A/N: Well then, apparently I've been getting my dates wrong. YJ is actually set on a 2010 calendar, but I've been basing all the events in ALF on a 2011 calendar (everything from days of the week to the moon phases)…SO LET'S JUST PRETEND IT TAKES ALL PLACE IN 2011 :D

Disclaimer: I do not own Young Justice. Or write for them T_T

A Lingering Feeling
VIII. Present
v. to bring, offer, or give, often in a formal or ceremonious way
n. a thing presented as a gift
adj. being, existing, or occurring at this time or now; current
adj. being here

Sarasota, FL
November 19, 17:24 EST

Wally's first thought when he saw her fall backwards from the warehouse catwalk was: No, not again! I'M NOT LOSING HER AGAIN!

Kaldur's yell to stop boomed through his head, but his entire focus was on catching Artemis before her limp body crashed onto the concrete. A thunder of bullets burst forth the instant her weight fell into his arms, but with a blink of black and dark green, he vanished to safety. He slammed his back against a metal container, shielded away from the barrage, and peered down anxiously at an unconscious Artemis. With a horrifying drop of his heart, felt something warm trickle from the back of her head through his stealth suit. Time suddenly froze and the world fell eerily silent.

No…

"Everyone fall back! Fall back to the Bioship!" Kaldur's firm mental-command boomed through Wally's head and dragged his mind from its free-fall.

He checked Artemis's pulse with a trembling hand, and almost cried out in relief when he felt the solid palpitations, each beat signifying she still had one more second with him.

"Wally, bring Artemis back to the Bioship, this instant!" For the first time since they formed the Team, Wally actually heard Kaldur's earthy voice shiver with panic.

And then someone—probably M'gann—briefly flashed back to that moment on the tundra nearly a month ago, and he was inundated with a deluge of terror that joined his own. They were all remembering when Artemis had "died", and there was nothing but frozen fear coursing through the telepathic link.

"I need someone to draw their fire!" Wally barked back.

Without losing a second, Superboy replied, "I'm on it."

Wally heard—and felt—Superboy leap and land on the other side of the warehouse. The bullets were momentarily redirected, and gave him the chance to rush out with Artemis clutched against his chest. His mind wandered on their own accord to the last time he had held her like this: they were in Bialya and suffering from amnesia—how long ago that seemed; how distant and alien. And here he was, saving her once again, but this time, there was no grateful smile on her lips, or scintillating speculation in her eyes. There was only the silent weight of her body in his arms.

The flight back to the Cave was the most harrowing hour of Wally's life. The back of Artemis's head had ceased its flow of blood, and her condition was at least momentarily stabilized for the moment as she lay unconscious on the Bioship's infirmary bed. But as he sat next to her and stared at her face, illuminated a ghostly purple from the Bioship's lights, his mind could not ignore the shifting demons that plagued him. No one said a word, and Wally was left with only the howling noise of his thoughts, with one in particular that continued to surface like a ravenous crocodile.

He had never apologized.

Of all the agonizing voices behind his shadowed eyes, it was how he had never apologized to Artemis over the whole Icicle-Junior-fiasco from a week ago that haunted him like an obstinate demon. It had been a week of grating silence between both of them—no text messages during school, no interactions at the Cave, not even eye-contact during their mission briefing—nothing but stinging avoidance.

In actuality, he had realized his faults just mere hours after their fight—logic finally won the battle against emotion, and he grasped just how unwisely he had overreacted towards her. All his flaws had clawed their way to the surface that evening—stubbornness, pride, and jealousy—to create a monster he never thought existed. He had acted as the villain that night.

And truthfully, the desire to apologize corroded him like H2SO4 the entire week. He found himself constantly raging battles with his willpower to pick up his phone and send her a simple text-message. He knew it was the right thing to do—it was what he wanted to do—but the dark hand of uncertainty always dragged him back, and his phone would be left staring at him with a gaping black screen.

