An: So this is my first attempt at soulmate fics and I'm borrowing my best friend's writing style since she says this might help solve my dilemma of writing too long one shots.

Enjoy!

Summary: Legend has it that words would be etched on the wrist of few select people that ultimately gives foresight to their future, these people are called Orendas. Some get hints about who they end up with, others who they're going to be and even their destinies. For Barry Allen his word encompasses his love, his life and his destiny, still it doesn't mean he has to like it.

Serendipity

by: Nym13

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'...Legend has it that gods used to allow people to live their lives freely, and to deal with the consequences of their actions all on their own.

But humans didn't know how to cherish this gift.

They either used it sparingly, therefore allowing their lives to waste away into oblivion, or they abused it abundantly and gallivanted without consideration nor due care, causing death and destruction to rubble on their paths.

So the gods took pity on mankind and gifted them heroes.

Heroes that helped fixed their wrongs, helped revert the world back into a state of equilibrium. Heroes who simply turned the world into a kinder place, a more live-able space.

Or...

Heroes who would one day perform acts that were almost miracles. For how could they not when the gods were behind them?

These select few will serve as vessels for the will of gods.

Their destinies long since mapped out for the greater good, though sometimes for its contrary...after all, not all gods were just, some are disagreeable and flooding with ill-intent and resentment.

These heroes' lives go about certain courses, borne from whose champions they were.

Nonetheless, they were considered one of the lucky ones.

On the other hand...

Some humans are blessed and loved by the gods and because they were so, they were given the gift of foresight.

Such blessing allows them to peek into their futures, even as trivial as who they end up with.

Their future roles and jobs in society.

Even their life's purpose.

They were considered the loved ones.

Such gifts came in the most opportune but least expected moments. No one is certain when it should or would happen just that it does to a chosen few.

When one receives a word when they're still young (and yes it does happen) it isn't something that people should take eminently on, since the gods have the tendency to be flighty and might still change their minds.

One can still loose favour when destinies still had the luxury of time.

It was decreed that the rightful age for a person to be dubbed as an Orenda; (both the loved and lucky ones) was twelve.

The number of completion.

Though sometimes, just sometimes being part of the chosen leaves one without a choice...'

And that really sucks for Orendas.

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To what do I owe this gift, my friend?

My life, my love, my soul?

Creed; "Hide"

I. Scratches & Burns

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A girl places a plaster on his knee but then it's his wrist he felt burning.

He and Iris had been playing in the local park when Barry fell down and scrapped his leg.

Another girl was fortunate enough to carry a first aid kit with her and offered to patch him up.

Barry Allen couldn't understand how his nerve endings could be so disoriented, sending wrong messages to his brain; with his knees scarily feeling numb.

For a five year old whose whole life was spent playing in a sandbox, he just thought he was having a rash and thanked the older though nameless girl for helping him out.

So when he ran back home and his mum questions him about his scratches and demands to see if he was injured anywhere else, he readily obeyed.

Nora Allen instantly spots the black markings etched on his pale skin just on top of his pulse. With disbelieving eyes, she traces the lines with her fingers and presses down on his heartbeats as if wondering if they were real.

After bars of soap and sponges that scratched his wrist raw, the word still remained, resolute on its abode.

Nora Allen then starts panicking.

Barry hears his mother calling his father, sees the way she bit on her manicured nails causing them to turn jagged, and drags her fingers against her scalp in worry and frustration.

All Barry could do was continue drawing on his picture book, while his mother paces the halls in agitation.

That night though, he had the sudden inspiration of mimicking the word on his wrist, and so he grabs a dark crayon and drags it over a new clean sheet of paper and begun to write.

She comes back to his room moments later and tells him to change for bed as she stares at his wrist in apprehension, she kisses Barry's forehead in comfort after.

Now that Barry thinks about it, he wonders if that comfort was for him or for his mother.

As Nora closes the door to his bedroom, Barry shifts to lay upon his side. He tugs the sleeve of his pyjama up and stared at the black ink on his wrist; kill, it says.

His green eyes were splashed with wonder.

Barry couldn't understand how four simple letters, of all sharp edges could look so pretty beneath the moonlight.

II. Tattoo

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Nora Allen takes Barry to a special shop where he gets to choose knitted bracelets to hide the word on his wrist.

Barry couldn't fathom why he had to conceal his 'tattoo'; he thought it was pretty cool and asked if he could even get another one, preferably that of a red Dragon on his back but his mother just smiled sadly at him and patted his head gently.

