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Barry is running late to the Central City Police Department Christmas party. Because of course he is.
He's wearing a Christmas sweater, an ugly thing that feels itchy against his wrists and neck. It's red and gold and has some kind of reindeer pattern all across it. He'd picked it up in a hurry after being reminded that the theme for the party was ugly Christmas sweaters, because the HR department are full of devils .
He's maybe being dramatic. But he's nervous - he only joined CCPD this year as their newest CSI, having spent the past few years gaining experience over in Florida. And this is the first time he’ll be really socialising with his co-workers without the excuse of work back at his lab to do when he runs out of conversation.
He straightens his sweater one last time and runs a nervous finger over his left eyebrow, as if that’ll do anything to smooth it down. He walks in straight through the main entrance, like he does most days, except now there’s Bill Cosby playing through the speakers instead of fire drills, and twinkling lights decorate the foyer. There’s a patrol shift still on duty, booking criminals and maintaining order; Barry probably shouldn’t be jealous of them.
He finds his way to the detective bullpen where most people are gathered, and raises a hand in greeting. He sees Joe West talking to Captain Singh, Detective Wilson sniggering over the punch with Lily from Finance, and DA Horton chatting easily with one of the crime scene cleaners easily.
His plan is to drop off his secret santa gift and then find someone similarly awkward to talk to. He’s knows some of the officers and he’s friendly with the crime scene analysts, so he should be okay.
After all, he has an interview tomorrow. After he’d solved the cold case of the Hapsberg Killer, he’d attracted a stupid amount of press attention, despite his protests and clear desire to retreat back to his office. He did a press conference, but apparently that wasn’t the end of it. Captain Singh had been wanting him to do a full television interview on one of the morning shows, which, no . Never. The compromise was one interview in CCPN, a written profile that would be partly on his job as a CSI and partly on the Hapserg case.
He really wasn’t looking forward to it. Some annoying journalist, Ms. West, asking him stupid questions about his motivations, his process of deduction? What was he supposed to say other than, he re-examined the evidence? He’s a CSI, not some kind of damned superhero.
But just as he steps forward toward Detective Keele, his path is abruptly blocked by someone else.
They catch themselves with two flat palms on his chest. “Woah,” she says, and she’s short enough that he just has a view of dark hair before she steps back and looks up. And then he’s just a bit speechless.
She’s beautiful, flashing a killer smile like it’s easy, with warm, brown eyes and a jaw he’d love to touch. He forces those thoughts to stop and lets out an awkward chuckle. “Uh, hi,” he says. He steps aside to let her pass, assuming she’d want to keep going in whatever direction was so important.
But she doesn’t - instead, her eyes seemed appraising. “Hey,” she says, and then there’s that smile again. “You’re not a detective, I’d recognise you.”
He shrugs one shoulder. “No, just a CSI, I’m afraid.”
“You’re Barry Allen?”
He frowns, because he would definitely remember that face if he’d met it before. “Um. Yes? Who-”
“I’m Iris,” she says, and sticks out her hand for him to shake. “I’m avoiding my ex-boyfriend.”
“Ah,” he says, even as he shakes her hand. “Do I know him?”
She pulls a face. “Almost definitely.”
She doesn’t seem to want to give him any more information, and he decides not to ask for it. He’s rewarded with the flicker of relief that crosses her face as he says, “Alright. But I do have to know - did you not read your invitation?”
Iris’s brows crease, despite her smile. “What do you mean?”
He gestures to her, and then to himself. “You seem to be wearly a perfectly sensible and muted Christmas sweater. It only has two colours. Whereas I actually adhered to the theme: ugly Christmas sweater.”
She giggles. “It was the only one I had!”
Scoffing, he rolls his eyes playfully. “Yeah, right. Unless it has sound effects, it doesn’t count.”
“That’s fair,” she acquises. “But I only decided to come last minute. We can’t all have PG-13 sweaters.”
He frowns. “What do you mean, PG-13?”
