AN: One last long chapter up before the holidays. Enjoy!

Picks from the playlist: The Last Time by Taylor Swift, This is War by Ingrid Michaelson, and The Ice is Getting Thinner by Death Cab for Cutie.

This chapter contains mild-sexuality.

She doesn't know how long they sit there exactly; despite the fact that she can feel the cool metal of Wally's watch as it presses against her through her shirt she doesn't ask him the time, doesn't do much anything really that would warrant them moving.

She wants to hit pause, wants to freeze time still for just a few hours and live in this moment just a little longer.

For some reason she can feel herself memorizing how he feels against her, can feel the same part of her mind that had mapped his freckled cheeks in the closet so long ago begin to buzz against the surface of her skin. It's the same sensation now, the carefulness in which she measures the soft yellow light reflecting along the ocean water, the way the wind ruffles her hair and blows the storm out and away from the harbor; how Wally's chest is so warm against hers, her chin is pressed into the joint of his shoulder and neck, the way his belt buckle is catching on the fold of fabric that buttons her jeans as if threatening to undo them. She wonders if this moment, if the way Wally's arms are encasing her and the way he keeps pressing untraceable patterns into her spine with his palms, if all these little things will always linger with her, unforgotten and ready to be called up whenever she needs them.

Wally wants them to make it.

She doesn't know what he meant by saying it and isn't sure that she wants to ask, but she knows Wally well enough by now to have a small inkling... Wally's a planner. He's knows what he wants and what the future holds for him with a reasonable amount of confidence, knows where he's going and how to get there... It's a little frightening to her, to think that in his rush to follow the path he's carved for himself he's been thinking of dragging her along behind him, as if she doesn't have anything better to do than follow...

Well, she doesn't.

She's never planned a future, never been confident enough to place a bet on herself and her own abilities in the same way Wally is; her life thus far has been a series of steps, paces towards ensuring her survival... She's not like him, she doesn't plan what age would be ideal for officially joining the Justice League, doesn't plan which mantle she'll adopt when she finally outgrows the whole sidekick shtick (she's seen Wally's list; it's awful, the idea of him even sitting around to jot a few ideas on a sheet of loose leaf, and yet none of that compares to the horribleness of the speed-related puns that are scribbled there.) All her planning has revolved around making sure there's enough food in the fridge and that bills go paid from one month to the next... She's a survivor by nature, nothing else.

She's pulled out of her own overthinking when Wally's watch catches in the length of her hair, wincing and pulling back to glare at him as he extracts the platinum colored strands from around the wrist strap. "Sorry babe—" He starts, glancing at the time. "Shit. I'm late." He swears almost inaudibly, glancing up at her guiltily for a moment before shrugging, winding his arms around her waist again. "... Doesn't matter, I guess. How about we play a little hooky, Beautiful?"

She wants so badly to say yes and very nearly does, biting the inside of her cheek before speaking. "Don't you have a calculus test this morning?"

There's a comical moment in which Wally's hopeful grin freezes and his shoulders slump forward, his forehead pressing against her collar bone and breath warming the tops of her breasts as he groans. "Always have to be right, don't you?" He hums, jerking his head up so quickly that he nearly catches her about the chin. "You want me to run you to school?"

"I'm not the one with a test first thing." She reminds him, her knees aching when she unwinds herself from around him, extending a hand to help him up. "Besides, I am way too tired to—"

Wally's mouth finds hers before she's even finished speaking; his lips are warm and wet, taking her by such surprise that she doesn't even have time to fully shut her eyes before the sensation is gone, leaving behind only a gust of air and disturbed grains of sand.

"The old kiss and run." He had sneered at her the first time he did it, coming back to gloat despite being late for dinner. "Gets the babes every time."

It still gets to her the same way it did then, her tongue reaching out to trace the warmth he's left there of its own accord.

His kisses, his smell, his freckles— they're all just pieces of Wally that linger, all part of a whole being that's fighting against her, breaking through her walls and unlocking her internal gates, trying to make a home inside her. Even after a month together she still wonders if it's stupid, allowing this boy in, allowing him to hold the shattered pieces of her and let him try his hand with the glue she needs to hold herself together. And maybe it's also dumb, letting herself work up hope, letting herself memorize small parts of him to save for later...

Jade would say she was being naïve.

The last of the wind blowing the storm out of the harbor splashes against her, as if making her more resolute in her exhaustion; licking her lips one more time she turns on her heel, wondering if it's also stupid to try to talk to Roy again.

It takes her far too long to find the room she had occupied in the early hours of that morning; for nearly twenty minutes she wanders around identical hallways, unsuccessfully trying to remember the path she had sprinted down in her desperation to find Wally.

Finally she spots Kaldur emerging from one of the rooms, carefully closing the door behind him and glancing up when he hears her footsteps pounding against the tile, brows raising at her haggard appearance. "Artemis." He greets when she comes to a stop beside him. "Do you not have school today?"

"I'm going." She lies, ignoring the knowing way he crosses his arms over his chest, one brow raising skeptically. "I just— Is Roy still here?"

Kaldur hesitates. "... Yes. Batman and Green Arrow will be arriving shortly, however."

He doesn't say anything further, but when she glances at his face she thinks she sees something hidden there; Roy's in trouble, a lot of it. "Could I see him? Alone?" She asks, one hand clapping her forehead and pressing her limp hair off her face. "Please, Kal?"

She half expects him to tell her no, that there simply isn't enough time for her to indulge whatever it is that she wants to indulge in before members of the League arrive; to her surprise Kaldur bites his lip but still moves to step out of the way, and she suspects that whatever guilt he has over his unkindness in the past few weeks is going to be playing to her advantage for a while. "I cannot promise more than five minutes. Go."

Roy looks up when she enters the room, his head lifting from his palms and good eye blinking at her a little wearily when she clicks the door shut behind her. There's a moment where they simply look at each other, a half-second when the full knowledge of his happenings with her sister and the nature of their relationship seems to surge angrily through her veins, and before she even manages to take a step towards him she actually has to remind herself that murdering a teammate is probably frowned upon.

The moment breaks when Roy drops her gaze, one hand reaching out to fiddle with the empty glass still sitting on the table. "... You here to give me a refill, sweetheart?"

She feels her eyes narrow at the pet name, mouth pulling into a snarl. "No." She says lowly.

"That's a shame." Roy says almost conversationally, smirking at the stiff way she crosses the room. "... I don't think I've ever been so hungover in my life."

She pulls out the chair Wally had occupied that morning, taking care to sit straight and rigid in the seat. "That's your own fault, Red."

"Suppose so." Roy shrugs, keeping his gaze fixed on her face as she avoids his eye, trying to figure out what she wants to ask him and aware that her precious few minutes alone with him are rapidly dwindling. "Your hair is down." She blinks at him, wondering for a second what he means by that comment; then all at once she's jumping slightly when she feels a hand on her shoulder, his fingers rustling the tresses and hardly bothered by the furious look she dons as she jerks out of his reach.

Roy places his hand back on the table, grinning at her reaction. "... Wally couldn't shut up about your hair a couple months ago." He says wryly, as if this is of some interest to her (which she supposes it normally would be— she always has a soft spot for old stories like this— if she wasn't already mentally counting down the seconds they have left together.) "Used to really piss him off, kept babbling at me about the improbability of your genetic alleles. Guess he's got a point though... You're half Vietnamese, right? You should have the same coloring as Cheshire." He says her sister's mantle very deliberately and then pauses, as if waiting for her to interject. When she doesn't he sighs, looking annoyed. "Come on, kid. We both know the clock is running here, if you have any questions you better ask them now—"

This time she's ready for him when he tries to grasp her shoulder again, her hand grabbing the tendons of his wrist as he reaches for her and twisting, not stopping until she's slammed his knuckles against the table and smirking at the way he groans as she grinds his bones against the surface. "Let's kill the whole older brother act, Red." She snarls, pausing long enough for him to grab his hand back and deciding there's no longer a need to try to be tactful, not when so much of her precious time has already been wasted. "Unless it's not just an act?"

Roy snorts, rubbing his knuckles and shaking his head. "Relax, sweetheart." He smirks when she wrinkles her nose at him. "Just trying to be nice."

"So you're just sleeping with Jade, then?" She presses on, hating the way the words sound coming out of her mouth.

"I think you're forgetting the part where I mentioned being coerced—"

"Please." She cuts him off, leaning back in her chair and half glancing at the door, expecting to be interrupted. "... You were living with her, Roy. I know Jade, I shared a room with her growing up. She likes her space. She may have been using you, but we both know living together, sleeping beside each other... That wasn't her idea." Her head turns back towards him, feeling slightly numb when she realizes Roy's cheeks are reddened, his eyes glaring at the glass on the table. "So what... Are you in love with her, or something?"

To her surprise Roy is bold enough to glance up at her defiantly, mimicking her posture and leaning back in his chair. "... Depends. You in love with Wally?"

She hates that she's not expecting the question, hates that her cheeks turn a disgusting crimson. "What does that have to do with anything?"

"I'm not going to pretend I don't know what's going on here— you're trying to ask me what my intentions are with your sister." He holds up a hand to silence her when she opens her mouth indignantly, pressing onward. "I know, kid, I've been on the receiving end of this kind of conversation plenty of times. But if you're going to be asking those kinds of questions you better have your own answers ready, Artemis." Suddenly the tables have turned and he's the one interrogating her, the index finger of his right hand pointing at her accusingly at he glares, even his bad eye managing to narrow further despite the swelling. "Wally West has been following me around like a little brother for years now. I have a right to know just as much as you do if the person sleeping with him even gives a shit about him."

