Author's notes: Oh look, it's all the colors of the angst. -_- And I'm beginning to learn that I really, really love flashbacks. Harking back to the good old days, gah that's painful.

Warnings: none.

Palo Alto

August 27, 17: 29 PDT

The previous year

Dick released the breath he had been holding, trying to calm himself. He was Nightwing, a superhero, he could handle this. Man, when had the prospect of talking to his best friend become so intimidating?

Since everything that had happened yesterday. And the day before. Heck, since everything that had been going on for the past week.

"Are you going to stand there staring at my front door forever, or what?"

Dick turned. Wally was carefully making his way up the stairs, his arms laden with sacks of groceries.

"Dude, help a bro out," Wally pleaded, wobbling precariously between steps. "I've got enough food here to feed a—well, a me."

Dick chuckled. Wally West, Kid Flash, a sometime superhero, and this was where he was now. Going to university, juggling school and a civilian job, paying bills and buying groceries. Normal life suited the speedster so much better than anyone could have anticipated. As for Dick, he couldn't imagine what it was like, and he nor did he aspire to. Being Nightwing suited him just fine.

He responded to his friend's plea for help, and took two of the five bags of foodstuff that Wally had purchased. The student somehow balanced a couple of sacks on his leg as he unlocked the duplex's door. The two went in, heading straight for the kitchen.

"Even for you, Wally, this is a bit excessive," Dick remarked as he deposited his two bags on the counter next to Wally's three.

"Well, the pickles, ham, and salsa were all on sale," Wally explained. Dick smiled; Wally did love his salsa. "Plus, some of the guys are coming over after classes are out. The big game's tonight." He snickered. "I still find it hard to take football seriously—I mean, I could win the whole game in under thirty seconds."

"I thought you hated football," Dick said. He smirked as he made the connection. "But Artemis doesn't. Pretty big fan, isn't she?"

Wally grinned sheepishly, lifting his hands. "You got me." He checked to see that there was no one around with a view into the kitchen, then speedily emptied the contents of the sacks onto the counter and stowed the five reusable bags away. Dick picked up some papers that had been scattered by Wally's haste. "So, what brings you here?" Wally asked as he returned to the kitchen at a somewhat normal pace.

Dick's hint of a smile vanished. This was happening more often, lately. "I'm assuming you heard what happened," he said to Wally, tracking the student's movement across the room. "Tula, and… the aftermath of that."

"I heard," Wally confirmed. He hesitated before opening the fridge, seeming to take a second to ponder how this latest round of refrigerator Tetris was going to play out. "What surprises me is that I heard it from Conner before you."

That stung, and Dick knew it was supposed to. Communication was a big deal for Wally—something in his long-term relationship with Artemis had cemented that into his personality—and for his best friend to not tell him about something of this magnitude… well, it was only going to get worse.

"I'm sorry about that, Wally."

"Yeah, well." Wally pushed the door of the refrigerator fully open and started to rearrange the items inside, occasionally reaching out a hand to snag an item off the counter. Dick perched on the table, the toes of his shoes scuffing the floor. The silence for him was very, very awkward, and he suspected that was exactly what Wally intended.

"So, is this you trying to indicate just how much it sucks when your best friend isn't communicating?" Dick finally asked.

"Something like that," Wally answered. He frowned when a pickle jar didn't want to fit, and stored it in sideways. He started to reach for the last pickle jar, then stopped, his hand suspended in midair. His head turned slowly to fix Dick with an interrogatory stare.

"What did you do?"

Dick's lips twisted into a wry smile. "I was wondering when you were going to catch on."

"Pickles can be very distracting," Wally answered. He turned around and folded his arms, holding the fridge door closed with his back. "Spit it out, Rob."

He hadn't called Dick that in years. The superhero sighed, his fingers curling around the edge of the table. "Conner already told you that Kaldur has betrayed the Team."

"After Tula's death and learning that he's apparently Black Manta's son, yeah," Wally nodded. His expression was unnaturally grim. "Keep going."

"It's not true," Dick told Wally. The student's brow creased, but he made no query. He knew the answer was already coming. "Kaldur and I… we faked his betrayal. The rest of the Team doesn't know. The League doesn't know, either… Batman doesn't know."

Wally leaned back, his eyes wide. "Dude," he breathed.

