One Month Later

The tulips that lined the sidewalk leading up to Dr. Morgan's practice had finally bloomed—one of the first signs that Spring was almost in full force. There was still a rigid nippiness in the air, but soon that, too, would be edged out by warm weather and blue skies. After the way Iris's life had unfolded over the Winter, she really needed Spring and everything it signified.

A period of rebirth, a time to become new again.

Her impending divorce to Scott Evans was weighing on her heavily. She'd finally found a somewhat affordable lawyer, but she was still going to have to borrow money from her father to pay for him. She would never get back the five years she wasted with him. And most importantly, Iris was also still nursing the very, deep, very raw wound from, once again, having to distance herself from Barry.
When she came home nearly a month ago, she hadn't known what her interactions with Barry would be like once she came face to face with him, but confessing her love for him had not been the plan. Nor had she intended to get wrapped up in their very-short lived extramarital affair. Now that she'd done both, everything was such a mess, and she had neither a friend or a lover.

Iris hadn't even seen Barry since she left him in her hotel room—not for lack of him trying, but each day it was becoming easier to ignore his texts and calls.

That didn't mean that it hurt any less.

It pained her to inflict even more pain on Barry, and she knew that's what she was doing it every time she ignored him, every time she ignored his heartfelt apologies, that she knew he meant with every fiber of his being. None of it eased her pain, and she but she couldn't spend one more night allowing her gut-wrenching cries to soak her pillow. She couldn't spend one more night throwing up in a bin on the side of her bed, because her body rejected whatever she put in it. And she couldn't spend another night being somehow both numb, and in immense physical pain, at the same time.

Those reactions were too extreme for a man that was not hers, and for something so trivial as heartbreak. No one had been maimed or murdered. And Iris could find love again one day. Couldn't she?

But first, she had to finally heal from all of her past trauma. And this was step one.

Iris took in a deep breath, then pushed open the crystal clear glass doors, and walked inside of the large brick building. There were a few people seated in the lobby, but overall, there was a tranquil peace in the air.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad, she thought as she walked over to the receptionist's desk. A young brunette looked up from her computer and smiled. "Yes?"

"Hi, I'm Iris West. I'm Dr. Morgan's "1 o'clock."

A couple of computer clicks later, the woman nodded. "Great. You're right on time."

Iris walked into Dr. Morgan's office. The slightly older woman flashed her a warm smile, stood and extended a hand to her. "Iris," she said warmly, "I'm so glad you decided to move forward with our sessions. I wasn't sure if you would at first."

"Well, the consultation went better than I thought. And of the three other practices I checked around, I felt the least anxious here. Iris took a seat across from the doctor, and sat her purse on the floor.

"I am so glad to hear that," Dr. Morgan said, taking her own seat. "You should feel comfortable with your therapist. It's the only way you'll be able to open up."

Comfortable was a stretch. "Yeah."

"So, what I like to do during my patient's first official sessions, is just allow them to talk about whatever is on their mind. It doesn't even have to be related to your problem. We can talk about the weather, or perhaps your favorite singer. Your childhood. Anything at all."

"Okay."

"So, Iris, what would you like to talk about today?"

Iris tilted her head and pondered on her options. There were so many places she could start. So many things that had gone unsaid over the years A moment later, Iris answered, bluntly: "My husband, Scott. Soon to be ex-husband."

Dr. Morgan looked surprised.

"Better to start at the easier side of things, " Iris offered shrugging, which said a lot considering absolutely nothing about her relationship with Scott had been easy. But at least she was at the end of it, no matter how he was trying to drag this out. When it came to Barry, on the other hand—well.

"Okay," Dr. Morgan said cheerfully. "Well, let's talk about your husband."

"…and he used to tell me I was the best at my level at the paper then, in the same breath, say that my writing was superfluous." Iris was semi-reclined in Dr. Morgan's deep, brown Lazy-boy, her eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Dr. Morgan nodded and scribbled something down into her binder. Looking back up over to Iris, she asked, "And how did that make you feel?"

"Well, I was confused. I mean, I might have nearly-dozed my way through Journalism school, but I knew those statements were at odds. No good writer has ever been described as superfluous. It wasn't even an instance of him saying that I was the "best" because my colleagues didn't measure up. Every person at that paper worked their asses off."

