The night of the lightning storm forced Barry out of every aspect of Iris' life he'd ever inhabited.

He couldn't be her friend when in a coma, he was too quiet to help her learn things that she didn't know, and she never knew if he heard her, if he was listening. There was no one to call at nights, or make coffee for in the mornings or go to films, and lectures and club-openings with. There was no one to bring her hot chocolate (because his coffee was awful) and take her mind off things, as she worked on her dissertation: with a high ponytail and contrastingly low spirits. Conversely, there was also no one to rub the shoulders of when she saw his body tensed. No one to attempt to cure with affection from all of his toils. Barry Allen had been snatched violently out of her life, the Barry-shaped hole it produced left loose threads hanging.

Iris' determination was second to none. She decided almost consciously early on that she wouldn't let Barry be taken from her. Barry was someone who had been in her life constantly for most of it. He'd always occupied a place: best friend, confidant… She wouldn't let anyone take that place. So, despite rapidly being either emotionally hollow and overfilled with grief, Iris continued to operate as though Barry was just taking a long nap instead of addressing the truth that his body had fucking shut itself down to take care of itself. She visited him every day and she didn't do the boring things one was apparently meant to do in those situations. That meant she didn't tend his brow with a cloth or read him stories. She was Iris West. She instead brought her dissertation and worked on it with a running commentary, or she brought some coffee and sat down and told Barry about her day… or she… or she… Well whatever she did, she didn't break down and sob regularly in the middle of talking to him, and she didn't wonder if she'd never hear his voice again, and she didn't walk out of the room because she didn't want Barry to see her cry… especially not over him. Or, perhaps that did happen, but only some days, and everyone had cracks, but she tried to put a brave face on.

Iris had always been described as an 'inquisitive' and 'intuitive' woman, girl, person, on every single review she'd ever gotten. She relied sometimes; on the confident air always being right gave her. But after the storm, Iris found herself under attack. Constantly, there were intrusive thoughts in voices outside of her own, prodding her when she was attempting to relax. She looked at people and knew things, and she knew it wasn't logical, and it scared her. She found it easy to pack all of her thoughts into boxes. Here, in one box went her fears about Barry, and in another went these other unrelated thoughts. It came naturally; she'd been doing it for her whole life.

—-

Clearly, this sort of blind idealism wasn't enough for some. Iris couldn't pretend something was real and just have it come in to play. Life didn't work that way, especially not for the most important forensic scientist in her life. After Barry woke up, the person who was usually her twin in idealistic outlooks opened her boxes. He smashed them to smithereens when he told her that he loved her. Barry broke her head. Lots of things changed about their relationship at that point. Iris would be lying if she said that she didn't enjoy some of them. They saw each other slightly less, but when they did there was a strange fluster that had never been there before. Somehow the roles were reversed; Barry was meant to be shy and flustered but instead Iris was. Iris found herself blushing hard at every single suggestive thing that happened to them. It was silly really, because the things that were flustering Iris had always happened between them.

A waiter would mistake them for a couple and would casually comment, 'How long have you two been together?', and Iris would go red and splutter and Barry would just laugh.

While this seemed harmless at first, it certainly opened up a lot of boxes for Iris. Suddenly, Barry was a possibility. He was a person that she'd always been attracted to and a little bit in love with that now could in theory be involved in a romantic relationship with her. It was a weird feeling, because it was like her body hadn't caught up with the implications of everything she naturally did. She'd sweep her arm into his and he'd blush and smile down at her and she'd blush and smile up at him. Then she'd spend the next five minutes imagining what it would be like if when that happened she leaned forwards and kissed him.

Iris had always firmly put any attraction or romantic love she had for Barry to one side. It seemed too complicated to let out. Barry was her best friend, and Iris could relate when he said that he was scared of losing her, she felt the same. The feelings it revealed were interesting though. She remembered stroking a hand over Barry's hair when he was in the coma, and staring at his face and spending every moment she could spare near his bed. It was definitely love that led her to do that, and she knew it wasn't brotherly love…

—

After Iris realised that her feelings for Barry were…complicated, it scared her immensely. Barry was still a constant in her life, of course. But maybe his role in his life wasn't so constant. After she realised this the intrusive thoughts started again, almost immediately. All of a sudden Barry wasn't off-limits, and his feelings weren't comfortably displaced. There were thoughts that she was not in any way comfortable with. When Iris had these thoughts sit felt like she was standing in a room filled with loud people while she suffered with splitting headache. She could hear individual voices that melded into one another and see flashes of bright distinct images, but they were far away. It was difficult to get a hold of her brain.

She heard her Father come in and rushed over.

'Hi, Dad', she said and hugged him. He was a strong anchor in her sea of confusion. He looked worried though, 'Hey, baby', he reached out his hand to her forehead. 'Have you got a fever? You're sweating'.

Joe ushered her into her room where he tucked her in, in a way reminiscent of when she was ten and had chickenpox. He spoke to her as he made his famous 'Lemon and Honey' concoction, which he swore healed all ailments. They spoke about their days, he talked about the latest break in, and how someone was trying to break into the police station. When asked about her headache Iris gave him some details. It had just come on, it was something that had happened before and she was going to be fine.

Her Father tutted as he came in, brandishing a large mug of the concoction. 'You know, it's okay to be sick' he smiled. Iris nodded, and took the mug.

As her Father exited the room the din of voices and images suddenly became very sharp. She got a vivid image of Barry- the Barry that loved her- rushing around the Christmas tree, in two familiar flashes of electricity and he reminded her of someone she'd met before.

She shook it off and decided to go to bed, only for it to reappear in her dreams.