Chapter 16: Aspic of the World
The repetitious tones rebounding throughout the large rooms were getting more insistent (and frequent) with each passing moment. It was annoying to the point that he was ready to (accidentally) rip out the door chime wiring from the main entrance by way of a bulldozer.
"Yes, yes, I am coming," the man muttered under his breath at the increasingly disagreeable and demanding aural bombardment whose whims must yet be catered to for all of that he was getting to loathe them.
It was, indeed, really quite annoying.
Firmly resolved to disallow one whit of his agitation to appear on his face, Alfred Pennyworth straightened his uniform. He would not -under any circumstance- let his agitation at Master Bruce's lateness show. After all, it wasn't like this was an uncommon occurrence: Bruce Wayne excelled at finding ways to cast Alfred's meal schedules into the abyss even at the tender age of two days when Thomas and his wife had brought their squalling bundle of joy home. It had only gotten worse as the adventurous lad had aged into a strapping man with a brilliant yet one-tracked mind that eschewed three-square meals a day. Indeed, a manservant might as well purchase those abhorrent plastic divided-section dinnerware assortments that came with equally polyethylene lids and could be stuck in the refrigerator or directly into the infernal maw of a contraption called a microwave oven. Was there no respect anymore for the mannerly tradition of polishing and cleaning glistening china, sparkling crystal, and silverware fit for royalty?
Apparently not.
Despite all of this did one resort to such inferior methods of dining even if one's employer and his various urchin charges did not seem to care a whit?
Good heavens, no.
Was he going to strangle the idiot who was pressing the door chime at what must be fractional second intervals?
Quite possibly!
He opened the door.
There stood his charge looking rather grimly at him. (Again, this was nothing new save for when the Wayne heir was in his playboy guise.) Beside him (gawking at his surroundings like a tourist) was another man, a red-haired young male wearing an over-sized crimson running suit with gold accents adorning everything including his garish track shoes. In his hand he held a scarlet duffel bag secured in what looked to be a death grip. The forced grin on his face was slightly more genuine than The Joker's.
His other hand was pressed to the entry button as if it were surgically attached.
Green eyes kept darting around like he was trying to take in everything at once...or looking for potential escape routes. Either that or he was having a mild seizure. The man, Alfred quickly decided, did not at all appear to be one of Wayne Industries business associates.
Which very likely meant that this was a colleague of Wayne's other business endeavors.
Alfred Pennyworth tensed, though only minutely. The butler was by no means unaware of the more -shall we say- unusual company his employer tended to keep; Pennyworth had been intimately involved in Bruce Wayne's nocturnal escapades since the boy took to dressing up in something other than tuxedos and corporate wear, but usually it was that Superman fellow in his reporter guise who came to call at the manor. This was not Mr. Clark Kent. He was definitely sure it was neither the Amazon (who did on occasion visit), nor that Hawk lady or the African American Green Lantern. That still left at least two other famous personalities as well as scores of other, not so famous ones that The Batman sometimes held dealings with. Still, Alfred was fairly certain he had enough of an idea as to whom the mystery man was to bet the manor on it.
At any rate, Bruce usually had the decency to inform his manservant in advance if he was having a guest over. Obviously, something unforeseen had arisen.
"Master Bruce, sir, welcome home." He patiently waited for an introduction (though it would almost certainly be a false one if what he suspected was correct. Maintaining secrecy was of great importance for both sides. It was something The Batman quit rightly insisted upon.) Alfred would be given a false name with which to address their guest for the duration of his stay at-
"Alfred, this-"
"Wow..." the red-head interjected before Wayne could finish, "in your case a man's home really is his castle."
"-is Mr. Peter Sa-"
"Wally...Wallace West, but call me Wally." The young man blurted to Alfred then stuck out a hand. "Nice to meet you." This earned Mr. West a sharp glare of recrimination from his host.
Oh dear. Where it was possible the man was a consummate liar, from the wave of irritation Bruce was giving off it would seem their guest did not share Master Bruce's value in maintaining a false identity for every occasion and had given his actual identification.
Bruce would, Alfred was sure, undoubtedly upbraid Mr. West in private.
