Aww, Kids, a flash fanfic

The Baby

She was in her father's house listening to the friendly tones of his guests in the living room. He had a few friends over to see his new grandbaby. She could hear the old school music, which meant Joe West was happy and drinking a little. He was going to celebrate and brag on his growing family.

She was standing in her old bedroom in front of the mirror, holding and rocking the baby and feeling as if she should make her entrance to the living room to display the infant, but she nor the baby were ready. Instead, her soft little lullaby put the baby back to sleep. Then, from the front porch, she heard a familiar knock on the door, then Barry's familiar rustling moved inside the foyer. She knew his presence anywhere, his weight in his footsteps, and his quiet desire to get to her old room where she and the baby were. She snuggled her baby and listened as he stopped for a minute in the living room to chat. "Are you ready to see daddy?" Iris said, then put her nose in his neck and she and he both laughed with Iris's connection. After awhile she heard Barry headed for her old bedroom and even as he was away from the guests in the hallway, he didn't use his super speed. Sometimes she thought he was becoming human. She wondered if he knew it, that he was not using his meta-powers. It was so natural now to see him climb into the Navigator to run her errands while she nursed their new baby, or while she grabbed an hour to rest along with the baby. She smiled and whispered, "Here he comes." She heard his knock at the bedroom door. She stood slowly, waiting for him with their new child in her arms. When he opened the door, the little girl let go of her daddy's hand and ran to her mommy.

Little Nora looked up at her mother and her new brother, just weeks old. "Can I see him?" Nora asked. Nora was tall for three, but Iris sat back down on the bed and Nora climbed up beside her with the help of Barry, her long legs dangling. He leaned over Nora and gave Iris a kiss, and sat on the other side of Nora. They smiled shyly at each other, over Nora's head, after four years of marriage, a three year old and a new born, it always amazed them how sometimes they fell back into the shyness that they lived with as teens. Or was it just because it was the old house and her old room with the friendly ghosts of their old lives and their new baby?

The baby was two months old. As Iris watched the infant, she cradling him, rocking him just a bit, she realized something, that Barry had not touched her since she was nine months pregnant. Maybe that was why they were so shy with one another. How to start up again, with now two babies needing twenty-four seven attention. She put that out of her mind and nuzzled little Bart, then kissed him on his forehead. This little baby was a breeze, Iris thought, as she raised her head and watched Barry, watched his mild eyes watch the baby, his son, his little boy. He had reached over Nora to caress the top of the baby's head and Iris saw the amazement that she always saw in Barry's eyes with the open pure smile of his son's as the baby watched him intently, with so much interest for the man who looked like him, and then that smile. That smile belonged to Barry and not mommy or mother's milk or big sis; but to him.

Three years ago, it had been different with Nora. Then, for the first time, they were both tired and that ninth month with Nora took Iris for a loop. Her belly grew big and tight and round, and she grew tired, and she could no longer wash and scrub, bend or extend. Her sense of smell exploded and informed her that the cleaning service had lied to her and Barry and that all of their products were not organic.

"Cecile knows cleaning people," Barry had offered. "Let's ask her." And their loft was clean and safe again. In fact, it smelled like the Star Labs birthing room that Iris helped prepare. But that was three years ago. She had Bartholomew Henry Allen Junior at Central City Hospital, her wishes answered. Caitlin acquired hospital privileges, and when little Bart started to push through his mother's vaginal canal, unlike with Nora three years hence at Star Labs, there was no yellow and purple lightning encircling him as he came through, still looking like an angel though, just without a yellow and purple halo for a few seconds ala infant Nora, her lightning disappearing, not materializing again until she was one year old and walking and encouraging her to run. She looked down on baby number two, and this little guy had yet to show his lightning.

Three years ago Iris remembered brooding about not being able to have her baby the normal way in a hospital, until Caitlin and Cisco showed her where she would give birth. It was a softly lit birthing room, quiet, with lavender scents, looking a lot like a hospital room. And then too, she was not normal, because she really meant having an ordinary birth, and she was married to the Flash, not just to Barry Allen. Caitlin was prepared for the baby that came through Iris's vagina with Barry's speed force in her, not ordinary. They had gone over scenarios of: suppose the baby try to use her powers to get out? Suppose the baby had no speed force powers and needed to be delivered the normal way? Suppose the birthing experience was somewhere in the middle, the baby discovering powers in the middle of a normal delivery, then uses her powers unknowingly, or perhaps knowingly. Barry and Iris sat at Star Labs talking things through with Caitlin and Cisco, even though the engineer would not be in the birthing room, preparing for every scenario.

It was more of an ordeal than Iris thought. Barry was there, he concerned at first, then supportive, then amazed, and in that order. After twelve hours of Iris in labor, Caitlin said, "Here she comes!" and little Nora's head came first through Iris's vagina, into the world. They laughed at the beautiful miracle arriving in their lives and almost cried together, as Iris held their first born child, Nora Josephine Allen.

Then, in the evening, when the excitement had died down, when it was just the three of them, when the baby had been cleaned and fed and was sleeping in her little bassinet, Barry retrieved Iris's wide tooth comb and sat on the bed close to Iris and gently combed through her tangled and matted hair. His touch was soft, his big hands thoughtful as the pads of his fingers gently coaxed Iris's hair loose. Her hair lay damp and sweaty, so he took a dampened wash cloth and gently went through it. Then he combed through her curls that were now coiling, twisting up. He reached for and retrieved her hair pomade on the table, scooped out some and worked it through her hair. Then he combed it through. He remembered how Iris would part it down the middle for two quick braids. He had forgotten how soft her hair was. It had been weeks since he really touched it, but he was remembering now, remembering why he was so happy with her. After he parted her hair down the middle, he reached for when the teen boy loved her so much when he would stand and hold the mirror for her and watch her braid her hair, "To try new styles," she had told him, looking in the mirror with her smile, making the jones he always had for her rise in him. But he remembered how she did it. He made three sections and began to braid his wife's hair, not Iris the teenager whose hair he wanted to touch, to smell, to bury his face in when he himself was a teen, but his tired and exhausted wife and mother of his first child. It was calming for Barry actually to smooth out Iris's hair as his fingers criss-crossed the three sections down to her nape; soothing as he tied the end with a scrunchie, and even though his braid was not as aesthetically appealing as when Iris did it, it served the purpose. He turned her head gently to face him, to braid the rest of her hair. She stirred some, then with opened eyes that seemed heavy but soft with affection, she said, "Are you braiding my hair?"

"Trying to," he said.

Her right hand reached up and felt his big hand holding the comb in an awkward but gentle grip. Then she ran her hand down the completed braid. She reached for his hand again and he thought her hand flirted with his as she smiled faintly, her hand moving away from his hand and resting on her side again and she closed her eyes, sleep taking her back to that restful place. He combed through the rest of her hair, taking his eyes off the braiding to watch her sleep every few seconds. When it was done, he stopped to look at the clean and beautiful young brown skinned face; then he swept his hand over her head in a caress of the braids, feeling that he had contributed to her comfort. He peeped to the other side of her, catching little Nora sleeping soundly in her bassinet in a peaceful good sleep, probably remembering her mother's milk as she sucked her tongue. His eyes went back to his wife's quiet face; watching a newness in it, a gentleness in her innocent sleep that seemed vulnerable to Barry, because she seemed so relaxed as if she need not worry because he was there. So he was on alert as she slept and as their baby slept. Gradually he loosened up though, and relaxed himself on top of the covers beside her.

A few hours later, when he had woken up, Iris had the baby in her arms and was commencing to feed her, her two big braids running past her shoulders and curling inward, meeting at the top of her gown. She looked at him and smiled. "Hi," he said. "You were tired."

Iris had sighed a little in her smile. "I feel a lot better, not so tired," she said. Then her attention went back to the baby.

She positioned little Nora on her side, the baby directly facing her, Iris determined to establish a bond with her baby right away so she pulled the infant close to her, their bellies gently touching. She brought her heavy breast out of her gown and with her thumb and a finger around her areola, she brought the baby's lower lip to her nipple, where Nora opened wide and Iris quickly, maybe nervously helped her to latch onto her nipple. Nervously she watched her baby, feeling that the baby was suckling, hoping she was, until she felt the suckle, then she heard her baby's continuous swallowing, pulling milk from her body. When she looked up at Barry, he was entranced, watching the feeding. Then he met Iris's eyes, then her smile, shaky, proud, and he so wanted to kiss her then, but she turned back to their child. Every two to three hours when the baby awakened and needed Iris's nipple, he was entranced, amazed at the life he and Iris had made.

