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His heart was beating fast.
Well, fast for him. It may have been a while since she first felt his faster regular heartbeat all those years ago in Jitters after the worst nine months of her life, but Iris had it all but imprinted in her subconscious by now. After watching Barry die so many times that she lost count, she had needed the reassurance that he was really there with her, to know that she wasn’t dreaming.
Before, all she had to placate her was their natural affectionate touches and her eyesight, with the firm reminder every once in a while that she wasn’t hallucinating seeing her best friend walking and talking and awake if everyone else around her saw Barry, too.
And though Iris no longer had to fear her sanity as far as the coma went, a new worry took its place. She knew first hand that Barry being the Flash was extremely dangerous—that every time he sped away might be the last time she ever saw him. Instead of needing to know that Barry was awake, Iris needed to know that he was alive, and to remind him that there would always be someone waiting for him, someone for him to come home to.
Of all the physical contact they shared, one of Iris’ favourite remained to be her hand over Barry’s heart, where she could feel his life resonate through her, though she found she quite liked resting her head on his chest so she could hear his heart beat in her ear, too. Between all the sleepovers Barry had at her old place, especially during the falling out he had with Cisco, and now all the nights they always shared together in their place, it wasn’t long before she knew the beat of his heart as if it was her own.
(Barry eventually noticed Iris’ keen interest in his heartbeat, of course, and was incredibly touched beyond words at her admission as to why.
Nothing could’ve prepared her for it to come back and bite her in the ass—quite literally at one point—when the two of them were continuing their world tour of christening every room in their apartment one night a couple weeks ago.
He had said something about there being several veins on a certain part of his anatomy that really got pulsing because of her, and that he could intimately help her feel the beating of his heart if she truly wanted, and, well, only Barry could be nerdy and filthy at the same time.
Needless to say, making love to Barry Allen was not only another favourite form of physical contact of Iris’, but also one of her favourite ways of assuring his heart was still beating.)
So when Barry’s heart rate sped up, Iris stirred, slowly opening her eyes to blearily look at her boyfriend, who was breathing hard and staring up at the ceiling with a panicked and grief-stricken expression on his face.
“Barry?” the journalist murmured, fighting through the fog of sleep so that she could be more attentive. She squeezed the hand she had on his chest to physically show the speedster that she was there for him. “What’s wrong?”
Finally snapping out of whatever thrall he was under, Barry put on a smile and shifted his body towards her, reaching out to place a comforting—not only of Iris, but for himself as well— hand on her shoulder even as hers slid off his chest at his movement. “Hey, Iris, hi, sorry, did I wake you?”
She shook her head, and he knew her enough to know that it meant that she didn’t mind that he did indeed wake her from her slumber rather than it being a direct ‘no’ to his question.
“What happened?” Iris rephrased her previous question, knowing he had avoided answering it and tried not to be lulled back to sleep by the soothing lines Barry was making up and down along her back.
Every time I close my eyes I see you die, the speedster thought, but instead he said aloud, “I don’t think the Mexican food is agreeing with me.” He tried to joke, even as the small laugh that accompanied the statement sounded hollow to his ears.
Iris frowned at the comment—she was pretty sure he said something similar a few days ago. Were they having Mexican that night, too? “We should stop having Mexican, then,” was her simple reply, as it seemed like the most logical course of action: avoid what was giving him pain.
The chuckle that escaped Barry next was genuine, and his heart ached for the nth time over the fact—no, possibility—that he could lose this woman that he loved more than his own life, who was so affronted over food that upset his stomach as if it hurting him was a personal attack on her as well. Gathering Iris up in his arms, he pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her forehead before resting his check against the area he just marked, inhaling the scent of her shampoo and a smell that was solely Iris.
“Mm, maybe. I’ll be fine in the morning. Let’s go back to sleep, okay?” he suggested into her hair, and as Iris adjusted her head against his chest so that she could hear his heart beat, Barry tightened his hold around her in hopes that Savitar wouldn’t steal her away from him as he slept fitfully and make her heart stop beating.
* * *
As Iris hung up her coat and dropped her keys down on the breakfast bar, she thumbed through the mail she had just picked up from the lobby, separating what was addressed to her, to Barry, and to the both of them, excited to open those ones with him once he got home. It had been almost a month now since they were living together and Iris wasn’t sure the whole idea of the two of them sharing a home with one another would ever get old.
So concentrated on her task, the journalist didn’t realize her boyfriend had come home until he was standing behind her and slipping his arms around her waist as he kissed her shoulder.
“Hey, you,” Barry greeted her softly, and he loosened his hold enough for Iris to turn and face him, grinning when their eyes met.
