Work Text:
“Were you ever going to tell me?”
Iris looked up from her computer screen. “Tell you what?” she said, bringing the end of the pen she was using for notes up to her mouth. Linda rolled her eyes and sighed something suspiciously close to the word seriously, thrusting a piece a paper at her. Iris took it, read it, and then read it again, her heart pounding in her chest.
Finalists, Investigative reporting
Lois Lane, of The Daily Planet
Clark Kent, of The Daily Planet
Charlotte Rivers, of Gotham City News
Iris West, of
Central City Picture News
“You were the only one fully nominated, Iris,” Linda said. “Along with, like, Lois freaking Lane and Clark Kent and oh my god. You were the only CCPN nom in any category and you didn’t even tell me you entered.”
Iris just kept running her eyes over her own name. There she was, in a category with some of the biggest names in journalism. Her name. Her piece. Her story. “I didn’t think anything would come of it,” she said, not once taking her eyes off the list of nominees. “Mercer told me a few months ago that she put my story forward but I honestly didn’t think that it would ever get this far.”
Her heart was pounding so loudly in her chest, Iris could barely hear the background noise of CCPN. She wondered if someone could pass out from shock, if they could have a delayed reaction and just collapse on the floor. Probably. Oh god. She might pass out. She might throw up.
She was nominated for a Pulitzer Prize. Along with Lois freaking Lane. Linda waved a hand between Iris’s face and the piece of paper, and she finally looked up, still stunned.
Linda grinned and shook her head. “Well, you did it. You did it! Congratulations, my lovely, lovely, perfect reporter friend!” Linda grabbed Iris’s arm and pulled her upward, circling her arms around Iris’s back.
Iris laughed, and laid her forehead on Linda’s shoulder. “I can’t believe it. I can’t even believe that my story even got this far, it’s just…”
“We need to celebrate!” Linda said. “We do. I’ll grab Tess and some others and we’ll go out as a paper staff and then tonight, me and you and Barry and your dad and Wally and even, like, Cisco and Caitlin, we’ll go out. We’ll go out and have the most epic toast in history, yeah?”
She pulled away from Linda’s embrace so fast she was nearly convinced it would give her whiplash. “No. I mean, yes to the paper but no to everyone else.”
“Oh come on, Iris. You’re nominated for a Pulitzer Prize. Your first ever Pulitzer Prize, I might add. We need to celebrate.”
She groaned. “But my dad will be so pissed I didn’t tell him my story was entered, and you know things have been strained between me and Barry lately. I don’t want him to feel obligated to come out.”
“Fine,” Linda whined, stretching out the i sound for a few seconds. “Right now, we celebrate with CCPN. Tonight, we celebrate with Wally and your dad. No excuses.”
They had a staring contest for a few seconds, a battle of wills between being humble (and not wanting to jinx anything, because Iris was pretty sure that celebrating like this was going to jinx every chance she ever had of winning) and being proud.
Not that there was even really a contest.
Iris handed Linda back the piece of paper and grinned. “Alright, then. Let’s go celebrate.”
Joe shrugged. “All I’m saying is, those other reporters better watch out.”
“Damn right,” Wally agreed, ignoring Joe’s very pointed look. “How many of them can say that they uncovered the real story of corruption and inhuman treatment at such a huge establishment like Cadmus Labs?”
Iris took another bite of bruschetta. “Well,” she said, “I’m pretty sure they all can. I mean, Lois Lane singlehandedly stopped human testing at Lexcorp. And prevented the forced government registration of superheroes.”
Wally shook his head and looked over at Linda. “Her weird hero worship of Lois Lane is starting to get to me,” he said in a stage whisper. “Doesn’t she realize that Lois Lane is the competition? That they are now enemies?”
Iris tossed a lone tomato chunk at her brother, and Linda smacked him in the arm. “Her hero worship of Lois Lane is not weird. She’s like a journalism god. I mean, so is Iris.”
All of them started laughing, utter joy and champagne bubbling inside, buoying their mood. Wally started in on something else, ribbing Linda about not getting a nomination and how her sports journalism could use some work, and he would show her how it’s done. “Yeah,” Linda said with a snort, “you who can’t even type his name without a mistake is going to explain how to write an article. Bring it on, West.”
Wally glanced over at Iris and Joe. “I’m going to take that as a challenge for the whole West family, so you’re totally screwed because we have Iris. Iris West, Pulitzer Prize finalist.”
The two of them started arguing, and Joe shook his head, chuckling.
“I’m proud of you, baby girl,” her dad said quietly, stealing her attention away from the argument.
Iris smiled at him. “Thank you, daddy.”
“I mean it,” he said, putting an arm around the back of her chair. “This is big. Regardless of whether or not you win, you did something amazing.”
“I know.”
She could feel the vibrations from her father’s fingers on the back of her chair. “And you know he’d be proud of you, too.” She shot him a warning look, but Joe just tipped his head. “He would, Iris. You should call him.”
“He made his choice and I made mine,” she said. “You know that. I don’t want to talk about it. Not here, not tonight. Okay?”
Her father lifted a hand in surrender. “Okay. But never say I didn’t try and tell you.”
“Have you tried to tell him? Or just me?”
Joe opened his mouth but was cut off by the quiet rap of metal on glass. She and Joe turned back to the table, where Wally and Linda sat, staring. “I think it’s time I give a toast to the woman of the hour,” Wally said, cutting through the tension at the table.