Three years later it was different with Bartholomew, starting with giving him a nickname in the delivery room. Bart did cry, but his cries seemed sweet and mellow and even though insistent that he had come into the world, it was an introduction and not a command like Nora's loud cries seemed to be, that sounded as if there was a new baby in town and everyone needed to pay attention. Nora had expressed Barry's lightning and her own personality from day one. And after three years of expressing her personality, Iris was grateful for her laid back and quiet little brother.

They both heard Joe setting up the movie screen for the many pictures of Nora and Bart that he was going to show his guests, and maybe they heard Joe brag, "That child was born thinking," his description for Nora. Then his voice got lower, more matter of fact and they heard, I'll pull out the videos and show you what a happy family looks like." Then he started talking about their loft, how beautiful it was, how his son in law had made his daughter so happy. "But I knew he would," in that louder bragging tone, they heard. They gave each other a quiet smile; her father, his foster father. Then his voice trailed off into muffled conversations and was masked by his rhythm and blues music.

Barry and Iris had gotten caught in their moment of listening to Joe West, and together they watched Nora give her brother a kiss on his head. "Can I hold him, Mommy?" the little girl asked, looking up at Iris and it still surprised Iris to hear Nora speak so plainly so clearly, as if she could really read the words she saw in the books that Barry and she read to her. Barry saw Iris's likeness when he looked at Nora, just a caramel version of his pretty cinnamon colored wife, albeit a pale caramel version, and he kept this to himself and didn't know when he would tell Iris, but he saw his mother, Nora the first, in Nora the second. He couldn't put his finger on the quirk that reminded him of her, but he would. Presently Barry said, "When your body is as big as your brain, then you can hold him."

"Mommy said I'm tall for my age and you and I have big brains already so why can't I hold him now?"

Iris laughed. "She's just three years old, Barry. Listen to her." But Barry gave little Bart's head a quick caress again as Iris turned her attention to him, then looked up at Barry and sighed. "I guess we should go in the living room. People are waiting to see this little guy."

Barry hesitated, looking at his daughter, then giving her too, a caress on her head. "What?" Iris said, reading Barry so well.

"It's Nora and daycare," Barry answered.

"What about the daycare? What happened?"

They both looked at Nora and she could read her daddy also so well. She knew what 'It's daycare' meant. "Nora, do you want to tell mommy?" Iris asked as Nora reached for her little brother's hand and let him grab hold of her finger. She turned from her little brother to her mother and answered, "No, but, I have to, because I have to tell the truth. Daddy said so."

First of all Iris was amazed that three year old Nora stalled for time by playing with her baby brother's hand. "Well…?" Iris said.

Nora looked up at her father and knew she had to answer her mother. "I tried to take out my earrings because I wanted to win the race," she finally said.

"What race?" Iris asked.

"After lunch time, we have fun, and some of us like to run, mainly the boys, and I can run as fast as them, but…" she pulled at her ear lobes, rubbing over the studs pierced in her ears, "not with these in my ears. If I take them out then I can run faster than everyone in my class, including all the boys."

Iris looked at Barry alarmed. She had had her second thoughts about putting Nora in daycare, and they both thought the studs in her ears solved everything, but Nora has guessed why they were there.

"Honey," Iris said, "we explained that you can't take out your earrings. Grownups will be mad if they know you can run faster than they can. They'll be mad at your father too."

"Why?" Nora asked, turning to her father, looking up at him with Iris's big almond eyes, but just a little lighter. "Because I got my fast running from you, Daddy?"

"Yes," Barry answered, "They'll be angry at both of us, and little Bart too."

Nora laughed. "He can't run…. Yet…" and her reasoning and understandings sat in her light brown eyes. Her big curly ponytail that plumed in back of her swung between her parents as she took turns looking at them both. "All right," she said. "I understand. It's a secret and they'll get mad at us because they can't run fast like us."

Both of her parents sighed, and said, "Yes." But Iris still looked worried. Finally, Barry said, "Don't worry, Iris. We'll think of something better, a back-up plan."

Iris smiled and said. "Okay." But Nora asked, "What's a back-up plan?" And when her parents didn't answer, she seemed contrite, and sat quietly.

"Well," Barry said, determined to change the subject, "Joe brought out the hor d'oeuvres already and you know he gets impatient with finger foods and little bites of sandwiches."

"Okay," Iris said and stood and Barry stopped to watch the way she held the baby, with one hand confidently slid under Bart's neck and cradling his head, and the other hand under his bottom. Iris's head turned some. "What, Bartholomew?" And Barry laughed, loving how she said his name because she had almost sang it to Bart when she first sat and cuddled and talked with him in his nursery at the loft. Barry said, "Just love the way you hold him, like an old pro."

"Holding Bartholomew Henry Allen is my specialty," she said, her smile flirtatious but also full of a depth of meaning that only she and Barry, and maybe her dad, would understand or appreciate. Not even little Nora would understand. Nora's hands went up for her dad, looking and acting like the three year old that she really was. He picked her up and started for the door, Iris following with the newest Allen.

"This little guy…." Iris said, following Barry out of her old room. Did he even have powers? She snuggled with him and his soft wide open smile warmed her heart, and with those eyes looking up at her like Barry's, his clear green eyes full of love like his, she couldn't help it, but with or without powers, he was bound to be a momma's boy.

Getting Around to It

"Iris… Cisco needs me."

Iris was coming out of her sleep. "Wha… Barry… Flash?"

She was frozen in a moment where Barry's yellow lightning whipped him from the bed to the chest of drawers to a phase out of their bedroom. When she finally found the present, Barry's pajamas were on the floor and he was gone. She sat up in their bed alone. She pulled the covers back and got out of bed. She went to the chest of drawers where Barry kept his Flash ring and it was gone. "And so is he," Iris said quietly out into their darkened bedroom. She sighed. They were supposed to rectify that little not having sex in over two and half months part that night. How did they let it get this far? The first six weeks was for her to heal after giving birth, but Caitlin had long since given them the go ahead. Weeks slipped by until that night, when they were having fun at her dad's house, showing off their babies, then dancing to her father's old school music. She felt warm and special in Barry's arms. While dancing, he said in her ear, "You look pretty." Her cheeks flushed up. She could feel her warmth as his face touched hers. She said, "Thank you, Barry. I went back to the salon. Finally."

"I'm not talking about your hair. Let me correct that," Barry whispered, "you're always pretty."

She squeezed him some around his waist for the compliment but she said, "No, Barry, I've been a wreck, and these extra five pounds…."

"I love those extra pounds. Keep them," he whispered. She remembered, and it made her feel good, but at the time she had narrowed her eyes in a mock consternation. "I should call your bluff." And as he grinned, she realized it was the first time he had made any reference to her body in a few weeks, good or bad. He lifted her chin up and kissed her. When they broke apart she opened her eyes, and whispered, "Let's not go to sleep when we get in bed tonight."

He tilted his head some, grinning, then brought her back into his arms for that big, squeezy, Barry hug. "That was on my mind," she heard.

So how could they have fallen asleep? And the question remained who fell asleep first, because she couldn't remember. Or she was worried that she may remember and remember that it was he, the man that she had been wanting for weeks now had forgotten that he wanted to make love to her and had fallen asleep.

She heard the baby stirring and went to his crib. When she got there, the mobile was stirring as well, and went into the lullaby if it moved at a certain pace. Little Bart was staring at the chimes of his mobile, listening to the lullaby tune, but staring intently at the lightning strike above him, circling around with the other mobile trinkets, his legs kicking, the blanket coming off, his arms reaching for Iris when she looked down on him. His eyes were bright, filled with wonder, as if he had seen a flash of something. She slid her hand under his back then supported his neck and head and lifted him up into her arms like Barry said, like the old pro that she was.

"You saw him, didn't you," Iris asked, sing-songing her question, already knowing the answer. She whispered in Bart's ear. "He's the Flash. And he's your daddy." It stood in Bart's eyes. And it was amazing to Iris because she followed his eyes and he seemed to follow the trail of Barry speeding from his side of the bed to the dresser to the hallway, where he always phased from the loft. He always ran down that back wall, almost always deserted, next to the fire escape. The little baby still stared intently at the doorway, as if he knew the route. Iris brought her baby up closer to her and whispered, "Are you memorizing his speed force run, for future reference, when it's your turn?" The baby just gurgled and smiled his happy open mouth smile, then pulled on Iris's gown. "You're hungry, little guy? Okay." And she sat in the big over-stuffed chair beside his crib, opened up her gown, and commenced to feeding her baby.

Suddenly streaks of purple and yellow lightning sped through her bedroom, then stopped in front of her. It was Nora, of course, beaming. "Did you see Daddy? I saw his lightning in the hallway!"

"Nora, where are your earrings?"

