The first time she kills it is to protect Barry's life.

The next is for a lot less.

They arrive in the next town, illegal guns in their possession, a gang eager for what they could provide. The deal goes smoothly, the exchange of money and artillery satisfying both parties, enough for Barry and Caitlin to head to a club, drinks and a good time all but assured.

Barry sits at the bar, watching Caitlin dance, once again finding himself admiring her form. She was wearing a short red dress that had his blood rushing south, and she was enjoying the deep bass of the music, arms up and ass swinging in time with the beat, the dress riding up to show hints of what was underneath. He drinks in her and not alcohol, choosing instead to focus on her, on what he would do with the dress when they alone in his room, on what he would do to her.

Caitlin can feel him watching, a salacious smile on her face as she swings her hips just that little bit more, her hands slowly dropping, running themselves down her body, a soft moan leaving her as she imagines him behind her, his erection pressing into her backside, his arms wrapping themselves around her body, pulling her closer, grinding into her ass as his hands slip down her body, creeping up her dress and teasing her in front of everybody. And she doesn't care, not with his fingers moving like that against her skin...

And she can't stand the imagery. She needs him, and she needs him now.

She stops dancing, fire in her eyes as she stalks up to him, her hands on each side of his face as she pulls him to her, sparks flying the moment their lips collide. They pull away minutes later breathless, eyes almost black with desire, lust heating them up, fire in their veins, an uncontrollable need for the other ripping their control into shreds. They both go to leave immediately, Caitlin flushed and excited, almost running out the door, Barry a few steps behind.

But then he accidentally bumps into a man in his haste, the other taking a swing at the man, clipping him in the jaw. The laughter from him and his friends is enough to have Caitlin pausing, turning around to see Barry holding the side of his face, eyes throwing daggers at the man who punched him, hands clenched together to stop him from doing anything. They surround him, mock him, pushing him around, watching with a smile as he does nothing to defend himself. She sees red, infuriated at the audacity of the man, the arrogance to think he could get away with it. Caitlin grabs Barry, storming away from the exit and back into the bar. She pulls him into a bathroom, locking the door before dropping to her knees, determined to make him forget the jerk who had punched him, to forget their derogatory remarks, to make him forget everything but her name.

And when his fingers are threaded in her hair, gently thrusting against her mouth, her name whispered like it was his saving grace she considered it a success.

It doesn't dampen the lust curling within either of them, just makes them more desperate for more, for more skin, more time. He kisses her, the taste of himself on her mouth enough to have him weak in the knees.

"Let's go." She nods in agreement, the bathroom door opening as Barry leads her outside. But she catches a glimpse of him a few metres ahead, the man who had punched her Barry. And the anger returns with a fury. She turns to Barry, asking him to go and get the car before picking her up at the entrance, before pulling him in for kiss that leaves him dazed and unable to resist any of her requests. And as he turns one way she runs the other, determined to catch the brute.

She stalks him, follows him down the dimly lit footpath, calling out to him when she knows that they are alone, that the streets are empty and no one would hear his screams.

"Hey!" The man turns around, a smirk on his face when he hears the feminine voice calling to him.

He takes a few steps in her direction, Caitlin hiding, the darkness of night like a blanket. He gets closer and closer to her, talking to the woman hidden in the shadows, and the thought of this oaf flirting with her, attempting to seduce her with crude words and empty promises of pleasure is so utterly revolting it takes all her strength to not gag. He is close enough now and so she steps out into the light, her face like stone. He stops mid step. She sees recognition flicker in his eyes; he knows who she was with, knows the anger that is burning in her eyes very well.

And then he staggers and falls, a blade flung into his chest.

She calmly strolls up to his body, plucking out her dagger from his body, revelling in the gurgle that leaves his mouth in response. Caitlin standing over his body, still twitching, watching the blood drip from the dagger, splattering on his face. She gets distracted by its beauty, the vividness of the colour, the way it paints his skin, and her grin is demented, too wide and too bright for a woman who has killed for the second time.

And it never fades as she watches the life leave his eyes, the last thing he sees a demon on the form of a young woman, leaning over his unmoving body, slapping the side of his face twice before grabbing it roughly, a fire in her eyes, hell's inferno burning within them.

"You shouldn't do that to people, you never know who's watching."

She stays there until she is sure he is dead, a swift kick to head guaranteeing the fact. She stays a little longer, the scent of death filling her nostrils, tangy and dark and utterly delightful, the desire for more curling up within her, pulse fast with the thought.

