Chapter Text
Iris could definitively say that the last few weeks had been the busiest of her career as a reporter so far, and maybe even of her life. After all, it wasn’t every day that your city nearly got swallowed up into a Singularity. Even before they’d fully recovered from the shock, everyone at CCPN had launched into high gear. Larkin had them run off their feet reporting on the disaster itself, spreading missing persons reports, following the relief and recovery efforts… Even the sports reporters had been pulled off their usual stories and diverted onto covering the city’s response to the Singularity. Normally a consistent friendly presence in the office, these past few weeks Iris had barely even seen Linda in passing, what with one of them always dashing off in order to chase a new angle or story.
In many ways, Iris was glad to be busy. It would have been all too easy to be left feeling powerless in the wake of something as destructive as the Singularity, so at least this way she felt like she was doing something, that she was making a difference. It was the same attitude that she saw in her dad and Eddie. (When she saw them, that was- CCPD was even more run off their feet than CCPN was, what with having to try and contain the chaos, not just keep track of it.) The three of them couldn’t keep up with the science, and had no superpowers, but they did have jobs that let them help people. They were all leaning on that pretty heavily to help deal with all the craziness.
And then there was Barry. Witnessing his mother’s death first-hand, and then the Singularity and Ronnie’s sacrifice on top of that... It had all taken its toll. Iris was worried about him. As far as she could tell, he was barely sleeping, instead putting every hour he possibly could (and then some) into trying to rebuild the city both as Barry Allen, CSI, and as the Flash. And on the rare occasions that Iris or her dad could get him to slow down long enough to talk, it was obvious that he was blaming himself for everything.
It was no use trying to get him to stop. In fact, Iris wasn’t even sure that she would if she could. As much as it pained her to see Barry hurting, there was no denying that he was in part responsible for what had happened. But it was a small part. Barry couldn’t have known what his actions would unleash, and he was literally running himself ragged trying to make up for them. No, as far as Iris was concerned, the lion’s share of the blame for everything that had happened to their city? That fell squarely on the shoulders of Eobard Thawne.
Iris still wasn’t sure what to make of Eobard. The Man in Yellow had haunted her nightmares as well as Barry’s for years, and she’d never been entirely sure if she believed in his existence. But there he was, standing right in front of them, wearing the face of a man they had thought they had known. Not that Iris had known Dr Wells particularly well, though. She’d met him multiple times while Barry had been in his coma, but she’d never really had a chance to get to know him as a person. In fact, outside of that one press conference at CCPD, she’d barely spoken to the man at all since Barry had woken up.
In a way, that made things easier. Wells’s betrayal wasn’t personal to her in the way it was to Barry, to Cisco, to Caitlin. Even to her dad, who Iris could see was still blaming himself for entrusting Barry to STAR Labs even as his gut told him that Wells was not to be trusted. No, Iris didn’t feel betrayed. She felt attacked. The man they now knew as Eobard Thawne had hurt her family, and there was no way she was going to take that lying down.
The more she saw of what had happened to the city, of how her family and friends had been hurt, all because of his plans, the more Iris became determined that she was going to hurt Eobard back. Or at least make sure that he couldn’t hurt anyone ever again. And so she did her research. In whatever downtime she could find (in between work and trying her best to be there for Barry and whatever sleep she could manage), Iris went back through Barry’s files, watched old interviews, anything that might give her a hint of something she could use against the Reverse Flash.
There wasn’t much to go on. Eobard had played his role well, and the man behind the mask of “Harrison Wells” might as well have been a ghost. But just because she couldn’t glean anything about his life before he had murdered Nora didn’t mean that Iris wasn’t gathering ammunition. Oh no, the more she studied him, the more Iris began to realise exactly how to get under Eobard’s skin.
Control. That was what it all boiled down to. Eobard had to be in control. And it gave Iris a lot of satisfaction when she thought about how a man like that would react to being imprisoned, to being entirely at the mercy of others. She could use that against him, use it to make him angry, throw him off balance. Both for the satisfaction, and also because that would be the best way of learning more about him. Iris hated unknowns, hated being presented with a mystery she couldn’t get to the bottom of, a situation or person she knew nothing about. And Eobard was nothing but unknowns. That was what had made him such a dangerous enemy. But if Iris could learn more about him, about his backstory and what drove his actions, he would become a known quantity. And known quantities could be fought, could be manipulated. The more they learned about Eobard, about who he was and how he operated, the less dangerous he would be in the future. At least, that was the theory.
