Author's Notes: So the team has been aged up in this. Roughly three years have passed since the YJ team was forged.
Gotham City
December 29, 19:28 EDT.
The subway passes in a blur; tossing her hair over her shoulder from the backlash of wind. The golden strands flutter around her face, but fail to coax any feeling out of her aside from the stoic frown that's become somewhat of a default expression for her.
Wally approaches carefully; his steps muted by the roaring of the train as it progresses over the tracks. He's paused behind her, mulling over the words lingering on his tongue until he settles with flashing her a quick grin when she peers at him from the corner of her eye.
"Hey, Art." He flexes his gloved hands from inside the pockets of his Flash hoodie, googles still perched on top of his messy whirl of bedhead but his features are older, less baby faced then he was at fifteen.
Her shoulders shudder as the cold air lingers around her bare arms; tickling and feathering, and causing goose flesh to spurt up. Her rosy lips purse. "Wally."
They stand there in silence. Wally inspects the people who board the next train; seniors, young folk, children. All completely oblivious to the thorny standoff going on between the redhead and blonde.
The team had told him-rather defeated and tearfully-not to waste his time on these meetings anymore. She'd chosen to aid the League of Shadows two years prior, if she'd been dying to come back, she would have. He ignores them all; no matter how justified their reasoning is.
It had been a surprise to all of them; a horrid, dreadful surprise, when they had been confronted by Sportsmaster in battle and he'd gone about and revealed Artemis to be his daughter. She'd made it clear where her loyalties lied- until Wally himself had been threatened with a spear to his gut if she hadn't agreed to join him once more. They weren't her real family, after all.
On days he's feeling particularly bitter about it-mad at himself for being such a screw up-he'll make Gotham City his personal race track. Running, sheathed in his Kid Flash attire, around the dingiest of apartment buildings until he finds hers and stops just short of knocking on the front door. He knows she won't be there, but the ache in his heart is a monster that rips him apart with a burning desire to see her again. To see her laugh, smile. To argue with her.
They come together once every four months, for a thirty-minute rendezvous at the location of her choosing. He'd only swung that much by blurting out how much M'gann had missed her and wanted to know how she was. He was thankful she didn't call him out on his incredibly awful lie, or ask him any question apart from where and when they should have it.
He's made it his job to keep her informed on the gossip circulating the cave- the pranks he pulled, the cookies M'gann made, the missions they've went on. But he never pressures her. Never mentions missing her, or requests she return to the rag-tag family they had formed; the six of them. It's mindless babble and the occasional offer of whatever snack food he had brought with him- because what's Wally West without food?
"So, Rob was all, 'There's no way you can fit that many peanuts in your mouth at once!' and I was all, 'You wanna bet me, dude?'" Wally preforms a series of wild hand gestures as he speaks, if only to give her some sense of having actually witnessed said event. Artemis watches as his eyebrows quirk in smugness while he smirks. "Guess who won ten bucks?"
She isn't sure whether or not a sarcastic reply is required or genuine encouragement is more appropriate, so she forms a sort of awkward smile and accepts a chip as he tilts the can of Pringles towards her before throwing in. "You can shove the most nuts in your mouth; congrats."
His face contorts into a look so worthy of a Kodak Moment she nearly laughs. Nearly.
"That's- That's not-" His ears tint pink first, before the blush spreads to his cheeks; highlighting every freckle. "You're impossible." He finally bites out, shoving a handful of potato chips into his mouth with gusto; making sloppy chewing noises and spraying crumbs out all over his lap as he does so.
She grimaces. "Well, as fun as this has been..." She rises from the metal bench and stretches her arms over her head; waiting until she hears a satisfying cracking noise before focusing on the boy who's suddenly grabbed her free wrist in his hand.
"You can't be leaving already." Wally tries to reel in the pathetically obvious tone of desperation-desperation makes her leave faster-but her demeanor has already steeled over.
"Sorry, Kid." She shoots him a smile, but it's similar to something feral that makes his skin crawl uncomfortably. "Gotta run. You know how it is."
He squeezes his hands into fists, because he may or may not have been waiting months for this moment and may or may not have expected more than a fifteen minute visit in a drafty subway station while he carries out a one-sided conversation.
Wally throws the empty container of Pringles over his shoulder; it makes a clattering noise that echos in the deserted area as it lands squarely in the garbage can. "Artemis," He's told himself he's above begging; he's a man now and men do not beg. "Please stay." Dammit.
For the briefest of moments, he imagines her face softening and the hard exterior melting away to a look of pensive shyness. However, seconds tick by and she's still staring at him with guarded eyes.
"Don't, Wally. Don't."
He hangs his head, glaring fiercely at his worn sneakers as if they're the cause of his problems while she pulls free of his grip. He realizes she's began to retreat towards the exit, and his heart spams. "Hey, Crock!"
Artemis' foot stops on the first step leading out to the busy streets of Gotham, and she angles toward him where he's now standing; shifting from foot to foot in rapid succession. "What'd you do for Christmas?"
The question throws her off; lips twisting into a flat line as she contemplates his lame tactic of stalling. Still, she answers him with a drawl of; "Nothing."
"No presents?" He asks airily, as if requesting the time, while he strides up to her. He's hit his final growth spurt it seems- nearly a full head taller than her now. It's unnerving.
"No," She spits flatly. "What's your point, West?"
Gripping her shoulders hard enough to bruise, he pulls her upward so their lips mash together roughly; teeth clattering together and noses bumping like it's their first kisses all over again. It's a frantic, panicked motion but her lips are bright and swollen once he finally tugs away.
"I know I'm late, but Merry Christmas, Arty." His whisper is something that echos in her head, weeks later, as she recalls the the brooding look he shoots her before rocketing off and sending discarded sheets of newspaper flying into the breeze around her.
Come April, he waits for her at the same station; feet rooted into the concrete he stands upon.
He doesn't agonize over the fact that she's three hours late, or that the sky has dimmed into a dark navy, rather than the brilliant blue it had been prior to his arrival. She never shows up.
But if there's one thing he's learned over the years, it's patience.
So he'll play her game, and keep on waiting, until the next time she decides to grace him with her presence.