Strangers in the Night
Beta: knottedblonde
Disclaimer: I own nothing!
AN: Thank you so much, to happyguest, KitsuneGirl1994, Artemis Raven Courtney, nerd (guest), and Fritchman65 for your lovely reviews! Also, followers and favouriters, and new readers, you guys are awesome.
The Universe hasn't been kind to Artemis lately. It's laughing at her, dangling the job she's always on a wanted on a thin string before ripping it away with Icicle Jr's attack, and then some more with a bloody pair of wings. She feels a headache forming, and tries to ignore the weird sensations that are tingling down her new limbs.
It doesn't work.
"Fuck," Artemis swears under her breath, "Fucking. What the fuck is happening to my life? Why me?"
"You have wings." Wally stumbles backwards and falls onto the ground in an unceremonious heap. "Oh, Einstein. You have wings." Artemis wants to choke him for being so loud.
"Shut up," she throws a string of swear words at him, and then the nearby pillows, "Just shut the fuck up!" She doesn't want these monstrosities. She has a job, her dream job, to do, and she still needs to heal from being thrown through the glass like a rag doll. She can't even step outside of her studio with these.
Cam is so dead when she gets her hands on him again.
Wally runs into the bathroom; she hears him hurl up a junkyard in there. Gross.
Artemis growls, and looks back at her wings. They flutter when she tenses her back - it's disgusting. Her upper lip curls on its own accord when the tangy scent of iron mixed with perspiration makes its way into her nose. Great, not only is she a mutated bird, she's disgusting and reeks of her own, literal, blood, sweat and tears. She hears more retching in the bathroom, and honestly doesn't blame Wally for his actions.
Hell, she doesn't even know who to blame.
When Wally emerges from the bathroom, it's with a tub of water and a towel and a grim line set in his mouth.
"What are you doing?"
"Cleaning," his earlier trepidation seems to have faded, because his now Wally's face is carefully blank as he soaks the towel in the tub of water.
"Forget it," she says, resolutely, "Cut them off for me."
"What? No!" He reels back in shock when she fixates a vicious glare at him.
"Do it."
"No," he bellows back. A snarl forms at his lips, "I'm not a sadist, Artemis."
"Quit being a coward, grab the knife in my kitchen, and saw the- the things off my back!" She starts to scream at him helplessly, begging him to end her misery right then and there so she can move on with her life sans-wings.
He moves over to the kitchenette, promptly locks the knives away into a cabinet, then walks back to the tub without returning her furious glare. Wally grabs the towel, wets it again, then gently runs it over the bones and feathers until, after a while, they're clean. He continues to move down the length of the bone diligently, growling whenever she tries to struggle out of his grasp.
Finally relenting, Artemis turns her head around marginally to watch him work, then notices the blotchy red stains slowly edging their way across the beige carpet. That'll wrack up a new carpeting bill for sure, and she doesn't know who would be courteous enough to not question those dark, red circles.
It takes an hour, maybe more - she doesn't really know or care - before Wally stops preening at her wings. Admittedly, she feels lighter, like a weight has been lifted off her back. And, realistically speaking, that is true. Now that the blood is no longer weighing down her feathers, her wing-bones are starting to perk up from the lessened gravitational pressure. She tells him that, quietly, hesitantly, and he gives her a smile before turning on the heating system.
"They're still wet, you should let them air out for now. Maybe sleep on your side, too. I'll call up a friend to get your carpet fixed tomorrow."
She sees him walk past her tiredly, and, because she's possibly the world's worst, most insensitive conversationalist, Artemis asks, "What if I decide to snip them off halfway through the night?" Wally finally glares at her. It's not a look she likes on him.
"Do it, I dare you."
Her eyes spot the white, waterlogged feathers when she glances back. The tips are drying off and a hint of fluffiness starts to form there. She feels her earlier resolve crumbling away.
"Thank you." He actually looks taken aback by it, having clearly expected a nasty sneer in response. "Can I at least have some painkillers for them?" Nodding dumbly, Wally walks off to the bathroom, where Iris placed the painkillers earlier that day.
Some of the feathers are starting to flutter gently, and she reluctantly enjoys the warmth that spreads through her wings as the heating speeds up the drying process. On the other hand, her back muscles are screeching from the pain of supporting a new weight; she's pretty sure her bed is going to be her best companion for a while.
Artemis starts to think that she's a masochist, because she ignores the blinding pain that shoots through her spine with every muscular shift and decides to blindly stroke the feathers on her wings. Regardless of her desire to not have these monstrosities, she can't deny that they fascinate her.
