#Snowellsweek - Day 3 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

simone-garnett · 7 years

Text

title: don’t you remember (the reason you loved me before) pairing: snowells rating: T word count: 5 150 information: belated contribution to @snowellsweek. Day 3 - Amnesia au. ao3

When Harry wakes up he remembers seeing a vision of beauty by his side, an angel crying, left hand clutching a pendant on her necklace tightly. Her dark hair cascades down, the tips of it tickling his face as she leans over him. He wants to reach out, to wipe away the tears streaming down her face, to soothe her worries.

He remembers the urge, the pain shooting through his body at the smallest of movements, he remembers her eyes widening, her voice ringing as she screams for a nurse.

He remembers how she takes his hand and oh, it isn't a pendant on her necklace but a ring.

He remembers the pull of unconsciousness, tugging him back to oblivion and he follows it willingly.

But other than this, he remembers nothing.

The woman is gone when he reawakens, a young man around her age in her stead, his expression grim, a stark contrast to the shirt on his torso.

The young man isn't watching him, only staring into the distance, eyes glazed as he sits motionless. And he would have remained that way had a moan of pain not left Harry's mouth as his body slips into consciousness.

"Oh thank goodness, Jesse has been going mad." The guy breathes a sigh of relief, running his fingers though his long, black hair, a smile slipping easily into place. Harry wonders who Jesse is, who this man is, where the angel of before was now. Was she Jesse? he thinks. He is stronger now, pain throughout his body, but not enough to tempt him back into unconsciousness. He moves to pull himself up, wincing as fire rips through his veins as he determines to not give up. The other man must notice his agony, rushing to assist him adjust himself, hands on his back for support, hip for guidance. "You better not do any of that around Caitlin or she'll kill you herself," the guy jokes, but lurking underneath the humour in his voice Harry can place the concern, can see it swirling in his eyes.

He wants to ask who she is, but his mouth is dry and the very thought of speaking is so abhorrent he doesn't.

And then a whirlwind enters his room, throwing herself at him, arms around his neck, hugging him tight. He hisses at the contact, but finds himself disappointed when she lets go, horror and guilt across her expression as she backs away slowly. She wasn't the same lady as before, younger - a youthfulness and innocence surrounding her movements and response. "I'm so sorry dad," she whispers, aghast. "I - I am so sorry." Tears well up in her eyes and he moves to take her hand only a few inches away. It hurts, lord, it hurts, but the watery smile she gives him as she clutches it makes it worth while.

"It's okay... Jesse," he guesses. She cannot be Caitlin, not if Caitlin would be so annoyed at him moving himself. And Jesse was the only other name he had heard. He appears to be right, her shoulder's relaxing, the smile growing stronger. Harry tries to make sense of it all; she was his daughter, he could feel that in the depths of his heart, in the fibre of his being, but who was the guy in the corner? What had happened to him? His gaze flickers around the room for clues to help, and they land on the exit.

A couple hovers by the doorway, their heads peeking through, both anxiously watching him. Jesse ushers them in, the missing heat from her hand leaving him cold and empty inside.

The man is tall, and must be closer to him, Harry figures, the African-American woman at his side, more for support than out of concern for himself. "I'm glad your okay," she says, and oh - maybe he was wrong. There is relief in her gaze, eyes warm as she watches him sit up and talk to them. "We both are," she adds, looking up the guy she walked in with, cuddling closer to him as his grip on her waist tightens.

"Like I told Jesse here, I'm fine," he says dryly.

"You're not," the man says strongly. "There is no way you could be after all that." He scrambles for clues; but they offer up nothing. No names, no explanations. The thought of telling them he doesn't know who they are - who he is crosses his mind, but he brushes it aside easily. He doesn't know them and so he can't trust them. It's really that simple.

The older woman purses her lips together, worried eyes watching him, scrutinising his actions. He shifts himself uneasily under her gaze, wincing as he flinches due to the pain.

"Harry!" she jumps, rushing to his side before anyone could move. "I don't think you should be doing that. You're still in a lot of pain."