He lifted his champagne flute in Iris’s direction, and Linda and Joe followed suit. “Iris, there’s a lot one can say about how great you are and how much talent you have, but those are things that will be said by others when you win this Pulitzer and next year, when you do it again.” She laughed and opened her mouth to respond, but Wally held up a finger. “Tonight, I want to mention something beyond talent, a rare quality you have that not only enhances your writing but also makes you one of the best people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing. Your empathy, your concern for humanity, is what led you to the Cadmus story. It’s what led you to journalism in general. And, really, that compassion for the victims is what makes the story special. Honestly, it’s what makes you special.”
She felt tears well up in her eyes, and Iris set down her glass to give her brother a hug before the toast was even finished.
Barry stepped out of the shower at STAR Labs. He’d been in there for 20 minutes straight and it still felt like he was never going to get the goo from their latest metahuman out of the pores on his skin. He was going to need Cisco to create, like, a full on face mask for the suit, just to make sure this never happened again.
“Oh my god,” he said, “I think I still have some of it in my nose. I think it’s just stuck there. Did we ever find out if it was toxic?”
Caitlin continued working at the computer, not even glancing up at him. “Preliminary tests showed no toxicity, but we’ll monitor you. If you die in the next four hours, I’ll know what to attribute it to.”
He stopped, and stared at the Cortex for a few seconds. “Caitlin,” he said slowly, “where is Cisco? Why are you here by yourself?”
“Cisco had a prior engagement,” she said. “I was invited to go, too, but being eight and a half months pregnant makes going out hard and unpleasant for both me and everyone else. Even just sitting in this chair is killing my back.”
He shrugged. “So, is there anything else happening tonight? Any burning buildings or robberies in progress?”
She paused, finally, and looked up at him; for some reason, her look was making him feel like a child getting reprimanded by a teacher, and so he turned away to look at anything else. “You’re seriously not going to ask?”
“Not going to ask what?”
“What prior engagement both Cisco and I had that you weren’t invited to?”
He examined his suit, checking to make sure that all of the goo was cleaned out of the crevices. “It’s none of my business.”
“It very much is your business, Barry Allen,” she said. “The ceremony is tonight.” He didn’t say anything. He wasn’t sure, exactly, where she was going with this. Ceremony…? For what, scientists? Did Cisco get an award he wasn’t aware of? “The Pulitzer Prize winner announcement ceremony. Cisco and I have been talking about it for the past month.”
He nodded, still not meeting her eyes. “Yeah, I heard you guys. I didn’t realize you knew someone nominated, though. I just figured you were really into writing awards.”
Caitlin sighed. “You never looked into it?”
“Should I…” He stopped, and then looked at Caitlin, his eyes searching hers. “No. She would have told me if she had,” he said. “Even if… even if-”
“Even if you broke up with her? Even if you told her you couldn’t be together because you were putting her in danger and she was going to get herself killed? Even if you didn’t give her a choice?” Caitlin chewed her lip. “You haven’t talked to her in over two months, Barry. Maybe she thought you didn’t care.”
Her stomach turned, weaving itself into tight knots of stress and nerves and anticipation. She was sitting in one of the largest rooms she’d ever seen in a hotel, at a table with her dad, Wally, Linda, Cisco, and her editor, Tess Mercer (who was deeply engaged in conversation with her father). She’d been given another two tickets for the ceremony; one of them was offered to Caitlin, and the other was saved.
Just in case he called. Or apologized. Or said something to her.
She took a deep breath and smoothed out non-existent wrinkles in her dress. Her foot was tapping against the floor in time with the beat of her heart and she had to make sure that there were no crumbs on any part of her, because even though she wasn’t going to win, reporters and editors from other papers were still going to talk to her afterward. Congratulate her.
Maybe even Lois Lane would come over. Say something about her story.
“You nervous?” Cisco whispered.
“Nervous doesn’t even begin to cover it,” she said.
He grinned. “Well, hopefully you have your speech all prepared for when you win.”
She smiled and shook her head back at him. Despite the award being for people who made a living capturing stories through the written word or through images, the winners didn’t give a speech. They stood, everyone clapped, and they sat. She preferred it that way, actually.
It made the ceremony faster.
To no one’s surprise, Lois Lane won her third Pulitzer in a row for breaking news reporting, and to Iris’s surprise, no one seemed more proud than her direct competition, Clark Kent. The crowd clapped politely, and the announcer cleared his throat, and they were on to the next category.
“In the category of investigative news,” the announcer said, and Iris reached out for her father’s hand. Someone else grabbed her other hand, though, and she stopped reaching. “The Pulitzer Prize is awarded to Iris West, of Central City Picture News, for her story on Cadmus Labs.”
Iris stood, her heart pounding in her chest and her chest heaving. The crowd clapped and she smiled, and the hand circled around her own squeezed tighter.
She won.
She won.
She was Pulitzer Prize winning journalist Iris freaking West.
Iris took her seat, dazed, and looked around at everyone gathered at her table, still smiling and lightly clapping. They were all beaming.
Even him.
“You’re late,” she said, finally looking at Barry, who was sitting in Cisco’s old seat.
The announcer kept going.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured quietly. “For all of it. For what I said and everything. I was wrong. I was so wrong.”
She could feel at least four pairs of eyes on them.
“But you’re here,” she said.
He smiled. “Of course I’m here. I wouldn’t miss this for all the stupid excuses in the world.”