Even in his sleep, Barry's in pain.
Whining and whimpering, he lets out increasingly agitated pants and twists on the sheets. Iris does her best to say, baby, it's okay without waking either of them up. It's too early. She reaches out to touch his shoulder and it's burning, hot enough she retracts her hand. "Bar?" she coaxes, "hey, sweetie, wake up." He groans low and wakes up slow, back to her, his shoulders tensing in a wave before easing off. "Hey," she greets quietly, scratching the back of his neck lightly. "It's okay. Just a dream." Soothing, slow, she repeats, "Just a dream."
Barry shivers and presses his hands against his eyes, letting out an unexpected hah of pain. He sits up suddenly, and Iris can see the sweat on his chest even in the low light pooling in from too-early-in-the-morning. "Are you okay?" she asks, her hand resting at his hip.
He groans and shakes his head. She sits up, concerned. He starts shaking and she asks, "What can I do?"
He makes a thin noise like he wants to say something, and it breaks her when she realizes the request for painkillers was on the tip of his tongue. Kissing the back of his left shoulder, she murmurs, "You're okay." Rubbing his back slowly, she repeats it. "You're okay, you're okay, you're okay…"
Barry doesn't contradict her, doesn't speak at all, just breathing harshly. She sees the tears dripping steadily down his face and croons, "Bar." Kissing his cheek, she adds quietly, "It's okay. I know, it hurts."
They've been here before – most memorably after Zoom. He wouldn't let Caitlin or Cisco see him cry, refused to give them reason to believe that his recovery wasn't really a strictly linear trajectory, but at home she watched him quietly fall apart, alternating between rage and anguish.
She misses sleeping through the night, half-teasingly thinking of it as a test run for future children, but she'd rather look tired as he does than smiling and sleep-full in the morning. It gives them something to commiserate over, and coffee takes better in good company.
Pillowing her head on his left shoulder, she wraps her arms around his waist and just holds him, soaking up some of that irrepressible speedster heat. It's a little suffocating some nights, and he feels it, too, kicking off most – if not all – of the covers. She's fine with it in the winter, cocooning and cuddling up to him, but in the summer it can be a little restless.
She can feel the heat radiating from his right shoulder, like an infection but, no, that's just Speed Force, and she knows it burns, that sleeping through it is the best thing he can do, but he can't sleep, and it kills her a little.
When he settles down – and she's half-asleep, lulled by his presence and the early hour – he turns a little in her grip, squeezes her hand and gets up, grunting in discomfort. She hears him Flash and then he's back with a bottle of water, taking his place once more before she's had a chance to truly miss him. She yawns against him and he downs the bottle in one fell swoop, tossing the bottle into the trash and turning so he can push her back down onto the bed. Growly and monosyllabic, he finds a neutral-positive position to lay in, all his weight on his left shoulder. His eyes are golden, low-burning in the dark, just enough illumination that he looks otherworldly.
Go-back-to-sleep quiet, though, and they're watching each other, his arm reaching over so he can settle a hand on hers gently, and there's such earnest, honest affection in his gaze that it aches.
"I love you, Iris West," he tells her softly, sincerely.
She leans forward and nuzzles his nose, very gently. "I love you, too, Barry Allen," she says. "Go to sleep."
"You first," he mumbles, eyelids already closed.
Iris smiles and teases, "Way ahead of you, Bar."
He huffs softly, and she knows he's still in pain, but his Speed dims to a more manageable pitch, less sharp angles and more sweetness, her super-powered dork.
Holding onto him, she joins him in sleep.