And so it was that Iris made her way down to the Pipeline, just a little over two weeks after the Singularity. With her notebook in her pocket, and determination in her step, she strode into the Intake and pressed the control to open the hatch.
The cell beyond came into view and, upon noticing her presence, the man within clambered to his feet, and looked at Iris with mildly amused curiosity.
“Miss West,” Eobard said. “I must say, you’re not someone I expected to see. What brings you down here?”
“Curiosity,” said Iris, folding her arms and fixing him with her best journalist’s stare.
“Oh?” Eobard raised an eyebrow.
“That’s right,” she said. “You’ve become such a big part of our lives, and you know so much about us, and yet we know almost nothing about you.” Eobard chuckled.
“But Iris, you’ve known me for well over a year. And known of me for rather longer than that, I would wager.” His tone was that of someone indulging a precocious child, and Iris didn’t care for it in the least. She gave him a look.
“You know I don’t mean Harrison Wells. And don’t give me that crap you gave my dad about becoming him when you stole his body. I’m here because I want to know about Eobard Thawne.” Iris frowned. “What makes a man hate someone so much that he’s willing to travel back in time to murder that person as a child?” Eobard’s faint, obnoxious smile faded, replaced by a neutral expression and a cool stare.
“I don’t have to explain myself to you.”
“Oh, really?” said Iris, taking a step closer to the front of the cell. “Because from where I’m standing, you’re the one in the cell and I’m the one with all the power here. All I need to do is say something to Eddie, or to Cisco, and your existence will become a lost less pleasant. You can say goodbye to your creature comforts, for one.” She held Eobard’s gaze with a cool stare of her own, almost daring him to challenge her. He broke eye contact first, turning his head away and glancing briefly over his shoulder before facing her again. Iris resisted the urge to smile in satisfaction. First point to her.
“Well, aren’t you full of surprises,” Eobard said. His smile hadn’t returned, and there was only the faintest trace of the patronising tone from earlier. “I would have thought Joe would be the bad cop of the family.”
“I guess you don’t know us as well as you thought,” said Iris. That ‘bad cop’ comment had probably also been intended as an insult, but she chose to ignore it.
“I guess not,” said Eobard. He folded his arms and tilted his head slightly. “Well?” Iris frowned, not quite following his meaning.
“Well, what?” she asked.
“I believe you came down here with questions. I’m willing to answer them. Provided that you start somewhere a little easier than the reasons for my animosity towards the Flash because, I assure you, those reasons are numerous and complex.” Iris noted that, not only had he said “the Flash” and not “Barry”, but that a slight twitch of anger had crossed his face when he said it. Eobard wasn’t exaggerating when he said his hatred ran deeply, and Iris was itching to get to the bottom of that. But, for now, she was going to start simple. Ask easy questions, gauge Eobard’s responses, work out if her theories for how to manipulate him were correct. This was only the first engagement of a much longer game.
“Okay, let’s start with something simple,” she said, pulling out her notebook and opening it to the page where she’d jotted down a few of the things she wanted to ask. “When were you born? How old are you?” Eobard snorted. “What?”
“There’s nothing simple about age when one is a time traveller. It’s remarkably easy to lose track, especially when you’re also a speedster and therefore at occasional risk of time dilation. However, I was born in the year 2151, and I would estimate my age when I became stranded in this century as somewhere around 40.”
“So, you’re 55 now?”
“More or less.” Iris couldn’t help but raise her eyebrows.
“Well, you certainly don’t look it...” she said, partially under her breath. Eobard chuckled.
“Why, thank you.”
“So, what about family?” Iris asked, and Eobard’s smile faded once again. “Cisco said you told him you had a younger brother?” He nodded, once. “Are you going to tell me his name?”
“... Robern,” Eobard said, after a long pause, and with a slight frown of distaste.
“You two didn’t get along?”
