Disclaimer: We do not own Young Justice or any of its characters.

We're really having way too much fun with this! Hope you guys enjoy this next installment, we're putting a lot of work and affection into this! Each and every review is greatly appreciated and keeps us motivated, so thanks for all the support!

Just a heads up: by the time the third chapter has rolled around, this story will be upped to an 'M' rating for sexual escapades and situations.

On with the show and the fun lingo!

o.o.o.o

Written by TheRantDragon, Dottoraqn, and IronicVeghead.

o.o.o.o

Gotham City: August 1, 1923

o.o.o

Warm sunlight streamed in through the broken and battered old blinds, motes of dust swirling in the light on its path to shine down on the freckled back of Wallace West. He was entangled in the thin white sheets of his bed, one arm hanging off the edge of the mattress so that his fingertips kissed the floor. His hair was sticking up everywhere, and he was drooling all over his pillow, mouth wide.

A loud Flivver horn from outside on the street below jerked him awake. He groaned, brought his palms up to flatten over his sensitive ears, suddenly wishing he hadn't binged himself into a stupor the night before; Kaldur had reluctantly supplied him with every alcoholic drink he'd asked for, and he had asked for a lot. For some reason, Wallace had always had a hard time getting bent.

Not that he got bent, often. Last night had been a special case.

Wally attempted to peel his tired eyes open, but the sunlight was blinding and sent a vicious pounding through his skull. Another pitiful groan escaped his lips as he rolled himself over, flipping himself off into the floor with a dull thud. He lay there for a few minutes, breathing deeply and working on getting his emerald eyes open so that he could start his hungover day.

It took a while, but at long last he maneuvered his body up off the floor and stretched, popping his back and pulling the suspenders of his pants up over his bare shoulders. Fingers drug through wild hair, a monstrous yawn following suit, and when he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror near his bedroom door, he blanched.

"Boy, do I ever look like a rag-a-muffin," Wally murmured, noticing the deep bags underneath his eyes. "That's the last time I let Dick talk me into a drinking contest with Conner, that cat sure knows how to knock a few back."

Wally sighed and picked up the old white shirt he must've discarded last night before passing out and slipped it back on as he nudged out of his bedroom and into the hallway. He padded down the hall, buttoning his shirt the whole way, and when at last he took the time to look up and survey his surroundings, it was to find Dick sprawled out and snoring on his couch.

Wallace raised an eyebrow, casually plucking the pillow from behind Dick's head so that his skull thunked back onto the hard armrest.

"Hey! What gives?" the raven-haired young man shouted indignantly, sitting up as he rubbed at his head. Wally tossed the pillow into his lap.

"What are you doing here, bo?" he inquired, ignoring the headache that was rapidly worsening.

Dick shrugged.

"I had to escort you home last night so the coppers wouldn't catch your smoked ass," he answered simply.

Wally scratched at his scalp, turning to head toward the kitchen; he heard Dick get up off the couch and follow him.

"What about Conner?"

Dick snorted.

"Conner can hold more liquor than you, that's for sure. But he went over the edge with rams. Poor Megan had to get him home last night, ha."

Wally frowned momentarily at the thought of someone as dainty as the flapper girl having to support a big lug like Conner all the way home in the dark. Then he shook his head and realized she'd probably driven them home, and an amusing thought popped into his head.

"Bird keeps drinking like that and he'll have himself a nice Alderman."

"I could say the same to you, boozehound," Dick retorted, cheaters glinting maliciously.

Wally scowled, dragged himself into the kitchen, and started to make himself and Dick some java. While looking for the tin of ground coffee, Wally crashed into the table, cursing as he slipped and wound up on the floor. Dick walked over and looked down at him, cackling. Wally groaned and let his head fall back against the floor in defeat.

"I'm hit! Dick, go on without me," he redhead moaned from the ground. Dick laughed and stepped over his fallen companion, pulling all of the coffee requirements out of the cupboard and setting them on the counter. He put the filter in the top of the jug, set a pot on the stove to boil, and leaned down to help his friend up.

While trying to get up off the floor, Wally succeeded in banging his head on the stove and his shoulder on a chair, eventually winding up back on the floor. Dick couldn't help himself and burst into peals of laughter, grabbing Wally by the shoulders and dragging him out from between the cupboards and the table to give him more room to stand.

By the time Wally was finally up and Dick finally stopped laughing, the water on the stove had reached a boil. Wally made a move to pour the hot liquid into the coffee maker, but Dick held him back.

"Bo, you're in no shape to be near anything hot," Dick said, forcing his pal to take a seat on the couch before he injured himself further. "Remember last year when you tried to make coffee and spilled the water on your crotch?"

Wally winced at the memory and conceded to sit while Dick finished up with the coffee. His head was throbbing from its collision course with the kitchen furniture, which was not by any means helping him with his pounding, alcohol induced headache. He closed his lids tightly and leaned back against the sofa, trying to pull forth images from the things that had happened while he was intoxicated. Something stood out to him.

