The Allens

Patty Spivot-Allen eagerly held up an orange, silk chiffon dress with ruffled sleeves up in front of Barry Allen's face. He was sprawled out on their bed, fiddling absentmindedly with his phone. He glanced up, then back down again. It was a dress. Like all the other dresses. "Nice."

The blonde haired woman frowned. "Okay, that goes into the 'no' pile." She chucked the dress into the tall mountain of clothes to the left of her – no closer to finding the perfect outfit for their trip.

"What?" Barry asked eyebrow raised. "I said it's nice."

"Nice is fine for our weekly date night. Or a trip to the grocery store. But to visit Joe West, the man who raised you most of your life, I need something that's great, or amazing. Not just 'nice."

"Are you trying to leave me for Joe or something?" Barry laughed.

Patty glared at him, folding her arms across her chest. "This trip is important to me. And I'd appreciate it if you'd take this seriously."

Barry huffed, then sat up on their bed. There was obviously no getting out of this. He sat his phone on their bedside table, then motioned for Patty to stake a seat beside him. "I am taking it seriously, but you act like you've never met Joe. He was at our wedding."

"Well yeah," she said, plopping onto the bed, letting her weight fall into her husband of one year, "But I haven't seen him since. Even though I've sent him invites to birthday dinners and Christmases, but he's never come to visit us."

"Joe's busy. He's still on the force, and he has a young child he's raising with Cecile."

"I know, but," she said, pausing to gather her words, "The way you described him to me, his emphasis on family values, I would have imagined he'd' want to get to know his honorary son's wife. But at the wedding, I got the feeling he didn't like me very much," she added, turning away, slightly embarrassed. "I know I probably came on a little too strong, but I really wanted him to like me."

"Nonsense," Barry replied, looping his arm in hers. "Joe loves you."

Patty folded her arms, pouting. "You're just saying that to make me feel better."

Barry shook his head. "Joe's a really personable guy, but he hasn't exactly had the chance to warm up to you. We had a long distance relationship. Now, we live 600 full miles from Central City.".

"That's true," Patty said, nodding, "But it's also true that it would take us about 5 seconds to get there both ways, considering I'm married to the Fastest Man Alive.

Barry sighed, unlooping his arm from his wife's.

"See, even mentioning going back home annoys you," Patty pressed further. "You're a speedster for God's sake. I love that you moved to my hometown, and I love the life we've built here, but we could visit Joe once a week if you'd speed us there. I could be getting to know and building memories my kinda/sorta Father In Law, and his wife. His youngest child. But you don't want to. I don't get it."

Barry swept up his bottom lip in his teeth and sighed again, before falling back towards the bed.

"I've never even got to have dinner with the man," Patty huffed, looking back at her husband, who was now staring up at the ceiling. "Why must you keep me separated from your family?"

"Patty, this isn't about you. My life in Central was filled with constant pain and loss. My mom. My dad. Friends. Being there just reminds me of all I could have had, and I just don't want to live like that," he added. "So I stay here. In Roman Ville. with You. Because you are my new start, my chance at happiness, devoid of my dark past."

Patty's face softened, but just a bit. Her husband had been through more pain than should have been fair in his 31 years. And she tried to empathize with him. No trying – she'd succeeded. Her heart ached for him, but it was becoming more and more apparent, that he didn't want to share his pain with her. "I know you've been through a lot of tragedy, Barry, but…you know what, never mind." They've had this argument at least 10 times already. There was no point. "I'm gonna finish packing so we can get ready for bed."

The Evans

Iris West let out a satisfied sigh, as she crossed over into the toasty warmth of her townhome, finally safe from the frigid temperatures that had enveloped her on all sides. She threw off her soaked Winter coat, gloves, scarf, and boots, that she's been trapped in for hours. Winters in Keystone, she'd realized over the past five years, were brutal, but this particular year, it had become almost unbearable. Below zero temperatures. Icy Sleet. Snow every week.

She trudged through six inches snow every morning to go volunteer at the women's shelter; it was safe to say that was not the life she'd envisioned for herself when she married Scott Evans, Managing Editor of the Keystone Times.

Thank God that their bi-yearly trek back to Central Central City was coming up. Her father, Joe West's 55th birthday was in two days. She'd missed Joe's last two birthdays because she'd been away with Scott on work trips. She was looking forward to spending time with her old man, and the rest of her family. Especially the newest little bundle that had joined, courtesy of Cecile Horton.

Having some semblance of family time, some normalcy was long overdue. Iris didn't get a chance to make it back home as often as she'd liked because traveling outside of work was on the list of things that Scott hated, along with having a wife who worked outside of the house, apparently. She hadn't written professionally since their first year of marriage, something that she'd missed dearly. But she got her fill in other ways.

