Hollow
"Thanks for the ride, Iris," Barry mumbled.
Iris smiled warmly at him.
"Thank you," she replied, "For letting me come with you this time."
When Barry didn't say anything, Iris tore her eyes from the road to glance at him. He was staring out the window, a dull look on his face. She had grown used to the look. The wall. It was his way of detaching himself from everything. Iris knew it was all an act, though. Barry wasn't nearly as numb and detached as he seemed. His face was expressionless, but one look at his hands, and Iris could see the emotions there.
His hands were clenched into fists.
"Are you nervous?" she asked gently, her eyes returning to the road.
"No," Barry muttered without looking at her, "Just…impatient."
Iris nodded thoughtfully. She knew what he meant. She was growing impatient herself with the Metahuman Support Foundation. For an organization that was created to support metahumans, they sure did have a way of instilling the opposite effect. Sometimes, it seemed as if the MSF was founded more for the public's wellbeing than for metahuman survivors.
"This might be the time, though," Iris said hopefully, "You've gained four more pounds, and you've been to two group support meetings now. You've made both physical and emotional progress. Not to mention the protestors…"
"I wish the protestors would stop," Barry sighed, "I don't want their help getting approved for surgery. I just want to go through the process like everyone else."
"You are going through the process," Iris said, "The protestors are just trying to help it all go faster. What's the harm in getting a little help?"
"You know why I don't want their help," Barry muttered.
Iris sighed and nodded slightly. She did know.
"You don't owe them anything, Barry," she said firmly, "You don't have to put the suit on for them or anyone else. You don't owe this city a damn thing."
Barry didn't say anything. He just continued looking out the passenger window, his thumb absently brushing over the face of the watch on his wrist. A few minutes passed then, during which neither of them said anything. They rode in silence, the music from the radio the only source of sound in the vehicle. Barry didn't move or say anything. He was still as stone in his seat, his eyes vacant as he stared unseeingly out the window.
And then the song ended.
When the next song, Somewhere Only We Know, started to play, Barry suddenly shifted, his still form coming to life. His entire body suddenly stiffened, and within a couple seconds his hand shot out to turn the radio off.
Iris didn't say anything. She never did. Barry often did things like this, things that didn't seem to make any sense to her. She never understood the reasons behind them, and she knew better than to ask. She side-glanced at Barry again, but like always, his face didn't tell her anything. His expression was blank, emotionless, as they drove in complete silence.
Moments like these were the worst. The times when she had no idea what to say to Barry. She never really knew what to say, what to talk about. It was clear he didn't want to talk about the trauma he had been through, and any mention of the MSF only made him angry, which was understandable. He didn't want to talk about anything to do with the Metacide, and she couldn't blame him for that.
That didn't leave much, though. All that left was small talk. Trivial things. That was all she could ever talk about with Barry now, and even that seemed forced. It felt counterproductive to talk about the weather or the new Breaking Bad episode they had just watched when there were so many more important things that needed to be said between them. So, they didn't talk.
They rode in silence.
When they pulled up to the MSF building, Barry still didn't say anything. With a heavy sigh, he climbed out of the car, waiting stone-faced for her to join him. Iris felt a little out of place as they crossed the parking lot and entered the building. She felt like she didn't really belong here. This was a place for metahumans, for survivors of the Metacide. The only other people in the waiting room were two metahumans: a man and a woman. Both wore the same blank expressions as Barry as they waited for their meetings to start.
It seemed to take forever. They sat in the waiting room for a good half hour, waiting for Barry's name to be called. Barry stared down at the floor the entire time, rarely ever glancing up. Iris tried not to look at him too much, knowing he was well aware of how much she and the rest of the family always stared at him, how much they analyzed him. She knew it made Barry uncomfortable, the looks they gave him, but it was hard not to do it. It was hard not to worry and to watch for cracks in his calm façade. It seemed like she was always watching him.
Waiting for him to break.
To keep herself from staring at Barry, Iris looked around the small waiting room, her eyes scanning over the other two metahumans waiting there. She was careful not to outright stare at them, knowing they probably got enough of that from strangers already without her adding to it. The glances she managed to take, though, made a brick settle in the pit of her stomach.