Nora explains to Barry that such 'tattoos' were special and because they were so, they needed to be protected and safeguarded; meaning he wasn't suppose to show it to other people.

Not even Iris was allowed to see it.

Barry did not think it made any sense, it was just a word...how could anyone misread it?

And could he really keep something so cool from Iris; his best friend?

It was almost unthinkable.

But then again, the young had the knack of believing what grown-ups say to them and trivialising each recourse. Even if their parents themselves did not know what they were talking about, they remain to consider the issue a big deal when it involves the affairs of their children.

Misguided and misjudged, if you aren't either then you are both.

III. Gold Chains

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Barry thinks the red knitted band on his wrist was itchy and has always been tempted to remove it.

The other kids didn't seem to mind him wearing them, but soon everyone was clamouring to get knitted bracelets too. Girls wanted to have flowers embroidered on theirs while boys wanted dragons and cars stitched between bold threads.

At the playground, sporting one of those made them cool, and maybe that was why Barry became more averse to wearing his. To compensate for refusing to don on the bands he instead begun collecting hoodies and long sleeved shirts, believing that somehow seeing everyone wear the bracelets just made his tattoo seem less special, but he knows and he feels that it isn't so.

That his tattoo is bound to mean something.

It was suppose to, didn't it?

Barry was ten, and the customary knitted band was already irrelevant to him.

He knows it's something of the past to his peers as well. No one remains to patronise such accessory. It now brings him a feeling of fond nostalgia as he sees it each time he draws open his sock cabinet.

Barry now wears long sleeved sweaters and had a massive assemblage of hoodies spilling out of his closet borne of pure habit.

The new 'thing' that piqued the interest of their young minds was writing the names of their crushes on their notebooks. A trend Barry supposes ,will take a long time for his peers to move on from.

Admittedly, Barry never participated in these juvenile activities, or so he calls it. For how could he when the girl he likes keeps borrowing his notes to class?

He was on his way to the cafeteria and was passing by lockers owned by the sixth graders when he heard whispers before him.

It just about made him self-conscious, but then he saw a brown haired girl walking towards his direction.

There was nothing particularly eye catching about her, she had looked like a normal twelve year old wearing blue sneakers, jeans, and a plaid button up shirt; with a stack of books pressed tightly against her chest. Each step she took was quick and purposeful.

Her head was bent low as if ignoring the people around her or willing herself to stay invisible.

Barry could see that she was effectively minding her own business. But then a boy pushes his way through the crowd and blocks her path.

Barry recognised him as Max Kreaton, he knew about the older bloke since he often found his girl classmates scribbling his name on their notebooks.

Max was on the school's basketball team, with blue eyes, and blonde hair that made the younger girls swoon, but if Barry was being honest, all he saw when Max passes him by was that the older boy could be such a major ass.

He hears the Max mocking the brunette, and even if Barry had wanted to help her (since nobody else seemed to want to), he was kept glued to his place. The reminders of his parents about him being involved in fights stopping him from acting.

Max shoves her books to the ground and the girl scrambles down to pick up her scattered things but Max swiftly grabbed her wrist twisting it in his hand, and Barry catches sight of silver glimmer.

He stares at it fixated.

Max asks the girl from what prison she escaped from, as he gestured to the jewellery she wore. She fixes him a glare, pulls her arm back viciously and resolutely ignores him while she moves to gather her things.

Max kicks one of her books muttering how she was no fun that day, but then leaves her still sprawled on the floor.

Barry tentatively approaches her and hands her the book Max has callously treated for it was too far for her to reach.

She says her thanks and he extends his hand to her and introduces himself as Barry, because really, she didn't need to know he was a Bartholomew, she replies with hers; Caitlin.

She smiled and Barry notices the different hues of brown in her eyes lit up by that simple gesture.

He compliments her on her cool bangle which now that he was seeing it up close, he realised, was actually a thick silver band that was about four inches in length and circled almost half of her forearm.

And yes, it does remind him of chains and handcuffs.

Her demeanour seemed to change, as she muttered a polite goodbye and spun on her heels like a criminal fleeing the scene.

Barry had found it odd then, but didn't dwell too much about it. After all, everyone has a share of peculiarity and he was never privy to the details as to why, he never aspired to be a quidnunc anyway, thank you very much.

Three months later, he found out that the Caitlin he bumped across in the hallways was Caitlin Snow; the smartest person in school, just twelve and she was graduating high school.

He found out because her face was suddenly plastered on the graduation posters proclaiming her as the class valedictorian and he also discovered that the silver band she wore was something exclusively made for special people called Orendas.

Orendas.

