"Whatchawriting?"

The little Impulse fictive hopped up to my desk and looked at the computer screen. He stared at the words for a few moments but lost interest when a chat program popped up alongside the word application. Sufficiently miffed, Impulse ran off the main part of the desk and skittered along the keyboard while I paused to take a sip of the 'great magical caffeine can.'

I looked up at her screen at what had been a Final Fantasy 8 story. I read the screen in disgust. "The gunblade arced up, and came down towards Squall and ...ASDFGHJKL;'"

Despite the extra letters, I smiled at Bart's contribution. As if on cue, he ran back up the monitor. He looked at the file then looked at me. He garnered an innocent expression and his eyes were wide and almost puppy doggish. I shooed him away gently and began backspacing to undo the damage.

Completely lost in my train of thought, I began to re-read the screen. Li'l Impulse dashed up the side of the computer monitor and began walking along the top, pouting all the while. I had just gotten phrasing my head and was about to type it out when I heard another voice.

"She's not writing about you kid."

I looked up to see Nightwing, (the gen one) perched on my scanner.

"She's not?" Impulse asked needing the confirmation for some reason. Nightwing shook his head sympathetically. I looked up to see Bart's lower lip being to quiver ever so slightly.

"Aw, c'mon," I said, "don't do that." I reached up to bring his chin up but he dashed away from me and behind my computer. I sighed, sufficiently chagrined at the sight of a pouty Bart.

"So what *are* you writing?" Nightwing asked as he jumped from the scanner, to the top of the monitor, atop the magic hyper can, and unto my mouse. My hand came up to bat his now cola stained boots from my mouse and he reflexively backflipped away. He walked up and stood on the tiny indent in my monitor, effectively blocking my view.

"This isn't Nightwing fiction," he said pointedly.

"No, it's not," I replied, desperately wishing to avoid a lecture.

"It's not even DC fan fiction," Tim said coming out from my video shelf.

"You're observant man." Dick said. "I can tell you were trai-"

"Stop right there former boy wonder!" I said, putting a finger to cover his mouth. "I've heard that joke way too much lately."

"So have I," Tim commiserated as he sat down on my eyeglasses.

I delicately snatched those away from him and he stumbled a bit but calmed down and sat patiently as Dick paced in front of my screen.

Dick hopped down and back on to my mouse. He took his mask off in a smooth motion, I think to intimidate me. "What about Frame Up?"

I rolled my eyes.

"John's reality bending challenge?"

I stammered. "Well, uh... I'm trying to find quotes and -"

"She's procrastinating." I turned and gave li'l Robin a stern look.

"I thought you were on my side," I whispered.

"Have you ever had to deal with a pouty Bart?" he whispered back.

I slapped my forehead. I wasn't going to win. Meanwhile, Dick had figured out exactly how to use the mouse and opened the Robin Hood story. He pointed to the screen as he highlighted the outline. "I'm not even Robin in this one!"

I closed my eyes and buried my face in my hands. "'Bout time man." That was Roy, no mistake that tone of voice. "But yeah, I know what you mean Robbie man. I mean this is a great story. Look at this: Roy Harper in Robin Hood! Also starring..." and he prattled on and on. "Why are you wasting time with Young Justice stuff?" he finally asked.

I looked up confused. He perched himself on my keyboard and started shooting mini arrows at the numberpad. "What's wrong with Young Justice?" I asked defensively with Tim looking on.

"Well, 5 nothing rea8lly. 'Cept for the fa3ct that we, as in the Titans, already did9 everything7 worth doing ten years ago."

Tim stalked over and plucked Roy's bow out of his hand. Roy leapt up on the defensive, but li'l Dick walked over between the two.

"How many times have I told you not to bad mouth other teams and fictives?" Dick asked the red haired archer.

"Dude. Counting this time, one."

"Well, that's besides the point. Besides, I'm sure she hasn't forgotten about your weird Navajo vision story." Dick looked at me expectantly.

"No, of course not..." I stammered, while I was trying to remember what I named that file.

"Yeah, right!" Roy started swearing, since he's one of my more colorful fictives. "She's too busy doing Young Justice shit. Look, she's got this whole riddle story planned out with Robin over there."

Tim practically beamed from atop the VCR remote.

"I wouldn't smile bird boy," Roy quipped. "You're barely in the fic, but Wingster over here is, cause he's part of the bat clan."

"I am?" Dick then proceeded to move the mouse. He opened the file and read through the outline, then demanded, "If you're using me for this one, why can't you write Frame Up?"

"Cause you're acting like you're twelve in Frame Up," I snapped back, picking up my mouse.

"Am not!"

"Oh, lord, you're not being mature. You were more mature when you were suicidal."

"I was only suicidal cause you were playing crappy music."

So engaged with our argument, no one heard the crash until after they saw it. A stack of comic books, some Marvel, a few Nightwings, some Gotham Knights, but the majority of Young Justice came crashing from the desk shelf to the surface of the desk.

"What the-" Roy said as he spun around.

Tim and Dick instantly starting running to the other side of the desk, towards the falling comics. Dick threw out a jumpline which wrapped itself around the Thrillkiller Trade paperback and grabbed onto Tim. Tim, in turn, wrapped another jumpline around my computer speakers then helped Dick reel in the line. Meanwhile, I tried to stop the rest of my newly collected Young Justice issues from falling.

I had caught all of them when I saw one fling off, then another. I looked up to see Bart running atop a stack.

"No, not that one." He ran again, the comic shot out from under him. He stopped and looked at the number. "Not that one." The motion repeated until he hit number 31.

Roy, all the while, had decided the hell with some girl that would rather write about the next Wally West and kicked the television's power button and started watching late night programming.

Tim and Dick had successfully managed to stack the comics but Bart was fumbling with some tape. He finally slid the issue out and tossed it atop my keyboard. Pages whirled frantically by until he reached the second page, since he, being Impulse, had started looking from the back of the book.

He pointed to the second page and waved his arms frantically imitating the drawing of him in the panel. Bart looked up at me, pointed to himself then pointed to the computer. I merely shook my head. Fazed that his grand scheme and had failed to convince me, he adopted a surprised look, unwittingly mimicking the inset of the same panel.

"Okay, I give." I threw my hands up wide. "I'll let you date Arrowette!"

A smile instantly lit across his face as I heard "Hey!" in surround sound. Tim and Dick looked a bit miffed. Impulse continued to beam happily. Dick whispered something to Tim, and the next thing I knew they ran off after Bart. Of course, he saw them coming and zipped off. In his haste, he stepped on the tape attached to the comic bag, and I watched in amazement, as it went flying behind him. Not to be outdone, the two batboys were on the move and quickly disappeared from sight as well.

I looked at my computer and wondered how Bart thought I could write a story with him in it if he up and left. I sighed.

Roy clicked off the television and grinned.

"Need a fictive, babe?"

I shook my head amused at the turn of events, then closed the story and opened a new document. Eventually, I'd finish something. I looked at my fictives who were busily amusing themselves with items on my desk.

I hoped.

fin

~story index~