A/N: Almost all of this chap is straight from the instragram story. Enjoy.

*Many thanks to sendtherain for beta'ing this and theflashaus for looking it over. :)

*I own nothing. No copyright infringement intended.

Chapter 4 -

The fleeting thought of I should do this quietly passed through the back of her mind, but it was just that – fleeting. The pounding of her heart drowned out the sound of her feet hitting every step on the ever-winding stairwell. She didn't know if the man Amunet had sent was on her tail or not. He could be one floor above her, right behind her, or waiting just outside the door on the main floor, barring her exit and any hope she had of escaping the very real danger she had just come face-to-face with.

If only Barry was with her. He could whisk her away someplace this man wouldn't find her – where Amunet wouldn't find her. She could write her story in secret, and the evil mastermind wouldn't know what hit her until it was too late. But none of that was possible now because Barry hadn't answered his phone when she was running down the hall, and she had to concentrate on not falling down the stairs, and the all-consuming thought was what to do and where to go if by some miracle this guy didn't stop her before she found a safe haven elsewhere.

She held her breath when she abruptly made it to the first floor. Running faster than her body could keep up with, she nearly fell face first against the door. Her hands flattened against the hard metal, and she waited a few beats till she could catch her breath. She strained to hear anything around her – footsteps in the stairwell above her, movement in the lobby just on the other side of the door she stood braced behind, anything at all that would be suspicious. To add to that, anything that might prove to be her saving grace.

But she heard nothing, and she knew she couldn't stay put for much longer. Taking a deep breath, she slowly turned the knob on the door and walked around it into the dimly lit room on the other side. It wasn't that late, but it was late enough for there not to be activity, for the room not to be lit up.

Iris scanned the room. There wasn't a single person in sight. There was, however, a door in the corner with large red letters above it – EXIT. It wouldn't set off the fire alarm thankfully, but it would get her out into the street in someplace a little less obvious than the front door. That would give her enough time to try to call Barry again, and maybe this time she'd be successful.

Quietly, she dashed across the large lobby and slipped passed the exit door. Moments later, she was in the alleyway between buildings, chilled for more than one reason, but she decided not to think about that. Instead she pulled out her phone and immediately called Barry again. A mugger was nothing compared to the assassin that had showed up at her door tonight.

One, two, three rings, but Barry Allen was not picking up.

"Come on, Barry! Answer the phone!" she muttered under her breath urgently, aware of the cold sweat dripping down the back of her neck.

The sharp fear tearing at her insides immediately intensified when her trembling fingers and the endless rings blaring into her ear was interrupted by the sound of slow clapping in the distance coming nearer by the second. She would've been a fool to not guess who those hands belonged to.

"I give you credit for making an attempt to run away," the would-be assassin said smoothly. Despite being frozen in her fear, Iris managed to look up at him. "But no one gets away from me, Iris."

She swallowed hard, forcing herself not to look away.

"What are you going to do to me?" she asked, abandoning any hope of getting away or any rescue from her impossible-to-reach husband.

The cheeky smile on his face subsided, the glint in his eyes gone. They were cold instead, solemn, dead. If she wasn't scared before, she certainly was now.

"If I told you, you wouldn't remember."

Iris thought she heard something go off, a weapon maybe, but she didn't see anything. She thought maybe she felt a prick on her skin, but it was so soft and brief that she hardly remembered it had occurred. All that registered to her was the man's eyes; dark, deep, unending, and unable to look away from. She couldn't hear herself breathing or feel her heart beating, and only barely was she aware of the slight tingling in her fingertips.

Then, without warning, a flash of images, memories, raced through her mind.

A warm, spring day, walking beside her charming then-best friend. She felt happy, in love, eager for the words about to spill out of his mouth as he nearly stumbled over his feet while they walked because he was looking at her and not what was right in front of him.

"Iris West, would like to go to dinner with me?"