Then she walks away from him, leaving his soul to go from one hell to another.

Barry never finds out what happened during the five minutes he left to grab the car.

He does however, remember with clarity the events that happen after. In his bedroom. And hers. And the small kitchen. And the shower the next morning.

But most of all he remembers the strength needed to keep three words ringing in his mind and not out loud.

They take on jobs with increasing danger, nicks and small bruises becoming so much more, the time needed to recover stretching from a few hours to days, if not weeks. But they wouldn't have it any other way. They just needed to be smarter about it.

"We should start keeping blood bags." She is treating another cut on his body- a knife, not a bullet wound, concentrating on ensuring it was done to the best of her ability. It was a cruel twist of fate; Caitlin had always loved medicine, she had dreamt of being a doctor once upon a childhood, had studied it with a passion. But like all dreams in that god forsaken town it withered and died, the impossibility of escaping strangling every hope and desire that dared to dwell in their hearts.

Oh, she laughs to herself in the dead of night, if only her childhood self could see her now.

"If we ever need a transfusion, we should have some in stock."

They both hear the silent words- if they were anywhere near death the blood would be necessary, and she clearly believed they were on the brink of it. She stills as he grabs her, his thumb rubbing the inside of her wrist. Her gaze drags up from the side of his stomach to his face, scared of what she would see. But his eyes are so bright, concern pooling in the emerald, her fears now spoken aloud. Caitlin drops her shoulders, unaware that she had been so rigid with tension, emotions written across her face, something that she has become so used to it catches her by surprise. But he is just as much of an open book, determination for it to never happen (it does) and to protect her from the dangers (he tries) all across his face.

But there is more, something akin to adoration, something she can barely define, something she doesn't want to. She feels her breath catch, and she doesn't know why, just knows that it does and that her heart picks up and she can't look away from him, ensnared in his gaze, ensnared by him.

Barry breaks their moment, of course, the urge to confess that he was falling for her creeping up on him, fighting for control. Almost succeeding.

"Aww, do you luv me Caitlin, would seeing me die devastate you?" He hisses as she swipes some alcohol on the stitched up wound, rubbing it in just a little too strongly, a peak of a smile on her lips as he pouts at her.

"Shut up." And he beams to himself; she didn't deny it, and no denial meant he had a sliver of hope.

They start keeping the blood bags the next day.

They arrive in Starling City at the first light of dawn, the pair of them entering the first motel they come across, collapsing on the beds the moment they walk into their rented rooms. They sleep the morning and afternoon away; their meeting was not occurring for a few more days, Barry wanting to scope out the area before they would do anything. And while he sleeps peacefully, she cannot find rest, tossing and turning, sleep alluding her for days. He can see the gradual change, her face sullen, darkened circles under her eyes, but every time he could ask her about it, she would become defensive, pulling away from him.

And so he remains oblivious to the nightmares she is plagued with, faces of her past returning in her dreams, bloodied and dead. She would always jerk awake, her heart racing, sweat glistening on her forehead, veins like ice, fear chilling her on the summer nights.

She ignores the dreams during the day, the meeting with the Bratva Captain one Barry had been anticipating for a long time, hopeful that the other party could provide more contracts and contacts. She can see his excitement and she feigns her own, her smile tight, her eyes dull. She justs wants to leave town, to hit the road. And she knows that after the night she would have the dream granted.

Barry has the guns and other arsenal in the boot of their car, ready for the exchange, and as night falls they set off.

They enter Verdant together, a seedy nightclub the chosen location for the agreement and swap to take place. Caitlin shivers as she stands in line, both her and Barry dressing up to blend in with the rest of the crowd, less being more something that was appreciated by the clients of the establishment.

She had seen the look in Barry's eyes before they left as he saw her in the clothes, the hunger as he took in the six inch heels, the dress that started too low and ended too high. His gaze devoured her, swallowed her whole, but it wasn't enough to extinguish the gnawing feeling inside her.

They don't have to be inconspicuous however, the bouncer recognising the names, calling a large African-American to them, words of Russian exchanged as the new man nods, walking off and expecting them to follow. He takes them to a secluded corner, handing them blindfolds, watching them slip it on before leading them further inwards, and down.

