Author's Notes: "Diligo" is Latin for love, distinguish by choosing, regard above others, esteem highly, value, prize.
"Hey, it's me. It's Iris. I'm here, hon. Hi."
Barry's eyes are barely open, but his hand rises to settle on her arm, anchoring him. Iris…
Stay with me, Iris pleads, holding onto his shoulder. He's fading fast, his skin already cold to the touch. When his head tilts, he capsizes. Framing his face, she reclaims him, desperate and breathless.
"Come on, Barry," she says, because she needs him to listen. Listen to me, baby, stay with me. He's looking at her with devastatingly soft eyes; she can already see the apology written in them. "Barry, no," she chokes out, knowing what he's about to say.
His voice is steadier than she expects, his expression full of golden light. "I love you."
She sobs. "No, Barry, Barry – you're gonna be okay." His eyelids flutter, like he's trying, for her, but the fight is already over. They slide and stay shut. Iris clings to him, holding him, but he sinks under helplessly, relentlessly. "No." She wants to shake him, but she can tell he has no say in this, that he can't fight it on his own. Gasping, she leans over him, insisting to that still warm body underneath her, "I love you."
Then, with his hand still locked on her arm, she leans down and kisses him.
. o .
Barry stirs underneath her and Iris gasps, a sob fading into his t-shirt. With a low, sleepy rumble Barry sits up and hugs her, hushing, concerned. "S'okay," he tells her, head on her chin. "I'm right here." She shakes, conscious of his living presence but still emotionally clinging to his unmoving body.
Barry!
She can't unsee him lying in the street, bleeding from a wound she cannot possibly fix, already too far gone for anyone to save him. It's that realization that tips her over the edge, channeling her energy into sobs. Barry cuddles her against his chest, big and warm and undeniable, but the tears don't stop and neither of them try to stop them. Vibrating almost imperceptibly, sharing her agitation and attempting to ease her pain, Barry promises her, "We're okay."
She doesn't know how much time passes, but she knows that it's too early to get up, so they sink back down instead. Facing each other, they lie on their sides, his hand tracing soothing patterns across her arm. His eyes are full of soft affection, a hint of lightning in them, providing the faintest trace of illumination in the dark bedroom. Want to talk about it? his fingers ask.
Iris shakes her head, just watching him, and his blinks are slow but he stays with her, at attention. I'm listening, he promises, even as the watch grows quiet, tedious, and her own vision goes fuzzy. Leaning forward, he nuzzles her nose, aching with affection. I'm here.
She lets her own eyes slide shut for a long moment, a little too long, and when she opens them again he's asleep. Baby, she inquires, a hand on his hip, and sleepy golden eyes open and affix on her. "Hi," she murmurs, too loud in the quiet.
"Hey," he replies in that deep, let's-go-to-sleep voice. She lifts a hand to cup his cheek and his eyelids slide shut automatically. Refocusing, he opens them to slits, attempting presence while courting sleep. Fighting for her. She brushes her thumb across his cheek. Savoring his realness.
"I love you," she dares to say, because she needs to say it first.
He tilts his head and nuzzles her palm. "I love you," he echoes, last-words, and his eyes on her don't erase but ease the memory of them sliding shut for good. "I love you," he insists, tugging her until she settles on top of him, close-as-they-can-get. "I'm here," he promises, and she feels the words pass between them and relaxes.
She doesn't know who falls asleep first, but when she wakes up, he's still there. Not cooking breakfast for twelve or off on a morning run with an I-love-you scribbled on a sticky note on the fridge. Not at STAR Labs or the CCPD. Not even reading on the couch, satiating his restless mind. He's there, and when she props herself up so she can look down at him, he reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, his free hand settling at her hip. "Good morning," he tells her, low and honey sweet.
"Mm." With misty sunlight pouring in, she can't help but smile back. He's real. He's here. "Good morning," she replies, reaching up to frame his face. "Barry Allen."
He tilts his head to kiss her palm, and she can almost feel him say it: Barry West-Allen.
All aching fondness, Iris leans down and kisses his forehead.
You're mine, she tells him. I'm yours.
When she pulls back, he looks up at her with absolute sincerity, meaning it when he brushes his thumb across her hip.
Yours, he agrees.
And it's a promise.