The One With Whisky Eyes

Beneath the Gentle Snow

Iris had not moved by the time Barry arrived in the store. He had to show Kevin's ID to prove he was he one that Iris was expecting—he was incredibly thankful she had given Kevin's name and not one of the alters, or that would be much harder to explain. He had taken the officer's advice and was carrying a warm cup of tea from the café they had gone to that first night, guided around the mess of glass and the owners of the store who were speaking with a detective on scene.

The sight of the broken window and cops swarming all over the place had his hand tightening on the cup, trying not to picture how terrified Iris must have been when someone broke the window. She had sounded as though she was on the cusp of breaking down when he spoke with her on the phone, and that was after she had some time to calm down.

Led to the back of the store by a woman named Sinclair, she stopped Barry right before they were to enter the back office. "Here, let me take that from you," she proposed, motioning to the tea. "I'm sure you'll want your hands free."

Barry nodded numbly as he handed her the tea—he hadn't even thought of that. He probably would have just dropped the damn thing to let Iris into his arms. With his hands now free, the officer nodded to the door as a silent instruction to head inside. The door was slightly ajar already, a man's voice drifting from within. Pushing the door open slowly, Barry stood in the doorway of the small office as he watched Iris sign the bottom of her police statement regarding the incident.

The sight of his tiny soulmate, one hand tucked in close to her chest and the other shaking unsteadily as she tried to sign the paper, nearly broke his heart. Knowing she had been in danger was more nerve-wracking than the nights he had known she was struggling to sleep—first because of their unfortunate beginning, and then again because of her father.

"Miss. Mayfair, you can finish this at the station. Just come by tomorrow, give yourself some time to calm down," the male officer with her was instructing, trying to persuade her from continuing to attempt a sloppy signature from her shaking hand.

"Iris," Barry called finally, more a sigh of relief to see that she truly wasn't hurt than anything else. Immediately, her head snapped to the side, chocolate braid flying, and those watery, whiskey eyes landed on him with a look of such relief that Barry was moving before he even thought about doing so.

He didn't care about the cops or the noise or the tiny space they were stuck in. Iris leapt from the chair and was infolded tightly in his arm in the next instant, small arms wrapped around him so tightly he was momentarily stunned by her strength. Releasing the breath he had been holding, Barry pulled her in against him until she had nearly disappeared into the bulk of his arms and coat. She made no sound, but he could feel her entire body shaking like a leaf in the wind.

Part of it was because of the adrenaline that must have flooded her system, now beginning to dissipate, but he also noticed that she was only in the thin, long sleeved shirt she had been wearing for work. They may have been in the back, but the window had been busted long enough that the entire store was frigid with the cold wind that had blown in earlier that day.

Her hands were icy against his back, the cold reaching him through his shirt. Keeping one arm wrapped securely around her shoulders, he used his free hand to rub up and down her back soothingly, trying to use the friction to bring more warmth at the same time. "You're freezing, Sweetheart. Where's your coat?"

"Locker," she mumbled against his chest, the word barely audible. "In the break room."

"I'll go," the officer that had been with her volunteered, stepping away from the couple and silently leaving the room as Sinclair leant past Barry to place the hot tea on the desk next to Iris's statement. A moment later, they were alone.