She blushes red again, nose wrinkling. "We aren't sleeping together, asshole."

"Even better." Roy shrugs, still glaring at her. "Answer the damn question."

Roy holds her gaze as her mind scrambles for an answer, her teeth audibly grinding without her making any effort to stop them. She doesn't know why she's hesitating, not when it would be so much more satisfying to snarl the words, Yes, I do in his face... And yet a larger part of her is telling her to stay silent, her tongue actually curling against the backs of her teeth to keep her from saying anything. She doesn't know why but she doesn't lie, not to Roy, an old habit rearing its head and warning her that she doesn't want to give him the satisfaction in catching her at anything, ever; somehow, looking him in the eye and telling him she loves the boy who is like his brother would feel like doing so.

It's not that she doesn't love Wally. She loves... Parts of him. She loves the way he looks when he first wakes up in the mornings, how his hair is mused and his eyes are barely open, how he stumbles into the kitchen and he slings a clumsy arm around her shoulders as if the only thing in the world that makes sense in that moment is to touch her. She loves his laugh, loves the wrinkles that appear above his brows and the way that first rush of air seems to burst from his lips, loves how young and free and deliriously happy he sounds and how he fills up empty parts of her with it. She loves his freckles and how they connect to form tiny galaxies of past summers on the crook of his elbow; she loves his eyes and how they remind her of unripe apples hanging off branches; she loves the blisters on the back of his heel from ill-fitting running shoes, loves the salty taste that clings to his lips after he eats popcorn, loves the red hairs she finds clinging to the fabric of her sweater after they spend the day together, she loves how he makes her smile and how he's not afraid of her the way she is of him—

But she's not in love with Wally. She's still on the surface, still dipping her toes, watching the way the ocean moves the tide of the water... She's not submerged, not yet. All these affections, all these tiny moments of love— they don't feel like what she's read about in books, don't feel as if they're unconditional. It doesn't feel all-consuming, doesn't feel like she's being pulled under, doesn't feel any bit like that I'll-die-without-you sensation that she's only felt once, only felt in the seconds before her whole world went black, when she was half drained of blood and thought Wally was running someplace where she couldn't call him back.

She drops Roy's gaze and decides to address his glass instead. "... I don't know." She says honestly. They both hear footsteps in the hallway and unceremoniously she gets to her feet, not looking at him.

She's just got her hand on the door knob when she hears Roy sigh, the sound of the glass spinning on the table breaking the silence. "Yeah. I don't know either."

Nobody on the Team really seems to be aware of her recent contact with her sister and she doesn't go out of her way to mention it; a larger part of her wonders if its something to alert them to, something they would want to hear about. But perhaps it's just another thing that's simply past the point of being interesting—it's no secret, not now at least, that her relationship with her family is the rocky is best; Jade's appearance just means another criminal for them to fight, another body to slam their fists into... She wonders if one day the Cheshire Cat will be just another thing they don't talk about but all silently deal with, like the aftermath of the exercise or the taught lines that appear around Zatanna's eyes whenever they have a brush with Doctor Fate.

Even Kaldur, one of the few people privy to the full story, doesn't waste his breath asking her if she wants to talk about it— although she supposes he has his hands full. On the thirty-first of March it is announced that Red Arrow has been officially demoted to the Team and they all find themselves at the mercy of Roy's sour temper. Despite M'gann's cleansing she discovers that Red's ambition and pride are inherently genetic; it's also obvious that he considers the demotion from the League a slap in the face. It's probably the most awkward she's felt in her whole life, standing uniform clad with the rest of the Team and trying not to make eye contact with each other as Red tries to argue his point with Batman and Kaldur.

She supposes she doesn't help things much when she sarcastically reminds the room at large that the Team still needs a real archer, but it's worth whatever uncomfortableness she inspires when Roy whirls around on his heel, teeth grinding together and cheeks positively crimson from yelling. "Shut. Up. Artemis."

She doesn't tell Wally about her private conversation with Red, doesn't tell him how protective he had sounded when he had asked her if she loved him. It's not that she's going out of her way to lie to Wally, and in many ways it isn't really lying at all; it just doesn't seem like a good idea to steer the conversation in the whole "love" direction, to tell him that she's discussed it with a stranger before she even did with him.

She thinks a lot about the answer she gave Red, that defeated and pathetic sounding "I don't know." She wonders if she really was being honest, or if it was just easier to copout and say that than actually take the time to arrive at a logical conclusion.

She thinks herself in circles over it night after night; even now as they sit beside each other on the couch, her legs draped over Wally's and both their hands rummaging in the bottom of an almost empty popcorn bowl, she still catches herself staring blankly at the screen of the television. Maybe it's a mark of how bent out of shape she is over the whole thing that she actually jumps when he nudges her, her mouth suddenly not working and unable to give a proper answer when he asks, "What's up, Babe?"

She catches Wally's gaze as she pulls herself out of her own thoughts again a few minutes later, now hopelessly lost with what is happening on screen. His back is pressed so far back into the couch that he's less sitting and more squishing himself into the cushions. "What?" She asks, annoyed when he doesn't look away.

Wally hesitates, one hand probing once around the bowl to scoop up what's left of the popcorn—he never leaves her anything, she swears—before popping it into his mouth. "I don't know." He pauses, chewing and swallowing loudly. "You sure you're okay?"

She scowls, eyes falling to his watch as it clangs around the empty bowl, still searching for more popcorn among the un-popped kernels. "I'm fine."

"That. That right there, that's what I'm talking about." He tells her, extracting a buttery hand and licking his fingers in an almost accusatory manner. "That face. You haven't made that annoyed face at me in forever."

In response she scowls deeper, catching herself and forcing her expression to smoothen. "Yeah, because you haven't been this annoying in—"

"Was it the whole thing with Red?" He asks, cutting her off. She nearly bites her tongue (because really, after all her much deeper and darker issues this one seems so pathetic and frivolous— how do you even tell a boy you can't decide if you love him? Is that even a thing you can tell a boy without it being weird?) avoiding answering to glare at his sock clad feet resting on the coffee table.

When she doesn't say anything he extracts an index finger from his mouth with a loud pop. "That thing that you said the other day—"

("... You are a real archer." He had said blushingly, heel extending and turning his chair back to face her better. It was as if she was being x-rayed with the intensity of his apple eyes on hers; for the first time in a long time she had felt utterly naked in her uniform, as if he was scrutinizing and admiring every one of her bumps and scars, tongue reaching out to wet his lips. "And you don't have anything to prove. Not to me, okay?"

Stupidly her knees had knocked together, her chin dropping to survey him through the holes of her mask, still worn as if to preserve some of her pride around him. "...Okay." She had said evenly, wanting to say so much more, wanting to put the Bioship on auto-pilot and launch herself across the room and kiss the moisture his tongue had left on his mouth...)

"—I know, Wally." She cuts him off, finishing his sentence for him and lying back, neck tilting against the arm of the couch to glare at the ceiling. "I was kidding."

"Oh. Good." He nods, the hand that's not still habitually scrounging around the popcorn bowl resting on her knee. "Because... You know."

She gets the impression that Wally's still treading carefully around her, trying to make up for the months of nastiness they both threw at each other; she ignores the intensity of his gaze as he watches her crack her neck, the end of her pony tail fidgeting on the edge of the couch's leather and finally falling, trailing down like Rapunzel's mane and pooling on the floor. Just when she's opened her mouth to change the subject she hears the sound of the popcorn bowl being disregard and dropped to the floor; in a second Wally's leaning over her, weight braced on an elbow.

His lips are slick with butter when he kisses her, salty yet unexpectedly sweet, so much so that she actually hears the rush of anxious breath that fires out of her nose, pressing against his cheek as she rises to meet him. It's instantly sweltering pressed between him and the leather, trying to adjust her position so there's room enough for them to lie side by side, trying not to break the kiss as the lines of Wally's muscles fit against hers and the bulk of his weight nearly pushes her from the couch as he wedges between her and the cushions; it's clumsy and imperfect but the perfect thing for pulling her from her own mind, providing a welcome distraction—

The hand on her knee squeezes once, enough for her to jerk away from his tickling; there's a half second where Wally's lips pull into a smile beneath hers before his palm starts moving. It's slow, at first: the deliberate dragging of his thumb, the way his fingers press into the lines of her thigh and up to the jutting of her hips and— perhaps feeling braver now than he ever has before, Wally reaches round to cup her rear, squeezing tenderly but hard enough to send a fresh wave of heat between her thighs.

She gets as far as groaning and lacing her hands through his hair, but before anything more exciting than Wally hitching her leg up and over his hip can happen she hears the kitchen cabinets slam shut; both of them break apart abruptly with a loud suckling noise, lips swollen and hearts pounding and grimacing as Robin's tell-tale laugh ripples in the air between them. "Get a room!"

She officially wants to die.

Wally's naturally the quickest between the two of them to recover, propping himself up on one hand and glaring over the back of the couch, ears so red they're practically glowing. "Dude, it's called a living room—" He snarls out, a few seconds of glancing around and a frustrated sigh signaling that the Boy Wonder has vacated the kitchen.

