Prophecies Fulfilled
Sep. 13th, 2006 01:00 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
shankieAs reality begins to set in, Wally makes his choices in the face of doctors, dreams, and being generally overwhelmed.
Beta by![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
merfilly. :)
Chapter Seven: The Way We Never Were
Wally didn't feel at all like getting up.
He didn't have to, as Alfred brought him a big breakfast, the paper, and all sorts of other offers he'd given Bruce in the morning. Messages, calls, etc. Wally just shook his head and laughed.
"You're just taking pity on me," Wally said. "But the eggs are fabulous."
He didn't have to ask if Alfred knew, because he had this habit of knowing everything.
Breakfast took up all of his attention, until he looked up, and Bruce was standing in the doorway. Looking perfectly ravishing in a little black t-shirt that had to be small for him.
"Why?" Bruce asked.
Wally speared a sausage tersely.
"Because, if I don't, every single day I'm going to wake up and wonder what would have happened if I didn't. If someday, I grow old and I still never meet her, I don't want to give myself that regret."
Bruce sat down on the edge of the bed, resting his hand on top of his thigh through the blankets.
"I'll make the arrangements. You're scheduled for work tonight, and depending on what the recommendation is, you may have trouble getting to Central City on time. We'll wait until later on to let anyone else know, until things become clearer. I want you to rest until I'm able to put together the team of specialists. Do you need anything?"
Wally blinked at him a little, considered rebelling, but thought... it might not be so bad, to just let Bruce do everything for a while. The firm order to rest, the control-freak mode setting in like an on switch? Just like he knew it would.
He shook his head and laughed.
Bruce fawned over him a little more before he left, and Wally pushed the tray off to one side carefully, pushing down the blankets and laying back flat, with his stomach bare, leaning up a little to look at it. Peeking over the edge of his fleece shirt like it was some hulking monster.
He bit his lip.
In a moment of bravery, he reached one hand over, and rested it on top. His skin, his stomach, nothing felt different.
"Jesus," he whispered, running his hand up and down his abs in fascination. "This can't be happening."
But still, he just felt like himself.
Wally finished breakfast, skimmed the paper, and curled up under the covers again. Not because Bruce had asked him to. Because, just maybe, if he went to sleep again, it'd all be a dream.
It'd make everything a whole lot easier.
* * *
Wally hadn't said anything definitive yet; and it was still very early. But something was different when Bruce looked at him.
Bruce didn't trust himself to offer much input. He'd become less sure of the weight of one side of life against the other. There were other things, more useful things he could do instead.
A great deal of money, and the promise of a government funded project, quickly brought everyone he needed on flights to Metropolis, and he warned the staff about the incoming experts. Updated the background checks on all personnel, and already found one possible loose end to tie up.
He'd take care of it later.
For now, he reviewed the installation's security systems while brushing up on certain aspects of biology.
The League called, and he informed them that they were both involved in a more urgent matter. Which was true.
* * *
He was chained to the floor, heavy manacles that he couldn't get free of. It was so dark, and he tried to push away against the wall, find some kind of cover to quell the panic, but the chains just held him there on his knees.
Everything was fuzzy black, until he wasn't alone; there was a pale face that melted out of the darkness, and Batman was standing over him.
He wanted to ask for help, but the words froze in his throat; there was a key dangling out of a black hand, too far away to reach, even when there was a cold breath on his neck, smothering him.
Wally was grateful to wake up, out of breath and still gripped in terror that was fading away all too slowly for his liking.
He rubbed his eyes, then his stomach, sitting on the edge of the bed. 'I can't do this, I can't do this.' Wally frowned at remembering it might not be a good idea to go running, and decided he didn't care.
He did, but he didn't, and he just wore civilian clothes to go to the other side of Bristol, to a public boat landing closed up for the season, with the docks all pulled up and tied down on the rocks.
Not far, but somewhere.
Bruce didn't sound angry when he called him back. He didn't sound like much of anything, but Wally went back anyway.
The part of him that wanted nothing to do with any of this was there with a vengeance, so he stayed quiet, lost in endless loops of rationalization with more of that fear. He didn't know which was worse.
And again, he was glad for that stoic presence beside him, who said nothing, and didn't try to reach out to him. It was better to treat this like a conflict, at least for now. Batman didn't lose those; but they both had a nasty habit of mangling personal matters into something identifiable only by dental records.
