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"If you're looking for a hostage, I'm the one you want."
Iris can't believe those words are coming out of her mouth. Eddie will kill her. Barry will lose his mind. Her dad will go nuclear. But here Iris is, saying it out loud, and meaning every word.
She has to mean it. She's currently trapped in a bank with several terrified hostages, a security guard that is bleeding out thanks to the bullet hole in his thigh, and two panicking bank robbers.
Two of her fellow hostages are children. The oldest of them can't be more than seven. They’re curled up in their mother’s arms, the youngest of them whimpering with fear and Iris—what she’s saying is insane, but when she looks at them, she can’t regret saying it.
One of the bank robbers is staring at her. He’s taken off his ski mask, which is not a great sign. “The hell did you just say?”
Iris holds out her hands, palms up, and wills her voice not to start shaking. “I said that if you want a hostage, I’m the one you want. You can let everyone else go.”
He snorts and takes his ski mask off the top of his head, scratching at his lank brown hair. “Yeah, okay, and why would I want to do something as stupid as that?”
“Jesus Christ, don’t bother listening to her,” the other robber says irritably.
Iris licks at her lips, tasting the lipstick she’d put on this morning—and God, that feels like a lifetime ago. “Listen to me. That security guard is not going to last long without medical attention, and if he dies you’re looking at a murder charge. You let him go, you let the others go, it buys you time.”
Now they’re both looking at her. “And why should we keep you, huh?” the first robber asks, but the sneer is gone from his face and voice, like he’s actually listening to her now. Oh God.
Iris exhales. “My name is Iris West. My dad has been a cop with the CCPD for over twenty years. My boyfriend is a cop, and my best friend is a forensic tech there. I’m on a first name basis with nearly everyone in that department. I am exactly what you need right now.”
Iris can see it in their eyes—they believe her. Which is both a relief, and the most terrifying thing in the world.
“You don’t need anyone else when you have me,” Iris says, pitching her voice low, keeping her eyes wide and sincere. She feels like a snake charmer or a hypnotist, and the idea has a hysterical laugh bubbling in her throat, which she pushes down. “You should just let everyone go.”
The silence stretches, and Iris can feel the weight of everyone else in the bank watching them, praying that she succeeds. It seems to take an eternity before the first bank robber cracks, pointing with his gun and barking out, “You two! Get that guard to the door, all right? And don’t even think about trying any heroics, or you’ll have a bullet in you too!”
Iris tries to remember how to breathe while everything bursts into a frenzy around her, the robbers barking into the phone with the hostage negotiator, the other hostages rushing out as fast as their legs can carry them. Most of them turn to look back at her as they flee; one mouths the words, “Thank you.”
Iris tries to smile back at them, she tries to keep herself calm. She’s not sure she succeeds at either.
And in what feels like no time at all, Iris is alone in the bank with two armed, panicky bank robbers. God. She is never, ever going to do anything but online banking again if she gets out of this—
When. When she gets out of this.
“All right then, Mrs. Cop,” the second bank robber says, “any other bright ideas?”
Iris shakes her head. “No,” she says. “No, this is your show.”
Iris wasn’t lying earlier. She is trying to buy time right now. Time for the Flash to show up, oh God, please let him show up, Iris has never wanted to be the damsel in distress in her entire life, but she’s alone in a room with two armed men, she will put on the pointy hat and poofy dress and be thankful for it as long as she makes it out of here alive.
“All right, then,” Bank Robber One says, and he grabs her by the arm and pulls her to the glass window, placing the gun at her temple as he says, “Now wave at your buddies, we want to create a good show.”
Gasping for air, Iris stares out through the clear window at the barricades, the police cars. She can’t see either her dad or Eddie out there, which is a relief at this point—she doesn’t know how well she could hold herself together if she did see them right now.
“You scared yet?” the bank robber taunts, and Iris closes her eye and remembers how to breathe again.
When she opens her eyes, her breathing is steady and her voice is strong. “No. I’m not scared of you.”
The man scoffs as he drags her back from the window, his hand painfully tight around her arm as he does. “You know, I really can’t tell if you’re brave or just an idiot.”
“Says the guy who decided to rob a bank,” Iris tosses back before she can think better of it.
His hand tightens even more, and Iris winces as he leans in, his breath hot and unpleasant against her cheek—
And there’s a streak of yellow lightning, a whirl of color and wind and Iris gasps in relief, in joy, and in the blink of an eye, there’s no hand on her arm, no bank robbers, no guns, no bank—Iris is standing underneath a tree in a park halfway across town and the Flash is directly in front of her, yelling, “What were you thinking?”
