A/N: Actually, this is in regards to a previous story (Chemistry) in which I proposed that Wally held a secret desire to be a cowboy. So here I sit reading the comic book Impulse #22, page 22 and... A disguised Wally revealing himself: "Thanks for the Stetson, Jay. Linda won't let me buy my own." I am so tickled pink that I knew Wally better than I ever thought I did--even at a time I hadn't read any of his comics.

I wrote the above before I was originally going to post this. If only the rest of my life of late had been so good.

FFN USERS! PLAGIARISM ALERT!

In lesser good news...there is a scumbag stealing people's work from FFN and and posting it at a hard core porn site. I suggest that everyone use a search engine to check their stories now and again...title...preferably a unique sentence or three. With a porn site, I'm thinking the owners are just as morally deprived as the thief, so don't go giving them an email you don't want compromised. If you are familiar enough with websites...try finding out who the service provider of the website itself is. Maybe they can shut down the whole site if they won't put remove your work. I think Windows users have something called Whois...a program that tells where a site originates? Maybe that would be an avenue for some.

Know that I would never okay any of my stories being placed in an tripe-X rated site. I despise PWP (sex without a plot) and even more so graphic anatomy pictures that would make Michelangelo puke. They aren't telling a story...they're capitulating to hormones and taking the easy route straight to the gutter.

I'm not a superhero or a psychiatrist who can stop all the emotionally handicapped from staying in the gutter of life. If it gives someone satisfaction knowing that any praise they get belongs to someone else...well, they are just choosing to be pathetic and waste their time on this Earth. They could do better on their own merit; yet they decided not to try for something they could take pride in. What a waste.

Me? I'm going to write some more.

2/20/10: Damn....I was so upset about the thief, I forgot to put the disclaimer in. Justice League and all it's wonderful characters names and places are not mine. They belong to DC and Warner Bros. The plot and dialogue here are mine save for the Wikepedia passages on domestic workers. You will only find my JL stories at FFN.

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Kinetic Energy: noun: (Physics) energy that a body possesses by virtue of being in motion.

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[So, they took the bait?]

"Yep--both of them. Wally tried to make something for Bruce like you suggested---and boy, was that scary to see---then decided to take responsibility lessons from Alfred." Tim rolled his eyes. "Gee, I wonder how that idea got planted in his brain?"

[Who knows why odd thoughts strike? Let's just put it down to...a mystery. So Alfred fell before the onslaught of Wally's eyes. Ha! We knew it would work.]

"I still don't get why you didn't just give him some stuff or money to buy things with. Maybe have J'onn say he could stay and eat at the Watchtower for awhile."

[The Watchtower commissary is down for repairs after Green Arrow started a food fight and one wayward cheeseburger arrow damaged the refrigeration system. Besides, Wally wouldn't have taken anything that smacked of charity...or have just given it away to some shelter. Believe me, I've tried--he's got more pride than Bruce does--hence this manipulative scheme. I better go. Don't let him find out I'm behind this or he'll run off, Tim. This is for his own good.]

"I won't. Later, 'Wing."

Tim turned off his cell and glided over to the nondescript door. He knocked four times--three in succession, then the last after an infinitesimal beat that most would have missed. The door opened a crack, closed, then opened again all the way. Wally stepped aside so that Tim could come in as quickly as possible. The door was then shut and locked behind him so fast he didn't even hear the click.

"Wally."

"Master Timothy."

The boy hero blinked at the speedster--first at being so politely addressed by a man who delighted in teasing him, then at Wally's new set of clothes. They were a far cry from what he'd been wearing just hours before. Tim could not get over how down right presentable his friend appeared. The neatly pressed dark green woolen slacks and white Egyptian cotton shirt with a full length tie of burgundy red made him look positively...cultured. Even his hair had been neatly trimmed and combed with nary a hair out of place.

It was downright surreal.

"Wally?" Tim gasped.

"That's me." At least the quick grin was unchanged.

"Wow."

For his part, Wally seemed less enthused with his new look as evidenced when his smile rapidly melted away.

