So, due to the absolutely catastrophic lack of Wally and/or Artemis, and therefore Spitfire, I decided to post this. Let it be noted, that while this is the first one I'm posting, it's not the first story I've written for this kick-ass antagonistic couple. So if I get a positive response, I'll post others! Non-angst ridden ones, since most are in my usual funny-fluff-format, and this is not. Takes place after Insecurity, so it's rather late to be considered possible-cannon. Since it's technically a head-cannon now, lets just say she comes back to the cave after her talk with Sportsmaster. Just putting that out there
Disclaimor: Um, yeah, if I owned Young Justice this would be an episode and not a story. Consider that.
He built me up. I tore myself down; tearing down any chance I might've had with him in the process. Whatever tiny, miniscule chance. The chance that probably existed only in my head, born of wishful thinking.
Stupid, stupid, Artemis. You liked him. Hell, you STILL like him. And you reject what he told you earlier, to save face. Stupid.
I had my reasons. I repeat this like a mantra in my head as I traipse through the cave, in search of…I don't know. An escape, maybe? An escape seems to be an accurate guess in light of recent events. From what? Roy? Wally? Dad? Me?
Ihadmyreasons Ihadmyreasons Ihadmyreasons Ihadmyreasons Ihadmyreasons Ihadmyreasons…
Finally finding a secluded little nook in one of the hallways leading towards the kitchen, I let myself slide down the wall and take my head into my hand. Alone, leaving nothing but thoughts and the stagnant night air of the cave to swirl around me. My thoughts. Roy's threats. My father's threats. Wally's disappointment. My disappointment. My fears. My feelings…ugh. Sad, isn't it, that with all this other fucked up crap in my life, that that still manages to top the list. Dealing with my feelings.
Artemis doesn't play well with others.
Or deal well with feelings.
Or angry confrontations.
Or compliments from teammates.
The early onset paranoia has set in
And she may have PTSD
But on the upside, her archery skills are improving daily.
I stifle a snort of laughter. Laughing at a joke at your expense, made by yourself, is a red flag for stress. And craziness. I mean, I'm stressed. I'm, like, way past stressed. But still. Honestly, I'm sure Wally will find many ways to criticize and make fun of me later, so really, there's no need for me to start now. Speaking of Kid Guilt-Trip… I hear some scuttling going on in the kitchen. At sometime around midnight. And a crash. I sigh, that crash being a surefire signal that the klutzy speedster is on a mission to muck up the kitchen and my life. Because, seriously, when is he ever around to not ruin my life?
Life ruining, heart wrenching, guilt inducing bastard.
Oops. Was that a little too dramatic a statement to make about that happy-go-lucky, annoying as hell ginger? Yeah right. Not harsh or dramatic enough, if you ask. Me. My day went horribly, and he was a third of the problem, which, actually, is less than usual. So, yeah, no.
I unfold the body origami I inflicted upon myself to fit into the nook and stretch out my back. The edges of my ponytail brush the exposed skin at the small of my back where my tank top has ridden up, causing goose bumps to spread like poison across my body.
I'm sorry.
That was a morbid thought, wasn't it?
I'll try to be more children's-book ready next time I prepare for confrontation.
I shake my head, steel my nerves around me, and make my way towards the sounds of the frantic speedster trying to fix up whatever mess he just caused while trying to make a midnight snack. I've got a couple problems with a certain ginger that I need to sort out.
***Line Break***
Said ginger is scooping up…Powdered sugar? From the floor, cursing under his breath, and, um, he's sorta…shirtless?
Well. No one ever accused us of being normal teenagers with a normal kitchen at a normal time to be in a kitchen. Since I'm standing in the doorway, half in the shadows, I haven't said anything, and Baywatch is a little preoccupied with his sugar problem, my presence is as of yet unnoticed. A problem, since I don't know if I'll carry through with my plan if I lose my mini adrenaline rush.
"Need any help, Kid-Klutz?" He turns around so abruptly, he falls against the counter and knocks over some more…stuff. What the hell is he making, anyway?
"Wha-Artemis-You…here…um…Yeah, I guess I could use the help."He runs his hand through his, blushing slightly and giving me a wary, small, crooked smile. Damn him. Who the hell can smile so adorably in the middle of a kitchen after a huge display of clumsiness while shirtless? It just cements my theory that something's just not right with him.
Sure, Artemis.
It can't possibly be your fault.
It's Wally's fault you turn into such a girl when he smiles at you.
Not like you like him or anything.
Right.
Gah. I shake my head, smirk, and kneel down to help him with the mess we (he) made. After a while spent in silence that couldn't quite decide whether or not to be awkward, he clears his throat and says, "So, Arty, was there a particular reason you decided to come into the kitchen at 12:14 and help me clean up fallen sugar?"
"No, Wally, I just decided that that sounded like a really fun time. Of course I had a reason."
He stands up, and I follow suit. I hop onto the counter top and sit Indian-style after he deposits the bag full of sugar on it and he leans against the opposite wall, and makes a 'go on' sort of gesture with his hand, silently urging me to continue. I scowl. His abs are far too nice to look at for a guy whose strength is mostly associated with his legs. Thank God those are covered with a pair of gray sweatpants with the cuffs rolled up, or I'd have an even harder time piecing together what I want to say.
C'mon, Artemis. You're not exactly forcing him to put on a shirt.
"Well, I-Look, Baywatch, we have some stuff to clear up and you know it. I was insecure and we know it. But I had reasons, and if you really trust me as much as you said you do earlier, than you should've given me time to explain. Trust, to me, means giving someone a chance to explain themselves."
He blinks, and opens his mouth, but I cut him off. "No. What you said to me earlier was enough, Wally. It meant a lot to me. It did. You should've given me time to explain, because I was not trying to prove myself, and as my teammate you should've trusted me when the situation called for it, not when we were alone it was easy to say you trusted me. "
He shifts his weight to fix me with a look, his impossibly green eyes rolling. What? Then his smile slips off, and his gaze turns serious, eyes practically smoldering. It causes me to lose my train of thought. Wally's eyes should not be allowed to smolder.
"Arty, just because I blamed you for being insecure doesn't mean I stopped trusting you. I like you too much to ever stop trusting you, no matter how idiotic you're acting. I should have let you explain, but not because it would've made me change my mind about you. I stopped trying to pin you down a while ago, so changing my mind isn't a problem. I just should've let you, Arty, cause…well, if you like someone as much as I like you, second chances should always be on hand."
Throughout his whole adorable tirade, his blush deepens and travels, coloring his freckly neck and cheeks in a pinkish hue that looks surprisingly cute with his wild ginger locks. He seemed pretty confident while talking, but as the silence grows, he looks more and more unsure of himself. An easily fixed problem.
"Wally." He swallows, gives a shy smile and says, "Yeah?" "I bet I like you more."
He crosses the room, stops just in front of the counter top and cups my chin with his hand. The other reaches up past my head and takes my hair out of its ponytail. His touch is light, warm and quick, exactly what you'd expect from a speedster. His hand slides through my hair and settles on the small of my back as he pulls me into a kiss. Soft, slow, warm, passionate, light, Wally… As I settle into his arms and his lips and his touch, as I wrap my arms around his neck and let my fingers play with his hair, I begin my mantra again, only slightly altered:
Wehadourreasons Wehadourreasons Wehadourreasons Wehadourreasons….