Whatever moment that was there is broken now, leaving the two of them embarrassed and not immune to the close quarters of their position on the couch; she winces as the sound of the squeaking leather as Wally tries to settle in the tiny space beside her and she actually buries her face in her hands as if to avoid looking him in the eye. "God…" She groans, rubbing her hands furiously over her face, as if hoping to scrub the embarrassing red from her cheeks; when she gets the courage to look at Wally he's still looking half dazed, ears glowing in the light of the television.

She hears him swear under his breath before glancing at her with a sheepish smile, looking uncomfortable. "Sorry." He says, both of them wincing again when the leather squeaks. "… Probably could have picked a better place for that move."

For some reason she lets out a breathless chuckle, body still buzzing from the lingering effect of his touch a few minutes ago, a mess of endorphins and hormones. "I think I can agree with that one, Wallman." She laughs quietly, sitting up under the guise of fixing her pony tail, thankful for the space it gives her to cool her body down.

She can feel Wally's eyes on her back as she pulls her hair down, can hear the way he shifts to occupy her previous spot of leaning against the arm of the couch so as to better see her; it stuns her even now that she can tell exactly what he's doing, can sense the way he's trying to commit the methodical movements it takes to pull her hair back to memory, another tidbit of information about her that he's saving for some reason. As if there's some importance in the way she presses the baby hairs around her face clean against her forehead, her thumbs pushing over-grown bangs behind her ears; like there's a possibility that it effects him in some way, the work her fingers put into smoothing her hair at the crown of her head before tugging her elastic off her wrist, twisting it and tugging her hair into place. She doesn't know why this of all things is what he's taking time to remember, why he decides to stop and stare in these moments; but maybe these moments are like her memories in the closet, or a few days ago on the beach, maybe this is what he thinks of when he wakes from nightmares in the night and—

She's expecting the touch; expecting the way his fingers trail out first to catch the end of her pony tail and twist the fraying ends of her hair over his knuckles before pressing his palm against her, thumb rubbing circles in the small of her back. She glances over at him as he lifts the hem of her shirt, continuing his ministrations on her bare skin and looking almost a little too contemplative for the moment. "What's that look for?" She says teasingly, trying to cover the stickiness of their recent embarrassment and raising a brow at him.

The corner of his mouth jerks upwards, one arm tucking up behind his head and forcing the lines of his bicep to go taught. "No reason. Well… Okay, this might be a weird time to ask this. But would you want to... Meet my parents?"

There's an awkward pause in which he reads her stunned silence correctly, fingers pausing on her back as he sits up. "There's, uh, no pressure, or whatever." He says quickly, looking nervous. "It's just— My mom really wants to meet you. And I figure... You know."

"Wally." She says seriously, looking over at him skeptically but not quite managing to find the words to express all the different ways in which she thinks this is an awful idea.

She doesn't do parents.

"Artemis." He says back just as seriously, eyes narrowing when she drags her pony tail over her shoulder as if hiding from him. "Please? It'll be fun, I swear." He pauses for a second before grinning mischievously. "Come on, I've met your family—"

Her neck aches with the speed she looks at him, scowling when he has the nerve to brush her hair off her shoulder and down the middle of her back after what he's just said to her. "Those two aren't my family." She says severely, getting to her feet and ignoring the way Wally's grin slips off his face as she stalks past him.

Despite saying there was no pressure Wally doesn't stop badgering her, and with a feeling of immediate regret she agrees to meet his parents just for the sake of getting him to be quiet. She's not exactly sure what meeting the parents entails, but she suspects that it involves a certain amount of unpleasantness.

It's less than a minute after she finally says yes when Wally glances pointedly at her worn in jeans, trying to smile kindly. "I was thinking... How about you wear something nice?" There's a half second pause where her lips pull into a frown. "Like a dress or something?"

She hears herself agree, despite suddenly feeling a tenfold more insecure and wondering what about her regular clothes no longer counts as nice with Wally.

Whatever half-hearted confidence she had been feeling when she emerged from the shower (ankle bleeding profusely after her most recent attempt at shaving her legs) quickly disappears altogether when she stands towel clad in her bedroom and it becomes abundantly clear that she doesn't own a dress— she's never really had an excuse to go out and buy one, even if she had found the idea of wearing a dress remotely appealing. For one wild moment she considers raiding her mother's closet, but thankfully before she can act on the impulse she's already out the door and walking towards the zeta tubes, angry at herself for even agreeing to this in the first place.

Out of pure desperation she decides to ask M'gann for help. By the time she reaches her bedroom door in the Cave she's sure she looks like a nervous wreck; she's tugged the smaller pieces of hair out of her pony tail in uneven chunks, her cheeks red and blotchy from her own embarrassment at the whole situation. She doesn't blame M'gann for jerking back slightly when she opens her door. "Artemis? Are you okay?"

"Wally." She seethes out between her teeth, stopping for a moment to shake her head disbelievingly. "Has asked me. To meet. His parents."

She closes her eyes when M'gann squeals in her face, silently willing the headache that's pounding at the back of her temples to cease.

The whole thing promptly turns into the most horrifying thing that's ever happened to her— before she can do anything to stop it, every female in the Cave has been summoned in some sort of way to help her, as if she were an anxious bride who needs coaxing before walking towards the alter. It feels as if there's advice coming from a thousand different directions, Zatanna smudging lipstick swatches on the back of her hand and reminding her to compliment the West's on their home at every chance she gets while Raquel fusses over the state of her nails. There are too many people in the room, too many hands picking at her as she's forced into a chair, M'gann pulling her eyelid open to smudge mascara on her lashes. She nearly loses it entirely when Zatanna forces her into a navy blue dress and she has to endure the clicking of several tongues over the fact that it doesn't match her jacket or boots, as if she's the one who should have known better.

She draws the line when Black Canary pokes her head into the room and suggests curling her hair, and somehow she looks her Teammates and one of the powerhouses of the League in the eye and manages to negotiate just ditching the pony tail.

By the time she meets Wally by the zeta tubes she doesn't feel remotely like herself; she feels as if she's trying to fill another, better woman's shoes, hands tugging the hem of the dress further down her thighs and her boots rubbing uncomfortably at the band aid on her ankle. When he stutters hello and tells her she looks great it doesn't feel as if the compliment is actually meant for her, as if it were intended for the women she left behind squealing in M'gann's bedroom.

Despite the impending horror she's expecting—she's never met somebody's parents before and she feels like an idiot as they round the corner of Wally's street, pretending not to be cold even though she's shivering in her dress and bare legs—she gets a good feeling as she walks up the front walk of Wally's house. This is what a home, a proper home, should look like; sidewalk salted to prevent them from slipping on the rapidly melting ice, dripping icicles hanging off the months old Christmas lights and glowing different colors in the semi-darkness, a wreath still hung straight on the front door proclaiming the few-days-late words, "Happy Easter!" accompanied by cheesy cartoon rabbits. She can imagine Wally toddling around here as a kid, laughing loudly with his parents around the dinner table, playing catch with his father in the back yard. The lucky bastard, she thinks, teetering a little unsteadily when she climbs the steps to the front porch, the tightness of Zatanna's dress not quite giving her the mobility she's used to.

"You forget your keys?" She asks when Wally stoops to pluck up the front mat; it's also Easter themed, two decorated eggs looking up at her from the beaten in whicker as he extracts a ring with two metallic digits hanging off the end.

Wally glances at her as he sets the mat back, looking a little confused at the amount of time it takes her to finally get beside him on the front porch. "No. I always lose them, Mom just figured it would be easier if I left them under here."

When Wally jimmies the door open it's instantly like something out of a movie; Wally's mother's smile is huge and her reddened hair bounces in curls on her shoulders when she greets them in the hall (she introduces herself as Mary and starts talking excitedly at her before she can even get her coat off, both her hands reaching out to grip hers as she squeals. "It's so nice to meet you finally, I've been hearing all about you since September—" Wally groans beside her, half horrified and half pleased. "Mom…") and his father appears half a pace behind her, the apple eyes Wally inherited crinkling above an impressive moustache ("Out of the way, Mary." He tells his wife, shooing her behind him and helping her finish tugging her jacket off her shoulders. "Nice to meet you, dear, I'm Rudy.") There's a ridiculous amount of fussing over her and twice she nearly flinches when Mary reaches out to smooth her hair against her shoulders, looking at her fondly as if she's been visiting the house for years.

She can't explain why but her throat feels tight; all this caring, all this affection for her when she hasn't done anything to earn it... it's overwhelming, uncomfortable. She can't stop her eyes from lingering on the photos of Wally plastered on the walls in matching frames—Wally winning a ribbon at the science fair, Wally posing with a bunch of other boys his age in matching football jerseys, Wally being kissed by his mother on his seventh birthday, one of his front teeth missing—and feel an incredible sense of inadequacy. Wally comes from love. He comes from family. She comes from filth and darkness and a lot of hurt, how can she ever be enough for him... ?

Wally takes her hand as she pauses, eyes glassy as she lingers a more recent Christmas photo: He's looking twelve, maybe thirteen, braces exposed as he sits grinning around a well decorated tree with his parents, obviously meant to be posing for a holiday card. "How you holding up?" He asks warily, as if half worried she's about to turn on her heel and run out of the door.

"Your parents are nice." She says, concealing the look she knows he's looking for (because she's on the verge of a panic but she's not going to bring her crazy into his perfect home, she's not, she's not.) But even she can't hide the clamminess of her hand, nor the surprising strength with which she grips his fingers.