Oh, the fabric was of exceptional quality right down to the lambswool socks and he suspected the entire ensemble came from some fancy Italian designer seeing as the name on the label made his eyes cross over, but he wasn't used to such heavy fabrics trapping his body heat so well. With his metabolism constantly 'on', Wally felt overly warm regardless that the matching jacket was still hanging unused in the closet; and though they weren't anywhere near as form fitting as his Flash uniform, it wasn't as soft either. The starched collar felt just like the word implied--a device to make sure you felt owned. The hair gel made his fingers feel gooey when he ran them through his locks despite that it was actually of a very light consistency; again unfamiliarity with such things being on his person. Now, the ultra shiny shoes? They were not in the least bit springy like his normally thick-soled boots were. Worse, even though Alfred had insisted he was to see the items as a Christmas gift, Wally was scared to death of soiling the things and having to pay Alfred back as he had a feeling that they cost more money than he'd held in his life. As it was he feared he was going to need that stipend for a caseload of anti-perspiration body spray.

If this was the kind of torture the well moneyed had to endure since childhood, no wonder The Batman was so cranky.

"Alfred burned everything I had on while I was in the bath just so I couldn't wear any of it again," Wally explained in an almost whining tone. Tim kept on staring at him. "Then he insisted on trimming my hair and putting some styling oil on it which I really don't like because I have to comb it again every time I touch it like it really matters if one strand is sticking up or something." Tim kept staring at him. "After that he foisted this straight jacket stuff on me." Reaching into a back pocket, Wally withdrew a leather billfold. "Although, he did throw in this nifty wallet with all these odd little pocket sections made to fit ready-made I.O.U. slips--which is kind of handy; but nothing for holding coins in--which is really weird..."

"Credit cards," Tim explained while his brain was still operating on automatic.

"Huh?"

Tim realized he was still staring and mentally shook himself out of his stupor. "Nobody carries coins these days and those slits are not for holding I.O.U's...they're for credit cards."

Wally shrugged. Credit cards, promissory notes...they were just different ways of saying 'Hey, I can't afford this, but please let it slide this once?' The billfold was returned to it's place. Gesturing at the garments, the speedster fretted, "I feel like some sort of male model for a fancy clothier advert whose been threatened with death if he so much as puts one wrinkle on the merchandise."

"Have you even seen yourself in a mirror yet?" Tim wanted to know.

"Well, yeah...kind'a. Alfred set me before one, but I didn't really pay attention as it was just too much at once and I wasn't sure I wanted to know. Why?" His eyes widened. "Did he buzz cut some kind of slang on the back of my head? Add a girlie ribbon?" He reached back with both hands, frantically feeling for anything that smacked of a prank. In other words, something he would do.

"You...look hot." Tim blushed and wanted to die for how that sounded. Fortunately, the man was too engrossed in himself to notice and make fun of him.

"Tell me about it!" Wally exclaimed as he abandoned his search for vindictive hair-style deviations, plucking carefully at the shirt front. "I'm sweltering in this! Whoever said natural fabrics breathe better than synthetics never wore a Flash uniform to compare--"

"No...I mean you look hot in the way a guy whose thinking about what a girl might go for in a guy would call hot."

Wally blinked. Then grinned fit to burst. "Really?"

"Um, I'm just a fellow guy," Tim emphasized for good measure, "but...yeah. I think any girl would look twice at you."

Speeding over to the bathroom mirror, Wally gave himself a thorough once over. "Hey, I don't look half bad in this at that." He turned around to study the effect from his other side. "The green really brings out my eyes and compliments my hair and maybe the fabric isn't that uncomfortable..." he pouted a little "..even if it does kind'a hide my tight butt. I wonder if it comes in bright red with lighting trim?"

Tim just nodded as he tore his eyes away from the novel sight of a well-attired Wally West----if not that of a preening one. Afraid of looking like he was checking the speedster out, Tim glanced around for something else to talk about. His eyes latched onto a set of books on the study desk.

"What's this?" He lifted a book and read the title "Standard Etiquette. Rules for Young Gentlemen. Steps Towards Self-Improvement?" Wally was back at his side in a heart beat.

"Homework, Master Tiny Tim. You know, the work a student does in order to gain knowledge? Alfred has me reading up on what a manservant is while he clears out a room, but I can't get my head around all those being as the text is so dry it would kill Aquaman on contact, so I'm also trying out alternative stuff I borrowed from the Gotham Library."

Tim saw that underneath the desk were other books, hidden from casual view. Social Etiquette for Dummies. The Idiot's Guide On Not Being One. So You Want To Be More Than A Doofus Slapped In A Tux? He glanced up at the red head, one eyebrow raised higher than the other.

