Barry Allen had never believed in anything.

Not love, not fate, not nothing.

His father was arrested for murder, his mother the victim. He had believed in justice, a poor naive boy of nine years, sure that in time the truth would be revealed and his dad released.

However, as each year stretched out, his father slowly rotting away inside that hellhole, the boy trapped and alone in a world he never deserved, he realised that time would not be bringing him hope.

Time had only made the heart more jaded.

It was when he accepted this at the ripe old age of twenty five did his life truly begin.

One of crime.

Caitlin Snow was trapped inside a world where she did not belong, an inquisitive mind, a thirst for more, and yet no way to get it. A girl in a small town, no way to escape, no options in life, forced to continue on in the endless chain of waitress' and minimum pay.

All she needed was a push in the right direction, her desperation for more enough to drive her insane.

And she got that push.

It was in the wrong direction.

Barry strolls into town and Caitlin's life with little fanfare, his hands shoved in his pockets, an easy smile at his waitress as she seats him for his meal. He pays her compliments and not cash, ducking out before she could hand him the bill, her eyebrows furrow in annoyance as it dawns on her.

But with a quick glance at the clock she realises she doesn't have time to be mad, her shift just ending. Pulling off her apron, she yells at her colleagues, clocking off before leaving the building. She runs across the road, her mother's car parked on the other side of the street. She slows down as she nears it, strange noises coming from the other side, and she breathes deeply, her heart in her throat as she goes to see what the ruckus was.

She pauses as she sees the young man who nicked off without paying for his meal beside her car, instruments out, a file sliding into the keyhole of the automobile.

"Excuse me?"

He jumps up as her voice disrupts him from his thoughts, a sheepish expression in his face as he sees he has just been caught in the act. She fears for her life briefly, this man - a stranger - alone with her, a person unafraid of committing crimes. But it wanes as the seconds flicker by. His gaze travels across her body slowly, the lascivious grin on his face indicative of just what he was thinking.

"Pig." She is punching him in the arm before she realises she moved, scowling at his expression, pissed off and tired and simply not in the mood for his crap.

He stiffens immediately, a flicker of something dark and dangerous and alluring in his eyes at her action.

She sees it.

And she likes it.

Her breath catches and heart rate quickens, fists forming as he takes a step closer to her. The atmosphere thickens, almost suffocating her as he moves into her personal space, his lean frame towering over her, gaze focussed on her and her alone, everything else fading away. But then it cracks, a lazy smile spreading across his face, a lightness in his eyes that had dimmed before now returning. He takes a step back and she finds her breath again, chest heaving as she tries to calm herself down, a mixture of emotions swirling through her, fear gripping her heart, lust coursing through her veins. The stranger watches her, always watching; he could see her pulse fluttering on the side of her neck, could see her trembling hands, could see the way she stood her ground as he approached her.

Could see how her eyes darkened as he slipped away from his facade of light, the dark drawing her in.

He sees it.

And he likes it.

"So, you wanna come with me toots." She rolls her eyes at the name, its awkwardness on his tongue annoying her more than his obvious attempt to rile her up.

"I don't think you're in a position to make the offer." She knows she is coming across as stiff, determined to establish some form of mutual respect and authority, but he winks at her, nonchalant and she hates him almost as much as she is intrigued by him.

"You may have the keys," he concedes, "but I'm the one with a criminal history and tools only a few seconds away, so I think I am in a position to make the offer." She hums a laugh in response, a fearlessness he hadn't seen in her before glowing around her, and she looks beautiful.

"You're not going to do a thing to me and you know it." And her confidence in the statement, in how correct she is (and she is correct, he grumbles to himself), it sings to him. This beautiful angel is attracted to his darkness, and for him to have her consume it, to be corrupted by it, to thirst for it, to become it, well the idea is intoxicating, taking root in his mind, growing until it covers every inch and crevice, all he can think about, all he desires.