Mr. West meanwhile was still holding out his hand for Alfred to take and although this was not a pleasantry a manservant regularly engaged in with visitors, Pennyworth complied by grasping the offered digits with the full intention of releasing them as quickly as possible. The butler expected the pale skin to be clammy and cool given the man's obvious state of nerves; instead it felt slightly warmer than normal though definitely shaking.
Or perhaps vibrating was more descriptive and, yes, his suspicion was all but confirmed by an engraved name badge attached to a vest: Mr. West was that one, the meta whose moniker Master Bruce was prone to mutter under his breath during the odd stressful moment.
The one currently holding a makeshift ~overnight~ bag.
Oh dear.
Alfred politely pretended to have not seen Bruce's lips thin in even greater disapproval at his companion's informality and their ongoing hand shake.
"Mr. West." Bruce grit out, "will be staying for one night."
"Which makes me a one night stand...but not really," the red head piped up, still vigorously shaking a rigidly-postured Alfred's hand. "Can't have people talking...that's my specialty anyway, talking; and, yeah, got some standards because Ba-Bruce isn't exactly shaped like Wonder Woman, you know?" His grin grew wider before he let out an appreciative whistle, eyes taking in the foyer and the spaces beyond. "When Ba-Bruce said he was taking me to his house I sure didn't imagine it would be an actual castle."
"Mansion." Bruce corrected.
"Castle, mansion...same difference. I guess we know who inherited the goose that laid the golden egg and where that gander landed up, huh?" Mr. West playfully elbowed Mr. Wayne in the ribs. "That's one honker whose safe from the Bat dining room dinners."
"Sir?" Alfred managed to extricate his hand from the ebullient fellow, giving his master a questioning look, "might I inquire which of the rooms you would like me to prepare for Master West's use?"
The red head lost a bit of his fake grin. "Actually, a loan for a room at the motel we passed earlier would be fine and dandy."
Eyes hard, Bruce took his guest's bag from him -with not a little bit of a struggle- and handed it to his old friend who was much more than any regular employee. "We'll be sleeping in the North 'Forest' room guest room. I'll only need a cot. Mr. West will be taking the four-poster."
"I don't want to be any trouble, Ba-Bruce. The motel-"
"Then don't be." Wayne snapped.
Alfred's eyebrows rose at least one sixteenth of a centimeter at this. "Excuse me, Master Bruce...but did you say the same room?"
This was most irregular.
"Hey, no way!" Mr. West immediately waved his hands in the negative. "I'm not taking anything other than forty winks and maybe the breakfast buffet option if I stay here. The cot will do fine for me." He winked at Alfred, "maybe a candy bar under the pillow?"
"You're still not fully better from your attack. You'll take the bed." Bruce commanded in a no-nonsense manner.
"I'm better than better, Baa-Bruce. I'm the fastest..." he eyed Alfred askance, unsure just how much the butler knew "uh...typist alive. Secretary. Business-type person. I'm all business."
"You'll take the bed and like it."
The red head made a face at his host that a two-year old would have been proud of. "Dude, face the Flash Facts. I'm younger and more limber than you. Plus, I heal faster from stiff neck problems. You get the double, I take the fold away." He snatched back his bag from the quietly bemused Alfred.
Bruce yanked it back and scowled for good measure, both for the fact that West was arguing with him and that the man was doing rather poorly at hiding his identity...not that Bruce wasn't certain Alfred hadn't already guessed it. "Take. The. Bed." He again handed the bag to Alfred.
Naturally, that just made The Flash more stubborn because this was not Bruce's day or Alfred's. Still, Alfred found himself almost smiling.
A stubborn older buck meeting an equally stubborn younger buck. No wonder Master Bruce found Mr. West irritating.
"I'm smaller than you." Mr. West argued. Hearing his own words as a belated echo, the speedster's face took on an odd expression. "Height-wise, I mean," he explained to his hosts. "Not the other way because you know...young, virile..." he glanced between the other two men and blushed, awkwardly smoothing down the front of his red sweat top.."secretary businessman?"
Ba-Bruce looked murderous.
"West, relax or I will make...you...relax."
Alfred smirked inwardly for Master Bruce could do it too and apparently the red head knew it as well for Mr. West coughed and appeared ready to run for the hills.
