update: this chapter is now reedited since I thought it needed some polishing
A/N: I was finishing up the last chapter of my multific, "Jason and the Words That Burn," when I tripped and accidently wrote this fic instead.
This is a spin-off series to "Words That Burn," but it works as a stand-alone too.
I dedicate the whole thing to reviewer, Exaggerated Memories, who's given me really nice reviews and wanted to see stories revolving my other characters. If you're reading this, know that your words made me smile, and I'm really grateful to have a reader like you.
NOTE: This is a college AU that's an amalgamation between Teen Titans (2003) and Young Justice (2011–) Dick Grayson is a morphed character between the two shows. Then there's the four other Titans (Kory, Rae, Gar, Vic) and the Young Justice ensemble.
...
...
It doesn't matter that it's a new cellphone and she hasn't transferred over her list of contacts yet, because Artemis knows his number by heart.
McGinnis on Ramapo Ave. Five min away from your campus. Can you make it?
Artemis realizes she's hit the bottom of the glass and orders herself another round of scotch. Jump's a college town, no doubt. She can tell by the demographics the menu is catering to: variations of loaded fries, loaded nachos, loaded anything, really, as long as it promises heaps of salt and fatty carbs—food for the shitfaced gods. The bartender's even opened an untouched bottle of Lagavulin just for her, because college kids don't usually go for the Lagavulin, not at $18 a glass. Jesus, seven years in Gotham City's snobbiest prep school really did a number on refining her tastes. Bud Light who? Corona what now?
Eager glances from guys in this joint itch like ferocious little mosquito bites and she swears she can feel their pheromones sticking to her skin. The asshole of the hour entitles himself to a seat next to her and drops an ill-conceived line while attempting a... is that a smolder? He's recounting to her his love of animals and a time he saved a bird with a broken wing or some humble brag piece of crap that probably never happened and yadda yadda yadda… Artemis treats herself to a generous glug of the scotch before shutting him down with a string of dismissive words. He leaves, muttering something under his breath: stupid bitch, you were asking for it.
Asshole of the hour is wrong. Artemis wasn't asking for it. At least not yet. The heavy makeup and exposed skin is not an idle decision though, because nothing despises Artemis more than a waste of a night and she needs a plan B arranged in case he doesn't show up. Artemis knows how to pivot; she's prepared to explore her other options.
Next up to bat seems to be the redhead on the other side of the bar who can't stop staring. He's tall, Artemis thinks, and the green eyes would make him swoon-worthy if it wasn't for that stupid, wondrous look on his face. He seems like the type to be a pushover around a pretty girl, and Artemis isn't interested in the mess that usually comes in the morning with a pushover.
The phone finally buzzes alive in her hand: Who's this?
Artemis retypes her first message, but this time in french, and sends it. She does it again in Mandarin, and then in Russian. The last one is her best attempt at Romani, because she knows it'll get a laugh out of him, wherever he is.
Pushover makes his way to her side of the bar and leans his elbows back against the counter, pretending to be focused on the change in music. It's a truly dreadful attempt to look suave on his part, but Artemis can't decide if she finds it pathetic or endearing.
She gets a text back.
- lol. Cute. New number, I'm guessing?
- [peace sign emoji]
- What are you doing here?
- I'm with the GCU Archery team. We're competing against your school tomorrow morning.
Artemis looks up from her phone. He's just staring again.
"Wally."
"Artemis."
"Like the goddess of the hunt?"
"Like the goddess of virginity."
The deflect shuts him up for the time being, but he doesn't look offended. Most guys react pretty poorly to quips like that, so Artemis is impressed. Her phone buzzes again: I'm busy tonight with an internship thing. Can I come to your competition instead?
Artemis swallows the taste of disappointment with a bit of Lagavulin and texts him the appropriate information.
Wally tries again. "I like your voice. It's kind of raspy. It's how I imagine the feeling of bourbon going down your throat sounds like."
Damn, he nails the pickup line with perfect cadence, and she's mentally giving him credits for originality.
She gets another text: btw, I'm assuming you're not about to head back to the hotel so soon. You're gonna have to insist on the condom, OK? Justice guys are dogs.
…
…
Artemis wakes up to the bed empty and there's a relentless sizzling sound coming from outside the room. The smell of bacon and warm syrup hits her all at once. Shit. Son of a bitch made her breakfast.
She picks up a crewneck sweater—Justice University in collegiate bold print ironed into the front—from the floor and takes a sniff, relieved at its detergent-y smell, and pulls it over herself before walking out of the bedroom.
He's in his boxers with a spatula in his hand, staring keenly at the pancakes on the griddle as if they have a secret. He slides the spatula under one of the pancakes and checks the underside. Already at the table is a breakfast spread of an ambitious 1960's housewife: bacon and scrambled eggs and cut up fruit and toast. This kid is unbelievable.
Artemis clears her throat.
He's like a green-eyed deer in headlights. "Oh, hi! Good morning! I didn't know what you like to eat, but I didn't want to wake you, so I kinda just covered all the bases. And if it's vegan, or like, gluten-free, I've got a breakfast shake in the fridge that—"
"Walter, right?"
"Uh, yeah, kinda! Wallace, actually, but my friends call me Wally."
"This is really nice of you, Wally. Thank you. But I can't eat right now. I don't do breakfast before a competition. I'm sorry, it's like, an athlete superstition of mine.
"Oh, I get it. I, uh, I only run in orange shoes."
"I'm gonna go."
"Wait, do you wanna shower here?"
"It's fine, I just need to know where my dress is."
Wally runs his hand through his bedhead. "Right! I moved it to the couch over there. It was on the kitchen table, since—ya know—we, uh…"
He's an absolute dweeb, Artemis thinks, as she moves to the couch and picks up the dress. This is the same guy who interrupted their makeout session mid-grind, mind you, to run into the bathroom and emerge with an unopened pack of toothbrushes. "Sorry. Just in case I forget to give you one later. Do you prefer a specific color?"