He drops his head, an attempt to hide his smile, but it fails, a soft melodical laugh carried in the wind, one of victory and success. He peeks at her through his lashes, a different woman to the one he saw in the diner not a half hour before. There is a glint in her eye that he never saw before, the dull monotony of her day- of her life- dampening it, but here, now, it was shining bright and like a moth drawn to the flame he was attracted to it, unafraid of getting burnt. Her shoulders are back, a strong, confident woman before him, one excited by life and not bored to death by it, a fervor that he feels rolling off of her, creeping up on him, sliding its way through his defences.

But it's her smile that causes him to raise his head- large, bright and eager. Eager for this, for him.

"Barry," he extends his hand, a sure smirk on his face. She takes it, meeting his eyes, her eyebrow raised in challenge.

"Caitlin." And she brushes past him, sliding her keys into the car and hopping into the driver's seat. She looks out the window, smiling at his expression. "So are you coming or what?"

He huffs out a laugh in response, opening the door and settling into the passenger's seat, fiddling with the radio as he looks for a station he would enjoy.

And so Barry and Caitlin drive off into the sunset, their lives irrevocably changed because of this one single defining moment. But they wouldn't know it, not until years later, but for now they laughed, they smiled, the wind blowing in their hair, wisps of Caitlin's locks tickling Barry's face.

They seem so innocent, so alive, the rest of their lives before them.

It is.

It's not very long.

They drive through towns until they can barely stand the sight of them, petty crimes enough to help make ends meet, from unpaid meals, to stolen clothes and petrol. They sleep under the stars, one driving or the other until they are both so exhausted they pull over and collapse in the back seat of the car, bodies curling up into the other's, seeking heat in the chilly night.

Caitlin always awakens first, her neck in pain as cramps from the uncomfortable position start to settle. She groans to herself, promising that the next night they will stay in a hostel or motel, just anything with a bed.

She enjoys early mornings, had ever since her childhood, the first rays of dawn in the sky, the hues of purple and pink, orange and yellow, in the sky. She loved it because it had given her hope, a world so beautiful only for her, everyone else clueless to the priceless beauty they were graced with each morning. She felt as though it was hers and hers alone. it gave her hope for escape, because if there could possibly be this wonder each morning, surely she would have her own small miracle, her own way to leave the world she was forced to endure.

She loves it now because it was the only time she had to herself, her thoughts wandering to the man beside her. The urge to run her fingers through his hair almost overwhelms her, impulse control sluggish and not so strong in the early morning. She smiles softly to herself, the look of peace on his expression causing something to flutter inside. Caitlin had memorised every freckle scattered across his face, every mole and scar, each day pulling her further and further into his life. But she knows there was so much she barely understood.

She could see he was getting antsy, something weighing on his mind, each smile her way forced. He looks over his shoulder whenever they are in a town, phone calls in the middle of the night, spine stiffening every time a siren would pass them on the open road.

"Are you going to keep on staring at me?" It startles her, his breathing is so calm, his eyes still closed- he could have been awake for seconds or minutes and she would have never been the wiser. Barry's voice is rough with sleep, shivers sent down her spine as she hears its husky tone.

"Are you going to keep hiding things from me?" It's out before she could stop the words; she curses her poor impulse control yet again, his eyelids flinging open at her words, panic creeping into his expression, her heart sinking as she sees it.

"Not now." He's pulling away from her, her body cold as he is no longer holding her, instead opening the door and tumbling out of the vehicle. And she can't stand it anymore.

And so she follows him out.

"Then when Barry? Because you've been hiding whatever this is ever since we met!" She is working herself up, this explosion so different from her norm; her chest is heaving as she forces herself to breath slowly, hands that were waving wildly around now dropping limply to her side. This lack of information, of trust, is eating away at her, gnawing at her soul and she knows that if she doesn't say anything now she may never do it at all. And she's seen where that leads people, people like her mother, a husk filled with the bitter poison of anger and resentment, unable to leave because of the strings woven between them, tying them together, tying her to him. And while Caitlin may have been the string tying that failing marriage, in her relationship with Barry there isn't a child, only the promise of something more in her life, hope that she wouldn't accept from anyone else.

