Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Iris watched as her husband held their baby girl in his arms for the first time. She had never seen him smile so brightly, had never seen him look so peaceful. So beautiful.

He turned to her, his grin morphing into a look of determination. “I’m never leaving,” he promised. “I don’t care what the future is supposed to hold. You will never have to do this alone.”

Iris just smiled and reached out for their daughter.

“I believe you, Barry.”

And she did.

—

Six months later

Iris watched as an empty casket was lowered into the ground. They had decided to have a funeral for Barry, despite the fact that they weren’t quite sure he was dead. He had disappeared after the Crisis, gone without a trace. He could be alive, trapped in a soundless, dark void for eternity. He could be dead. Or he could be waiting, just like her. Waiting to come home.

Iris needed to relinquish the hope she could still feel stirring inside. She knew that if she didn’t, she would end up waiting for eternity. Waiting for a man who might never return. The thought of staying stagnant forever made her heart clench in fear. But it was the thought of moving on, of forgetting, that scared her even more.

So Iris mourned Barry Allen.

She mourned her best friend: the boy who would sit next to her at lunch and make her laugh. The boy who her father brought to their doorstep, a broken look in his eyes. The boy who, despite his pain, still managed to fill their house with hope.

She mourned the love of her life: the man who excitedly ranted about the discovery of zombie ants and scientific breakthroughs. The man who was struck by lightning. The man who told her he had always loved her, even before he knew what the word meant. The man who waited for her to admit she loved him back.

She mourned her husband: the man who got down on one knee and promised to love her his whole life. The man who renewed that vow on their wedding day. The father of her child. The man who promised to never leave.

The man who lied.

—

When Iris returned home, she took her daughter in her arms. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, holding Nora close to her chest. “It’s just me now.” She sighed, depositing her now-sleeping daughter into the crib. The crib that Barry built. His presence was everywhere, and Iris felt like screaming. She cried silently instead.

Any second, he could walk through those doors, alive and safe. The returned hero, back from oblivion.

Iris fell asleep on the couch, still dressed in black.

Hours later, she awoke to the sound of crying. Tiredly, she shuffled across the house to collect her daughter into her arms. Both mother and daughter returned to the couch and stayed there for the rest of the night, waiting for a hero to walk through the door.

Waiting for Barry Allen.

Chapter Text

“Nora, you remind me so much of your father.”

Nora beamed, lighting up like Joe had just given her the world in his hands.

“Really, Paw Paw?”

Nora stood in front of her prize-winning science fair project, a huge smile splitting her face.  At only 12 years old, she was already learning things Joe still struggled to understand.  Standing beside her, Joe couldn’t help but be reminded of his son.

Joe remembered standing beside Barry when he won the science fair. 

Barry had wrung his hands nervously before the winners were announced, scanning the crowd in anticipation.  Joe would ask him questions about the project to distract him, turning his nervous energy into excitement.  

When his name was called, Barry jumped into Joe’s arms, his wide smile making him look like the carefree child he should have been.  But amid all of the celebration, a sadness still hung over Barry’s shoulders.  Henry Allen wasn’t there to hear the good news, and Nora Allen would never know.

Joe could now see a similar sadness on his granddaughter’s face.  He wished he could take away all of her pain, the burdens no child should have to bear.  

But some scars never heal, even if the pain fades.

Some scars are reopened every time you hear a person’s name or see their face. 

“Come on, Nora, let’s get you some ice cream,” Joe said, taking her hand, “I’ll tell you some funny stories about your dad on the way.”

Nora squealed excitedly, practically skipping away with Joe in tow.

Joe knew he could never replace what his granddaughter lost.  He knew the hole in his heart would never completely heal.  

He also, logically, understood that he would never truly lose Barry Allen, that his son would never be forgotten.  But some days are harder than others, and forgetting small details about a person you love makes the world stop for a moment.  It makes the future look bleak and the past seem that much farther away.  A past —  a life —  that Joe is terrified of letting slip through his fingers.

Nora’s only wish is to learn, to remember what she never even knew.  Joe’s worst fear is forgetting.

So he tells stories, and the pain fades.  If only for a little while.

“It was just another normal day at the police department, and your dad was late… again…”

Chapter Text

The door flew open, its loud ricochet shattering the loft’s silence.

“I told you, Linda.  It was a disaster... “

Iris stumbled inside, her phone against her ear, trying to both take off her high heels and make it in the door without toppling over.  

“He even lied about having a Ph.D.  Who does that?”

Iris sighed, having made it to her final destination: the liquor cabinet.  She pulled a bottle and glass down, pouring herself a generous portion.  

“Anyway, the date was a waste of time.  He was just too weird, and it was never going to work… I promise I did give him a chance… Okay, I’ll tell you more tomorrow… Take care of yourself, Linda.  Good night.”

Iris hung up and took a long sip, feeling the alcohol burn as it slid down her throat.  Sometimes the warm sting of alcohol was the most effective way to make her feel alive again.

It hadn’t been long since she’d started dating again, had let herself push past the guilt and disgust with herself.  She’d finally done it: gone on some dates.  Now, all she had to do was stop sabotaging them.

It would still take some time for her heart to be back open for business.  There was only so much pain one person could take.

Setting her glass down, she looked out at what used to be her home.  The exposed brick she had been so proud of.  The old pictures of Nora by the fireplace.  The couch she slept on for weeks when Barry disappeared.  The table she sat at alone every night. 

She wondered when her home had become a mausoleum for all those she’d loved and lost.

Iris hadn’t seen Nora in months, and she was beginning to wonder if she ever would.  Had she finally snapped the frayed thread that tied them together?  Would Nora ever let her see the life she was building? 

It’s your fault.  You drove her away.

It was becoming increasingly hard to ignore that voice in her head, to not give in to the utter hopelessness that threatened to consume her every time she breathed.  She took another drink.

All she wanted was for her daughter to walk through that door.  She wanted her dad to comfort her, tell her everything would be okay again.  She even missed her brother, with his dopey smiles and jabs.

She wanted her husband back.  She wanted—  

Suddenly, three knocks sounded at the door, effectively breaking Iris away from her thoughts.  As the loft came back into focus, she felt like she was waking up from a dream, coming up for air after almost drowning.  She set her glass down.

No one ever came by anymore.  

Silence reigned once more.  An hour seemed to have passed in the span of a second.  Maybe they had already left.  If they had, Iris wouldn’t be surprised.  

Slowly, she made her way to the front, stepping over her discarded shoes.  Before she knew it, a tentative hand reached for the doorknob.  

-

She opens the door, and color seeps back into the world. 

Her heart feels like it could burst, filled again with hope and other childish ideals.  Time speeds up, and Iris finds that the air is breathable again, finally worth breathing.

She feels light.  The lightness that comes with knowing someone else will be there to help carry your burdens.  The strength that comes with knowing you will help carry theirs.

She feels strong and, for the first time in a long while, not so alone.

A familiar smile lights up the world, just beyond the door frame.

“Sorry I’m late.”