Written for tattooedstanzas on Tumblr, who asked for: "c'mon, i'll make you some hot chocolate." Also written before 3.09 aired, when I thought it would be funny if Barry worked at Jitters for awhile.
Barry scowled at the cup. "I - Irene?" he called out.
"Funny," Iris said.
He lowered the cup. "Hey, you okay?"
"Not really." She leaned against the Jitters counter. It was strange, their positions being reversed like this - her in her professional attire, her computer bag over her shoulder, and him behind the counter in the polo shirt and apron.
But it was something, right? Jitters was a job, and he'd needed one of those. It was located centrally enough that he could pretty easily dash off to save the day in most parts of the city and be back in a reasonable amount of time. He thought. That hadn't come up yet, in his whole week of work.
"My break's coming up," he said. "You want to tell me about it?"
"You don't want to save the time for - " She glanced around the almost-empty coffee shop. "Something important?"
"There's nothing more important than you."
She gave him her sweetest, most melting smile, but her eyes still showed strain.
"C'mon," he said. "I'll make you a hot chocolate and you tell me what's up. Hey, Regina!" he yelled over his shoulder. "I'm on break, okay?"
"Did you wash the pastry plates like I asked?" the manager yelled back.
Whoosh-splash-whoosh, and he could honestly say, "Yeah, got 'em!"
She stuck her head out of the back office, scowled when she spotted the pastry plates dripping dry in the rack, and said, "Fine, go. Hey, Iris."
"Hey, Gina. Thanks."
"Whatever."
When he'd put her hot chocolate together and made one for himself, they tucked themselves in the back booth. Iris sipped her drink and smiled. "Seriously. The best."
He grinned back. "Well, I got taught by the best." She'd given him every tip she could think of about working at Jitters before his first day - how hard you had to smack the cabinet under the sink to get it to latch, which of the steamers was most likely to get clogged and how to unclog it without getting a broiled face, when to ask the manager for vacation days without getting your head bitten off or the manager bursting into tears at having to redo the schedule. "So, tell me what's going on."
"It's this guy running for city council. Dormer? The one I'm doing a profile on?"
"Hang on. Am I, uh, listening? Or helping?" They'd had a few strongly-worded talks about the difference since they started dating.
"Listening," she said, smiling at him for asking the question. "Mostly. Maybe a little advice, if you have it."
"Okay, go."
"He turns my stomach, Bare. I don't know why. And I'm trying to be unbiased. I'm trying to be fair and balanced. That's good reporting. And there's been no reason yet for this reaction, but oh my god." She made a scrunchy disgusted face, like she'd just seen a cockroach. "My skin crawls."
"Has he done anything to you? Like hit on you, or - "
"No," she said, putting her hand over his. "No." She shook her head. "I can't put my finger on it. He's always very polite. To me, and to the people on his staff. He says all the right things, all his positions are very community-oriented. He goes to all the right events and shakes the right hands. But he's - glossy, you know?" She shut her eyes. "Does that make sense?"
"Yeah," he said.
She slumped. "I don't want to jump to conclusions. This is the first really political story I've done. I want to do more, but I'm not going to get the chance if I just write a whole piece about how a perfectly nice politician gives me the willies."
He dipped his finger in the whipped cream on top of his hot chocolate and licked it thoughtfully. "What are you going to do?"
She shook her head. "I've gotta write it. It's due tomorrow."
"But you don't like what you have."
"I feel like it's as glossy as he is, but all I find when I dig is more gloss." She rubbed her eyes. "Am I overthinking this? Be honest."
He got another fingerful of whipped cream and licked that, too. "You have a really good gut, Iris. Good instincts. You know about people. You know more about people than I do."
"I don't want to jump to conclusions," she said again.
"You're not, though. What are you saying about him? He just gives you the heebie-jeebies, but you don't know why."
"So you think I should write what I have."
"I think you should follow your gut."
"To where?"
He shrugged. "Your gut, not mine."
She sat back, frowning thoughtfully. She reached down to the side pocket of her computer bag and pulled out a manila folder with some printouts. She ran her fingers down the list, paused at one, and marked it with a highlighter. Then she marked two more.
He grinned at her. "Want me to leave you alone with your rabbit hole?"
"Nope," she said, slapping the folder closed. "I'm going to let that sit for a few minutes and then I'll sign into the databases and see where my gut takes me." She beamed at him. "In the meantime, my wonderful boyfriend still has another ten minutes left of his break and I've got some hot chocolate to drink."
FINIS