The apartment is chilly when she steps into it, somehow amplifying its sense of vacancy, even though a warmer temperature wouldn't make the room any less desolate, nor would it do anything to quell Iris's loneliness. The proof is that she's felt alone since the spring and all through the summer. There was no reason that should change just because the weather's taken a frigid turn as autumn creeps over Central City. All that would change would be her utility bill, she notes grimly, striding over to the thermostat.
Evenings like this made Iris regret refusing to take her father up on his offer that she move back in with him. He was always looking out for her, which more often than not manifested as worrying about her and thinking he knew what was best for her, but while Iris understood that nothing besides utter compassion was his motive behind wanting her home, she simply couldn't accept.
She realizes it isn't healthy, how difficult it is for her to welcome help, even if she desperately needs it. She's aware where this aversion comes from, growing up without a mother for starters. The toughness her dad instilled in her must have played a role too, as did the internalized belief that she was the only family her father had. Her best friend made clear that he was always there for her, of course, and he was as much as he could be, but even Iris knew that being the only defense Barry had when he was ostracized as the son of a murderer shaped the dynamic of their friendship in a way that made him more dependent on her for emotional support.
Iris supposes that's another reason she can't go back home: Barry. He would move out of the house in a heartbeat for her, of that she has no doubt, but she doesn't want to add another burden to his pile, and she knows there's no way they can live together again. Besides occasional summer and holiday breaks, she hasn't resided under the same roof as him since they graduated high school, and she can't shake the strangeness that the two of them sharing an address again as grown adults would trigger.
She already senses that things have never been the same between them since Christmas last year, since he professed that he'd loved her for years, since her initial shock which she eventually recovered from enough to realize that maybe she loved him for years too, since Eddie, on the brink of proposing to her, dumped her in light of a revelation that she and Barry would someday wed, since his accusation that she reciprocated Barry's feelings all along, since he place a gun to his chest and shot himself-
Perhaps, Iris heeds, things would never be the same again.
It's a bitter premise to swallow, that she and Barry can't resume their friendship as though nothing had happened, and suddenly she wants to skip dinner entirely and just head to bed. While Eddie's absence is the biggest indicator that something had definitely happened, Barry's absence was another, one that was just as damaging in Iris's view.
It had taken months, including a temporary leave from work, grief counseling, and a move to an entirely new apartment before Iris could reach the stage of acceptance and accord that she's currently in, and while she's certainly proud of the progress she's made, she knows that no length of time or coping measure could prepare her for a juncture in her life without Barry, at least without the Barry she's used to.
Initially she didn't take his distance personally, because he had pushed everyone away after the Singularity attack, citing a fear of endangering them, blaming himself for the deaths of both Eddie and Ronnie. She herself was too occupied with her own affliction to really notice, though in hindsight, she now realizes they both should have stood together during their respective calamities, as the other's best friend, as the other's family.
More than ever though, she needs him next to her now. She made her peace with Eddie's suicide just in time to deal with another turbulent direction her life had taken: the discovery that her mother is alive and simultaneously dying, along with the revelation that she's an older sister to a brother whose name she doesn't even know.
She can't turn to any casual friend for help, neither of them could begin to relate or understand. She can't confide in her colleagues at work, they already feel sorry for her after Eddie, plus she just made her comeback returning to her job full-time and feels pressure to project a recovered exterior. She can't even rely on her own father, not after he hid the truth from her for so long, and not especially when, in a twist of irony, she herself conceals his son from him.
She needs the one person whose presence and words would matter most. She needs Barry.
He too made his own progress in the battle with his traumas, and while she's definitely glad that he has, she didn't realize the Barry that emerged from his tunnel of suffering would still hold her at arm's length. Even worse, she didn't realize she would be the outlier. Indeed Barry seemed to have reengaged with everyone he withdrew from-her father, Cisco, widowed Caitlin even-everyone except for her.
It was almost as if she had also lost her best friend the moment Eddie pulled the trigger.
Iris shivers at this awareness, wrapping her cardigan around herself more tightly, even though she's about to change into pajamas. She knows Barry's distance hurts undeniably, but as much as she doesn't want to acknowledge it, she can't help that another stab of pain has to do with something else-someone else.
She wonders what kind of awful friend she must be, one who isn't happy that Barry has comfort in Patty.
At first she blamed her disturbance at uncovering that Barry was seeing someone on his detachment from her-those peculiar feelings toward Patty had to be valid in light of that. She even chocked her strange reaction up to Eddie. Perhaps her bitterness had to do with her single status. It was easy to pinpoint her lack of a partner as the culprit behind her jealousy.
Deferring back to Eddie proved quite difficult however with the progression of their dating. No extent of lying to herself could convince Iris that the source of envy was Barry's relationship and not Barry's girlfriend.