Their steps echo in the basement he is leading them to and through, the pair of them bumping into his back as he stops abruptly. He takes them each by their shoulder, shoving them down onto a seat, wrapping rope around their wrists, attaching them to the armrests of the chair, the material digging into their skin, the slightest movement burning. And when he is sure they are secure he walks away, the receding footsteps slow and measured, a stark contrast to the heartbeat of Caitlin.

Seconds pass and they hear nothing.

And for the first time Caitlin is genuinely afraid that they had been brought down there to die.

"Welcome."

The voice is jarring, certainly not that of the silent man who had lead them down; but they had not heard anyone approach, had not heard anything to indicate they were anything but alone in the basement.

"Hey, I'm assuming you're the man we're here to see. Not that we can see you." Barry's response is infused with good humour, but they all hear the edge in his tone. He doesn't like being left in the dark, not like this. The dark chuckle leaving this stranger she hasn't seen is rich, and it's deadly.

"I hold a very esteemed position in this town, one I value. As does the Bratva." It's like velvet, like poison, drawing you in only to kill you in the most painful way, eating you up from the inside out. "So I hope you understand why I need to keep my identity a secret before I know I can trust you."

"I get it, don't worry." And she knows Barry, knows that he is just playing along with the man, granting him some time to accept it. She also knows that the longer it drags on the more agitated he will become; trust is a two way street and walking down it blindfolded will only result in getting ran over.

"I trust that you have brought the weapons?" She hears Barry's laughter, tight but genuine, surprise at the query making itself known.

"It's in our car. I trust that you know where it is and that I'm not lying." She hears nothing, nothing but silence, but as she strains her ears there is the faint tapping away at a keyboard, and she knows that they are pulling up surveillance of the parking lot that was specified beforehand, she knows that he must have others working underneath him, ones who are most likely at the lot, checking out the equipment. She jumps as the soft sound of a gunshot rings out, her breath caught as her mind flashes an image of Barry wounded and bleeding all the while she is beside him, completely oblivious. But it's not real, she knows that- it was from the computer, the live feed apparently possessing a microphone. Barry is safe and alive and she needs to calm down. Minutes pass by before an affirmative grunt leaves their captor, footsteps indicating he was walking away from the computer and towards them.

"And how do I know you're not feds?" A scoff leaves Barry before Caitlin could even process the question and the seriousness in his tone.

"Have you seen the files the police have on us?" A grunt of affirmation leaves the man, Barry's tone losing the tight control he has always held on it, this crack messing with her nerves. "They would be more likely to stick a bullet in us than you."

"They could have been faked."

"They aren't. They're legit." A quiet voice rings out, feminine. Soft. They all hear the anger in the captain's tone as he orders his colleague to leave them alone. A miffed noise and then silence indicating she didn't agree. Or obey.

The silence stretches on, Barry tapping his feet, getting more and more annoyed as the Captain hesitates.

He doesn't realise just how on edge Caitlin is, how bad it was before she arrived her, how much worse it is now she is blinded and restrained. There is a weight on her chest, a pressure building up inside her, threatening to explode and rip her into pieces. Her breathing is shallow and quick- a sign she knows looks suspicious, but she can't help it, can't control it anymore than she can control her fate in that moment.

But after all that deliberation he listens to them, listens to the girl who had told him they could be trusted, a noise leaving Barry telling her the blindfold had been ripped off him first. She hears the footsteps halt in front of her, she feels skin brush against her face as it reaches behind her, pulling off the material in one swift motion.

The light is harsh against her eyes, shapes blurry as she struggles to adjust. But then a face forms in front of her, one she hasn't seen in years.

"Ronnie?"

And she faints.

The action has Barry lunging at the ropes binding him down, the vein on his forehead throbbing, face red in fury as she collapses. He hates that the blindfold was removed but the binds were not, that he could see her collapse and not do a thing to help.

"What the hell did you do to her?" His voice is tight, the rope burning as he struggles against it; he chooses to focus on the anger, the crippling fear of losing Caitlin threatening to overwhelm him, to break him until he could not breathe.

"I did nothing." The man's hands are raised in a sign of surrender to the restrained man, surprise- while fleeting- painted on his face as he takes in her reaction.

"Then why the hell did she call you Ronnie?" A surge of possessive jealousy takes over Barry entirely, the thought of her leaving him for her Ronnie driving him insane, a wholly new type of fear twisting inside him like a knife to the heart. "How do you know her, what did you do?!" He was on the verge of losing everything important to him and he didn't know how to respond other than in a rage.