She stumbles out of the car herself, searching for the man that had left her alone, breath stolen from her lungs as she sees him a few metres before her. He is like a wild beast, pacing slowly around, body vibrating with something uncontrollable, something primal. There is a beauty in his madness, and she takes a moment to take it in, captivated by the raw power he exudes, something dangerous and seductive, calling out to the darkest part in her. She feels it crawling out from inside her, drawn to the man on the brink, lust curling up inside her as she continues to stare. She can feel the air around him thickens and she knows the smallest thing would set him off.

But she doesn't care.

She craves it.

She knows Barry is trying to control himself, to restrain whatever it is inside him from erupting, but she doesn't want that, she doesn't want this man who has been second guessing his every move around her, who has been thinking everything through so carefully, she wants the man in front of her, raw and honest and angry. And so Caitlin pushes the buttons he won't, stalking up to him, her face in his, taunting him.

"Well? Cat got your tongue?"

He is still holding back, a storm in those emerald pools, but all it takes is for a single touch, her index finger pressing hard against the planes of his chest, poking him.

Caitlin can see the moment his resistance snaps, the monster inside of him unleashed, his eyes almost black with anger. He leans in closer, his hot breath against her face, the dust of freckles across the bridge of his nose clear, his chest heaving. And he blocks out the world, he is all that she can see, all she can hear, all she can focus on.

"Do you want to know the truth Caitlin, do you?!" He is shaking, with rage and aggression, mere millimetres between their bodies.

"Yes!" There are hints of exasperation in her voice, the girl not backing down. But more than that there is desire, a fire inside burning, consuming her.

"Do you want to know how I rob people of everything they've earnt, how I kill anyone who ends up in my way." He hears her gasp of surprise, and he can't stop the demented smile curling his lips, a cruel glint in his eye, as he leans closer to her, lips brushing against her ear. "Oh yes, murdered them with my bare hands, their blood in my nails, on my face. I kill, I steal, I take what I want. And you should see the look on their face," he drifts off momentarily, eyes closing as he relives the moments. "The fear on their faces, the way they plead for their lives like the worthless people they are. They are bastards for almost all of their existence, but when you hold their life in their hands, oh how their song changes. I've seen it Caitlin." He doesn't realise he has moved, his hands gliding across the expanse of her neck, cupping the back of her skull, fingers entwined in her hair. "I've seen the panic in their gaze, I've seen the life leave them as they bleed to death. I crave it, i hunger for it." His hands tighten in her hair, pain shooting down the crown of her head as he pulls. But there is also a warmth inside her, a yearning to match his own, arousal simmering under her skin, the pain an unexpected turn on, this power, this darkness, delicious, intoxicating.

"Barry." It was so soft, but it was enough to snap him out of his delirium. He releases her, hands burning as he realises just what he was doing, eyelids still closed, too ashamed to see the disgust and hatred on her face.

"Do you like that? Are you happy you know now?" His voice is cold like ice, burning her, its chill seeping into her bones, washing over her, and she loves it.

Seconds tick by, and he realises that she hasn't said a word, hasn't moved an inch. His eyes slowly open, her face an open canvas to him, her every emotion displayed.

"You - you do like that, don't you?"

"Gosh yes," and it is a hoarse whisper, tendrils of lust infused on her tone, and if Barry would try (and he does) he could envision her on a bed, naked and sweaty, those very words and that very tone, leaving her mouth, right before he would have her screaming. Not for the first time he wonders what she would do if he were to grab her, to push her against the side of the car, to pull her underwear to the side and slide into her, in view of whoever would drive past. His breathing becomes heavier, and he has to concentrate, to focus on anything but that.

"I'm going a job soon; Bank of Portland." His voice is strained, his control slipping with their proximity and he prays to every deity that she assumes it is because of the seriousness of the conversation. "This is your last chance to back out. Alive."

She blinks.

He threatened her, indirectly, but she hears it all the same.

"Are you going to teach me how to hold a gun or do you think I know how to use it already?"

He smiles.

She smiles.

They seal their fate.

The first job is easy, Caitlin as cold as ice, gun to the teller's back as she demands the cash and gold. The man follows her orders without fail, never once realising that she had never shot a gun in her life, never held one until three days prior.

They head to a bar to celebrate.