"I took them out, because I tried to catch up with Daddy, but he's just too fast. Plus, how did he run through the wall? First time I saw that."

"That's called 'phasing.' He'll show you how to do that when you're old enough." Then Iris patted the over-stuffed chair beside her. Nora climbed up, Iris removing her hand from Bart's gentle hold to help her. But Nora was three after all, and had forgot about her father's speed force lightning and focused her attention on her baby brother, watching the little boy at her mother's nipple. "Did I do that? I think I remember, "Nora said to her mother, looking up at her, quietly.

Iris brought her first child closer to her and gave her a kiss on her head, then turned back to Bart, even though she finished with a straightforward, "You can't use your lightning in front of people."

Nora giggled softly, not wanting to disturb her little brother, whom she always said was sweet. "I knew what it was," Nora said. "But why is my lightning purple and yellow and Daddy's is just yellow? Cause he's a man and I'm a girl?"

"I think it's more than that. We'll see with Bart," Iris said.

"His lightning is probably yellow like Daddy's," Nora said.

"I think his lightning will be purple and yellow, like yours."

"Why?" Nora asked.

"Because I think I gave you the purple lightning."

Nora giggled in the quiet and peaceful early morning of her mother nursing her little brother. "But Mommy, you don't have lightning."

"That's true, but if I could manifest lightning, it would be purple."

The little girl then rested her head on her mother's side, and said, "Bart is a boy. When we see Bart's we'll know."

"Is this your first hypothesis, your first experiment, little scientist?" Iris asked the three year old. But Nora just settled beside Iris, enjoying being her little girl, closing her eyes, trying to get her arms around Iris's waist, and seemingly loving the quiet laughter of her mother.

…

About forty minutes later, the baby was asleep in his crib as well as Nora back in her room and asleep in her bed. Iris stood in the middle of her living room space, the sconces in the foyer turned down low and the television on, but barely audible. And here's the segment, what she had been waiting for. She brought her phone up to her ear. "Cisco, it's on, but I don't see Barry."

"Wait a second," and there he was in a recorded video clip, going at it in the middle of the street with an obvious meta-human criminal. Iris brought her hand up to her mouth. The fights she witnessed her husband in were getting rougher and tougher. Why suddenly were criminals with dark matter powers coming out of the woodwork and laying claim to Central City? Haven't they heard of the Flash? Henry Allen's phone number suddenly popped up on Iris's phone. "Cisco, it's my father in law. What should I tell him?"

"The truth," Cisco said. "You don't know anything."

Iris accepted his call. "Henry, I…."

"Iris, do you see what I'm seeing?"

"Yes, Henry."

"Who is that big thing?"

"I don't know…. The chyron doesn't say."

Henry said, "Obviously he's a speedster. Look at him. Barry can barely keep up."

"Oh, look, Barry has the meta-cuffs on him." And Iris sighed in relief.

"Watch the meta-cuff sales explode tomorrow from law enforcement. It always happens."

"Yes, I know… but… sometimes, Henry, I get afraid."

"Yeah, me too," Henry said, "because he's not invincible."

It was early in the morning. Dawn was breaking when Iris heard Barry. He was back in the loft, in the living room, as if he was hesitating, because she knew his movements. She lay in their bed and waited for him. Finally he made a slow walk to their bedroom. He stopped by the doorway, filling the space. Then he came to her and sat on the bed. She opened her eyes.

"You weren't asleep," Barry said.

"No, I wasn't. You know the drill. You run and I worry."

He bent down and kissed her and she reached up and hugged him. "I know," he whispered. "I know."

"Do you know who he is?" she asked, her arms still around him.

"No," he said. And neither spoke for a while. She was just remembering how she loved holding him. How she loved a tight neck hold, a hold her face always found his shoulder to hide in, to burrow in, making her feel safe, then arousing her because of it, then arousing him because she liked living in his shoulder that much. They came out of each other's arms. He said, "Can you wait for me? I have to take a shower."

She said, antsy, getting aroused, "You don't have to."

He said, "Yeah, I do. Flash is in the streets. Barry is in your bed."

She said, "I don't mind Flash, just this once."

He grinned quietly and it felt as if they were shedding those second baby insecurities. Maybe she did want him. Maybe he still found her pretty.

She said, "Okay," and he stood slowly, backing to their bathroom, eyes still on her. "I'll be right back."

"I'll always wait for you."

He went into the bathroom. A few minutes later and not seconds, she heard the shower. He was going to clean up in real time. No speed shower. He did that when he wanted to stay in the moment with her. Live every second in her present.

He heard a knock at the door. "Iris?"

She came in, he pulled back the shower curtain, she raised up his phone, and said, "Cisco."

Barry stood mute, looking at Cisco's signal, Iris's disappointment. She said, "Go, Barry."

He said, "Iris, I…."

She said, "You're the Flash."

Then she saw a whip of yellow lightning out of the door. By the time she caught up with his present, he was probably at Star Labs. She reached for the shower head and turned it off. She needed to take a shower herself and get ready for her day. She had two babies to attend to. She and her husband would get back to being Barry and Iris soon, she knew, she hoped. Really, soon.

Mother and Daughter

Iris sat braiding Nora's hair. She always took her time to make that perfect part down the center of Nora's head, separating her mass of curly hair that went down her back. Iris admitted to herself that she was proud of Nora's hair. It was dark chestnut, with a loose curl pattern, thick, and wavy when wet, a combination of her and Barry's hair. The only thing, it was so much and Iris spent time carefully combing through it, then rubbing a light oil in her hands, then working it through Nora's hair slowly and gently. Then when it was combed and brushed, Iris's straight and even and equally measured famous part came on the scene. She would smile while doing Nora's hair sometimes, thinking of her high school cheering squaddies who would compliment her on her straight hair parts. "Damn, West," they'd say, "it doesn't matter how many parts you got in your hair, they're always straight."

Iris took her time braiding Nora's hair thinking when she and Barry didn't drop a beat with sex after having her. Six weeks and they were back at it.

She remembered when Nora had just turned one year old. She came in one afternoon happy, full of bubbly life. She grabbed Barry around the waist as he stood at the stove and prepared dinner, spaghetti and meat sauce. He turned and brought her to his side. She pulled his head down and kissed him, brimming with a joy, but she had a secret in her eyes. After he tasted her soft evening lips, he asked, "Why so happy? My spaghetti isn't that good." She couldn't wait. She put down her purse and turned, showing Barry her back and carefully, gingerly, slid from her shoulder her jacket, then her blouse. He was quiet and she knew his type of quiet. He was studying it, like he did the last time, surprised as the last time. He said, "It's simpler, clearer, just the name Barry wrapped around that iris flower I had painted on your swim cap." She turned with a smile and he said, "I like it, your tat."

She said, "You love it."

"So, you think you have me wrapped around your, not little finger so much as your entire body."

"Well don't I?"

"Yes," he said immediately, and they both laughed. She said, pulling her blouse back up over the clear wrap that protected her tattoo, "No grinding me into the sheets tonight, Bear. It's still pretty sore."

He brought her to him and said, "You can sit on me," and then he whispered, "Starting with my face."

She said, "Ooh, okay, Mr. Allen." And they just stood watching each other, just without speaking, like forever it seemed to them sometimes, because as much as they always loved and wanted each other, they felt lucky to have each other; it could have turned out so very differently.

Iris remembered. She was looking up at him, still happy. "Where's Nora?"

"She's quietly watching one of her favorite shows. She's played out."

Iris studied her husband's eyes. She found a little concern in them. He said, "A one year old who's just beginning to walk should not be able to take off running the way she can."

Iris searched Barry's eyes. "Yeah, I saw her lightning today," he said.

"It's beautiful, Barry, but you're right and I'm afraid."

"Yes," Barry said, "she'll tell everyone who we are one day, if we don't suppress her powers."

"I don't like that word," Iris said, frowning. "I don't want to suppress anything about Nora Josephine Allen. No part of her. Every bit of her is what I want her to blossom into."

"I'll think of something." She remembered Barry brought the serving bowl of spaghetti and meat balls to the table. She began setting the table. "And you will," she had said to him. Then she went to get Nora.

She remembered thinking they thought they had time, because after all, Nora was just one year old and she was running faster than a one year old, but Iris could catch her, until she couldn't.

