I apologize if this is OOC, I haven't seen the show in a while.
I hope you like it, though! c:

The hatred between myself and that skeeze of a speedster was always palpable. I could feel it, he could feel it, and it was no less real for the rest of the team either. I could even see the clear recognition in the frowning creases of Batman's face every time we tossed a word or two back and forth.

I think he was just about fed up with us at this point.

Anyways, it wasn't long after our awry training simulation that the hatred seemed less... well, palpable. We still fought at every rising chance, baring teeth and stabbing at the gaps in each others' armor. However, the act had lost its bite. For one thing, after every insult he tossed, his nose did this little twitch, barely noticeable and hardly there at all, but it made it seem like he was treading cautiously, almost.

Like he didn't want to go too far or something. Which then had me thrown, and eventually I ended up doing the same thing. Well, I don't think my nose twitches. But that's details.

"What's your problem, Kid Mouth?" I demanded, shoving him forcefully in the chest. Hmm. Solid...

Focus.

"My problem?" He sounded incredulous, as if everything was always my fault. I wasn't surprised, he always found a way to blame me. "You're the one that lost us the mission!"

I scoffed, unimpressed. "It was a team effort-"

"And it was your arrow-"

"Oh please, like-"

Instead of talking over me again, he took his gloved hand – dirty with the grime of the mission, but it hardly mattered since my own face wasn't better off – and placed it over my mouth. "Who even let you on this team?" His hands withdrew, but I didn't snap back at him. What he said stung a little, because it was there very question that plagued my doubt-filled mind every night. "Roy would never-" he cut off, eyes relaxing from their tension just a little and gazing at me in what seemed to be a whole new light.

Not that it mattered. If what he said before stung, that just hurt. As much as I wish it didn't, the comparisons to Roy always stabbed me like a knife in the gut. It was like I couldn't be my own person, couldn't do what I did just to do it. I always had to par up with Roy, I always had to have an ulterior motive. Never, never enough to shed myself of the comparisons. I couldn't be a hero, not truly. In the others' eyes, in Wally's eyes, I would always just be the replacement out to destroy the team.

I swallowed, hoping it didn't show.

His nose twitched, and he made a show of storming off.

This evolution of verbal combat slowly but surely turned into a banter that was aimed to rile, but never destroy. I don't think either of us really realized for quite some time, but somewhere along the way his taunts of being blonde turned into compliments. Likewise, my jabs at his failure to catch a girl turned into these little reassurances that the desperate type he constantly went after just didn't deserve him.

"Ouch," I commented breezily, tearing off a piece of my cotton candy and shoving it in my mouth. He didn't bother with moving his attention to where the girl walked off for a while, until he turned to me with such a severe scowl that I felt compelled to share my food with the poor guy. I didn't, though.

"I don't wanna hear it," he grumbled, stealing some of my candy anyways. As he moved the melting cotton candy around in his mouth, he eyed me critically. "What animal nested in your hair today?"

A frown instantly marred my face, and I crossed my arms as best I could while holding the candy and a stuffed fish. "I'll have you know that this is called a messy bun, and it's very common for girls to do with their hair."

He snorted, poking at it. I swatted his hand away, but he seemed unperturbed. I half expected him to say something along the lines of: 'wait, you're a girl?', but it never came. "Yeah, well I think you have too much hair for it."

I rolled my eyes, but nevertheless reached up with one hand, transferring the fish to hold with the paper cone, and touched it daintily. I glanced at him once more, and froze when I saw the look on his face. As soon as he saw me looking, it disappeared, but in that split second I did see it. It was an odd smile, just barely there and touched with soft edges. It reached his eyes, too. His beautiful, horrifically enchanting eyes. That I hated.

Yes. I hated those eyes.

I brought my hand down, clearing my throat and eating some more cotton candy. It seemed that that's when he decided to notice my fish. "Hey," he blurted, gesturing to it. "Where'd you get that?"

"Hmm? Oh," I turned a little to point down an aisle of games. "Jackson won it for me."

"Jackson? Who's Jackson?"