It wasn't like Iris to compare herself to others, yet ever since she met her, she found herself registering all the ways Patty was superior to her, especially better than her for Barry. Patty got to be a cop because she didn't have an overbearing dad who forbid her from joining the force. Heck that same father admired her enough to agree to partnering with her, Iris notes sourly. She had a science degree, even a triple major, which had to impress Barry. And of course, she was pretty, certainly someone he would find attractive in a way he could never deem the girl he grew up with. She pictures Barry and Patty solving thrilling crimes together by day and romancing each other by night while she sits at a desk for hours at work only to come home to an empty apartment made to seem emptier thanks to her vivid imagination.
Iris sighs, braving the frigid air in her bedroom to peel her clothes off. One drawback to her new apartment building is the poor ventilation, but she supposes it's better than being roommates with the ghost of Eddie had she opted to stay at his place. She lets everything drop to the floor as she strips, doesn't even bother to drape her skirt over the chair, let alone fold it neatly. She'll regret it when she sees that wrinkles have settled in and has to haul out the iron board, but she can't bring herself to care at the moment.
It was one of those nights when all she wanted to do was drift off, to be as awake for as little time as possible, to end the dreary day and usher in a new one. Sleep was the only relief from her current troubles, the only way she could halt her miserable rumination, at least temporarily. She slips into the first pajamas she gets a hold of and after a shoddy teeth brushing, climbs into bed.
If any element other than cold could manage to make Iris feel more alone, it was darkness. Switching her light off seemed to switch on all her solicitous thoughts again, particularly those about Barry. Missing her best friend, especially when she needs him is one thing, but Iris ponders if she's missing and needing him for reasons she shouldn't be.
Is she allowed to want Barry in that way? While he's with Patty? After she stayed with Eddie? She supposes from his perspective, her relationship with Eddie looked exactly like his relationship with Patty did to her: rejection.
Did she even want Barry in that way?
She knows she wanted him when she caught a glimpse of him dressing after a hasty shower at STAR Labs this afternoon before heading back to the precinct. She didn't mean to see, only happened to turn around as he was pulling his shirt over his head. She especially didn't mean to keep looking, but for some reason, she found herself fixated on his stomach, on the etch of his muscles there, on the dark hairs diverging down his navel and the way they held tiny droplets of water that caught the light.
She only snapped out of her daze when she registered someone calling her name, and embarrassed, realized that someone was Barry, furrowing his brows at her before she hurriedly turned away, her face heated at having been caught staring at him.
At least here in the seclusion of her bedroom, in the privacy of her head, Iris doesn't have to hide how provoked she was by a brief view of such a simple detail. Eddie is once more a convenient justification. She tries to rationalize her arousal: she hasn't had sex in months, she's lonely after losing her boyfriend. She would have felt a powerful longing had she seen any man's exposed skin, wouldn't she? It just happened to be Barry, and he just happened to be freshly cleaned, and it happened to make him seem more alluring to her in that moment.
She didn't want Barry-she just yearned for someone to hold her again, to touch her again.
Well-she does want Barry, but not like that. She wants her best friend back. She misses his jokes, and his smiles, and his hugs, which especially started to feel distinct after his Christmas confession. Somehow since then, whenever they've hugged, she's wanted to stay a little bit longer in his arms and she's always a little disappointed when he lets go. She reminisces on the last time she hugged him, after leaping from Baldwin Tower into his arms, trusting that he would catch her. For a moment, he had almost seemed like the Barry she remembered, her Bear who dropped everything for her, ran to her, laughed with her. The rush of exhilaration she had felt as he raced her to safety was incomparable to anything she'd ever experienced, and she's certain it's not just because she was practically flying, but because she was flying with him. He was wrapped around her, pressed so close to her that she sensed every strike of his heart as though it were beating in unison with hers.
She's back to thinking about his abdomen, the trail of hair, those little water drops. Iris licks her lips instinctively at the memory. She wants her mouth there and lower, wants to make his muscles tighten and writhe and flush from his heart pulsing as quickly as it was when it was thudding against her chest as he held her.
Her mind latches onto this portrait while she turns over on her stomach, moves her hands downward, slips them beneath her.
Dammit Iris, she chastises herself. It's hard to use Eddie as a cover while she's touching herself to thoughts of Barry. Whatever, grief is complicated, she decides in an attempt to put her conscience at ease.
Servicing herself after a long time is odd. She hasn't been this enticed since being with Eddie. On some days after he died, she'd even resolved herself to the belief that she was too dispirited and damaged to ever be kindled again, yet here she was, vitalized, throbbing pleasantly, fervid with an impatience that she knew she had to relieve and that only Barry, in this instant, could alleviate.
And assuage and arouse her he did, at least in her head. Iris strokes herself in breathless bliss to the image of his body, his tousled hair, his freckled skin. She considers what his bared cock might look like. Perhaps long and thin like he was, and she actually laughs into her pillow at the picture, until the picture of him taut and erect for her, no matter how slender he might be sends her trickling down her thighs.