"That was amazing!" Barry smirks at her reaction, cool and collected he is a stark contrast to the woman by his side, eyes bright, cheeks flushed. She is almost bouncing in her seat, vibrating energy; the adrenaline rush of her first robbery a glorious sight to behold.

"It was alright." She turns to him, shocked.

"It was more than alright Barry." Her excitement is coming through her pores, exuding from her body. And in this pub, smoke making everything hazy but her, Barry feels something he may have described as content. She takes another shot, the liquid burning its way down her throat, a small shudder down her spine as it burns her, her eyes closed in bliss. He passes on his drink, sliding it to her instead, a look of adoration on his face as she accepts it with a smile, downing it in an instant. She jumps up, an amused Barry wondering what she could be doing, hesitancy holding him in place as she tries to drag him from his stool by the bar and to the floor metres away.

"No way." She pouts at him; she looks so innocent with her wide, pleading eyes, bottom lip trembling as she interlocks their fingers, tugging him more forcefully, urging him to join her. He glances around, it's a seedy bar, drunks and criminals and drunk criminals all together, a few eyes drawn to the new lady and her partner.

"Barry, come dance with me."

"I don't dance." They both hear the lack of conviction in his tone, and if Caitlin wasn't graced with the sight of his smile she knows that hearing it is just as beautiful.

"Please Barry, for me." And she knows she won, resignation on his face, and she lets go of his sweater, jumping up and down, eager for more of the high she was having, to have more of it with him beside her.

But it all crashes and burns within seconds, a man twice his size and weight and 100% muscle approaching, his beady eyes raking over Caitlin's form, a lecherous smile creeping onto his face, those little black dots gleaming as he enjoys what he sees.

"Hey cutie, wanna show me what's got you so excited?" His voice is low, gruff, and Barry can see her back stiffen. She lets go of his hands and turns to the newcomer, her face now hidden from Barry, and he can't help the swooping of his stomach. The other man was attractive and he was interested and he didn't know Caitlin would respond in a situation like this. And he hates it.

"Sorry, but me and my friend are celebrating together." He sees the stranger light up at the word friend, the single word filling him with confidence.

"Come on darlin', I can give you a much more fun time." Barry's hands tighten around his glass, anger and possessiveness scratching at him, cutting him up inside, the monster he knows he is rising to the surface. It's a feral thing, violent and bloodthirsty and all Barry can think about in that moment is the man's limp body in his arms, of him suffocating on his blood, drowning in it. He barely notices the cup shatter in his hands, cutting his skin.

Caitlin refuses the other man again and Barry feels the animal inside calm, appeased with her action. But then he grabs her hands, his thick fingers wrapping around her wrists, a yelp of surprise leaving Caitlin as she is tugged into the man's chest.

And the monster is unleashed.

"Hey," the stranger turns to Barry, bracing himself for a punch or something equally pathetic.

He doesn't see the glass shard in the young man's hand.

He isn't fast enough to react, Barry swinging his right hand, cutting his throat open.

The man stumbles to his knees, hands leaving Caitlin to grasp at his neck, the thick red liquid pouring from the gaping wound, staining his fingers, oozing through the cracks in his hold, dripping to the floor. He tries to speak to them, to call for help, words unable to be formed, a red hand reaching to them. They can pinpoint the very moment he realises that they won't do anything, panic flaring before resignation settles. They stand before him unmoving, watching the life drain from his body, garbled noises escaping the man before he starts coughing blood, choking on it.

They stand unmoving, watching him die.

There is some murmuring in the background, the conflict one that had played out many times in the bar. Everyone knew to keep to themselves, to not become involved in messes such as this, but this was different and a man was now dead. The discourse in the bar was growing, the quiet whispers growing, gathering a force behind it, people that were discreetly watching the scene play before them now staring, glaring.

They need to leave. Now.

Grabbing Caitlin's hand Barry rushes out, his heart in his throat as they run, leaving everything behind but each other. They run for what seems like ages, the threat of an angry mob chasing them down very real, any moment one where police sirens could come from behind them, holding them accountable for the atrocities they had committed.

