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Barry knew something was wrong with Ross. Even from the beginning of the Steam Train session he could hear the exhaustion in Ross’s voice, the light huskiness. He really wanted to ask what was wrong, and maybe even fix it, but he kept quiet. Maybe things would blow over, like they usually did.
Ross had swaddled himself in a blanket, with only his head and his hands holding the controller peeking out. At the sight of his character dying, he muttered several curses under his breath. Barry side-eyed him from the opposite end of the couch and noticed how blankRoss looked. Like he didn’t care about anything.
Barry would have to cut the episode short.
“Next time on Steam Train,” he said, forcing some pep into his voice, “Ross goes from being an O'Donovan to an O’Donowin.”
As he shut off the capture, Ross deadpanned, “That was lame.”
“Eh, I know.” Barry turned to him with a concerned frown. “You okay? You seem a bit tired or something.”
Ross shrugged, eyes cast down. “I just had a rough night.”
“You wanna talk about it?”
Curling in on himself, Ross snuck a glance at Barry. “I dunno,” he answered, and it was the first time all day he sounded something other than tired. Too bad that something was miserable. “I guess it would help, huh?” He didn’t wait for an answer before pulling the blanket even closer and taking a deep breath. “Holly’s super pissed at me.”
Barry tilted his head and drew his eyebrows together. Holly never got angry. Disappointed, maybe. But never angry. “Why?” he asked.
In that moment Ross looked so small, so fragile. The mask he’d been putting up cracked just a bit with the tremble of his lip. “I fucked up.” His words were slow, carefully calculated bricks lain down to dam the torrent of emotion behind it.
“Ross,” Barry said softly, like he was trying to calm a wounded animal. He shifted a bit closer to the other man, aching to offer a comforting touch. “It’ll be okay. Just tell me what happened.”
“I was just trying to mess with her. You know how I am,” Ross was almost pleading, nervous energy and desperation making him more animated.
“I know,” Barry agreed. He’d been on the receiving end of many of Ross’s hijinks. “Just let it out.”
“I let Lieutenant Birb escape and now she’s super pissed, and I just don’t know what to do, Barry, what if she hates me now, shit, I fucked up so bad-”
He was silenced by Barry pulling him into his arms.
“Easy there, buddy,” Barry said, tucking Ross’s head under his chin. Seeing Ross so distraught made him feel sick with needles prickling at his heart, a torturously dull ache. Sure, Barry knew that Ross made his own bed in this situation, but he honestly didn’t care. “You can stay at my place tonight,” he offered. “Dan’ll be out, so don’t worry about him seeing you like this. I’ll take care of you, and when you’re feeling better we’ll figure this out together, okay?”
Ross froze, and Barry began to panic, thinking that he had been too touchy-feely, too obvious about- nothing, absolutely nothing. But as soon as Ross relaxed, Barry’s heart followed suit.
“Thanks,” Ross whispered, a veneration that Barry readily drunk in.
They stayed together in heavy silence for a few minutes, not wanting to break the fragile little world they’d created. No Holly to worry about, no Steam Train to put on masks for, no one else to intrude. Just the two of them.
Barry felt his stomach do a flip.
He eased Ross away and stood. A groan slipped past his lips as he stretched up, relishing the burn of a body now in motion. Ross unravelled himself from his blanket and was out the door before Barry could even begin think about what they’d do once they got to his apartment.
The car ride was quiet. Barry didn’t really expect any different. But it was a different sort of silence than before. Like the ride before a funeral, where everything is cold and numb, and you don’t even want to think because you know that’ll just make things worse. Where you can’t help but wonder about your place on this crazy planet, or if you even have one.
He didn’t know why he felt that way. Maybe he was just being overdramatic. But the clouds hung low in the sky, looming over him with the threat of downpour.
That threat didn’t become real until they were already inside, Ross settled on the couch with the TV in front of him and Barry busying himself in the kitchen. He returned to the living room with a warm glass of milk in hand. Ross had a look of both appreciation and bafflement on his face as he took it.
“I’d be good with regular milk, you know.”
“Yeah.” Barry plopped down next to him. “But that’s mom-approved for calming nerves.”
Ross’s lips quirked up just a bit, and Barry knew that he wanted to crack a joke. Instead, he raised the glass to his lips and took a tentative sip. “Damn,” he said, eyes brighter, “this is actually pretty good. You put spices in it or something?”
Barry hummed an affirmation. “My mom used to make me warm milk to drink whenever I couldn’t sleep. Don’t remember everything she put in it, except for the secret ingredient, so I just winged it.”
“What’s the secret ingredient? Love or some bullshit like that?”
“Pssh, no.” Barry brushed off the twisting in his gut with a sheepish smile. “I would tell you what it is, but secrets are secrets.”
Ross nodded in understanding and continued to take sips of the milk. Barry watched him carefully, trying to decipher every minuscule expression on Ross’s face. He seemed more alive. But Barry didn’t want to assume that meant he was any better.
He wracked his brain for ideas on what to do next. Ross seemed content with watching TV for the moment, so that was good enough, he guessed.