She's still seeping when her thoughts wander to the sparkle of his eyes, the roguish tilt to his smile, the vision of him over her, gazing down at her, slowly thrusting into her. She's sure his lashes would twinkle and his smile would be lost to his lips parting.
He would look so pretty.
Pretty Bear, she marvels. My Bear-and then she's palming herself more urgently, and it's this final vision, the prospect of him realizing ecstasy through her that finally has her shuddering, has her flesh spasming between her fingers-once, twice, over and over again...
When she finishes, she's breathing heavily. She turns back over with a sigh, staring up at the ceiling, more relaxed now, but simultaneously wondering again if she should feel guilty for climaxing to thoughts of Barry this soon after Eddie. I'm grieving, she tries to convince herself once more.
She decides to wash away her guilt, quite literally, rolling out of bed and making her way to the bathroom to clean herself off. After she's freshened up, she's taken aback by her reflection in the mirror. She figured she'd look dewey after working up a sweat, but her cheeks are rosy, and she's glowing in a way that alerts her to just how long heartache must have been her primary temperament, for her to be this surprised at some visible livelihood in her face.
Iris recognizes it's silly, but she can't suppress a smile at herself, and for the first time in a while, she feels content, and even better, optimistic. Suddenly she's confident that she and Barry can mend their friendship, they can go back to the way things were, and that promise fills her with such relief. She can't believe they've gone this long with this kind of tension between them, they're Barry and Iris for fuck's sake, they've been best friends for almost two decades, knew each other better than anyone else, shared years and years of joy and pain, but what mattered was that it was always together, that they would find their way back to each other. She can't recall the last time she allowed herself to hope, and it's better than she remembered.
The power of orgasm, she muses, or perhaps-the power of Barry.
With this newfound buoyancy, Iris practically leaps back into bed, the thrill of motivation coursing through her. While she does hesitate, deliberating over this next move, she resolves herself to the conviction that if she wants to reconcile with him, she would have to do her part, and that meant reaching out. She would call Barry now, suggest they go to Jitters sometime this week to catch up over coffee and treats. It would be just like old times. She'd let him know how much she had missed him, meaning it with every breath she took to tell him and more. Iris reaches for her phone, her heart galloping in anticipation-
-and that's when she catches sight of her news feed and sees that Patty's shared a photograph of her and Barry. Patty snapped the photo, judging from her seated position slightly ahead of Barry. Both of them are positively beaming, with Patty leaning her head against Barry's shoulder. She must have had excellent timing too, managing to capture them in what looks like candid mid-laughter. Iris notes the sun setting behind them and that's when she knows they were on the Jitters rooftop. She would recognize that backdrop anywhere. There's no caption accompanying the picture, as though Patty wanted it to speak for itself, and it was posted approximately seventeen minutes ago, already having amassed forty-three 'Likes', Barry included, and several comments gushing about how cute the two of them are together.
A wretched jealousy douses Iris, and where her pulse had just been racing excitedly, it now pounds for entirely different reasons. She feels shame so great that she has to exit the app and turn her phone over facedown, as though Barry and Patty were laughing at her through her screen. Anyone would crack up at how pathetic she is, fucking herself to thoughts of Barry fucking her while he most likely lay in Patty's bed this very moment, and if Barry was ready to sleep with her, then surely he was ready to confide in her about his identity, a secret he'd kept from Iris for months. That he had taken Patty to the Jitters rooftop to watch the sunset, a regular tradition belonging to them, something she and Barry had yet to do since The Flash rebuilt Jitters, feels like another blow.
She can't do anything to stop the tears, even if she hates how pitiful they make her. I'm grieving, she tries again persuasively. I'm grieving, I'm grieving, but even she knows this isn't grief anymore, can't be anything other than pure envy and worse, loneliness, because even though it would hurt, she knows she could learn to tolerate Barry with another woman, but not like this. Not if it came at the expense of her own relationship with him. That was the worst part about him and Patty: Iris is paying the price, and she sobs more frantically at this discernment.
Eventually, Iris calms down to the point of silent weeping. She sits up steadily, bending over to open the third drawer of her nightstand, where she keeps some of her special possessions, her journals and her jewelry, including the ring Eddie intended to propose to her with and the band Barry gifted her last Christmas.
What results from her now more composed disposition is another delusional attempt at placation, that the reason she's so disturbed by all of this is Eddie. There's even a petty, bitter part of her using Eddie as retaliation, because she knows Barry used to covet his place. Maybe not anymore, she heeds sadly, but he used to. She misses Eddie terribly, she does, that part isn't a lie to appease herself, but now, even when the tears streaming down her face fall for Barry, she exploits Eddie as an evasion once more, avoiding the true source of her emotion because she can't admit it to herself.
It's grief, she repeats. It's all just grief.
She's still trying to convince herself of that even though the ring she reaches for and places on her finger is Barry's.