Dinner is uneventful for the most part; Mary's so excited that she's there that she keeps worrying over her, offering her more salad and more chicken and pretending not to notice that she's confused by the fact that there are forks for specific foods. Rudy asks her what her parents do and she almost chokes on her mashed potatoes, and after a thump on the back from Wally she manages to choke out, "—M-my mom works at a grocery store."

"And your father?"

Wally glances at her as her eyes continue to water. "He... Him and my mom are separated. I don't see him much." She says lamely.

Wally doesn't correct her and instead starts shoving food rapidly into his mouth, but Rudy's eyes narrow slightly. Mary insists on giving her an extra helping of everything to cover the slightly awkward moment. "Now dear, don't let Wally finish it all before you have a chance to get started. Eat up!"

Surprisingly, by the end of the evening she's convinced herself that things are actually kind of going well; she likes Mary a lot and Mary seems to find her easy to talk to, and before they even finish desert she's being shown photo albums and old junior league football trophies and other strange sentimental stuff that as a girlfriend she's supposed to be interested in. She's just gotten up to help clear the table when a glossy photo of Wally, no older than three, completely naked and squealing in a bathtub over flowing with bubbles is passed under her nose. "Oh my god." She blurts out, snorting loudly.

Rudy's moustache bristles unpleasantly at her noise but Mary seems delighted with her reaction as she reaches for the photo, holding it carefully around the edges and already making a note to tell Dick about its existence. "When he was a baby he used to love the water—"

"Aaand that's enough of that." Wally groans, ears bright red before suddenly snatching the photo from her hands, usual breeze whipping past her as suddenly he's holding the photo out of her or Mary's reach. "I'm going to put this where it can't hurt anyone. Namely me."

"Wally!" His mother bursts out in laughter as her son disappears. "Oh, he's always been easily embarrassed. You hold on a second sweetie, he doesn't know about the album I have in the basement—" She chortles, high heels banging on the hardwood as she wanders off.

It's just her and Rudy now, and suddenly the air in the dining room is a lot more awkward than it was before, as if all the good tidings and friendliness left with Wally and his mother. Rudy surveys her over his moustache, not hiding his frown as she averts her eyes, casting around for a topic of conversation.

"You have a lovely home." She tells him as Zatanna had suggested, throat tightening when he simply nods, not saying anything back for several seconds.

"Thank you." He says stiffly, thick brows furrowing the same way his son's do as he starts picking plates up off the table. "… So. Which one are you, then?"

She doesn't quite know what to say, quailing slightly under the stern look he sends her. "Uh, excuse me?" She says a little stupidly, glancing down when he starts passing plates towards her, hands extending a little helplessly. "Which one of what am I?"

Rudy passes her another three plates, ignoring when some gravy spills over the brim and not apologizing when it slops onto the front of her dress. "Which girl are you?" He says unclearly, looking annoyed when she remains confused. "On that silly little Team of yours, the super hero thing. I'm correct in remembering Wally saying you're on it?" Rudy pauses and looks her up and down before turning away, muttering as he goes back to collecting plates. "... Have to be. None of the girls at his school ever showed any interest in him. Doesn't even have a drivers license—"

She's doesn't know if she's supposed to respond to the bitterness of that last part and forces herself to speak, her head shaking slightly. "Oh. Yeah, I'm on the Team."

"So which one are you?" Rudy continues gruffly. "The alien? Or the one with the magician's uniform?"

She can feel herself blinking stupidly at him as he turns to her expectantly, hands on his hips and looking stern again. "I—" She stutters out, not sure how to react to his unimpressed tone, and instead doubles her grip on plates, her muscles beginning to strain under the weight. "Neither. I'm Green Arrow's... I'm an archer. I don't have any powers."

"You don't have any powers?" Rudy repeats with a loud snort, the edges of his mouth twisting up into a mocking smile that tricks her into being sincere, her own lips half raising in response for a moment before he lets out a loud peel of rude laughter. "Kind of puts a damper on the whole superhero thing if you aren't actually super, doesn't it?" He sneers, looking her up and down again. "No powers... So what would that make you? The brawn of the group?" He lets out a snort again. "Must be a pretty weak Team if a little girl like you is their heaviest hitter!"

The second he says it she can feel her stomach tighten, blood beginning to pound loudly in her ears as she bites her own tongue, trying not to say anything snapping back (or even worse, what's at the forefront of her mind— that's she's killed plenty of men, that she doesn't have a problem with killing another one right now) and instead waiting with a straightened back for him to stop chuckling. "... It's a good Team." She says evenly, trying to steer the topic back to a more comfortable place. "Wally was one of the founding members, wasn't he?"

"If by founding you mean kidnapping that freak Superboy and forcing us to put a roof over his head." Rudy wipes the corner of his eye before makes a gesture for her to follow him into the kitchen, his hands only burdened by the empty potato bowl. "So. I suppose bringing you here tonight was his idea? Thought his parents would like to meet his new, normal girlfriend?" He chuckles out.

She blinks at the way he spits the word normal at her, as if she were a potted planet pretending to be a woman; she's never had a grown man be so off put by her before, Rudy's face twisting skeptically as she sets the huge stack of dishes on the counter, tongue clicking as if disapproving of her strength. "Wally wanted us to meet, yeah." She says plainly, trying not to glare at him.

"Hm." He sniffs, watching her shift her feet awkwardly in the kitchen; she can feel her shoulders stiffening at the scrutinizing nature of the look, and had they not been in Wally's house and had she not been talking to his father she would have half the mind to seize a plate off the stack on the counter and hurl it at him. "You two been going out long?"

There's something in the question she can't quite identify, something odd about the way Rudy leans against the counter, dropping his jaw the same way his son always does when he observes her closely, his mouth stretched into a frown as she replies. "A little over a month, I guess." She says stiffly, wondering what's taking Wally and Mary so long to come back.

Rudy seems amused at her obvious discomfort, or at the very least he lets out another snort of a laugh that sounds like he is; he places a hand luxuriously on his slightly over-large belly and chuckles once, looking at her like she's an idiot. "Oh, dear. Well, let me just cut to the chase, before feelings get hurt." He pauses, one hand reaching up to smooth the hair of his moustache. "I don't think you're a good match for Wally."

It's as if her own worst fear for the evening is quickly becoming realized; before she can stop herself her eyes are narrowing, a wrinkle popping up over her nose. "Excuse me?"

Rudy's laugh finally dies out, his hand tugging once at his trousers to hitch them up before he bends at the waist, opening the dish washer and beginning to cram dishes into it in a half-hazard manner. "Well, I don't mean to be frank my dear, but my Wally… I mean you've seen him. He's not exactly... A man's man. Ever since the whole "Kid Flash incident" in the garage he hasn't— He hasn't been developing the way Mary and I want him to. The kid spends all his time up in his room now, working on science instead of football, can you believe…" Rudy trails off for a moment before straightening, looking at her with a smirk on his face. "I'm sorry. But the last thing my Wally needs is some sort of butch gal-pal showing him up in front of the boys. It won't do. It's not good for his self-esteem."

She can't believe what she's hearing; can't believe that Wally's father has the nerve to look her in the eye and tell her that she's not good enough for his son, that out of all the damn things that are wrong with her, out of all the sins she's committed (she's lied, she's stolen, she's murdered for fuck's sake) that the one thing Rudy West pinpoints as wrong with her is that she's too strong. And suddenly it all makes sense, Wally asking her to clean herself up, asking her to wear a dress… She feels ridiculously like a show dog, all dolled up and trying to hide its flaws before the judges. "I—I don't really know what to say." She says truthfully, not trusting herself to speak her mind without starting to utter countless profanities.

"You don't have to say anything, dear." Rudy tells her, addressing her as if she's a child. "I'm just glad we understand each other."

She can hear her phone vibrating pocket of her jacket, still hung on the hook by the door; it's probably one of the girls asking how the evening is going. Ignoring it she glares at him, beginning to snarl. "… I understand it. Doesn't mean I agree though."

Rudy's just opened his mouth to retort when Wally and Mary come crashing back into the kitchen, still laughing with each other; not looking at either of them Wally extracts his cellphone from his pocket, blinking at the message on the screen and smile faltering slightly. "Perfect timing, actually. Artemis, check your phone, Aqualad wants us back at the Cave for—" He cuts himself off as he glances up, eyes flying between the smugness on his father's face and the blotchy redness on her cheeks, tasting the energy in the air as his mother bustles past him, repacking the dishes in the dishwasher in a way that actually makes sense. "… Uh, what's going on?"

The way he says it tells her that he already has an inkling of what's going on, as if this isn't the first time his father has pulled aside someone he cares about and been openly unfriendly and rude. Rudy beats her to the punch, reaching forward to clap her too-hard on the shoulder. "Nothing, my boy. Just having a little chat with your friend."

Wally's eyes linger on his father's fingers as they squeeze painfully tight on her shoulder before falling away, and nobody in the kitchen needs M'gann's telepathy to know that it's a silent message, warning her not to say anything. Even Mary, whose smile has been constant the whole night, is suddenly frowning and looking tense. "Artemis?" Wally asks in the low dangerous tone she hates, eyes scanning her crossed arms and hunched shoulders.

"It's nothing, Wally." She tells him, avoiding his eye. "We should get going."

