Of the seven original members of the League, the Flash is the one Beatriz identifies with. All of the others were born with their powers, or consciously chose them, chose to become something more. Flash is the only one who had power thrust upon him, and Beatriz wonders how much like her he is. There are others like her, like him, who did not choose it and were not born with it, and they hold him up as an example of what they could do, what they should do.
They call him incorruptible.
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The first year she joined the League, she didn't see the Flash. He had night shift and she had day shift, and never the twain shall meet. She wondered why he was there – night shift was for those who didn't belong, who hadn't found their niche in the League. She found her niche quickly – for all that she and Ice had diametrically opposed powers, she found in her a good friend.
Sometimes, when Ice and her were going off duty and the night shift was coming on, she saw him in the halls, talking to the weirdoes and oddballs of the League; the Question, Huntress, Wildcat…he seems ill at ease, for all that he smiles at them, and she yearns to take his hand and proclaim that she understand what it is like to have power forced upon you, to have two choices – to ignore it or not to ignore it – and choosing the better path, the harder path, despite the ease of the other. Nobody would ever know if you never did nothing, right?
But she never does.
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The second year, he's back on day shift, and she realizes the only reason he was on night shift was to make sure everyone was comfortable, to make sure that everyone found their place and wasn't left out. She sees him often now, and he flirts with her outrageously, smiling and laughing and joking. He does that with everyone, though, and for all that he flirts so much, he doesn't give any woman – or man, if the darker rumors are true – a second glance.
Someone whispers that he likes to date normal humans, and she thinks she understands. After all, doesn't she do the same thing? For all that she burns with green fire and is cold all the time, she doesn't class herself as part of them, part of the rest of the League. Besides, dating other metas is awkward – just look at Hawkgirl and the Lantern. They were probably the biggest argument against inter-League dating just by existing.
She smiles at him, and he smiles right through her and doesn't give her a second glance.
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When he saves the universe, the others are jubilant. This is proof that just because they came to it later and by accident, they are just as devoted to good as the others, that they are no less heroes then the others. They have a party and drink champagne and toast the Flash, the greatest of them all.
Beatriz drinks one glass and then hides in the generator of their impromptu headquarters. In the heat of the metal chamber, sitting on coals, she sobs into her arms, feeling the burning liquid trace down her cheeks. They burn green, and she wonders for a moment if it's fire or water that's coming out of her eyes. Then the air flares green around her and she cries harder then ever.
She would have missed him had he died.
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Now she only has three shifts a week. Technically, she only has to do one, but she enjoys the League – and there's not much else to do these days. She and Ice usually coordinate their shifts together, and Hawkgirl is almost always there. To her delight, though, so is Flash – not 'the' Flash, just Flash.
She hopes that means she's his friend.
In the nine months they have shifts together, she finds that he is very…human. He loves hamburgers, takes his coffee with 37 sugars, likes to watch TCM because the movies are better, is claustrophobic… There are a thousand different qualities that make him Flash the man, rather than the hero she gazed at worshipfully from afar.
Still, she can't quite shake the hero-worship. He's a senior member, after all.
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It's movie night when she realizes she likes him. Superman makes them all come together at least once a month for 'team-building' exercises, and this month they're watching Airplane. In the darkness of the conference center, she watches the line of his jaw as he laughs, the unconscious flexing of his arms and legs, the graceful curve of his shoulder, and finds herself wanting to know him, to know if it hurt for him (like her) when he got his powers, if he ever thought about leaving the life, if he likes eggs benedict, if he knows how to snorkel.
She finds herself wanting to see his face, to know his name, and that is something she cannot have. Can never have.
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Another day, another dead-end on Luthor. Beatriz and Ice talk about him and the problems he causes by his very absence (is he planning something? Where is he? Why hasn't he done anything?), keeping half an eye on Flash like she usually does. And she notices something.
He likes her, too.
It's all in the way he stares at her, looking as though someone had smacked him over the head. She can't see his eyes through the mask, but something about the way he's sitting reminds her of the boys at school and how they would sigh over a girl they liked, a girl they thought was unapproachable.
Beatriz doesn't question why he likes her, anymore than she questions why she likes him. It just is. But maybe, just maybe, she has a chance, now.
Maybe she'll learn the answers to her questions after all.