“Hey, yourself,” she said before leaning up to kiss him. “Look, we got mail!” To highlight her point, she held up the envelopes she was sorting just a moment before. “I mean, I probably shouldn’t be so excited to get a bill, but…it’s ours, Barry!” She gazed down at the paper, shaking her head in wonder. “Is it weird? Am I weird, for being so giddy seeing our names together like this?” Hell, they weren’t even married—yet?—she’d probably frame their first bill as husband and wife at the rate she was going.
Iris looked back up at him then, and the bashful smile that had adorned her face slowly dissolved at the heartbreaking expression that dominated the facial features of her boyfriend. With the tears in Barry’s eyes and the small smile on his lips, it was as if he wasn’t sure whether he should be elated or devastated by what was unfolding in front of him.
“It is weird, isn’t it? I’m sorry,” Iris tried to half-joke, half-apologize, lifting a hand to brush her thumb underneath one of his eyes as if to catch his tears before they fell. Barry shook his head and held onto her wrist to keep it there as he kissed the pulse point on her wrist.
“That’s not it,” Barry murmured, trying to assure her that it wasn’t her fault he was a wreck. His eyes skirted around her, as if he wanted to both look at her but couldn’t stand to at the same time.
As sweet as the kiss was, his actions only worried Iris more. “Babe, what’s wrong? What are you not telling me?”
Forcing his gaze to settle on the woman he loved, Barry hesitated before speaking. “It’s…there’s just…this case…” the forensic scientist swallowed at the half-lie he told—there was a pretty gruesome murder case, but it wasn’t completely why he was so emotional, “I was reminded at how precious life is. And seeing you so full of life, I just got choked up and…now I’m being weird, aren’t I?”
Giving him a sympathetic smile, Iris pulled him into a hug that Barry fiercely reciprocated. “No, you’re not. The care you have for other people is one of the things I love about you, Bear. If that makes you weird, then between that and my mail obsession we can be weird together. It’ll be our thing.”
With one last squeeze, they pulled apart. “Do you want to talk about it?” she offered, and it was obvious she was asking as his girlfriend, not a journalist.
Still, Barry shook his head and grabbed her free hand instead, their fingers naturally intertwining together. “I do want to take you out to dinner, though.”
That got Iris’ eyebrows shooting upwards. “Again?” They had been going out a lot lately, now that she thought about it. Going to new places, trying out new things…Iris wasn’t sure if he was trying to make up for something he did that she wasn’t aware of yet or if he was just being an amazing boyfriend like he always was. All she knew was the between the microscope and the wallet and now all their incredible dates was that she had a lot of catching up to do in the gifting department.
“Not that I’m not grateful, but you do know that you don’t need to wine and dine me all the time to impress me, right? I love you, Barry; I’m not going anywhere. I’d be perfectly happy staying at home and doing Netflix and chill—both literally and figuratively,” she added slyly, her smile promising wicked things.
Barry’s cheeks reddened and he willed his blood to not going south and make him change his mind. “I know. I just like to do nice things for you. A guy can do that for his girlfriend, right? Last time…this week, I swear.”
Iris eyed him as if she didn’t believe him before sighing and conceding. “Fine, but a girl would also like to do nice things for her boyfriend, too, you know. Tomorrow I’m cooking you your favourites, and I’m planning the next several dates or so help me—”
“Deal!” the speedster agreed, and after allowing Iris to put the mail down on the counter, lead the way up to their bedroom so that they could change for their date.
* * *
“Would you like to see our desert menu?”
The two of them looked up at the waiter as he finished clearing the last of the plates on their table, and before Barry could open his mouth Iris had spoken. “Actually, if we could get the cheque, that’d be great.”
As the server bowed and left to retrieve the bill, Barry shot the journalist a quizzical look and she shrugged as she smoothed out the bottom of her red dress. “If you insist on going out to fancy restaurants and then use your speed to cheat to get the cheque before I can reach for it then I am going to cover dessert at least once, Mr. Allen.”
Barry gave her a self-satisfied shrug—it wasn’t his fault she was too slow to grab the bill—before deciding not to fight her impromptu decision. He had to admit that he was pretty curious as to what she had planned.
After making a show of removing his new wallet from his grey suit jacket pocket, laughing at the eye roll Iris made as he did so, the couple left the restaurant, Iris’ arm hooked around his as they strolled down the sidewalk. “So where is this mysterious dessert place, Miss West?”