"Hey, you know what? I should relax more. In fact, I think I'll take the main berth because now Jeeve's is making my bed so I gotta lie in it or sigh in it." Plucking his duffel bag back out of the butler's grip, he smiled brightly at Alfred as if what he'd just said should have made perfect sense to anyone with half a brain. "So...Jeeves, what's normally served for breakfast? Do you have any Pop Tarts? I love Pop Tarts because they're fast and easy like me." He blushed and coughed into one hand. "I meant fast and easy going." He smiled again, brighter and more forced than ever. "You know what I think? I think I'm overly tired and running on empty and it's making my brain misfire and all sorts of silly words just flow out of my mouth like Niagara after a typhoon because...you know...major brain fart center is open for business so don't pay attention to anything I've been blurting out especially that sounds suspiciously like...suspicious stuff."
Bruce's glare deepened.
"Yeah..." Mr. West drawled out, trying and failing dismally to look confident, "relax." He scratched his head. "Where is this four poster bed of yours then, Mr. Bats Servant? Just what kind of posters does Bruce keep there anyway...ones of Superman? I bet he's got one for Superman, Wonder Woman, Green Lantern, and J'onn. Or are they of bats because" he coughed yet again "super heroes...heh; why would a business guy like Mr. Wayne be interested in super heroes? So...Dracula? Nosferatu? Those Twilight books?"
Their guest started walking towards the east wing, utterly clueless as to how huge the place was or where the 'Forest Room' lay or anything at all except that he dearly wanted to retreat from their stares and have a lie down. Or maybe just manage to get lie down pat: Mr. West was clearly awful at the art of deceit.
"Just the one night," a world-weary Bruce assured Alfred.
"Indeed, sir." Alfred paused then whispered to his employer. "Should you inform Master Flash or shall I?"
Smirking a bit, Bruce waited until Wally was several yards away. "West?" His unwanted company did a one-eighty, still with the false smile of congeniality on his face like The Joker had planted it there.
"Yeah?"
"The guest room is the other way?" He pointed in the correct direction.
"Well, that's a silly place for it." Wally grumbled as he speed walked past them. "Totally anti the fangs way. Hows a guy supposed to relax?"
"Definitely one night." Wayne breathed, hurrying after him.
"Holy Super-Sized Sleep Cushion, Batman! Is that an actual bed or an emergency landing pad for the Bat Plane?"
At least that is what Bruce thought he heard the speedster exclaim as the words were a bit accelerated. He entered the guest room to see Wally gawking at the large room with it's enormous furnishings and even more massive four-poster bed. Pale fingers and green eyes inspected the smooth mahogany framework. He cheekily pointed at the large wood beams overhead.
"You know if I'm going to be sleeping on the mattress I wouldn't mind terribly if you wanted to bat nap hanging upside down from the rafters rather than the cot. Wouldn't want to disrupt any Bat sleeping habits more than need be."
"Flash..." Bruce Wayne finished stepping into the room only to find his guest looking out the window towards the neighboring forest, the last rays of daylight illuminating his form.
"Uh oh...the use of formal names." Grimacing, the younger man braced himself. "Right, Wally, it's Lecture Time. I blew it big." Half jumping, half bouncing backwards, he landed on his butt in the middle of the bed with his knees tucked under his chin. It happened so fast that Bruce hadn't even seen him kick off his shoes. "Nervous, you know? Just tell me what brilliant excuse you've made up on the spot to bamboozle Jeeves into thinking I'm a regular Joe instead of another factopm of the fast lane set so I can match it...only I hope it involves secretarial work because" he sheepishly ruffled the back hairs on his head..."I kind of implied that already, didn't I? At least I can fake some speed typing."
"His name is Alfred and he is perfectly aware of my..night duties as well as your track records, Bruce informed him. "He's also very judicious and won't give away your identity. Assuming it is still secret if you've shown as much lack of discretion in Central City as you've displayed in the past half hour."
"That's not a fair..." Bruce stared at him; Wally groaned.
"Okay...that was fair. I'm not this bad at home, honest." Wally plopped onto his back, sighing into his hands as he lay there, admiring the absurdly high ceiling with it's lattice of wood. The room was done in neutral colors; the bedding felt cool and crisp while so soft he doubted a cloud would feel any softer if it tried. "I'm not this...scared at home," he quietly admitted, running a tentative hand over the coverlet. He let his mind wander, desperately wishing Bruce would go away and let him ponder his amazing capacity to stick his foot into his mouth in peace.