"Yo, don't diss the mass marketing fare," Wally warned him. "The info is the same except in a more palatable form. Not to mention--" Wally picked one up and flipped through it, grinning at the little panels of comical artwork that graced the beginning of each chapter, "the comic strips are pretty cool."

"There's a learning aid plus," Tim rolled his eyes.

"Yep." He sat Tim down at the work station and clicked on a browser book tab. "Check this out. I'm also looking stuff up on Wikipedia." The screen dutifully brought up the public encyclopedia.

"Alfred refers to that as 'Wicked Impedia,' Tim nodded knowingly. No wonder Wally was so wary when he opened the door for him. Alfred would have thrown a fit at a pupil using anything less than scholarly materials of a major university's level. He set his fingers upon the keyboard. "Let me see what it says...

A domestic worker is someone who works within the employer's household. Domestic workers perform a variety of household services for an individual or a family, from providing care for children and elderly dependents to cleaning and household maintenance, known as housekeeping. Responsibilities may also include cooking, doing laundry and ironing, food shopping and other household errands. Some domestic workers live within the household where they work.~~wikipedia"

Tim smirked a bit devilishly. "If you lived where you worked your employer would have to own a small country full of farmland to keep your stomach happy."

Wally glowered at the reminder of why he was forced to indenture himself in the first place and was ready to let loose a bit of his temper, but then thought better of it considering what he'd just read about how a manservant took care of the family of his boss. Alfred would not be happy if he accidentally ran the child of a prospective employer to the Arctic Circle even if he gave the excuse of cooling them both off.

"I don't eat that much." His raging appetite was a sore point what with it being the main cause of his monetary woes as well as a rather big issue in keeping his secret identity just that. If Wally West was habitually seen emptying out the local All-You-Can-Eat restaurants, it would be a dead giveaway that he was The Flash. As it was all of his friends and coworkers thought he was making a pig of himself at meal times. Not a selling point for prospective girlfriends.

Well, that and not being able to pick up the tab.

"Okay, we already know you can't be trusted with grocery shopping or cooking--" Tim snickered, blissfully unaware of how close he was to seeing how well the polar ice caps were really doing against global warming. He blinked. "Exactly which room is Alfred airing out and why?"

"The laundry room," Wally sighed letting his ire fade away as quickly as it had manifested. "While Alfred was getting my new suit I thought I'd help out by doing some ironing for him. I mean, I've seen it done enough times in commercials and TV sitcoms." He pantomimed the actions, " You plug in the iron and press down. I mean what's the top setting for except to speed things up a little?"

"Mast--I mean, Mr. West---what in heaven's name set off the smoke detector and why does it smell like barbecued wet sheep in...here? Oh dear....tell me those aren't the remains of Master Bruce's favorite trousers?"

"I'm sorry! I just wanted to help and then--! Please don't tell Batz I set his pants on fire!"

How was I to know the hottest settings along with super speed were not to be used on delicate fabrics?" Thank God that the room sported natural ventilation so as to get rid of the majority of the charred merino wool smell before Bruce happened by and saw what had become of that pair of pants. The last thing Wally wanted was to get the butler in trouble.

"Well, so much for ironing duties," Tim looked again at the article "And we have no elderly dependents or children for you to practice on."

Wally gave Tim a meaningful look, making the latter's eyes widen in dismay.

"No. Don't even go there, Wally."

"Just a pretend jaunt to the playground," Wally pleaded with full puppy-eye super powers engaged to warp factor two. Tim quickly placed his hands over his eyes just like Dick had once instructed him to in self defense. "You said it yourself---I look hot in this outfit. What better way to check out that hypothesis than by having your caretaker's studly new look checked out by the passing females?"

"No."

Time to bring into play the big cards.

"I'll push you on the big kids swing hard enough to make a full loop---The Vertical Axis---and not tell Bruce."

Tim breathed out, trying to resist temptation. "Big kids? A full circle over the bar?" That was every kid's fantasy while on the swings--achieving The Vertical Axis. He'd once asked Superman for that kind of a push, but Bruce was such the worrier that Tim would get hurt while doing something non-Robin and thus be rendered for a time useless as The Boy Wonder...he'd threatened to put itching powder along with kryptonite dust down the Man of Steel's shorts.

"Yup....the whole enchilada."

