Mistakes as always. The last part flows a little quicker than I'd like, but I'm impatient.
If you've never had any of the food I've mentioned below.. go eat it :).
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
Please read and review. Enjoy :).
~Aa
Motion
Nightmare
It was like nothing had happened. Artemis and Wally just jumped right back in where they left off. They hung out almost every day, they slept in each other's rooms at the cave, and they slept at each other's houses. They went from one extreme to the other and it seemed like Dick was the only one suffering from whiplash. It had only been three weeks and everything seemed like it was going swimmingly.
Wally never really said anything to Dick about the whole fighting period between him and Artemis. He stuck to his usual fashion and denied any problems, saying it was just a 'rough patch'. The young bat just played along, just grateful to have his old best friend back and to be free of peacekeeping duties.
Artemis on the other hand confronted their issues head on, which Dick appreciated. However, their relationship wasn't quite the same after the two lovers reunited. She was more reserved and little less lively than he had known her to be. She seemed happy, but he had a feeling she still hadn't found her way yet. He guessed smoothing things over hadn't been as easy as she first thought.
Dick is jolted from his thoughts as a bowl is shoved in front of his face. He graciously accepts the bowl with two hands. He carefully places it on the counter in front of him; precisely between the chopsticks and spoon he had laid out earlier. He looks at it. It doesn't really look that appealing. The bowl is filled with an orange coloured broth and floating in it is a few chunks of meat, some slices of onion, spring onions and other various things he can't quite recognise. If he had never eaten Vietnamese before, he might have been a little more than put off.
He gives her a disconcerted look, still recovering from his slight day dream. She smiles, knowing she interrupted his intense chain of thought. "Phở satế," the words roll off her tongue perfectly and it sounds so beautiful to him. He loves it when she speaks Vietnamese.
"Phở satế," he repeats, nodding his head.
She takes a seat next to him at the breakfast bar, plopping her own bowl on the counter next to him. "What's the difference between this and normal Phở?" the way he questions makes him sound a little naive.
She smiles again, slyly this time, picking up her spoon. "This is spicier."
"Oh," he nods, tugging at his chop sticks.
He watches her spoon dive into her almost flooded bowl. She scoops up some liquid and cautiously puts her lips to the spoon. He watches the liquid trickle into her mouth. His eyes drop to her neck; the slight ball of her Adams apple bobbing up and down as she swallows. She puts her spoon down and goes for her chopsticks.
Silence slowly grows around them as Dick turns his attention to his own bowl. He replaces his chopsticks with a spoon and dunks it into the frothy broth. He scoops up a small spoonful of broth, a few stray spring onions floating at the top. He drops his head, closing the distance between his mouth and the spoon, wary of spilling the liquid on the table. He quickly brings the spoon to his lips and he lets the warm liquid flow into his mouth. He swallows; his tongue tingling from the spice.
"You're not saying anything," she says unexpectedly.
He looks at her simply, trying not convey anything to her to make her question his motives. "I'm being supportive."
She smiles so big that she's actually showing teeth. He can see it means a lot to her. "Thanks," she says softly, trudging her spoon around her bowl. Her eyes drop to the bowl in front of her and she's still smiling.
"Whatever you chose," he begins, a little fragmented, almost like he's afraid to say it, "I'll be here."
Then, she does something totally unexpected. She lets her chop sticks drop from her hand and she turns to him. She quickly lurches towards him, enveloping him into a hug. Her arms wrap around him, awkwardly trapping in a position where he can't do anything but accept it. Her grip is tight. She gives him a squeeze. Her golden hair locks bury his face, the fresh, minty scent filling his nostrils. He relaxes a little, giving into her embrace. He feels guilty for noticing her breasts pressing hard against his arm. Before he gets the chance to readjust himself and hug her back, she's already unraveling her arms.
She pulls back, that hearty smile still gracing her lips. Dick looks chuffed for a moment, before he looks down at his Phở, his expression quickly switching to sheepish.
She shakes her head in disbelief. "How can you only be 15?"
