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She might as well set up a room for herself in this place or something, considering the amount of time she spends here nowadays. It’s more than she’s at home, that’s for sure – not that her too-bare apartment has ever really felt like a home to her. And maybe that’s why she finds herself staying here till all hours of the night, falling asleep at her desk or sprawled out across one of the medical bed that Barry too often occupies.
S.T.A.R. Labs, she knows, as much as she resents it sometimes (a lot of the time), has always been more of a home to her – not because there’s anything particularly inviting about the sterile atmosphere or hard surfaces and research equipment in every corner or anything, but more because of the people she’s met through it, the rag-tag little family she’s built here. This place is the source of some of her very worst memories, and all of her best; she just wishes so many of those didn’t overlap.
It’s Friday night, and she is, predictably, alone, slouched over her desk and poring over her notes for what feels like the thousandth time, trying desperately to find something, anything she’s missed that might help save Jay’s life. She lets out a shaky breath and runs a trembling hand down her face; the clock on her desk is telling her it’s already almost midnight in red, blinking numbers, and there’s a burning in her throat and a hollowness in her chest that just won’t go away.
“Why does everyone I love always die, or leave me,” she mumbles into her palm, and even as she says it she knows she doesn’t really love Jay. Not in that way, at least. Cares about him, sure, but – she’s projecting, and she knows that. Like Ronnie, being with Jay is just…easy. And now that Jay is apparently dying, well…they really do have more in common than she’d like to admit, and that makes it remarkably easy to pretend, to ignore. As soon as the thought crosses her mind she can’t hold back a laugh – dry and humorless and not at all because it’s funny. It’s just – her entire life feels like a joke. “Fuck.”
“Tell me about it,” a voice comes from behind her, abruptly pulling her out of her thoughts, and it startles her so much she sends all the papers on her desk flying and nearly falls out of her chair, catching herself at the last second. The empty beaker at the corner of her desk that she accidentally sends sailing across the room as she whips around at a speed Barry would be proud of is not quite as lucky, shattering at the intruder’s feet.
No – not intruder, she thinks, as she lifts her gaze from the sad remnants of the beaker to Iris’s face, her friend’s expression sad and soft and apologetic.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” Iris says, kneeling down to sweep some of the bigger pieces of glass into her palm.
Caitlin shakes her head. “Leave it,” she says, referring to the glass, and Iris raises an eyebrow at her as if to ask if she’s sure. Caitlin just shrugs and her eyes dart to the empty spot on her desk, and then back to Iris: a silent offering. Iris straightens and deposits the pieces of glass already in her hand in the bin near Caitlin’s desk – always close, now, because she’s so often scrapping plans and ideas that’ll never work, that are never good enough – and makes her way over. She leans against Caitlin’s desk and gives her another apologetic little smile, and for the first time since she came in Caitlin notices how red-rimmed her eyes are, realizes with a shock that she must have been crying.
“Really, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude; I can leave if your busy – I know it’s late – I just thought –” she breaks off, frowning, like she can’t quite put a finger on what exactly it is she means.
“It’s fine,” Caitlin says, offering up a little smile of her own, and she’s dimly aware that this is the first time she’s genuinely smiled all day. “I’m glad you did. I was brooding, as you could probably tell.”
“Yeah,” Iris sighs, letting her eyes fall shut and tipping her head back, exposing the smooth skin skin of her neck, and Caitlin has to remind herself to breathe. To remember that just moments ago, she’d been thinking about how Jay might not make it, just like Ronnie didn’t. Except – it’s not really Jay she wants anyway, is it?
Don’t think about that, she scolds herself, biting down hard on her lip, waiting for Iris to speak again since she definitely doesn’t trust herself to, not when it’s this late, not when she’s feeling this vulnerable.
“Yeah, I can relate,” Iris continues, and Caitlin lets out the breath she’s been holding, letting herself relax just a fraction. “That’s actually what I came here to do, too; you know, kind of wanted to get away for a bit, be alone with my thoughts and all.”
“I’m sorry,” Caitlin says automatically, feeling foolish, because apparently she’s somehow messed this up too, intruded on Iris’s thinking space even though she was here first and Iris did approach her, not the other way around. Still.
“No, no,” Iris waves her off, cracking open an eye to peer at her, “I saw your car in the parking lot, realized you were here and that – maybe I didn’t really want to be alone after all, you know?”
