Work Text:
The first time Iris West saw Harry Wells, she almost vomited. It wasn’t a slow rolling nausea, like when she’d eaten too-raw chicken in her first year of college. This feeling was instant and unbearable, a vice around her body. Nothing inside her worked and she couldn’t move or breathe or think.
Taking her fiancé hadn’t been enough. He was back for Barry, for Joe and Wally, for everyone she loved. It didn’t matter that he used a different name. It didn’t matter that he didn’t have the same anger in his eyes.
That face had fooled her before. She wouldn’t let it happen again.
•
The first time Harry Wells saw Iris West, she was hovering uncertainly by his office door. She would’ve stood out even without her flared trousers in a building full of white coats. You didn’t see a person like her every day.
“Harrison Wells?”
Harry nodded sharply. He was vaguely aware that his office was a mess, with papers strewn everywhere and half-full mugs of cold coffee. He smoothed down his hair while she stepped inside.
“I’m Iris West. You’re graduating at the top of this year’s biochemistry class, right?”
“I am.”
“I could really use your help with something,” she said, pulling a small manila folder from under her arm. “I’m an intern at CCPN and I came across an unsolved case in the CCPD records that—"
“Pass,” he said, turning back towards his paper. He felt a small twinge of regret in his gut and ignored it, swiping across the lines of text with a red pen. If he let every gorgeous woman on campus distract him from his research, he wouldn’t be the youngest person to graduate from CCC with three PhDs.
“There’s evidence,” Iris continued, the uncertainty she’d first shown nowhere to be found. “But a decade ago, we didn’t have the forensic knowledge to investigate it as deeply as we could’ve. I really think if you were to have a look—”
“The evidence will have degraded in quality by now,” Harry stated, scratching out a whole paragraph of his paper. “It’s a foolish endeavor.”
“Are you calling me a fool?”
Harry sighed and removed his glasses, running a hand across his eyes. They were thick with exhaustion.
“I didn’t mean to.”
“You look tired,” Iris said. “What are you working on?”
Years later, when Harry thought back to this moment, he would pinpoint “you look tired” as the moment he began to fall a little bit in love. People laughed when he said it, but he was serious. There was something about the way she said it—blunt, honest, caring.
“It’s my psychology thesis,” he said. “It’s due in two weeks and—"
“I thought you were studying biochem?” Iris asked, her brow knitting in confusion.
“I’m currently working on three PhDs,” Harry replied. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t sit up a bit straighter, pulling his shoulders out of their default slouch.
“Is there a reason you hate yourself?” Iris laughed. Harry gave her an unimpressed glare and turned back to his work. If pressed, he might admit to a slight bruising of his ego.
“I’m sorry,” Iris said, her voice still full of amusement. “Look, what if I edit your paper and you look through this case file?”
“This is very advanced science.”
“I’m a psychology major,” she said curtly. “And my spelling and grammar are impeccable.”
“You are persistent,” Harry said, unable to resist looking up at her again. Her eyes were practically glowing with excitement. Damn it. She knew she was close.
“Fine,” Harry growled, pulling the case file towards him. “Give me your number and I’ll let you know if I find anything.”
“No way,” Iris said, pulling the case file back towards her. “This is sensitive information. I’ll meet you in the lab—tomorrow morning? 8am?”
“Tomorrow,” Harry sighed. “Lab 186. It’ll be locked, but I have a key.”
Iris nodded and stood up, pulling his door open. It came so far into the small office that she had to back up almost right onto his desk. Harry flushed. Iris stepped outside and began to shut the door, poking her head through the crack just before it closed. Her hands curved around the door and Harry noticed the absence of a ring.
“Until tomorrow,” Iris said. “Don’t forget to bring your paper.”
The door shut behind her and Harry dropped his pen onto the desk, running through the last five minutes in his head. How had it only been five minutes? It felt like he’d run a marathon. He reflexively picked up a mug of coffee and took a sip, gagging when he realized it was a few days old.
Tomorrow. He could wait until then.
•
“You should get out of this office,” Iris insisted, her legs thrown over the side of his armchair. It took up most of the free space in the room, but it was worth it for moments like these. “If you can even call it an office. This cubby-hole. This broom closet.”
“You’re a woman of many words, Ms. West,” Harry replied, but he grabbed his jacket all the same.
They’d been on a few—well, not dates, exactly—but outings, just the two of them. The quantity of the conversation that was dominated by work decreased each day. Within a few days of studying the case file, Harry had given her three pages of in-depth DNA analysis that far surpassed anything the CCPD had done.
Iris had thrown her arms around him, reckless and bold, and he’d frozen too intensely to return the motion. She didn’t mind—she was too busy running out of the building and back to CCPN, where she composed such a thorough case against the prime suspect that the CCPD had begged to hire her.
Iris left forty-three comments and sixty-two corrections on Harry’s paper. He had accepted all but one.