“Oh God,” Iris says, her voice shaky. “Oh my God.”
“You’re not a cop, Iris! Do you have any idea how dangerous that was, how reckless—”
“I know,” Iris starts, but the Flash is on a roll right now, pacing in front of her, and his face might be a blur but Iris can feel the frustration coming off him in waves.
“What if I was late? What if they hurt you? You’re not a cop, you aren’t invincible, it’s not your job to try and defeat armed bank robbers—”
“I know that!” Iris yells back, her voice cracking. “You don’t need to tell me how insane that was, I’m the one who had a gun pointed at her head today, okay?” Her throat is tight and her vision is blurring, and it’s not until a sob escapes her throat that Iris realizes she’s about to fall apart.
“Oh God,” The Flash says, and even through his distorted voice, he sounds horrified. “Iris—”
“I’m fine, I’m fine,” Iris manages, but she must not sound too convincing, what with being a half-step away from a full-blown panic attack. “I’m fine, I just—oh God.”
“Iris, I’m right here, okay?” The Flash is standing in front of her, his hands hovering above her shoulders like all he wants is to give her a hug, but he’s not sure if he should. “It’s okay, you’re fine. I’m sorry I yelled—”
Iris can’t pinpoint the exact moment she decides to hug the Flash, she’s only aware of her decision once it’s done and she’s got her arms wrapped tight around him, her face buried in his shoulder.
“Oh,” he says, sounding more than a little stunned.
“Thank you,” Iris mumbles into his suit—she’s not sure what the material is made of, exactly, but it feels oddly comfortable against her cheek.
His arms come around her, hesitant at first, but then he’s holding her tight in an embrace and Iris lets out a soft sigh of relief. “It’s okay,” he says, his voice still with that odd vibration to it but softer now. “Believe me, I don’t mind.”
Iris isn’t completely insane, she knows this is a reaction brought on by trauma, but God—she’s had a gun pointed at her face and the Flash just saved her, and right now he just feels so solid and so safe that she just doesn’t want to move away, not yet.
“Seriously,” Iris says after a second. “Thank you. You—”
She pulls back a little, to look up at him and to say something smart and grateful, but his face is right there and in that precise moment, it somehow—somehow—makes perfect sense to lean up and kiss him instead.
It’s not even a good kiss at first—with the way his face is blurring, Iris’s kiss lands off-center, but then his face stops doing that and he tilts his head and his mouth is directly on hers, and his lips are so soft and warm that Iris forgets everything else, the bank robbery, Eddie, the million and one reasons why she shouldn’t be kissing a stranger in a mask, and just gives in and forgets everything but how good this feels, right in this moment. She hadn’t expected to feel anything this good today.
It’s complete insanity and it can’t last forever, it only lasts for a second more before Iris pulls back, shocked at herself.
And then she takes a look at the Flash, who has also seemingly forgotten himself, enough so that he’s forgotten to blur his face and Iris—
Iris knows that face. She knows that mouth, that chin, she knows those pale green eyes, blinking open with surprise and then horror.
“Oh my God,” Iris says, feeling as if solid ground is now crumbling beneath her feet as she stares at Barry, her best friend, the guy she knows better than she knows herself, except that’s a lie, because he’s the Flash and she had no idea at all. “Oh God.”
*
Iris has turned her phone off.
She is crashing at a friend’s place and her phone is off because she is currently not speaking to her father, not speaking to Barry, and she can’t stay at Eddie’s because she kissed someone that isn’t Eddie, and even if that was brought on by temporary insanity due to a traumatic event, Iris can’t exactly face him at the moment.
So. Her phone is off, she’s curled up on Amanda’s couch watching Orange Is The New Black on Amanda’s Netflix account, curled up on a blanket while Amanda makes tea and very kindly doesn’t ask what’s going on.
“Thanks for letting me stay here tonight,” Iris says for what’s probably the third time this evening.
"Seriously, it's not a problem,” Amanda says, coming out from the kitchen to hand Iris a cup of mint tea. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I’ll be fine,” Iris says, because she will be. Even if she’s so furious with her father and Barry that she can’t even see straight. Even if her stomach lurches unpleasantly when she thinks about Eddie, or that kiss. Even if she can still feel the imprint of that bank robber’s hand on her arm.
She is going to be fine. And then she’ll figure out where to go from there.
“Okay,” Amanda says, and leaves it alone from there, turning to the TV and murmuring with a sigh, “God, Samira Wiley is gorgeous.”
Iris smiles a little. “Does your girlfriend know about your crush on Poussey?”
