If You Can't Be With the One You Love

The Voice Calling Out to Him

Oliver meekly stands up from his seat. He feels his legs tremble as he begins to walk to where the previous speaker had just stood— directly in front of the closed casket. His mind immediately went to the man who laid at rest there. The thought forced tears to steadily fall down Oliver's cheeks as he began to speak. "Barry Allen. Many of you may have known him for his incredible intelligence and ability to analyze a crime scene. . ."

The cold wind rushed onto Oliver's face. The tears felt as if they had frozen on his cheeks. ". . . Some of you knew him as the man who put his life on the line every time he sped into a burning building to save lives."

Oliver watched people react to his words. Certain groups would shuffle and begin to cry at the various descriptions of Barry that left his mouth. "To a lot of you, Barry was more than just a CSI, or the Flash. He was your friend. Your adoptive son. The person you grew up telling everything to. The smile you saw walking down the street."

Oliver took a second to gather himself, biting his bottom lip trying to keep his voice strong. "He was the smile that I woke up to on my favorite mornings. He was the last thing I saw and felt my favorite nights." Flashes of their last night together swam through his memories— the laughs, the touches, the warmth, the love that went into their endeavors. He remembered the smile that rested on Barry's face when they kissed each other goodnight.

His voice became shaky. "But to all of us, he was a beacon of hope. And he will continue to be that for us. May we always keep him with us. May his memory remind us to believe in whatever seems to be impossible."

He went back to where he had been previously sitting, meeting Iris who had her arms open for an embrace. The silent tears became loud sobs as the happy memories in his head became overshadowed by the thought of the man in the casket. The man who laid dead. The man he wouldn't get to see again. He put his arms around her and squeezed her tightly. As the tears continued to fall, he heard a familiar voice call out to him.

"Ollie. . ."

He stood confused. Suddenly everything around him had frozen as his attention completely went to the voice repeating his name.

"Oliver."

"Oliver. . ."

"Ollie." Barry whispers. His vision was still blurry but he was able to make out the man who sat in a chair next to his bedside asleep. He hadn't budged from the position he was in. Barry tries to move but a numbness radiates from the base of his back through his lower extremities, throwing him into a panic. He musters up all his energy to speak as loudly as he can. "Oliver!"

He then realized that the voice was not in his subconscious. It was real. It was screaming at him, ringing through his mind.

His eyes open abruptly, immediately meeting Barry's. His jaw drops while his lips begin to form a smile. He brings his hand over his mouth the stifle the cries that leave his system. Tears steadily fall down his cheeks as he falls to his knees beside the bed. He weakly speaks as his head rests against Barry's hand. "Barry. . ."

As the weight of the moment begins to hit Barry, he feels a lump in his throat begin to form. He lightly taps Oliver's head to bring his eyes back to his. As Oliver's bright, tired eyes look into his, he is overcome with his own emotions. His voice isn't strong as it feels like a struggle for Barry to speak. It comes out imitating a whisper. "I'm here."

Oliver slowly rises up and sits back in his chair. He pulls the seat closer to Barry's bedside, immediately taking a firm grasp on his hand. "You're here. . ." his voice trembles with his lips as he speaks. "You're here."