"I don't know, okay!" The strange man had taken a step closer, his face red, the testosterone rising between them, blows only just stopped from being exchanged because of the ropes holding Barry back.

It's then they notice the blonde, a small girl running to Caitlin, a wet cloth in one hand, a few sheets of paper in the other. She ignores the presence of Barry only a metre away, frowns at the Captain as he growls in annoyance, instead turning her attention to Caitlin, the rag gently placed on her forehead, the sheets of paper a crude fan, blowing cool air towards her, watching her with a worried expression.

Barry watches with rapt attention, the care and attention she treats Caitlin with, small wrinkles forming on her forehead, before a sliver of relief lights up her eyes.

"She'll be okay," the blonde says with a smile, and sure enough Caitlin is coming to. They don't notice the blonde walk away from them to her computer labs, Barry's eyes on Caitlin and her eyes on the Bratva Captain.

"You're not him." And Barry swears he hears disappointment. "I mean, you couldn't have been. But you do look scarily alike." A tense silence surrounds them as the man tries and fails to understand what she was talking about.

"I have that type of face."

They leave it at that.

His name is Oliver Queen they learn, the bond with the Bratva going back in his family for generations. The CEO of Queen Consolidated, he has power and money. And while he has the power to acquire artillery from his company there is too much public scrutiny on his life, on the financial records of the company, on their inventions and stock. As Oliver Queen he trusts few people, as a Bratva Captain he trusts even less. And so he must rely on illegal means for supplying his men with the firepower they need to take down the Triad.

And oh how he wants them dead.

He doesn't explain and they don't ask; they both see the a man haunted by death, a millionaire who has nothing but a few friends.

His colleagues report back; all the arsenal is genuine- from the rifles to the explosives, it is wonderful quality, and Barry swears he sees Oliver crack a smile at the knowledge.

He pays them double for the trouble they had gone through, an awkward handshake as they promise to do business soon. Caitlin sees Barry throw furtive glances her away as she whispers goodbye to the man that looks so much like her ex-lover, her head high, cheeks still burning with embarrassment.

As they are escorted out Caitlin stops, turning back to speak words of gratitude to the blonde for the care. She nods back in response, something passing between them, an understanding that neither man understands. But they do know there would be no betrayal between their parties.

"You mentioned him again," it is a drowsy whisper from Barry, his arms curling around her waist, a dopey smile on his face as he buries his head in her hair, breathing her in, breathing them in, the scent of sweat and sex lingering on her skin, and it is divine. "Ronnie. Who was he?" He can hear his own insecurity, the man finally finding a word to describe these feelings he would have when near her: love.

"He was my fiance." There is a tightness in her tone she doesn't want him to notice, her mood taking a quick turn as she is reminded of her love of old. "Why Barry, are you jealous?" She hears the sleepiness in her voice, the teasing tone hopefully doing enough to hide the tension. She wants to run, run to her own room that she hasn't slept in, run and lick her wounds, to build stronger defences around her heart.

"Maybe." They both hear the silent yes.

"Well you shouldn't be," she tries to curl in on herself. She can't, Barry holding her against him; she can't leave him, they were too entwined to ever separate. There are tears prickling at the corner of her eyes, and she hates them, hates everything with a passion. It has been years since she last saw him and he still made her weak, he still was able to break her. And above all she hated him because of that. She lets them fall, she can't wipe them away, not with Barry beside her, Barry who would know instinctively just what she was doing., Barry who would awaken immediately, who would cradle her face in his palms, who would wipe away the tears himself, concern overwhelming him as he asks what is wrong. And she can't handle that, not the intimacy or the intensity. And not the knowledge she would break down in his arms, would curl herself up in his embrace and hide from the pain, the very thought of it alleviating some of the pressure in her chest.

"There is nothing to be jealous about. He's dead."

None of them sleep that night.

They aren't sure when it progresses to simply wearing off the adrenaline into something more intimate, can't pinpoint the moment they decided that they wouldn't slink off into their own room after sex, the time they decided that it would be easier if they simply shared a room, sex or not.

They only realise when they are half way through, whispers in the night far more intimate and vulnerable than sex would ever be, tales of their childhood, of their fears and broken dreams exchanged between them.

Barry embraces it. Caitlin refuses to acknowledge it.

They make acquaintances.

Barry has his own group of people he used to work with before they had become a pair, and he loves meeting up with them, a drink or a mission enough to boost his spirits.