Her eyes go wide, and she hides a snicker behind her hand. “Oh, did you not- Barry, the reindeers on your sweater are, uh, really getting into the Christmas spirit.” At his continued blank expression, she clarifys, “They’re fucking.”
Barry goes completely and obviously bright red. He looks down just as she reaches to tap one of the offending reindeer with a painted nail. Sure enough, the reindeer pattern he hadn’t looked too closely at was one of… frolicking animals.
“Get it, Prancer,” Iris comments, straight-faced.
He scowls good-naturedly. “Shut it. They- this is awful. I’m going to have to avoid everyone I work with!”
She erupts into peals of laughter. “Did you really not notice?”
“I thought they were just dancing,” he says sadly, which only makes her laugh harder.
“Come on,” she says, wiping her eyes once she sobers up. “Let’s get you a glass of punch.”
“I knew I should’ve stayed at home,” he says, even as she takes his hand and drags him to the buffet table.
“Nah,” she dismisses. “We can still save the evening.”
He tries to contain the flutter of hope at her use of ‘we’. He changes the subject, even as she ladles berry-red punch into a small plastic cup. “So, you never said why you came. Do you work here?”
“I do a lot of my work here, yes,” she says. Which could be an answer, except for how she’s clearly missing out some important details. Before he can press further, she pushes the cup into his hands and demands, “Drink. Loosen up, Barry. It’s a party, not an interview.”
He obligingly takes a sip, admitting, “I’m not wonderful at, uh, socialising.”
She nudges him with her elbow. “You’re doing fine with me.”
“That’s because you’re-” he stops himself just in time. There’s a wealth of adjectives he could’ve used, all of which would be too forward and horrible and cheesy for a woman he’d just met. He takes another gulp of his punch, ignoring the sickly sweet taste.
“I’m what?” Because of course she wouldn’t let him get off that easy.
He looks back at her. “You’re a great conversationalist.”
Good save, Allen. (So why does she look disappointed?)
“You seem like a private person,” she comments.
He shoves a hand into his pocket. “Maybe. I-” He freezes as he sees something over the top of Iris’ head.
Or rather, someone.
He hisses under his breath, “Fuck.” At Iris’s alarmed expression, he explains, awkwardly with a hand on the back of his neck, “Um, you know how you were avoiding an ex-boyfriend? How do you feel about helping me avoid an ex-girlfriend?”
Iris’s eyes widen. She immediately turns as if to look for Patty herself, and Barry quickly stops her with a hand on her arm.
“Don’t you dare,” he warns at the dangerous twinkle in her eyes.
“You dated a police officer?”
“Detective,” he admits.
“It didn’t go well, then?”
He narrows his eyes. “Yeah, we’re still really good friends. She walks my turtle every week and we play bridge together- No, it didn’t go well! That’s why I want to avoid her.”
Sniggering, she steps closer and unavoidably into his personal space. “You have a turtle?”
“Of course that’s what you pick up on,” he groans. He realises he still has a hand on her arm and he abruptly drops it.
“Come on, haven’t you heard the expression, ‘don’t shit where you eat’?” She teases.
He can’t help himself; he laughs. “Hey, aren’t you throwing stones? Let’s go find your ex and-”
“Nope, no, nada,” she says as he pretends to turn away, grabbing onto his upper arms to stop him moving. “Eddie really won’t want to talk to me.”
His eyes widen in realisation. “Wait- Eddie? Detective Thawne? Pretty-Boy?”
“Yes, I-” She stops. “Wait. Pretty-Boy?”
Ah. Barry shuffles his feet. “Well- uh. I didn’t come up with that. And he definitely doesn’t know we call him that.”
But a smile stretches her plush lips. “Huh. You know he keeps a tally of his arrests on a chalkboard at his apartment?”
Barry’s jaw actually drops. “You’re kidding.”
“Nope. I kind of wish I was.” Iris looks out of the side of her eyes and obviously sees something. She turns back to Barry and squeezes his biceps. “You’re the CSI, right? That means you must have an office somewhere.”