“You could say that. In fact,” he said, his voice going hard and his stare intensifying. “I never had much of a relationship with my family, and I would prefer not to talk about them.” Iris blinked. Well, then. There was obviously a story there. But, instead of pushing, she tried a slightly different angle.
“Then why were you so desperate to return to your own time? If it wasn’t because you missed your family?” Eobard sighed, irritated.
“Because I have a life there. Why is there always the assumption that your life must revolve around other people?” He started pacing in circles in the tiny cell, gesturing emphatically with his hands as he spoke. “In my own time, I can study scientific fields that won’t be invented for another hundred years, use equipment that won’t exist for one hundred and fifty years; I have the freedom to pursue the research that I want to be doing. I’m a scientist . Imagine a scientist from today stranded in the 1850s. Or, even, imagine yourself stranded in the 1850s. No computers, no cell phones, barbaric social attitudes.”He ran a hand through the back of his hair, agitated. “Living in such a primitive time, wouldn’t it drive you mad ?”
“Are you calling this century primitive?” Iris asked, somewhat offended on her society’s behalf, although she did see the point that Eobard was making.
“Yes,” said Eobard, bluntly. “You live in a country that doesn’t even have equal marriage rights, and refuses to legally recognise more than two genders. What else would you call that other than primitive and barbaric?” Iris sighed.
“You may have a point.” Then she paused for a second, realising that she now had an easy opening to ask about something that had been bothering her for a few weeks now. It wasn’t really part of her interview script, but curiosity was a powerful thing. “Um, speaking of marriage...” Eobard stopped his pacing and looked at her, raising his eyebrows. “Eddie told me that you showed him something- a newspaper- that proved that Barry and I get married in the future?”
“That’s right,” said Eobard with a nod, as a not entirely pleasant smile curled the corner of his mouth. “In my time, it’s a matter of historical record that Iris West married Barry Allen. In fact, I knew you as Iris West-Allen for most of my life.”
“What do you mean, you knew me? Wouldn’t I be long dead by your time?”
“Oh yes, of course, but your work... Well,” Eobard said, with a laugh. “That lives on for quite some time.”
“Really?” asked Iris, fascinated despite herself. She knew it was dangerous to learn too much about the future, but this was the first time that she’d been offered knowledge of her own personal future. It was both terrifying and slightly intoxicating at the same time.
“Oh yes. In fact...” Eobard’s smile broadened, showing entirely too many teeth. “One book that you wrote was still being reprinted in my time.” He laughed. “I owe a lot to that particular book. In fact, I should probably thank you for it. Do you want to know what it was called?”
“What was it?” asked Iris, even though there was something about Eobard’s expression that suggested there was something about the answer she wasn’t going to like.
“It was called The Life Story of the Flash ,” said Eobard. Iris’s eyes widened. “And it was quite a remarkable piece of work, given that you managed to weave such a compelling narrative without once giving away the fact that you were writing about your own husband.”
“Well, I’ve always been a good writer,” said Iris, slightly dazed but pleased. Was it vain to be proud of your future self’s accomplishments? If it was, Iris didn’t particularly care. But there was still that worrying look in Eobard’s eye, and she had a sense that the other shoe was about to drop.
“I always thought so,” said Eobard. “In fact, Iris, I believe it was your book that turned my casual interest in the Flash into the obsession it became. In many ways, it’s thanks to you that that little boy who was looking for a hero grew up to become the man I am today.” He grinned coldly at Iris, and she stared back, her mouth hanging open slightly. The thought that something she wrote might have been responsible for creating the man that had hurt Barry so badly... Then she frowned, stopping that train of thought right there.
“Oh, grow up,” she said, looking at Eobard with disgust. He blinked.
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. I can’t believe you’re trying to make me feel guilty for something that has nothing to do with me.”
“But...”
“Don’t even try it. Your actions, the things you’ve done, the decisions you’ve made? Those are on you.” Iris laughed. “You know, I’ve just realised this is the exact same thing you’ve been doing to Barry. Blaming him for the things you’ve done, trying to justify your actions by claiming he forced you into that position, making him feel guilty. Well, guess what? You don’t get to shift the blame like that. You made yourself the Reverse Flash, not Barry. Not your Flash . Because I know Barry, no matter what timeline he’s from, and whatever he did to you? There’s no way it was as bad as any of the things you’ve done in the name of revenge.”
