Within Seconds: Sylas & Allen

PSA: Parker Sylas Announcement

Intently focused with determining which way the wrapping paper needed to fold in order to look splendid, Parker hadn't noticed Barry's entrance. Several minutes later of no attempt to touch the paper, he cleared his throat. "No one ever taught you how to wrap?"

"Mom did," said Parker, slouching her shoulders. "I didn't listen to the tutorial. I thought I'd just do gift bags for everyone when I got older."

"And then you realized wrapping paper was cheaper," said Barry. He took a seat on the floor opposite from Parker and wrapped Dylan's present, a video game, expertly.

Parker applied tape to where he pointed. "Who taught you?" she asked.

"My mother. It's one of the few memories I still have with her," said Barry, a faint smile on his lips.

"How old were you when she passed?"

"Eleven."

Parker set the next present on the wrapping paper. A sad smile shaped her lips. "You're lucky. That you remember her."

"How old were you when..?" he trailed off.

"I was.." she paused, squeezing her eyes. "Uh.. Four. Yeah, four years old when Dad died."

"Four?" repeated Barry. He never knew.

"All I remember of him is stories that my oldest brother and my Mom tell. If we get her drunk enough on holiday's, she'll get the photo albums from the depths of her closet," admitted Parker.

"On the bright side, at least your pain wasn't as great. Yes, you lost your father, but you have an image of him that can't be ruined, you know? Your Mom has memories. She knows what he feels like, what he talked like, everything. She misses him. And you miss what could have been," said Barry.

Parker halted the horrid sealing job to meet his eyes. "I do miss what could have been. And my mother does miss the memories she has with my Dad. That's exactly why I can't give us kids."

"You don't want them to go through what you and I did," said Barry, quietly, slowly, because at last, he understood.

"The pain you're going to suffer will be enough once I'm gone," whispered Parker, reaching to brush the hair from his forehead. "I can't put any child through that."

"Humor me," started Barry, which caused Parker to inhale an annoyed breath. "I know. I know. I just want to imagine what it would be like. You're not hurting me, I promise you're not. Let's talk about just one."

Parker's somber mood snapped to utter confusion. "Just one? How many were you planning on?"

"I wanted a few," said Barry. "I hate being an only child."

"One or none," disagreed Parker.

"What about twins?" said Barry.

Parker looked horrified by the idea. "Absolutely not. I can't barely handle the idea of one child."

"Don and Dawn?" suggested Barry. "Those are cute names."

"Tacky," said Parker distastefully. "And what if they were both boys?"

"I'm picking Don. You could pick the other one."

She fell quiet, pondering a rival name. Her eyebrow lifted as a thought came across her mind. "My mother once told me to never marry a man, unless I would proud to have a child exactly like him. So, I say we should have continued the line."

Barry groaned. "You were going to make another child suffer through the name Bartholomew Henry Allen?"

"What about a nickname?" she tried.