In no time at all Ross had gulped down the rest of the milk and became enraptured with whatever show as on. Barry didn’t recognize it, and he had a feeling Ross didn’t either, but it was decent. After a while his attention was pulled away from it by Ross scooching closer to him, and resting his head on Barry’s shoulder.
Forcing the frog in his throat down, Barry glanced down at Ross and asked, “Tired?”
“Oh, yeah,” Ross mumbled, a twinge of his accent slurring his words. “Where am I sleeping?”
“My bed,” Barry answered without hesitation. Then what he said hit him. If Ross wasn’t on his arm, he’d smack himself.
“Jeez, take me out to dinner first, at least,” Ross teased.
“Oh, I’d like to,” Barry mumbled, a half-joke and half something he’d rather not think about. Seeing that Ross already had his eyes closed, he spoke a bit louder, “C’mon, we gotta get you in bed.”
It was a little bit of a struggle- Ross was insistent on falling asleep even as he was led to the room- but Barry managed to get him in bed, with several blankets for him to get wrapped up in. He took a moment to watch Ross, checking one last time for any sign of unease.
Nothing but peaceful relaxation.
He carefully closed the door on his way out, wincing at the sharp click. Rain was still pouring against the roof, adding a layer of noise that he hoped wouldn’t disturb Ross. He needed as much sleep as he could get. As soon as morning came, they’d have to deal with Ross’s can of worms.
Or maybe not. It was stupid, an idea based entirely on fantasy, but Barry could look for the pigeon. Lieutenant Birb was fairly domesticated, so it wouldn’t be completely outrageous to say that he might still be around Ross’s and Holly’s home. If he found him, then Ross would be able to make up with Holly.
Ross would be happy.
Pulling on a coat, Barry dashed out of the apartment, got in his car, and drove as quickly as he could. Once he reached his destination, he took a moment to reflect on what he was about to do: go out into the onslaught of rain to look for a bird that most likely wouldn’t even be there.
Why did he even think he could pull this off? He didn’t know, didn’t want to know, but he didn’t let the odds deter him.
Hours upon hours of searching, being soaked to the bone with rain, and constant regret for not bringing a heavier coat finally reached fruition. There Lieutenant was, taking shelter underneath some random person’s mailbox. Barry carefully approached, glad that the rain drowned out every sound he made.
He took off his jacket and held it outstretched. One step. Two steps. Three…
With a pounce he captured the bird, making sure there was no way for him to fly off. He held the bundle against his chest- it was really weird being hit with wings- and returned to the car as quickly as he could. His heart was beating fast, warming his body. Everything became brighter.
On his way home he stopped by a pet store and got a decent cage for Lieutenant. The pigeon glared at him after it was put inside and buckled into the passenger seat. He cooed angrily and bobbed his head up and down, ready to strike.
“Sorry,” Barry said, wiping his face on his soaked sleeve. Damn, he was tired. “But I had to do what I had to do, you know?”
Lieutenant beat his wings against the cage in response.
By the time they got home the clouds had mostly cleared and Lieutenant realized the futility of being pissed. Barry had to squint to not be blinded by the sunlight as he got out of the car. Did he really spend all night looking for some bird?
Quietly as he could, he went inside and listened for Ross. There was movement in the kitchen. Good, he was awake. Barry set Lieutenant on the coffee table and followed the sound of clinking glass and muttered curses.
He found Ross frantically stirring a glass of milk, with many different spices and herbs on the counter and a half-empty gallon that had been nearly full last Barry saw. “Uh, need help?”
Ross nearly jumped out of skin. Somehow he managed to keep the glass in his hands as he whipped around toward Barry. The surprise on his face melted into subdued worry. “Barry, where the hell have you been?”
Shrugging nonchalantly, Barry simply answered, “Out. Had to pick something up.”
“I hope it’s whatever you used to make that milk yesterday.” Ross handed the glass over to Barry with a pout. “I’ve been trying ever since I got up to recreate it, but nothing fuckin’ works.”
A short, breathy laugh escaped Barry. “You probably didn’t use the secret ingredient.”
“But I tried everything!” Ross threw up his hands in defeat. “Fine, you make the milk, and I’ll return the favor by cleaning up the river you dragged inside.”
“Okie-dokie,” Barry said, then got to work as Ross padded away. It was a pretty easy recipe. Some sugar, a pinch of nutmeg, a dash of cinnamon, and…
He held the newly made milk in his hands, closed his eyes, and took a deep breath. “I just want him to feel better.”
The trail of water hadn’t disappeared when he went into the living room. Ross was sitting on the couch, mesmerized by the bird cage and its captive. He turned to Barry, blue eyes wide with disbelief. “You found him?”
Barry was dumbfounded for a moment. Light pouring in made a halo around Ross, accentuating the pull of his lips into a small smile. Barry’s heart pounded with the mantra “angel, angel, angel”, overtaking every other thought in his mind.
It struck him like a bullet through the gut. “Yeah,” he said, his voice a low murmur. “I found him for you.”
He was in love with Ross O'Donovan.