"Hey, Dick, you remember that time we pulled the 'ole gooseberry lay on rickety old Miss Todd?" Wally asked abruptly, straightening and glancing over at Dick.

"Ha, how could I? She threatened to whoop us with a hickory stick if she caught us doin' it again! Not sure where she would've gotten one around the city, but knowing her she probably had one growing in her house."

Both men guffawed at the image, and Wally thought he might upchuck if he didn't stop.

"Anyway, why'd you bring that up, bo?" Dick inquired, grabbing two mugs from the kitchen cabinet and pouring generous measures of joe into both of them. "You feelin' peckish for trouble?"

Wallace waved him off.

"No, no... nothing like that. It's just, well, we've been drinking from the same bottle for a long damn time, right?"

Dick nodded sagely, handing him his coffee and patting his back. "That's right, bo. We're pals through thick and thin. Why do you ask?"

"Well. My memory's fuzzy, but it's all coming back to me, and I remembered us arguing. Something about that... that Artemis dame you let into the Cave last week," he said, furrowing his brows in concentration. "Yeah, I was drunk and said something about you letting crazy broads in... and about you guys whispering last week. You know, behind the bar after the Birds of-"

"I know what you're talking about, Wally," Dick said darkly. "And you can drop the subject now. What Artemis told me is incredibly sensitive information, I can't just go around telling it to-"

"To anyone?" Wally groused, fast getting peeved. He set his untouched coffee mug down on the table in front of the couch and faced his pal intently. "Since when am I just anyone? I'm your best damn pal, Dick! What could she have possibly told you that you can't tell me!"

"I'm lucky she even told me what she did, Wally. She was doing us a favor, and that's all you need to know."

The two friends lapsed into an uncomfortably charged atmosphere. Wally crossed his arms tightly over his chest, glaring down into the brown liquid of his cup as if it had personally insulted him in some way. Then something clicked in his pounding skull.

"...does this have something to do with those bootleg interceptions you found out about?" he whispered, afraid that if he spoke too loud, someone would hear and rat them both out. Dick didn't even have to answer; the way his body stiffened was more than enough for the redhead. Wally tutted, popped up from the couch with his fists clenched.

"She's the one who warned you about them? That's what you couldn't tell me? Don't you trust me anymore, bo?"

"It's not that, Wall. Of course I trust you. But obviously you don't remember much of last night. On the way home you almost got us put away," Dick said, looking dejectedly at the liquid in his own cup.

Wally's eyes sprung open. "What!" He cried out, nearly spilling his coffee all over himself.

Dick nodded. "You aren't a quiet drunk, bo. And you seem to have been in the bottle a lot since the incident with Artemis."

Wally frowned pensively. It had been a week and he still hadn't found any dirt on the skirt in green; hell, he had seen hide nor hair of her since that night at the speakeasy. He did know that Logan was out for blood when she showed her face at the Cave again. He had been boasting about how he wasn't afraid to hit a girl to get his favorite hat back. Wally had put cayenne in his shot glass for that one.

The two men finished their coffee in silence and set the mugs in the sink. Wally wandered over to the icebox and opened the door, looking for something edible. He sighed when he found nothing but a tray of ice. He motioned to Dick to go out the door as there was nothing for breakfast.

"Hey, hold up, bo!" Wally called when they reached the street; Dick had immediately turned left and started traipsing down the sidewalk with his hands stuffed deep in his suit pockets. "Let's take the Speedster out for a spin!"

Dick groaned, twisting around to face his friend.

"Oh, go climb your thumb, Wally!" he snapped, jamming a thumb over his shoulder, walking backwards. "I'm walking."

The redhead looked crestfallen, frozen in the act of pulling his key out of his trouser pockets.

"But, Dick, this poor old gal's been sitting out in the hot sun for a month! I never get to drive her!", he wheedled, gesturing to the red Duesenberg parked in front of him. It was shiny and well cared for, heat coming off of it in waves.

Dick shook his head forcefully, not to be swayed on the matter.

"Absolutely not, bo! You're hungover and I'm not setting foot in that bucket with you!"

Wallace growled out a curse, shoved his key back in his pocket and jogged up to his friend, shoving him none-too-gently in the arm as he fell into step beside him.

"I just don't get you, pal. You have the bees! Why waste mazuma on me if you're not going to let me drive the thing?" he grumbled. The two friends continued down the sizzling streets, block after block with the cruel sun beating down on their backs and causing sweat to bead on their brows. The town was bustling despite the heat, flappers and cats and dames of all sorts going about their business without a care in the world. Drugstore cowboys aggravated pretty young women at every turn and men with fags dangling from their lips leaned against brick walls to chat.

