Wanda quietly hummed to herself as she looked closely at the piece of cotton underneath the microscope, though her mind was more on her evening plans than the work in front of her. Repairs to the middle school needed to be finished before school started, so she was going to head there right after work, then she had to look over notes for an upcoming trial, and then she had to head up to the Watchtower for the shift she had agreed to take for Green Lantern, so he and Shayera could go off and do whatever they did on their dates.

"Wanda West?" the young scientist frowned, wondering who would ignore the "Do not disturb" sign on the door and come in anyways. Only authorized staff were allowed in, with occasional exceptions to get new equipment installed or if the individual had gone through the proper channels to get authorization, not even police could enter without probably cause or a warrant. It made certain that no one had the opportunity to mess with any of the forensic evidence that passed through the lab, and, if something was messed up or contaminated, tracking the one responsible was very easy.

"Just a moment please," she held up a hand and didn't look up from her microscope. She hummed thoughtfully to herself at what she saw, and quickly scribbled down a note about her findings. Then, she turned to face whomever it was.

The woman seemed to be in her mid-thirties, lines on her face showed a life of stress, and she was wearing a nice, though rather old, pantsuit and a badge was shining from her belt. Wanda could not help but frown deeply at the sight of a detective being in her lab, puzzled as to why the front office would let her in when they knew that they were not supposed to make exceptions just because of a badge.

"I'm sorry, Detective," she put her notes in the proper file, and then stood up so she could put it away. The detective was not going to stay, so she was not going to pause in her work, "This is a restricted area, and I am going to have to ask you to leave."

"You handled the Tom Cannagan case?" Wanda froze, the tone of voice the woman used giving her a terrible feeling. She slowly placed the file in the cabinet and brought out another one.

"I cannot discuss any past cases with anyone outside of the courtroom," Wanda turned to face the detective, clutching the second file tightly in her hands, only to freeze at the sight of a gun pointing to her chest. From the cold expression on the woman's face, she fully intended to shoot her.

"You convinced everyone that Tom committed suicide!" the woman's hands were shaking, "You convinced the jury to let that killer walk free! That man murdered Tom! Murdered him in cold blood, and you had lied to have him acquitted!"

Wanda was at a loss for what to do. She could jump forward and incapacitate the woman before anyone could blink, but that would be caught on security cameras and, though it was not supposed to happen, that information would be leaked to the media, putting an end to keeping her life as Wanda and her life as Flash separate from each other. On the other hand, she would be shot, and it was likely doctors would notice how abnormally fast she would begin to heal.

"Don't," she began to speak before she even realized what she was doing, "Please don't. Please. Please!"

All breath was forced from her lungs as the first projectile tore through her abdomen. She hardly had time to stumble back before the second embedded itself in her shoulder. She hit the floor, hard, her head smacking painfully against the tiles. Her vision, rather than darken, remained crystal clear long enough for her to see the woman move to stand above her, and felt three more bullets pierce her torso, thigh and her chest. Before everything went pitch black, she could not help but think about how lousy the woman's aim was. Her last thought was that the woman could use lessons from at least three heroes she knew.

The woman was prevented from firing a bullet into Wanda's head by security, the only reason they had not arrived sooner was a barricaded door, and the shooter was in handcuffs before she could even process that she had been thwarted. Meanwhile, paramedics reached Wanda within minutes and wasted no time in getting her en route to the hospital. The media arrived just five minutes after Wanda was whisked away, but they got all over it anyways. Violent shootings were not common in Central City, especially with the Flash being ever present, so everyone wanted to know everything about what had happened. Mistakes were made, and, before Wanda even reached the hospital, her name was plastered all over the news.

