There's a theme here. Can you find it?


Amethyst. She tangles her fingers in his, his favorite scarf around her neck, as they walk hand-in-hand down the sidewalk. The moonlight is purple against the city snow.

Garnet. At six PM he writes, "Running late" on a post-it note and sticks it to her laptop. He returns six minutes before midnight holding a red flower that doesn't exist on their Earth. "There's an entire field; I'd love to show you."

Peridot. She tosses a stick for Luke and the corgi tramples after it, sea-green grass parting for him as Leia stays close and gnaws on Barry's shoe, still on his foot.

Blue Topaz. He likes the way the blue lights settles over their shoulders, wedged into a tiny corner of the bar. Clinking his drink against hers, he smiles, because he can't get drunk, but with her at his side, he doesn't want to miss a second.

Rhodolite. Sitting under a burning sky with Leia on her lap, she looks at the sunset and wonders how in their world too big for two people they ever find each other again, and then he Flashes in with a groomed, bow-tied Luke, and she laughs and loves him more.

Lapis Lazuli. The blue bruise under his eye doesn't detract from his warm, apologetic smile as he shows up at CCPN forty-five minutes later than planned with no public explanation but a private nod to her vague Flash-related inquiry. She still kisses his cheek lightly, and it doesn't hurt.

Zircon. They go to a bookstore and she picks out a book for him and he one for her, and their tiny bookshelf is never crowded, but it is full, and full of color, spines grading sunset yellow to cerulean blue.

Pearl. She's always thought of him as one in a million, even if that means she's met nine other contemporaries of his, ranging from thirty to two hundred years old. He ages, but his smile stays the same.

Andalusite. He takes her away from the city, and the mug of hot cider burns his tongue, but he doesn't begrudge it. Venturing out in an amber field of corner, she picks out and he carries home the biggest pumpkin they can find.

Green Tourmaline. She loves the way he hugs her like he's never going to get tired of it even when they're both too tired for words, her dark green coat shed so she can tuck herself in his arms and blue coat instead. It's a warm welcome outside the Labs after the longest of days.

Turquoise. He brushes clear the foggy windows up on the highest floor of the CCPD and smiles out at his city, snapping a picture of its smoky blue morning shroud and sending it off to Iris without a caption. She writes back: I love it almost as much as you.

Tsavorite. She casts her gaze in wonder around the collection of gems in the dark hall before catching sight of Barry, arrested in front of a case full of brilliant stones, and he is so enraptured that he jumps when she walks up behind him and tucks an arm around her waist. His eyes are still brilliant, almost radioactive green in the dim light, and when he gazes at her it's full of utmost wonder.

Opal. He loves to share his experiences with her, to bring her into the magic as much as possible, because he wins when the team wins, not against in spite of it, and so he lets her glimpse the Speed Force and it is a multiplicity of colors, chaotic, gorgeous colors, and together they escape definition.

Kunzite. Love tarnishes in a box, stowed away for safekeeping; it thrives in the open, expressed in the mundane, the soft, slight, almost missed moments, like her hand gently snagging his, or his Speed purrs against her side softer than the pink glow of the morning sun.

Sapphire. He used to think love was one flavor, a single emotion that burned the same way every day, but it is cool like a rainy day hug, hot like the first sip of coffee, and solid like the press of wood furniture against his shoulder as they move into their first home. It's every color of the day and every smile of the week, and still it burns blue in him, a steady, familiar, wonderful thing like an ocean.

Gold Topaz. She likes the way the suit looks in the sun, brilliant red and gold, never hiding from view even though the public eye is rarely fast enough to see him. They only catch their hero in snatched seconds, but he sashays slowly over to her and she tucks her hands in the lightning bolts at his waistline and holds onto him in the field.

Pink Tourmaline. Sleeping-in is a luxury they rarely afford as parents with young kids, but he still kind of loves how perfectly crowded the bed feels, kids, pups, and her, everybody safe in his reach. The happy pink flush on his face isn't seen by any of them, but he knows his affection is felt.