And maybe he got too confident in his ability, and maybe he gets so distracted by the aches in his body to stop himself, because he responds "Caitlin, I'm fine."

And the world stops.

He realises his mistake as soon as the words are out, all of their smiles sliding off of their faces, confusion on some, mild horror on others. "Dad," Jesse starts slowly. "Why did you call Iris Caitlin?"

"Sorry," he snaps. "But when you wake up from a coma after god-knows how long, sometimes the wrong name slips out." Jesse's face falls and he wants to apologise, but he can't. He won't. The atmosphere is tense, silence in the room until one person decides to speak.

"What's my name?" the first guy asks, chocolate eyes wide and Harry knows his doomed, that the secret is out. His head drops and the all swear. "You - you don't' know do you?" There is a quiver in the man's voice and Harry shakes his head, unable to meet any of their eyes. "Oh god, oh god." His voice is more shrill, and he's pacing around, spewing words and theories Harry cannot make either head nor tail of.

"Okay, someone needs to call Caitlin," Iris states, a firm voice when the others around her were panicking. "Now."

"There is no way she's coming if she finds out he's got no memory left. Hell I couldn't convince her to come for a month after the accident," her partner argues. (Barry, Jesse provides, still by Harry's side. And the guy pacing is Cisco.)

(She doesn't explain why Caitlin wouldn't come and visit him. He's too afraid to ask.)

"She needs to! He's our patient for god's sake. Who else is going to take care of him!" The couple argue with each other, Jesse taking his hand again, the pair watching the discussion unfold, Cisco watching the floor.

"You weren't there right after Ronnie," Cisco murmurs. "You met her nine months later - and you remember how devastated she was, even then." Something passes between Cisco and Barry, something neither him nor Jesse nor Iris was privy to.

"Oh," whispers Barry. "Oh crap."

Something twists inside him at the resignation in Cisco's tone, the sympathy and sadness in Barry's. It hurts more than his body, and he doesn't know why. It strains his mind to think of potential answers, no possibility having any chance of a kind solution to the issue.And he finds himself falling back into unconsciousness.

In fact, he welcomes it.

They move him to the labs after he is discharged, the doctors recommending a therapist, Cisco scoffing before responding that they already had a trained one.

They lie.

He lives in the labs, the bed hard and uncomfortable underneath him, Cisco hooking him up to machines before leaving every night, a worried look upon his face as he ensures nothing will happen while he rests. It takes him a week to calm down, to allow Harry to sleep without being monitored.

They test him constantly, test his reflexes, run through MRI scans, CT scans, anything they can think of to find a solution to his lack of memory. And all without their resident doctor. They don't progress very far.

It takes two weeks, two weeks for Caitlin to return to the labs, her presence startling him. Cisco had gone home hours ago, but she still had snuck in, rummaging around through papers, too distracted to notice him by the doorway. And he doesn't reveal himself, not immediately, instead leaning against the side, watching her move through the room. It is a thing of beauty and he feels a stirring inside of him at the sight of her. He coughs, Caitlin jumping at the sound, turning slowly.

"Hey," he starts slowly; she seems so skittish around him, as though the smallest thing would have her running away from him. He sits down a few feet from where she was working, and he worries he is too close. But she steels herself, moving towards him.

"Doctor Caitlin Snow," she states, arm outstretched, pained smile on her lips.

He stands up, meeting her midway. "Caitlin," he tests out loud for the first time. He had figured the Caitlin they had spoke of before and the woman he had first seen when he had woken up were one and the same, but confirmation was a blessed thing. She flinches at the name, pulling her hand from his. Harry doesn't know why she did it, can only assume it had something to do with the past he doesn't recall. "What's - what's wrong?" He can see those walls breaking down and tears welling up. "Caitlin," he says, but that only seems to make her more emotional. "Talk to me, what did I say?"

"You really don't remember me, do you?" Her voice is thick, and he knows that he hates it, hates seeing her like this. It is strange, to know something without remembering it, but he knows that he must have cared for her, knows there is very little he wouldn't do for her, knows he can't handle seeing her cry.