In the Watchtower, Wonder Woman and Green Lantern had convinced everyone that they needed to throw Flash a surprise birthday party. They spent weeks planning and tiptoeing around the speedster, finding ways to keep her from taking shifts and working hard to keep Flash from suspecting a thing. It was hard, ridiculously so, the excitement building up in everyone was hard to contain, but they managed it. By the time the day dawned, they were ready to make it a day the youngest member of the original team would not soon forget. The huge feast of food was ready to be decimated by Flash's speedy metabolism, the presents all stacked and waiting for her attempts at peaking, and the Flash centred decorations were ready to boost her gigantic ego. There was simply one problem, Flash could not make it.

Rather than join in the fun of last minute preparations, Batman had set himself down in front of the monitors to keep an eye on Earth. While everyone was so loud and so happy, he was just making certain that nothing was going wrong, and trying to figure out a last moment birthday present that Flash would like and be able to use, but not have anyone suspicious about where she had gotten it and something he would know that no one else had gotten her. Money had crossed his mind, but, he realized, with her position as a leading forensic scientist, unexplained spending money would raise questions that she would not be able to answer and he could not put her in that position. So, he was wracking his brain for any ideas when the computer ceased what it was doing, and brought up a newsflash from Central City.

"Mere minutes ago, C.C.P.D. Labs was the sight of a horrific shooting of a respected individual. Dr. Wanda West was working like it was a normal day when a detective from the department entered and, according to witnesses, shot the victim five times. The reasons for the shooting are, at this time, unknown, and there is no news on Dr. West's current condition, but she has been transported to Central City General..."

Without waiting to hear the rest of the newscast, Batman silenced it, spun around and sprinted to find Superman. The boy scout was not busy doing anything, so Batman pulled him aside where he knew no one else could hear them.

"Flash has been shot," he informed him, "just a little while ago and as Wanda. She's been transported to hospital, but there is no other news about her condition. Tell the League whatever, but keep them from Central City until we knew more. I'll keep you updated."

With that said, Batman turned and hurried to the teleports. Wanda did not have any family in Central City, her mother having moved to Oregon several years previous for a job opportunity, and her uncle retired and travelling all over the globe. With no family available, it fell on him, as her emergency contact, to be there to make executive decisions about her health. Alfred called to inform him about the hospital calling and asking that he immediately come. They couldn't give any information over the phone, but Wanda was in deep need of someone to make decisions for her.

He had known that it would be a good idea to create a medical research program and have Wanda be one of the volunteers listed down, just as a precaution. A way to explain why he would be an emergency contact and to help keep her identity secret, but he had never really thought that the excuse would be used. Flash was good about keeping her alias on the down low and, if any injury occurred, it was normally when she was wearing the mask. No other time, really.

He managed to slip inside the hospital without the press noticing, and then the doctor wasted no time in laying out the situation. It was not good, but it was not as bad as it may have been.

"She was shot five times, twice in the abdomen, once in the chest, once in the thigh and once in the shoulder. An artery was nicked by one of the bullets, along with a lung, and her liver took the two in the abdomen, but we believe that there is a very good chance of her pulling through, as long as we can operate within the next little while. All we need you to do is to sign these forms of permission so we can get in there and do our job."

Bruce took the papers and read through them, being fast but paying careful attention. He inwardly groaned in frustration when he saw the form wanting information about if there were any medications or sedatives that she'd had reactions to before. Reactions? No. No reactions whatsoever since she became the Flash, good or bad, because her body could take enough drugs to knock out a horse without slowing more than a few feet a second. It was a hurdle, but one that could be overcome.

Flash was going to come through this as cocky and chipper as ever, and she was going to do so without losing her anonymity, whatever underhanded measures Bruce had to take.

A hospital. Wanda frowned, thoroughly confused, in hearing the familiar sounds and smelling the, almost trademark, scent that permeated all hospitals. She couldn't remember anything that had happened, until she shifted just a bit and had flames of pain erupt all over her body, then, she remembered that strange detective coming into the lab and shooting her. Why had the woman wanted her dead? She didn't do anything! She remembered a certain case being mentioned, but it hadn't been that much of a big deal.