Wally's eyes drifted from Artemis's face to her hand lying limply next to her still form. His own fingers uncurled, and with a strange magnetic pull, began to float towards her. His hand stopped as it hovered a centimeter away from her own, and in his mind, he enclosed it within his fingers and brought it to his chest, close to his heart.

But both their fingers remained cold and detached as he slowly retreated back into reality. All he could do was sit paralyzed with uncertainty, and pray to everything he had never believed in for Artemis to wake up—even for just a minute—at least so he could apologize.

Mount Justice
November 20, 2:03 AM

Artemis frowned in her sleep, and she was suddenly pulled back into consciousness with a flare of pain. She groaned softly and curled her fists around her sheets, gritting her teeth and forcing herself to breathe deeply to divert her concentration away from the throbbing in her head. She tried to remember the murky details of what had transpired, but it was like cupping water in her trembling hands.

She had been on a mission with the team in Florida…she was standing sentry on the catwalks above the warehouse…and then she had felt a sharp lightning of agony that blinded her vision, the slipping of gravity and air, and finally the dark abyss of emptiness.

She turned her head to the side and felt the soft fabric of her pillow cushion her cheek. She groaned again and silently berated herself. If she was in her bed, she could only conclude that her lapse into unconsciousness had completely jeopardized the mission.

She had made a promise to herself two years ago that weakness would never manifest itself in her actions or thoughts, especially during a fight. Her fists and heart would remain iron-wrought. Helpless, frail, feeble—these were words she despised; these were words she strived to never embody.

But tonight, she had broken that promise and failed, and failure was like caustic venom to her soul. The blackness behind her eyelids caved into claustrophobic thoughts, and she furiously snapped them open.

She gradually took in the warm honey light of her bedside lamp, the dark shadows beyond its soft halo, and the embrace of stillness over everything. She reached a hand to the back of her head and fingered the thick gauze of a bandage. She was submerged with biting disappointment once more, and her fingers twitched on their own and pressed down harder than she anticipated, sending another jab of pain through her head. She hissed a feral curse in her mind and scrunched up until she managed to sit upright. She gingerly leaned against the headboard and swore under her breath again as her eyes landed at the foot of her bed.

There, snoozing on the lounge sofa, softly glowing in the light like some self-proclaimed angel from the foul fountain of flirts, was none other than Wally.

Perfect, she thought sarcastically. Wally snoring in her room was definitely the cherry on top of a terrible week.

She pulled the covers to her shoulders (someone—M'gann no doubt—had changed her out of her combat suit and into pajamas), and settled into a more comfortable position. Her eyes remained on Wally, and regarded his peaceful sleeping visage with calm annoyance.

She didn't really care why he was sleeping there—or why he was in her room at all. All she wanted was for him to wake up and go away. She had in mind to catapult the spare pillow on her bed into his stupid face, but her limbs remained motionless.

The rage she had felt after their argument last weekend rivaled the fury that had boiled in her heart when she learned of her mother's sacrifice and her father's deception. Her anger had evolved into a wildfire—untamable and blind; its only goal: to unleash, and to consume. That inferno led her to the streets of Gotham that night of their argument, and she blazed through every alleyway and abandoned park, striking out at each criminal with raw lashes of fire. When she ran out of arrows, she used her crossbow. When her crossbow cracked in half, she used her fists. When her fists began to shred and bleed, she relished in the pain and continued her onslaught. Only when the first rays of morning fell upon her hands did the flames vanish into smoke, and she staggered into her old apartment and collapsed onto her bed.

She concluded that she absolutely hated Wally. She hated how pretentious he was, and how he let his smugness foil every situation. She hated how stubborn he was, and his inability to apologize for a fight that was clearly his spawn. She hated how he could always riposte every word she spat at him. She hated how he could make her laugh when smiling wasn't even an option. She hated how they had become friends in the short course of a few months.