His shoulders slump, and he feels ashamed. "I'm sorry," he offers pitifully, a wet hiccup telling him the tears had started. He takes a step toward her, wanting to comfort her, needing to do so, but she backs away. Harry can envision how he wants it to go, walking to her, taking her hand. He imagines pulling her against his chest, comforting her while she cries, whispering soothing words while the tears calm down. She would pull away slightly, his hands wiping away the tear streaks across her face, and he'd tell her he was sorry and that she was beautiful, god she was beautiful, and that he hopes that they were close before, because he couldn't envision a life where they wouldn't be.

He is hit with such a need to hold her, to kiss her, it takes his breath away. He fists his hands by his side to restrain himself; this angel had been haunting him for weeks after he had awoken, her face, her voice - and his want for her scares him.

But he doesn't kiss her- he does none of the things he wants to.

Instead he lets her run away.

She is there the next day, much to the surprise of everyone in the room. He wants to laugh at Cisco's open mouth, the young man trying, and failing, to speak. Harry's surprise, while just as strong, was much more subtly expressed, merely raising his eyebrows as he watches her. "You- You're here," Cisco finally stutters, joy in his voice.

"No Cisco, I'm a figment of your imagination," she says dryly, an amused expression on her face as he frowns, gaze flickering to Harry, ensuring the other man is seeing her too. She laughs aloud when he frowns, muttering about how his friends were the worst as he continued on with his work. "So," she starts hesitantly, clearing her throat and turning to Harry. "How are you feeling? Any new memories?" There is a vulnerability in her voice he doesn't understand; he feels as though he is trying to solve a puzzle without all the pieces, without any picture to base it off.

"No," he shakes his head, his heart twisting as her face falls for just a fraction of a moment. He shouldn't notice it, but he does. And he doesn't understand why it hurts him so much. They must have been close, he surmises. But why wouldn't she visit him earlier - why avoid him when she knows he is alive?

"Well, let's try and change that shall we?" Her smile is weak, the chipper tone not ringing true. He nods to her, grunts out his thanks, but they are interrupted when Jesse and Wally return with lunch, his daughter pausing at the entrance.

"Caitlin?" she says breathily, her eyes lighting up. She zooms to her, arms thrown around her in a tight embrace. Wally follows behind, an adoring smile on his face as he watches Jesse cling to the doctor. And Harry... he watches in awe at the way his daughter melts against Caitlin, the stresses of having a father who didn't remember their life together lifted at the touch of one other person. Caitlin, she doesn't flinch at the contact, her arms wrapping around the younger girl and her smile,

it was the first truthful smile Harry had seen on her face. And it was breathtaking. Her eyelids flutter closed and she soaks in the hug, arms tightening a little too much.

"What are you doing here?" Jesse mumbles against her shoulder, unwilling to let go either.

"Your dad needs a doctor," she replies. "And you'll always have me." He feels like there is an undercurrent of something in her words, a promise that was made long ago, one he should remember. One he does not.

They do pull away, eventually, reluctantly. "We need to get you into your routine again," she suggests, looking over Jesse's shoulder to address him. "Trapping you down here is not working, so we'll let you free to roam the labs, to return to your apartment. That way we can see what type of memory loss you're suffering from." He looks at her, eyebrows furrowing. She shrugs helplessly in response. "How are we supposed to know whether you're still the genius you were before you lost your memories, or whether you still like Big Belly Burger?"

He lights up at the mention, though he doesn't remember the company at all, but it dims as her expression changes. "What?"

"Nothing, just - nothing." She sighs to herself, pulling herself away from everyone, shutting them all out without anyone else realising. "Jesse remember to take him home tonight. And try and not give him any clues - he may be vulnerable to suggestion in his condition."

Jesse brightens at the words. "And are you - "

"Going to need a quick chat with you later? Yes." Caitlin finishes, eyebrows raised. Jesse, to her credit, looks Caitlin squarely in the eyes. He would assume it to be in confidence if he couldn't see the flash of hurt in her eyes.