There's an awkward silence in which Mary clicks her tongue, finishing with the dishwasher and moving as if to embrace her, holding her at an arms length and seeming to deliberately place that two of them between Wally and his father, as if hoping to form a barrier. "Oh now really, that was far too short. Next time you'll have to get her earlier, remind my little Wally you know, he's always late—"

"What did you say to her?" Wally speaks loudly over his mother, much louder and angrier than she's ever heard before, eyes narrowed at his father. "What did you say?"

"Its okay, Wally." She blurts out, and feeling ridiculously like some sort of housewife as she breaks off from Mary, voice quiet and speaking quickly as she lays a hand across his arm. "Come on, we have to go—"

"Now really." Rudy huffs behind her, and she can practically feel his moustache bristling. "You watch your tone—"

"Come on." She says louder, trying to talk over the two of them as she half glances back at Mary; when Wally doesn't do anything other than lean around her to keep yelling she braces a forearm across his chest, shoving him insistently backwards. "Thanks for dinner—"

"—What did you say?"

"Nothing that matters, you heard the girl—"

"You're welcome, dear." Mary says back, not bothering with yelling as she extends a hand behind her, grabbing Rudy wrist and looking completely miserable. "Please, do come again..."

When she finally manages the get the door shut behind them Wally's still seething, swearing under his breath as he rakes his hands over his forehead, oblivious to the disheartened expression on her face as she watches him, fingers still wrapped around the door handle. "I can't believe him." He snarls out, rubbing angrily at his hair. "I can't—" He seems to notice her as she takes a few steps towards the stairs, quickly stepping in front of her and taking her by the shoulder. "What did he say? I'm so sorry, he always does this, it's just how he is—"

She has it in her to glance once at the slightly manic expression on Wally's face before she finds she doesn't want to see it, instead focusing on a car parked across the street. "It doest't matter, okay?" Can we just leave?"

"Artemis, of course it matters—"

"Well it doesn't matter now." She says gruffly, jerking out of his grip and shoving him a little too hard out of the way; she hears his back hit the column of the front porch, some snow shaking from the roof at the impact as she starts stepping clumsily down the stairs.

Wally stares after her for a few seconds before she hears the loud clunk of his boots against the steps, the salt on the walk crunching loudly under his feet as he jogs up beside her. "So what? My Dad's the asshole and somehow you're mad at me?"

"I'm not mad." She grits out through her teeth, lying. "God, can we just— Look, can we just talk about this later? Kaldur needs us for a mission."

She ignores the frustrated sigh he lets out, his breath steaming up in front of his face. "Oh right." He says sneeringly. "Kaldur. The mission. That's what's important here, not our relationship or anything. Yeah, whatever. Fine."

"Fine." She snarls back.

Wally and her don't say another word to each other the whole walk to the zeta tubes. The night has been such a disaster that she doubts there's anything left to say to each other, ever; there's a low whistle when they zeta into the Cave followed by a few comments about how she's dressed, all of which quail when the two of them sport matching glares, silencing their Teammates.

Kaldur seems to take his cue from both of them, choosing instead to launch into business rather than exchange pleasantries; at once he's cutting the awkward looks the rest of the Team exchanges short, turning to the large screen behind him. "Today has been a good day." He tells them all, fingers jamming against his keyboard. "I have finally heard from S.T.A.R labs in Metropolis City. It has taken them nearly a month to go through their destroyed inventory, and a last we know what has been taken."

With an odd amount of dramatic flair—she looks to her left and sees Tula watching intently beside Garth, and suddenly the over-the-top movement of his hands is explained—he hits a final key, and suddenly a huge image is being projected into the air in front of them. It looks like some sort of cellphone to her; tiny, flat screened and seemingly simplistic, clad in metals and soft grey encasings.

"… Is this supposed to mean something to us?" Connor asks, breaking the silence in which Kaldur looks at them all expectantly.

It's odd, watching Kaldur's lips quirk in acknowledgement of such a wry comment; yet, she has the impression that he's trying to appear charming rather than ruthless. "It should now." Kaldur says clearly, and suddenly he's back to clicking keys, the image blurring up between all of them and submerging into scrambled, unfamiliar letters. "When I visited Atlantis several months ago my King and I returned not only with full stomachs and good tidings. We returned with a precious piece of genetic material, which we deposited in S.T.A.R labs— the "squid," as you all took to calling it— which, if you all remember, was taken by the Light months later and manipulated into Starro-tech, the pieces of genetic material used to completely control the Justice League on New Year's Eve."

"Okay." She cuts him off, glancing around at everyone and willing Kaldur to cut to the chase so she can get on with storming off to her bedroom in peace. "So they took the little box now. What does that have to do with the squid?"

Kaldur's jaw drops, gradually growing more serious. "It is much more than simply a little box; in response to the stolen echinoderm sample, S.T.A.R labs has been working on counter technology, capable of tracking Electro Magnetic Field surges it and other materials similar to it release as they regenerate. This is their prototype, intended to be capable of tracking and following such surges, thus making it possible to track stolen pieces of technology."

Beside her Wally's brows shoot up. "Electro Magnetic Field... Don't ghost-hunting crazies monitor those whenever they're trying to prove the presence of the undead? Would that make the squid actually some sort of... I don't know. Ghost plasma?"

"It's not just ghost-hunters that can make use of EMF machines." Zatanna says frankly, glancing at Wally when he snorts. "Whenever any type of magical or alien energy is released it can leave behind traces of EMF surges; even our zeta tubes leave imprint that are similar in wave length whenever they're activated… So let me guess. While S.T.A.R labs simply wanted to keep track of their goodies, our pals in the Bialyan army decided they'd rather—"

"We are not sure exactly why they stole it." Kaldur finishes for her, looking stern. "But that kind of technology is certainly troubling in the hands of the Light. Theoretically, should they successfully use the device, it could become possible for them to track the use of zeta tubes, locating members of the League, ourselves, our families, not to mention find more sources for Starro-technology... Even though still in the developmental stages, this device could be very dangerous in the wrong hands. If I recall similar technology, though magic based, was used when Ocean Master committed an act of terror against the United States some years ago—"

"In New Venice." She finishes for him, mouth jumping ahead before she can fully remember the memory she's calling on. "I mean— right?" She says, a little unnerved by the fact that everyone is so quiet. "It used to be a little ocean front town in Southern Florida. Ocean Master was able to use his magic to track Aquaman's location, and he decided to submerge the city in an effort to wage war against both him and the surface world, right?"

She can feel several people blinking at her, the surprise on Kaldur's face borderline offensive. "... That is correct." He says very slowly, dropping his chin to survey her. "But I must admit, it happened long before I was born." As if looking for help he glances towards Garth and Tula, brows pursing. "And I have never been to the actual city— My mother did not care for it, did not like new life being built on all the forgotten bones of the surface dwelling."

Tula shakes her head. "Nor have I or Garth. It is painted as a tourist city, like that of your New York. Excellent cultivation of the Mystic Arts, however."

She catches herself interrupting again, shaking her head. "There's a book on the city, here in the Cave. I remember reading about New Venice—isn't it supposed to be one of the leaders in maintaining ancient magic and technology in all of Atlantis? Like, lots of ancient relics and what not that unlock mystic power?" She pauses, looking around. You don't think... Is Ocean Master a member of the Light? He couldn't be, you know... Trying to plan something again? Just using a more technological way to go about it?"

Kaldur's mouth twists into a frown. "I suppose anything at this point is possible." He says, breaking eye contact to look at them all seriously. "I am assuming we are all in agreement that the relation of two such terror incidents, caused and inspired by the acquirement of Electro Magnetic Field tracking technology is troubling. Perhaps..." He trails off, looking grave. "Perhaps this calls for more serious action."

There's a definitive shift in the energy in the room, all of them growing more serious as Kaldur pauses, jaw clenched and thinking. "We must tread carefully. I need not remind you all that the United States is at war. Any carelessness on our part, any misplaced footing, could be read as an act of aggression on behalf of the Justice League. I much emphasize the importance of your playing by the rules."

As if pulling himself out of his own thoughts Kaldur's back straightens, looking almost like a general dressing his troops. "Now that we know exactly what is missing it is time to form a plan, set up defenses. Tula, Garth— If you are willing, I must ask you to briefly to act on behalf of the Team and alert King Orin to provide a warning, perhaps even scour Atlantis' libraries and laboratories for further information in regards to Ocean Master's attack— try to find links between what happened in Metropolis. Miss Martian will accompany you, if you wish. I am going to debrief Batman and whatever other League Members he deems fit, and decide how to go about altering the President. Zatanna, Kid Flash, Superboy, Rocket, Robin— visit S.T.A.R labs, I'll send Red Arrow your coordinates and he will rendezvous with you there. See what you can discover about this device from its creators, see how close they were to actually completing it. If you find any information, forward it before you pursue. Artemis—" She feels her stomach clench up excitedly, she's never been hauled out for a solo mission before, this is just what she needs, exactly what she needs after such a terrible night, she needs some action—

"Find that book." He tells her sternly, ignoring the way her face quickly falls into a furious looking frown. "I know you are enthused. But the book intrigues me, perhaps it will come of some use. Please." He adds the last part almost warningly, chin dropping as she glares. "You may rendezvous with Team coordinates when you finish."

"Whatever." She hisses.

It's borderline humiliating, watching the way the Team excitedly buzzes around the room, and knowing full well that there's not a shot in hell she'll get to be a part of it; ignoring the way Wally turns towards her, as if to say goodbye or offer some half-assed words of comfort, she spins on her heel and stomps off towards the back part of the building.