Out of her Winter gear, Iris headed into the kitchen. She'd been on her feet for over six hours, serving food for Keystone's homeless women community, and just like most days at the shelter, she hadn't been able to make time for herself to eat. But there was no reason to worry. The leftover chili she'd made for Dinner the night before was waiting for her in the fridge. It was just what she needed to boost her morale. Iris turned the corner, eager to get to her dinner, just to be greeted by the site of her husband, Scott tapping away at his keyboard. Maybe it was the five years of being married to a workaholic, but she was at the stage where everything he did bothered her, and she couldn't help but roll her eyes. Not this…again. The constant clicking had become a familiar filler of the heavy silence that often filled their apartment, but it was just as loud, if not louder.

"Scott, you're home," Iris said, trying to feign enthusiasm.

"Woah, don't sound too excited," Scott replied, his voice rife with sarcasm. "I'm just your husband. You know, the man who works his butt off to provide you with a good life."

Yeah, that's why you do it. "I'm just tired, baby," Iris said aloud, trying her best to avoid an argument." She was not at all in the mood. "What are you doing here?"

"Well, other than the fact that I live here, the Office closed because of the snow. So I'm stuck here today, probably tomorrow."

"Makes sense," Iris said, pulling out the chair out beside him at the kitchen table.

"What about you?"

"Well, the women's shelter was turned into a warming station. Packed like a can of sardines. We had enough food thanks to the donors, but there's barely enough people on hand to prepare and pass out the meals for the influx of women that have been showing up to hide from the weather." Between having to move the women from the private bunks to the common area, for lack of cots, the lack of suitable blankets, and the heavy snow threatening to knock out the power, she was grateful to be home. "We're vastly understaffed-"

"We're," Scott chuckled to himself, under his breath.

Iris narrowed her gaze and cocked her head to the side. "I don't see what's so amusing."

"You said 'we're' like you work there. Aren't you a volunteer?"

Iris pushed her back against her chair, offense clear as day on her face. "Yeah, that's all I am, Scott – a volunteer."

"Aww baby, you know I didn't mean it like that. You know that you're so much more than that.

Iris felt a small, defiant smile trying to creep across her face. It was on that was foreign to her as of late – Scott rarely wasted his time on small was one that she knew in her gut to fight, but what the hell. It wasn't often that Scott became all sentimental, so she let it slip through. "Thank you, baby. You know, after the day I had a, I really needed that."

"Of course," Scott said, smiling. "You're the wife of Keystone's best editor. You have so much to be proud of."

Annnnnd just like that it was gone. How sickeningly naive of her to think that he could identify her worth outside of her relation to him. That would require him to actually see her as more than Someone to cook his meals. And to look pretty on his arms at banquets.

"Oh Hell, what's wrong now?"

"Nothing, just thinking about how lucky I am," Iris shot back, condescendingly.

"What exactly is that supposed to mean?"

"Oh, I don't know. I tried to share my concern for those women with you, and you reduced me to just being a volunteer. Then, you think that regulating my worth to being your wife is suffice to make up for it. Maybe that's what it means!"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Scott replied, throwing his hands up. "All I meant is that cooking for those women is something that you do to fill your days, it's not like it's your actual job. So why stress?"

Iris bit her lip to keep the string of expletives to flowing out before she could compose herself, but the smug expression that was sitting on his face stirred up anger in her that had been building for years. "One, I do a hell of a lot more than just cook for them. I cook their meals. I Encourage them. On Saturdays, I I teach the writing course for the Adult Literacy program. And I do I because I love them, and care about them but that's beside the point. I wouldn't have to "fill my days" if you hadn't made me quit my job at the paper."

Scott rolled his eyes, then slammed his laptop screen." Not the 'quit your job' nonsense again. I didn't make a grown ass woman quit anything."

"Oh, my bad, Scott. You're right. You just intentionally embarrassed so severely in front of my boss by calling me a Flash groupie, that I couldn't look him in the eye anymore!" Iris' fists hit the table with more force than she'd intended, but damn did it feel good to let out her frustration. During an important dinner with her boss, Scott had gone out of his way to diminish her accomplishments as a reporter. No matter how she'd tried to talk herself up, he'd counter every single point.

"I did you a favor. You should thank me; at least you're your wasting God-given talent for a "good cause" he said, adding air quotes for emphasis, "and not embarrassing us both on the internet anymore."

"Embarrass!? You listen–"

"No, YOU listen. I know that The Flash does a lot of good, yes, but you sounded like a prepubescent fangirl wallowing at the feet of some punk in a red suit. So yeah, I did you a favor."

Iris huffed. "I'm not even going to dignify that remark with a response."

"Good! I have actual work to do."

Iris rolled her eyes, then rose from the table, and turned to leave.