Iris

Just give it some time

Just give it some space

Maybe it's better this way

Promise me you'll always be better

Five years ago he had drawn a dot on a glass board, expressing to her in his enthusiasm and passion as he circled it that the particle accelerator was about to change everything. They talked in his lab at CCPD because even though she rarely understood any of the science he worked on, she loved watching him in his element. She had cancelled a date to go to S.T.A.R. Labs with him that night because it was important to him, and he was important to her. Dating had never been a priority for her, only ever for fun and to satisfy lust, never really consciously seeking companionship beyond. Looking back now, she knew it was because she had that with Barry. He was her best friend, knew her better than anybody, could turn to him for everything and wanted nothing more to be the same for him. The only thing that had been missing from that equation then was the acknowledgement to herself that the reason her love for him escaped definition was because growing up together had normalized all those feelings, simply thinking that their dynamic was just uniquely Barry and Iris, not realizing that was what it meant to have a soul mate, to feel a love that couldn't be defined because it was complicated but so simple at the same time. But being in love with him and knowing it, was so much better.

"It's a whole new way of looking at physics. It will change the way we think about everything. From a single atom to an entire galaxy."

He had been right then. That night the particle accelerator had gone off, everything changed. As she heard the words again now, she thought about how he had gone from her best friend to her entire world, from an atom to a galaxy, from Barry Allen to her Barry Allen. As she watched him grip his head and cry out in pain, watched him struggle to form a thought, not knowing if he knew when and where he was, Iris felt her galaxy crumble. She hadn't allowed herself to fantasize about him returning to them, about what that would look like. She couldn't allow herself to hope. Hope meant waiting, and breathing everyday without him was hard enough without the pain of thinking he could walk through the door at any moment. So even though she didn't imagine about what their reunion would be, seeing him like this was not anything she could have expected. Her Barry was brilliant and charming in his awkwardness. Seeing him manic, thoughts scattered and sentences fragmented, she couldn't keep up. Even when she had no idea what he was talking about, science or nerd talk, she could follow along because when Barry spoke it was always to her with a voice that so desperately wanted to engage. And she usually was. But this, this was broken and unclear, remnant speech combined with disjointed phrases as he circled the small room at CCPD, covering walls with strange symbols only he could see the meaning. For the first time in her life, hearing Barry talk about the world as he saw it left her feeling further away from him than ever before, more separate from him then she felt the last six months.

"Can you hear the stars? Singing, rhyming, chiming, timing, every hour every minute."

Four years ago she had pleaded Barry to come home to her, to wake up from the coma that kept them apart. Watching him lying in bed, so quiet and still, the complete opposite of Barry Allen, had been the most difficult thing in her life up to that point. For nine months, she sat beside his bed, holding a hand that wouldn't curl around hers, a conversation with no response, crying to a shoulder whose arm wouldn't wrap around her. They'd grown up together, had been a part of every day of each others lives for over fourteen years and suddenly she was without, missing him while he missed out on his life. She watched his heart stop, over and over Iris watched his heart so full of life and love, just stop beating. She didn't know if her heart could survive with his not beating. Looking back now she knew it was because their hearts were connected. His heart always belonged to her, and her heart had always been his even if it took her longer to realize it.

Two years ago she watched him disappear for the first time into the Speed Force when he tried to get his powers back. She had begged him to come home to her then too, to grip her hand and let her bring him back from being lost forever. He had said it was her voice that had brought him home, like how her voice had helped him withstand a psychic attack by Grodd the year before. Then last year, as he lay there on the ground, dying from a wound in a dream, she had pulled him back to their world with nothing but her kiss.

After he returned from the Speed Force the first time, Harry had told her she was his lightning rod, the emotional anchor that every speedster needed to return to when they pushed themselves to their limits and the Speed Force drew them in. He had studied the Speed Force extensively and hypothesized that without a lightning rod, a speedster could get lost, unable to return to the point in time in which they came from. He suspected that was why the Reverse Flash continued to jump between the timelines, why Zoom became consumed with power. Knowing that Iris could imagine now why Savitar was the way he was; he'd lost her, lost everything, and became broken and lost himself.