"This is an opportunity we will never have again, Wally," Dick explained, desperate for the speedster to understand. He needed his best friend with him on this. If he didn't, Nightwing didn't know what he was going to do. "We know Black Manta is connected to The Light, so if Kaldur can join him as his son and earn his trust—earn The Light's trust…"

"Dick, 'deep cover' doesn't even begin to describe this," Wally stated.

"I know," Dick replied. He sighed, rubbing at the back of his neck. "But the secrecy is necessary, for Kaldur's sake. Wally, this could be it. The final mission in our war against The Light, after all these years."

"So why are you telling me?" Wally questioned, cocking an eyebrow. "Doesn't that compromise the secrecy of the mission?"

"Because you're the only one I can trust with this information," Dick confessed. "And I need to know that I'm doing the right thing. Wally, am I doing the right thing?"

Wally didn't answer right away, staring down at the floor as he mulled over all that Dick had just told him. It was strange to see the speedster think about something for so long. What had happened to Kid Flash, who formed decisions in a fraction of a second? Was he already buried so deep?

"Yes," Wally said at last, looking back up at his former teammate. Dick had removed his sunglasses, for a change. "Yes, Dick, you're doing the right thing. But be careful. This isn't just toeing the line, dude, this is dancing right on it. A lot of people could get hurt."

"I know. And as the new team leader, that's on me." Dick stood up, and hesitating before asking one last thing. "Wally, please tell me if I go too far. Stop me, if you can. I don't want to end up like—"

"Like Batman," Wally finished. An understanding smile softened his features, and again Dick marveled at the fact that someone could know him so well. Wally crossed the room, putting a hand on his friend's shoulder. "I've got your back, Dick. Just don't forget that your team does, too."

Dick returned Wally's gesture, nodding. He smiled as well, but already the upwards curve of his lips felt unnatural. "Thanks, Wallman."

"Sure thing, dude." Wally looked up as someone knocked on the door. "Oh, that's got to be Steve. He's always early."

"And that would be my cue to go," Dick remarked. He stepped away from Wally, turning his head as Steve knocked on the door again.

"Sure you don't want to stay?" Wally asked. He hollered to Steve that he'd be there in a minute.

"Football really isn't my thing," Dick said. He smirked. "And I don't have a girlfriend to persuade me otherwise. Mind if I take the back window out?"

"Fine by me," Wally replied. "Just stick around for a minute, okay? I need to talk to you about one more thing."

Dick nodded and disappeared deeper within the duplex. Wally zipped over to the door and let Steve in. Steve, in a natural gesture of Steve-ness, insisted on making himself useful in the kitchen. Wally accepted the offer more readily than he usually did, and told Steve he had to take care of a few things, and he'd be back in a moment.

"Listen, Dick, I'm glad that you trust me and all," Wally said after closing the door, effectively removing the chance of Steve hearing them. "As your best friend, I'd be pretty offended if you didn't trust me. But I can't keep this from Artemis."

"I wouldn't want you to," Dick replied. He shrugged, gesturing to a picture of Wally and Artemis on the dresser. "And if there's anyone in the world who can keep this secret, it's you two. Besides, everyone in the super world knows that Kid Flash and Artemis have left the game. Why would Nightwing entrust the details of a top-secret mission with them?"

"I dunno, because we rock?" Wally grinned for a moment before sobering. "It's been good seeing you again, Dick. Quit being such a stranger."

"You know how it is, Wally: no rest for the wicked." Dick crossed the room and opened the window, checking to see that no one was about. Then he paused. "How do you always know when I'm planning something? Usually it's only Batman who can tell."

Wally didn't reply immediately, probably contemplating how best to put his knowledge into words. "There's this look you get when you're thinking of doing something crazy," he explained. "A possibly fatal something crazy, in most cases. It's not really a look, though. I guess it's something under the surface."

"And you saw that look today."

"When you were eyeballing my door, yeah. I didn't realize it was what it was until I was stocking the fridge." After his admission, Wally stared down at the floor, crossing his arms. When he looked back up at Dick, his expression was dead serious. "Dick, for a second I didn't even recognize you."

Central City

July 13, 05:11 CDT

Dick had always felt surprised by just how much hotter it was in Missouri, compared to Connecticut. It reminded him of how often Wally would tease him for burning so easily, calling him "Red Robin." The teen adjusted his sunglasses, his gaze fixed on a curved gray stone.

