***BARRY***

As soon as Constantine makes his "Gotham City Ghost" pronouncement, the sound abruptly cuts off. Did he hang up, or did whoever this laughing maniac is on the other end do the hanging up for him?

"You heard the man," Cisco says. "Go to him, Barry!"

"Let me take you," Supergirl says. Her boot-clad feet leave the ground, and she looks poised to take off already. "You said you'd take a few hours to get there? I can get you there faster."

"How much faster?" I ask.

She winks. "A third of the time, easily."

We look up at the skyscrapers we've spent all night reassembling together. What intact windows they have reflect the very beginnings of the sunrise on this Tuesday morning. It's been slow going, but with her strength (and willful gravity defiance) and my speed, we've been making far shorter work of it than any ordinary construction crew.

Still, though, Constantine's in trouble, and I know my choice is clear. I hold my hand up to Supergirl. "Let's go."

She descends to the ground, then says, "You might wanna hold on. And, uh, don't mind the turbulence - I've only done this once or twice."

"Three guesses what she's got in mind," I tell Cisco as I walk around Supergirl and awkwardly wrap my arms around her shoulders.

He tries not to laugh at the sight of me piggybacking on a woman half a foot shorter than I am. "And the first two don't count. Break a leg, dude!"

Supergirl takes off, punching through the air while I clumsily redouble my hold on her. She wasn't kidding - she really is faster than I am. Add in the fact that she can fly, and as much as it's a challenge for me to not fall off, I can't resist yelling, in absolute exhilaration, "Oh my God!" Right in her ear too. Jesus, have I no shame?

She laughs it off anyway, though. "You remind me of someone back home, you know? Someone I work with."

"What, is he tall, dark, and dorky like me?"

"You're not that dark," Supergirl says. "Just your hair."

It suddenly occurs to me that despite having worked with her for several hours straight during the night, I still never got her name. Or vice versa. True, I've been meaning to cut back on how many people I let into the loop re: my secret identity, but lately, with all the other colorful characters I've been meeting, that rule has pretty much gone out the window.

"So, uh..." I finally bite the bullet and ask her name.

"My real name, you mean?"

"Mm-hmm." As she pauses, I add, "If you don't wanna tell me, that's okay-"

"Kara," she says finally. "Kara Danvers."

"Cool. I'm Barry Allen."

The sun rises higher in the sky the further east we go. Right now we're above the Sierras, about fifty miles from Central City. "So, Barry," Kara says, "I hate to sound personal, but...are you human?"

"It's okay," I say. "The guy we're rescuing, he thought I was an angel." I turn away so I can spend a second without Kara's hair whipping my face - that's the only real drawback of this supersonic, supercool flight. "And he also thought angels were dicks."

"Like on Supernatural?" Kara asks.

I grin dopily at her. "You also like to do some socially-acceptable binge watching from time to time?"

"My sister and I do it all the time," says Kara.

"Is she as super as you?" I ask.

"She doesn't have powers like mine," Kara says. "But she's super with or without them."

Awesome answer there. "If you'd come a few days ago," I say, "I'd probably have said you were an exception to the usual rules of my life."

"Those rules being?"

"That everyone else with powers uses them for evil," I say. "But that was before I met Spider-Man." I chuckle to myself. "Oh, and Nightwing's girlfriend. She's got some wacky powers of her own. And lest I forget, Liv Moore, office zombie of the Seattle morgue."

Kara laughs out loud at that last one. "I'm sorry," she says, "but that name, and the way you described her..."

"Got to you, huh?"

"You must get that a lot," she laughs. "Things you say causing unexpected fits of laughter."

"It's like I'm some kind of walking funny plague," I say. "But my friend Cisco's even better at it than I am. Just look at the crazy-ass nicknames he comes up with for all the metas in Central City."

"'Metas?'" Kara repeats. Then she catches my drift. "Oh yeah, metahumans."

"Like us," I say.

"Mmm, not exactly," says Kara. "I'm not metahuman, or even human human, I can tell you that much."

"Then what are you? Dancer?"

Kara really laughs this time - and as we pass over the Nevada desert, my Killers joke becomes tons more appropriate. "You could say that," she says.

"You do look like you'd make a great dancer," I say. "Uh...don't take that the wrong way, though, okay?"

"What wrong way?" Kara laughs. "There's really no wrong way to say that." She accelerates to push through a particularly strong headwind. "In all seriousness, though, I'm an actual bona fide space alien."

"Really?"

"Hand to God." Kara actually does this, but for some reason, she makes it look like one of those yoga poses Cisco and Caitlin are always trying to lead me in on a daily basis. Something about a tribute to the sun, holding it in your hands? Even before I gained my speed, I suffered from an inability to calm myself long enough for yoga. Or any other form of meditation, really.

"You from any planet I may have heard of?" I ask.

"Probably not," Kara says. "Very few humans know Krypton exists."

"Krypton, like the noble gas?" She nods, then something clicks in my brain. "Don't tell me Superman is from Krypton too?"

"I didn't just copycat him for no reason or anything," Kara says brightly. "We're cousins."

"For real?"

She pounds the distinctive "S" logo on her chest - which I can't see from this angle, but I have no problem picturing it in my mind. "Cross my heart."

"Do you, uh, make it a game of doing that?" I ask. "Coming up with different ways of saying 'I swear?'"

"Do I?" Kara asks. "I, uh, I don't. Not normally. I promise."