Or better yet, to forget the whole day ever happened.
The week.
The month.
His life.
Maybe all those beams were up there because Batman liked to practice cel-lining before bed to the roof and back again? Hell, maybe he normally slept up there like his namesakes. Hanging by cords...
Shit...bad imagery!
"I know messed up." Eyes pressed shut, Wally let his head loll to the side, allowing Bruce to get a good look at his profile and the way his Adam's apple bopped up and down a time or two. "I mean, I was just telling J'onn not long ago...how I know I mess up a lot and when I do sometimes they tend to be real doozies, but this time...this time with that thing...well..." The speedster swallowed back what he hoped was the last of the bile "that was likely the second most awful time in my life."
Still as a statue, Wayne considered the speedster's words and worried over the choice of one in particular. "Second?" he inquired.
"Yeah...because, you see, the second was bad, but the first one? That will be the misstep that I won't ever have the chance to recover from."
"The one where you die?" Bruce immediately realized what West meant. It was easy...he'd entertained those same thoughts a few times himself. Life held no guarantees even for the healthy or brilliant: every moment was borrowed.
"Uh huh...yeah." Wally fell silent, twisting his fingers around each other, still refusing to look at him. The sight reminded Bruce of the Fates inspecting a section of someone's life line and considering whether to snip it off now or later...only Flash was clearly concerned about his own thread of existence...where and when the last bit of yarn would end.
As the silence deepened and neither spoke more, Wayne regarded the troubled figure ~so pale lying there nearly swallowed up by silk earthy-brown sheets~ and wondered if this had been a good idea. The manor was not exactly the most joyful spot in the world; it's opulence was shrouded in the gloom of two decades worth of somber mourning. Bruce never minded that...the darkness fit his personality; but Wally was not like him. Flash needed cheering up, not more dourness. Perhaps he should call Superman over? Kent would undoubtedly come ringing the doorbell to collect the kid within minutes if he summoned the Kryptonian...haul him off to some candy store and ply him with sweets and rainbow-tummy embued teddy bears. He snorted at the fantastical image, knowing it was false (Clark wouldn't really do something that silly...Bruce was just...)
Out of his depth and wanting this over with.
Not an avenue open to him: J'onn had requested that Bruce was to take in Wally for tonight. He wasn't about to admit defeat and call one of the others for help.
"Talk to me, West." He steeled himself for another argument; but his reluctant guest apparently was no longer inclined to fight the situation.
"Everyone dies," the speedster began in a voice so low it forced Bruce to move closer in order to hear it, "I know I'm going to die one day. So are you. Even Supes and Diana. We're none of us truly immortal no matter how much we'd like to think at least some of us would always be around. Each of us have suffered at least one 'it's over' moment; the kind right when the shit is about to hit the fan and hope is half exited out the door on it's way to oblivion and you're left thinking... This is it. This is where the road ends and I ceased to exist on Earth. You're as good as dead and your life starts to pass before your eyes because...I think it was on the Science Channel...the brain cells are blipping out and as they go you start to remember the stuff they held...like where you really left the keys or how to program the coffee maker."
Yes. I know about mortality.
Intimately.
It was why Bruce kept people at a distance: people died...their existence snuffed out one way or another because they were unlucky to have met him. The further away he kept others the safer they would be because Death was like Batman's second cloak...it surrounded him everywhere he went.
"You saw your life pass before your eyes?" Wayne asked without actually needing to hear the answer. It was a common enough expression with ~as Wally had stated~ some validity to it. Bruce knew that as well because Death often glanced his way with an air of anticipation.
His guest let out a choked sob, fingers gripping the fabric of the coverlet. "No. No...I didn't. Crap." Wally hunched further into himself leaving Bruce feeling suddenly confused.
"I don't understand then," he confessed. "What is the significance of telling me about seeing your life passing by if it didn't actually happen?"
"Because I never got that far!" Wally shouted before rolling completely over, face hidden. He shuddered, gulped, and keened into the mass of linen under him, "I never, fucking got that far."
