Prompt: meeting at a masquerade ball AU
xXx
The first time Iris meets Barry Allen, he's wearing a mask. Actually, they both are, at first.
It starts with an invitation. Iris loves getting dressed up—for as long as she can remember, she's been a master of picking out the perfect clothes, of accessorizing, of flaunting whatever cute dresses she can get her hands on—at least with what she can manage on her starting salary as a budding news reporter for the local paper.
She's considered starting a fashion blog of her own, doling out advice wherever she can, in addition to her current one chronicling the heroics of Central City's very own super-hero—but she just doesn't have the time.
So of course she's beside herself when her connections as a reporter and journalist score her an invitation to attend the highly esteemed annual ball held in Central City.
From what she's gathered, according to a few of her colleagues at work who have also received an invite, the people in charge of the event like to get creative. To spice things up, there's a different theme picked each time. This year, the theme is masquerade, and Iris is ecstatic. She's through the roof.
Not only does she get to dress up, she also gets to indulge in the air of mystery that goes with it. Iris loves mysteries, always has, and in the days leading up to the ball she's practically bursting with excitement over the idea of everyone being in masks, of the mystery surrounding their hidden identities, and behind figuring out who is who.
It's this very fascination with mysteries, in exploring the unknown, that's probably the reason she became an investigative journalist in the first place. It's also a lot of what's driving her to keep tabs on The Flash, compelling her to discover the identity of the man behind the mask.
By the time the ball rolls around, she's already got everything perfectly laid out, from her dress to her shoes to her makeup to everything else, so it isn't the usual mad-rush to get out the door.
She smiles at her reflection in the mirror after she's gotten herself all ready, admiring her work, before slipping on her final addition, the jeweled little mask that covers a small part of her face, the one that she bought the other day when she had come across it at the mall and noticed that it had exactly matched the color of her dress. It's perfect.
When she arrives, she's relieved to see that she hasn't over-done it, that everyone else is dressed just as elaborately. She nods approvingly as she weaves through the crowds of people, appreciating everyone's unique stylistic choices.
Even with their masks, it's not too hard to find a couple of her friends from work. She dances with them until her feet hurt, and when she's had her fill she excuses herself from their company to take a break and rest her aching legs.
She sits down at a little table in the back of the room, sighing loudly and contentedly as she slips her heels off and leans back in the chair, allowing her eyes to flutter closed. It's not until she hears the scrape of something against the floor that she opens them again and realizes she's not alone.
There's a guy sitting in the chair next to her, looking uncomfortable and out of place, pushing out his chair out as though he's preparing to leave.
Even sitting down, Iris can tell that he's tall and lanky, and even with the mask obscuring part of his face, it's hard to miss that he's pretty attractive. He freezes when he notices her staring at him, just as he's about to get up.
"Oh, sorry," he says, sheepish, as though he actually has something to apologize for. "I was just leaving. I don't want to disturb you."
Iris always has always had a soft spot for cute, awkward people, and this guy is adorable. She instantly finds him endearing, and she smiles and waves a hand at him, motioning him to sit back down.
"No, stay. Don't worry about it, really, you were here first. I just needed a break. Sorry if I'm intruding, by the way—I didn't even see you there. Oh, and I'm Iris," she says, extending a hand. She watches as some of his uncertainty drains away, and he seems to relax a bit.
His answering smile makes her heart flutter, because if she thought he was just cute before, she was sorely mistaken. He is incredibly cute.
"Barry Allen," he responds, accepting her handshake, and even though she's just met him it's almost as though there's a familiarity in his touch. "And no, you're not intruding or anything. I'm just…taking a break, too."
He's a really bad liar, and Iris raises an eyebrow at him in question, silently calling him out on it. His shoulders slump a little.
"Okay, fine, I'm not taking a break. I don't dance. Well, I can't dance, actually."
He looks embarrassed, and she watches as a blush creeps up his neck. She doesn't think twice before resting a hand on top of his, as though that's a totally normally thing for a stranger to do, and tries to give him a reassuring smile.
"I'm sure you're not that bad. And who cares if you are? It's not for everyone."
He looks grateful, and Iris feels a thrill of satisfaction at having been able to cheer him up, and at successfully earning another one of his adorable smiles.
"I am curious, though," she says, tilting her head, "why come to this, then? It doesn't seem like your kind of thing."
He shrugs, as though he's not really sure why, either.
"My friend Cisco had an extra invite. He kind of dragged me along, told me I needed to get out more, relieve some stress, take a break from—from work."
