This is where they always end up. No matter how hard they try to rid themselves of each other, they always seem to end up right back where they started. In this bed, her head resting against his chest, his hand absently stroking her hair. Their eyes open.

He's tried leaving her. Tried multiple times over the years, but only succeeded once. That one time was two weeks ago, when things just spiraled out of control and each jab went a step farther than the last.

He exhales and touches his nose to her head, in an unusually deep amount of thought. He doesn't know why he keeps coming back here, why he keeps putting himself though this. He doesn't even know if it's worth it. He sometimes thinks it is, and other times it feels like he's grabbing for something that's already gone. Or maybe it was never even there.

This last thought sticks out abruptly and he blinks, refocusing, and almost shakes his head at himself. No, the feeling for her was always there. Or else he never would have tried. If he hadn't of felt something that one time when he foolishly tripped and fell onto her, if he hadn't of secretly enjoyed her snarky replies, her careless attitude, if he hadn't of thought she was beautiful from the beginning…he never would have let himself get pulled into this trap. This never ending game of tug-and-war which is like hell in heaven and salty tears and black coffee.

But two weeks ago was bad, he thinks, chewing on his tongue and frowning. Really bad.

Of course the fight had to do with her father. With her past. When is it ever not about her past, about how he is ever so "judgmental" and never gives her a chance? But the truth is that he doesn't know how to completely let go of that knowledge, of that awful betrayal he felt so many years ago.

"Wally, you're breathing like a freight train." She suddenly speaks up, stirring slightly in his arms. Still awake.

"Sorry," he mutters, blinking again, pulling himself out of his thoughts. Thoughts that are way too complex for his usual carefree manner. He sighs and looks down at her.

She doesn't return his gaze but instead stares at the wall. "What are you thinking about?"

It's less of a question and more of a statement, the way she says it. She already is perfectly aware of the answer. "You already know, don't you?" he asks quietly.

"Of course I do. But I figured it would be only polite to ask."

"It's not a big deal, Artemis," he replies, trying to smile. "Seriously. Just…memories."

"Uh-huh. Of two weeks ago. Don't lie to me, Wally. You're God-awful at it, and I should know," she tells him, still not meeting his gaze. But her face has twisted into a combination of disgust and amusement. It's a start.

"It's over. Past is past and all that…stuff. Go to sleep," he tells her, and rolls over, taking his arm away. But it doesn't change anything. As soon as he closes his eyes, he imagines the fight again.

She's screaming now. Her eyes on fire and her hands clenched into fists so tight that they look almost purple. If he weren't so furious, he might even be concerned. But, instead, he screams right back at her.

"How am I supposed to trust you? At all? You were raised by an assassin! You hurt our team once, you can do it again! You left us, took us to the slaughterhouse and left us!"

He hadn't meant that. But it was the words that he knew would hurt her the most, the thing that he knew she most regretted. And like so many times before then, he'd done it, shouted it at her, stuck it in her side and let the poison flow…without once even thinking.

"And then I came back! God, Wally, why are you such an arrogant ass? I've sacrificed everything I've ever known to be a part of the League, and you won't even trust me! My husband won't trust me!"

She wouldn't cry. Of course she wouldn't; Artemis never cried. But he'd never heard that strain in her voice before. It sounded like a cross between a sob and a battle cry. Probably because it was.

"I married you because I thought things were done. But then I find out you're still talking to your father! Who has tried to kill League members on multiple occasions! And you expect me to just be okay with it?"

Sportsmaster. Her father. A trained assassin. God, if only she'd been born in a normal family, born to a nice mom and dad who raised her to be a nice little girl with pigtails and barrettes instead of arrows and those beautiful hazel eyes.

"Of course I do! Because you LOVE me!"

Love. Of course. He loved her, loved her more than he would ever care to admit. And that's what he hated. He hated being ripped apart by every shout that passed between them. He'd always wanted to be the strong, independent man with all the ladies and all the right moves.

But who was he kidding? When did Supers ever really get exactly what they wanted?

"Artemis, I can't just sit here and wonder every night if—"

"Of course you can't, Wally. Because you haven't changed at all. You're still the awful, arrogant, stuck-up, frustrating, immature 15-year-old that I foolishly allowed myself to fall in love with."

On and on. It always went on and on.

He'd left that night, taken a bag of things and left with her still yelling at him on the way out. He'd left silently, seething, refusing to meet her gaze. Kept walking even when he finally heard her break down and begin to cry. But only when he wasn't looking. Never where anyone could see.

He'd gone to Dick's apartment on 31st street. Where else could he go? He'd let himself in, claimed the guest bedroom, because Dick was, of course, not home. Then he'd sat down on the blue velvet bed, put his head in his hands, and done everything he could not to fall down on the floor and give up, stop trying to be a man and go back to being a boy and just cry. Just break down and wait until someone came around who could make it all better. For a ridiculous moment, he longed for the old days of hot chocolate and stupid jokes and Uncle Barry. Uncle Barry, who had died three years before and left Wally the only candidate for the Flash costume. Uncle Barry, who was no longer there for Wally to lean on, for Wally to depend on.