But none of it happen; they make it to the motel they were renting, both of them doubling over in the corridor, laboured pants echoing in the empty area. Barry unlocks his door, stumbling as Caitlin pushes him aside, running for the kitchen and the sink. He locks the door before following her there, watching as she gulps down the water without pausing for breath, a small drop of the liquid trickling down the side of her mouth. She slams the cup onto the bench, her gaze drawn to his fame at the entrance. He sees a fire in her eyes, one he had only hints of before. She stalks to him, Barry still as she approaches, invading his personal space, her hands reaching out, resting on his torso.

"Caitlin..." It is a warning tone, the young man confused and aroused and unsure of what her intentions were. But she ignores him, raking her nails over his clothed chest, the flimsy fabric doing nothing to hide the coolness of her hands. She fists the fabric, tugging him down to her, capturing his lips with her own, mouth moving desperately against his, tongue licking at the seams, sweeping in when he opens up underneath her demands.

"That was hot." She moans it against his lips and Barry doesn't know what to do, what to say, her lips on his, moving aggressively, drawing him closer, intoxicating him with every moment. They stumble into his bedroom, on his bed, hands clawing at the other's clothes, tearing it in their impatience, in their desperation to feel the other against them.

They don't give themselves time to think, to second guess their decisions,driven by their primal instincts of lust and desire and a need that could only be quenched by the other person. They can't stop feeling the other, each small sliver of skin revealed to the other person worshipped and memorised. A hiss escapes Barry when they are finally naked and touching, Caitlin pushing his back against the mattress, straddling him, smiling from on high. She grinds herself against him slowly and deliberately, head flung back as she closes her eyes in bliss. He feels how hot she is, how wet, and he swears in frustration. Because all he wants to do is be inside her, to pin her down against the mattress, to slip into her folds, to have her on the brink, to tease and tease until she can barely stand it, until she can barely speak, a jumble of incoherent ramblings and words leaving her mouth. He needs her ardently.

And then they are one, a scream reverberating in the room as they both struggle to contain themselves. But then they start moving, faster and faster, chasing the climax that is just before them. The world fades away in their moment, the only sounds that of their grunts and moans, of skin slapping against the other as they moved, the scent of sex and arousal filling the air, both of them heady, both of them crazy for more.

It hits them like a flood, swift and unexpected, Caitlin's chest arching body stilling as she falls, Barry moments behind her.

She collapses against him, a muffled groan as he slips out of her, his arms around her naked body, tugging her against him, both of them falling into a peaceful slumber.

Barry awakens first.

It is odd, he notes, reluctant to join the world again, having a warm weight on his chest, waking up with a sleeping woman by his side. He is used to waking up alone in a motel, Caitlin never sharing a space unless they were short on money or in the car.

And even in these rare instances she would be the first, the intensity she didn't know she possessed directed at him, awakening him. But this, here and now, he could get used to this arrangement quite easily. His gaze flickers across her face, so calm and peaceful, a smile even while asleep. he drags his eyes across everything he could feast his gaze upon, pride swelling up inside as he notices a hickey on the slope of her neck, bright and purple and his. He did that, he marked her as his own.

She shuffles closer to him, a happy sigh leaving her as she buries her face into his chest, hiding from the sunlight pouring through the open curtains. He laughs at her actions, the vibrations of his chest having her groan, her head tilting up towards his, a pout on her lips as she slowly awakens.

"Hey." He hesitates, wanting to lean down as kiss her senseless, but unsure if he could, unsure of her reaction, unsure where they stand now. It could have been a terrible mistake for her, one never to be repeated, to hang over their heads or they could no longer partners in crime, but simply partners. They could attempt to maintain a platonic relationship, the sex being an added bonus, but he found himself not wanting that with her.

He sneaks in a light peck on her lips, her body barely reacting to its featherlight touch.

"Hey," she giggles to herself, a childish happiness on her face. And he finds his heart beating faster at the sight of it.

"We gonna talk about it?" There is hints of vulnerability in his tone and he prays she doesn't hear it. She doesn't. She doesn't hear his statement at all.