"So what you're saying is that Scott was sending you mixed signals?"

"Yes. Wait, well," Iris said, teetering on the right words, "No, maybe I should say he'd build me up, and then tear me down."

"Interesting. 'Tear you down' implies malice," said the doctor, crossing her left leg over her right. "Do you think he was trying to hurt you?"

"I know he was. Now."

"Why do you think?"

"That I still don't know. In the beginning, he seemed genuinely interested in helping me hone my 'raw talent' as he put it. And I was like a sponge—eager to soak up as much from him as I could. That's how we initially bonded."

"Would it be accurate to say that you were enamored by him?"

"I guess. I mean, he was this prolific writer and editor, who'd written for some of the most prestigious publications in the world. And he was only 28—Black, on top of that. And you know, the opportunities aren't as plentiful for us.

Clearly, he was doing something right.

By the time we were married, I was at a point where I had him reading over every line of copy I wrote. I longed for his approval, and when I didn't get it, I would feel inadequate. That was before he made me quit my job. Then—"

"Wait, you almost sailed past an important aspect, there."

"Pardon?"

"You said he made you quit your job."

"Oh, well he didn't pull me away from my desk or anything. But he created an environment where I no longer felt comfortable because he didn't like who I was writing about."

"Care to elaborate?"

Iris sat up slowly. "Well, it's kind of a long story," she said, making eye contact with her therapist for the first time since she'd arrived.

Dr. Morgan closed her binder and rested it across her lap. "I have nothing but time. For the next 72 minutes that is," she said with a smile.

Good thing I booked a double session then, Iris thought.

Iris was wearing a long, midnight blue evening gown. It billowed as she walked, and had a deep split over her left leg. Her long, Black wavy hair was side swept over her left shoulder, held in place by a diamond-encrusted comb — a wedding gift from Scott's mother, that she'd finally found some use for. Her makeup had been applied with a surgeon's precision, and she didn't have a single hair or thread out of place.

What was out of place, however, were the dozens and dozens of note cards, files, and other odds and ends that surrounded her at her kitchen counter, which she needed to get cleaned up and put away as soon as possible. Scott would absolutely freak if he knew that her mind wasn't solely on making him look good at the Celebration banquet for their boss, John McCormick, the current editor in chief of the Keystone Times, tonight. Mr. McCormick was leaving, and Scott was a sure-in to succeed him, but the impression he made tonight would surely influence the Paper's decision.

This would be Iris's second time attending a work event with Scott, but the first as his wife. And he'd made it very clear that this was an opportunity for him to show her off while he rubbed elbows with people more powerful than him to hopefully, extend his reach.

But if she was going to be spending the next four hours schmoozing it up for her husband, she was going to reap some of the benefits. The current Crime Editor was gearing up to move cross country, which means that position would soon be opened up as well. This is why she'd made a point to get dressed early so that she could have a couple of extra hours to get her own talking points straight—two birds, one stone. She hadn't yet told Scott, but so far, he had been so incredibly supportive of her endeavors as a writer. And he was always encouraging her to take more risks, and initiative. And that's exactly what she was going to do tonight.

When Iris heard a knock at the door, she sighed. Scott was out taking care of some last minute obligations before the banquet. His work was never done. He probably wouldn't show up until about an hour before they had to leave. She rolled her eyes. Men had the unfair luxury of throwing on a tux in five minutes and looking like a million bucks.

Who could that possibly be?

"Who is it?" She asked, clearly irritated. She had work to do.

When the voice on the other side answered, her face softened. She unlocked the door and pulled it open. There stood Barry Allen, her best friend of 17 years. He was wearing black jeans, and a blue and grey checkered shirt, but also a look of shock, as his eyes roamed up and down her body.

"You okay, Barry?"

He shook his head. "Ye-yeah, you just look really beautiful."

"Oh, yeah. Thanks." She laughed. "I forgot for a second that I was all dolled up for this banquet tonight."

"You also obviously forgot about Thursday being our night to hang out."

"Oh right," she said, frowning. Thursdays were usually short work days for her, and really, really long days for Scott. Not that most of his days weren't long. But he often didn't make it in until at least 10 pm on Thursdays, which made it the perfect day to squeeze in time with Barry She felt awful for forgetting about him, but Scott had been on her so hard about this banquet. "I'm sorry, I can't tonight."