She only makes one stop, and that's to allow herself five full minutes alone in her bedroom in which she rips Zatanna's dress off her body and crumples it uncaringly in the corner of her room. She has the strong desire to scream, to smash a few of the more fragile articles in her bedroom and instead she settles for violently stripping herself of everything she's worn that night, scratching her thighs as she drags her underwear off herself (and it's mortifying to even look at the tiny little stretch of lacy black fabric, the ridiculous hope when she put it on that maybe tonight something would finally happen) and replacing it with a fresh pair, yanking on a clean tee shirt and her usual jeans, her breath sounding maniacal as she twists her hair into a pony tail.

So this is her function now. Artemis Crock: Team Librarian.

She's still fuming when she enters the library, some of her anger and frustration immediately quailing when she looks at the sheer height of all the bookshelves around her—even though she practically lived in here a few weeks ago she's still surprised by the fact that she managed to read through nearly a dozen of the shelves front to back. She supposes, even if she can't remember the exact title or the author, that this gives her at least a place to start, a slightly narrowed range… Huffing, she rounds the corner of her most recently completed shelf, setting to work.

It's mind numbingly boring, staring blankly at book covers and occasionally extracting one to rifle through its pages, and before long her awe at the task ahead of her fades and is replaced by the sourness she felt before… The evening had been awful. And the worst part of it was that it wasn't even Wally's father that ruined it; No, even if he was rude it's not exactly like he was saying anything new to her, like she hadn't thought the same sentiment and repeated over and over to herself dozens of times... She already knows she's not good enough for Wally. She already knows they aren't a good match, even if it's for a different reason than the one Rudy's archaic mind has conjured up.

But none of that had mattered before. And it still hadn't, not when she had allowed M'gann and the others to pick at her appearance, hiding the flaws she always thought were there but never really imagined she needed to be ashamed of; it hadn't mattered that much either when she felt intimidated by his family, had looked his father in the eye as he had looked her up and down and seen through the act she was trying to don. It didn't matter, nothing did, because doing all those stupid things had been for Wally. She thought she was doing it because it was important for her to meet his parents because he wanted them to get along... Instead he had wanted to impress his father, wanted to prove that he was more than the disappointment Rudy clearly thinks he is...

Because that's the difference. She likes Wally just fine the way he is. For every part of him that's annoying there's another part that she can't live without; she wouldn't change a thing, if she had a choice.

Wally just... Doesn't feel the same, she supposes. Not when it comes to important stuff.

There's no other way around it; this past month together, the constant picking at her to open up, the asking her to dress up tonight despite the fact that he didn't look anything special when she had met him... It's all just been another grooming process, a different kind of vigorous training than her father had put her through, but training none the less. Because that's what Wally does, isn't it? He's always been like this, always messing with things until they're perfect; straightening souvenirs on the shelf, finding the right chemical formula to create the correct type of explosion... How much longer is she supposed to under-go this process until she's perfect? Is she ever going to be? Wally had taken her there to show her off to his parents, another test just like her father's that she needs to pass... She feels like an idiot for putting on a dress for him, for allowing herself to be primped, for pretending to be something she's not, for even being stupid enough to think that being someone's girlfriend would be even in the realm of possible for her. Instead it's just another thing she's failing at... Stupid, stupid, stupid...

She pulls herself out of her thoughts just as she grabs a book from the shelf, ears perking at a noise the next isle over. She pauses, peering through the hole she's made to the other side, brows furrowing. "Hello?" She calls, wondering if she's scaring a wayward mouse.

She actually jumps when Wally's face pops into the tiny window of space she's made to see through to the other isle, her book flying from her arms and clattering against the carpet. "Uh, hey." He greets, grinning sheepishly as her cheeks flood red, disappearing before she can reach through the shelf and throttle him.

"God." She says to herself, ignoring him as he rounds the corner and comes to a staggering stop beside her, instead bending to pick up the book she's dropped. "What are you doing here?" She asks his sneakers, sending the rest of him a dry look as she stands.

"I figured the rest of the Team could handle a quick trip to S.T.A.R. Labs." He says, forcing his face into a smile. "You and an entire library, on the other hand… Uh, you know. It's a lot of books." He adds the last part quickly as her eyes narrow, glaring.

Truthfully the last person she feels like talking to right now is Wally; she had liked being alone, had liked thinking, and she can't do any of that if he's standing in front of her and trying his best to smile endearingly, walnuts radiating off his hair… Forcing herself to deepen her scowl she jerks a thumb over her shoulder, pointing to a row of shelves that she knows doesn't contain the book she's looking for but are far enough away for her not to have to talk to him. "Fine, Baywatch. Look over there."

His brows raise slightly at the old nickname, mouth dropping his ridiculous smile as she brushes past him, walking a few paces away to deposit the book she's grabbed onto a nearby table just for the sake of putting some distance between them. "… Uh." He says dumbly, turning slowly to face her. "... Are we just not going to talk about what happened?"

"No." She says stubbornly, stalking past him again to pursue the shelf once more.

Wally hesitates for a moment, fingers tugging on the end of his sleeve nervously. "Look… I know tonight was awful. My dad… I've said it a thousand times, he's an asshole. He doesn't understand—"

"Wally." She sighs, angry about even being forced into talking, not glancing at him as she extracts a few more books. "Your dad wasn't the problem, okay? And it doesn't matter what he said." She says quickly, knowing without looking that he's opened his mouth to cut her off. "It wasn't anything I hadn't thought before."

She finally looks at him just as she fills her arms to the brim, his shoulders hunched up as he shoves his hands in his pockets. "Okay." He says warily, brows furrowed. "So what's your problem then?"

He sounds almost accusatory, as if the whole evening is her fault; she can feel her jaw dropping as she tries not to snarl back, struggling to smoothen the wrinkle over her nose. "I don't know. You, I guess."

Wally blinks once at her, looking so surprised that she suddenly can't look at him, brushing around him again to place more books on the table. "What? What did I do?" He pauses. "Okay, maybe I could have asked you a little better if you wanted to meet them—"

She cuts him off, voice cold and not even looking at him over her shoulder as she starts spreading her selected books out on the table. "This isn't about that, Wally, okay?"

"Okay. Good." He says back firmly, scoffing. "Because if it was— I mean, excuse me for trying to turn this into something real."

For some reason her hands slip, one of the books she's been placing tottering off the pile and slamming down loudly against the top of the wooden table; the noise seems to bounce off the shelves around them, oddly loud despite the fact that she can hear her own pulse, loud and angry, in her ears. "Real." She repeats, feeling herself go almost unnaturally still for a moment, lungs hardly daring to draw breath for a few long seconds before all her muscles stiffen, forcing her to turn slowly to face him. "You don't think this is real?"

It's about the worst she's ever felt in her whole life; she can actually feel her chest tighten, can actually feel her heart as it clenches and snaps off into pieces… Wally doesn't think this is real. Wally doesn't believe in her, or her feelings, and she's been an idiot to think they can get out of this without talking about things—

Even to her own ears her voice sounds icy, almost mechanic, her eyes narrowed and glaring; Wally, to his credit, looks properly taken aback. "I—" He stutters out, trying to back track.

"What happened to wanting us to make it?" She hisses, eyes wide. "What— did you even mean what you said before? Or was that just something you said so I'd come tonight?" She snarls out, one hand rubbing over her face angrily. "... God, Wally. Can you just stop? Please?" She bursts out, without the energy to look at him but knowing that he's opening his mouth to argue. "Can you just stop treating me like one of your stupid experiments? I'm not this thing you can keep picking at and prodding until I'm to your liking."

Wally shakes his head at her, looking exasperated and annoyed. "I know that, Artemis. I didn't mean—"

"I don't care what you meant!" She sighs back, almost reaching behind to her start throwing books at him. "For someone who wants this to be real you sure as hell aren't thinking about what that means for both people in this relationship, I mean—It's not fair that I'm the only one who has to change for things to work between us. That's not what I signed up for! What about you, what about— What the hell was that thing with your dad about? How come you aren't fixing that—"

"Artemis." He says lowly, glaring at her but not saying anything else.

"What?" She bursts out, blinking hard and refusing to cry on top of everything else. "... I'm sorry. I'm just... I'm tired of feeling like I'm not good enough, for you, Wally. And I don't care if that's not what you meant to do, it's how I feel. I hate that you can't just let stuff sit, you can't just let me come to terms with stuff by myself, why we always have to do things at your goddamn fast pace— and why, even though I've told you a thousand times that I'm not at good this stuff and that I'm better with going slow, why I'm still the one stuffed into Zatanna's fucking dress that I can't walk in and why after telling you I didn't even want to meet the guy that I'm having your father look me up and down and basically tell me that I'm a cheap substitute for the kind of girl you should actually be with... I'm so sick of this, it's not fair, it's—" She had to stop herself when her voice breaks. "I hate this. I hate that I'm always the one who has to change for you. I hate— I hate you." She spits lowly at him, ignoring the way his brows furrow and his lips part in shock and hurt, looking as if he isn't following her train of thought and how she arrived at this conclusion, only knowing that what she's saying is hurting him.