Since day one Barry had looked to her to ground him, to keep him tethered to this life. When they were kids he trusted her to console him as he cried, giving in to his grief at losing his parents. When they were teens he relied on her to make him feel normal, insults and bullies threatening his sense of self worth, but knowing she saw him as worthy. When he became the Flash, she'd talked him from the ledge of being lost amongst the impossibilities of this improbable existence, evil speedsters and super-human powers, tried to help him bear the weight he carried on his shoulders if in no other way then reassuring him that she was there beside him. She was that unquantifiable something that always brought him back. But he was also hers. He had radiated joy when they met as kids and she was drawn to it. When he cried, she knew she had to go to him, needed to make him feel safe and wanted. He had made the big house that she and her father shared a home again when for so long it had felt empty. When her mother left, Iris and Joe had come to lean on each other but it just felt like they were wading in disturbed waters, unsure how to move forward. Then they took in a heartbroken boy and found purpose in making him feel whole, the three of them becoming whole together as their family took shape. As they grew, their friendship deepened till the other sought very little outside of their companionship. Things were easy between them, life was full knowing you always had someone to come home to.

She couldn't point to a day or time and place when she knew that she loved him like he had always loved her. It just came suddenly without warning, like a bolt of lightning, awaking the feeling that always been inside her and finally discovering what had been growing over their time together, a sudden sense of clarity as she realized she had fallen in love with him before she even knew it. With him, every day meant something. Without him, nothing made sense. She felt lost in the life they had built together. Photos that decorated the walls of the West home were painful memories. Their loft echoed in the silence, their bed a chasm, the kitchen haunted with shadows of him preparing a breakfast big enough for ten people but designed just for her and his speedster appetite, the shower they would sometimes share despite its close quarters felt like a cavern. Central City that housed all the places they had grown up together in felt out of context, a place she couldn't recognize or feel at home in. It all felt so hollow, quiet and dark without him. His eyes were her stars, his smile was her sun, and his voice was her music.

So yes, she could hear the stars singing, rhyming. Even as he spoke words she didn't understand or words she'd heard before, the point was she could hear them and see them coming from his lips. Lips that had turned up into a smile that lit up a room, lips that had professed his love for her over and over and never sounded repetitious or worn out, lips that would kiss her gently or drive her wild, lips that said her name in a way that could make her feel safe or send chills down her spine. And although it ached to see him speak to her without substance, at least they weren't spoken in echoes of her day dreams. He was flesh and blood in front of her and suddenly every minute and every hour didn't feel like every second would be agonizing.

As she watched him draw more foreign symbols on the walls of the containment cell in the pipeline, she thought of her father's words about faith. She knew the face in front of her, now rid of the beard that seemed to separate the Barry that returned to them from the Barry she knew, her Barry. She couldn't catch his eye though as she stood in front of the glass wall dividing them. No matter where they were, Iris had always been able to steal his gaze from whatever had previously claimed his attention. His eyes always sought hers, just like hers always searched for him. They could find each other in a crowded room, and from what he'd told her, could find each other in any timeline or any earth. For six months she didn't search, afraid of what she'd find or wouldn't find. But now he was here and she couldn't look away, even as he seemed to not notice her. Maybe he was trying to communicate but she couldn't find the answer in it all. She'd never not been able to reach him before, to connect with him. Her father said she had to believe, but what that looked like for her she wasn't sure.

She didn't believe they could get him back alive, but here he was. When had she lost her faith? Where was the Iris that knew Barry would wake up from the coma. Where was the Iris that knew the Flash would swoop in and save the day even when he was still just a whispered rumor of a mysterious red streak running through the city. Where was the Iris that knew she could bring him home, could inspire him to believe in himself. Barry was standing right there in front of her, but she couldn't connect with him. Maybe it wasn't his fault though, maybe it was her's. If she wanted to find Barry Allen, first she'd have to find Iris West again. That meant believing, that meant trusting. Reluctantly she began to back away, knowing she'd have to leave his side for him to follow. She had to have faith that he would always follow.

"Come get me."