Even Dick had only been able to do so much. But at least he had had an apartment. That was something.

A moment later and Wally had heard Dick's communicator go off. His old one, the one that was dysfunctional and that he only kept because it had its memories, as everything did. The ring was so twisted and warped with age that Wally had soon found himself laughing, and then the tears were just streaking down his face before he could even try and stop them.

Dick had come home later that night, found Wally asleep on the couch with old That 70's Show re-runs playing on the television screen. Dick had known his best friend well enough to take it as a bad sign. Very bad.

He'd shaken Wally awake and then they'd talked, talked like they had when they were kids and the girls were just minor issues in their life that they liked to turn into major issues.

"I don't even know what to do with her anymore, Dick."

The typical problem.

"Well, you love her, don't you?"

The typical answer.

"Of course I do! And that's the worst damn part!"

It always was.

"You chose to marry her, Wally. She's your wife. She came back for us even when she betrayed us and that's what mattered. She loves her father, and that's something you're going to have to understand."

Understanding. Unfortunately, never one of Wally's strong points. And neither was patience.

"Dick, listen to yourself. You're basically telling me that Batman should trust Harley Quinn because she loves The Joker."

Something that would hit Dick hard, Wally knew. If Dick could truly hate any one thing, it would be the Joker.

"…Wally, the point is that you can't control her."

Wally had almost snorted. Then he'd seen Dick's expression, a one much more serious than the ones that he used to wear when they were kids. He wasn't wearing sunglasses to cover the dark blue eyes either.

God, things had changed.

"Wally, you love her. I know you better than anyone and I'll tell you right now—I've known from the very beginning that you love her."

And yet nothing had changed.

Dick had agreed to let Wally stay at the apartment for at least a few more days, until he could find a place of his own. If he even could. Dick could hardly get Wally to move, let alone start looking for a place to stay until things were worked out.

All the speedster would do all day was sit in front of the TV and stare blankly at bad commercials with stupid puns and over-emphasized titles. He would absently flip his communicator open and shut, open and shut, like it was some kind of time-keeping device that kept him sane. And, from what Dick could tell, it wasn't doing a very good job.

For Wally to watch TV was unusual. For Wally to watch TV for more than a few hours was shocking. For Wally to watch TV for hours and sit, completely unmoving, was unheard of. By Wednesday, Dick realized that Wally hadn't put on the Flash costume in five days. That was skimming the edge of impossible. Wally loved running like it was the air he breathed. And he would do anything to keep the memory of his uncle alive.

And, secretly, Wally had known it was all insane and that he was killing himself from the inside out. It had been like a maniacal roller coaster ride, where one second you felt safe and then the next you were plummeting again. Her face kept reappearing every time he had tried to go to sleep. It was absolutely maddening.

And the one that had kept coming up time and time again was the one which bothered him the most.

That adorable little nervous look she had gotten that one night in the desert, where she had flipped her hair away and immediately tried to occupy herself with something else.

"I got, uh, confused by…some old movie I saw the other night, about a ninja girl who's, uh…ninja dad ordered her to kill her ninja boyfriend 'cause he was from a…rival ninja…clan."

And then, of course, his smartass answer.

"So…I'm your ninja boyfriend, huh?"

That episode in the desert had been the start of it all, really. He'd called her beautiful, held her hand. Had been genuine, for once in his life. Unprejudiced.

Sitting on Dick's couch, he had clenched his fist and thought how he would give it all away just to get her back. Of course he would.

But how could he? How could he go back to her and beg for forgiveness? What reason did she have for forgiving him? He'd been cruel, untrusting. And how could he allow himself to appear so weak before her? That wasn't how he worked. That wasn't the way he had ever worked.

For better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health—

"Stop." He had said it aloud, the whole thing too painful. He'd exhaled, exhausted, exasperated, clinging for something. Falling back onto the couch and groping for some sort of line. There was nothing. Nothing but the knowledge that he couldn't live with her and he most certainly couldn't live without her.

His eyes had moved down to the communicator resting in the palm of his hand. He had slowly flipped it over, revealing the back side.

He'd pressed his fingernail against the top, and watched as a hidden compartment popped open. He'd let the small object inside slide into his hand, had let it remind him. God knows what had made him strong enough to do it.

He had stared at it for a few minutes, turning it over and over between his fingers, then stood up. Wrote Dick a note, thanking him. Took his things, packed up and left. Walked back. All the way back home.

Wally had never liked second guesses, and cold feet were even worse. But he had ignored the tremors of doubt that pulled at him like puppet strings and walked up to the front door of his home. Their home.

He'd closed his eyes, hiding the bouquet of daffodils behind his back. Artemis was no ordinary women, but Wally had only hoped she would fall for flowers just the same.

He'd reached his fist out, hesitated, and knocked.