He had been staring at the engraved headstone for so long that he could no longer bring anything into focus, but he had already dedicated every letter and number to memory.

Wallace Rudolph West

November 11, 1994—June 20, 2016

Beloved son, devoted friend, a man of hope

Your sacrifice will never be forgotten

Never forgotten. If it weren't for Nightwing and his obsessive drive to complete the mission, there would be no fear of forgetting.

"I'm told you come here every day."

Dick sighed and turned around. He had known that Kaldur'ahm would come and talk to him eventually, but that didn't make this any more desirable. "My zeta records must be telling you that, then," he replied. "Because I prefer to come alone."

Kaldur didn't try to deny it, stepping alongside Batman's former protégé. They both gazed down at their old friend's grave in silence. As always, there were flowers and trinkets. Someone had left a partially consumed bag of Freeze-Dried Chicken Whizees, one of Wally's favorite snacks. There were a lot of flowers, in anything but pastel shades, and this coaxed the barest hint of a smile from Dick.

The younger, more mischievous version of himself had been merciless when he had first learned about Wally's liking of flowers, and Wally had indignantly suffered through it over the course of an entire mission. When next they encountered each other, Wally had gone into precise detail about why it was flowers were incredible works of nature. Dick had not been expecting to get a botany lesson when he had gone to Mount Justice that morning.

"You can't just walk away from it all, Dick," Kaldur said quietly. He gestured to the gravestone. "Even Wally couldn't."

"And whose fault is that?" Dick said bitterly. Kaldur turned a shrewd look on him and Dick avoided his eyes. "I told you before, Kaldur, I'm not quitting. I'm taking a leave of absence, that's all."

"For how long?" Kaldur challenged. "We are suffering just as much as you are, Dick, but still we march on. Was it not Wally himself who said that it doesn't matter how many fall, for new heroes will always—"

"Kaldur." Dick's voice was sharp, yet somehow pleading. He stuffed his hands into his pockets, and though he was looking back at Kaldur now, his eyes were shielded by black shades. "No one knows what Wally said better than me. I just… I need time."

"I have given you time," Kaldur replied. Dick could tell that the Atlantean was trying to be kind, trying to be patient, but he was a leader, and it was time to call his subordinate back into the field. "More than a week has passed since you first left the Watchtower, and you haven't communicated with anyone on the Team. This is unlike you, Dick."

"Is this an intervention?" Dick queried, cocking an eyebrow at Kaldur.

"I don't know. Is there a reason I should be intervening?" Kaldur returned. He gave Dick a hard look, the same look that managed to get any member of the Team to 'fess up. It wasn't going to work today.

"No," Dick assured the Atlantean. "You don't need to worry about me, Kaldur." He didn't say anything more, but he knew that Kaldur was waiting. The cellophane of the Chicken Whizees back crinkled as a breeze disturbed it. "Look, I promise you'll have your answer tomorrow. Is that good enough for you?"

He met Kaldur's gaze. "Alpha male stare-down!" a distant memory of Wally crowed. Kaldur slowly nodded in acquiesce, granting Dick some grace one last time. He started turning, meaning to walk away, but he faced Dick again and placed a hand on the younger man's shoulder.

"The Team needs Nightwing, Dick," he said. Dick gave no response, and Kaldur seemed disappointed. Finally, the Atlantean had to leave, returning to the duties of Aqualad.

"No," Dick murmured once Kaldur had gone, "the Team needs Nightwing to be far, far away."

Kaldur and Dick had always been close. It was a leadership thing; they understood each other. But Dick could lie to Kaldur. He could lie straight to his face and the Atlantean wouldn't know. But then, there had only ever been two people who could read Dick when he didn't want to be read, and neither of them were here.

It was that look Wally had once mentioned, the one that wasn't on Dick's face but somewhere underneath. Dick knew it was there right now. Kaldur, however, couldn't recognize it. Couldn't see it for what it was.

Dick cast a last glance over at Wally's grave. His fingers caught on something in his pocket and he pulled it out; a raggedy miniature French flag. Dick smiled at the relic of that one summer, the first summer Wally had dragged them through months of madness. It was something Wally, and the rest of the Team, had never stopped laughing about.

He speared the little flag into the grass in front of Wally's gravestone. "Vive le Wally," he murmured, then shrugged. "Or something like that. French has always escaped me."