It was easy, just to follow instructions, give a lot of no's and yes's, nods and shrugs, cold surfaces, stand still, breathe in, breathe out air that smelled like a hospital. White lab coats, soft voices, and a shadow in the corner.
He looked up, and they were in an office; he was sitting uncomfortably in a chair, and assumed that somewhere lurking by the door was Bruce, with a balding man in another one of those lab coats and an ID badge that said he was Dr. Adams, William D.
The other two had been talking around him, which suddenly rankled him, even if it was his own fault for not paying attention.
"Alright," he cut in, "I want you to bottom-line this. I don't want to hear any more of you guys beating around the bush with jargon. Which I do understand, by the way."
The doctor looked worried, which struck Wally as unprofessional. Whatever.
"I'm not sure how much time I can give you to make up your mind, uh, Flash. You're certain that... conception... took place a little over three weeks ago, but these tests from today are pretty conclusive to about six weeks of development. From what we know about your physiology, that may be the normal course of things, or it could be due to using your powers frequently, which I assume you've been doing."
"Well, yeah."
"If that's the case, development under continued stimulation of your accelerated metabolism could be dangerous, should you decide to continue."
"So no running?"
"That's my first recommendation."
"There's more, already?"
Dr. Adams tapped the rubber end of his pencil on the file in front of him.
"Have you looked at your scans yet?"
"Not really."
The doctor pulled them out, tracing the tip of the pencil around... well, a little dark form in a dark background, but he could make out an arm and bit his lip. Then he circled it around next to it, a more blurry shape the same size.
Wally blinked at him a few times.
"Like, twins?"
"Yes. Which comes along with it's own complications, even for a healthy woman."
"Oh."
"It's likely that you would be confined to partial or complete bed rest for the last half of the pregnancy, if not sooner."
"Oh."
"Not to mention, of course, the constant monitoring of your condition, and possible hospitalization. Or whatever equivalent would be made available."
"Oh."
"I just want you to be made aware of the possibilities."
Wally folded his hands over his stomach, and looked around the room for a moment.
"Worst case scenario?"
"A complication occurs, and your rapid metabolism will make it impossible to reach medical help in time."
"I could die."
"Yes."
"What are the chances of that?"
"We just don't have enough experience with this to tell, especially not so early. It's likely, with close monitoring, any problems would become apparent before that would happen."
"But maybe not."
"As I'm sure you've been made aware, we have the most qualified specialists in the world already looking at this."
Wally nodded slowly, and rubbed his fingers together.
"Is that all?"
Dr. Adams looked briefly confused.
"There's a number of further details we have to discuss..."
"But is that all I really need to know right now?"
"I suppose."
"Okay, just, give the dark one a copy of everything so he doesn't get any ideas, I'll call you."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive."
Wally felt like he was going to throw up, and rushed out into the hall and into the nearest bathroom, worshiping the porcelain god like never before. Like he called it in college, sick-drunk and out of his mind. It had that cold sweat and the awful trembles all the same, and he felt out of his mind.
He cleaned up and regained some composure, and unsurprisingly, Bruce was guarding the door, possibly turning poor interns away from their quest to the urinals with the dedication of just the crazed maniac he was, and they went back to the Batwing and towards home.
If he did this, he wouldn't really have anywhere else to go. That was different than wanting to be there.
It was all different.
"You know, so far, nobody's given me one good reason why I should put myself through this."
"Wally..." Bruce trailed off, looked over, then forward out the window again.
"I think I need one. So give me one."
"I thought I already did."
"Family? Heir to your empire?"
"Wally."
"I know. It's like... I still really don't have a choice," he said.
"You do."
"There's two of them. And, I don't think... I don't think that I have the right."
"You do."
"God, will you say something and mean it?"
Wally wasn't angry, but he decided to act that way until they landed so he'd have an excuse to get more out of him. He hated that he felt like he needed an excuse even more.
It turned out he really didn't need one, as the figure looking at him from the cave floor wasn't wearing a cowl, and looked heartbreakingly vulnerable.
No, he really didn't have a choice.
He had to remember, making a decision, sticking with it, convincing himself that was the right thing to do, he had to remember that, and... that underneath all that kevlar was a scared boy who didn't have any idea what to say to him.
Wally kissed him on the cheek, just enough to give him some reassurance, and went upstairs, walked up the stairs, over the polished wood floors and the thick carpets, past all of Bruce's extravagant wealth to pull on something comfortable and a pair of fuzzy slippers.