The man and the woman in the room couldn't have been more opposite. He was older; she was young. He had dark skin and hair; she had fair skin and blue eyes. That wasn't what Iris saw when she looked at them, though.
All she saw were the similarities.
It wasn't just their emaciated appearances that made them similar. It wasn't the barcodes on their wrists, the shaved heads, or the scars on the backs of their necks.
It was their eyes.
Their eyes were empty. They both wore the same blank expression on their face as they waited for their names to be called. Their eyes were hollow. Dull. Faded.
The man and the woman were so different, yet they were the same.
Barry was the same.
He wore the same blank expression. His eyes held the same hollow emptiness. He was the same as these people, yet they were all so different. They had all suffered together, yes, but each of them was their own person. They were individuals, each leading their own lives, trying to recover the best they could to get back the lives they had had before. Iris wondered sadly when Barry would be able to resume his, when he would truly start to live again, when he would remember what made him different from all the other metahuman survivors in Central City.
What made him a person and not just a number.
It was hard not to glance at Barry as they sat in the waiting room. It was hard not to wonder what was running through his head. It seemed to be all Iris thought about. How Barry was processing everything. It was hard to determine what he was feeling. Anger? Sadness? Loss? Relief? Guilt? Barry's face betrayed nothing. His eyes were empty voids. Emotionless.
Instead of looking at Barry, Iris continued to stare about the room, looking at nothing in particular. Her eyes quickly flitted to the other side of the room when a woman and a teenage boy suddenly exited one of the offices, making their way to the exit. They didn't leave, though.
As they were nearing the door, one of them, the woman, suddenly glanced up, looking directly into Iris's eyes. Iris flushed, looking down in embarrassment at having been caught staring. When she tentatively looked back up, though, it was too see that the woman's eyes had shifted away from hers and had settled on the person next to her.
Iris stiffened when the woman and her son froze in their tracks, staring at Barry.
She watched nervously as the two strangers started whispering to each other, their eyes continuing to flit towards Barry. Thankfully, Barry hadn't noticed. He was still staring at the floor. Iris was relieved for that. But then the woman and her son changed directions, walking away from the door to reenter the waiting room, beelining for Barry. Iris shook her head at them, begging them with her eyes not to approach them. Barry hated being approached in public. They ignored her, though, not breaking their strides until they were standing right in front of them.
"Barry Allen?" the woman asked.
Iris could only watch nervously as Barry took in a deep breath and looked up at the woman, his face set in resignation to the unwanted interaction.
"My name is Cassandra Baker," the woman introduced herself, "This is my son, Justin."
Her son was clearly the metahuman between the two of them. It wasn't just his weight that gave him away. It was the way he averted his eyes, staring at the floor as he nervously twisted his hands, letting his mother do the talking. Iris had seen Barry act the same way. He hardly ever looked anyone in the eye since they got him back. She wondered if it had to do with the MRA officers and how they had treated him.
It was like he was afraid of eye contact now.
"I just wanted to thank you," Cassandra continued when Barry didn't say anything, "You saved my son's life."
Barry's jaw clenched slightly as he shook his head.
"I didn't do anything," he said in a strained voice, "I just did what I had to to survive. I didn't—"
"You saved him from the mobs," Cassandra said, tears filling her eyes, "You risked your own safety to pull him out of the frenzy. You stopped him from being trampled to death."
Iris's eyebrows furrowed as she took in this information. She looked to Barry in time to see him turn his gaze away from the mother, his eyes landing on the son. Something changed in Barry's face then, something Iris couldn't quite describe. A hint of recognition flitted across Barry's face, but it was more than that. His eyes suddenly looked less dull, less empty, as he stared at the boy in front of him.
"I remember," he whispered, "I…I'm glad to see you made it."
The teenage boy smiled nervously at him.
"I did what you said," he said timidly, "I tried to be smart."
Barry's lips twitched. Before he could say anything, the mother let out a small sob and flung her arms around him, taking him by surprise. Iris saw Barry stiffen with the unexpected contact.