Dick straightened up and walked away. This time, for the first time, he didn't look back. He headed for the nearest zeta tube. Artemis was expecting him, and he had promised to show. It was time to pay his final dues, and then do what no one seemed to realize he had to: save everyone from him, and disappear.

"Nightwing, B01. Star City."

The League still hadn't installed a zeta tube in Palo Alto, and that had been at Wally's insistence. No crazy superhero stuff in Palo Alto. Stanford really doesn't need Count Vertigo, Vandal Savage, and whoever else roughing up the place. And there are thousands of students to consider.

So, Star City was the closest option. From there, Dick would secure wheels. He'd make it to Artemis' before noon.

Space Sector 0084

March 7, 13:24 GST

Most of the planets closer to Oa had fairly advanced civilizations—at least, advanced in comparison to what Razer had often encountered in Frontier Space. The worlds here in Guardian space were so full and lively. With the protection of the Green Lantern Corps, many of these races hadn't known war for centuries, and enjoyed an extended golden era.

Razer tried to ignore the bitter this fact left in his mouth. There was a reason his Sector was called the Forgotten Zone, after all.

Now though, as a certainly welcome change from the bustling cities he had been drifting through, Razer had found a world that was uninhabited. This would make searching it more difficult, but not by much. He would simply have to fly over the planet's surface, scanning for Aya's energy signature.

If she wasn't here—as she hadn't been on the past twenty-seven worlds, thirty-three moons, and eighty-five asteroids and asteroid belts—Razer would then leave and seek out his next stop. He had told Hal and Kilowog that he would scour the universe if he must for Aya, and more than two months later, that had not changed.

Razer's feet touched down on the bleached soil, pale dust clouding around his boots. The Volkregian felt a spark of curiosity; he hadn't seen something like this before. A long spike was easy to construct, and he drove it into the ground. About seven inches below the surface, the soil was healthy and dark, which would account for the still-growing forest around him.

Razer found himself wondering what could be killing the soil, and looked up at the local sun. Realization came barely a moment after: the little world's orbit was slowly decaying, drawing it closer to the star. That was why no one lived on the planet. It had been abandoned while its former inhabitants looked for a new world to call home. In the next millennium or so, the planet on which Razer stood would be consumed by its own star.

It was sobering to remember just how finite everything was. All things came to an end, this was true—but Aya had not yet reached hers.

Razer gave his doomed surroundings a disappointed look. It had been nearly four weeks since he had last eaten, and he had hoped that here he would find some sustenance. Oh well. There was nothing to be done about it now, and there would be other worlds after this. The Volkregian took to the skies again and commenced scanning.

Somewhere underneath California

July 8, 23:01 PDT

Wally had never been afraid of heights. Since before he could remember, he had been climbing up stairs, chairs, trees, and flagpoles. And his distance from the ground had never bothered him. One of his favorite places of his house had been the roof. In early summer he liked to put his feet out on the shingles, soaking up the warmth through his skin. The thought of falling never crossed his mind.

Until one day, he did. He had been eleven years old at the time, conquering the tree in the backyard yet again. His mom had come out, calling his name. He had wanted to swing and hang upside-down to impress her, just like he would on the school monkey bars, but his legs weren't as secure as he thought they were. Wally fell eight feet and landed solidly on his shoulder.

There had been a trip to the hospital, of course, and he had to keep his arm in a sling for what felt like forever to an eleven-year-old. But he couldn't forget the feeling of falling, the rush of wind and the spinning blur of his surroundings. It was like when he ran, but somehow more captivating.

That was when he had first started moving faster. His uncle said there might be a day when Wally would catch up with him, after all. Years went by, and Wally stopped thinking about the day he fell out of a tree.

Then, the summer after he turned eighteen, his mother took him skydiving. Wally was always surprised when he learned new pastimes Mrs. West used to do. The older he got, the more wild her adolescence revealed itself to be.

But skydiving. That was his last summer as a superhero (and he had gone out with one heckuva bang, thanks to Dick), and his mother thought he deserved something to remember it by. It was… amazing, dropping out of the plane and seeing what seemed like the entire world stretching from one end of the horizon to the other.

Every time he tried to describe it, he failed. After landing, his mother had turned a wide grin on him, and Wally finally understood where his sense of adventure had come from. "The stuff normal people do isn't half bad, don't you think?" she had remarked. Wally could only laugh and shake his head in response.