He was so smooth, she'd thought, but before she saw herself accept his invitation, another memory flashed before her eyes. The night of the date she'd said yes to.

"You look beautiful," Barry Allen said, marveling at her as she met him on the street.

She remembered that night. She was so starstruck that they were finally on their first date, and he was looking so good, that she belatedly registered the compliment – that first one and every following one throughout the duration of the night.

Again, before she gushed her response, her mind fast-forwarded to another moment; her boyfriend down on one knee, a dazzling diamond ring held between two fingers as he gazed intensely up at her, all his love for her shining brilliantly in his eyes.

"Will you marry me?"

Her breath caught in her throat, but the memory was gone once again. Instead of going forward though, this time her memory went back, waaay back, back to elementary school when Barry had been pushed back against lockers in the hallway by a bully who was gone before Iris could harass him. Angry, bitter, and frustrated, Barry held tightly to the arm the bully had yanked him around with, making her worry that his shoulder might pop out.

But in that moment, with Iris crouched beside him, it wasn't spite at the bully that tumbled from his mouth, but instead self-recriminations for how she shouldn't want to associate with him because he was a kid that was bullied and who probably deserved it.

Horrified, she crowded closer.

"You're my best friend, Barry."

His lips parted and moved, but in Iris' present hazy mind, she couldn't hear what he was saying. In fact, she could no longer hear anything. A million images passed before her eyes, none of them making sense, but she knew they were familiar. She knew they were memories, but there were too many coming too fast. They overwhelmed her.

And then abruptly, they stopped, and the world faded to black.

…

Frustrated by his complete lack of romantic timing, Barry took a deep breath after he stepped out of the elevator and told himself to calm down. So, the restaurant had been too busy to fulfill the order he and Iris wanted. The flower shop Iris always seemed to get lost in shockingly closed up shop even before lunch that day due to lack of business – a likely story, Barry had sneered inwardly – and so he couldn't even send a bouquet home to her on their anniversary. And to top it all off, Jitters had been running short on supplies and he'd had to run out of town, almost out of state to get the white hot chocolate he'd promised her.

Talk about a crummy anniversary. Even if she didn't hate him for all those reasons, she would at the very least be sad he hadn't managed to come home a little earlier. He would beat himself up for this for the next three-hundred-and-sixty-four days.

Unable to face the façade of being okay once he delivered the news, Barry turned off his phone. He would claim it died when he arrived home and offer her favorite drink and plenty of kisses in the hopes that it would mend all wounds.

Still, his hands were shaking a little as he pulled the house key out of his pocket and opened the door to their loft. He walked in, looked around the living room and kitchen for his wife only to come up empty. The light was still on, but the computer she'd been sitting with at the table was missing.

Which would only be odd if she'd taken it upstairs with her – if she'd gone to bed early.

His heart fell into the pit of stomach. She was mad. Furious. He'd failed so miserably on their first anniversary that she'd actually gone to bed before eight o'clock because she'd lost faith that he'd come home at all.

He wondered if she'd called and feared a hundred messages.

He pulled out his phone, turned it on, and casually called out. "Iris?"

Let her think nothing was wrong. Maybe she'd pretend there wasn't, and he could – Stoppp. He shook himself of the ramped exaggerated thoughts that were doing more harm than good. But when he saw how many times Iris had called him, they resurfaced immediately.

He took a few more steps into the room.

"Iris, I'm home! Sorry I'm late…" No sound. "I brought you that white hot chocolate though to make it up-"

He stilled. Far enough into the living room to examine the place before heading up to their bedroom, Barry felt chills race down his spine. Something's not right.

Pillows were tossed around the room, a table was flipped over, and magazines were strewn across the floor. Horrified, he started to step back then heard a crack and realized he'd stepped onto a shattered picture frame on the floor. Looking around once more, he saw several porcelain plates in pieces on the kitchen floor.