Wally had probably likewise been threatened with something similar before this, but fortunately for Tim, the speedster was either unrealistically confident or just plain stupid.

"And a quad-decker ice cream split?" Tim wheedled. Heck, he was on a roll.

"Only if you pay and after I'm through calling dibs on the coconut-mint."

"What? No way!" Flash could eat a factory full of coconut mint. Tim wouldn't stand a chance in hell of getting any.

"Look into my eyesss when you deny me what isss rightfully mine," Wally playfully hissed.

"I could make you fail the child care part, you know," Tim reminded him from behind the continued safety of his closed fingers. (He wasn't stupid. He'd watched Disney's The Jungle Book!)

"Okay, okay," Wally growled, his second-greatest power thwarted. "You get the best flavor. But only until Alfred gives me a passing grade on child caring." And I get some free ice cream.

"Sweet! Coco-mint, you are mine!" Tim uncovered his eyes so he could read further down the Wikipedia article. Both blanched at the part of sexual misconduct between apprentices and mentors and reached for the scroll down bar.

"Ew! I think I'll take a rain check on that ice cream. Stomach upset." He felt ill.

"Ditto and I double that 'ew!' and raise you a 'gah! Good thing Alfred's straight," Wally gulped.

"You sure about that?" Drake asked with a sly glint in his eye.

"Don't yank my barf bag, Timmy boy," Wally warned him. "I don't go into Winter/Spring flings. Alfred's old enough to be my grandpa."

Stomach lurching a second time at the mental image of Alfred gamely carrying Flash into a bridal suite, Tim decided to move on.

Okay, maybe he wouldn't move on just yet. This was rich!

"If Alfred makes you wear knickers and hose like it says here, I'll need to get my camcorder in case he proposes."

Wally glared at him. "If you keep joking about that one more time -or- take pictures of me wearing knickers--a certain pair of Superman boxer briefs (which so happen to have your "R" alias on the back waistband) are going to hit the Facebook rounds. Along with the fictional story of how they got that scorch on the right bum via heat vision and why Robins wear Short Pants, and..." Wally smirked at Tim's gawking expression.

"Wait a sec....what scorch mark?"

"You think I did my first ironing practice run on Bruce's pants? I pack a mean heated iron, remember? Real mean."

Tim gulped. Geez, now I'm so giving you a failing grade on properly taking care of Wayne's kid."

"Considering the pranks we've pulled, I think Bruce has already done that, so small loss." The speedster's eyes lit up as he caught something interesting in the Wikipedia article, all threats forgotten. "Hey, Tim--look! It says one type of manservant is a footman! That sounds right up my alley!" He shuddered. "Unless it's about giving pedicures?"

Tim clicked on the link. "Doubt it. Male servant...um...so far so good. Nothing about foot rubs or anything like that."

Wally gamely read the description. "Runs along the side of the coach to keep it being overturned by obstacles.... Hey, I can jog alongside the Batmobile and keep Rogue junk from messing with its traction--no sweat! Then run ahead and knock out the bad guys before Batz got to his destination--yikes!" The speedster hand was vibrating so hard with excitement over their find that his palm went through the mouse. Not unsurprisingly...it exploded. He quickly snatched the pieces from the air before they could penetrate either the computer or Tim; then held out the mouse pieces in triumph. "I can do the same thing for Bruce on the road. No more flat tires or muck obscuring his windshield."

"Oh, that would look good," a sarcastic Robin commented, "The Batman driving after crooks with Flash wielding a broom and cloth wipes running in front removing every pebble, tack, bug splat and oil spill from the path of the Batmobile. Nothing image damaging there."

"Ye of little faith," Wally was practically vibrating into another dimension again. "Who says anyone would see me, the Fastest Footman Alive?

Male servants were more highly paid than female servants, and footmen were something of a luxury and therefore status symbol even among the servant-employing classes. They performed a less essential role than the cook, maid or even butler, and were part only of the grandest households. Since a footman was for show as much as for use, a tall footman was more highly prized than a small one, and good looks, including well-turned legs, which were shown off by the traditional footman's dress of stockings worn below knee breeches, an advantage. Footmen were expected to be unmarried and tended to be relatively young; they might, however, progress to other posts, notably that of butler.~~wikipedia"

"Well, you've got the good looks..." Tim had to admit.

"Also some well turned legs," Wally said with not a little pride, flashing a scarlet-clad masculine gam. The Central City news had once run a poll where The Flash had won the contest of 'Best Pair Of Legs in all of the Twin Cities' hands down.