The closest feathers are large, and strangely firm. They're tightly packed together and layered over each other in streamlined patterns. If she had her old physics buddies from Stanford over, they'd have a field day picking at her new limbs and raving about the aerodynamics of every single extremity. Whoever came up with this voodoo magic that made her grow wings overnight, they were clearly conscious of getting their physics right.
By the time Wally returns, he's in a new pair of clothes, clutching an antibacterial spray in one hand and her painkillers in the other. His eyes immediately widen when he looks at the sight behind her.
"Jesus."
"Not really, but you're close," she replies, wryly. He settles himself on her bed, then doesn't stop gaping at her white feathers. She leans back a bit; the action startles Wally out of his daze. He blinks, seems to realise how close together they are, then gets off the bed and hands her the medicine and a water bottle.
The spraying starts immediately; he switches off the heat and opens the window to air out her apartment. Wally's voice starts to crack.
"I called up a friend of mine to replace the carpet tomorrow. She's uh, agreed, to not talk about your circumstances to anyone."
Artemis nods. "Who?"
He looks positively alarmed at the question, coughs, and avoids it. "She's nice, so I'm pretty sure she won't spill the beans on this whole wing fiasco." Wally gestures wildly when he talks, Artemis observes. His hands fly around from his waist to his chest, his face, and then they move back to the front of his torso, in the span of a second. But it doesn't look like flailing; more like he's had practice moving incredibly quickly. He stops, all of a sudden, and blinks back at her sheepishly. Artemis pulls herself out of her trance.
"Uh-what?"
He gives her a knowing look and repeats his words. "Would you be okay with letting her work for a few hours?"
She shrugs, immediately regretting the action, and winces. Wally shifts in his standing position, looking distinctly concerned. "That's fine," Artemis manages to rasp out a few words, "More than perfect." Even though Artemis despises strangers, and tends to limit her socialising to a few choice individuals, she knows she's not in a position to reject Wally's generosity - or, those of his understanding friends.
Both of her eyebrows rise up to the edge of her hairline when she realises exactly what kinds of connections Wally has, that they would be willing to look in the other direction when they see a mass of blood on the carpet.
He notices the cautious surprise on her face, then raises an eyebrow in response. She peers down at his fire-truck red t-shirt and his baby-blue sweats before shaking her head in disbelief. There's no way that the Wests are a mafia family; they're too wholesome and cuddly.
This is Kansas, Artemis, not Gotham. People actually like you here.
"Uh," Wally sprays the carpet once more, then closes the lid. "Something wrong?"
"No." Artemis says, all too quickly, "Nothing."
Wally gives her a final, questioning glance, reaches for the nearby bandage supply and kneels before her, "We need to reapply your bandages. Stay still for a bit?"
She nods just as he moves to pull out a bunch of towels and spread them all over the bed and, at his request, tries her best to stretch out her arms for him to peel off the older, torn layers and apply a fresh coating of ointment to her wounds.
Her life is on the brink of turning into a crappy medical drama, but the only things keeping it on its threshold are the wings currently attached to her back, which add a significant amount of terrifying fantasy instead. She doesn't know if she should be happy about that or not, because Artemis hates medical dramas with a passion. In her opinion, if doctors have enough time to busy themselves with personal drama, then they have enough time to do their job properly.
Paula's words from ten years prior echo in her mind. You would be a terrible doctor.
Artemis wholeheartedly agrees; she's not the type to worry over other people's concerns too much, unless they're special to her, and neither is she the kind of person who can stomach surgical procedures without blinking an eye. Simple bruises and cuts, she can handle – Sportsmaster's daughters aren't exactly spineless, to say the least – but broken bones and gruesome injuries are another story.
Ironic, because she's sure her back isn't a pretty sight, given the amount of ripping and tearing she felt her bones do an hour ago.
Wally's methodical bandage-placing loses its rhythmic flow when he presses too hard on a particular wound in her back. She hisses, he apologises hastily, and they rinse and repeat. The painkillers are starting to kick in, to which her freshly-bandaged elbows respond by drooping dangerously close to the pile of bloodied bandages that Wally had carefully removed minutes beforehand.
"Stay with me, Artemis, we're almost finished." She knows he's just saying that to make her feel better, because they still have her torso and her legs to go, and even his eyes are starting to flutter from the fatigue.
Artemis refrains from releasing that comment, partly because of her slackening jaw, and partly because of the guilt gnawing at her conscience. Iris' family is making sacrifices for her yet again, and now she's more indebted to the Wests than ever before.