For at least five minutes, there was no answer. But Wally knew she was home. Her car was in the driveway and the key to the house, which she usually kept underneath the flower pot on the front porch, was gone. She only took it from its hiding spot when she was at home.

Then he had heard her voice, harsh and bitter, on the other end of the white wooden door.

"…What are you doing here?"

Wally had almost laughed. Truth be told, he hadn't really been sure how he was supposed to reply. 'Why, Artemis, because you're the best thing that's ever happened to me and you make me crazy and insane and I hate myself for it, but I guess I'm willing to push that aside if it means you'll forgive me'?

"I'm here because I'm sorry" was the lame excuse for an answer he had ended up saying.

"Uh-huh. And why should I believe that load of shit, Wally?" was her inevitable reply. "It wouldn't be the first time you've lied to my face just because you wanted to get back, safe and sound and snuggly where you feel comfortable. Hakuna Matata, right, Mr. West?"

The biting sarcasm, the hating sting behind the words made him want to wince and shout back at her at the same time. But he choked down the words and breathed. "I'm not lying, Artemis. Not this time."

She had laughed, an awful sound with absolutely no humor. "Oh, lovely. Now we're putting on the romantic comedy cheese. Sorry, but I'm not a The Notebook kind of girl, Walter. Go back to wherever the hell you came from."

His grip had tightened around the flower stems. "Let me in, Artemis. I need to talk to you."

"Why, Wally? So we can have another shouting match? Sure, those are real fun! Let's do it again. In fact, lemme go get my arrows while we're at it, and maybe I can shove one up your ass on your way out."

"Stop. Let me in."

Her voice had been steadily raising in volume, while also steadily losing its confidence, losing its bite. He had known her hand was on the doorknob.

"I don't want you back here," she had told him. "I want you to turn around and leave me alone. Me and my awful, horrifying, unacceptable past that you just can't get over." Her voice had cracked at the end of the sentence.

The doorknob had turned, ever so slightly.

"You aren't your father. I know that." His words had been quiet.

"Go, Wally," she had answered. "It isn't working. We aren't working. It isn't ever going to work. Maybe when we were kids, I—it was easier, we could have…it isn't the perfect way we talked about—"

The doorknob had clicked.

He'd thrust it open, and grabbed her by the shoulders, cutting her off. She'd nearly yelped in surprise, but then he had placed both hands on either side of her face, where tears streamed down one after another.

"No. It isn't perfect, Artemis," he had told her, clutching her face, his grip firm, staring into those hazel eyes. "And that's exactly why we can't let it go. Why we can't give it up. Why I didn't leave you years ago. Because it doesn't matter what happens. I love you and you love me and, well…we're just going to have to learn to accept that."

He had stared at her for a moment, then slowly had looked down at his now-opened palm, which had been holding onto the object from the compartment of his communicator.

In it was her silver marriage ring, the one she had thrown at him as he had tried to leave earlier that week. The band was carved to the shape of a silver arrow, the diamonds arranged in a pattern like an arrowhead. It had glinted in the sunlight that poured through the window, as if it had been retouched and manipulated by some beautiful photo edit.

"You stupid fool," she had whispered, like he had known she would, after she stared at the ring with wide eyes. And then he had swept her up, closed the door with his foot, and kissed her like she was the only thing that mattered. And in that one, ridiculous moment, where Wally forgot how to pretend that he was strong…she was.

And now, they're back in bed, back where they started. Where everything is somehow imperfect and perfect at the same time. It's typical and it's beautiful and she's asleep. He nudges her gently, feeling as if something needs to be said. He calls it crazy whim. Which it probably is. But he's well-known for his reckless endeavors.

"Hmm?" she mutters sleepily.

He rests his head against hers and closes his eyes.

"I'm not leaving," he whispers.

She doesn't reply for a long time. At first he thinks that maybe she didn't hear him or that she's ignoring him. But then she surprises him, just like she has so many times before.

"I know."

A smile stretches across her lips and his, and he lets his head hit the pillow, his arms still wrapped around her tight, never wanting to leave this bed.

Wake you up
In the middle of the night to say
I will never walk away again
I'm never gonna leave this bed, oh

So you say "Go, it isn't working"
And I say "No, it isn't perfect"
So I stay instead
I'm never gonna leave this bed

-"Never Gonna Leave This Bed" by Maroon 5

Author's Note:

So, call me crazy, but I heard this song for the first real time about a week ago and it instantly reminded me of Wally and Artemis. Yes, yes, I know, I'm such a fangirl. But I truly love this song and it's lyrics, and I wanted to test out my abilities at writing songfics. So I played the song, over and over, the whole time while I was writing this. Took me about…three to four hours, give or take. So it's safe to say I know the song by heart now. XD

Now, I would LOVE some feedback from all you out there. I'm a little scared about this one because it's different from a lot of what I've written previously. I'm a little worried it's rushed, and if it is…I'll gladly edit.

Anyway, thank you for reading! Please comment/review!

~Star