"Well, obviously." His face fell. "Well, I'll head home."

"No! Barry, the banquet isn't for about three hours. And you know you're always welcome in my Home," she said, turning back towards her counter. He entered in behind her, closed the door and walked over to her kitchen. She continued, "It's only when it becomes Scott's home that it's a problem."

Barry leaned over the counter. "He doesn't like me too much does he?"

"No," she said, waving away his concern. "Scott... is just very particular about people being here when he's not. And I know you're Speedy Gonzalez and all, but we've had a couple of close calls lately. And tonight is a very important event for our job."

"Close calls." Barry laughed, arms folded. "Were you always this dramatic?"

Iris rolled her eyes.

Barry smiled, then walked over to her fridge and opened the door.

Iris turned, hand perched on her hip"Well, help yourself why don't you?".

"Thanks. Oooh, you have the new Mountain Dews. I love these."

"Wait. Those are Scott's."

"So say you drank it," He shrugged, popping the metal lid off of the soda.

"Barry Allen, I haven't drunk soda since I was young enough to not have to worry about how it'd affect my weight."

He sighed. "Fine," he said, setting it back in place.

Iris glared at him. "Barry, if you don't go ahead and drink the soda that you already opened..."

He smiled, and brought the can to his mouth, glugging the entire thing in one go. Iris couldn't help but laugh. It reminded her of when they were teenagers. Hell, college graduates. Okay, literally one year ago before she got married when they had no boundaries with each other. She'd be lying if she said she didn't miss those times. They had been making the very best of things, but she doesn't think that either had been prepared for how her marriage would affect their friendship.

He chuckled. "Thanks." The next moment, he was seated in front of her, with a plate of washed strawberries, and a can of Reddi Whip. The use of his speed sent half of her research flying.

"Barry!"

"What, you don't eat whipped cream either?" He mumbled mouth full, completely oblivious to the mess he'd made.

She shook her head from side to side. "Yeah. But it's mainly when me and Scott—" She stopped abruptly, remembering she was talking to Barry, and not one of her girlfriends.

"Oh, God. I lost my appetite," he said with a scowl. Slowly, he pushed away his snack.

Iris laughed. "If it makes you feel better, that's a brand new can."

"And yet, I still have the mental images."

"Now who's being dramatic?"

"I'll own that. And I know we're best friends, but please, spare me to the intimate details about your bedroom activities."

"You mean like you spared me the intimate details of your first, second, AND third time with Becky Cooper when you went away to college?"

"That's not the same thing. I only wanted to know if I was doing things right," he said, a noticeable shade of pink, frosting his cheeks.

"Yeah, well I wanted to barf. Like I always said, Becky wasn't the right girl for you," she spit out, derision in her tone.

"Yet, you never would tell me who was," he said, eyeing her in a way that made her uncomfortable. Eyeing her in a way that made her heart flutter, uncomfortably in her chest.

"Maybe you just haven't met her yet," she offered.

He chuckled softly to himself, and fiddled with his fingers like he had more he wanted to say. Iris still didn't know how to define these weird moments between them when both seemed to have so many unspoken words for each other. But they'd been becoming more and more frequent since she'd gotten married.

Anyway," he said a beat later, "if you have a banquet to go to soon, why are you sitting here, working?"

"Because if I have to spend four hours with these high brow snobs to make Scott look good I'm going to advance my own career as well," she said, grateful for the subject change.

"Advance? How?"

"I'm going to apply for the new Crime Editor position, and I need to have a clear pitch in mind while we're mingling."

"That's really great, Iris. I know you can do it. You're an amazing writer."

"Thank you, Barry," she said, hand to heart. "I might not have as much experience as some of the other applicants, but I just know that I can crush that job if I get the chance. It's a long shot, but I'm going to go for it."

"Anything I can help you with? Or The Flash?"

"Umm. Well."

Iris didn't want to tell Barry that Scott, the man she loved and was married to was fiercely jealous of him. Well, of The Flash. Since Scott didn't know who The Flash really was, she at first thought that maybe he just held a healthy amount of skepticism about a powerful masked man 'He might be good now, but what's going to stop him from going on a power trip one day?' Scott, would always say. And he had a point. But when Iris realized that his feelings of contempt for the Flash only arose after she'd write a glowing report about him and the amazing things he'd done for Central City, she realized it was more than that.