"I hate you!" She repeats louder, the only thing she's yelled at him all night, not caring if she's acting hysterical. "I hate you for not thinking this is real, I..." She hears herself draw in a rattling breath, lower lip quivering and voice much more quiet when she speaks. "You're the realest thing I have, Wally. You're... You're the only person whose ever come back for me." She rubs once, impatiently at her cheek, smudging the trail a stray tear is cutting through her make up. "Why else would I try this hard for you? You're the first person I... You're the only person who's ever bothered sticking around for me. I've never had that, never had anyone who... That I..." She doesn't quite know what she wants to say, her throat bobbing angrily before she shakes her head, as if to clear it. "... Whatever. Just leave me alone, okay? I have stuff to do."

She doesn't look at Wally as she brushes past him again. "A-Artemis." He says softly, one hand reaching out to try to catch her about the elbow.

"Don't." She says when he touches her, jerking easily out of his too loose grip. "Just go." She says in an undertone, finally returning to her position of pursuing the shelf.

She ignores Wally when he remains motionless, jaw tight and opening after a few seconds as if to say something; she can't bring herself to look at him, can't bring herself to do anything other than stare angrily at the row of books in front of her unseeingly, hands clenched so tight she can almost imagine the skin splitting. Out of the corner of her eye she watches Wally wipe his nose loudly on the back of his hand, her lungs refusing to inhale any of the walnut scented air he stirs up as he starts walking.

She reaches up as he passes behind her, eyes blinking rapidly; she recognizes a book cover, the deep emerald green of the spine coupled with the golden ribbons text. She's just placed her fingers around it when her whole being stiffens, the breath she's holding stuttering out of her lungs as she feels lips pressing against the fleshy pulse point between her neck and shoulder.

"I'm sorry." Wally whispers, his breath so warm against her that for a moment she forgets to be mad— forgets much of anything at all, actually— her grip tight on the book as she drags it from the shelf, clutching it protectively to her chest.

She shudders as he keeps pressing wet kisses into her skin, her neck tilting back of its own accord to offer him more of herself. "Don't." She breathes, not quite meaning it when she feels his fingers reaching under the hem of her shirt, so hot on her bare stomach as he presses into her, mouth trailing up to her ear and forcing her to hear a shuddering breath that feels as if it's warming in between her legs rather than the side of her cheek. "Wally..." She murmurs, hating how ragged she sounds as he turns her towards him.

When she feels him press his lips to hers she loses it slightly, the sound of his groan into her mouth both numbing and infuriating her. "Stop—" She blurts out, shoving insistently on his chest when he doesn't listen. "Stop, Wally." She repeats, panicking slightly when he still doesn't release her, doesn't oblige her head turning, tongue dragging over the corner of her mouth. "Stop it!"

"Wally!" She pushes him, way harder than she should, way harder than she did hours ago on his front porch; suddenly the book she's been holding is smacking against the carpet and the shelf across from her is rattling, Wally's neck seeming to snap back against an edge as she pins him there, her forearm against his wind pipe. "Y-you can't just kiss me and expect things to be okay—"

"Well what am I supposed to do then?" He chokes out angrily, making an odd sort of rasping noise when she removes her arm, the two of them panting and seeming to fall apart at their very edges. "Tell me what you want, I can't leave like this—"

"I want you to leave!" She snarls back, running her hand over her face.

Wally winces when he finally stands properly again, hand rubbing at the bruised line her pushing has no doubt left on the back of his neck. "I can't. We both know I can't."

"Why not?"

For not the first time she actually wants to hurt him and knows exactly how she would, if it were any other person and not annoying, unbearable Wally West glaring daggers at her. "Because I can't, okay?" He snarls, and somehow despite the unwavering fury that she seems to be shrouded in she can see the glassiness in his eyes, the way his jaw seems painfully tight. "I'm not stupid, okay? I mean, look at you." He gestures desperately at her. "I know guys like me don't end up with girls like you, I know I'm not as like... You know, as you are. I know I only get one shot." For some reason he glances at her a little helplessly, mouth stretching into a pathetic smile that sends her stomach twisting almost painfully. "... I just don't wanna lose you, okay? I don't want to walk away without knowing that I did everything I—" His voice breaks and suddenly he won't look at her, his ears glowing as he glares at the ground.

She doesn't know why but suddenly she's the one whose embarrassed, as if it was wrong to push him away before; more to break the tension than anything she forces herself to speak, weight shifting uneasily on the carpet. "... I don't think you get just the one shot." She says quietly, watching as he wipes his nose on his shirt sleeve, still not looking at her, not even when she takes a few steps closer. "... Not with me, at least." She pauses, ducking her head slightly when she's less than a foot away, still unable to catch his eye.

"I'm sorry." He says again, shaking his head. "About everything. I didn't mean to make you feel... I didn't mean it. This is real—this is real for me too."

He glances up at her through his lashes, which she's just now noticing at dark red, like his hair. "Wally." She says his name quietly, waiting patiently for him to lift his chin a fraction before she leans in, fingers pressing lightly on his jaw.

He's oddly still beneath her when she kisses him, only moving enough to accidentally knock his skull against the edge of the shelf again; had it not been for his hard exhale against her cheek and the warmth of his jaw beneath her fingers she might have been able to convince herself he was hardly there at all, his lips unmoving on hers. After a long moment she pulls back, her fingers knitting between his hair, hardly far enough away to do more than look him in the eye before she takes a step back.

She doesn't know what she meant by it, how she thought kissing him would make things better; she feels awkward, Wally still unmoving from where she shoved him against the shelf. More to avoid looking at him than anything she bends to retrieve the book she dropped, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ear when she straightens. "You can... You know. Stay. Or go, if you want to."

As if he's been waiting for her to say something along those lines he suddenly stands up straighter, fidgeting with his layered shirts for a moment to get them to sit properly on his shoulders. "Okay. I guess, uh... I'll go, then."

He glances at her once, hand pushing his fringe off his forehead and pausing at his neck for a moment before dropping; for a half a second she clenches her fingers around the faded green book cover, half expecting him to kiss her good bye or at least hug her like he always does. Instead he shoves his hands in his pockets. "Bye."

For some reason she remembers rain; she remembers the wetness of the sand and the feeling of icy ocean water seeping into her sneakers. She remembers silence, remembers her upturned collar scratching against her skin and bandages coating her fingers; bandages he had helped put there, two nights before.

"I'm going in." He muttered after a long while, breaking the nearly ten minute silence between them, back already to her when she had glanced at him. "You coming?"

She had shook her head. "No."

He had sent her the same look as the night before in her bedroom, eyes bloodshot and jaw dropped and memories of the exercise still fresh in his head; for a moment he had moved towards her, as if to embrace her, touch her, before he had continued on his path back towards the Cave. "Don't stay out too long." He had yelled back, pausing before he repeated her earlier sentiment. "You'll get sick."

She had half turned, as if to chase after him, as if to say something. Then she had frowned, turning back to the water.

And maybe this was what Wally had felt a few minutes ago, that powerlessness when she had turned her back on him, that sensation she had felt on the beach of wanting to do more but not knowing how; she thinks she understands the mild panic, the heart pounding finality of the moment, the sensation that maybe this time, this time things really might be over, and stupidly she forces her mouth open, speaking without thinking. "Wally!" She yells after him, even though he hasn't even rounded the corner to leave the book isle yet.

He hardly pauses, looking back at her over his shoulder warily. "Yeah?"

"I—" For one wild moment she almost blurts out that she loves him, but before the better part of her can say anything remotely romantic or worthwhile she hears herself stuttering. "I—I don't hate you, okay? I didn't mean it, either."

There's a moment, less than a half second, where something in Wally's face shifts; before she can even begin to wonder what it is or what it means she feels the familiar startlingly fast breeze whip across her skin.

As if knowing what is about to come, her eyes close.

It's not gentle, the way he kisses her; despite the fact that he's grown better at his stopping in the past few months he still practically crashes into her, the whole of his weight slamming her into the shelf. Almost immediately she's winded, the books around them rattling and several even falling to the floor as all the breath is knocked out of her; she feels her lips part beneath his, the whole of her oxygen popping over her tongue and into his mouth. "Sorry—" He pants out between kisses, sucking hard on her lips as she dazedly tries to keep his feverish pace. "You okay?"

She's just drawn the breath to respond when he nudges her feet apart with his own, forcing her legs to spread for him and pressing his body as close to flush against hers as they can get with clothes still on. As if from outside herself she hears the barely-there moan that seems to blossom in the back of her throat, and rather than waste her breath she catches herself nodding against his mouth, hands raking through his hair and pulling him closer.

She still stands by what she said before— kissing won't make it better. But perhaps it's the best place to start.

Neither of them are being particularly kind about touching each other, not when there's still so many hurt feelings between them and they're both not sure if the fight is resolved—his hands are like iron on her waist, so tight she's sure they'll leave finger shaped bruises along her ribs, his mouth suckling hard on her tongue. She feels her cheeks reddening, can feel her body responding to him as he shifts his leg, her back arching when he unknowingly touches her the right way and a groan sounding in the back of her throat, teeth biting down sharply on his lower lip until they both pull back, hissing and breathing heavily.

"Artemis." He pants out her name, one hand leaving her waist to grip the edge of a shelf, watching curiously as she reacts to him pressing harder into her. In an almost feral way she feels her hips roll in response, her leg hitching up over his hip to keep him tight to her, biting the inside of her cheek when she sees Wally's pupils blow out rapidly, his Adam's apple bobbing as she feels the sudden hardness that's pressing against her.