Eobard had gone completely still, his face blank as he stared at her with eyes that were almost impossible to read. “Speechless because you know I’m right?” Iris asked, and now it was her turn to wear the patronising smile. “You may be a genius, but when it comes to things like this you’re nowhere near as smart as you think you are. Now,” she said, gesturing with her notebook. “I believe we were in the middle of an interview? And don’t forget that it’s in your best interests to cooperate.”
After a few long moments, Eobard’s face twitched, and Iris got a brief glimpse of the deep and abiding rage that lurked beneath the surface. Then his expression settled into the tolerant but subtly insincere smile that she recognised from the various media appearances that “Harrison Wells” had made since the particle accelerator explosion. She also recognised that expression from other people she had interviewed- it was the look of someone who knew the interview was going to go ahead whether they liked it or not, and also knew it was in their best interest to be civil.
“This feels rather more like an interrogation than an interview,” Eobard commented, mildly, but Iris could also see that, down by his sides, he’d clenched his fists so hard that his knuckles were turning white.
“Call it what you like,” Iris said. “Either way, I’ll get my answers.”
“Planning on writing my biography, too?”
“No, I was thinking you’d just barely warrant a footnote in Barry’s.” She smiled at Eobard, and another flash of anger showed through the calm mask he was wearing. It might have been petty to enjoy getting under the man’s skin so much, were he not an unrepentant murderer. “So, questions. What were your parents’ names?”
“Theobald and Albertha Thawne,” he said, his flat tone indicating that he had decided to do the bare minimum of cooperating and nothing more. Iris couldn’t help but snigger slightly at the names.
“It seems old fashioned names really made a comeback in the 22nd century... I always did wonder what sort of a name Eobard was. What did they work as?”
“My father was a politician and my mother a civil servant.”
“Eddie’s dad is a politician,” mused Iris. “Looks like politics runs in the Thawne family. Well, except for you and Eddie. The cop and the scientist.” Eobard didn’t bother giving any response to that. “What did your brother do?”
“I believe he joined the Science Police.” A connection sparked briefly in Iris’s mind. Perhaps that was why Eobard had been so dismissive of Eddie- his ancestor’s choice of career reminded him of the brother that he had never liked.
“You believe ?”
“We didn’t keep in touch after I moved out.”
“Oo-kay,” said Iris, raising her eyebrows. “You really didn’t like him, did you?” Eobard’s mouth twitched.
“He was a brat. A thoroughly unpleasant child who still managed to be our parents’ favourite, despite his frequent misbehaviour.” It appeared his dislike for his brother had overridden his attempts to be subtly uncooperative. Iris frowned, feeling a tiny bit of sympathy.
“Sounds like you didn’t have a very great childhood.”
“I don’t like to talk about it,” Eobard said, firmly. Iris held up her hands.
“Okay, I won’t push. What about just before you left your own time? Were you in touch with your parents then?”
“No,” said Eobard, shortly. “By that point they’d both been dead for some years. A traffic accident,” he said, answering Iris’s next question before she even asked it.
“Oh,” said Iris. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” said Eobard, his voice hard. Iris couldn’t help but wonder if Eobard himself had had something to do with that accident, but she didn’t ask. Some things it was better not to know.
“Okay, moving on. What did you work as before you ended up here? I think Professor Stein said you were an academic? A professor?”
“That’s correct,” Eobard said, nodding. His voice betrayed a note of pride, despite his still stubbornly neutral expression.
“Was that here in Central City? At CCU?”
“Yes and no. I worked primarily at an institute called the Flash Museum, which was affiliated with Central City University. Most of my research was done at the museum, but I also taught at the university proper.”
“The Flash Museum? Wow... Wait until Barry hears about that.” Iris paused for a second, remembering something. “You know, you always seemed like you’d been a teacher. Something about the way you gave interviews, like you were more used to lecturing. I remember asking Barry about it one time, after he made me watch a documentary about STAR Labs. I said you reminded me of our old physics teacher. I suppose that explains it. You can take the professor out of the university...”