It was one evening that Barry came home and sped through the foyer, still in Flash time coming from Star Labs. For the first time Nora got ahead of Iris as Iris helplessly remained in past seconds of Barry's speed force where Nora, even though slower than Barry, broke through the normal time sequence and responded first. She was out of the chair with delicate almost translucent strings of purple and yellow lightning criss-crossing one with the other and trailing her and whipping through the living room. Iris said, "No! Nora, come back here!" many seconds later and more afraid that she would run into something and not be able to stop and amazed that she could not catch up with her little toddler daughter. She saw Nora's flashing smile, then, "Daddy!' then an accelerated trail of Barry's inheritance of speed force. She ran to him, Iris trying to get out of Barry's frozen moment, finally behind Nora. Barry picked Iris up and spun her into the safety of his speed force with Nora. He stopped abruptly and slowly Iris's feet touched the floor. She witnessed Barry's marvel, and his daughter's, he smiling at the toddler, she laughing and giggling up at her father, they seemingly sharing their bond in her father's arms. It finally dawned on Iris then, really clicked in her mind that she was married to the Flash, that his DNA was half of her daughter's as it would probably be for all of their children. A look of worry came over her face and Barry saw it. He said, "Don't worry, Iris. We've got this." But how, Iris had wanted to know.

In Barry's lab at Star Labs, he invited Iris in and together they designed a "collection of baubles for the baby," Barry had said. But the baubles would consist of her aquamarine birthstone in all of them, an identifier to Barry and Iris that Barry and Cisco had also embedded meta-dampening chips. The baubles turned out to be expensive jewelry, beautiful, rich in color, a deep blue green. Later at the loft, when Nora opened her box of presents, her eyes lighted up to an assortment of hair barrettes, ponytail scrunchies, hair ribbons with aquamarine meta-dampening threads; carefully designed safety pins and decorative dress pins that Nora could not unsnap, and beautiful deep blue green but tiny stud earrings that Caitlin was going to affix in the lobes of the toddler's ears. They all had meta-dampening chips and threads to negate Nora's powers and Iris felt comfortable and confident that she could outrun her baby when she had to and keep her safe.

"Mommy, come on." Iris snapped out of her reverie and was just about finishing up. Straight part down the middle somehow now reminded her of Barry when he sat and sweetly braided her hair after she gave birth to the little girl sitting on a stool between her legs getting her hair braided in the same style. Barry's wasn't a perfect part and the braid had a few criss-cross bumps of uneven amounts of hair, but when she looked at herself in the mirror later that morning, her eyes watered seeing how much he loved her. She could always feel his love, but she saw so much of his love too. She looked down on her daughter with two perfect braids, the two thick plaits extending down her back. She kissed Nora on the top of her head and heard Nora say, "Yayy, finished!"

"Not quite," Iris said, and she retrieved hair ribbons from the end table and tied each into a bow almost at the ends of each braid. "Don't take off the ribbons, Nora, or your hair may come undone."

"If I take them off, can I run faster?" Nora knew the deal. It was a game by now: find the meta-chip in her clothes, or other things. She even knew the special prefix: meta.

Iris and Barry both knew that she would be smart and fast and in that order, just not so soon. She was three and she spoke as if she were five. She was tall so she was unfairly judged and treated like an older child, and sometimes she liked that and sometimes she didn't because after all, she was still just a baby.

Presently Barry peeped his head through the door way of their bedroom. Father and mother eyes met. At least Iris felt that they were feeling like parents at the moment and not like Barry and Iris. 'It's coming. It'll get here,' Iris thought, and opened her ears to Barry saying, "I've got breakfast, then I'll take Nora to daycare."

"Daddy, yayy!" Nora said. "Big Belly Burger!"

"You're actually wrong this time, my little girl." Then he came all the way in with two big bags of Jitters. Iris smiled some. He was trying. "There better be coffee in one of those bags, Mister." And her tone made everything all right. He went to the window bench and laid out their breakfast, Nora dragging her story hour stool. The sunlight shining through always made that the best spot of the morning. Barry put napkins down on the bench as Iris gave Nora her French toast and kale smoothie. For a baby, she had grownup taste buds, or she just liked what her mother liked, like the baby she really was. She drank it down like a milk shake and picked at her French toast. Iris said, "Use your fork and knife, Nora."

Nora giggled. "But they're plastic. You said always use silverware."

Iris looked at Barry in mock exasperation. But everyone knew how proud she was of Nora and Barry and Iris both liked the way they felt at that moment. Their baby was asleep and they were having breakfast with their other baby. After they were finished, Iris commenced cleaning while Nora said, "I'll get my sweater!" and ran out of the room, using just her human speed because of her earrings and hair ribbons, fortified with a meta dampening thread running through each ribbon.

Finally, they were alone. He said, "Can we have lunch together?"

She smiled nostalgically, looking up at the man and remembering that once they had had sex on his desk during his lunch hour. She said, "Yes, of course, I'd like that."

He started for the bedroom doorway when he heard, "I'll have to bring Bart."

He turned and gave her one of his most irresistible smiles and said, "Two's company. Three's adorable—when it's Bart."

…

But about an hour into his workday and just after she had fed Bart and rocked him to sleep, as she sat in the overstuffed chair next to his crib, her laptop open and she researching a story for the Citizen, Iris had to go pick up Nora from daycare. She felt guilty having to wake up Bart and she had him in her arms with his head on her shoulder, wide awake now, taking in the sights of the daycare's hallway, his neck stronger, he raising up for a better view and turning his head on his own.

Iris was coming down the hallway in a pair of tapered pants that stopped at her calves, her favorite style and her favorite pants. So she was down that they were honestly too tight and as she moved down the hallway, they rode between her cheeks, giving her a slight wedgie. Those five pounds tortured her, she accusing them of making Barry fall asleep at night instead of grabbing her up in his arms the way he use to do. She felt helpless in her predicament now but thanked the stars that she could still comfortably wear her sneakers. As Iris got closer to the classroom, Nora must have recognized her mother's steps. She came out, then the daycare teacher Mrs. Lawton came out into the hallway. The three of them stood in the hallway as Bart looked down on his big sister and she couldn't help it, she smiled and offered him her fingers. Even Mrs. Lawton smiled at Bart, but then remembered why they were in the hallway.

"Of course you know there's a problem with Nora."

"I know she likes to run and since I see she has on her earrings and ribbons she has not been overdoing it? With the running? Winning all the races?"

"Huh? Mrs. Allen, it's not that. She does love to race and she hates to come in second, but that's not why I called you."

Iris was rocking Bart, making little circular caresses on his back which encouraged him to lay his head back down on her shoulder. "Why is Nora in trouble? She is a well behaved little girl," Iris declared.

"I agree, Mrs. Allen, she is. And aside from the running thing, I think she is misplaced here."

"What do you mean?" Iris said, already feeling down. What could be wrong with Nora at daycare?

"This class is for three year olds," the teacher said.

"And?" Iris said. "Nora is three."

"Yes, but Nora is tall for her age and that's not a problem."

"Well, what's the problem?"

"It's Nora's vocabulary. It's really pretty advanced. I would say, even for a five year old, and when she disagreed with my hypothesis, as she put it, and was going to explain why she was right… well, she was right.

"I can't really remember the details, or maybe I don't want to, just that she made logical sense, and I know she must be a prodigy, or a little genius even, I don't know. I think maybe she should get tested, for mensa. But she's a lonely little girl here when trying to have a conversation with her peers. Her peers," the teacher said amazed, "they're all babies, but she makes you speak like this. It's why she sticks by me and talks to me. Even the five year olds don't have her ideas, her thinking capacity, her thinking processes, her coming to conclusions. She's almost as tall as they are, but the similarity stops there. The five year old curriculum isn't enough for her either."

Iris said, "I know my daughter is smart."

The teacher said, "At least."

Why did you make it seem like it was an emergency and for me to come right away."

"She was about to explain to her classmates what a meta-human is. And I think she was going to give an example or two, because Nora always loves to "prove her hypotheses."

Iris's eyes widened. "Oh!"

The first thing she wanted to do when she got in the car was pull out her wedgie, but the first thing she did was safely buckle Bart in his car seat. Then she made sure Nora was safely buckled in. Then she got in and locked all of her doors… then she pulled out her wedgie. Nora giggled and said, "I'll bet you've been wanting to do that since the hallway."

Iris couldn't help it; she laughed, and said, "Nora, my brilliant little girl, what am I going to do with you? Except love you and feel lucky that I have you, feel lucky that I have a little girl like you."

There was quiet for about three seconds. Then Nora said, "Thanks, Mommy. I feel lucky that you and Daddy are my parents."

"Like, do three year olds say 'parents,'" Iris wondered aloud.

"I know my vocabulary is advanced. The teacher told me."

"You bet it is and I'm not going to have you flounder in a well-meaning sea of educational mediocrity. And you probably know what I just said," Iris said, not really to her daughter. She laughed and watched her children from the rear view mirror. Then she turned around to face them. As always, Bart gave her a big, loving smile. Nora offered him her hand and he grabbed her fingers. "I wonder if Bart is going to be as smart as me," Nora asked innocently, like the honest child she was.