Cisco Ramon, designer and mechanical prodigy, finding a life of crime easier and more beneficial than lecturing or wasting his talents at a laboratory, bound by red tape and ethics.

Iris West, top journalist and wonderful source of blackmail material, politicians forced to look the other way when she uncovers something they had wished to remain hidden.

Eddie Thawne, Iris' fiance, a crooked cop who could always be trusted upon for evidence disappearing, witnesses dying.

They had formed an odd group, but they worked. Caitlin had felt on the outside, pointless in comparison. She preferred the alliance with Oliver, sporadic calls with the blonde girl, Felicity, not enough- the meetings, the drinking, the partying worth so much more to her. But the others were important, they could do so much. And they were Barry's friends. But she wasn't theirs.

It wasn't until Eddie had been shot in an escape attempt, Iris screaming in fear, that Caitlin was able to prove her worth to the others, Barry watching on with a proud smile on his face as she leaned over, treating the detective with the most meagre of supplies, removing the bullet and stitching the wound without the need for a hospital.

There is a shift after that, a gratefulness she never expected, friendships sparking between them- Eddie swearing to repay her for saving his life, Iris accepting of her, the pair of them heading off to shop together, dressing to kill. And with Cisco, it was with him Caitlin found her brother, the excitable ball of energy and joy drawing her in with his smiles and conversations, teaching her, opening up to her. He tells her of Laurel (corrupt lawyer by day, hired hitman by night and an absolute bombshell of a blonde) and of Lisa (criminal by day, criminal by night and a wildcat between the sheets), of the intoxication of danger, the allure of their fierce strength. Of how he can't choose between the one who has lived in crime all her life, the darkness tattooed into her skin since birth, or the one who turned to a life of crime when she saw where a life of justice left you: dead or crawled up into a bottle. She tells him or her fears, her inexperience with many of the technology they face, of how she doesn't feel like the darkness is a part of her, but it is all of her.

(It does work out. He doesn't have to choose after all.)

(He teaches her. She learns fast. She embraces the darkness.)

But as much as the others were a wonder to be around, Barry and Caitlin would always pull away after a few weeks, taking a job by themselves, the two loners only ever feeling completely comfortable in and with each other.

"What's wrong?"

It starts so innocently, Caitlin laying limply beside him, the buzz of her climax dimming as old memories of a life she has almost forgotten come back. Barry notices, he always notices, the slightest shift in her mood, the smallest tell giving her away.

"It's nothing." She tries to smile it away, unable to hold it as Barry's eyes search her own, his hand still absentmindedly stroking circles on the bare skin of her hip, the soothing motion bringing tears to her eyes.

"It's not nothing Cait, you're biting your bottom lip, you only do that when you're upset." His voice is soft, coaxing her from behind the walls she had built up, drawing her out and into his awaiting arms.

"It's just that Ronnie used to do that." Barry doesn't stiffen at the mention of the man's name, the ex-fiance, the dead ex fiance.

"Do what?"

"Stroke my hip afterwards, he would always use it as an excuse to stay a little longer, claimed that it would help prolong my orgasm." He hears the bittersweet laughter in her tone, the ridiculousness of the idea so special to her, too precious for words.

"Do you want me to stop?" She shakes her head, eyes shining with unshed tears. And under the light of moon, she had never looked so beautiful. His next words surprise even him. "Tell me about Ronnie."

"He was the most beautiful man there was, he loved to work with hands, the things he could create with them..." A wet chuckle leaves her as she recalls moments she had suppressed for so long, the flood of emotions washing over her, threatening to make her a victim of their ferocity. "We hated each other when we first met, always fighting. Gosh, I wouldn't react to anything, but him- it would take the smallest thing to set me off." She sniffles then, barely flinching as he raises his hand to wipe away the tear that was rolling across her face. She doesn't notice him move. "The people at school would describe us like fire and ice, and we were explosive, the golden boy who was everyone's best friend and the ice queen who didn't have emotions - all we needed to do was be near each other and there was fireworks." Caitlin sighs and it breaks his heart, the innocence held in that one noise, the loss and ache encapsulated in that one moment like an axe to walls of his heart. "That was how we ended up together, we're arguing and then all of a sudden he grabs my face and is kissing me and I'm kissing back." She can feel the tears streaming across her face, but she doesn't have the strength to wipe them away, she can't do anything but blubber on, the words like a tidal wave, a force of nature she had no chance of stopping. "He was such a hot head, always getting into fights to protect his friends, to protect me." Barry's hand clenches at the surprise, the shock in her voice that someone would be willing to do that for her. He hates this, hates seeing her so raw and heartbroken, the wounds of his loss never healing properly, the scar remaining so sensitive years later. "He'd come to my apartment each night, a new bruise or cut that needs stitches." She closes her eyes, voice thick with emotion, with hatred. "His father was the worst."