"I ahh, I think I'll start exploring now." He walks off before they could stop him; he knew that the cause if the disagreement was himself, and he feels unsettled by the idea. They don't call him back, they don't chase him.

And so he walks alone.

He doesn't mean to stumble across their conversation, he was only familiarising himself with the layout of STAR Labs -only now allowed to roam it freely, but once he had caught sight of them he couldn't move away.

"You- you're not coming home then?" Jesse asks, looking up to Caitlin, a tremour in her voice. The older woman sighs, a hand on Jesse's shoulder as she struggles to find the words.

"I don't think it would be wise, not with his condition."

"But where will you go?"

"I've still got my apartment, my clothes are still there, it's an easy commute to work." The words seem forced, and he wants to know why, why she hasn't been living there, why it is so hard for her to go back.

"You haven't lived there for months!" Jesse exclaims, hands thrown in the air. "He needs you," a quiet moment then, "I need you."

"Oh Jesse, I can't - " She takes a shuddering breath. "I can't be there, you know that right? It might mess up his memory; I want him to remember, I really do, but if it's too confusing or too much at once he might never have a chance to come to it on his own; he may never remember the past. Or -" It is a shaky inhale and Jesse reaches for her hand, squeezing it tight as Caitlin wipes away a tear. "he may not have the same feelings towards things" she hesitates, "or people that he did previously. He could have different tastes, and I can't control that Jesse. And I don't think I could live with myself if I did anything to ruin his chances of remembering." There is a flicker of a smile, and he feels as though he is watching her build up her walls, her shoulders straightening, her face less of a canvas and more a completed painting. "It's not for forever," she offers.

"It might be," Jesse responds despondently. And Caitlin doesn't try to deny her words.

"I'll be by before you guys head home to pick up all my things and photos." Jesse's body jerks away from Caitlin at the words, as though her mere presence would burn her. But Caitlin ploughs on. "I'll drop my key there." and oh, she lived with them? he muses. He'd assumed she had stayed over to care for Jesse while he was in a coma, but now he wasn't so sure. How close were they?

"But maybe if he saw those pictures he would remember," Jesse tries arguing, "You're both so happy in them." The words become quieter and quieter, and he is left with more questions than answers.

"Or they could leave him more confused than before and affect his recovery Jesse. This - this is better."

And he makes his escape before they catch him, questions swirling in his mind, Jesse's voice echoing in his mind.

Better? Better for who Caitlin?

(and Caitlin's response.

sometimes I don't know.)

They have daily meetings, the routine he formed one he enjoyed as much as the situation allowed. Breakfast with Jesse (the girl snorting at his expression when she poured him cereal. He learns the hard way his taste buds have retained their memory), before heading to the lab, moving around between Cisco and Caitlin's research.

They beam at him whenever he would solve an issue with an equation he didn't remember learning, and it becomes unnerving after a while, Harry faltering in his movements, mind suddenly blank when they look at him in expectation. Caitlin theorises that the memories are there and are instinctual, but the pressure he is under blocks the signals, causing the mind blanks.

He smiles at her appreciatively when she tells Cisco (tells them both) to just let him be.

And at the end of every day, Cisco heading home, is when they have their meetings. Over months he remembers more, flashes of similar incidents coming to him, words or actions triggering a memory. It excites him. It frustrates him. She explains to him calmly that the brain is complex, that there is no one way for his memories to return, if they return at all. And he growls, because he knows that. He knows that he may never get them back, may get them in pieces, may wake up one morning and have them fully restored. He knows that intellectually, but accepting it is another matter entirely.

He lashes out sometimes, not with fists but with words, Caitlin the victim when he has a memory he'd rather forget, prodding him to talk about parts of his life he'd prefer be a blank void.

"What about your ring," he asks one time bitingly. "The one around your neck." Her hands move to clasp it immediately. "Since you're so insistent on delving into my past, how about we talk about yours."

"This meeting is over." Her voice cracks, eyes shining with unshed tears. "Come back when you stop being such an idiot."

