Whether it's because of his superhuman healing and metabolism, because he moves too fast to catch things, or just a fluke, it's true. Eddie can't remember having seen him get sick in the entire time he'd known him. Not even a sniffle. And now that it's happening, a little heartbreaking to watch, because apparently when Barry gets sick, he gets sick in a big way.
Eddie wakes up with the sun shining in the big window by his bed the same way he's woken up for the past couple of months - pressed up against all the soft warmth of Iris, her back against his chest, his arm resting on her waist, bent slightly at the elbow so his palm can lie against Barry's belly. He's the first one to wake up, as always, and when he pushes up on an elbow to admire the way Iris lies with her face buried in the speedster's neck, cuddled safely between her men, he thinks again that he's never been so content.
At least until he notices Barry looks pale, that he's shivering, with sweat beaded on his forehead. A half hour later, and he's awake and throwing up, trembling in their shared bed, Eddie's more than willingly given up any pretense of a trip to the gym today, and Iris is getting ready for work. She catches Eddie in the hallway just outside the open door of the bedroom - he has the day off, and she spends 10 minutes giving him instructions on how to do this. What Barry likes, how he needs to be treated, what makes him feel better, things she knows from all their years of shared history. And Eddie asks questions, takes mental notes, makes his own suggestions, expresses his concern as the newcomer to their family, someone who's only loved Barry for a half a year.
They do all of it outside the bedroom so Barry can hear them. It's a purposeful thing, done so he can hear their concern without having to feel like it's forced. Barry sometimes has a hard time accepting love without fear, especially since becoming The Flash. It's something Iris hadn't fully grasped, not until Eddie saw it in Barry, understood it intimately and personally, and made clear to her.
While she goes in to smooth Barry's hair back and kiss him good-bye despite the risk of catching whatever he has, Eddie makes toast in the kitchen, he brews ginger tea, he gets a squeeze bottle of lukewarm water. He gets a thermal mug full of fair trade freshly-ground coffee and gives it to Iris with a lingering kiss before she goes out the front door calling out over her shoulder that she loves them. Their girl, going out to do battle.
Eddie carries Barry's 'breakfast in bed' into the room and puts it on the side table, slides onto the bed in a tank top and pair of sweat pants, smiling at him, and reaches out to push Barry's hair off his damp forehead. He doesn't really speak, just nudges Barry over in the bed, helping him move out of the sweaty spot he'd been sleeping in, gathers him up against himself, and gets the bottle of water. Helps him drink. Helps him eat. Ignores the weak comments that Barry can take care of it himself with warm reassurances that he doesn't have to. Tucks the beat-up stuffed animal Iris had dug out of storage before she left for work into Barry's arms without judgement or comment.
A few hours and a few Star Wars DVDs on Eddie's laptop later, and Barry is asleep, curled against his side, face buried into his throat, shivering occasionally and curling closer while Eddie rubs his back. It's not a place he ever would have expected to be, a year ago - safe, with two people to love, two people to be loved by, whose preferences he can remember and needs he can meet. With a brain full of Star Wars trivia he never had an interest in before, suggesting anecdotes about The Flash for Iris' blog.
But it's a place he's glad he's in, even in the bad times. Because, when Barry stirs, mumbles something in his sleep that suggests the fever's dredging up terrible things, and Eddie can shift, whisper that everything is alright and actually mean it, kiss him on the forehead and stroke his hair, feel him settle again - that's worth the world.
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causational) wrote2015-01-15 12:48 pm
eddie/iris/barry ot3; a get-well mini-fic for melissa
Whether it's because of his superhuman healing and metabolism, because he moves too fast to catch things, or just a fluke, it's true. Eddie can't remember having seen him get sick in the entire time he'd known him. Not even a sniffle. And now that it's happening, a little heartbreaking to watch, because apparently when Barry gets sick, he gets sick in a big way.
Eddie wakes up with the sun shining in the big window by his bed the same way he's woken up for the past couple of months - pressed up against all the soft warmth of Iris, her back against his chest, his arm resting on her waist, bent slightly at the elbow so his palm can lie against Barry's belly. He's the first one to wake up, as always, and when he pushes up on an elbow to admire the way Iris lies with her face buried in the speedster's neck, cuddled safely between her men, he thinks again that he's never been so content.
At least until he notices Barry looks pale, that he's shivering, with sweat beaded on his forehead. A half hour later, and he's awake and throwing up, trembling in their shared bed, Eddie's more than willingly given up any pretense of a trip to the gym today, and Iris is getting ready for work. She catches Eddie in the hallway just outside the open door of the bedroom - he has the day off, and she spends 10 minutes giving him instructions on how to do this. What Barry likes, how he needs to be treated, what makes him feel better, things she knows from all their years of shared history. And Eddie asks questions, takes mental notes, makes his own suggestions, expresses his concern as the newcomer to their family, someone who's only loved Barry for a half a year.
They do all of it outside the bedroom so Barry can hear them. It's a purposeful thing, done so he can hear their concern without having to feel like it's forced. Barry sometimes has a hard time accepting love without fear, especially since becoming The Flash. It's something Iris hadn't fully grasped, not until Eddie saw it in Barry, understood it intimately and personally, and made clear to her.
While she goes in to smooth Barry's hair back and kiss him good-bye despite the risk of catching whatever he has, Eddie makes toast in the kitchen, he brews ginger tea, he gets a squeeze bottle of lukewarm water. He gets a thermal mug full of fair trade freshly-ground coffee and gives it to Iris with a lingering kiss before she goes out the front door calling out over her shoulder that she loves them. Their girl, going out to do battle.
Eddie carries Barry's 'breakfast in bed' into the room and puts it on the side table, slides onto the bed in a tank top and pair of sweat pants, smiling at him, and reaches out to push Barry's hair off his damp forehead. He doesn't really speak, just nudges Barry over in the bed, helping him move out of the sweaty spot he'd been sleeping in, gathers him up against himself, and gets the bottle of water. Helps him drink. Helps him eat. Ignores the weak comments that Barry can take care of it himself with warm reassurances that he doesn't have to. Tucks the beat-up stuffed animal Iris had dug out of storage before she left for work into Barry's arms without judgement or comment.
A few hours and a few Star Wars DVDs on Eddie's laptop later, and Barry is asleep, curled against his side, face buried into his throat, shivering occasionally and curling closer while Eddie rubs his back. It's not a place he ever would have expected to be, a year ago - safe, with two people to love, two people to be loved by, whose preferences he can remember and needs he can meet. With a brain full of Star Wars trivia he never had an interest in before, suggesting anecdotes about The Flash for Iris' blog.
But it's a place he's glad he's in, even in the bad times. Because, when Barry stirs, mumbles something in his sleep that suggests the fever's dredging up terrible things, and Eddie can shift, whisper that everything is alright and actually mean it, kiss him on the forehead and stroke his hair, feel him settle again - that's worth the world.