"Well…"

"I just—I really appreciate your help, but I feel like I'm not working hard for the story if I don't do it myself," she finally said, hoping that he'd accept that answer without too much push back. She didn't want to drive a wedge between them. "I almost feel like our friendship makes all of these exclusives a bit unethical."

"You're writing the words, structuring the article. I'm just the source. What's unethical about that?"

"Nothing...it's just that. Well, you can help me next time, Barry," she said with a smile. "I still have the notes from the last big meta situation from Central City to fall back on if I absolutely have to."

"Okay," he said slowly. "Well then. That leaves us about 2 hours until Scott gets home. What do you wanna do until then?"

"Wow. You look beautiful," Scott said, upon entering their home. He sat his briefcase on the couch and walked over to where Iris was seated in her kitchen, which she and Barry had gotten cleaned up just by the skin of their teeth.

Iris smiled and kissed Scott on the cheek. When he pivoted so that his mouth was on the receiving end of her lips, she pulled away. "Babe, I did not spend two hours doing my makeup for you to ruin it before the banquet."

"Good point.," he said, giving her another once over. "I'll mess it up afterward," he said, trailing a hand down her backside.

She blushed. "Oh, I bet you will."

"So, you ready to make me look good tonight?"

"Of course," she said smiling.

"Good."

"I also have something to tell you about this idea—"

"Can you tell me later?' He asked, cutting her off, "I really need to jump into the shower. The banquet starts in an hour."

Man privilege. "Sure."

Iris was relieved by the time that dinner was over. She'd spent the last two hours hearing dozens of Mr. McCormick's former employees, professors, and even some of his family, gush over what an extraordinary man he was and how the Keystone Times wouldn't be the same without him.

It was on par for these kind of events, and honestly, Mr. McCormick deserved every bit of the praise, but she was beyond ready to go home.

Now, though it was time for some face-to-face mingling. At least, It would allow her to stretch her legs, and also finally get her chance to talk herself up to Mr. McCormick and the other higher ups at the paper. Even though he was leaving the paper, he would still hold great influence. And if she could just make the right impression on him, it could her land that editor position.

Walking arm and arm with Scott, Iris approached a group of men surrounding Mr. McCormick. He smiled when he saw her.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," he said, breaking away. In front of Iris, he smiled again. "Thank you for coming, Iris, Scott. You look wonderful."

"You're wel—"

"Oh you are VERY welcome," Scott said, talking over Iris. "You've impacted all of our lives in ways we'll never be able to repay. The paper will be at a disadvantage without you."

"Nonsense," said the older man. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "I can't make any promises, but I'm going to put in a good word for you to take over as the Editor-In-Chief at the Paper."

Scott smiled widely. "Really sir?"

"Like I said, no promises. I'm not the only person making the decision, but I'm almost certain that the promotion is yours. You did an amazing job as Picture News' EIC. We have the twice the reach they do, but I believe you have it in you to take the Keystone Times to the next level."

"Oh, thank you, sir. That means everything to me."

"You just make sure you and your beautiful wife," he continued, looking over to Iris, "put your best feet forwards tonight. Lots of important people in the room."

"Don't I know it, sir. Thanks again." Scott extended his hand, which Mr. McCormick eagerly accepted.

"And for you, Iris. I assume you're aiming for the Crime editor position now that Nancy is leaving."

"Well. I'm going to try." She smiled bashfully. Iris hadn't formally told anyone, other than Barry, about her plans. The fact that Mr. McCormick was receptive of the idea gave her a boost of confidence.

"Oh, don't be modest. You're a talented writer—albeit a little green— but you definitely have the chops for the job. I won't lie to you though, you're going to need a big story in order to land it. But thankfully, applications won't open up for a few months so you have more than enough time to come up with something. Anything new? Exciting?"

"Actually, I do have something—an expose on The Malady Crime family."

"Oh," he said, face dropping ever so slightly.

"Do you think I need something more?"

Scott cleared his throat and slid his arm back around Iris's waist. "Iris, let's not bother Mr. McCormick any further. This is his send-off, after all."