“Yeah, it’s upstairs, why-” But she’s already gone, weaving elegantly through the crowd of his colleagues. He’d be offended at her assumption except he’s walking without thought to follow her. She has him hooked at this point, and he’s just hoping she won’t toss him back into water.
She’s waiting by his office door by the time he makes it upstairs, leaning against the wall. She’s wearing tight blue jeans underneath her sweater, with heels tall enough to make him wonder how short she’d be without them. Then he wonders how she’d look to him without that sweater either, and he stops those thoughts quickly.
He unlocks his door and slides it open. “Took you long enough,” she nudges him with his elbow as she walks in. “Thought those long legs were supposed to be good for something other than looming.”
“I don’t loom,” he refutes, which, good one.
"So this is where you work," she says, spinning around a little as she walks in. She reaches to touch a microscope, and Barry actually feels a shiver coarse down his spine. He's ridiculous, and well aware of it, but Iris is beautiful enough even when she isn't... running her fingers all over his machinery.
His own thoughts are making his cheeks go red. What is wrong with him?
He pushes the arms of his sweater up and sticks his hands in his pockets. "What do you think?" He asks.
She makes a humming noise in thought, playful. She pretends to tap her chin. "Could use a bit of colour," she suggests, and he snorts. "Maybe a splash of red, right across that wall."
"Red's my favourite colour," he offers.
"There you go," she says, as if she's actually pleased with her interior decorating plan. "I'll put a word in with Singh."
He laughs as he walks closer to her. "You'll do no such thing."
She nods, leaning to the point of almost sitting on his desk as he steps even nearer. "Maybe he'll get you a nice rug as well."
The only light comes from the street outside and in the gaps where his huge door meets the walls. He scoffs. "Captain Singh would never-"
And then she's drawing him in with a fist curled in his sweater and kissing him. He responds instinctively; he leans down to hold his weight with one hand on the desk while the other curls around her hip. She's an amazing kisser - of course she is. That smart mouth is finally put to its best use, and she lets out a gratifying sigh against his lips as her hands twist in her hair.
He steps closer, inserting himself into her space. It's gentle at first. He's happy to keep it that way - maybe he should ask her out to dinner. Or the movies? Or to a church, they could just get married right away now please, he's not fussy.
But then she tugs him impossibly closer and her lips are hot and her tongue curls into his mouth like it always belonged there. He groans and his hand on her hip travels of its own accord to the small of her back. His long fingers just peek along the hem of her sweater - she runs one slender hand down his neck, eliciting goosebumps, and he takes that as permission to slide a hand underneath woolen fabric to find warm skin.
She lets out a muffled moan and her nails scratch his skin. She breaks away and she's breathing just as heavily as he is. She reaches blindly beside them - he has no idea what she's going for until there's a click and dim,warm light from his lamp illuminates the space.
"Atmospheric," he comments. His shorted-out brain is currently up to one-word answers only.
She lets out a small exhale of a laugh. "I want to see you."
And that just- is a lot. Barry moves fast, faster than he has before, to reach and grab the backs of her thighs. He lifts, and god bless her, she gets with the programme quickly as they work together to lift her onto the bench. Pens and papers scatter but he can't care as he slams his lips back to hers. It's faster, hotter and needier than before, and her legs spread wide to accommodate him as he presses closer and closer to her.
This time her own fingers find their way underneath his jumper, her nails scraping along his spine in the most delicious way. He kisses along her jaw and down to her neck, sucking a hot brand into his skin and revelling in the heady gasp it provokes from her. Her hands move up his back, no doubt leaving marks of their own, and he moves back to kiss her. She’s pulling him closer, pulling him down as she begins to recline on the bench, and-
They jump apart at the sound of a smash downstairs. Barry is nearly flat on top of Iris, her hair fanned out around her head and her lipstick smeared.
Raucous laughter follows the smash, and they let out a small, similar sound of relief. Barry abruptly remembers himself, and he pushes back to standing. Iris sits up with him. He watches the movement as her thumb reaches up to wipe at the corner of her mouth, where her lipstick has mussed the most.
