#eoiris

«Who even are you?!» She snaps, something frantic seeping into her tone as she feels teeth against her throat. He might want to kill her. The way he hunted her down through the crowd and entertained a conversation before jumping her is reminiscent of how a vampire would approach a human prey.

«That would be long to explain, too.» She can feel the bite before it comes, and it breaks her voice midway through her phrasing of a protest.

It's a surprisingly gentle bite; the fangs are inconspicuously warm as opposed to searing hot like those of nearly any hungry vampire, and they pierce enough for him to draw blood but without tearing into her flesh. Though it drains her of every ounce of strength almost immediately, and in an instant the colors of the painted wall blur together, her legs stop keeping her upright, and there's a dull buzz in her ears as she struggles not to pass out. As if he had been drinking from her for long minutes instead of a few seconds.

«You never took his blood.» He's stopped holding her down, stopped pressing her against the wall. Iris groans and tries to pull away, wanting to pin both palms against his white button up. She can barely hold up her arms. «And most certainly he never took yours...»

She's biting down before even realizing that the hand in her hair is directing her against his neck. Her fangs go down, and she finds herself tugging at his shirt and quietly groaning against his neck, unable to stop despite how bitter the blood is.

«You're not...» She fumbles, turning away when he wipes her chin with the back of his finger. Unlike her he isn't even winded, or in any way paler. The wound on his neck is already gone. «You're not a vampire.»

«Never said I was.» He offers a smile. «No need to fret about it, we'll have plenty of time to talk.»

«What-» She gets pulled off of her feet. If he tries to move her body feels heavy, and she realizes it's because of his blood. She can feel it inside of herself, thick like molasses. «Why...?»

«Tell me you’ll bring him back.» Iris grits out, the touch of claws through her curls bringing soothing shivers down her spine. «Tell me you lied to him. Tell me you will always lie when he wants us to go on without him.» She holds him tight again, staying as pressed against his body as she can. «I don’t care if you lie to me. Just tell me… just tell me that I will see him again.»

There is no answer for a time, and she knows Thawne has no reason to do as asked. It’s entirely more likely that he’ll taunt and mock her again instead, or simply just leave. But moments pass and he does none of those things, just keeps holding her while burying his face onto the crown of her head. 

«You’re not just a tool. You’re not.» He says eventually, sounding like he’s speaking through a clenched jaw. «You’re not.» He repeats, gritting it out like it was hard to pull it from himself, clutching her tight in return. «I will bring him back. I lied to him, I will always lie when he wants me to say that we’ll go on without him…» He adds, saying exactly what Iris asked him to say, word by word. «We will see him again.»

She doesn’t know if he’s lying. She’s the one who asked him to so she doesn’t insist, replying with the smallest nod. But then a hand sneaks below her chin and her face gets tilted up. 

Eobard took his cowl off, and now strangely familiar tufts of red hair are messily framing his face. His thumb goes over her cheekbone, and the gesture feels soft even if his expression is bent in the darkest scowl Iris has ever seen on him. «I will fix this.» He says, and despite how quick his heart usually beats, Iris is under the impression it’s faster than normal. «And if I can’t… if I can’t, you’ll just do what we’ve been doing every time so far.» She takes one of her hands and places the palm against the column of his neck, caressing it up to the forearm. «We’ll just start again.»

Full version on AO3!

She’s been out of it for most of the time, consciousness slipping and then coming back as her own voice fills her ears with startled little cries, and half-hearted attempts at flailing while she’s moved around. Then she got strapped to a chair, a metallic thing which is so cold against her body that it brings her back some more, making her aware of the probes which are being attached to her wrists and temples. The people around her are dressed with some sort of medical gear. Alright, this isn’t the usual kidnapping. 

She tries to speak but her mouth is pasty, her tongue won’t move. And whoever these people are, they don’t seem to like it that she woke up, talking quietly among each other before pressing a plastic mask to her face, the gas canister it’s connected to making her eyes grow droopy. Iris hopes these fuckers can at least see her glare before she goes back under.

It’s this for a while, impossible to know how long since they keep her drugged. She’s asked questions when she’s awake - trivial things like her favorite color or the name of a childhood pet. Every time the answer pops in her mind she can hear mechanical beeps and whirrs, and she never speaks but the people around her do, always in hushed tones even if at times their voices sound more excited. The person who talks to her is always the same, a man in tactical gear. There are more of them; sometimes she glimpses them walking along a railing up ahead, but this one has to be a higher rank. Someone called him Colonel at some point. She’s pretty sure she wasn’t dreaming when she heard it. “Miss West”, he usually calls her before asking a question, and one of those times she mentally replies with an insult so colorful that someone from the lab-coats bunch snorts audibly. Which in turn gives her the confirmation that they’re doing something that allows them to peek into her head, somehow discerning her answers through whatever machine they’re using.

And so she starts trying not to give them any answer, but whatever they’re using to drug her has to function as some sort of truth serum, because it proves really hard to keep any information to herself. It surely is a muscle relaxant among other things, keeping her unable to try to pry her restraints open. It’s unlike her to rely on his intervention but she is indeed starting to wonder where Barry might be, and also to get worried because it has to be days since she was taken here. More than one, at least. It’s odd that he hasn’t found her yet. 

