Slipping into Bolt during the evening rush and hiding in plain sight behind the horror that is college karaoke night had been the easy part. The hard part began when Artemis's massive human shield of grad students letting off steam slowly dwindled down to a few regulars closing their tabs and bidding the stretched thin bartender goodbye.
When the last man leaves and the music turns low, Artemis pulls herself out of the corner she's been tucked in all night, takes a deep breath, and quietly approaches the edge of the bar. She makes it into a seat before the bartender turns to face her fully.
"Well, well, well." Wally stops cleaning the shot glass in his hand and places it on the bartop in front of Artemis. The blazing glare on his face stuns her for a second before she remembers it's well deserved.
"If it isn't Artemis Crock," he continues, crossing his arms. "Always knew you'd come barreling back into my life like the one woman wrecking ball you are. Care to tell me exactly what it is you think you're doing here?"
"Come on, Wally. That's no way to greet a lady," she chides, placing her peace offerings– a bottle of gin from Venezuela and a vintage can of petrol for his workshop decor– on the counter that separates them.
Wally snorts at 'lady'. "I think I get a pass. So, what is it? Come to steal another one of my souvenirs?"
"Not exactly," Artemis says, leaning forward in her barstool and narrowing her eyes, "and in case you forgot, I didn't steal that arrow. I used it to save our lives–"
"And blow up my lab in the process," Wally snaps, his hands hitting the countertop hard and shaking the empty glass between them.
Artemis doesn't flinch.
"I know you're not still mad about that," Artemis says quietly, tentatively ghosting her hand over one of his. He doesn't pull away when she touches him. Interesting, she thinks, running her thumb over his knuckles before meeting his eyes. "Wally…"
He swallows as she tightens her grip on his hand.
"I'm sorry," she says sincerely, holding his guarded gaze. "I am. I never should have left the way I did."
"No. You shouldn't have left, period." He pulls his hand away, as though her touch burns him like a branding iron, and he runs his fingers through his hair as if to rid them of the feeling. "And you shouldn't have come back. There's nothing here for you."
"Actually," Artemis says slowly, wincing slightly at his words, "there is. That's why I'm here. I know I'm probably your least favorite person right now–"
"Right now? You've held that title for almost eight years." He mimes a sad firework explosion with his hands. "Congratulations."
Artemis bites her lip and exhales slowly through her nose, knowing the venom in his voice is one hundred percent warranted.
"Wally, I'm sorry," Artemis repeats sincerely as she stands and reaches for his shoulder, but Wally moves further behind the bar, just out of her reach. "I can't change what I did, but I really need your help, so if you could put a pin in our personal history and listen to me for one second–"
Wally shakes his head and cuts her off. "Just get out of here, Artemis. Before trouble finds you and I find myself out of a living– again."
"It's a mask," she says quickly. "Looks a lot like the Cheshire Cat from the fairytale. Barry and I found it in Qurac and I know he gave it to you. I need it and–"
"I'm not giving you anything, Artemis," Wally says, walking around the bar until he's right beside her. He places his hands on her shoulders and guides her towards the exit. "Not a drink, not a mask, not another minute of my time–"
She turns around in his grasp, fists his loose sweater in her hands, and pulls him closer before she resorts to begging, "Please, Wally, it's important. Some really bad people are looking for it and I need to make sure yo– it's– safe."
The door to the bar swings open, making the thin, plastic blinds shutter against it. A man with long, white hair and a patch over one eye strides in with a gun in each hand. Real subtle, Artemis thinks, gritting her teeth and placing herself between him and Wally. Her hand drifts to the inside of her jacket, where her knife hides in its holster.
"If you really wanted to keep the mask safe, Miss Crock," the man smirks as more hired hands appear in the doorway behind him, "then perhaps you shouldn't have led us right to it."
Artemis can feel Wally's hand hovering over her hip, waiting for her to make a move, but she knows who this mercenary is, knows what he's capable of, and she needs more time to think of a plan.
Luckily, Wally's mouth is just as big as it ever was.