"Iris!" he called out again, this time panicked for an entirely different reason. When she didn't respond, he raced up the stairs, searching all the rooms and coming up empty to all of them. "Where are you?!"

Running his hands through his hair, his heart jumping out of his chest, his breathing quickening, Barry wasted no more time in their lavish apartment. He sped out into the city, searching every street, every building, every one of their usual spots and all the unusual ones he could think of too. He stopped every so often to call her name in some blind hope that she'd respond, but nothing resembling her voice called back to him.

He had nearly given up when he returned to their building near the back and spotted a body on the ground that looked familiar. It could be anyone with a similar physical description. But he knew it wasn't anyone. It was Iris.

He raced to her unconscious body and took her in his arms.

"Iris, oh my God…" He leaned down, could hear and see her faint breathing. She was alive. "Stay with me, Iris. Stay with me…"

Common sense kicked in moments later, and he gathered her into his arms. Taking a deep breath and searching his mind for the nearest emergency facility, he raced to Central City Hospital and power-walked to the reception desk.

The young receptionist's jaw dropped. He prayed to God she wasn't new.

"Oh my God, what-what happened?" She rose from her seat.

"It's my wife. I came home, and she was gone, and the place was a mess, and I found her in the alley behind our apartment, and could you just please-"

An older woman burst through the emergency doors and rushed over when she saw the new arrivals and the clearly shell-shocked young woman failing to come up with the proper answer to give him – or any answer at all.

She barked at a nearby attendee to bring over a gurney and proceeded to ask Barry questions about Iris' conditions. He spewed out everything he just had, though he didn't hear himself do it. All he could do was stare down at his wife, barely keeping his tears at bay.

Why won't she wake up?

After some time, he heard the nurse say "okay" and tell him to wait, but he wouldn't budge. He wouldn't leave her side. Without a word the nurse left. A few short minutes later, a doctor appeared beside him.

"Mr. Allen, she's in good care now. You can wait in the-"

"Is she going to be okay?" Barry interrupted, looking away from Iris for no more than a second. When the doctor failed to answer him right away, he turned his attention back to Iris and was relieved to find her opening her eyes.

Iris? Oh, thank God!

"It's okay now," he told her, gently squeezing her hand. "I found you, and you're okay. We're in the hospital." He paused and managed a short chuckle. "You really scared me there?"

Iris looked up at him, her brows furrowing in confusion.

"Who are you?" she rasped.

She just woke up, he tried to tell himself. Don't jump to conclusions.

The doctor gently pulled the gurney away from Barry to take Iris further into the hospital. He was too shocked to make much of a move to protest again at first until she was almost gone. Then he held onto the side handles, halting it immediately.

The doctor looked up at him, patiently willing him to release his grip.

"Mr. Allen, please, we have things under control."

Reluctantly, Barry let go, let them take his Iris away to find out what was wrong with her.

Just before they had completely disappeared, the doctor stopped again and looked back at him.

"Mr. Allen… She's in good hands. We'll keep you updated on what's going on." He paused. "You can trust us."

Barry knew if he really wanted to, he could speed passed him and stay with Iris, make sure she was safe, be there when she was okay again – because she was going to be okay again. She was just confused now in unfamiliar surroundings after God knows what had happened to her, but she would be okay eventually. And he could be there when she was.

Unfortunately, the sound of someone else calling his name distracted him; it was the young receptionist. He didn't know how she possibly thought she could be useful now when she hadn't been before, but he forced himself not to lash out.

"Is there someone I can call?" she asked.

"What?" he rasped, the idea a foreign concept to him.

"Anyone I can call," she repeated, "that can be with you in this time."

The phrasing annoyed him, but the intention was good, and the proposition was a smart one. He took a slow, deep breath and nodded, joining her back at the reception desk. He tried not to berate himself too harshly when he realized he'd left his phone at home before taking to the city to search for Iris.

"Yeah," he said. "My wife's father. Joe West."