No, Wally West was not afraid of heights. And he loved how it felt to fall. But this was completely different, and in the most negative way possible. There was no wind rushing in his ears, only the blur and a sick feeling in his gut. And it was dark, he had gone to depths the sun had never reached and he couldn't stop falling because there was nothing to stop him.

Then he nearly went blind because there was light, and in another second Wally realized that he was in a magma vein. A magma. Vein. He jerked to a halt.

"Get a grip, Wallman!" Wally yelled at himself. He expected his voice to be muffled, but it wasn't. There was nothing to affect it. There was nothing to affect him. "Okay, okay," Wally stammered, trying to pull his thoughts together. He stared at his hands, surrounded by magma and not feeling one nasty degree of it. "None of this is real. Not to me, anyway. I can see it, but it's all intangible. Or more likely, I'm intangible. The chrysalis energy—what are you doing, Wally?!"

He shook himself angrily, smacking his forehead. At least he could still do that. "Artemis thinks I'm dead! I have to have tell her I'm okay. Well, okay-ish." He looked up, or what he hoped was up. He had been falling for a while and without gravity as an indicator, it was impossible to know for sure. "I have to tell everyone."

He had to figure out a way to get back up to the surface. With however long he had been falling, he had to be hundreds of miles deep. And since gravity couldn't pull him down, what was there to keep him from going up? Wally wondered what it was that people like Superman and Wonderwoman did when they began liftoff. Think happy thoughts?

…Okay, so the Peter Pan bit was bogus. Wally closed his eyes, thinking. Four forces of flight: lift, drag, weight, and thrust. Upward, backward, downward, and forward. Four forces, but two of them—drag and weight—no longer had any influence on Wally's motions. So, would that mean easy flying?

Wally opened his eyes and saw nothing. He had moved up from the magma vein. Or fallen below it. The speedster sighed, looking what was supposedly upward. This was going to take a while.

And it did. Wally would have punched holes in things in his frustration, except that wasn't really working right now. His determination paid off, however, and he resurfaced at last. It took him a few moments to get his bearings; he certainly wasn't anywhere in Palo Alto, or Central City.

Wait, was this Michigan? Ugh.

Palo Alto

July 13, 11:19 PDT

Artemis hated how quiet the duplex was. The silence made her skin crawl, since she knew that it wasn't quiet because Wally was studying in some corner of the place with papers sprawled from here to the next county. It was quiet because he wasn't here. And no matter what Artemis wanted and no matter what Artemis did, he was never coming back.

She wandered into the living room, listless. She couldn't go back to classes at Stanford yet, they were still trying to sort things out with one of their students no longer dead, and another student permanently dead. She wouldn't have been able to focus, anyway, but she couldn't stand coming back to this empty home every night.

Not totally empty, though. Perdita whined softly as she leaned against Artemis' leg, picking up on her mistress' distress. She whined a lot more than she used to, and Artemis frequently found her watching the door. Waiting.

Artemis slowly moved through the living room, navigating around the cardboard boxes that cluttered up the space. All of them were empty. She had tried to start packing Wally's things away a few times before, but she had never been able to bring herself to do it. That was why she had asked for Dick's help.

She stopped at the table underneath a small archery display. Her fingers trembled as she reached for the framed photograph of herself and Wally and lifted it off its stand. The picture had been taken during a beach party the Team had thrown, the summer when she and Wally had both been eighteen. Their last summer as superheroes. July, wasn't it?

It was Dick who had been manning this particular camera, if Artemis recalled correctly. They had all ganged up on Wally and buried him up to his neck in sand. In the photo, Wally had somehow managed to keep his sunglasses on, grinning broadly. A young girl Artemis barely recognized to be herself had planted her foot on Wally's hair, as though he were her own personal volley ball. She seemed amused. Artemis remembered bursting out laughing right after the picture had been taken.

Wally had been insistent that the picture remain on display. "It sums up our relationship pretty accurately, don't you think?" he used to chuckle. Artemis smiled briefly at the memory and slowly put the photo back. Wally had never wanted it moved, and she certainly wasn't going to go against his wishes.

The door opened. Artemis turned sharply to see who it was, and relaxed as she saw that it was Dick. The Team's former leader had just closed the door behind himself, slipping his shades into a jacket pocket. Artemis still felt surprised whenever she saw that there really was a pair of eyes under all of the masks and sunglasses.