Barry breathes the word to himself and was troubled by its familiarity.

Where has he heard that word before?

He had a nagging suspicion it was one of those bedtime stories his mother has told him of as a child. But who could trust fiction now a days?

The last time Barry saw Caitlin was when he was heading towards their local library during summer break, with Iris in tow.

He spotted her across the sidewalk, inside a family car and a moving van behind them. Caitlin's window was pulled down, and so when she glances to her side, Barry throws her a smile.

Brown meeting green.

Barry doesn't know why, but he waves at her.

Caitlin seemed surprised at first but then returns the favour just as ardently.

The stop light turned green after, and she was being pulled away by the traffic's current.

But somehow Barry knew that the wave was both a hello and a goodbye, and since both acts were opposites of their respective intents, he supposes that just maybe Caitlin Snow might have never came, and consequently never truly left.

A day after his twelfth birthday, Barry's parents takes him to the city hall, and it was the first time he was allowed to show his mark to another person.

He found out those tattoos usually came out in red colours that signified blood, it stood for life and meant that they stayed red until the significance of the word is fulfilled.

The scarlet ink does however turn black eventually; the occasion when it does is when that future event that alludes to the word finally materialises.

It turns black when the purpose of the word dies...

Barry Allen has a darkened mark.

Barry has been considered an anomaly, a special case and due to this, he is made to wear a golden shackle like band.

People like him were called orendas; people empowered to affect the world or to effect change in their own lives. Barry Allen just wasn't sure how he was going to do that despite everyone telling him he would, when he can't even affect his physical education's grade.

And for the first time, since he started concealing his word, Barry Allen might actually not want to take the band off.

IV. Noli Me Tangere

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Five years later, and Barry begins struggling with his college application forms.

On one hand, he could always go to medical school and chose to become a doctor like his father. After all, he does have a special fondness for science.

But then he's painfully reminded that his word is 'kill' and that he didn't really fancy going down in history known as the doctor who killed.

There were moments when he'd feel his wrist itching and wondered if after all these years, he's suddenly developed an allergy to gold.

Still, he'd rather keep the band on than let people see his mark. All the while, thinking fondly that a rash would greatly improve its look.

Years later, and Barry still can't get over the fact that his mark was borne devoid of life.

He fears what people will think of when they realised his word was as bleak and dark as the obsidian ink it was drawn with.

But he's grown tired of teachers looking his way with awe and anticipation, of his peers slapping his shoulder each time he passes them by, like he freaking invented the Ethernet or something equally life enhancing.

He tires of random students looking at him and whispering to themselves, asking if they knew that Barry Allen was the first boy in school to wear a golden band and that he miserably looked liked a walking stick figure and could do with a bit of feeding, while they pointed at him.

Barry sighs as he slums his locker shut.

He barely had a moment to catch his breath before his homeroom teacher arrives at his side and reminds him about those college application forms he's yet to complete and submit.

Barry shakes his head sheepishly at his advisor.

Miss Summers smiles at him in confidence, don't worry she tells him, after all; Caitlin Snow, the only other girl who wore a band like his was now about to graduate from medical school.

With that being said, far greater things are expected from Barry Allen, so he should just follow his 'word' and things will be alright. After all, he is part of the lucky ones; he is an Orenda.

Their destinies pre-written by the gods. She tells him and Barry could hear a bit of resigned jealousy in her tone.

As she left Barry couldn't help but digress.

He was not part of the lucky ones, he tells himself.

He isn't free like the masses who had the liberty to write their own stories, nor free to look forward to the unknown.

He didn't have a future full of possibilities because people like him were always destined to do the impossible and nothing less nor more of that.

With such a path cleared out for him, he felt like a puppet being tugged by the strings of fate, steering him to somewhere he might not want to go and maybe that's why he has that mark of ownership, written on his wrist, to remind him that his life is not his own.

Perhaps, that's why people like him wear shackles.

They were prisoners of prophesied futures, none of which was their own choosing. And he wonders, if people truly understood that gold and silver chains, were still chains.

If Barry was being honest, nothing about him was particularly outstanding.

He seriously suspects that if it wasn't for the first time he wore the golden band to school and his teacher explained in class that there were select few known as Orendas, who the gods had looked kindly upon, then he wouldn't have climbed the social ladder and would be just another nerd who occasionally gets his arse kicked.

They say people with clear destinies were required to wear the silver or gold bands to conceal their words, because history shows that most people used those words to their advantage, and sometimes it lead to their destruction. For the protection of those like him they were advised to conceal the celestial mark.

