A thin wall separated their bedrooms.

When they were young, they'd developed their own form of Morse code and more than one night had ended in the wee hours of the morning with Joe stomping down the hallway yelling at them to "stop tapping on the damn walls so he could get some damn sleep!"

Those days were over and those nights long past, but the wall that separated their rooms was still thin.

And he could hear her crying.

Again.

Barry lay there listening, hands clenched into fists as he stared at the shadows on the ceiling and forced himself to stay where he was. If she was crying over Eddie . . .

He snorted into the darkness. Of course she was crying over Eddie. Which meant it was his fault. Which meant he had no right to go to her. To comfort her. To hold her.

But she was crying. Again. And suddenly . . . he just couldn't let it go.

The burst of speed took him by surprise. Before he thought about it . . . before he even knew he was going to move, he was at her door.

"Iris?"

Silence answered his hushed whisper. He could hear her pretending to be asleep. Trying not to breathe. Hoping he'd leave.

His jaw hardened as he looked at the slight figure outlined by moonlight, curled up in the center of the bed.

"I know you're awake."

Seconds ticked away. The grandfather clock in the living room pinged out the half-hour.

"Go away," she said finally. Her voice was thick, muffled behind the hand that rose to wipe her cheeks dry. "You wouldn't understand."

That stung. Barry knew she was throwing his own words back at him and felt the barbs as they landed. He sighed and, at regular human speed this time, approached the bed.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that. I don't know why I did, except . . ." When she turned to face him - finally - one shoulder lifted in an embarrassed, uncomfortable shrug. "I guess I just didn't want you to see me like that."

"I've seen you in worse shape." Iris sat up against the headboard, pulled a tissue from the box on the bedside table and dabbed at her eyes.

That's part of the problem. That thought, along with the dangerous need to be her hero - and only her hero - remained unsaid. Instead, he perched on the edge of the bed and faced her.

The night settled over them, an intimate blanket of silver-tipped shadows that closed out the rest of the world. He'd avoided looking at her, really looking at her, for months but now, Barry couldn't help but stare, struck silent by how lovely she was. He knew she would complain that crying had left her eyes swollen or her nose red but to him, she was just Iris and Iris was never anything but beautiful.

And that was another dangerous thought that had to be reined in. He had a girlfriend even if, just at that moment, he couldn't remember why.

"Iris, what's wrong? Talk to me. Please talk to me."

Crystal tears filled her eyes again. It was more than he could stand; the space between them disappeared as he scooted up beside her and wrapped her in his arms.

"Can you just stay?" The whisper was almost lost, even in the quiet room. "Can you? Stay . . . and hold me."

His arms tightened involuntarily, pulling her even closer. Barry pressed his lips against her forehead.

"I'm not going anywhere."

It sounded like a promise. And for Barry, it was.

.

.

It's after midnight and I have to be up at 5:00 am. I should be asleep and instead, I'm writing this drabble. I'm so going to pay for this tomorrow.

This is my first venture into 'The Flash' territory. Be gentle. :)

Thanks for reading!