They stared at each other for a while, neither of them quite sure what to say. Dick shrugged off his jacket and hung it up on the coat rack. "Thanks for coming," Artemis said at last, and her voice was cracked from disuse. Too cursedly quiet…

"Least I could do," Dick murmured in reply. His eyes darted to the photo on the stand, somehow knowing that was what Artemis had just been holding. He crossed the room and stood next to her, the pair of them lapsing into silence.

"He'd still be here," Artemis said suddenly, her gaze fixed on eighteen-year-old Wally with his stupid, stupid grin. "If I had just stayed, like he wanted me to, he'd… Wally would still…"

"It's not your fault, Artemis," Dick interrupted her quietly. He wasn't looking at the photo anymore, but at something Artemis couldn't see. Probably disappearing into memory, as Artemis found herself doing again and again these days. "I'm the one who asked for your help in the first place, when I knew full well how Wally would feel about it. Then I asked for his help."

He laughed softly, though it sounded more grieved than anything else. "He always did tell me that I was too willing to sacrifice everything for the sake of the mission. I should have known he was right."

"It's almost been an entire month," Artemis said. She realized she was hugging herself—compensating for the embraces she would never be getting from Wally again. The archer looked over at the door into the duplex. "And I still expect him to come flying in through that door, and break his nose on something because he's moving too fast again. He always blamed it on my moving the furniture around."

Dick put a hand on Artemis' shoulder. "You said you wanted help with the packing."

"Yeah," Artemis confirmed, jerking her head in a tight nod. Her fingers had curled into fists, and she struggled a moment with the urge to cry. "Yeah. I wasn't sure if—"

"If you could do it on your own," Dick finished. His throat worked, and Artemis wondered if he was fighting the same thing she was. "Believe me, Artemis, I understand."

Artemis quickly turned away from the photo, away from Wally beaming out behind a pair of sunglasses, and grabbed a box. "I, um, I was planning on getting his clothes first," she told Dick. "Those will be easiest to pack up."

Dick nodded and took a box for himself, following Artemis deeper into the duplex. "Where are you going to put all of this, once you're done?" he asked.

"Some of it I'll be sending to Wally's parents," Artemis replied. "The clothes, other stuff. I think I'll keep his books." She stopped in front of the door to Wally's room, sighing before turning a distressed look on Dick. "Honestly, Dick, I don't know. I don't know what to do about any of this."

"It's okay, Artemis," Dick promised her. "You don't have to know."

They went into Wally's room. The drawers of his dresser were still open from the last time Artemis had tried to come through and pack. She and Dick said nothing further to each other, going to the dresser and closet. They started folding Wally's typically rumpled clothes—it's organized chaos, he used to insist—and putting them away in the two boxes they had brought with them.

If Artemis had been running, this would have been the part where she jerked to a halt. She stopped breathing for a moment, her hands frozen on top of the soft yellow fabric of one of Wally's favorite sweaters. She buried her face in the cotton and breathed in deep.

Dick had left the closet to join Artemis again. He didn't try to say anything, just waiting. "He always smelled like a windy day," Artemis told him, reluctantly pulling the sweater away from her cheek and setting it down on her lap. "I didn't notice it at first, hadn't realized that windy days even had a smell, but then…"

"Loving someone has a way making you notice things you never would have before," Dick agreed softly. He looked at something in his hand before setting it down on the bed next to Artemis. It was Wally's phone. "I found this hidden in the glove box. Wally must have left it behind when we went to extract you and Kaldur from the summit. You might want to listen to this."

He had turned on the speakers. Artemis still as Wally's voice came from the cell phone, perkily reciting. "They Say She Walks In Beauty, by my main man, Lord Byron. Heh. Lord… Lord… he's got Lord in his name, you think he's like a Lord of Fate? I dunno. Anyway, ahem… here goes.

"She walks in beauty, like the night Of cloudless climes and starry skies; And all that's best of dark and bright Meet in her aspect and her eyes: Thus mellowed to that tender light Which heaven to gaudy day denies."

Artemis's fingers tightened on Wally's sweater as the recording continued, lines of poetry altered to fit her alone and uttered in a way that was just so… Wally. Dick knelt down behind her and kept a hand on her shaking shoulders, his head bowed.

