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There are approximately three occasions on which Felicity shows up at Barry’s door with a bottle of wine and a few tears glancing the corners of her eyes.
The first is a week after her visit with Ray. She knocks, absent of Ray this time, and Barry is slightly shocked, but lets her in nevertheless. Iris is there, but goes out with some of her friends from the paper, surprisingly Linda-included, soon after, so they are left alone together. And that’s when Felicity begins to talk.
And she tells him about a scarlet stain on the body of Thea Queen. She tells him about reicieving a tearful goodbye when all she’d wanted was a private jet. She tells him about dark magic and a great fire withing her and a confession and red curtains. She tells him about a failed attempt at keeping herself sane amongst a world of evil and chaos. And then she tells him the most important thing:
“He’s gone, Barry.” She whispers, a fragile ghost of the bubbling ray of sunshine she was the last time he saw her, and he doesn’t have a response, holding her close instead.
The hope that she can’t hear the way his heartbeat accelerates at her touch follows soon thereafter. They sit there together for a bit, just taking in each other’s company, but then she starts to sob.
And scream and get angry, and she ends up throwing the empty bottle of wine against the coffee table in front of them, glass shattering everywhere. Barry sighs but doesn’t comment; he’ll clean it up in the morning.
The second time, she’s just returned from her roadtrip. He’d seen her days earlier, as she’d stopped in with Oliver on their way back to Starling City. Now, however, she is alone once more, with a bottle of pink wine and a desperate plea for a shoulder to cry on in her eyes. Once again, he can’t deny the magnetic pull that she eminates, drawing him closer to her and dangerously threatening to addict him to her touch.
This time she does not melt into his arms, instead spreading herself along his couch so her legs are crossed at one end and her head is rested on the other. He somehow sandwiches himself between the couch and her legs, which end up resting on his thighs, and he refrains from touching her feet as she angrily recounts her tale.
“He’s got a kid, Barry. A ten year old. And I get that he didn’t know and that it’s not really his fault, I mean it is, but he’d thought this child hadn’t even been born, but I can’t help but feel like this is a sign that it’s all over. Like that’s it, we got the summer as our love story and now it’s done. I want to make it work so bad, Barry, but I’m not even sure how that’s possible at this point.”
He quickly moves his head over to where hers lays, kissing her forehead before responding in a quiet tease, “Felicity, you should know by now that nothing is impossible.”
“You would know.” She quips.
And he ignores the dull throb that’s been lurking in his chest since the train. Ignores how when she tugs on his heartstrings her touch feels like nothing he’s ever felt before.
When she gets sleepy, she drops one of the glasses of wine she’d brought over, and he would’ve caught it, but he’s pinned to the couch by her legs. He’ll clean it up later.
The third time it happens, it’s because Oliver is injured while helping him and is in a slight coma in S.T.A.R. Labs. Felicity says she can’t bear to be around him like that, that it reminds her too much of Barry when he was in his coma, so they leave Caitlin to do her work, and go to the apartment Barry and Iris have been sharing.
This time, Iris is the one to bring the wine in from Felicity’s car. The wine they’d picked out for a party that now looks like it’s being cancelled because no one is really in the mood for celebrating. This time, Iris is the one to smooth back Felicity’s hair and Barry is the one to press soft kisses to her hands, and Felicity lets them comfort her.
“Hey,” Iris murmurs. “I know this is scary, and I know you’re worried that he’ll never wake up. I know you’re contemplating never letting Oliver out in the field again. I know because I go through that same internal battle every time this one does something stupid and ends up really hurt.”
Barry’s eyes widen at the statement, not having known Iris’ feelings on the subject, but knowing Felicity’s all too well. And, in the flickering firelight, he’s overwhelmed by love. Mostly love for Iris, but the soft glow of a candle still held for the crying woman in front of him hides behind the burning flame he holds for Iris.
“He’s going to be okay,” Iris finishes. “You’re both going to be okay. And want to know how I know? Because I can see the future.” Barry smiles softly at the words he’d once told her in relation to her relationship with Eddie. “And I’m seeing a wedding in which you make me a bridesmaid because I will kill you if you don’t.” Felicity lets out a small laugh at that. “And I see cute kids with Oliver’s blue eyes and your smile and I know everything is going to be okay.”
“Thank you.” Felicity whispers. And, while it’s aimed at Iris, the gentle gaze she gives him is a thanks enough for that. And when the bottle slips off the table, Barry moves to catch it, but misses. Broken glass flies everywhere, cutting him a bit in his arm. He pulls it out immediately, but Iris still seems worried, diverting her attention from Felicity for a moment.
“I’m fine, Iris, I swear.” He assures her.
“When are you guys going to give in and get a room?” Felicity murmurs, half-asleep, with mascara stains on her cheeks.
Barry can’t contain the blush at that.
It turns out, Iris is right. Eight months later, a save-the-date card is mailed to their apartment, and Barry reads it over Iris’ shoulder, pressing a kiss to her neck as his girlfriend lets out a delighted squeak at the news.
The invitation says no gifts, but Barry feels the need to get one anyway, so he brings out the box full of broken glass from over the years and they take it to one of Iris’ friends who does stained glass work.
He gives her the present before the wedding. Joking that it’s an incentive for her to carry through with the marriage and ignoring the part of him that saw visions of a different future when he saw her in her dress. A pair of wine glasses made out of all the shattered glass she’s unknowingly given him over the years, stained and arranged to create silhouettes of both the bride and groom as their respective super-identities. Iris’ distinct scribble on the card reads: “For all those long-night, broken-glass, wine talks that you and my boyfriend seem so fond of. Here’s hoping not too many are in your future.”
Felicity notes she would be crying if she wasn’t afraid it would smudge her makeup. And then the band stars, and Barry takes Iris’ arm and heads through the double doors to where the guests are waiting.