Only a few people are expected to know of their marks; the persons who the bearer of the words decides to show it to, (though they are advised to keep this only within their direct family members); and the city chancellor.

The city chancellor is the bearer of special records, the one who's specialty was governing and classifying Orendas . City chancellors even determine what band they'd get; silver or gold.

City chancellors oversee the affairs of the likes of Barry Allen, and keep their respective information in utmost confidence. City chancellors were Orendas as well.

It is known, that only one chancellor is born in every city; they were marked since birth, forever tied to their respective cities, for chancellors weren't allowed to leave their posts until their successor is ready to assume the position. Destined to a lifetime of noble servitude, they remain constant as the flows of time continue to change humanity.

Chancellors are viewed with utmost respect, they worried for naught, as they received all the comforts of the world.

It is often a colloquial term to refer to the privileged as those born as chancellors, but to Barry Allen chancellors were the saddest of his kind.

And maybe that's why for the longest time they had to wear the same golden band as he does.

Iris' father; Joe West was the city chancellor, and only he and his parents knew the truth about him.

Maybe it was his will of trying to run from his destiny and choosing to see in rose coloured lenses the word 'kill' on his wrist that he finally chose physics and forensic sciences and wrote them down on his college application forms.

After all, if he was running to death, he might as well do something good with his life.

Barry turns his band on his wrist with a pronounced sigh, the gold catches light and a silver glimmer emitted from the transcribed Latin phrase...

Noli Me Tangere . . .

Touch me not.

Barry supposes that not being touched often led to not holding anything at all.

V. Something New & Something Old

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Barry Allen gets into one of the most prestigious science universities of the country.

His acceptance letter says it's because he passed their entrance exam and university interviews. If he's being honest...

Barry strongly suspects it's because of his golden band.

As he settles in his dorm room and slumps on his newly made up bed, (the only area of his room he has actually completed fixing) Barry couldn't help but let out a pronounced sigh.

He allows himself to sink into his equally newly bought sheets, and recalls his interview with the dean; a conversation he doesn't understand why he keeps replaying in his mind.

He closes his eyes and reminisces.

Barry remembers how the dean had thumbed through his transcripts, test results and recommendation letters in careful deliberate strokes.

Mr. Brownworth had nodded silently to himself, as he glanced at the dotted lines of Barry Allen's papers.

Barry recalls noticing how the dean's eyes ever so often flicked to his gold covered wrist, and instantly that feeling of anxiousness that had settled in his stomach before the interview begun, ebbed away, replaced by a sinking feeling of disappointment.

Barry is never presumptuous, but he knows, just knows that the dean was going to ask about his being an Orenda. After all, they always do.

And he hates that, because he feels as if he's helping fool the already misguided by not telling them the truth of his golden band, of what it truly meant. That it was not as grand as they might think. And truthfully, he was afraid of them finding out.

So maybe, he hates his own hypocrisy too.

The dean asks him about Caitlin Snow instead, and this catches Barry off-guard.

Caitlin Snow, the name echoes in his head.

Mr. Brownworth informs him that Caitlin was pursuing higher education in bio-engineering in the university. Graduating from the same high school, and even primary school, he wonders if Barry and Caitlin were friends.

In Barry's head what Mr. Brownworth said translated to, you're here because of Caitlin Snow aren't you?

Barry shakes his head in response.

He knew Caitlin Snow, has heard of her continued brilliance even, but he's never gotten the chance to fully befriend her. He didn't even know she went to this freaking university.

How could I, when she's out of my league, Barry thinks to himself.

The dean seemed to accept that and continued with his interview in a businesslike manner after.

Pulling out from his reverie, Barry opened his eyes and stared at the simple white ceiling of his room.

He reminds himself that this was a new room, a new word and it offered him a new start. But some things still remained the same.

Like, his constant struggle to catch up to Caitlin Snow.

For so long, Barry has lived his life under Caitlin's shadow.

Maybe it's unfair to claim that Caitlin has been making him feel inferior, because she might not even be aware of his existence, much less his feelings and disposition.

There was no way she would have known that growing up with a golden shackle, Barry was constantly compared to her, and subjected to know of her accomplishments even if in all those times he just wanted to languidly pass his high school days and keep it uneventful.

To have a sense of normalcy, instead of the painted grandeur that was not him.

Still, Barry can't help but feel how much their lives were closely intertwined. Probably not out of their own volition, but by other people's intent and design.

The truth of the matter remains, that wherever he went, it seemed that the world kept finding ways to draw him back to her. To pull the memory of her from the deepest nook of his mind.