Iris clapped her hand in glee before tugging at his arm to get him to turn the next corner with her. “I heard about this popular bakery shop near the park on the corner of Infantino Street, and—”
Barry froze—all he could see was the street sign and Savitar and Iris, and all he could hear was, ‘Barry, I love you,’ and ‘You lose, Barry,’ and his own screaming and—
“No,” the speedster all but hissed, stopping in his tracks so harshly that with their arms joined together it jerked Iris back roughly.
Startled by not only the sudden halt, but also by Barry’s tone, Iris turned towards him to face him squarely. “Barry, what—”
“We can’t go there; we can never go there, Iris.”
“I don’t—did you hear bad reviews about it or something, I mean—”
Barry cradled Iris’ face with both of his hands, pleading with his eyes and urging her to understand how serious he was about this. It was literally a matter of life and death—her own. “Iris, promise me you’ll never go there—not to that bakery, not to that park, not to that street, nowhere in that whole vicinity, okay? You can’t go there, you can’t, promise me—”
“Barry…Barry…Barry!” Iris yelled, trying to get through to him in his increasingly frantic speech. Her heart was racing watching her boyfriend get hysterical, and as she placed a hand on his chest, she knew his was beating faster, too. “You have to tell me what this is about. This is more than just bad Mexican food or a terrible case, isn’t it?”
He trembled as he closed his eyes tightly, and he felt Iris pull his head down so that their foreheads touched, and he tried to focus on all the areas where their bodies connected, from their noses to their hips to their toes, all of it telling him that she was here, Savitar didn’t have her, he’ll never have her, he—
“Bear, please. You’ve been off ever since Christmas. All those sleepless nights, the haunted look in your eyes sometimes…” Iris felt him still at her observation. “Yeah, I know about those. At first I thought it was just an upset stomach, or work, and then I was waiting for you to come to me, but you can’t run away from this anymore, Barry. It’s killing you inside, and I can’t help you, or be there for you if you don’t tell me what’s going on in here.” She pressed her head firmly against his and fisted the fabric of his dress shirt above his heart. “What are you keeping from me? Let me in.”
Barry breathed in deeply before nodding slowly—no more secrets, she said before, right? Besides, Iris had more right than anyone to know what was going on. It was her who… Shuddering, he stepped back and held out his hand towards her, which she took without hesitation. With a soft squeeze, they were gone, and when the world stopped moving Iris realized they were inside the Time Vault at S.T.A.R. Labs.
The last—and first—time she was there was when they had put Wally and Jesse in there to keep them safe from Zoom. She never really had any reason to go there until now, apparently. “What are we doing here?”
Iris watched as Barry approached the lone console in the room, gasping as she took in the newspaper article that appeared as her boyfriend activated the machine. Her eyes jumped from the date—April 25, 2024—to the headline—Flash missing—and she slowly walked until she stood beside him, grasping onto his hand once more.
“Oh, my god, Barry, you—you disappear,” she whispered, feeling like she had just been doused with ice cold water. “No wonder you’ve been so out of it, you…you go missing in seven years.” How did one even deal with knowing that?
“What?” Confused, Barry looked between her and the article before he let out a humourless laugh when he realized they were focusing on two different things. “I—yeah, but that’s not important.”
Eyebrows raised at the seemingly nonchalant attitude the speedster—scarlet speedster, the article said, that was actually pretty good, good writing—had about his future. “Uh, yes it is, at least to me. I’d like it if the man I love didn’t just suddenly vanish, thanks.”
A small smile graced his lips before it was gone, and he untangled their fingers to rub his hands together in one of his many nervous ticks. “You’ve heard about this article before, haven’t you?” Barry asked as he began walk away from her, heading for the wall so he could lean against it—he was losing the strength to stand himself up as he neared his confession.
Iris had watched him leave, but turned to look back at the projection at his question. “I…what?” She did know she had written something in the future—“It must be a 2024 thing”—though she never actually saw it, didn’t know what it was even about, really, before now. The year certainly matched, but as her gaze slid over to the by line, the journalist realized something didn’t coincide with what she knew about the article. “It’s not written by me…by Iris West-Allen,” she murmured, seeing the name Julie Greer staring back at her instead. “I don’t—is this the same article? What does this mean?”
“The future’s changed.”
Turning back towards him, Iris approached Barry until she was standing before him, getting a sinking feeling in her stomach as his dejected eyes locked onto hers. “What are you talking about? How do you know?”
Barry pushed up against the wall he was leaning against, trying to stand a little straighter—Iris deserved that much, at least. “When Jay and I disappeared that night I…I was sent to the future, somehow. I…” He swallowed, finding it difficult to make himself say the words, afraid that if he admitted it enough times that it might come true. “I saw Savitar…murder you. In that park on the corner of Infantino Street.”