"If you say so, Stockings & Breeches."

"Are you kidding?" Wally dismissively waved away the idea that wearing those could truly embarrass him. "After donning the Flash uniform for a living? What Uncle Barry was thinking when he designed something that leaves almost nothing to the imagination... Anyway, you can hardly talk, Elf Boy."

"Oh, shut up."

Wally was yet again vibrating in place with joy for finally having found the perfect way to please Batman. Tim started to mentally wonder just which room was directly below this one and how well the plaster ceiling of it was holding out. Wally wanted to whoop out loud. "Man, I've got this footman thing owned!"

The speedster finished another paragraph and did break out in laughter a breath later. "Says that 'demobilized officers frequently kept on a good batman as private servant, the word got applied to a household servant, who usually serves—standing—at meals while the master and guests remain seated. The roughly synonymous term lackey may have a similar etymology.' Man, how I want to show Bruce this! I've got to show Bruce this!"

"Where does it say that? Holy Moley that's hilarious! But Alfred would throw a fit if you did that," Tim snickered, "then throw you out on your ear."

Wally's face fell, realizing that Tim was right. He pouted. "Dude, this being a servant stuff can suck at times."

His cohort mulled over the problem. "Let's email it to him anonymously." He shrugged. "Er...after we find this thing a new mouse."

"Master Tiny Tim, I take back everything I said about you. You are truly a worthy apprentice."

"Thanks."

They high-fived.

"Who says I can't properly rear a child into the ways of his elders?" Wally declared, roughing up Tim's hair. He looked at the clock on the computer screen. "Crap--I'm supposed to meet Alfred to learn how to run the washer and dryer and go over my working uniform in one minute and I haven't studied that stuff yet!"

"But after the ironing incident...?"

"Pssht. You normals have short memories. He'll forgotten all about that by now."

Bruce glanced upwards to where plaster particulates had fallen into his glass of Chablis while he'd been simultaneously watching the news from Gotham, Metropolis, and Central City. Gotham was uncharacteristically quiet, Superman was doing his thing in his city, while Central was wondering about the sudden absence of their own resident hero. He'd been contemplating calling The Watchtower to get a fix on Flash's current location when--plunk!---unwanted ingredients had been added to his drink. Getting up to inspect the ceiling more closely, he frowned at the new cracks and resolved to have Alfred call a plasterer in the morning, forgetting all about calling the Watchtower.

[Hey, bro..how goes it?]

"He was starting to waver, so I appealed to his vanity. Wasn't hard to do though. Alfred really did a good job making him over. I swear I almost didn't recognize him."

[Alfred's the best.]

"Yeah, but what about Bruce? He's bound to find out at some point that Wally's living in the mansion."

[J'onn's working on Operation: Distract The Bat. Don't worry, Tim. Nothing will go wrong.]

"This is Wally and Bruce we are dealing with."

[So...nothing insurmountable will go wrong.]

"Just remember that no matter what, I'm the innocent kid in all of this."


"And these are called what again, Master Pennyworth?" Wally sheepishly held up the white pieces of buttoned fabric between his index finger and thumb to his glowering mentor, wishing his Speed Force cramming allowed him to keep the information in his head for longer than a few minutes at a time.

Though he could take in information fast enough to make a final exam student green with envy, the memories tended to fade out of his brain almost as rapidly. Wally was half afraid these white things were really some sort of top secret piece of ladies wear he'd never laid eyes on before and that Tim had talked Alfred into using them in a prank on Wally as payback for having used bleach instead of detergent on the last batch of laundry....which had resulted in a delay in Alfred's getting him his new uniform seeing as some rapid shopping had then been in order.

Was it his fault the bottles of those two chemicals were shaped the same and he'd been in a hurry to get the load done before he forgot anything?

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(Earlier)

"Due to the secret nature of Master Bruce's work, I do the laundry here and send most of the ordinary items to a cleaning service so as not to arouse suspicion...Mister West, I brought you in here for instruction---not for show and tell."

Wally gleefully held up an intimate male garment. "Bruce wears black silk boxers with little silver bats on them? How cute can you get--OW!"

"Rule number 54, Mister Wallace. The servants do not comment on their employer's admittedly deplorable choice in undergarments."