The amount of recovery time it took to get back into the foreplay after that was just...
Artemis inspects her dress—which looks tinier in the creeping daylight—and mutters dryly, "Yep. Definitely not looking forward to the walk of shame in this number."
"You can wear that crewneck if you want."
"I wouldn't know how to get it back to you."
Shit, Artemis thinks. Shit, shit, shit. Never give the guy an excuse to see you again.
"It's okay," is all Wally says. "You can keep it."
…
…
"Oh my god. Who is that?"
Artemis pauses from her stretches, and her eyes follow to where her teammates are pointing. Dick Grayson, clad in perfectly pressed chinos and a navy cardigan, emerges out of the vomitorium above them and takes a seat. The blueness of his eyes can be seen from four benches up, and they're piercing right through her.
Artemis gives him a subtle wave.
The bastard's just as good-looking as ever, and he knows it too, because he throws down a cocky grin and a sergeant salute like a precocious douchebag. It does the job, though; Dick Grayson's smile is award-winning.
"Did you see that, Jen? I think he's smiling at you!"
Artemis continues with her stretching, turning away so no one can see that she's grinning from ear to ear.
…
…
"Artemis Bryn Crock. First Division. Gotham City University."
The world kindly turns off.
She'd swear to you, if you asked her, that nothing goes on in her brain the second she steps up to the line. It's all just a circuit of sensations to Artemis, executed over and over again without any semblance of thought. It's visceral. It's the way she can view the world through the tips of her fingers. The feeling of her muscles sorting themselves out as she draws the bow. It's the breath that stills her whole body like steel. Two eyes open. A target ready to swallow her arrow whole.
The fletching leaves her fingers with a satisfying thwip! Silence always come first, and then there's the roaring of the crowd.
Justice University never stood a chance.
…
…
Dick Grayson takes the equipment bag from her hands and slings it over his shoulder. "You're super hot sometimes, you know that? I forgot what it was like to watch you shoot."
"I expected flowers," Artemis says, not caring at all that she's blushing.
"Expect lunch. My treat."
"Um. I just murdered that competition. The flowers are non-negotiable, Grayson."
"I'll throw in the flowers if you give me the number of that redhead on your team."
"Justice guys are what again?"
The smile burns on his face, and Artemis swears she's just a different life away from completely falling in love with him right there.
…
...
Artemis insists on one of the tables outside of the bistro because she's head over heels with this California breeze. January's still parka season back in Gotham, and Artemis has always found sweater weather to be overrated. Dick Grayson orders their usual lunch favorites and hands the menus back to the waitress with some lame dad joke that gets her to giggle profusely. She walks away blushing. It's like he can't control himself.
"Jesus, Dick. Turn it down to like… a seven."
Grayson just smirks and tears off a piece of bread from the table. "So how long are you here for?"
"A week and a half. We fly back on a Wednesday."
"What're your plans while you're here?"
Artemis shrugs and fiddles with the straw of her drink, watching intently as the ice cubes clink together. "Nothing planned, really. Was thinking maybe some museums. You've always said Jump City has a really good nightlife. And I heard Justice parties are no joke, so..."
"Don't bullshit me, Artemis."
Artemis looks up to see Grayson's knowing stare. She completely forgot about his ability to go from incorrigible flirt to bad cop in a single breath.
"Don't bullshit me," he says again. "My internship is at the Jump prison. I saw his name on the transfer list."
Dick Grayson was always meant to be a detective. Artemis remembers when Dick got his driver's license at 17 and offered free chauffeuring services to her and Babs. It seemed like an awesome idea until they realized that in order to get anywhere they had to put up with Dick blasting true-crime podcasts in the car. He'd even verbalize his own theories and attempt to solve the mystery before the end of the episode like the pretentious ass he was. Babs' first time was in Grayson's Aston Martin, with her on top, and the radio blasting, "—what the killer didn't know was that the corpse's sphincter muscles loosened to leave a smear of feces as it was being dragged across the house..." Artemis never lets Babs live it down.
The intensity of his eyes cut into Artemis, and she caves. "So... when is he allowed visitors?"
Dick shakes his head in disapproval. "Artemis, no. Terrible idea. What are you looking to get from seeing him again?"
"I just have questions, Dick."
"There are no answers to your questions, Artemis, and answerless questions will kill you if you fixate on them. Move on." Grayson blows a heavy breath of frustration at the table and leans in to take her hand. "Listen. I don't want to lose you to this, okay?"
"I don't know if I can stay away from him. It just seems like a waste of an opportunity if I don't visit."
"Then hang out with me while you're here. My friends and I have a lot going on this week and I'd love if they got to know you."
The pattering sounds of the college track team grow louder as they make their way down the sidewalk. They're one big amorphous blur of Justice University colors: variants of blues and whites and yellows. Dick regards one of the runners who sidesteps a bit to give Dick a slap at the shoulder and a breathless 'sup before jogging away. Artemis almost misses it, until the runner does a double take to look at her, and then a triple take, before getting lost in the crowd.
His orange sneakers stick out like a sore thumb.
…
…
A/N: Artemis/Dick is my favorite brOTP in Young Justice. Their dynamic is funny and sexy and full of trust. I like that they can be both relentlessly flirtatious and command respect. They're quippy, confident, and super objective-driven. Then throw Wally West in and they have to share his time and affection like piranhas.
Again, this takes place in the same universe as "Words That Burn," so I'm not disclosing a timeline yet since I don't want to spoil anything in either stories.
Please leave a review! And thanks again to Exaggerated Memories for inspiring and encouraging me to try something new.