She eyed Scott curiously but kept her face leveled. Turning back to her former boss, smiling, she said, "Oh, right."

Mr. McCormick laughed. "Oh, I don't mind Scott. Iris is one of my favorite employees. Well, soon-to-be-former employees.

"Thank you, sir," she said, smiling brightly. "I really appreciate that."

"Now," he continued, "there's nothing wrong with the Malady Crime Family. But we've had a ton of coverage of them over the years. Only so many times they can put a hit out on someone then kill all the witnesses so the judge has declare a mistrial. For other cities, who haven't covered them, they're a goldmine. But for us? They're stale."

"Of course," she said quickly. "I guess I'll have to go back to the drawing board."

"I'm sure you'll find something. You've only been in Keystone for a year. It takes time to get a feel of the city, and build up your sources as you did in Central City. Like, your approach to your Flash coverage is the archetype for a young journalist going out and making contact with a credible source. I refer the students I mentor to it."

"Really? I'm honored," Iris said, looking smugly between Scott and Mr. McCormick."

"Really. It was your initial reporting that brought him to you, right?"

"Yes. He, um, sought me out after he found my blog about him."

"There are veteran writers who can't say they've achieved that. Take your husband for example," he said laughing.

"Well, thank you, sir." Iris laughed, and she could feel the tension in Scott's grip increase. She looked over to him, and he shot her a barely concealed look of contempt, which caught her off guard.

"More than welcome. By the way, tell me: what's it like being up close and personal with him? Keystone has a few good metas, but not anyone one close to Flash's level of notoriety."

Iris laughed. Barry would absolutely love to hear that. "I'll have to let him know that he's so popular."

"Tell me, what's he like?"

"Well, he's very kind, heroic, selfless. Um, he always puts others before himself. He has a wicked sense of humor. He's literally one of the smartest men I've ever met in my life, and I've met some world class—"

Scott cleared his throat. "Excuse her," Scott said, interjecting, "She's a bit of a Flash fan girl sometimes, as you can see."

Iris scrunched up her face in protest, forgetting for a moment to keep up her doting wife charade.

The older man laughed, heartily. "Aren't they all? Heck, I'm almost in love with him myself."

"Yeah, but this one is extreme," Scott pushed on. "Between me and you, I'm just lucky The Flash is a superhero, and not a pop star because I know just who his first groupie would be."

"Scott," she said softly, but her voice was drowned out by the laughter of a group of nearby writers and editors who she hadn't even known was listening nearby.

Suddenly, her face burned hot with embarrassment. "Excuse me, Mr. McCormick, " she said, as she broke away from her husband. "I need to use the lady's room."

"Of course, Iris," Mr. McCormick said, attempting to stifle his laughter.

The further she walked away from the group, the louder the group of men chuckled. She brought a hand to her face, quickening her pace towards the bathroom before her body betrayed her, and this room full of rich assholes saw her crying in her evening gown...

It was two hours later when Iris walked into her father's house, kicked off of her shoes, and flopped onto the couch.

"Iris that you?"

"Yeah, it's me, Cecile."

A moment later, her stepmom emerged from upstairs. She smiled. Living back at home with her, her father and her little brother were not how she envisioned her life at 31, but somehow, Cecile had been making transition period especially pleasant.

Even at 54, Cecile had a youthful quality about her that made her easy to talk to—almost like a slightly maternal girlfriend. "So how did it go?" Cecile asked as she descended the stairs dressed in grey sweats and a burgundy tank top. When she was at the couch, she took a seat next to Iris.

"It was different, that's for sure. I've never told anyone, in detail, about the things I endured with Scott. It was freeing in a sense, but also, it made me face things I had been trying to ignore. I'm still trying to process how I let this happen. How I missed the signs. How I lost myself so much."

"Aww honey, I'm no therapist, but I'm sure Dr. Morgan would tell you not to blame yourself."

"That's exactly what she said."

Cecile nodded. "Anyone—man, woman,—can get taken advantage of. Some men are master manipulators. Trust me, I went through a few of them before I met your father. Now, I feel like the absolute luckiest, most loved woman in the world."

"Well, my dad's really lucky too. As am I. You're a wonderful wife and stepmother."

The other woman smiled.