"…The smiles that win, the tints that glow, But tell of days in goodness spent, A mind that's at peace with all below, A heart whose love is innocent. I love you, babe."

Artemis broke. Again. That was the voice of the Wally she had dared leave behind, a young man with such big hopes and dreams, and a heart that was so, so full of love. She had thought she'd come back, to his humored attitudes that never seemed to end, and his sincerity that was even more so. She had thought she'd come back, and she did—but without Wally.

Dick wrapped Artemis up in his arms, holding her steady as her tears soaked into his shirt. She couldn't stop shaking, couldn't stop sobbing as she felt her heart shatter all over again. She was grateful for Dick's presence, grateful that she wasn't alone, but Dick wasn't who she wanted. She wanted Wally, to see him smirk as she admitted that he was right, to hear his laughter as they were forced to suffer through another chick flick for the sake of Artemis "gal pals," as he had liked to call them. She wanted her speedster back.

They said life was unfair. No one ever talked about how death was even worse.

"I miss him so much," Artemis whispered.

"I know, Artemis," Dick replied, and she could hear her own pain lacing his words. "I do, too."

The phone automatically went to the next recording, and a past Wally declared that this was another one from Billy Shakes. "If we shadows have offended, Think but this, and all is mended, That you have but slumber'd here Whilst these visions did appear. And this weak and idle theme, No more yielding than a dream, babe."

Dick reached up and turned the phone off, muting Wally's canned words. Artemis gradually quieted, her knuckles turning white as she dropped a hand and gripped Wally's sweater. Dick couldn't seem to tear his gaze from the phone, and Artemis said nothing of the tears she could see building up in his eyes.

The archer pulled away, and she and Dick continued folding and packing Wally's things away in silence. Artemis tucked the sweater and phone back into the drawer, along with a couple of his jackets and the jersey she had always been fond of wearing. The two boxes were filled entirely, and Artemis retrieved a third that they managed to load halfway.

Artemis found a small box and stood forever in front of the photo table, uncertain. Dick had disappeared somewhere else for a while. Artemis knew he clung fiercely to his composure when others were present. It was a sentiment she understood, because she had used to be the same way.

Each of these pictures was a memory, sending Artemis back to good times and rough. She found herself pulling out their photo album and flipping through. Wally had somehow gotten pictures of a very young Artemis from her mother. Artemis hadn't believed that any photos of her existed where she didn't look troubled, but Wally had happily proven her wrong.

There were no photos from the Mountain or missions, of course—Wally had kept those in a separate album, one that only he and Artemis knew the location of. But still she could find pictures from the beach just outside Mount Justice, and a few from visits to the Logan Animal Sanctuary. Wally somehow always ended up covered in monkeys, and Artemis would laugh at him, saying that was what he got for being a walking pantry.

A familiar scent teased Artemis' nostrils. She looked up sharply, wondering what it was, and followed her nose to the kitchen. Dick was in front of the stove, stirring a steam pot, and Artemis knew exactly what it was for.

She chuckled softly. "Mac'n'cheese."

"I know that I'm nowhere as good at this as Wally was," Dick apologized. "But I hope the gesture counts for something, at least."

"Thanks, Dick," Artemis said gratefully. She decided to sit on the table, pulling her legs up and setting them into a crisscross pattern. "For everything. The past few weeks have been… hard."

"I know what you mean," Dick replied. He was so quiet these days, just like this horrible house. "I still can't really believe it happened."

"You sure this is going to help?" Artemis questioned as Dick placed a bowl of mac'n'cheese in her hands.

"Pretty sure it won't, actually," Dick confessed. He sat on the edge of the table next to Artemis, his feet pressing against the floor. "But Wally practically swore on the stuff, you know."

"Yeah. He did." Artemis stared down at her bowl, wondering about all the ifs and buts and cannots swirling around her head. "Are we going to be okay, Dick?" she asked suddenly. Her old teammate set his newly emptied spoon back into his bowl. "All my training, all my experience… I've gone through more than most members of the Team ever will, but nothing, none of that prepared me for losing Wally. I've never lost anyone before. Not anyone who mattered."

"I suppose you've had enough of everyone telling you that you're going to be okay and it's going to get better," Dick said as he set his barely touched bowl aside. Artemis' wry smile confirmed his hunch. "Then I'll spare you those lies. Because honestly, Artemis, it's never going to be okay."

