It's a little while later, in the Bioship on their way to yet another covert mission, that she thinks about how close she came to 'getting it on', as it were, with KF. She gives a tiny shiver of apprehension and delight, and thinks she definitely wouldn't mind seeing what's underneath his spandex tights. She's staring at him, feeling rather disappointed at her inability to see through his clothes, when he catches her eye and gives a cocky grin.

"Like what you see?"

"I don't see much," she responds, completely straight-faced. "I don't have X-ray vision."

And the implication is so clear that he can't help turning beet-red. He stutters out an incoherent response, and while he isn't making a sound, she can see Robin's shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter. She gives him another appraising once over, and smirks. "Though it looks like you think that you do."

The bulge in his uniform is getting slightly apparent, and Robin is all out cackling now. KidFlash is so red now, she thinks he might be feverish, and he scowls at his friend and mutters a rumbling "Shut up," as he awkwardly tries to reposition himself. Kaldur throws her an inquisitive look, but she just returns it with a self-satisfied smirk, and really, there's nothing left to say anyway, because their mission starts now and Miss M. is already linking them up.


The terrain is all ice and snow and while it does admittedly have lots of camouflage potential, she doesn't love the shivers she gets from the cold. The team's split up now, and she's crouching with Wally behind a snow dune, watching the transportation of various metal crates from the back of a metal storage facility. The wind catches her full in the face as she pokes her head out, and the snow stings her eyes. She gives a violent shiver.

She's grateful at least that he's here, huddling in the large white blanket with her, because his heat is intense and very, very welcome. She starts when he pokes her in the side. "Ow!" She whips around to stare at him. What the hell do you think you're doing KidIdiot? And she's suddenly very grateful that she doesn't have to open her mouth to say anything, because her teeth are chattering together. To her surprise though, the reply she hears isn't in her mind. "For the Bioship," he whispers, and she allows a small smile to tug at the corners of her mouth. He relents, then, and warms her up as best he can, rubbing her arms to get the blood circulating. She pauses though, because she can feel the tense feelings lying coiled in his mind and the way some other evasive emotion – guilt? Sadness? – tosses itself in the sea of his stormy green eyes. But he looks up and smiles at her, so she just lets it go.

Move out.

Kaldur's instructions echo in their heads, and they run to the far wall of the facility, hugging it as they make their way to the back entrance. They door is nearly frozen shut, and he has to vibrate the lock open, but they're inside in nearly no time at all, and the door is shut quietly behind them. She positions herself at the edge of a catwalk, waiting. She doesn't need to turn around to know that he's already gone.

The first explosion rocks the building, and she has to brace her knees to prevent herself from falling. She can see clear through to the ground, where a large mass of people are moving in chaotic order towards the site of the explosion. It's made all the more sinister by the way the lights have been turned off, replaced by burning red warning signals – a faux meltdown of some sort no doubt orchestrated by Robin.

A small smattering of workers remain situated on the work floor below. They look restless and wary; eager to run or give chase, whichever the situation calls for. It doesn't matter though; she doesn't need to concern herself with them. At least not yet.

Dropping to the ground and starting off on a low run, she rushes behind the largest metal tank and places a charge just beneath it. The snow is interfering with the radio signals, so she has to set it on a countdown. They have twenty minutes to get out.

A sudden noise behind her alerts her to someone else's presence. She spins, rolling between this tank and the next, arrow poised and ready. A shadow passes by, and she tenses, but nothing remarkable happens. Until, "Oh. You must be the ringleader."

She curses under her breath. KF's ability to get caught is nearly unsurpassed, and she scales the tank and runs along the top, releasing the arrow and allowing it to grab purchase in an adjoining metal case. The explosion blasts the side in a fiery arc towards the gathering of soldiers surrounding her teammate, who rushes to make way. She jumps beside him, and they run towards the centre of the building. God Baywatch, does the word discrete mean nothing to you?

He huffs, affronted. They could see the blinking light of the charge underneath the tank! You didn't put the net up when you were setting it! I was just trying to cover for you!

I can take care of myself thank you very much! I just -

This is not the time. Aqualad's cool words cut through their mindless bickering in one fell swoop. We must rendezvous as quickly as possible. The explosion was contained and they are beginning to open the new arms containers. We are ill equipped to deal with them at this juncture.