"Anyway, I hope that I'm able to find some kind of peace from these sessions. I've been living this other life for so long. I realized I didn't know who I was anymore."

"You just take one day at a time, Iris. Healing comes in stages."

"I know, I just want to be out of you and daddy's hair as soon as possible."

Cecile fervently shook her head. "What did Joe and I tell you?"

Iris playfully rolled her eyes. "Cecile."

"Iris," she said, narrowing her gaze.

"That I could stay here as long as I wanted."

"And we meant it. You know how much I love you. Your dad's not happy with the reason you're here, but he's been beaming since you've been back. And J2—well, you're the coolest woman ever to him now. And I'll admit that stings just a tad, but I'll get over it."

Iris laughed. "You know 'mommy' will always come first. He just likes that I bring him cookies from Jitters and lets him play games on my phone."

Cecile cocked a brow. "Oh do you?"

"Hmm?! Did I say that out loud?"

"Iris Ann West, are you the reason that child has been nearly jumping all over the ceiling lately?"

Iris grimaced. "I think so."

Cecile glared at Iris, a firm hand on her hip.

"I'm sorry!"

"Yeah, well, the next time you fill my child up with sweets, you're going to be the one to put him down for bed."

"Okay, deal."

"Speaking of Jitters, how's that going?"

Iris sighed. "Jumping back into the swing of things has been ridiculously easy. It's almost like I never left."

"Well, that's good, right?"

"I guess. I just, being a barista feels like a regression."

"Iris—"

"And I know all honest work is honorable. I just."

"You miss writing."

She nodded. "But the journalism world is 'this' big. And Scott, he used to run Picture news. My former colleagues still respect him. If I go back to work there, they're going to know we're divorcing. And people will say they won't, but definitely will, pick sides. And he's a powerful man. He wins by default."

"Not if they knew the truth about him."

"It would be my word against his. And I just, I can't deal with people whispering about me, while the divorce proceedings are still ongoing. Scott has still been skirting getting served."

"How is that even possible?" Cecile asked in disbelief.

"Apparently, he's been out of town on business—how convenient."

"Oh, honey. He'll slip up eventually."

"Let's hope."

"And Picture News isn't the only newspaper in the city, much less the world. Besides, you can start your own paper."

Iris laughed. "Puh-lease."

"Well, how about going back to your blog? You could get your feet wet, while you're figuring things out."

"You mean my blog, filled with posts and sightings about The Flash?" Iris scoffed and quickly rolled her eyes.

She could tell by the look on Cecile's face that her reaction was a little extreme, but so be it. She was still fostering a ton of anger for Barry, even though she had no right to.

That's how emotions worked—they weren't rational, or logical. They didn't care about right or wrong.

Her emotions were the reason she could curse his name underneath her breath but still want nothing more than to call him up and talk to him for hours on end. She missed the warmth in his voice and the sincerity in his tone. She also missed the way he kissed her. She missed the way his hands roamed over her body. But most importantly, she missed the way he loved her.

There's wasn't a single person in the world who cared for her the way Barry Allen did. There wasn't a single person who she cared about like Barry Allen. The hole in her heart that formed when she distanced herself for the better part of four years had proved that. The way her heart had started to blossom like a flower in spring, after being back around him, touching him, kissing him, solidified that fact.

Yet, none of that mattered now. Everything was a mess.

"You two are still on the rocks, huh?"

"When are we not? That seems to be our new normal."

"Yeah, but it doesn't have to stay that way. You two have too much history to throw it away over…well, whatever happened."

Iris let out a slow, deep breath, then slid into the couch. She didn't mean to open up this can of worms.

"Well, do you know how he's doing, at least?" Cecile asked. "He's been so hard to get a hold of since the trip last month."

Iris shrugged. "You know about as much as I do."

"Damn it!" Barry growled, as his beaker hit the floor, shattering into a 1000 pieces. His reflexes had been off every since Iris left him alone in her hotel room. He'd been so close to having the one thing he wanted more than anything be realized, and he'd ruined it all in the span of five days.

And now, every iota of stress pulsing through his veins had been pooling into his appendages, making his hands and legs shake uncontrollably. He'd been making more and more mistakes out in the field as a CSI and as The Flash then eh did when he first started both respective jobs.