«Miss West.» The man in tactical gear greets after sitting next to her. Iris blinks at the unremarkable features of his face, her mind blank aside for the fact that she’s sore all over, and really tired of this. «You’ve proven to be a good test subject, and we thank you for all the help you’ve given us.» Alright, that doesn’t sound good. She can feel her chest swell, and the higher beeping of one of the machines must mean her heart is beating faster. No one seems to pay it any mind. «We do have a couple more questions for you, and then we can consider our collaboration complete.» He clears his throat. And then asks, «What’s the civilian identity of the Flash?»

Fuck you, Iris thinks, glaring at him from her spot. 

«What’s the civilian identity of the Flash, Miss West? His name.»

She thinks of the red of his suit, the blue of his eyes, the way they crinkle at the corners when he smiles a certain way. He’s always late. She loves him so much. She bites her tongue, and the surprise she feels at being able to snap her jaw hard enough to draw blood distracts her.

«You were correct, Colonel. It’s her.» Someone says, someone from the lab-coats bunch. «No name yet though, she’s guarding it well.»

«Of course it’s her, the info comes directly from the source.» The man in tactical gear replies, shifting on his spot on a way more comfortable-looking chair. «We need a name, Miss West. What is the name of the Flash?»

John Smith, Iris thinks, staring him directly in the eyes. He sighs and stands up. 

«She needs another dose.» He declares, but when he gets close enough with a full canister of drug, Iris tilts her chin up just that little bit she needs to spit on his face. It’s mostly blood and it hits him square on the cheek. «Fucking bitch.» The man hisses, smushing the plastic mask on her face forcefully enough to hurt. She holds her breath and keeps glaring. Might as well fight until the last second.

A light above them bursts, then another. The man straightens up and draws a gun from his belt, lightning cracks and some of the machines beep hard and then turn down. Barry…? She thinks as the canister drops, allowing her to take a mouthful of air.Someone screams from above, energy bursts go off. These people don’t have normal guns, it’s something clearly intended to hurt more than humans. Loud cracks like the ground was splitting apart force Iris to wince, more people scream and flashes of light brighten the black of her closed eyes. This is not Barry. The air crackles with static, and when she looks again there’s a spatter of blood over the buzzing machines right in front of her, and the Reverse Flash is looking in her direction, expression plain as he lets go of the limp body of one of the men in a lab-coat. They fall boneless with a dull thud, unlike a living person ever could.

The red forks of lightning settle to a more contained shimmer, and Iris just stares back for a beat, then another, then she realizes that the man in tactical gear is not near her anymore. 

Thawne’s eyes lose their inhuman quality for an instant, long enough for Iris to see him roll them up with a quiet huff. He’s smiling though. 

«Running, really…?» He shakes his hand and the blood on it splatters on the floor, leaving his yellow suit entirely clean. «Don’t back off now, I only just arrived…»

He’s not there a moment later. Then he’s back, holding the man by his neck just below the jaw, high enough his feet don’t touch the floor. He shoots but Thawne pushes his arm up and the charge lands on the ceiling, more sparks raining on them as another light bursts. 

«Don’t…» Iris tries to say but her speech is slurred, she hasn’t used her mouth for words in quite a while. Her tongue also hurts. «St-op, need… alive-»

«No we don’t.»

A scream fills the otherwise almost entirely quiet room, and Iris prefers not to look. She realizes they’ve all been killed, everyone else. The people in lab-coats, the ones who patrolled the high railing, likely also whoever was at the doors of this room. She keeps not looking when the man in yellow falls into a crouch just before her, and closes her eyes when a hand reaches out to her. «Hello, Iris.» Thawne says conversationally, like they just met by accident along the way to the grocery store. «I would hope you haven’t been harmed in ways I cannot see.»

The metallic band around her forehead comes off, and her head would drop but instead it lolls into a palm and is held up. The relief of not having anything tight on her temples is enough for her to lose it for a few moments, and when she’s blinking again she’s being pulled away from that chair, her breathing somehow shallow, all the bindings broken and the probes having come off. 

She knows she’s not going to be able to stand on her feet but it’s not necessary, she’s still held. Tight enough, not too much. Her head spins, it feels like it’s the first time in years that she leaves that metal chair and her body is allowed in a different position.

«You’re alright. You’re alright now.» She’s being shushed, and she realizes her eyes are swelling. How long has she been there? Had she stopped hoping to get out of this alive…? «I’ll get you to Barry, and then I’ll bring both of you out of here.»

So Barry is there, too. She thought he might have been because of something that man had said, about getting information from the source. She can’t fully remember now. She’s so tired and can’t still fully process that she isn’t tied to a chair anymore. «You… you killed that man.» She whispers, realizing Thawne pulled down his cowl. «He could… could’ve had…»

«Iris, I come from the future.» The man replies with a vaguely chiding tone. He props her up against his own chest and sighs, and Iris feels her own weight come down as Eobard’s chest deflates. «I already know everything which might be useful to us.» The touch on her cheek comes back and brings her to look up. She has no idea what Thawne is seeing on her face which makes his vague smile disappear, a somber look replacing it as his thumb traces the line of her cheekbone. «And he deserved to die anyway.» He adds in a low whisper, cupping the entire side of her face before leaning down to kiss her forehead. «I should have made it more painful.»

Then they stand up. She thinks they will start running any second now, and so reflexively holds onto him and tucks down against his chest. Lightning crackles around them and a palm comes up to the side of her head, shielding her and holding her close.