"So then these thongs with the racing flames on them must be Tim's then?" Wally asked. "I thought he solely went in for Supes patterns. Ow! Hey, you said that rule was for employers and Tim's not my--!" Dawning comprehension. "Yours? You've got to be kidding me. OW! Darn good thing I heal fast. Say, Master ((Sidious...)), did you ever consider using a funoodle rather than a soup ladle for this negative disciplining stuff you are so fond of? Ow!"

"Just add the detergent and switch on the washing machine!"

"Okay, okay...added it already. Can we go eat now?"

[Forty minutes later...]

"Uh...Master Pennyworth? Do Bruce and Tim ever consider going out as...well, as the White Knight and The Ghostly Wonder?"

"What kind of question is... WHAT DID YOU DO?!"

Apparently so as Alfred continued to fault him.

Typical....low man on the totem pole always got handed the blame.

At least it hadn't been any of his own stuff in that particular washing. With his pale complexion he looked awful in all white.

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"Spats," Alfred repeated rather tiredly.

Well, the butler had been out shopping for replacement clothing for the Wayne household and re-dying a Batman suit for hours so Wally considered the bags under the butler's eyes as being rather understandable. Not his fault if Master Pennyworth had turned down his offer to help fix things.

"Splats?"

Alfred pinched his nose while pointing down to the white pair gracing his own shoes. "Spats, Mister West. S.P.A.T.S. Spats."

Wally followed the finger's path and grinned in realization. "Oh--In case someone tries to spit on your shoes, it can't dribble down inside?"

"No--er...yes. That's it exactly, Mr. West." Dear Patron Saint of all Domestic Hired Helpers....spare me for the lie. I plead extreme duress!

"Cool!" Wally grinned like a Cheshire Cat. "Damn, Master Jeeves, but I think I'm starting to get the hang of this cultured servant stuff. OW!"

"What was that?"

"Uh...sleeves! I meant I was getting a hang of having cuffed sleeves. Tricky buggers." (Thank God for quick thinking!)

Alfred gave him a look that would have made Captain Cold's gun obsolete. "Moving on to the second piece of your uniform..."

"A gentleman's gentleman always enunciates his sentences with perfect clarity so as to be understood the first time and not have to repeat himself." If only the listener would cooperate! "Now Mister West, repeat after me..."

"I thought a gentleman's gentleman didn't repeat?"

Dear God not again. "Not his own words, no."

"Oh. So a gentleman's gentleman gets others to repeat them for him? That seems kind of a complicated way do things. Is it some sort of union rule?"

"Just--" Alfred took a deep breath. Perhaps it was time to switch to positive reinforcement? "Repeat what I say as clearly as you can....and...I'll let you eat the fudge I baked for Bruce."

"Does Bruce like it gooey?"

"Yes."

"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's burn this copy disk. Shoot!"

If only doing so wouldn't land me in Arkham. "Now...The rain in Spain lies mainly in the plain."

"The pain of Spain lies mainly in the rain."

"Mister Wallace West! Are you not listening? That sentence left your mouth as an utterly jumbled catastrophe."

"Oh yeah? You ever speed run in Spain and slip on a mud slick after a downpour? Believe me, my version is more accurate." Wally's face fell as Alfred was pinching the bridge of his nose. "I can kiss that fudge goodbye, huh?"

"You're not even getting that close to it."

"Damn."

In the recesses of his office at Wayne Enterprise's main headquarters, Bruce Wayne mulled over his computer. Something felt off. He was missing something important...something about the League? He glanced at a newspaper headline the night janitor must have been reading during his break and fished it out of the wastebasket. The Keystone Yearly Euclidean Revival picnic had been waylaid by The Trickster....and the police were still searching for the Rogue? No, not just the League...Flash. Flash hadn't been seen around his cities for days. That was not like West. The kid might be an immature ham. Might drive him crazy with his inability to take things seriously, but he loved his home and wanted to protect it just as much as Bruce felt obligated to protect the people of Gotham. "I better contact The Watchtower and see..."

Which reminded him...he'd promised Alfred he'd be on time for dinner. Plus, he had a party at the manor to orchestrate for that charity event. Flash was fine. The League would have contacted him if there was trouble. It was time to go home.

a/n: I've seen most people have Wally use the spelling 'Bats' when referring to Batman. I use 'Batz' so that when I'm doing a word find, I don't keep ending up finding documents that are about flying mammals instead.