Legacy

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Summary: What if Bart never became Impulse again? After the Apokolips war (by about ten years), the world needs a new Flash and the JLA, constructed of the men and women that once made up Young Justice, has one chance to get their man - who just happens to be Bart Allen. Unfortunately, Bart has his own, average, mundane lifestyle… [My first multi-chapter epic YJ thingy. Um. Yeah. 0o]

Genre: Action/Adventure/Romance

Chapters:

Written from: November 16 to November 18, 2001

Request: I'd love feedback and I'd even welcome flames at this point. Please review this and tell me what you think. :]

Distribution: youngjusticefanfic and www.fanfiction.net [and if anyone out there actually wants to post this piece of literary junk somewhere else, please notify me some way]

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~II~

Sometime around noon, the anesthetic wore off and Anita Fite was rudely, abruptly jolted out of a drug-induced dream that was incredibly strange and suddenly hard to remember. Blinking her eyes bewilderedly, feeling disoriented and more than a little foggy in her mind, she moved to feel her forehead with her left hand, and immediately regretted it. Gasping, she froze all muscles along her left arm and shoulder, gently easing herself back down onto the propped-up bed. Bits and pieces of a recent, half-blocked memory cluttered haphazardly throughout her mind in no particular order. Predominant, however, was the basic instinct that she had failed at something that meant a great deal to the overwhelming maternal side of her. Funny, though, that she couldn't remember what it was.

"In case you haven't figured it out yet," a wry female voice came from the med-bay's doorway, "you shouldn't move your left arm any. If you do, a very painful message will be relayed by your nervous system straight to your brain." Cissie grinned from her position of leaning against the doorframe, thick blonde braid hovering somewhere between her shoulder blades and her hips in length. "But I think you've noticed that." The green cloth of her outfit hung loosely around her body, the long-sleeved one-piece covering all skin up to her chin and down to her knees: a far cry from the brilliant red-and-white miniskirt-combo she had worn as Arrowette, years ago. A thin white 'H' encircled by a scarlet hoop was emblazoned at her collarbone, and once more on the belt hooked around her waist.

"So, what's the verdict, 'Healer?'" Anita smiled wanly, wincing involuntarily as weaseling stab of pain jerked up her arm.

"Well," Cissie became dead serious, "it wasn't an incredibly dangerous wound. Messy, painful, yes; dangerous, life-changing, no. You're lucky it didn't strike the bone: that would have been a whole different ball game. On a lighter note, if your Czarnian boytoy tries to come in here one more time, I'm going to start doing things I know I'm going to regret." She paused thoughtfully. "Like discharging you prematurely and swearing never to speak with you ever again."

"Lobo tried to come in?" Anita tilted her head to one side, thick bronze-brown curls tumbling precariously over her shoulders out of the loosely-constructed bun someone had put to keep her hair out of the way.

"How much anesthesia did I give you?" Cissie muttered to herself, turning to leave. "Lobo wants to see you, by the way," she said a bit louder. As she left, she muttered, "Guy almost blows the damn door down and she asks, 'Lobo tried to come in?' For the love of all I hold holy…"





Susan Hollidae, a shy young woman with a delicate figure and silken wheat-colored hair, nervously approached the crying woman sitting outside the sterile hospital room, tears dripping continuously, silently, between her fingers. "Ma'am," Susan began cautiously, "what is wrong?"

The woman looked up, eyes anguished and searing with unhealed pain. "Haven't you been watching the news?" she all but hissed, grief tearing away any inbred politeness. "My baby boy just died."

Susan fell silent, crouching before the woman. "What was his name?" she asked gently, azure eyes blazing with a coaxing power.

"Jo-Jonathon," the woman stuttered, fresh tears rising to cover her dark brown eyes. "He was only five," she continued, fingers clawing desperately at the cloth of her wrinkled skirt. "My poor, poor baby boy…"

Sucking in a breath, Susan prayed to whatever deity was listening. Prayed that what she was doing was right. "Let me show you something…"





"Screw the media," Kon snarled, crossing his bulky arms over his chest in a self-hating rage. "What do they know? Even if we had gotten the kid to the hospital in time, would he still have lived?" He quieted as soon as the words left his mouth, startling blue eyes fixed on the broad table he and the others were seated at. Wonderwoman, Cassie, reached out, grasping his fisted hand gently and squeezing it comfortingly.