Then he padded back down, to the kitchen, where he found, as usual, Alfred busy over cooking in between a copy of As You Like It open on the counter.
"Master Wally, just in time. Please, tell me if I should add anything to this."
Alfred didn't need him to tell him how to cook, but he took the fork and ate the offered bite of honey-roasted chicken. It sparked his appetite again, and he grinned.
"Perfect, but you already knew that."
Wally tossed the fork in the sink, and jumped up on the counter, leafing through the pages without losing his spot. Viola was a pretty name.
"So I figured that I should get your input on all this, because it's... you know... going to be a lot on you, too."
"Sir," Alfred said, setting his hand on Wally's arm, "I am dedicated to all that reside in these halls, whatever the circumstances. It is, without saying, that I am available to anything you may require."
"I know, I do, but... I want to know what you have to say. It's usually pretty good advice."
"From what I know of these matters, there isn't a great deal I could say."
"I have a while yet, but I can't live in limbo like that."
"Perfectly understandable."
"I'm actually pretty sure I know what I want to do, but..."
"Becoming committed to a decision is a different matter than knowing what you feel compelled to do."
"Pretty much."
"Were I a man more like Master Bruce, I would suggest weighing the out the risks and rewards methodically."
"Did that already."
"And what is left, after that?"
Wally smiled, and sighed with something like relief.
"Thanks Alfred. Any more of that chicken?"
"Of course."
* * *
He didn't dream this time, a fact he woke up thankful for, taking a long study of the ceiling before he noticed he wasn't alone.
Bruce was sitting beside him, closing a laptop from his perch.
Apparently it was late afternoon, by the sky outside the windows, and Wally didn't really want any more detail than that. Or much detail about anything. He was about to give his life over to someone else, even if he trusted him implicitly. Which he did. It was still a lot.
One thing at a time.
Smile, shrug out a little like he's not nervous, don't touch the stomach, don't look at it, ask about breakfast, a little kiss, ask about what he's working on. Wally worked it out, and ended up lying down next to his knee, looking up.
"Bruce?"
"Yes?"
"I'm going to do it. Don't ask me why again. Hasn't really changed."
"For her?"
"Them."
"Them," Bruce repeated back, taking his hand.
"And us. But mostly them."
"I understand," Bruce said, and Wally really believed it. "I'll have another refrigerator installed in the pantry."
Wally smacked their joined hands against his thigh and gave him a look, but that smile was back. And that was something.
"You're going to regret it soon," Bruce said dryly.
"Why's that?"
"It's generally the worst part."
Wally sighed, letting his head fall back against the bed and closing his eyes.
"This is your fault."
"I don't see how, Wally."
"It is. Trusting that little brat."
"The sex was your idea, as I recall."
"You're the one who's supposed to think of everything."
"I'm not an expert in magic."
Wally looked back up with a smirk, and then scratched his fingers through his hair.
"I'm going to be so bored. And I'm going to have to drive..."
"You're a mechanic."
"But I don't use them! Not for transportation. Unless I've got a good reason."
"Welcome to the rest of humanity."
Wally wrinkled his nose at him.
"I am human, Bruce. Just... faster."
"I know," he said, and kissed one of his knuckles to punctuate the point.
Such a hopeless romantic. Not that he was complaining.
And then, of course, he was deluged with a whole new set of problems. Maybe his body could slow down, but his mind rarely did, and it was spinning with heavy subjects. Names. Nothing to do. No running, for months. Telling people. Being sick and tired. Being... big.
Bruce brought him back with a little tug on his hand, dark eyebrows furrowed a little in concern.
"You have got to stop this constant mother hen stuff, like, nip it in the bug right now, okay? I'm fine, you're fine, we're fine..."
We, which meant something completely different.
Different, different, all different.
"Is Bart here?"
"Yes, I believe so."
It was hard to ever be definitive about much when it came to Bart, so he nodded and sat up.
"I have to talk to him," Wally said, and kissed Bruce briefly.
He had to remind himself to keep walking, having become so comfortable here, a long trip down each step, and to the back of the manor, where he could already hear the noise of the TV.
Bart was playing Halo, sitting on the floor against the front of the sofa. Without a word, Wally picked up the other controller, and Bart switched to multiplayer.
It was a couple of levels before Wally coughed and began to speak over the sound of gunfire.
"You ever seen that movie with Arnold, the one with Danny DeVito?"