Now they walked along the waterfront, the cold nip of December just beginning to frost the air. Central City was gorgeous in the winter—lights wrapped around the lampposts, carols tinkling out from the open doors of shops, and a warm flush in Iris’ cheeks.
“It’s a shame we met just before you’re graduating,” she said, looking out towards the water. “Do you think you’ll stay in Central City?”
Harry looked over at her, her hands thrust deep into the pockets of her bobbly purple coat, and felt something akin to butterflies.
“I suppose I’ll stick around,” he said, and the warmth of her smile turned his stomach into a full-blown lepidopterarium.
•
“Of course, he got four more PhDs after that,” Iris said, her white dress gathered in one hand and a microphone in the other. “I had no idea what I was signing up for.”
Harry shook his head while the guests laughed. They were mostly close friends, some co-workers from Star Labs, and Iris’ family. His family too now. It felt nice to say that.
“I’m surprised I could drag him away from the lab for the ceremony,” Iris continued. “If you see him sneaking out during the reception, please send him my way.”
Harry rolled his eyes and pulled Iris down towards him. She landed on his lap in a cloud of tulle and lace, turning off the microphone and leaving it on the table. She wrapped her arms around his neck.
“You know I won’t sneak out,” he murmured, leaning close to her ear. “I have far more important things to do tonight than work.”
“Is that so?”
“It is, Mrs. Wells,” he replied, testing the words on his tongue. Legally she’d decided to keep West, and he agreed that it made more sense for her career. Besides, it wasn’t the name that mattered.
“Would dancing be included in that agenda?” Iris asked, quirking an eyebrow at him. He opened his mouth to protest as he always did, but the words didn’t come out. There was something about the way she was looking at him—the chandelier glowing in her eyes, her cheeks flushed with excitement, the twin gold bands on their left hands. He wanted to dance with her anywhere and everywhere.
“Let’s go,” Harry said, picking her up and carrying her to the dance floor. A few people whooped and cheered as he put her down, only to pull her close again.
“I love you,” Iris said, cupping his face in her hands. She said the words so often and so easily that Harry couldn’t help but believe them.
“I love you too.”
She pulled him in for a kiss, her lips soft and sweet with the champagne they’d used to toast. A familiar voice carried over the music and Harry realised that Joe had taken the mic and was now crooning one of Iris’ favourite songs.
“I told him he didn’t have to work tonight,” Iris insisted. “But he said it’s never work to sing for me. Well, us.”
“Surely he said you,” Harry laughed. “But on that we can agree. Nothing is too much work when it comes to you.”
“Even looking at a case file?” she teased, stepping out and twirling back into his chest. “You see, I found something in the CCPD archives and I was wondering—”
Harry cut her off with a kiss. Everyone around them knocked their cutlery against their glasses, a chaotic cacophony filling the air. The sound of a lifetime of happiness.
•
“There she goes again,” Iris said, grabbing Harry’s hands and placing them on her stomach. He felt the baby kick three times in quick succession.
“Doesn’t that hurt?” Harry asked, rubbing his hands soothingly across her stomach and down her sides. Iris shook her head.
“My little Jesse Quick.”
“Jesse?” Harry asked.
“It’s just a nickname,” Iris said, her face morphing into an embarassed smile. “It means gift? My parents were going to use it if I was a boy.”
“Well, she is a gift,” Harry murmured, running his hands over Iris' stomach one more time. “And she sure was quick.”
“Babe,” Iris laughed. “I’m pretty sure that’s our fault, not hers.”
“Can you blame me?” Harry asked, leaning down to whisper to Iris’ stomach. “Look at your mother! Beautiful and brilliant.”
“Just like you,” Iris said, bending her head to speak to the baby. Her stomach stretched out so far she could barely see her feet.
“You’ll get twelve PhDs,” Harry whispered. Iris laughed.
“Maybe she’ll be an artist,” she countered. “I’ll be at the kitchen table with my case files, you’ll be at the lab running tests, and she’ll be in her room, covering the walls in crayon.”
Harry looked around the apartment, trying to picture it. His whiteboard was shoved in the corner, half of his calculations taped over with one of Iris’ evidence boards. Even two months out from maternity leave, she was relentless—trying to connect an underground arms dealer to a local drug operation. He’d offered to order another whiteboard, but she said it forced them to spend time together even when they were working.
There’s a reason she got pregnant so quickly.
“I can see the wheels turning,” Iris sighed. “What is it? A formula for invisible crayons that only appear under a special light?”
Harry looked at Iris, her baby hairs curling out from the top of her head, her lilac sweater practically cropped over the swell of her stomach, her feet in soft slippers because they were too sore and swollen for anything else.
“I made invisible crayons when we found out you were pregnant,” Harry said, kissing Iris on the forehead. “I was just thinking about how much I like it. The name Jesse.”
Iris beamed and pulled him in for a kiss. As Harry wrapped his arms around her waist, he felt Jesse kick.
