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The traffic beams fire three white lights, and Iris grips the steering wheel so tight she forgets that she turns straight into incoming traffic. She sees the bullet tram expanding in the mirror and shuts her eyes at the impact, thinking about her parents, waiting for her at home.
The crash sends her flying back and out of the car. There is no impact. Iris feels herself being dragged by the wind, like a feather in the air; except she’s going at a speed she will never be able to register, much less comprehend.
It’s not until she feels herself lying flat down, on some sort of soft surface, that she finally opens her eyes.
A boy dressed in white; tight pants that are charred at the edges, shoes burnt black, bright blonde hair slick with sweat.
“Eobard,” she smiles like a fool. “How did you—”
He leans down on the sofa and holds her face in his hands, hot and shaky. “I wouldn’t have seen you if I hadn’t suddenly decided not to go to my lab session.”
The reliazation begins to sink in. “It must be fate.”
“I’ll buy you a tram pass for the year,” he says, out of breath. Iris places a hand on his chest. No heartbeat. It’s still going too fast for her to feel.
Their mouths drag into each other’s, like stubborn magnets. Iris can never get enough of that tongue. The heat radiating off of him is suddenly stifling her, as she unbuttons her blouse to let some of the air in, reminding herself to breathe; she’s alive, after all.
-
Barry gets beaten to an inch of his life by Zoom when a flash of red lightning fills his vision; the trip across the multiverse happens in the blink of an eye, even for him, barely alive.
Someone throws him onto a medical bed, as if angry at him for collecting these cuts and bruises.
“Where the hell have you been,” Barry manages, bloodied and barely lucid. He can’t even see him: the man who makes him see only rage; the man who fills him up with a heat he can’t explain; the man who gave him everything, only to take it away; the man who always ends up coming back to him, the same way he does.
“Don’t talk,” he replies, in a voice that at least tells Barry which face he’s wearing. (Hint: it’s not his own.)
He starts performing delicate surgery on him, with precision and confidence that only comes with experience. The familiarity of his body. Barry isn’t worried. He’s going to heal. He’s going to live, even in the hands of this murderer. Better this one than the other one.
At least, this one will do what he wants with his hands, if Barry tells him to.
He feels his silicone-smooth fingers pressing down into his torso, stitching away at light speed, cleaning his wounds, bandaging up every broken part of him.
“Tell me where you’ve been,” Barry says again, more forcefully, this time.
He notes a faint flicker of a smile in Eobard’s voice, “Far enough. You needed your space. Getting along fine without me, it seems.”
Barry doesn’t know what the hell is wrong with him, when it comes to Eobard. No one else could treat him like this and get away with it.
“You want me to tell you that I’m glad to see you?” Barry asks, eyes fluttering shut.
“No,” Eobard simply replies. “Not yet. Not until I’ve given you ample reason to.”
-
Nora fades in and out of the speedforce. The negative speedforce overwhelms every part of her, but it’s also encouraging her to wake up from this near comatose state.
“Nora, Nora!” Eobard yelled, jolting more and more lightning into her, pumping her chest as a switch finally flicked on inside her. She was back.
She sat up, took one look at him and stared blankly. “You look… different.”
“Oh,” he responds.
He seems startled with relief, still. “Nora, it’s me, Eobard. I realize you’re not used to seeing me as I am.”
Eobard gestures at himself, poorly attempting a smile.
“Oh!” Nora replies, still unsure of what this means. She tries to relax. “I knew you’d come back for me. You always come back.”
Nora notices his eyes, carefully studying her; he pulls back when she reaches for his hand, before attempting to correct himself. Learning what to do in the moment.
“You’re not him, are you?”
He shakes his head. She nearly feels herself slipping again. It’s too soon. Not now, not when she’s just had a second chance at this. She tries not to show just how angry she is at him, because she knows it’s not his fault. As is everything with Eobard Thawne, somehow everything and nothing is his fault.
“I wasn’t strong enough to save you. Not me, from this time, so that me ran to find, well, this me, and unfortunately—” he draws a breath, so slowly that it almost sounds rehearsed, “—sacrifices, Nora. That’s what it’s all about.”
“Well, I won’t lose you again,” she says, shaking her head, grabbing his hand again. This time, she feels his fingers slipping in between hers. Something new, then, for the both of them.
Nora finds a million things flashing in Eobard’s eyes. Memories, maybe. Other lifetimes, most likely. Did they ever love each other, in any of those other times? Did they cause each other pain? Did they ever find solace in one another, when the rest of the world turned them away?
They’ll learn these things in time. No matter what, they'll always come back to each other.