Aquamarine. She likes the way they grow into routine, breaking the mundane with blue cupcakes on a Saturday morning because there's no rule against baking delicious goods before noon. "If you scrape off the frosting, it's a muffin," Iris reminds Barry, and he grins and pulls out the third tray while his kids frost away at the second.

Golden Beryl. He loves the way his lightning dances, and sometimes he wonders what color her lightning would be, yellow like his or more red like Wally's. Either way, he knows he'd be in love with it - because when he looks at her, every aspect of him - from his beating heart to the very gold in his eyes - loves her.

Emerald. She laughs like summer rain against his shoulder as he carries her on his back, asking, "How old are we?" "Twenty-four," he replies cheekily, wading through the swamp like they're half their age, "and counting."

Iolite. The invitation is written with an ink so deep it's almost purple, requesting the presence of "Iris Ann West-Allen" for the awards. Barry picks up the kids from school and the three of them are at her office with flowers to be the first to congratulate their very own Pulitzer winner.

Spinel. There's tension between his teeth as he takes a seat at the table, still finding a smile for her as he nurses a pair of broken ribs, posture subtle, aching red. "You okay?" she asks, and he takes her hands in his and squeezes them, because it doesn't matter what happens to The Flash on-the-clock: he's all warm affection for her off it.

Imperial Topaz. It's an acquired taste, the way he disappears and returns in the middle of the night, and the kids - Jack and Jill, both corgis, and their Tornado Twins - rarely notice when he comes home some nights. Were they awake, they might see the soft yellow light disappear as a reading lamp flicks off at last, vigil concluded for one more night.

Tanzanite. Their work is more beautiful in the rough - the untrimmed edges of the story, the flaws of the first draft, the sights at the front lines. Iris loves the way adventure tastes, deep-night and dark-blue, a crackle of lightning appearing as a bolt from the blue to keep her warm.

Imperial Jade. He's a traditionalist, sometimes, even as the fates conspire against him: he brings her flowers, he takes her out on a date. And if he must interrupt a kiss to respond to the city's needs, to answer every little green blip on the radar, he does so with a smile that doesn't fade.

Fancy Sapphire. (30). She ages well; he barely ages at all, as Peter Pannish as the day she met him, and the officers like to tease their baby-faced coworker for his fountain-of-youth appearance, but he ages like fine wine, a subtle interior shift that transforms him. Experience makes their life richer, deepening their characters without darkening their spirits.

Catseye Chyrsoberyl. (35). Sometimes the best reward for a hard day is a quiet one, digging out a honey-colored blanket and curling up on the couch with Jack and Jill nearby, the kids at a friends' for the night, and at six Iris joins him and they watch old shows that haven't changed in forever together.

Ruby. (40). It's rare to last this long, she thinks, watching the Justice League arise, the kids move out, the world spin on - but maybe it is the improbability of the thing that makes it inevitable in their extraordinary life together. For when she sees that bright red flare in the dark, her heart hasn't changed its tune: she still loves the way it glows.

Emerald. (45). He doesn't go out every night anymore, entrusting the city to his younger peers and occasionally, graciously permitting her to keep him to herself. And they'll puzzle over the changing times, laugh about their falling-back from the mainstream, and enjoy the evening dance in a field of royal green grass.

Golden Sapphire. (50). Sometimes she's royalty, and when she visits the headquarters of the Justice League she is somehow both outmatched by everyone and evaluated with only the highest esteem, a queen among her peers. And no one looks at her with greater pride than Barry, standing at the opposite side of the room with that untainted, golden joy.

Alexandrite. (55). The dual life takes its toll, but it never steals their breath or their commitment to each other; when she comes home, she knows, even if it takes years, that he will follow, and somehow, always, he finds his way to her with a handful of red roses, almost green in the encroaching night, smile soft and real.

Diamond. (60). It's the end of the road, the last landmark to be scratched off the relationship calendar, and Iris enjoys a day on her own while her favorite superhero is away, musing on the extraordinary things that led her to the profound joy of her life, and when sunset approaches he returns to her, joining her on the bench and looking at her like she is more precious than gold, rarer than ruby, and sweeter than even honey-colored amber - he looks at her like she is his everything, she takes his hand and promises to be his always.