"You're both just babies," Iris said.

"I know," Nora said. "Daddy said I'm still a baby until I'm six years old. And that's another lifetime I have to wait!"

"Because you know that three plus three equals six, and you understand the idea that that is another lifetime for you at this moment."

"Yes, Mommy."

Iris reached back and took both of her children's hands. "Right now, I wish I could kiss you both. But tell you what I'm going to do. I'm going to go home and change into some comfy pants," and Nora giggled. "Then make you an early lunch, Nora, and nurse Bart." Iris continued. Then I'm pulling out your books, your blackboard, some chalk, paper, crayons, and an empty journal just for you, and set it all up in my office space. "Then I'm going to call your father and tell him about our morning and why I can't have lunch with him today."

Mommy and Daddy

"Iris?"

It was early morning and Barry lay in bed alone. It felt strange not having a warm leg pushed through his, or a friendly arm wrapped around his middle. Where was she? He sat up. He looked over to his son. Bart was still asleep in his crib. Barry got out of bed and put on his robe because they lived with children now, even though he was in pajamas from his neck down to his ankles. He went downstairs because he thought he heard a voice coming from the guest room. He approached the door. He cracked it open and Iris was on the treadmill listening to an exercise routine. She puffed, "Morning, babe."

He said, "Iris, it's five-thirty." But she merely smiled and hitched up the incline of the treadmill for a more rigorous workout. In a way, she reminded him of her high school self, with her ponytail bouncing and her cut-off thigh-high sweats and cut-off tee shirt, showing skin in all the right places as in the old days. He used to try to avoid watching Iris's crotch as her short-short cut-offs made that sexy v right at her vagina where her smooth brown thighs met her crotch. In her innocence, she never knew how many times the sixteen year old girl got her sixteen year old best friend hard, so hard until he had to leave the room so she or Joe would not know what erogenous power her vagina had over him. He would go to his room, lie on his bed, and relieve himself. Sometimes he would be on his back, looking up at the ceiling so he would not see his working hands; then other times he would helplessly have his face smashed in his pillow as he worked his arousal through to his hand towel. And when he came back downstairs, for some reason the two of them were shy, as if they both knew what he had done in his room. And funny, now, they were feeling the same shy ways. He waved to make his departure from the door and as he turned he saw Bart on the portable monitor sleeping contentedly. When the baby was not in seeing distance, Iris took it everywhere in the loft. He smiled watching his son on the monitor, feeling that he was in the best hands with Iris. He left out of the room, but then came back in. She lifted her head, eyebrows raised. "Let's go out on a date," he said.

She smiled, but kept treading and at a good clip, brown legs extending and getting into a real rigorous run. He was about to turn but she puffed out, "Okay."

He was at the door giving her a smile back. "I'll let you finish."

When he was in the shower he thought about where he could take his wife for a nice night out. She had been so preoccupied with the children that it finally dawned on him that he was neglecting them, or felt that he was. He showered in real time, and not Flash time. He promised Iris that he would live his moments in her moments, in his kids' moments, and he became reacquainted with the long, invigorating shower. And why did they never take baths anymore? Maybe they could get a babysitter for Nora and Bart and he could just get in the bathtub with her again and relax with hot water, fragrant soapy bubbles and Iris's juicy round ass pressed against his groin, his arms around her from the back pulling her into him, his hands cradling her breasts, his mouth kissing and sucking on her neck. Why haven't they done that in a while?

He thought he heard Iris enter their bedroom. Her workout routine had ended. He rinsed himself of the soap, then turned off the showerhead. He climbed out of the tub and wrapped a towel around his middle, unlike the old days when he could come out of the bathroom buck naked.

Iris was in front of the mirror checking herself out and pinching her sides when Barry entered the bedroom. He went over to the vanity, lowered his head and kissed her on the mouth. After the kiss, she looked up with a hopeful smile. She knew he was living in her time and not Flash time or he would have been showered and dressed and at CCPD a half hour ago. "So where're we going on this hot date?" she asked.

He took the towel over his body. She wanted to lower her eyes so badly at her pleasure spot, but she kept her eyes up, on his. She had always guessed that it would be long, but she was pleasantly surprised at how thick it was. They drew out the quiet, Barry with a little smirk, like, "I know you want to drop your eyes and look at it." Even in a resting state, Iris couldn't ignore it. She smiled some with her own smirk, almost reading his mind. She wanted to say, "You're right, and where has it been for the past few weeks. What she did say was, "Remember when you slept in your boxers, or nothing at all."

He gave her an adorable smile and said, "Yeah."

Why did they love watching each other, getting caught up in their moments? He said, "But then you bought me those silk pajamas when we escaped to the cabin."

She said, "The great escape. I loved it. Actually, I had no idea what sex was until that night. I mean, letting myself go sex."

"I know. I was there," Barry said, still with his smirk. "And I thought you said my dry-humping you on the floor was the best sex you ever had."

"We were sixteen then, and you didn't put it in." And they both smirked a little and laughed quietly in their loving innuendo. Finally, Iris said, "Then Nora almost walked in on us."

"We didn't know she could walk," Barry said.

"That was her first time climbing out of her crib and putting her feet on the floor and walking to our room."

Barry said, "If it wasn't for Flash…we would have been busted."

"Yeah," she said, quietly. "Flash does have his moments in my bed." She started for the bathroom. Barry's eyes followed her. She could still wear those cut-off sweats. She turned and said, "Will you be here when I get out of the shower? Or will you be at Star Labs?"

"I'll be downstairs cooking breakfast for you and Nora."

He thought about Iris and their upcoming date all that morning, because he had to admit, they deserved a night to themselves; they made a great mommy and daddy. Actually he had been comparing him and Iris to his mother and father all that morning. They were always his mom and dad; Never Mommy or Daddy. They started popping into his mind when he met his C.S.I. associate at a crime scene close by where he grew up until he was eleven. He did his job seemingly not distracted, but it must have been on his mind, because after he processed the crime scene, he drove through his old neighborhood and turned onto his old street. Then he just stopped in front of the house, the engine running. Again, another For Sale sign in front of the house. Why did people move in, stay a few years, then move out? It was a great house and he would probably be bringing his children there to this day to visit grandpa and grandma if she were alive. He was not superstitious and knew that the house was not haunted. He thought of buying the house, but maybe it would be haunting. And then, he didn't know how his dad would take it.

Once he had spoken to Iris about the house, and she seemed okay with the idea at first. But after a time, she had had second thoughts. That was a disappointment to him because he knew he would never buy it without Iris feeling okay about it, but Iris had said she loved that he thought about moving back to his family's house. It meant that he had healed, that he saw the house for what it really was, where his mother and father were making a happy life for him, and not what Thawne had brought to the house that fateful night.

All that morning he thought about it and so he gave his dad a call.

"Dad? Iris and I need a babysitter. Do you think you and Mary Alice could sit for us one evening?"

Henry seemed happy to hear from him. "Sure, son, but it's just me. Mary Alice had to return to Washington State for awhile." There was silence. Henry said, "Not forever. I know you think I've run her away, but we get along. She'll be back, and I can watch my grandkids just fine. Remember, I raised you." Then more silence, because they both knew fate had made it impossible for his dad to really raise him.

"I mean…" Henry said quietly.

"I know, Dad. Listen…do you want me to bring you here on our date night, or do you want me to bring the kids to you?"

"Don't you think they're a little young for Flash to bring them here?"

"Yes. Iris and I decided—unless an emergency—the Navigator will have to do, especially with Bart, he's still an infant and has not manifested any powers."

He heard his father's mood change. "Love that kid. His mellowness reminds me of you when you were a baby…." Then, "You two are going to take the drive out here then?"

"Yeah, Iris wants them to view the scenery, watch the trees as they go by, identify them, know their neighborhood, know the street names, who they were named after…talk to each other along the way out here, get to know the rural stretches, know what it feels like to turn up into grandpa's driveway with the family car."

"She sounds so much like your mother, Barry, if I may say so. Remember the road games she and I invented with you—some riding right out to this very cabin. My," Henry said, "the kids have a smart mommy." Then he said, "Just let me know, any time and I'll be available, and don't go telling Joe, because he will talk you out of the drive and they'll grow up at the West house… and…and…."

"Dad, they'll be at the cabin. They'll be where you are, too."

…

It had been a few days since the date proposal. They were trying to get in the Barry and Iris groove. Instead they were stuck in Mommy and Daddy gear. It wasn't as if they didn't like being Mommy and Daddy. On the contrary, they loved it. They got a kick out of the four of them on the sofa, he and Iris and Nora watching TV and eating popcorn, or watching a Nora appropriate movie. Bart was getting more animated, but he still wanted to be in Iris's arms, or sitting in her lap, or at her breasts, sleeping or nursing. The four of them found peace and contentment huddled up together.