"I'm hungry." She mutters it to herself, sitting up and stretching her arms out, the blanket falling from her torso to her lap, a sight Barry can't help but admire. "I'll go make us something, I don't think it would be a good idea to go out this morning." She slips out of the bed, her nude form in daylight absolutely stunning, every curve, every inch of creamy skin he could only enjoy in the waning moonlight now perfectly clear. Barry feels his body reacting to it, desire in his veins, calling out to her, needing her to come back, to join him in bed, to join with him in bed. But he doesn't say a word. She leaves him there speechless, her head popping through the doors frame for a second. "Don't think it'd be wise having you cook either."

And with a wink she leaves him alone.

He sighs to himself, pulling himself out of bed, scanning the room for something he could slip into before joining her in the kitchen. They never discussed what had happened, and he knew they never would, the moment gone forever.

And he would just have to live with it.

They develop a pattern of crime and sex, the first always followed by the second, the second only ever happening after the first.

It is a complicated relationship.

They live with it.

The first time it doesn't happen is when Barry is shot in the shoulder; the robbery successful, their escape only just falling under the same category.

They don't go to the hospital, they can't. Not with the police alerting every hospital in the vicinity to watch for them. They go to a small motel on the outskirts of town, a place cloaked in darkness, where the stench of blood and murder couldn't be washed from the sheets or the walls. Barry hisses as they enter the room, Caitlin gently pushing him on the bed, a bag of supplies by the entrance of the door. And she ensures his okay, that he's comfortable before taking a few steps into the kitchen, the amenities provided by the motel lacking.

She flicks on the stove, the fire burning before her, the flames of orange and blue dancing before her, its beauty, its danger so captivating to the woman. But Caitlin cannot be distracted in the slightest, pulling out the needle and tweezers, placing them above the open flame, heating them until they started to glow red.

"I'm sterilising the equipment okay, so your wounds don't get infected." Her voice is carried across from one room to the other. She speaks with a calm voice, soothing, lulling him into a sense of security. He misses it when she stops talking, the room too empty, too white, ghosts of its past haunting Barry.

But then she enters with the equipment and a match and they disappear.

"Hey," she smiles at him, placing it down on the bedside table, and he swears he can see guilt in her eyes. He opens his mouth to speak, but before words come out he sees the reason, a needle in her hands, one now pressed against his skin, injecting the liquid into his system. Morphine. He knows what it is, he acquired it after much persuasion and arguments, the words muttered through gritted teeth.

He was afraid of needles.

She laughed, dropping off quickly when she realised he was utterly serious about it. He hated the look on her face, pity. But she had promised to tell him before she would do it, to get his approval before ever pushing it against his skin.

She lied.

It is strong, the drug coursing its way through his veins; the pain in his shoulder dulls, the drug making him sleepy, but he doesn't succumb just yet. He watches silent as she lights the match, reheating the tweezers, still red from seconds before.

She works with speedy efficiency, words of apology on her lips as she grabs his shoulder, the scalding instrument pressed into his arm. Nothing can cover the scream of pain that erupts from within him, the drug not enough to numb the agony he was enduring. She finds the bullet still in his arm, pulling it out almost immediately, her face a blank canvas, no emotion showing as she reaches for the needle, sewing the wound in his arm shut. She sits on the side of his bed, hands in her lap, fingers fiddling with each other as she scans his expression, looking for any tell tale signs. She sees nothing. It is only then her emotions leak onto her face, worry and relief warring across her expression. And he doesn't like it. He reaches over, his arm like lead, but he fights it, fights everything, the effort worth it as he sees a smile light her face as his hand finally reach her own, pulling them apart and linking it with his own instead.

"You're good with that." It's a whisper, strength draining from his body with each second, the darkness he feels home in calling him back. He is on the cusp of unconsciousness when he hears her speak, body pushing away the draw of sleep to hear her words.

"I had practice with Ronnie," her smile flickers, her gaze unfocussed as she is transported to a world far from here, to a year even further. "He never knew how to walk away from a fight." Her voice seems distant, but Barry doesn't dwell on that, his sight blurring, black creeping along the edges before consuming him entirely.

"Who's Ronnie?" he asks when he awakens hours later, Caitlin fussing over him before concluding he would be okay. Her back to him, leaving the room to go to her own.