“Indeed,” said Eobard. His tone wasn’t quite friendly, but nor was it as standoffish as it had been before. Iris filed that away for future reference: Eobard actually seemed to enjoy talking about his old teaching career.
Scribbling that down, along with a few other final thoughts, Iris flipped her notebook shut and stuck her pen behind her ear.
“Okay,” she said. “We’ve reached the end of my list of questions.”
“Really?” asked Eobard, raising an eyebrow. “That was fast. I thought you were planning on interrogating me rather extensively.”
“Oh, I am,” said Iris. “But you’re just a curiosity project, and I’ve got enough information to be going on for now. I have a real job to get back to. And besides,” she said, smiling at him somewhat facetiously. “It’s not as if you’re going to be going anywhere.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t count on that,” said Eobard, with a patronising smile of his own. Iris frowned.
“You really think you’ve got a chance of escaping without your powers?”
“I do, actually,” said Eobard, arrogant as ever. “But escape isn’t what I had in mind. I was thinking more of a prison transfer. Serving out the rest of my, ah, sentence in slightly more civilised conditions than these.” He gestured around his tiny cell. He had a point. Iris had wondered on more than one occasion if it was humane to keep people in such spartan conditions for any significant length of time. But then again, if anyone deserved it, it was Eobard Thawne.
“What makes you think you deserve anything better than this?”
“Well, the Eighth Amendment, for one thing. And,” he continued, when Iris rolled her eyes. “I would also be willing to do something in exchange for an improvement to my living conditions.”
“Willing to do what?” Iris asked, intrigued. Eobard smiled, and tapped his nose.
“Ah, ah. This is something between myself and Barry.” Iris scowled at him.
“Barry doesn’t want to speak to you,” she said, and Eobard’s face twitched in a curious expression before settling back into the patronising smile.
“Oh, he’ll want to talk to me about this.”
“You’re not in a position to be cryptic,” said Iris, irritated. “Remember who’s the one in the cell here. So either tell me what it is you want to talk to Barry about, or I can guarantee you that it’ll be months before you see him, or maybe not at all. Because he’s not going to come down here of his own accord.” Eobard frowned slightly, as if he didn’t quite understand why that would be. Iris frowned. This guy was unbelievable. “After what you put him through with his mother,” she said, by way of explanation, “I think he’s worried that if he sees you again he’ll try and kill you.” That curious expression flickered on Eobard’s face again, and this time Iris got a better look at it. But no, that couldn’t be right, could it? Because she could have sworn that that looked like regret.
“Fine,” said Eobard, his tone entirely too agreeable, and Iris began to suspect he’d wanted her to pass this message on all along. “Tell Barry that I’d like to talk to him about his parents.” Iris went to angrily cut him off, but he raised a finger and continued. “Tell Barry that, if he agrees to my terms, there may be a chance that I can get his father out of prison.” Iris stared at him, dumbfounded.
“You would do that? You’d confess to Nora Allen’s murder?” Eobard smiled, and all of a sudden Iris could empathise with her dad’s repeatedly stated desire to punch that particular smile off of Eobard’s face.
“You said it, not me. Now, I think that’s something that Barry would be willing to talk to me about, don’t you?” Iris just stared at him. And then, barely stopping to hit the door controls on her way out, she turned and strode out of the Intake. If there was any chance of getting Henry out of prison, it couldn’t wait. For Henry’s sake, but mostly for Barry’s. He was in a pretty dark place right now. And a chance at getting his dad back? That was exactly what he needed.
Iris only hoped that Eobard’s self-interest could be trusted. Because she wouldn’t put it past the man to dangle the hope of Henry’s freedom in front of Barry just so he could take it away again. From everything she’d seen of him, it would be an entirely in-character thing for him to do. But then Iris thought about that brief flash of regret she’d seen on Eobard’s face when she had said that Barry wanted nothing more to do with him. There were definitely complicated emotions at play on both sides here. She sighed. And things were only going to get more complicated once Henry’s freedom was thrown into the mix. Because there was no way Eobard wasn’t going to leverage that for all it was worth...