And too, Bart was still at Iris's nipples, had commandeered them from Barry, since day one, which Barry gave up willingly in some kind of infant son reverence, which awed Barry one night, as Iris turned to him asleep, her breasts swelled and pushing out of the top of her gown the way they would sometimes. And how he would take her in his arms as she slept, waking her up, feeling her arms go around him, he kissing her breasts, pushing his face in them, then sucking them, feeling the bumps on the areola with a delighted tongue, her nipples hard and standing to his touch, for his touch, for his mouth, for his tongue. But when they belonged to his son, when they looked wholesome and good... He covered her breasts with care with the sheet. Then he kissed her on them, feeling the heated way he used to feel. Then he kissed her cheek for an innocent balance, and turned and closed his eyes until he fell asleep.

And every morning, after Iris's treadmill run, she would have the chalkboard and the whiteboard up, the magnetic numbers and alphabets turned into words on the whiteboard, the story hour felt characters and sock puppets arranged around the reading table. He would always bend down to where she sat, teaching Nora how to read and write, and as they found out, read better, and write clearer cursive. Iris would then signal with her raised eyebrows, 'Date night? When?' Or Barry surmised that's what her raised eyebrows meant. After their quick kiss, he would say, "Yeah, tonight." And he meant it, and she wanted to go out on a date with him, but when he came home, he was curious about what Nora learned that day. And he was impressed by how Nora always seemed to understand abstract concepts, the way a baby her age shouldn't. Honestly he was secretly proud. And now sitting with Nora, genuinely impressed with the little girl's understanding of scientific concepts and ideas, she going over with Iris the simple, glammy magic marker drawn up chart Iris had created of The Scientific Method, he took over, and Iris sat feeding Bart while Barry showed Nora the elements of the Periodic Table, and assigned her homework for learning it. And Iris could tell that he was excited because he came home earlier the next day and asked, "Did you complete my assignment?" Iris laughed in amazement as Nora said, "Yes, Daddy. It's kind of harder than Mommy's but I think I got it. They both had to remind themselves that she was just three, and they were both excited about her academic progress. But by the end of the week Barry was feeling like he was neglecting his wife. He had let the week get away from them. He said that Friday morning before he left for work, "How about tomorrow night?" Iris's eyes sparkled with surprise and she answered, "Okay, yeah. I'll call my dad."

He said, "I already made arrangements with my dad."

"Are we driving to the cabin, because Barry, you know I don't want—"

"I'm not going to run them there, or my dad here, because my dad wants them at the cabin, wants them to think of it as grandpa's house."

"I understand," Iris said quietly, knowing Barry meant the kids had been at Grandpa Joe's a lot more than at the cabin, especially Nora.

"I'll use Cisco's intra-dimensional extrapolator," Barry said. "I'll set the coordinates to breach us directly to the cabin, and—"

Iris seemed a little let down. "So no sight-seeing along the way, no naming flora and fauna, no—"

So they wound up packing an early dinner while they drove to Henry's cabin. Iris showed Nora how to take pictures with her phone. "Take pictures of anything you want, Nora, and later we'll find out more about them."

"Okay, Mommy," Nora said. And her parents could see that she was discerning when she clicked a picture. "We'll have fun talking about your pictures Monday morning, during our school time," Iris said.

"Okay, Mommy," Nora said, indeed craning her neck from her car seat and clicking on Iris's phone every now and then.

Barry was driving, but he gave Iris glances every now and then. Actually, he checked his whole family periodically. At one point Nora was humming a tune and little Bart was asleep in his car seat. Then he glanced at Iris. She turned to meet his gaze, but caught him turning to keep his eyes on the road. He heard, "I'm glad the plan was to take the children to your dad's."

"Yeah," Barry said. "He's afraid of being left out of their lives."

Iris said, "No chance of that happening. Henry will only make their lives better."

Barry's eyes were on the road, but he was smiling sweetly. Then he said, "You packed enough diapers and Bart's favorite blanket and your… milk?" Iris was about to say yes, she did, and plenty of it, but Nora obviously overheard and said from the back seat, "Yes, Daddy, she pumped it. She said she did that with me too."

Barry chuckled and Iris said, "Yes, I certainly did."

They pulled off the road after an hour of straight driving. Barry went to the trunk for a blanket and the picnic basket that Iris had packed. They walked a ways to a nice grassy spot and Barry laid out the blanket. After a while they were seated and Barry passed out plates and silverware, and cloth napkins from the picnic basket. Then Barry uncovered a dish of Iris's prepared dinner of fried chicken that was really baked, mashed potatoes and asparagus. Nora sat with her plate balanced on her lap, long legs jutted out on the blanket confidently, she enjoying the outside, obviously listening to the birds, or for them—to discern the different songs, the different melodies? Iris loved watching the three year old understand and interact with nature; and also how Nora ate asparagus as if she were eating French fries and she thought of how she was looking forward to Bart talking with her and asking her questions, and eating her food, though she was also enjoying the fact that the not so little baby anymore was still loving her milk. Suddenly Nora said, "Look, Mommy, a deer, way up there." And she pointed to a grassy knoll, where the forest began. "Like in the story you wrote, Mommy, for the sick children at the hospital." Nora put down her plate of food and started taking pictures. Iris said, "Oh, look! She had spotted a rabbit. She pointed and Nora clicked. Then Barry said, "The Periodic Table…." And Nora rattled off the elements that she had learned to his smiling mouth between eating Iris's baked chicken that tasted like his favorite fried chicken. Eventually they settled down and finished their dinner quietly, as even the sun began to recede. Barry had taken Bart and was playing a fingers and toes game while Iris ate her meal without the little boy pulling on her and wanting to stay in her lap. She said, "I'm almost done," and he said, playing with Bart, watching him smile, then being amazed at how wonderful he felt, how gorgeous it was to be a father, a daddy, a husband. He said to Iris, "Take your time, baby."

When they pulled up to the cabin, both children were asleep. Barry got out of the SUV, went around to Iris's door and opened it for her. When she got out they were already connecting. She kissed him, and said, "Thanks, Babe." Then she opened the back door and unbuckled her baby, took him gingerly from out of the car seat, as Barry did the same with Nora. They each carried a grandchild for Henry in their arms, on their shoulders, Nora really looking like just a toddler in her father's arms.

Before they got up on the porch, Henry swung open the door in excited anticipation. His face was lighted up and Iris thought she wanted to cry, looking at Barry's dad, who fate had treated so unfairly, waiting for her children, but also glancing at Barry and for the first time in awhile, Barry seemed happy and content to see his dad.

About thirty minutes later, it was just the two of them and they were walking back out onto the porch. Dust was settling over the cabin. Without streetlights surrounding his dad's property, soon it would be pitch black. It had been four years since Barry had used his speed to travel with Iris from the cabin. Holding hands, they took the stairs off of the porch, into the yard. Then he picked her up, but kept walking with her as Barry Allen and not the Flash. She brought her arms around his neck. He kissed her on her mouth and as she responded he felt strangely like that Barry that had taken her away from her first wedding day, away from her first husband. He felt young, invigorated, and loved by her. She saw the beginnings of his lightning, and put her head on his shoulder and said, "Barry, I love you so much."

He said, "I love you, too, Mrs. Iris West-Allen." And then his father's yard lighted up with a brilliant moving trail of yellow lightning, speeding away from the cabin.

Barry and Iris

Barry unlocked the door and waited for Iris to walk in. She then waited for him in the foyer as he came in then closed the door. He said, "What a night." It was in the early morning, but Iris looked up smiling brightly at him, then sat on the foyer sofa and started to take off her sexy red stilettos, and as she came out of them, Barry had her leaning back, his arm going around her waist. He kissed her on her neck and she said, "Oh no, not on this little chair after ten weeks of sobriety." He laughed, but pulled her from the little chair and took her into his arms for a Barry big squeezy hug. He said, "Mmm, Iris, you still smell good." She said, "Thanks, Babe."

"… and you're mixing your metaphors. You sound like we're alcoholics. Well, sexaholics."

She said, "Well aren't we?"

"Love a holics?" he asked. Then she slid her arms around his waist, and looked up at him and said, "I like that better." They pulled apart, she picked up her strappy shoes and they took their time walking to the stairs. Their loft was dark and quiet and childless for the night. They got to the stairs, then walked up together, one step at a time, her head falling on his shoulder, her arm around his waist, his hand at the small of her back, then down around the curves of her butt. "Still, beautiful, Iris," he said.

She looked up at him, they both taking another step up. "Three pounds trimmer," she said.

He said, "I loved those five pounds. They went in all the right places."

