"Honey?"

Leaning against Iris, Barry's eyelids slide shut. "Yeah, I'm good, I'm just—" He slouches into her more. "My … everything … hurts," he mumbles, slipping out of her grip and landing in a heap.

"Barry!" She's on her knees beside him in a second.

"I'm good," he promises, reaching out. She takes his hand, gingerly pulling him upright when he nods and tries to sit up, letting out a long, low groan. "H'ahhhh." Leaning back against the wall, he breathes through his mouth, letting her take his hand and squeeze it. "I'm sore. We, uh. We went through a few buildings."

"Went through?" she clarifies, but he offers no explanation, breathing in and out steadily. "Bar." She takes his face in her hands. He blinks and looks at her with misty eyes.

"I love you," he tells her, tilting his head a little into her palm, eyes closing. "I miss the beach."

She laughs a little, trying to keep the burn in her eyes from actualizing into tears. He's here, he's here. "Those were really good mai tais," she admits.

"Nice warm sand between our toes," he mumbles.

She slides over to sit beside him, back against the wall. He leans into her, head against her shoulder. Reaching up, she curves a hand around the back of his neck. "Shores for miles," she muses. He's trembling, but he's not bleeding out, and nothing is visibly broken, and he doesn't move to get up and seek treatment. He's the best judge of what he can tolerate, and what he must fix. "Just us and the waves," she muses, drawing him back to Bali. "Turquoise-blue water."

"Mmm." He sighs, slouching into her. "Lazy mornings when we didn't get out of bed till noon."

"Now those we can recreate here," she tells him lightly, scratching the back of his neck. He hums.

"S'posed to be well-adjusted heroes with nine-to-fivers."

"We are human," she drawls, half-fondly, half-seriously. "We need breaks."

He exhales to his toes. "I wanna take a break," he admits. "I'm too old for the ragdoll routine."

She croons, a soft, sympathetic sound. "Do you want heat? Ice?"

"Mm. I want you," he tells her, kissing her shoulder.

She pinches his waist fondly and he yelps, loudly. "Sorry!" she says, jumping away.

"No, no, s'okay," he says, but she's already shuffling out from under him, prompting a soft sound of disapproval. "Hey, no, c'mon, that was nice."

She arranges him against the wall, but he slides inexorably downward, settling akimbo against the cold concrete. "I love the beach," he slurs, while she stands and retrieves her phone from the table, shooting off a quick text. "Soft and warm … and the waves were so soft … cold but … not like here."

Flash. "You rang?" Wally asks, jumping half-a-step to regain his balance after a failed slide-in. "Hey, Bar."

"Sup." Barry holds up a hand and lets it flop against the floor, whining thinly. Iris knows he's more hurt than he's saying if he's actually letting her hear it at all. "How was your day?" he asks in a voice more gravel than honey.

Wally crouches in front of him. "Better than yours. What happened?"

Iris sighs and interjects, "Wally, can you carry him?"

Wally scoffs, and Barry makes a protesting noise –"no, no, c'mon, that's demeaning;" "dude, you carry people all the time, lemme be a hero for once" – but Wally succeeds in hefting her protesting husband up into his arms. "'m doing this under d'ress," Barry slurs.

Wally says, "Your place?" and Iris nods. Zip, and they're gone.

She doesn't have time to miss him before Wally reappears, dusting off his hands. "You will be happy to know I did not drop him once," he says cheerfully, and then they're gone, too, reappearing in a familiar, warm, well-lit apartment. Wally sets her down, asks, "You good?" When Iris nods, he salutes and says, "I'll leave you to it."

Iris wanders over to the bedroom where a groaning, thoroughly disheveled-looking Barry is half-on, half-off the bed, an unsuccessful bid for freedom leaving him tangled in the sheets. "I can survive DeVoe, but I can't survive a bed," he sighs, grimacing when she takes his arm gently. Kneeling up on the bed, she tugs him back onto it. He promptly rolls onto his side and wraps both arms around her waist, holding her there and nuzzling his face against her belly.

"Mm. You smell nice."

She shuffles around, settling back against the headboard, and strokes a hand through his hair. "You should get some sleep," she says, because she wants to ask, has half a hundred questions in mind, but she can feel the exhaustion radiating from him in palpable waves. It's not the time. As long as he's stable, she can afford to let the present override the grander schemes in their lives.

He starts vibrating gently, a low, familiar Speed-purr building in his chest. "Mm. Tell me about your day," he says.

She laughs. She's so tired, it's either laughter or crying. "Well," she says, spiking up his hair a little. "I wasn't kidnapped."

He squeezes her. "'m proud of you."

"And my husband came home to me," she says, flattening the spikes. "So I would say that it's been a solid five."

"For us, that's basically a ten," Barry yawns, rubbing his cheek against her belly. "Mmmm. I'm so sore," he says, and it's half a laugh, half a groan, a breathless hiccup conceding defeat.

"Let me get you something," she says. He nods gingerly, a true testament to how awful he's feeling. She hands him one of her bedside pillows and he takes it, hugging it to his chest. "Heat or ice?" she asks, already on her feet.

He scrunches up his nose thoughtfully. "Heat," he grunts against the pillow.

She gets him out of the suit and comfortable with a set of pajamas and a heating pack before sliding into the space next to him, letting him wrap an arm around her waist, his fingers stroking the small of her back lightly. "Can we go back on honeymoon?" he asks plaintively, so sincere it hurts. "We were interrupted, I think we've earned an extra week of honeymooning."

She kisses his forehead. "I think, right now, you should go to sleep."

"I think you should go to sleep," he mumbles, hand stilling slowly. "With me. Because we're married." He smiles against her shoulder, lazy and sweet, and she sighs, scratching his neck again because she loves this nerd.

"I have to let the team know you're okay," she says.

He reaches up and taps the center of his chest, where the emblem would be. "Huh," he murmurs, fishing around for a moment.

She captures his hand and squeezes it. "It's okay. I'm here. I'll take care of it."

"I love you … so, so much." He blinks at her, eyes red with sleep, with pain, but his smile soft when he looks at her. He shuffles closer, groaning softly, little involuntary acknowledgments of the aches he will not voice until he sighs and settles against her. "I wanna spend the rest of my life with you."

She smiles, rubbing his shoulders gently. "Then I have good news, babe."

He exhales deeply, drifting off against her, safe and warm and hers again, and she can't move for a long time, can't bring herself to abandon him, basking in his presence.

And resolving to keep anyone, and anything, from hurting him again.