Further unsettled by this show of intensified distress, Bruce placed a hand on Wally's head. He absently noted the heat radiating off the young man...the heavy sweat that was undoubtedly ruining the costly bedding...and the next second ignored these facts as unimportant because they were; Flash was always warmer than normal and bedding was easy to replace, so he kept the weight of his hand where it was ~nothing more~ to let Flash know Bruce was still there, still listening. "Explain."
Wally tilted his head upward enough to look at the other with glistening green eyes. "There wasn't enough time," he bitterly spat the last word out like it was the most vile word in existence.
Bruce opened his mouth to say that there had been plenty of time, but shut it before he could let any words out. He'd been about to say that West was only twenty-two. Not exactly a lot of memories to go through in comparison to say...someone in their seventies. How long could it take to remember his whole life? It would have been a rather callous statement in itself. Fortunately, Bruce had held his tongue just in time because now he realized that... it would not only have been a tactless thing to say, he'd have been wrong.
"Your speed..." Bruce felt his mouth go dry.
Dear God. His speed.
The red head shuddered under his palm. "I was fighting for my life and losing. Adrenaline had kicked in. Panic as well and that made it worse. I couldn't slow down my enhanced perspective for love or money let alone for sanity's sake."
Now it was Bruce's turn to swallow down bile. "How long?" No need to clarify the question as they both knew what he meant: time moved differently for Wally.
Time moved slower.
"Minutes...hours...I don't know. Wasn't exactly keeping track. All I recall is that it began and then it went on, and on, and on...and...on: a minute, an hour, forever...what's the difference to someone like me? I was trapped in a moment of hell and it felt like Eternity and...will that always happen when I'm close to death...a nightmare that lasts forever?" Wally sighed...a long and wet sound, spittle dripping unchecked from lips. He absently wiped at the flow.
"You got a shower I can use? Or a bath? Wanna nice long soak if that's okay? I like water lately," he explained with a tired chuckle. "Probably would get mistaken for Aquaman these days rather than as Flash. Water's just...calming. Soft green lights...candles maybe? You got a bath?" he repeated, dully, like an automaton.
"Door on your right...next to the armoire."
"Thanks." Wally slid off the bed in slow motion, walking zombie-like towards the antique wooden cabinet where the bathroom lay.
There was a slight cough from behind him. Bruce turned his head; spied Alfred in the doorway looking stone faced.
"Alfred."
"I'll set the candles, sir."
Bruce nodded in assent and gratitude. "Green ones...and some soft chime music."
"Of course, sir. I know just the shade to procure. Shall I also be taking the liberty of ensuring that this side of the universe remains undisturbed by...outside matters?"
Ah, the proficiency that was Alfred. What would he do without him?
"Thank you, Alfred, yes."
Dick and Barbara could take care of Gotham for tonight.
Sighing, Bruce laid back on the bed and pondered what to do.
*Aspic is a jelly. "Aspic of the world" is a line from The Ballad Of Barry Allen by Jim's Big Ego. It denotes how the rest of the world moves slowly to a speedster.
A/N: So am I. Think I know where this is going to end up now.
Btw, Flash 1 (volume 4? DCnU) is now out. It looks excellent and reviews have been this side of good. Still, I read the reviews and watch the scans with Barry while part of me is figuratively glancing around waiting for Wally to appear. Barry is like the surviving widower of your favorite in-law...you like the guy well enough, but you keep looking for the other. (No, I'm not buying it and won't until they return Wally as a superhero in his own right. Not necessarily in the Flash book...but somewhere. Until then, I'm only a looky-lu Flash fan.)
Also, Justice League: Doom (Tower of Babel) DCAU DVD movie is due out in either 2012 or 2013. The same actor who voiced Wally in Justice League DCAU is doing Flash...but instead of Kyle as GL they are using Hal and instead of Aquaman it's Cyborg (who they are trying to hype up by putting him in the DCnU Justice League book after his Flashpoint appearances.) This being the case...there is a possibility that the Flash that looks and sounds like Wally will actually be Barry. If this happens it will totally blow out of the water those who say that DC Editorial actually do like Wally. We'll see. Something else I'm not buying right away until I learn who is under that scarlet mask.