Barry didn't know why she always managed to creep into his thoughts once in awhile, despite the fact that they never really had anything to begin with.

They were almost strangers to each other.

If it wasn't for that first meeting, and the smile she last gave him, they would never know of each other. Never would have sensed they roamed the same school halls, for they were far too busy sticking their noses in on their own businesses.

But think of her, he still does.

Barry wonders if he's the only one who over contemplates about Caitlin Snow. Envision her in his waking moments, as he does now.

Maybe she was currently curled up in her dorm being brilliant, while he moved too slow in unpacking his boxes?

He sighs again, god he could really use a roommate. He badly needed a distraction, since if he lets his mind stay idle, thoughts of Caitlin might plague him still.

And he'd feel even more inadequate.

He wasn't even in love with her!

And yet...she has this charismatic effect in him, a certain kind of attraction that didn't particularly make him smile.

Though, he's aware of the fact that before he sleeps she's his last thought, forever frozen as a twelve year old with the auburn hair, brown eyes and just a bit of sadness caught by her lashes every time she blinks.

He unshackled the band on his wrist and stares at the black letters on top of his pulse, tracing them with his calloused fingers in slow and deliberate movements.

It's been years yet it still look freshly drawn.

Thirteen years, it's been that long since he received it.

Why did he received it then?

What could have a five year old done (in a playground no less) to have such a dead word materialised on his skin?

All he did was managed to scrape his knee, and he's done that loads of times.

All he managed to kill that day was nothing but time, he doubts he even stepped on a bloody ant.

It was an uneventful day, a day spent with Iris and ended just as much. But then...

That girl...he met a girl then, and she was the one who patched him up.

She was the anomaly, the independent variable that led to his state.

She was the catalyst.

He mentally kicks himself wondering how it took him thirteen years to reflect, he doesn't even remember her face, he must have only seen her that one time and he not once gave a damn nor thought about her.

She must have went to the same school as he does, or lived in the same neighbourhood that he did.

What was she doing now?

Where is she?

All he remembers is that she must have been a few years older than he was, because she's been so articulate with her words and meticulous with her work.

She had seemed far too clever for her age though. Barry thinks no one that young has had the foresight of bringing a first aid kit in his or her bag packs and actually knows how to use it.

No one in school was that smart, and he didn't know anyone else who had a learned mind that far surpassed their youth.

You know of one...his subconscious tells him, but he shakes his head at that thought. Why don't you believe that it could be her?, that voice prods again.

...because I don't ever want the word to relate to her, Barry reasons to himself.

There was no way the word could resonate with her.

But somehow he knows, it's her, that it does revolve around her.

Caitlin Snow was the girl who mended his knee.

His catalyst, his word.

And ultimately, his chain.

She was the girl of his past, the one he failed to thank.

She, who he missed, and maybe that's why she remains to live on in his present.

She passed the same halls he's passed. He's been to places she first traipsed. She always took the lead and he remained a thousand steps behind, even if those who sees of his golden band might be convinced of otherwise.

Caitlin will always be relevant, will always be something new, while he remains a thing of her past, and his disposition growing really old.

Such will be the cycle of their lives, with her turning clockwise, and he counter clockwise, yet still remaining forever tied to each other's destinies. Revolving the same orbits, staying on the same page but rereading different words, they remain to be just close enough. Always missing each other along the way, with the ticks of time. Until one day, that connection will cease.

Barry longs for that day.

Because when it does, he would have finally stopped trying to catch up to Caitlin Snow.

On that day, he would have moved on.

VI. Archive

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Barry sinks into his bed with a sigh.

It's been eight years since he last saw her; in those eight years he had occasional bouts of wonderment, mild moments of presupposing what their first meeting in adulthood would be like.

He had it mapped out in his mind, a step by step procedure. He'll greet her casually, ask her about how's she's doing and say goodbye like good old acquaintances, he thought he could act normal around her, act casual while it's happening and nonchalant forever, in actuality, he couldn't.

Her auburn hair was shorter now, as it fell just on top her shoulders, she's also a lot taller too, a lot older, but somehow she seemed happier.

The traces of the once bullied kid was gone from the lines of her face. Time must have been kind to her, or she finally found a place to belong to, a place where no dimwitted buffoons made fun of her.

She looked free despite the silver shackle strapped on her right hand that glistened while she walked, swaying her arms ever so slightly.

Barry couldn't help but think, why couldn't he be like her?

Earlier that day, he was studying in the library for a physics exam and as he heard the clock struck nine in the evening he quickly gathered his belongings planning to retire to his room. He was wanting to continue studying there and bring with him some physics reference books to read on.