He looks up at her. He suddenly feels older than he's supposed to – something that seems to be happening more often lately. He looks away. His brow furrows, thoughtful for a moment, caught up in faint memories of past missions with Batman. He breaks his pensive moment quickly, shrugging – which also answers Artemis' question ambiguously.
He suddenly feels the most comfortable around Artemis he's felt in weeks; and just as he feels the old Artemis is resurfacing –
"Kid Flash B03."
Dick doesn't bother looking up. He knows he should, but he can faintly feel that anger simmering in his gut. The two at the table both feel that familiar faint brush of wind hit them as a flash of colour catches their eye for a split second. Wally is suddenly standing next to Artemis, his body leaning over her shoulder from behind. His fiery hair is tousled and his face is a little flushed, a sign he had been running for some time.
Dick takes a quick side glance at the two. He swallows.
"Babe," the red head coos into her ear as he plants a delicate kiss on her check.
"Hey Wally," she replies softly, her head nuzzling into the crook of his neck.
Dick's eyes narrow a fraction. How could she forgive him so easily?
Wally pulls away softly and slowly, standing at his full height again. There's another flash and a slight breeze - he's already at the stove, his head hanging over the still steaming pot. "Babe," he sighs lovingly, "this looks so good."
"Dick," the red head calls over the counter, taking a quick glance at the dark haired boy at the table. Wally ladles multiple spoonfuls of the traditional cuisine into a large bowl that had been left on the counter for him. "Is it good?"
Dick takes a fleeting look at Artemis who rolls her eyes before digging back into her bowl of Phở. He buys into Wally's bait. He looks to Wally, his spoon hanging delicately in his hand. "Better than the normal Phở -" he's not lying, "but not as good as-"
"Bì cuốn," The two boys chorus together, both of them nodding at each other with a sudden knowing smile.
Artemis shakes her head as her chop sticks plunge back into her bowl. She chews for a moment before adding, "I've taught you both well."
Dick smiles to himself as Wally joins them at the table a moment later, sitting opposite him and Artemis. He feels the anger in him subside a little. Maybe this wasn't so bad after all. Maybe this time it will be different. Maybe Artemis was right.
888
His eyes snap open and it's dark. Pain. So much pain. His hands instantly go to his chest in a panic. His breath is thick and ragged. His hands feel nothing out of the ordinary - his skin is still intact. He wriggles his body, just to see if he can still feel all his limbs. His fingers rub vigorously across that same spot on his chest – just to the left of his sternum. He sits up and he can feel the clamminess of his hands against his skin. His chest is caked in sweat, the beads now trickling down his abdomen with the sudden change in gravitational pull. The feeling of each body part comes back to him quickly, and he realises how heavy he feels. His damp clothes make it worse, and he feels like he's being smothered.
The memory of the pain begins to fade, but that tightness in his chest is still there. It feels like indigestion, but worse. His hands stay pressed against his chest, still uneasy about what he just saw and felt. He can't take his hands away, just in case it is real.
He swallows and he realises how thirsty he is. His mouth parts, still craving oxygen for his palpitating heart. One hand leaves his chest and goes to his mouth, bottling his body up – keeping him from releasing any emotion, physically or verbally.
He closes his eyes, and it instantly floods back to him.
His eyes instantly fling back open and he shivers. It's still too real.
He practically leaps out of bed, throwing the sheet away from him with immense force. His hands grip the hem of his singlet and he peels it off. He drops it onto the carpet beside him. He feels nausea creep up on him as he tries not to replay the nightmare in his head. He almost trips over himself as he yanks off his boxers.
He's still trying to catch his breath as he nakedly clambers to his washing basket in the corner of his room and tears through it like he's lost something valuable. He manages to thoughtlessly pull out pair of pants, a pair of underwear and a tee.
His mind spins as steps into his boxer briefs and tugs them up, not even bothering to wipe the sweat from his skin. He does the same with his pants, but before he can even do them up, his nightmare replays again.
He shudders violently and his hands automatically go to his chest. He feels breathless again and those chest pains throb in the same spot. His fingers curl against his skin, trying to grab onto it, trying to stop it from hurting. He feels like he's going to faint by the way his head suddenly spins. He stumbles a few steps, trying keep himself balanced.
