Disclaimer: I do not own…any proper noun in this story. The Question, The Flash, Hub City, Central City, Vic Sage, Wally West, Supergirl, no, not even the National Inquirer. These are all the property of DC and…I guess the National Inquirer. Anywho…I made no money, please don't sue.

A/N: If you've seen the JLU episode "Fearful Symmetry" (the one with the Galatea), then you know everything you need to to start this story.

The Question stood in the very center of his rooms aboard the Watchtower and considered. They were similar enough to Vic Sage's apartment in Hub City for him to have settled in relatively easily. He had brought copies of the highlights of his quest to track the Conspiracy, and three trench coats identical to that which he currently wore hung in the closet, topped by three matching fedoras. Although he never removed his mask (Vic didn't belong up here, and you really never could be sure who was watching), he had become comfortable here, and quickly.

On a certain level, it bothered him. For a brief moment, he considered the possibility that Bruce had found his apartment and assigned him these quarters for precisely that reason, that his identity had been leaked to the others of the original team, perhaps beyond, that they wanted something from him other than his help and cooperation. He made a mental note to perform yet another sweep for monitoring devices.

Three small, quick taps at his door interrupted his train of thought. Question quickly crossed to the entrance. A strange man with a crooked grin and lightning bolts on his head stood in the doorway.

The Flash looked past Question into his room and grimaced slightly. "Dude, who does your decorating, the National Inquirer?"

Apparently the other man's eye had caught on his Conspiracy wall, in full view from the open door. He made another mental note. 'Find way to partially open mechanical door.' "Can I help you?" Question asked after a moment. He discreetly looked the Flash over, simpler without eyes on his mask. Although he was smiling, Question got the distinct feeling that Flash was nervous about something.

"I…uh," he started inarticulately. "Can I come in?"

Question hesitated a moment. Flash was young, still carrying the naiveté of his age like a badge of honor, but he wasn't stupid, as so many of the other new Leaguers believed. And despite being incredibly impulsive, he had never done anything Question considered questionable…no pun intended. He took a step back from the door, allowing the younger man just enough room to slide through the doorway.

Flash stepped in quickly and quietly, possibly sensing Question's intense desire to shut the door. His presence was a small mystery, perhaps lending credence to Question's earlier musings. But the only mystery the Question liked was a solved one, and he intended to get to the bottom of this one as quickly as possible.

Flash stood awkwardly just inside the door, as though he was waiting for something. The part of Question that was Vic Sage reminded him of one of the ridiculous social niceties for which he had little time and less use. "Sit," he said, trying not to sound too commanding. After all, he reminded himself, this was a person he was speaking to, not a dog.

The Question had little furniture that had not been provided for him here, and as such, Flash's options were limited. A small table stood in the corner of the main room, complete with a pair of chairs, and all of it was littered with newspapers. Again, Flash stood hesitantly, as though not sure whether to move the papers or sit on them. Question set the example by moving to the chair opposite that which the Flash seemed determined to use and piling the papers atop their counterparts on the tabletop. Flash quickly followed his lead and sat.

They stared at each other a moment in silence, which Question would have been glad to continue, but Flash started to squirm uncomfortably. It seemed Question would have to lead here, too. "What can I do for you?" he asked, using more words than necessary to set a lighter mood. The last thing he needed was to scare this man into silence as he had so many others.

Flash looked around nervously at the walls. The chair he occupied began to vibrate slightly. "I think maybe I oughta talk to you. To get some advice, I mean. I dunno, I guess I just thought, after the way you helped Supergirl with that whole clone…thingy, maybe you were the guy to come to with this."

For a brief moment, Question considered the implications of associating himself with someone who still tried to use 'thingy' in a sentence, superpowers or no. He waited.

"Lately, I kinda feel like I've been…being, y'know, watched…like, followed." He seemed embarrassed by the admission, but quickly covered. "I'm not really the paranoid type…" He trailed off, laughing nervously.

"And that's why you came to me," Question finished flatly.

"Right!" Flash jumped on his assistance, then reddened slightly beneath his mask. "I mean, no. Well, yeah, but…that didn't," he sputtered rapidly.

"I understand," Question broke in to assure him.

"Then can you explain it to me?" Flash asked with a weak grin.

"You might have a problem, and you came to me because out of all the people on this station, I'm one of the few who won't laugh or write this off as too many cheeseburgers before bed." Question almost smiled under his mask. He could actually see the wheels turning in the younger man's head.

'Cheeseburgers? How did he—?' The words were practically plastered across Flash's face. "Just so we're clear…you're not the one following me, right?"

"Trust me, when I follow someone, they don't catch on."

Flash hesitated. "It's funny. I'm not really sure whether or not that makes me feel better."

Probably because I never actually answered you, Question thought. Aloud, he abruptly steered the conversation back to its original topic. "When did you first notice this…feeling?"

Flash thought a moment. "About a couple weeks ago, I guess. I kept hoping I'd shake it off or something, but…"

"Do you remember where you were?"

"Well, yeah, but, see, the thing is…" He trailed off again, but this time Question just watched him passively. "I wasn't really, y'know, Flash at the time."

This may have just gotten serious. "So someone is following Wally West."

Flash bristled. "Hey, how did you…" Question cocked his head slightly to the side. "Oh, yeah, right."

Question continued as though he hadn't been interrupted. "And you think someone knows who you are."

"Probably not somebody who wants to send me fan mail." Flash looked down at the table, and it seemed to Question that admitting his fear out loud had actually made it worse for him.

It occurred to him, then, just how much trust Flash had walked in prepared to give him. It was enough to lessen his earlier suspicions. Flash looked a little less nervous, but his earlier expression had given way to a lost, almost hopeless sort of look, the kind Question had never seen him wear in public. "If whoever is following you already knew, there wouldn't be any point in it," he said, and felt just the smallest bit of gratification when Flash looked just a little less lost. "But it will look suspicious if two known heroes show up snooping around."

"So you'll help me?" Flash asked, leaping out of his seat. Then his brain seemed to catch up with him. "Wait…are you saying…"

"The Flash and The Question can't be anywhere near this," he started sternly, then lightened his tone. "But if Wally West invited an old friend to town, it would be only natural for him to give that friend a tour of the city."

"And while we're wandering around…" Flash started, getting the gist of the plan.

"I'll be investigating." Question looked at Flash yet again, weighing his next move carefully. He tore a scrap from one of the newspapers and scrawled a seven digit number across it. He stood, then, and walked with Flash over to the door. "We'll go to Earth, and at two o'clock, you'll call this number from your apartment." He handed the page to the Flash without hesitation. "Remember, you're just a guy calling an old friend."

Flash looked at the seven simple numbers and seemed to truly understand what a heavy message they conveyed. He put his hand on Question's shoulder. "Thank you. Really." And in a blur of red, he sped away, leaving Question with only the residual heat on his shoulder as proof he'd been there at all.

Thanks for reading. More to come.