Barry headed towards the librarian, the stack of books strapped securely over his chest and that is when the librarian calls out for someone, Barry paused in his tracks, recognising the name.

He turned to look at his back with anxious eyes.

Barry had been so shocked to see her then.

He knew they were studying in the same university, but since she was at the graduate school and he only a freshman he honestly believed they wouldn't cross paths again.

Caitlin Snow had walked towards the librarian and smiled.

The librarian had chided her for stealing her job for Caitlin was once again stacking up books left by the students, and returning them to their proper places, after all, she's well acquainted with the Dewey decimal system.

The two shared a laugh while Barry stood awkwardly by the counter waiting for his books to be checked out like a random lamp.

He hears the librarian continue chiding the older girl fondly.

Caitlin reasons that with her busy schedule, it was the only physical activity she could do, and as a doctor she should really have an exercise.

The librarian hands him back his library card then along with the books, Barry hastily receives them, but as he stretched out his hand, Caitlin saw the golden light from his band.

And he hears her slight intake of breath as he sighs to himself.

"You're an Orenda aren't you?" it took a few moments for Barry to realise she was talking to him.

He nodded his head, Caitlin stares at his band again in contemplation, "Gold, I can't imagine what burden you have to bear." She tells him with a sympathetic smile.

Stunned, Barry had stuttered a goodbye before he broke into a run.

He didn't even look back.

Couldn't bring himself to look back.

He doesn't know why he ran away from her, doesn't understand the fear that gripped at his nerves when her brown eyes touched the expanse of his golden band as if she could see what was written on his wrist.

He knows she meant nothing by it, she was just making small talk. Still, he couldn't stop making a big deal about her words, feeling that the interlude had meant so much. And he's just so disgusted with himself by how juvenile he seemed, running like a mumbling half-wit.

Perhaps, the gods were mistaken.

He wasn't great like Caitlin.

He didn't fit the criteria of being an Orenda.

He hasn't figured out anything in his life, couldn't even bring himself to confess to Iris despite harbouring an unrequited love for her for eight years. Let alone, understand a four letter word oozing with grimness and malice.

Barry shuts his eyes, feeling more embarrassed by the debacle he's made and still spasming by the memory of his foolishness.

He shifted on his side rubbing his temples, thinking that the gods might have been blind when they picked his name, for there was no way he would go down the archives of history.

He was unworthy to be a hero nor a villain.

The only instance he supposes that he'd make it into that ancient and coveted list is if he were the dust pressed between yellowed pages of the books.

With this thought, Barry grabbed a thick physics tome and hammered his head to it, hopping to knock some senses into his flimsy head.

Thinking about it now, all the act managed was to knock him out and to leave a bruise on his forehead forcing him to wear a bloody red bandana, like some hippy biker the day after.

Stupid, stupid...stupid.

VII. Pendulum

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Happy 25th Birthday!

I know it's early but that might make up for your constant lateness. Hope you like my gift and maybe you won't forget about the hours we've shared. And remember, to treasure the seconds you have.

Love,

Iris.

After reading that letter Barry really shouldn't be surprised that Iris had given him a watch. But not just any watch, it was a brass pocket watch and had even a bit of rust marring its surface. Obviously, it was an antique.

Staring at it, he smiled.

Maybe he always smiles at anything Iris gives him, but he smiled now because he's realised it's the first time he received a watch since he was twelve.

His golden band strapped on his right hand prevented him from wearing watches, and he didn't really fancy wearing a watch on his left hand for moving his arms would be too damn heavy and tedious.

Besides, having a phone kind of killed the relevance of watches to him.

Not having a watch must have made him accustomed to disregarding time,thus his tardiness.

He tucks the brass watch into his pockets and walks out of his front door quite light-footed.

He dials Iris' number and thanks her for the gift, telling her how much he loved it, because really, he did.

He boards the customary train to work, a hand tucked into his jean pocket that is gently caressing the cold metal as if wanting to keep it warm.

He grins to himself as he steps out, his face breaking out in random quiet smiles.

Soon, Barry becomes engrossed in his morning routine before he heads to work.

In a mechanical sequence of dropping by Jitters for coffee and bagels, running the crowded streets of central city as he made a quick stop at the magazine shop to buy the day's newspaper, and receiving a few curses thrown his way, because honestly, he could be such a klutz when he's rushing. Barry had casually sprinted out in a jumbled rush he'd like to think was him hurrying to work.

He knows he makes it on an acceptable time when all captain Sigh told him was to wipe the sugar powder off his chin and could he please get yesterday's test result on the latest murder case.

