AN: I last updated this fic exactly a year ago. I have received nothing but love from you guys since then, so ... here you go. Also, as I said at the beginning, this fic is a writing exercise. As such, feel free to share words that sound "blue" and "black" to you, as my list of inspiration I use to write new sections is almost bare.

20 [ Black | checkers, cinnamon, burnt sugar ]

He's not really that surprised to find Barbara in his kitchen, although of course he has to point out that the lift doesn't work.

"Now it does." She doesn't turn to look at him, her whole attention to his pantry. "Wally, this is a mess."

Wally frowns. He might not be exactly OCD when it comes to order, but he's always thought that his place is tidier than your average young-adult-male-living-alone.

"There's nothing remotely healthy here," Barbara says, finally looking up at him. "I feel I'm collecting extra pounds just by watching it."

It's a joke, it's quite clear looking at her face, but for some reason it stings more than it should. He sighs heavily. "What are you doing here, Oracle?"

And okay, maybe calling her that is a mistake, but he's tired despite being on leave time from the League - or maybe because of said leave time, what with it being forced and all. He is painfully aware of his insecurities, of the fact that his mind needs too little to have him questioning his self-worth. Thinking all day long of arguments against and on favor is both tiring and depressing, especially when the best he can come up with at the moment is they'll turn Lord-y without you.

"I have the reports you asked for," she answers after a small pause, and for the first time Wally notices the documents on his kitchen's table. Shit, he thinks at Barbara's speculative frown. Way to go, Wally, make even more people worry. Still, he's too exhausted to really care.

"I just had a really, really long day and would like to be left alone." And the thing is, he's telling the truth. For some reason the world around him has been losing its luster, and even visiting the orphanage hasn't been the balm on his soul it once was.

Barbara looks at him, a long and hard stare that seems to reach deep inside of him, and although she seems about to say something she doesn't, choosing instead to nod and move to the door.

Kara is standing there when Barbara pulls it open, right hand poised to knock and left hand clutching a brown paper bag. The look of surprise on both their faces is comical, although Wally has to admit that he should have known better than to leave a chuckle escape him, as two pair of eyes zero in on him in a way that spells trouble.

"So I guess you wanted me out of the way -"

"What is she doing here? Wait, what?"

At Kara's last word they look at each other, apparently realizing they sound like jealous girlfriends. It would be funny if it weren't -

No, scratch that, it is funny.

Wally is on the floor, literally ROFLOLing, hysterically so, for the next minutes.

"I think he just lost it," he hears Kara say, feels while she pokes his ribs with her foot.

"Yeah, that would imply he somewhat had it, which I strongly doubt," Barbara answers from a different room, he thinks, and for some reason it makes another load of giggles burst out of his chest.

Eventually he's sprawled on his back, gulping down air while his ribs ache in a way that makes him feel better than he has in ages.

It is only later, when he's picking what's left of half a dozen cinnamon rolls from his shirt, Kara frowning at him with disgust from her side of the coffee table while Barbara tries to clean all residual stickiness from the black checkers that he realizes.

He can imagine himself doing this with their mentors.

It wouldn't be easy to convince Batman, and Supes would be the one doing the cleaning while Bats frowns (there wouldn't be outward disgust from his part, if only because he keeps a better control on his reactions), but he knows that he would be able to have them sit and play board games with him. Strictly strategy ones, yes, and only while suited up, and only if in the Tower because those two never come to his apartment.

Aaaand now he's imagining himself at Wayne's Manor, sitting across Clark while Bruce analyzes both the movements they make and the ones they don't. They'd both lose to Bruce, hands down, but he's not sure what the result would be in a wit match between himself and the Man of Steel. Whoever wins, Clark would undoubtedly be civilized about it. He would also probably be surprised about the Flash not being in the dark where it came to tactic and stratagem.

Bruce, not so much.

"Why do people like me?" he asks later, conversationally, while rinsing the mugs. He doesn't look at them, but he doesn't need to, to know they are baffled by his question.

"Because you're a likable guy? I don't know, I sometimes wonder why I do like you," Kara says, and then he turns around, if only for a moment, to stick out his tongue at her.

They leave shortly after that, chatting amiably, not before each of them extracts a promise from him. To call them, to get together again next week. He says yes, yes, waves them goodbye, and closes the door as soon as they are out of sight.

There's a theory he needs to prove. He's still too tired, but the way his mind is going in circles there's no way he'll be able to sleep any time soon. So he dons his suit and runs runs runs. It is late, but given that he's not allowed to fulfill half of his responsibilities, he figures he has the time for this.

21 [ Blue | pier, whale, electricity ]

He slows down a little. More than just a little, actually - but compared to what he has to slow down for others it is nothing, relatively speaking. He forces himself to count down the seconds, one, two, three, four. Then a blur flies by him, a sonic boom signaling the barrier of sound has been broken, and he smiles while allowing the salt water to drench him, not even trying to avoid the minor waves Superman's wake has raised. It is not morning anymore, as they have passed enough time zones to tread into early afternoon instead, and they will soon watch the sky darken as their trajectory progresses. They are not running today, not competing but simply sharing this thing the two of them have in common.

It takes him not long to reach Superman, and then they both reduce their speed and spend a good half hour lazily circling around a pod of pilot whales. By the time they catch their pace again the sky is a mix of navy and gray, and distant thunder can be heard from the distance.

"I think we have to go back," Superman says over the comm and then, when Flash fails to reply and keeps going, "or move our path a bit to the South."

"Have you ever been in the middle of a storm?"

One like this, he doesn't need to explain.

He can see it in the way Supes' whole focus moves to the incoming tempest, can hear it in the silence that stretches as no answer comes. It is all the permission he needs, the knowledge that Superman is intrigued. Even as fast as Flash is, if the other superhero wants to stop him he likely can. The smallest trip would make surface tension fail, giving the Man of Steel enough time to grab him and take him to the closest shore.

But he's not going to stop him, Flash knows, so he grins fiercely and taps on the Speed Force, far enough from his fastest so he won't rush across the angry beast without getting even wet. Lightning and thunder overwhelm his senses, crashing waves and the smell of salt, foam and water mist. He can't hear a thing other than the crashing water, not even his own yells and howls.

It is freedom, and it pulses through his body, and he feels alive.