"I know." She says, even though she doesn't, watching his head loll back as she rolls her hips again, stretching up to press her mouth to his neck.

Because maybe it doesn't matter, not now. They're always going to fight, she's always going to be insecure, and they're always going to figure out a way to work past it. They're Artemis and Wally, that's what they do. They fight and they get over it. None of that is new, but this is—the new feelings he's pouring through her, the way he's suddenly forcing her to pull back, the way he's kissing her as if by pouring all his raw emotion into her they'll somehow be able to sort things out—

Wally groans into her when she forces her tongue to swipe over his lips, one hand clenching her waist and the other hitching her leg still higher, pressing the two of them closer in all the right ways and forcing the both of them to pause for a moment, breathy half moans shooting up their throats and into each other's mouths. She feels her eyes nearly roll out the back of her head as he leans into her, his length pressing against her core and his hand running up her thigh, fingers not stopping until he's cupping her rear.

Suddenly it's as if there's too much clothing between them, her fingers running down his shoulders and forcing the ridiculous extra layer he always seems to be wearing down his arms before returning to the back of his neck, clawing at his back until he gets the message: clothes Wally, we're taking off clothes. She gets as far as tugging his shirt over his head and sending him a wry smile before he's suddenly attacking her, lips pressing so hard into hers that she can feel them pulse half in pain and half in want; before she can even properly pull back to gasp out the sensation is gone, his mouth nudging at her jaw until she turns her head.

"W-wally…" She stutters out his name in this ridiculously high pitched voice as he finds her neck, all lips and teeth as he bites down once, hard, on her pulse point. All her air seems to hiss out between her teeth when he immediately runs his tongue over it, pressing swift kisses over her skin and apologizing for his over eagerness before suckling again, tongue tracing a vein as it flows up behind her ear before letting out the same breathy pant that had very nearly undone her a few minutes ago.

It annoying but ever so endearing when he pulls back, fingers barely curling under the hem of her tee shirt and teasing the lines of muscle on her stomach, eyes finding hers with a questioning gaze that slows everything down all together. "Uh..." He gets as far as saying before his ears promptly turn red, not quite sure what he wants to ask, his eyes still a little hazy from the heat of the moment.

She knows what he's trying to say: is this okay? Where's the finish line here? What's our end game?

It's a little off putting, the fact that she doesn't have an answer. She just knows she doesn't want it to stop.

She doesn't wait for him to find the right words, always found the idea of asking permission for every little thing silly anyway; before he can do more than stutter slightly she leans back, yanking the hem of her shirt upwards.

Her hair is ruffled when she emerges but she supposes it doesn't matter— Wally's no longer looking remotely near her face anymore. It would be almost funny, had the moment not been so serious: his cheeks oddly reddened and looking at the expanse of grey fabric and underwire coating her breasts with slightly widened eyes. It takes a lot of her self-restraint not to say what she wants to say ("Need a minute, Wallman?") and simply drop her shirt to the floor in a way she hopes isn't too teasing. And maybe it's a little cruel; the slow, almost deliberate way she reaches behind her unclasp her bra, especially in face of the hardness now stretching wide across the front of his jeans.

She's had a pretty awful night, she figures she deserves to have a little fun.

Wally goes crimson at the sound of her bra unclasping, his eyes suddenly leaving her breasts as she begins dragging the straps down her shoulders as if trying to be a gentleman and look away as she undresses. "Wally." She says, trying to sound kind as she reaches up to drag his face back down to hers, not wanting his nervousness to slow things down.

It takes three rough kisses against his mouth before he seems to unwind slightly, pulling back to brace his arms against the bookshelf, effectively boxing her in so as to get a better look at her. She can feel herself growing almost embarrassed at the way he looks at her, hard glances in between languid kisses—his pupils blown out like some sort of feral animal, breath halting inside his chest, every muscle tensed with excitement—but forces herself not to hide from him, forces her arms to stay firmly around his neck as he stares at her. She doesn't know what she's trying to prove to him, doesn't know if this is just another thing that she wants him to accept without judgement or if she's in some way trying to prove something to herself. Either way she decides to stop looking at him in the face, her eyes falling to his bare chest.

She reaches for him when he kisses her again, her index finger tracing the barely there scar the bullet left beside his heart; instantly she feels him shiver, goose pimples erupting all over his skin and lips practically vibrating against her as he pulls back, nose barely grazing hers. She can hear the hitch in his breathing, can feel his eyes as they leave her breasts to simply watch her curiously, to focus on the feeling of her fingers as they trace the layers of muscles and freckles; up to his collar bone, down over one nipple—as she does this she feels something tense in his back and he leans into her, one hand clenching the edge of the shelf—fingers tracing the bumps of hard muscle on his abdomen before twisting the trail of hair below his belly button between her forefinger and thumb, nails scratching his skin—

Wally lets out a slightly strangled groan when she touches him through his jeans, head ducking down for a moment to watch as she strokes the length of him through his jeans. She catches herself breathing heavily as she tightens her grip against his exposed edge, the scent of walnuts hitting her hard across the cheek as he shakes his head; before she can do anything other than almost moan in excitement his lips are back against hers, pressing hard but unmoving before pulling back, muttering low and quick when she starts fumbling blindly with his belt. "Babe..."

"Shh, Wally."

They don't have to say so many words to each other, not in tender moments like this. She had been humiliated and overreacted, he had been confused and spoke without thinking. Now more than ever it's clear, what they have it real, it's more real to either of them than anything outside the library—

She pulls herself back into her own head when she hears herself moaning, Wally's tongue trailing down her throat and pausing to suck once on the bundle of nerves that joins her neck with her shoulder. She nearly cries out in relief when she feels his fingers trailing up her sides just like she did to him moments ago, hesitating for half a second before grasping her breast in his palm and squeezing tenderly. She can't stop herself, not when the heat between her legs is this hot and he's finally touching her the way she wants him to; selfishly she's abandoning his belt altogether and covering his hands with hers, guiding him as he feels her and trying desperately to show him what she needs.

Wally pulls back with surprise when she gasps, looking confused and then immediately intrigued when he sees the cloudiness in her eyes, the redness on her lips as she guides his hand, her nipples hardened as he pinches them once in the webbing of his fingers before rolling them between his thumb and forefinger. Even now he's a scientist, experimenting and observing, eyes flickering rapidly between her face and her breasts as she pants out like a wild animal; suddenly something changes in his face, and without asking questions he ducks his head down.

She has a moment to feel his hot breath on her other breast before suddenly she's moaning his name, his lips encasing her nipple and suckling it into his mouth, tongue swirling and feverish and teeth gently nipping, trying to mimic the more precise movements of his fingers. She can't stop her fingers from knotting through his hair, hips bucking once, twice against the hardness pressing tight against his jeans as he drags his tongue in the dip between her breasts, breathing ragged against her. His teeth graze her nipple a little too hard as she bucks for a third time; never one to miss an opportunity Wally catches her, fingers slipping between her legs.

"Oh, God." She hears herself say; the touch, even through the thick material of the jeans, forces a ridiculous panting moan from her mouth as her head lolls back. This is what she's been wanting for weeks, months now, this touch— this feeling, the gentle petting of Wally fingers on her, unskilled but eager to learn as he watches her reaction, adjusting his movements as she shifts her hips in wanting.

She's just reached for him again when they both hear it: a noise, a dozen shelves over, most likely near the entrance of the library. Instantly they both freeze, her hand tight on Wally's length and his fingers pressing anxiously against the button that would remove her pants, eyes locked on each other with mirrored panicked expressions, both listening hard.

The seconds go on and the noise doesn't repeat itself, but the longer the pause the more it occurs to her that there's less of a chance of resuming things the way she wants to; cheeks reddened she moves her hand slightly, hopefully stroking him. "... It was a mouse." She says confidently, leaning in to kiss him again.

Wally indulges the thought long enough for him to return her kiss, nearly making her groan out in frustration when he pulls back. "Probably, but..." He pauses, looking as if he hates what he's about to say. "Maybe this isn't the best spot for what we had planned on doing. Remember the couch the other day?"

He makes a fair point, even if it makes her want to claw her hair out of her scalp when he gently plucks at her wrist, removing her hand.

AN: Another crazy long chapter!

Q&A:

Q: Will there ever be a "smooth" chapter? One that isn't as intense and makes me go on the edge of my seat?

A: First, it makes me happy to hear that you're engaged with the story! But I'm not exactly sure what you mean. Personally I try to include something in each chapter that is either interesting/relevant to upcoming events/keeps the plot moving forward. It's just my writing style; I don't see the point of uploading a chapter if nothing exciting happens and I've never been one for whole chapters that are nothing but fluff. If you are referring to the very up-and-down nature of Wally and Artemis' relationship, that is something they, like all couples, will grow out of as they mature; these two are only 15 and 16, and the rest of the Team is still at the height of their teenage hormones too. I guess one of the take always from this chapter is that they have quite a ways before that happens!

Q: What's the update schedule now that you're done exams?

A: I haven't quite figured it out yet myself; I'm planning on slowing down for a bit so I can enjoy the holidays and spend some time stock piling some more chapters so they're ready to be edited and posted in the New Year. The goal is still ultimately to update once a week, but we'll see how that goes once I start up school again. To make a long answer short: I recommend clicking the Follow button, that way you will receive an update whenever I post.

That's it for now folks. Enjoy your holidays and please read and review!