“Yeah, I get it,” Caitlin smiles at her, because she does get it, she does know – she definitely feels better than she did five minutes ago, before Iris had shown up, comforted by the strong and steady presence at her side, although she realizes with a pang that it probably has a lot to do with the fact that it’s Iris who’s sitting next to her in the first place. “Did you…do you want to talk about it?”
“I should be asking you the same thing,” Iris says, gesturing to the uncharacteristic mess of Caitlin’s workplace, no doubt taking in the bags under her eyes, and Caitlin is suddenly self-conscious, acutely aware of the fact that she must look terrible – she really hasn’t been sleeping much, after all – and here Iris is, looking just as beautiful as ever even though she’s obviously just as tired. Caitlin just slumps back in her chair and gestures vaguely for Iris to continue, shaking her head in a wordless ‘you first.’
Her chest tightens in concern when she sees the tears gathering at the corners of Iris’s eyes, her eyes shiny and wet when she finally opens them again, and the look she gives Caitlin is just so miserable that she can’t stop herself from reaching out and resting a hand over Iris’s, curled around the edge of the desk, ignoring the guilt swelling in the pit of her stomach at the thrill it sends through her skin.
The hurt in Iris’s eyes softens just a bit, and she gives Caitlin a shaky smile, and doesn’t try to move her hand away, which is a relief. She lets out a shuddering breath before speaking, and Caitlin squeezes her hand a little in reassurance. “I know you weren’t talking to me when you said it, and I know I probably wasn’t supposed to hear you but…the whole thing about everyone you love leaving? I wasn’t lying when I said I could relate.” She’s silent for a moment, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth like she’s searching for the right words. “I went to see my mom today. In the hospital, she’s – she’s dying. I don’t even know her, never even got the chance to but it – it just feels like Eddie all over again, you know? I mean it’s different, of course, but still – in a lot of ways it’s sort of the same. At least it feels like that. Just another person I’m going to lose.”
“I’m sorry,” Caitlin says again, feeling small, feeling useless because there’s nothing she can do to help, but also feeling a rush of affection and empathy towards Iris because she really does get it, and it’s strange how she can feel so connected and so distant from someone at the same time. And then, because it seems like the right thing to say and she doesn’t think Iris really cares for empty promises, she says “I understand.”
“Yeah, I know. It’s okay. I’ll be okay,” Iris says, voice wavering like she’s trying to convince herself. When she turns her attention away from the spot she’s been staring at on the ground and back to Caitlin, Caitlin feels her cheeks heat up under the weight of her gaze, like she’s been caught in the middle of doing something she’s not supposed to – which, she supposes, studying the details of Iris West’s face is probably one of those things. “I’m sorry about Ronnie, too.”
Caitlin feels her heart speed up, a little ashamed because the cause of it is Iris resting her hand on her shoulder and not the mention of her dead, (or forever missing?), husband, although Ronnie’s name does leave a familiar ache of sadness in her chest. “It’s…not just that,” she sighs, leaning into Iris’s touch a little, grateful she hasn’t taken her hand away yet. “Jay is sick. Really sick. If we don’t stop Zoom soon, without his speed he’ll…” she trails off, not bothering to finish the sentence because she can tell by the look in Iris’s eyes that she understands, and she’s surprised to feel that uncomfortable burning back in her throat, making it hard to swallow.
“He’s not gone yet, Cait. We’ll figure it out,” Iris squeezes her shoulder again, and somehow with her the promise doesn’t feel empty, makes her feel like maybe things will be okay, after all, and…not really because of Jay, or what might or might not happen to him. More because she knows that even if Iris doesn’t feel the same way, even if Caitlin is left pining and feeling perpetually guilty for all her lingering stares and understandably conflicted over whether she’s reading too much into certain touches, certain looks, she’ll still have this. This quiet, comfortable friendship that as long as she doesn’t screw it all up, as long as she plays her cards right and doesn’t let her feelings get the best of her, she doesn’t think she’ll lose, because she can’t imagine anything tough enough to take Iris down.
Iris is strong in ways that never fail to surprise her, and she literally lives in a world with superheroes. She rests her hand over the one Iris still has on her shoulder in a silent thank you, ignores the traitorous butterflies in her stomach when Iris smiles back at her for real this time, and thinks that for now, it’s enough.