"Bar's closed, gramps," Wally says crossly, redirecting his anger. "Get out, and take your friends with you."
"Show your elders some respect, boy." The mercenary raises one of his guns and points it straight towards Wally's face.
Artemis's hand slowly moves from her knife to her jacket's inner pocket. Her fingers wrap around the antique lighter within and she mentally prepares herself for what she's about to do. When it doubt, blow it up, Oliver's advice flits through her mind. It's do or die anyways.
"Slade Wilson," Artemis calls for his attention as she presses her back (and backpack) into Wally. Her ex-fiancé gets the message to start moving and, as she talks, they walk backwards together until his back is to the bar. "Better known as Deathstroke. I'm shocked Luthor would go to such lengths to find little old me. What's he paying you? A hundred thousand? Two-hundred?"
Slade points his other gun at her and laughs shortly. "I wouldn't get out of bed for that. Rest assured I'll be well compensated for this job. One million for your head, one for his, and one for the mask."
Artemis grimaces and moves her hands backwards until they're pressed against the bar on either side of Wally. She slips him the lighter and a stray napkin as she keeps addressing Slade.
"Wow. That's flattering, but I'd rather keep my head on my shoulders, and I'm sure he would too, so maybe we can make a deal," Artemis brings her hands up in front of her to slow Slade down (and give Wally more cover to work). She hears the clinking of glass behind her. Nice to see we're still on the same page.
Artemis continues, "We can get you the mask and a map to where we originally found it, if you let us go. The location alone is worth much more than three million, let me tell you. Luthor will try to pay you double, but tell him you're no fool. Accept no less than forty."
Slade tuts, "I'm afraid your proposition isn't as valuable as you think, Miss Crock. Luthor's only one of my clients looking for this mask."
Artemis narrows her eyes, even as she mentally rolls them and decries Slade's tendency for the dramatic.
"If you start a bidding war within that circle, the Shadows will notice," Artemis warns.
"Let them notice. Now, this is the last time I ask nicely: hand over the mask."
Wally taps Artemis's back with the bottom of the gin bottle and she braces herself against him.
"Hey, Bad Santa," Wally's arm wraps around her waist as he draws Slade's attention to himself, "You want the mask so badly? Catch."
He throws the lit bomb towards the mercenary and yanks Artemis along with him as he rolls over the side of the bar for cover. The force of the ensuing blast shakes bottles off of the shelves behind them and sends Deathstroke running out of the bar, very much on fire and not happy about it. A few of his goons shoot at the bar, but Artemis leads Wally towards the kitchen door.
"Wait," he says quickly, before he rolls back under the bar and pulls out the very mask everyone is fighting over. A bullet whizzes through the bar and a bottle bursts right above Wally's shoulder. Artemis gapes at him. "Okay, let's go."
They run through the kitchen and knock over cabinets to slow their pursuers down. Artemis takes the mask from Wally as they run out the back door into an alley. She carefully stows it in her backpack and shakes her head at Wally.
"If we get out of this alive, we need to talk about the way you treat priceless artifacts," Artemis says.
He tosses her a helmet before straddling his rumbling motorcycle. "Less talking, more escaping."
Artemis hops onto the bike and hangs onto Wally tightly as he makes his way onto the busy street. They pass Deathstroke being put out on the sidewalk by concerned, confused citizens.
"Where do we go?" Wally asks, speeding in between cars to put more distance between them and the people hired to kill them.
"Head east for now," Artemis instructs him. "I can make some calls once we get out of the city."
Artemis loosens her grip on him and takes a deep breath. This was not how the night was supposed to play out. She was supposed to get the mask, bring Wally to the safe house, and go help her friends. Now, there's a bounty on both of their heads and a mystery still to be solved. Her racing thoughts slow until all she can think about is how nice it feels to be close to him again. She leans against his back and thanks every ancient deity she can think of for allowing him to make it out unscathed.
As they merge onto the interstate, his voice filters into her helmet and interrupts her murmured 'thank you's.
"Now, I'm trying really hard not to be ungrateful, Beautiful, but did we really have to blow up the bar?"