Iris blinked, wondering if she heard her boyfriend correctly, if she should laugh at the terrible joke, because he had to be joking…right? But even as she thought it she knew she was grasping at straws in an attempt to process the truth. “But, the stone…you got rid of the stone. How could he…?”
“I don’t know!” Letting out a frustrated noise, Barry made a fist and hit it against his forehead, closing his eyes. “That was my first thought, too. Savitar shouldn’t have even been there, and I can’t figure out where it went wrong. Jay told me not to obsess over it, that the future is always changing, and I tried to live in the present here with you, to make each day count, but I can’t rest as long as that future is even a remote possibility on any earth in any timeline.”
“Make each day…” Iris repeated slowly, eyes watering as she realized something. “Oh, my god, is that what all of this is about?” she asked, gesturing towards them being dressed up for their date, which seemed like ages ago now. “The moving in together, all the dinners and the events…cram in every experience we can because I’m going to die?”
“No,” Barry denied fiercely, propelling himself off the wall and towards her, though he stopped as she stepped away from him. “Iris, you have to believe me; I leased the apartment before all that even happened.” He opened his mouth to refute her other claims, but a small part of him had to wonder if he was subconsciously lavishing her because she didn’t have much longer.
She did believe him, but his silence afterwards also spoke volumes, and Iris let out a sob as she turned away from him, bringing a hand to cover her mouth as if it could keep all her grief in. It all made sense now, she thought, as she began combing over every detail of the past few weeks. Even all the constant touches…she thought he was just being his affectionate self, but maybe they were more alike than she realized—that they were his affirmations that she was still there with him…for now.
Letting out a shaking breath, she circled around until she was facing him again, hugging herself as she asked tearfully, “How long until it happens?” The article was written seven years from now, so at least, maybe…
Barry looked about as ruined as she felt, and perhaps it should’ve prepared her for his answer, but it didn’t. “Four months from now.”
“Four…months?” The world tilted, and she didn’t move away as her boyfriend approached her once more, said man quickly enveloping her in his arms when he noticed she wasn’t going to move away from him again. “There’s…there’s so much I didn’t get to do. Win a Pulitzer, travel the world with you like your mother did, collecting little snow globes to continue her collection.”
Iris half cried, half laughed at the surprised look on Barry’s face at that admission—yeah, that was supposed to be a surprise for him, someday. “I wanted to get married, have kids…” She looked up at him, studying his face as if trying to imagine something. “Grow old with you…” Her voice cracked and she shook as she tried to steady her breathing. “I wonder how you’d look like with greying hair…I guess I could photoshop it, kinda have to now…”
She closed her eyes and moved to bow her head but Barry wouldn’t let her. He thumbed away the tear that fell down her cheek as he moved his hand to cradle the back of her neck, forcing her to look at him. “Iris, I swear, I will protect you. We are going to do all of those things, and you’ll be right by my side looking radiant as always beside my aging self, all right?”
More tears followed after the one Barry had brushed away, and she shook her head slightly, wanting to believe him but not sure she could live—ha, the irony—with the chance that he couldn’t keep that promise. “Barry, how?”
It physically pained him to see Iris hurting and not being able to help her. He was going to make this right—he had to. “We’ll change the future. Find out exactly how we end up there, how Savitar comes back, and alter it so that it never happens.”
That sounded complicated, and maybe a little more than just the two of them could handle. They were going to need help if they were really going to attempt this. “Do…do the others know?”
Barry shook his head. “Other than Jay, you’re the only one I’ve told, and I only told him because he brought me back to the present.”
Iris nodded slowly as she made up her mind. “I think…we should tell them. We’re going to need their help.” She knew the expression on his face meant that he was going to do whatever it took to save her life, with or without their help, so she added, “At the very least, they have a right to know. Changing the future sounds like it’s going to affect us all.”
“If that’s what you want.” Barry leaned down to kiss her, a little part of him dying at the salty taste of her lips because of her tears, and he drew her towards him once more, holding her in a grip so tight it was almost bruising. If it wasn’t for Iris desperately clinging onto him in return, he would’ve loosened his grasp on her. “Time won’t change us, Iris. We’ll get through this.”
We have to.
With her head facing the direction of the future article, Iris’ gaze switched between the by line and the headline. One thing at a time. Barry’s future worried her as much as her own did, but she knew the headline wouldn’t matter if the by line didn’t change, because she knew her death would be the final straw on the camel’s back—Barry wouldn’t survive it.
But Iris couldn’t live through her own death just to suffer through losing Barry another way. You’re my life, too, Barry.
The future had better prepare itself, because they were striking back.