And she's not there with Barry anymore, she's suddenly a young twenty year old in her cramped apartment room, waiting for her fiance to slip through her open window, her bags packed, their elopement a few minutes away.

"He was so hard on him, so brutal I could kill him, I could kill him with my bare hands and I would do it in an instant." There is such hatred in her voice, in her expression, it takes him by surprise. There is a small part of him that notices how she seems to enflame with her words, a small part of him aroused by the sight, of the beauty in her madness. But the larger part of him wants to kiss the pain away. Caitlin is too immersed in her anger to see him clearly, to see anything clearly but the memory playing out before her. "The bastard killed him, he killed his own son." Because the twenty year old is only greeted with the bloodied face of her fiance, the man staggering into her room, collapsing on her bed, her name the last thing on her lips. "The blood was everywhere. I couldn't save him." Her eyes are vacant, they are glassy and wide and Barry can feel his heart ache at the sight of her like this, watching her relive her worst nightmare, unable to protect her from the demons of her past. "I tried, I swear. But there was so much blood, it was everywhere. I- I couldn't save him, I tried, I tried, why couldn't I save him? I should have been able to save him, I should have been able to save him!" And she's hyperventilating, red covering her vision, covering her memories. All she can see is the blood, the blood on her hands as she tries to stop the bleeding, the blood soaking into her bed, in her clothes, tattooing itself on her skin, unable to be washed off, unable to be removed. She sees the blood pouring from the cuts on his face, from his body, the shards of broken glass still lodged in his skin, the stench of alcohol hanging off him. She knows what happened, knows he was caught trying to run away, knows that his drunkard father saw him in the act, knows he was attacked, more brutally than before.

Knows it was her fault; she pressured him into running away from the stale town.

Knows she is responsible for his death.

"I had to see you one last time, I'm not going to make it. I love you Cait."

The words are spoken aloud, no longer ringing in her mind but now in her ears, the trembling hand reaching up, cupping her face in his hands, smearing his blood across it before it drops limply down, the man's heart stopping.

"Hey," and suddenly Barry's hand is on her cheek, caressing it, drawing her back into reality, into his bed and his arms. "It's not your fault."

She doesn't question how he knows her deepest fears without her saying a word, she simply accepts that he does. She accepts that he knows her so well, that he is able to calm her down with a touch and word, that much like Ronnie all those years ago, she couldn't envision a future without him by her side. She accepts it all so easily.

It scares her.

And she can't breathe, it's too much, it's all too much.

He can see the change in her face, the horror washing over her, the fear. And something grips his heart.

She sits up, her legs swinging over the side of the bed, her chest heaving and she doesn't know why. She can hear the bed creak as he follows suit, she can feel him sit behind her, his legs sliding on each side of her, the heat of his body burning her up.

And she can no longer live in denial of her feelings, of his feelings for her. She can no longer deny that he looks at her with emotions she never dreamt would be directed towards her again, she can no longer deny that he cared for her more than she could comprehend, that he opened himself up to her in a way he would never do to another, could never do to another. They had been together for years, thieving and killing, and she only then accepts that maybe she had stolen something of his she never intended.

"You feel something for me." She talks slowly, the words strange on her tongue. It isn't a question and they both know it. He chuckles at her words, pulling her against him, her bare back on his chest, his face nuzzling the exposed skin at the crook of her neck, breathing her in. "You love me." Her voice is wooden, and they both know it's not what she wants to hear.

He doesn't deny it.

"Come back to bed," is what comes out instead, her body following his guidance as he tugs her back down, his larger body spooning her.

He falls asleep.

She can't.

When she does it's not Ronnie she's cradling in her arms, it's not Ronnie's face that is bloodied up, not his body she's crying over.

It's Barry.

They stop sharing rooms, they stop sleeping together, they stop everything.

And it wreaks them both.