So, regroup and retreat?

God, we can just take them down now! I'm tired of waiting, and I do NOT want to be stuck with surveillance on this freezing rock a second time!

Please Superboy, not everyone is immune to open fire.

She stills, suddenly tense, and draws, notches and releases an arrow in one smooth motion. KidFlash turns to look at her as the catwalk comes crashing down, crushing their pursuers. They can see, however, the telltale glint of metal behind them as the metal crates are opened, and the weapons distributed. Damn it. They won't be getting away that easily.

She draws another bow and lets fly, but this one bounces off the top of what looks to be some sort of force field. Cursing, KidFlash picks her up and rushes towards where their other team members are waiting. The odds don't look good.

Even as he skids to a shaky stop among them, he can see that they're already surrounded.

Without so much as a telepathic warning, or even a battle cry, they are thrust head-first into the frenzied fighting. Aqualad is drawing water from the ice all around them, and soon he's nothing more than a whirling torrent of turbulent waves. Miss Martian hovers above them, protecting the team as much as she can – even Superboy a little bit, although that's proving difficult what with his affinity for diving into fights with much more gusto than can possibly be healthy. Robin's already taken down six of the men, but more are oncoming, and Artemis can see, with a sinking feeling in her gut, that they're starting to arm some of the larger weapons.

She's elevated to the highest place she can get, and she's shooting her arrows all over the place, trying to disarm the weapons before they're turned on them. She's starting to panic though. The charge she placed was set to go off in twenty minutes, sixteen minutes ago. Once it blows a hole in the tanker, the acrid smoke combined with the heavy fire will set the place alight in seconds. Nothing will survive – it will literally be a giant scorch mark in the middle of ice and snow.

Apparently, Aqualad is thinking the same thing. We must clear a path and leave. Now.

But everyone's already engaged, and where did all these people even come from, and Lord, they're already arming another one of their giant machines. She takes aim as carefully as she can, and it blows a hole in the side of the weapon, but she doesn't even have time to breathe in relief. She turns around to scout for more targets when she sees something so utterly terrifying it stops her heart.

She's screaming his name, even as she rushes over to catch him, and she's not quite sure whether the terrified noise is echoing in her head or pouring from her mouth. Superboy turns just in time to catch the perpetrator with a stiff punch to the face, and she can hear, however distantly, the sound of his skull cracking. Robin is already standing over him, casting shadows over his fiery hair, the EMP placed on the end of the protruding shaft to neutralize the explosive. Miss Martian has called the Bioship, and they're loading as quickly as they can, careful not to jostle the redheaded speedster.

She sits in the back with him and fusses with his dressings, trying to clear the area around the protrusion as much as she possibly can. There isn't much to do though – it's hardly bleeding at all – but she can hear the faint laboured breathing and see the fevered flesh and she knows he doesn't have a very long time at all. So she sits, still, with her hands clasped between her legs and her back hunched, and tries not to watch him as he slowly starts to die.


They've been saying it for a very long time now. Minutes to hours to days. "He's alright," and "He's fine," and "He'll be up and about in no time." (Because speedsters do heal inordinately quickly). And she can hear them all saying it, all the time, but she still won't be able to settle down until she sees him, really sees him, and he's alright and walking on his own and smiling and saying stupid things and starting fights with her.

She's sitting in his room right now, alternately pacing the floor and sitting on his bed, staring at his autographed poster of the Flash, and she can still hear them. Everyone, everywhere, and everything they're saying – it's all echoing in her head. Punctured his left lung straight through. Inches from his heart. Explosive on the end – if it'd gone all the way it would have turned him to dust. And she wonders, vaguely, if this was a little bit of how he felt after she'd died. Sitting on the ship and being so unsure of her fate. And she shakes her head and berates herself for being so shallow and petty and stupid, because really, it's not like that. He isn't dead. He hasn't disintegrated. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing. Except she knows he's hurt, and he could have died, and really, he was much better than that, and so careful, and what happened? And she remembers, scared and guilty and confused, the way he'd fallen directly behind her, the relief in his eyes when she picked up his head, the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth even as blood started to dribble down his chin. She retreats to his bed, and curls up on his pillow, inhaling the faint scent of him, and stares resolutely at his careworn poster.