"Yeah."
"That kinda happened to me."
Bart instantly paused the game and turned towards him with a bit of a frantic look.
"You got turned into a lab experiment and there's guys in suits chasing you?"
"No, Bart."
"I know you already dress up like..."
"No, Bart, the other thing."
"You didn't."
"What do you mean I didn't?"
"That's just silly."
Bart resumed the game, and Wally followed suit, not really sure how to continue the conversation.
Two more levels, and he finally replied.
"No, seriously."
"I don't believe you."
Wally tapped his fingers on the top of the controller lying in his lap.
"Twins."
The action stopped again, and they turned to face one another.
"Grandpa Barry had twins. And he had a twin, too. You said you met twins in the future," he said, almost like a question.
And then he jumped on Wally's lap, and looked at his stomach like it was some great mystery to be solved.
"You can't tell yet."
"Show me."
Wally pulled up the front of his shirt to his chest, with an arm hugging above his waist.
Bart reached out with an outstretched index finger, and touched him right above his belly button, just holding it there curiously.
"Really?"
"Yeah."
* * *
When he dreamed that night, it was memories playing in his mind; mostly things he'd never talked about since coming back. About a night in the sand, surrounded by a fortress and an army.
Only this time, he didn't get out.
The part of him that wanted to find out kept him asleep, until he woke up alone, in the dark.
So this was what it was like, to be with himself all those times, brief as they were, girlfriends waiting for some danger-loving hero to come home.
The unsettled feeling of the dream faded away with it's details as he became preoccupied by the thought that out there, somewhere, it could be catastrophe, some dire moment where he could be there.
If he couldn't run, could he really call himself the Flash?
Running, wearing the mask, had been his life; before then, he could barely remember anything. He'd always been Kid Flash, or the Flash, or something. There'd been few, and short, times when he couldn't run. Things happen, minor setbacks.
He didn't throw on a uniform to go find Bruce. He put the slippers back on and shrugged into a robe, and walked downstairs to find a snack.
Eventually, he put in his com-link.
"S to B, how's work?"
"Eventful as always. Do you need anything?"
"No, I was just thinking. You remember those times, when it was just us, without any complications or world-ending crap getting in the way? When everything was simple?"
"No."
"Yeah. Neither do I."
Beta by
merfilly. :)Chapter Seven: The Way We Never Were
Wally didn't feel at all like getting up.
He didn't have to, as Alfred brought him a big breakfast, the paper, and all sorts of other offers he'd given Bruce in the morning. Messages, calls, etc. Wally just shook his head and laughed.
"You're just taking pity on me," Wally said. "But the eggs are fabulous."
He didn't have to ask if Alfred knew, because he had this habit of knowing everything.
Breakfast took up all of his attention, until he looked up, and Bruce was standing in the doorway. Looking perfectly ravishing in a little black t-shirt that had to be small for him.
"Why?" Bruce asked.
Wally speared a sausage tersely.
"Because, if I don't, every single day I'm going to wake up and wonder what would have happened if I didn't. If someday, I grow old and I still never meet her, I don't want to give myself that regret."
Bruce sat down on the edge of the bed, resting his hand on top of his thigh through the blankets.
"I'll make the arrangements. You're scheduled for work tonight, and depending on what the recommendation is, you may have trouble getting to Central City on time. We'll wait until later on to let anyone else know, until things become clearer. I want you to rest until I'm able to put together the team of specialists. Do you need anything?"
Wally blinked at him a little, considered rebelling, but thought... it might not be so bad, to just let Bruce do everything for a while. The firm order to rest, the control-freak mode setting in like an on switch? Just like he knew it would.
He shook his head and laughed.
Bruce fawned over him a little more before he left, and Wally pushed the tray off to one side carefully, pushing down the blankets and laying back flat, with his stomach bare, leaning up a little to look at it. Peeking over the edge of his fleece shirt like it was some hulking monster.
He bit his lip.
In a moment of bravery, he reached one hand over, and rested it on top. His skin, his stomach, nothing felt different.
"Jesus," he whispered, running his hand up and down his abs in fascination. "This can't be happening."
But still, he just felt like himself.
Wally finished breakfast, skimmed the paper, and curled up under the covers again. Not because Bruce had asked him to. Because, just maybe, if he went to sleep again, it'd all be a dream.
It'd make everything a whole lot easier.
