Two Dads

"Iris, your dad isn't my dad."

The little girl feels hurt by the words, but she tries to smile. "I know he's not your biological dad, but I thought you might want to at least sign the card." She's adding glitter to a handmade Father's Day card, putting all of her eleven-year-old skill into it.

Barry shakes his head, and the pained look on his face tells her not to push the issue.

—

Iris comes to visit Barry in his lab. They haven't had time to talk since Henry's release, and she knows he'll need her. Her reward is the grin that fills his face as soon as he looks up from his desk and sees her in the doorway.

Barry hurries over, and she wraps him in a tight hug. "You ok, Bear?"

He nods, obviously understanding why she's come. "Sure. I mean, this isn't how I expected things to go, but I want my dad to—be happy, to get to do all the things he's missed. I just thought he'd stick around a little longer."

"Well, Barry," she says, teasing, "it wouldn't take you very long to get to him, wherever he goes. Somebody told me you're pretty fast once you get going." To her relief, he laughs.

"Plus," she adds after a second, "I think he knows you've got a dad here."

Barry nods. "I'm lucky that way." After a second, Iris realizes he's still holding her. It feels too good for her to pull away.

Barry stays in his room while Iris and Joe celebrate Father's Day. He's been with the Wests a few months, but it feels wrong to be part of this day, of all days—wrong for them and wrong for his dad, the dad he won't see again for another three weeks. He wrote a letter, but it's not the same.

What he doesn't expect is a tap on his door in the early evening, long before bedtime. Joe comes in and finds him sitting on his bed, trying to read. Instead of sitting next to him, the cop squats down on the floor in front of him. "Barry," he says softly, putting a hand on the little boy's knee, "I know this is a tough day, and I'm sorry you can't spend it with your dad. I want you to know something, though. I may not be him, but I'm trying to be the best stand-in I can."

He leaves the room, and Barry feels lighter. He doesn't know why, but the day doesn't end as horribly as he expected.

—

"What's going on, Bear?" Joe looks beyond tired.

"I figured if you're going to work this late, you needed some coffee," Barry answers, presenting a Jitters cup.

The cop looks at his watch and runs a hand over his face. "Didn't realize it was so late. The paperwork the state is requiring to make the Metahuman Task Force legit is unbelievable." He looks up. "Why are you here, Son? It's Friday night."

"I was thinking about my father," Barry admits readily. "I miss him, so I decided to see what the one who's still here is up to."

"You know Henry leaving has nothing to do with how he feels about you, right?" Barry takes the seat Joe offers across his desk.

"I know," Barry nods.

"It's all right to be sad or mad or whatever about it, though. Sometimes there's no perfect answer to a situation, especially not one like this."

Barry smiles. "You've been telling me it's ok to feel things for a long time, Joe."

"Fourteen years, by my count," the cop answers. "And I'm going to keep telling you when you need to hear it. It's a dad thing."

Joe finally takes a swig of the coffee. "Jamaican Blue Mountain, one cream, two sugars," he says ecstatically, closing his eyes and savoring the flavor. "I really did raise you right."

There are two cards next to Joe's plate at breakfast on Father's Day. It's been three years since Barry has lived with the Wests, and the cop has long since given up on the kid ever calling him dad or accepting him that way.

But there are two cards. One of them is large and bright green and contains a poem Iris wrote for her English class, all about him. He reads it a few times and then tucks it away to read again later and stick on his bedroom mirror so he can see it every morning when he wakes up. He doesn't know what he did to deserve Iris.

The other card is much smaller. It's a plain white, double-folded notecard that just says "Thanks" on the front. On the inside, in blue pen, it reads, "Joe, I know I'm not a very good son, but you're a great dad. Happy Father's Day."

Joe finds both his kids hiding behind the kitchen doorway, peeking out to see his reaction to their cards and the Jitters giftcard they pooled their allowance to buy for him. He takes Iris in his arms and swings her around. "Dad!" she remonstrates. She's fourteen now, going on about thirty-two, but her dad plans to do that until she's fifty.

Barry is hanging back in the corner, a little shy. Joe whispers to Iris to give them a minute, and she traipses back to her room, saying she's going to fix her lip gloss (the lip gloss Joe reckons she's too young to wear).

"Thanks for the card," Joe says. "Means a lot." He doesn't try to touch Barry or get any closer. "But you're wrong, Bear. Far as I'm concerned, you're the best son in the world." The kid who looks back at him stands a little taller when he hears those words.

—

Just because Joe gets it doesn't mean he has to like it. He understand why Henry Allen left, but things and people who hurt Barry are usually his mortal enemies, and he finds it hard not to be angry. He shuffles through his stacks of papers, wondering how his surrogate son on the other side of his desk is really doing.

Barry finishes filling out a form and hands it over. "Here, ready for you to sign."

"Thanks, Bear," he says. "This will go a lot faster with your help."

"Glad to help," Barry answers, leaning back in his chair and grinning. "It's a son thing."

The light is back in the kid's eyes. Doesn't mean everything is fixed, but Joe figures it's enough for now.