He sighed, and tore off his gloves, then grabbed his broom from the corner. At this rate, he was going to have to replace his entire lab's worth of materials.

*Knock, knock*

Barry sighed before he even looked up. It was 9 pm, and everyone else at the RVDP had mostly gone home, save for a few beat cops, waiting around for a domestic dispute, or a midnight burglary to go break up.

But not Patty.

Her shift had ended over three hours ago. Usually, she'd be home—with him—getting ready for bed, or already in bed. But for the past few weeks, she'd figured that she'd better wait for him in his lab, as he worked overtime, which was the last thing he wanted.

But he didn't know how to tell her that he wanted to be alone without hurting her feelings. Just like he hadn't known how to admit to her everything that had happened with Iris. That he was in love with her. That he'd cheated with her. That he was trying to work up the courage to leave his marriage, not just for Iris, because God knows she didn't seem to want anything to do with him anymore. He'd poured his heart out to her, over probably 20 + text messages, but he hadn't gotten a single response. And he didn't want to pop up on her. Iris already had one man in her life who wouldn't respect her boundaries. He was not going to add more to her stress. Not any more than he already had.

This thing with Iris had just finally made him realize that he and Patty weren't compatible. Even if Iris never gave him another chance, he'd broken what had supposed to be sacred vows, and it had been ridiculously easy to do so. Patty deserved someone better than him, someone who would love her with his whole heart. That had never been him. That would never be him. And the fact that he was stuck in this limbo, unable to move forward, but unable to tell her how he felt, it was eating away at him.

He could barely stand to look her in the eye, now.

"Barry?" She called out to him. "You've been spending a lot of time here, lately. "

Still focused on his cleanup, he replied. "It's a busy time of year."

"I know, but I'm just not used to you being gone so much," she said, walking over to his desk. "Between your Flash stuff, and your overtime, well, we barely spend any time together anymore."

He stood. "We work together, Patty. Most days, we eat lunch together. We sleep together every night."

"Yeah, just sleep." She looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was lingering nearby, then leaned towards him, voice low, "You've barely touched me lately."

"I—just haven't been in the mood," he said gently, even though every since he'd kissed Iris, his sexual appetite had been nearly out of control. And yet, he had no way to satisfy his desires.

"Yeah, and I know you're stressed out, and I know it's normal for couples to have droughts, but I didn't expect our honeymoon period to wear off so fast. We've only been married for a year."

Barry pinched the skin that rested on the bridge of his nose in-between his thumb and his middle finger. He then pressed his eyes tightly together like he was hoping that he had some kind of latent teleportation powers that could manifest so that he could just disappear off to somewhere, far, far away. Or maybe it was because the tone Patty was speaking in, made him feel like someone was pushing a chalkboard through a cheese grater.

"I also didn't expect you to go all screw face on me because I inquired about why your sex drive has dwindled into nothing. Don't you care?"

"Patty—" he started, before his phone alarm grabbed at his attention. He looked at his phone screen. "There's a robbery at the RV National Bank. I have to go."

He stood to leave, but she grabbed his arm. "Barry," she said, firmly. "I think the cops can handle a plain-old robbery."

He slid out of her grasp and turned. Back to her, he said, "There's been next to no crime all day. I need to stretch my legs."

She quickened her pace, then positioned herself so she was in front of him. "That's more important than talking to your wife?"

"No. Of course not."

"Then stay. Please," she asked, grabbing him his hands in hers. "Let's forget about work tonight. Run us to Paris; we can have a 3 am dinner at some little cafe in front of the Eifel tower. Do you remember that night? It was the first date we had, after you told me you were The Flash."

He smiled weakly. "Yeah, I remember. That was a beautiful night," he said fondly.

"Right? We—well I—ate my weight in cheese and croissants. You ate 100 people's weights, and the waiters thought you were a magician or something putting on a show for the customers. Then we danced underneath the stars, even though was no music playing, and you told me how much you loved me."

He chuckled softly. "I remember."

"I would love to feel like that again Barry. But we can't get back to this place unless you open up to me like that one time. I mean, I already knew but I felt like the most special girl in the world. Not because the man I was falling in love with had powers, but because he finally let me into his world. Which is all I've ever want," she said, nearly choking up. "I just want to be in your world. Fully integrated. Just me and you."

