"Sometimes I wish you had just been honest with me."
He's aware that she isn't referring to the secret of his alternate identity. They had moved past that, although he hasn't quite completely forgiven himself for how much he hurt her, and doesn't know if he ever will.
No, the remorse in her voice, the wistful shadow of her face tells him she's referring to other truths he kept from her.
That he has forgiven himself for.
Not because the blame belongs to her. While she had made a commitment to one man despite loving another, Iris, fiercely loyal Iris, never broke a promise, no matter who it was made to. Yes, he was crushed by her decision: he hadn't felt pain like that since the night his mother was killed and his father whisked away to Iron Heights. Still, it's no question that he was the one at fault.
But even though he had placed her in a difficult position, even though he waited too long, even though he accepts that he's responsible for every second of lost time they'll never get back, he's forgiven himself.
Because to have her now…was worth it. The minute it takes to hold her today is worth more to him than the years he lost being too afraid to pursue her, the days he spent pining for her, the nights he passed dreaming of her.
Fate, destiny, the cryptic universe Joe always spoke of, whatever played out the way it did, and he wouldn't change a thing for all the time in this world, or in any world.
During the moments she laments how their timing was never right until it finally was, he places a quiet finger to her lips. He doesn't want her to believe that.
He understands her regret though. After all, her perception of time is different than his, and it always will be. It's easy for her to conclude that time that passes is time gone, wasted, vanished forever.
So for her sake, they make up for lost time. It's too obscure to articulate in words, so it manifests in other ways.
Like the way he buries his face in the silk of her hair, breathing her essence in, needing her. He encloses his arms around her slender form, bringing her bare skin closer, because she can never be too close, and he's never close enough.
Or the way her palms knead the taut flesh of his back until he's drooling into his pillow. She presses hot kisses down his spine before she sits up, panting, tugging at him to turn over, wanting her mouth elsewhere.
It's how he places the tip of his tongue between her breasts, just over her heart, tasting her to the base of her neck. He senses her throat tremble beneath his lick as she swallows, tense, awaiting his next move.
It's how her mouth follows the trail of dark, coarse hair down his midriff before it groans at the barrier of his belt. He realizes her frustration, reaches forward to unbuckle, but she pushes his hands away impatiently, determined to expose him herself.
It's the way he rubs her with gentle thumbs until she's leaking for him, aching for more. He kisses the soft whimpering off her lips as an apology for the teasing, a plea for her patience, a reminder that he only does it so her release is that much sweeter.
It's the way she leans over, closes her eyes, and longingly kisses his erect shaft before taking him into her mouth, indulging him until he's fighting for breath, until she wrings an agonized, strangled "Iris…" from him.
So while she's right that they've lost time they can't recover, Barry tightens his grip on her, kisses the shell of her ear and whispers, "This is now. This is the best timing."