Ethos Vile Chapter Two, a teen titans fanfic

Disclaimer: I don't own, you don't sue.

A/N: I know, I know! It's been almost a year... I'm sorry! But here it is, chapter two! Enjoy.

"Why?"

It was a simple question, one that merited a complicated answer – an answer she wasn't going to give him. Instead she simply smirked, arms folded across her chest, openly mocking him with her silence. This only fueled his frustration – she had forgotten how impatient he could be – which in turn furthered her own twisted amusement.

"Why?" he repeated, taking a small step forward. His gloved hands curled into fists at his sides. Maybe an amateur would have been nervous, but she'd been in the criminal business for years. Besides, he'd never hurt her.

"'Why', what?" she asked innocently, lifting a single eyebrow.

"You left," he stated flatly.

"Very good!" She clapped her hands together with a vicious grin, her voice high-pitched and silly as if she were speaking to a small child. "You have an excellent memory!"

"Dammit, Jinx! You took off ten years ago, and now that you've finally decided to show your face, you've reduced yourself to petty crime? I want to know why you're doing this!"

"Do you really need to know everything?" Jinx purred, her lips settling back into their usual smirk. She rested her chin on her knuckles, elbow propped in her other hand. "Sometimes it's better to just let things be." Her eyes flashed as she spread out her fingers in his direction. As a wave of pale pink magic shot after him, the ground rumbled beneath his feet and sent him flying back.

"You've grown slow in your old age, Zippy."

Thirty Minutes Earlier

It had been a long day. The teleporters in the Watchtower had gone out of commission for three hours – something about an experiment on earth projecting signals with just the right wavelength to disrupt the system. Likewise, any supers on board at the time that lacked the ability to fly were stuck there until J'onn and the tower maintenance crew could get everything back online.

For Flash, three hours was a very long time.

Three hours on monitor duty was even longer.

There were three reasons he hated being on monitor duty. The first was rather obvious: the use of the words 'sit', 'still', and 'Flash' in the same sentence was virtually unheard of. He wasn't known for having much patience to begin with, and with his internal clock running at a hyper-accelerated pace, he had trouble every now and then slowing down for the rest of the world, nevermind lounging in a small, stuffy room with no one to talk to. Well, that wasn't entirely true; while the monitors flashing at every incoming report of white collar crime weren't exactly talkative, there was always the intercom. Unfortunately, Batman was the only person he could locate, and with his being angry enough as it was with the teleporters down, Flash was wise enough to choose not to annoy him any further.

The second reason was simply lack of action. He could stare at the monitors for as long as he liked, kindly inform active supers of trouble that required their special services, and, as a senior member of the League, even coordinate groups to deal with especially nasty problems. But he could never actually participate in beating up the bad guys, never go about the actual saving-the-world bit he so very much loved to do. At least not while he was stuck in the monitor room with his only company being a blinking red light that, if he was cooped up long enough, seemed to be even more obnoxious than he was.

Lastly, Flash despised monitor duty because it gave him too much time to think. For a man who could take time to consider why Martians seemed to enjoy Oreo cookies as opposed to Chips Ahoy, while simultaneously dodging bullets, the usual two hour shifts in the Monitor Room were more than enough to satisfy any urges to contemplate any deep, philosophical issues he may have (which, admittedly, were very few).

Thus, Flash's impromptu assignment was frowned upon with immense displeasure. He hated being bored, despised being out of the action, and above all else, he had absolutely no desire to think about the not-so-mysterious pink haired woman whatsoever. While his colleagues seemed to have dismissed his sudden coughing fit and made no connection to the villainess on the screen (Flash wasn't so confident that Batman had ignored it completely), his own mind was still reeling. It had been ten years; why now?

"FLASH!"

The sound was a violent blast in his ear and he started, rolling back several feet in his wheeled chair. He scowled, despite the fact that there was no one to see it, silently thankful for the interruption of his mental montage.

"What the hell was that?" he spat as he pressed his ear piece, glaring at the floor.

"If you had answered me the first three times, I wouldn't have had to yell."

Green Lantern's deep voice flooded over the intercom, already tired and impatient with Flash in a way that was more routine than actual annoyance. Flash spun idly in his chair, grinning now in spite of his previous irritation, happy to hear a voice that wasn't Batman's monotonous growl.

"Hey, GL. Sup?"

"If your ass was by the monitors like it should be, you'd already know what's up."

Flash decided he and Green Lantern knew each other far too well.

"The teleporters are up?"

"They've been online for the past fifteen minutes. I'd have thought you'd be out of there as soon as possible. What's with you?"

"Nothing," Flash lied, almost too quickly, though he doubted it would be noticed; he spoke 'too quickly' most of the time. "If it's not the teleporters, what is it?"

"Check the scanners. Batman said there was a sudden crime explosion in Jump City and the surrounding areas. Think you can check it out?"

"Why didn't Batman just tell me?"

"I don't know, Flash; the man's busy. Just get a move on."

"Yeah, yeah. Flash out."

He pulled the headset away from his ears, dropping it with a light clatter onto the control board. Someone would figure out he'd left and send a replacement; Flash almost pitied the sap. Almost.

The museum was a sweet, cool relief from the sweltering temperatures that had swept in with summer. Spandex had a funny way of rubbing in all the wrong places, especially when the air was warm and humid, and you moved as fast as the Flash. He stretched his arms as he slid into the room, quickly hiding his broad frame behind a large stone pillar.

It was silent, save for the low hum of the security equipment. He kept his breathing slow and even; the fewer ways the enemy could detect his presence, the better. The softest tinkle of glass met his ears, and he tensed, ready to defend himself. When nothing happened he peered around the pillar. As his eyes adjusted to the darkness, they widened as his mind began to comprehend what he saw.

"Jinx."