She's still there, in that position, when he walks into his room. He just shuts the door quietly behind him, and when she doesn't move, he takes a careful step forwards. His face is closed, but she can see in his eyes that he's guilty and relieved and torn somewhere between being surprised and not being surprised at all. More of a reluctance to hope that she'd be there – she can see the faint flickers of giddy happiness in the very depths of his green orbs. She wants to get up and punch him for worrying her, and apologize for being so stupid, and berate him for doing that and thank him for doing it all the same. Instead she just steps forwards, and her arms gently circle his neck, and she buries her head in the crook of his shoulder and just breathes him in. He knows she doesn't want him to see, but he can still feel the dampness of his shirt, so he just rubs her back in small circles and whispers comforting nonsense. And she laughs a little bit, because this is just so backwards – she wasn't even hurt and she's more or less dropped the ball on the comforting thing and he's picked it up? And she sniffles and smiles and kisses the corner of his mouth and pulls him, slowly, onto his bed with her.

At first she thinks that she can just content herself with lying there, with him, but she knows really it's not enough. He's warm against her and he smells just the same but she can taste the medication on his lips and feel the slight uneven beating of his heart and she wants to be sure. Just to check. Just to know. That he's safe. So she lets her hands slide gently, haltingly, beneath his shirt and trace the planes of his stomach, a little bit hesitant and scared and wary of moving higher. Her fingers can feel the rough edges of his bandages, and she tenses, and moves just slightly away from him, and he can feel the concern and anguish rolling off her in waves, and he pulls her to him. They lie like that for a moment until she collects herself, and then she grabs the hem of his shirt and moves to lift it. The question is clear in his eyes, but he lets her take it off all the same.

The bandage isn't even that large. Just two pieces of stacked gauze on either side of him, held in place by very secure dressings. She traces the outline of the wrappings, her expression equal parts mournful and relieved. She knows it's a little bit stupid, but she asks anyway. "How do you feel?"

And he smiles, because really, it's just like her. "I've been better."

And she smiles back, because his smile is just so warm and bright, and she kisses the spot just above his heart. His skin tingles under the bandages, and he knows what she really wants to say and he lets her trail kisses all over his skin because it's really a small price to pay for worrying her. And soon her shirt is off, and his pants are hanging over the side of his bed, and hers are kicked to the floor, and she's tracing a seductive finger steadily south along his chest. He knows that really, this is just her trying to make sure that he's all right. Taking inventory and relishing his wholeness. But he still shivers from her touch because he knows that she also really wants to revel in the feel of him, of knowing that he's there and experiencing it, and it excites him.

She looks at him, while she hesitantly scratches at the edge of his boxers, her eyes flickering between his face and his chest. He wants her to keep going, wants to be part of the epiphany that they're both here, together, whole. He gives her a wry smile and says, "Go easy on me," expecting some sort of snappy comment in return. But her face is so open and earnest and serious and kind that he flushes and becomes unexpectedly self-conscious, and he finds he can't watch her while she pulls his boxers down.

She knows it's their first time, so she tries very, very hard to be gentle and slow, but they haven't seen each other in a while and his fate was sort of hanging undecided in the air and they're just so glad to be together again that she's really more passionate and lustful than she's anticipated and he's more sensitive and flushed and happy that it's nearly no time at all before he shoots down her throat and she's struggling to clean up after him. He groans embarrassed and lets an arm fall over his eyes. "Damn it. I do not want to be a speedster in bed too."

And she laughs because, god, he's just so cute and it's really endearing that he's so upset about it and she's finally really satisfied that he's alright. He buries his face in the pillow though, and her giggles don't seem to be helping much until she pulls his shorts back up and clambers on top of him and kisses his neck. "Sorry," she whispers, her breath ghosting across his skin. "I was just a little bit eager."

He turns over and she smiles, and even though he's still burning bright, he smiles too, and they kiss each other, soft and slow and sweet. Their underwear is still on, and although they both want to immediately rectify this, they won't be doing anything else tonight, because his breathing is still a little bit too laboured for her taste, and he really doesn't want their first time together to be during the time he's running on empty. So she snuggles into the crook of his arm, and he sets his head on top of hers and they set about going to sleep.