Above all else, she hated how much she had actually missed him this past week, and how much his silent treatment had…hurt.

Upon her alarming epiphany, she mentally balked and attempted to back-track. She only "missed" him because he had established such a standard position in her life—texting her daily, seeing each other regularly, bantering and laughing hourly—and of course when such a normal occurrence was disturbed, any perfectly sane person would feel some form of emptiness. She would be feeling the same range of emotions even if Wally's place was exchanged with Robin, or M'gann, or… anyone on the team.

But a faint unrecognizable voice in her head begged to differ. Against all logical reason, she momentarily agreed, and in that spark of frustration she grabbed the pillow next to her and hurled it at Wally.

The pillow came into contact with his face with a satisfactory thump, and he nearly staggered backwards from the inelegant wake-up call. His eyes popped open and he grunted something unintelligible but definitely belonging to the sailor-world. He was temporarily dazed as he stared at the pillow, but his eyes suddenly darted to meet Artemis's and he stiffened. A wide grin erupted on his face, and Artemis's heart fleetingly hiccupped.

"So, Sleeping Beauty has finally awoken." His voice sounded hoarse, like the effect of scraping two pieces of bark together, but there could be no greater contrast to his peridot eyes that remained vivid.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded, ignoring the ridiculous addition to her apparently endless list of nicknames.

"Basically to make sure you you're still alive." He shrugged and leaned back into the sofa. "Not that I care, of course."

"Yeah," she agreed sarcastically, "you were doing such an excellent job while snoring away."

"Hey, not my fault it took you—" he paused and glanced at his watch, "nearly nine hours to snap out of your stupid coma."

His mentioning of her previous state brought a fresh throb of pain to her head. She gritted her teeth to prevent a groan from escaping. If she really had been out for nine hours—and her head churned through muddy fog as she tried to mentally calculate the current time—it was around two in the morning now. She stared at him, and noticed for the first time the ashen hue on his cheeks, and the haggard shadows under his eyes. His hair was more unkempt than usual, and he was wearing a lazy and wrinkled grey t-shirt that had no doubt been dug from an abandoned drawer in his room.

"What happened?" she asked, as she winced slightly. "I feel like I got hit by a truck…"

"Wouldn't that be the day!" Wally jested, but his eyes dulled. "Actually," he continued somberly, "a crowbar, so pretty close I guess."

"A lame crowbar took me out?" Frustration was evident all over her face like jagged rocks jutting from a virgin snow-covered field. Her shoulders sagged, and Wally would see her jaw tighten even in the low light.

"It was a sharp crow-bar, wielded by a creep that could really pack a punch," he added, as if in morbid reassurance. His voice then dropped into a low murmur. "We were actually afraid you were…um, not going…to make it." He hoarsely breathed the last phrase like it was poison on his tongue, or something too brittle to let out into callous reality.

They had all thought the head trauma Artemis had suffered was fatal—she would either be in a coma for a seemingly endless amount of days or… Wally had refused to even begin fathoming the other option. When the Bioship landed at Mount Justice after agonizing eternity, he had rushed her into the medical lab, and with the help of Batman and his uncle, they put Artemis through a CT and MRI scan. Thankfully, her bleeding was merely superficial and through only a gash on her skin, and not as a result of deeper damage; nor was there any sign of intracerebral hemoragging.

Her coma was predicted to be short-lived. However, Batman requested constant surveillance of her state for safety measures. Without any hesitation, Wally volunteered to watch over her for the night, and a silently perceptive Batman gave him permission.

"I guess I have a thick skull," Artemis joked in a weak voice, her lips pursing into an aborted attempt at a smile.

"You know what was weird though?" Wally continued as he distantly recalled the evening. "Sportsmaster seemed really ticked after that goon of his took you out. He like, flipped his shit at the guy. It was…weird."

"Sportsmaster can go to hell," she returned in a low growl, averting her gaze.

