The Flash Fic - The Price of Time

[elrhiarhodan]

Title: The Price of Time
Author: elrhiarhodan
Fandom: The Flash (2014)
Rating: PG
Characters: Barry Allen, Harrison Wells | Eobard Thawne
Pairings: Barry/Harrison Wells | Eobard Thawne
Word Count: ~2000
Spoilers: None
Warnings/Enticements/Triggers: Reference to canon death of canon characters
Beta Credit: kyele
Summary: Part of the EoBarry Revealed Series, Barry is mourning the loss of memory and Eobard wants to give him comfort, any way he can.

Author’s Note: Written for the 2017 poetry_fiction Ho Xuan Huong Challenge, for the snippet:

Sick with sadness, spring passes, spring returns.
A bit of love shared, just the littlest bit

Ho Xuan Huong, Confession (II)

__________________



2213

Barry never brings flowers when he visits his parents' graves.

The headstones are worn with time; as if the centuries that haven't touched him have taken their payment on these markers, instead.

Barry aches with grief – the death of his mother suddenly feels as sharp as it had been when he’d been eleven and seen the shadows and the lightning, as sharp as the moment when he'd listened to a speedster plunge a knife into his mother's heart. He's not grieving for the child's loss, but for theft by time. Although he can remember the sound of her murder, Barry can't remember the sound of his mother's voice, the feel of the touch of her hand, or her kiss on his forehead.

It's different with the memories of his father. Many of those are still clear and bright and painful. Henry had lived for a decade as a free man, and although he'd remained only on the periphery of Barry's life, too uncomfortable with Barry's choices, he'd still maintained some contact with his son. And so Barry has a lifetime of memories – fifteen years of prison visits, the occasional post-prison get-togethers, and then at the end of Henry's life, hours spent at a hospital bedside, talking about everything that really had mattered.

But Barry’s time with Nora can only be viewed through the lenses of childhood, scratched and fractured by trauma, and even the hardest of those memories are dim and faded and all but gone.

The sky is as gray and hard as the granite headstones, the clouds just as impenetrable. Barry kneels in the wet grass and clears away the winter's detritus, the dead leaves and bits of blown branches. The cemetery – for all its age – is kept scrupulously clean, not because this is the final resting place for the wealthy and the famous, but because it's a place that matters to Barry. Money has a way of ensuring that things get done, and Eobard can't bear to see his husband's pain.

Barry's grateful for that, just one of a multitude of things that Eo does for him to make his days and nights better. If Barry were ever to mention it to his husband, Eo would undoubtedly scoff and give him some other reason for buying the huge swath of land that he can't do anything with – something ridiculous about preserving the natural habitat of the endangered Cemetery Bird, or wanting to invest in antique granite, or needing a carbon offset for S.T.A.R. Labs, as if there are still things like carbon offset exchanges in the twenty-third century.

It's starting to rain, much like another time that Barry had been here. A time when there had only been one headstone on the Allen family plot, when the years had barely brushed their hand against the granite.

The rain is cold, and despite the calendar, it's still more winter than spring. Barry huddles in his jacket. The water finds its way under Barry's collar, dripping down his neck and back, soaking through his jacket and trousers. He doesn't wear the Flash's suit to visit his parents' graves – he's too noticeable a figure, too easy to spot and even after so many decades, the identity of the Flash and his Reverse are still the most highly guarded secrets in Central City. It wouldn't take much for some fellow mourner to note the graves where the Flash is kneeling and discover who he's grieving for.

Barry doesn't make this pilgrimage every March 11th; sometimes half a decade goes by between visits, sometimes Barry comes to the cemetery two or three times in a year. There's no particular reason for this, or any other visit, but today, Barry feels drawn here, feels the need to remember and to seek solace.

But the memories are gone and there's no solace to be found in the acres of granite.

Barry's so caught up in the pain of loss that he doesn't acknowledge the approach of his husband. Eobard kneels next to him and places a trio of yellow roses on Nora's grave, and the same on Henry's.

Barry never brings flowers when he visits his parents' graves.

Eobard rests a gentle hand on Barry's shoulders and after a few quiet moments, he says, "Let's go home."

Barry shakes his head; he can't bring himself to leave. He doesn't know why he feels this way today, why this year is so hard for him. Why the loss he'd reconciled himself to over twenty decades ago suddenly feels as fresh as a newly inflicted wound.

"Barry, please. It's time to go."

His husband's voice is gentle and so full of caring and love that Barry wants to wrap it around him like a cape, a blanket, a suit of armor to protect him against this pain. But Barry shrugs it off and remains on his knees, doing penance for a crime he didn't commit, for a past he'd refused to change.

The rain keeps falling as the day – already gloomy – begins to fade, and Barry watches the breeze pulls the petals off Eobard's roses.

Barry never brings flowers to his parents' graves.

"Barry, we're going now." Eobard's voice is gentle, but implacable.

Barry shakes his head again. He can't find the will to get up, to leave.

Eobard doesn't give him a choice. The rain and gloom and the scents of winter grass and wet stone are replaced by the electric rush of the speed force as Eobard carries him away. Barry doesn't fight; he has no will or desire to do so. His husband wants only what's best for him, and kneeling at his parents' gravesite in the pouring rain is not what's best.