Cissie tightened her lips, drawing them into thin, taut white lines. "It might have been possible. We'll never know, will we? It was a situation that got out of hand and it might have been easier if a speedster had been here." The tense air loosened a fraction. "Unfortunately, Wally and Barry are both in retirement and Max Mercury is heaven-knows-where in time. And," she broke off, lapsing into silence, blue eyes downcast.

"And Bart has long since removed himself from the superhero world," Anita finished, absently rubbing at an itch along her left arm. "Which leads us back to the beginning: do we or do we not need to try and bring Bart back as the next Flash?"

Glances were shared, thoughts speeding through their minds and vanishing just as swiftly.

"I for one think we should respect Bart's decision," came the rough voice of Batman, his mask removed and piled in a small lump of black cloth over the bat emblem of his spot around the JLA table. "He has found a place for himself. A place in the world as a person, and not an impulse."

"Bart can do what he wants," Lobo shrugged. "Not that it matters what th' Main Man thinks: I ain't one of ya JL whatevers."

"I agree with Lobo," Anita spoke decisively. "About Bart doing what he wants to. By now he has own life. We shouldn't ruin that because we don't have confidence in ourselves."

"Yes," Superman said shortly. "We could use a Flash."

Wonderwoman elbowed him in the rib cage with a sweet smile. "What he means is he misses Bart. And we do need a Flash or a speedster of some sort."

"I side with Kon and Cassie," a soft voice, exotic and eerily beautiful, said almost regretfully. She smiled at Batman, a sort of 'sorry, it's my opinion' smile. There was something else on her pretty face that he could see. Something they'd need to discuss at a later time.

Cissie, Healer, was playing with the hood of her green outfit, gnawing nervously on her lower lip. She was more than aware that she would cast the tie-breaking vote. It wasn't a pressure she wanted. "Well," she began, hesitating, dropping her hands into her lap. "I think…"


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"Um, Mis'er Allen," a shy, small voice piped up, a chubby little hand tugging on his brown slacks, "I made a pict-er for you."

Bart turned away from the board, crouching down on his toes. He gave the child in front of him a smile and, with a nod from the little girl, accepted the crinkling piece of paper. Bright colors were messily combined to form a fish-shape, the paint thicker in some places and thinner in others: the cost of finger-painting. "It's lovely, Erica," he told her, tone almost reverent. "Would you like me to put it on the blackboard?" Erica nodded fervently, face bright and upturned, black hair bouncing around her brown face as she moved her head excitedly. "Okay, then." He stood up, unfolding himself to his full six-foot-something height, holding his far larger hand out for Erica. She beamed and grabbed it happily, skipping alongside his walking.

"Now, where do you want to put it?" he asked gently, strands of his auburn hair falling across his amber eyes. A light breeze, coming from an open window, brushed his red sweater and tousled Erica's dark hair.

"Ummmm," she scrunched her nose up in thought, eyes fixated on the blackboard half-covered with drawings and paintings the kindergarten class had done. Switching her weight from one foot to the next, she jabbed a finger at an empty space over Bart's shoulder. "There!" she declared with all the regality of a young queen. And then she returned to just being a four-year old girl. "P'ease?"

Bart scooped her up, off the floor, somehow managing to hold her up in one arm and grab the tape off his desk with the free one. Erica squealed in delight, and, accepting the tape, she carefully tore off two pieces of the adhesive, taping her painting to the blackboard herself. With a faux-critical air, the young teacher made a show of studying the position, finally saying: "It's perfect."

Erica clapped gleefully and laughed as he set her down, back on the floor. Instantly, the rest of the small kindergarten class was clamoring for a 'ride.'

"You!" And with that said, Bart grabbed a tiny boy, Tony, and swung him up. "One trip around the room?" he questioned little Tony and the boy grinned in answer. "Hold on!"

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[Mmm-hmm. Okay, this is what we who are too lazy to write long chapters call "filler chapters." Um. Yeah. Anyway, we now know that, one, Anita has blocked out the whole little-boy-dying thing from her mind {that might be important in future chapters} and, two, Bart is a kindergarten teacher. I'll be revising Chapter I soon. Ja ne!]

[oh, yeah, and: to be continued]