"Then how am I supposed to live with this?" Artemis demanded. She slammed her bowl next to her on the table, causing the teen to flinch. "How, Dick?!"

"A nine-year-old boy watched his entire family fall to their deaths," Dick said hollowly. "Murdered, by someone he had never heard of. Only his uncle survived, but in a way, he died too." He shook his head, bitterness and incredulity twisting together on his face. "Ten years later, that boy is a superhero, and for some reason he's leading other children into a war that doesn't look like it can ever be won. Somehow, that boy becomes a statute, a role model for other sidekicks to look up to, and try to fashion themselves after."

Dick looked over at Artemis, and she was rendered speechless by the raw pain in his eyes. She couldn't remember him ever being this open. "Artemis, that boy is still asking himself how he's supposed to live with his loss. And he's no nearer to an answer than he was ten years ago."

"Then there's no hope for us, is there," Artemis whispered.

"I don't know." Dick looked away, pulling his walls back up, but somehow Artemis could still see underneath. Was this what it was like to be Wally? "I'm just as broken as you are, Artemis. I miss Wally just as much. And I have no idea how to help anyone."

"Except that you do," Artemis replied. Dick whipped his head back around sharply. "Should I tell Kaldur that you're planning to run?"

"How did you—"

"I've spent my whole life watching people run," Artemis reminded him. "I've been one of those people who run. I know the look."

Dick sighed. "I'm not doing it for me, Artemis," he said. "I'm doing it for the Team. I can't stay." His face was far too aged for someone of only nineteen years. "I've made too many mistakes, and I can't allow that to continue. Because I was unwilling to trust my own team, you nearly got killed, the Mountain was destroyed, M'gann destroyed Kaldur's mind… I was so disconnected, I didn't even notice what M'gann had been doing! What sort of leader does that make me? And then there's Wally…"

"Dick, don't you even start."

"He was my best friend, Artemis!" Dick cried. He had vaulted off the table and now spun to face her. His walls had fractured again, showing just how much hurt lay underneath. "My partner. My soldier. My fault."

They stared at each other for a moment, and Artemis realized that she understood. And she really couldn't find it in herself to blame him. "If anyone asks, you helped me pack up some of Wally's things and didn't say a word about leaving."

Dick's tense bearing eased somewhat, the relief plain on his face. "Thank you, Artemis."

Artemis held up a hand. "Don't thank me yet," she said. "You'd have to actually make it first. Just… remember to come back, okay?"

"When the Team needs me," Dick replied. "Really needs me. Then I'll come back."

He moved towards the living room, obviously intending to pick up another empty box and help Artemis finish the job. She stopped him. "You had better go," she told him. "The longer you're here, the less likely it will seem that you didn't tell me anything."

Dick almost seemed reluctant. He had always hated goodbyes. "You sure?" he asked.

"Yes." Artemis looked away from him for a moment, catching glimpses of the reminders of Wally that were to be found everywhere in the duplex. "I just… I needed help getting started, you know? I'll be fine."

Dick looked at her for a while, then nodded. He smiled a little. "Goodbye, Artemis."

Goodbye. Dick never said goodbye. The first she had heard him ever say it was at Wally's funeral. Artemis looked up at Dick, realizing that he had no intent of ever returning. "Goodbye, Dick," she replied.

They hugged. Not something they had done very often. Then Dick turned away, tacking his jacket off the coat rack and slipping his sunglasses on. Without another word, he went out the door.

Artemis watched him go, wondering just how many more people she was doomed to lose.

Palo Alto

July 13, 12:04 PDT

Wally was surprised—and extremely relieved—to learn that he still could use his superspeed. How and why, he would figure out later. Right now, he had to get back to Artemis, to his family and his team. He skidded to a halt outside of his and Artemis' duplex in Palo Alto, taking a few moments to catch his breath and figure out how he was going to get into the building. He couldn't use the stairs, couldn't touch the door, and he really sucked at the whole flying thing.

He heard the door close on the top floor, and a grin appeared on his face as he recognized who was coming down the stairs. "Dick!" the speedster exclaimed as he went to meet him. "You have no idea how good it is to see you, dude. I need your help to—"

Dick walked right through him. Wally jolted, although he felt nothing except for the twisting of his own stomach. He turned, staring after Dick's retreating back. "Not you too," he whispered, voice cracking. "Not you too."