Age Thirteen

Barry is grounded. Iris knocks lightly on his door, hoping to ease the tension between her foster brother and her father, once again, the way she always does.

"It's me, Barry," she says, coming into his room, which is now covered in science posters and has a desk with a microscope on it beside his bed, a Christmas gift from her and her dad the previous year.

"Hey, Iris," he says. He's sitting on his bed reading a biography of Thomas Edison, trying to look like he doesn't care that he's just had another epic fight with Joe West. Iris knows that look. It's a look that says he's almost ready to apologize, but not quite.

"What set you off this time?" she asks, sitting in his desk chair.

"Same thing," Barry admits, shutting his book. "He—said if my dad comes up for parole, he's going to testify against him, thinks he shouldn't be out."

Iris shakes her head. "I'm sorry, Barry. You know I believe you—now, but my dad, he's not big on the unexplained. He saw what he saw. He doesn't mean to hurt you. Even the parole thing—that's to keep you safe. He doesn't want you to get hurt any more."

Her foster brother's eyes flash, and she sees a mixture of anger and tears. "He should mind his own business sometimes," he mumbles. Iris just looks at him, and in a moment, he adds, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

"Then go tell him," she says. She's not usually so bossy, but she knows when to play her cards where Barry Allen is concerned.

"I'm not ready yet," he sulks, and she can't help smiling.

"Want a hug?"

"Ok," he grouses, and she wraps her arms around him.

"Just remember, I believe you," she whispers in his ear.

Barry waits another twenty minutes before trudging back downstairs to face Joe. It always seems so reasonable to be mad at the guy, but then Iris comes, and he's forced to remember that everything he has and is, he owes to the tall, strict cop.

"Barry," greets Joe, looking up from his newspaper.

"Joe," answers the boy, staring at the carpet.

"Something you want to say, kid?" The detective waits.

"M'sorry, Joe," says Barry, as quickly as he can. "I shouldn't have cursed at you."

"That's right," Joe agrees. "But I'm sorry, too. I shouldn't have sprung the parole thing on you like that." Barry looks up, surprised. Joe has never apologized to him before.

"Yeah, I mess up too, son," admits the older man, smiling.

"It's—ok," says Barry.

"All right," says Joe. "I'll make you a deal. You're still grounded, but if you give me a hug, I'll cut it down from six days to three. How does that sound?"

Barry walks over slowly and a little bit sheepishly, but he really doesn't mind. The Wests are huggers, and he's learning to be one too. Joe wraps him in a bearhug, and he can't help grinning in spite of himself.

Joe orders pizza for dinner. There's probably some parental law against getting pizza for a kid who's grounded, but frankly, he doesn't care. He still feels guilty about how easily he lets Barry push his buttons. It shouldn't be that way, but when he sees the boy, with his big eyes and serious face, he just wants to shield him from all the pain in the world, including the pain brought about by his own father, but the kid is dead-level determined not to give up his illusions.

"Pepperoni, jalapenos, and olives," he says into the phone. It's the kid's favorite. And Barry is a good kid, issues aside. He's as smart as Iris, which is saying something, and he's kind. As a cop, Joe interacts with a lot of kids who have troubled pasts. Very few of them are as respectful and responsible as Barry Allen.

It's just that, well, Barry has become his kid, and Joe West doesn't take that responsibility lightly. If he were watching from afar, it would be easier to retain the professional detachment he finds necessary to cope with his day-to-day duties. But Barry belongs to him, and that's the problem. He just wants to put a smile on the kid's face, to wipe away the memories that no one can erase. And he can't. That's what makes him angry—not at Barry, but at the ugliness in the world.

Still, there's no ugliness to be found when the three of them sit down to dinner. Barry's eyes light up like it's Christmas, and Iris gives her father the special smile she reserves for moments when she approves of what he's doing so much she could burst.

All in all, it could be worse. Joe West knows he isn't perfect, but for one night, he has two happy kids. He figures he might as well be happy too.