Suddenly a hush entered the room, and the two mutually realized they had just shared their first conversation since…that fight. They both possessed the smoldering desire to apologize and wish for the world to right itself again, but each remained chained to their own unrelenting doubts. Artemis peered down and busied her fingers with smoothing out the wrinkles in her comforter. Wally reached his hand to the back of his neck and looked in every direction except the archer's, resisting the urge to visually swallow the scene of her pale skin, glowing eyes, and radiant golden hair falling loosely around her shoulders—a scene that proved she was alive.

The zeta radiation proves she's alive! She's—!

Suddenly Wally leaped off the sofa and rushed out of the room. When Artemis looked up at his abrupt departure, she found him already standing next to her bed, teetering suddenly from the swift loss in momentum. He was holding a large gift-bag, which he tentatively placed onto her lap.

She looked from the bag to Wally, her expression overflowing with bewilderment.

"Please tell me this isn't to celebrate how I completely ruined our mission by passing out," she commented, using her unamusement as a mask for her curiosity.

"S'your birthday present," muttered Wally, his words tumbling out of his mouth like spilled gumballs.

Artemis could have laughed, if her other emotions weren't taking precedence in her mind. Due to her focus on her misery this past week, she had completely forgotten that today was indeed her birthday. However, in all honesty, she never gave much thought to her birthdays before. Like holidays, they would always pass like any other day. What did age matter to someone who always felt older than her years?

"You really didn't have to get me anything…"

"Well, I did, so deal with it," Wally responded lightheartedly.

His attempt at a joke prodded Artemis to finally sigh and peer into the bag. She hesitantly reached in, and let her fingers hit the edge of what felt like a book. She slowly pulled it out, and a tidal wave of emotion crashed into her.

It was a sketchbook. Wally had gotten her a sketchbook; he had remembered.

"Wow, Wally, uh…" she mumbled, nearly speechless.

Wally interrupted her. "There's um, more," he quickly said.

She hooked a finger over the edge of the bag and tilted it towards her, and felt an object inside shift. Reaching inside, she lifted out a slender wooden box, carved from deep mahogany, and simple in design. She carefully opened the lid, and discovered a small collection of drawing pencils, along with a sharpener and eraser.

As Artemis looked down at the sketchbook and box of pencils, all her resentment towards Wally dissipated. This was the kindest thing anyone had ever gotten for her in the longest time. Her fingers clutched the box tightly to prevent her overpowering emotions from cascading out. After such a tormenting week, combined with the physical pain of her aching head and this sudden outpouring of unfamiliar friendliness, it took all her willpower not to lunge at Wally and burrow into his arms again.

"I—I don't know what to say," she finally whispered, hating how her voice cracked at these times of vulnerability. She also hated that she had times of vulnerability.

"You can say you forgive me—"

Artemis jerked her head up and her eyes locked onto his. He was rocking on the balls of his feet and had fretfully tucked both hands into his back pockets. He currently possessed the uncanny resemblance of a lonely child seeking atonement.

"—because I'm also here to apologize for…you know…" he paused, and gestured distantly with his hand, looking away. "I'm sorry for overreacting, and stuff…"

In her imagination, Artemis shoved the sketchbook and box of pencils away and grabbed Wally into a hug, and breathed her own apology into his chest while his arms tightly embraced her in understanding. But she knew her mind was being absurd, and such a thought was likely the result of probable brain damage. So instead, she bit her lower lip and inhaled slowly until the air filled every alcove of her chest.

"It was also my fault," she said as she exhaled, "so I'm sorry too." She turned away, and traced a finger down the smooth edge of the box in her hands. "I just wasn't used to—" she paused and frowned, searching for the proper word, "anyone being so… protective of me, I guess. If that's even the word!" she added nervously, the words flying out before she could stop herself. "I mean, if that's what you were actually doing. N-not that I'm assuming! Or…anything…"

She didn't trust herself to look at Wally and continued to fiddle with the pencil box, rubbing her fingertips over the smooth corners and admiring the reflection of her lamp on its polished surface.