It's two in the morning, and she hasn't slept a wink. She's just been listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing – observing it as it evens out and eventually becomes easier; more regular. She pushes up slowly because she feels restless and useless and she's got so much pent up rage and aggression and guilt that she can't stop the hammering in her head. She pulls on a random pair of shorts and her tank, and sips quietly out of his room, padding softly to the training room on the other side of Mount Justice.

It's empty, as expected, and she shivers in the cold of the open room. Training dummies are lined up along one end of the room, and she's never been more grateful to have access at all hours of the day. She selects one at random from the row of pristine new dummies, and tears into it. It's sturdy and resilient and she's so glad because she really needs to let loose right now.

She thinks about the way he fell just behind her as she gives it a vigorous roundhouse kick, destroying the seams and kicking stuffing all over the floor. She thinks about the look in his eyes when he saw her face, and she jabs it directly in the gut, ripping open the fabric and spilling the weighted beads all over the floor. She recognizes the gesture for what it was – a sacrifice – and then she loses it completely, tearing indiscriminately into the cotton flesh and pouring the guts all over the place.

The sun is coming up outside when she's finally done; she can't see it from here, but she can tell. She's lying on her back, relishing the feel of the cool floor beneath her as she stares at her handiwork. She knows she should clean up – it's really a mess here, and Aqualad will be none too appreciative of the dummy as it now stands – but she can't bring herself to do it. It takes a few more minutes before she picks herself up and even just heads to the showers.

The cold water washes all the sweat and guilt and exertion away, and soon she's just feeling a little bit sore and tired. On her way back past the training room she has a change of heart, and sweeps away most of the mess. She's too tired to right the dummy though, so she leaves it as is and hopes no one sees it. She'll put it away later.


She's still lying in her room when the rest of the team wakes up.

They wouldn't have noticed it if it hadn't been for Conner. Training with Kaldur again, he leaps just a little bit too much out of the way, and ends up hitting his head on the remains of the training dummy. M'gann screams when it comes tumbling down on top of him, looking very much like the war casualty that it is.

Wally walks in just in time to say, "Whoa Superboy, playing some Super Volleyball with the dummies?" because really, that is exactly what it looks like. Except, of course, for the part where it had been strung up by its neck to hang ominously from the ceiling.

Robin takes a quick glance at the dummy, and gazes curiously at Wally. What's up? And then he knows that no one here did it, and he thinks about how he woke up, and his bed was cold and empty, and he sighs and scratches the back of his head. "Anger issues?"

"You mean anxiety issues."

But neither one of them is exactly wrong.

He slips into her room to deliver the news. "You don't have training this morning." She sits up and blinks blearily and mutters a half incoherent. "Why not?" Her hair is in a very messy looking ponytail, and strands of hair are hanging all over her face, and she looks so innocent and open that it almost makes him second-guess himself. But he knows better than that.

"Looks like you got a major workout last night."

"What?" And then it comes back to her and she curses. "Crap, I'm so sorry Robin. I totally meant to clean it up, but it was early and I was tired and I just -"

He shakes his head, because they both know that apologies aren't the reason he's come in here, and it occurs to her that it's very rude of him to come into a girl's room without knocking, so she tells him so. "What if I wasn't decent?"

He's still looking at her very seriously, but he does offer her a casual, "Sorry, won't happen again." She grunts in approval. "Good. I'll hold you to that."

They stand and lie in silence, respectively, until he asks, "You okay?" She mutters something noncommittal and he snorts and says, "If you don't say yes, Black Canary is going to want to give you another 'therapy' session." And she groans and rolls over and says, "I'm fine."

And then he's looking at her, a bit more seriously, until she sits up and says, "You know I can't change with you still in here," and he raises his hands in surrender and finally just smiles and leaves. Once the door is shut behind him, she sits still for a moment, her eyes glazing over and her hands fisting in her blankets, and she closes her eyes and just breathes. And then the moment passes, and she's fine, and she gets up and ready because she's been up all night and she is starving.