"Red." Joe's phone buzzes at 10:30 p.m. He's working late at the precinct, and so is his surrogate son.
He gets up and walks into the forensic lab, stretching his weary muscles. "Barry, I'm going to head out."
Distracted by his in-progress chemical analysis, the kid mumbles a simple "ok," and Joe figures he has a couple of hours at least before Barry will be home or wonder where he is.
On his way out to his car, Joe texts back, "Meet me at home?"
"Can't drive."
"Where are you?"
"Jake Strong's."
"I'll be right there."
Joe sighs. Jake Strong's is an ugly place, the kind of place where people like the Snart siblings hang out, people who are up to no good—not people like Caitlin Snow. It takes him fifteen minutes to get there, and when he does, he finds the girl shivering outside the door.
In an instant, Joe gets out and takes off his jacket, handing it to her. "You're freezing. Put this on."
She complies and gets into his car meekly, not looking at him. After a few minutes' ride, she clears her throat. "I almost didn't text you."
"I'm glad you did," he answers. "Good choice not trying to drive."
"I'm so ashamed," she says. "I told myself it wouldn't happen again, that I wouldn't let it, that I wouldn't need to bother you again, but then I started missing Ronnie, and I went to Jack's and had a couple of beers, and I realized that if I didn't do something, I was going to lose it again."
Joe hears tears in her distraught voice, and he can't take any more. He pulls over. "You want a hug?" He looks over at the girl by the light of a streetlamp and sees her nod, her face glistening with moisture.
On the side of Third Street in Central City, Detective Joe West leans across the middle of his car and pulls Dr. Caitlin Snow into a gentle, forgiving embrace. Only, it doesn't feel like a detective and a scientist. It feels like a father and a daughter. At least, that's how it feels to him.
She cries a little bit, not full-on sobs, but silent, painful tears that he can only sense from the hitched sound of her breathing. He wishes she would let go and let it out, but at least she's not resisting, clinging to him like he's a big, warm life-preserver.
He holds her until her breathing calms, and then he silently drives her home. Like before, she wordlessly hands him her keys. "I'll pick up your car and drop it off here in the morning," he says.
"Thank you," she says. It's the first words she's said in several minutes. "I don't know why you're doing this for me, Detective West, but I really appreciate it."
"Sweetheart," he answers, "a long time ago, I lost the love of my life. For a long time after that, I lost myself in work. I used to bring Iris to the precinct so I could convince myself I was spending time with her, but I was just trying not to think about anything or feel anything. It wasn't drugs or alcohol, but it wasn't any healthier. My boss finally sat me down and then suspended me for two weeks, so I had nothing else to think about but everything I was trying to avoid. It was the best thing that could have ever happened to me. I took Iris to the park every day, and I sat by her bed while she fell asleep and read her stories. I realized that even though I'd seen a whole lot of ugly, there was still a lot of beautiful."
"The thing is, Caitlin, I know what ugly feels like, and I know what it's like on the other side. The pain doesn't go away, but it gets bearable when you start to realize how much you have left to experience. I know I'm not anything to you except Barry's dad and an over-the-hill cop, but I care about what you're going through."
To Joe's surprise, Dr. Caitlin Snow stands on tiptoe and kisses his cheek. "Thank you, Detective West." She leaves, and he shakes his head. Maybe she's more intoxicated than he realized. Or maybe not at all.