"Thank you so much!" the woman cried, squeezing him tightly, "He wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you. I don't know how I can ever repay you."
There was something in Barry's eyes as the woman hugged him, something Iris had only gotten glimpses of over the past few weeks. Barry looked like he was fighting back tears. His mask of control had fallen, and for just a brief moment, Iris saw the haunted grief in his eyes.
She saw emotion.
It only lasted for a few seconds, though. By the time the woman pulled out of the abrupt hug, Barry had composed himself. His mask was up again, and his face was smooth.
"Good luck with your meeting," Cassandra said warmly to him, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.
"Thank you," Barry whispered.
The boy, Justin, then stepped forward and shook Barry's hand.
"Thank you for saving my life," he said quietly.
Barry nodded and managed a small twitch of his lips. As soon as the woman and her son walked away, Barry let out a large breath.
"Are you okay?" Iris asked, peering into his face.
Barry nodded and looked away, not saying another word. He didn't talk about the unexpected interaction, and Iris didn't press him. Barry just sat there, the same as before, as if nothing had just happened, as if he hadn't just been approached by a person whose life he had saved.
Iris didn't know how Barry, her sweet Barry Allen, could pretend to be so unaffected. So composed.
It never failed to upset her, how numb Barry always seemed now. She didn't ever confront him about it, though. She knew it was the only way he could cope right now. She couldn't even imagine all of the feelings he must be suppressing right now. Going numb was easier than dealing with it. If Barry didn't numb himself, all those emotions would overwhelm him, which was why they didn't press him to talk about any of it. They let him cope with everything at his own pace.
"Bartholomew Allen."
Barry shot up from his seat in an instant. He motioned for Iris to join him as he crossed the waiting room, anxious to get this meeting over with. The secretary led them to a small office. The nameplate on the door read "Neal Davidson," a name Iris had heard many times before, when Barry was complaining about the MSF. The secretary opened the door for them, and the two of them stepped inside the small office.
"Barry," a man greeted cheerfully, standing up from his desk to shake Barry's hand, "How are you?"
"Fine," Barry clipped, shaking the man's hand before taking a seat across from the desk.
Iris didn't know what she had been expecting, but this certainly wasn't it. Barry had painted Neil out to be some sort of villain—a "pompous jackass," as Barry had put it. That wasn't the vibe Iris was getting from the older man in front of them, though. Neil seemed…friendly. He was pleasant and welcoming, not cold and hard, like she had been imagining.
"How has your recovery been going?" Neil asked pleasantly, "Feeling better?"
"I'd feel better if I had this chip out of my neck," Barry replied coldly, crossing his arms.
Neil let out a heavy sigh.
"Straight to business then, I see," he sighed, pulling out Barry's file, "This is what? Your tenth application, Mr. Allen?"
"Twelfth," Barry gritted.
Neil nodded slowly as he slid on a pair of glasses and started perusing Barry's file.
"Hm," he said absently as he read.
Iris looked over and saw Barry's hands clenching into fists as he glared at the other man, watching him read through the file.
"Up four pounds from last time, I see," Neil said happily, "You're making good progress."
"My doctor says I'm healthy enough for surgery," Barry said seriously.
Neil gave Barry an uneasy smile.
"Yes, well," he said softly, "I'm glad your making progress in your physical recovery. It's terrific news. Unfortunately, though, being physically healthy is only half of it."
"You're rejecting my application," Barry said flatly, not really a question.
Neil took in a deep breath and removed his glasses to rub his eyes.
"Mr. Allen…"
"What is it this time?" Barry demanded, his voice shaking slightly, "What qualification haven't I met?"
Iris could tell Barry was trying extremely hard not to succumb to his anger. She knew it took everything he had not to start screaming furiously right now. He couldn't do that. He couldn't lose control. He needed to prove to these people that he was mentally stable, that he wasn't violent. And tearing apart this tiny office in an uncontrollable rage wasn't going to help with that.
"You're making tremendous progress, Mr. Allen," Neil assured him, "You've got your weight up, and you've been going to the group meetings. I'm extremely happy to see that."
"But?" Barry snapped.