She stiffens at his question.

And she continues to walk away.

He doesn't mention it again.

Caitlin adjusts easily to their criminal lifestyle, the thrill of a successful heist never waning with time.

But she has yet to kill anyone on the job, most people compliant with their lives at stake, not willing to risk the consequences of their failed heroics. And they would fail, each person who meets her dead eyes can feel an icy chill run down their spine, devastation and misery washing over them before she can even speak a word.

But the truth remains: she has never taken the life of a single person.

And she's not sure how to feel about it. About all of it.

She keeps her issues to herself, eyes flicking over to Barry's form guiltily as she contemplates what would happen if she were ever put in a predicament. Caitlin would torture herself with different scenarios running through her head, of her killing, of her failing. Of them dying, of her dying. Of Barry dying. All these faces, all this blood, her imagination painted red with blood she had yet to shed, with blood she was never sure she could. She could feel the darkness creeping in, consuming her whole, and she had never tried hard to resist it. But murder in cold blood would be the final straw and she knows it, knows that if she were to ever take that final step, the last of her humanity would go, she would relinquish any chance she had of returning.

And so Caitlin hung tightly to this final shred of light inside her, the only small comfort she had in the dark world, her only form of resistance against its seduction of her soul.

She's not sure what she would do.

She prays that she'll never need to find out.

It's another drop, the drugs Barry picked up from Florida moving further west, the risk high but the reward higher. Caitlin isn't supposed to be there, she isn't supposed to ever know.

Because armed assault is one thing, drug trafficking another issue entirely. And Barry has always been fond of plausible deniability. But he is more fond of protecting her. So he keeps her in the dark.

But she is suspicious of the secret calls, of him slipping out late at night without her by his side, a flimsy excuse passing through his lips.

And so she follows him.

Barry seems agitated and nervous, constantly looking over his shoulder, and she feels hurt welling up from inside her, dozens of different potential scenarios running through her mind. She sees him slink into a dark alleyway, the sun setting behind them, the lilac hues of the evening sky quickly turning black in the cold winter.

Caitlin watches from around a corner, watches him enter an alleyway, watches another man follow him in. She holds her breath, fearful of discovery, neck craning to see what it is he's hiding.

It is then she notices the drugs.

The package is in new man's hands, the man opening it up, examining the white powder, a stoic look on Barry's face. She can only just catch the wisps of the conversation carried in the wind.

"Okay, you know it's the real deal, now pay up." Barry's voice is sharp, and she would shiver if she wasn't so annoyed with him.

The other man grunts, sliding his bag off his back, the item hitting the floor with a loud, but dull thud.

"More." She can hear the edge in his tone, the insanity brought out in his drug-addled brain. And she knows that Barry has taken more than he could handle. Her anger washes away, fear gripping her heart. This man had become to mean something special to her, and she couldn't lose him, she wouldn't.

"No," Barry scoffs, his overconfidence leading to his downfall, Caitlin's heart in her throat as she continues to listen. "This was the amount we agreed on. You give me the money and take it." She can hear the sneer in his voice,can imagine the scene, Barry leaning on his right foot, fingers thrumming his left thigh, over the butt of the gun he keeps hidden there. And she can almost see the other man, agitated and annoyed, too close for her to feel comfortable, enough strength in his grip to snap a neck. To snap Barry's.

"You don't seem to understand." And his low baritone seems so much more menacing in the dark. "I need more. Now."

It falls into place with Barry when he hears the aggression, the unreasonableness of the man high on narcotics. He watches as the other approaches him slowly, a wild glint in his eye.

The man is large, and he is crazy.

And for the first time in years Barry feels legitimately afraid of dying.

He reaches for his gun, preparing to shoot him down, when he charges. Barry shoots, but it doesn't slow him down, a nick on the arm only further fuelling his violent frenzy. The drug addled man is too close for another shot, seconds away from reaching the young man.

And Barry stares at him, defiant even until his last moment, watching as the large man goes for his final blow.