When she realizes what she's said, she loses a bit of altitude from her latest burst of laughter - this one severely contagious. If I'm going to be treated to another day or two of Kara's sense of humor, then I'm the luckiest speedster on Earth.

We don't talk for a while, but after several minutes of virtual nothingness (and maybe a small town or two) beneath us, Kara poses a question of her own. "Why is it that I'm the only one talking about myself? You can't possibly be that interested in me."

"You're the one who's a flying alien," I say. "That makes you tons more interesting than me already."

"Still, I don't know nearly as much about you as you do about me now, Barry."

"Well..." If I could reach up and scratch the sudden itch that's developed on my neck, I would. Hell, I probably can - and guess what? With my speed, I do. "For starters," I say, "I'm a forensic scientist."

"In your first life?"

"And in my second," I say, "I'm the Scarlet Speedster, as they sometimes call me."

"Mmm, I like 'The Flash' better."

"Me too." I think about what else to say. "I, uh, still live at home."

"You mean with your parents?" Kara asks.

"Sort of. Just my dad. And my sister. Adoptive."

"You were adopted?" Kara asks. "So was I."

"Should I have assumed that just 'cause you're an alien?" I ask.

Kara shrugs. "I guess? Maybe. Then again, I don't usually tell people I'm an alien, unless I trust them."

"And you trust me?"

"He says, like it's such a stupid idea," she snickers. "Come on, you seem like a trustworthy person. Being a forensic scientist and all - does that mean you work for the police?"

"I do. My dad's a cop himself, but I wasn't quite cut out for it physically. I'm a lab rat instead of a field mouse."

"Wasn't that on CSI or something?"

"Maybe."

For the rest of the incredibly fast journey, Kara and I talk intermittently about whatever subjects take our fancy. We get to learn a little more about each other this way. I learn that she's an assistant to the infamous media maven Cat Grant - "and all the horror stories are true," she says as we fly over - Wyoming, I think? Or maybe Colorado. Either way, we're somewhere over the Rockies at this point. "You wouldn't believe how many insane coffee orders I've had to make on her behalf. And she's got the most finely attuned taste buds, so she'll instantly know anything wrong with the order like that," she says with a snap of her fingers. "Like, there was a time when my shapeshifter friend had to take my place at the office 'cause I was infected with this disgusting parasitic flower-"

I can't help but say, "Ew. Was it, like, growing inside you? That kind of parasite?"

She chuckles at my brief flash (no pun intended) of boyishness. "What other kind is there? But my friend, the Martian Manhunter...he disguised himself as me, and right away he blew it on the coffee order. He later said that Cat told him" - here she puts on a high, snooty voice - "'Whole milk has not passed these lips since I rode a bicycle with streamers on it.'" Then her voice returns to normal. "Or something like that. Oh, and did I mention she thinks my name is 'Keira?'"

"That kind of boss, huh?" I whistle softly. "I guess we're both lucky in some respects and not so much in others."

So that's how the rest of our flight goes. Us talking, when we can think of anything to talk about. By the time we approach Gotham on the eastern shores of Delaware Bay, only about an hour has passed since we left, according to my watch. But since we're now in New Jersey, I need to add three hours for the time difference...so that means it's now 8:28am local time.

Kara lands on top of Wayne Tower, from which we're able to see virtually the entire city - and even Metropolis shining on the opposite shore of the bay, with ferries cutting through the water between the two cities.

I dial Constantine's number, hoping against hope that he'll answer. Unfortunately, there's nothing but an expectedly pithy voicemail message. "You've reached John Constantine, Petty Dabbler in the Dark Arts. If this isn't a supernatural emergency, you've got the wrong number."

"Dammit, Constantine," I grumble. "Wait a minute..." I can't remember what kind of phone he has, but if it's the same kind as mine, I should be able to track it. Hopefully. So I send him a text message, and from there, hit the button marked "Details," which should bring up his location.

No such luck, though. Crap.

But then my phone rings, surprising me so much that I nearly drop it. Even my enhanced reflexes aren't fast enough to catch it, not when Kara's around to do the job faster. But then when she rises again to return the phone to me, the top of her head bumps into my chin.

"Oh no, I'm sorry!" I stumble backwards, then reach out to Kara, who's holding her head right where her cranium and my mandible just collided.

"No, no, no worries," she says. "It doesn't hurt, not that much. And besides, I think you should take this." She holds out my phone, which has Constantine's name on the screen. "By the way...you really have 'Get Lucky' as your ringtone?"

"Why not?" I laugh as I answer the phone. "Constantine. Thank God. Where the hell are you?"

"I promise, it's sheer coincidence that I'm standing right behind you," he says - and not on the phone either. I hear his voice right behind me, and Kara looks over my shoulder as she sees him too. Not only him, either, but a trio of boys in red superhero outfits.

"Who are these guys?" I ask, even though I have a sort of idea who they are. This is Batman's turf, after all, and lest I forget, Grayson used to be one of these boys in red once upon a time.

"The Robins," says the tallest of them. "So...the Flash and Supergirl? You're who this guy calls up?"

"You sure took your sweet-ass time," laughs the second-tallest Robin.

"How'd you know where to find us?" Kara asks.

"Trade secret," says the shortest and youngest Robin.

"Now we're all here," Constantine says, "I can't believe I'm saying this, but...let's go back into the sewers, yeah?"

"What for?" I ask. "The Gotham City Ghost?"

Constantine grins dangerously. "Exactly right. I think you two are exactly what we need to stop that slippery son of a bitch. You're probably the only ones here fast enough to catch him."