They were up at the top of the stairwell. She pushed him a little against the wall. "You're just saying that," Iris said, "because you think you can live with five extra pounds on my ass and thighs if I couldn't get it off." He brought her closer into him, his big hands cupping her ass, then running down her thighs, the fabric of her dress giving in to his hands as well and rustling sensuously. "Iris," he said, "I assure you I could've lived with those pounds on your ass and thighs." He widened his stance and lowered his head, and she raised hers and shoeless, revealing how short she was compared to her tall husband, she went on her tip toes and his hands caressed her in the summer satin dress. She broke away from him and took him by the hand and they finished their climb up to the top landing and entered their bedroom.

It had been such a big bedroom. It was the main feature that Iris had liked about their loft. The bank of windows over the sitting bench brought in happy sunshine in the early morning and majestic moonlight and starlight at night. And she thought she would always love the expansive space and the quietness of it, until the little girl came, shaming the morning sunlight with her bright eyes, punctuating the quiet with her giggles, taking over their lazy morning stillness with her perpetual movement, to the quiet laidback little boy, his crib happily invading their bedroom, bringing along a big, good-natured overstuffed chair. She loved that childless phase of their lives, but she was loving this phase even more: to love them and to still love him.

Now she stood at her vanity. She wore her hair up that night. She wore his pearl and diamonds gift, one of his first Christmas presents to her as her husband. When Nora was born, he bought her the aquamarine gemstone ring she wore that night, the light hitting it from her right hand ring finger, she catching the gleam through the mirror. The diamond ring on her little finger beside it was Bart's gemstone, as new as Bart. She gently unlocked the beautiful hairpin as Barry watched somewhat from afar, taking off his tie. She brought it to her breasts and held it there for a few seconds, gently caressing the rings of their children's gemstones, then said, "These have got to be the prettiest pieces of jewelry you've given me. She stood there for awhile. "They mean everything to me." Then she opened up her jewelry box and placed in the hairpin, carefully removed her rings and placed them in the tiny velvet lined drawers.

He was unbuttoning his shirt. "I'm glad you like them," he said. Then she turned to him and said, "I love everything you've given me, Barry."

And in an irresistible moment, his long legs strided a few paces and he pulled her to him and hugged her again. He said, "I'm glad, but how could I not? I love everything you've given me." Then she brought his head down and pressed her lips to his, then opened her mouth as he did and they found that perfect angle where their tongues always met and played, where their lips always sought the other, hot and smooth, separated just a touch. Then they brushed together for that feeling that went to her middle, that feeling that sparked between her thighs. Their lips came apart, though still kissing. Still in his arms, she said, "I loved you tonight. You can still dance." Then she felt his hug up, the way he would whenever he liked something that she said. He just said, "Thanks. I'll always keep my rhythm with you."

She stepped away, still looking at him. Her hands went to her hair, loosening it, her fingers pulling through her curls. She was wearing a ruby red spaghetti strap summer satin evening dress that fit smoothly at her waist and flared out into her tiny silhouette of high round butt for a tease, and for extra, revealing her toned long legs, and her strong calves. Then his arms came around her and she felt his mouth at her shoulder and on her tattoo and she heard her dress's zipper unzip to the small of her back, felt the spaghetti straps slipping from her shoulders. She stepped out of her dress and heard Barry's zipper, saw him step out of his pants.

The early summer night caressed them as they got into bed. And then they found each other. Under the cool June sheets, their arms went around one another. In the quiet of their empty bedroom, their lips touched each other. One of her legs pushed through his and they remembered how their love translated into this unbelievable pleasure from their touch. He moaned out into the dark of their bedroom, "Iris." She felt his hips in the sheets rise and settle on her, making the hot desire in her open her legs, making the joy in her open her lips, the love for him open her heart, making her close him up in her embrace. And they understood why this night was the right night to make the kind of love that they were so familiar with, to have that kind of enjoyable, pleasurable sex again that they had only shared with each other; that which made them come to feel happy about life.

She began to feel his ride, his thrusts deep and possessive from the start. It was as if he had been waiting for her to heal, but also waiting to reclaim that special girl in her that was his girl and only his girl. She brought her arms around him. He was the man and only this man who could stay in bed with her all day on their Sundays before the toddler and the baby came. The rhythm in her hips met his, letting him know that there were more Sunday afternoons like those, that mommy and daddy were still Barry and Iris, and would be until Nora needed her parents to babysit her children, or Bart asked his parents if he could invite this pretty, special girl he met in college to dinner. They would say yes to Nora and yes to Bart while still flirting, still kissing, still holding hands, Barry's mouth still on her neck, still kissing her tattoo while Iris says yes to invitations over the phone, and whether she fought off five pounds, or more, or not, he would still love holding her and hugging her up, making him happy or contented or hard; throughout their years.

She moved her hips under him, her legs, her arms wrapped around him as if she was not going to let him go, his arms around her, his face in her breasts, good, wholesome, sexy, made to inhale her fragrance as he was doing, to kiss as he was doing, to gently lick her breasts, her nipples, to gently suck them and to know that no one would ever taste the way she did for him.

That night they sensed another chapter in their story, new but oh so familiar. His hands on her naked ass new, but familiar, seemingly sending charges of his electricity through her, but it was Barry Allen's love, had always been, even with the Flash, it came through Barry.

Now she moaned to his hands all over her, his mouth kissing her wherever his head fell and she kissing him back, finding her most familiar spot, his shoulder to hide in, from which to love him, to glory in his open and vulnerable and powerful and tantalizing sex with him with their unmistakable love for each other that always felt that good but sexy sex when they were in bed, when he was in her, when she cried for the pleasure of his sweet invasions, over and over again, almost every night, for their first four years of marriage. Then Barry placed his hand palm open on the head board, and wrapped the other arm around her waist, pulled her to him, their hips with the rhythm of their dance in bed, smooth, in sync, deep, Barry taking his time, going in and out of Iris, gliding to those familiar places which always seemed new, and they always succumbed. "Baby," he whispered, to Iris's "I love you, Barry. I love you. I love you." And as sturdy as their bed was, the mattress moved in rhythm with the two giving and taking all of their love. Her arms hugged him tighter. She started to cry. "Oh, Barry," she said, and felt his galloping thrusts, his hips grinding them deeper into a love that he would only share with her; Could only share with her. She whispered, "Barry, let me live forever in your love," and then he knew she was about to come, he felt her spasmodic vaginal walls, wet and clutching his sensual hardness, his erect and alive penis, possessing him as he possessed her. She gave in. Her eyelashes fluttered, her lips parted and she came, feeling that she would never know anything as good, as lovely, as wonderful as Barry's hardness, his penis in her, and making her come again, because she felt his arms tightened and felt him pour his love into her, felt the hot wetness of his seed ejaculated in the condom as well. They had come and come again and talked themselves down, kissing, making acclamations of love, holding each other, then just touches against the mouth, Then her stillness, then his. Her legs were still wrapped around him, but slowly they came away from his waist. He pulled out of her slowly, then gingerly removed the condom. He tied it at the top as he always did, and placed it in the little trash basket under the nightstand.

Then he waited for her to move into his space again. The late June night still favored them with a mild breeze that floated in their open windows above Central City. He had always felt like a king in their loft from up high living with the only woman that he ever really wanted. He knew how lucky he was. The feeling that he lived with for four years was taken away from his father. As Barry held Iris, thoughts of Henry Allen entered into his head. Why had Mary Alice left, and was she really coming back? He had Iris and so he knew what his father had lost when his mother was murdered. He remembered his father feeling this way. He remembered his father being happy, living in a space of contentment and crinkled–eyed smiles. Barry held Iris, and fighting tears, he said, "If only my father could get back some of what he had." And Iris seemed to understand what he meant. In a way, Henry had been in his own coma at Iron Heights. She said, "Babe, Mary Alice is coming back. She will come back. And he will be happy." Then she squeezed him, because she knew he meant as happy as they were. Barry said quietly, "Thanks for being patient with me. I've wanted you for weeks now, but…"

She shushed him. "But life intervenes."

He didn't say anything else about it, he just held her in his arms, and that was the thing, she always made him feel so comfortable about life. It made him relax and let his troubles go. After a while, he began to fall asleep. He drifted off, and still holding Iris, he said, "Thank you, Iris… for coming back… To me…Thank you… Thank you…Thank you…."