She dips her head down to look at Wally, who has a look of intense focus on his face as he diligently, rapidly, repeats the process of clean, disinfect, re-bandage on her body. "You're pretty good at this medical stuff, hey."
He pauses at her left calf, cloth inches away from being wrapped around her leg. Slightly flushed, Wally meets her gaze and grins. "I've had my fair share of injuries. Let's just say I'm an expert at bandage care."
"Clumsy kid?"
He chuckles, then continues fixing up the last of her skin. "No, more like danger magnet."
She laughs, and gives him a lopsided grin. "Whatever you say, stud." Wally smiles, then stands up and stretches his arms out.
"Well, that's that." He brushes invisible dust off his pants and yawns. Artemis feels another pang of crushing guilt strike across her heart when she notices the deathly-white pallor of Wally's skin against the prominent dark circles under his eyes.
"I'll be on the couch," he makes sure all the towels and bandages are removed from her bed before tossing them into a spare plastic bag. There's a new cup of water on her bedside table moments later; Wally throws another blanket on top of her and waits for her to snuggle into the covers. "Night."
Pushing her conscience to the back of her mind, Artemis is out five breaths after her cheek hits the pillow, so she doesn't feel or see the markings racing out of her back and onto her pillow, fluorescent against her navy sheets. They pool into a dark circle, dipping the pillow's material downwards and forming a pendant the size of a coin.
But Wally notices, and he nearly faints.
Artemis glows at sunrise.
There is no way that Wally's just being a massive creep, because her skin is positively sparkling wherever the Sun's rays caress it. His tired eyes are rubbed, once, twice, before he groans and turns his back to the sleeping curator.
Wally hasn't slept a wink in a solid thirty hours, a feat uncommon to him unless there's a room full of Chicken Whizees at his disposal, or a tankard of coffee. The thought of food makes his stomach grumble unhappily, but he holds it down for the sake of sleep. Sleep first, feast later.
But it doesn't come, because when Wally's tired, his brain slows down just enough to let him think through one thought at a time instead of ten. The day's events thus hit him like a tonne of bricks.
Artemis has wings.
Science can't explain anything about the extra, feathery limbs protruding from her shoulder bones. He's not even sure if denying it is worth it anymore, but Zatanna's sure to rub it in his face when she sees Artemis again, whether it's for the mission or her upcoming wedding.
She could rub a bucket of poop in his face for all he cares, because life is already giving him everything it's got.
Wally's normally quick on the uptake, quick to adapt, and even quicker to run forth. But even objects at the fastest velocities, at some point, are going to be met with friction. Artemis Crock, with her PhD and her high-ranking job and her injuries and her wings, is his friction. The Universe was just giving him a break for ten years before it decided to make him face his problems head on again.
In some ways, Wally wishes he could move on from the crush that's plaguing him all over again. He knows that it's silly to continue yearning for someone who's too good for him, always has been, and someone who puts her job and her career before love. Artemis represents everything that Wally does not: concentration, disciplinary work ethics, and a vaulting ambition that she uses to its full potential.
Wally West, after years of mucking around in high school and college and passing school by raw, natural talent, is only just starting to finish off his degree, and has only just been given an internship at STAR Labs. And that, coupled with the fact that he's still running around Central and Keystone City at night, and essentially beating up a bunch of villains for breaking the law, does not help his chances in any way.
Not that he should be focusing on his love life, when Batman's glaring at him to focus on the mission, and "the fate of the world is at stake" if they don't succeed. Wally honestly doesn't see how a necklace that gives someone superpowers could possibly put the world at stake, because Green Lantern has a ring that does the same thing, and so does Karen.
Wally closes his eyes, takes a deep breath, coughs several times when he inhales a load of dust, then calms down and throws the blanket over his eyes.
Breathe, Wally. One, two-
"It looks like someone died in here."
Einstein.
A strong hand yanks his blanket away from his face. "Rise and shine, Wall-man, you have a big day ahead of you."
He doesn't even deign to reply, as Dick's already making his way around the room and scanning it with his nerdy watch, and Zatanna's making her way to Artemis with a furrow in her brows.
"Must you come over right now?"
They pause, look at him with their pairs of bright, blue eyes, and smirk. "Were we interrupting anything?"
Wally shrugs. They have a point – but, sleep.
"In any case," Dick continues, typing into his watch rapidly, "They're on their way over."
"Who?" He rubs a hand over his face, not wanting to deal with any of Nightwing's antics on less than two minutes of rest. His friend's face is a mix of grim determination and smug satisfaction.
"The League, of course."