He regrets his words immediately, hands fisting by his side to stop himself from reaching for her. "Caitlin," he tries, but she doesn't hear him, hands wiping away the falling tears. He hears her sniffles long after she leaves the room. It haunts him.

("I'm sorry," he says, offering her a box of chocolates, the sleepless night showing itself on his face. Her cold eyes soften at the sight.

"My favourite," she replies

"I know.")

"Caitlin." he calls out, the woman looking at him with those sad eyes of hers, the one flaw in the schooling of her emotions. She could hold herself so well, but the eyes were the window to her soul, so raw and charged.

"Yeah," she responds, concern washing over her expression when he says nothing, piercing blue focussed on her unwaveringly. She shuffles under its intensity, cheeks burning as she breaks eye contact. "Harry, are you okay?"

He takes a step forward, scanning her face, looking for something and she didn't know what. "Snow," he tests out, and he sees the shift, her being lighting up at the nickname.

"You remembered something!" she exclaims, throwing her arms around him before she could stop herself. He stiffens at the touch, not ready for the contact. She kept every touch professional, clinical - only done if she needed to, never for long. It had left him confused, a feeling of missing something he couldn't remember, a desire to touch her when he had no reason to. He knew he should be trying to act instinctually, to let natural movements take place - but he couldn't, not when she would always shy away from his touch. But now, her face against his chest, arms around his waist - he feels like he is home once more. He melts against her, the hug lingering for too long, neither of them wanting to let go.

But they do, eventually. It feels a little awkward, Caitlin biting her bottom lip, eyes flickering across his face. Harry doesn't know what to say to her; the words 'I missed this' are on the tip of his tongue, but he can't force them out. He can already imagine her response, Caitlin laughing off the words, telling him he can't miss something he never had.

(He thinks that would be the worst - at least now he could pretend their past was close, but if she ever denied it... he didn't know how he'd cope with that)

He is silent for too long though, and she is extracting herself out of his hold, his hands still holding on to her waist. She gives him a flimsy smile, apologies on her tongue as she says she needs to be elsewhere. He knows she's lying, but he still nods to her, telling her it's okay.

She runs away from him again, and again he doesn't follow.

He realises that he's falling for her as he watches her leave. He's falling for the kindness in her eyes every time she speaks to his daughter, he's falling for her persistence in helping him, even when he's a bastard who doesn't deserve it. He's falling for her sweetness and strength, for the way she laughs and the way she cries, for ever blessed part of her that she decides to show him, and those she doesn't realise he can see.

And he doesn't know if he could hold any hope she feels anything similar.

He doesn't know if he'll have the strength to do so and be wrong.

"So, are you remembering anything?" she prods him patiently, another session rolling by, Harry lounging on one of the medical beds in the lab.

"Snow, you're a tremendous scientist," he whispers, mind elsewhere, in a memory he can't believe he had ever forgotten. "But you're an even better person." He blinks repeatedly, returning to this world, brows coming together as he watches her sit stiffly, jaw clenched. And it is most definitely a memory, and it stings that he doesn't have any context, he doesn't know why he said that, why she hugged him; she had the benefit of remembering everything, while he - nothing.

(But he thinks that, if the situation were reversed, if he knew everything and she nothing, given the stirrings of his heart, he may just consider it a curse.)

"Harry," she starts, hesitant but determined. "When you have these flashbacks do you feel any... any emotions surrounding them?"

"Are you asking if I feel annoyance every time I remember something idiotic Ramon has done then yes." He knows she isn't asking that, knows it was relevant to that memory. But he doesn't know how to tell her what he felt, how he hugged her and never wanted to let go, how he remembered the scent of her perfume, the silkiness of her hair, the way his mind shut down and his heart soared.

"Oh." It is wooden, and he wants to tell her, feels the desire beat against his ribcage, wanting release. But he keeps silent. "Is there anything else?" He thinks he hears disappointment in her voice. He tells himself he is mistaken.

"No."

(He lies.