“Please, Sarah is right there with me,” Amanda says, dismissively waving a hand. “Besides, it’s not as if Eddie minds your whole thing with the Flash, right?”
Iris goes still, and Amanda looks over at her, concerned. “My what?” Iris asks.
Amanda blinks. “You know, the way you talk about him, that blog you have, I just...kind of figured you had a little crush. Which totally makes sense,” she adds hastily, responding to whatever expression Iris has on her face right now. “I mean, he’s a superhero, he’s saved your life twice—and everyone gets those harmless crushes! They don’t mean anything, right?”
“Right,” Iris says after a second, trying to put a smile on it. “Right, sorry, I guess I’m just...jumpy after today.”
“Of course,” Amanda says, rubbing her shoulder comfortingly. “Okay, no more talk of the Flash or anything else tonight other than how Samira Wiley should be the star of this show.”
Iris’ heart is still pounding in her chest, but she manages to sound almost normal when she says, “Piper really is the worst,” knowing that’s going to set Amanda off on one of her epic rants, and sure enough, Amanda’s still ranting five minutes later when the buzzer sounds.
“Hang on, that must be the delivery guy,” Amanda says, heading over to the intercom. “Hello?”
“Uh, it’s Barry Allen.” Iris sits up straight in her seat at the sound of Barry’s hesitant voice, and Amanda shoots her a curious look as Barry continues, “Sorry, Amanda, but—is Iris there?”
“Hang on,” Amanda says slowly, lifting her finger off the intercom so Barry can’t hear what they say. “Iris, is...is everything okay?”
Iris nods silently, even though that’s probably the biggest lie she’s told in the last month, at the very least.
“Do you want me to let him up?”
Iris doesn’t, but if they don’t let Barry up, she’s at least 75 percent sure they’ll have the stupid Flash whooshing in here five seconds later, so she nods. “It’s okay, I’ll talk to him.”
She's waiting by the door when Barry knocks, and Barry is clearly surprised to see her waiting for him. "Iris."
"Barry," Iris says, flat. She'd thought she could stay calm, she'd promised herself she would stay calm, but one look at him and her heart is pounding, her body steeling itself for another fight.
You'd think her body would have run out of adrenaline after today, honestly.
He looks the same as he always has. It seems so completely unfair that he should look the same. But then what does she expect? For him to wear the Flash costume all the time? To have the word liar branded on his forehead?
Amanda, standing behind Iris, offers tentatively, "Hey Barry."
"Hey, Amanda," Barry says, trying to offer a smile, but it looks sickly on his face. He turns his attention to Iris, and there is no need for that tentative, heartbroken look, Iris is not the one who fucked up here. "I came to see how you were doing."
“I'm fine,” Iris says, her voice flat. “You’ve seen me, now you can leave.”
“Holy shit,” Amanda murmurs, and when they both turn to look at her, she holds up her hands and hastily says, “Sorry, sorry, ignore me, I’m not here.”
"Iris, please," Barry says, and he does not get to sound like that, he does not get to look so upset, he is not the one who had his entire world upended, he is not the one who found out that he'd been lied to, over and over, for months now— "Please, I know you're angry, but if I could just talk to you, just for a second."
Iris stares at him. Right now, she doesn’t want to give Barry even an inch. But Amanda is watching them, and if she kicks Barry out now, that will leave Amanda asking the type of questions that Iris doesn’t know how to answer.
So with a sigh, she turns to Amanda and asks, “Mind if we use your balcony for a second?”
“No,” Amanda says, eyes wide. “No, feel free.”
“Thanks,” Iris says quietly, and heads towards the tiny balcony, not bothering to look back to see if Barry’s following her.
Once they’re on the tiny balcony, Iris folds her arms, doing her best not to shiver in the night wind. “Okay, talk.”
Barry’s hands are shoved in his pockets, and he’s watching her with a furrowed forehead, the picture of uncertainty. “I tried Eddie’s place first, he said you were staying over here.”
Iris raises a sarcastic eyebrow at the question Barry is very obviously not asking. “Yeah, I decided to crash with Amanda instead.”
Barry looks up at her through his eyelashes—and a part of Iris is unwillingly noticing how long they are, which is stupid, she has lived with this guy most of her life, she has said to his face how jealous she is of those eyelashes, there is no point in her noticing them now like he’s—like it’s something she needs to pay special attention to. “Is that because of what happened today?”
Iris abruptly loses her temper. Or what’s left of her temper. “No, Barry, it’s because I suddenly got sick of him. Of course it’s about today.”