•
“Don’t you dare!” Harry said firmly. Jesse laughed and jumped off the swing, landing on all fours. When she stood up, ringlets of dark hair blowing around her head like a halo, there was dirt caked on her knees.
“Careful, baby,” Iris said, picking her up and spinning her in a wide circle. “If you don’t behave, Daddy is going to use his work voice on you.”
“I don’t have a work voice,” Harry insisted. Iris looked at Jesse and lowered her voice to a deep, gruff parody of his.
“Time to wash your hands,” she said. “Otherwise, the boss will steal your Jell-O from the fridge.”
“That stuff is full of artificial food colouring,” Harry argued, but Jesse and Iris were already laughing at him. Jesse was barely two, still too young to understand the jokes Iris was making, but she laughed regardless. Their bond was like nothing he’d ever witnessed.
“Let’s go home and eat some popsicles?” Iris suggested. Jesse knew that word well enough. She began to jump up and down and tug on Iris’ shorts.
“Please, mommy?” she shouted. Iris grabbed one of Jesse’s hands and Harry grabbed the other, swinging her between them as they left the park. It was a short walk to their apartment, and Harry kept his eyes a few feet ahead of Jesse to make sure she didn't trip.
“Oh, I wanted to pick up the paper,” Iris said, snapping her fingers when she spotted the convenience store across from their building. “My feature on the mayor’s tax evasion comes out today.”
“Go,” Harry said, kissing her quickly. “I’ll save the grape for you.”
“Grape! Grape, Daddy!” Jesse shouted, tugging on Harry’s hand. Iris laughed and rolled her eyes.
“I’ll take the o-r-a-n-g-e instead.”
She turned and stepped off the curb, her hair shining a million shades of brown in the afternoon sun.
The car came out of nowhere.
•
When Harry recounted the story to the police, he was insistent that Iris did everything she was supposed to. She was at a crosswalk, she looked both ways, she wasn’t distracted or on her phone or any of the things that should’ve put her in harm’s way.
Harm found her anyway.
The newspapers called it an unfortunate accident. The driver lost control of the vehicle and came skidding around the corner at an alarming speed. There was nothing to be done.
Harry wasn’t so sure. Iris had a lot of enemies in this city. If there was anything he’d learned being married to a reporter, it’s that accidents weren’t always as accidental as they seemed.
Harry took Jesse to see Iris every Friday. When it was raining, they sat on the cold ground in front of her tombstone, huddled under an umbrella, and told her about their week. Sometimes Jesse got frustrated from sitting for so long, and Harry never forced her to stay. He didn’t want this to be a bad place for her.
The best days were in the summer, sunny and bright. Jesse picked fresh wildflowers on their walk to the cemetery and strewed them across Iris’ grave. She chased the butterflies that flitted through the trees, laughing and shouting when she got close to touching one.
Harry thought Iris would’ve liked those days best. He wished more than anything that he could ask her.
•
The second time Harry Wells saw Iris West for the first time, he almost vomited. Sweaty palms, dry mouth, too-fast heart. He’d spent fifteen years loving the ghost of her.
On this earth, she had a hatred in her eyes unlike anything he’d known in his lifetime.
Harry tried to be kind. He laughed when she tried to cook for them—so much like his Iris, hopeless in the kitchen, her sweet potatoes more burnt marshmallow than anything. He stuttered excuses when she cut her hair short and he dropped his mug of coffee, shards splattering across the floor of Star Labs.
He didn’t tell her that she’d been his wife, once. She hadn’t. Not really. No more than he’d been Harrison Wells on this Earth. But even months later, when she’d forgiven him for his face, he wondered why seeing her still felt like a vice on his heart.
Then the Thinking Cap began to erase his mind. And when the knowledge was gone, all that was left was memories. Of armchairs and champagne and her her her.
•
The last time Harry Wells saw Iris West, she was staring at him from the center of Star Labs. The ring on her finger glinted under the fluorescent lights.
If pressed, he might describe the way she looked at him now as something akin to love. But he’d seen the way Iris West looked at you when she loved you—really loved you—and on this earth, there was only one person she looked at like that.
Seeing her every day had been a blessing wrapped in torment. His but not-his. Iris West Allen. The name itself was a testament to a relationship, a life, a world that had nothing to do with him.
So he stepped onto Earth-2, back into their apartment, the one he’d never had the strength to leave. He dragged his fingers across the wall, the pads catching against the waxy blue scribbles in the corner of the dining room. After all of Harry’s work, Iris had bought Jesse a pack of regular crayons anyway.
“She needs to make her mark on this world,” Iris insisted. “Inconvenient or not.”
Harry rested his forehead against the wall. He remembered nights spent dancing around the kitchen, takeout boxes littering the table. He remembered early mornings with dark circles under their eyes, both of them shocked at the rising sun as they looked up from their paperwork. He remembered birthdays with the family, Joe’s voice echoing against the walls of the apartment as Jesse clapped her tiny hands, so strong and capable now.
Hot tears welled up in Harry’s eyes, and for the first time in years, he began to cry.