Iris calls him to come meet her for breakfast. “I’ve brought a friend,” she says, trying so hard to be sly. “He’s blond, buff, and brilliant. He’s a scientist, a doctor of cosmology. You’ll love him.”
Barry grins bitterly into the phone. “I already do.”