I turned my eyes curiously to him, because if I didn't know any better I would have said his voice was a little tense. "I don't know. Some guy hitting on me?"

"Why? Why was he hitting on you?"

I snorted, whacking with my fish. "What, are you calling me ugly?"

"No, of course not," he defended hastily, flushing a little. "Or... yes? I mean," he fumbled, grasping for words that dangled like a bone tied in front of a dog, which was quite applicable if Wally was the dog and a doughnut was the bone. "Harpy," he spluttered at last.

I blinked, smirking a little for added affect. "Right," I drawled, drawing out the vowel and inspecting my fish carefully. "You know, it is a fair. Somebody's gotta win me something."

His only response was to guffaw out something awful, actually going so far as to clutch at his lean stomach. Or... skimpy stomach. "All the dart games in this fair, you could have every prize in stock."

I don't think he realized how profoundly what he said stood out to me. My heart pattered with pride and the joy of recognition, something warm and fumbling skittered in my stomach. It felt so nice to have gone from being so unworthy of 'replacing' Roy to casual praise. Honestly, this was the first time Wally told me that he thought I was a good archer, no matter how inadvertent it was.

There must have been some ridiculous smile on my face, because he smiled back and quirked a curious, confused brow. I wish he wouldn't make that face, because sometimes it makes me forget to yell at him for being annoying.

"Don't be so mushy," I said at last, pushing him in the arm in a way that let my hand linger for just a second. If he caught on, he didn't say anything.

In the end, I won myself a whole collection of stuffed animals to go with the fish, and back at the cave Wally handed me a fair sized rubber ducky. It was painted like Kid Flash, with the addition of a cowboy hat. It was the most ridiculous thing I'd ever seen, but I named it Casanova and put it on my shelf anyways.

That's pretty much as far as we've gotten so far, and I really didn't think it would evolve any further. I didn't think it could. But then... he just went and flopped the whole thing over. I guess that means I was right, because this was no evolution. This was just a big fat development that came from up his ass.

Honestly, what goed on in that deluded mind of his? He just... out of nowhere.

Ah, shit. Pardon my random onslaught of French, but I'd meant to slide out of the kitchen before he got there. Too late now.

"Ah, Artemis, the light of my life. Well, I'd come in here for something delicious, but it seems I have to look no further."

I sniffed haughtily, tilting my head back at little to look at him down my nose through slitted eyes. Shame I was shorter than him, even if not by that much. "Please, that wasn't even well crafted."

He grinned, how dare he be amused? "Sorry about that, Beautiful, but you just overwhelm me to the point I can barely keep a straight thought."

I fear that if I live another day to roll my eyes, they might get stuck glaring up at the ceiling. "Whatever, Baywatch, If you'll excuse me, I have better things to be doing," I informed him dutifully, shoving past him to escape through the door.

"Fair enough," he shrugged, moving over easily. "But don't exert yourself too much, you'll need all your energy if you're going to running through my dreams tonight."

Nor were his slights even remotely original, I thought with malice as I stalked to my locker in the shower room, deciding that a swim at the beach might help cool me off sufficiently. I put on a layer of sunscreen and grabbed a towel, putting extra care into the act because I tended to forget it. Above my swim suit I pulled on an oversize shirt. Green, naturally.

Agh, he was just so... so aggravating. I don't know where he gets off on this crap, but it drove me nuts. It was better than trying to get me kicked off the team, but so much worse than anything I'd prepared myself for.

I made it to the sand without whiff or glimpse of the nuisance, and I spared four extra glances around before deeming that I'd made it there safely. Satisfied, I sighed with a content smile and slid the shirt off. The second it dropped to the ground, a lewd whistle floated over from my right and I resisted the urge to just jump in the water and drown. I was curious, though. Would I be able to repress my survival instinct long enough to do so?

Couldn't hurt to try, I supposed with a glance towards the bane of my existence. He had his hand up above his eyes, as if both scouting and shielding his vision from the sun despite wearing glasses, and looked like an absolute dork in doing so. His other hand was propped up on his hip, and he was dressed in swimming shorts and a white tee. I was entirely unsure as to why he couldn't just leave me alone.