"I didn't waste mazuma. I got you a fast crate for your birthday because that's what you wanted, right? That's all I heard for months was how you wanted a crate of your own. A fast, bright one that would impress the dames and that you could take out into the country and drive at top speed! So that's what I got you. It's not my fault if you don't know how to use it on your own time; you know I prefer walking."

"And I appreciate the birthday gift!" Wally shouted, glaring at a rather shady looking group of men huddled in an alleyway as they passed. "That's why I wanted to drive my best pal down to the diner for a bite of breakfast. It's the least I can do."

Dick shook his head, though now he was grinning as he tilted his head to the side and shot Wally a knowing look, elbowing him in the ribs.

"Tell it to Sweeney! We both know you wanted that little struggle buggy to haul your one night stands around in, cake-eater."

Wallace couldn't help but grin back.

o.o.o.o

Twenty minutes later, the two men sat across from each other at Mera and Arthur's diner. Arthur was the best cook in the county, and everyone from Gotham and the outlying area knew it. Mera, his lovely wife, waited tables and made fresh joe for the guests.

"I'm telling you, bo, Zee's got her eyes on you, big time!" Wally was saying intensely as Mera came by, depositing two steaming cups on the table for them. Dick snorted, pulling his drink over to his chest absently.

"You're full of it! Just because she blew me a crash on the stage, right? It was just a part of the act, Babs knows that."

Wally shook his head forlornly, smiling to himself. Dick had more dame problems than Wally could shake a stick at, yet he was the one with the reputation? How does that work?

"Sorry to interrupt, boys. What'll it be?" Mera asked politely.

"Flapjacks!" the redhead blurted instantaneously, steepling his fingers together on the smooth tabletop. As if to punctuate the order, his stomach emitted a loud and rather embarrassing gurgle. His face turned a light shade of rubicund and he added, "Ah, make that two stacks of flapjacks, would you, Mera?"

The kind woman winked and grinned, no stranger to Wallace West's seemingly insatiable appetite.

"Of course, dear. And you?" she said, facing Dick.

"Well, since my ravenous friend here is bound to have ordered every last hot cake in your diner, I'll take a bowl of grits."

"Comin' right up, fellas," Mera promised, and gave them a hearty wink before disappearing.

"Aw, break it up, Dick!" Wallace complained, nudging him in the shin under the table. "You know I can't help it, especially when I get hungry after a hangover..."

"Yeah," Dick snorted, "My wallet's noticed."

Wally took a heavy sip from his mug, a smile crinkling the edges of his eyes.

"Thanks for keeping me from going broke," he laughed after swallowing, his mind not registering the bell on the door that announced the arrival of another customer.

"Well, look at that," Dick snickered, his eyebrows raised.

"Look at what?" Wally narrowed his eyes suspiciously, wondering if his best friend was pulling another one of his infamous pranks.

"The reason you've been so hungover lately has just decided to slip into the diner," Dick said with a smirk, the amusement dancing in his blue eyes. The redhead spluttered a bit into his java, mindlessly wiping his chin with his sleeve before turning around in the booth to get a look.

Sure enough, Dick was telling the truth; that long blonde hair was recognizable anywhere. Wally's eyes stuck to her form like glue, his mind whirling with a jumbled mess of thoughts and feelings as it tried to process how to handle the situation. Artemis was sitting at the diner counter, conversing easily with Garth the busboy as she waited for whatever it was she'd ordered. Wally wondered briefly if it was a bowl of nails.

In hindsight, Wally had absolutely no idea what it was that compelled him to stand up and walk toward the bearcat. But for some reason, he did, ignoring Dick's questions about where he was going. And he soon found himself floundering for words as she felt his eyes on the back of her head and swiveled around to face him, eyeing him warily from her seat.

"Can I help you?" she asked, one of her delicate eyebrows raising and a look of mild irritation evident even as a corner of her painted lips twitched up. He hadn't noticed it a week ago in the dim lights of the speakeasy, but her face was definitely water-proof; just the red lipstick coating her mouth was more than enough to get any young cats heart pounding. Not that it was making his heart pound.

"We met last week," Wally informed her, shaking his thoughts away. "At..." He suddenly remembered that he was in public and thus couldn't mention Dick's speakeasy.

"...At a place," the redhead finished lamely.

"How could I forget?" The smirk was full-blown now. "Mr. Cake-Eater, looking to claim another prize," she mused, nodding when a piping hot pastry was slid in front of her.

Wally paused, trying to think of something to say that was classy and suave. But his mouth seemed to be rebelling and instead he found himself snorting, "I don't think anyone could claim you."

Artemis looked a bit amused by the statement, and by the frown that flew across Wally's face as he tried to decide whether or not he had just paid the dame a compliment or an insult.

"Would you like to go dancing?" he blurted out all of a sudden, startling some of the other patrons seated at the counter.