She watches him watching her, and then breaks out into that wonderful grin. “Don’t worry, you look just as rumpled.”
He blusters for a moment, “You don’t look-” but then she’s pulling him back to her so she can wipe her red lipstick off his own lips. She then combs her fingers through his hair, which is admittedly probably dishevelled by this point, and he closes his eyes against his will at the sensation.
She lets out a breathy laugh. “We should probably go downstairs.”
“Yeah,” he says. He wants to ask, will he see her again? Can he, please, see her again? But she’s moving, standing up and patting down her hair. He can’t help but watch the movement of her walking away, remembering what it felt like to hold those thighs and have those hands on him.
She pivots at the door. “Come on,” she says, and it’s fonder than he would be expecting. “We have a party to go back to.”
He pulls a face. “Must we?”
She smiles. And then, as she turns from him to walk back downstairs, she adds, “We won’t be too late. After all, you have an important interview tomorrow, don’t you?” And she’s gone.
Barry frowns. How does she know about his interview? He didn’t tell her, did he? He remembers, again, in that moment, that she knew his name before he told her.
He quickly closes up his office. He has questions that need to be answered, like, ten minutes ago. He locks the door and stalks downstairs as quickly as politeness will allow. Luckily, he doesn’t have to search far for her; she stands at the entrance to the bullpen, turned away from him as she talks to DA Cecile Horton. He walks up close to Iris, announcing himself with just a father-touch at the small of her back with his hand before stepping modestly away.
He plans to join the conversation as subtly as possible, but Cecile’s eyes widen immediately upon seeing him. He nervously reaches to pat at his hair - surely Iris wouldn’t have let him leave if he looked like an idiot?
But she just points above them. “Mistletoe!” She exclaims excitedly, even loudly enough to attract the attention of some nearby people. Barry feels his cheeks go hot.
“Uh-” he starts, turning to Iris to see her already looking up at him.
His first instinct is to back away, making an excuse about not believing in mistletoe, or having to take a call outside. But more and more people are starting to look their way, and when he really looks at Iris, he thinks her expression might be a bit hopeful. He realises that so far, she’s been the instigator. He realises that if it were up to him from the start, he’d probably be morosely standing in the corner right now, making awkward conversation every now and then.
He makes his decision. He curls one hand softly to cup her jaw, and leans down to kiss her. He tries to be firm and gentle, tries to let her know how much he’d like to see her outside these station walls. She sighs against his lips, and her own hand reaches up to place itself on his where it rests on her cheek. He thinks she understands everything he’s been trying to say; maybe for the entire night.
He pulls away and she smiles.
Then there’s a deep, pointed cough. He turns quickly to see Cecile now joined by her new boyfriend, Detective Joe West. Who, for some reason, looks like thunder.
“Hi, Joe,” Barry greets, a little confused. Cecile seems to be hiding an impish grin behind her hand. “Uh-”
Joe’s voice is dangerous. “I see you’ve met my daughter.”
Barry pales. Now they stand together, the resemblance is uncanny. And there’s no way the esteemed detective didn’t just catch him macking on with his daughter. He’s dead. He’s going to die in his place of work, which is certainly the worst way to go.
Iris only laughs, like she hasn’t basically put an APB on him. “Don’t be mean, Dad.” She casts a sly look at Barry. “After all, I still have to interview him for his profile in the paper tomorrow.”
This woman is trying to kill him.
And he can’t find a single bone in his body that objects.
He gulps. “You’re Ms. West.”
“Pleased to meet you.” She sidles closer to him and wraps one arm around his back. He can’t help the soft smile on his face as he looks down at her, already forgiven. “I was thinking that we should definitely have the interview in your office, tomorrow, to really get a feel for your character.”
He shakes his head, laughing softly. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”
She bites her bottom lip. “What can I say?” She whispers as Cecile drags Joe away to the buffet table. “Your sweater reindeers got me thinking.”