Barry opens his mouth, then closes it when he thinks better of what he was about to say. Finally he gives a heavy sigh. “Iris, I—”
“Don’t tell me again how you understand that I’m angry,” Iris says through her teeth. “You and Dad have been lying to me over and over again for months, to my face. You can’t fathom how angry I am right now.”
It’s honestly a little terrifying, to feel this much anger inside of her, to have all of it directed at Barry and her dad, the two people she has always loved most in the world. It’s terrifying to see Barry standing in front of her like this, his shoulders hunched, obviously hurting, and to not want to immediately fix it. Iris hates every single second of this, and she hates even more that none of this is something she chose to have happen.
So, her voice shaking, Iris presses on with, “God, did you enjoy it? Did you like seeing me twisting in the wind, constantly racking my brain on what was happening with you, what secrets you were hiding? Was it fun, seeing me make that blog and tell me I shouldn’t be writing about the Flash, that it might be dangerous, when you were the Flash the whole damn time?”
“No,” Barry insists, but Iris is too far gone now, she couldn’t stop herself if she tried.
“Why are you even here?” she asks, her voice breaking. “Haven’t I made a fool of myself in front of you enough times today?”
Because every since Barry showed up, she’s got Amanda’s voice in her ear saying, you had a little crush, and she’s remembering the thrill it gave her, every time the Flash showed up to meet her alone on that rooftop, the hot spark that went off in her stomach when the Flash had told her she was worth being on time for.
God, how obvious must she have been? And this whole time it was Barry, this whole time Barry must have been...marveling at how gullible she was, at how easy it was to fool her—
“Iris,” Barry’s saying now, and he looks gutted, like it is physically painful to hear her say this. “Iris, no, that’s not—”
“Tell me how it’s not like that,” Iris says, her voice tight. “Tell me you haven’t been...laughing at me this whole time. Tell me that I didn’t make a fool of myself kissing you today. Go ahead.”
Barry just stares at her, his eyes wide, his jaw working, before he leans in and—
Iris’s eyes flutter shut when he kisses her. Just for a second, barely even longer than the kiss lasts itself.
Iris opens her eyes once Barry pulls away, and very carefully says, “What.”
Barry just mutely stares at her, his face filled with fifteen different emotions, none of which Iris can read, before he finally says, each word dragged out of him, “I can’t remember what it’s like to not be in love with you.”
The air leaves Iris’ lungs like she’s been punched in the gut. Oh God.
“It feels like I’ve felt this way my whole life,” Barry continues, staring at her like...Iris doesn’t have words for the way he’s looking at her. Or the way it makes her feel, being looked at like this. “I try to talk myself out of it, I try to ignore it, but I can’t, Iris, I don’t know how to—” He looks at her, and he says, “I don’t know how to pretend that your smile isn’t the best thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Oh my God,” Iris says faintly.
Barry scrubs at his hair as he says, his voice cracking, “I know, okay, I know my timing is absolutely terrible, I know you’re with Eddie, I know you’re angry with me and you have every right to be, I get all that, but Iris—Iris, you didn’t make a fool of yourself today. I’m the one who’s been making a fool of himself over you. I’ve been doing that for most of our lives.”
It takes Iris a moment to realize that she’s crying, that there are tears slipping down her cheeks.
Barry is staring at her, his heart in his eyes, as he asks quietly, “Do you want me to leave?”
She doesn’t want to say yes. She wants—Iris doesn’t know what she wants, which is why she silently nods, the tears still falling.
“Okay,” Barry says, gently. “Okay, I can go.”
Iris squeezes her eyes shut as he slips past her, through the sliding door, and then he’s gone. She stays out there, her shoulders shaking with sobs, until Amanda comes out and wordlessly pulls her into a hug.
*
Eddie comes by early the next morning. He comes by with danishes and a steaming hot chai, because Eddie knows that despite her job, Iris isn’t that big a fan of coffee.
He comes by with a gentle smile and a soft kiss on the cheek, and doesn’t press her for anything while Iris eats, just makes small talk with Amanda. Finally Amanda excuses herself to get ready for work, and Eddie asks gently, “How are you?”
Iris tries to smile. “I’m okay.”
“It’s fine if you’re not,” Eddie says gently. “You went through a lot yesterday, it’s okay.”
When Iris tries to smile again, it sits more naturally on her face. “I’ll be okay.”
Eddie smiles at her, that sweet smile of his that always had her attention, right from day one. “I don’t doubt that for a second.”
He’s a good guy. He is sweet and charming and he cares about her, and he’s one of the good guys. Iris likes good guys.