Was that from his mouth?

"I'm sorry?" Artemis furrowed her eyebrows in confusion.

"Would you go dancing with me?" Wally asked again, pleased that his mouth seemed to be in his control once more; he was not, however, pleased with the words that were coming out of it and what they entailed. He clenched his fists at his sides, wondered why they were feeling clammy out of the blue.

The blonde turned back to her breakfast.

"You won't like that I take the lead," she said, a bit of ruefulness sneaking into her tone. "Go find a kitten that'll chase your tail feathers."

Wally paused, rethinking his actions. What was he doing, asking out some bearcat that was likely to tear him a new one should he do the wrong thing? But as he watched the woman pointedly ignore him, he recognized the spark in her that had attracted him in the first place. Though the redhead wasn't quite sure what that spark was, but it pulled him in like a magnet.

"I won't mind," he spoke up again, a small smile forming when the blonde turned back to him, surprise obvious on her face. "Really. I'd love to take you dancing," Wally reiterated.

Artemis glared at him for a moment, making him shift on his feet, before thrusting her hand out for a shake. "Seven'o'clock. You can pick me up at the Star Company Office on 3rd and main."

Wally grinned and took her hand, planning to kiss it. His face scrunched up in pain, however, when she clenched it with an iron grip and shook a few times before releasing him.

"Why not at your home?" he managed to ask after regaining his composure.

The blonde snatched up a few napkins and wrapped up the rest of her breakfast, leaving some change clattering on the bar as she hopped off the stool.

"So that you can stalk me? No thanks," she waved over her shoulder as she sauntered out of the diner. "See you later, Wall-man."

Wallace stared after her retreating form, even continued gazing at the door long after she'd taken her abrupt departure. He blinked several times, feeling as if he were waking from some sort of strange trance, and when he turn back to the booth he and Dick had been occupying, it was to see his friend stifling a laugh behind his fingers.

"Boy, she took a bunk awful fast!" Dick commented, shoveling a spoonful of grits into his mouth cheerily.

"Uh... what just happened?" Wally wondered dazedly. Had someone slipped some hooch into his morning beverage or something? "I didn't mean to... I mean, I wanted to..."

"Wanted to what, bo? What'd you say to that dame, anyway?"

Wally fidgeted with his tie for a long time, not even remotely enticed by the two large, steaming piles of hot cakes and syrup that had been placed on the table while he'd been conversing with Artemis. Finally, he sighed in defeat, picked up a fork, and half-heartedly began sawing into a portion of his breakfast.

"I... I asked her out on the town," he confessed, swallowing thickly. "To go dancing with me."

Rather than laughing himself into a stupor, Dick slid his cheaters down to the very end of his beezer, blue eyes imploring.

"You sure that's a good idea, Wally? Last time I checked, it never did a man good to date the reason for his drinking."

Wally sank down into his chair.

"I dunno, bo. That dame is just different than all of the rest," he said. Dick raised an eyebrow.

"Didn't you say that about Fiona? Hell, you said that about Fiona and Linda!" Dick exclaimed.

Wally rolled his eyes. "She's different different, Dick. Those two were just mindless flings. Artemis isn't a chippy. She's going to be more than they were. I can feel it. Did I tell you how she beat up Lo-"

Dick pulled off his cheaters and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, Wally, you told me. Logan told me. Conner told me. Jaime told me. Everyone at my damn club told me."

Wally signaled for Garth to bring a doggy bag. He strangely didn't feel like eating anymore; his appetite had walked right out the door with Artemis. As soon as his flapjacks were packaged neatly and ready to go, Wally shot up and practically ran home, wishing that he had talked Dick into taking the Speedster after all.

o.o.o.o

Vocab used:

Flivver- a Ford automobile

rag-a-muffin- a dirty or disheveled individual

bent- drunk

copper- cop, police man

smoked- drunk

go over the edge with the rams- to get far too drunk

Alderman- a man's pot belly

boozehound- drunkard

cheaters- sunglasses

joe, java- coffee

gooseberry lay- stealing clothes from a clothesline

upchuck- vomit, hurl, throw-up

drink out of the same bottle- to be close friends

bootleg- illegal liquor

the Speedster- Wally's affectionate nickname for his car

Duesenberg- 1922 Model A Duesenberg automobile (Wally's car model)

go climb up your thumb- go away, get lost

bucket- car

have the bees- to be rich

mazuma- money

crate- car

Drugstore cowboy- a well-dressed man who loiters in public areas trying to pick up women

fag- cigarette

Tell it to Sweeney- tell it to someone who'll believe it

struggle buggy- the backseat of a car

crash- kiss

break it up- stop that, quit the nonsense

water-proof- face that doesn't need any make-up

cake-eater- ladies man

take a bunk- leave, disappear

hooch- booze

beezer- nose

chippy- woman with easy virtue