Because there was something; he dreams. He dreams that they are in a closet, trapped as some general from his past breaks in, searching for data he refused to let them have. Cisco and Jesse and Wally had all gone home for the night, but they were working well into the early hours of the morning for the solution to the formula. They weren't supposed to be inside the building when the raid happened. He dreams of not trusting the man, pulling her inside a hidden closet, holding her shaking body to his chest as they wait out the burglary. He had rested his head on the wall behind him, eyes closed and face tilted towards the ceiling as he cursed whoever decided to do this. But then she whispers his name, Harry looking back down, keenly aware of the little distance there was between him and Caitlin. He had been in love with her for so long and now, to have her against his chest, hands around his waist, it was heaven and hell.

Her lips are soft, hesitant under his own. And he guides them, his hands pulling her closer, swallowing her gasp of surprise and deepening the kiss. He can't think of anything but the way she tastes, the feel of her heat underneath his palms, the way she tilts her head, soft gasps and mewls leaving her. He almost pulls away from her, but her hands slide up his chest to his face, holding him against her, pressing herself closer. She snaps whatever restraint he has; he would never be able to go back after this - he had tried for so long, but knowing what every curve of her body felt like when pressed against his own, knowing how undone she could become with only a kiss, knowing she wanted this too - he may never be able to stop himself.

They pull away apart, chest heaving, looking at only each other, even as the world around them is thrown in to chaos. He dreams that her hand slips down to his chest, the other touching the side of his neck, fingers stroking the nape. "Harry?" There is a question in her voice,

he answers it with another kiss.

It gives him an idea.)

It takes another month before he decides to implement the idea, choosing instead to torture himself with visions of Caitlin at dinner with him, Caitlin on his couch, in his bed. It becomes harder to look at her and not have it flash before his eyes, Harry feeling uncomfortable to remain in the same room when all he can think about is kissing her, about sweeping her hair to the side and pressing his lips on her neck. He tries repressing the feelings, he truly does, but it only makes him feel worse, only causes them to increase in frequency and intensity.

Caitlin can sense the change, he is sure she does, her cheeks going red when she catches him staring, dismissing herself without reason when he finds himself lost in a fantasy where she is a star.

He doesn't know where he finds the courage, calling out her name before he could give himself a chance to second guess his decision. "I -" He draws out the syllable, struggling for the right word. "I have a hypothesis Snow, and I need your help." She walks towards where he is sitting, a hand on his shoulder as she crouches down, slipping it to his knee.

"What is it?" She looks at him so trustingly, he feels as though he may not be wrong, that it was all worth the risk. She was.

"I've been triggering memories by doing familiar things right?" She nods, a warm smile giving him strength to continue. "I've been having dreams, and I don't know if they're based on my memories or desires. If they are my memories they could trigger something." He takes a deep breath, "but if they're my desires I could -" he stops, regretting speaking. Harry pulls away from her touch, sliding out of his seat and pacing around the room. He stops finally, his back to her, afraid to watch her face."Forget I said anything."

"No - go on." And her voice seems breathless, and hope - he swears there is hope.

He turns on his heel before he can change his mind and stalks over to her. And he kisses her.

He kisses her, one hand on her hip pulling her toward him, another on her head, running his fingers through her flowing mane. She tastes like he had dreamed of, of warmth and honey and home. All thoughts of indecision flood out of his mind, instead focussing on the way she sighs against his lips, Caitlin kissing him back, hand clutching the fabric of his shirt, fisting it between her fingers. It is like a drug, the way she intoxicates him, and it is in his bloodstream, his whole body reacting to her touch.

It was everything he had imagined and more. Because this was happening now.

There is a reluctance to pull away, and Harry chases her lips down, resting his forehead on hers. He had forgotten what perfection was, only then reminded of it.

"So," she tries, eyes bright and chest heaving. His gaze drops to the ring on her necklace. He is unable to look away from it. "Do you remember?"

#snowells #snowharry #Caitlin snow #harry wells #harrison wells #the flash #ruthie writes #the flash fic #snowells fic #serena i await those pics #I'm sorry this was so late snowells organisers

12 notes · View notes