It's only two jobs later that a bullet ricocheting on a wall and piercing the flash of his side. It's the closest he had gone to dying, Barry flirting with unconsciousness as Caitlin's shaky hands sew the wound closed, a crude IV attached to Barry as he regains his strength and blood lost.

When he is strong enough, mind and body itching to move again, she throws herself at him. She exhausts him until he can barely move, the both of them so antsy, full of adrenaline and fear and relief. It's in the dark hours of the night, she breaks down, the sex no longer fierce and primal, there is a slow sort of desperation, each action holding so much feeling.

And as he moves in her, he can feel her lips on the bullet wound, can feel the tears drop from her face and onto his skin. He can feel each whisper leaving her mouth.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

It drives him crazy, the intensity of the actions, of his emotions as he hears the words, feels them reverberate through his the very fibre of his being. He pushes slowly but deliberately, prolonging their moment together, the desire for this to never end, for them to remain suspended in time at this one moment flooding him.

And as the orgasm builds up inside both of them, pushing them higher than before, pleasure and agony wrapped into one moment, the strength of their emotions building up in their chest, so strong they feel like they would explode from the pressure. Breathy moans and whimpers leave them, grunts from Barry as they they cling to each other, unable to let go, messy kisses wherever they can reach, searching for the other's mouth, a warmth filling them when they find it.

It would be different from all the other times, she knows, these feelings strange and yet familiar, from a world she had only glimpsed in a dream. And she's almost there, almost...

They come together, a piercing cry ripped from her lungs as she falls off the edge and into his awaiting arms.

Caitlin collapses on him, physically and emotionally spent, the fear of him dying without her now replaced with another kind. But she ignores it, choosing to let this night be about them and their love, a blissful peace washing over her as she rests her chin on his torso, gaze soft as she takes him in. He smiles back at her, his hands running themselves through her hair, cradling the side of her face. She presses a kiss over his left pectoral, slightly off centre. And she feels his heartbeat underneath her lips hammering away, eyes aflame as he sees her. She playfully licks his chest, a salty taste in her mouth as she swallows his sweat, a laugh leaving her as he growls at her, sweeping her underneath his body, resting his entire body weight on her. It's nice, she decides, this feeling she has left herself bask in after all this time, she feels safe and protected and loved.

But soon they go to sleep, Barry rolling off her to tug her against him, curling around her, needing her to be close to him.

And she feels it, his face nuzzling itself in her hair, breathing her in. And she hears it, the words she longed for since the moment she saw him fall to the floor, a bullet in his body.

"I love you too."

They are young and free and wild.

And they are in love.

They burn and they burn bright, consuming everything in their way, including each other.

Neither of them liked sharing anything, not with anybody, least of all sharing the other person.

And it is their downfall.

They still go to bars to celebrate, and after another robbery that was exactly where they head, choosing to have it at the location of their next job instead of lingering around Florida.

Caitlin still tries to convince Barry to join her on the dance floor, but he never agreed, always choosing to sit by the bar and watch her.

So she uses another tactic.

There is a cute blond watching her move, she sees with a smile stretching across her face. Six foot and toned she chooses him as her prey, her dancing stopping so she could approach him. She knows what she is doing, her fingers dancing up his chest before her arms loop around his neck. The man grins at her, his hands on her waist as they sway to the beat. She looks at him through her lashes, smiling coquettishly as he holds her close and tight, their movements in sync. She can feel Barry's gaze drilling into them, watching their every move. So she gives him something to watch. Caitlin leans up, her lips brushing the blond's ears, encouraging him to be brave, a soft moan leaving her as he does so, his hands wandering down the curve of her backside, grinding her against him.

And suddenly Barry is pulling her from the mystery man; a single punch to the man's chest has him doubling over, an elbow to the back of his skull has him on the floor unconscious.

Caitlin slaps him as his hands band themselves around her bicep, dragging her from the joint and shoving her into the car. She can see his frame wrought with tension, unbridled fury radiating off him. And she realises just how big of a mistake she had made.

The night ends with Caitlin bent over the kitchen table, Barry thrusting into her, demanding to know just who she belongs to, a vindictive smile on his face as she screams his name until her throat was sore.

The mystery man ends up dead.

That young man was the son of the mayor of Central City.

Joe West was a good man, an honest man.

And he loved his daughter with his heart and soul.

And so, watching from the sidelines, unable to stop her spiral down into crime and corruption, it was destroying him, tearing him apart.