Wally hadn't said anything definitive yet; and it was still very early. But something was different when Bruce looked at him.
Bruce didn't trust himself to offer much input. He'd become less sure of the weight of one side of life against the other. There were other things, more useful things he could do instead.
A great deal of money, and the promise of a government funded project, quickly brought everyone he needed on flights to Metropolis, and he warned the staff about the incoming experts. Updated the background checks on all personnel, and already found one possible loose end to tie up.
He'd take care of it later.
For now, he reviewed the installation's security systems while brushing up on certain aspects of biology.
The League called, and he informed them that they were both involved in a more urgent matter. Which was true.
He was chained to the floor, heavy manacles that he couldn't get free of. It was so dark, and he tried to push away against the wall, find some kind of cover to quell the panic, but the chains just held him there on his knees.
Everything was fuzzy black, until he wasn't alone; there was a pale face that melted out of the darkness, and Batman was standing over him.
He wanted to ask for help, but the words froze in his throat; there was a key dangling out of a black hand, too far away to reach, even when there was a cold breath on his neck, smothering him.
Wally was grateful to wake up, out of breath and still gripped in terror that was fading away all too slowly for his liking.
He rubbed his eyes, then his stomach, sitting on the edge of the bed. 'I can't do this, I can't do this.' Wally frowned at remembering it might not be a good idea to go running, and decided he didn't care.
He did, but he didn't, and he just wore civilian clothes to go to the other side of Bristol, to a public boat landing closed up for the season, with the docks all pulled up and tied down on the rocks.
Not far, but somewhere.
Bruce didn't sound angry when he called him back. He didn't sound like much of anything, but Wally went back anyway.
The part of him that wanted nothing to do with any of this was there with a vengeance, so he stayed quiet, lost in endless loops of rationalization with more of that fear. He didn't know which was worse.
And again, he was glad for that stoic presence beside him, who said nothing, and didn't try to reach out to him. It was better to treat this like a conflict, at least for now. Batman didn't lose those; but they both had a nasty habit of mangling personal matters into something identifiable only by dental records.
It was easy, just to follow instructions, give a lot of no's and yes's, nods and shrugs, cold surfaces, stand still, breathe in, breathe out air that smelled like a hospital. White lab coats, soft voices, and a shadow in the corner.
He looked up, and they were in an office; he was sitting uncomfortably in a chair, and assumed that somewhere lurking by the door was Bruce, with a balding man in another one of those lab coats and an ID badge that said he was Dr. Adams, William D.
The other two had been talking around him, which suddenly rankled him, even if it was his own fault for not paying attention.
"Alright," he cut in, "I want you to bottom-line this. I don't want to hear any more of you guys beating around the bush with jargon. Which I do understand, by the way."
The doctor looked worried, which struck Wally as unprofessional. Whatever.
"I'm not sure how much time I can give you to make up your mind, uh, Flash. You're certain that... conception... took place a little over three weeks ago, but these tests from today are pretty conclusive to about six weeks of development. From what we know about your physiology, that may be the normal course of things, or it could be due to using your powers frequently, which I assume you've been doing."
"Well, yeah."
"If that's the case, development under continued stimulation of your accelerated metabolism could be dangerous, should you decide to continue."
"So no running?"
"That's my first recommendation."
"There's more, already?"
Dr. Adams tapped the rubber end of his pencil on the file in front of him.
"Have you looked at your scans yet?"
"Not really."
The doctor pulled them out, tracing the tip of the pencil around... well, a little dark form in a dark background, but he could make out an arm and bit his lip. Then he circled it around next to it, a more blurry shape the same size.
Wally blinked at him a few times.
"Like, twins?"
"Yes. Which comes along with it's own complications, even for a healthy woman."
"Oh."
"It's likely that you would be confined to partial or complete bed rest for the last half of the pregnancy, if not sooner."
"Oh."
"Not to mention, of course, the constant monitoring of your condition, and possible hospitalization. Or whatever equivalent would be made available."
"Oh."
"I just want you to be made aware of the possibilities."
Wally folded his hands over his stomach, and looked around the room for a moment.
"Worst case scenario?"
"A complication occurs, and your rapid metabolism will make it impossible to reach medical help in time."
"I could die."
"Yes."
"What are the chances of that?"
"We just don't have enough experience with this to tell, especially not so early. It's likely, with close monitoring, any problems would become apparent before that would happen."
"But maybe not."