He pulled the sun glasses off in what I'm sure he assumed to be a motion that made him look 'cool,' and sauntered towards where I stood fuming. "What do you want?"

The fact that my tone promised death did nothing to deter him, and he got close enough to throw his glasses on my discarded shirt. "Who, me? I just want to swim," he winked, drawing his own shirt smoothly off and tossing it next to mine. Despite how positively wonderful his runner's torso looked, my gaze didn't stray from his own, glaring as intensely as I possibly could.

"Well I was here first, so shove off."

"It's a free beach," he responded easily, palms spreading in a fake 'sorry' sort of motion and shoulders coming up in a shrug.

I pursed my lips in frustration, not missing the way his eyes were drawn to the motion. "Yes, and there are miles of it for you to occupy yourself in," I gestured down the length of the beach. "Away from me."

He walked by me with a dangerously boyish grin, swatting my ponytail as he went, and walked out into the water until it reached his knees. He turned around, facing me with spread arms. "It's no fun to swim by yourself. Come join me!"

"I disagree with all my capability to do so," I muttered under my breath before eventually just moving forward to meet him in the ocean. No mistake about it, my steps were grudging and angry, but I still went out there. I saw him walk back slowly as I approached, and when I glared at him for it he just grinned.

Loser.

We were almost waist deep when I stood a foot in front of him. The water was chill against my legs in a pleasant way, causing the skin on my arms to erupt in tiny little bumps. Many people I've known in my life thus far, even those who ramble on without me actually caring about their visits to the beach, have complained about how cold it was. If only there was a heated ocean, they would say.

But I liked the fact that it was cold. It was nice against the sun, and it kept me alert in that wonderfully calming way. There was a poke on my shoulder, wet from the water, and I crossed my arms with a glare.

"Are you happy now? Are you excited?" I asked patronizingly, crossing my arms and sneering. "I'm g-" Suddenly there were arms around me and I was sailing through the air. I had just enough to let out an odd mix between a yelp and a scream before I landed on my side in the water. I surfaced to the hideous guffaws of one Kid Flash, and through my coughing and spluttering I charged at him in a blind rage. He must have been to busy laughing to get out of the way, because I plowed into his side and sent us both splashing into the water.

That stopped his laughing, I thought smugly, pulling the hair out of my face and standing up again. He stood, too, and sent a huge splash towards my face. The strands loose from my ponytail fell in my face again, and he laughed some more. I hated the feeling of wet hair in my face, I reflected with a growl. Cupping my hands to collect a greater amount of water, I splashed him right back.

Eventually we were consumed in this ridiculously intense splash war, occasionally pushing the other into the waves. We didn't stop until I saw a lack shape in the water and shoved him into the water so I could get out. Even if it was likely to just be a glob of seaweed, dark shapes in the water were a big fat no-no. I was in the middle of drying my hour out when a hand – larger than my own, mmm – landed on my shoulder and turned me to face him.

His eyes were shining and his smile radiant, and I couldn't do anything but let my lips fall open in a small 'o.' As much as I wanted to hate him, it was expressions like that that kept me from doing so. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and I cleared my throat to keep from getting distracted. "Yes?"

One corner of his mouth raised just a little bit more than the other, giving his smile a crooked quality. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

I rolled my eyes, shoving my towel in his chest and reaching over to grab my shirt. I picked up his glasses in the process and when I stood straight again I put them over his eyes. His lower lip caught between his teeth while I pulled the shirt on, and I had this ridiculous urge to use my thumb and tease it out. I hated myself for how things like these affected me.

This was Wally West. Nothing he does should sent my heart careening to the floor, or bunch my stomach in knots. I shouldn't be refraining from touching him, and yet here I was with balled up fists. I didn't want to find all his expressions so irresistible, or wonder how his hands felt on my waist, and I definitely didn't want to be wondering how it would feel to have his lips on mine, across my neck, anywhere he so desired.

But dammit if I did, and I did.

The shades covered his eyes, so I couldn't read them, but his smile was dimming oh so slowly. His hands, holding the towel still against his chest, tightened in their hold and I wished so horribly that I was that towel.

