Within Seconds // Barry Allen

My Friends, My Friends

"Check the math," dared Caitlin, "your dispersal models don't correlate."

"Uh, they do if you factor in the seasonal fluctuations in reproduction cycles," argued Cisco. 

Parker huffed when they walked from the elevator, without so much as a thought to her. She threw her leg in between the closing doors, causing them to retract. Frustrated, she jerked her skinny arms along the wheels, attempting to catch up with the two. 

From a conjoined hall, Dr. Wells appeared beside her. Amused, he asked, "How are you today, Ms. Sylas?"

Parker forced a believable smile. "Just fine, Doc."

"And what exactly are we debating?" wondered Dr. Wells. 

"The average number of bugs Barry swallows in a day of running," admitted Cisco. 

"I look forward to watching you accept your Nobel," said Dr. Wells. 

Cisco's brow raised. "Oh, now that I think about it, that's sort of gross for you, isn't it, Park?"

"I don't kiss and tell," said Parker flatly. 

"Which isn't a denial!" 

"Why are you in that wheelchair?" asked Caitlin. "It isn't as though this job requires physical attributions." 

"Ms. Sylas and I had a debate of our own," said Dr. Wells. 

"I now understand why he uses mechanical over regular."

Parker, for the life of her, couldn't get the wheelchair to turn without hitting the wall, which in turn, caused Caitlin and Cisco to come to a stop at the Cortex door. 

"Barry?" called Cisco. 

"Barry, are you okay?" gasped Caitlin. 

On the floor of the Cortex lay Barry Allen, clutching his stomach with pain. 

Parker leaped from the wheelchair. By his head, she dropped to the floor, pressingly two fingers underneath his defined jaw. Her shoulders eased when she felt his pulse. It was slow, but it was there, and that made all the difference.

××××

By an unconscious Barry's side, Parker stretched across the bed with him, nose buried into a book. His right hand was raised, due to the metal cast engulfing most of his arm.

She felt his unharmed hand twitch against her foot. She lowered the book, meeting his squinted eyes. A smile broke across her face. 

"Parker," he said quietly. His eyes opened a sliver, then closed. He smiled. "Funny."

"If you're referring to the deja vu, I totally agree," agreed Parker.

Parker's hand ran through his hair, pushing it back and flattening it, a repeating cycle. Playing with his hair was the single thing she could do to ease his mind from the pain. 

"Thirteen fractures," she whispered to him, recalling what Caitlin had diagnosed. "You also have a concussion--"

"--three cracked ribs, and a bruised spleen," finished Caitlin. She entered the room, Dr. Wells and Cisco on her heels. "Even with your powers, you'll need a few hours to heal."

Parker's hand came to a stop. She didn't withdraw her hand. 

Barry knew why, for he felt the same way. He didn't want her to stop, either. He took her hand in his own, lacing them together, keeping some form of comfort between them. 

"What exactly did you hit?" asked Dr. Wells curiously. 

"A man," muttered Barry viciously. "A big, bad man. His skin changed when I hit him. Like, it turned to metal."