They are home soon enough, which is a laughable expression because Eobard easily travels at Mach-7. But Eobard doesn't let go and gently herds Barry towards the master suite. The trip had been too quick, too brief, for friction to dry their clothes, so they're leaving trails of rainwater in their wake.

Barry smiles slightly as a small army of tiny robots emerge and do the mopping up. One bumps into his foot and lets out an angry beep before turning away. Barry scrubs his face and murmurs, "Our robot overlords are most displeased."

Eobard smiles and jokes, "Shh, don't let them hear you call them that, they might stage a palace coup and we could find ourselves homeless."

Barry sighs as the levity of the moment evaporates and grief swamps him like the tide. He lets Eobard strip him out of his wet clothes and push him into the bathing room. The air is warm and humid and feels good against Barry's clammy skin. Eobard tugs him towards the bathtub, but Barry pulls away and heads for the shower.

It will be easier to hide the tears.

:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::

Eobard watches his husband grieve and it breaks something inside of him. It's been centuries since they'd come to an understanding - a reconciliation - about what had happened on the night Nora Allen had been murdered, and the part that Eobard had played in it. Barry had been more forgiving than Eobard had thought he would ever be entitled to, but that is Barry - loving and generous.

Barry's also a man who rarely lets his emotions get the better of him - perhaps a lesson learned from his first years as the Flash. He tends to be self-contained, rarely revealing strong feelings, whereas he - Eobard - still has issues with control. He's gotten better over the years, taking a more measured approach when he perceives a threat, but he can still spiral out of control if Barry is in danger.

Right now, however, Eobard feels helpless. He wants to fix Barry's grief, to give him surcease from the pain, and he does the only thing he can - he strips out of his clothes and joins Barry under the cascading water, holding him while he sobs.

Barry's shudders begin to ease and he remains still in Eobard's arms while Eobard rocks him gently, murmuring words of comfort. Finally, the shaking stops and Barry looks up, his eyes glowing - not from the speed force, but from tears.

Eobard asks, "Are you okay?” Barry nods and it seems as if he's about to apologize, but Eobard silences him with a soft kiss. "There's nothing to be sorry about.”

Eobard waves his hand in front of the control panel and the water slows to a trickle and then stops. He eases Barry out of the shower and wraps him in a warm robe before putting on his own. He leads him back to their bedroom and to their bed.

Barry comments with plaintive practicality, "I'm still wet."

"Don't worry about it." Eobard pushes Barry back and after he gets him out of the robe, he covers Barry with the assortment of comforters that Barry can't seem to do without in the colder months. A white, down-filled one, then a quilted gray velvet and satin coverlet, and finally, Barry's favorite - a deep red comforter that he'll wrap around himself in the early morning hours, after Eobard's left the bed.

Now, though, Eobard doesn't give him the chance as he takes off his own robe, tosses it casually on the floor and climbs under the covers. Barry's skin is still damp, but he's warm and vibrant with the speed force as Eobard pulls him into his arms.

"Can you talk about it?"

Barry lets out a small sigh and tucks his face into Eobard's neck. "I don't know if I can."

"Can you try?" Eobard doesn't know if pushing at Barry will do any good. But Barry trusts him and even if he doesn't say anything now, he might in an hour, or a day…

Barry rubs his cheek against Eobard's shoulder, seeking comfort. "All the good memories are fading, Eo. I can barely remember my mother's face, the sound of her voice, the touch of her hand. I try, but I can't hold onto them." Barry's voice is low. He sounds sad and weary and resigned.

Eobard wants to fix this; he wants his husband's happiness. "We can go back, you know. Not to interfere, but maybe just to watch and listen – ”

Barry lifts his head up and looks at him. "You know that's not really a good idea. Just being in the twenty-first century can set off changes."

Eobard smiles. "I know, but if it would help you, it's worth the risk."

"No, it isn't." Barry lets out a small sigh. "What if it changes us? Nothing is worth that."

"No, but …" Eobard thinks. There has to be a way to fix this.

Barry smiles. "I love you for so many reasons, but for this most of all. You are so protective of my happiness." Barry kisses him gently, sweetly. "You'd do anything for me, and that can be terrifying. And wonderful."

"What about Cisco? He can vibe through time, so why not let him take you back to a good day? A day when you know you're happy. A birthday, maybe?"

Barry seems to give his idea some consideration, but he shakes his head. "No, Eo. It wouldn't be right."

"Why not?" Eobard thinks this would be the perfect solution. "No one will see you, you can't actually affect anything."

"I need to live in the present, with you, with the life we've spent centuries building, in the world we love." Barry relaxes again and rubs his cheek against Eobard's shoulder. "I may grieve for what I've lost, but loss is the price of immortality. There will come a time when I'll forget Henry and Iris and Joe and Caitlin and Eddie, too, and I'll have to accept it."

Eobard holds his husband close and rests his check against Barry's hair, breathing in the sweet, familiar smell of clean man. "How are you so wise?"

"Is it wisdom? Or merely hard-learned lessons?"

"Is there a difference between the two?" Eobard ponders the question.

Barry doesn't answer; he just nestles deeper under the covers and Eobard lets peace flow over them, cleansing away the grief, like a spring rain washing away the winter snow.

FIN