I think if her never started this whole 'flirting with the enemy' thing, I may not have had to worry about these feelings. I probably could have gotten away free from the trouble and free from him.

"We," I started, cursing the way the word shook a little. I started again, this time with more clarity and resolve. "We should head back."

He nodded in agreement, but neither of us moved. He stood there staring at me, and I stood there staring into his sung glasses. Slowly, I reached up and pushed them back onto the top of his head. My fingers rested gently across his jaw, and my thumbs ran across his cheek bones. I felt the towel drop between us before his own fingers came up with wrap around my wrists. He didn't move my hands, though, and his eyes bore into mine with such an intensity that it stole away my breath.

As I moved my thumbs slowly, I watched the plethora of freckles appear from under them. I could count them over and over again, and always find them so intriguing.

"What?" His question came out in a curious breath, and my eyes trailed from his freckles to meet his green stare.

"Throw me in the ocean again, and you'll regret it," I said as last, pulling away my hands and bending over to pick up the towel. He didn't follow me immediately as I walked back to the cave, so I didn't see him again until I'd gotten out of the showers and caught him in the kitchen. Naturally, he was shuffling through the cabinets, most likely planning on robbing us blind.

My hair was still damp, even after a half hour of attacking it with a towel and hair dryer, and I'd changed into jeans and a fitted tee shirt. Shoes were wasted on me once I got comfortable, so I was shuffling around in my socks. It looked like he had a similar thought, because we matched exactly except for the shade of grey our shirts were. Well, that and he wasn't wearing skinny jeans.

"I'm surprised you waited this long to gorge," I mentioned casually, crossing behind him to get to the other set of cupboards. If he heard me, he didn't seem to care. He just continued to stack his arms full of junk food and... oh hey. An apple.

I rolled my eyes halfway, pulling out a mug and setting the kettle. While I was waiting for the water to start heating, I rested back against the counter and crossed my arms, watching as he dumped his collection of food on the island. He took a seat on one of the three stools we'd just gotten and stared at me as he opened a bag of chips. We never broke eye contact, not as I shifted to cross my ankles and not as he started shoving fried potatoes down his throat.

Finally, he swallowed and set the now empty bag down. "Watcha makin'," he slurred curiously.

Oh, right. I forgot to get out the mix. I pushed up off of the counter and reached into the cabinet behind me, pulling out a can of Swiss Miss, and measuring some into my mug. "Just some cocoa. Want some?"

"Sure." Even though I couldn't see him behind my back, I was more than positive that he shrugged.

It was right after I'd prepared him a mug, too, that the water finished. I felt his intense eyes burning into me, following my every minute move. I tried my best to ignore the sensation, but it was largely unavoidable. I tapped the spoon on the rim of the mug and set it to the side, I'd get to it later, and then the muscles on my back and shoulders tensed. He was behind me.

I turned slowly, eyes curious and guarded. "What," I said, making it out to be less of a question than a simple word. A word with no meaning other than to be said.

"You know, due to heat transferring effects, that stove has to be about five degrees Celsius higher than the boiling point for the water to actually start boiling."

My eyebrows dug downwards and together in confusion. "What?"

He rolled his lips between his teeth and wet them in one quick motion. I got this laughable sense that he was nervous or something. "You know I'm a guy of science, right?"

"Right," I affirmed, not sure where he was going with this. "Magic's bogus to you. So I've heard."

He nodded rapidly a few times, cracking his knuckles. "Right," he echoed. "So here I am, trying to figure out why if love is just a bunch of hormones and subconscious instinct to keep the species alive, I can't seem to shake you." I blinked, not sure if I heard him correctly. I wanted to say something, but I found I really couldn't. He beat me to it anyways. "I mean, I've been into other girls before, as is natural because of hormones. But you..." he trailed off, fingers spreading.

"But I," I prompted, swallowing twice in succession.

His grin was sideways on his face, and his eyes were warm and inviting but still riddled with a hesitant doubt. "But you're something like magic to me," he finished at last. And that's when all my questions about his hands and lips were answered, because I went ahead and asked them.