…

Hours passed. The light colors of the early summer dawn flooded their bedroom. Barry was turned toward the window taking in the sky in happy nostalgia, knowing that he had been thinking that his children needed grass underfoot, a backyard with a playscape and swings, a fence, maybe even a dog. Was he saying farewell to his breathtaking high in the sky? It felt like it to him. He felt Iris's arm snake around his waist, felt her head snuggle up against his back. He heard, "Good morning." He turned around slowly and they just watched each other for a while, his eyes green, the amber in them promising, his hair tousled; her eyes dark and full of eager reciprocity; her curls loose, wavy, falling to her shoulders. Getting caught in their moments they finally realized were a delicious feature in their intimacies, not a bug. She said, "I hope Bart slept well. He usually does, but…."

"This is the first night without you," Barry said. "But he's such a good baby."

Iris's mouth painted a gorgeous smile. "Yes, he is. And I realized that last night when he took to Henry's arms so quickly. My boy," Iris said, extending her gorgeous smile, "making Henry happy."

Barry said, "Yeah. Did you see the crib, the high chair, the kid's table and chairs? Looks like he spent a grand just to babysit," and they both chuckled to the truth of that.

"I loved the picture books, especially the one about the life of a doctor," Iris said.

"Yeah, I saw that," Barry said. "I can see Nora the Second asking him to read the book again so that she can learn the words."

"Nora the Second?" Iris asked.

Barry chuckled again and the sound filled Iris with unbelievable contentment. He said, "That's what he calls her, Nora the Second. I don't know if he realizes it, but that's his personal connection to her grandmother and always will be, even as he loves Mary Alice."

Iris said, "When I was getting the kids comfortable and situated on the sofa, you two were not talking about a picture book."

Barry said, "He's the emergency room doctor in his little town, but part time."

"Oh, Barry, I'm so glad," Iris said, determined not to break down and cry every time she thinks about Henry Allen. That would only defeat the purpose of him moving on to live the rest of his life the way he wanted it. And then she realized that even if Mary Alice didn't come back, if that's what he wanted, then that's what she wanted too. Barry seemed to understand the silence. He said, "If he's happy, I'm happy for him, however he reconfigures his life."

The morning was coming through their bedroom windows. They pulled the covers up some, over their naked bodies. It was a Sunday morning, but they couldn't stay in bed all day. They looked at each other. Slow smiles appeared on their lips. She felt his hand rubbing her flat belly under the sheets. To the gleam in his eye, she asked, "One more time?"

He got on top of her, his legs becoming entangled with hers in the sheets from the start. She brought her hand to his cheek as he kissed her. Then they opened their eyes and stared at a reflection of their happiness as he said, "One more time."

Father and Son

Later during the week, Barry took Bart to his old house. Instead of sage, he walked through the house with Bart Allen, who was alert, his eyes on fixtures and lighting and the evening shadows that seemed to play throughout the house as Barry walked through it, anointing it with the baby's presence. First he stopped in the living room.

"This is where Nora Allen the First greeted me every day. She always had something waiting for me—grilled cheese sandwich and tomato soup, or cookies and milk. Then I had to do my homework while she cooked dinner and we both waited for my dad, your grandpa."

He walked to the kitchen. "Here's where we had our breakfast. It's kind of small, but we didn't care because we didn't spend too much time in here; Dad had his practice and I had school. Mom made us eat in the dining room for dinner, and that was the best meal of the day. Let me show you, my little guy." And he took Bart to the dining room. There was an expansive bay window that kept it sunny into the evenings. "Here's where I first invited your mother to eat with us." And he walked in the middle of the empty dining room, holding Bart, rubbing his back. "Her chair was right here. And I had one chance to show her that I deserved her, that I had manners, that my mom had taught me the way your mom is teaching Nora the Second, and will teach you. I pulled out her chair."

Bart smiled, not knowing what his father was saying, but Barry's voice was so soothing and comforting that the baby started jumping in his arms, then reaching for his father's face. Barry took his hand and his son grabbed onto one of Barry's fingers. Bart was sitting up in Barry's arms, intently looking into his face, smiling. Now he was grabbing for the bottle in Barry's other hand. "You want mommy's milk? Here you go." And Barry stopped to give Bart the nipple of the bottle. His son took Iris's milk from the bottle while Barry secured him closer to him and stopped to think about how in one year, his fifth grade could be filled with such joy and happiness as it was, having Iris West as a friend, and as a regular at his house.

He walked up the stairs slowly, then entered his old room, when he was just a boy, when he could hear his own father talking to his mother, sometimes animated, sometimes in disagreements and their most stubborn positions of 'agree to disagree.' They never disagreed about his upbringing. "I was as lucky as you," Barry told his son. "I had a great mom." He turned away from his son and said, "She was everything. She made a home for me and my dad." Then he laughed. "Your mom learned how to make your grandma's pot roast dinner." Then he hugged his little boy and whispered, "Actually your mom makes it better. Her seasonings are better."

Bart still took Iris's milk from the bottle. Barry pointed to the window, where just under it his desk used to sit. "I did my homework right there, my little guy. I never thought about much but school work until your mom bumped into me at school."

His son seemed to be full of Iris's milk. He gently removed the nipple from his mouth as he laid his head on Barry's chest while holding on to his shirt. Barry took the bottle and put it back in the diaper bag slung over his shoulder. His phone rang and he casually retrieved it, he in no hurry, rocking Bart in his arms some, and really not even realizing it. He swiped up and put the phone to his ear. "Hey, Iris."

There were a couple of seconds of silence, but the two of them hadn't felt this comfortable with each other in a while. "Iris said, "How's the house looking?"

"The same."

"Smaller?" Iris said.

"Yep, you know, the boy is over six feet tall. But it's clean. People have been taking care of it."

Iris said, "It's a wonderful house. I'm so glad, Barry." There was quiet again, but a peaceful quiet. "I'm coming home, babe."

Then Iris said, "The four of us can go back and see it as a family—if you really want to."

"Can I think about it?" Barry asked, his eyes on his son.

"Of course." Then she said, "I want my baby."

He said, "Didn't I say I'm coming home?"

She chuckled a little and said, "You know I mean Bart."

He looked around his old house one last time, and hugged up his sleeping son and said, "Him too."

Then Barry put away his phone and put away any notion of living in his old house. He would just be proving a point that his house was good and clean and free of bad spirits, and that was already true. But he lived in a world that made him the Flash, made his daughter come into the world with ringlets of purple and yellow lightning from his speed force, but it also gave her Iris's beauty, his brains, Iris's fair and poetic spirit, his long legs—and his speed. He couldn't ask her to grow up in the house where she was namesake of a woman who was killed. They would stay in their big and happy loft, until they found their own house to fill up with their own memories.

He pulled Bart away from his shoulder to look into his eyes. He said, "You have my eyes and Iris's irresistible charm. Someone will love you with all their heart." Then he kissed his son's hand and in a second he saw Bart's lightning beginning to manifest, around his shoulders in sparks of purple and yellow, then around his head, like a purple and yellow halo, then throughout his body. Barry held on to his son, but as he watched Bart, the little boy laughed in awe, as if he knew, as if he summoned it, the delicate lights playing around him, as if he wanted to show his father what he was made of. Barry's face lighted up with his pride and by Bart's lightning. He took out his phone in Flash time contributing streaks of yellow lightning in the room himself and recorded a few seconds of Bart's arms jumping as if conducting a speed force song, making purple and yellow ringlets, Bart being his father's son. When his lightning stopped, Barry stopped recording, then hit rewind, then he slowed it down and said, "Beautiful." Then he hit 'Send to Iris.' He sat down on the bench under the dining room bay window, his son in his lap, turned out towards the world.

He was three months old. It was the month for sitting up and finding hands and toes, and even though most babies needed help with these milestones, Bart sat up on his father's lap without help, looked up at Barry with his big disarming smile and waited to play the game, Fingers and Toes. From day one, it was his father's game with him. Barry looked down on the chestnut hued curly top. "Where are they?" Barry asked Bart. "Fingers," because without fingers, how could he write his formulas, or his hypotheses or his love letters to that one girl that he would love his whole life? And he beat Bart to his own hands, soft, grasping but stronger than just that week before. He knew his son was growing. His heart swelled with happiness, with pride, with curiosity about what Bartholomew Henry Allen the Second will give to this world. Something good, Barry knew. "Toes," Barry said quickly and Bart understood the game but Barry got to Bart's toes before Bart did, enclosing the little boy's feet in the palms of his gentle big hands. "Toes!" Barry said again, and this time he saw the beginnings of Bart's lightning, turning into recognizable purple and yellow streaks intertwining but shooting off from his body. He was making it a contest. Barry laughed just as his phone rang. It was Iris. Nora was saying "Yayy!" and clapping in the background. She said, "Mommy, you were right. The purple is you!"

Iris said, "Face time me, Barry." She laughed. "Let me see it. My beautiful baby. My beautiful Bart. His beautiful lightning, My beautiful speedster. Just like his father."