And she still remembers the soft pressure of Barry’s mouth against hers. She remembers what it was like, leaning up and kissing the Flash, she remembers Barry kissing her on the balcony last night. She looks at her boyfriend, and she can remember both those moments, both kisses, in perfect detail.
“Listen,” Eddie’s saying now, “no pressure, but they’d like you to come in, give an official statement. It’ll be quick, I promise.”
“Okay,” Iris agrees.
She’s been saying that word so much, it’s starting to lose its meaning.
*
The first person that Iris sees when she walks into the station is her father. He looks tired and harassed, and he makes a beeline for her the second that he sees her. “Iris, we need to talk.”
Her dad is putting that gravitas in his voice now, that “I’m your father and you’ll do as you’re told” tone.
There aren’t words for how much Iris is not in the mood for it today. “Yeah, I don’t think we do,” she says, arms folded, and Eddie glances between the two of them, eyebrows sky-high before asking, “Uh, should I give you two a minute?"
“Yes,” her dad says immediately, glaring, and Iris counters with, “No, I think we’re done.”
She takes Eddie’s arm and leads him off before her dad can say anything else, before they can get into a shouting match in front of the entire station, because Iris knows herself, she knows that if she stays there for one more second and listens to her dad try to justify all the lying, she will lose it.
“Okay,” Eddie says in an undertone. “I am really trying not to push, but at some point I do need to know what’s going on between you and your father. And you and Barry.”
“We are...having a disagreement,” Iris says, tactfully, and Eddie gives her a disbelieving look.
“Yeah, no kidding. Iris, seriously, what is going on? You had that blowout fight with your dad in the station right after the robbers were arrested, you crashed at Amanda’s last night, Barry’s walking around like someone shot his dog and your dad’s been biting everyone’s heads off--”
“I will handle it, okay?” Iris tries next, and Eddie looks even more baffled.
“I know you’ll handle it, I’d just like to be in the loop.”
God, doesn’t this sound familiar. Iris feels that now-familiar pang of resentment and fury, along with a growing sense of alarm—she can’t tell Eddie the truth. For a whole host of reasons, she literally cannot tell her boyfriend the truth and it’s just—God. What a fucking mess.
“I know,” she says, and it sounds so weak to her ears, but she says, “Just—give me a little time, okay?”
And because Eddie is a good guy and a good boyfriend, he rubs her arm and says, “Okay. You know I’m here, right? I just want you to remember that.”
“Yeah,” Iris says, and she manages to smile past the tightness in her throat. “I know.”
*
The actual statement is relatively painless, so long as Iris doesn’t think about what happened after she was rescued by the Flash. Barry. At the end, Captain Singh turns off the recorder and he says, kindly, “Look—don’t tell your father I said this, but you did good work in the bank yesterday. You got the hostages out, you kept your cool, that was really impressive, Iris. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”
“Thank you,” Iris says quietly.
The captain pats her shoulder. “Take care of yourself, okay? And don’t be afraid to ask for some help, if you need it.”
The problem with that advice, Iris thinks as she gathers her things, is that it’s hard to follow when the people you’d turn to for help are the same ones you’re angry with.
Eddie comes up to her as she leaves the captain’s office, a warm smile on his face. “Hey, ready to go? Thought we could grab a bite, get some fresh air.”
“Yes,” Iris says, putting a smile on, and resolutely not looking around to see if her dad or Barry are nearby. “That sounds perfect.”
*
It can’t work.
Iris is out with her boyfriend, his hand warm in hers, and she is thinking about what it felt like to kiss another guy. What it means that Barry is in love with her, that he’s been in love with her for so long.
What it means that she can’t stop thinking about it, even when Eddie’s holding her hand.
“Iris?” Eddie sounds patient, which means this isn’t the first time he’s called her name.
“Sorry,” Iris says, shaking her head, feeling a twist of guilt that is already starting to become very familiar. “Sorry, I was just...lost in thought.”
“That’s okay,” Eddie says. “Do you maybe want to talk about it. Or...not talk about it, even. Whatever you want to do.”
Swallowing, Iris looks up at him and asks, “Can we just...sit down for a second? I need to talk to you about something.”
They find a nearby bench and settle in, Eddie facing Iris with that concerned, attentive look. Iris takes a breath, her hands twisting in her lap, and she just says it. “I kissed the Flash.”
Eddie blinks. Clearly this is not what he was expecting to hear. “I'm sorry, what?"
“I just—I was in that bank, and I was so scared and then—” Iris makes a gesture with her hand, “—bam, there he was, and I was free and I was safe and he was right there, so I just. Kissed him.”