"Oh, well, I've never had—" Wally stopped, and Artemis looked at him. The curiosity reflecting in her eyes urged him to continue, but instead he shook his head. "Nevermind. So, um, I guess we're cool then?" He smiled anxiously at her.

"Well, I know I'm cool," she quipped. "You're still kind of a dork."

Wally's smile broadened, and he sat down at the foot of her bed. He leaned back into her comforter until his head was in his arms and he stared at her in the same wondering manner he used when gazing at the stars. Artemis rolled her eyes, but her mouth twitched gradually into a smirk.

"I can't believe I'm actually saying this," Wally began, his face glowing, "but I'm glad you're one-hundred percent back." And he was telling the truth.

"Not one-hundred percent, because I think my head might just cave-in if I punch you, which is what I really want to do right now."

Wally wrinkled his nose at her, and started to say something, but Artemis abruptly blurted out, "Please don't tell the rest of the Team."

He wasn't sure what shocked him more—her words, the tone they were laced with, or her pleading eyes, so unfamiliar without their usual glint. It triggered something inside of him, something primal that had never existed before, and suddenly he concluded he never wanted to see that look ever again.

"There's nothing to tell," he reassured her gently, a rare tone he only utilized with her—of all people, he mused. "You chose to leave him and that past behind you."

She closed her eyes. She despised to admit it, but Wally's philosophy was sound. Cameron—and everything that had happened between them—was behind her now, and it wasn't wise to stare constantly behind your shoulder because sooner or later you will plummet down a flight of stairs.

"Thank you…" she whispered as she opened her eyes to find him staring eagerly at her.

"And plus," his tone lightened, "now I have information to blackmail you with!"

The edges of Artemis's lips curled, and she let out a curt laugh.

"Not unless I tell everyone about your choice in underwear first," she retaliated, and Wally's eyes widened in challenge. "Are you sure you don't want me to ask Robin to have Bats autograph them for you?"

He opened and closed his mouth, and settled for crossing his arms in front of his chest and shaking his head. "I'm going to let you win this time only because you have a boo-boo."

She scoffed, and then pushed her covers forward and began to scoot her legs over the edge of the bed. This alarmed Wally, and he jerked upright. His hands instinctively darted out and almost grabbed her shoulders. She frowned quizzically at him and he paused, fingertips hovering inches away like an exclamation turned into a question mark.

"What are you doing?" he insisted, not even bothering to veil his frenetic tone.

Artemis glared at him, and when her telepathic drilling didn't slap him with an epiphany, she sighed and continued her careful exit off the bed.

"I've been comatose for nine hours, Wall of Stupid. Where do you think I'm going?" She then jutted her chin at the bathroom door, and the aforementioned Wall of Stupid formed his mouth into a silent "oh" and averted his eyes as he hesitantly dropped his arms.

"Uh, you want some water, or anything?" he offered as a diversion.

"Um, sure," she responded over her shoulder as she opened the bathroom door, "that would be great. Thanks."

Wally left with a quivering of air molecules, and he zipped into the kitchen. He grabbed a glass from the cupboard and as it slowly filled with trickling water from the fridge dispenser, he released the reins on his thoughts, and they burst forth and galloped freely with the wild wind. They tossed their manes in gaiety, and pounded their hooves upon the solid earth.

For once in his life, he didn't care if the stars governing his birth-sign brought forth impulsive actions—saving Artemis, staying with her all night, and giving her the birthday present he had bought the morning after their fight—it was all worth it, and no regrets haunted him.

He removed the full glass from the dispenser, and as he gazed upon the reflection of the warm kitchen lights, another spontaneous idea sprang into his mind, and it joined his other sprinting thoughts in his mind's prairie.