He sighed, deeply and hung his head in shame. "I know you do."

"Then please tell me what's wrong. Is-is it me?"

"Patty no. There's nothing wrong with you. Okay? You're a wonderful woman."

"Well, wonderful isn't keeping our marriage happy, now is it?"
He ran a hand through his hair and sighed.

"Am I coming on too strong?" She asked, hands clasped together underneath her chin. "Yes, that's it." She started to pace. And soon, her questions weren't directed at him anymore. Rather, the room, the air, the universe. "God, do you want more drama?"

"What? No."

"Should be more withdrawn? Do you want me to fight with you? Deny you sex? I can be less accessible. Whatever it is, just tell me, and if I can do it I will." Her voice broke on the last sentence; the next moment, all he heard was the sound of her bawling into her hands.

"Patty, don't cry. Please," Barry said, as he approached her. He placed a hand on her shoulder and looked down at her. "Please."

She folded her arms, and stepped back away from him, back now against the wall next to the lab's exit. "How can I not? I feel—I feel like I'm losing you, Barry. Have I already lost you?" She asked, looking earnestly up into his eyes. "You can tell me if I have."

He swallowed down the phlegm building in his throat, hoping that it would make the words easier. "Patty."

"Cause I thought we were making a little progress when we went back to Central City," she said, walking past him. "You were okay after that too. Until that thing about your crush on that—that Iris."

Barry scrunched up his face. "What?"

"And I know my husband isn't hung up on some middle school crush. I know," she said, words more pained as she went on, "That my husband isn't cheating on me," she continued, voice trembling. "And I know that my husband hasn't been meeting with this woman he had me, living two doors down from, as i did my DAMNDEST to befriend her. And i know that my husband, this wonderful, honorable man who spends every waking and sleeping hour making sure that our city is safe, always putting other people before himself, hasn't let me sit here, wondering if I was doing something wrong for three weeks, while he pined for some woman, 600 miles away, who doesn't even think enough of him to return his texts."

Barry stood there, face White as a ghost, unable to formulate the right words to say. Unable to process that Patty had no already known but she was also trying to give him time to be honest with her. And that by trying to soften the blow, he'd only ended up hurting her even more. "I'm so sorry, Patty. I never wanted to hurt you," he pleaded. "Not in a million years."

She laughed and shook her head. "That's the real kicker," she said, turning back to face him, glowering at him. "You didn't hurt me, Barry, you wrecked me. This has been eating away at me for weeks! All the while, Iris," she said again as if her name was the vilest thing she'd ever spoken, "has had the luxury of you kissing her ass, and proclaiming your undying, lifetime in the making fairy-tale ass love for her! But she doesn't deserve you. You've had to beg her for every crumb of affection she has given you. But me, Patty, the woman you married, has given it freely. I've given you every damn thing I had! Love. Understanding. Someone you could confide in. Someone you could trust! Someone who TRIED to give you time to work through this shit. But you couldn't give me ANYTHING in return. Not your whole heart. Not your attention. Not the truth."

"I was going to tell you! I've been racking my brain trying to figure out how to."

"When? After our second anniversary? After our first child was born?"
He paused. "Baby? Patty, are you pregnant?"

She folded her arms over her chest, frowning. "Would you stay with me if I was? Because the way you were waxing poetic over those damn texts, it doesn't sound like I have a chance in Hell of keeping my husband in my home, in my city. With me. Away from Iris."

"Patty, I'm so sorry," he said, nearly choking over his sobs.

"I don't want your damn sorry, okay! Just, for once in your life, answer my question, Barry: are you or are you not leaving me?"

"How could you even want me after what you've found out?"

"Another question. Wow." She laughed, and turned around and around, flailing her hands. "Wow. Wow. Wow. I guess I got my answer."

"I do love you, Patty," he offered, though he knew it was no consolation.

"What does it matter? It's not the way you love Iris.

He couldn't dispute that. "I'm—"

She raised a hand. "Please! No more sorries."

He tried to go to her, but she backed away from him, until her she was back at the exit. "It's funny, I've been playing out this entire scenario in my head, and my exit was a lot more badass than this. But then again, until three weeks ago, I also thought I had the perfect man.

Guess I was wrong about that too."