He doesn't elaborate, but Iris senses that he's hiding something. It's strange—his face is so expressive, so open and honest, and she can tell he's not shy about hiding his emotions—and yet he's still got this air of mystery about him, like he's got a whole bag of little secrets that Iris is already itching to find out. Because she's already decided that she really likes Barry Allen, and really wouldn't mind getting to know him better.
An idea enters her mind, and she figures if she's going to be friends with him, why not start now?
She hops up from her seat and grabs his hand, tugs at it, taking him by surprise.
"Well, come on, then. Let's start de-stressing you."
He blinks at her, uncomprehending, rooted to his chair.
"Um, what?"
"Dance with me! I mean, not if it makes you uncomfortable, I know you said you don't really dance, but I could teach you. Not to brag, but I'm a pretty stellar dance partner."
She winks at him, and he smiles at her uncertainly.
"I don't know…"
"Come on, it'll be fun, I promise. And if you hate it, we'll stop. I wouldn't lie to you."
She's not sure what it is, exactly, but as he searches her face, partially hidden beneath her mask, there's a flicker of something in his eyes, something she can't quite place, and something in her expression must finally convince him.
He nods, and allows her to pull him to his feet and drag him towards the dance floor, towards the crowds of people swaying happily to the beat of the music.
It turns out he really isn't lying—he is a terrible dancer, and he treads on her feet a lot more than once after she instructs him to place his hands on her hips and attempts to guide his steps. Never once does she lose patience with him, though, and his company more than makes up for it.
It really is worth it, and they really do have fun, and by the end of the night, long after they've stopped dancing, they're laughing and swapping stories like old friends, really getting to know each other.
When it comes time for them to leave, they exchange numbers with the promise to keep in touch, and they set up a time and day to meet up at her old workplace, Jitters, that's not quite a date—it is, really, Iris thinks to herself, and they both know it, but they never actually say the word.
Either way, she hasn't hit it off this well with someone in a while, and she's looking forward to seeing him again.
Oddly enough, the next time she does see Barry Allen, it's sooner than she expects, and he's wearing a mask again—only this time she's not, and his is different.
She's sitting on her couch, watching the morning news before work, when a story comes on about The Flash stopping a bank robbery, caught on one of the security cameras.
Evidently, The Flash doesn't know he's being filmed, and there's a brief moment where the red blur slows and a man is clearly distinguishable in its place, stopping to check on a figure lying on the ground, someone who must've been knocked out by the robber before he got there.
The Flash bends over the figure, probably checking their pulse, and after assuring that the person is okay, he speeds away. There's a brief moment, before he blurs again, where the camera catches a full, if blurry, view of him.
She replays the segment over and over, mind reeling, finally pausing on the closest shot of his face she can manage.
The footage is grainy, but there's no mistaking it. She's sure—she recognizes the body structure, and she's seen that face behind a mask before.
Barry Allen—sweet, awkward, adorable, blushing Barry Allen—is The Flash.
It should be hard to believe, but somehow she's not even surprised. Well, she is surprised that after all this time, after all of her efforts to uncover The Flash's identity, she finds out like this, so abruptly and unexpected. But she's not surprised that it's someone as kind-hearted as Barry.
She chews her lip thoughtfully before making up her mind, taking out her phone and sending Barry a quick text.
'Dude. I saw you on the news today'.
Almost as an after thought, she adds 'Nice mask ;)'.
She watches as the little check appears next to her message, assuring her it's been read, and the little bubble appears that tells her Barry is typing a response. Clearly he's struggling to come up with something to say, and after minutes of waiting, after she starts to wonder whether he's even going to respond at all, her phone buzzes in her hand. And then again, and then again—a string of panicky messages.
'Oh, shit.'
'Um.'
'How did you know?'
'Please don't tell anyone.'
'Can we talk?'
And then, to top it all off:
'…are we still on for coffee tomorrow?'
She dissolves into laughter, to the point where there are tears in her eyes, her heart swelling with affection. She's just uncovered his secret identity, and he's worried about whether she still wants to go on a date with him. Unbelievable. She doesn't think she's ever felt this overwhelmed.
Grinning to herself, she sends her response that no, she's not going to tell anyone, that yes, they definitely need to talk, and that of course, they're still on for tomorrow.
Idly, she notes that she's being far more calm about this than she has any right to be, and suspects that she might be in something like shock—the freaking out will probably come later.
For now, as she waits for Barry's to respond again, she thinks about what she might be getting herself into, and marvels at her amazing judgment of character.