Iris looks at Eddie, waiting for the recriminations, the hurt. Instead what she gets is Eddie giving her a quizzical look and asking, “Is that all?”
“What, that’s not enough?” Iris blurts out, and Eddie smiles a little.
“No, it’s just—Iris, what you’re describing is pretty normal. You were in the middle of this huge, terrifying, traumatic moment, and the Flash rescues you, and you—lost your head a little. I’m not going to pretend I’m thrilled, but people do strange things when they’re under that kind of stress. It’s not a dealbreaker or anything.”
Oh God. He is such a good guy. “Oh,” Iris says, faintly.
Eddie is watching her, and he says, slowly, a crease starting to form between his eyebrows, “Unless this isn’t just about yesterday.”
Iris doesn’t reply, and the silence stretches as Eddie’s eyebrows keep going up, his expression becoming more shocked, more hurt, until he finally leans back and says quietly, “Wow. Wow, that is...not what I was expecting to hear today. Iris, he’s a stranger in a mask—”
“He’s visited me,” Iris says, very quietly, looking away from Eddie as she says it, because she can’t look at his face when she admits this part. “At night, when I’m closing up at Jitters. We haven’t—just to talk.”
And hadn't she loved that—having the Flash seek her out, whisk her off to the roof night after night. Knowing that he was showing off his abilities, his powers for her, that out of everyone in the city that would love to hear his story, she was the one that had his attention.
And now Iris knows that it was Barry's attention she had. Because—because maybe she's always had his attention, and it's just taken her this long to notice.
But that is...more than she can handle right now.
"Iris," Eddie's saying now, shaking his head. "I...honestly don't even know what to say."
"I know," Iris says, feeling a fresh wave of guilt. Eddie is such a good guy, he doesn't deserve this. And Iris can't help but see into the future, see weeks and months of her lying to him the same way she's been lied to, with weak excuses and strange behavior, with platitudes instead of honesty.
She can see it coming, and she can't stand the thought.
So she takes a breath, and says what's necessary to say instead. "I think...maybe we just need some space. Some time to...think about things."
"I'm not the one who needs to think about things," Eddie corrects her, and yeah, Iris can't blame him at all for the hurt and anger in his voice. "But if that's what you need, then—" He makes a helpless gesture with his hands, and Iris kisses him once on the cheek, quickly, and walks off before he can say anything else.
*
Going home that night specifically to pick a fight with her father is probably not the smartest idea Iris has ever had, but it's what she ends up doing, so.
It's not the loudest fight they've ever had—that record still is held by the time her dad stopped her from applying to the police academy, but it's definitely the worst fight they've ever had.
"Will you just let me explain—"
"Oh, please try and explain this," Iris retorts, her voice practically dripping with sarcasm. "Please try and explain how you thought that lying to me over and over was a better alternative than treating me like an adult with a brain in her head."
A part of Iris, the part of her that will always be five years old and will always look at her father like he's Captain America, still cringes at speaking to her father this way. The rest of her is honestly too mad to care, and that part of her is the one in charge of her mouth right now.
Her dad lets out a long sigh, and begins. "The second I found out what Barry could do, I knew that was it. I wouldn't be able to change the path he was on any more than I could stop the sun rising up. I looked at the danger he put himself in, and I didn't want that for you."
When Iris opens her mouth to start explaining, in very loud detail, just how wrong that was, her dad forestalls her with a hand. "I know what you're gonna say, and you're right. That probably wasn't my call to make and if I had it to do over again, I would do it differently. But you asked me what I was thinking and that's it. If I couldn't keep one of my kids safe, I could at least try and save the other one."
Iris can't talk for a moment, and when she does, it's to say, "You're right. It wasn't your call."
But somehow that speech from her dad has taken the wind out of her sails, and now Iris is remembering all the things she's pushed at bay—Barry staring at her last night, his heart in his eyes, Eddie's confusion this morning, when she broke his heart for no apparent reason at all.
So she sits down on the couch, just to get her equilibrium back, and her dad tentatively takes a seat in the armchair. "I heard you and Eddie decided to take a break," he observes and Iris gives him a weary look.
"Dad. This is so not the time for you to say I told you so."
"I was not going to say that, give me at least some credit," he sniffs. "Just—I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you're hurting, and I'm sorrier than I can say that I'm part of the reason why."
Iris stares down at her hands, and quietly admits, "I don't even know what to do right now. About Eddie, Barry, you—all of it. I just don't know."
“Baby," her dad says, "if you want to be mad at someone, be mad at me. Barry didn’t want to lie to you, he only ever did it because I made him.”