Only to have blood splatter across Barry's face and torso, his attacker stuttering in his movements before collapsing to the ground, the silhouette of his saviour now revealed. And he watches in awe as Caitlin walks up to him, her hands helping him up, fingers lifting up his shirt without hesitation, checking for injuries and bruises. But the moment she touches his bare skin she finds herself being pressed against the alley wall, surprise colouring her features as she looks at him, lust in his eyes, a crazed look she never had seen before. And it turns her on.

"Barry." He doesn't give her a warning, pushing her hard against the wall, his fingers slipping down her body. She doesn't utter a word of protest, she can't. His moves with precision and determination, fingers unbuttoning her shorts, pulling it down roughly as he slides them into her, eyes burning as her face contorts with pleasure. She can't hold in the scream that erupts from her lungs as he enters her, her head flinging back, the pain at the back of her head as she knocks it against the wall nothing compared to the feeling he was invoking, his fingers pumping inside her, teasing her clit. He moves at a brutal pace, in and out, bringing her to the cusp of something glorious before pulling out, the emptiness leaving her keening. But he is stripping his pants down, not giving her a moment, his arms on the back of her thighs, lifting them around his waist as he pushes his member inside her, a groan leaving through gritted teeth as he feels her wet and hot and pulsing around him. And then he starts to move. She watches him, the crazed glint in his eyes, the blood splashed on his face, she takes it all in, mouth open as he continues to move in her. And she doesn't stop watching him until she can physically last no longer, the sensations too overwhelming, her eyes fluttering shut as the pleasure ripples down her body. Her senses are heightened, every touch from him on her enough to brand her, torture her with an insatiable need for more. She can feel the coarse texture of the bricks behind her, the warmth of his skin, the hardness of him in her, the grunts that were against her skin, the vibrations travelling through her body and shaking her up, and she loves it, she craves more. His unrelenting pace pushes her over the edge, her body flying, mind soaring as she climaxes, a torrent of feelings washing her away, satisfaction cascading through her, every nerve buzzing with pleasure.

And he continues, even with her screams, begging him to stop, that she is too sensitive, that she couldn't take anymore. He continues to pound into her, Caitlin coming again and again, her lips seeking his own to muffle the screams, the taste of blood and sweat making its way into her mouth and on her tongue.

They continue, the dying man only metres away.

They stop eventually, Caitlin's head dropping down to his shoulder, fringe plastered to her skin, sweat soaking her hair.

"You're amazing, you know that?" It's a whisper of awe and amazement, and she chuckles, short and bright, her breath still lost as she tries to recover from her exertion.

"Tell me something I don't know." Her legs slips from around his waist, the woman struggling to hold herself on them, Barry pulling her into him, pulling her shorts up, fingers deftly pulling the zipper up and buttoning it before doing his own. She leans on his frame, her body exhausted, and she listens to his breathing, enjoys the feeling of his fingers running through her tresses. But there is something weighing on her heart and she can't ignore, she can't walk away from this alleyway, from the dead body only a few metres away- a dead body she murdered - and pretend that everything is okay, that she didn't give up the final shred of humanity she had for nothing. She pulls away from his shoulder, raising her head and catching his gaze. He's smiling at her, bright and wonderful and it almost breaks her resolve. But it doesn't. Barry can sense that something is amiss, Caitlin stiffening in his hold, the smile lighting up his face dimming before vanishing completely, wrinkles developing on his forehead as he tries to think about what could possibly make her like this.

"Were you going to hide the money from me?" There is a vulnerability in her tone he hadn't heard before, she had always been so strong and wild and to see her like this, so afraid of his answer, it scares him, it hurts him.

"No!" And the denial is so fierce, so swift, she can't help but believe him, relaxing into his hold again, the chilly wind of the night stinging her legs but nothing else, the warmth she is currently cocooned in protecting her from its bite.

"Good," and she knows she sounds drowsy, can feel the pull of sleep on her mind. "But if you ever do a job without me, do not expect me to patch it up when it all goes sour." Caitlin feels the chuckle vibrating through his chest, the last thing she hears before she slips into unconsciousness.

She wakes up in bed with a smile on her face, his arms wrapped around her waist, his lips on her neck.

Her laughter quickly turns into a moan.

He doesn't work off his energy until much, much later that afternoon.