But he snaps when it came to the murder of Bryce, the mayor's son. He had gone to school with Iris, he had dated Iris, he was her friend, the one person outside her circle of criminals she deemed untouchable.

And he was dead. Because of those two.

Joe spends his life finding criminals, arresting them, but what they had done to his daughter eclipsed all the crimes he had willfully ignored. He researches them, Caitlin declared missing by her family, a string of murders and robberies to prove that she was anything but. And Barry Allen, murder in his DNA, unable to stay in a foster home for longer than a few weeks, his first arrest at eleven, first felony at sixteen, first murder before his twenty first birthday.

They were ruthless, they were ambitious, they were successful.

And they must be stopped.

Joe knows what his had to do, he spends days planning it all out, his grim determination to see this end enough to steel his spirit.

He lies to Iris, an emergency of his own imagination enough to have Barry and Caitlin driving over on her behalf.

They were sitting ducks when they pull up to the abandoned lot, a panicked Iris ringing them, telling them that her father had been working on a lead when his car had given up its life, leaving him trapped in enemy territory. They rush to his car, the eerie stillness causing chills to run down their spine, goosebumps erupting across their skin. But the car is empty.

A moment passes between them, silence as they deliberate how they would break it to Iris, worrying about her response when she would call a phone that would never be answered. They hear footsteps, their bodies only relaxing when they see Joe.

But then they see his friends.

The lovely men who have guns pointed directly at them.

They stop, eyes widening as they realise the truth, that they were set up. It's instinctual to go for the gun by their side, pulling it on the detective. They are outgunned, or numbered and they knew there was one only one way this could possibly end, corruption prime on both sides of the law.

They would never be given a fair trial.

They would never be arrested.

They go out guns blazing.

Caitlin is able to hit three policemen, only a sliver of joy at seeing their shirts stain with their blood before she feels it. Time seems to slow, a stabbing pain in her side before another in her chest. Her hands touch the pain, red soaking them as she pulls away, shock and then a numbness, falling to the floor, barely a scream leaving her as she feels the life starting to drain away.

She can't hear Barry screaming, tears blurring his eyes as he continues to shoot the coppers down. He was always so fast, so incredibly fast. But he knows she is dying. And there is nothing he can do.

He was always so late, so incredibly late.

Caitlin feels to the pull, a warmth enveloping her, the tug towards the darkness, no bright light to guide her into death. Nothing but black. She smiles softly as her vision starts to fail her, his frame the last thing she sees before succumbing to its call.

She is dead.

She is dead when Barry cries in frustration, in anger, a feeling he could never hope of describing, a feeling he would never want to feel again, overtaking him. His shots become reckless, the cops falling. But his luck would never last so long.

She is dead as he edges towards her body, unsure whether he should hope.

Unsure if he could handle the answer.

She is dead as he is finally shot, once in the shoulder, another straight through his head, grey matter splattering around him, the body collapsing near her own.

The few policemen that are left hesitate, unbelieving that this could have possibly worked, that these two criminals and murders are finally dead. Finally.

One brave man gets up and walks to the bodies, kicking each one before feeling for their pulse.

There is none.

It is only at that moment Joe surveys the damage, eight men fallen for the cause. The grounds look like a battlefield, blood and bullets, a haunted look in the men's eyes as they nod solemnly to each other, in congratulations, unable to speak, not with their fallen comrades lying only a few feet away. But they cling to hope, that they are unconscious and not dead.

(Their hope is dashed in a few minutes)

And surrounded in a sea of bodies Joe pulls out his communicator, a well rehearsed lie on his tongue for Captain Singh, watching on in tears as his fellow officers rush to their colleagues, fingers at their neck, on the inside of their palms, on their chest, praying for a beat, for any sign of life. They wouldn't get one.

Wails fill the air, screams of frustration (Rogers was going to be a father in a month, damn it) and cries of anguish (Eliese, no. God no, please. We're supposed to get married, I bought you a ring). There was mourning of lives, the smell of death filling their lungs, clinging to their skin, seeping into their bones. They would never recover from witnessing the deaths, it would weigh upon their hearts, fill their soul with grief. None of which was for the two that were unsuspecting victims of the ambush.

I heard a disturbance. Called for backup. It was an ambush.

And then the bittersweet words, one's that he knew would destroy Iris and Eddie, would strain their relationship, that may wind up with him dead, but were still so beautiful to his ears even with that knowledge.

Don't worry sir, we won.

They're dead.