Iris gives a wet-sounding laugh, wiping at her cheeks. “Nice try, but he’s not getting off that easy.” She shoots her dad a look out of the corner of her eye and adds, “Neither are you.”
Her dad offers her a little half-smile. "Like I'd expect anything else."
It doesn't fix everything. It doesn't fix any of it, to be honest. But Iris is in a room with her dad, and she's not yelling. It's a start.
She sleeps in her own room that night, and tries to convince herself she's not waiting for her phone to ring.
When that fails, she tries to convince herself that she's hoping it'll be Eddie that calls.
Iris fails at convincing herself of that too.
So eventually she stops tilting at windmills, sits up in bed, grabs the first notebook she can reach, and starts to write, reaching for whatever control she can have.
*
Iris makes the executive decision to take the day off work the following morning.
Not to stay in and catch up on her Netflix queue, not to look over her Instagram account at all the photos of her and Eddie as a means of penance, not to look over her blog and stare at every blurry photo of the Flash and torture herself all over again by thinking of how she missed the truth all this time.
No, Iris takes the day off work so that, bright and early, she can go over to STAR Labs and get some answers about the Flash at last.
She goes in armed and ready, wearing her favorite lipstick and the black knee-high boots that always make her feel a little bit like a spy, and with two notebooks, three working pens, and a tape recorder stuffed into her purse.
It’s early enough that no one else is there but Dr. Wells, who greets Iris with that faint smile of his. “Iris. Good to see you.”
“Thanks for agreeing to meet with me,” Iris says as she walks beside Dr. Wells, careful to keep pace with him. If Iris is honest with herself, she’s never felt entirely at ease with Dr. Wells—he’s Barry’s hero, the one who saved him when no one else could—but he’s so opaque that Iris can never get a handle on him, really.
But that’s not fair, and given what’s happened lately it's not like Iris’s instincts are anything to write home about.
“Well, I’ll be honest,” Dr. Wells says as he rolls into what must be the main area of the lab, “after I heard what happened yesterday, I was expecting your phone call.”
“Yeah, I bet,” Iris mutters. She squares her shoulders as Dr. Wells settles in at the desk, and says, “I’m sure this must be awkward for you, but—I just have so many questions. You can’t imagine how many questions I have.”
“Oh, I’m a scientist, I know all about having lots of questions,” Dr. Wells says, reassuring. He gestures at a nearby chair. “I can’t promise I’ll have all the answers for you, but I’ll tell you as much as I can.”
Iris exhales. “Thank you,” she says, sincerely.
And so for the next hour, Iris pulls out her notebook and goes through the pages of questions she’d written last night. Dr. Wells answers each one, patiently, thoroughly, showing her graphs and x-rays and lab results, breaking down in plain language how the impossible has become real, how someone like the Flash—like Barry—can exist at all.
“I know you probably can’t answer this yet,” Iris says at one point, staring at video footage of a test run, at the blur of yellow light on a treadmill, “but do you have any idea what the long-term effects could be?"
“It’s too early to say, unfortunately,” Dr. Wells agrees. “But he’s in perfect health, Iris, and we are monitoring him very closely.”
“Okay,” Iris says, taking a deep breath. When she closes her eyes, she can see an afterimage of that yellow blur on the back of her eyelids. “Okay, thank you.”
Just then Iris hears someone approaching, and turns in her seat to see Cisco walk through the doors, a giant Slurpee from Big Belly Burger in his hand, his mouth falling open as he sees her there sitting next to Dr. Wells.
“Hello, Cisco,” Dr. Wells says, sounding totally unfazed. Iris straightens in her seat and tries to match his nonchalance.
“Um,” Cisco says, staring at them. He finally lifts his hand and gives a tiny wave. “Hi?”
“Hi, Cisco,” Iris says, and very deliberately does not give any explanation of why she’s here, or what they’re doing.
The silence stretches, Cisco’s eyes getting bigger and bigger as no one speaks, until he finally splutters out, “I’m just—I’m just gonna go. Just for a second. Um.”
As he quickly exits, Iris turns to Dr. Wells and asks, “So just how long until Barry’s here? Five seconds, or less?”
“More like fifteen,” Dr. Wells says. “Don’t get me wrong, he can get here in a fraction of the time, but he’ll want to walk in at normal speed since you’re here. Probably try and pump Cisco for information while he’s at it.”
Dr. Wells ends up being exactly right, as Barry walks in less than a minute later, but at normal speed. His gait is hesitant and his eyes are wide, glancing between them like he’s at a tennis. “Uh. Hi.”