He forces himself to push on, ignoring the pain in his chest. He swipes up his tee and shoves it on with such speed that he could probably rival Wally at his slowest. Before he even registers it, he's out the door and in the hall, still trying to calm his racing heart rate.
He's halfway down the hall now. His eyes are too busy scanning the floor as his thoughts swim around that nightmare. His heart pulses against his chest, his heavy breathing almost matching his hearts pace.
A hand touches his arm, and he's completely thrown. He doesn't think, he just does. His adrenaline kicks in. His hand grips the assailant's hand and he swings his whole body to the left, thrashing the foreigner against the wall. His arm instantly goes for the neck. His fingers wrap around flesh. He can feel the muscles tensing beneath his hands. His elbow crashes downwards into the stranger's sternum, ready to thrust the stranger into the air. He feels himself getting carried away, as his eyes catch up with him. The dim blue light from the kitchen behind him reveals a familiar face. He drops his hand and arm immediately. His expression jumps to hysterical as his hands comb through his sweaty dark tresses. He stumbles backwards as his eyes scan her, hoping to god he hasn't actually hurt her.
His blues eyes meet her dark ones. She doesn't look surprised at all, still pressed against the wall. She's dead still, just watching him.
He swallows hard, his mouth still bone dry. He rubs his eyes with his fingers as he attempts to compose himself in front of her. He looks distressed as his digits fail to stop fidgeting over his cheek bones and mouth. Her eyes are staring straight into him, her expression blank.
His heart is racing again. He grips the counter to left, steadying himself. His mouth parts and he's panting like a dog.
"Nightmare?" she questions barely above a whisper.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, breathless.
"Don't be," she sounds husky now, and he's not sure if it's because of the time of night or because of him. "I'm used to it."
He's well aware that it's a jab at her father and sister, and he's supposed to smile and offer some witty comeback, but he can't. He can't comprehend jokes right now; not with his heart pounding practically out of his chest and his brain mauling over that horrific nightmare. He just looks at her with serious eyes.
She looks concerned as she steps towards him.
"Artemis," he warns with a low tone, putting a hand out, signalling her to stop. "Don't."
Her expression changes to puzzled as she pauses and looks him up and down. He's well aware that he probably looks like a mess. His face is probably flushed and sweaty, with his eyes bug like and red. His hair is soaked – he can feel it. It's probably shiny with oil and sweat. He probably smells of sweat too. He can feel his tee beginning to stick to his skin.
"Dick," she coos softly.
"Artemis," his breath catches in his throat, "I just had your neck in my hand." He's still leaning against the bench for support.
She goes for him again, but he puts his free hand out trying to stop her. She slaps it away easily. "What happened?" she gets close to him, probably a little too close in his current state. She studies his eyes with such intensity that he begins to feel way too exposed.
He shakes his head, avoiding her scrutinising gaze. "I'll be fine in a minute," he pauses, swallowing and gaining little composer, "just, give.. me," he trails off, turning away from her.
"Stop it, Dick," she commands, her voice stern. The abnormal huskiness in her voice is still present, making her sound older.
He turns back to her, now at his full height. He's already pieced himself back together somewhat. His face is less flushed and his eyes serious. His breath has slowed, his chest expanding and contracting as usual. The only thing still present from his freak out is his sweat, still dotting his forehead and upper lip.
Her hands reach out and cup either side of his jaw. She expects him to flinch, pull away or gently tug away her hands, but he doesn't. She can feel the tension in his jaw fade. His ocean blue eyes look her dead in the eye for the first time that night. "Stop trying to compose yourself," her voice softens and so does her face, "you're not Batman," her eyebrows rise, "remember?"
He exhales and she can see him physically relax a little. "You can't be perfect all the time," her hands peel away from his face, "you don't have to be perfect in front of me."
She sees his face melt into a faint smile. "Thanks, Artemis," his responds quietly, his voice back under control.
She smiles too, before taking a step back. "I'll grab my keys."