Artemis had already settled back into her cozy cocoon of comforters when he returned. He handed her the water and she eagerly received it in both hands, practically inhaling its contents until her thirst was finally satiated.

She lowered the glass and noticed Wally was staring at her with an expectant expression, and a bubble of impatience emerged in her throat and swam upstream to her tongue. "What?"

"I was actually wondering if you'd like to spend Thanksgiving with me," Wally blurted out. "And my family. At our house. Just for dinner, I mean."

Artemis never prided herself in having an immensely cultivated English vocabulary, but she decided "flabbergasted" would be the appropriate term for her current frying-pan-in-the-face reaction.

"What?" she choked out. "Why? I mean, um, doesn't your family want to be… you know…alone, and, uh, stuff?" Articulacy in speech was always punted out the door when she became flustered.

"Well I figured… everyone has somewhere to go, you know? Even Superboy is going back to Mars with M'gann and J'onn, and well, you can't spend Thanksgiving alone."

"But I won't be alone," she feebly argued. "Wolf will be here, and Captain Marvel—or whoever our 'den-mother' is at the time."

"You're going to make Captain Marvel miss Thanksgiving so he can spend it babysitting you?"

"Uh, I guess you have a point…but I've never met your family and—"

"It'll be fun! My uncle will be there! You know him!"

"Uh, not really but—"

However, once again, Wally cut through her meek protests like a knife of logic through the butter of lame excuses.

"Arty, you can't spend Thanksgiving alone. I know you don't really care much about holidays, but that's only because you've never had a proper Thanksgiving dinner before. There's going to be a giant stuffed turkey, and mashed potatoes and gravy, and honey-roasted ham, and all sorts of pies…" His eyes glazed over as he almost lost himself in his food fantasy, but then they refocused on her. "Come on. You at least owe me a 'yes' after I saved your sorry butt."

"You saved…?" Her voice trailed off and mingled with her questioning eyes.

"Caught you after you blacked-out and fell off the catwalk." He waved his hand and shrugged a shoulder idly. "No big deal."

"You always have to be the hero, don't you?" She teased, not bothering to disguise her affectionate smile.

"I couldn't just leave you to die," he justified casually, "not when I still have points to redeem."

"Spoken like a true gentleman," she snorted.

"So come on, let me show you how Thanksgiving is really done."

Artemis almost half expected her room to morph into a desert balcony, with Wally floating on a vibrant magic carpet, his hand outstretched and asking for permission to grant her a whole new world. She looked at him with hesitant intrigue and finally metaphorically took his hand.

"Fine," she exhaled slowly. "I guess it would be…fun, or—"

"Great!" Wally interrupted in an abnormally loud voice. "I'll come get you Thursday evening at five then!" He spun around and headed for the door, his courage at inviting Artemis over to his house—his house! With his parents!—slithering away the longer he stared into her eyes.

"Hey Wally?"

He stopped in mid-stride and turned around to see Artemis cock her head and grin.

"Three points for you."

"What, so one for your present," he counted down on with his fingers, "another for saving your hide, and the third one for being amazing?" He flashed a smile.

"On my birthday it's earn-two-points-get-one-free," Artemis replied amusingly.

He laughed and continued to walk backwards out of the room, switching to a poor rendition of the moonwalk as he slid into the hallway. He was sure he heard Artemis let out a low chuckle as he closed the door, and he was also sure it was because she was laughing at him and not with him, but that was okay, because at that present moment, all was right in the world.

A/N:

Lolololol what are good endings X_x

"The zeta radiation proves she's alive! She's-!" – Quote from "Failsafe"

I know that you have to technically shave off someone's head in order to properly apply a bandage, but there was no way I would touch Artemis's beautiful golden locks. Also, I'm not going to go into the technical details of head trauma or comas, and whether or not Artemis's state of being was realistic or not. Let's just say I just don't want to deal with IV's and catheters, haha. Just enjoy the story!