“Hello, Barry,” Dr. Wells says, with obvious patience. “Iris came by, said she had some questions for me.”
If Barry’s eyebrows go up any higher, they’re going to fly off his forehead. “You did.”
Iris shrugs, and tries putting a smile on her face. It doesn’t sit quite right as she says, “You knew I had questions.”
She watches Barry’s throat work, his expression shift—and somehow, she’s not surprised at all when he asks, quietly, “Iris, can I talk to you?”
She could say no. She could be nice about it, say she has an appointment, somewhere else to be. No one would believe her, but it's be politer than simply brushing Barry off, or cutting him down to size. Let's be honest, Iris is still angry and mixed-up, but she's not out to humiliate Barry in front of Dr. Wells either.
But. But she's looking at Barry's face, and thinking about Dr. Wells saying that they don't know the long-term effects, and somehow the word "Okay," is slipping out of her mouth before she can think twice.
Barry's face just—it just lightens for a brief moment, and God, how did he keep the truth from her for this long when his poker face is that awful? "Okay. Okay, good, um—Dr. Wells, will you excuse us for a moment?"
"Certainly," Dr. Wells says, and even if his poker face is leagues ahead of Barry's, Iris thinks he seems satisfied somehow.
"Thank you," Iris says again over her shoulder as she leaves, and Dr. Wells inclines his head in acknowledgement.
As it turns out, one of the benefits of having a semi-condemned lab as your superhero headquarters is the number of deserted corridors you can use for a private conversation.
Iris is the one to turn to Barry, shaking her hair off her shoulders as she says, gesturing at him, "Okay, you wanted to talk, so—let's hear it."
"Okay," Barry agrees, his hands stuffed in his pockets--and then he doesn't say anything. When Iris raises her eyebrows, silently prodding, Barry bursts out, "I'm sorry, I just—I didn't expect you to be here. Let alone be willing to speak to me. I don't have anything prepared."
Iris gives him her best unimpressed look. "You really want to come at me with how I'm the one full of surprises now? Really?"
A little to her surprise, Barry doesn't go for a weak joke, he just gives a helpless shrug of the shoulders. "I just—I have no idea what to say to you right now. I keep thinking if I have a script, if I'm prepared, then maybe I'll figure out a way to make this right—"
Iris tenses up, and Barry sees it. His face falling, he finishes, "But that's impossible, isn't it."
Iris shakes her head. It's all impossible, all of it. That Barry's the Flash, that he and her dad lied to her for this long, that she could kiss the Flash, that she's standing here right now, so confused and hurt and angry, and that there is still a part of her that wants to see the pain on Barry's face wiped away.
God. Iris laughs a little as she finally admits, "I have no idea what to do right now. I know I've never been this angry with you before in my life, and that I hate it, I hate being this mad at you, at my dad—" Iris looks at Barry, at his stupid, sad face that she knows nearly as well as she knows her own, and she finishes, half-furious and half-helpless, "—and I really hate knowing that I'm going to forgive you both eventually, because that's what I do and—"
She shuts her mouth before she can let the rest out, which is and I love you both too much to stay angry with you forever.
It's true, but she doesn't want to say it. Not now. And telling Barry she loves him feels really...loaded right now.
"I screwed up," Barry says, stepping closer, until they're as close as they were that day in the park, that night on the balcony. "Iris, I screwed up, I know that. Just—give me the chance to make it up to you. To at least try and earn your trust back."
Iris takes a breath, chewing on her lip. Barry's just watching her now, not pressing for more, braced for whatever she'll say next.
She could turn away. She could hold out, punish him for longer.
She could do a lot of things, but that's not the same as knowing what she will do.
So Iris swallows, and asks Barry—asks the Flash the first of many questions to come. "You feel okay, right? Being the Flash, running around like that all the time—it doesn't hurt you?"
She knows the answer is no, Dr. Wells confirmed it, and her dad would've never let Barry continue doing this if it weren't true—but somehow Iris needs to hear it again, and from Barry this time.
Barry's expression wavers, shifts—and then he's giving her a smile, shaky but real, and it is somehow the best thing Iris has seen since he rescued her from that bank.
He doesn't answer at first, just takes her hand, his fingers warm against hers—he's always going to run a little hotter now, Dr. Wells had said so—before pressing her hand to his chest, so that Iris can feel his heartbeat.
She looks up at him, eyes wide.
"It's still beating, isn't it?" Barry offers.
His pulse is quicksilver fast beneath her fingertips, but steady as a drum. "Yeah," Iris agrees, hushed. "It really is."