Tom Cannagan. Thirty-eight, cop of thirteen years, found dead in his apartment three days after New Years Eve. It had been his own, personal firearm, he'd left a pretty standard note and the room had been locked from the inside. Looking into deeper evidence, his finger prints were the only ones to be found on the glass of scotch sitting on the coffee table in front of him, and the bullet casings. The pattern of blood spatter was consistent with suicide, and several friends attested that he had been struggling with severe depression for months beforehand. There was no reason to think that anyone else was involved or responsible, and that was the conclusion that the pathologist had come to as well.

The inquest had confused her, having clearly stated in her report that the evidence pointed to suicide, and, since the pathologist's report said much the same thing, she'd thought that it was just be laid to rest and the family. However, the Cannagan's sister suddenly insisted that there was overlooked evidence and even a suspect, and it was pushed into trial. It was thrown out, of course, due to the testimonies given by the investigators, and the case was officially closed.

In all of her years of forensic science, no one, that she knew of, had wanted her dead because of her work as a scientist. She'd always done her best, and presented facts as they were, even when she was somewhat biased in the case. She did her job, and no one could ever rightfully accuse her of not doing it right. Well, at least she had survived. But, there was still the issue that it was a great possibility that her identity as the Flash was now known to the entire world.

She slowly sat up in the bed, and looked around the room, hoping that no one was to be found. She was in pain, but she did not want to stick around to be looked at like a freak show. She wanted the comfort of home and the company of a roommate who understood her situation. All she needed was to pull on her clothes, carefully limp over to the window, using the cane she had found beside the bed, and-

"What do you think you are doing?" she froze, knowing she was caught, hating that she was caught, wishing she was able to disappear. The wrath of the bat was unpleasant on a great day, horrendous on a good day, unbearable when it was a bad day, and shattering on a rotten one. This was a rotten day, and she stood there, staring and shaking in fright.

"Back into the bed!"

She wordlessly obeyed, alternating between holding her breath and hissing as she settled back down. As soon as she was down and relaxed again, Bruce Wayne closed the door and stood at the foot of the bed, arms crossed and stern as anything.

"What were you doing?"

"I was going home," she admitted, sinking down into the bed, "I hate hospitals. I hate paparazzi. Home doesn't have either, last I knew, so I want to go home. Home with a mountain of ice cream, fudge, brownie and caramel, and a dozen movies of mindless action. Followed by sleep. Hours and hours of sleep."

"Begin with the hours of sleep, and I'm sure someone will indulge you," there was no joke in Bruce's voice. It was more than likely that members of the league would all pitch in to give her whatever she wanted for months after this incident.

"Yeah," she leaned her head back, feeling drowsy again, "Maybe a little more sleep. A little more peace before everything turns insane. Before Flash messes everything up again. Stupid hero's always... always messing..."

It felt like she had only closed her eyes for a moment, but then she woke up because someone was fumbling around with the IV in her arm. She opened her eyes and tore her arm away from the person she did not recognize, and rolled right out of the bed. She was sore all over, though the searing pain had been reduced to sharp twinges in the wounds.

"Dr. West," the nurse tried to push her back down, "Please lay back down, you're injuries are healing, but it is unwise to push yourself before you are ready."

"Uh-huh," she nodded, absently, reaching for the ring set on the table beside her bed. A small flick of her finger and her suit unfurled out. She slowly slipped it on and frowned when it felt loose.

She looked up in the mirror and had to make a face at the sight of herself. She was too thin, it looked like she had not eaten in days. She was willing to say that she looked as if she was an early on anorexic, coming very close to being nothing more than skin and bones. Looking like this, she couldn't allow herself to run or use her superpower in any way.

"Flash!" Hawkgirl suddenly appeared and began squeezing the life out of the speedster, "I'm so glad you are all right! I was so worried!"

"Nice to know you care," Wanda was worried that her ribs would crack under the pressure of the embrace, "That is really hurting, could you let go?"