"As I'm sure you've been made aware, we have the most qualified specialists in the world already looking at this."
Wally nodded slowly, and rubbed his fingers together.
"Is that all?"
Dr. Adams looked briefly confused.
"There's a number of further details we have to discuss..."
"But is that all I really need to know right now?"
"I suppose."
"Okay, just, give the dark one a copy of everything so he doesn't get any ideas, I'll call you."
"Are you sure?"
"Positive."
Wally felt like he was going to throw up, and rushed out into the hall and into the nearest bathroom, worshiping the porcelain god like never before. Like he called it in college, sick-drunk and out of his mind. It had that cold sweat and the awful trembles all the same, and he felt out of his mind.
He cleaned up and regained some composure, and unsurprisingly, Bruce was guarding the door, possibly turning poor interns away from their quest to the urinals with the dedication of just the crazed maniac he was, and they went back to the Batwing and towards home.
If he did this, he wouldn't really have anywhere else to go. That was different than wanting to be there.
It was all different.
"You know, so far, nobody's given me one good reason why I should put myself through this."
"Wally..." Bruce trailed off, looked over, then forward out the window again.
"I think I need one. So give me one."
"I thought I already did."
"Family? Heir to your empire?"
"Wally."
"I know. It's like... I still really don't have a choice," he said.
"You do."
"There's two of them. And, I don't think... I don't think that I have the right."
"You do."
"God, will you say something and mean it?"
Wally wasn't angry, but he decided to act that way until they landed so he'd have an excuse to get more out of him. He hated that he felt like he needed an excuse even more.
It turned out he really didn't need one, as the figure looking at him from the cave floor wasn't wearing a cowl, and looked heartbreakingly vulnerable.
No, he really didn't have a choice.
He had to remember, making a decision, sticking with it, convincing himself that was the right thing to do, he had to remember that, and... that underneath all that kevlar was a scared boy who didn't have any idea what to say to him.
Wally kissed him on the cheek, just enough to give him some reassurance, and went upstairs, walked up the stairs, over the polished wood floors and the thick carpets, past all of Bruce's extravagant wealth to pull on something comfortable and a pair of fuzzy slippers.
Then he padded back down, to the kitchen, where he found, as usual, Alfred busy over cooking in between a copy of As You Like It open on the counter.
"Master Wally, just in time. Please, tell me if I should add anything to this."
Alfred didn't need him to tell him how to cook, but he took the fork and ate the offered bite of honey-roasted chicken. It sparked his appetite again, and he grinned.
"Perfect, but you already knew that."
Wally tossed the fork in the sink, and jumped up on the counter, leafing through the pages without losing his spot. Viola was a pretty name.
"So I figured that I should get your input on all this, because it's... you know... going to be a lot on you, too."
"Sir," Alfred said, setting his hand on Wally's arm, "I am dedicated to all that reside in these halls, whatever the circumstances. It is, without saying, that I am available to anything you may require."
"I know, I do, but... I want to know what you have to say. It's usually pretty good advice."
"From what I know of these matters, there isn't a great deal I could say."
"I have a while yet, but I can't live in limbo like that."
"Perfectly understandable."
"I'm actually pretty sure I know what I want to do, but..."
"Becoming committed to a decision is a different matter than knowing what you feel compelled to do."
"Pretty much."
"Were I a man more like Master Bruce, I would suggest weighing the out the risks and rewards methodically."
"Did that already."
"And what is left, after that?"
Wally smiled, and sighed with something like relief.
"Thanks Alfred. Any more of that chicken?"
"Of course."
He didn't dream this time, a fact he woke up thankful for, taking a long study of the ceiling before he noticed he wasn't alone.
Bruce was sitting beside him, closing a laptop from his perch.
Apparently it was late afternoon, by the sky outside the windows, and Wally didn't really want any more detail than that. Or much detail about anything. He was about to give his life over to someone else, even if he trusted him implicitly. Which he did. It was still a lot.
One thing at a time.
Smile, shrug out a little like he's not nervous, don't touch the stomach, don't look at it, ask about breakfast, a little kiss, ask about what he's working on. Wally worked it out, and ended up lying down next to his knee, looking up.
"Bruce?"
"Yes?"
"I'm going to do it. Don't ask me why again. Hasn't really changed."
"For her?"
"Them."
"Them," Bruce repeated back, taking his hand.
"And us. But mostly them."