"But there are still some things that are concerning to me," Neil said gently.
"Like what?" Barry demanded, his hands starting to shake from containing his rage.
"Your therapy," Neil sighed, "I see you switched therapists again."
"So what?" Barry seethed, "The other one wasn't working out for me, so I decided to switch."
"Mr. Allen," Neil sighed, rubbing his eyes, "We know what you're doing here."
"And what is that?" Barry demanded, leaning forward in his seat.
"You see each therapist just long enough to answer the easy questions," Neil said gently, "And then you switch as soon as the two of you start delving into the deeper issues."
"A good therapist doesn't pressure a patient before they're ready to talk," Barry fumed, "And a half-decent therapist doesn't go and report everything a patient says back to their MSF agent."
"Barry, that's what the therapy is for," Neil said in exasperation, "We collaborate with the therapists and physicians to determine if a metahuman is healthy and mentally stable enough for the surgery. Now, I do understand where you're coming from. You're not the first metahuman to have this problem. You don't trust the MSF. Many metahumans have had trust issues after everything they've been through, and it's completely understandable, but the MSF is here to help you."
"No, you're here to control me," Barry corrected, "Honestly, you guys call yourself a 'support foundation,' but you're more like the MRA than anything else."
"We are not the MRA, Barry," Neil snapped, his eyes flashing dangerously, his pleasant demeanor dropping in an instant, "Do not ever compare us to that horrid organization. The MSF is a group of people devoted to helping the survivors of everything the MRA did. We have metahumans' best interests at heart, and we're here to ensure that no one gets hurt when their powers are returned to them. We make sure each person is ready to take that step.
"You're a unique case, Mr. Allen. You've been through an unspeakable amount of trauma, not just in the Metacide, but also in your life. You need to show us that you're actually coping with your past traumas. I know you've done great things for this city, but being the Flash doesn't entitle you to special treatment, no matter how many people you have protesting for you. You'll get approved for surgery when you're actually ready for surgery."
For a prolonged moment, Barry and Neil simply glared at each other, both their jaws clenched in anger. Iris saw what Barry meant now. Neil really was a pompous jackass. More than anything, Iris wanted to speak up. She wanted to rage and scream at the other man in the way Barry couldn't. Barry couldn't lose control, but she could.
She had promised Barry she wouldn't do that, though. He had made her promise to remain silent for this conversation. Now, all she could do was watch as the two men glared at each other. Barry was the one to finally break the silence.
"Thank you for your time," he said stiffly, standing up from his seat, "Come on, Iris."
Iris furrowed her eyebrows at him.
"But—"
"He's not going to budge," Barry said flatly, "It's time for us to go."
Iris took a deep breath and nodded, standing up from her seat to take Barry's hand.
"Maybe next time, Mr. Allen," Neil said pleasantly as they were leaving.
"Go suck a dick," Barry muttered as they walked out of the office.
"Barry…" Iris said gently, as they made their way through the parking lot, her struggling to keep up with his long strides, "Barry."
When Barry reached her car, a loud growl escaped his lips as he kicked her tire.
"Barry, please," Iris urged, "Calm down."
"I can't!" Barry yelled, spinning on her, "I can't calm down, Iris! I can hardly breathe with this thing in my body! And that son-of-a-bitch has the nerve to just sit there and smile at me as he feeds me bull-shit excuses for why I can't get it removed! I'm just so…"
"I know you're angry," Iris said gently, putting a hand on his arm, "I know you're upset and you have every right to be. I'm angry, too, Barry."
Barry shook his head, fighting back the tears in his eyes. He took several deep breaths, trying regain control of his emotions, like always. It took him a moment, but Barry with another deep breath, Barry managed to pull up his usual mask of control. His anger disappeared, the numb expression taking its place.
The wall.
"Let's go home," he sighed tiredly.
Iris nodded sadly, her eyes having filled with tears as she watched him struggle to push his emotions back down again. She wished for once he wouldn't suppress them. She wished he could display more than anger when he let his walls down, but for now, she'd settle for any emotion from him.
"Okay," she said gently, "Okay, Barry."
