Pairings:
KaldurxRoy, dashes of RoyxCheshire.

Summary:
Roy was used to being hurt, but he wasn't used to dealing with it.

Rating:
T for language and references.

Multi-chapter?
Yes.

AN:
I am so in love with this ship. It's like firexice, but sexy!firexsexy!ice.

Don't be afraid to leave a comment! It gives me a little thrill when I see [New Review] in my emails :3

It wasn't unlike Red Arrow to be angry.

It definitely wasn't unlike Roy to storm off.

But somehow—be it the best friend initiative or the way he looked almost... sad when he slunk into the shadows that night—Kaldur knew it was different this time. A new sort of rage. Not the normal sulk.

It'd only been a couple of months since he'd found out.

"A clone," he'd spat. "Not the real Roy Harper – just a knock-off."

Kaldur had tried to comfort him, but Roy was far too bent on bringing down whoever did this, whoever stole the true owner of his DNA. Hearing with a shadow over his face to each friend that insisted he was his own person and yet not listening. Even the ones he'd never gotten along with had given him words of consolation and kindness, only to have them shrugged off.

And now Kaldur was striding towards the man's apartment, wincing as he heard items clattering in protest of all the movement. It wasn't too late to turn back though the thought didn't even occur. Kaldur was always loyal, the one area in his life in which stubbornness was present.

Two knocks on the door seemed to freeze all motion on the other side. Footsteps finally started and soon the door was open.

"Kaldur – the fuck're you doing here?" Roy grunted. All respect for anyone—himself included—had seemed to blur more and more in Roy's mind since the Justice League crisis.

The Atlantean froze. He'd seen Roy without a mask before, of course, but the ruggedness, the handsomeness he seemed to think nothing of before and certainly thought nothing of now—"They were all just parts of the real Roy Harper." —never ceased to render Kaldur speechless for at least half a second. "You did not seem yourself today, so I am here to check up on you. May I come in?"

"That's probably not the best idea." However, he made no movement to turn Kaldur away.

"That was not a no."

It was a mess, of course—when wasn't it?—yet two things in particular caught his brown eyes.

"You are intoxicated," he commented calmly.

"No, I was intoxicated at three o' clock," Roy corrected bitterly. "You've caught me at eight o' clock. Now, I am no longer intoxicated, I am packing."

Arms folded, leaning with his legs crossed at the ankle against the kitchen counter, Kaldur smiled, "Packing? What adventures beckon to you now, Roy?" Tried to keep a casual air to his tone.

He didn't see Roy's eyes narrow dangerously. "The real Roy, that's who."

"I have already told you that we consider you to be the real Roy. The original is exactly that – an original."

"Bullshit!" Roy snarled, knocking the bottle Kaldur had previously seen to the floor. "I see it in the way you all look at me – like I'm a traitor. Don't you think this kid would want his life back? I can tell you for fucking sure I'd want one of you to do the same if it was me!"

Kaldur sighed quietly and went to work sweeping up the shards, Roy not shifting even an inch to help. When he finally stood, the two were face-to-face.

"It's not about being a clone, is it?"

Roy's breathing stuttered.

"What? Of course it is!"

Emptying the pan into an old newspaper, Kaldur shook his head, glanced up. "Not all of your anguish is sourced from that one fact. The other part is concerned for the original Roy's safety, and the last part..." He paused as Roy's jaw jutted to the side, undoubtedly thinking that if Kaldur wasn't his best friend than the finned teen would be thrown straight out the window. "You are worried that they see you as something of creation, not a person. Or is it the way you were created-"

"Shut up! I am not some papier-mâché thing from a five-year-old's art class!"

"I thought I was just speaking your language." Kaldur touched Roy's shoulder. He shrugged it off. "Roy, you are my best friend. Do not think there is anything you cannot tell me."

Kaldur had only ever seen Roy cry once, and that was when he'd had a gun fired onto his ankle, shattering the bone. He wasn't going to break his record, though, and his eyes dried up just as quickly as they had begun to shine.

"Roy-"

"No, screw this." He grabbed some more things and shoved them into the duffle bag—the second thing Kaldur had spotted upon his entrance—shouting "Of all the things, of all thefucking things they could control, why did they make me like this?"

Leaving the broken glass, the blonde-haired male tried to close the good few metres of space between them. "Like what?"

"They could make me a codeword, for God's sake – they could turn me on and off like a human sex toy, make me want in on the Justice League, blame others for things I was doing...- Hell, they could make me forget I was even betraying them! And that one thing they can't get right, the one fault-"

"What fault?" Kaldur asked, the worry boiling up in the valves of his heart.

There was no way Kaldur could have felt it coming – no way to stop it. Teases had always surrounded the now-abandoned alias of "Speedy", relating it to premature ejaculation and such, but he proved the name in the fast-twitch muscles that made each move nearly unforeseeable to almost all humans. A hand latched onto the back of Kaldur's neck, forcing him forward into a-

-a kiss?

Roy was always true to his character and he kissed like he fought – responsively, daringly, aggressively. Years of confusion and want and terror were sewn up with frayed ends in the bites and the clambering and the pressure at the small of Kaldur's back.

And then Roy shoved him away, startling Kaldur even more than he had been already.

"That fault," he answered in a low growl. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, turned away, distracted himself with his bag as to hide the blush tinting his cheeks. "I'm gay. It's cell clusters in the brain or something – I don't know and I don't care. I'm not sticking around anyway."

The realisation hit Kaldur like the bullet hit Roy's foot – hard and quick. He was right about it being a new sort of rage; hurt; fear. The frustration of being afraid of something as simple as rejection. The frustration of being weak.