The please really didn't sound all that reassuring, but really, everyone is always on their toes each time the captain starts barking, at least Sigh wasn't spurting out profanities so Barry supposes he might get to keep his job until the next rent payment is due.

He settles in on his office chair and sighs, truly he's been in this job for a few years, has already settled into a routine and still it feels like he's stuck in an abyss, where he's trapped nowhere and has nowhere to run.

Every time he looks over his shoulder, it seemed like people are expecting him to do something extraordinary.

He supposes he's pretty good at doing his job, after all, he's the youngest forensic analyst to land a place working for the CSI division of Central City Police Department. Still, despite his competencies there was this prickling feeling trailing his spine that tells him he's inadequate, that it isn't enough...that he hadn't gone anywhere even as the sands of time ticked by.

He just kept on relieving inconsequential motions that would waste away, so unlike the life other Orendas might be living. He even doubts the gravity of the word written on his wrist. If it is dead, does it remain to be true? Or has he already done it?

As he flipped through the hours old periodical, he stumbled on an article about Dr. Harrison Wells, about him announcing that the particle accelerator is near completion, his wife and partner Tess née Morgan smiling beside him as she tucked her hand inside his arms in a portrait of the two of them, with STAR Labs serving as the photo's backdrop.

Dr. Harrison Wells, was a man that Barry had tremendous and utmost respect and admiration for. The kind of man he would expect sporting a gold band. So unlike him.

There was a bit of insight about how the particle accelerator could be used to further medical advancements and other research purposes that was revolutionary. Barry was fairly interested in those, but what really captured his attention was the names of the other people behind this project. Aside from Dr. McGee, who was also quite notable and other young doctors, there was also Caitlin...Dr. Caitlin Snow.

Her smile was the first thing he noticed.

She seemed happy, the very image of an accomplished young woman. With brown eyes quite bright, and a grin that reached her ears, while tucking both arms bellow her bosom and sporting a diamond ring.

She was engaged...this Barry deduced from the portrait of her.

He sighs and stares at the picture of Dr. Caitlin Snow, and admits silently to himself that he envies her. She's found happiness while he's still trying to figure out how to arrive on work on time.

Barry supposes it might be his very tardiness that causes him to miss out on life.

He folds the paper in half and pushes his swivel chair, causing the device to roll on to his other desk, focusing his green eyes on the computer screen and diverting his attention on those lab results Captain Sigh had wanted so much as he gritted his teeth.

Distraction was his drug, work was his illusion of purpose as he continue to waste away the sands of time. Trapped in an illusion of moving forward, barely with seconds spared, but is actually stuck at a moot point, a living limbo of sorts, shackled and bound like a pendulum.

Safe, but nonetheless a prisoner.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

He can feel it, he was loosing time, and he didn't know how to catch up to it.

He cannot see, he cannot catch up to his destiny.

He's plagued by anxiousness and paranoia, the sound of his worries reverberating through his bones, making simple motion acts tedious and heavy to his soul.

His soul that seemed to have lost its anchor because of those idle vibrations.

Tick, tock, tick, tock.

And suddenly, Iris' gift doesn't seem so pretty anymore.

VIII. Lost In Red

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That's the feeling he gets when he first woke up.

And he meets all his idols at the first instance those wisps of hazy clouds cleared away from his vision.

The first thing he wondered was, if he was in heaven, and why the gods didn't organised a more comforting welcoming party instead of surrounding him with faces that were speculative and left him feeling scrutinised.

He thinks he's going to pass out again, as his eyes felt heavy, but the moment the tips of his lashes landed on his tender skin skimming the edge of his eyes, it's as if a jolt of electricity sprung him awake and suddenly he was sitting upright on the bed and grasping for air due to the shock.

It takes a moment for him to processed the fact that he's been in a comma for nine months, and another second to actually understand that the people surrounding him were the ones who saved his life.

He felt jittery and wanted to run out of STAR Labs that instant, but of course, everyone was reluctant to let him go so soon without running more tests to ascertain the soundness of his condition.

He felt every fibre of his being protesting at the thought of being holed up for another hour, mostly because he was dying to see Iris, only the sight of Dr. Harrison Wells filling him up with awe made him stay.

Though it's true that seeing his idol rendered him awestruck, Barry was aware that his eyes kept flicking at one familiar face, during all those standard procedures and it wasn't to Dr. Harrison Wells.

She was there, barely a breath away from him, touching his neck, feeling his pulse and asking him to urinate all at once without a hint of a blush.