As they got into the car, Barry didn't say anything. He slammed the door and stared out the window again as Iris pulled out of the lot. Iris didn't know what to say to him. She was angry, too. Barry deserved so much more than this. He deserved to finally be free of the chip the MRA had forced into his body. So few metahumans were being approved for surgery now, though. All of the type two metahumans had had them removed, but it was a long, grueling process for type ones like Barry.
A few weeks ago, one metahuman, Davis Jorgensen, had been approved for surgery. He had gone through the process, told the psychologists everything they wanted to hear, convinced them he was mentally stable enough to have his powers back.
But he wasn't.
As soon as his chip was removed, Jorgensen went on a rampage throughout the city, attacking humans with his ability to control water. As it turned out, he was the water-controlling metahuman Barry had fought all those months ago, the man who had been acting out in retaliation to early anti-metahuman behavior. It had hit Barry hard, hearing about the incident. After everything they had been through, everything they had survived, the man hadn't learned anything from it. He had gone right back to his bitter vendetta against humans.
He wasn't the only metahuman who was bitter.
There was still a rift between humans and metahumans. It was unavoidable. The surviving metahumans were angry, and understandably so. Iris wished she could say Barry was different, but she had seen it in him, too. Barry had this bitterness about him that scared her to see. She knew Barry would never openly display his anger towards humans, but she knew a part of him harbored resentment for them, for everything they had done to him.
It wasn't just Price. All of Central City was to blame for this. They had allowed this to happen. No matter how much Barry blamed himself for Price's rise to power, Iris knew a part of him blamed society as a whole. Barry had at least tried to stop it. He had done everything he could to keep the peace, had desperately tried to stop all of it from escalating, while Central City had sat back and just watched it happen. Even after knowing what was really going on in those slums, the majority of people hadn't lifted a finger to help. They hadn't stepped up until their own lives were at stake with the threat of Price's virus.
Iris knew that if she saw it that way, then Barry definitely had to see that, too.
And it angered him.
For two years, Barry protected this city. He had been its hero. He had led by example, hoping to inspire the same heroism in others. But it hadn't worked. When their hero was the one who needed saving, the majority of people hadn't stepped up. They had turned their backs on him.
And now they wanted him back.
Now, people were pushing to get their beloved Flash back. They expected him to just forgive and forget everything, to put his suit back on and protect them again, to act like none of it ever happened. It made Iris sick to think about it. She could only imagine how Barry felt about it.
She couldn't bring herself to be upset with him for his silence now. His lack of communication with them was more than understandable. She didn't even know what she expected him to say.
At this point, she'd settle for anything.
"Can you give me a ride later?" Barry suddenly asked, taking her by surprise, "I really don't want to take the bus."
"Of course, Barry," Iris said instantly, "Where do you need to go?"
Not only was it Saturday, but Barry rarely wanted to go anywhere these days. Two public outings in one day was a bit strange for him now.
"I just need to stop into work," he muttered.
Iris felt her hands tighten on the steering wheel.
"Work," she scoffed, "If that's what you want to call it."
"So will you give me a ride?" Barry sighed, ignoring her comment.
Iris took a deep breath through her nose.
"Fine," she clipped, "I can give you a ride to 'work.'"
"Thank you," Barry whispered.
"I don't know why you're doing this to yourself, Barry," Iris persisted, "Why you're allowing yourself to—"
"I don't want to talk about this right now," Barry sighed tiredly.
"No, I guess not," Iris muttered, "You don't want to talk about anything."
Barry sucked in a shaky breath and looked out the window again. Iris instantly felt guilty. She removed one of her hands from the steering wheel to slide it into Barry's.
"Hey," she said softly, "I'm sorry."
For a moment, Barry's hand remained slack in hers, but eventually he curled his fingers around her hand, holding it back.
"I'm sorry, too," he whispered, "I…I'm trying, Iris."
"I know you are," she said softly, giving his hand a small squeeze, "I'm sorry for pressuring you. You can talk when you're ready."
As they continued the drive home, Iris couldn't help but hope that time would be now, but it wasn't. Barry didn't say anything.
They drove in silence.