"I understand," Bruce said, and Wally really believed it. "I'll have another refrigerator installed in the pantry."
Wally smacked their joined hands against his thigh and gave him a look, but that smile was back. And that was something.
"You're going to regret it soon," Bruce said dryly.
"Why's that?"
"It's generally the worst part."
Wally sighed, letting his head fall back against the bed and closing his eyes.
"This is your fault."
"I don't see how, Wally."
"It is. Trusting that little brat."
"The sex was your idea, as I recall."
"You're the one who's supposed to think of everything."
"I'm not an expert in magic."
Wally looked back up with a smirk, and then scratched his fingers through his hair.
"I'm going to be so bored. And I'm going to have to drive..."
"You're a mechanic."
"But I don't use them! Not for transportation. Unless I've got a good reason."
"Welcome to the rest of humanity."
Wally wrinkled his nose at him.
"I am human, Bruce. Just... faster."
"I know," he said, and kissed one of his knuckles to punctuate the point.
Such a hopeless romantic. Not that he was complaining.
And then, of course, he was deluged with a whole new set of problems. Maybe his body could slow down, but his mind rarely did, and it was spinning with heavy subjects. Names. Nothing to do. No running, for months. Telling people. Being sick and tired. Being... big.
Bruce brought him back with a little tug on his hand, dark eyebrows furrowed a little in concern.
"You have got to stop this constant mother hen stuff, like, nip it in the bug right now, okay? I'm fine, you're fine, we're fine..."
We, which meant something completely different.
Different, different, all different.
"Is Bart here?"
"Yes, I believe so."
It was hard to ever be definitive about much when it came to Bart, so he nodded and sat up.
"I have to talk to him," Wally said, and kissed Bruce briefly.
He had to remind himself to keep walking, having become so comfortable here, a long trip down each step, and to the back of the manor, where he could already hear the noise of the TV.
Bart was playing Halo, sitting on the floor against the front of the sofa. Without a word, Wally picked up the other controller, and Bart switched to multiplayer.
It was a couple of levels before Wally coughed and began to speak over the sound of gunfire.
"You ever seen that movie with Arnold, the one with Danny DeVito?"
"Yeah."
"That kinda happened to me."
Bart instantly paused the game and turned towards him with a bit of a frantic look.
"You got turned into a lab experiment and there's guys in suits chasing you?"
"No, Bart."
"I know you already dress up like..."
"No, Bart, the other thing."
"You didn't."
"What do you mean I didn't?"
"That's just silly."
Bart resumed the game, and Wally followed suit, not really sure how to continue the conversation.
Two more levels, and he finally replied.
"No, seriously."
"I don't believe you."
Wally tapped his fingers on the top of the controller lying in his lap.
"Twins."
The action stopped again, and they turned to face one another.
"Grandpa Barry had twins. And he had a twin, too. You said you met twins in the future," he said, almost like a question.
And then he jumped on Wally's lap, and looked at his stomach like it was some great mystery to be solved.
"You can't tell yet."
"Show me."
Wally pulled up the front of his shirt to his chest, with an arm hugging above his waist.
Bart reached out with an outstretched index finger, and touched him right above his belly button, just holding it there curiously.
"Really?"
"Yeah."
When he dreamed that night, it was memories playing in his mind; mostly things he'd never talked about since coming back. About a night in the sand, surrounded by a fortress and an army.
Only this time, he didn't get out.
The part of him that wanted to find out kept him asleep, until he woke up alone, in the dark.
So this was what it was like, to be with himself all those times, brief as they were, girlfriends waiting for some danger-loving hero to come home.
The unsettled feeling of the dream faded away with it's details as he became preoccupied by the thought that out there, somewhere, it could be catastrophe, some dire moment where he could be there.
If he couldn't run, could he really call himself the Flash?
Running, wearing the mask, had been his life; before then, he could barely remember anything. He'd always been Kid Flash, or the Flash, or something. There'd been few, and short, times when he couldn't run. Things happen, minor setbacks.
He didn't throw on a uniform to go find Bruce. He put the slippers back on and shrugged into a robe, and walked downstairs to find a snack.
Eventually, he put in his com-link.
"S to B, how's work?"
"Eventful as always. Do you need anything?"
"No, I was just thinking. You remember those times, when it was just us, without any complications or world-ending crap getting in the way? When everything was simple?"
"No."
"Yeah. Neither do I."
no subject
on 2006-09-13 05:59 pm (UTC)