Caitlin Snow, was standing before him once again and just like the times he's met her, he felt the same contradictory feeling, like he was staring at a stranger, a familiar stranger, as if she was a person that he only knew from a dream...almost surreal.

Maybe it was also the wonder of them being in the same space, breathing in such close proximity that they might as well be inhaling each other's carbon dioxide, that Barry was left being pliant to their medical willies.

Almost two hours later, just as Caitlin was handing him a sweater to change into, was the first time he noticed he wasn't wearing his shackle, and his eyes widened at the sight of his naked forearm.

Seeing his lost scared face, Caitlin reasoned that the doctors had to forcibly remove his shackles because it was gold, and he'd just been struck by lighting, and keeping it on would be an inconvenience and won't allow medical procedures to transpire, but he shouldn't worry because they will not utter a word about his mark.

But Barry waves her concerns off, he wasn't troubled that a bunch of strangers managed to see his secret word, he faces her then with disbelief.

"Why is it red?" Barry asks her and Caitlin gives him a puzzled look.

"What do you mean?" Caitlin questions back and watches as Barry traces his wrist with his rough thumb his eyes glued at the crimson word, "Hasn't it always been?" Caitlin tells him.

And Barry shook his head, "It never was. Why? How?" Barry looked at Caitlin expectantly. But all Caitlin did was bite her lower lip.

"I don't know."

And for the second time since Barry first opened his eyes at the sight of blurry kaleidoscopic colours that surrounded him and left him feeling disoriented by them, he once again felt lost.

Barry sense a weight dropping on his shoulder and realised it was Caitlin's hand, her look was sympathetic, "We'll figure it out together. Don't worry." she tells him, and somehow he manages to smile at her words despite feeling lost in red.

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Interlude...

It's funny how looking back at his life, she was always there...rather it begun with her.

Though, neither was aware they were always connected, always circling each other's paths, mapping out the lines of their palms with the invisible hands they continued to reach out for one another.

There was no escape.

And somehow, Barry Allen, in all those years have grown to accept this fact, that he was tied to someone unknown. And maybe that's why despite his protests he has accepted it all in solemn humility.

And finally meeting Caitlin Snow, the catalyst of his word, his constant shadow and personal physician that he has had the privilege of calling a friend made it all bearable.

And maybe that's what makes it so hard. To be on this spot staring across a familiar stranger, after so long a time, when he thought he would never.

Though maybe, he should have expected it, after all they always find their way to each other.

That if he were being honest, all their meetings to him have been akin to resigned serendipity.

But he quivers at the sight of her now...

Shudders at finding Caitlin Snow...

Snow.

Cold.

Frost...

"Hello Barry Allen, miss me?" She asks him as she tugs her black leather gloves off her hands, and Barry gapes at her stunned.

"Caitlin," he breathes to himself because indeed, he does miss her.

She steps towards him, the heels of her boots clicking against the pavement.

"Tell me, has your word finally turned black?"

He doesn't answer her, as he takes a step back, wanting to run away, but also wanting to run towards her. This girl truly, was the only one who made him feel contradictions.

She raises her hand then, and an ice blade emerges from her palm.

She smirks at him as she catches sight of the glistening fear in the corner of his green eyes, "You better run, Flash."

And he ducks his head as the ice zooms over him. He quickly glances at her in surprise.

Caitlin's blue eyes, stares back at him in a murderous glare.

And he knew she was here to kill him.

She was back for him, and he was certain it was one fight he wasn't ready for.

He felt his wrist turn cold as he continued to evade her icy assault. These words ringing in his ear, along with heating of his blood...

Kill.

He fears someone was going to die tonight.

Kill him.

He knew was her intent.

Kill her.

He knew was the last thought in his mind, even if he knew Caitlin Snow was now gone and her place is...

Killer Frost.

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An: To be honest I've had this story rotting in my iPad for months now, and unfortunately, I've hit a writer's block since the start of Lost In Red. But I really like some parts of this story and wanted to post this before the year ends. With that in mind, I give you this interlude which is in honour of the Killer Frost pictures from Earth 2 which we have seen.

I honestly can't promise anything about this story but I've always written this way, in a way to allow readers to infer for themselves. And I quite like it...though a lot of my readers complain about it as well, I daresay, I will forever be disappointing you.

Merry Christmas and since it's a season of giving, do you mind dropping me a REVIEW?

ShoutOut: Congrats Miss Phillippines for winning Miss Universe! Miss Pia, we are so proud of you especially since we come from the same hometown!

Fact: I quite like how I wrote a certain paragraph in Gold Chains.

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