"Oh! I am so sorry!" Shayera stepped back but did not fully let go, "It's just..."

"I know," Wanda managed a small grin, "No many people make it when they're shot five times. What are they serving in the cafeteria today? I'm starving!"

Wanda outright refused to even consider the wheelchair sitting in the corner, she would not risk that kind of blow to her pride and dignity. So, she settled for leaning heavily on Shayera and taking slow, careful steps and frequently stopping to catch her breath. It was a huge relief to see the cafeteria doors ahead, but Shayera was becoming rather giddy the closer they got? What was that about?

"Is there something I should know about?" she asked, turning to look warily at her friend as the door opened.

"Surprise!"

"What the-!" Flash jumped back an entire three feet, her heart sped up to a speed that was uncomfortable, even for her.

Not everyone from the League was there, there were several missing on first glance, Batman being one, but more than half appeared to be present. There were red and gold balloons and streamers everywhere, there was a mountain of wrapped gifts in one corner, and there was a huge feast of food waiting on the line. There was a huge banner on the far wall that read, "Get Well and Happy Birthday Flash!".

"Oh, man!" Wanda started laughing at the sight, as if at her own joke. It was painful to laugh, hurting her shoulder, chest and abdomen beyond belief, but it felt good.

"Are you all right?"

"Fine!" she straightened up, "I'm fine. Just surprised. Thank you, guys!"

She went to the food first. She could tell her friends were shocked by both her selection of food and how slowly she ate, but she wasn't enough of an idiot to scarf anything and everything down the first meal she had after being shot. To make up for that, she laughed and joked louder than ever, keeping the mood light and cheerful.

Hours went by and she made certain to be the life of the party, even when she became exhausted beyond reason and the healing tissue was causing pain that she couldn't ignore. She could mask it, keep a grin on her face and fool everyone around her, but she eventually needed a break. She made an excuse and slipped out at her first opportunity.

No one would look for her on the elevators, not for a while, so so went up that way. When the doors closed, she let out a sigh of relief and slumped against the wall. What she really wanted, was her lab, a stack of cases and peace and quite so she could lose herself in her work. Lose herself and forget that she had nearly been murdered.

The doors opened and she hobbled to the nearest chair and sat down, breathing heavily and closing her eyes to rest. She would rest for a few minutes, then get back to the party for another few hours and hope she didn't show the exhaustion.

"You could just tell them that you need to turn in early," she turned and looked over at Batman working at the computer, "They would understand."

"After all the work they've done? I couldn't do that to them. I'll be fine."

"Even with the exceptional healing rate you have, you should take it easy for another week."

"I'll take it easy tomorrow. It does them good to celebrate something after that scare. It'll make things go back to normal quicker."

"Not completely back to normal, I hope," Flash looked quizzically at Batman, not fully understanding what he meant, "This situation is too expensive and harrowing to repeat."

Flash easily caught the small, bright red tube of lipstick. Her confusion grew tenfold at the sight of the item, never having really made a habit of wearing that sort of thing. It grew even more when she noticed that there was a button on the side.

"It's a taser," he informed her, "Get a permit tomorrow and keep it on you when you are not Flash. And keep this as well," it looked like a key fob, but it only had one button, "It's a panic button, and it will directly alert myself and J'onn if you push it. And don't worry about your identity, the world is still as clueless today as they were yesterday."

"I- Uh- Th- Thank-you," she was sincere about it. It would be hard going back to work and trusting the security that had been breached, but she had a feeling it would be a little easier having a form of her own protection on her. She was up and hugging him before she even really knew what she was doing, "Thank-you, so much!"

"Just stay alive, kid," Batman shocked her by returning the embrace, "As I said, it would be too much of an inconvenience if we had to go through this again."

"You're a big softy," she squeezed a little tighter, "It's good to know that someone is watching my back."

"Always."

The End.