And he remembered Roy being like this all the time. (Particularly on their first mission together, when he'd been trying to show off, didn't see the gleam of a revolver-)

"There are easier ways to come out than to kiss a person of the same gender," Kaldur said slowly. Roy's hands froze. "Do you love me, Roy?"

(Kaldur had seen it. He'd shouted out and Speedy had ignored it, releasing an arrow when he could have been jumping, running, anything.)

"Not love, Kaldur." At least, he didn't think it was. "But yeah. That sorta thing. All the more reason to leave."

(At first Kaldur thought he'd been mistaken – that the bullet had gone through the boy's chest instead. The way he'd fallen...)

"I do not understand."

(...Then he'd sat up, clutching his shin in an attempt examine the wound. Kaldur took out the remaining opponents, ignoring congratulations from his mentor and Green Arrow. Swore secrecy when a red-eyed Speedy had gotten a new ankle made of metal and said "Let's keep this from Robin and Wally, eh?" And he wasn't talking about the injury.)

Rubbing his hands over the bristles along his jaw, regretting even bringing it up, Roy turned around. "I think you're hot. I have a big crush on you. There – that good enough? I had to try it before I left."

"And this is a bad thing?"

Roy's sight went downward and then found Kaldur's again. "Yes."

Kaldur cocked his head with a smile hinting at his full lips. "Why?" he asked.

"Because one – I'm a fag. Doesn't that disgust you?"

"Why would it?"

"Because two – you're not." Roy realised he'd dropped the cold tone in his voice and re-built the stoic wall. "What's with all the questions? You've checked up on me. Haven't you got better things to do with your time?" The younger teen shook his head and Roy mentally strangled himself for noticing how the light hit his cheekbones. "Goodbye, then. Just go."

Not even the sound of his breathing changed. Once again Roy had to pause, had to pretend that Kaldur wasn't bringing out way too much emotion for him to stand. It was pure terror when they got like this, all pot and kettle and heavy sighs through their noses. Roy counted silently, not to calm himself but to see what level of rock-headedness Kaldur was currently in.

Fifteen.

So he faced him.

Faced the boy he'd been secretly pining after for years.

And Kaldur faced back.

"Go," Roy repeated.

Kaldur advanced, each move fluid and swift like the water he loved so much, each step making Roy's heart go a little faster. Too soon for the red-head to think, Kaldur was there,right there with his breath on Roy's lips. Big, brown hands slid up pale-in-comparison arms and held them steady as he tilted his head. "No."

Somewhere, amongst all the fighting he'd done and the things he'd seen and the way he'd lived and the stories he'd heard, Kaldur had learnt how to be gentle. His taste was salty, like—duh—the ocean. Roy hadn't really gotten a chance to notice before. He could feel a fresh cut on the Atlantean's bottom lip that added a metal tang into the mix. It was going to scar.

His eyes closed fully, steel body relaxing. Kaldur was best when he was unrestrained, further proved as he pushed Roy against a wall. Not painfully hard, just a surprise since most of the fantasies he'd entertained involved it being the other way around. Apparently the thought wasn't enough to stop his lungs from working in pants between his teeth as Kaldur started to kiss tenderly around the tendons in his neck. Confidently, Roy's arms were coaxed up to rest on Kaldur's shoulders. Strong, graceful fingers smoothed down to his hips. Felt each bone and muscle on the way.

When the time came for a real intake of air, not just more attempts at swallowing oxygen around the obstructions of tongues and teeth and the other's mouth, Roy's brain could only focus on one thing – one question.

Had that really happened?

The warmth flooding his body told him yes; the heat of Kaldur's breath on his chin told him yes; Kaldur smiling, their foreheads still pressed together as they allowed a few moments for the burning to cool told him fuck yeah it did.

"How long?"

Kaldur's gaze flicked up. "How long what?"

"How long have you had the hots for me?"

He sighed. "Using that tone of speech tends to ruin romantic moments, Roy. You should be aware of that. And it was since you comforted me after Tula... and Garth..."

"...That's five months," stated Roy. "You fuckwit – why didn't you say something?"

Moving away—trying to, almost impossible with the lock Roy's hands hand on his forearms—Kaldur rolled his eyes. "Most people do not call someone they just kissed a 'fuckwit'."

"Curses sound weird when they come from you." The archer swallowed. "I didn't know you played for the other team."

There was no expression imaginable that didn't look absolutely god-like when Kaldur wore it. Smirks were a rare occurrence, and therefore ones not to be shot down by rude comments. "Most from Atlantis fall for people, not genders."

"So, in American, you're pansexual."

"That would appear to be the case."

Roy inhaled and pressed on Kaldur's chest until he stepped away. "I have to find the real Roy Harper."

"Tracking him on foot would make no sense-"

"I've got inside information."

"You slept with Cheschire." It wasn't a question.

"And she was terrible."

"Good to know."

"Kaldur, I don't know if I can do what the League is doing. I need to find him, and that may not be possible inside the law." Roy gestured to the door. "Come with me. We could do this."

"My loyalties lie with my king second and with justice first. All I ask is that you at least let them try before you set off on your own investigation."

Roy momentarily stopped his breathing, bit the inside of his cheek for a second. "Fine."

"For now, however-" he tossed the bag aside, "-we could resume our previous oral activity, or I could follow your orders and leave."

A grin spread over Roy's face, the first genuine one of its kind since New Year's.

"You're not going anywhere, fish-legs – we have to make up for lost time."